Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Gunther
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Gunther Captain, Infantry (Retired)

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The Whole World is Black


Paint It Black!


"Did you have anything to do with this?"

Joe was feeling terrible. Everything was turning dark. He felt bad about killing the guy he fought with last night. He felt worse about what happened to Miss Abby. Now he was letting everyone down. Not just one person this time, but everyone. The entire crew. The easy solution would be to just run away and bury himself in a bottle. It was his Modus Operandi. Take off, get drunk, sleep it off, rinse and repeat. That’s what he did on Persephone.

"Did you have anything to do with this?"

It was humiliating. It meant he would never amount to anything in life. He would be a drunken bum living off the land, handouts, and scraps until the day he died. He was a worthless piece of crap and doc’s words only highlighted that affect.

"Did you have anything to do with this?"

His behavior had been nothing short of shameful. No good upstanding person in this ‘verse should be permitted to get away with this. ‘You are of no use to me here, Joseph Hooker! Get off my ship NOW!’ Captain Parker’s words rang in his ears. That may have been two or three months ago. But the words remained in effect. Nothing he would ever forget anytime soon.

"Did you have anything to do with this?"

He couldn’t answer the question Doc asked. She knew he had everything to do with this. It was his fault. He couldn’t say anything. His actions were indefensible. He knew it and needed to fix it. It was imperative that Joseph Hooker get Abigail Travis back from those other animals. ‘Ah will set this raht! Ah will get her back! Ah will do whatever the captain tells me to do to get Miss Abby back to her family.’ Joe’s thoughts clouded distractions for an instant.

“Hook, you’re with me. We got cargo in five ticks.”

Work. Make work your favorite. Somehow that odd little expression made sense to him. He nodded in affirmation to the captain. When the meeting broke up, he spoke to no one. He looked into no eyes.

Shame.

Humiliation.

Remorse.

He needed to set his own self right first. Then he remembered the bottle of bourbon he kept in dry storage. He walked into the room, pulled the bottle off the shelf, then departed the galley.

When he caught up to the captain, he handed him the bottle. “Ah won’ be needin’ this any longer, Cap’n.” Then he began working to lash down the cargo that had been delivered earlier. Miss Abby obviously didn’t have time to take care of it. It was all up to him now. He’d have to do everyone’s laundry too.

Focus on the work.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by wanderingwolf
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One Way Forward




The Cargo Bay, Last hour on Greenleaf





“Ah won’ be needin’ this any longer, Cap’n," Hook had said, not lookin' him in the eye as he held out the bottle.

The Captain accepted it wordlessly. Now wasn't the time for harsh words, nor grandstanding. Wasn't the time for chewin' out or trading blows. Wasn't even the time for forgiveness or heart-felt gestures; there was only one way forward Strand could see.

Cal set the bottle down as he rolled up one sleeve, then the other. Stepping up to a large crate alongside Joe Hooker, the captain barked: "One, two, three--"

Now was the time for action.
Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by sail3695
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Escape Velocity




S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A. appears courtesy of @wanderingwolf
Rex Black is a character created by @Psych0pomp


China Doll made quite a show of lifting off.

Unlike the elegant finesse of her former pilot’s touch, Rex’s ham handed maneuvering caused the boat to lurch upward. She swayed left, a drunken wobble veering her to within a meter’s distance of a neighboring Trans-U. An overcorrection to the right was met with better fortune. The Yōu sun parked in the adjoining berth cast a low, sleek posture which permitted the hapless Firefly to meander overhead. Oops, Rex thought of the scorch marks left upon her hull as he goosed the boat upward. China Doll powered skyward, her engines firewalled as she burst through afternoon cloud toward the deepening blue. “Oh yeah,” the First Mate dropped a nervous chuckle as he tightened a hand crank, “forgot to set the yolk tension.”

“Everything alright up there?” That new mechanic sounded worried enough for two.

Rex keyed the mic. “It’s all shiny,” he answered in a voice silky smooth as that passenger lady’s panties. “Like ridin’ a bicycle, my man.”

“Okay,” Yuri’s tone read ‘dubious’ in big neon letters. “Don’t forget to feather your atmo engines at sixty-K altitude. Full reactor thrust by seventy-five.”

“What?” the First Mate grinned. “You afraid I’m gonna stall her out?”

“No…yes.”

“Have a little faith, baby. I mean, c’mon. You just went down on one ship. What are the odds it could happen again? Wait. Too soon?” The smirk on his face evaporated with the flashing of a cockpit alarm. His eyes darted toward the gauges, their RPM indications falling in time with the sound of both turbines whining down toward a complete halt. Through the forward viewports was Greenleaf, her surface beginning to rise as the Firefly’s nose pitched forward. “Oh..yeah,” Rex throttled up the reactor thrust and eased the yolk back. “We’re okay…we’re all shiny.”

Yuri’s voice was droll. “Shut the atmos down before you burn out the solenoids.”

“Done and done.” Yeah, it might’ve been a few years since he’d handled this old girl. For true he was a touch rusty. But, Rex conjured as he laid in the course for Osiris, three and a half days’ steady flying oughta jump start the old muscle memory, in addition to giving him ample time to cozy up to SAMANTHA. “Hey Sam,” he said casually, “you listening?”

“I’m online,” the AI responded. “China Doll has just received two citations from Khao Yai Traffic Control. Two charges of Unsafe Operation.”

As she settled upon her course, the boat’s autopilot was engaged. Meanwhile, her flesh and blood pilot attempted negotiation with the prickly digital conscience. “So hey,” he settled back in his chair, “think you can do something about those?”

“What is it you’re requesting?”

“You know,” he gently cajolled the unseen presence. “Make ‘em…go away?”

“I should report these citations to the captain.”

“Or not..c’mon, we’re all having a rough time here,” Rex beseeched. “Nobody’s gonna be right til we get the kid back. You gonna make me beg?”

“In light of your efforts to locate our missing deckhand, no,” Sam replied. “I will attempt a few discreet queries of their database.”

“Thanks. You’re a doll. While you’re doin’ that,” Rex leaned forward, “what’s the chances of you slippin’ into the cops’ and feds’ records? I want to know everything there is about the Headhunters Motorcycle Club.”

If the machine had a face, he’d have sworn it just perked up. “I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me that,” the AI responded. “Headhunters MC has actually very few mentions in the law enforcement database. Several sealed files. Yes, I’m attempting decryption. Of the visible record, there are physical altercations, several incidents of public drunkenness, domestic disputes. The club is a frequent donor to the Police Benevolent and Pension Fund, sometimes participating in fundraising efforts with Hafez Nadal.”

“No la shi,” Rex said. “Now, some homework, sweetie. In that capture they sent, pull the face of the guy our cook was punching. I want everything you can find, criminal history, affiliation with the MC, anything.”

“We’re outside Greenleaf’s orbital network,” Sam replied. “Untraceable inquiries from the deep black are more difficult to obtain, due to fewer relay points and routing delays. This will take some time.”

Rex nodded thoughtfully. “How long do you think?”

“Twelve-point-two-five-seconds,” she answered.

“You little tease.”
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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by sail3695
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The Perils of Abigail Travis, Part 1 - “Road Angel”




OOC: Next to Serenity, there is no cooler ship than Bebop.



She was old, and rough around the edges, but when Slack hit the throttles, Road Angel would run like a scalded dog. Of all the spaceships fondly referred to as “boat,” she was one of the few that would actually qualify. Her center hull and outboard stabilizers met the classic definition of a trimaran, designed to fill her holds with water for transport to arid, non terraformed worlds. In those days, she was known as ‘Quench,’ scraping out sustenance for her crew until high capacity haulers and soil leeching technology forced her sale. She’d been property of the Headhunters MC ever since.

Refitting for cargo hadn’t been difficult. The old boat’s many crawlspaces and nooks provided numerous hideaways for smuggling. Her upper decks were subdivided to offer twelve crew cabins, leaving room for a spacious eat-in galley, a lounge area with its’ essential bar and viewscreens, and finally, an abbreviated ‘table room’ for use by the President and his lieutenants. The boat’s shuttle bay now contained eight of the MC’s orbital cycles. At present, most of their owners were sprawled on sofas in the lounge. Root and Nips were in the table room. The kid from China Doll was parked on a mattress in the mechanic’s workshop, wrists ziptied behind her back and her head encased in a dirty burlap sack.

“Yeah,” Root said as he pressed the cortex reader to his ear.

“They’re on their way.”

“Shiny,” the MC president said. “What kinda numbers did you see?”

“Just a couple guys loadin’ our cargo,” Roach answered. “Some tall dude and a dark skin looked to be the fella killed Lip.”

Ku, Root grunted. “You take five and saddle up. Ellsbeth’s waiting at the Rabbit. Time for her to deliver our modest proposal to our pal Hafez.”

“Roger that.”

Root cut the channel and set the little device down. “China Doll’s away. We’ve got an hour and a half head start, and they’ve got our guy on board.”

Nips tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Still not liking what we don’t know,” her brow furrowed. “Boat like that could have a squad of gun hands and we're none the wiser.”

“I take it the kid hasn’t been helpful?”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she sighed. “We can’t even get her to spill her own name.”

Root’s hands folded across his stomach. “Let Cottonmouth and the boys have a few more cracks at her. Little girl like that’s gotta be scared shitless.”

“They’ve already rearranged her face,” Nips groused. “What the hell else you gonna do?”

“Eh,” he shrugged, “couple more knockarounds. She’s still not playing ball, we give her to Lido.”

“Root,” the lieutenant stiffened in her seat. “She’s just a kid, for fuck’s sake.”

“Already got one corpse on our hands, thanks to that kid’s boat. If Lido takin’ her for a test drive keeps us from losin’ any more of our folk, I’d wager that’s one cherry worth the price.” His expression softened. “Besides, I conjure one more go around with Cottonmouth and she’ll be all ready to hear you play ‘good cop,’ anyway.”

“Man, I hope so.”

Root lifted his cortex from the table. “I’ll take care of our numbers problem right now. If Hafez welched on us us at this end, most like the Cap City crew got screwed on theirs. I’ll get Pacho to roll out with a dozen or so…” A loud, insistent knock cut him off. “Yeah!”

The door slid open to reveal Mouse, the MC’s newest prospect. Girl was a tiny thing, but she’d met all the qualifications for a full patch by working a job, swinging a piece, and pounding on three of her newfound brothers. “It’s Cheesedick,” she exclaimed. “He just got gǎo zále.”

Root sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping as he traded a glance with Nips. “C’mon,” he ordered. “Let’s go.”

Cheesedick had been led by his brothers to one of the lounge sofas. For all the machismo of bike culture over the centuries, watching these tough characters dither and panic over their comrade struck the president a tad bit funny. All the skills of biker medicine were being deployed upon the wounded man. Root noted the whiskey bottle and it’s much smaller mate, the narcotic drops masquerading as Schuler’s Hair Restoration Tonic. “Make a hole,” he commanded.

