sail3695

Firefly - Second 'Verse

And The Sea Shall Yield Up….

Part 2

The sun rose, a pale disk on the horizon, soon to be enveloped by the advancing clouds. Yuri hustled along the main deck, hands shoved into his pockets to brace against the cold wind. The Mick sailed upon a sea grown restless in the red morning glow; all about them the chop rose to white peaks which soon blew clear as a bitter cold spray. He could feel the great ship, shuddering and hesitating beneath his feet as she pushed on toward the Southwest.

As he made his way forward, the mechanic passed the cargo bay hatches, giant slabs of steel which were supposed to be anchored in place by some fifty locking clamps each. He was lucky if he counted more than ten on any one hatch. The practice was an old one; The sheer tonnage of each hatch was considered more than ample to hold it in place atop its’ opening. Captains were hard pressed to explain the many hours of overtime pay required to have a crew dog each clamp into place, only to reverse the painstaking operation upon arrival. Of this practice, all the experienced seamen were rather blase’. “How it’s been done for decades!” more than one old mate had ridiculed him for his concern. Yuri wondered if any of them had witnessed the ship’s more pronounced torquing motion.

“Maybe I am being alarmist,” he considered as he bounded up the forward steps. “And that,” Yuri chided himself, “is likely why I’m about to receive a personal pi gu chewing from the Captain.”

The first thing he noticed when he stepped onto the bridge was the ship’s motion. At this height he could feel her deck plates, undulating beneath the soles of his boots. Yuri glanced about, taking in the burnished gleam of wood paneling and trim, a lovely sight made all the more interesting by the crisp arrays of technology that composed the ship’s nerve center.

Gina was at the wheel. Further starboard, the Captain stood, huddled over the chart display with Anderson, the navigator, and the First Mate, Gallegos. The grim looks all around set the hairs on the back of Yuri’s neck tingling as he approached the helmsman. “Hey, Gina,” he whispered. “What’s up?”

She cast a sidelong glance. “Weather. Got a massive low pressure system rolling up from the South. Gonna get nasty...fast.”

“How nasty?” he whispered.

Her ebon hands made a series of corrective moves on the wheel, holding course against the rhythmic buffeting of the waves. “Gale force winds. Freezing pre-cip,” she said quietly. “Seas running fifteen to twenty feet.”

”La shi,” Yuri swore under his breath. “Coming right over the port beam. We’ve gotta batten…”

“Antonov.” The captain now stood alone, his eye piercing as he fixed upon the Engineer’s Mate. “Over here.”

Yuri made all haste to stand before him. “Sir,” he replied.

The captain lifted an accusatory finger, directing the young man’s eye toward the displays arrayed about his chair. “What does that say?” His finger touched upon a readout titled Speed.

Yuri saw the train coming. “Eighteen knots, sir.”

“Eighteen knots. Can you tell me what our speed was when you came on watch this morning?”

“Twenty-five knots, sir.”

“Twenty-five knots,” the captain repeated. “Now do you care to explain to me why the dog watch reactor mate can give me power for twenty-five knots in these seas, but you can’t?”

Yuri straightened his back. “When I came on watch, the reactor was operating in an unsafe fashion. I restored…”

“Against my orders,” the Captain growled.

“No, sir. Per our corporate NavSafe regulations..."

“Alright, you legalistic little shit,” the Captain glowered. “You mentioned an unsafe reactor. I’m obligated to hear you out. Report.”

Yuri took a deep breath. There was the line...the one he was about to cross. “The reactor was spiking,” he answered. “The mate on watch had removed one rod altogether and had withdrawn the final to half insertion. When I arrived, I observed that he’d defeated the alarms and manually overridden the reactor control functions.”

The Captain grunted. “Manual,” he muttered as he folded his arms. “So how was he maintaining?”

“Each rod has an emergency hand crank,” the mate responded. “He was riding that crank, adjusting it by watching the output reading, sir.”

