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Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Widening Gap

From what Abby could conjure, the new woman, Penny, done took over the galley. Nobody said nothin’ about it, leastways not to her, but nowadays seemed like a whole lotta nothin’ but whispers was touchin’ her ears anyway. And most of that weren’t particular good, judgin’ by the eggshells the new galley hand tiptoed ‘round her on as the deckhand took her seat at the table.

She wore her usual sleepin’ rig, a pair ‘o blue men’s boxers covered in old ship’s wheels, compasses, swordfish and other seafarin’ la shi. Up top was a new tee shirt, rescued from a vendor’s cart on the Skyplex more for comfort than looks. She ain’t never seen Le Cabaret à la Montagne when she’s last on New Kasmir lookin’ fer her folks’ graves, but the big proclamation SOLSTICE EXTRAVAGANZA printed on the shoulders made ‘er think some day she might find ‘erself back down in them parts.

Her usual posture of legs folded up beneath her and an open book in ‘er lap was finished off with the same breakfast ever’ single day…a slice ‘o’ toast and a mug ‘o’ coffee. Long red hair, loosely brushed on a good day, hung wild and sleep tousled as she sipped and turned pages.

“Morning, Penny.” Edina made her way into the galley. She accepted a return greeting with a smile as she grabbed a coffee mug. “Good morning Abby. Quiet watch last night?”

“Yup,” the teenager didn’t look up as she answered. She thought to say more. She thought to tell them both about how she yearned for days when she could carry her chalk outside to decorate the hull. Or mayhaps even just talk about the peace of gazing out into all them stars. Her thoughts was comin’ a mile a minute these days. So much she had to suss out. Even things she’s dreamin’. Why did she keep hearin’ a voice tell her to “Feel the wind?” And now, right now, when she sure felt like she’d wanna run off at the mouth, folk was lookin’ at her like she’s gon’ coil up an’ strike. “Went off without a hitch,” was all that come out to staunch the silence.

“Good…good,” Edina made a valiant effort at brightness as she reached for the sanctuary of her cup. “I saw Yuri after his watch. He said it’s all shiny…speak of the devil,” she smiled at the First Mate as he entered the galley. “I thought you’d grab a few hours’ shut eye.”

“Not right now.” Yuri’d grabbed a shower and change of clothes since his dog watch on the outer hull. He looked none the worse for wear as he surveyed the galley and its’ occupants. “We’re close to getting past Reaver space, but we’ve still got the Miranda no fly zone to slip around. I’ll turn in after Captain gives us the all clear signal. Speaking of,” he cast a glance toward the deckhand as he reached for a mug, “have we heard anything from him?”

“Nada,” Abby replied without liftin’ her eyes from the page. “SAM’s on ‘im ever’ fifteen ticks. Starboard an’ sometimes a portside binoc sweep turnin’ up a whole lotta nothin’.”

The First Mate filled a mug with steaming black coffee. “I’ll take it. Did you get some sleep?”

“Some.”

“Good. After morning chores I want to stretch out the snuffler. We’re gonna make sure it’s running right and we’ve got to work out how we’re deploying and retracting it.”

She already knew the answer to that one. But instead ‘o’ openin’ her mouth to tell her First Mate that once they spooled that heavy sumbitch down there’d be no reelin’ it back without the hardware they didn’t have, she decided folk was lookin’ askance enough at her an’ her gunplay practice to question just what was sloshin’ about in her brainpan these days. Abby chose a simple “Sounds like a plan, sir” answer that with luck kep her off folks’ radar fer awhile.

“Ooh,” Edina piped up, grinning. “The snuffler. I’d like to see that in action. You need a hand?”

The inside joke might’ve been noticed by Penny, but Abby kept her head down throughout as Yuri smirked and answered, “the more, the merrier. The whole thing is a gigantic tube full of brushes and gears. Just securing it for flight was a chore, so we could use plenty of muscle to uncoil it.”

“Bout an hour,” Abby said to nobody in particular as she climbed to her feet. “That’ll gimme enough time tah git squared away an’ run a load ‘o’ towels. Ah’ll clean tha lav after we’re done haulin’ that thing out.” What she weren’t sayin’ was that’d give Izzy, the late sleeper of the crew, a chance to get cleaned up before. She knew they’s tension between mother and daughter about putin’ on the right game face fer Cap’n and Yuri. Seein’s how she looked to be gettin’ that wrong herself these days, weren’t no call for her to go foulin’ it up for anybody else.

Once her mug and saucer was rinsed and sittin’ on the rack, Abby made a quiet exit, her book tucked under one arm.

“You gonna talk to her?” Edina whispered to Yuri as the girl’s bare feet padded down the stairs.

The First Mate leaned against the counter to refill his coffee. “It’s been on my list,” he said. “Guess I’ll move it up a couple places.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Trouble Behind

Trouble with Skyplexes is the walls got eyes.

Ears, too. And when Cal Strand decided to tell the approach controller he’s comin’ in with a load of cattle, those ears perked up, a chance at grabbing some fresh beef this far out in the black being a rare happenstance. So when China Doll’s cargo bay door flew open to reveal nothing but some ugly yellow contraption, there’s a good many folk felt a might disappointed.

Soon enough, that disappointment turned into curiosity…curiosity of a sort can get a man killed. Even though they played it low, China Doll and her crew were under a microscope the entire time they spent in dock. Didn’t take long to suss out that they were packing on some big grub, and the load of structural truss, chain hoists and hardware for “a mining camp” didn’t fool nobody.

It was clear to anybody had eyes that China Doll had a score. Trouble was, nobody could conjure just what they were playing at.

As cash cows like this go, word soon reached the ear of the local outfit, the Blackborne Riders. Their head honcho, Buck Sadler, could smell profit in whatever angle Cal Strand was working. Trouble was, he just couldn’t put two and two together on it. So that meant he’d have to put a tail on ‘em…let ‘em run their business first. Then, once their hold was full and they were somewhere in the deep black, he’d hoist the Jolly Roger. Reliable enough tactic, used time and again in a piece of the ‘verse known for Reaver attacks.

And so, he had a boat on the prowl. Scalded Dog was once a rich man’s racing yacht…leastways til he fell on hard times and tried making a run from his creditors. Ain’t no tellin’ where he and his mistress might turn up some day, but his old boat was now sporting a new name and a layer of hijacked Alliance Navy stealthcoat. Even if China Doll was using their radars, Scalded Dog would have to be running pretty durn close to show as more than a fake echo on screen.

Inside was cramped, built as she was for day racing with a crew of four. The Riders had tucked in berths for a dozen, fleshing her out to suit their purpose of a tracker/raider. And now, as her Captain watched their prey through his high gain telescope, he reported what he knew to the boss. “They’re still runnin’ quiet, Buck. ‘Cept for a lookout on the hull they’re all shut down an’ blind as bats.”

On the screen, Buck Sadler rubbed the stubble on his chin. “What the Sam Hill are they up to?”, a question he’d asked himself on more than one occasion.

“Damned if I know,” the Captain shrugged. “Tell ya what. We’re down to one day’s rations. They don’t show their hand right quick, I’ma have to fish or cut bait.”

“It’s gotta be a scavenger op,” Sadler ventured. “So many dead boats driftin’ about Miranda after that whole broadwave dustup. All that truss they built on their hull? Just makes sense that they’re tryna bring in some big scrap.”

The Captain shook his head. “Sure seems like a lot of risk.”

“Yup,” Buck nodded. “Either which way, I think once you’re both clear of possible Reaver attention, it’ll be time to run ‘em down, Chet.”

“Copy that.”

“Try’n take ‘em alive,” the crime chief ordered. “Try’n git ‘em to make the score for you. Then deal with ‘em…dohn mah?”

“I do indeed.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Discoveries

“Whew!” A panting Yuri gasped. “Where did you learn how to do that? No…no. Don’t tell me,” he smiled as Edina collapsed onto his chest. “I’d have to hunt your teacher down and…”

“And what?” she lifted her chin, her tone comically seductive as she regarded him.

