It's now DAY 2 of the crew's shore leave.

The Pelorum sun rises, promising another perfect day in paradise. Though much of the crew is currently off the boat, there's still breakfast in the galley for those aboard. Yuri collected the coin and did the math. We didn't make a whole lot on this run, so after paying out all the needed supplies local fees, each crewperson's share didn't amount to a whole lot.

Still, everybody's got some coin to play with. Careful how you spend it.

Writers' note: If you're searching for ideas, please refer to the Plot Plans and Ideas Gdoc we recently shared. And don't limit yourselves to what you see there. If an idea sprouts, let it grow.

Last time she woke up in somebody’s arms, she’s all ‘o’ seven.

Abby’s hair done gone all wild, some coverin’ ‘er eyes. But that didn’t matter, her brain fog cleared sorta slow til she conjured her face tah be buried in that somebody’s chest. What’d I git up tah? she posed a question tied her tah folk all through time, but fer answers they ain’t much. Dancin’, laughin’ a bunch, kissin’ Lorraine…

Did she kiss Lorraine?

That’un woke ‘er up. Whoever’s chest she’s nuzzlin grunted a deep sorta rumble. Abby drew a breath an’ all at once sucked in a wisp ‘o’ hair. “Ugh! Thhhpdth! Thhhpth!” she spat, her tongue stickin’ out as she wiped at it with ‘er fingers. Once she done that, she pulled ‘er own hair back tah find ‘erself sharin’ Lorraine’s bed, an’ all snuggled up against Elvis. “Oh!” her sigh ‘o’ relief heaved forth. “Hey, fella.”

Elvis din’ move…jest laid there, one eye cocked open as Abby untangled ‘erself.

“Oooooooh,” Lorraine muttered from across the big dog’s place on the mattress. “What time is is it?” She stretched her arms, wrists bending to and fro as her frame stiffened beneath the sheets. “Oh, shit,” her eyes conjured the morning brightness filtering into the apartment. “I’m late. Oh shit! Oh shit!” In a flurry of motion she tossed the sheet aside, her feet striking the floor with a thud as she bolted toward the window. With no apparent thought, the women hurled open the shutters. “VIC!” Lorraine shouted. “SORRY! I’M ON MY WAY!”

Sight ‘o’ Lorraine come as a shock, seein’ she’s bare ass nekkid in front ‘o’ her window. Abby felt a flush ‘o’ fear wellin’ as she hoisted tha bedsheet. Her disposition cleared a tetch when she looked ‘erself over tah find the leopard unders…panties, she corrected ‘erself…an’ a tee shirt what read Rude Kids all still coverin’ ‘er up. She ‘membered droppin’ coin fer tha shirt, a piece of last night’s puzzle still got big holes in it.

Vic’s voice boomed up from below. “YOU GOT FIFTEEN MINUTES TIL THE MORNING HOMEBOUND RUSH! LOTSA DIRTY DISHES!”

Abby watched Lorraine, still jaybird nekkid as she dropped a bucket on a piece ‘o’ string. “I can help,” she offered, “with yer dishes an’ such.”

“Shiny!” The waitress tossed a bright grin over her shoulder. “HEY VIC!” she shouted through the open window. “OKAY WITH YOU IF CORNFLAKES HELPS ME CATCH UP?”

“JAKE WITH ME! LONG AS I DON’T GOTTA PAY HER!”

Lorraine raised an eyebrow toward Abby, who responded with a nod. “SEND UP TWO COFFEES AND TWO SWEET ROLLS,” she hollered down as the bucket landed, “AND SHE’S ALL YOURS!.. WHAT’RE YOU LOOKIN’ AT?!!” she demanded, startling a passerby who’d stopped to gawk up at the naked woman in the window. “YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT! QU TA MA DE!”* (*fuck off!)

Abby’s sittin’ up now, legs folded tribal style on tha bed as she checked ‘er cortex. With no new messages tah gander, she put it down on ‘er thigh an’ looked up again, right inta Lorraine’s private bits before her. “AUGH!” she cried out, jerkin’ her head sideways as a hand flew up tah block tha sight. “Land sakes, Bugsy? You really gotta wave it at me like that?”

“What?” Lorraine smirked. “You were face down in it last night!” She watched all color drain from Abby’s face before doubling over in peels of laughter. “Just fuckin’ with you, Cornflakes,” she chortled as she sat, draping herself with the sheet. “Only one ya loved up last night was my dog. By the way,” she said as coffee and sweet rolls were doled out, “who’s Thomas?”

Aw hell, Abby mused as his name come outta Lorraine’s mouth. What did I say?, she quizzed ‘erself as silent oaths tah never drink again crossed ‘er mind. “Jest some húndàn,* she muttered inta her coffee. (*asshole)

“Well,” Lorraine bit off a piece of her sweet roll, “that húndàn is livin’ in your head, girl. I really thought you and Reg were gonna seal the deal…”

“I think I woulda...”

“Hells yeah, Cornflakes, I get it. Believe me, that boy’s charmed me right outta my ‘unders’ more than once,” she teased. “But you? Once you got knee walking, you told us all about this Thomas.”

“Gorramit,” Abby cursed as ‘er face planted inta an open palm. “I conjure yew best tell me all ‘o’ what I said.”

Lorraine chuckled. “Don’t sweat it. You just told anybody who’d listen what a great guy he was. Believe me, every one of that crew has said and heard far worse. Actually,” she cheerfully exclaimed, “you’re a pretty happy drunk! They all liked you…especially when you insisted on kissing everybody goodnight. It was so sweet!”

The deckhand shook ‘er head. “Ooooooh man, oh man.” She’s embarrassed some, but that answered a big question sorta put ‘er mind at ease. “Not sure I can face ‘em agin after hearin’ that.”

“Sure you can!” Lorraine was on her feet and headed for the bathroom. “We’re takin’ you to the beach after work! Reg is gonna get us into the resort he works at.” As water splashed into the sink, she continued. “I’ll go get started. Can you take care of Elvis first?”

Abby’s wrigglin’ intah her shorts. “On it,” she replied afore fishin’ about tha chaotic place fer her shoes. “Where’s his poop bags?” She run ‘er fingers through ‘er hair fer some kinda order, but as she an’ tha big, happy dog clomped downstairs, Abby conjured she’d still look a wild mess. Not that she much cared.

“Yuri!” A voice he knew…S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A, suddenly cut through the surrounding mayhem, the shock of realization lifting the nightmare veil. “Are you alright?”

“Mmmmph,” he grunted. “Yeah.” He rose to his knees, then gave his head a shake to clear out the last of his mind’s phantoms. “Looks like I rolled out of bed.”

His cortex reader glowed, orienting him to the darkened surroundings. “You had the dream again.”

“Yeah.” With a quiet moan, Yuri rose from the deck to sit upon the edge of his bunk. “Same one.”

“Four nights in a row,” the AI reported. “Each night, you become increasingly articulate. The issue of your past is troubling you. I’ve done some research…”

“Sort of creepy that you’re listening to me when I sleep,” the first mate rubbed fingers through his hair. “What time is it?”

“Oh-five-thirty-two. Yuri, Survivor’s Guilt is a very real condition. Helpful therapies have been developed. You can practice many of them on your own.”

“Can we talk about this later?” He took to his feet, then fumbled in the darkness for the pull out urinal. “So, who’ve we got aboard?”

Sam ticked off the list. “Elias Reiman. He’s on duty. His cortex activity centers on researching parts salvage on Pelorum. Sister Lyen Giu, Imani Ozuka, and Edina Wyman are still in quarters. Edina has an oh-six-hundred wakeup call to serve coffee and breakfast by seven. The rest are still planetside.”

“Even our youngling?” A pang of worry crossed Yuri’s brow. “Has Abby checked in?”

“No,” the AI responded. “Her cortex has pinged locations in the city’s ninth ward. Activity centered on a diner listed as Vic’s Good Eats. Should I contact her?”

He shook his head, the futile gesture reminding him that Sam didn’t have vid capture pickups in most of the boat. “No. She knows to call if things go sideways. Let’s give folk a little privacy. How about Captain or Alana? Either one touched base?”

“They have not.”

Yuri closed the urinal before washing his hands. “Well, I’m up,” he mumbled as he felt for the lighting control, then collected fresh clothes and his toilet kit. “Anything on the schedule for today?”

S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A replied, “today is day two of official shore leave for all hands. The galley scheduled breakfast for oh-seven hundred, and will have supper prepared for sixteen hundred.”

“Why so early?” he asked, his memory kicking in as the last words left his mouth.

“You and Edina were invited to the “Nineteen Forties Gala, located in the Aviation Pavilion, Museum of Earth-That-Was. Your passes arrived overnight. I took the liberty of forwarding them to your respective cortex readers.”

“Thanks,” he unearthed his bathrobe, another ragged find in the boat’s Lost and Found. “Anything in the world I should conjure?”

“Seasonal weather,” she said. “Afternoon showers followed by clearing skies and an average temperature of seventy-six degrees fahrenheit. Negotiations have broken down between the New Iberia Tradeport management and the local Dockworkers and Longshoremen’s union. The existing contract expires tonight at midnight, with picketing expected tomorrow morning. Local law enforcement is considering a curfew, but advises all transient personnel to avoid the port or at least to travel in groups.”

“That’s something you should pass along to our lost lambs.” Now clad in his bathrobe, Yuri swung the ladder hatch open. “I’m grabbing a shower. Mind the boat for me a bit longer?”

“Of course,” the unseen intelligence replied. “Would you like me to compile a document of the therapies I mentioned earlier?”

Sam made sense. Sam always made sense. But here in the early morning, her innate logic faced a wall of unvoiced excuses and fallacious arguments from the first mate. I really don’t want to mess with this, he mused as his feet touched the ladder. “Yeah,” Yuri finally managed. “I guess.”

05:32

Edina yawned, arching her back as fingers and toes stretched her extremities to their furthest. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually slept in; her habit of “beating the clock” was an old one, born of the years spent cowering at the sound of father’s heavy footfalls stopping outside her door. The grim history was only doomed to repeat itself through her marriage to Andres, another decade spent ensnared within the insidious cycle.

China Doll had been a random choice, the first boat to get her off New Melbourne before her husband conjured she’d high tailed it. How could she know that after all this time she’d still be aboard? With friends who looked out for her, and now had come to include her among the crew? As she lay here in the dark of a room she’d kept for over a year, Edina could still marvel at her good fortune.

Though sometimes her motivation for an early awakening came in the form of old nightmares, the hauntings were steadily becoming ever more scarce. This new life she’d discovered was filled with purpose. Though she wasn’t a die hard black dog like Cal or Abby, Edina had soon conjured that a going concern like China Doll could provide plenty of work, even for a dirtsider like herself. All she had to do was keep her eyes open and her hands at the ready. Soon enough, a regular crew berth would offer itself up…in her case, the galley.

Joe Hooker’s departure was bittersweet, a farewell to a much loved shipmate gone to a better life. Though he’d been outwardly kind to all of the crew, it wasn’t until Edina volunteered for galley duty that she began to understand the man’s personal demons. Her inventory of the pantry had unearthed no less than three bottles of rotgut whiskey, all hidden by a practiced hand. Under any other circumstance, their presence alone would’ve told a disturbing tale. It was the etchings…crude knife scrapes in both the glass and labels of each bottle…that painted a stark picture of the daily torment in which the cook was trapped. He’d carved out a single word, again and again.

NO!

Brokenhearted over her discovery, Edina was loathe to simply throw them out with the trash. Nor could she bring herself to share the find with any of the crew, even though she held certain that Captain and Yuri must’ve been aware of his struggle. Alana, too, for that matter. But Abby’s love for Joe was that of a child, a sweetness she saw no good in tarnishing. And so, she kept them, hidden once more in the recesses of the pantry. Into each bottle she’d tucked a note, her own wishes for his healing. With luck, she’d find a place to set them free. Edina pondered this, the power of her words wrapped in a vessel of his pain. Perhaps she should ask Sister Lyen about what might be fitting…

She heard water rushing through the pipes. A few seconds later, the change in its’ tone told her that hot water was now flowing into the lav, a sure sign that one of her shipmates was grabbing an early shower. No bother; she had a good twenty-five minutes before her wakeup. And her bunk was awfully comfortable this morning. As she found herself doing more frequently these days, Edina thought of Yuri.

Though uncertain if tonight’s outing at the museum gala could be called ‘a date,’ she nonetheless found a personal delight at the prospect. They’d both come aboard within a day of each other, the battered woman and the shipwrecked survivor. While all of the crew had taken them in without hesitation, the two damaged souls had found mutual recognition and respect, developing a closeness born of both loss and a need for a patient kindness. Through happenstance and shared purpose during some of China Doll’s darker adventures their bond had deepened, regardless of efforts on both their parts to foster an easy familiarity. Despite her caution, Edina’s feelings were triggered through the most innocuous events. A smile shared, the twinkle of mirth in his eyes, a simple touch…all could now inject a sort of giddy pleasure that she hadn’t allowed herself for many a year. She’d watched him find his place, settling comfortably as Cal’s first mate, and getting the job done without harshness or disrespect toward those he’d command, especially the women. After years spent under the cruel mercies of her father and husband, Edina was well aware of the red flags. In Yuri, she’d found none.

Tonight, they’d be dancing in each other’s arms. She had no idea of the outcome, but lying here in her bunk, Edina found herself ready to throw caution to the wind.

JP/Collab from @Xandrya, @wanderingwolf and @sail3695

“I thought we were out of bacon?”

Edina looked up from her work to see Yuri across the galley’s work counter. She couldn’t help the contented smile that blossomed upon her face. “Well, I conjure it passed the smell test,” she replied. “Did you know that there are tons of recipes for protein paste? Sam hit the cortex and found this one,” she waved a spatula toward the brownish strips sizzling in a skillet. “Add the right seasoning and fry em up in lard…voila!” She offered him a piece from a serving plate. “Give it a try.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” The first mate tucked the clipboard under an arm before selecting a slice from the lighter colored stack. “What are those?” he asked, his faux bacon now used as a pointer. “The mistake pile?”

She lifted two strips from the pan, allowing a gentle shake to help the excess grease run off. “For Elias,” Edina said of the brittle, darker pieces. “Still guessing about his palate, but right now I think if I jack the seasoning way up and overcook a little, it helps his taste buds.” She paused, an expectant smile on her face as he chewed thoughtfully. “Well?” she quizzed after he swallowed the first morsel. “What do you think?”

With a slight lift to his brow, Yuri nodded and said, “It’s close.”

“How close?” She asked. “One to ten.”

“Seven…eight,” he waved an ‘iffy’ gesture. “I don’t conjure it’d ever make ten, but for ‘not bacon’, this is pretty good!”