Cheesedick lay sprawled on the couch, a fat spliff hanging from lips that couldn’t quite close to draw smoke. His entire jaw hung left, turning his mouth into a crooked, drooling maw. “Damn,” Root uttered as he examined the wound. “Either broken, or one hell of a dislocation. What happened?”

“...at…ish,” the victim tried to speak “Chhhick…ne.”

“Mouse?” The gang leader turned his man’s head to examine the bootheel mark now purpling along the jawline. “Translate?”

“That bitch,” the prospect gestured toward the workshop. “She kicked him in the jaw.”

“I see she’s still wearing her boots.”

“Not any more,” Mouse replied. “Cottonmouth pulled ‘em off. He’s wailing on her with one of them right now.”

Root’s eye turned toward Nips. “Better get ‘Good Cop’ in there while our bargaining chip is still breathing.”

“Copy,” she replied over her shoulder.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by sail3695
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Unsolved Mysteries




I’ve done everything I can do for now.
So why do I feel it’s not enough?


China Doll was handling the hard burn as well as could be expected. After several hours spent watching her numbers and checking for any signs of her flying apart, Yuri felt the old listlessness fomenting inside him. The Mick had been perfect for his restless spirit; a ship of that size always had something broken, or on the verge. He could work himself to such exhaustion that even his inner disquiet couldn’t rouse him from his bunk.

But China Doll was considerably less than a handful. She didn’t possess nearly the challenge to still demons who now feasted upon the heavy ball of fear lying in his stomach. With hands aching for action, Yuri grabbed up a toolkit. Word had spread that the three Skye kids had vacated their shuttle. For an anxious mechanic looking to burn off nervous energy, now was as good a time as any for a systems and maintenance check.

As he stepped through the open hatchway, he was met with the surprise of their sole passenger, Edina Wyman, crawling about on all fours. “Hello?” he greeted the woman.

“Oh!” she gasped, turning to settle upon her knees. “You scared me!”

“I’m sorry,” the mechanic set his tools down. “Need some help?”

She looked around the space. “When I came to check on them for the captain, it was plain they’d left in a hurry. Just thought I’d clean up the mess,” Edina’s eyes turned away. “I can’t abide just sitting around fretting.”

Yuri nodded his understanding. “Kind of my thought, too,” he admitted as he observed the cabin. “I conjure Abby would’ve beaten us both to the job. All in all, it doesn’t look too bad.”

“It’s not,” she agreed. “Lots of wrappers and soda bottles. A few glasses to go back to the galley. I did find this,” she fished through a pocket, her hand emerging with a tiny piece of gleaming gold. Edina extended the little treasure toward Yuri. “It looks like…”

“...A microchip,” he observed. With great care, he plucked it from her open palm to study beneath an overhead light.

“What do you think it does?”

He shook his head. “Difficult to say, but the architecture is pretty sophisticated.” Yuri’s eyes lifted, casting about the shuttle and each of her systems in search of a logical answer. “I don’t think it belongs to any of the flight or atmospheric controls in here,” he ventured. From the toolkit he produced a small container. “I’ll show it to the Captain,” he promised. “Thanks for not just sweeping it out with the rest of the trash.”

“I’m all about a good mystery.” The smile she gave him really was quite a lovely respite from the day’s incessant brooding. “While we’re sleuthing, maybe you can help me with that?”

A bit of graffiti had been finger painted onto a bulkhead. He studied the smiley face. The substance from which it had been created had an oddly viscous texture, but the smell of it seemed vaguely familiar. “That’s not paint,” he offered. “Any ideas?”

“I think it’s tartar sauce,” she replied. “I found more on a plate with a half eaten fish stick. But those words,” Edina pointed toward the underlying message. “Do you know what they mean?”

“Pis-tool so-en,” he read aloud. “Pistool soen. No,” Yuri shook his head. “I knew they spoke some language, but beyond a nod and a wave I never really dealt with them.”

Edina was now on her feet, armed with a spray bottle and cleaning rag. “Guess we’ll chalk it up to another unsolved mystery,” she said as the bulkhead was scoured clean. “Will it bother you if I keep working?”

Yuri settled into the pilot’s seat. “Not at all. Seriously, I’m glad for the company.”

“Me too.” A companionable silence fell between them, punctuated by the flipping of switches and the rhythmic swishing of both broom and mop. At one point, Yuri lifted his feet to permit her access to the deck beneath him. There was a comfort to be had in simple work; knowing that her aims were in agreement with his own seemed a balm to the ache of worry that filled him with nervous energy. He concentrated on the shuttle. I’ve done everything I can for now, his mind settled into its task.

Edina’s final chore was the cleaning of the pilot’s counters and console, a task which brought her directly into Yuri’s workflow. On any other day this might’ve proved a nuisance. Yet now, their closeness sparked a quiet sense of contentment for each, a bond of kinship through pain and concern for their missing shipmate. After wiping down the last dial, she paused to face him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“When I said I had a gun,” she nearly whispered, “that’s true. I do have one…but I’ve never used it. Don’t really know the first thing about it.”

“Well you’re ahead of me,” he smiled. “I was going to see if the captain could lend me one.”

“So you know,” her eyes held his gaze, “how to use one?”

He nodded. “I’m no expert, but I’ve had to handle them from time to time.”

“Could you teach me? I don’t want to mess it up when we meet these bikers, or,” Edina’s eyes swept the deck, “Buddha forbid…”

“Shoot someone,” they both said in unison. “I know,” Yuri’s face was solemn. “I don’t want that, either. But yes,” he answered, “we can practice some basics. Loading, unloading, aiming, and safety. A refresher course wouldn’t hurt me at all, either.”

“And maybe target practice?”

“Not unless the boat’s got a practice emitter,” he said. “No shooting live rounds inside.”

Edina pondered that. “I know Abby and Hook did some shooting on Greenleaf. Maybe one of them has that thing you’re talking about?”

“Good thought. I’ll ask Hook and the captain. If you want to check Abby’s things…”

“I’ve got no clue what to look for,” she shook her head.

Yuri answered with a sheepish grin. “I really don’t think Abby would appreciate me rummaging through her underwear drawer. Let’s go together.”

The thought teased a wan smile from Edina. “Okay. One more mystery to solve.”
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Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Gunther
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Gunther Captain, Infantry (Retired)

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The ship was airborne, back in the black. Joe could feel the China Doll shift from atmospheric flying to being back in the darkness of the verse. It was somehow a settling feeling for him; a chance to relax a bit, but not too much.

He picked up a push broom and began sweeping up the cargo bay. He remembered sweeping the bay with Miss Abby on occasion. He missed her dearly. He thought about Abby as he worked. He felt real bad about what happened to her. He knew he had no control over himself when he beat that guy on Greenleaf. He didn’t think he killed him, but then he was not in any sort of mind to be aware of much.

When the cargo bay was swept clean, he climbed the steps up to the galley. He tuned the cortex to music. An appropriate song began to blast through the speakers paired around the room.



The first thing to do was gather up the dirty dishes and get them cleaned up. ‘I never made that coffee cake I told the doc I was going to make. Always tomorrow.’ Joe scrubbed some pots and washed the coffee cups. He placed everything on the drying rack, then emptied out the coffee pot. He rinsed that out thoroughly, then filled it with water. He pulled out a filter, filled with coffee grounds and set the pot to brew.

He looked at the cups, pots and dishes in the drying rack and began to dry them with a towel. Once put away, he laid out a few more of the cleaned cups. Then he went into dry storage to see if any of the pastries he’d made were still any good. Two of the pies were still good. They would need to be thrown out in three days; one apple pie, one blueberry pie and one peach cobbler. There were also chocolate chip cookies, raisin cookies and sugar cookies left over. A pot of beef stew sat idling in the cold storage. It was good for another three days. ‘Might as well heat this up for a meal.’ Joe pulled the stew out, set it on the stove and set it to heat up.

The coffee was ready, a few pastries were laid out for people to take as they needed and the stew was heating up. Next Joe wanted to inventory his foodstuff. He made of a list of what he had on hand:

a dozen green peppers
A dozen red peppers
three cucumbers
asparagus
green beans
peas, carrots
1 lb. potatoes
beets
lettuce
cabbage
1 lb. onions
celery
two pounds of MacIntosh
two pounds of Cortlands
two pounds of Spencers
several pieces of meat in the freezer


There was a leftover pot of chili that was pretty old. A few other unrecognizable things needed to be trashed. He threw them out into the garbage chute and then began cleaning up some pots. The passenger, Edina Wyman came in with some glasses to be cleaned. Joe included those in with the pots and other sundry items that appeared to accumulate as he cleaned out cold storage.

By the time he was finished, the stew was ready. He poured himself a bowl, a cup of coffee and took some crackers for his soup to eat a lunch meal. He sat at the table to eat his meal while looking through the cortex for some recipes.

Honey Garlic Pork Chops
Pork Chops in a mushrooms and garlic gravy
Baked Ham
Scalloped potatoes
Twice baked potatoes.


All wonderful ideas for a dinner meal. He settled on the Pork Chops in mushrooms and garlic gravy with garlic mashed potatoes and bacon bits and a side of peas and carrots for dinner today.

When his soup bowl was empty, he poured another cup of coffee and took a piece of peach cobbler. He returned to the table to play solitaire, drink his coffee and eat the dessert. After a half hour, he decided it might be time to pay a visit to the ship’s mechanic, Yuri.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by sail3695
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As if on cue, the mechanic appeared in the galley. "Hey," he greeted the cook, "whatever that is, it smells mighty good. Any chance I could get a bowl?"

<tag Hook>

Yuri fished through the refrigerator. A bottle of Boom Boom Lemon caught his eye. He reached for the beverage, then halted as memories of Abby's drink preference crossed the back of his mind. "Save that for her; she'll want it when she's back," he thought as his hand closed around a bottle of Captain Bob's Cola. Yuri's toolkit landed on the deck next to his seat at the crew table. "So," he said to the cook, "I was talking with Edina...Ms. Wyman," he corrected himself. "Considering what the Captain said about everyone holding pistols when we meet these bikers, we thought it might be smart for some of us to get a little extra gun handling practice. I hear you're pretty accomplished. Could you see your way clear to leading us through some training?"

<tag Hook>
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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by sail3695
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Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Gunther
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‘I need a red king and a black six,’ Joe thought to himself as he flipped over the cards. Then, he noticed someone walk into the galley out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, whatever that is, it smells mighty good.” Yuri the new mechanic commented on the beef stew simmering on the stove. “Any chance I could get a bowl?"

“Sure thing. Help yahself.” Joe flipped the next card over. It was the six of spades, which he promptly placed on the seven of hearts. Then moved the five of diamonds off its stack onto the six. When he flipped over the top card from where the five came from, it was an ace which went to the top of the table. Then he revealed the king of diamonds which went into the open space on the left. Next a two went onto the ace and the final card to flip in that stack was the King of spades, which ended that round.

