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Firefly - Second 'Verse

History Lesson 6 - “Out The Window”

OOC: This episode will include a few interspersed history briefs to set the stage for China Doll’s adventures at Asteroid AN-3872.

138L. 310V.

“It’s quite simple, really.” In response to the growing unrest over Gossamer’s stunning course deviation, the Captain, at the urging of the ship’s Passenger Council, had directed the Chief Engineer and the ship’s Chief Navigator to hold an informal ‘town hall’ style meeting with a selected audience. The Engineer cleared his throat and continued, “Gossamer was originally designed to conduct commerce within the Sol system, primarily the harvesting of ice and minerals from the rings of Saturn. Her bridge and navigation systems were well suited to this task. What we were not aware of,” he offered, “was the potential for deviation.”

The screen before him glowed with a transparent overlay. Two planets hovered at opposite corners of the image, with a yellow line moving to join them. “Here you see Gossamer’s projected course between Earth and Saturn. If we zoom in, you’ll note a thinner, black line that is the true course heading.” As he spoke, the yellow line grew in size and thickness until at it’s center could be very plainly seen a crisp black line. “Now,” the Chief Engineer said, “we’ll fast forward that course all the way to Saturn. Watch the black line.”

The image moved, indicators placed to aid viewers’s comprehension raced past as the course line closed in on the ringed planet. The large yellow line, Gossamer’s course, seemed to hold steady. Yet, the narrow black line within began to shift, moving slowly downward. “And we’ve arrived,” the Engineer proclaimed. “You can see that, even in a Sol system run, the ship’s Nav equipment tolerated some deviation from true course…but they still arrived at their destination. Now, let’s look at our journey.”

The onscreen image zoomed out to reveal the entire Sol system. As viewers watched, the yellow line snaked away from Earth, moving at the same fast-forward speed as it raced past Saturn toward the far end of the system. The bottom of the screen revealed a closeup of the course line, replete with overlaid yellow and inner narrow black lines. This time, the graph indicators denoted the years spent inflight. As the years raced by…2120…2150…2170…2190…the thin black line continued an inexorable march toward the edge…”until 2196, just over two weeks ago,” he concluded. “We saw this sort of deficiency in the navigation systems of other vessels, early on in the migration. That it took ninety-five years for us to realize the flaw in ours is a testimonial to the attention paid Gossamer’s original construction and outfitting.”

“Or to the short sightedness of her owners when they did a rush turnaround on her for this trip,” a voice shouted from the assembled crowd.

“I’LL REMIND YOU…” the engineer shouted to be heard above the sudden hubbub. As the crowd fell silent, he started again. “I’ll remind you that Gossamer and her sister ships were being refitted for passengers during a time when the Alliance was dismantling cities for raw materials to complete the Ark fleet. I can’t speak from personal recollection; I’ve only got the captures and what my grandparents told me, same as you. But I do know for a fact that the people who were readying Gossamer as a generation ship had to fight for every nut and bolt, every bunk, every scrap of food and drop of water they could load.” He looked over the attentive faces. Any more questions?”

“How do we get back on course?”

The Engineer took a breath. “Our challenge has always been to preserve enough fuel for two pivotal events. The first is a course correction burn that we expect to undertake once the arks have landed and begin beaming flight telemetry. The second, and most important,” his eyes swept the audience, “is the atmo entry and landing phase. It’s to those ends that we’ve all been working so hard to conserve our fuel, and,” he grinned, “why you’ve all got such toned legs from pedaling bike generators. We’re looking at the best ways to effect course restoration using little or no fuel. Once we have our correction course, we’ll keep you posted.”

Another hand shot up. “You don’t have a corrected course?”

The engineer turned, casting a glance toward a nervous looking young man seated on the high stool behind where he stood. “I’ll let our Chief Navigator speak to that. Jay?”

The navigator lurched to his feet, his face a study in panic barely contained. “We…um…what we’re doing…is analyzing data,” he stammered. “As Patrick said, the system works great for…a shorter range. We’re trying to…teach it…to handle the longer distance.”

