Hekubah was fuming. He had them. He had them dead to rights, with a dozen slaves purposefully concealed. Even with the permits delivered by that fanciful witch…Cassidy, Quill, the ident log read…he had enough criminal intent to finesse a twenty-four hour landlock on the boat. But no, the detective inwardly raged. Gorram Kondo was just itching to get his troops back to barracks! He’d file a complaint about the captain’s conduct. He’d also spend some time looking into Quill Cassidy.

The military staff car had dropped him at his precinct, leaving him to scowl at his brother officers all the way back to his desk. The paperwork for this debacle was going to take hours, probably a night full of painstaking narrative and verbal misdirection to avoid a sizeable blemish on his performance record. So, after his work to provide Murphy with a plum crop of slaves while taking Sister Lyen Giu down to boot, Detective Hekubah found himself with no coin and a job preservation scramble on his hands. It was enough to make him spit.

The buzzing in his breast pocket distracted him from darkening thoughts. “Hekubah,” he responded crisply as he pressed the little cortex reader to his ear.

“It’s Kwan. That Firefly you had me watching just picked up and hightailed it.”

“Did you see which way?”

“Looked to be Northwest,” the informant answered. “In a hurry.”

“Thanks,” Hekubah said.

Kwan, the dockyard worker turned C.I., was not finished. “You gonna get me my drops?” he asked. “Took my last hit this morning, and my head’s already….” The desperate request went unfinished as the detective disconnected to make a much more urgent call.

“Wrong number.”

“Murphy,” he cut in, “it’s Hekubah. Tell me you rounded up the rest of those Anabaptists.”

“Working on it,” came the brusque reply. “You got any for me?”

“No,” Hekubah turned his back, his voice hushed. “China Doll had a permit, but they also only had a dozen. Shouldn’t be hard to find the rest.”

“Well, you fucked this up for us,” Murphy growled. “But if there’s any left, my boys will find ‘em…not that you’re gonna see any coin by our sweat.”

The detective thought furiously, then answered the retort. “I’ve got news,” he said. “China Doll just lifted off. She’s headed for the Blackout Zone…I conjure to pick up her captain, that gorram nun, and some willing bodies who swapped places with your property.” Silence from the line told him that the slave trader was even now calculating a recoup of his losses. “You could take them all, and then some,” he suggested. “Plus their boat.”

“I’ll let you know,” the distant voice replied.

“Just make sure that when you scoop ‘em all up,” Hekubah’s wicked grin began to appear, “you’ve got Sister Lyen Giu and that captain…Calvin Strand…chained up in your hold.”

The realization that this score might work yet fresh in his mind, Detective Hekubah felt his spirits lift as he went to disconnect the line. No sooner had he done so than his cortex chirped again. “I wasn’t finished,” Murphy’s voice carried his anger. “We need you for a ride along on this one. Get to the BZ, with your badge and gun. We’ll meet you in the brickyard.”

Loaded with her precious cargo, China Doll rose into the air. Her dual atmo turbine engines roared as the boat’s nose swung toward the Northwest. A deft tap to her throttles started her on her way toward the Blackout Zone…and those they hoped to rescue.

From his place in the captain’s usual chair, Yuri watched as the new pilot took to the yolk like a duck to water. To his mechanic’s sensibilities, Tommy didn’t possess the graceful finesse of the last pilot. But, he reasoned, for a first launch he’s got a solid technique. As China Doll rose into the air, her First Mate recalled what little he actually knew about the situation into which they’d fly this time.

”I need the Doll in the BZ, pronto.”

And nothing more, though Hook’s surprise early return with the final dozen Anabaptists offered some fodder for reading between the lines. Something went South. Yuri conjured that ‘something’ to involve a scorned detective and his slaver cohorts. “Tommy,” he said as their upthrust cleared them of their docking berth, “swing her around to the Northwest, two-eight-five degrees. We’re looking for an open space everyone calls ‘The Brickyard.’ Help me watch for it, dohn mah?

Cargo bay always got way loud when they’s takin’ off. Folk conjured tha racket come from the cargo itself, but Abby knowed it’s strapped an’ wrapped down tight. Whatever museum pieces was closed up in them fridge crates weren’t makin’ a peep tah her ear. But China Doll had a song she sang, a chorus of squeaks an’ rattles tah join tha roar of ‘er atmo engines. Them’s never heard it afore got all panicky, like they’s askeert she’s gon’ fly herself apart. But the deckhand, strapped inta her fold down jump seat, heard tha music of a tough old boat. Yeah, she creaked and moaned a tetch, but so did Uncle Bob when he got up. And they both got the job done.

She felt tha turn, tha lean in and push as the engines carried ‘em forward. Ain’t much been told yet ‘bout where they’s goin, but the girl reckoned it had tah be one place, that Blackout Zone. Cap’n’s in a scrape, she pondered. Didn’t know who with, but Abby found ‘erself hopin’ its’ bikers. Mayhaps if t’was, she could pull on that cut an’ use her newfangled sisterhood in Headhunters MC tah talk Cap’n outta whatever he done got hisself inta. “Leverage,” she seen it called once in a book.

“That’s shiny,” Yuri said as the gleaming spires of Capital City gave way to the dull grey of the warehouse district. “Hold this heading.” China Doll flew in low, skimming the rooftops as the rough confines of the Blackout Zone drew ever closer. There hadn’t been time to file a flight plan for this unscheduled hop, leaving both the pilot and first mate in agreement that keeping off the local radar was the best way to avoid a land lock.

He saw the border wall and its’ onerous checkpoint pass beneath them. The first sun had just set, and the second was a deepening orange on the horizon. The tenements over which they flew now huddled in lengthening shadow, their squalor reminding Yuri of ancient cities on Earth-That-Was whose slumbers had been disturbed by the archaeoligist’s shovel. “Not much further,” he said, his eyes peeled forward as he studied the approaching landscape. “There,” the first mate pointed. “Two o’clock. That’s our landing site.”

The world tilted as China Doll banked toward the broad, open space. “Sam,” Yuri spoke to the ever attentive AI, “let the captain know we’re on the ground in 1 tick.” He grabbed the intercom mic which dangled from above. “All hands, this is the first mate,” he announced. “We’re feet down in the brickyard in just under a minute. Here’s what I need.”

Through the forward viewpane, he could see the approaching brickyard, a checkerboard of aging foundations whose buildings had long since devolved into heaps of rubble and the piles of ancient brick they’d harvested. “Hook, Imani, Elias,” Yuri spoke into the mic, “strap up and meet me at the cargo ramp. Abby,” he continued, “I want you in the catwalk…with your rifle.”

China Doll swept in, her landing lights playing over the uneven patchwork as she whirled in a neat one-eighty, clawlike struts deploying to catch the ground beneath her. “Tommy,” Yuri said to the pilot, “Keep her idling. We’re off this rock the instant we take our own aboard.” His orders given, the first mate bolted from the cockpit.

“Copy.” Soon’s she felt touchdown, Abby’s outta that jump seat, set off in a dead run fer tha aft cargo bay hatch. She cranked it open an’ bolted through with a leap down inta tha medbay lounge.

At sight of the deckhand, Edina wriggled free of her safety straps. “What’s happening, Abby?” she asked as the girl raced past.

“Gitcher gun!” the girl shouted over ‘er shoulder as she made tracks fer her room. Din’ take but a tick fer her tah unsheath the Mosin. Abby slung it over her right shoulder, afore scoopin’ up all her mags an’s stuffin’ ‘em in pockets. Not bein’ sure just what sorta trouble’s gon’ follow tha Cap’n aboard, she took a second tah strap the Colt’s holster onta her waist. Now she’s rigged an’ ready, the girl headed back from whence she came, makin’ for tha cargo bay.

She seen Edina, lookin’ nervous with a pistol handgrip nudgin’ out sideways from her sweater pocket.

The gun felt heavy, tugging her sweater down as it threatened to fall out of her pocket. Edina tried adjusting the weapon, the struggle proving futile as Abby rushed back into the medbay lounge. The girl looked ready to fight a gorram war! “What’s going on?” she asked the heavily armed teenager.

Abby held up a second after seein’ tha look in Edina’s eyes. “We’re pickin’ up tha Cap’n,” she answered. “I conjure Yuri’s got us prepped fer any sorta fight may try tah follow him on board.”

She had so many questions, but for now, there was only one that mattered. “What should I do?” Edina asked.

“Dog this hatch,” Abby replied. “Don’t open up fer nobody, less Cap’n or Yuri gives tha ‘all clear.” She din’ wait for no answer. Abby hurried through tah tha cargo bay. As she climbed them catwalk steps she could hear tha hatch slam shut an’ lockin’ bolts slidin’ home. Once she got up top, tha girl emptied mags from ‘er pockets. She sat down, cross legged In’jun style tah git sitchiated. One mag slipped inta tha Mosin, and t’others was set layin’ close tah hand in a neat row. At tha end of the line, she placed tha Colt.

The girl leaned her long rifle against tha railin’, afore pullin’ a hairband outta her breast pocket. As she tied ‘er hair back inta a ponytail, Abby watched as Yuri, Hook, Imani, an’ Elias all made ready fer whatever’s ‘bout tah come when they dropped tha ramp. When he looked her way, she give him a nod. She’s ready.

Yuri acknowledged the teenager with a nod of his own. “Just remember,” he told the crewmembers at his side, “we’re here for the captain and whoever else he’s bringing aboard. We get them in, and we go. We don’t shoot unless we’re shot at. Everybody clear on that?” the First Mate demanded. “Hook,” his eye found the cook. “Lower the ramp.”

****To Be Continued****

Part 2 of the Episode 4 climax by @wanderingwolf and @sail3695

The ramp lowered, revealing the familiar, tumbledown scene of their recent standoff with the bike gangs of two worlds. It even smells the same, Yuri thought as he led three of the crew down onto the abandoned waste. Several of the brick piles were missing, their contents harvested and serenely stacked in the cargo bay. In the distance, a lone streetlight winked on, joining the dim pinpoints allowed through nightshades of the ragged tenements bordering the brickyard. Bits of gravel and shattered glass crunched beneath his boots, their presence felt more than heard for the quiet whine of China Doll’s idling engines. “Look sharp,” the first mate ordered, his own eyes sweeping the expanse for any sign of movement.

Yuri soon realized that command was hardly necessary. Without a word, Imani and Hook had taken flanking positions, both dropping to one knee, their weapons drawn and sweeping careful arcs. A single gunshot turned their heads as it echoed through an opening between buildings. He gripped his own pistol, eyes peering through gathering darkness toward the sound.

Another shot rang out, then another. Yuri flinched as a firm hand landed upon his shoulder. The towering Elias stood beside him, pointing toward heaps of distant rubble. Following his direction, Yuri stared through the gloom…and saw movement. A number of shadow figures approached, their heads mere silhouettes as they bobbed up and down. Running, Yuri barely had time to think, before a lone figure burst into the open. The woman, slight of build, sprinted forward, then turned to encourage those who ran in her wake. Even as twilight surrendered to darkness, the distinctive orange of her kasaya robe removed all doubt. “Here they come,” he said.

More gunfire sounded. This time, a muzzle flash could be seen; the throaty bark of the gun was familiar to China Doll’s crew. Their captain was bringing up the rear, firing upon the pursuers at their heels. “Watch our flanks,” Yuri cautioned as Sister Lyen and her flock approached at a dead run. Yuri fought a powerful urge to rush forward, join Cal in the fray and ward off the attacking slavers. But no…this was their territory. He had to protect the boat…couldn’t allow them to slip in behind. “Come on, come on!” he waved toward the band. “Sister,” Yuri greeted the nun, “get them aboard. Take cover behind those bricks in the hold!”

The refugees hurried past him, each subconsciously ducking their heads with every gunshot. Yuri recognized several young faces as they sprinted for the ramp. These were the college students, the body doubles who’d lent their support to saving the Anabaptists from impending slavery. Last in their group was the lean, angular frame of the Captain. “We’re ready, sir,” the first mate reported as Cal’s pistol swung to join those of his crew.

The Captain threw an appraising glance over the posse formed at the foot of the China Doll. Yuri, Hook, and the new muscle, Imani, he expected, sure, but the big guy, Elias, was a welcome exception. As they rained cover fire, Cal replied to his mate, "Bang-up job, gentlemen; now let’s git. I think we overstayed our welcome."

Distant muzzle flashes were followed by a metallic ring as one shot ricocheted off a landing strut. Another fractured the concrete before Yuri’s boot as he held position. Soon, the captain and his five crew were backing up the ramp, returning fire toward their unseen pursuers. As Imani, Hook, and Elias kept the wolves from the door, Yuri ran for the ramp controls as Cal barked his order into the intercom.

"Button 'er up, Tommy. It's time to go!"

With a sudden roar, China Doll clawed her way into the air, her cargo bay still open as the ramp and bulkhead slowly moved into place. Yuri could still hear rounds peppering the hull as Tommy swung her around for a rapid egress.

In the catwalk, Abby seen the spark when a stray shot ricocheted off the railing. She heard metal on metal, afore feelin’ a tug on ‘er right shoulder. “Sumbitch!” she swore out loud, thinkin’ this tah be second time she done took a bullet on this boat. The deckhand reached up, fingers of ‘er left hand probin’ tha spot. Din’ feel nothin’, but she conjured that’s how t’was right after gettin’ hit. She looked upon her fingers, puzzlin’ a skosh over how they ain’t no blood. After cranin’ ‘er neck real hard an’ reachin’ all about, she unnerstood when the bullet come down it jest clipped ‘er shirt a might. An’ that pissed ‘er off righteously, seein’s how she liked this shirt. “Sumbitch!” she spat agin as ‘er fingers found tha rip.