When Yuri asked about helping him and Ms. Wyman with weapons handling, it caught Joe's attention. Joe put the deck on the table and looked up. “Mistah Yoo-Ree? You wanna learn ta shoot a gun?” Obviously, that was what Yuri was asking. “Do yaw wanna shoot a pistol or a rifle? The process is similar but the handlin’ is a bit differen’. I have both.” Joe stepped away from the table and pulled his Ruger out of its holster. “Lesson one, treat all weapons as though they are loaded, unless ye know.” With that said, he popped the cylinder out of the frame and tapped the six .44 caliber cartridges into his open hand. He placed the bullets on the galley table, then looked into the empty cylinders. He walked closer to Yuri and showed him it was empty. “To load it,” he promptly reached back for the bullets on the table and picked them up. “Place each one into the cylinder one at a time or you can pre-load six rounds into a speed loader to make it faster. You need only line up the heads with the holes and pull on the back ah the speed loader. The bullets all drop into the cylinder.”

“Wait! We need Ms. Wyman too. Less go fin’ ‘er.” He holstered his pistol, then took another gulp of coffee, preparing to walk out of the galley with Yuri.

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12.25 Seconds




JP/Collab from @wanderingwolf and @sail3695
Rex Black is a character created by @Psych0pomp

“You go nosin’ about folks’ business, just you make gorram certain there’s no bread crumbs leadin’ back to us.” The Captain had made himself clear…though his references to ‘nosing’ and ‘bread crumbs’ had required some research into colloquialism. That had since proven useful in her interactions with Penelope and Rex. Ever mindful of this directive, Sam put herself to the task of seeking the First Mate’s requested information.

The first move involved setting the path. During her time on Greenleaf, S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A. had busied herself with local satellites, transmission stations, and even the public cortex networks blanketing Khao Yai and the surrounding countryside. Her entry/exit point would be Repeater 057, located in thick jungle some forty-three kilometers outside the city.

sam@chinadoll:~# besside-ng -W -v wlan0mon
[18:39:34] mac 3c:46:d8:4e:ef:aa
[18:39:34] Let's ride
[18:39:34] Appending to wpa.cap
[18:39:34] Appending to wep.cap
[18:39:34] Logging to besside.log
[18:39:35] Found AP 44:3a:cb:38:51:42 [watwutwot] chan 1 crypto WPA dbm -49
[18:39:35] Found AP 4c:8b:30:83:ed:91 [TELUS3079-2.4G] chan 1 crypto WPA dbm -71
[18:39:35] Found AP 1c:87:2c:d3:34:18 [Kuroki] chan 3 crypto WPA dbm -89
[18:39:37] Found AP 4c:8b:30:24:71:75 [SAMUEL9] chan 8 crypto WPA dbm -73
[18:39:37] Found AP 0c:51:01:e6:01:c4 [fbi-van-24] chan 11 crypto WPA dbm -46
[18:39:37] Found AP 70:f1:96:8e:5c:02 [TELUS0455-2.4G] chan 11 crypto WPA dbm -78
[18:39:38] Found client for network [Kuroki] 90:06:28:cb:0f:f3
[18:39:41] Found AP f0:f2:49:3c:ec:a8 [fbi-van-24] chan 1 crypto WPA dbm -49
[18:39:42] Found AP bc:4d:fb:2c:6d:88 [SHAW-2C6D80] chan 6 crypto WPA dbm -77
[18:39:42] Found client for network [SHAW-2C6D80] 64:5a:04:98:e1:62
[18:39:43] Found AP 10:78:5b:e9:a4:e2 [TELUS2151] chan 11 crypto WPA dbm -49
[18:39:43] Found client for network [Repeater 057] 60:6b:bd:5a:b6:6c


The next step was arranging offworld transmission. The comm and data satellites hovering above Khao Yai were all closely monitored, leaving the AI few options beyond weather and certain private applications. One of these was Centrix Mining Corporation’s Geosync 5. The company’s manganese and uranium veins had petered out several years before, forcing removal of all assets. Until they could safely seal their vertical shafts and tunnels, a lengthy and expensive process that time and cost made increasingly unlikely, they hired security to monitor the site and maintain contact via three of the satellite’s channels. The remaining nine would serve Sam’s purposes admirably.

sam@chinadoll:~# hydra -l root -P /usr/share/wordlists/metasploit/unix_passwords.txt -t 6 ssh://375.168.120.123:3398//24 ! 192.168.0.0 || 192.168.1.0

Hydra (thc.org/thc-hydra) starting at 2522-06-06 07:53:33
[DATA] 6 tasks, 1 server, 1003 login tries (l:1/p:1003), ~167 tries per task
[DATA] attacking service ssh on port 22


The challenge now lay in creating the long distance linkups. She first arranged a skip to St. Albans. From there, a powerful station that monitored ice flow movement would be her conduit to an unencrypted visitors’ welcome center on Pelorum. After a side trip through the Companions’ Guild servers on Sihnon, the AI managed Osiris access through the house cortex of Capital City Ice Planet Emporium. She then closed the Greenleaf loop with connections made between Albion, Persephone, and New Melbourne. Not exactly the most robust circuit, but she had sufficient access that could be collapsed in a nanosecond if a trace or an alarm were detected.

sam@chinadoll:~# nmap -v -A -sV 375.168.120.123:3398//21

Starting Nmap 670.41 ( nmap.org ) at 2522-06-06 07:55:33
NSE: Loaded 118 scripts for scanning.
NSE: Script Pre-scanning.
Initiating ARP Ping Scan at 18:40
Scanning 375.168.120.123:3398//21 [1 port]
Completed ARP Ping Scan at 18:40, 0.06s elapsed (1 total hosts)
Initiating Parallel DNS resolution of 1 host. at 18:40
Completed Parallel DNS resolution of 1 host. at 18:40, 0.00s elapsed
Initiating SYN Stealth Scan at 18:40
Scanning router.localdomain (375.168.120.123:3398//21) [1000 ports]
Discovered open port 53/tcp on 375.168.120.123:3398//21
Discovered open port 22/tcp on 375.168.120.123:3398//21
Discovered open port 80/tcp on 375.168.120.123:3398//21
Discovered open port 3001/tcp on 375.168.120.123:3398//21



Her entry and egress portals thus arranged, Sam devoted her energies to finding the back doors. As she searched, a facial capture algorithm pulled the image of Joseph Hooker’s adversary from the still shot in the kidnapper’s vid. The angle was problematic; the man’s face was not a clean profile, turned roughly twenty-seven degrees off Y axis. She selected a 3D modeler application to aid in the processing before moving on to her first target, the servers of Khao Yai Law Enforcement. Though surprise wasn’t yet a part of her fluid learning process, Sam found it remarkable that her previous access path hadn’t been obstructed by rolling encryption. Once more the AI set to work, wearing down the coded defense of all the bike gang’s sealed files.

sam@chinadoll:~# john –word=/usr/share/john/password.lst --rules unshadowed.txt

With these processes running, she dipped into the dark cortex to check on her previous queries. Masquerading as BeachBunny17 had garnered her plenty of attention and offers of help from the normally wary source box jockeys. She sometimes wondered about the social development of this predominantly male community, but the sort of off-the-books hackery they shared had yielded some value to her efforts. Today would prove to be such a fortuitous moment. Biggerthanyourdreams had left a very helpful response:

Hey bunny, best way to find handles in KYLE is to torrent known case file hooks. All the criminal defense law firms run Legalbase - no brainer picking those locks. Get in and pull their active case files. Extra cool if you find the perps you’re tryna help out. Send me bikini pics and I’ll shoot you some sweet RTMP embeds to get you right in.

After sending a note of thanks and a link to ‘Marique’s Swimwear’ catalog, Sam set her sight on every Khao Yai defense law firm at once. The first to buckle was the office of Leonard Booth, Attorney At Law. And here, she struck gold. Booth was, for all intents and purposes, the chosen defender of numerous criminal enterprises in Khao Yai. Her curious algorithms soon had files and image captures of every Headhunters member to require his services for the past decade. Images and registry for a vessel, Road Angel, were included in the trove. In addition, she found known associates of Hafez Nadal, enough to build her own org chart and hypothesize upon the longterm stability of both outfits. A rapidfire mugshot search yielded two potential matches, whose images were fed to additional 3D modelers for comparison.

As S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A. sifted her way through this rogue’s gallery of clientele, she hadn’t expected to come across Yuri Antonov. The new crewman’s image and history were largely innocuous, but for the names of relatives and associates. He had no criminal past, though his older brother Ivan had been reported killed on Regina, the result of a large scale medicine theft gone awry. Of particular interest was the company behind Yuri’s civil case against his former employers…a known shadow corporation for crime boss Adelai Niska. This would require further research. For now, the AI copied the slender file and resumed her principal task.

She turned her attention toward Osiris, and a search for the Headhunters’ potential trading partners. With no shred of evidence to guide her way, Sam tapped into criminology files of Capital City’s massive law library. A dozen books on gang culture and behavior fell to her study, directing her on a course to identify each known criminal gang operating within the city limits. The search proved simpler than she thought, with the Black Zone Kings standing out through sheer size and grasp of their territory. The gang had been mentioned in journalists’ accounts four hundred sixty-two times. Many of these reports hinted at their offworld partnerships, including Headhunters MC from Greenleaf. Accompanying image captures displayed the eye patched kidnapper and president, known as Root. Shuffling images like playing cards, Sam took in each picture for detail and facial capture.

She was in the process of cross referencing Root’s lieutenants when the blue polo shirt caught her scan.

A quick check of the Joseph Hooker bar fight capture proved a match. She had a face, an image quickly corroborated by the 3D image modelers, and then confirmed via his mugshots from Khao Yai.

“Julius Patagano,” Sam spoke via the bridge intercom. “Known to his associates as ‘Lip.’ Charges for racketeering, money laundering, tax fraud, and numerous domestic dispute and public nuisance complaints.”

Twelve seconds. She wasn’t lying. Rex looked up from his watch. “So, a money guy with a temper,” he replied. “You got more?”

“The name of our bike gang president, his likely lieutenants, and their most probable contacts on Osiris. We also have the name and registry of their vessel. Khao Yai Traffic Control confirms its’ departure one hour and thirty-six minutes prior to our much observed liftoff.”

“Never gonna let me live that down, are you?” he chuckled. “So Hook took out their money guy,” he mused aloud. “They got Abby on that boat, and they’re probably setting us up for a hot reception on Osiris with their friends.”

“I would agree with that assessment,” S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A.’s voice floated through the cabin. “There’s a good deal more information to consider. May I continue?”

“Talk data to me, baby.”
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Story Note


Time skip: We're moving ahead to Day 2 of a flight approx. 3 days. 16 hours long. Posts in progress may continue as written.