A hand shot up. Against his better judgment, he haltingly agreed to the question. “Y…yes?”

Shaniqua Tyler stood up. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why teach that old dog a new trick?” she asked. “We’ve been out here ninety-five years. Thirty more to go. Even if you tack on a year getting us back on course, the current rig should put you in the ballpark if you feed it the right heading.”

Heads were bobbing; a murmur was rising in the crowd. This woman was making sense to the great unwashed. “It’s not that simple,” the Navigator attempted to take control. “We can’t just punch in a new heading on the bridge and make this go away. There’s a thing out there, thirty years ahead of us, called a marshaling point…”

Pity, she thought, that even now in the year 2196, mansplaining was still a thing. “Yes,” Shaniqua cut him off, “that’s the way point by which you’re hoping to make the final turn and lock into Ark telemetry. So now, instead of teaching your navigation system, why aren’t you plotting the new course?”

A flush of anger was rising to his cheeks. “In order to do that,” he said dismissively, “we’re developing a method of observational navigation…”

“You’re looking out the window,” she said flatly.

This raised a swell of laughter, which the moderator soon had under control. “Chief Navigator Morris,” she gestured with an open hand, “would you like to expand upon that answer?”

“I would, thank you,” the young man’s eyes seemed to glance everywhere but toward Shaniqua. “Looking out the window,” he forced a chuckle, “is exactly what we’re doing. As we know we’ve got a course deviation, but can’t truly answer just how much…yet, we’re studying the surrounding stars in relation to our own movement, and working to develop a calculus by which to make reliable course corrections.”

Shaniqua had not returned to her seat. Now, her hand was up once more.

“You have another question?” Morris asked, his tone less than enthusiastic.

“Yes,” the young woman spoke clearly. “Have you consulted the report submitted by Dr. Julius Berghauer in 2188?”

This was met with a few audible groans, some muted laughter, and in this moment, the navigator sensed that this woman had just lost whatever hold she might’ve had. “Sheer quackery,” he smirked. “That nonsense was peer reviewed and rejected out of hand.”

As a derisive laugh rose around her, Shaniqua’s face was set in a pleasant smile. “Well, Navigator Morris, let me share this much with you. I’ve been looking out the window, too, every day for the past ten years…charting the stars and using Berghauer’s calculations. His numbers work, sir.” Again, laughter drowned her out. She saw by the way the Navigator seemed to take refuge in the crowd’s support that exposing herself thus had been pretty much a fool’s errand.

“Well then,” the Navigator smiled as she took her seat, “now that we’ve heard from the conspiracy theory sect, does anyone else have a question?”

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

“That went well,” she thought glumly to herself as she tried to make as inconspicuous an exit as possible from the auditorium. There was a service exit just five meters ahead. That’d lead to a back corridor staff elevator that was largely unused at this hour. She’d make her escape, spend the rest of the night gone fetal in her bunk, and then hope for a shift in an EV suit all day tomorrow…

“Tyler.” A hand closed firmly upon her shoulder. She turned to find Patrick Claiborne, the ship’s towering Chief Engineer, standing there. “Are you trying to get yourself busted down again?”

“No, sir.” She shook her head. “I like my job. It just…I know what works…”

The big Irishman rubbed his jaw. Yeah, you held your ground in there. So tell me, Tyler,” he asked casually, “when you ‘looked out the window’ every day for the past ten years, didja bother to record your work?”

“Every single day, sir,” she nodded.

For a moment, he only nodded, his lips pursed as he worked on his own thoughts. “Tomorrow,” Claiborne ordered. “My office, oh-six-hundred. Be prepared to explain it to me as if I were a child.”

>>>TO BE CONTINUED<<<

Firefly - Second 'Verse

History vs. Folklore

The cargo bay was transformed.