“Shake his hand,” the first mate chuckled. “Buy him drinks!” His arms enfolded her, greedy fingers caressing skin as their legs entwined. “Pick his brain for all the details!”

“What makes you think it was a ‘him?” she grinned.

“Look at you,” Yuri laughed as he moved, tousled sheets gathering about as he now found himself atop her. “Bein’ all mysterious and stuff. Come here.” He gathered Edina into his arms, pressing his lips to hers in a slow, grateful kiss. “Whoever it was,” he traced an appreciative finger along her collar bone, “I’m in their debt.”

That stopped Edina’s inspection of Yuri’s frame in it’s tracks. “Not the usual male response,” she lifted an eyebrow as her fingers worked the hair on the back of his head.

“Oh?” he asked, his own explorations barely disturbed by the point she was making. “I gotta hear this.”

“There’s an old song I heard once,” she replied. “I don’t know; it might be from Earth-That-Was. A pretty funny tune about how to get women. Anyway, the guy talks his way through it, dohn mah? And he says…’Men have what I call a Columbus Complex. Other people may have been there, but we still want to feel like we discovered it.”

His expression was blank. “Discovered what?”

Her smile wavered. “Oh, you know. It….it”

“It? Uhhhhhh. Columbus was some kind of an explorer, wasn’t he?” Yuri asked, before the spark of humor in his eye gave him away. “Hey…HEY!” he laughed as her fingers made expert use of the ticklish spots on his ribs. “Okay, okay! Shiny! I surrender!”

“Gorram right you do, Mister Antonov!” Edina brought him back onto her for another soulful kiss. “What I was trying to say is it’s nice that you don’t get all puffed up jealous at the thought there might’ve been others before you. It drove my ex husband out of his mind.”

During their time together, Edina had rarely spoken of her husband, and as far as Yuri was concerned, with good reason. He knew the man’s name was Andres, and that he worked the fishing boats that plied the waters of New Melbourne. He also knew that when Andres was ashore, he made a habit of beating his wife with such force and frequency that she was a regular at the local clinic. Until one eventful day, when something inside of her cried “enough!,” and she found herself booking passage on a boat named China Doll.

He settled in beside her, draping a thigh over hers as his palm came to rest on the smooth flesh of her stomach. “Sounds like a good enough reason to call him ‘Ex,” Yuri observed. “We’ve both had people before. Doesn’t matter where you come from, but where you go means everything. The first thing we ever had in common was that this boat lifted us out of the worst times of our lives. “And here we are,” he smiled down into her eyes, “going wherever we’re bound together. I hope,” he lowered his face to kiss the tip of her nose, “that’s as good for you as it is for me.”

“That’s some mighty flowery language you got there, Shakespeare,” Edina rewarded him with a crooked smile.

“Would’ve been better if I’d worked in truss, exploding bolts, or navigation vectors. You’d be positively swooning,” he teased.

“That reminds me,” Edina’s expression grew serious. “How long do we have to keep sneaking around out here?”

Yuri cast a quick glance toward the source box on the desk. “It’s twenty-three-forty-five right now. We should be clear of Reaver space around oh-five hundred tomorrow. Normally we’d sweat the Miranda no-fly zone as well, but the planet’s currently on the far side of it’s orbit. I’d guess the Captain would declare all clear around oh-eight hundred.”

“And after that?” She nestled in against him, comfortable in the bunk they’d shared since the new folk had come aboard. As he spoke, she pleased herself by gently pinching at the close cropped beard.

Yuri’s hand lay upon her stomach, where from time to time his fingers softly drummed, or the palm doled out a gentle caress. “Two days’ run through the deep black. We find our asteroid. If everything works like it should, we’ve got about four days to hunt for anything worth salvaging…if we’re lucky.”

“Won’t three big cargo containers be pretty easy to spot?”

“If they’re intact, sure,” he nodded. “But you’ve gotta remember, thye Gossamer hadn’t done a deceleration burn or a course correction before they jettisoned those containers. Right now, we’re operating on two sets of gravitational calculations that both hope the containers were captured by the asteroid’s pull. But they were still moving at about twenty thousand KPH when Gossamer dumped ‘em,” Yuri continued, “which means they could be lost forever in the black, or they smacked that asteroid hard and came apart on the surface.”

Edina’s brow furrowed. “But wouldn’t we still see the wreckage?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “maybe not. The records say it’s a big asteroid with it’s own gravitational field. It’s been pulling in dust for over three hundred years since the crash. That’s why the museum hooked us up with the Snuffler.”

“You mean that big yellow thing you’ve got coiled in the cargo bay,” she replied. “Abby tried to explain how it works to me, but sometimes I don’t conjure Abby Speak.”

Yuri fixed her with a mischievous grin as he grabbed the bedsheet. “Here! Let me show you!” With a sweeping motion, he hauled the sheet upward, completely covering Edina from toes to chin. “The sheet is three hundred years’ accumulated dust, pebbles, and rocks that have landed on the asteroid. Because of them, we can’t see the good stuff underneath.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she quipped.

“We can’t just vacuum it up,” he continued, “because there’s no atmo. So we’ve got the Snuffler. It sort of…grazes up…the loose objects. Like this!” With that, he was beneath the sheet, offering a physical demonstration of “snuffling” to the woman who shrieked laughter and squirmed in ticklish delight.

“Hey!” Yuri’s head popped up from beneath the sheet. “Guess what I discovered?”

Edina tugged at his shoulders. “You gonna come plant your flag or what, Columbus?”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Tales We Tell

OOC: S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A appears courtesy of @wanderingwolf

Runnin’ dark, runnin’ silent.

Close as their new course had ‘em to Reaver space, Cap’n made all the right moves to turn China Doll into ‘bout as near as could be to a hole in the black. Cabin lights inside cut to just ‘nuff to get about and all her viewports was blacked out. Only ones left clear was the cockpit, and Boone was sittin’ up there all in the dark by hisself, even with the little blinkies on his panel shrouded.

The reactor and the main was still spun up just enough to keep ‘em breathin’ and warm, but the boat was gliding off her last thrust anyway. Wouldn’t need another push til they changed course, hit the brakes, or if Reavers actually did sniff ‘em out. Last piece of the puzzle was not to call attention to themselves. No broadwaves, and no radar pulses to pick up. With nary a peep to draw a curious ear, hope was them Reavers might just tend to their Reaver business while China Doll snuck past right under their noses.

Capn’s order to post lookouts…and the gorram whispers that set off twixt him an’ Yuri when Abby volunteered to stand her watch…damn near put her blood to boil. Honestly, she din’ know what notions folk was brewin’ in their minds about her these days. An’ Yuri…near as she could tell, he’s spooked ‘cuz she’s spendin’ her free time practicin’ the draw. What the hell’d he think? She’s gon’ go moon brained an’ start shootin’ up the boat?

“Abby.” SAM’s voice filled her helmet comm. “Status check.”

She give her wrist chrono a glance. Fifteen ticks exactly since the last. “All clear,” the deckhand replied. “Yew want another binoc sweep?”

“Ready when you are,” the AI said.

Abby hoisted the binoculars up before her helmet’s visor. Moving in a slow arc, she fed the stereoscopic image aft to forward in a roughly one hundred twenty degree arc of their starboard side view, facing the stars and worlds among which the most feared outlaws of the ‘verse skulked in wait for their prey. SAM would analyze those images, comparing them to previous sweeps, relentless digital eyes searching for any pinpoint of light that might prove to be something more threatening than a star or a distant planet.

Once she’d completed the sweep, Abby suggested, “how’s about a portside look-see? Wouldn’t want to get surprised by a wide patrol headin’ in.”

“Agreed,” the voice sounded in her helmet com. A moment later, as she’d set herself for a clear sweep, SAM spoke again. “May I ask you a question?”

Abby traced the black, her binocs movin’ slow an’ steady as ‘er hands could allow. “Sure,” she answered easy enough. “What’s on yer mind?”

“The Captain mentioned that you’ve encountered Reavers before.”

