[center][h2]The Family Business[/h2][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/2KDIbF6.jpg[/img] [/center] The new folk, Penny and daughter Izzy, seemed square enough. Didn’t take more’n a quick gander to suss they been livin’ on the dodge a spell. Prospect of three squares and a bunk was plenty to put light in their eyes and a genuine need on Momma’s part to make known she wanted ‘em earnin’ their keep right pronto. “You’ll getcher chance,” Abby said as she followed Cap’n’s orders an’ made certain both of ‘em was strapped in right. Leavin’ a Skyplex was apt to knock a body off balance every once in a blue moon, but t’weren’t nothin’ like the G force shakedown of breakin’ atmo. Still, orders was orders and ‘til we had a read on the new folk, best to strap ‘em down. “See that door right there?” the deckhand pointed toward a double width slider. “That’s y’all’s. Bunk space for two. I’ma stow yer stuff in there right now so it doesn’t rock about durin’ departure.” Without another word, the deckhand scooped up their loose bags. Once the little family’s personal effects were secure, she stopped once more. “Lav’s right there. If yah need soap an’ shampoo I’ll hook yew up. Name’s Abby. I stay right up there,” she pointed up the narrow aft corridor, “last door on the right. “Cap’n oughtta sound the ‘all clear’ about five ticks after we push back. ‘Til than,” she gave a glance toward the young’un, “kindly stay buckled up.” With nothing left to say, the teenager made her way up to her own cabin, the tiny bunkspace tucked in among the shelves in the supply locker. “SAM,” she raised the cortex to her lips as she settled down onto the bunk, “let Cap’n know his new kids is all buttoned up an’ ready to ride.” “He’ll ask about the welfare of his deckhand,” the AI responded in an accent she’d been told come from a place called ‘Bah-ston.’ “I’m shiny, too.” “Have you installed those safety straps on your bunk?” Abby rolled her eyes. “I’m nudged up against an aft bulkhead…best place to be when Boone puts the hammer down…right?” “Technically correct, given a standard departure.” At that moment, the sense of motion was almost indiscernably felt through the heel of one boot. “I will remind you that if we were forced into sudden maneuvering, you might be at risk.” “And Ah’ll remind yew that…” Her hackles were coming up, and for what reason? Because Cap’n’s little black box up in the nose of the boat reminded her to do a gorram job? Catching hold of that outburst, Abby finished, “I got it on my ‘to do’ list between here an’ the relay station.” “Thank you,” SAM responded, the tone of her voice ever cordial. Just as well they were leavin’ the Skyplex; the place put her into all manner of troublesome ruminations. To think what set her off…something as silly as a trading card…wouldn’t make no sense at all. But Capn’s’ talk of “making your mark”...well, when she looked about all them folk called the skyplex their home, what she come away with left her most unsettled in her thoughts. Everywhere she looked was an ocean full of dead ends, from the shopkeeper tried to Shylock three times price outta her for a rifle scope in a dusty box, to the bitter old man slapped a bowl full ‘o’ pork noodles down before her, try as she might all she saw was folk just scratchin’ and scrabblin’ for the most meager of scraps this ‘verse might leak their way. What really drove it home was a young couple sat in a booth next hers at the noodle place. They’s on their lunch break, fillin’ time with a round of ‘slap an’ tickle.’ He’s all done up in grease streaked coveralls, smoochin’ an’ pawin’ on her as she tried to keep her maid’s uniform clean and right. Abby, who done her best not to listen, finally gave up an’ left. A quick glance over her shoulder showed the worst. Hell, neither one of ‘em looked close to her nineteen years. And the rise of the poor girl’s stomach told just how much they’d be growin’ up real soon. Though she’d never been with a boy, it was sights like that made her right curious about chastity vows Sister mighta took. She always knew what futures lay for girls like her out here in the black. “Housekeepin’ or whorin’,” Uncle Bob used to slur when he’s in his cups. “You find yourself a boat. You stick to the black….only shot you’re gonna get for somethin’ else.” Well, she done that now…heeded that advice almost without fail. And where it got her so far, she conjured, was your basic housekeepin’. Just weren’t that many jobs on a boat. ‘Less yah could doctor, fly, or turn wrenches, most like you’d find yourself doin’ just what she’s up to. [i]Good work,[/i] she told herself. [i]Good boat. Good folk.[/i] And that was all true. She knew for a fact long as she carried her weight and kept the lip to a minimum she’d have a place here on China Doll. A good place. A dead end. But if makin’ her mark was the goal, she didn’t rightly see how. Never had proper schoolin’...just what Uncle Bob taught and what she picked up from books and folk along the way. So, scratch anything called for a sheepskin. Refinement’s out. Mr. Eleanor had other ideas about how she’d clean up, but Abby’s nigh on certain she’d never stand in a room with a Companion the likes of Quill Cassidy and not come off the bumpkin in that pair off. Then again, she mused, even Quill’s high fallutin’ trade brought with it a healthy degree of whorin’...same basic function; just done purtier and more expensive. She felt a small push, her shoulder blades pressed against the bulkhead. China Doll was making her first move toward a busy exit channel. Meanwhile, Abby pondered her next move, if such was to be in the cards. There was always crime. She had two standing offers. Lorraine would take her on. Also, she was a sworn and bound sister of the Headhunters MC on Greenleaf. Both offered promise of some high old times, sure and true, with nary a mop or a bunk to turn out. Still, they was crime…of the sort could put her face up next them grifters on the postal station wall. Cap’n did crime, too, she reckoned, but he handled it in the way of ‘naughty men slippin’ about,’ without the roar and fuss of a palms up biker gang or a merry band ‘o’ thieves. “So,” she said to the captures on the opposite bulkhead, “where’s that leave me? All I know is boats.” Her family smiled down from the captures. Momma and Daddy, both in their browncoats, holdin’ a curly haired three year old terror what only wanted down. She could see Daddy’s Colt on his belt, the one she owned this very day. Lots ‘o’ pics of her growin’ up alongside her Aunt Lupe. Lupe was the oldest of three sisters; her momma was the youngest. They’s another aunt out there, also fought as a Browncoat, that Abby ain’t met yet. Her eye found one shot. Uncle Bob, when he was younger. A fierce, proud looking man with a pair of pistols on his waist and a reputation by which he earned his keep. “The Fastest Gun in the ‘Verse.” She grew up believin’ it…the book said so. Sure, couple years before he died she was outdrawin’ him, but that was just the drink slowin’ him down… She was outdrawin’ her uncle. Hadn’t really givin’ that any thought before. Uncle Bob had trained her. Taught her how to handle a pistol. Taught her to look for tells of an enemy committin’ to the draw, and also how to hide her own. He showed her the balance, made sure she had the steps, understood that accuracy wasn’t near as important as intent. Most important, he taught her The Code. She never woulda conjured a profession like gunslingers would have ethics… Abby’s eye came to rest upon the Colt, hanging secure in its’ belt holster. She hadn’t practiced in awhile. Now, with the eyes of her Uncle Bob upon her, she reasoned it might be time to consider taking up the family business.