“Abby?” Yuri called from below as the boat sped upward. “You shiny?”

“Tolerable,” come the girl’s reply. “Any y’all know how tah sew a patch?”

The mate chuckled. “We’ll figure it out. In the meantime, we’ve got more folk to get settled aboard. I need you to help Hook and Imani with our new passengers.” As he finished his orders, the roar of China Doll’s upthrust was suddenly silenced. They’d made it into the black. He could heave a sigh of relief. Pelorum in a day and half, the first mate thought as he mounted the stairs for the upper deck. Close quarters for everyone. Might need the crew to double or triple up… He made a mental note to give his quarters to Edina and Abby for the run. As Yuri stepped into the cockpit, thoughts of asking Hook to offer up deckspace for Elias and himself were dashed aside at sight of the captain’s face. “We’re getting the rest secured,” he reported. “What’s going on?”

"We're not out of the woods. Tail's buzzin' us and comin' up fast." Cal jammed a finger at the green blips emanating from the flight controls.

Yuri’s eyes fixed on the radar screen. Sure enough, there was someone behind them, a persistent little dot that drew closer with each sweep of the emitter. “Any idea who that is?” he asked, realizing the silly nature of his question before the words had even escaped his lips.

S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A chose that moment to bring everyone up to speed. “The radar signature is a profile match for a high speed freighter, designation Trans U.” The intuitive AI seemed to recognize Yuri’s ‘fish out of water’ stance when it came to details of spacegoing boats when she added, “A stock issue Trans U can outrun a Firefly Class III. We have a maneuverability advantage, but Reavers and pirates have found the Trans U a versatile platform for weaponry.”

"Huīhuáng, xiànzài wǒmen bèi tuóbèile," the Captain drew a hand over his face and straightened. (trans. Brilliant, now we're humped.)

**********To Be Continued**********

Part 2 of the Episode 4 climax by @wanderingwolf and @sail3695

“What sort of weaponry?” Yuri asked.

Sam’s cool tone filled the bridge once again, “Recorded types are all rudimentary, intended to batter a vessel, penetrate the hull, or to simply take hold. The most popular weapons are chain hoisted grapples. Inexpensive and easy to operate.”

So that was it, the first mate thought. Slavers would catch them in the open black, and after a little weaving about, would sink their hooks and reel them in. “How much time until they overtake us?” he asked.

“Just under two ticks,” Cal replied under his breath, arms rooted to the console.

The cockpit fell silent, leaving each man to his thoughts. Yuri was considering just how they might defend each compartment from boarders when Sam routed an incoming transmission to the pilot’s screen. There, in an image gone slightly fuzzy with the aging display, was the leering face of Detective Hekubah. “China Doll,” he ordered, “Heave to and prepare to be boarded.”

"Hekubah," Cal's tone was a touch unfriendly as he squared on the viewport. "Don't imagine you're actin' under Osiris jurisdiction out here," the Captain’s eyes hardened.

The detective cum slaver waved a dismissive hand. “I’m only going to make this offer once,” he offered a triumphal grin. “Surrender without any trouble, captain, and we’ll put you and your crew safely off at the next world we pass. But,” he added, “if I catch so much as a whiff of skulduggery, you’ll end up sharing the auction block with those Anabaptists you have aboard. Heave to…now.”

"Attractive as that offer might seem, from where I'm sittin' it sounds a lot like you just appreciate the sound of your own voice. Chui Se," Cal hammered the disconnect button with his palm, thrusting the screen's viewport into darkness. (trans. go to hell)

From his seat at the helm, Tommy Pearson had been largely silent throughout their escape and flight through the black. Now, without turning his head, the pilot offered his own opinion. “Mayhaps he can run us to ground, but he’s still gotta catch us first. Come on, darlin’,” he gave the console a tender pat, “let’s dance.”

Yuri grabbed the intercom mic. “This is the first mate. We’ve got some quick twists and turns to make. If you’re not already strapped in, sit down and hang onto some…oh, la shi!” he exclaimed as the deck suddenly raced up to meet his face. China Doll broke right, her pilot leaning hard into a turn to shake the larger, faster Trans U.

The slaver ship cut speed, attempting to follow the more nimble Firefly. As Yuri watched, Tommy used a wide array of tricks, feinting up before plunging down, cartwheeling and jinking the boat through seemingly impossible aerobatics. “On Earth-That-Was,” he said absently as he warded off the pirate attacks, “they called this ‘dog fighting…”

“Yeah,” Yuri rubbed his jaw as an object flew right before their viewports. “Did you see that?” he asked.

The Captain chimed in, "Old tech; heavy chain grapple just missed us--Tommy, that was too close," Though his words didn't convey it, the appreciation that his pilot had made the dodge still sat in his eyes. The pilot, however, had his keen sights fixed on his controls and blackness ahead.

“Split-S,” Tommy announced, “and then I’m gonna put on the brakes. He’s too fast, so he’ll fly right by us. Hang on this time!”

“Thanks!” Yuri replied as the stars before them whirled counterclockwise. The pilot hauled on the yolk, pulling China Doll’s nose tightly upward while the first mate clutched at the hand railing. The viewpanes were suddenly filled with the underside of their pursuer, speeding past at a near blur as Tommy had predicted.

“I counted two grapples,” Yuri said as the Firefly maneuvered clear of the big boat’s thrust. “Short of guns and fists, I’m clue free about how to strike back.”

“He’s running,” Tommy observed as the Trans U throttled up. The pilot did likewise, firewalling China Doll’s thrust to pursue the slavers. “Safest place for us is behind him. I can hang on his six for a skosh,” he offered, “but that’s only good for so long.”

Then it dawned on the Captain, "Hold steady, I just had an idea." His hands found the com above the Captain's chair, dial turned to hail the deckhand. "Abigail, come back."

“Cap’n?” the girl replied.

"Got somethin' I need you to do," Strand’s eyes flashed as he gave the command, "suit up, and grab that axe in the cargo bay. Loose those bricks and wait for my signal." As his fist unclenched the com, he locked eyes with Yuri, "We need to get in front of them."

“On it,” Abby said with no fuss.

“That part’s easy,” Tommy answered Cal. “He’s on full burn now. Gonna use his speed to open some distance and then he’ll wheel about to grapple us head on. You want me to veer off or try to hang behind him?”

"Peel off, make him chase us. Then we'll wait until they’re just outside of that grapple," replied Cal clenching his jaw.

With a nod, the pilot pulled the yolk into his stomach. China Doll doubled back on her course, kicking into flank speed. “We’re running like a scalded dog now,” Tommy offered. “Buys us a couple ticks ‘til he can turn and burn in right behind us.” As the Firefly raced into the black, all eyes were fixed upon the pilot’s radar screen. For a moment, the big dot fell behind them. As they watched, it cut a wide arc onscreen before moving toward them once again. “And here she comes,” he said.

Hekubah’s face appeared once more on the console screen. “I’ve got to say,” he chuckled, “that it tickles me you made this choice. Your pilot knows his game. A skilled boat crew will fetch top coin, not to mention what the scrappers will shell out for your old scow…dohn mah?”

"This old bird might not outrun you," Cal replied into the view screen, “but I reckon you’re countin’ your winnin’s before the last cards been dealt, and Lady Luck’s a fickle mistress.” The Captain deafened the screen before turning to his pilot, “He’s gonna come in hard, I need you to dodge those grapples again.”

The detective grinned. “And you…without a chip to cash in. I’ll enjoy this,” he concluded, before the screen went dark. This time the Trans U meant business. As Cal predicted, she came up fast, closing the distance to fire both grapples in tandem. Tommy broke left, rolling the Firefly onto her port side before maneuvering thrusters tucked her into a side slip. They all felt the impact, a moment’s shudder as one of the lethal claws dealt a blow to their underside. “Did they hook us?” Yuri asked.

The pilot shook his head. “Just a sideswipe.” he tucked China Doll into another tight loop, as their pursuer came into sight. The big slaver had once again cut her speed as she reeled in both grapples for her next pass.

In the cargo bay, Abby’s axe was workin’, the well honed blade set tah bitin’ through each ‘o’ them pallet bands. When whatever ‘twas struck their bottom, the smack sent bricks chatterin’ an’ fallin’ about all akimbo. “What in tha Sam Hill,” the deckhand ruminated on Cap’n’s orders. She done as he said, put on a EV suit and now had all them bricks free tah tumble about. “Don’t make no sense,” the girl puzzled. “Don’t make no…oh. Oh!” When tha idea come, she reckoned she had it right. Cap’n had a plan. She weren’t none to enamored of her part in things. “Cap’n,” Abby’s voice come with a hollow sort of echo from her suit helmet com. “Choppin’s all done. I conjure whatcher about. I’m good tah go.”

From his place at the rail, Yuri watched as the trailing dot on their radar closed the distance. “They’re on us again,” he observed.

On the bridge of the slave ship Hannibal, the mood was ebullient. “We hit ‘em!” Detective Hekubah gloated. “Did you see that?”

“We all saw it,” Murphy, the captain, fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Any damage to our starboard grapple?”

The boat’s armourer shook his head. “Claws open and close just fine. EMP arcs still working,” The man gave a gap toothed grin. “And I’ve got the harpoon at the ready.”

Murphy scowled. “That boat's got the mother lode on board. No way are we risking a hull breach. Grapples only for this run…copy?”

“Copy” the armourer’s tone was glum as he obeyed his captain.

“Shiny.” The captain stepped forward, his hands coming to grip the shoulders of both his armourer and the pilot. “One-two punch,” he explained his plan as their prey grew larger in the forward viewpane. “Set one grapple to spin ‘em around. Once they’re bow on, set the other and reel ‘em right up to our docking port.” The Firefly had opted to run, straight and true, to gain some distance. “You just fucked up,” Murphy’s wolfish grin spread upon his face. “Now we gotcha.”

China Doll plunged ahead into the unyielding black, the massive Trans U devouring what little distance remained between them. As Tommy waited for the final order, Cal drew the com to his chin and shouted to Abby, “Now!”

Down in the cargo bay, Abby felt tha nose loop up agin.. When China Doll’s thrusters brought a sudden stop tah their flip, she slammed ‘er gloved hand down on tha hatch control. Alarms commenced screamin’ an’ yella lights tah strobin’ as the deckhand grabbed hold of the little console. Suddenly, the forward bulkhead give a lift, openin’ the cargo bay tah the black. A hurricane wind howled all about the girl, grabbin’ at her for tah suck her right out…along with all them bricks they spent days haulin’ in. They flew through tha gap, machine gunnin’ their way inta tha black, so fast they’s a blur afore her eyes. Hunnerds an’ hunnerds of ‘em went shootin’ out, til they ain’t none left. She’s hangin’ on fer dear life, legs picked up in tha vacuum suction as she seen them empty pallets go sailin’ out behind.

The Hannibal drew in, her crew almost salivating at the size of today’s haul. A bunch of religious nutjobs, ripe for working to death by terraformers. A Firefly and her crew. And to sweeten the deal, a passel of rich college kids from Osiris. Black Zone law was clear. If their parents wanted their little darlings back, they’d have to pay some serious coin. “Ready the grapples,” Murphy commanded as their quarry made one last, futile maneuver. China Doll cut her engines, thrusters lifting her nose through a one-eighty until her posture was head on,
inverted to the pursuing Hannibal as her inertia carried her on her course. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Captain Murphy grinned.

At his side was a visibly confused Detective Hekubah. “What are they doing?” he asked the others on the Trans U’s bridge.

“Setting up for a dock, most like,” the slaver’s pilot asked. “They conjure we’re gonna run ‘em to ground by and by…wait. Their ramp’s down. Their bay hatch is…”GORRAMIT!” Everyone ducked instinctively as the staccato rain of bricks slammed into their forward viewpane. ”La shi…la shi…LA SHI!” Murphy, the slaver chief, shouted above the pounding storm. As they watched, the first cracks formed, crazing their way across the entire surface as the last of the brick volley struck home. “GET OUT OF HERE!” Murphy roared. “GET OUT…”

It was all surreal, like a dream. Hekubah saw the entire viewpane explode outward…felt himself lifted on a strange wind. He saw his ship…could see Murphy tumbling behind him. His chest felt heavy and overly full, but there was naught to breathe. As the cold took him, the last sight his eyes could manage was that Firefly that had caused him so much misery. [i]”Nǐ zhège fèifèi de pìgu kāiliè,”[/] The curse froze in his mouth.

A deft tap to China Doll’s maneuvering thrusters allowed her to slip cleanly beneath the now pilotless Trans U. As Cal, Tommy, and Yuri heard the sound of Abby firing the Doll’s hydraulics to seal up the cargo bay, the trio peered into the sight displayed in the reverse view alight on the console screen. Their pursuer remained on full burn, but the busted out cockpit of the Trans U furnished a sober conclusion to the crew’s gambit. Cal snapped off the screen, and turned to fall into his chair, com in hand, “Good work, kid.”

Down in tha cargo bay, Abby kep ‘er helmet on as tha air pressure slowly started comin’ back up. By all accounts, she’d be hangin’ out in ‘er EV suit fer tha next hour or so til pressure all got ‘Even-Stephen.’ “Thanks, Cap’n,” she answered Cal’s voice. “We goin’ tah Pelorum now?” After her last few adventures, puttin’ toes in tha sand was high on her list.

“Got one stop in mind ‘fore you can get to work on your tan.” He left the com open as he addressed the bridge as well, “Set a course for Bernadette, and leave our friends for the reavers.”

The slave ship sped on, her engines carrying her at full throttle to a fate unknown. China Doll set her own course, her hind quarters all lit up as the boat’s nose pointed toward another world, and a better life for her most precious cargo. In the blink of an eye she was gone, the last trace of her presence being the reflection that faded in a pair of lifeless eyes.