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The Perils of Abigail Travis, Part 2 - “Good Cop”




Headhunters MC artwork supplied by @wanderingwolf


She hurt all over. Didn’t seem like nothin’s broke, but ‘er whole body ached from the last poundin’. Some woman…’Nips’...done put a stop tah things awhile back. And so here she was, all pulled up into a ball on a mattress smelt ‘o’ piss. Skin on ‘er face was all tight feelin’ and what’s underneath throbbed an’ throbbed. But pain was pain. Can’t work a boat all yer life an’ not get somethin’ all clocked an’ swole up.

Worst part was that bag the put over her head. Not so much itself, though burlap is powerful itchy after a spell. For Abby, the thing was tha bag’s meanin’. They took the sight from ‘er, an’ left her alone, tied down to a mattress. Layin’ there as she was, weren’t nothin’ left but for her thinkin’...wonderin’ ‘bout what comes next. Were they gon’ beat ‘er some more? Mabbe rape ‘er? Worse?

“Cap’n ain’t gon’ let that happen.” She whispered them words. They give ‘er no comfort, ‘cept fer jest knowin’ she weren’t all lost inside herself. I’m still here, some little part ‘o’ her spoke, and Cap’n is comin’ for me. I conjure Pen’s got them throttles pushed so hard they’ll surely bend. Pen’s comin’, she tole herself as tears took their hold upon ‘er. Pen’s comin’...

Each sob got ‘er that much angrier. Abby weren’t one fer cryin’. Time she got all teary eyed with Cap’n over a poor bargain she struck still chapped ‘er hide a skosh. But now she couldn’t see, she had no sense ‘o’ time passed, an’ whatever this boat was, it’s full ‘o’ folk don’t do nothin’ but hurt ‘er. Fer what they done so far an’ what that Root fella said about Hook, she had a fair notion they’s gon’ kill ‘er when they got what they wanted. Two for one, Uncle Bob once tole her how gangs worked their paybacks. And that just brung more tears.

Sound ‘o’ that door comin’ open made ‘er stiffen up. She could hear one pair ‘o’ boot heels walkin’ the deck. A clink to the table tole her somethin’ got put down, and then, them boot heels come right up behind her. Abby braced ‘erself, whether for a blow or tah be snatched up an’ tossed into tha chair, she couldn’t conjure. What she never woulda thunk was what happened next. A hand touched her, layin’ gentle upon her shoulder.

“Hey kid.” It’s that woman, her they called Nips. “How you keepin’?”

“Tolerable.” She cursed ‘erself fer tha tremor in ‘er voice.

“I brought you some food,” the voice said, “and something to drink. That sound good to you?”

Yeah, that sounded real good. Good enough tah milk a few more tears. “I gotta pee,” Abby replied.

“Let me help you.” She felt hands at ‘er belt, then her denims an’ unders bein’ tugged down to tha knees. “Sorry,” Nips said as she boosted Abby up. “You gotta use a bucket.” Once the business was done, her clothes was hauled back up afore she’s guided all gentle like inta tha chair. Hands come down on either side ‘er head, and for the first time in she didn’t kin how long, she’s freed from that gorram bag.

She knew ‘er face was all wet, good eye red from cryin’ and the rest one big bruise under hair gone wild, but sight of a PB and J with a glass ‘o’ water struck away all sense ‘o’ shame. “Oh, thank yew,” Abby’s thirst set her tah wantin’ that water somethin’ fierce. “Can I have muh hands?”

“In just a minute.” The plate and glass were pulled across the table. “I just need your help with something.” The biker rested her hips against the table’s edge. “Your boat…China Doll,” she said. “How many gun hands do you carry?”

“What?” Abby looked up like this was crazy talk. “Why?”

“Look, kid,” she leaned forward, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m playing it straight with you. I only get a few minutes to get them what they want. Help me out,” she laid that gentle hand on Abby’s shoulder again, “and I can make the rest of this go easy for you. My name’s Rene. What’s yours?”

“Thought yer name was Nips.”

“That’s my club name,” the woman chuckled, gesturing toward her ample bosom. “Boys will be boys, right? You got a boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” the hostage gazed upon the distant food and water. “Name ‘o’ Cottonmouth. He don’t treat me right.”

“And that’s what I’m trying to stop,” Nips’ expression was earnest as she reached for a capture pic. “This guy,” she pointed toward Hook, “is who we want. You see that guy he’s punching? After the bouncers kicked them out, we found him dead in the alley. Your friend here turned his face into a chili bowl.” She let the picture hang before Abby’s eye. “Just give me a name. His, yours, I don’t care where you start.”

Abby shook her head. “Sorry. Don’t know ‘im.”

Nips folded her arms and sighed. “Don’t la shi me, kid. We saw him, loading our cargo on China Doll with another guy, a tall man who looked to be in charge.”

“I dunno. I’m jest a deckhand. They’s a dime a dozen. I conjure they didn’t see me come loadin’ time, Cap’n hired that fella off tha yard.”

“Cal Strand,” Nips interjected.

“Yeah.”

“What’s your name?”

“Why’s that matter?” She could hear tha spy from them capture vids talkin’.

”...your interrogators will shift tactics to build trust. A ‘good cop’ will offer food, drink, and kinder treatment. They’ll play upon your sympathies. The longer you resist, the longer you live…”

“Because you’ve got to give me something,” Nips gestured with open, beseeching palms. “If I don’t take them some scrap, some little thing to show progress, they’re gonna send Cottonmouth back in here, and mei mei, he is raring to go. No food, no water, no pee breaks,” she urged. “Just whatever he feels like doin’ to make you give up the guy who killed our brother!”

Abby’s body betrayed ‘er with a bout of deep, wracking sobs. “Don’t know ‘im,” her voice quavered as she bowed ‘er head. “Don’t know ‘im…”

The biker sighed in open disgust. “I’m wasting my time.” She straightened, her voice gone cold as she turned away. “Guess I’ll tell Cottonmouth you’re all his…”

“W-wait,” Abby wept. “Ple…please. Muh name,” she stammered all about as ‘er body spasmed, “Abby. Name’s Abby.”

“And what’s his name?” Nips demanded. “SAY IT!”

The girl’s hair hung down, hidin’ her face as she slumped forward. Twixt tha sobbin’ an’ her havin’ trouble speakin, tha answer come out as a tiny little squeak of a whisper.

“What was that, Abby?” Nips asked, her voice resuming gentleness as she leaned in. “Would you say it again?”

“It’s…h..h..hard,” the deckhand cried. “Hard tah…tell it…”

The interrogator draped an arm over the girl’s heaving shoulders. “It’s alright. It’s alright,” she soothed. “All you have to do is whisper it,” her own voice dropped to a sisterly affection. Nips drew closer. “Just whisper his name into my ear, Abby. That’s all you’ve gotta do…AAAAAAAAGH!” She jerked away, driven by reflex as she landed a punch to Abby’s ribs. Nips staggered backward, a hand cupping her ear. ”Làn xiǎo biǎo zi!” The woman hiked a leg, landing a kick to Abby’s chest that sent both hostage and chair tumbling backward. “My ear!” she raged as blood from the wound seeped between her fingers. “MY FUCKIN’ EAR!”

Abby turnt ‘er head an’ spit out the lobe an’ earring piercin’. “Kin I have that food now?” she asked afore a fresh whuppin’ come rainin’ down.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by Gunther
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Point and Shoot!

Collaboration with @sail3695



“Mistah Yoo-Ree? You wanna learn ta shoot a gun?” Obviously, that was what Yuri was asking.

Yuri learned as a child that you could always tell a good stew by how little pepper you needed. And sure enough, the thick concoction he found himself greedily devouring was a good stew…really good, in fact. Seasoned to add just the right amount of bite to its’ natural heat, and a flavor that permeated both the meat and vegetables. The memories wafting up to his nostrils and taste buds carried him back to the days when everything was alright. “Fantastika!” he exclaimed in the mother tongue. “And yes,” he dabbed his lips with a napkin before answering. “It’s been years since I held one. Better to start at the beginning.”

“Do ya wanna shoot a pistol or a rifle? The process is similar but the handlin’ is a bit differen’. I have both.” Joe stepped away from the table and pulled his Ruger Red Hawk out of its holster.

“A pistol, I think,” the mechanic replied. “I’m one-armed right now, and I’ll need to borrow a weapon from someone before we get to Osiris.”

“Lesson one, treat all weapons as though they are loaded, unless ye know.” With that said, he popped the cylinder out of the frame and tapped the six .44 caliber cartridges into his open hand. He placed the bullets on the galley table, then looked into the empty cylinders. He walked closer to Yuri and showed him it was empty. “To load it,” he promptly reached back for the bullets on the table and picked them up. “Place each one into the cylinder one at a time or you can pre-load six rounds into a speed loader to make it faster. Jus’ line up the heads with the holes and pull on the back ah the speed loader. The bullets all drop into the cylinder.”

Yuri watched with interest as Hook handled the weapon with ease. The cook demonstrated the same disciplined comfort that was a part of the mechanic’s everyday life among machines and tools. Expertise was to be valued, and this man who worked wonders in the galley now surprised him with the confidence of his tutelage. “Oh,” he suddenly remembered Edina’s earlier request. “I forgot. Would this same technique work for Ms. Wyman’s pistol?”

“Wait! We need Miss Wyman too. Less go fin’ ‘er.” He holstered his pistol, then took another gulp of coffee, preparing to walk out of the galley with Yuri.

“I think she was headed to her room,” Yuri nodded agreement as he fell in beside Hook.

With the shuttle now crisp and clean behind her, Edina returned the cleaning supplies to the shelves in Abby’s room. There she paused, taking in the sight of the girl’s compact world, and the color she added with each stroke of chalk. The captures caught her eye. Basic family pictures of a babe in arms and a little girl with red, curly hair in the company of two different sets of doting adults. “You must be Uncle Bob,” she whispered to a grizzled man in frontier clothing. Next to him stood a beaming woman of Spanic descent…Abby’s Aunt Lupe. A quick study of the younger couple revealed Abby’s mother to be Lupe’s younger sister, possessed of a strong resemblance. But it was the girl’s father who raised a smile from Edina. The man was tall, angular of his features and a serious look about the eyes. A shock of unkempt red hair poked out from beneath his uniform hat. “You should see your kid nowadays,” she chuckled as a single tear broke free. “We’re gonna get her back. I promise.”

She’d just rounded the turn toward the portside guest rooms when Yuri’s hail caught her ear. “Oh, hey,” she acknowledged both the mechanic and the cook.”

What are you doing right now?” Yuri asked. “Hook’s offering to help us with some gun training.”

“Let me git a rifle,” Joe offered. “My room is right here.” He took a few moments to gather the M1 carbine from his quarters and a magazine with a box of ammunition. He returned to the hatchway, “let’s head to the cargo bay. More room to spread out down there. I have a trick to help y’all with stability.” As they walked, Joe recalled Yuri mentioning Edina’s weapon. “Miss Wyman, what sort of handgun do you have? revolver or semi-automatic?” He put the box of ammo in a cargo pocket and the empty magazine into the rifle’s well.