A large expanse of the deck had been covered in poly sheet, bunched up on some spots to allow for China Doll’s belly hatch to be used. More of the sheet was hung, forming shimmering walls to enclose the central workspace within. Inside were a sprinkling of work tables, knocked together from the boat’s arrangement of saw horses and reusable ply decks. These too were wrapped in the plastic sheeting, which was meticulously duct taped about their bases. Perched on deck beside the hatch was a rough looking metal basket whose obvious purpose would be movement of people and supplies to and from the surface.

Hovering above the space was the Snuffler, swagged from its’ hanging eyes. As she surveyed the scene, Edina was reminded of the great dragons at the heart of every New Year’s celebration. “Well,” she smirked, hands upon her hips, “I don’t know if I should get a prom dress or if this is your ‘Serial Killer Coming Out’ party?”

“How about both?” Yuri met the joke with a smile he intended to be unsettling, though in her presence he could never quite carry it off. “It’s all about the dust,” he defaulted to his natural self. “Since we don’t have a clue about what’s been accumulating on that asteroid for the past three centuries, we want to make certain that all we take away is in specimen bags.”

She nodded her understanding. “I read the snuffler instructions. Pretty straight forward stuff,” she said as she moved toward the bulky serpent’s receiving end. “Did you and Abby learn anything new while you were putting it together?”

“Yeah…don’t run it faster than Medium,” he cautioned. “We fed it a claw hammer at high speed to test? It shot out like a cannon and flew the length of the bay.” He recalled the moment; despite their anger of just minutes before, the sudden shock of the flying hammer prompted an exchange of wide eyed glances, followed by laughter. He’d known then that despite what had passed between them earlier, they’d find time to settle that hash. “So, medium,” he repeated. “That’ll give it just enough horse power to drop objects onto the filter screen.”

“...Where we’ll hand brush ‘em and bag ‘em,” Edina completed the process. “Unless we find whole containers intact.”

His smile was one of genuine appreciation. “You did your homework,” Yuri chuckled. “After all the work we put into building those three truss bays under the boat? I hope find at least one that’s intact. If I’m fantasizing,” he shrugged, “we find all three adrift in the field near the asteroid…but those are even longer odds.” He paused over the cargo bay’s machine controls. “Did you read the report from the museum’s astrophysics consultant?”

“I skimmed it,” her brow furrowed. “Enough to know that he believes something about ‘deceleration impacts’ slowing the containers to allow the asteroid’s gravity to hook on?”

“A nice way of saying,” Yuri interjected, “that those containers were likely torn to shreds by collisions with larger meteroids and smaller asteroids in the field around AN-3872. The unwritten hypothesis, and the reason we have Smaug here,” he delivered a pat to the snuffler’s control box as he spoke, “is the hope that three hundred years was enough time for all the contents of those containers to be pulled onto the asteroid’s surface.”

Edina’s head tilted, an eyebrow lifted as she nodded a fresh understanding. “Yeah, that tracks. Do we have any idea what we’re searching for?”

Yuri grinned. “We do…no thanks to the museum.”

“Oh?”

“SAM had a field day digging up information about Gossamer. Thanks to her, we’ve got the vessel’s flight log, passenger lists, and a cargo manifest that cites ownership of the containers they jettisoned.”

“You gonna keep me waiting here?” Edina fixed him with an impatient glare.

“All three,” he said slowly, as if to torture her anticipation, “were listed is items of cultural significance. Looks like two of them were parts of larger shipments that didn’t make it aboard the Arks…Louvre 25 and Vatican 17. The third,” he continued, “was from some native American museum. I forget what it was called. Something about the United Peoples…”

Edina’s mind drifted back to her own reading. “The Louvre and the Vatican,” she said absently, before her mind snapped back to crystal clarity. “Not to be paranoid or anything, but if we hit paydirt, how much do we trust the museum folk not to have a reception waiting for us on our way back somewhere?”

“That’s a fair question,” the First Mate agreed. “I’ve got a feeling Captain’s already sussed out an answer.”