**********The End**********

Music swell

Fade to black

Roll credits

STORY NOTE: After her run-in with some angry slavers, China Doll made a bee line for her true destination…Bernadette. Once there, the crew bade their farewells to the Anabaptist refugees. Sister Lyen had found them the perfect match, their forty souls filling the ranks of a colony ship headed for New Omaha, one of Deadwood’s moons. The life they faced would by no means be an easy one, but the choice to go was made as free people.

The college students who’d all served as body doubles had chosen to remain aboard for the free ride to Pelorum, the timing a perfect fit for the much vaunted Spring Break. Likewise, Sister Lyen Giu had also opted for China Doll, due in part to the prominent display of her name in a crisp Osiris arrest warrant.

Ahead of them lay Pelorum, the resort jewel of the ‘verse. Though the college kids had already started the party, many of China Doll’s crew were looking forward to some much needed down time. Some had big plans; others wished little more than their toes in the sand. Fingers crossed that life doesn’t go sideways.

PELORUM: The Firefly Travelers’ Companion to the ‘Verse tells us this:

“With its’ crystal blue waters and temperate climate, Pelorum has earned its’ reputation as one of the most desirable vacation destinations in the entire ‘Verse.”

Most of the planet’s surface is devoted to resorts so exclusive and expensive that they’ll make you wonder if Pelorum’s host protostar (Lux) is actually short for “Luxurious.” While the steep prices tend to limit Pelorum’s clientele to the wealthiest members of Core Society, the planet often finds itself host to crews coming home from a big job—or a big heist—who are looking to unwind in style. No matter where you’re from, though, if you have the credits to spare, Pelorum is the perfect place to relax and recover from a long journey across the ‘Verse.”

PLAYER NOTE: While we will have one or two central plots for the episode, your characters’ time on Pelorum is largely their own. Engaging the central plots is purely optional. Feel free to explore and run individual character stories as you wish! While we, your humble hosts, do have some plans for our characters, please reach out if any of those folk might help you realize your own character subplots.

We begin Episode 5 with China Doll about 8 hours away from landing. Despite the havoc of college kids en route to their party destination, the mood aboard is definitely buoyant...for most of us.

Now, go have fun!

You still here? Go on…git!

Much had happened since Elias had found his fate intertwined with the China doll. He had gotten to know some of the crew, but the obvious communication barrier made this a slow and difficult practice. It was hard to establish trust when you needed a minute to exchange just a sentence. Still, at the very least he found that he wasn't catching sideways glances to make sure he wasn't doing anything afoul of the crew anymore.

His speech wasn't the only part of the estrangement from the crew. It was always so that people Elias came across either mentally slotted him into a gentle giant or a vicious goliath, with almost no room for anything in between these two extremes. Though they weren't at all rude about it, the impression the man got was that he was received as being somewhere along the lines of the latter. He didn't very much care for this, but he also understood it was on him to dispel this. In retrospect, he supposed he hadn't done that much to try and get a more reasonable interpretation of himself. He had spent a considerable amount of time on what he considered 'his job', tending to this and that within the ship's machinery. Much of his interaction with the crew was simply nodding to them as he walked by things upon the vessel and marked down information upon a clipboard. At the same time for whole days he wouldn't meet the rest of the crew, busy with his own devices. Socialization being difficult to say the least, he spent most of his free time alone. If and when someone came by to check up on him, he'd be lifting random objects in lieu of proper gym equipment, reading whatever books he could scrounge, or simply staring at walls and ceilings. He didn't want the others to see his personal projects, not while they weren't done and could be the subject of non-negligible embarrassment. There were many knick-knacks he was trying to make, but of course the most difficult was the fortepiano he was working on. The instrument was a rare luxury he greatly missed, and the half-finished one he had left behind when fleeing together with the religious folk was all the more painful to be gone.

But now that was all behind. In fact, they would be making planetfall soon. He hadn't been with the crew enough to yet feel comfortable asking the Captain for anything resembling payment to spend down on Pelorum. But he also had a habit of finding ways to make money. Maybe a quick fight in some idiot's ring, maybe a trip to an antique shop and fixing up an old clock for a geezer to double the value of the device and gain the split difference as a payday.

There was also the other matter. Slavery was not nice, and as much as Elias wanted to distance himself from the family he felt betrayed him, taking advantage of the blood relation to ensure he didn't succumb to such things again wasn't а negative. He absolutely needed to head to a bank to see if his accounts were still active. All these thoughts ran through his head quite fast as he sat on a box with his hands clasped together, staring at the blast-door of the cargo bay. Envy went through the man as his peripheral vision caught the university kids. School was the best damn time of his life. It all went downhill from there. He couldn't go on the beach with these little shits. In fact there was very little he could enjoy. His eyebrows narrowed ever so slightly as his mood soured. Well, maybe at least he could listen to some fine tunes. Surely there'd have to be some bastard that could do a good syncopation on a world like this.

If ya’s to ask ‘er right now, Abby’d say them Anabaptists was scads easier’n half their number ‘o’ college kids.

They knowed straight up she didn’t believe in none ‘o’ that stuff, but it didn’t matter none. They’s gracious an’ kindly, pickin’ up after theirselves an’ thankin’ China Doll’s crew fer every little courtesy. One of the womenfolk, called ‘erself Sister Melinda, even sewed the bullet rip in ‘er fav’rite work shirt. She used a piece ‘o’ floral print fer that part got blowed off, laid it in thin and smooth tah make damage look right purty when she’d gaze upon it in tha mirror. It was so nice havin’ ‘em that when they’s all dropped off on Bernadette, tha deckhand made sure their blankets an’ such was all clean, an’ that all the little girls had dolls tah take on their next adventure.

But them college kids? Abby weren’t one tah shǔ nobody out, but fer fuck’s sake! She couldn’t keep up with their folderol. Fer all their learnin’ an’ high talk tah make ‘er feel stupid, it’s like none ‘em was ever learned what trash cans was for. Most sure’s hell didn’t conjure carryin’ glasses an’ plates back tah tha galley. An’ tha lav. When they wasn’t humpin’ two an’ three at a time in tha showers, towels an’ rags was strewn all about, an’ she’d find commodes all filthy an’ unflushed…or clogged an’ overflowin’. If she didin’t conjure tha risk they run fer them Anabaptists, Abby mighta loosed a righteous tongue lashin’ on tha lot of ‘em by now. Only a day an’ a half, she kep tellin’ herself. Only a day and a half.

Mind yew, they wasn’t all bad. Christina, she who Abby done give up her room for, was kind hearted. She kep tah herself, closed up in tha deckhand’s tiny quarters with a handful ‘o books from tha passenger lounge. She said she’s a “Lit Major,” meanin’ someone who’s goin’ tah college jest tah read all kindsa books. Though Abby held ‘er tongue on that, Christina din’ talk down tah her, even talked lots with ‘er about the Mei Lin stories she’s readin’. Better still, she give ‘er a list of books she might like. One series was about a school fer young witches an’ wizards. Weren’t Abby’s usual stock, but stories she tole about “the boy who lived” an’ his friends sounded more smart an’ heartfelt than fanciful. They traded contacts, an’ the deckhand promised she’d pick up tha first book after Mei Lin’s adventure was done.

Now, with eight hours’ flyin’ time left an’ laundry runnin’ in both machines, she could catch ‘er breath an’ actually think on what her coin might afford her on Pelorum. Precious little, Abby conjured, after buyin’ a bikini like she an’ Alana said they’s doin’ together. But tha beach was free, an’ she could spend all tha time she desired on tha sand, with one book or ‘nother. Sounded mighty nice. Nicer still if she could share it with Thomas. But he ain’t speakin’ with her jest now, leavin’ a whole stack ‘o’ her waves unanswered. She decided she ain’t sendin’ no more. She ‘pologized aplenty; now it’s on him. On his time.

The days ahead was hers.

JP/collab from @Xandrya and @sail3695

Cal Strand appears courtesy of @wanderingwolf

“Ever wonder why an old dog likes layin’ in the sunshine?” his pa had once asked. After a shake of the son’s head, he’d said, “Cuz old dogs always see sunny days as gifts, young’un. You have a day when the sun’s shinin’ on you, make sure you don’t let it slip by.”

Pelorum lay ahead, a jewel of blue and green which steadily grew in the cockpit viewports. Tommy’d have China Doll skids down in about eight hours’ time. Ship was flyin’ right. Crew all seemed happy for the coming days…and thanks to the museum pieces in the cargo bay, Cal was proud to turn ‘em all loose with some coin in their pockets, It felt good all over, knowin’ they’d helped those Anabaptist folk move on to a proper life…but breakin’ even in the process made things that much sweeter.

“Abigail,” the captain caught sight of the young deckhand as he crossed the catwalk. “Kindly tell me you got some proper lollygaggin’ planned this time around?”

The teenager turnt incredulous eyes towards ‘er Cap’n. “Lollygaggin’?” She groused. “Yah seen whut them college folk done tah yer boat, sir? Whut with all tha all night parties an’ not pickin’ up after their selves? Not tah mention all tha humpin’ goin’ on? Gon’ take me a solid week tah git them rooms decent fer payin’ customers…” She stopped, drawn up short by Cap’n’s raised hand.

“Won’t order you to have fun…no, wait…I conjure I will,” Cal decided. “We’re skids down for five whole days. I order you to spend the first three of ‘em doin’ nothin’ productive…dohn mah?”

The girl looked all like a fish done flopped up on tha bank accidental like. “I’ll think on it, Cap’n,” she finally give a bit.

“Think hard. Hey, seen the doc?”

“Yeah,” Abby thowed a shoulder towards tha aft hatch. “She’s squarin’ up medbay.”

“Dandy,” Cal nearly bounced down the steps on the balls of his feet. “Sun’s shinin’ on this ole’ dog,” he smiled to himself as he made for the medbay…and Alana.

In a funny twist of events, her partner's savior needed a savior. That was her initial thought anyway as that girl Imani went on about how she rescued Cal, their "handsome" captain. Even though that was a while back when she went up to Alana in order to get checked out, the story that was told remained in her mind. Obviously Alana wasn't happy about the fact, especially with Cal making friendly comments about that other passenger.

After announcing himself with a quick “shave and a haircut” rap to the door, Cal leaned in. “Is this where the prettiest doc in the ‘verse works?” he grinned.

"Prettiest doc maybe, but not the prettiest woman." The sour tone of her voice indicated displeasure at his arrival, the point further expressed as she didn't turn around to greet him, but instead kept her eyes on her cortex. Alana figured he was attempting to make good with her, possibly out of guilt.

Cal Strand was ebullient. “Eye of the beholder, piàoliang de yīgè,” (pretty one) he quipped as he slid the medbay hatch shut behind him. “Have to tell you I’m pleased as punch how this all turned out. You, Hook, and Abigail really stepped up,” the proud grin held as he recalled the way this crew came together. “And Tommy? Then Quill…I’m hopin’ to get her to ride along with us a spell. And how about that Imani?” he asked, pleasure creeping into his tone.

Her eyes shifted upward from the screen, finally glancing at him. He was being smug about it too...

"So you fancy them then?" Alana played along, a smile forming as if she was genuinely taking interest in what Cal was saying, though how she felt inside didn't one bit match her expression. On the other hand, he was sharing plenty with her. "I would feel the same way if someone stepped up to get me out of a bad decision gone wrong."

Paloma Faith - Only Love Can Hurt Like This (Lyrics)

He couldn’t be rightly certain, seein’s how his gambler’s senses looked to need a bit of a tune, but something here felt just a might…off. Alana was smiling at him…he loved to see her smile. Hoped to see a lot more of that on Pelorum, in some little out of the way bungalow he’d find for them both. Well, maybe Sam would find it. Iceberg, Goldberg…

“Not sure ‘fancy’s’ the word I’m thinkin’,” the captain leaned casually, one hip against her work surface. “Like,’ mayhaps? ‘Feel good about hirin’?’ Yeah, that one,” he let himself snicker. “We’ll go with that. So, I was gonna…” he began, and just as quick on the draw, stopped. Alana was way too still just now. He’d tangled with that kinda still before. There’s that viper on Deadwood…he didn’t even see it til it struck at him. Worse yet, Fanny Lee Brochette’s cat. So still he thought it’s stuffed at first. At the time, he’s stretched out nekkid on her bed when it come flyin’ down off the bookshelf with aims to put claws to his bits…”Um Alana?” his voice softened as he felt like he’s walkin’ into the valley of the shadow of death, “is somethin’....not right?”

"Something is indeed not right..." her voice carried equal parts sadness and anger. Alana held his gaze as she went on. "You've barely noticed me these past few days...almost as if you were ignoring me. And come to find out, these new passengers seem to have left quite the effect on you."

For a moment, Alana wondered whether she was being high-strung about it all, but then she told herself he had been acting distant. No matter how busy Cal Strand had gotten in the past, he'd always made time for her, even if it was a simple note he left her on the sly. However, now it was looking as if their relationship was fizzling out, that which was in part thanks to their new guests.

This was not what he conjured to take place just now. Not at all. He realized right quick that talkin’ about what bikini she’d pack for a private getaway on Pelorum wasn’t even in the same county as what words’d be passin’ between ‘em next. “Aww, no, no, no,” Cal’s brow furrowed like a fresh plowed field as he turned square to face Alana. “It’s not like that at all,” he lifted earnest hands to signal his surprise. “This one was just real busy,” he stammered. “Real hands-on,” the captain protested. “Whole lotta movin’ parts to mind. I knew you were solid, appreciated that I did, and so I kept eyes on where they’re needed, was all.”