“Innovative,” the Old Man nodded.

“Sir,” Yuri spoke up, “you don't fuck around with one of these old RBMK's. I wouldn’t surf like that even if our rods weren’t almost completely spent…”

"So you're a coward."

"Not my call, sir."

“I’m well aware of the condition of our rods,” the Captain glared. “Thanks to your running off at the mouth when corporate’s engineering VP was aboard, we’re due into Biloxi for full replacement after this run.”

“I answered his questions, Captain. Didn’t lie to him.” Yuri held his ground, “just like I don’t lie to you.”

“Tell that to the rest of the crew. While you’re on the clock with the yard apes for the refueling, your shipmates’ll all be sitting at home without a paycheck.”

“Eatin’ ramen for a couple weeks is better than dying,” the Engineer’s mate countered. “Are we replacing the mod blocks, too? The pyrolitic carbon is coming apart. Some real graphite…”

The Captain’s finger pointed toward the dual radar displays. “See that ping? Twelve miles astern?”

Yuri studied the dual screen images, watching them refresh with each clockwise sweep of the radar emitters whirling atop the bridge. “Yes, sir.”

“That,” the Captain shoved a pair of binocs into his hands, “is the SN Darryl Moncrief.”

He trained the glasses upon the horizon, scanning until a fat blob of the following ship swept into view. He backtracked, focusing the oculars as he zoomed in. Sure enough, the long hull of an ore carrier with superstructures fore and aft could be clearly observed. “I see her, sir.” Judging by the tumbling white ribbon of her bow wave, she was putting on all speed.

The Captain snatched the binocs from him. “If you’d kept your reactor at power, you WOULDN’T!” The man’s eyes burned as his voice dropped. “The Moncrief,” he said, “is headed for the same destination as us. Do you know what happens if he gets there first?”

“He unloads first.”

“First thing you’ve gotten right today! He unloads...while we spend twenty-four hours at anchor...sitting on our hands and burning money.” The Captain’s eyes narrowed. “Now...Antonov...get your ass back to your reactor and get me twenty-five knots.”

“Sir, I…”

The Captain lifted a hand. “Son, I’ve already requested your replacement as soon as Corporate can find one. What you need to decide now is if you’re off with your full share and a chance to land another seagoing post, or if I stop your clock right here and you ride out this trip in your bunk. Answer me now.”

As the question stilled the air on the bridge, Yuri weighed his options. He could try to make the man understand just how close the McSorley’s reactor had come to being a bomb. The rods were nearly spent. Worse still, the cost cutting move of replacing graphite with cheaper pyrolytic carbon moderators was the very cause of their declining yield. He could point all this out..the truth was plain and fair...but no. A great many men had gone to their graves as impoverished outcasts, clinging to the scant comfort of being “in the right.” Things were already bad enough. Besides, he reasoned, if what Gina had said about the approaching weather were true, the Mick would eventually have to reduce speed. “Yes, sir,” Yuri met the master’s scowl. “Twenty-five knots, aye, sir.”

“Be quick,” the Captain’s order was curt.

The mechanic turned for the bridge exit, his mind now set to redline the reactor for an hours’ long knife edge dance. He was nearly to the stairwell when Gallegos’ voice echoed across the bridge. “Captain, looks like that weather’s moving faster than predicted.” Yuri paused, eyes moving toward the broad swath of forward facing glass. The storm’s leading edge was announced by an immense wall cloud. The sight was magnificent, but every person on the McSorley’s bridge understood exactly the approaching threat.

“Gorram it,” the Captain cursed under his breath. “Helm, hold your course.. Mate,” the ship’s master regarded his First, “rig for Gale One..”

“Rig for Gale One, aye, sir,” Gallegos answered as he set to the ship’s intercom. “Attention all hands, attention all hands. This is the First Mate. Rig for Gale One, I repeat, rig for Gale One.”

