[center][h2]A Deckhand’s Life[/h2][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/2KDIbF6.jpeg[/img] [/center] “The smaller the boat, the bigger the clock.” Abby learnt that one young, when Aunt Lupe commenced showin’ her the ropes ‘o’ deckhandin’. From her readin’ she conjured that big boats had large crews ‘o’ deckhands. Work would be doled out ever’ day. Aside from bein’ expected to know yer basics an’ show up on time an’ sober, the deckhand gig on a big boat involved perty much doin’ what you’s told an’ not runnin’ afoul of anyone can give orders. Small boat’s another animal altogether. Boat like China Doll what has one “official” deckhand an’ mayhaps one-two more or less willin’ helpers puts chores on a couple tracks. First, they’s always [b]ORDERS[/b]. Cap’n and Yuri had their tells, and Abby knew perty much when to be line ‘o’ sight to jog a mem’ry an’ catch whatever part ‘o’ their plan they had brewin’ called for her hand. Likewise, she conjured Cap’n did his best thinkin’ afore he turnt in for the night, and would drop some fresh into her clipboard. Yuri was a mornin’ man who had a druther to spell out what he wanted over coffee. ‘Cept for the past couple days…after she let her alligator mouth overload her canary [i]pi gu[/i]. Now, his orders was comin' on the clipboard, too. Second was [b]MAGIC[/b], all the really boring day to day [i]la shi[/i] ain’t nobody s’posed to notice ‘cuz it’s just…done. A clean lav with fresh towels. Corridors mopped an’ smellin’ fresh when folk wake up in tha mornin’. No loose objects layin’ about in case the boat’s gotta roll some maneuvers. Baskets out fer Laundry Day. Ain’t none of it glamorous, but most important part is if it’s bein’ done right it NEVER. GETS. NOTICED. That’s the most important part…the part she tried to teach young Izzy. But, the eleven year old had about as much interest in learnin’ how to deckhand as she did steppin’ through an airlock. Kid had filched a cortex reader from their travels somewhere. Try as she might, Abby couldn’t coax the child’s nose away from it….or an hour’s honest work. A puzzlement, she conjured. Mayhaps a failure on her part to train a new deckhand? If push come to shove with the Cap’n or Yuri that account she’d just as like own up to her shortcomings as a teacher. But for sure they’s two things she ain’t gon’ do, the first being putting hands on a child to bend her to will. The second was a code as old as time. No way in Hades would she talk about it. Abby ain’t never turned [i]rattus norvegicus[/i] this far in her life; no way was she ‘bout to start over somethin’ so gorram petty. So, here she was, sittin’ on top ‘o’ the washin’ machine, makin’ the ‘magic’ part happen. Washer had a bad habit ‘o’ bangin’ an’ bouncin’ durin’ spin cycle. Elias knew what needed fixin’, but wouldn’t be able to git to it til China Doll was on tha backside ‘o’ this run. Til then, Abby found that if she sat on top, knees drawn up and arms wrapped about ‘er legs, she could anchor the bucking washer into place and keep the lid from flying open to spew clean clothes an’ such all about. It give her a legitimate purpose, and also kep her outta sight for a spell. Cap’n was in the cockpit, watchin’ the asteroid come up close. She could tell by little G pulls they’s slowin’ down and maneuverin’, so he an’ SAM must be havin’ a look-see by now. Yuri was in the cargo bay with Edina and Sister Lyen. She knowed he was walkin’ them through the whole plan for cleanin’ and packin’ up whatever Earth-That-Was stuff might be found. Til they had surface work, it’s likely best she stayed outta his sight, anyways. Leastways til she could arrange a proper reckoning. The washer thrummed steadily, its’ rhythm carryin’ up through her hips and right to weary shoulders. Soon enough, Abby’s eyes closed, her head lolled forward and tucked against her knees as she commenced another important adage of deckhand life…the catnap. The dream was back. She knew she was up high, but she never looked down. Above her, two angular peaks rose into a knife sharp blue sky. The air was crisp enough to set a tingle on her flesh, as her hair lifted in the breeze. Abby heard laughter. She couldn’t suss where it come from, so she turned all about. She didn’t feel a threat. The laugh was slow, a steady cadence in the voice of an old woman…mayhaps the way a grandma would greet a young’un. “You feel the wind.” An angry mechanical growl and a sudden lurch beneath her announced that the washer had begun “spin cycle rodeo.” Abby latched onto one corner, extending a sneakered foot to the opposite bulkhead to secure herself for the current ride. She pondered the dream. So far, tryna match her waking thoughts to what she seen there was comin’ up a fat zero. Most times she’d just put something like that aside. She’d read one fella who said dreams was the brain’s way ‘o’ takin’ out the trash, and that was somethin’ could fit with her view. But this…”feel the wind”...she’s gettin’ more an’ more curious that mayhaps there’s something’ else happenin’ here. Not that she’s gonna start believin’ all that mysto-crypto-heebie-jeebie. Maybe there’s something else? Somethin’ she ain’t figured out? As the bucking appliance did its’ utmost to pitch the girl from it’s top, she resolved to raise the issue with the Sister…after they’d finished this job.