"Seems like a whole lotta fumblin' over words that don't communicate much..." Alana had watched the way his expression shifted as she had brought up what was currently bothering her. "If I'm being honest, Cal, that excuse just doesn't sit right with me." It was then she stood up, placing the cortex down and looking at the device as she attempted to find the right words to continue with their conversation. "I get it...being stuck out here in the black and constantly seeing my face...who wouldn't get bored," she shrugged casually, giving off the vibe that their current troubles happened on the regular.

“Bored?” Cal’s moment of shock was bein’ fast overtaken with another feelin’ altogether. “Bored? You’re sayin’ this is about me lookin’ at somebody else? Gorramit, girl, which one you thinkin’? That Quill’s drop dead gorgeous! Yuri can’t put two words together ‘round her. Not her? Shiny!” he stormed. “Well, who else?” Cal demanded. “Edina? She’s mighty fetchin’, if I do say so…’specially since she stepped up for this boat not once but twice! Abigail? Tell you now I love that girl to death…she who you’re gettin’ panties in a twist over? Nah,” his anger cracked a rueful smile. “It’s Imani,” Cal nodded his head. “Gotta be her, cuz if it ain’t, all I can conjure is you think I’m sweet on Yuri. Mind you, he’s pretty, but…”

"Well don't be shy now! If you're longing after the whole ship, you coulda just said so!" Alana was practically shouting, her voice carrying outside for any wandering soul to pick up on, but she was saddened and angered by the words being exchanged and so she did not concern herself with the possibility of having an audience.

Alana was quite aware she was exaggerating the situation, her approach in the midst of a heated dispute was stretching the truth. It only made matters worse, but oftentimes her arguments were never the voice of reason. "We've constantly had targets on our backs, and how many times have I had to patch someone up here in the past? But now you were just too busy?" She was practically throwing the blame on him, being caught up in the moment Alana didn't care for his feelings nor the repercussions of her actions. "Save it for someone who'll buy it!"

Cal’s rising temper was walkin’ right toward places he knew he shouldn’t oughtta go…but bein’ named a liar, a lecher, and now havin’ his captaining called out by the one person he cared for the most? What Alana’s throwin’ in his face was the sort ‘o’ talk heard over card tables just before pistols got jerked. “So you’re sayin’ if some feh feh pi goh (babboon’s ass crack) pulls a trigger or one ‘o’ mine gets sideways in a saloon, that’s all my fault?” He jabbed his finger down, tapping the worktop in time as he growled, “That’s why you’re here!”

He’d squared up, his breathing deliberate as his eyes remained fixed upon Alana. All the while, the inner voice of reason cried warnings against the words erupting from his mouth. But for the blood roaring in his ears, Cal couldn’t hear a thing. “Out there? That’s the ‘verse!” He waved a hand toward the closed medbay hatch. “An’ we don’t get much by way ‘o’ choosin’. Best I can do is keep me an’ mine in foodstuffs an’ a bit ‘o’ coin…an’ the promise I’ll get their hurt patched when somethin’ goes South. Whattya want, Alana? I should put a suggestion box in the galley?”

"Oh I got plenty suggestions for ya Cal of things you can go do!" her fists turned white from the tension. So much running through her mind, not enough words to lay it out for him. "As for me, I can get out of your hair as you seem to be plenty busy these days..." Her sarcasm was full force, and once it got her started it wouldn't let up. "Ya didn't need to string me around just to fix your mistakes, I would have done it for the pay either way! But hey, least you got your options now!"

Now his jaw’s set tight. In future days when he’d think about this moment, Cal would admit to himself that he’d let his temper off the leash when he should oughta have backed down with her. But as Alana’s standin’ there layin’ into him, only thing on his mind was the fact that once a dog’s in the fight, there’s no turnin’ back ‘til the thing is done. “It’s a job,” he spat, “not a ruttin’ conscription. You came aboard this boat under your own steam, Alana. You get a yen to walk off, that’s all on you. But til you do,” his eyes hardened, “you do your gorram job and I’ll do mine. Dohn mah?”

That look...that's the one that did her in. Alana bit her tongue, tightening her jaw as she looked him in the eye.

"Mei wen ti." Her voice was back down to normal. She motioned towards the hatch behind Cal without breaking contact. "Then get, you're in my workspace and I'd like to start organizin' prior to my departure."

It took a great deal of effort not to break down right in his presence, but she held her ground surprisingly well.

Cal knew then and there was things he should say. He knew this wasn’t right, knew in his heart what he wanted most, but staring down this obstinance he wasn’t like to swallow a morsel of pride to try ‘n’ put things right. Neither is she, his churlish mind retorted, as that little part ‘o’ him begged not to let this go as was. He stood there a spell, nostrils flared an’ eyes ablaze. When it became obvious that Alana had nothin’ more to say, he broke the silence. “Shiny. Pelorum in eight hours. I’ll send Yuri by with your share.” That being all he was like to say, Cal opened the hatch, making for the stairway topside.

Soon as her ex-lover was no longer in her presence and she was left all alone with nothing but the slow, steady hum of one of the overheads, Alana turned her back as if Cal was still there. A tear came out, followed by another, and she scrambled for a tissue to keep her face as dry as possible. Their relationship was over just like that, and her time aboard too. She supposed if she was going without a home again, it might as well be in Pelorum.

"I need to work, I need to work—" she paced, her head in a fog making her go in circles. Alana looked at where Cal had stood a few moments prior and her chest started heavin' up and down as the memories of them two flooded her consciousness. "I need to work..."

This ship, it felt strangely familiar, yet completely foreign. She walked the confined passages while in the black, making sure the refugees and students alike had what they needed. Her feet remembered what it was like on that Firefly all those years ago, and she caught herself looking for those same familiar faces. But around each corner there was no Dorian, no Vas, no Riley--and no Marisol. She even missed the big dog, Daisy, which she took on walks around the cargo bay while in the black. But that was a closed chapter in the book of her life. No matter how familiar this transport ship felt, it was not that one. She wasn't that Lyen any longer, either.

Once, she was naive about the world outside of the monastery. The ten years she had served and learned while on Santo had prepared her for a far more complicated life among the secular. If her memory of the chapter she led while on that ship had taught her anything it was this: sometimes the 'Verse has a sick sense of humor.

A double edged sword, Ly remembered, looking out through the cargo bay, as the China Doll took flight above the Blackout Zone, the feeling of accomplishment for completing her calling: free the captives. And the mixed feeling of loss at the lives she could have saved, had been able to remain. The captian of this ship appeared to be a caring man; one who understood the value of life. Had it not been for Badger's debt, though, she was unsure if he would have volunteered in retrospect. On Bernadette, the Captain offered her the option to stay aboard the China Doll; in that moment she had accepted, and joined her lot with theirs, whomever this crew might turn out to be.

That fluttering feeling in her stomach hadn't settled yet--probably wouldn't until Pelorum. In her heart of hearts, the idea of relaxing on a beach for a while felt like a welcome gail of good luck, but whether she would let herself partake in this fantasy was a whole other matter.

The ship felt empty, now, since they made birth and offloaded the refugees and volunteers on Bernadette. Only the crew remained. The crew, and a nun, it seemed. What I wouldn't do for a task to busy my hands, she thought, but the kitchen was stocked, the clothes were cleaned, even the latrines were spotless after the onslaught which was the students of OU.

And so it was that she found herself reclining at the galley lounge, stroking the feathers of a particularly preening bird with blue plumage. It clicked at her contentedly while she followed the flow of its feathers with her fingertip. At least there was something she could do; Lucky agreed.

Tommy Pearson is a character created by @Herald

The black surrounding Pelorum was a busy, crowded place. Everywhere Yuri looked, his eyes could spot the comings and goings of a myriad ships…a vast, seemingly chaotic armada, mere seconds from calamity, yet sewn together in a complex, living tapestry. The pilot’s radar could offer only a hint at the vast, intricate ballet that flowed to the world, its’ moons, and dozens of sprawling orbital casinos. For the moment, Yuri gave quiet thanks that his was not the hand required to thread this particular needle. Still, a glance toward Tommy Pearson was a glimpse into the pilot’s personal tao. He took his surroundings in stride, somehow finding China Doll’s place in the transitioning framework.

Tommy keyed his mic. “Pelorum Approach, this is CV China Doll, pulse beacon ident seven-seven-six-zero Mike Charlie, standing by for burn in clearance.” The greeting was followed by an easy touch to the throttles. “Pelorum’s a busy place…especially right now with all the colleges in the ‘verse out for Spring Break. I conjure we’ll be coasting for a few ticks.”

“Heard that,” Yuri nodded from the left seat. “I know our bunch of kids are chomping at the bit…”

He was interrupted by a sudden burst of com traffic, a voice booming from a powerful transceiver. ’CV China Doll, we show you third in line for entry corridor two. Come left to zero-niner-four and make your speed fifteen-K-two-zero seven knots.”

“China Doll copies.” With a gentle touch to the yolk, the pilot nudged his throttles, goading the Firefly back up to standard reentry speed. A subtle roll brought the crystal blue disc of Pelorum to center beneath them.

In the distance lay the flashing beacon, a channel marker for one of the planet’s dozen re-renty points. As Yuri watched, a vessel swept past, her hull soon trailing flame as she buffeted into the thick warmth of the planet’s tropical atmosphere. “Guess I’d better get the children strapped in,” he quipped as he keyed the intercom mic.

”This is the first mate. We’re on final approach to New Iberia Spaceport. At this time, we need everybody strapped in place for burn in and landing. Abigail and Edina will come around to make sure you’re all squared away. Temperature at New Iberia is seventy-nine degrees. Local time is four fifty-two PM. The youth hostel you all booked will have rickshaws waiting for you when we touch down. I just want to say.” Yuri continued, “on behalf of the crew, we’re all grateful for your help getting the Anabaptists out of harm’s way. Hope you have a happy time on Pelorum.”

Hee slipped the mic back into it’s cradle, taking note of a quiet smirk on the pilot’s face. “Oh come on,” he chuckled. “They weren’t that bad, were they?”

Tommy fixed him with a sidelong glance. “Have you talked to Abby?” The pilot’s smirk broadened to a wry grin at the first mate’s nonplussed expression. “One of our college boys got a might…familiar…with our deckhand. Not to worry,” he chuckled. “Let’s just say she taught him the error of his ways.”

“Did that lesson end up in the medbay?”

“Nope,” the pilot smiled,, “but there’s bets bein’ laid about how quick he gets off when we drop the ramp.”

Yuri chuckled to himself. “Put me down for twenty.” He made a note to himself for a sit down with Abby. While there was no doubt the young deckhand could dispatch the unwanted attentions of a passenger, he thought it wise for her to fill him in when she ran afoul of such doings. For that matter, he thought all the women of China Doll should speak out. After Greenleaf and their dealings on Osiris, there wasn’t a one of them he didn’t care about. The ‘verse could be a hard place for a woman…but China Doll was sprouting a sense of home. By Buddha, he wanted it safe for them.

”China Doll, you’re cleared for entry corridor two. Maintain speed and pitch Z minus twenty-five degrees.”

“Roger, Pelorum,” Tommy acknowledged as he wheeled the boat into the channel. “China Doll’s on burn in.” One he’d set their descent course, the pilot pitched the Firefly’s nose up. Almost immediately could be felt the friction of atmo as it brushed their hull, rising temperature bringing with it a cherry red glow and fiery wake as she plunged into the air. “So, Yuri,” he asked casually, “got any plans for your down time?”

The first mate responded with a solitary shake of his head. “Not much. After Earth-That-Was Museum picks up their cargo I might drop by to have a look around. Maybe check out a jazz club if such is available,” he answered. Edina had already agreed to the museum trip. An easy enough outing. But jazz could be an acquired taste. He wondered if she had any interest, or if he should leave that as a solo night.

“Thinking I’ll go inland,” the pilot kept steady hands upon the yolk as the roar of thickening air played over the outer hull. “There are horse farms further in. Been a hound’s age since I sat a horse,” his tone became wistful as the atmo engines roared to life. “Ranch I’m eyeballin’ also has cattle drives. Haven’t thrown a lariat since I sprouted chin hairs,” he said.

The mate gave a positive nod. “Sounds really fine,” he agreed. “I conjure Cap’n’s gonna leave me to mind the store for a few days. Do me a favor? Take lots of captures?”

“Sure thing, Yuri.”

China Doll broke into a clear sky, her form silhouetted in the afternoon sun as she rode in over the wavetops. The coastline was a clutter of tightly packed resort hotels and vacation condominiums, their occupants teaming like ants across the beach and into the shallows of turquoise clear water. A moment’s passage soon found them over New Iberia Spaceport, hovering serenely as Tommy’s hand guided her nose in line with the berthing space below. As the longshoremen waited to couple umbilicals, the Firefly settled onto her struts, her posture seeming to ease as the engines spun down. This would be her home for the next several days…nearabouts a week, if Cap’n’s plans were to flower.

“Abby,” Yuri keyed the intercom. “We’re secured. You can open ‘er up.”

“Shiny,” came the girl’s answer.

Yuri watched as the corresponding light on Tommy’s panel switched from green to red. Despite his better judgment, the first mate couldn’t resist calling the deckhand once again. “I heard you made a passenger really interested in getting off the boat,” he said.

“You heard true,” Abby’s voice crackled over the speaker.

Tommy grinned as Yuri asked, “should I come down to see him off?”

“Done gone already.”

“Hmmm, seems awful quick. Abigail Travis, did you scare a passenger off this boat?...”

“...Again?” Tommy chortled.

Yuri laughed. “Again?” he finished the question.

He could read the faux innocence of her tone as she answered. “I ain’t did a thing, sir.”

“Nothing?”

“Nary a bit,” the girl replied. “Short ‘o’ introducin’ ‘im tah muh friend Sam.”