“Uh huh…uh huh,” Edina nodded. With a glance toward the cortex reader on the countertop she asked, “what do you think, Sam? Should we dial it up?”

“We can,” the Boston accent rose from the little device. “The Alliance human physiology database reports that excessive seasoning of food will suffer a diminishing return from the taste buds on the tongue. Based on Yuri’s compromise score of seven-point-five, I’ve altered the recipe to achieve a hoped for outcome of eight-point-five to nine.”

“Mmmph,” Yuri reached for a cup. “So I’m your guinea pig,” he chuckled as he poured the fresh coffee. “Give you a refill?”

Edina took the pan off heat, setting it aside. “Please,” she answered. “Take our cups to the table and I’ll bring the bacon.” After peeling out of the cook’s apron, she brought 2 plates, a jar of ‘sorta’ mayonnaise, and a loaf of bread. “Sandwiches,” Edina piped up as she took her seat across from him.

“White bread?” Yuri cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t that exclusively for our young deckhand’s ‘peebee-and-jays?”
“I don’t conjure she’ll mind.” With efficient hands she constructed two sandwiches, arranging the artificial repast into a crosshatch pattern between the bread slices. “B L T’s,” Edina said proudly, “minus the ‘L’ and the ‘T.’ Maybe we can afford those next time.”

Yuri took his sandwich with a grateful nod, going three bites in before he paused. “It’s good,” he encouraged after a swallow of coffee. “Compliments to the chef,” the mate raised his cup in toast.

“Chefs,” Edina’s cup met Yuri’s with a subtle clink. “Sam pulled the whole thing together. Just wait,” she giggled, “til I start trying to bake.” After a moment’s companionable silence she asked, “heard from the Captain?”

Yuri shook his head. “Told me he had to ‘see a man about a mule.’ That was yesterday,” he added before pulling a sip from his cup.

“Shouldn’t we check on him?” Concern washed over her face.

“From what he said, he and Sam are pretty much joined at the hip,” he answered. “If things go South I’m certain we’d know. But right now? With Alana in the wind? I think the best thing we can do is just give him space.”

“Think they’ll work it out?”

“Hope so.”

Imani paused for a split moment before walking into the galley. She'd overheard the conversation Edina and Yuri were having, or at least the end of it.

"Smells good." Walking past them, Imani eventually grabbed a plate and helped herself to three pieces of "bacon". She wasn't all too hungry and so didn't bother for a sandwich, though no doubt she was open to one in the near future.

"Curing a hangover? Because that's at least a couple of plates more."

Yuri loosed a chuckle. “Thank Buddha! Another guinea pig. Now the pressure’s off.”

“Not for you, it isn’t,” Edina fixed him with a mischievous eye before turning her gaze. “Hey Imani. Don’t listen to him,” she said. “We’re just trying out a recipe for Bacon Ala Protein Paste. Need coffee?” she asked.

Taking a bite, she smirked at the two. Imani thoroughly chewed the paste-turned-bacon that Edina had cooked up, and eventually, her approval was delivered with a subtle nod. "No complaints from me, actually. But hold the coffee, I prefer to warm up a cup later in the morning."

The smell was just divine, the nun thought, as she followed her nose to the galley. Her orange kasaya robe appeared in the entrance a moment later, and she laid eyes on Edina, Imani, and Yuri gathered around the table. “Mind if I join you?” she asked, as she surveyed the fruit the cook’s toils. Bacon! Or.. something like it? Lyen cocked her head as she took in the smell and sight of the fried, brown strips. They looked delicious, given they belonged to the various recipes Edina had been able to build with paste as their main ingredient.

In the days she’d spent aboard the China Doll, Ly had made her peace with taking a cup of coffee in the morning to get going, but yesterday, thanks to the Captain’s explosive display, she spied a small copper kettle that had been freed from the back of a tall cabinet. Her slender hands filled it now as she asked the group, “Anyone for tea?” ‘Tea’ was a generous term, but the loose, powdery leaves of some kind mostly passed muster.

"Tea sounds exquisite just about now," Imani smiled up at Sister Lyen.

“Shiny,” she replied. Water set over a flame, she joined the cook, the first mate, and the… well, she wasn’t exactly sure what Imani’s station was on the ship. Deckhand perhaps? She watched as the mayhaps-deckhand settled in with her plate. Lyen took a seat while she waited for the boil.

“Good morning, Sister,” Yuri greeted the nun before recoiling from a mild jab to the shoulder. “Hey!” he exclaimed at the light hearted affront, “what did I do?”

“That,” Edina replied as she rose to collect a fresh plate and silverware, “is for refusing to let me buy some decent tea.”

The first mate lifted his hands in supplication. “Yes, ma’am,” he grinned. “I have seen the error of my ways.” To Sister Lyen he offered, “since I’m now under new orders today, do you have a pref on tea?”

“Anything suits me,” she said, head tilting to the side in thought. With a finger in the air she belayed that, “Though I’m keen on green and oolong. Ooh, and honeybush!” Her almond eyes lightened, and she forced out a shallow cough, “but I’ll drink anything,” the nun fibbed.

“Honeybush,” he repeated, adding the three teas to a list on his cortex. “Got it. Imani?” Yuri’s eyes lifted. “Speak now or forever drink the Sister’s choices.”

"A honeybush sounds mighty fine if only for the sake of simplicity," she added as she pushed back the chair to get up, smiling to Lyen as she went. Imani went to fetch her canteen as she waited for the tea. "I'm sure the Sister's choice don't disappoint, not sure about yours, however..." Her back was turned to them, making her unable to get a glimpse of their reaction.

A confused Yuri traded glances with the boat’s ad hoc cook. “What?” he mouthed the silent question, to be met by an equally bemused Edina passing a hand over her head. “Uh,” he fumbled for a suitable reply, “she looks after all my choices,” the attempted quip emphasized with a pointed finger.

“First time I’ve heard that,” Edina cocked an eyebrow.

“It’s in your job description.”

“Ooooh,” she replied with an understanding nod. “Is that what you meant by ‘other duties as assigned?”

“Among other things,” Yuri chuckled, grateful for the rhetorical escape hatch. “Yes.”

“Note to self.” Edina arranged a place setting for the nun. “Always read the fine print. So we’re experimenting this morning,” she explained as more of the aromatic strips landed on Lyen’s plate. “How close does this compare to actual bacon? One to ten, ladies,” she said, “ten being ‘I can’t tell the difference’ and one as ‘what is this abomination?’ The cheapskate here,” she handed a wry grin to Yuri, “has already voted. What do you both think?”

“Thank you,” Ly said, surveying the appetizing substitute with her chopsticks. With a gentle tap, the protein-bacon cracked authentically into the carbon and she lifted a morsel to her mouth. The crunch was authentic, from what she could tell, only having eaten actual bacon a handful of times. As she moved the piece to either side of her mouth, the salt and the smokey flavoring from what she knew to be the hard work of seasoning, were more than enough to fool her taste buds. She started her response with a smile, lifting a hand to cover her mouth, “Edina, this is delightful. I’d say the only way I can tell it’s not bacon is because it tastes better than most of the soggy, stringy stuff I’ve had before this.”

"Oh, we're working with numbers now?" Imani let her head rest on her palm as she scratched her plate with her fork in no particular pattern. "A well-deserved eight I'd say."

”Ku,” Edina sipped her coffee. “Round Two will come tomorrow morning…unless we score an actual cook before them,” she smirked.

Yuri lifted an index finger, swallowing his food before he spoke. “Not sure that’ll happen,” he said. “Captain’s got a thing about folk who show initiative,” he said as he eyed the last remaining strip. “You took on the galley when Hook left, Edina. I’ve got a feeling he’ll be inclined to make it official.”

“Wow,” she answered, her smile sheepish toward Imani and Lyen. “I’m sorry about your luck, guys. While we’re talking food, will any of you be around for supper, or have you all got plans?”

As the tea’s boil made itself known with the telltale sound that the Japanese called ‘the wind in the pine trees,’ Lyen rose to join Imani and serve her. Ly replied to Edina as she approached the kettle, “I haven’t got any business on Pelorum; you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

“Shiny,” Edina met Lyen with an easy smile. “I’m laying out dinner plates at four o’clock,” she explained, “because Yuri and I have passes to a shindig at a museum. So far, it’s you and Elias eating in tonight. I’ve already got him figured out,” she continued. “Any idea of what you might like, Sister?”

The nun contemplated the question for a moment, in light of what she knew Edina was capable of, especially with protein paste. Ultimately, her comfort food was rather simple: “I’m partial to noodles and broth–a little spice suits me just fine.” She flashed a grin at Edina as she took another bite of her bacon stand-in. “But I’m an easy customer when it comes to food; the monastery taught me a lot of things, but being picky was not one of them.”

Edina listened, taking Lyen’s preferences into memory before turning toward Yuri with imploring eyes. “Hey, since these good folk are all gonna have to suffer my protein paste recipes and canned everything else, you think maybe we could eek out some decent noodles and veg while we’re here?”

Having already opted to be ‘that guy,’ Yuri found himself beneath the directed gaze of the three women, caught red handed with the final strip of faux bacon in his fingers. “Well,” the first mate replied in an air of outsized thoughtfulness, “since you put it that way…and since I’m already under orders to go tea shopping today..why not?” His eyes flecked with humor as he shared a glance with the mocha skinned woman. “Give me a shopping list, but try to keep it limited to what one ignorant man can carry. Imani?” he steered the conversation. “Got a non-caviar food idea for tonight, or will you be out carousing?”

"Quite tempting the offer, and I don't see the harm in serving as a guinea pig once more before heading out for another adventure."

The nature of this planet meant that physical things and experiences were paramount to its inhabitants and those journeying here to partake. Still, off the beaten track, there were temples of her Order, but they were much too far to visit from the hub. She’d have to suffice with meditations and prayer aboard the China Doll, she conjured.

“Ready?” Lyen asked of Imani, her almond eyes checking for permission. A basket of the crumpled, black leaves landed in the woman’s canteen, then the ‘wind in the pine trees’ funneled into her cup. Afterward, she arranged her own cup.

"The aroma is divine..." Imani cupped her hands around the canteen to immerse herself in the scent. She found comfort in the warmth radiating to her palms. "I appreciate this Sister Lyen."

Sam listened to the easy goings-on through the keyhole of Edina’s cortex reader. She had long known that for a system such as herself, the demonstrable characteristics of empathy served as a key to unlock the mysteries of human emotion to digital intelligence. Upon collating the group dynamic through their tone and banter, Sam’s findings indicated a distinct absence of tension among the four. The varying levels of affability provided an overall result that she could describe as ‘friendly.’ The next step would be interpolation of those findings to determine the more nebulous ‘vibe,’ as Cal chose to describe it. While broader research was ongoing, simple hypothesis based upon this moment in time offered its’ own conclusion. Through application of those applied numerical values, S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A could experience the sense of inclusion…and contentment.

Cornflakes sure could hustle.

Even though they’d started behind the eight ball, Lorraine and Abby wasted no time in getting the job done. The countrified girl from the black just fell into the work like she’d been here every day, attacking dirty dishes and delivering hot food while Lorraine kept on top of orders and drinks. By lunch rush, the pair had their routine down pat, serving up all of Vic’s menu items fresh from his griddle, along with a side dish of spirited banter that kept the diner’s patrons laughing. “HEY CORNFLAKES!!” Lorraine shouted across the crowded room.

“WHAT?” Abby come out with plates balanced on one arm.

“FELLA HERE WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU’RE ON THE MENU?”

“TELL ‘IM I’M THA HOUSE SPECIAL!”

“HE WANTS TO KNOW HOW MUCH!” Lorraine grinned.

“WHAT’S THA OLD SAYIN’, BUGSY? IF’N YA GOTTA ASK…” Abby quipped as she laid orders before customers.

The two women honed their lively repartee as wave after wave of workers on lunch hour rolled through the tables and counter. “ORDER UP!” Vic shouted as two overflowing pastrami sandwiches hit the stainless steel shelf. “Cornflakes,” he glanced up from the half dozen burgers he was flipping, “I’m swamped here. Couldja put chips and pickle spears on each of those plates?”

“Yeah, it’s all shiny,” tha deckhand cum waitress give a nod. She’s jest finishin’ up when Lorraine nudged ‘er shoulder.

“Sweet Jaysus,” she muttered. “Feast your eyes on the slice of pretty just walked in.”

Abby looked up an’ gasped all surprised like tah see Yuri comin’ through tha front door. “I’ll be gorramed,” she said ‘neath ‘er breath.

“Dibs,” Lorraine whispered.

“Knock yerself out, girl!” Abby giggled afore dartin’ off with them sandwiches fer table twelve. Weren’t more’n a tick or so til she winced at a whistle like tah sawed ‘er ears right off. Her head whipped round tah find Lorraine, sittin’ next tah Yuri an’ wavin’ ‘er over. Sight ‘o’ his expression near ‘bout had ‘er laughin’ by time she made it across tha room. “Well howdy!” she greeted ‘er boss. “Whatcha doin’ in these parts?”

The spiky haired waitress’ attentions had him feeling more like fresh prey at the moment. “Making good on my reputation,” Yuri replied. “Out buying some galley supplies. So this is what you do when Captain and I give you three days’ shore leave? Pick up a side job?”

Abby shrugged. “It’s all her fault,” she pointed a finger at her friend. “She’s Lorraine. He’s Yuri, first mate on muh boat.”

“That’s how I’d rate him, too, Cornflakes,” Lorraine purred. “Hi Yuri. You know whatcha want, or should I warm up something special?”

“Um,” he shifted away in his chair, “can I get a Cap’n Bob’s while I look over the menu?”

Lorraine’s eyes held a predatory gleam as she rose to her feet. “You can have whatever you want, baby. I’ll be right back.” After a mischievous wink for Abby, she made her way behind the lunch counter.

“Well,” Yuri cleared his throat, “she seems nice.”

“Lorraine’s jest messin’ with yew,” the girl come out with a chuckle. “I seen ‘er do tha same last night tah two-three diff’rent fellas she caught lookin’.”

“What’s with the side hustle, though?” he asked.

“Helpin’ ‘er git tha job done. We’s out til wee hours last night an’ woke up late..”

“Not to mention,” Lorraine returned with Yuri’s soft drink, “my friends and I are takin’ your girl here to the beach after work. Wanna come?” she asked, puppy dog eyes on display. “We’ve got killer bikinis.”

“We do?” Abby’s wide eyed over that’n. “Uh, yeah,” she recovered. “We do.” Course, thought ‘o’ wearin’ such in front ‘o’ tha likes ‘o’ Yuri…or worse, Cap’n…struck ‘er uneasy like.