“Sure’n that’s true,” the girl agreed.

“Short of relaying the fact you’d dispatched some of them with your long rifle, he was a bit shy on the details.”

“Not much more’n that tah tell.” Abby’s eyes swept off across the empty black. Cal hadn’t asked, cuz the look in her eyes told a man of his experience all he needed to know…somethin’ for all her smarts, a computer like SAM just weren’t gon’ conjure…

“Surely,” the AI persisted, “there has to be more to it? One just doesn’t find themselves in a shootout with Reavers without cause or circumstance? Clearly, you were planetside when the incident occurred. Were you caught up in a raid?”

She could see ‘em…them boats, all done up in human gore an’ red paint, hoverin’ over the town. Church bell’s ringin’ like crazy an’ they’s gunblast echoin’ up the valley, along with screamin’. “Stay down, Chickpea!” Uncle Bob grabbed at ‘er pants leg. “Ye don’t want them seein’ us!”...

“I’s sixteen,” Abby found ‘erself spillin’ out the tale. “Year before I come aboard China Doll. My last boat, Mariposa, was on Downer’s Moon. We’d dropped supplies an’ part of our payoff was a case ‘o’ local corn liquor Uncle Bob set to soon’s we shook hands on the trade.” She shrugged. “Anyhoo, I ‘member it was a perty mornin’. Clear blue sky an’ townsfolk all dressin’ up to go sit for their Shepherd. Me’n Uncle Bob hired couple horses from the town stable. We rode up inta tha hills outside of town…they’s a rocky patch up there locals use to pitch scrap an’ burn trash. Ev’ry time we’s there, I always took tha Mosin up fer some target shootin’. Uncle Bob,” she added, “always kep me in plenty empty bottles tah pop off.”

“”Downer’s Moon,” SAM was already hard at work, cross referencing news accounts back dated to the time period when Abigail would’ve been aged sixteen. In a nanosecond, the AI had all reported information of the incident.. “The town was Three Rivers?”

“That it was.”

“The Alliance has declared the Three Rivers Massacre to be a terror attack by Browncoats.”

”Liánméng lǐ mǎn shì mǎ shǐ,”** the girl spat. “I seen what I seen that mornin’. Took five of ‘em…” (** “The Alliance is full of horseshit.”)

“Five?” SAM asked. “The Captain mentioned three…”

Abby bristled. “D’yah wanna hear what Ah have tah say or doncha?”

“Please.”

“As Ah said,” she turned slowly, her boots gripping the outer hull with each step she took, “we been up target shootin’....well, I was. Uncle Bob nursed a bottle an’ kep me comp’ny. We’d jus’ finished, ‘cuz it’s church day an’ Shepherd din’ like preachin’ with no gunfire soundin’ off. We’s on our horses, takin’ it easy on our way back to town…”

Uncle Bob had near on a full pint in him already. “Ye got tha eye, Chick Pea,” he’s startin’ to slur. Abby seen him hangin’ onta the horn with his gun hand, proof positive he’s ‘nigh on to reel out the saddle if they rode faster’n a walk. “I paced them last bottles off. You’s hittin’ ‘em on four hunnnerd.”

True enough, she’s feelin’ mighty good about her shootin’ this mornin’. The Mosin Nagant had been her rifle for just over a year now, and chances to dial it in and tune herself to it come few and far between. But this mornin’ just felt…right. Abby give a gentle pat to the shoulder of the bay mare she rode. “Good day for it,” she agreed. “No windage, and the sun comin’ up tah muh back made for easy sightin’.”

They’d just topped the last ridge above town when the morning’s peace was shattered by the roar of approaching engines. “Shepherd’s gonna be pissed!” Abby chortled as downthrust sent her hair flying about. The joke lasted all of two seconds as she took in the sight of Uncle Bob, his bottle forgotten and pouring out, slack jawed as he gazed upwards with eyes wide as saucers. “Wha…what’s goin’ on?” she asked, before takin’ a gander into the belly of a thing Shepherd must surely preach about…a phantom straight outta the hot place itself.

“REAVERS!” Bob shouted over the din. Now bolt sober, he grabbed Abby’s horse by the halter, dragging both the protesting animal and thunderstruck rider off the trail and into thick brush beneath a strand of trees. “Sumbitchsumbitchsumbitchsumbitch!” he swore under his breath as one by one, the macabre demon ships swept overhead and into the valley. “If they’s a merciful Buddha they didn’t see us,” his voice trembled as he watched the predators settle over the hapless town. “Don’t look, girl,” his eyes blazed a terror she’d never before seen as he gripped her shoulder.

And she obeyed. Abby obeyed her Uncle Bob, like she did her whole life. As he called the boat and told ‘em to spin up the mains, she could hear everything happening in the town below. Sounds of a hymn was stopped midway in the church, followed a tick later by the urgent ringin’ of the bell. She heard the first screams, the roar of engines goin’ quiet as them Reavers settled their bloody boats in for a long visit. Took a minute for the first gunblast; she reckoned that had to be the town marshal, squarin’ up all by hisself against a whole murderous band. Seein’ as most the townsfolk was likely sat in the pews and not strapped, even her sixteen year old sensibilities could conjure and apply the old adage “like fish in a barrel.” These good people were about to be slaughtered.

“Can’t we do somethin?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Uncle Bob replied, his expression grim as he watched the scene unfolding below. “We can hide here…git back to the boat. Stay alive.”

“But these’re good folk,” Abby persisted. “We trade with ‘em. They treat us fair! We gotta…”

“We gotta look after our own!” he glowered upon her. “It’s a terrible thing happenin’ to good folk down there, but we got no way to change their fate, girl! Not without gittin’ ourselves kilt in the process! Dohn mah? DOHN MAH?””

She could smell smoke in the air. ”Ku” Abby responded to her uncle. Down below, that church bell kep ringin’. She could hear menfolk hollerin’, women screamin, and somethin’ else. Somethin’ didn’t sound quite animal, but not really what she’d call human, neither. And there was lots’ o’ that, a lustful, gravelly sort ‘o’ howlin’ that lit somethin’ down inside her.

“Naw, Jack, just you stay put,” Uncle Bob was orderin’ in his com. “We’ll track ‘round the town and get to yah. Don’t want to give them Reavers no call to light out after us.”

The screams Abby heard now were different, not the terrified wails of women under attack, but the high pitched keening of young children. Despite her uncle’s wishes, the girl lifted her head, peering out above the brush. She could see the town, with columns of smoke beginning to rise from structures set alight during the attack. Figures dashed to and fro in the streets; even at this distance, it was easy to tell the difference between the townsfolk in their sunday best and ragged nightmare scarecrows who were running them down.

Her eyes were drawn from the gang rape of a woman in the street to the sounds that had first drawn her attention. Just beneath their hiding place spread a farmer’s field, its’ plowed furrows sprouting a crop whose leaves of pale green stood at ankle height. Stumbling among the neat rows directly toward her were two tiny children, barely past toddler years. They did their best to run, concentrating on the uneven ground as their older sister, a girl mayhaps a couple years Abby’s junior, did her best to hurry them along. Judging by their clothes they’d somehow got themselves out the church. Now, they were running for their lives to what cover the woods might offer.

Their escape wasn’t clean, however. A whole passel ‘o’ Reavers had took sight, and was now howlin’ that garbled animal man roar as they come tearin’ across the field. “They gon’ git got,” Abby said to her uncle.

“I told yew not tah loo…”

“THEY GON’ GIT GOT!!!”

Before the old man could react, the girl had laid hands upon her rifle. She kinda heard ‘im, orderin’ her to put that gorram gun away as she slipped rounds into the magazine.

“ABIGAIL TRAVIS, I WILL KICK YEW OFF MAH BOAT IF YEW DEFY ME!”

She didn’t say nothin’, just laid the Mosin into the crotch of a tree to steady her shot. This was gonna be long…six hunnerd, easy. Angle wasn’t good, neither. She’d be lucky not to blow the pigtail off the older girl’s head tryna hit the fastest Reaver.