As Yuri’s brow furrowed, the pilot threw back his head and laughed. “I don’t get it,” the mate admitted. “Sam who?”

A gleeful Tommy replied by lifting the revolver from his hip. “Samuel Colt.”

Yuri keyed the mic one last time. “Shiny. Carry on.”

JP/Collab from @Xandrya and @sail3695

She watched ‘em go. The student volunteers all come off in one’s an’ two’s. Some was wearin’ clothes they swapped with Anabaptists. Others took time on Bernadette tah rush off an’ buy ‘em some new things. But no matter how they’s dressed, all of ‘em was excited fer spendin’ a few days an’ their parents’ coin on Pelorum’s beaches.

Abby checked ‘em off on ‘er clipboard. Some waved an’ said goodbye. Some jest stalked on past like she weren’t there. Couple give ‘er the finger, what raised a laugh as they headed down the ramp toward one of them rickshaws all lined up tah haul ‘em off.

Last ‘o’ tha bunch was Christina, her as took Abby’s room fer tha ride. “Bout tah send a search party,” the deckhand cocked an eyebrow as the girl hustled up.

“I cleaned the room,” the student huffed as she hurried by. “Fresh bed linens and all mopped. Send me a wave when you start reading Harry…okay?”

“Sure’n I will!” Abby lifted a hand in farewell. She watched as Christina piled inta tha last rickshaw, ‘long with five others, afore it peddled off in tha settin’ sun. Tha boat was all theirs again. As she closed up ‘er clipboard, the deckhand conjured if she spent tahnight workin’, she’d have China Doll all squared by midnight tahnight. Rumor floatin’ about was Cap’n’s gon’ give ‘em all three whole days tah lollygag. She weren’t too sure jest how she’d go about fillin’ three days with no work…but Abby’s willin’ tah git it a go.

The girl turned in time tah see Alana. The doc was luggin’ what looked like all her worldly things in a medical bag and a big steamer trunk, edges sqwawkin’ as they’s dragged across tha cargo bay deck. “Alana?” she smiled after tha curious sight. “Can I lend a hand with that?”

She slowed her steps to an eventual halt an arm's length or two away from Abby, the trunk pushing against her given the incline. A more inconvenient time to run into the girl surely didn't exist... Alana wasn't looking to he completely truthful. In fact, she would outright have to lie to her friend since otherwise her departure would be that much harder to bear.

"I've got to stop at one of the clinics here as they're looking to get some equipment." That much was true for a lot of locations given the scarcity of medical supplies, and Abby was none the wiser.

“That’s a mighty load tah go draggin’ about,” the deckhand observed. “I’d offer yah tha mule…’cept we left ‘er behind on Osiris.” Abby looked tha trunk up an’ down, ponderin’ tha weight. “Tell yah what,” her face brightened. “We got us a hand truck. Make it scads easier goin’ where yer bound. I’ll put a strap on it, so that trunk won’t be partial to slippin’ off.”

She offered her the best smile she possibly could with a nod, trying to keep herself from shedding a tear. An awfully emotional moment as an unsuspecting Abby's willingness to help tore Alana's heart. Poor girl didn't know any better, and all of that just didn't sit right with her. She faced away, pretending to mess with the trunk in order to compose herself. "What would we all do without you? I'll tell you what, not a whole lot."

Abby give a chuckle over ‘er shoulder. “I reckon y’all’d be more at ease without havin’ tah keep patchin’ me back tahgether,” she said all cheerful as she went for tha kit. A half tick later, the deckhand came back, wheelin’ the hand truck before her. “Is it shiny tah tilt yer trunk on one end?”

Once permission came, the girl boosted the big case up, afore slidin’ the nose plate beneath. She run tha strap around the whole of it, ratchet teeth chatterin’ as she cranked it down tight. “Perty easy tah undo this,” Abby offered. “Jest squeeze this little bit inta tha strap handle an’ pop right loose.” She put a foot on the axle tah steady it, an’ pulled tha hand truck til its’ burden now balanced upon them wheels. “Yer ready tah rock an’ roll, Doc,” she held it for her friend to take charge. “I been hearin’ Cap’n’s gon’ grant us all three days’ shore leave,” Abby piped up. “Yew still up fer a beach day?”

"Looks as secured as it's gonna get." She tapped the side of the trunk with the toe of her boot before take possession of the handle. Talks of the beach came up, and once more Alana had to lie her way through a response. "What other beach if not Pelorum's, right? Lather up on plenty of sunscreen because that sun is awfully unforgiving...or so I've heard."

Abby give a smirk. “Red hair an’ pale skin’s a surefire sign ‘o’ gettin’ burnt. I’ll cover up good,” she promised. To her study, Alana looked a skosh distracted. Somethin’ in her eyes. Though still kindly in ‘er ways an’ words, the girl could suss they’s somethin’ eatin’ at ‘er. Somethin’ she weren’t keen tah share. Of course, ya fool, the deckhand chided ‘erself. She’s got somewheres tah be, an’ here yew are, boggin’ ‘er down.

“Either which way,” she said, “I’m sure Cap’n won’t let me set foot off this boat ‘til I got things all spic an’ span.” She smiled. “I’ll see yah when yer back.”

“You're good people, Abby," Alana reached for a hug, making it seem as casual as possible. She didn't want to leave the girl wondering whether her actions meant a final goodbye between them two. "You get this boat tidied up as best as you can, you hear? We don't want your fun in the sun to be dampened by a list of mediocre chores."

Alana then tugged on the trunk with a final wave, a tear sliding down her cheek once she faced away from her friend.

Question: How do you help out on a boat when you don’t know a gorram thing about living and working in the black?

Answer: Do any little thing you can.

Right now, that was cooking. There was no equal for Joe Hooker in China Doll’s galley, a fact that the crew and passengers all learned abruptly. Hook’s decision to cast his lot with the Anabaptists had come as a shock, apparently as much to him as anyone else. Edina recognized his torment at leaving this crew, but the look in his eyes as he told of what he’d found in the faith made an even more powerful statement to those who’d listen. In the end, his departure was met with smiles, hugs, and tears among all of his shipmates…accompanied by a precipitous drop in the quality of grub.

The college kids were the easiest. They devoured anything and everything that required no waiting or minimal prep. As a result, all the packaged cereal, snack foods, and sandwich makings were completely gone. Watchful of her own crew, Edina the ad hoc cook had squirreled away the final two slices of bread, an unappetizing pair of heels, for Abby’s usual morning toast and jam. Even that simple repast took effort, as the students’ ravages left precious little jam in the jar. “Sorry, Abby,” she apologized as she laid the sad result before the deckhand. “Yuri promised to help me restock the galley today…”

“Don’t worry on my account,” the teeneager answered. “I can live on peebee an’ jays whole time we’s here, if it helps. Long’s we cot coffee,” she added with a smirk.

Sister Lyen seemed just as easy to please. Though Edina had noticed a preference for fresh fruits and rice concoctions, the newest member of the crew was always one to graciously accept whatever pitiful fare the volunteer cook might wrench from a near empty pantry. She’d managed to preserve an orange for the nun, which had been served as slices framing a laughably poor attempt at sticky rice balls, all of which Lyen treated as a banquet.

Imani Ozuka seemed every bit as hardy as her nature. She ate whatever Edina placed before her, offering no complaint…though she was a fan of salt and pepper. The new kitchen helper decided to engage her in conversation…feel her out for any preferences.

By far, the most interesting challenge was Elias, their phantom mechanic. Before his departure, Hook had explained what he knew of the towering man’s wounds and his own efforts to provide nutrition. Every meal was centered on basic protein paste, generally cut with milk, eggs, or water to ease in the process of swallowing. She dove into research, attempting to come up with the best approach on his behalf. What little the cortex could offer her did tell Edina that taste buds weren’t only found on the tongue, but also the roof of the mouth.

This epiphany set the woman onto a course of pursuing solutions for the mechanic. First, the food itself required some structure, enough to lift it to the roof of his mouth. From there, it was all about seasonings She had no clue as to the nature of the taste buds residing up there, so every meal was a different attempt at flavoring. So far, they’d agreed on hot seasonings. Now, she was working on sweet, sour, and savory, with an equal effort to give Elias’ nose something to look forward to at mealtime.

Quill Casidy entered the galley. For a woman so supremely well put together, she was the simplest of the lot. Edina smiled and greeted her with the steaming mug. After a gracious nod and a few pleasantries, she joined the little group at the long table, her breakfast of a single cup of coffee cradled in both hands as she added to their conversation.

Edina returned to her work on Elias’ breakfast. The other men aboard were typical in their preferences. Bacon, sausage, eggs, all of which she’d guarded jealously to have something for them on this first morning of shore leave. Tommy, the pilot, had taken off before dawn to grab an eastbound shuttle to some sort of ranch. She knew that Yuri was about, busying himself to hand over their cargo to the Earth-That-Was museum. As for the captain, and for that matter, the one woman she hadn’t seen today, the doctor? Edina hoped that they were beginning a well needed break by sleeping in together. She smiled to herself, a secret understanding that lately, similar notions had crossed her mind. “Who needs more coffee?” she piped up, to be greeted with a small sea of hands.

She could help. She could make this home.

She set Elias’ breakfast before him, then attempted to sign. “Sweet,” Edina signaled. “Let know me.” Around them, the conversation was lively. Abby was talking about the beach and buying herself a bikini, a topic that both Quill and Imani offered to share their expertise. The modest Sister Lyen looked on in quiet amusement. And then, there was Yuri.

Upon reading his grim expression, her blossoming smile faded. “Hey,” she asked, “Is everything alright?”

“No,” he replied, before quieting the group. “People? People!” he stepped to the head of the table. “I’ve got news.” The crew was now silent, all eyes directed to the first mate. “Captain wanted me to let you know that our doctor has decided to leave the boat. Sorry,” he lifted a hand to still mouths opening to spill questions, “She’s already gone. That’s all I know.”

Under a deepening pall of silence he turned aft, making his way down to the cargo bay. Among those who remained in the galley, not a word was spoken, as if the simple act of doing so might prove inappropriate or rude. After a minute’s silence, Abby scooted her chair. Rising quietly onto her bare feet, the deckhand took her dishes to the sink. Edina could see the furrows on the girl’s brow…furrows that threatened to become storm clouds over glistening eyes as she hurried past.

She knew that of the current crew, none were closer to Alana than Abby, except for the captain himself. But as she quietly studied the eyes of shipmates leaving one by one, Edina understood that pain was a deeply personal thing, not to be compared or measured by degree. Again, feeling her own sense of loss, she thought of the two questions.

How do you help out?

Do any little thing you can.

“That’s jest how things are. Folk come and go in tha ‘verse.”

Yuri noted the manufactured diffidence with which Abby answered his questions. He knew her well enough at this point to understand the importance of work as her default. Though never one to be shy about her opinions, if the circumstance involved her personal feelings or some upset among the crew, she’d clam right up and find something to do. This morning, with the shock of Alana’s departure weighing heavily upon her, the girl was loathe to share any of her thoughts.

“True, true,” the first mate offered a sage nod. “You know you’re on shore leave, right? You don’t have to help with this.”

She din’ bother lookin’ up. “I know.” Since breakfast, Abby slipped inta denims an’ a work shirt. If she’s bein’ true, fact she worked her chores til past midnight left precious little tah make ‘erself look busy this mornin ‘. Seein’ Yuri workin’ their cargo, them six climate controlled boxes fer that museum, looked tah grant a bit ‘o’ purpose fer hands needed business….an’ some time tah sort out what’s in ‘er head. “My Uncle Bob always said ‘Work Before Play.’ Don’t seem right fer a deckhand tah go gallivantin’ while there’s work on deck needs doin’. Can yah gimme that socket wrench?” She done wormed ‘er way in twixt them crates. Now, after feelin’ tha tool land in ‘er palm, Abby set tah loosenin’ up them bolts what held tha crates in place. “Should I pull power while I’m here?” she asked without lookin’ back at Yuri.

“No,” he said. “The museum techs will disconnect that. I conjure they’ll want to make sure there were no changes while we had their cargo.”

Her wrench chattered as she unscrewed a bolt. “Any idea wassinum?”

Yuri had joined in with a second wrench to undo the mounting bolts he could reach. “Historical artifacts,” he answered. “That’s all I know.”

“Copy.” Fer her two cents, seemed like Yuri’s sayin’ ‘that’s all I know’ a skosh too much…but t’weren’t her business tah call ‘im out on such. “It’s a puzzlement,” she offered, by way ‘o’ makin’ conversation, “that when our ancestors left Earth-That-Was they made room fer old museum kinda stuff. I’da used up space fer tools an’ food…an’ such.”

“You’re not wrong.” Yuri’s wrench settled atop another bolt, chattering with each turn. “But maybe…faced with leaving our home and flying a hundred years to a new part of the night sky, d’you conjure folk back then thought it might be wise to bring along things to remind us where we came from?”

She ruminated on that. Even now, in a ‘verse full ‘o’ folk movin’ to an’ fro, all the people she met took a pride in pointin’ out they’s actually from someplace. Hook come from Hera, Edina’s born on New Melbourne. Pen hailed from Greenleaf. “Hey Yuri,” she got curious now, “where did yew come from?”

“New Vladivostok,” he said without looking up. “My dad was a mechanic for terraformers. Did most of my growing in a skyplex over Ezra. My mom still lives there.”

“Yah got anythin’ from them times?” Abby asked. “Tah remember?”

Yuri shook his head. “What I had went down with my old ship. How about you?” he asked. “Where do you call home?”

“Don’t rightly know.” I’s raised by muh aunt an’ uncle. Spent muh whole life I can remember in tha black. So I guess Mariposa’d be muh home…but she’s been scrapped out nigh on two years now.”