Yuri hoisted the menu as a shield, stifling the mild flush rising from his neck. “Sounds like fun, but Edina and I have invitations for a big to-do at the Earth-That-Was Museum tonight.”

A broad grin sprouted across Abby’s face. “Well lookit yew!” she laid a hand on ‘er hip. “Finally takin’ her out on a date?”

“No, it’s not a…yes,” he gave in. “I conjure you’re right. And they might have a job for us…”

Lorraine was not to be put off. “I got a job for ya,” she cooed. “You figuring out lunch, or you gonna keep hiding that pretty face behind your menu?”

Abby rolled ‘er eyes. “Leave ‘im be, Bugsy.”

“How about,” Yuri dropped the menu, “grilled cheese and tomato soup?”

The waitress jotted his order. “I’m all over it,” she turned, nudging a hip to his shoulder before hurrying off to the kitchen. “HEY VIC!” she shouted on the way. “GRILLED CHEESE, EXTRA CHEESY, and TOMATO SOUP!”

This time, Yuri turned to watch her as she sped away. “She’s a proper carouser, huh?” he observed.

“We did have a full on blast last night,” Abby smiled. “Hey,” her face an’ tone went serious. “Heard from Alana?”

“I was all set to ask you the same.”

“Nary a word. Left ‘er a few waves. Stopped afore she might reckon it’s creepifyin’,” the girl said.

Yuri sipped at his cola. “Captain left early yesterday,” he offered. “Nothing from him, either. We haven’t asked Sam to track their cortexes, but we’re hoping they worked things out.”

“Me too,” Abby nodded. “I care lots fer Alana. Cap’n too. Wait. That how yah found me?” she asked as ‘er eyes hardened.. “Sam checkin’ up on me?”

“That’s my culp,” he raised a hand. “Sorry, Abby. My mouth outran my brain. Wasn’t until Sam gave me the word that I conjured I was stepping on your privacy.” After a tick’s silence, he added, “We lost you once before, mei mei. I couldn’t abide a second time.”

She thought on that a skosh. While Sam trackin’ ‘er about did raise hackles a might, she couldn’t deny how folk might be feelin’ if one ‘o’ their own was missin’. Same way they all felt ‘bout Alana right now, she reckoned. In tha end, Abby came tah understand. “I ‘preciate that,” she said in quiet. “If it helps, I’ll send a wave ever’ day I’m off tha boat?”

The first mate shook his head. “Only if you want to,” he said. “You know the ‘Hey Rube’ signal if things go sideways.”

“That I do,” she nodded ‘er head. “Just tha same, I’ll letcha know tahnight if I’m headin’ back or stayin’ out.”

Yuri smiled. “All us old folk will be in your debt.”

“ORDER UP!”

“That’s me,” Abby smiled with a nudge towards tha kitchen. “I wager Lorraine’ll be all over yew like white on rice. Gotta bounce.”

“Sure thing…Cornflakes.” Yuri teased.

“That’s gon’ folla me back tah tha boat, ain’t it?”

“Most like.”

Abby run off fer her next order. Things got ponderous busy, what with Lorraine takin’ time tah fawn over Yuri. Mighta twisted ‘er hair a bit, ‘cept fer how funny it was watchin’ him squirm. Soon enough, she answered the first mate’s wave as he paid up an’ made fer the door.

The two women watched him go. “He’s a really nice guy,” Lorraine observed.

“Fer true,” Abby agreed.

“Who’s this Edina?”

“Part ‘o’ tha crew,” the deckhand said. “Yuri’s been sweet on her fer a spell.”

“Mmmm,” she slowly nodded. “Think I got a shot?”

“Nope.”

“Way to kill my dreams, bitch.”

It was day two on Pelorum, and already Elias was feeling that he wanted to get the hell off of here. The moisture and salinity alike had gone through the wrappings on his face, and the cloth clung to it uncomfortable without in any meaningful way preventing the itch that got exponentially worse near the mangling upon his mug. At the same time the sun got into his eyes and blinded him, and turned his skin to a crisp. It wasn't exactly as if he was going to cover himself in sunscreen, what with its oiliness likely ruining any material it touched, Elias much disliking any synthetic materials for clothes. Perhaps though, in such a world he should have reconsidered. Out of spite for the world, and out of concern for a good business he still had to do, he refused to do this. Perhaps one of the chipper bastards on the crew always acting helpful could get something synthetic for him.

He cursed under his breath. He knew he shouldn't ever think of him like that, it was just anger with his predicament spilling over to any topic his mind touched. They had taken him in and showed kindness, whatever they were, bastards they were not. Well, at least in the metaphoric sense; with outer worlds they had come from, it was certainly possible they were such in a literal sense. But that didn't matter to him.

Going towards the town hall in between the swanky and run-down parts of the island they had landed on, he knew things were not going to be easy here either, it was an intuition of sorts. It was never easy. He thought back to the bank incident, the one that didn't leave him in debt for the keyboard turned to powder from his skull's impact on it solely because he had no money to his name. For a very, very brief moment he thought he might go to prison for the fact, a return to slavery once more. But the uptown bank was seemingly too high class for that and simply kicked him out with a sneer.

Well, at least there was one place he now knew for a fact that couldn't help him. One to mark off.

Going through the sliding doors, he had already written a great big "I AM MUTE, UNARMED, PLEASE HELP ME" on his little piece of blackboard. He stood for a while in the quiet of the building, until an elderly security guard approached him. The man stooped a little to read the blackboard, and then back up at Elias, before again reading the words. "Well, I'll see what I can do for you." the man said, shuffling off to the relief of the giant that he wasn't going to get tasered today.

Eventually he returned with a similarly elderly woman, he motioned for him to follow. "We are happy to welcome and assist anyone with disabilities in work with Pelorum governance. Thank you for coming to this town hall, how may I assist you?" she said, lazily and without inflection that suggested she was reading back a line from training.

He wrote "I NEED TO RECOVER MY IDENTITY." on his blackboard, to a gasp from the women. "Someone stole your identity?" she exclaimed. "You know I knew about scammers but to see it in person, why I never-" as gently as he could, Elias put a hand on her shoulder while shaking his head. Then he wrote anew on the blackboard. "I LOST ALL MY DOCUMENTS. NEED NEW ONES."

"Oh." the woman muttered, suddenly much less interested now that the matter wasn't part of some deep crime she heard about on television. "This way." she said, shuffling off to a small office. It was hot, and the lady quite unfortunately didn't seem to mind this with the fan in the room likely as old as its occupant. Stewing in his own sweat, Elias took a seat opposite of her. "So, what's your name?" she asked, and then entered it seeing as Elias already wrote it down anticipating the question.

"Date of birth? Thank you... Well, I'm sorry to say you don't look anything like your picture." she said, giggling.

"I AM HORRIBLY DEFORMED BECAUSE OF AN ACCIDENT. BUT IT IS ME I ASSURE YOU."

"Well, do you have anything else to verify your identity? Documents, specifically."

"NO."

Quite impressively, despite being two feet shorter than Elias even when discounting her elderly hunch, she managed to look down at him from over her glasses. "Well, I can't help you then. You're going to need somebody with a connected account to help you. Maybe go to the labs at the local hospital to get biometric verification.

A piece of chalk once more turned to powder between his fingers, the man then gently poured it like sand onto the table. Without a word, he left the building. Well, at least it was one more trial in the rings of hell completed.

The beach at Las Palmas Resort was picture perfect, an idyllic setting frequently used in the adverts for the tourist trade. An amiable sun chased feather whiffs of cloud above a glistening sea. Waves crashed onto the beach, a broad swath of sugar white sand dotted with pastel colored cabanas, pink, green, and sky blue. In the center towered a lifeguard stand, its’ occupant bronzed and fit, his sunglasses focused on the graceful red haired girl and her companion, Elvis the dog, playing together in the surf.

From a lounger in their own second row cabana, Lorraine couldn’t help the smirk over her new friend’s transformation. At first, Abby had resisted the bikini, her deep seeded modesty aghast at the diminutive bits of fabric. Her protests were short lived, however, faded away beneath the age old siren’s call of the waves and sand. The girl nicknamed ‘Cornflakes’ was truly dazzled, all self awareness dashed aside as she entered the water for the first time. Now, she cavorted with the big dog, romping and playing with the abandon of a child. Despite herself, Lorraine couldn’t help but be charmed at the sight.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone have so much fun.” Reg had appeared, crisp in his hotel cabana uniform of pale blue polo, white knee shorts and socks. He laid the serving tray upon the wicker table, depositing four fresh drinks.

“Her first ever day at the beach,” Lorraine offered. “I conjure Elvis there’s also the first dog she’s ever had chance to play with, too.”

He collected the empty glasses. “Gotta say she’s good for business,” he observed. “Send her around those four cabanas there. They’re all buying your drinks.”

“We’ll both be charming as fuck,” she grinned beneath her shades. “Heard from Brinker this morning. The job’s been put off til tomorrow night.”

He frowned. “Tomorrow? Why?”

“Turns out there’s a shindig at the Earth-That-Was Museum tonight. Most of our marks are on the guest list,” she lifted a glass to her lips. “Mmmm, Bobby’s pouring ‘em strong. You should drink one of these.”

“Can’t.” Reg gave a shake of his head which sent the neat dreadlocks flying. “If a guest saw that, there’d be hell to pay.”

“They’re too busy watching Cornflakes’ little pi gu. Drink one, before you have to carry us both off this beach.” Her argument carried weight, as Reg complied with a surreptitious downing of one drink. Lorraine continued, “The trawler’s ours. We got the clothes, and we got the boat’s course. What we’re short is hands.”

This news was met with a furrowed brow. “How short?”

“Two, mayhaps three.” Lorraine proffered a bottle of sunscreen. “Do my back?”

“Sure.” The serving tray touched down in the sand as Reg set to work. “Now, how we gonna pull this off if we’re short?”

“Mmmm,” she murmured her approval as his fingers massaged lotion onto her shoulders. “I might know one or two reliable folk.”

“Like who?”

“Like her.” She pointed toward Abby just as Elvis sent her sprawling into the surf.

“HER?” His questing fingers halted just above the strap of her swimsuit top. “What’s she gonna do? Get drunk and start kissing folk again?”

“Two birds, one stone,” Lorraine encouraged him with a nudge. “We’re s’posed to be looking out for her, so we’ll bring her along…put her to work. Badda boom, badda bing.” As he resumed with somewhat more reticent hands, she continued. “Believe me, Reg, Abby’s shiny. Doc gave me the four-one-one on her last night.”

He squirted a thick dollop of lotion along her lower back. “Go on,” he replied. “Make me confident.”

“She knows her way around triggers. Man who raised her was some kinda hotshot gunslinger. She’s quick.”

Reg was unimpressed. “I thought we weren’t going in strapped this time,” he replied.

“We always need a couple. Remember Moab?”

“Do I have to? Anyway,” he persisted, “how do we know she’s steady when it counts?”

“That girl,” she folded an arm to hold her top in place as Reg undid the strap, “was shanghai’d by a bike gang on Greenleaf. Word is that til her crew could get her back, those bikers kicked the ever lovin’ la shi out of her for a name she wouldn’t give up.”

“Greenleaf?” Reg asked. “Was it the Headhunters? Heard about them,” he muttered. “So what happened?”

Lorraine snorted. “She kicked back. Doc tells me Cornflakes there broke one biker’s nose and dislocated another one’s jaw. Third fella tried raping her. Word is he’s still unwrapping his gāowán** from ‘round his neck,” she laughed. “After that, the gang decided they liked her. They patched her in!”
**testicles

Reg worked lotion down into the muscles of her lower back. “Okay,” he gazed out toward Abby, who for the life of him looked every bit a delighted child as she tossed a driftwood stick for a happily barking Elvis. “She can take a beating. But can she do the job?”

“Doc seems to think so,” Lorraine flexed her back beneath his probing fingers. “She took care of some business on New Melbourne for his boss. That was right after she caught a bullet in the ass.”

“So she’s been shot,” He studied the distant girl’s hindquarters. “She got a scar?”

“Bet you’d like to find out.”

The partners in crime shared laughter before Reg shrugged and said, “well you’re the boss. When you gonna feel her out about it?”

“How about now?” With fingers raised to her lips, Lorraine’s high, piercing whistle carried down to the surf. Elvis’ head bolted up, ears perked at the signal, before an answering sweep of his master’s arm summoned his return. Abby was quick to follow, trotting through the sand, her hair running rivulets down fair skin colored by the sun.

“Well hey, Reg!” she give ‘im a big smile. Gorram, but he’s good lookin’ in his uniform, she reckoned. Way he’s smilin’ back coulda melted ‘er right there, til she conjured jest how little ‘er bikini was coverin’. Good tha sun done pinked ‘er up, she thunk. Mayhaps he wouldn’t see ‘er blushin’.

“Obby,” Reg’s Charming Island Accent was now deployed. ‘Tank ya for comin’ out dis ofternoon. Always nice hovin’ such a pretty girl like you playin’ on dis beach.”

“Down, boy!” Lorraine commanded. “Rehook my strap, wouldja? Don’t wanna talk business with my mimi’s hangin’ out, dohn mah? Cornflakes,” she gestured toward the adjacent lounge. “Take a load off. Grab one of those drinks.”

Abby done so, but not afore drapin’ a towel over herself. “Yah said business?” she asked. “What kinda business?”

Lorraine turned, her slender legs slipping over the edge of her lounge. “We got a little job for tomorrow night,” she smiled, her eyes alight as she leaned close. “Reg and I conjure cutting you in, if you’re not too shy about coloring outside the lines?”

Abby knowed tha lingo. She done heard it aplenty when Uncle Bob’s too likkered up tah set tha terms. Likewise, once-twice when Cap’n brought ‘er along fer a sit down. “Depends,” she took a pull from ‘er glass, playin’ it all cool like she seen Cap’n do. “How far outside we colorin’?”

After trading glances with Reg, Lorraine plunged ahead, her expression building delight as she unfolded the tale. “Bunch of rich swells,” her excitement translated into nervous fidgeting of her legs. “At a party. They’ll be loaded with cash and jewels. We’re gonna take it all.”

Abby heard some Tomfool schemes afore, but this’n put a look in ‘er eyes Lorraine done gone flat mental. “Whole passel ‘o’ rich folk,” she said even like. “At a party. Loaded down with cash an’ jewels. An’ we’re jest gon’ walk right in an’ lift it off ‘em?”

“Uh huh!” Lorraine nodded enthusiastically.

Now Abby’s sure Lorraine been out in tha sun a tad bit much. “Ain’t never seen no rich sumbitch without some muscle lookin’ out for ‘em…’specially a whole bunch in one place?”