“Well that’s shiny and all,” she folded her arms before her, “but if SAM can dig up that sort of word, so can others. Folk begin to figure out the meaning of ‘Louvre’ and ‘Vatican’, they’re gonna start seeing lots of pretty. I’m just saying wherever we put in to hand off better be someplace among friends we can trust.”

Yuri stifled the smile that wanted to rise to his lips; likewise a smart response about her taking his job. Edina was being deadly earnest, and her thinking in the matter was spot on. He’d already fouled up one conversation recently. No need to add a second to the growing pile of his social inadequacies. “You’ve just given me an idea on that,” he replied. “I’ll run it by the Captain.”

“Share?”

“Not yet.”

“You’re a very bad man,” she scowled.

“Possibly a serial killer,” he smirked.

“So, did SAM find out anything else that was cool about the Gossamer?” Edina asked.

Yuri nodded vigorously. “Somebody should write a book,” he exclaimed, “if the Alliance ever declassifies the records. They figured out the inadequacy in their navigation system…the reason they had to jettison all those containers and cast off so much weight for the extra turns. And,” he smiled, “there’s a story that one of our containers had a stowaway aboard when it was jettisoned.”

“What?”

“Yeah yeah,” he laughed. “The native American one? If the story’s true, there was a guy onboard, great grandson of the museum curator. He snuck aboard the container to stay with the artifacts. Nobody really knows for sure,” Yuri added. The guy…John Blackfeather or something like that…just stopped showing up for his work shifts. They searched for him and never found him, so…” the Mate waved his hand, “a ghost story was born.”

“The Haunted Asteroid,” Edina smiled. “Creepy…like you.”

Yuri took the laughing woman into his arms. “Just you wait til tonight, Little Missy.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

A Deckhand’s Life

“The smaller the boat, the bigger the clock.”

Abby learnt that one young, when Aunt Lupe commenced showin’ her the ropes ‘o’ deckhandin’. From her readin’ she conjured that big boats had large crews ‘o’ deckhands. Work would be doled out ever’ day. Aside from bein’ expected to know yer basics an’ show up on time an’ sober, the deckhand gig on a big boat involved perty much doin’ what you’s told an’ not runnin’ afoul of anyone can give orders.

Small boat’s another animal altogether. Boat like China Doll what has one “official” deckhand an’ mayhaps one-two more or less willin’ helpers puts chores on a couple tracks. First, they’s always ORDERS. Cap’n and Yuri had their tells, and Abby knew perty much when to be line ‘o’ sight to jog a mem’ry an’ catch whatever part ‘o’ their plan they had brewin’ called for her hand. Likewise, she conjured Cap’n did his best thinkin’ afore he turnt in for the night, and would drop some fresh into her clipboard. Yuri was a mornin’ man who had a druther to spell out what he wanted over coffee.

‘Cept for the past couple days…after she let her alligator mouth overload her canary pi gu. Now, his orders was comin' on the clipboard, too.

Second was MAGIC, all the really boring day to day la shi ain’t nobody s’posed to notice ‘cuz it’s just…done. A clean lav with fresh towels. Corridors mopped an’ smellin’ fresh when folk wake up in tha mornin’. No loose objects layin’ about in case the boat’s gotta roll some maneuvers. Baskets out fer Laundry Day. Ain’t none of it glamorous, but most important part is if it’s bein’ done right it NEVER. GETS. NOTICED.

That’s the most important part…the part she tried to teach young Izzy. But, the eleven year old had about as much interest in learnin’ how to deckhand as she did steppin’ through an airlock. Kid had filched a cortex reader from their travels somewhere. Try as she might, Abby couldn’t coax the child’s nose away from it….or an hour’s honest work.

A puzzlement, she conjured. Mayhaps a failure on her part to train a new deckhand? If push come to shove with the Cap’n or Yuri that account she’d just as like own up to her shortcomings as a teacher. But for sure they’s two things she ain’t gon’ do, the first being putting hands on a child to bend her to will. The second was a code as old as time. No way in Hades would she talk about it. Abby ain’t never turned rattus norvegicus this far in her life; no way was she ‘bout to start over somethin’ so gorram petty.