“Got any keepsakes?” he asked. “To remember your childhood?"

“I do.” He could hear the girl brighten. “Got a couple captures on muh wall. Muh daddy’s pistol…an’ a book what’s called ‘Gunfighters of tha Outer Rim.’ Muh Uncle Bob’s in it,” her tone became proud. “Durin’ his prime, he’s tha fastest gun in tha ‘verse. Book says so.”

The first mate smiled as he worked. “Sounds like quite a man, Abby. Makes sense that you’d have someone like him in your line. And some pretty shiny keepsakes, to boot.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “I’m tryna learn more ‘bout muh parents. They both died in tha war. Now with Uncle Bob an’ Aunt Lupe gone, muh chance ‘o’ findin’ out’s gettin’ right slim.” She tapped ‘er wrench on tha deck, dislodgin’ a bolt caught in tha socket. “They’s a barkeep on Grenleaf knowed muh daddy. I’s gonna see him, but them bikers come along…Yuri,” her tone changed as her wrench stopped workin’. “Yah think it’s important? Makin’ sure folk got a keepsake tah ‘member yah by?”

“I think it helps.”

“Yeah,” tha girl thought on it some more. If Alana’s truly gone, and gone she surely was right now, Abby seen her go without givin’ her nothin’. She give Hook a farewell. She’n Pen done traded things to an’ from afore tha pilot rejoined ‘er family. But Alana, who took ‘er in, protected her, patched ‘er up twice? She meant too much tah just let fly off in ta tha black. Abby had tah find ‘er…give ‘er tha one thing come from their bond way back when it started.

She had tah track Alana down.

“Yuri,” Abby spoke up. “Done undid all tha bolts in tight spots. Is it shiny with yew fer me tah go now?”

The Earth-That-Was Museum and Archive presented an imposing countenance to the general public. Patrons would ascend a broad stairway, under the watchful eyes of two white marble lions. The building’s facade was all heavy stone block construction boasting three tiers of windows. The copper roof glittered beneath Pelorum’s sun, it’s steep pitch rising another ten meters above the darkened stone wall, upon which traditional gargoyles and the mystic guardians of numerous cultures shared a perpetual vigil.

A pair of ornate doors served as the grand entrance, though there were used only for celebratory events and the occasional private function. The museum’s paying customers were issued through a pair of simple revolving doors which deposited them before a smiling ticket clerk.

On this day, the lobby resembled the grand hall of an ancient cathedral. “Notre Dame,” Edina’s eyes traversed the soaring columns and high pitched roof to settle on one of the magnificent stained glass windows, whose colors were projected onto the floor by an afternoon sun. She’d been largely silent during their visit, holding back as Yuri conducted the business portion with Mrs. Henrietta Cornwall, the museum’s founder and primary benefactor.

“Correct,” the elder woman’s face lit in a delighted grin. “I’m so pleased. We’ve been very painstaking in our recreation of Notre Dame. Still, it’s a rare eye that recognizes the sanctuary.”

The young woman’s smile was sheepish as she answered, “It was a school project, I’m afraid. Once you learn just what I don’t know you won’t be so impressed. But…can I ask a question? The roof,” Edina’s eyes coursed once more across the sturdy wooden beams and planking. “Is this from before the fire?”

“And you said you wouldn’t impress me,” Mrs. Cornwall laughed. “Yes! Yes it is! It’s our good fortune that before the fire of twenty nineteen, the entire structure had undergone a thorough data mapping, and a wonderfully accurate redrawing of the construction blueprints. Digital preservation,” the curator’s smile was genuine as she regarded the museum lobby. “As a bit of a history buff, I spend a great deal of time and energy tracking the few tangible artifacts carried on our colony ships. As you saw,” she turned her gaze toward the two younger visitors, “they are wonders to behold. But without this,” her hand swept across the expansive view, “even items so revered as a Faberge egg, the Gutenberg Bible, and even King Tutankhamen himself suffer for want of context.”

Yuri studied their surroundings. “I’m amazed that this is all holographic,” he shook his head. “For the life of me, I can’t spot the projection sources.”

The old woman nodded appreciatively. “I know only enough to be dangerous,” she offered, “but our technical chief tells me that we mask their presence by changing locations to match light sources in the simulation.. The sun, shining through that window, for instance. A holo projector is tucked there. Every night after close, our crew resets the lobby environment to match the next day’s environment. Tomorrow,” she gave the first mate a smile, “this space will be the central plaza of Vatican Square.”

Edina met this news with an excited grin. “I think you just sold two tickets.”

“Nonsense,” Cornwall brushed the notion aside. “You and your crew carried an Egyptian king to his new home. You’ll be welcome here as my guests. By the way,” she fixed Edina and Yuri with a mildly raised eyebrow, “we’re christening our new Aviation Pavilion with a nineteen forties themed celebration tomorrow evening. There’ll be period clothing, a big band, and dancing. It just so happens,” Henrietta smiled, “that I’ve a couple open seats at my table. Would you care to join us?”

“Nineteen forties aircraft,” Yuri replied, “and big band jazz and swing? I wouldn’t miss it!”

“So that’s how you’re asking to take me dancing?” Edina delivered a playful nudge.

The menu at Vic’s Good Eats was nigh on simple. Still, Abby kept readin’ it again and again. Her eyes took in them words, but ‘er brain jest weren’t payin’ no attention. She read, and read, and read.

Alana just up an’ disappeared. Abby tried tah find ‘er, playin’ it smart, usin’ ‘er cortex. None ‘o’ them fru-fru hotels’d tell ‘er nothin’, no matter what kinda lie she concocted. When she finally took wise an’ tried leavin’ a message fer Dr. Alana Lysanger, that’s when she learnt weren’t “no guest by that name” on tha roomin’ list. Short of fleabag flops an’ boardin’ houses, she done wore out tha town’s directory.

Hospitals was no better, and gorram tight lipped when it come tah questions ‘bout anyone what used “Dr.” afore their name. That’s when she conjured she’d havta pound pavement. Hours stretched on an’ on, as tha day wore inta afternoon. One kindly nurse pointed ‘er toward tha 27th St. Free Clinic in tha poor district, where all them resort servin’ folk had tah live. Knowin’ Alana’s way ‘o’ helpin’ them’s need it most, she thought she had tha answer at last.

But they ain’t seen ‘er. “We’ll pass your message if we do,” they promised.

Tha menu still weren’t gettin’ past ‘er thinkin’. Can’t just let ‘er go like that, some small part ‘o’ Abby cried out. She an’ Alana was gettin’ tight…kinda sisterly kinship she come tah realize had real meanin’. Whatever happened twixt her an’ Cap’n, she reasoned, ain’t nothin’ can‘t be put right. Pen didn’t say goodbye. Now, Alana. As she thought on it, her fingers rubbed the bullet, feelin’ tha necklace chain its’ hooked to. Have tah find ‘er, Abby paid no heed to tha menu. She can’t just…

“You gonna order something, or ya waitin’ for Vic to autograph that menu?”

The waitress looked on ‘er with dark eyes all skeptical like. Seemed tah be nearabouts same age as Abby. Her short black hair looked like she just climbed outta bed. Had a faded green apron over denim cutoffs, one hand on ‘er hip as t’other refilled ‘er water glass. Girl wore a tee shirt what read That’s a terrible idea! What time?

“Ain’t sussed it out yet,” Abby said.

“Well, sweetie, if you want food, you’d better suss real quick. We close in thirty minutes.”

In this life, they’s certain unwritten rules. One of ‘em was “Never order food just before closing time.” Abby laid the menu down. “Too late,” she said. “Ain’t gonna have yah dirty up a kitchen’s already bein’ cleaned fer tomorrah.”

“Trust me,” the waitress replied, “Vic wants your coin. Whattya havin’?”

“Got somethin’ jest warmin’ on tha stove?”

“HEY VIC!” the waitress shouted toward the kitchen.

“WHAT?”

“YOU GOT SOMETHING ON THE WARMER?”

“NOODLES!” the proprietor yelled. “I GOT NOODLES!”

Abby spoke afore tha waitress could ask. “I love noodles.”

The dark haired girl smirked. “That’s a rog. VIC!”

“YEAH?”

“BOWL OF NOODLES!” She turned back toward her customer. “Ya want any sauce or crackers to go with?”

“Sriracha’s good.”

“Hells yeah it is,” she give a nod what made the little hook of ‘er nose stand out sorta cute. “Comin’ up!” Abby watched ‘er go, takin’ sight of the girl’s red high tops as she darted behind tha counter. Weren’t more’n two ticks afore she come boundin’ back with a small basket ‘o’ saltines, bottle ‘o’ sauce, and a bowl what’s steamin’ as she laid it on tha table. “Careful, it’s hot,” the waitress cautioned. “Vic scooped all the chicken and carrots outta the pot for you.”

“Thank yew,” Abby replied.

“Thank yew,” the waitress mimicked her accent. “Thank yew!” She laughed. “I love that! HEY VIC!”

“WHAT?”

“THIS GIRL’S COUNTRY AS CORNFLAKES! RIGHT OFF THE FARM!”

“WHAT FARM?”

“I DUNNO WHAT FARM! BUDDHA! YA GOTTA HEAR HER TALK!”

“FOR CRYIN’ OUT LOUD, LORRAINE!” the cook groused. “LET HER EAT, WOULDJA?”

“Good idea,” Abby’s temper was fixin’ tah smolder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lorraine laughed it off. “Just breakin’ your balls a little. But you’re not from around here, and we’re way off the tourist track, so what’s up, Cornflakes? Why you down here slumming with all us poor slobs?”

“I’s across tha street,” she said after shovelin’ a bite down. “At tha clinic.”

“Oh yeah?” Lorraine gave a knowing smile. “D’ja get the clap?”

“No, dumbass!” Abby come back pissed. “I ain’t got no gorram clap!”

“Ha!” the waitress chortled. “Ah ain’t go no gorram clap! Oh, Cornflakes, I love your twang. I could listen to you all day!”

Abby fired back. “Bettern’ soundin’ like some sorta half assed ‘wise guy’ mafia capture, I conjure!”

“That whatchoo conjure?” Lorraine was genuinely tickled, then chose to pour it on thick. “You come in here, right off the boat, thinkin’ I’m some kinda mook?” Her eyes sparkled as she laid on her own rough hewn urban accent.

Abby could see in Lorraine’s eyes tha waitress was jest funnin’, so she let ‘er hackles down. ‘I’s thinkin’ a diff’rent word,” she answered twixt bites. Them noodles was right fine…

“Oh yeah?” The server plopped down in a chair opposite her only customer. “Starts with a B? Ends with an ‘itch?” When Abby tapped a finger to the tip of her nose, Lorraine threw back her head and laughed. “I like you, Cornflakes!”

“Abby.”

“Huh?”

“Name’s Abby,” she said with a mouth half full. “Yer cook sure knows ‘is trade.”

“Uh huh,” the waitress nodded. “He’s Vic. I’m Lorraine. HEY VIC!”

“WHAT?”

“CORNFLAKES LIKES YOUR FOOD!” she shouted.

“YOU SAY WE’RE OUTTA CORNFLAKES?”

“NO! No…oh, fuck it,” she laughed with a toss of her head. “Vic opens at seven…feeds working people breakfast and lunch…’cuz who can afford what they sell the tourists? Am I right?” Lorraine threw out open hands. “Am I right?”

Abby shook ‘er head. “Don’t rightly know. Ain’t done no touristin’.” She finished her bowl. “Been lookin’ fer a friend ‘o’ mine ever since Cap’n let me off tha boat. Hey,” she yanked out ‘er cortex once tha idea struck. “Seen a perty blond woman come in tahday? She’s a doctor? Dresses tha part?” The screen glowed with a capture of Alana’s image.

Lorraine glanced, then dismissed the picture. “Nope.” Then she smiled. “You’re the cutest thing that’s walked through this door all day.”

That’un struck tha deckhand off guard, but she did kinda like tha waitress sayin’ it. “Gitcher eyes checked,” Abby give a smirk. “Speakin’ of, yah know any other sorta free clinics or med stations about? Thinkin’ muh friend would wind up helpin’ at one or t’other.”

Lorraine pursed her lips, tapping them with an index finger as she thought. “There’s the Drop Shop,” she offered. “They give junkies clean needles and a safe place to use. They’re always up for medical help. Up 27th,” she pointed the way. “About ten blocks. Don’t get caught up there alone after dark,” she warned. ”Dohn mah?”

”Ku.” Abby put ‘er coin on tha table…cost of a bowl ‘o’ noodles an’ a decent tip fer her as served ‘em up.

“Hey, thanks,” Lorraine scooped up the money. “You gotta come here tomorrow for breakfast, Cornflakes! Vic makes these sweet rolls that’ll just knock you right out! And when it comes to coffee, we don’t fuck around.” She gave Abby a teasing smile. “Anyway, I’m not through pickin’ on ya.”

That raised a laugh from tha deckhand. “Helluva sales pitch, Bugsy,” she quipped. “I’ll think on it.”

Lorraine watched as the girl made her way toward the door. “An offer you can’t refuse?” she chuckled.

“Ah heard that!”

“WHAT?” Vic shouted from the kitchen.

Abn8r
Hey Alana, I know you’ve got lots on your mind. Just let me know you’re doing tolerable?

Her latest wave done been sent, Abby tucked tha cortex inta her back pocket. She’s sittin’ cross legged, Tribal style, in a narrow little patch ‘o’ grass what was called a park for the poor folks. She swigged from a bottle ‘o’ water a street kid sold ‘er, an’ tried tah conjure her next move.