“AH’M GRATEFUL YER AUNT LUPE’S NOT ALIVE TO SEE SUCH A SHAMEFUL THING,” Uncle Bob sputtered.

What come outta her mouth in that moment was as shocking to her as it musta been to him. “Please be quiet,” Abby said as she concentrated, “so I don’t hit one of them kids by mistake.”

She waited…got ‘er breathin’ right…got them sights lined up…and squeezed the trigger. The Mosin Nagant barked, and the girl wasted no time chambering her her second round as she saw the fastest Reaver’s body recoil from the head shot, then fall flat upon its’ back.

“Well, Ah’ll be a son of a bitch,” Uncle Bob whispered.

The rest of ‘em…Abby counted four…was all together in a tight little knot. She took advantage of that, bringin’ down two more before the last pair caught wise an’ started zigzaggin’ after the children. “They’re crawfishin’ me. La shi, they’re crawfishin’ me,” the girl cursed as she tried swinging the barrel to get a shot. This wasn’t working. Unless she did something fast, they were gonna crawfish their way right up to them kids…

“Fast,” she muttered, climbing onto the Bay mare. With Uncle Bob shouting fresh disappointments in her ears, she put spurs to the horse, normally unruly red hair flying as she plunged down the ridge toward the open field. The mare cleared a fenceline with a breathtaking leap, setting off at a hard gallop toward the 3 beleaguered children. On the horse’s back, Abby got off her final shots with the rifle. None struck the pursuing Reavers, dodgy as they were and inexperienced as the girl was shooting from horseback, but she found herself thankful for the time they bought her.

“Can yah ride?” she demanded of the older girl as she leapt from the saddle. After the nod came, Abby ordered, “git on!” The two young’uns screamed just in time. She whirled to see the nearest Reaver coming at her, running full tilt with some kinds spike fer stabbing, His face was all cut up, but looked like he done it hisself. Funny, she thought, but sight of Daddy’s Colt pointed right at him didn’t slow him down none. She’d ponder that moment…wonder if deep down he was tryin’ to just run right inta her bullet.

“”C’mon…C’MON!!” One by one, she hoisted both littles up til they’s sittin’ before their older sister. “What’s the next town over?” Abby demanded.

“Miller’s Ford.”

“You ride there. Don’t stop for nobody or nothin! Tell ‘em Reavers hit your town! Now go! Go on!” She’d just slapped the horse’s flank when a powerful blow sent her pi gu over tea kettle. Abby tumbled to the furrows, knocked senseless for a moment. Rough hands grabbed at her, flipping her onto her back. A blow struck her face, harsh, but the taste of her own blood gave her head its’ clarity. She saw the knife, caked with dried blood and gore as it made its’ first pass. The pressure below her beltline caused Abby to think this Reaver was about to gut her like a fish…plunge that filthy blade among her innards and open her up from crotch to neck.

But no. That’s not what he had in mind. Leastways not first.

She heard the fabric giving way, felt the air upon exposed flesh. The Reaver’s eyes lit up at the sight of her beneath him. His face, a junkyard of scars and implanted metal, opened in a lustful smile, revealing blackened teeth that had all been filed down to sharklike points. He hovered over her, salivating with a tongue cut to fork at the meal to come, as he exposed foul manhood for yet another course of this nightmare feast.

She let him come, permitted his filth to land upon her. Hands, distracted by lust of flesh, soon set aside their knife. Eyes feasting upon what would be his to take in every manner of depravity he’d choose. He’d take this one back to the ship, to use again and again, at least until one of the Alphas took her away from him. But for now, she was all his, to touch, taste, and have completely.

He’d give her a bite; leave his mark at least. As he opened his mouth, the Reaver found the Colt’s barrel pressing inside it. He never heard the heavy report as the weapon took his life.

Over the years, Abby has chosen to omit that part of the story. She also prefers not to discuss the emotional fallout of shooting five Reavers, the weeks she spent crying and shaking in her bunk, or the nightmares that plagued her for months after the event. Instead, she opted for a different close to the story, one that even on this day, she would share with a curious AI.

“And so,” Abby concluded, “I sent them kids ridin’ off. Shot the fifth Reaver afore he could mess with ‘em. All that ruckus in the field done caught the ear of a bunch more Reavers, though,” she chuckled. “Uncle Bob had tah call Mariposa. They set ‘er down right there, picked us up an’ we hightailed it. Problem is, Reavers can’t resist a chase, so all them Reavers jumped in their boats and come haulin’ after us. “It’s their way,” she added. “Chased us fer three days. Yew can bet Uncle Bob was righteous mad at me for a good long spell,” the girl laughed.

SAM was silent for a moment, though Abby had become accustomed to such. Eventually, the Boston tinged voice sounded inside her helmet. “Lila Marie Hawkins was fourteen when you put her on that horse, Her siblings, Amy Sue and brother Clayton were four and five at the time. They made it to Miller’s Ford. Their alert got the first help and medical attention into Three Rivers just hours after the attack. There’s something else you should know,” the AI continued. “Though the Alliance disputes the story of a so-called ‘mystery ship’ that drew away the raiders, several eye witness accounts are adamant that it was none other than your Uncle Bob’s boat, the Mariposa, that led the Reavers away from their town. As a result, your uncle’s memory is highly regarded in Three Rivers.”

“Is that right?” A grin spread across the girl’s face. “That’s kinda shiny. I should ask Cap’n to get us to Downer’s Moon sometime fer “Uncle Bob Day,” she chuckled.

“I found something for you, too,” SAM continued. “Amy Sue is seven now. She’s in the second grade at her school, and quite the little artist. Here’s a picture she recently drew.”

The head’s up display on Abby’s helmet visor glowed to life. Though the characters were not much evolved beyond stick figures, the chalk artist in her could see just how much work and attention to detail a seven year old’s eye had attempted to place on the page. Taken from a mere second’s worth of blurred memory, the child’s picture was rudimentary, lively, and flat wonderful. She’d done her best work on the horse, which is a natural choice for all little girls. But the rider was familiar enough, with a rifle raised to shoot, and red hair flying free.

“It’s titled ‘The Girl Who Saved Us’...I’m sorry?” SAM asked. “I didn’t catch that?”

“You’re not s’posed tah make me cry in muh suit.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Story Note

With her underside truss now complete, China Doll is all set to to make her intercept flight.

There’s just one small problem: The data supplied by the museum staff is pretty much all wrong. During their time at the relay station, SAM did ”that voodoo that she do”, gaining stealthy access to Alliance astrometrics and the equipment that supplied that information. In her usual nanosecond, she learned that not only was Asteroid AN-3872 much closer in its’ elliptical orbit than originally forecast, but also the speed of orbit would make for a much narrower window before that great rock was headed once again toward the depths of the black for another three hundred years.

The job could still be done, if they could get there on time. Putting the spurs to the Doll wasn’t the worry. What had furrows worn into Cal’s brow was the deep cut into the dog leg course they’d planned out. Now, to get outside the ‘verse past Miranda and catch AN-3872, they were gonna have to move fast, and on a heading that laid them right on the bleeding edge of Reaver territory.

OOC: China Doll is running silent, doing her best not to attract attention. I’m sure our captain will have some reassuring words for us as we cross this risky patch on our way outside of the known ‘verse. Feel free to write your characters going about their business, being paranoid, etc.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Family Business

The new folk, Penny and daughter Izzy, seemed square enough. Didn’t take more’n a quick gander to suss they been livin’ on the dodge a spell. Prospect of three squares and a bunk was plenty to put light in their eyes and a genuine need on Momma’s part to make known she wanted ‘em earnin’ their keep right pronto. “You’ll getcher chance,” Abby said as she followed Cap’n’s orders an’ made certain both of ‘em was strapped in right. Leavin’ a Skyplex was apt to knock a body off balance every once in a blue moon, but t’weren’t nothin’ like the G force shakedown of breakin’ atmo. Still, orders was orders and ‘til we had a read on the new folk, best to strap ‘em down. “See that door right there?” the deckhand pointed toward a double width slider. “That’s y’all’s. Bunk space for two. I’ma stow yer stuff in there right now so it doesn’t rock about durin’ departure.”