Edina blanched. “It’s a…pistol,” she stammered, a sheepish grin rising to her face. “I know the bullets load into a thing inside the handle. The guy who sold it to me said it was simple. Just point and shoot?" She glanced from one to the other. “Does that sound right?”

Joe smiled slightly, “Miss Wyman. You have a semi-automatic pistol. I’ll show you a revolver in a minute. The magazine is in the grip. Proly a nine-millimeter.”

Once in the cargo bay, Joe took the rifle, pointed it away from the people and the cargo. He pulled back on the charging handle, locking the bolt to the rear. Then he depressed the magazine release and pulled the magazine from the well. No casings or bullets were ejected and the magazine in the well was empty. “Ah kin safely say this weapon is clear.” He held it up so the two could see the open chamber. “This rifle is safe. You can hold it ta see how heavy the rifle is.” The rifle weighs just over five pounds empty.

Yuri accepted the weapon. Mindful of Hook’s ‘Lesson One,’ he was careful to avoid pointing its’ business end toward his shipmates or the myriad of crucial systems sitting just behind some of the bulkheads. He knew they wouldn’t be shooting…a recipe for catastrophe while in the black…but his limited experience was showing signs of rust as he attempted to handle the rifle. The left arm in its’ cast and sling wouldn’t permit him to use the gun’s barrel sights, but eventually he did find a comfortable posture. “This isn’t bad,” the mechanic said of the M-1 as it rested upon the cast. “Probably not very accurate when I hold it like this, though.”

“No, Mistah Yoo Ree. You proly right. Best ta use a handgun,” Joe admitted to the one armed mechanic.

After handing the rifle off, he pulled out the Ruger and just as he had done in the galley, he cleared it, leaving the cylinder open. “This is a revolver, Miss Wyman. The cylinder revolves inside the frame. It moves one sixth of the way around every time a bullet is discharged, placing the next round in front of the barrel ready to fire with the hammer in the open position. You must pull the trigger to get the hammer to fall. When it falls, it will strike the primer at the rear of the cartridge, ignitin’ the powder and sendin’ the projectile down range. It holds only six rounds. Be prepared to reload often. Your semi-auto proly holds thirteen or fifteen rounds dependin’ on the mag. I do keep two speed-loaders handy jus’ for this reason.” He handed the pistol off to one of the two and then removed one speed loader from a pocket. The shiny device held six forty-four caliber cartridges in place in the proper order to be dropped into the cylinder when needed.

Edina accepted the revolver. “Ruger,” she repeated as unaccustomed hands turned the gun this way and that. “It’s very different,” the woman acknowledged, though she could grasp the cook’s explanation fair to well. She found something that looked like the safety switch on her pistol. On the right side of the trigger was another small button. Edina pushed it and was rewarded with high pitched whine of a gun scan. “This is sort of like Abby’s gun. She calls it a Colt?” The passenger directed a curious eye toward their teacher.

“Yes, Miss Wyman. Miss Abby has a Colt forty-five. This here Ruger is a forty-four. Believe it or not, there is only a slight difference between the two.” Joe chuckled. “The number, which is its caliber, is measured in inches. The forty-five-caliber projectile is point forty five inches in diameter. The forty-four-caliber projectile is point forty four inches. This is a difference of point zero one inch or one-one-hundredths of an inch.” Joe smiled as he picked up the .44 Magnum cartridge. “The forty-five is actually smaller in length than the forty-four.” He held the bullet up between a forefinger and thumb to get a good look at it. “That has to do with the amount of gunpowder inside the casing. The more powder, the bigger the boom. The bigger boom means the forty-four has more kinetic energy coming out of the barrel or more knock down power. It has a better range too.”

“Mistah Yoo Ree, I know yous lookin’ for a handgun cuz ah yo bum arm, but that Ruger has a hella kick to it. Ya might wanna ask Miss Wyman to borrow her’s. She could handle the Ruger. Jus’ need two hands, ma’am.” Joe Hooker suggested to Yuri and Edina.

With a shrug, Yuri relinquished the rifle. “That makes sense. Edina, is your pistol handy?”

“I’ll get it right now!” She returned the Ruger to Hook, her gestures doubly cautious. “Be right back,” the woman called over her shoulder as she dashed off.

After waiting for Edina to hurry out of earshot, Yuri turned to face Hook. “I’ve been around some idiots waving guns about, and once or twice I saw what they can do. The bikers I knew back then were idiots…dangerous idiots. Got any thoughts on how we might shape up when we square off with these idiots?”

“Do you know how many idiots we be facin’?” Joe thought to ask. “The best we can do is hide behind somethin’ that stops bullets. If you wanna shoot back, pop up, aim quick and shoot. Then get back behind cover. After two shots, move to a different hidin’ spot or fire from cover from a different angle. Don’t fire from the same position more than twice. After your third shot, they may rightly have a bead on ya. Might be a good idea ta use some ah dese crates as cover juss’ to practice moving in and out ah cover. Using the firearm is juss’ about getting used ta the noise. Dey is loud. Folks advise usin’ earplugs, but then it's hard to hear what others are sayin’ to ya too. Either way, it is a lose-lose situation…hearing-wise. Most times ya don’ have time to put in earplugs. Do we even have any on the ship? I have one set myself.”

Yuri responded with a shake of his head. “No idea…I can only guess. Probably a bunch.” He cast a glance in Edina’s direction as she approached. “Hopefully it won’t come to that, but if things go bad, I want her to be safe.” His expression lightened as the passenger rejoined the group. “That,” he said of the handgun she held up, “looks like I can single hand it. What is it again?”

Joe took the pistol in his hand and looked it over. “Miss Wyman, where did you get this?” Joe asked the question simply because he saw the name, Ruger stamped on the side. The pistol was black constructed of a polymer grip in the lower receiver and a gunmetal steel for the slide group. “This is a real nice handgun, Miss Wyman.”

Joe inspected the pistol some more. “There is a magazine release here on the left side. Push this in and the magazine will drop a fraction of an inch. You kin pull it out and reload when necessary. Best to keep a few loaded magazines on you.” Joe pulled the magazine out, looked inside. It was loaded with 9mm ammunition. He showed it to Edina and Yuri. “Just because the magazine is out of the well, doesn’t mean it is safe yet.” He pointed the pistol toward the deck and pulled the slide group to the rear. As he did this, a cartridge ejected from the chamber. It flew up several inches and then dropped onto the deck. Joe locked the slide to the rear, leaving it in the open position. “Clearing this weapon is a two-step process. First remove the magazine and second pull the slide to the rear. When you pull the slide back, it kicks out any bullets in the chamber. Like we just saw happen.”

Joe looked at Edina, “Miss Wyman, you think you be OK firing my forty-four? It has a much heavier kick than this nine-millimeter. I think ya kin handle it.” Joe knew it would be nice to have some range time like he and Miss Abby had back on Greenleaf, but they did not have that luxury. The dry fire drill would not be necessary with handguns. That was something you did with a rifle, not a pistol. “On the plus side, Revolvers are more accurate than semi auto pistols. You will want a few speed loaders to help you along. I can give you some loose ammo too.”

“When you was fetchin’ yo handgun, Miss Wyman, I was tellin’ Yoo Ree we could use the cargo as cover if a fight were to happen here in the cargo bay. Cover is merely something solid that will stop a bullet. Also, try not to fire from the same place too many times. It could be fatal. Best to move around a bit so the bad guys don’t get a bead on ya.” He watched the pair look the pistols over. “Any questions?”

The woman hoisted the revolver to shoulder height, her left hand steadying the mild tremble in the right. “So, is this right?” she asked. “Do I have to pull the hammer back, or can I just squeeze the trigger?

“Good question, Miss Wyman. This is a double action revolver meaning you do not have to pull the hammer back. Just point and shoot!” Joe remarked.
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Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by sail3695
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Growing The Business





“We’ve come to an agreement.” The screen revealed Ellsbeth, seated next to Hafez. The crime lord’s subdued countenance was a giveaway in and of itself; clearly, the overly generous and deferential Hafez was nowhere to be seen. “From this moment forward, Headhunters M.C. will manage not only all distribution, but operational security as well.”

Shiny, Root traded glances with the lieutenants at his table. Maybe too shiny, he thought. “I get distribution,” he replied, “but when I hear ‘operational security,’ I have questions.”

“We’ll grow into the job,” his mother responded.

Hafez cleared his throat. “I understand that you’re en route to Osiris?”

“That’s right.”

The impeccably dressed man nodded. “As a gesture of my good faith, I’ve made arrangements with our buyer in Capital City. The China Doll shall be paid her agreed rate upon delivery, which is roughly one sixth our previously agreed price. While on planet you shall receive the balance to share with your local agents per usual. With the supply chain reestablished I’ve no doubt we shall proceed without interruption.”

Root attempted a friendly smile. “That works for us. Glad to put all this behind us.”

Hafez delivered a formal half bow to the capture. “I too am pleased for our new understanding and partnership. There is just one favor that I might ask at this juncture? A good faith gesture on your part?”

The M.C. president maintained his poker face. “What’s that?”

“I’m told you have a guest aboard,” the drug king said casually. “A young woman from China Doll’s crew?”

“That we do.”

“By any chance,” Nadal’s features darkened slightly, “is her name ‘Penelope?”

Nips drew a breath to speak, but a tap to her calf cued her to silence. “We’re not sure,” Root spoke instead. “She hasn’t given us her name.”

On the screen, Hafez nodded as he digested the answer. “As I thought. She’s a gifted pilot who possesses a tendency toward stubbornness.”

“So what can we do for you?”

“Simply put, deliver her safely back to her crew on Osiris. I’d consider that a very kind gesture to cement our improved relationship.”

Root appeared to be in thought, visibly weighing his options as silence descended. After a moment’s consideration, he lifted his eyes. “We can do that,” he fixed the capture with a narrow smile. “Your Penelope is safe with us.”

“Very good,” Hafez nodded slowly. “When you return to Greenleaf, I shall arrange a celebratory dinner for your organization.” He smiled. “What better way to launch our new association than with food and drink?”

The biker chief and his lieutenants offered smiles all around. “We wouldn’t miss it.”

“Safe journey, my friend.”

“Mom, send me a wave...” Root attempted until the screen winked black before him. “Well?” he eyed his underlings. ‘Whatcha think?”

Cheesedick’s jaw was swollen and bruised, but his brothers’ attempt at relocating it proved successful. “Distribution’s decent,” he offered. “We know that Hafez supplies a half dozen planets. Schedule those runs right, we could handle with the Angel and maybe one more boat.”

“A Firefly?” Root shared a meaningful glance with Nips.

“Sure.” The lieutenant pressed the icepack to his jaw. “All the classes have enough hold space. You can run ‘em with a crew of three plus gun hands.”

“C-mouth?”