No Alana at tha Drop Shop…just a room full ‘o’ misery like tah broke ‘er heart. They’d been kind enough tah take ‘er message fer China Doll’s doc, an’ she dropped coin inta their donations box afore makin’ the ten block hike back.

So now, with tha sun dippin’ and completely outta notions, she sat in tha grass, watchin’ a mother an’ her toddler playin’. She had three days free…somethin’ both Cap’n an’ Yuri gone out their ways tah make sure she conjured. Day One was ‘bout tah shut down, and with Alana vanished she weren’t too sure what she wanted fer Two an’ Three. From where she sat right now, showin’ up at Vic’s fer breakfast an’ some more ‘o’ Lorraine’s teasin’ was the best thing she’d heard. Leastways ‘til she could hear if Alana’s doin’ alright.

All around her she seen people comin’ an’ goin’, Folk headin’ fer their night work at resorts, dressed as wait staff, cooks, room service types, all clean an’ crisp as they hurried toward tha rail platform. Then, there was them whose day was done. Housekeepers, maids, them as rich folk called “the help,” trudgin’ slowly home tah tiny apartments an’ whatever sorta life their narrow coin purses could bear. “Ain’t ever’body on vacation, Chick Pea,” Uncle Bob once tole her. She ruminated on that, seein’ its’ truth in the weary eyes all about her…’til the world went all pigglety.

She’s knocked ass over tea kettle, sprawlin’ in tha grass as somethin’...a powerful big somethin’...done come down right on top ‘er. Abby’s put outta her senses fer a tick as she couldn’t conjure just what’s goin’ on. Then, all sudden like, a tongue size of a beefsteak slathered right up ‘er face. When it drenched ‘er a second time, she caught on. The dog was solid muscle an’ gigantic head jest above ‘er face. She squinted, crackin’ one eye open tah get a look. Fer such a beast, he’s sorta goofy, huge body movin’ with each wag of ‘is tail.

“ELVIS! NO!”

By now it commenced gettin’ funny. Abby’s laughin’ as ‘er hands worked up both sides of the big head tah scratch the dog’s ears. He just licked ‘er face agin’ when ‘is owner caught up.

“Elvis!” she cried as she hauled him back by the collar, “Let her breathe, ya big re-re! Oh, Buddha, miss, I’m sorry! I’m so…Cornflakes?” Lorraine, the waitress, peered down upon the deckhand. Seeing Abby’s good humor about being tackled, she placed hands upon her hips and a faux glare upon her face. “You tryna make out with my dog?”

Abby wiped tha slobber away with a forearm, afore proppin’ up on ‘er elbows. Elvis whined, tongue lollin’ as he pulled against tha collar. “Didn’t know I was stealin’ yer man, Bugsy,” she quipped, offerin’ tha dog a bit of solace through a scratch ‘neath ‘is chin.

“My One and Only,” Lorraine settled onto the grass, joining Abby in doting upon Elvis. “I bring him out here after work for a little play and a good poop.” Seeing good flow between the pair, she offered, “He sure likes you. Wanna join in?”

“Don’t need tah poop.”

Lorraine smirked. “You sure?” She waved her little bags. “I brought extra.”

“I’ll letcha know,” Abby giggled.

“Any luck with your doctor friend?”

“Nah,” Abby shook ‘er head, hair gone even wilder than usual fer rollin’ about in tha grass. “I conjure she don’t wanna be found…leastways fer a spell. Left scads ‘o’ messages, though,” she give a sigh. “She knows how tah find me.”

“How many you send?”

“Five ‘r six. Why?”

The waitress propped elbows onto her knees. “Smart to leave her alone for now. Any more waves than that’ll just creep her out…or piss her off. Is she your boo?”

Abby glanced over, not sure if Lorraine’s jest funnin’ s’more or if the question come innocent. When she seen the girl weren’t sizin’ ‘er up for her answer, she said, “We’s close, but not like that. Jest a might worried fer her is all.” The deckhand reckoned it funny, but sittin’ here with Lorraine an’ her dog, words all just started comin’ real easy like. “We got shore leave fer tha next two days,” she said. “Alana an’ me had some plans. Sounds like they’s ‘bout tah change.”

Elvis now lay between them, his mouth open as he panted happily under the attentions of both women. “So what you’re saying,” Lorraine responded, “is you’ve got the night free?”

“Fer whut?”

“Blood orgy,” With a chuckle for the offworlder’s confused reaction, Lorraine offered, “Okay, how about this? Come out with me and my crew. We’ll have some drinks, maybe dance a little? That sound like fun to you?”

Abby rubbed Elvis’ forehead as she thought on it. By rights, she should head fer tha boat. See if they’s word from Alana. They give ‘er time off, but she’s fer sure certain ain’t Cap’n or Yuri laid eyes on tha lower deck lav. La shi needed doin’. She really oughtta git at it…There’s Lorraine. Creepifyin’ how she can read muh thoughts, the deckhand conjured as the waitress give ‘er some big puppy dog eyes. “Yeah,” she heard ‘er voice sayin’. “Sounds like fun.”

‘SHINY!” Lorraine was on her feet. “We are gonna have a serious good time!” She hauled Abby to her feet, then led the way, her arm draped about the girl’s shoulders as Elvis fell in at their side. “My peeps are gonna love you, Cornflakes! There’s a place we hang out…The Lair,” she grinned as they hurried down the street. “They’ve got a killer band there tonight, and not a single gorram tourist!”

“Cept fer me,” Abby quipped as she’s bein’ nudged along. All sudden like she pulled up short, stoppin’ em both in tha street. “I dunno…sorta sounds like I ain’t gon’ get in there…’specially in togs like I got on right now.” As she spoke, she waved a hand over ‘er top, tha shorts, an’ canvas shoes.

Lorraine grinned. “Bùyòng dānxīn**, Cornflakes. Leave everything to your old pal Bugsy.”

**No worries

They was right back at Vic’s. Lorraine pulled Abby up a narrow little back stairway tah a tiny apartment right over tha restaurant. “Not much biggern’ muh quarters on China Doll,” the deckhand said as ‘er host poured out kibble fer Elvis.

“China Doll?” Lorraine cocked an eyebrow as she rinsed two glasses. ‘Sounds like a floating brothel. What’d you say your job was again?”

“I told Cap’n same thing when ‘e hired me!” Abby chortled. “Lotsa stuff. Deckhand work, cleanin’, moppin’, scrubbin’ toilets…perty much whatever needs doin’.” She gazed about tha place. It’s all stacked up in boxes. Some labels she conjured. Others she took fer high toned sorta stuff what she ain’t never thought tah buy. One thing’s a certainty. Fer a waitress in a diner, Lorraine sure had bunches of it. “Whatja say yer job was agin?” she asked.

“Oh,” her host moved toward a small cabinet behind a stack of crates labeled Ginette’s of Londinium. “You mean all these boxes?” she asked. “I’m keeping ‘em for a friend.” An oversized bottle of vodka made its’ appearance, generous pours following ice cubes into two glasses. “Whattya mix with?” Lorraine looked up from her chore.

Abby looked all askance. “Uh…Boom Boom Lemon?” she asked. “We drinkin’ already?”

The spiky haired Lorraine popped a can, splashing the soft drink into what little space each glass had left. “Pre-gaming!” she said brightly. “You don’t look like you’re made of money, Cornflakes. Cheers!” After they clinked glasses, she took a healthy swallow. ‘Okay,” she waved her half empty glass toward Abby. ‘Now get naked.”

‘Whut?” Abby near spit out ‘er drink. “Why?”

“Because,” Lorraine giggled as she grabbed one of Abby’s calves, “I’m gonna make you irresistible. Gimme that foot.” She snatched a shoe, pressing it sole to sole with the red hightop on her own foot. ”Ku!” she exclaimed before diving head first into an open box.

Abby stood there fer a tick, one shoe on, one shoe off, seein’ only Loraine’s pi gu as she tossed a pair ‘o’ shiny lace up boots over ‘er shoulder. “Those’ll work…hey! Get outta your clothes! Bathroom’s through there,” she pointed toward an arch just past Elvis as he went face down into his bowl. “You need a full shower, or just a three-P?”

‘Whut’s a three-P?”

“Jayzus!” Lorraine exclaimed. “What’re they teachin’ you on that boat? Three-P! Pi gu.” She gripped her bottom, followed by a slap to her underarm. “Pits! I’ll wager you’ve got the last one all sussed out by now?”

Abby downed ‘er drink, more fer need ‘o’ courage than anythin’ else. “I copy,” she answered as her clothes commenced hittin’ tha floor. A few ticks later she come back out, scrubbed an’ clean from tha shower with a towel draped ‘round ‘er. Lorraine was there, her grin sorta frightenin’ as she shoved a fresh drink inta Abby’s hand.

“I got you all set up,” she said. “You drink. Follow me.” She led the way to the apartment’s center. A large mattress lay on the floor, tousled blankets and sheets revealing this to be the waitress’ regular bed. Atop the tangle was a pair a pair of loosely arranged outfits. “That’s mine,” Lorraine pointed toward a rough looking cocktail dress of pink chiffon, accompanied by black elbow length opera gloves and a pair of the gleaming black boots. “And this,” she said proudly, “is yours.”

Like Lorraine, Abby seen her own lace up boots. ‘Docs’, they’s called, though she ain’t got no clue why. They’s a skirt…dark red plaid what only reached part way ‘round, leavin’ ‘er left thigh an’ hip covered by a short black under skirt. They’s a belt strap sorta kep it all from flyin’ open. What Lorraine put our fer up top was…”A bra?” Abby demanded . “Jest a bra?”

“It’s called a bustier, stoopid.”

“I get it! Good thing I don’t got much goin’ on up there or it’d all come ‘boost-in’ right outta that!” Abby griped.

Lorraine sipped her drink, the free hand resting upon her hip. “Cornflakes, ain’t yew jest a reg’lar knee slapper?” she teased, directing a slender index finger toward the clothes. “Put ‘em on,” she ordered, “and then tell me how amazing you look.”

“Oughtta jest go nekkid,” the deckhand grumbled.

“That’d look amazing, too.”

And amazin’ it was. She ain’t never wore nothin’ like this afore. Lorraine helped with tha straps an’ buckles, til ever’thin’ fit just so. Short ‘o’ her unders, Abby never felt clothes what hugged ‘er so well as these. Skirt was high waisted, wrappin’ her midriff jest above ‘er belly button an’ givin’ her a tetch more look of hips. For a girl who never wore dresses…ever, she’s a tad bit shocked at how much leg she’s showin’. Even when she stepped inta them Docs, her thighs an’ calves still looked all long an’ such…and she discovered she liked it.

The ‘boost-ee-yay’ was a right marvel. Abby knowed she was small in her breasts, but tha way this thing held ‘er showed that tah be a good thing. It didn’t give away nothin’ she wouldn’t want seen, but tha way it looked on ‘er was…was…

“Sexy, huh?” Lorraine stood behind her, a Cheshire Cat grin on her face as she offered up another pregame drink.

“Thank yew,” Abby took the glass, then turned before the mirror. “I never…” she said at sight of her own self, lookin’ so…fine? “I never…”

“Now you know,” the waitress said as she leaned around to color the deckhand’s lips, “that you can. Here, hold still.”

That lipstick was a dark red what looked tah match ‘er skirt. Abby couldn’t conjure what jest a little color might do fer a body, til she’s starin’ at herself. "La shi, but I had nary a clue,” she sighed. “Hey, I fergot. I ain’t wearin’ no unders.”

“Unders?” Lorraine giggled. “That some kinda redneck slang for panties?”

“How ‘bout this?” Abby cracked wise. “I ain’t wearin no unders…you bitch. Capiche?”

“Capiche…capiche!” the urbane girl laughed. “Look in that box over there. No, bumpkin, that one! La Petit Boutique. You look just barely like a size six to me. Try a five, first.”

Inside tha box was all unders. Glistening silk, delicate lace, an’ even some cotton like Abby always wore…’cept they’s a rainbow o’ colors an’ patterns. She let ‘er fingers run through tha softness, her eyes wonderstruck at all the pretty. Abby weren’t ignorant that such frillies was in the ‘verse. But til now, she jest never give thought tah ownin’ somethin like tha tiny silk leopard ‘panties’ she pulled out. “These,” she said as she lifted ‘em up fer her new friend’s nod. “Why come all these still got price tags?”

The girl she’d nicknamed “Bugsy” was all wide eyed innocence. “Do they?” she asked. “Gee, I dunno! Must’ve been like that when they fell off the truck!”

“Yeah,” Abby give ‘er a knowin’ smile as she kicked off them boots. “That’s gotta be it.” In a moment she’d hiked ‘em up beneath tha skirt. “I like this lipstick,” she offered as she commenced puttin’ on an lacin’ up ‘er boots. “Don’t seem like it’s comin’ off.”

Lorraine was now whirling out of her clothes. “The lipstick’s good for about a hundred kisses,” she snickered. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Cornflakes! People are gonna want to kiss you. Deal with it!” She grabbed a fresh towel and said “after I’m dressed, we’ll work on our hair. How’s about you mix us up another drink?”

Abby’s painted lips hung open. “Another one? I’ma be drunk afore we get there!”

“That’s the plan!”

The running joke about Desmond’s Lair was that no two of any item were alike, from the barstools and tables right down to the glasses. Everything had been scavenged over time. Even the once grand mahogany bar had been pried out of a shuttered hotel on the eve of the wrecking ball.

For Abby, the whole world had gone a skosh soft about tha edges. She followed Lorraine inta tha bar, servant girl to a queen, judgin’ by tha sorta greeting from within.

“LO-LO!” came a singsong shout from tha bar’s far end.