So, here she was, sittin’ on top ‘o’ the washin’ machine, makin’ the ‘magic’ part happen. Washer had a bad habit ‘o’ bangin’ an’ bouncin’ durin’ spin cycle. Elias knew what needed fixin’, but wouldn’t be able to git to it til China Doll was on tha backside ‘o’ this run. Til then, Abby found that if she sat on top, knees drawn up and arms wrapped about ‘er legs, she could anchor the bucking washer into place and keep the lid from flying open to spew clean clothes an’ such all about.

It give her a legitimate purpose, and also kep her outta sight for a spell. Cap’n was in the cockpit, watchin’ the asteroid come up close. She could tell by little G pulls they’s slowin’ down and maneuverin’, so he an’ SAM must be havin’ a look-see by now. Yuri was in the cargo bay with Edina and Sister Lyen. She knowed he was walkin’ them through the whole plan for cleanin’ and packin’ up whatever Earth-That-Was stuff might be found. Til they had surface work, it’s likely best she stayed outta his sight, anyways. Leastways til she could arrange a proper reckoning.

The washer thrummed steadily, its’ rhythm carryin’ up through her hips and right to weary shoulders. Soon enough, Abby’s eyes closed, her head lolled forward and tucked against her knees as she commenced another important adage of deckhand life…the catnap.

The dream was back. She knew she was up high, but she never looked down. Above her, two angular peaks rose into a knife sharp blue sky. The air was crisp enough to set a tingle on her flesh, as her hair lifted in the breeze. Abby heard laughter. She couldn’t suss where it come from, so she turned all about. She didn’t feel a threat. The laugh was slow, a steady cadence in the voice of an old woman…mayhaps the way a grandma would greet a young’un.

“You feel the wind.”

An angry mechanical growl and a sudden lurch beneath her announced that the washer had begun “spin cycle rodeo.” Abby latched onto one corner, extending a sneakered foot to the opposite bulkhead to secure herself for the current ride. She pondered the dream. So far, tryna match her waking thoughts to what she seen there was comin’ up a fat zero. Most times she’d just put something like that aside. She’d read one fella who said dreams was the brain’s way ‘o’ takin’ out the trash, and that was somethin’ could fit with her view. But this…”feel the wind”...she’s gettin’ more an’ more curious that mayhaps there’s something’ else happenin’ here. Not that she’s gonna start believin’ all that mysto-crypto-heebie-jeebie. Maybe there’s something else? Somethin’ she ain’t figured out?

As the bucking appliance did its’ utmost to pitch the girl from it’s top, she resolved to raise the issue with the Sister…after they’d finished this job.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Story Note

After days spent flying through the empty black beyond the known ‘verse, China Doll arrives at Asteroid AN-3872. So far removed is this great rock in space that the light from Burnham, the nearest star, offers at most a a dim twilight which casts lengthening shadows and pools of darkness throughout the harsh, craggy terrain.

The Firefly moves in slowly, careful to avoid the numerous meteors and smaller asteroids that hover in a massive orbital belt with their destination. Belly lights wink on, the beams playing and dancing across the surface as they begin their search for any sign of the three hundred year old containers discarded by C/V Gossamer. To aid in their search, the crew have duct taped two pairs of binoculars to the underslung truss framing. The binocs’ optical pickups can be read by S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A. for a more detailed appraisal than what might meet the human eye.

During their second orbit, the AI spots a promising lead. China Doll hovers over a small valley, caked with thick dust. Objects protruding from the dust layer appear manmade, jagged edges revealing a crash landing at high impact. Chances are they may have found the remnants of a shipping container. Is payday finally at hand?

Firefly - Second 'Verse

History Lesson 5 - “A Matter of Degree”

OOC: This episode will include a few interspersed history briefs to set the stage for China Doll’s adventures at Asteroid AN-3872.

137L. 309V.