“Antonov,” the Captain said to his departing engineer, “Until my direct order to reduce speed comes down, you give me that twenty-five knots. Am I clear?”

“Aye, sir.” No need to voice further concern; he’d done that, and been overruled. His orders were clear. Captain wanted to redline it, that was his call. Yuri would deal...and hope that he could land a gig on the next ship.

Peeling his eyes away from the approaching weather, the mate had just gripped the handrails to slide downward when the Captain called his name once more. “Antonov.”

“Sir.” He turned, expecting the same critical grimace that announced his declining tenure aboard the Eileen McSorley. Instead, the Captain’s expression had shifted to one of deepening concern.

“Have the pumps manned and ready.”

“Right away, sir.” For just a moment, the veils were lowered. Both men shared the understanding...and acknowledged the risk. With a silent nod for his captain, the young man hurried aft. He’d be performing a dangerous balancing act in Reactor Control. But here on the bridge of a leaking old ship, the Captain would be walking a tightrope of his own.


……………….to be continued………………..

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Awesome! Can't wait to read it.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Saturday, you creative demigods!

Here's what's on tap:

Day 2 Morning/mid day:

The Skyes are meetin' with the Cap'n.
The Cap'n's gonna have a sit down with Sam.
Abby's gonna get a customer.
Way up East, Yuri's gonna get an ass chewin'.

Day 2 Afternoon/evening:

Heard tell the Cap'n and the Doc are in cahoots.
Abby's finally goin' sock shoppin'...and maybe a side trip.
Pen says she might be headed a little further out in her explorations.
Way up East, Yuri's gonna be dealin' with "pretty pretty lights an' it'll play Merry Hob with your radars."

So that's what we know's happenin'. Got anything else on the burner? Send us a wave. Cap'n and the deckhand are glad to help support, and we've been known to create an NPC or two get a scene off the ground.

A word about our timeline:

If you kept up with all that "king tuna" season talk, you recall that China Doll was scheduled to touch down 2 days before the fishing season would begin. Now, we know you've all seen "The Deadliest Catch" and "The Perfect Storm" enough to know that a big fishing boat can be gone for days or weeks at a time until they fill their holds. As we're booked to pick up a couple tons of fresh tuna, we could be "waiting for our ship to come in" for a good while if we were making a legal buy.

But this is "Firefly." And we are "naughty folk, slipping about."

Turns out our fishing boat left early, from another port. Been playin' the far end of the fishing grounds ahead of season to get us our order early. We'll be flyin' out to meet 'em and make the buy just after the season starts...to make that part all legal on paper. Since we're good at hoverin', we'll airlift the tuna off their deck and hightail it to the black while they get to fishin' proper.

So, Pen and Abbs were just talkin' during Day 2 morning.
Day 3 afternoon (3:00PM local time) starts the official fishing season. China Doll will be lifting off about then.

That's the plan. But remember, plans can always change. You get a good story running in Pensacola and you need more time, Wolf and I can dream up all sorts of reasons to delay launch.

Write when it's fun.

sail

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Things To Be Treasured

JP/collab from @Aalakrys and @sail3695

Gorram difficult takin’ a shower ‘thout gettin’ yer pi gu all wet.

Abby finally give in an’ jest washed her hair under them jets. Rest of her got scrubbed outta the lav sink. Doc’s morning round ‘o’ pills was takin’ hold. Soreness never went away, but long’s she took her time an’ shied off any acrobatics she’s able tah git about.

She’d pulled out a pair ‘o’ denim cutoffs fer the day. Short as they was, she didn’t wear ‘em much beyond layin’ about her room. But today she could smell tha ocean, an’ feel a warm sun on her skin. Wouldn’t hurt her legs tah git a little color. Arms neither, fer that matter. Abby knew jest tha tee shirt fer tha job. It was a nice pink she’d cut the sleeves off. Message always tickled her.