“Come on!” Lorraine pulled Abby by the hand. “You gotta meet all these LOW RENT CHEONG BAO HO TZE * SONSOBITCHES!” (* monkey raping)

“I SWEAR TO BUDDHA…JUST ONE TIME!” a voice shouted back as Lorraine propelled Abby into the middle of the boisterous group. “This is Cornflakes!” she tossed an arm about the girl’s shoulders. “She’s with us tonight!”

If yew was tah ask, ain’t a whole lot more fer her tah remember. Them folk all took ‘er as one ‘o’ their own, laughin’ an’ shoutin’ tah be heard all at once over tha band. They’s a drink landed in ‘er hand, another Vodka Boom Boom what she didn’t rightly recollect tellin’ no one she wanted. Ain’t no way she’d turn it down. That’d jest be rude.

She met Miller, a tall woman looked more muscle bound than most men. They’s Iggy, friendly guy what lost ‘is legs in tha war, an’ his giant friend ever’body called “The Scrote.” Then she seen Brit, pretty woman with a sweet smile got ‘er ruminatin’ over both Alana an’ Penny. And then they’s Reginald. Powerful tall, skin ‘o’ chocolate brown, an’ thin dreadlocks touchin’ ‘is shoulders. His eyes was dark an’ soulful, but when he smiled… mmm, mmm, mmm! Had a grin what dazzled, an’ a musical island accent sounded her name as “Obby” tah cut her butter like a hot knife. Could be tha vodka. Hell, prob’ly was. But this boy was purtiest thing she ever did lay eyes on. Mayhaps that’s how he got ‘er out on tha dance floor so quick.




Abby liked dancin’ well enough tah understand she weren’t good at it. But Reg had an arm down behind ‘er waist, an’ he swung ‘er about free an’ easy tah the heavy beat. “Dot’s right,” he give ‘er a smile started a proper quickenin’ inside ‘er. “Just move wit’ me, girl.”

She could feel it, heavy thumps in ‘er chest an’ his hips leadin’ hers. Her hands was on his shoulders, feelin’ muscle and sinew ‘neath ‘is shirt. Abby thought by now she’d be wobblin’ on unsteady feet, but not a ‘tall. Instead, she felt nigh on graceful, her body reactin’ tah his lead, and a downright pleasure fer his fingers as they pressed tha small of ‘er back. “Wow!” she blurted all sudden, “this gotta be what sex feels like…wait...I didn’t say that.”

Reg threw back his head and laughed, his slender dreadlocks tossing in the warm air. “And I didn’t hear it.” He chuckled, before offering the girl a pull from the smoldering blunt. “Rude of me not to share,” his eyes smiled down into hers. “Care to try?” When she nodded, he said, “I’ll shotgun it to you. Pucker your lips…dot’s right, like you’re about to kiss. Den suck in de smoke when I blow it. Ready?”

“Uh huh.” Abby’s all puckered, waitin’, til; Reg leaned in. With his lips jest a hair’s breadth from hers, he blowed a tight cloud right at ‘er. She inhaled, suckin’ in tha smoke, takin’ it through ‘er lips til it landed on ‘er lungs…all afore it set her doublin’ over in a coughin’ fit. “Sorry,” she ‘pologized twixt ‘er hackin’. “Ain’t used tah…”

“Nonsense,” Reg killed the joint beneath a heel as he draped both arms around Abby’s waist. “De more you cough, de more you get off,” he laughed as they reclaimed the rhythm. “You feelin’ it, Obby?”

“Yeah…yeah!” She’s feelin’ somethin’. Vodka’s doin’ it’s part. She thunk she felt tha chronic connectin’ ‘er tah tha music…which sounded gorram great!...an’ commenced puttin’ all manner ‘o’ thoughts in ‘er head ‘bout how she’d want tha rest of tahnight goin’. Fer a tick, Abby thought ‘o’ Thomas. A guilty pang crossed ‘er mind, afore she put tha kai bosch on that notion. Sumbitch got a dozen messages he ain’t answered, her rebellious mind pushed back. So does Alana. People come and go in tha ‘verse. Right now, dancin’ in tha arms of a man she felt might jest show her how it’s all done, Abby conjured them words she done said time and again. People come and go. She sussed out mayhaps weren’t her place tah keep hangin’ on tah them as went their own way. Let ‘em go, she figgered, a smile touchin’ ‘er lips as Reg pulled her in against ‘im. Let ‘em go.

Fixated as she was, Abby barely took reconnoiter of Lorraine. The waitress was at tha bar, talkin’ with a man looked right outta place in these environs. Well dressed gent, ‘bout Abby’s height. Thirties. Sandy blond hair an’ a moustache. Fer a tick, they both turned tah look square at her…and she knowed she seen his face afore. A face she should know…but ‘er mind couldn’t track.

Reg stopped dancin’. “Sorry,” his lips brushed her ear. “Cortex. I have to take ‘dis.”

“Shiny.” Jest as well, Abby considered as Brit waved her over. I’s right close tah givin’...

“Hey, girl,” Brit shoved a fresh drink into her hand. “Just warning you. Reg doesn’t really speak all ‘island.’ He just uses that accent at the resort he works at for the tourists,” she offered, “and to charm the la shi outta women he’s tryna bed.”

“That so?” Abby asked as Vodka Boom Boom Number Six touched her lips. She was really gonna hate herself tomorrah. “It was workin’, she fessed up, “like a champ.” The two women went all silent, starin’ at one t’other, til all at once they bust out laughin’. She looked about. Ain’t no sign ‘o’ Reg, Lorraine, or that swell she’s chattin’ up. Even drunk as she was, Abby conjured tha business of ‘naughty men slipping about.’ They’s somethin’ bein’ hatched, fer sure.

“So,” she asked casual like. “How long y’all here for?”

‘Spring break,” Brit answered right off. “Lots of rich college kids and oldsters. We make good bank, we won’t have to work summer season,” she smiled. “Then it’s families with half pints and empty coin purses. How ‘bout you?”

“Here til muh boat goes skids up. Lookin’ like we might git a whole week while Cap’n ties down our next job,” Abby said after a long sip. “Nice yer all a crew, goin’ places tahgether.”

Brit clinked her glass to Abby’s. “Just like your crew, really. Safety in numbers. Women like Lorraine and me…hell, even Miller, jacked as she is? ‘Verse is no place for a woman on her own. So we find work, get the job done, and move on.”



Abby nodded. “I copy that,” she agreed. “Muh Uncle Bob used tah say…” A splash ‘o’ dingy pink caught ‘er eye. There’s Lorraine, grinnin’ out front a’ tha band stage, index fingers crooked up tah beckon an’ tha devil in ‘er eye. Sight made tha deckhand laugh out loud as she dropped off ‘er stool. “Whatchoo want, Bugsy?” she asked all fake innocent as tha waitress reached tah take ‘er hands.

“DANCE WITH ME, YOU BITCH!” Lorraine laughed, pulling Abby into her arms.

Abby’s none too sure what they done could be called ‘dancin’. It’s more like a couple young’uns, skippin’ an’ flailin’ arms all about, her hair flyin' like she lost her gorram mind. Over time they did make a couple moves, with Lorraine teachin’ her how tah sideslip a hip or rock ‘or wiggle ‘er pi gu...somethin’ she called ‘twerkin’. What she did know fer certain was they was havin’ a slap good time of it, laughin’ and jumpin’ all over.

”You left a child out in the wild,
And I was raised by wolves,
I was raised by wolves.
Aooooo-oooo”

Abby seen Lorraine throw back ‘er head an’ howl…somethin’ she took likin’ to right off.

One moment saw the pair leaping in the air, playfully hanging onto each other as they gyrated to the music. In the next, they spun, hands clasped and screaming as the rest of Lorraine’s crew joined in the fun. The floor soon filled with people, all dancing and howling with the joyous recklessness of children.

I was raised by wolves.
Aooooo-oooo.”

Abby felt Lorraine give ‘er hand a squeeze. She seen a girl she only knowed since lunchtime, eyes all sparklin’ with mirth as they both howled. Folk come and go… Now she conjured it. Ain’t nothin’ permanent, ‘specially folk yah take up with. Someday hence she’d go her own road. Didn’t mean she couldn’t some bit ‘o’ happy while she’s here, with a damn crazy she called Bugsy. Might be drunk thinkin’, but howlin’ among folk as she was, felt durn near fine with Abby. Fine enough tah howl all night.

At last disembarking the vessel, Elias couldn’t for a moment deny that the world felt good. The sun hit right in the way that he knew would give his skin a pleasant tan, the air had enough brine and humidity to let one know the sea was always near without makings ones nostrils stuffed with moisture or salination. But as he stared at the tropics through the gap in his facewrap, two facts quickly became apparent to him. First, he certainly wouldn’t be able to enjoy it in a meaningful way. Muscular lifeguards with gelled hair would force him off of any of the beaches that weren’t covered with trash, and even if they didn’t his form in swimshorts would still lead to mothers hastily leading children away shortly after the sound of screams and tears with the occasional threat from other people. The second of course, was that the world wasn’t so great. A person he took and educated guess was homeless was wandering and screaming about the krill being a scam, while parts of the first street he stepped on smelled like urine. “What a shithole.” he muttered, or at least made vague mouth movements with that goal that materialized no sound.

Strolling down the street, he was long used to the looks he was getting. People in crocs and flipflops saw a massive man in flannels and a balaclava on a tropical world like this, what the hell else were they supposed to think? No Elias had long since given up on any frustration with such public admonitions of his state. He knew some other people with mutilations always complained about how they were treated, but as far as he was concerned if you were a freak you ought be treated as one. It was unfortunate, but it was a reality he figured a lot would be better off accepting.

Unfortunately, he was about to have this stoic philosophy tested.

His wounds started to itch ever so slightly as salty sweat started to seep into the scars as he went about the city, following maps to find the nearest bank. The moment he stepped into it, a security guard instantly drew his service weapon and started screaming for the man to get down on the ground. Muffled sounds came from Elias, the man desperately trying to give hand signs in the hope he knew was vain the man would know sign language to state he was not in fact, a robber. It was at the gesture of criminal that he felt the harpooning penetration of a tase in his black. The shock was an excruciating and debilitating pain that brought him to a knee. But, it was also absolutely nothing compared to the pains that the reavers brought upon him. When at last the shock wore off, he tore it out and stood up with his hands upraised. The guards now approached him, the one that had shot him with a taser from behind patting him down whilst the one in front held his firearm pointed. As he was patted down, the taser guard found almost nothing but a little pocket-sand on him, and quizzically shared the information to his partner.

“Who the hell are you?”

Elias reached down to try and get his piece of blackboard, but the guns were raised again leading to the man simply sighing. As far as he saw there was no exit out of this situation he could take, so he waited until they were annoyed enough to take him to the small on-site jail of the bank and called police. Sighing yet again, he at last raised his hands and with one motion pulled the wrappings off of his face revealing the horrid mutilation. “I hahn hah.” he said, doing his best to articulate that he couldn’t talk with no tongue. As if to demonstrate he opened his mouth wide and revealed the distinct lack of one. “Jesus fucking….” one of them started, recoiling in horror. “Shit, I’da thought you wouldn’t be able to hear like that either the other said.

With some annoyance Elias carefully raised the cloth again to his face, cocking his head to ask for permission to make the quite sudden movements to cover himself up again. “Yeah yeah.” the taser bearing man said, holstering the device.

“What the hell is up with you?” the man still holding the pistol said. This time however, Elias reached down to the blackboard without interruption and wrote upon it the words: “I WAS HOPING TO ACCESS AND OLD BANK ACCOUNT. I CANT TALK AND COVER MYSELF UP TO NOT FRIGHTEN FOLK.”

“Well why the hell didn’t you bring any ID?” the gun bearing man said, slowly lowering the weapon as he relaxed.

After a brief spat with erasing, Elias revealed new words. “DONT HAVE ANY. WAS STOLEN.”

The guards exchanged glances before giggling. “No ID? You’re probably not going to get far with that.”

The piece of chalk in Elias’s hand turned entirely into dust as an outlet for his frustrations.

“PLEASE HELP ME.” he wrote.

With a sigh, one of the guards said “Alright, I guess I can take you to a manager. Special case or whatever. Jed get Sal down here to cover for me.”

“Roger-roger.” the other guard said, as Elias was lead to an office. After a brief explanation to the manager, the old man in a suit clasped his hands. “Oh. I see, most peculiar. Erm… can you tell me a name so we can try accessing your account?”

“ELIAS SAMIR RIEMEN.”

“Thank you….” the main trailed off, typing the words into his computer. “Uh… could you please?” the manager said, motioning to Elias’s mask, while turning the screen. “You see I need to try to verify its you.”

“Fuh.” Elias muttered. He knew he looked nothing like his pretty face all those years ago. Well, pretty was a stretch by far. But certainly it was compared to this day!

“Ugh….” the manager said, staring at Elias’s grievous damage. “Does… does it hurt?” he said, clearly mesmerized and distracted from his work. Elias simply gave him a furious stare, wasting another few cents of chalk that turned to powder in his grasp.

“Right, umm, sorry, you look nothing like this picture. Now, hold on.” he said, pressing a few keys that made a camera emerge from the desk. A painful flashed briefly blinded Elias, who looked furiously at the manager.

“Oh, my apologies.” the man said. “Forgot to ask for consent and all that. Regardless, let’s see here….” he said, the monitor of his computer displaying that a quick cross-reference of modern and old Elias’s visages was happening.

“Hmmm… its a possible match but…. Do you happen to remember a password?” he said, turning the computer around.

Thankfully, Elias remembered it. Unfortunately, though briefly the screen displayed acceptance, he was shortly after informed on the screen it was outdated and would need other verification. He planted his face down onto the keyboard, severely of the keys crunching under the force. He knew this was just the start of it, he just knew.