Now Lorraine was beaming. “Oh, they’ll be there. Wanna know the best part? THEY KNOW WE’RE COMING, CORNFLAKES!” she chortled. “AIN’T THAT THE SHIT?”

Abby give Reg a cautious eye. “Yah got a doctor nearabouts?”

“No no no!” Lorraine belted a laugh as her hands flew up. “Here’s how it is.” In the minutes to follow, she could gauge the impact her plan had upon Abby, as the girl’s face transitioned from alarmed to dubious. Eventually, the slight crack of a smile appeared, accompanied by a spark of humor in Abby’s eyes. “We got the boat,” she concluded, “we got the togs, and we’re set to go tomorrow night. “Only thing we’re short is a couple more reliable folk to pitch in. So,” her grin was lopsided as she took Abby’s hands. “Whattya think?”

Abby could bare keep from bustin’ out loud in ‘er friend’s face. “I think,” she fought ‘er humors fer control, “that is nigh on tha most wackadoo scheme I ever did hear.” She seen disappointment flower in Lorraine’s eyes afore given’ ‘er hands a squeeze. “Course I’m in!” she laughed out this time. “Whole thing’s so bughouse I gotta see it now!”

“SHINY!” Lorraine vaulted from her lounge to land in a startled Abby’s lap. “Mmmmmmwah!” she pressed a kiss to the girl’s forehead, along with a firm hug. “This is gonna be huge!” she exclaimed, “but tell me, Cornflakes. Might you have one-two other folk on your China Doll who could lend a hand?”

Ain’t no holdin’ back now. “Mayhaps,” Abby smiled back as she hugged Lorraine. “Mayhaps.”

Cal's world began to come into view through sleepy, blinking eyes. The sprays of brown and blonde hair in his arms and on his chest began to clear the cobwebs, then the headache struck with each beat of his heart. Harsh light from the Pelroum sun sliced through the askew slats of the bedroom window. Two forms began to shift and sigh in soprano as he extricated his limbs from the curves of their pillowy, soft flesh.

He slipped into his trousers and buttoned his shirt, not looking back at the two sleeping, naked shapes sprawled over the bed. As he laced one boot, and then the other, he considered whether he ought to check in with SAM and Yuri, but decided against it, having nothing to show for his trip into town but a lighter purse. As he stood in the doorway, Cal permitted himself one look at last night's escapade. The brown-haired woman was petite yet buxom, her beautiful breasts moved in sleepy breaths, her face hidden in a pillow. The blonde woman was resting peacefully, curves completely uncovered by the clinging sheet, her relaxed face adorned with such pronounced brows that he had to swallow and rub his eye to banish the phantasm. No, it wasn't her. He knew it wasn't her.

Taking the stairs of the brothel two at a time, Cal took in the sight of the place in the light. The whole thing was a solid wooden structure, with a tacky bar carved with tiki men stacked on each other's heads. Accenting the bar were brightly colored leis hung and sagging over each tiki head which parroted the 'hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil' trope, but with a hand filled with cards here, or a peeking eye there, each tiki naked and hung as the day was long. Above the bar and around the place woven palm fronds created a canopy from the accommodations above where patrons retired to sample the primary service of the establishment.

Mid-day, he judged by the sun through the windows, meant that he would need to make up for lost time. For his galavanting on the main floor, dedicated to gambling as was custom, he'd earned a tip by keeping his ears open, part and parcel to a good hand of Tall Card last night--one of his only good hands. By name, it was Duke's Junk Yard, and by rumor it had a mule or two to spare. 'Course the tip was followed up with 'My brother works there, sugar! Tell him Tina says hullo,' from the woman at his elbow, pressing her cleavage up against him. Cal considered if it weren't unwise to out Tina as his source; whore houses might complicate family dynamics, he reckoned.

Cal tucked his hat onto his head and strode out into the street. Duke's was only a click from the spot and he was hoofing it to the sound of seagulls crying in paradise. True to form, the junk yard showed all the signs of disrepair he'd expected. Weeds wound in and among the chain link fence that lead to the arch which read "Duke's Junk," the sign pinned to the spot with rusted nails and covered in bird droppings. The double gate was open on one side, a hung sign read 'Open' on the other.

"Hullo," announced Cal to the burned out vehicles and parts of ships that lay spread among the weeds. The building wound around back where a dirt path had been worn. Once he rounded the corner to the garage he spied a man on his back beneath a jacked mule, decked in overalls and saturated in oil from knee to chest.

"I say hullo," he repeated to the man who pushed back from his work and regarded him with a wary look. He rose, wiping his soiled hands on his thighs. Cal couldn't tell if his hands got cleaner or dirtier.

"Afternoon," the middle-aged stranger replied, "I don't do deliveries, only haul-a-ways and scrap parts." His eyes measured Cal's expression, "Now, what brings you in?"

Pointing, Cal drew attention to the man's work, "That one there, does it run?"

The stranger turned to survey the mule. "It runs, the drive shaft needs replacing; shudders like an Quaker."

"How much as-is?" Cal removed his hat and approached the mule. It was in considerable condition, plenty of life in the chasis. The tires needed turning, by his eye, edgewear indicated it had been driven in the city, mostly. Shocks looked suitable, but the drive shaft enclosure was exposed as the man had been in the process of replacing it.

The man watched Cal appraise the mule while he produced a semi-white handkerchief and blew his nose. "Six hundred, once I button up the casing."

Strand fought the urge to balk and bit his tongue. "Six hundred, huh? Looks like it needs new tires and replacement shocks. Four-fifty and I'll take it off your hands."

Scratching his neck, the mechanic eyed the mule, then Cal. "Four-fifty..." the man hawked and spit. "For true, five-fifty is the lowest I'll go."

"Five-fifty," he wore his poker face to keep his smile at bay, the man went down now, he'd go down even further with a little push. "You know," Cal placed his hat on the mule, "I was told to say hullo for a little woman called Tina." He turned away from the man, looking again at the prize he'd soon secure.

The color drained from the mechanic's face and his mouth drew tight. "You saw Tina last night?"

"We talked while I played a hand or two," Strand said, turning his back to the man.

"Uh-huh, played a hand or two, didja?" He slapped his handkerchief on his thigh and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Indeed, so what do you say to five-hundred even?" Cal turned back to him wearing his most charming smile.

"I say you can go fuck yourself for five-hundred, just like you did my sister."

"Hold on now," Cal raised his hands, "No such thing happened, she just mentioned your name during cards--that's all. I ain't laid a hand on your sister. I swear on my mother's grave."

"That so?" the man, probably called Duke, eyed Cal from stem to stern. He chewed his cheek and spat. "Seven-hundred and no less. If not? Get out."

Cal picked up his hat and spat, too. He needed a mule. Couldn't go back to the Doll empty handed. "Twist my arm."

"I'd like to," came the reply as he abruptly lowered the mule from its jack.

"Hold on, what about the casing?"

"I'll throw in a wrench, but you go on the street."

Cal threw off his jacket one arm at a time, casting it over the seat of the mule. Set to neutral, he wheeled the thing out of Duke's and into the weed-ridden street. Unceremoniously, the Captain crawled under the mule armed with a wrench and bolts to fasten the casing over the exposed rod.

"Oughtta known, with my ruttin' luck," the casing fit into place without a fuss. "Buddha-forsaken place like Pelorum, society of inbred yīngōu shǔ," he turned the wrench which banged against the casing. "Core planet la shi," casing fastened, he wriggled his way back out from under the mule. "Thing oughtta be made of solid gold for seven-hundred."

Tossing the wrench in the short bed, Cal mounted the mule and gave it a kick. It belched carbon and roared to life, a high-pitched idle to follow. From his meager knowledge, it told him he'd need the likes of Elias or Yuri to take a look and make sure the choke was situated. Thrown into gear, the mule eased forward with great vibration, and Strand tucked his hat around his ears. The waning sun lit the pot-hole ridden road back to the China Doll.

As he'd given Abby shore leave, not a soul greeted him as he rode the new mule up onto the ramp. He parked it where its counterpart had been and killed the gas, home sweet home, he thought. Sans a medic and a pilot, this boat felt less like a home and more like those strapped years where his lonely needle and yoke respectively filled those posts aboard the shell of a ship. His left pinky never had set right from his own splinting as reigning medic. A captain without crew weren't captain of much. He scratched his chin and pursed his lips.

After his bout with the nun, he was wary of finding her in the galley, but the smell from Edina's cooking drew him in, in spite of himself. He'd have a bite and chalk up meandering from vice to vice these last hours to the win column, seein' as he came back with something to show for it, leastwise. Finally, his silver case of little white soldiers had been reinforced, and he lit a smoke as he took the stairs to the galley.

"How we lookin'?" he asked of the empty cargo bay, hand covering the flame at his lip.

"Welcome back, Cal," came Sam's unprompted response from a wall speaker to his left. "Most of the crew is townside. Enjoying the sun, I imagine. Fuel reserves have been repleneshed, and the waste resevoirs have been drained."

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, but didn't reply.

"Feeling any better?" her lilting tone sounded hopeful.

"I'm fine, was fine. Will be... fine," came the response, ignoring her subtext. That machine was becoming more insightful each time it spoke. She spoke.

"Glad to hear it," Sam replied, unconvincingly, as her voice followed him through the aft opening to the galley.

The Captain added, "Send a wave to Yuri. Tell 'im I'm back with a new mule, but the choke needs lookin' at and the drive shaft needs replacin'. Have Elias take a gander."

"Consider it done. Any word from Alana?"

"No," he hesitated, arms planted on the counter, smoke curling from his cigarette. "No word."

In his debauchery the night before, he hazily remembered sending a wave, three-quarters-pissed, to the late medic. It weren't a beg or a plea, weren't no words at all, actually. Just static. Just empty static.

The museum’s Aviation Pavilion had been transformed for the gala. Lights swung and whirled from the ceiling above, their colorful beams painting the host of white linen table tops to set a glow in the overall space. The tables shared the floor with a number of aircraft replicas, museum built facsimiles to represent the propeller and piston engine warplanes from one of the darkest periods in human history, the early nineteen forties.

As they were shown to their table, Yuri took it all in as a matter of vague interest. He recognized the planes from his reading…the Mustang, the Messerschmitt, the Spitfire. Above him, a P-40 with Chinese markings pursued a nimble Japanese Zero, the aerial ballet another work of the museum’s holographic projectors. “Flying Tigers,” he muttered absently.

“What?” Edina turned, and Yuri found himself bedazzled once again. The dress she’d chosen was a simple thing, its’ neckline and short sleeves a modest cut. But fiery red color and knee length hemline combined with her mocha skin to take the breath right out of him. “You’re doing it again,” she teased at his gaping.

“I’m not the only one,” Yuri managed a chuckle. The museum’s fund raising event had drawn the typical “gala” crowd, well dressed men and women whose grey and silver hair, should hair remain, was on display. Edina wasn’t the only pretty young woman in the room, but she’d nonetheless managed to turn a number of heads. “Flying Tigers,” he answered her question. “A great story from history…”

“It is.” Ms. Cornwall, the museum’s curator, greeted the couple. After ushering them to chairs and alerting a waiter for drinks, she offered, “so lovely that you could come. What do you think of our little get together?”

Edina responded with a broad smile. “It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I’ve seen a few captures from this period, but to look at those…planes…in person? They’re so much bigger than I Imagined!”

The older woman accepted the compliment with a polite nod. “Our builders attempted to recreate them as exact, working replicas of the originals. There are some disparities. Aluminum of the era is not cost effectively produced, nor is the rubber used for the tires. Likewise, the leather of the pilot’s seats. Otherwise,” she offered the couple a contented smile, “our aircraft reproductions are completely faithful to their forbears. I’m particularly happy with the Ford Trimotor.” She raised a slender arm, drawing their attention to the band stand. There, suspended above a projected orchestra,, the larger museum piece looked down on the festivities, propellers spinning lazily.

“Shiny,” Yuri managed to conceal his disappointment that tonight’s big band was, like the aircraft wheeling and darting above, a bit of holographic trickery. “Love the musical choices,” he offered a smile as ‘Take The A Train’ filled the room.

The museum curator lifted a hand, a casual gesture that summoned a waiter and a bottle of champagne. “We’ve also hired a dance coach for the evening,” she offered as three flutes were filled with the bubbling, golden vintage. “From what I’ve seen of nineteen forties big band swing dancing, it’s energetic enough to remain the premise of the young. Endeavors,” she hoisted her glass.

“Endeavors,” the China Doll crewpeople joined their host, the fine crystal glasses ringing softly as they touched. Though he’d never developed a taste for champagne, Yuri had to agree that this particular bottle was actually very pleasing. “That’s nice,” he observed. “Hardly sweet, and a nice tang.”

Henrietta Cornwall’s ever present smile remained. “I, too, enjoy this one’s subtleties. Take a sip. This time, don’t roll it around your mouth. Just let it sit upon your tongue for a few seconds before swallowing.”

Edina was no connoisseur herself, but with Ms. Cornwall’s patient tutelage to guide her, she found appreciation for something she only managed to choke down once each New Year’s party. “Wow,” she grinned excitedly. “That really is something.”

“Indeed.” Cornwell’s eyes danced from one young person to the next, before her face restored its’ placid, businesslike countenance. “Tell me,” she asked as the waiter poured refills, “this vessel of yours…China Doll. I understand her to be a Class three Firefly?”

Yuri nodded as the glass met his lips. “That’s right,” he answered. “And she’s in great shape for a girl of her years.”

The old woman chuckled. “An enviable claim. If it’s not too rude of me, might I ask about your bookings? Are you busy?” she asked. “Or do your contracts come on more of a catch-as-catch-can basis?”

It seemed a bit off putting, sharing details of the rough and tumble that was life in the black with a Grande Dame of Pelorum society. Despite the woman’s flawless veneer, Yuri found no condescension in the question…but the mild gleam in her eyes was its’ own tell. Business was about to be discussed. “As most of our trade involves hauling cargo or passengers,” he replied, “contracts are typically a series of one-offs.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t leave us much leeway for longterm planning.”

“Time and tide wait for no man,” the curator smiled. “And what of your current prospects?”

This time, Edina spoke. “Normally, we base our destinations upon the largest cargo we’re booked to ship.” As Yuri nodded agreement, she continued, “as Pelorum’s chief export appears to be fun, I conjure that we’ll probably just be hauling passengers on the next run.”

“Mmmm,” Henrietta pursed her lips. “And therefore, not such a profitable voyage.”