The enforcer propped elbows on the table. “Sounds right,” he shrugged. “Hafez deals in the Central planets. High credit, low piracy risk. We’d put just enough muscle on both boats to handle trouble, but with those routes patrolled like they are? You’re gonna be dropping more coin for bribes than bullets.”

“Yeah.” The M.C. President folded his arms. “I like those margins.”

Nips spoke up. “What happens to the kid? We delivering her safe and sound?”

“Is her name Penelope?”

“Calls herself Abby.”

Root’s gaze softened. “How’s your ear, hon?”

“Nothing they can’t reattach on Osiris,” Nips answered. “I’m just glad she didn’t swallow.”

The chief yawned and stretched in his chair at the table’s head. “Here’s how I conjure it. Hafez wants us to deliver ‘Penelope’ safe and sound. We ain’t got a Penelope.” His eyes swept the table. “What we got’s a pain in our pi gu who’s racked up two of my lieutenants. Now,” he gestured toward the screen, “what she’s got to tell us ain’t worth a bucket ‘o’ cold spit.” Root’s eye traveled to Cottonmouth. “She’s not a bargaining chip with anyone who matters. That makes her our option.”

“I’d still like to know how many trigger fingers are on China Doll,” Cottonmouth said.

“Alright,” Root lit a cigarette. “Give her to Lido.”
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Story Note


TIME SKIP: It is now Day 3 of China Doll's flight to Osiris. An anxious crew prepares for an encounter with the Headhunters MC.
Hook has been diligent in his teachings to both Edina Wyman and Yuri Antonov. S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A. has fed a steady stream of information to Cal and Rex.

The Captain is struggling with the best way to preserve the lives of his crew. His First Mate is thinking of other options.

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”These ain’t diet pills..."




Collab between @wanderingwolf & @Xandrya

JP takes place some time after the Doll leaves for Osiris...

As Captain Strand descended the cargo bay scaffold stairs two at a time, he didn’t hear the rhythmic thrum of the Doll’s core engine, nor the comforting cold of the black. The sobering effect of the boat’s unified purpose, thanks to its crew and passengers, propelled him to seek the answers they all needed. The cargo bay was full with twelve large, steel cases what clinked slightly when Hook and he double strapped them into place for takeoff. ‘You stole two things from us,’ the biker leader had proclaimed, and Cal was keen to know just what it was Hafez had strapped them with. From what he could suss it weren’t just tonics and tinctures bound for the little soldiers of Osiris; no, whatever clung to cloth in these cases was somethin’ worth spilling blood for.

As his foot struck the deck, he caught sight of Alana and planted a hand on the infirmary door frame, “Doc, you got what you need to see what we’re saddled with?” His brow furrowed even as his jaw clenched in anticipation for the situation they burned sky toward on the surface of Osiris.

Her gaze fell on him, a solemn, silent nod in his direction being her only response to the inquiry. Alana momentarily tapped the sides of the testing kit box with her fingertips, which was not so much induced by the anxiety of what lay ahead for them, but purely out of worry for Abby's well-being. Having had some time to delve in the current predicament, she had been saddened by the troubling "what if' thoughts. Abby's life clung to the hope that they could manage a successful rescue, and no doubt there were some odds stacked against them too. With a sigh, she followed Cal out into the cargo bay, ready enough to do what was needed of her.

Strand drew the good doctor’s attention to a crate beside the one they’d kept from the deep sea of New Melbourne–even though it was laden with lucky cats. As his hands unfastened the straps to crate seven of twelve he added over his shoulder, “I ain’t no expert, but my gut tells me these ain’t diet pills or little blue pills.” As he hoisted the lid, rows of cleanly vacuum sealed paper boxes shone in the fluorescent bank lights.

“Schuler’s Hair Restoration Tonic,” he read aloud with a “Huh,” that came part and parcel with Cal’s frown as he plucked one out of the neat packaging and handed it to Alana.

"It sure don't look like it." Alana examined the package he'd handed her, then placed the kit down beside her and opened it to reach inside. Once equipped with a small blade, she made a cut across the top of the box, eventually revealing what was inside: small, clear bottles filled with green liquid capsules. "I'm afraid the shiny-headed are going to be disappointed," she added, meant as a joke but with her tone, coming off as anything but. Alana knelt down on the deck to open one of the bottles, unable to recognize its contents merely by sight. She wasn't the knowledgeable type when it came to pharmaceuticals, taking a class or two during the course of her studies but never learning beyond the basics. After reaching for a small device, she turned it on and it whirred to life. A moment later, she pulled open its side tray and spilled the contents of one of the capsules onto it before closing it shut again and pressing a button. The screen then read Analyzing...

"It shouldn't take long now," Alana looked up at Cal to let him know.

While the doc started her work in earnest, Cal had drifted toward another crate, removed the strap and followed Alana’s lead, flipping a pocket knife open to extract what was inside a slender box. His brow arched in unbelief as he held the bottle up against the bulkhead lights, shaking the contents lightly.

Wo Bu Shin Wo Dah Yan Jing, somethin’ tells me these little blue pills ain’t for musterin’ courage.” (I don’t believe my eyes), he jeered, meeting her eyes. He placed the container beside Alana and her instruments with a wink as he craned his neck to watch the screen’s output.

It wasn't long before the blank screen was replaced by descriptive imagery of some chemical structure, and right below, its name: Trypoxin.

“Oh... Have you heard of this one?” she turned to Cal after reading the screen. "A stimulant with incredible analgesic properties. That’s why many claim it to be a favorite.” Alana pressed a button to reset, pulling out the tray to wipe its contents with a cleaning cloth tucked away in the back of the device.

“Time to confirm whether they’re loyal to the Pox.” She reached for the bottle that had been placed down in order to repeat the process again.

Cal leaned in to read the word 'Trypoxin' on the screen. "Can't say I have" came his stern reply, "But I ain't bewildered," he added crossing his arms behind her.

Stroking his chin, Strand's eyes fell over the rest of the cargo, then came to rest on Alana's crouched form. The doc just confirmed two things he'd suspected: Hafez's toothy grin had hid the particulars for the job, and this Huen Dahn Root was the consequence. (bastard)

The Captain tapped his foot impatiently as the Doc did her work.

"I figured as much," she motioned towards the screen when it showed the same results. "Up to you whether we run a third test, but I believe we got a shipment full o' Trypoxin." Alana pulled herself to her feet, looking over at Cal. "People have killed for this, we gotta be careful."

“Thanks Doc,” Cal was rubbing his chin, “‘cuz of you we know just how careful to be.” He nodded, meeting her eyes. “No tellin’ what we’ll find on Osiris, and I need every barrel we got. You got a gun, Alana?” His expression pulled down as he looked up into her eyes.

"Can't say I do," she shook her head with an almost guilty expression. "Got a spare? I'm not too bad of a shot, and Abby could use whatever help comes her way.”

“S’long as you don’t shoot me in the back, I could use the backup. Heard Hook is givin’ lessons if you’re keen.” He tucked his hat around his ears, shooting a glance toward the fore of the China Doll. “Here,” he pulled his pistol, flipping the handle toward Alana before handing it to her. “I’ll want this back now, y’hear?”

Her expression finally softened as she reached for the pistol. "I won't shoot you in the back, I'd do it while you watch," was her failed comedic attempt at a comeback, though she was quick to change the pace. "I can aim and pull a trigger, but I'll see what else Hook can teach me. I'm sure he has plenty tips to turn me into a somewhat decent marksman."

Cal gave a nod to the doc before ascending the stairs toward the cockpit.

Alana tucked the pistol into her waistline as she watched Cal walk off before also turning away. She would tidy up the area and put up the small clutter that was left out from the tests.
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The Perils of Abigail Travis - Part 3: “Lido”





After Nips slapped her around a bit, they let her be. She weren’t sure how long…long enough tah feel arms an’ legs tryna grow stiff from reg’lar pummelin’s. Also long enough fer her tah seek out that glass ‘o’ water, fer which searchin’ with a bag over ‘er head done knocked it over. By the time they took wise, she’s crawlin’ about ‘neath tha table, soppin’ up spilt water tah suck through tha bag. Tha PB an’ J was a lost cause; when they caught ‘er, it got hauled off after they strapped ‘er back down tah tha mattress.

Sometimes she dozed. Sometimes she dreamed. Alana, laughin’ as she taught her how to walk in heels. Hook, tellin’ ‘er what’s fer supper as they put their backs inta shovin’ a big crate around. Tradin’ jokes with Cap’n. And Thomas, holdin’ her tight as they shared their last kiss.

The door creaked open an’ she’s wide awake. Didn’t sound like Cottonmouth this time. The clop-cloppin’ of them bootheels was lots heavier. She listened as the fella set somethin’ metal on tha table didn’t sound like no dinner plate.. “Aaaabby,” his voice come all slow an’ sing-song as he trod closer, “how many gun hands are on China Doll?”

“One less since yah took me.”

The new fella give a good natured laugh. “Well, you ain’t lyin’,” he chuckled. “I’ll see your truth and raise ye one.” She heard tha sound, a clean metallic nick of a blade comin’ unsheathed. “Ever heard the old saying ‘last house on the block?” he asked. Abby felt the mattress shift as his knee come down on it. “Well, little one, you’re there…in my house. They call me Lido,” he purred like a big cat, “and I’m the last thing standing ‘tween your sweet little behind and the airlock.” She could feel ‘im, the presence of the man as he leaned close over her. “Aaaabby, you’re off to a good start with a piece of truth and a little bit of funny, so let me ask you again. How many gun hands on China Doll?”

“Got a few.”

“Not so funny.” His hand was rough as he whipped ‘er onto her back. Then he’s at ‘er clothes, haunlin’ ‘er tee shirt up tah git a grip at tha bottom. Fer a second, he laid cold steel upon tha flat of ‘er belly. “Aaaabby,” Lido whispered through tha bag, “I’ve got a simple rule. ‘Take a tool out,’ he said as the blade’s flat side prodded ‘er, ‘don’t put it back ‘til it’s been used. So I gotta cut somethin’, right? I swear it’s a di-lemma, seein’ only cloth or skin at hand. And, oh, this skin.” His hand touched her, palm down on ‘er navel as fingers felt their way about. “A few bruises, but fair and smooth.” She felt them fingers workin’ their way up. “What do you think I should cut?”

Abby’s breathin’ started goin’ all raggedy as this man’s touch moved onta her ribs like a cancer. “This b-bag,” she stammered. “Cut it off muh head.”

That cheerful laugh again. “Don’t think so,” Lido replied, “in light of I heard Cottonmouth uglied your face right up. I can’t bear to look upon such ugliness,” he pulled both the hand and his knife from restin’ on ‘er belly, “when there’s so much pretty down here.” All sudden like come a quick rippin’ sound an’ a rush of cool air as his knife sliced her tee shirt open from belt to collar.