CLAUDIA’S SALOON
...in beautiful Broken Compass

”Cheap liquor...mind the snakes”

She ain’t never been to Broken Compass. Heard it’s on Deadwood, though. After brushin’ her teeth an’ puttin’ her hair back in a ponytail, she set herself up front ‘o’ the cargo bay ramp. Lawn chair she’s sittin’ in was aided by the pillow a might, and after some adjustin’ she’s tolerable comfy. Abby stretched her legs, bare feet nuzzlin’ the sandy soil underneath. Let’s make some coin, she thought as the clipboard come open.

After carefully tucking the large shell inside her satchel and climbing up the ladder out of her room, Penelope made a stop by the crew bath to tidy herself and the gift up a little. She pulled her damp hair into a messy bun atop her head, the orange strip making it seem like a swirled iced cream treat, and then redressed. The smell of the ocean as well as the salt spray was gone from her skin, but it'd likely be back later on. After visiting Abby, she had plans to check with the captain about going a little further out so long as no one needed her.

But first, Abby - who she found parked back in the lawn chair she'd seen her in only a few days and bullet wound previous. The little pillow made it look comfier, but Penelope doubted it was - bullet wound and all. As she walked down towards the open dock bay door, the wind was a fair bit gentler than it had been yesterday. Her loose clothing rippled gently against her sunkissed skin. If she weren't a forester bound to the stars, the beach would certainly have her soul.

"Mornin', Abbs." Unlike the captain, the melodious nature of Penelope's call as she rounded the lawn chair was less intended to playfully vex. She was just a cheerful disposition sort, and she bet the folks already knew it on account of her smile, which was present here. A tuck of a renegade strand that had broke free, the other hand rested over the flap of her satchel. "See you're feelin' good enough to come sit out in the sun and court potential passengers."

Abby looked up from the clipboard she’s studyin’. “Mornin’, Pen,” she smiled. “Tween you’n me, I conjure the Cap’n just don’t want me underfoot, shufflin’ about like an old gramma.” She’d never really thought on what folk called ‘er afore. Uncle Bob raised her as ‘Abby.’ But last few days, hearin’ the Cap’n usin’ her proper name an’ Pen callin’ her by ‘Abbs,’ the girl conjured she’s likin’ the difference. Even Rex callin’ her ‘Cal Junior’ brought a private snicker. "So,” she set her task aside, “d’ja have fun last night?”

If Penelope weren’t already smiling, the question would’ve done it - followed by the image of Cal unsuccessfully trying to get Abby to sit down any other way and take it easy. The girl was certainly a hard worker, and then asking after the beachcombing… was almost enough to make the pilot feel as if she should be doing more around the ship. But, if she had been, then she wouldn’t have what lay in her bag, would she?

“I might have had a little success in what I was aimin’ to do. Speakin’ of...” She gave a wink as she slipped her hand under the flap and flipped it over in one easy flick of her wrist. Since her palms weren’t covered with the customary fingerless gloves, it was easy for Penelope to feel for purchase on the curves of the hard shell. Still, she was careful and looked down to see what she was doing as she withdrew the large seashell. “One special order - hand-picked by yours truly and delivered as promised.”

Penelope’s fingers had curled inside the shell’s opening, and she held it out thus so Abby could see the ridges and wave-like curls of the Miyoko Murax. “I ain’t seen one of these before, but thought it looked most like the ocean formed it from the way it patterned. Best way to bring the beach to you.”

Abby’s eyes grew wide. “That’s a sea shell?” She took it into her palms, holdin’ gentle as she turned it. “I swear it’s like...a blossom,” her fingers trailed the rippled edge. “Or a sculpture.” She set fingertips glidin’ the ridges as colors shifted...orange...pink...white...all radiatin’ out from the pearl smooth hole where a little creature done called home. “It’s...so...beautiful,” Abby breathed. She’s lookin’ on it...followin’ where it took her...colors an’ lines shootin’ out in all directions like a star burst. Her hands wanted...chalk. She had tah git chalk. “Pen,” Abby finally tore her eyes from that glorious sight, “this is..I’m...thank yew.”