Without another word, the deckhand scooped up their loose bags. Once the little family’s personal effects were secure, she stopped once more. “Lav’s right there. If yah need soap an’ shampoo I’ll hook yew up. Name’s Abby. I stay right up there,” she pointed up the narrow aft corridor, “last door on the right. “Cap’n oughtta sound the ‘all clear’ about five ticks after we push back. ‘Til than,” she gave a glance toward the young’un, “kindly stay buckled up.”

With nothing left to say, the teenager made her way up to her own cabin, the tiny bunkspace tucked in among the shelves in the supply locker. “SAM,” she raised the cortex to her lips as she settled down onto the bunk, “let Cap’n know his new kids is all buttoned up an’ ready to ride.”

“He’ll ask about the welfare of his deckhand,” the AI responded in an accent she’d been told come from a place called ‘Bah-ston.’

“I’m shiny, too.”

“Have you installed those safety straps on your bunk?”

Abby rolled her eyes. “I’m nudged up against an aft bulkhead…best place to be when Boone puts the hammer down…right?”

“Technically correct, given a standard departure.” At that moment, the sense of motion was almost indiscernably felt through the heel of one boot. “I will remind you that if we were forced into sudden maneuvering, you might be at risk.”

“And Ah’ll remind yew that…” Her hackles were coming up, and for what reason? Because Cap’n’s little black box up in the nose of the boat reminded her to do a gorram job? Catching hold of that outburst, Abby finished, “I got it on my ‘to do’ list between here an’ the relay station.”

“Thank you,” SAM responded, the tone of her voice ever cordial.

Just as well they were leavin’ the Skyplex; the place put her into all manner of troublesome ruminations. To think what set her off…something as silly as a trading card…wouldn’t make no sense at all. But Capn’s’ talk of “making your mark”...well, when she looked about all them folk called the skyplex their home, what she come away with left her most unsettled in her thoughts.

Everywhere she looked was an ocean full of dead ends, from the shopkeeper tried to Shylock three times price outta her for a rifle scope in a dusty box, to the bitter old man slapped a bowl full ‘o’ pork noodles down before her, try as she might all she saw was folk just scratchin’ and scrabblin’ for the most meager of scraps this ‘verse might leak their way.

What really drove it home was a young couple sat in a booth next hers at the noodle place. They’s on their lunch break, fillin’ time with a round of ‘slap an’ tickle.’ He’s all done up in grease streaked coveralls, smoochin’ an’ pawin’ on her as she tried to keep her maid’s uniform clean and right. Abby, who done her best not to listen, finally gave up an’ left. A quick glance over her shoulder showed the worst. Hell, neither one of ‘em looked close to her nineteen years. And the rise of the poor girl’s stomach told just how much they’d be growin’ up real soon.

Though she’d never been with a boy, it was sights like that made her right curious about chastity vows Sister mighta took. She always knew what futures lay for girls like her out here in the black. “Housekeepin’ or whorin’,” Uncle Bob used to slur when he’s in his cups. “You find yourself a boat. You stick to the black….only shot you’re gonna get for somethin’ else.”

Well, she done that now…heeded that advice almost without fail. And where it got her so far, she conjured, was your basic housekeepin’. Just weren’t that many jobs on a boat. ‘Less yah could doctor, fly, or turn wrenches, most like you’d find yourself doin’ just what she’s up to. Good work, she told herself. Good boat. Good folk. And that was all true. She knew for a fact long as she carried her weight and kept the lip to a minimum she’d have a place here on China Doll. A good place.

A dead end.

But if makin’ her mark was the goal, she didn’t rightly see how. Never had proper schoolin’...just what Uncle Bob taught and what she picked up from books and folk along the way. So, scratch anything called for a sheepskin.

Refinement’s out. Mr. Eleanor had other ideas about how she’d clean up, but Abby’s nigh on certain she’d never stand in a room with a Companion the likes of Quill Cassidy and not come off the bumpkin in that pair off. Then again, she mused, even Quill’s high fallutin’ trade brought with it a healthy degree of whorin’...same basic function; just done purtier and more expensive.

She felt a small push, her shoulder blades pressed against the bulkhead. China Doll was making her first move toward a busy exit channel. Meanwhile, Abby pondered her next move, if such was to be in the cards.

There was always crime. She had two standing offers. Lorraine would take her on. Also, she was a sworn and bound sister of the Headhunters MC on Greenleaf. Both offered promise of some high old times, sure and true, with nary a mop or a bunk to turn out. Still, they was crime…of the sort could put her face up next them grifters on the postal station wall. Cap’n did crime, too, she reckoned, but he handled it in the way of ‘naughty men slippin’ about,’ without the roar and fuss of a palms up biker gang or a merry band ‘o’ thieves.

“So,” she said to the captures on the opposite bulkhead, “where’s that leave me? All I know is boats.”

Her family smiled down from the captures. Momma and Daddy, both in their browncoats, holdin’ a curly haired three year old terror what only wanted down. She could see Daddy’s Colt on his belt, the one she owned this very day. Lots ‘o’ pics of her growin’ up alongside her Aunt Lupe. Lupe was the oldest of three sisters; her momma was the youngest. They’s another aunt out there, also fought as a Browncoat, that Abby ain’t met yet.

Her eye found one shot. Uncle Bob, when he was younger. A fierce, proud looking man with a pair of pistols on his waist and a reputation by which he earned his keep. “The Fastest Gun in the ‘Verse.” She grew up believin’ it…the book said so. Sure, couple years before he died she was outdrawin’ him, but that was just the drink slowin’ him down…

She was outdrawin’ her uncle. Hadn’t really givin’ that any thought before.

Uncle Bob had trained her. Taught her how to handle a pistol. Taught her to look for tells of an enemy committin’ to the draw, and also how to hide her own. He showed her the balance, made sure she had the steps, understood that accuracy wasn’t near as important as intent. Most important, he taught her The Code. She never woulda conjured a profession like gunslingers would have ethics…

Abby’s eye came to rest upon the Colt, hanging secure in its’ belt holster. She hadn’t practiced in awhile. Now, with the eyes of her Uncle Bob upon her, she reasoned it might be time to consider taking up the family business.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Never Know Who You’ll Meet…

“It’s not pretty,” Yuri agreed with McKenna’s estimation. “But it’ll do the job. How soon can you deliver?”

The truss before him was stacked onto three pallets. Each joint bore the dents and scars of many uses before. McKenna hadn’t bothered sprucing it up; bonding plates were scarred by the ragged traces of old welds, and the last two coats of sealer paint were chipping away. But Yuri didn’t care. If the job went according to plan, the blemished structure wouldn’t be seen by anyone but China Doll’s crew. With luck, he’d be right back here to sell it to McKenna for half what he paid…unless they could scare up another buyer.

“What’s your berth?” the merchant asked.

“Three-Oh-Nine.”

“Eh,” the old man’s lips twisted in displeasure. “You’re right on the main drag. Way too much foot traffic for my haulers to run it down there while all them businesses are open. Twenty-one hundred’s about as early as we can come without squashing folk. That gonna work?”

The first mate tossed a short nod. “That’s fair.” His eyes trailed over the rest of the equipment order. Hinge plates all stacked and strapped to a pallet. Another held his chain hoists, their housings dented and careworn from use…yet each bore a fresh inspection tag proclaiming its’ fitness. The final pallet held a pilot’s chair…a very large pilot’s chair. Though the dyed leather of the seat and armrests had seen better days, Yuri gauged them durable enough to bear up under Boone’s weight. The two slider tracks were a welcome surprise. “Didn’t think about those,” he chuckled.

“Part and parcel,” McKenna replied. “I threw in a bag of ten millimeter bolts for the deck mount.”

“All looking good,” Yuri agreed. “Can you walk me through those EB7’s?”