Yuri’s time with Cal Strand had taught him a few lessons about people and the way they liked to deal. Here, Ms. Cornwall’s insinuation was setting the stage for an offer on her terms. ‘Don’t let ‘em fence you in,’ the captain warned about such maneuvers. ‘Change the narrative. Put yourself on better ground.’ "Actually,” he spoke up, “with so many folk coming and going from Pelorum on their own schedules, we stand to make good bank on the next run.”

“Have you booked anyone thus far?”

“Not yet,” he smiled toward Edina. “Captain gave the crew some shore leave. We’ll be chasing that work the day after tomorrow.”

“What if you didn’t have to chase?” the elder woman posed her question with a half empty flute held before her lips.

“We’re listening,” Edina said.

“That we are,” Yuri agreed.

A look of satisfaction crossed the old woman’s features as she sipped from her glass. “We’ve got a job,” she leaned toward the young couple, her voice low. “Artifact recovery. Your recent care of the items we entrusted to your handling and interest have had me thinking that China Doll might be the correct vessel for the job.”

“What artifacts?” Edina asked.

“That’s a discussion for a different setting,” Cornwall parried. “Suffice to say that to perform the job, you’d have to effectively double the operational range of a Class Three Firefly, while tripling your cargo capacity.”

“An exoskeleton,” Yuri caught the woman’s drift. “Strapped with extra fuel, oxygen, and water for the trip, plus freight containers. Can be done,” he nodded. “But building that out isn’t a quick and easy job. Gonna require time…and coin.”

The curator met this with a genuine smile. “This is the part where I’m supposed to tell you that coin is no object. I won’t do that,” she chuckled, “but I will make what I consider to be a very fair offer for your services. What we don’t have in abundance is time,” her expression grew serious. “Our window opens in about two months. China Doll would have to be onsite by then. From there, you’d only have about three days to search and recover, before you’d be compelled to return.”

The gravity in Edina’s eyes was palpable. “What happens if we take longer than three days?”

“You’d be stranded,” Cornwall replied directly. “For about the next three hundred years.” At the lift of her hand, a second waiter appeared. He fastidiously placed a silver serving tray before the two China Doll crew. “My offer,” she said as the gleaming cover was lifted to reveal a plain envelope on the dish. “We’ve taken the liberty of calculating your hard costs for the refit, the journey, and return. Total estimated time is three months.”

Yuri lifted the envelope, tucking it into his breast pocket. “I’ll need to show this to the Captain,” he replied.

“Of course. I think you’ll find that in addition to your operating costs I’ve added a generous markup for services. But ‘time and tide,” she smiled. “I’d like a meeting with your Captain…Calvin Strand, I’m told…to convey the details and cement an agreement. My private link is included with that offer. Please offer my invitation to set a meeting tomorrow?”

“At my earliest chance,” the first mate replied.

Henrietta Cornwall pressed her hands together, a prayerful gesture of gratitude as she rose from her seat. ‘Splendid,” she said. “But now, I must see to my other guests. Their donations will finance your expedition,” she smirked. “Do enjoy yourselves tonight. Oh! There’s Benjamin!” She waved toward the Period Dance Instructor. “I leave you in good hands.” With a gracious nod, the museum curator swept away, her sights set on a table festooned with the grandl;y dressed representatives of the Upper Crust.

“Wow,” Edina breathed as the older woman left them. “What do we do now?”

“She called the tune,” Yuri felt the weight of the envelope pressing upon his heart. “Looks like we could be dancing.”

“Well,” Yuri sighed as they stepped into the night air. “That was…an evening.” He led Edina to a boardwalk facing the beach. “Sorry.”

She fell in at his side. “It wasn’t so bad,” she shrugged. “I mean…the period dance lessons were kinda fun…weren’t they?”

“Yeah,” he quipped. “At least until I learned I have no sense of rhythm.”

“Oh, that’s not true!” Edina gave his shoulder a playful nudge. “You got the beat alright. More important?” She stopped, turning toward him. “You didn’t drop me, Yuri!”

He shook his head with a rueful laugh. “Oh, that poor woman. Her husband’s on the couch tonight, I’ll wager.”

“My money’s on the back porch,” she snickered. The couple set off again, their shoes clicking softly on the weathered planking. The moment’s silence between them was companionable. When it happened, Edina’s hand slipping into Yuri’s seemed the most natural thing in the ‘verse. “So,” she spoke up, “you think Captain will take the job?”

“Hard to say,” he tried to sound casual as her fingers twined with his. “This one’s a long way from our stock in trade. Still,” the first mate thought out loud, “the notion of keeping the crew fed and working for three whole months? Even if the coin’s not great, that’s a thing to ponder.”

“But an asteroid,” Edina countered. “Well outside the ‘verse. That’s a cause for some nerves, to be sure.”

Yuri gave her hand a gentle squeeze. It seemed funny, a grown man like himself finding thrill in the simplest act of affection. “We’ll have what we need. Plenty of fuel, enough food. On the up side, out there as we’d be, it’ll be hard for any claim jumpers to slip up on us unannounced. But again,” he chuckled. “Not my call. So,” he paused near a stairway the led down to the sand,, “I know a lot of nights like this include a walk on the beach.” As their eyes met, he asked, “what do you think?”

She glanced down the wooden steps. Beyond, the beach was lit by a glowing moon which chased clouds across a brilliant night sky. It was the picture postcard view of a traditional romantic moment… “How about,” she countered, “we save this for tomorrow night? I’m feeling like shorts and barefoot is the way to do that…not to mention I’m ready to be out of these heels.”

“Shiny,” he turned toward the street. “Wouldn’t mind ditching the suit, myself.”

“I mean,” she backtracked, “I’m good for a walk on the beach, if that’s what you want.”

The grip of his hand was encouraging. “Believe me,” he said as they made for the spaceport, “Tomorrow night’s perfect. After my time aboard The Mick I take the ocean in small doses.”

She nodded slowly as they walked together. “I used to walk the beach at night on New Melbourne…mainly when my husband was at sea. Folk I know thought that was so romantic of me…the sailor’s wife and all, walking the shoreline until his return. But it wasn’t like that,” Edina’s tone darkened as they strolled the darkened street. “Not at all. I was trapped, in that town, in that awful apartment, in that marriage. Terrified of what he’d do when his fishing boat returned. What part of me or my housekeeping he’d find fault with,” she muttered. “Just what type of drunk he’d be when he decided to come home. Happy drunk? That was okay. Horn-dog drunk?” she raised an eyebrow. “Tolerable. Usually quick and then he was out like a light. But angry drunk,” she stifled a shiver at the memory of those black nights. “I could just see it in his face when he came through the door. No amount of kindness, no amount of seduction…none of it worked when he turned up with a set jaw and a balled up fist.” Sensing Yuri’s dutiful silence, she concluded, “so walks on the beach sorta became a refuge. The last place I felt like I had a choice. I guess,” she concluded, “they lost their romantic appeal for me. Sad, I conjure. Maybe I should give that another go.”

She left him struggling for words. Everything that came to Yuri’s mind, from overblown pronouncements of the kindness Edina deserved to hot bluster about her abusive husband, just felt ridiculous. She didn’t need his assurances; he understood that on a deeper level. Yet still, her shared pain should be met with something. In the end, he finally opted for the simplest words of all. “I’m sorry, Edina,” he shook his head as they walked past darkened storefronts. “You didn’t deserve any of that.” He could’ve left it there…should have, his reasoning mind protested, but in that moment, Yuri’s emotions held sway over his mouth. “If I could make it better…”

“You already have.” Her fingers tightened their hold, as he felt their electricity course through his chest. “So listen,” her tone brightened, “I did a little meandering on the cortex today.”

“What’dja find?” he asked.

“Just the place we’re gonna wrap up our shore leave,” she swung their entwined hands as they walked. “It’s called Joy’s Mooring. Just your basic shack built on an old pier. Fresh seafood, tall drinks, and,” Edina nudged him with a playful hip, “reggae music to dance to.”

She’d changed the subject. He couldn’t find fault in that, nor would he press her to open up the book of her life until she was good and ready. He’d heard about Edina’s first days aboard China Doll. Abby’d shared the tale of the wounded, bruised woman who locked herself into her cabin for days. “Took ‘er food an’ drink,” the girl had shared. “She’s jest grateful tah git some space without folk botherin’ ‘er.” Comparing the Edina who strolled hand in hand with him to the damaged woman in Abby’s tale was a difficult leap for him, especially having witnessed her blossoming into both shipboard life and earning her place among China Doll’s crew. That face, he thought of her lively eyes, teasing smile, and the smooth mocha skin he longed to touch, how does anyone decide to hurt her? “Sounds like I’m picking up a pair of shorts tomorrow,” Yuri answered with a pleasant chuckle. “Didn’t know you knew what reggae music was.”

“Lived in a seaside town,” she replied. “Reggae, ska, calypso…they never get old.”

“Mmmm,” he smiled. “Can’t wait to begin your jazz education.” Without thinking, Yuri lifted Edina’s hand, pressing his lips to the back. “Sorry,” he stammered. “I had no idea I was gonna do that.”

“Yuri Antonov,” Edina stopped to face him. “Did you just apologize for kissing me?”

“Um…yes? I conjure I did.”

In response, her hands came up, rising to cradle the back of his neck. Edina’s face lifted toward his, her eyes fixed upon his as they moved together. “Now you have to make it up to me.”

With a terrifying roar, the huge bear pummeled its’ way down the sloping ridge. Mei Lin felt her legs go to rubber at the sound, but still she ran, crashing down through snow laden boughs as the giant closed the distance. “Run,” her father’s voice filled her mind. “Fast as you can.”

He was close. Too close. Right behind her. She could hear the heavy thump thump thump of his paws in the snow, and the growling rumble of each breath taken. The fleeing child ran downward, her little legs no match for the locomotive barreling in hot pursuit. Ahead lay the pike, it’s bottom rising up from the log on which she’d propped it. Mei Lin fought the urge to look behind her. This was it. This was how she’d die.

The bear roared again, this time lunging forward, it’s gigantic body taking flight. Mei Lin also sprung, her tiny frame landing atop the pike which gave way, dropping her face first into the snow. The weapon’s fire hardened tip rose into the air, its’ lethal point straight and true as the predator’s immense bulk…

“Hey. Look who’s back!”

Abby lifted eyes from ‘er book to see Yuri, bath robed an’ bare footed, headin’ fer tha showers. ”Ni hao,” she answered.

He stopped, his bundle of fresh clothes and toiletries tucked under one arm. “No more waitressing antics?” the first mate offered a smile. “I was gonna bring Edina by.”

“Nope,” the girl shook ‘er head. “Vic’s closed tahday. Somethin’ ‘bout his religion, and he cain’t do no work nor even switch on a light.” She’s sittin’ in the galley, Injun style on a chair, still wearin’ them boxers an’ tee shirt she liked sleepin’ in. “Don’t rightly think I could tolerate such a thing,” she offered.

“It’s called Shabbos,” he replied, “the day of rest. So, since your little friend’s off today, do you two have plans…or was it just a one night stand?”, he teased.

“Swear tah Buddha,” Abby groused, “if y’all’d spend more time gettin’ us work an’ less time worryin’ ‘bout who’s at my nethers we’d all be a sight better off.”

Yuri laughed. “Sorry, we can’t help ourselves,” he chuckled. “Our little girl, all grown up. Makes us proud.”

“Makes yah bunch ‘o’ pervs is what it does,” the deckhand give a snort. “But since yer keepin’ such a watch, tha answer’s no. Ain’t havin’ no tumble with Lorraine. Jest lotsa laughs, is all. So,” she changed subject, “yah see that mule Cap’n brought back?”

China Doll’s first mate nodded. “Just from a distance. Edina and I had just gotten back from a big to-do at the museum. Looked a little rough around the edges.”

“True that.” Abby laid ‘er open book down on tha table. “Looked like she had tha ever lovin’ la shi run outta ‘er. Can’t wait tah know what Elias thinks.” Her expression shifted, eyes gone all knowin’ as a crooked smile lifted ‘er cheeks. “So, you an’ Edina, huh?” she asked as that smile sprouted into a grin. “An’ did y’all…grow up? Did’ja make me proud?”

“Oooh, touche,” Yuri laughed and shook his head. “I will say we might’ve gotten the boat a plum job. If Cap’n signs off, we could be covered for the next three months.”

“Doin’ what?” Word ‘o’ such charter had ‘er ears pricked up proper.

“Ever run a jackhammer in an EV suit?”

Her eyes widened. “Fer true? We got salvage? In tha black? I git tah work outside? What’re we goin’ after?”

The girl can sure put two and two together, he thought as his lifted hand stifled a barrage of questions. “Hold on, you know Cap’n likes to tell the crew about our jobs,” he smirked. “Lat’s not steal his thunder, dohn mah?”

“C’mon!” she whined. “I ain’t gon’ tell. An’ I promise tah act all surprised when he fills us in.”

Yuri wanted to laugh at the excited girlchild before him. “I promise,” he answered, “you’ll get all the four-one-one no later than tomorrow. In the meantime, you’ve still got a day of shore leave. Use it. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” Abby done said all reluctant. “Hear anythin’ from Alana?”

“Not a peep,” he said. “I did get a wave from Tommy. He’s leavin’ the boat.” At her unvoiced question, Yuri continued, “turns out the dude ranch he’s staying at needs a head wrangler and all around cowboy. Not to mention his childhood sweetheart is working there, so he wants to give that a shot.”

Abby’s ‘bout tah speak up on lookin’ fer a new pilot til all of a sudden Edina showed up. Difference was she din’ come upstairs from ‘er passenger room. This time, she come from tha forward passage…crew quarters.

“Hi, Abby!” the boat’s cook greeted her deckhand. Edina wore an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of cut off sweatpants. “I’ll get some coffee going. You up for breakfast?”

Abby didn’ answer with nothin’ but a cheshire cat grin an’ a look what screamed ‘BUSTED’ at Yuri. “I’m so proud. Our lil’ boy done growed up,” she said afore laughin’ out loud.

Edina stopped, her eyes darting from one to the other. “Did I miss something?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Yuri said before hastily retreating below deck.

JP from @wanderingwolf and @sail3695

Cal, enthroned in the Captain’s chair, had his feet up on the console while wearing a bright orange and red printed silk shirt embroidered with seagulls and palm trees. He gestured to the empty bridge, “Look, just ‘cause a body wears a brightly colored shirt don’t mean it’s a cry for help, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

The crystal clear voice of SAM echoed back, “What’s the phrase? ‘I call it how I see it’? According to known human history, this sort of change in behavior occurs when someone seeks attention to how they’re feeling, so if you want to tal–”

“Don’t get me wrong, Sam, I know you love your facts and figures, but I’m tellin’ ya, I just found this shirt in with the laundry–probably Rex’s–and I figured ‘when in Rome.’ That’s all.” His tone, despite it all, wasn’t deriding or dismissive, and the smirk he wore, had SAM been able to see it in her capture, would tell her she’d hit the nail on the head.