Abby moved to get up, til she’s reminded of her hurt. Just the same, she put an arm up tah give Pen a hug. “Thank yew,” she said agin. “Thank yew.”

Penelope gave her gentle laugh as she leaned down to accommodate the hug offered as thanks. It was clear Abby saw the beauty in it same as her, and that was a wonderful thing to share. “Reckon you like it a little bit, then.”

When they broke from the embrace, Penelope was grinning. “I’ll have’ta show you the rest of my collection later on. Got all sorts, but liked this one best for you.”

“Oh, I love it!” Abby burst out. “Ever’ way yah turn it, it’s jest...” She laughed, shook her head. “Hard tah take my eyes off it. It’s like yah found treasure...jewels what nobody seen afore. Now I’m goin’ off at tha mouth,” the girl’s smile wouldn’t quit. “An’ yes, I’d like tah see what else yah found.”

Penelope always thought smiles were contagious, and that’s why they came so easily to her - she liked seeing other folks wearing one. Abby’s face all lit up was well worth the sore legs hunting it down had given her. It hadn’t bothered her one bit to see the girl gush. Was a mighty pretty shell worth the praise.

A fist against her hip, she nodded as if it were settled. “Wouldn’t want to distract ya from all this work and get the ire of the cap’n down on us, but if you’ll be here a spell then I can get ‘em cleaned up all pretty and come show ya.”

“Ain’t no hurry. I’ma be here,” the deckhand nodded. “Cap’n wants passengers fer Greenleaf. Wanna git him two at the least...hopeful they’ll be a few more.”

Mayhaps it was because she was in an amicable sort of situation with Abby, and mayhaps it was because she hadn’t been expecting it, but at the mention of their next intended destination Penelope’s entire being froze for a brief moment. She blinked and it was over, though, passing just as quickly as it had struck her. The warmth returned to her eyes, that honeyed hazel free of the startle they held just a breath before. Home.

“Greenleaf, huh?” She said as she rocked back on a heel as she bounced the point of her other foot’s toe against the ramp. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find folk that want to go there even though it’s mostly wild jungle. Big Alliance city takes up a large chunk - shiny tech takes some fancy engineers, so don’t let any potential passengers try to short-change ya if they ain’t wearin’ light and loose clothes like mine.”

Locals didn’t get too posh, even with the Alliance trying to make ‘em complacent about a quarter of their forest-covered planet getting raized by showcasing the best and new fashions and qualities of life. The allure of the city didn’t call most the natives like the Purps had hoped, so most of the population had come from off-world. Penelope’s parents had been natives, but they’d been part of those that got all-but forced into coming to the city by other underhanded means. It weren’t like they were uncivilized, the natives. Just didn’t quite meet the bar the Alliance set to qualify for civilized.

“Foresters might try to trade you goods though. Tell ‘em you’re full up, that your pilot is a barefoot, and she’ll trade if’n they’re keen but they gotta pay regular rate.” Saying that brought out her full grin again, but not entirely for reasons she said aloud. Pilots like her got the best deals in barefoot trades, beings they went all over.

Abby listened. “Ain’t no better teacher than a native,” Aunt Lupe used to say. “Barefoot,” she answered. “Foresters. If we git one try’na deal such, I’ll come askin’. Meantime,” the girl give a pat to the clipboard on her lap, “I’m stickin’ tah the rates. Already made one foul up gonna run us tight. Cap’n shoulda fired me outright, but he didn’t. Ain’t plannin’ no repeats.”

"Seems like Cap'n'll allow a little strayin' from the straight-and-narrow if'n there's reason." Pen figured aloud idly, especially given their last conversation topics. "So reckon since you're still sittin' here, he understood. Wouldn't go worryin' after it too much, Abbs."