********************************

Little Moriah Skyplex was identical to all of her sisters, differing only by name and the types of merchants lining storefronts on the main thoroughfare. Yet, even those differences were illusory. There was always a bakery pumping out somebody’s trademark cookie, umpteen sandwich shops, places for pho and noodles, and usually three choices in saloon ranging from high toned to downright disreputable. Add to that the hundreds of street vendors pushing their own recipes and brik-a-brak, and you had a proper hullabaloo to echo throughout the station’s pressurized hull.

But, as he wove a path among the swelling humanity, Yuri found honest surprise in the sound of a piano.

He couldn’t see it; the place was simply too crowded for that. Instead, he let his ears suss out a bearing. Like a hound trailing a scent, the first mate nudged through knots of oblivious shoppers and gawkers. For the cacophony around him, Yuri could not recognize the tune, but only the presence of one, hanging above the teeming mass like an old ghost struck funny. In the distance lay an open court, an intersection sprouting vendor kiosks, some distractions for children, and the ubiquitous ‘YOU ARE HERE’ locator screens. As he stepped into the plaza, the piano’s voice became clear.

“Garner,” he muttered to himself. “Errol Garner.”

The piano, an old upright model, had seen better days. Though marred by graffiti and years of coarse paint to cover its’ blemishes, the instrument seemed in reasonable tune. Propped before it on an equally rough looking bench was an old man. As he came near, Yuri studied the man. He wore a charcoal suit jacket, its’ wrinkled sleeves having long ago found congruence with those upon his face. Given the midnight hue of his flesh, one might assume that man and suit were one and the same, had it not been for the thin sliver of shirt collar which peeked out above the jacket’s lapels.

He knew that profile. Despite the ravages of age and poverty, the razor straight jaw cut down toward ivory keys, an aqualine nose bending in perfect time as one hand managed the work of two. Eldrich Bernard, in the flesh, and right before him.

No one but the first mate took notice of the master in their presence. Awestruck as he was, Yuri had lost all sense of the crowd. Here was a man who’d managed to reach through time itself, not only to strike a series of recorded notes on the page, but to revive the spirits of men like Garner, Duke Ellington, Art Blakey, and Thelonius Monk. For a time, Eldrich Bernard took his place in the epicenter of a Jazz Rennaissance born out of a handful of seedy bars in the Eavesdown district of Persephone. As their notoriety took hold across the ‘verse, growing fame and wealth soon carried him and his chosen cohorts on the sound stages of Pacquin and other major destinations. His music, both renditions of the greats and original works, found their way across the black and into the ear of a disaffected young teenager.

Yuri idolized the jazz musician, dreamed of learning the piano. When news came of the fiery shuttle crash that cost Bernard both his wife and his left arm, the boy wept and grieved as so many avid listeners did. His parents were befuddled at this; his older brother openly scoffed. But Yuri kept the music, absorbed each subtle touch of the keys into unfailing memory that would immediately recognize “the Bernard method.” And now, here sat the man himself, his left sleeve pinned up, the right hand magnificent upon a rough old barrelhouse upright, playing unnoticed in the middle of a gorram merchants’ bazaar. It was insulting…yet, as he allowed his own temper to cool, he realized that the old musician had no more concern than the need to play. There was a slight upward curve to the narrow lips. Despite his station, despite all that Yuri could see the ‘verse had brought down upon him, Eldrich Bernard was enjoying himself.

As the song wound to a close, the young man might’ve made a gushing fool of himself, were it not for an aptly timed cortex message from the captain.

Sister’s hired us on a couple extra mouths to feed. You might want to head back and rethink our provisions for the run.

Yuri blinked. There was quite a bit to blink at. Then again, Captain’s sense of humor seemed to walk the edge at times. Two extra crew aboard meant quite a bit more than just provisions, and he knew his first mate now had a “whole passel” of rethinking to do on the matter. He tapped out a reply. On my way.

“Thanks,” the old man said to the ten credit coin dropped into his up ended bowler hat.

“My pleasure, Mr. Bernard.”

Dark eyes lifted from the keys to meet the younger man. “You know me? What’s your name?”

“Yuri Antonov,” he smiled. “Been a fan of yours since I was fourteen.”

Eldrich nodded, a hint of satisfaction on his features as he offered a handshake. “Fourteen,” he repeated, savoring the word. “Don’t hear that one a lot. What brings you ‘round here, Yuri Antonov?”

The first mate shook his head. “I heard your album “Monk Meets Garner,” and I was hooked. Bought everything I could get my hands on after that…’Blue Midnight, ‘Uptime Uptown’, ‘Songs For Loretta.” He paused, cursing himself for a fool. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bernard. So sorry.”

The old jazz man met this with a slow smile. “I still play her music ev’ry night, son. Keeps her right here with me. She’d be please to hear a young man like yourself speaking well of her music.” He cast an eye toward the bowler hat. “You dropped coin. Got a request?”

“I would,” Yuri shrugged, “but my boat’s calling me back as it is. Sir, is there any chance you’re playing a show here on the skyplex?”

Bernard stood up. “See down that alley?” He pointed out a narrow corridor lined with vendors’ stalls. “Little spot down there called Bert’s. You can’t miss it. We got a little trio plays in there at night for drinks and tips. Come on around ‘bout ten and you’ll find us.”

“That,” the young man nodded enthusiastically, “is a plan. See you tonight, sir!” With a wave toward an idol he never thought he’d meet, Yuri turned to set off through the milling crowds of the skyplex. From behind him, the old piano spoke again, the recognizable chords of “Misty” carrying over the unceasing murmur of an oblivious crowd. Doesn’t matter he told himself as he threaded his way beck to China Doll. Tonight…Eldrich Bernard…I’ll be right there! He’d let Edina know they were headed out. Maybe even Elias, given his own piano talents. But first, he had to see about these two new crewpeople.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Seein’ A Man About A…

OOC: Pardon me while I try to crank up the rusty old writing machine…

“She’s a beaut.” The sniper scope felt good, weighty and firm in her hand. The metal was smooth and precisely machined to the touch. Abby couldn’t help herself. Once more, the fine ocular came up to eye level, just far enough removed to avoid her lash touching the polished glass. The index finger of her left hand steadied the far end as she sighted down the length of the narrow shop. “Mmmm,” the girl hummed a quiet appreciation as she dialed the optics upon one of the myriad target bull’s eyes littering the back wall. “That is some kinda smooth. Could sight on targets ‘o’ diff’rent ranges without missin’ a beat.”

The shopkeeper’s study of her backside abruptly ceased. This little girley might just walk the walk after all. “Whatcha thinking to mount it on?”

“Mosin-Nagant,” Abby replied as she drew a tight bead on the target. “M-91.”

“What series?” Now he really was interested.

“R-3.”

“That’s a fine shootin’ iron you got there, little lady,” the gunsmith leaned over the counter. “Wouldja consider sellin’ ‘er? I’ll pay top coin. Best coin this end of the ‘verse.”

She didn’t bother with an answer, just a careful placement of the scope back into its’ package. “How much fer this?”

Caleb Brummy, Proprietor of Brummy’s Firearms and Munitions, clasped both hands in reverence as he spoke. “This is a precision instrument,” his voice nearly quivered with pride. “Got Kraut glass in ‘er. Don’t get no better optics than what them Krauts grind out. Four hundred.”

“Four hunnerd.” Abby fixed him with a dead eyed stare.

“Yes, ma’am. For that, I’ll even throw in a high quality no-drill mount.”

The deckhand folded her arms. While she was sure that Kraut glass was something mighty fine, no way was she about to drop what she conjured to be Hank Aaron money for a piece of hardware she knew damned well she could pick up on planet for two C’s, Kraut or not. “Box is powerful dusty,” she observed. “Cain’t be good holdin’ stock fer so long. How ‘bout I take it off yer hands fer two fifty?”

Brummy’s eyes narrowed. “How’s about you just walk your pretty little pi gu right out that door?”