“Is that all? Well,” she continued after a moment, “I was going to say, if you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

“Appreciate the sentiment,” he replied, then changed the subject, “How many passengers we got lined up for this next leg?”

“It’s been a slow couple of days, but three have booked so far. Mr. Eleanor, Rev. McDermott, and Mrs. Hewitt have taken berths, but returned to town. I suspect they’re taking advantage of what’s left of the day before we leave this evening.

“I might have to take advantage, myself,” Strand said, thoughtfully touching his knuckles to his lips.

The sound of voices echoing down the corridor drew Yuri from the galley. He leaned through the cockpit hatch, a mug of coffee leading the way, before abruptly stopping. The man who lounged in the left seat had all the Captain’s mannerisms, right down to the timbre of his voice. But the floral explosion he wore was definitely the most ‘un-Cal’ thing the first mate had ever laid eyes upon. “Excuse me,” he buried the smile that threatened the corners of his mouth, “who are you and what have you done with our captain?”

“Et tu Yuri? I just got finished settin’ Sam straight and before you come up with any grandiose designs on my mental health, let me assure you: that’s a stupid question and don’t ask.” He righted himself in his chair, swiveling toward the first mate. “Heard we got scarce few stragglers for payin’ customers next hop.” Cal crossed his arms, “Ain’t Pelorum just a ray of sunshine.”

Seems to be in good spirits, Yuri thought as he leaned against the pilot’s railing. The captain’s absence had thusfar yielded an unusual taste in clothing and a moderately decrepit mule…but no doctor returned to the fold. Cal hadn’t mentioned Alana, and Yuri wasn’t about to broach the subject. “Gorram stupid question, you ask me,” he nodded amiably. “A ship’s Cap’n is wise as a sage, brave of heart, and clear of eye and mind. So say we all who want to keep drawing pay,” he chuckled. “Have to admit that I’m surprised we have any passengers rostered, what with our ace lawn chair girl off skylarking.” After pausing for a sip from his mug, the first mate spoke again. “We do have a job offer, though, sir.”

“Cortex books, way Sam tells it. She’s been experimentin’ with her own digital lawn chair, and apparently with a few captures and fake reviews, folk are liable to bite.” Strand chuckled. When he’d swiped the AI those months ago with designs to offload it as soon as possible, he had no idea how things would pan out. Now, much as he was loath to admit it, SAM was wearing him down; especially since she didn’t draw a share...

“Music to my ears,” Cal said, rising from the Captain’s chair. “Did you catch it or did it fall in your lap?” From where his duster hung on the back of the chair, he sought out the silver case in the breast pocket. His fingers worked the mechanics of lighting the cigarette at his lips while he said through the side of his mouth, “You haggle the price like I told you?”

Yuri was shaping up into quite the first mate. Having been drug from a life of ships and sea-faring, he acknowledged the chain of command and was keen to listen. He had a stubborn streak, but Cal had to admit he acted much the same a decade ago. What with Edina having appeared on the scene, he’d watched a transformation of that stubbornness into an easy-going, and somewhat goofy, nature. Women did the strangest things to men, he conjured. That thought pursed his lips a little too tightly around his cigarette, as he surveyed his first mate.

“Repeat customer,” Yuri shifted, his palms landing on the rail. “The museum we hauled those artifacts for? The Curator has a recovery job she pitched to Edina and me last night. There’s an asteroid she thinks might have some cargo containers ditched from one of the original colony ships. Its’ elliptical orbit puts it back within reach of the ‘verse for the first time in over three hundred years.” He paused a beat as Cal touched fire to a cigarette. “She wants us to head out and get what can be got.”

During a long draw on his smoke, Strand calculated the ship and crew specifics behind Yuri’s words. To check his work, he replied, “Haul like that means scaffolding and belly tanks; orbit like that means a narrow window to get the goods…” Cal let out a jet of smoke, eyebrow prompting Yuri to continue.

The mate nodded, his gestures more emphatic as the captain ticked boxes of a mental checklist. “All true…all true,” he agreed. “We’d need a truss exoskeleton bolted to hard points on the boat, extra fuel, extra oh-two, extra water. Pretty heavy prep that’d have to be done in the black somewhere off the beaten path.” He straightened his posture, the expression deepening as he delivered the next bit. “Not to mention a pretty wide berth we’d need to cut out past Miranda.”

The Captain nodded as Yuri confirmed the particulars. “Miranda?” Cal didn’t like that one bit. “Does Mrs. Museum conjure what she’s askin’?” Cal drew on his cigarette, considering. “When does this rock see this side of the ‘Verse?” Yuri was right: they’d need time to prepare, and more importantly, to find a pilot what could maneuver through asteroid fields. Cal’s hand was steady at the yoke, but he had to admit his reflexes weren’t honed for guiding the Doll. The wheels started turning on the latter subject.

“We felt her out as much as was do-able in a room full of folk,” Yuri replied. “She conjures the prep to be done, and our want to tiptoe the entire job to avoid pirates and claim jumpers, not to mention Reavers. I’m guessing she wants this just as quiet as we do to steer clear of the Alliance making their own claim.” He set the empty mug down beside the pilot’s console. “We didn’t talk coin. I told her that was for you and her to work out. But she did make it clear she’d have our charter for three months to get the job done.”

Cal nodded, “Three months of honest work is no joke. You did good. Maybe I oughta attend more hoity parties like you. I’ll wave her down and walk her toward a figure that’ll put us right.” He moved to the ashtray on the captain’s console. “I got an inklin’ on how to find us a pilot, but I need to suss a few things. And we’ll need one for this gig.” Cal looked out the nose view pane, “You know Abby’s gonna be over the moon for this job.” He shook his head, “Girl loves the black more than white on rice. Didja see the chalk picture she drew on the hull before Osiris? Gigantic butterfly. ‘Mariposa,’ excuse me.” Cal sighed and ground his cigarette in the tray.

To that, Yuri responded with a slow nod. Hope she’s got her ‘surprised’ face ready, he mused briefly before lifting a mild smirk toward Cal. “Think we should add a bucket of chalk to our bid?”

“Reckon I might just.” Cal hooked his duster on a finger as he made way toward the corridor. “Though, I oughtta inspect Edina’s cookin’, first. Man alive, woman’s got a way with spices, don’t she?”

“She’ll be pleased to hear that, sir.” Yuri collected the coffee mug as Cal made for the corridor hatch. “Museum’s expecting us today. I’ll set the meeting.”

“Shiny,” Cal replied, then hesitated half-way through the hatch, “And Sam?”

“Yes, Cal?”

“Don’t tell nobody you saw me in this getup,” he said, gesturing to his shirt. “Goes for you, too,” he said, pointing to Yuri.

“Saw you in what?” the first mate asked.

“My lips are sealed,” her lilting accent punctuated the digital smirk.

“Uh-huh,” Cal replied before disappearing, shortly before the sound of his bunk ladder clapping shut behind him.

Reassured by the heavy clang of the ladder hatch, Yuri cast an eye toward the video capture pickup. “So…Sam?” he said easily, “did you get pretty pictures?”

“High resolution color,” the AI responded crisply.

“Good.” A smile touched his feetures as he strode toward the hatch. “Please add ‘em to the ‘Blackmail’ folder, along with Abby’s new nickname…Cornflakes.”

“Already done.”

A trip to a hospital was now warranted. On his third day on Pelorum, Elias had found that his skin had started to begin browning. Thankfully, it had not begun to burn as he had feared. The fact he had accomplished this without using some oily sunscreen that would stain his clothing was one he was quite glad about. It was in these little victories that the Elias Riemen of today found solace.

He looked at a map on a board on the street after some walking, and after referencing it he looked up to see the faded neon lights of a red cross barely visible in daylight. There it was, the hospital. Just as he took a step towards it, he felt ever so slightly light. That was a fact that was very easy to establish, given that other than his clothing he had nothing but a tattered leather wallet on his person. When you have just one thing on you, its absence becomes quite apparent. He looked around for the offender, until he spotted a kid speed walking away from him. Elias's brief wondering of whether this was the offender was quickly resolved when the teen gave a look behind himself and locked eyes with Elias before promptly starting to flee as fast as his feet would take him.

Well, Elias knew he wouldn't catch the brat in a sprint. He would probably beat the kid in a marathon, but in an urban setting that wasn't a winning strategy to catching a pickpocket. Looking down, a loose bit of pavement entered his hands. Testing the weight, he remembered his high school years, his time in college. All the sports ma and pa made him sign up for, insisting he get the basketball scholarship in spite of the fact they had a money to pay for tuition a few hundred times over. Well, the piece of cement was nothing like a basketball or any kind of ball for that matter, but Elias knew he had a pretty damn good throwing arm. After a brief wind up, he sent the cement flying in a smooth arc to hit the boy on the shoulder with a meaty thunk even at the meters separating them.

Quite leisurely now, Elias strolled over to the yelping youth. Picking him up by the collar of his waistcoat, the engineer shook his head. "What a ridiculous outfit for such a planet." He said, or at least tried to in a string of syllables incomprehensible to the boy. Picking through the struggling boy's pockets he eventually retrieved his own wallet, and then another. "H'ahgeh." Elias managed, as close as he could in saying "taxes". He wasn't going to pretend to be a pinnacle of morality by any stretch, but he felt that robbing a thief wasn't going to earn him any more reincarnations until samsara.

Well, satisfied that he had lunch money and perhaps something to bribe a clerk, he entered the hospital. Strolling up to the counter of the reception, the woman there didn't even look up as he pressed a button that printed a ticket for him and tearing it off extended a hand not busy with a crossword. Taking it, Elias looked at the number. 4812. He began to write "What is the current active number?", when he heard a speaker announce "NOW SERVING TICKET FOUR. SE-SE-SE-SE-SEV-SEVEN. TWO. NINE. REPEATING, NOW SERVING TICKET FOUR. SEVEN. TWO. NINE."

"Fu'h."

Three hours passed until he heard "NOW SERVING TICKET FOUR. SEVEN. SEVEN. THREE." At that point his stomach began to make noises akin to an engine struggling to ignite. Looking down at an imaginary watch on his wrist, he decided he had time to go and get some sort of snack. Strolling out he went about until he got himself the cheapest hotdog he could find from a street vendor, reasoning that the dead flies or whatever would be extra protein for the bucks spent. Licking his fingers, he entered the hospital only to turn pale as he heard "NOW SERVING TICKET NINE. TWO. THREE. THREE."

A mixture of panic and confusion overtook him as he sprinted towards reception again, where the crossword enjoying lady repeated the routine of tearing off a ticket to hand him. He swatted it out of her hands, and pointed to his before quickly scrawling "I WAITED THREE HOURS", words he circled three times for emphasis.

"Sorry hun, you missed it." came the lazy reply.

"HOW THE HELL DID IT SKIP FROM 4729 to 9233?"

The woman chuckled. "Did you not read the ticket? It says the numbers aren't in consecutive order."

"WHERE????"

"Turn it over."

He did, and still didn't see.

"WHERE???" he repeated, now with several underlinings of the question mark.

"Look closer."

He did, and at last his squinting gaze spotted the beige print on the white paper. His hands trembled with rage, but the part of his brain that got straight As in university managed to soothe the ape within that was eager to rip off faces and throw feces. Rather lamely he stooped down, and picked up the ticket he swatted out of the woman's hands and once more took a seat.

After some fifteen minutes of waiting, an elderly man and his grandson sat near him. Looking to them, Elias wrote "MY NUMBER IS 5599 COULD YOU TELL ME WHEN IT IS CALLED? I HAVE BEEN HERE HOURS, GOING TO FALL ASLEEP ANY MOMENT", the final letters being tiny to accomodate the piece of blackboard the struggled to fit them. As an afterthought, he added a bill appropriated from the thief. While the elderly man began to grumble something, his grandson was all too eager for some candy money.

With a boar-like snort Elias awoke from the boy tapping his shoulder, just as the PA system finished calling his new number. Patting the child on his head Elias arose and rushed to the waiting nurse.

Clumsily he sat upon the chair that was far too small for him, the nurse typing something into a computer. "Name?" she asked.

"ELIAS RIEMEN." he wrote on his blackboard.

"Hmmm, you're not local then. Not surprising really. Alright, do you have any ID?"

"NO THEY TOLD ME TO COME HERE TO GET BIOMETRIC VERIFICATION."

"Oooooh, sorry. This site doesn't have that equipment, you're going to have to go up to the Memorial Hospital in the downtown. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

The man's hands began to tremble, then his legs. After a very brief hyperventilation, he wordlessly stood up and left the building.

Arriving at the memorial Hospital, a very similar routine happened, albeit the staff and conditions were of a far higher quality with smiles and the sickening white cleanliness that smelled of chemicals permeated the establishment. "WHY IS IT CALLED MEMORIAL HOSPITAL? ITS SUPPOSED TO BE IN SOMEBODYS MEMORY" Elias wrote to a passing worker at some point, out of pure curiosity.

Spotless white teeth moved to reply "Oh, its in memory of everybody, because everybody deserves to be in our thoughts." Such a line reminded Elias of shitty speeches he had to write for English class in high school. The thought was so meaningless yet pretentiously high-brow that it made bile rise up his throat.

At last however, another nurse tended to him. "What can I help you with sir?" he babyfaced fellow asked, quite pleasantly before asking who he was.

"I NEED TO RESTORE IDENTITY, I WAS TOLD TO GO HERE AFTER THE OTHER HOSPITAL DID NOT HAVE THE EQUIPMENT FOR THAT."

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry sir. The issue is that right now that equipment is going through some maintenance. It is not available right now, I am afraid."

Again inconceivable anger came over Elias, but there was no point venting it on the guy before him. "WHEN WILL IT BE READY?"

"A week or so from now. Again, so sorry."

Elias pinched the bridge of his nose which was all that was left of it, but he had not yet given up. "CAN I SUBMIT MY WORK NOW, AND YOU WILL PERFORM THE TESTS WHEN ITS READY?"

"Sure!"

"OK"

"...."

"WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO?"

"One second."

Eventually the man returned with a doctor and a wheeled table with some equipment. In a lengthy process they took all sorts of measurements of him, pictures of things like eye colour, and samples of things like blood, fingerprint, and saliva. On the one hand, Elias feared that in his new ship-bound life having records of him like this would be quit detrimental. On the other, they hypothetically already had all of this.

At last, following a payment of all that he had on him, he received a card with a bar code on it. Unfortunately, the card was not ID. Simply, it was a means of verification that he would have access to the results of the work done with his measurements and scans and analyses. But, at least he was now getting somewhere.