She offered a comforting pat on the arm along with her gentle smile before nodding down at the shell. "Want me to tuck this beaut away somewhere till you're off the clock?"

Abby moved the shell in her hands, turnin’ it to an’ fro to catch the light different. “Think I’d like tah look at it s’more,” she lifted her eyes toward Pen. “Mayhaps this don’t make no sense, but it...sorta takes me somewheres.”

“Makes sense a’plenty.” Pen’s grin hadn’t faded as she sighed with effect of hanging her head backwards and looking upwards at the sky. Well, the roof of the cargo ramp, but it was more or less not what she was looking at specifically. When her head came to a moment later, she looked back down at the girl in the lawnchair. “It’ll keep ya in the chair, I hope. Let them fellas pull their weight for once and load up any thing needs loadin’, yeah?”

It wasn’t that the pilot thought anyone didn’t pull their weight, but rather that Abby didn’t seem like the sort to know how to rest without it worryin’ on her. So, she teased, all obvious and light-hearted.

“Cap’n says stay right here,” the girl piped up, “so right here I’ll stay. Try’na get some sun on these space white legs, anyway,” she give a chuckle. “Hey Pen,” thought struck her as the pilot was turnin’, “think we can talk sometime ‘bout Greenleaf? Ain’t never seen beyond the port afore. I’d like tah learn ‘bout the jungle from someone who’s been.”

Glad to hear that Abby would certainly be sticking to the chair, Penelope had almost given a comment on how she might not want to go too long in the sun or she’d burn without a good base-coat, but the question caught her off-guard. Greenleaf again, but thankfully it wasn’t what she’d been thinkin’ - and that got Abby a double-edged soft laugh. Maybe triple? Surprised, circumstantial, and thankful. Yeah, triple.

“Shaw, we can talk about it.” She said with the merriment still carrying in her tone, then she shook it away and explained. “But I’ve more than been - grew up there. How about I get my treasures cleaned up, then I can come set up with ya while I work on my trades? Show ya what else I got and spin some tales about the forest proper.”

The deckhand give a nod. “Sounds fine,” she smiled agin. “Got an errand tah run later on, if’n the Doc says I can go. I’ll letcha know when I git back.” She give a half wave as Pen smiled an’ turned. “An’ thank yew agin’,” Abby called as tha “barefoot from Greenleaf” made her way up tha ramp.

She thought on the shell once agin. Sun was warmin’ up; she’d as like need tah cover her legs soon tah keep from burnin’, like Pen said. But fer now, she pondered, ”feels too nice tah head in.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

That's fine. Just a reminder that we go by the cues we're given to ensure that your posts fall correctly. We've already changed entire episode plans to accommodate, and as long as you all are into the writing, we'll do it again in a heartbeat. All we ask is that you keep us up to date, either here in OOC or in the group chat.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Abby's more than happy to JP with Pen. That goes for the rest of you, too. She's kinda easy to chase down just about now.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Wednesday, all!

I've been accused of not being an adept reader of gif. This, I categorically deny. I insist that even though the dark magic involved in posting them to chats and forums eludes me to this day, I am not so disconnected as to miss the gist of gif's.

(I could mutter something under my breath about Wolf's predilection for the worst dad jokes ever, but I digress.)

If I read correctly, the Skyes are changing plans and not writing out a beach party JP for the first night in NM. Unless anyone else has something planned for the first night, we'll exercise our godlike powers and pull the Day 2 sun up over the horizon. Speak now, or forever change your premise.

At this moment, here's what we're aware is happening Day 2:

Cap'n's having coffee with Abby.
The Skyes are planning to come meet w/ the Cap'n.
Cap'n's gonna have a chat with Sam.
Abby'll ride the lawnchair...but carefully.

And way across the ocean, some guy named Yuri is getting into trouble.