2188, January 19: Though his report and calculations proving the deviation in Gossamer’s course had been delivered in supposed confidentiality, Professor Julius Berghauer soon found himself scapegoated, the center of a firestorm of hysteria in the aftermath of the document being leaked onto the ship’s public cortex.

Just as public was the carefully orchestrated campaign to discredit the man himself. The Gossamer’s Chief Engineer swore to the reliability and regular maintenance of the ship’s navigational systems. A hastily assembled panel of “peers” was called together to analyze Berghauer’s findings, though to anyone present in the hearing room it became apparent that their mission was clear from the start. After four hours of ridicule, character assassination and particular innuendo guessing at the academic’s amorous proclivities and precious little discussion of mathematics or astrophysics, the august members of the panel declared Berghauer’s work to be bunk, and the man himself nothing more than an attention seeking fraud. He was immediately handed to Disciplinary Services who, owing to the incendiary nature of the report, judged him a dissident and handed down a sentence of immediate reclamation.

The professor’s reclamation was broadcast via the ship’s cortex network. A hush fell over the entire vessel as thousands watched the security camera’s grainy image. Through her tears, fifteen year old Shaniqua Tyler watched as her mentor allowed two guards to lead him toward the chamber. He seemed so small, so frail, she thought, sobbing to herself for the two truths that she knew he carried to his death. One was known, yet denied by those in power. The other? That would be her terrible burden to bear alone.

He did not cry, nor bargain for his life. There was no raised fist, no defiant epithet. Julius Berghauer met his death with a quiet nod to his executioner before taking that final step into the reclamation chamber.

The resulting outcry was short lived. A few protest rallies were held, difficult affairs in the closed confines of a modified vessel packed with passengers and precious supplies. Equally difficult and also quickly abandoned was a graffiti campaign that sputtered due to a severe lack of available spray paint.

137L. 309V.

Life settled into its’ norm. C/V Gossamer held her ages old course. The society within had managed to more or less retain its’ basic order., with few notable aberrations along their journey. The year was now 2196. April, the month of Shaniqua Tyler’s birth. She was twenty-three. Though she’d continued to show promise in astrophysics, the urgings of her mother had eventually won the day. Now, here she was, outside the hull in a mech assist suit, welding a repair plate over a particularly harsh meteor strike, one of a host suffered when the great ship flew through a veritable torrent of stone. As maint jobs went, she was down for anything that got her outside…away from people. Just her, the blue light, and the bead…

“Dispatch to Tyler.” Beatriz’s voice in her helmet com. “What’s your status?”

Shaniqua keyed her mic without ceasing the weld. “About two ticks shy of finishing the outer seal over Hydroponics Three,” she answered. “You can get the interior team to seal and pressure test any time now.”

“Copy that,” the dispatcher replied. “Go to Three.”

Shaniqua knew that “go the three” was Beatriz’s code for “go the channel twenty-seven,” her own personal gossip hang out. “Ten-four,” she acknowledged, anything but enthusiastic to hear the latest buzz concerning who dissed who, or who was getting laid…since she knew without a doubt that neither of those boxes could be checked off in her regard. After taking the time to properly complete the weld, she switched her com.

“Jay-sus, girl, make me wait, why doncha?” Beatiiz demanded.

“Sorry,” Shaniqua replied as she shut down the welder. “What’s up?”

“Ooh, hermanita,” her friend swept into the news of the day, “Category five shit storm going on right now. We’re off course.”

Shaniqua froze. “Say that again?”

“We’re off course!” Beatriz exclaimed. “Bridge crew’s calling bullshit and pointing fingers at Nav. Nav’s swearing up and down they’re on target and it’s an Engineering fuckup. Engineering says everybody’s stupid…total circular firing squad right now, chica!...Shaniqua? You copy?”

“I copy,” she replied, moving across the outer hull as quickly as the mechanized exoskeletal suit would take her. “I’m coming in.”