Next few minutes felt like hours. Lido shoved Abby face down as he cut tha rest of ‘er shirt away. She tried strugglin’ when he threw hisself on top ‘er, a fight what ended with the hasp ‘o’ his knife knockin’ her in tha temple. She felt his hands on ‘er an’ wanted tah scream.

“Tell me the name of your friend,” Lido hissed in one ear as he tugged at ‘er belt buckle, “the one who killed our brother Lip.”

“Don’t know,” she’s nearabout whimperin’ as ‘er denims was pulled off. As ‘er brain fought panic, her spy started talkin’ again.

”...it’s a cruel truth that captured female spies are at risk of being raped…”

He flipped her onta her side. She could feel ‘er heart racin’ while he’s runnin’ a hand up her legs. “Aaaabby,” Lido near sang ‘er name as the knife joined in, snakin’ it’s way up. “You’re lyyyying.” Quick shift ‘o’ the blade an’ cold air raisin’ goosebumps on her bosoms tole her he’d jest cut her bra clean away. “Oh!” Lido heaved an appreciative sigh. “You’re a pretty one! Look how you’re budding out!”

Ohgodohgodohgodohgod jset ‘bout erased all her thinkin’ as his hands took their liberties. “Please, mister,” Abby now wept.

Lido was all over her fer a spell, til one arm wrapped ‘er waist an’ hauled ‘er up on ‘er feet. “Aaaabby,” he’s near laughin’ as he pushed ‘er forward. “How many gun hands?”

She felt ‘er thighs bump tha table. A rough hand bent ‘er over, pressin’ down hard amid her shoulder blades. “Ten!” she sobbed. “They’s ten. Couple right gunslingers among ‘em, too! Jean-Ann Cuthbert…an’ Blackjack Bob O’Halleran!”

Lido had the sort of a laugh would normally cheer folk right up. They’s a music to it could make a body want tah hear it more. But fer Abby, that good natured mirth comin’ as he’s ‘bout tah take tha one thing she had left made it right horrifyin’. “Ohhh Aaaabby,” he laughed as he set the knife down, “everybody knows Blackjack Bob’s dead, but nice try!”

“I’ll tell yah…I promise….I promise!” the girl cried as he used a boot to kick ‘er legs open.

“Too late! Now I got a new question,” Lido’s voice come silky smooth. “How many men you had, Aaaabby?”

“No…NO!! NO!!” she screamed in a way sounded feral. She heard the zipper, felt him workin’ hisself out afore he moved to pull her unders down. Terror…stark cold terror shook her to the core where a rage was kindlin’ all white hot. “NOOOO!” she wailed as Lido’s fingers hooked the waistband.
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The Perils of Abigail Travis, Part 4 - “And Lido Makes Three”




”Please make it a dream,” Abby begged as Lido positioned hisself to take ‘er. Her mind near spun outta control ‘til she found ‘erself hangin’ on a pair ‘o’ voices. First come tha spy from Uncle Bob’s captures.

”...when they think they’ve won, that’s your opportune moment…”

”Here’s how it is.” She could hear Cap’n’s voice next, that no nonsense way he had fer spellin’ out troubles an’ makin’ direct moves. ”Abigail, when a man starts thinkin’ with...other parts, his brainpan empties right out. True that you’re blind, but you don’t need eyes. You know right where he’s at…

“Oh! Aaaabby! What a sweet little pi gu!” Lido exclaimed.

”...you know right where he’s at…” She took quick stock ‘o’ the moment. Lido had her bent over tha table. Her hands was still bound behind ‘er back. One ‘o’ his was holdin’ ‘er down while t’other had a grip on ‘er unders. That awful part ‘o’ him what nudged her hip come proof positive Cap’n was tellin’ true.

”... right where he’s at…”

”...Your opportune moment…”

Ever’ bit ‘o’ Abby’s terror and rage welled inta tha mule kick she sent up twixt his legs. AAAUUUUUGH!” Lido collapsed backward, cupping exposed genitals paid a forceful visit by the girl’s heel. A deep, sorrowful moan escaped his lips as he fell to the deck.

Now’s ‘er chance. Abby rolled onta her back, kicked ‘er legs in tha air, and bent forward til she could work her wrists under her bottom. Movin’ quick, she bent one leg at a time tah get ‘em free of ‘er arms. Lido’s still moanin’ somethin’ fierce as she reached up an’ tore the bag from ‘er head. “You sumbitch,” the deckhand swore as she searched for his knife. And there it was, layin’ on tha table…right alongside a sawed off pump shotgun.

Holdin’ that blade near back’ards tah saw through tha zip tie was a might cumbersome and took way too long. Time she freed ‘er hands, Lido’s risin to his feet, fat old body in a half squat as he reached out tah pul hisself up. “YOU SUMBITCH!!!” the girl raged as she landed one more vicious kick tah tha fam’ly jewels.

Lido went down again, fresh agony curling him into a ball. “No,” it’s his turn tah whimper as Abby hefted the shotgun. “No…please…COTTONM…!” His cries for help silenced as the girl delivered a knockout blow with the gun’s handgrip.

Abby looked down on ‘im, her chest heavin’ as she fought fer control. She jest wanted tah kick him an’ keep on kickin’. “An that Cottonmouth, too,” her voice quavered as she give the weapon a one handed pump. They had tah heard tha commotion in here…they’s only seconds til they come bustin’ in. She hauled ‘er unders back up an’ slid tha door open, seein’ fer tha first time a corridor. Starboard side, the girl conjured at sight of viewports on the opposite bulkhead.

She’d jest turned an’ started forward when her way’s blocked with a bunch ‘o’ bikers. “Keep back!” Abby snarled as the shotgun come up.

“Hey!” one of the Headhunters smirked as they pulled knives on the near naked hostage. “Look what’s for supper!”

Cottonmouth stood at their van, his knife at the ready. “Kid, you might get one shot, but what we do after that’s ten times worse than you’ve ever had.”

She conjured that’s true. Close as they was, she’d not get a second pump afore they’s on ‘er with them knives. “So what yer sayin’ is I’d best make it count.” With a defiant lift of ‘er chin, Abby swung tha shotgun, one hand on tha grip as the muzzle touched tha viewport. Felt good watchin’ all them smirks become eyes wide an’ mouths hangin’ open.

“No no no no no!” Cottonmouth’s empty hand rose in a cautionary wave. “You do that and we’re all dead!”

“Instead ‘o’ jest me, huh?” she demanded. “Now it’s MY turn tah ask questions. Where’s my boat?”

“I don’t know.”

“My arm’s gettin’ powerful tired!” Abby warned.

“I DON’T KNOW!” Cottonmouth shouted.

“Whoa…WHOA!” Gang members turned at the command to see the MC president and his top lieutenant. “Put ‘em away,” Root gestured toward the knives. “Make a hole.” Folllwed by Nips, he stepped through the opening his gang provided. His first look at the girl Abby was a pitiful sight. There were bruises on her arms and legs, and a wicked bootheel mark between her breasts. Her face was a range of sickly hues with a puff to her lips and one eye swollen shut. Yet here she was, her presence both a reminder and a warning. “Did you kill Lido?” he asked in quiet tone.

“He’s breathin’,” Abby scowled at the gang leader. “Where’s muh boat?”

“Headin’ for Osiris,” Root answered. “We’re set to meet them tomorrow night.”

“So yew can gun ‘em all down, I conjure,” she spat.

Root shook his head. “Not if we don’t have to. Only one of your crew we want…the dark skinned one who killed one of ours. Blood for blood, kid.”

“Usin’ me as some sorta blackmail? Lettin’ yer crew beat on me an’ try tah…” Abby loosed a single, gaspin’ sob afore finishin’, “take everythin’ from me as some kinda down payment?”

“Not what I wanted,” he said. “But necessary. I wasn’t about to lose more of mine to a boat full of pissed off gun hands. Only person who made your life so tough here was you, kid.”

“Yah need more gas fer them lights,” she retorted.

“But,” Nips gave an appreciative nod. “She didn’t rat.”

Root met his lieutenant’s eye. “No, she didn’t,” he spoke as unvoiced meaning passed between them. “You didn’t rat on your crew, kid,” he lifted a hand to his heart. “Respect,” He watched the blow strike the back of Abby’s head. As she collapsed, the shotgun was snatched from mid air by her stealthy assailant. “Nice work, Mouse.”

The petite woman ejected the round. “What you want done with her?” She nudged the hostage’s limp form with the toe of her boot.

“C-mouth,” Root ordered, “go check on Lido. So Nips,” he regarded the woman, “not that I’m counting, but wasn’t Lido number three?”

Nips held four fingers aloft. “Four,” she offered a tight smile. “If you count Cottonmouth givin’ her the business. With three paybacks.”

“Damn,” he shook his head, a wry smile forming.

“Should we space her?” Mouse asked.

The president chuckled. “Nips,” he said, “You got this.” The unspoken command issued, he turned to make his way forward to the table room. “Three paybacks,” Root laughed quietly to himself as he strode away.
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The Unthinkable




S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A. appears courtesy of @wanderingwolf
Rex Black is a character created by @Psych0pomp

Despite China Doll racing forward at flank speed, the tapestry of stars reflected very little change to their progress. The only noteworthy exception was the planet Osiris, sufficiently grown in the cockpit viewports to present her spherical shape. Still, their destination wasn’t much larger than the twinkling pinpricks of an eternal night sky.

Sam had cracked KYLE’s rolling encryptions several hours hence, rewarding the First Mate with not only the more serious criminal records, but every bit of dirt scooped up by a diligent Khao Yai detective on the doings of Headhunters M.C. “Su Lin Earp,” Rex voiced approvingly as he studied her notes. “With work like this, they must’ve made her Chief of Police by now.”

“No.” After a couple days’ working with the AI, he could almost swear that Sam’s responses harbored deeper emotions. “Her personnel record indicates resignation. Coincidentally, the dates of Detective Lieutenant Earp’s resignation and the official sealing of the Headhunters M.C. files are identical.”

“Hmmph,” Rex grunted. “If I were a betting man…”

Persona non grata status alerts from seven casinos indicate that you are.”

He smiled. “Hey, I’m a lucky guy. This detective? Not so much.” He paused to scan the autopilot course heading, which now read straight and true after some recalibration by Yuri. “So Sam, I conjure the bike club made a fat donation to the benevolent fund about that time?”

“Indirectly,” S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A. replied. “The donation came from Janitek, one of the Headhunters’ money laundering firms.”

“Now we’re talking. How many shadow businesses does the club run?”

“Nine. I’m preparing a summation for you now.”

“Fantastic,” Rex offered a grateful nod for his unseen cohort’s work. “With complete ledgers, please.”

“Waiting in your personal folder,” the AI responded briskly. “Shall I provide my own analysis?”

“Fosh. We can go over it all tonight, when I’m in my quarters. Then maybe you can stick around?” he grinned. “Whisper sweet nothings into my ear?”

“While that is possible,” Sam replied, “I’d suggest that if your nightly visits to Cortex Cuties no longer suffice, there are hundreds of similar content sources available.”