Hot Tempered Abby woulda showed metal for that. Even Uncle Bob counseled to let her gun hand drift near the Colt when a man come crossways with her. But she had a new take on this. Lotsa voices, tellin’ her little bits ‘o’ wisdom all at once.

”Whole lotta ways folk horse trade, kid. Not all of ‘em good.”

Cap’n. Always Cap’n. One thing she’s just beginning to learn these past couple years was that there’s a whole lotta grey in the black. Cal Strand had a way of putting sense to it for her. As such, Abby now conjured this man’s slight toward her person, no matter how belittling, weren’t nothing more’n a move for the high ground to cover his counter offer. The next move was hers. “Shiny,” the teenager replied. With a decisive whirl on one bootheel, she made for the exit.

As Abby’s fingers twisted the knob, Brummy called out, “three seventy-five!”

“Still walkin’!”

“You stupid, kid?” he demanded. “That’s Kraut glass! You got any idea how good that is?”

She paused to toss back a wry smile. “Good ‘nuff to gather dust on that shelf another few years, I conjure.”

Brummy’s face was flushing red. “Three twenty-five. There…I metcha halfway. We gonna do this or not?”

”He’s a wannabe. Makes his living selling bullets and an occasional low end pea shooter. You would make his week.”

Mr. Eleanor, him as she suspected was some sorta confidence man…still teachin’ her to read the room.

“You heard muh price,” Abby said as the door shut behind her. He could stew. Odds were mighty long a man treated womenfolk like Brummy’d stoop to come runnin’ after her. If he did, she might just let herself get sweet talked up to two seventy-five…provided said talk was actually sweet. After all, it was Kraut glass…

”He got one thing right. You do got a pretty pi gu.”

“Shut up, Rex,” Abby giggled to herself as two passersby traded glances.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Saturday from the cargo bay!

I want to start with an apology. It's been a month since I last engaged with any sort of writing, and I've left FF2V hanging out to dry during that time. Sometimes the commitments of the real world drain more then one's energy and time. Suffice to say, I've been somewhat bereft of my personal muse since mid June, but that's not your fault. I am so sorry to have left our story dangling in mid air.

Now, like a person who gave up regular exercise in favor of daily cheeseburgers and couch time, I need to get back at flexing the writing muscle. To that end I'll step up posting activity in the next couple weeks to help get our current story back on track. Thanks, FF2V, for all your patience and kindness.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Taking The Measure

OOC: JP from @wanderingwolf and @sail3695

To Cal, any skyplex had that sort of half-way, cooped up feeling. The way kiosks lined up against one another, people shouting across the sound of food stalls and the whir of engines. Cryers calling folk over to see what they’re peddling and more. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to the sojourn, but there was one thing that Cal treasured about the skyplex: the postmaster.

On Earth-that-was there was such a thing as little, cardboard rectangles sporting the names and triumphant faces of athletes from seemingly made-up competitive games. All manner of folk used to engage in games called hockey, basketball, football, and–Cal’s favorite–baseball. Now baseball had all the hallmarks of a game he himself might like to learn to play, someday. From the wood bats, to the leather gloves and striped outfits, he reckoned he cottoned that sport most of all.

Strand had been a member of a group across the ‘Verse for the last decade or so, of fellas and gals who liked to trade cards across the cortex. From skyplex to skyplex, Cal had sprinkled forwarding addresses around so as to always have a little something waiting, should he be headed that way on a haul. Little Moriah had a veritable trove of traded cards awaiting, from his counting.

On the heels of his chat with Imani, he reckoned he was due for some one-on-one time with Abigail, and let Yuri know as much. She’d make a good sidekick for the occasion, and he’d get to lay eyes on that limp he’d heard about. Though his reasons for spending time with the young woman were serious, he couldn’t help his upbeat attitude concerning the treasures awaiting him. So it was that he waited for the deckhand in the cargo bay, sat on a pallet. Spacer that she was, he knew she wouldn’t waste an opportunity to see what Little Moriah had on offer.

Soon’s her physical was all done, Abby got ‘erself to work. Shorts an’ tee shirt was swapped for denims, boots, an’ one ‘o’ her fav’rite work shirts what had the name Earl monogrammed over its’ left breast pocket. Her hair’s tied back to a single ponytail, the way she liked when she’s scrubbin’ and cleanin’ out passenger rooms. Her boots felt good, the right laced up tight over the bruise Imani’s first lesson done give ‘er. It hurt; it was sore and all, but she didn’t pay it no heed as she hauled all the beddin’ to the boat’s washin’ machine.

The lav still needed her, but fer now it’d wait til she could run a load ‘o’ towels.

She’d just tossed sheets an’ blankets into tha dryer when word come down that Cap’n wanted to see ‘er. Yuri ain’t said much…somethin’ ‘bout her goin’ along tah tha skyplex postmaster’s office. Meet him at the cargo ramp…easy peasy, she conjured afore slippin’ down tha aft reactor room ladder among the passenger cabins..

She knew Little Moriah. Uncle Bob sorta liked the skyplex. Fact was it’s one of the few places he’d let young Abby go wandrin’ off, mayhaps ‘cause there weren’t too much trouble she might git herself inta. Child Abby could traipse about, lookin’ fer toys an’ sweets. Growed up Abby remembered the food stalls an’ open market. Seein’ how they’s about tah be gone fer a powerful spell, she reckoned it’d be worth her coin tah search out a few books an’ supplies.

Soon’s she hit the cargo bay she seen ‘im. Cap’n was lounged atop an upended pallet, long legs crossed an’ a curl ‘o’ smoke risin’ from a fresh cigarette. She picked up ‘er pace, givin’ fight tah the urge tah favor her right leg. “Hey,” the deckhand greeted Cal. “Heard we got a run to make?”

“Hey yourself,” he said, rising, “That’s right kid,” cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth, he slid into his duster. She looked the picture of a budding woman, a transformation he seemed to have taken for granted. From the tight pony tail to the no nonsense boots, Abigail looked every bit the eighteen year old she was. Crazy how a woman can completely change her look with a hairdo, he thought. The aside gave him pause, jiving the label for ‘kid’ and ‘girl’ he was apt to use to describe the woman before him. For a moment he wondered if he weren’t inserting himself into a body’s business he had no right to.

“Walk with me.”

The entrance through the bay lock was flanked by stalls for money exchangers and last minute trinkets of the garbage variety. The main thoroughfare of shops and things to see was a walk through corridors leading to the heart of Little Moriah. The flow of traffic through the bay entrance was a throng which Cal heel-toed into with ease, Abigail in tow. With a sideways glance he watched her gate to see if she was feeling her dose from the Doc earlier today. Sure enough, he saw her hesitate when placing her right leg after a few steps.

“Don’t remember you havin’ that limp before you went to see Imani,” he said, keeping pace but not rushing along with traffic.

“Ain’t nothin’ to it,” she shrugged as they walked together. Damn if he didn’t spot that in an all fired hurry, Abby pondered. One thing she knowed ‘bout Cap’n…once he asked, it was ‘the better part of wisdom’ to give up a real answer. “Imani can handle ‘erself real good in a tussle,” the deckhand continued. “Me…not so much. She taught me a purty sharp move, an’ then Ah asked ‘er tah try it on me, is all.”

Cal pursed his lips, cigarette between his fingertips, “What are you tusslin’ for?” He wagered he’d level with her soon, since he wasn’t one to beat around the bush. Strand told himself he was respecting Imani’s wishes not to be outed as his source for Abigail’s abiding struggles after her abduction, but the truth was feelings talk felt like a foreign language.

A small boy, no older than seven or so, bumped into Cal, and without breaking stride, Strand grabbed his wrist and wrest the wad of credits he’d been relieved of from the boy’s hand before letting him go. Cal fixed the boy with a look and he pulled a face filled with fear before disappearing into the crowd behind them.

To Abigail he continued, pulling on his smoke, “Got an iron on your hip; pretty good deterrent if you ask me.”

“Didn’t stop them Headhunters,” she answered, plain and simple.