Once she’d put the suit into its’ charge station, Shaniqua hurried into the main Engineering lounge. Here could be found displays in their hundreds, all the numbers, graphs, and metered readings relative to the life of the massive ship to be found in this single location. While overwhelming to the layman, Gossamer’s engineers and maintenance staff found the space a valuable location to meet and discuss their disciplines without losing sight of key functions. And there, atop all the myriad readouts and indications, Gossamer’s course heading stood out in bold, red LED.

138L. 310V.

“Fuck me,” she mouthed the words silently. Off by one degree lateral and vertical. She stared, slack jawed, at the alien numbers.

“Gotta be bullshit.” Rhodes had just come in from outside. “Anyway, it’s just one degree. That’s nothing…right?” He cast a nervous, sidelong glance toward her.

Shaniqua folded her arms. All those years ago, when a schoolgirl couldn’t make sense of what she was measuring through a viewport, she had taken her problem to the smartest academic who’d deign to speak with her. That man had not only been patient and kind. He’d embraced the problem, discovered its’ validity. And, beyond the reasoning of the child who had first puzzled over why the stars didn’t align properly, he alone had come to understand the potentially fatal flaw at the very heart of C/V Gossamer’s journey.

“It’s something,” Shaniqua finally offered. “It’s something.”

<<TO BE CONTINUED>>

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Dragging It All Out

The Soft Bristle Tube Ingestion System (SBTIS) was designed for item recovery in hostile environments. The engineering minds who crafted it envisioned a basic serpentine structure through which extracted materials would be transferred from their resting places to the waiting hands of technicians or curators…a ‘tube within a tube.” The challenge of actual mobility through environments such as the vacuum of space was overcome by once again referring to the serpentine model. The SBTIS was fitted with rings of motorized brushes, all moving in a digestive syncopation to gently nudge their cargo toward those waiting at the far end,

Of course, the mechanical workings of the SBTIS made it every bit as bulky and awkward as it’s chosen name and acronym. In short order, users bestowed upon it the nickname “Snuffler” owing to the walrus like headpiece with two bulbous, rotating intake brushes at its’ working end.

Ever’ time Abby gazed upon it, she couldn’t help but think of Perfessor Marquina, him as she drew out that rare orchid for on the bulkhead. He’s still out there, in the jungles ‘o’ Greenleaf, sendin’ her waves about his expedition from time to time. Found two more orchids ain’t nobody seen afore and sent captures for her to draw. Also sent a pic of a big ole snake…looked to be ‘bout tha size ‘o’ what sat coiled on the pallet before her eyes. Most recent wave said he’s havin’ trouble with bandits pilferin’ his supply runs…

“Well,” Yuri appeared, startling the girl from her thoughts. “You ready to haul this thing out?”

She hoisted a pair of tin snips toward the first of the metal bands that secured the snuffler to its’ pallet. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” One by one, each of the tightly wound metal straps parted beneath the sharp tool, filling the otherwise silent air of the cargo bay with musical twangs.

“Those sounded like ricochets,” Yuri observed, in a poor attempt at conversation.

“Ah s’pose.” For a tick, Abby thought the liberated snuffler might unspool itself before their eyes. It didn’t budge…sign it was gonna be one heavy sumbitch. “This thing got some kinda handles on it?” she puzzled over the yellow rubber of the outer skin. They’s a powerful number of bulges she conjured was its’ inner workin’s. She weren’t no mechanic, but she sure as shootin’ didn't see an easy way inside to fix anythin’ might go South if they handled this contraption wrong.

Yuri eyed the ungainly apparatus. “I see handgrips on the very pi gu end of it. The museum’s tech honcho told me that there’s a cast eye every three meters. That’s how we’ll hang it off our I-beam,” he offered, “and we can use those eyes to drag it out with claw hammers.”

“Shiny.” The deckhand didn’t bother turning around or making further pallaver; she just pulled a pair of work gloves from her belt as she went for the tool bay. When she come back luggin’ two claw hammers, she could tell by Yuri’s stance they’s gonna be some conversatin’...of a sort she’s prob’ly not gonna like. Fortunate for her, he thought better of it and decided to start workin’ first.