"WILL I BE ABLE TO ACCESS THIS OFFWORLD?"

"You'll have to pay extra for that." The nurse said.

If this had happened earlier, Elias would have been angry again. But compared to his other trials, this wasn't so bad. He just had to go get the money to upgrade the card. Once more, he simply picked up his chalk and blackboard and ran off in pursuit of a little coin.

STORY NOTE:

The third and final day of the crew's shore leave passes into night. Abby hightailed it off the boat, this time in company with Elias and Imani. That's an odd group, Yuri thought to himself as he made ready to spend his own evening off and away with Edina.

OOC: We're now slipping into the final night, folks. My apologies for the delay in dropping a JP some of us worked on. I'll make up for that with the first installment, sight after a word from our sponsors...

Joint post by @Xandrya, @Bugman, and @sail3695

For anyone who knew her history, the current state of the SV Antonia would most certainly seem a shadow of her former self. She’d been built seventy-three years ago to traditional specifications. In those days, she was a proud four masted schooner, a floating home to billionaire J.T. Slocum and a series of disposable wives. The graceful yacht was the first private vessel to roam the seas of Pelorum, a floating refuge for her owner and his guests beneath the mild tropical heavens.

After Slocum’s death and the inevitable family squabbling over his fortune, the Antonia was left to decay in her berth for nearly two decades. By the time Ocean Amusements Co. won her at auction, the venerable schooner was in a decrepit state. Her new owners wasted no time in effecting the necessary repairs and refits to convert the once proud vessel to daily service as a seagoing party palace. Of the four proud masts, only two remained, her main and mizzen having been excised to clear the deck for paying customers and cash bars.

She no longer used sail power; the fabric stretched between her few remaining spars served only to reflect the colored lights now anchored to her masts. Below deck hummed two electric motors to push the boat quietly through the gentle waves. Where once she required a crew of twelve to handle sails and helm, the Antonia now plied her trade with three, plus a small army of caterers, waitstaff, and bartenders.

From his place in the wheelhouse, Captain Jim Gilliam surveyed the night’s gathering, a crowd of upper crust types who were dressed to the nines for some politician’s private fund raiser. “Those penguins gotta be suffocating,” the lanky twenty-three year old snickered into his comm.

Cassie Lopez, the starboard rail watch, offered a thumb’s up. “That’s a rog. Not a puff of breeze on deck,” she whispered. “Only the two knots we’re making. Bars are going through ice like crazy.”

He checked his helm. Antonia was right on her course, the autohelm computer running the programmed route without a hitch. In fact, so much of the vessel’s operation was handled by AI that it really didn’t take more to avoid a code violation than an underpaid college kid to stand her bridge. But while the job didn’t pay la shi, it had it’s perks. Pretty easy work, his own cabin, and maybe a chance with Cassie…

The radar caught Jim’s eye. He had a contact, closing from astern. His brow furrowed as he checked his watch. “Hey guys,” he keyed the comm mic again, “our party crashers are early. Drop the starboard fenders. We’re about to stop.”

“Sounds good.” Jake Mitchell’s voice crackled as he detached himself from the port rail. “On my way, Cassie.”

As the crew of SS Antonia set about preparing for the evening’s entertainment, their captain fulfilled his own responsibilities with two keystrokes. COURSE INTERRUPT ceased her forward motion altogether. STATION KEEPING placed all her engines, including bow and stern thrusters, under the computer’s satellite directed positioning control. Regardless of wind or waves, the Antonia would now doggedly hold her place. Seeing that she’d obeyed his commands, Jim checked his notes, then switched radio channels. “Captain Kidd, this is Antonia. I see you a half kilometer to my stern, copy?”

After a few seconds’ pause, a slightly garbled voice echoed in the wheelhouse. “Captain Kidd copies.”

“I am hove to. Raft up on my starboard. My deckhands are standing by.” Jim turned, his eyes peering into the darkness behind the schooner. A ghostly shape began to take form, moonlight adding some detail to the approaching vessel.

The radio crackled to life once more. “Captain Kidd copies. See you in two ticks. We’re about to make some noise. Out.”

Jim turned in his chair to see both deckhands busily hanging fat rubber fenders over the starboard rail. “Stand by to take their lines,” he ordered over the comm. “It’s showtime.”

*************************************************
Candidate Nathan “Nate” Howard, the man of the hour, was quietly fuming. “Look at this. Just look!” he whispered angrily to a cowering assistant. “These folk are melting…gorram melting! And so’s their coin! What…what…[i]báichī[i]**...decided formal wear for a night on a friggin’ boat?”
(**moron)

“I’m sorry, sir,” the timid lackey flinched beneath his boss’ withering eye. Actually none other than Mrs. Candidate Nathan “Nate” Howard had made the ill fated call for dress code, but there was no way on Buddha’s green Pelorum that he’d be stupid enough to point that finger. “I’ve talked to the planner,” his voice quivered. We’re trying to find fans or something…”

Howard leaned in, his towering height and girth threatening as he prodded the young aid’s chest. “Try…harder,” his fingers poked rudely with each syllable. “While you’re at it,” he glowered, “get those overpaid fiddlers to play something doesn’t sound like a gorram funeral…”

BOOM!

The harsh report echoed across the Antonia’s crowded deck, silencing a hundred murmured conversations. This time, Howard took the frightened aid’s collar. “They’re EARLY!” he whispered harshly.

BOOM! This time, the roar was accompanied by a visible flash, the muzzle burst lighting the darkness. “HEAVE TO!” a woman’s voice shouted over a loudspeaker, “AND PREPARE TO BE BOARDED!” The pirate vessel, Captain Kidd, came alongside the Antonia. The ramshackle fishing trawler was crudely decorated, with shreds of sail dangling from her mast, a comical row of homemade cannons at the rail, and the obligatory Jolly Roger flag hanging limp in the still night air. “AWAY, ME HEARTIES, AWAY!” the woman’s voice screeched.

A number of figures came over the rail, toy cutlasses waving as they rushed to take the Antonia. One, a tall, roguishly handsome man with brown skin and dreadlocks, swung aboard on a rope, a plastic dagger clinched in his teeth. He landed among party guests who laughed and cheered his arrival, bare feet touching down soundlessly on the teak decking. “WHO BE ‘DE FOUNDER OF DIS FEAST?” his musical island accent demanded of the crowd.

...to be continued…

Joint post by @Xandrya, @Bugman, and @sail3695

Abby come over tha rail, heavy buckled sea boots clompin’ down on deck an’ a plasticky sword in ‘er hand. She wore tha same ‘boost-ee-yay’ as she had last night and a pair ‘o’ stripey tights. Din’ pick no hat nor doo rag. Instead, she let ‘er red hair fly all wild an’ went buck crazy on some face paint. After a good laugh, ‘twas Lorraine give ‘er her pirate name, ‘Tiger Lily.’ It was fun dressin’ like this, but far an’ away her fav’rite part was tha brown coat, jest like them as her ma an’ pa was wearin’ in tha captures on her wall. She had a mind tah keep it after tahnight.

Her first job was butt simple. Once she conjured tha boats was tied tahgether proper, she had tah look tah them as was Antonia’s crew. “Y’all two!” she barked at deckhands what had name badges Cassie an’ Jake, “we’s goin’ below. No fussin’ now!” Fer effect, she nudged Jake’s back with tha tip ‘o’ her toy cutlass. “Y’ALL MAKE WAY!” Abby/Tiger Lily shouted at them rich folk. Figgered they weren’t no good at listenin’...

“Miss,” one swell caught ‘er by tha arm, “are we supposed to give you our coin?”

“Uh….sure,” she swung tha toy blade tah threaten tha stuffed shirt an’ his wife. “Hand it over,” she made tah sound all menacin’ as folk commenced tah passin’ ‘er heaps ‘o’ cashy money. “And them earrings!” she commanded. “I’ll have them pears, too!”

This sorta struck her crazy, but it’s just like Lorraine said. She’s stuffin’ ‘er pockets when a nervous little fella come sidlin’ up, coin purse clutched in ‘is hand. “Ma’am,” he stammered from behind a smudged pair of glasses, “here’s all my coin.”

Abby clapped onta tha money pouch. As she did, her eye caught a flash ‘o’ gold across the lil’ man’s belly. “That too!” she barked, tip of ‘er cutlas nudgin’ tha chain. “Fork it over.”

His face went completely pale. “Please,” he stammered. “Please…” he hefted the pocketwatch into the light, before timidly placing it in the pirate girl’s outstretched palm. “This was my father’s…the last thing I have to remember him by.”

“What in hell yah tink’s gon’ happen here tahnight?” Abby/Tiger Lilly growled, sound ‘o’ her voice seemin’ tah shrink the little man inta a ball of fear. She give ‘im a shove, pressin’ tha heirloom inta his chest. “Tuck that down inside yah drawers,” she whispered, “so’s none of my shipmates get ideas. Dohn mah? She din’ wait fer no answer. They’s work needed doin’. But first…”Aiight y’all two,” Abby ordered them deckhands, “Git tah steppin’!”

Imani, aka Joli Rouge, planned to woon some men (and ladies) and she dressed for the role. Wearing a white crop top blouse, black corset mini-dress, knee-length boots, and a red bandana, Imani effortlessly climbed over the railing and into view of the esteemed guests.

"I'm here for yer booty...and yer rum!" she announced, raising her toy cutlass in the air and walking towards the cheering crowd with the intention of having a drink in hand. Some hotshot with piercing blue eyes placed one arm around her, walking side by side and matching her step. He guided her towards a suited fellow moving about the crowd with one arm resting on his lower back and the other hand holding a silver tray with a few remaining beverages.

“WE BE TAKIN’ YER SHIP!” Lorraine roared as she lept atop the capstan. As with her counterparts, she wore the brown coat, its’ folds hanging loosely to reveal a black “Jolly Roger” emblazoned bikini and ankle boots. She swung her head, the tricorner hat and eye patch nodding toward each guest as her gaze swept the deck. The pirate captain slipped the coat over her right hip to reveal the scabbard from which she unsheathed her sword. “LADS AND LASSES!” she shouted, “YER GRACED TONIGHT BY THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN KIDD, THE MOST FEARSOME PIRATE SHIP IN THESE WATERS! FEAST YER EYES, MATIES!” Her cutlass pointed out the decrepit wreck of a fishing trawler now tied alongside. As a low chuckle wafted through the crowd, she swept the blade in a threatening arc. “I’M YER NEW CAP’N!” Lorraine’s voice carried across the deck. “FLO’S THE NAME. CRIMSON FLO!”

She grinned at the ripple of laughter. It was all working so far. Abby had returned from securing the two deckhands. Her shipmate from CHina Doll, Imani something, was vamping it up, the ring of men she’d drawn now in some competition of wallet size. The parrot’s a great touch, she couldn’t help but snicker to herself. The other, Elias, didn’t even have to work at it. She decided the man could be fierce just reading a dictionary….though there was some intrigue in the eyes of the ladies who removed their jewelry as he passed by, a skull and crossbones festooned pillow case held out for their booty.

“NOW SOME ‘O’ YE,” the captain shouted, “GOT THE RIGHT MIND, AND WE THANK YE FER YER GENEROSITY. BUT THERE’S ALWAYS ONE AMONG YE…ONE BE THINKIN’ HE HAS THE NERVE TO FACE ME AND MINE.” She waved the plastic weapon. “WHO BE THAT? WHO BE THE WOLF AMONG THIS FLOCK?”

“HERE!” Reg shouted as he nudged Candidate Nate Howard through the crowd. “GOT HIM RIGHT HERE, CAP’N!”

She could see the sour expression as the guest of honor was presented before the capstan that had become her stage. “I’LL HAVE YER NAME!” she demanded.

“NATHAN HOWARD, SENATE CANDIDATE!” he replied, playing along for the crowd while a very real sense of murder danced in his eyes. “YOU BROWNCOAT SCUM HAVEE NO RIGHT!!” Lorraine dropped to one knee before him, the toy blad pressing his throat. “You’re early!” Howard whispered harshly. “I’m supposed to make a speech!”

Captain Flo’s answering grin was rueful. “A SPEECH, YE SAY?” With a quick nod toward the towering Elias and Reg, she rose to her feet again. “A FINE NIGHT FOR A SPEECH IT IS! LONG’S YOU CAN DO YER SPEAKIN’...” she paused, her sword swinging toward the portside rail, “FROM THE PLANK!”

...to be continued…

Joint post by @Xandrya, @Bugman, and @sail3695

Elias had been staring blankly into the distance as ‘Captain Flo’ had her ‘parley’ with the man of the hour. “Mhmm?” came the noise from Elias as the show came to one of its climaxes. He sighed the slightest bit. The Nathan fellow was larger than Elias had anticipated, and he suspected based on his expression and whisperings there’d be far too much effort in squirming for Elias to reliably just pick him up by the collar and toss him overboard. He raised an eyebrow, briefly sizing up his counterpart. For the first time in a very long time, Elias wasn’t wearing his mask making the facial gesture visible; the way he thought of it, everyone would assume his scars and missing bits were just a very elaborate assortment of makeup. By the lack of old ladies feinting and clutching pearls, it seemed people did fall for the ruse that he was just wearing some bit of a horror costume. Now that he thought about it, it was probably the first time any of the crew had seen any of his normal visage. It was bound to happen eventually, he figured why not make the reveal productively.

Realizing that he was holding things up, the man lowered his barrel that he had brought along to siphon any unattended bottles into, sticking it against a wall to ensure it wouldn’t bounce as much in the event a rough wave was hit. He drew a toy flintlock pistol that looked more like a pen in his hands, and pressed it to the back of the Candidate while another ham-fist clasped the shoulder of the host. “He’h moohih.” Elias managed tonguelessly, prodding the man onwards to the gangplank. This was shenanigans Elias didn’t like through and through, but if he imagined this rich man as his father, Elias thought he just might get some tiny inkling of enjoyment from the event. Then get really tipsy off of borrowed refreshments.

Finished with ‘er first order, Abby come back up on deck, jest in time tah see Elias an’ Reg puttin’ some stuffed shirt up on tha plank fer walkin’. Meant ‘er second job needed tah happen in one all fired hurry. Good news was Jake an’ Cassie, them deckhands, was all happy tah fill ‘er in on tha whereabouts ‘o’ things…like tha rope ladder they kep fer boardin’ little boats or swimmin’ parties. With the folk all watchin’ tha show Lorraine’s Cap’n Crimson Flo was puttin’ on, Abby’s able ta slip over tah tha aft railin’ an’ drop tha ladder down.