And there was the rub. “That it didn’t. I been meanin’ to ask you, how’d you end up with their colors on your back?” It was an easier segue than, ‘so you got PTSD now or what?’

Cap’n or no, she knew what Cal asked was fair, ‘specially so after the way he put spurs to China Doll an’ stared down a whole passel of gun barrels to get her back. She owed him. She owed the whole gorram crew. “I puzzled on that mah own self,” Abby said as they picked their way among the teaming crowds. “Turns out they got themselves a code. After beatin’ on me fer however many days, they tole me they liked I didn’t rat on Hook or our crew. When they gimme that cut,” she added, “I conjured it’s jest tah cover muhself, seein’s how muh shirt an’ bra was ripped asunder.” She stopped. Hadn’t meant tah rattle off that part, an’ she sure didn’t feel like tellin’ nothin’ about it. “Weren’t til they all started makin’ a big fuss, givin’ me hugs an’ muh own biker name that I caught wise.”

He did his best to face away, but if she’d been watching as she wound her yarn, Abigail would have seen the darkest hoods of his brows dissolve into a twist that left him biting his lip to bleed. Why had it taken him so long to ask what she’d been through? Had he expected the gang of thugs to serve her tea and crumpets while the China Doll was hightailing it? And they’d beaten on her... And–his face resumed that darkness, teeth grinding–they’d probably had their way. He recalled her wearing not a thing under that leather, when she was traded to the Doll. In the heat of it all, he hadn’t paused to ponder the implications. Stuck on that, he almost missed the end of her tale. He had paused too long after she’d said her piece. The crowds diverged into two streams, and Strand led them starboard, toward the heart of Little Moriah. “So they treated you like one of their own, at the end? Did they tell you why?”

It was nigh on a relief when she conjured Cap’n wasn’t goin’ down the darkest road with his questions. She knowed…knew...from his tone and a sense of his stiffness that what she said touched off distress in his thoughts. Abby regretted that; she truly did. With Alana’s passin’ and starin’ a major job in the face, she reasoned takin’ some pointers from Imani was a right move. After all, what them Headhunters done…what those Headhunters did...was all stuck in a past had no bearing but what she ran in her own head. She never woulda guessed that such a move might bring disquiet to Cal.

“All about their code,” the girl finally replied. “You ‘member their chief, Root? One ‘o’ his lieutenants was a woman they called Nips.” Abby stepped around a street merchant whose arms were draped in all manner ‘o’ gaudy necklaces. Her nine year old self woulda been right entranced. Eighteen year old Abigail had other thoughts. “Anyhow,” she continued, “Nips was keepin’ score ever’ time I fought back. If I got it right, any newbie had tah take some beatin’s and dish out a little in return.” She offered a shrug. “That, an’ like Ah said, not givin’ ‘em squat on Hook or the rest of us. Seemed tah check all her boxes.”

“Lucky, you’re tough as nails. Your Uncle Bob taught you right, no doubt.” He knew she held her Uncle in high regard. Way he saw it, she’d clung to that ship she’d rode into Persephone like it were the last torch in the dark.

“Ah loved mah uncle,” Abby agreed as they walked on. “He had some good lessons in ‘im…even after he give inta tha whiskey.” She came to conjure over time that them as he’d taught ‘er after Aunt Lupe died…watchin’ him crawl into a bottle and leavin’ her to tend the boat and its’ affairs, might just have been the most important schoolin’ she’d had.

But her couple years with China Doll opened up a whole new lesson book. Doin’ her job here was one thing. But livin’ her life, decidin’ on the sort ‘o’ person she’s to become, was a whole new thing altogether. And her shipmates were lettin’ her make those calls, whether fair or foul. “Lernt lots here as well, too,” she admitted. “Weren’t all good, but…”

“Look,” he pulled them out of the flow of traffic and stamped out his cigarette. “Abby,” a moniker he’d never used when speaking to, or of, the woman before him, “Them takin’ you; that happened on my watch, on my ship, and I take the blame. I want you to know I ain’t sweepin’ the la shi under the rug. You been through ruttin’ hell, and I’m glad to lay eyes on the other side, but you’re a Gorram kid–least you was. I know I can be ornery, but you ain’t alone here. I got your back. And if I ever meet that Root again, I’m liable to leave a holey impression, Rex or no Rex.”

Abby felt all surprised, like her pins was knocked out from underneath. Cap’n had her by the arms, but there was no harshness to his grip. When she took it into account with what she read in Cal’s eyes, her heart felt liable to break over the man’s sudden anguish. “Uncle Bob always told me tah fall in with good folk, ‘cuz when bad times come they’d look out for yah.” Her eyes fixed his in solemn regard. “That yew did. Can’t always stop bad things from happenin’, sir, but one thing Ah know sure an’ sure is Ah can always count on yew tah pull me out tha fire.”

He felt compelled by something deeper than he’d rather reckon, by the look in Abigail’s eye, by the pulling in his gut, to use that hand on her shoulder to pull her into an embrace. It was hard to ken the root of what Cal was feeling in that moment. He’d felt it before when he’d brought her supper after they’d caught her up again from the Headhunters. In truth it’d been growing for some time; maybe since he fell in step with the plucky girl who took up the clipboard on Persephone. Kin. Abigail–Abby was kin as kin could be to a spacer who’d lived life in the black and watched a body embrace the same ideals.

Cal Strand gave in, pulling Abby into that hug which might quiet the buzzing need to respond to the solemn look in her eye. She knew how he felt. He saw it in her gaze. “That I will,” she smelled like that comforting clean left on knuckles stained by honest work. He steeled himself for a moment and added, “I know you’d do the same.”

Some folk was huggers. Pen, what used to be their pilot. Lorraine, back on Pelorum. Edina was a hugger who’d just as soon wrap ‘er arms about you than say howdy do. Them Headhunters, once they patched her in an’ got lickered up. Abby’d took ‘em all with a good humor, but when it come tah givin’ hugs found ‘erself a touch more miserly, dealin’ ‘em out when her natchurly mistrustful spirit felt so moved. An’ that happened precious little. They’s that time with Hook, when she’s all loopy from Alana cuttin’ a bullet out ‘er butt. An’ Cap’n. She ‘membered givin’ him a real happy one awhile back. That’s when she learnt that like herself, Cal Strand was a might selective with ‘is own affections.

But now, here he was, foldin’ her up in his arms. Abby’s face was buried in Cap’’n’s duster coat. Swaddled as she was in his embrace reminded her what it was tah be a tiny child again, all covered up in warmth an’ care like no trouble in the ‘verse could ever touch ‘er. She done ‘er best, huggin’ back with hands couldn’t reach no higher’n his shoulder blades, but spoke their intent with a cub’s devotion for its’ elder.

She sensed his burden of pain, a deeply held sorrow for both Alana and herself. Abby wished such a witchcraft existed might take that hurt away. Mr. Eleanoir helped her with her words an’ diction, but what she conjured needed sayin’ was right beyond her. And so, as was her way, Abby went for simple.

“Ever’ day,” she answered, voice a touch raw an’ muffled by his coat. “Ever’ single day.”

Cal nodded, still clasped; her words rung true. Wasn’t a doubting bone in his body of Abby’s claim, and somehow that reassurance caught his breath a might. The reciprocity of deep feeling was a release to which he wasn’t accustomed, though welcome it was.

The Captain cleared his throat and finally released the deckhand to arm’s length. Drawing a hand over his face, Cal exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and patted Abby on the shoulder. There was a look in her eye now, something piercing but true. Truth be told he felt it in his own sight, too. Fresh eyes, fresh understanding: loyalty and trust. He reckoned she was right when she said he couldn’t stop bad things from happening, but damned if he wouldn’t try.

Throngs around the pair had continued to flow with scarce glances from passersby. “C’mon kid, I got an errand to run.”

And that was it. Once more, they were The Captain and his Deckhand, back to business. As she fell in at his side again, Abby knew it was true and right. They squared it, tested the measures and found they still held. “Yes, sir,” she replied, a contented little smile touchin’ her face as they threaded their way toward the postmaster.