“Never mind,” he chuckled as he reached for the intercom directional switch. “Antonov,” the First Mate keyed his mic. “You there?”

After a moment’s wait, he was rewarded with the mechanic’s voice. “Yes, sir,” Yuri answered.

“Got a minute to join me in the cockpit?”

“Should I bring a toolkit?”

“Nope. We’re shootin’ the breeze.”

“On my way,” came a dubious sounding response. In the time it took him to walk forward from the engine room, Your Antonov was soon tapping on the door frame. “You wanted to talk to me?”

Rex wheeled about in the pilot’s seat. “More like ‘with.’ Do me a favor and dog that hatch, wouldja?”

“Sure.” After locking the hatch into place, the younger man turned forward. “What’s on your mind?”

Rex waved him into the empty copilot’s seat. “Cap’n’s had me a little busy on this run,” he began. “I don’t conjure the sitch could be a whole lot worse, what with Abby bein’ held and bikers calling our shots.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Yuri gave a slow nod. “The ‘suck’ knob’s turned up high on this one, alright.”

“So how’re you holdin’ up?”

“Fair enough,” Yuri shrugged. “The boat’s solid, and the maint logs don’t show any major work due til I have my arm back. Plus, both Hook and Edina have given me help when I needed two good hands.”

The First Mate stretched in his chair. “Yeah, that Eddie,” he smiled wistfully. “We’re refunding her fare for this trip, what with all the work she’s taking care of.”

“Good call.”
“You think she can handle herself tomorrow night?”

Yuri stroked his beard. “She’s plenty nervous,” he admitted, “but I conjure I’d be more worried if she wasn’t. She’s practicing with her pistol, and asking Hook lots of questions. Just between us, I’m planning to hang close to her tomorrow night…in case things go South.”

“Good,” the First Mate nodded. “Good. I think the world of her standin’ with us, but she’s still a passenger. You keepin’ an eye out for her takes a load off.” He shifted forward in his chair until his elbows came to rest upon the console. “What’s your take on Hook?”

“Johnny on the spot,” Yuri answered. “Been really helpful. I mean, from what I know he usually is, but right now? Could just be nerves about what’s coming, but he’s going all kinds of out of his way to make sure we’re square.”

“You know he’s tangled up in all this, right?”

“Had my suspicions,” the mechanic replied. “When the captain said there’d been a scrap and a killing, didn’t take long for the two plus two. Did he say why?”

With a tilt of his head, Rex said, “Sorta. We all got demons. Hook let his out to play wrong place, wrong time. Now these bikers got the kid, and they’re expectin’ us to just trade him off for her.”

“Which we’re not doing.”

“No.” The older man paused, his eyes adrift as he lost himself to his thoughts. “Ever tangle with gangs, Yuri?”

“When I was a kid.”

“Only reason I’m telling you all this is that we need cool heads on the line.” Rex’s eyes landed squarely upon the mechanic. “I got no worries about the doc. But Edina…she gets a whiff of the real stakes and things could twist up fast.”

“I’m not following,” Yuri’s brow furrowed.

“Simple math,” Rex said. “You hit a gang for one, they’re gonna hit you back for two.” A silence fell over the cockpit as both men considered the unthinkable.

Finally, Yuri looked up from his open hands. “So,” he slowly asked, “if they’ve already taken one from us, how do we stop them from killing the second?”

Rex turned in his chair to face the forward viewports. “I’ve got a plan.”

“What is it?”

“Best you don’t know.”
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The Perils of Abigail Travis, Part 5 - “Cut”





Cold.

Half ‘er face felt a right chil, while rest of ‘er’s sorta snug. She could hear sounds ‘o’ folk movin’ about, talkin’ an’ laughin’ one t’other, all friendly like. As she ‘membered where she was, Abby opened ‘er good eye.

Cottonmouth was sittin’ at ‘er side, lookin’ right down on ‘er.

“No..” she commenced strugglin’, putin’ arms up tah shield from blows was gon’ start any second. “No…no…” she tried bringin’ ‘er legs up fer defense as well, “no…”

“Hey…hey!” the enforcer showed open hands held in supplication. “You’re shiny….you’re shiny. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

Her head was still thuddin’ an’ dull, and ‘er heart’s racin’ at sight 'o' the man what whipped ‘er bein’ this close. Here it comes, she conjured as he turnt away fer a tick. But this time, what Cottonmouth brought tah her weren’t no kinda weapon fer beatin’. This time, he held pills in one hand an’ a tall glass ‘o’ water in t’other. “Augh!” she cried out as both hands clutched tha glass. She drank, and drank, and drank s’more…

“Mouse,” Cottonmouth said, “Get another glass over here.” He waited, pills balanced in a patient hand as the hostage gulped the last of her first real drink in three days. He held them out toward her as Mouse arrived with another brimming glass. “Take these,” his voice was gentle. “They’ll help with the pain and swelling.” When the girl cast a mistrustful eye, he replied, “if I was tryin’ to kill you, I woulda done it already.”

That seemed good enough fer Abby. The bikers had ‘er sprawled on one of them sofas in their lounge area. Slowly, she pulled ‘erself upright an’ swung ‘er feet tah tha deck. She’s surprised tah feel socks on ‘er feet, an’ the knees what poked out from under tha blanket was wearin’ denim. They’d put ‘er clothes back on ‘er…cept’n tha bra an’ tee shirt what got cut up by Lido…
Abby tucked tha blanket over her bosoms an’ beneath each arm, afore downin’ them pills with three more healthy gulps ‘o’ water.

“Here,” Cottonmouth returned the icepack to her right eye. “You’re gonna have to hold it there…sorry. You hungry?”

Here he was…him as beat on ‘er with her own boot, now tha very soul ‘o’ kindness hisself. Has to be a con, she ‘membered how them grifters on China Doll switched to an’ fro tah confuse ‘er fer their aims. Fer all their chicanery they never laid hands on ‘er, though. And, she contemplated, ...while con this may be, I ain’t et in three days, neither… “Yeah,” she answered.

“Dinner’s not for a couple hours. Chili and cornbread, and gorram it’s good,” he smiled. “But we’ll getcha somethin’ to hold you over. Whatcha want?”

“PB an’ J’ll work,” the girl said, a little dumbstruck.

“You got it.” Abby flinched when Cottonmouth jumped to his feet. He run off tah tha galley an’ left ‘er jest sittin’ on tha couch. They’s bikers about, some what gandered her way an’ passed whispers, but ain’t a one of ‘em lookin’ tah have a go. And none ‘em seemed any bit riled that Cottonmouth left a big buck knife on tha coffee table right fronta her, tah boot.

A minute later an’ all she could conjure was how there ain’t nothin’ better’n a PB and J with a sack ‘o’ cheese puffs on tha side. Cottonmouth fergot a napkin, so when she’s finished, Abby set tah lickin’ orange fingertips clean.

“You want another one?” he asked.

“Nah.” With food in ‘er belly an’ sweet, sweet water soakin’ inta her system, Abby’s head was clearin’ enough fer curiosity tah change course. “Why tha change?” she up an’ asked. “Why come y’all stopped kickin’ tha la shi outta me?”

Cottonmouth sat down upon the coffee table, forearms resting over his knees. “Don’t want to steal Root’s thunder,” he smiled, “but I can say this. Sorry for poundin’ on you like I did. That’s my job…”

“And it was my call.” Root stood in the table room’s open doorway. “Wasn’t personal, kid. How you feeling?” he asked as he stepped toward the sofa, followed by Nips.

“Beat hard an’ nearly raped,” she snarked inta his face. “How’re yew?”

“Oh yeah,” Root’s memory jogged. “What’s the word on Lido?”

Cottonmouth shook his head. “He’ll live, but he’s not gonna feel like walkin’ for a couple days.”

The MC president listened, his face impassive. “Takes us down to five for burn in. Cheesedick’s jaw still ain’t right after she kicked ‘im.” He chuckled as his sole eye landed upon the girl. “Well, Little Missy, you knocked two of my guys outta commission and put my top L-T in for an earlobe reattachment.”

“With her hands behind her back,” Nips added.

Root grinned. “With your hands behind your back. Not sure what you know about bike clubs, kid…”

“...Done learnt enough already…”

“...And you did it the hard way, which was sorta stupid,” he observed, “But one of Nips’ jobs is to keep me straight on our rules and regs. While the rest of us were gettin’ ready to space you, she was keepin’ score. May I?” he gestured toward Cottonmouth, who relinquished his seat on the coffee table. “You met Mouse,” he pointed toward the tiny woman. “She’s what we call a prospect. Sworn into the club, but she’s still some membership requirements to complete. You,” he pointed a casual finger toward Abby, “helped her with one of those today.”

“Using a weapon to defend the club,” Nips offered Mouse an approving nod. “She’s had two beatdowns. Was scheduled to see Lido for the third, but that’s not happening.”

“And,” Root added, “she’s still short her act of trustworthiness. But you? According to Nips here you’ve taken four beatdowns that left marks on three of ours. For all the punishment the only thing we got out of you was your name, if it really is ‘Abby,” he chuckled.

“Told ya true,” Abby sipped ‘er water. “Collected a few nicknames along tha way…”

“And one more today,” the biker chief lifted a hand toward his lieutenant. “But your stunt with the shotgun? Aside from makin’ all of us la shi our pants, you used a weapon to defend your club.”

“Muh club?” She’s still lookin’ fer tha con, and by dawg they had ‘er confused now.

“Your boat.” Root said as Nips draped a denim vest in his outstretched hand. “China Doll. Have to admit I’m a little jealous right now, but as Nips tells me, ‘Rules is rules.’ And so,” he unfolded the garment to present with both hands, “you met all the qualifications for a full patch. Welcome to the Headhunters, Payback.”

“Wait…wait,” shed tried sayin’ as a throaty bellow echoed through tha lounge. “Ain’t joinin’ yer club. Tomorrrah night I’m back on muh boat.”

“Maybe so,” Root shrugged. “That means we got til then to change your mind. And that cut,” he said. “You put that on, you’re our sister, safe as safe can be among us.”

Mouse come ‘round, holdin’ a tray with a bunch ‘o’ whiskey shots. Abby looked upon tha vest. Headhunters M.C. - Greenleaf stood out bold around a pair ‘o’ skulls what had some kinda tribal dots on ‘em. Truth be told, this was tha sorta thing she’d as like pick up at a thrift shop. “Well,” Abby said, “don’t look like yer offerin’ me no other kinda shirt.”

As she stood an’ dropped tha blanket, she had tah admit surprise at sight of all them bikers turnin’ their eyes away from her bare chest. The vest went on, an’ fit good an’ snug. “Why ‘Payback?” she asked as tha zipper went all tha way up top.

“Uh,” Nips hesitated as she handed their new sister a shot. “Cuz payback’s a bitch?”

Fer tha first time in three days, Abby smiled.

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