Once it done been tied to, she hustled forward agin. Stuffed shirt was still on tha Antonia’s divin’ board/walkin’ plank. She grabbed ‘erself a big orange life ring an’ a coil ‘o’ rope. Sure enough, long winded sumbitch weren’t nowheres near finished speechifyin’ afore she had ‘er rig all set fer throwin’.

Fine diamonds and pearls adorned her wrists as well as her neck. Multiple offers had clearly been made, but despite being showered in gifts from the wealthy and privileged, the necktie also being loosely worn around her neck claimed her as his own for the night. It seemed as if blue eyes wasn't keen on taking second place, too bad he was too much of a pretty face and not enough of the rugged type for her. But he didn't have to know that...

A gentle tug on her waist prompted her to look up, and that was just in time to witness the man himself being made to walk the plank. Imani could've partaken in such performance, but she'd rather not steal the show.

“Look at them!” Nate was in fine voice, his stump speech booming across the crowd who were filling the faux pirates’ sacks with heaps of coin, jewelry, and other valuable trinkets. The thought of his growing war chest would’ve ordinarily brought a smile, but not now. He stood on the tip of the diving board, the black sea beneath as he bellowed his talking points. “These pirates! These…BROWNCOATS!! FILTHY COCKROACHES WHO AIM TO UNDO ALL YOUR GOOD WORK! TO TAKE WHAT’S YOURS!” His eye caught the sultry little minx who’d been teasing him before. She worked the crowd, the men in particular, all succumbing to her flirtatious larceny by literally upending their coin purses into her sack. He’d be sure to learn her name…perhaps have Hicks line her up for a special ‘meet and greet’ at his private bungalow…”THE WAR DIDN’T TEACH THEM!” he roared. “THE LAW MEANS NOTHING TO THEM!”

Lorraine, known tonight as Crimson Flo, stifled a very public yawn. She cast a glance toward the silent one, Elias, as he held his place. The man was a tower, alright. She took in the scars on his face, her gaze tracing each jagged cruelty. But if she were honest, it was the eyes that really captivated her. This man kept himself in check, but those dark eyes burned with an intensity that she found dangerous. And Lorraine had a real thing for dangerous…

She nudged an elbow into his ribs. Whe Elias’ eyes met hers, Lorraine smiled, then tilted her head toward the bloviating mouthpiece. “Do the honors?” she mouthed the words.

Elias looked at the woman, giving the slightest bit of a disapproving grunt as the woman gave a Captain’s order, so to speak. Of course, she wasn’t really his Captain, but he wasn’t going to disobey his ride out of here. But, with each passing moment it more and more seemed that they were making an enemy ever so slightly more grudge-prone and simultaneously powerful than was good for one’s health.

With a deep sigh, he stuck out his leg like a prod and pushed man off; it wasn’t really a kick that was aimed with his toe like one for fighting would be. Rather, with his sole the man was simply given the most optimized shoving a human limb could delivery.

“Arrr.” Elias said, unenthusiastically grumbling the pirate’s catchphrase. He looked to his ‘Captain’ waiting for approval. He stepped a little further, just to make sure the man was overboard and not clinging onto some part of the boat. He wasn’t happy about what he was doing, but a job had to be done well and he wasn’t above stepping on fingers.

Abby traded smirks with Imani. Damn if she weren’t haulin’ up tha coin. An’ Elias…doin’ his part like he was. First time she seen the mechanic out tah carouse, an’ even though he’s still all dead serious as was his way, she kinda liked it. First time he showed his face, too. Man wore some serious scars, weren’t no two ways about that. She ain’t heard tha whole story, but what she knowed was them as did that tah him took tha tongue out his head, tah boot. Edina told ‘er that much.

From ‘er place on tha rail, she seen Lorraine give ‘im a nudge. Abby hooked ‘er feet twixt tha balustrades and made ready with tha life ring.

As Imani dragged Blue Eyes through the crowd, she felt his hand linger on places not many were welcome. More specifically, her behind. Now, she hadn't necessarily barred him from doing that, but even so, least he could do was make sure her near empty drink was already replaced, which he had failed to do.

There was a splash, but in that moment something else pulled her attention. Blue Eyes was walking away, and from what she made out, it was something in part serious. Imani decided to follow him purely out of curiosity, and soon enough she learned why.

"Emerson, you cheat!"

The girl whose voice was loud enough to pierce her ears evidently wasn't too pleased with him. With the cortex in hand, Blue Eyes pleaded with her as he continued to walk away, distancing away from Imani.

Thing is, she could have soured whatever type of relationship he had with that woman. "Captain, we got ourselves another volunteer for the plank!" That's all it would've took. But she didn't do it. However, what she would do is find another participant to partake in the day's festivities.

Helped along his way by the stone faced giant, the Honorable Candidate Nathan “Nate” Howard plunged into the inky deep, the resulting splash met with a roar of approval from the crowded deck. As Abby threw her life ring to the politician, Lorraine went into full pirate mode. “ANYONE ELSE?!” she roared above the merry audience. “ANYBODY WANT TO PALLAVER WITH DAVEY JONES?! NO? THEN OUT WITH IT! ALL YER BOOTY TO THE HANDS OF ME CREW! YOU THERE!” She waved the toy weapon toward the string quartet. “LET’S HAVE A TUNE! SOMETHIN’ FOLK CAN DANCE TO! BARKEEP!” The comical blade swept toward the nearest drink station. RUM FER ALL!!”



A cheer swept the deck as flagons of rum appeared. Soon, patrons were forking over their cash for the honor of hoisting one of the jugs. Evening jackets and shawls were soon littering the Antonia’s railings as the stuffy political fundraiser transformed itself to a sailors’ delight. Lorraine grinned as her faux pirate crew danced and drank their way through the celebration, Jolly Roger pillow cases held out like costumed kids on All Hallow’s Eve to receive the coin and jewels meant for campaign contributions. She cast a sidelong glance toward the silent man from Abby’s crew, before her arms snaked around his neck. “You’re a natural, Elias,” she cooed into his ear, followed by a kiss landed upon the scarred stubble of his jaw. “You can shiver my timbers anytime!” With that, she leapt into the crowd, cutlass whirling above her head as she danced her way across the deck with a dozen partners. Brinker should be finished by now, she thought as a fat man twirled her into the arms of a grandly dressed woman.

A grumble that was nonetheless appreciated came from the man as she left him for her own endeavours. The touch of her skin certainly awakened thoughts he hadn’t felt in perhaps years now, the mechanic clicking his mouth wistfully as he saw her moving. Maybe some other time. he thought to himself, touching the scarring of his visage, and thus deciding it was something he had to fix. But for now, he had neurons to fry. Rolling his barrel about, he was about to take his own booty snatched neatly off of passing waiter’s plate and disgorged into an ever more sloshing cask.

She’d soon discover her hunch to be correct. Hidden among the gaudy pirate decorations aboard the old fishing trawler were a pair of directional antennae. They moved, slowly sweeping the main deck of the Antonia. Tucked away below decks in the Captain Kidd’s portside crew cabin was a timid looking little man. He sat on a stool, hunched over a pair of source boxes, watching intently as one by one, the cortex readers of so many rich and powerful Alliance types were paired and accessed. His bespectacled face, illuminated in the ghostly glow of his screens, was a mask of sheer delight. It was working. After tonight they’d have a constant stream of information from hundreds of the Alliance’s most well placed citizens. He couldn’t wait to report to Adler.

...to be continued…

Joint post by @Xandrya, @Bugman, and @sail3695

After seein’ tha stuffed shirt got hisself back aboard, Abby took ‘im below decks fer a towel an’ such, then locked 'im in while he's droppin' 'is drawers. When she come back up, she seen tha party was full throttle, rum an’ music was flowin’ while Lorraine an' her crew led tha way. From ‘er vantage by tha wheelhouse, she could see Imani jest breakin’ hearts ever'where she went. Tha whole crew was beginnin’ tah work their way starboard, kinda followin’ Lorraine’s lead. Wouldn’t be long now til they jumped tha rail an’ hightailed it. Time fer her last job. “Hi, Cap’n!” she said all cheerful like as she stepped inside. “What’s yer name?”

“Jim. Jim Gilliam,” the Antonia’s captain for the night answered.

“Call me Lily. Tiger Lily,” Abby grinned as ‘er sword come up. “Time fer me tah take yah prisoner,” she said. “Tell me somethin, Cap’n Jim. If I hit that flashin’ green button what says ‘AutoHelm Engage,’, will that git yer boat runnin’ back on ‘er course?”

“Yup,” he agreed. “But my notes said we were supposed to sword fight you guys off the ship.”

Abby nodded ‘er head. “Yeah, that’s what we’s told, too, but Mr. Howard changed it up tah walk tha plank. He’s down below gettin’ dried up. He’ll come git y’all an’ make a big show ‘bout rescuin’ tha crew afore we do that fight. Got it?” she grinned.

“Yeah, sounds good,” the college aged captain gave her an amiable nod as he turned for the stairway. “But can you do me a favor?” he asked. “Can I wait in the same cabin as one of our deckhands…Cassie?” he added sheepishly.

“Uh huh,” she laughed an’ followed him below.

Lorraine now stood on the starboard rail, one hand gripping a mast stay as the other merrily waved her plastic cutlass to the tune. The well heeled crowd had taken nicely to the pirate raid, laughing as they passed flagons of rum about the crowded deck. As she danced provocatively in her “Crimson Flo” persona, she took stock of her crew’s departures. One by one, they scampered over the rail onto their waiting escape. The pretty little seductress Abby had brought along was last to leave, and, she had to admit, the star of this party, though her own eyes had been fixed upon the rugged contours of the scarred giant. “Abby’s got quite a crew,” she muttered to herself. “Speaking of…”

She cast an eye toward the Antonia’s wheelhouse in time to see a head of wild red hair emerge. A sharp whistle and a wave of her sword later, Lorraine turned her gaze back toward the liquor fueled mirth down on deck. “LOVELY SOIRET YE’ HAVE HERE,” her voice boomed over the crowd, “BUT ALAS, IT’S TIME WE BID THEE FAREWELL. THANKEE FOR ALL YOUR HOSPITALITY!” With a flourish, she leapt over the rail and onto the old trawler’s deck. “Cast off,” she ordered, before two axes cleaved their mooring lines. “Iggy!” she tapped the wheelhouse window, “Full speed ahead!”

“What about Abby?” Reginald asked.

Lorraine answered with a sweep of her toy weapon. “Here she comes.”

After settin’ tha yacht’s autohelm back tah work, Abby hustled down on tha main deck. She felt tha Antonia startin’ tah move, an’ heard that old trawler’s motor rattlin’. Seein’s how she’s tha last pirate aboard, folk was all kindsa eager tah whirl ‘er in a dance, or jam more of their pretties an’ coin inta her hands. Must be carryin’ twenty extra pounds, she mused as she weaved an’ bobbed ‘er way tah tha starboard rail.

‘Cept, when she got there, spread ‘o’ water twixt both boats had ta be a good ten foot. An’ there’s Lorraine, all Cheshire Cat grin as she watched from t’other deck. Abby gestured, open hands askin’ jest what she’s playin’ at. “THINK YA MIGHTA WAITED JEST A SKOSH, CAP'N ASSHOLE?” she demanded.

“WHAT?” the pirate captain laughed, “AND DENY YOU THE COOLEST EXIT EVER?” Lorraine threw the knotted end of a rope that dangled from the old trawler’s mast. “DO IT LIKE A PIRATE!,” she grinned.

Abby clapped on with both hands. “ARRGH!” she shouted as nothin’ but black ocean swung underneath of ‘er, “YEW BITCH!” She’s laughin’ as Lorraine reached out an’ pulled her aboard, right inta her arms.

“That’s ‘Captain’ bitch to you,” the ringleader answered Abby with a peck to the tip of her nose. "Now go ready the skiff." Those aboard the Antonia who bothered to pay attention watched as the pirate trawler faded into the black or a moonless night, her crew serenading their victims with a funny little tune from Earth-That-Was:

“Always look on the bright side of life,
Always look on the right side of life…”

Forty-five minutes later, when the actual 'Captain Kidd' came alongside, her crew were astonished to find the party on Antonia’s main deck descended into rum soaked debauchery. After tales of “hot women pirates” and a man walking the plank, they made their way below decks. There, they found Candidate Nathan ‘Nate’ Howard, fuming inside a locked cabin, as well as one of the deckhands. The other was soon located in her bunk, wrapped in throes of passion with the vessel's captain.

“WHO WERE THEY?” Howard roared as young Jim Gilliam struggled into his pants.

“Said they were the Captain Kidd,” the Antonia's captain stammered as he bolted for the bridge.

“WE are the crew of the Captain Kidd!” an overtly costumed pirate groused as he followed the boy.

“The money!” Howard raged as he burst onto the main deck. “They took ALL THE MONEY! ALL THE DONATIONS!” His eyes flashed, searching the drunken horde on deck for a lackey to strangle.

Miles away, Lorraine’s crew huddled in their Zodiac as the old fishing trawler slipped beneath the waves. “Iggy,” she said to the legless man at the center console, “take us in.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” he grinned as the throttles pushed forward.

Abby watched tha old boat sink til it’s gone. She done scrubbed off tha wild makeup an donned 'er street clothes again, she an' all tha crew leavin' ever' bit 'o' pirate gear tah lie on tha bottom two hunnerd feet below. “Wish I coulda kep that coat,” she mourned tha loss. “An’ that boost-ee-yay.”

Lorraine chuckled. “For the haul each of you made tonight, I conjure you can go buy one that won’t be used as evidence.” She glanced toward Brinker. The little man was fidgeting with excitement, sure sign he’d successfully taken the real treasure from tonight’s adventure. As the small boat powered toward the lights of the New Iberia coastline, the former pirate captain nestled up against the silent giant, Elias. “Hi, sailor,” she smiled up into those piercing eyes. “Wanna have some fun?”

Fin.

STORY NOTE:

The Zodiac made its' way back to the cover of a boathouse on an inland waterway. Once the boat was safely concealed, Lorraine paid its' owner a hefty fee for the use, and then divided all the coin into equal shares for each of the faux pirate crew. The jewelry she kept; there were fences on a dozen worlds who'd pay up for such finery...enough to finance her little operation.

The silent little Brinker disappeared into the night, his mission accomplished. Good news for Lorraine and her crew, as the Browncoat underground had tossed them some lucrative work in the past. She just had one final chore to see this round of business to its' completion.

WRITERS' NOTE:

With the job complete, writers are free to move their characters at will...whether that's back to the boat, or to go carousing with their newfound coin. Careful, though. Spending like a drunken sailor on the same night as a robbery sometimes doesn't work out...