The first mate nodded thanks, tucking his hammer into a loop on the leg of his denims before clapping onto one of the handgrips as the deckhand grabbed the other. “One…two…three…HEAVE!!!” They put their backs to the work, straining and grunting as the first ponderous coil slowly played out onto the deck. “Yeah…this bastard’s heavy,” Yuri panted. “One…two…three…HEAVE!!!” With supreme effort, the unwieldy mechanism slowly gave ground, as if resisting their efforts. Once four of the weighty coils had been unraveled, the pair stopped to catch their breath.

“Sumbitch,” Abby gasped as she wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow. “Hope that asteroid ain’t got no gravity to speak of.”

“SAM’s guessing about one tenth our normal,” Yuri replied as he stretched a complaining shoulder. “So…Abby…you doing alright?”

She done her best to hide the ”oh la shi’ look she knew had to be risin’ on her face, but she couldn’t be sure she cut the mustard on that one. “I’m shiny enough,” the girl answered cautious like. “Why?”

“Well,” he swallowed, looking to choose words that suddenly just didn’t seem to be in his arsenal, “you just don’t seem to be like your old self of late,” he said, immediately hating himself for the weakness of that response. “You seem…quiet.”

“Quiet.” Abby’s gaze swiveled toward him, real slow. “You sayin’ Ah cain’t be quiet?”

Yuri understood right then and there that he was not cut out to have this sort of conversation. He could diagnose a system failure, or spot a broken part to replace. The mechanic’s life was a glorious world of black and white. Even managing a crew of mechanics was simpler…like minds who thought and communicated on the same plain…held a clarity that right now had China Doll’s First Mate quietly wishing he were busily tinkering in the engine room instead of exploring the mysteries of an uncooperative teenaged female. “Not at all,” he replied from his back foot. “I guess I’m wondering if something’s bothering you?”

“Like what?” She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” he said earnestly. “You’re dead quiet, keeping to yourself all the time lately, except for when you go for fighting tips from the doc…”

Now Abby whirled an’ squared up. “Somethin’ wrong with that?”

“No,” Yuri kept his tone civil, ignoring the girl’s sudden shift in posture, “but I have to admit that when you ask her to actually hurt you in those practices? That’s a thing I need you to spell out for me. What’s up with that? Not to mention all the gunplay in your quarters?”

A hot flush of anger rose to her cheeks. “In mah quarters? Yah got SAM watchin’ me or somethin?”

“We can hear the target scan in the corridor, Abby,” Yuri answered.

“SO WHAT? YAH THINK I”MA GO ALL MOON BRAINED AN’ PUT A ROUND THROUGH THE HULL? she demanded.

“NO!” he found himself shouting back. “BUT WHEN THE CAPTAIN ASKS ME WHAT’S GOING ON I’D LIKE TO HAVE A GORRAM ANSWER, DOHN MAH?” Dammit, dammit, dammit, Yuri thought as he found himself nose to nose with a fiery eyed nineteen year old. This was not at all how he wanted this to go…

She done stopped shoutin’. “Here’s yer answer,” Abby’s normal high pitch was a growl as she said “Ah know muh job, and Ah do it without havin’ tah be told or looked after. Til yew see me actin’ a fool yah got no cause to come at me in mah bunk. Yer First Mate. Yah got a problem with me handlin’ a gun aboard ship then grow a pair an GIMME A FUCKIN’ ORDER!”

“SHINY!” Yuri gave in to the moment once again. “NO GUNS WHEN WE’RE IN THE BLACK! NOW BACK TO WORK!” Suddenly, the weight of the snuffler seemed mightily diminished before the anger of the two people who now set to work manhandling its’ bulk into place.

“Hey guys!” Edina called cheerfully from the after hatchway. “I came down to help and brought you both drinks…uh…” Sensing the thick tension of the cargo bay, she stammered, “oh, you know what? I forgot something….I need to help Penny in the galley. I’ll just leave these right here,” before making a hasty retreat.

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.”