You got plans? Looking to JP/collab, or just write solo? Let us know what suits your fancy and we'll help with environments, NPC's or what you might need to tell your stories. Or, if you got nothin' and want us to hurry up and get outta dodge, let us know.

We are planning a time skip to eat up the black between New Melbourne and Greenleaf. But that's always subject to change if you've got a story to tell.

Write When It's Fun.

Dan

Firefly - Second 'Verse

As well it should. But we’re waiting on a boatload of fresh tuna.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

And The Sea Shall Yield Up…

The NS Eileen McSorley plowed her way through six foot swells, her decks remaining steady beneath the crew’s feet as if the rolling ocean were calm as glass. Granted, measuring in at just under eleven hundred feet in length and sporting a beam of one hundred twelve feet, the ore carrier presented an imposing challenge for the typical summer squall lines to which her captain and crew had become accustomed.

Tonight however, the “Mick” was far North of her familiar waters. A fresh contract had the venerable freighter plying a different route. That morning, they’d taken on thirty-nine thousand tons of taconite, a hardy grade of iron ore that was finding a new use as the foundation material for numerous manmade island projects. After leaving Bergen, she rode her heading southwest, toward a distant cay envisioned by developers as the spaceport link to a massive resort complex. “Another playground for the rich,” old Edwards laughed as his younger counterpart mused over the volatile weather in their path. “And lots of overtime for us.”

Yuri didn’t exactly see it that way, but he wasn’t prone to argue philosophies with his boss. Better still to share this moment at the stern rail before another descent into the bowels of the old ship. Tomorrow, their course would take them south of forty-five degrees. The “Roaring Forties” were the perpetual battleground upon which warm, moist air from the tropics rose to clash with descending cold bursts from New Melbourne’s polar icecap. The resulting weather could come up with little warning, and build rapidly to excessive violence. Even a tough old iron boat like the Mick could not claim immunity when Neptune rolled the dice.

“I should cycle the main pumps,” he observed, before drawing from his pipe.

Edwards chuckled. “Skipping out on reactor watch again?”

“Those midships stress cracks,” the younger replied. “I saw the torque in the main deck on our way up….”

“By design,” the chief engineer cupped his hands over the match’s flare. He drew deeply on the cigarette, the blessed smoke filling lungs pronounced cancerous during his last physical. “I’ve been on this boat for twenty-three years,” he replied. “The Mick flexes a bit more than she used to, but she’s a tough old gal.”

“But we are running an aux pump nonstop, Chief.”

“Yes...and that’s keeping the bilge steady at a half inch,” the Engineer countered. “Always fretting, Yuri!” he admonished the mate with a clap on the shoulder. “A day and a half in the forties, and then we’re in home waters. You’ll be back with your girl in Pensacola this weekend.”

“I don’t have a girl.” Yuri puffed at his pipe, mindful of this code in their discussion. Chief didn’t want to discuss this anymore. Time for a story, instead.

“Damn shame,” Edwards shook his head as their conversation slipped into more comfortable territory. “Good lookin’ young fella like yourself? When I was your age...hoo boy! There was this time in New Mobile. I met these sisters…”

Yuri leaned against the rail, his eyes cast downward as the old man settled into yet another telling of The Sisters of New Mobile. The churning ocean in their wake had disturbed teeming hordes of luminescent plankton. Even on a night like tonight, when the moons were hovering above layers of scudding cloud, their tiny neighbors cast a glowing trail that stretched aft for a good mile.

“...and then Magnolia says, ‘hope you brought enough to share,’ she says...”

”Oh, I got enough,” Yuri clinched down on his pipe to avoid the disrespect of mouthing the oft told response. The yarn would take a more graphic turn from here, with then youthful Edwards’ exploits and prowess building to fantastical levels. Yuri took the pipe smoke, enjoying the subtle flavor as he considered his options. The control rods and mod blocks were overdue for replacement. Reactor output was down by thirteen percent. The Mick could still generate steam for her customary twenty-five knots, but if they were fighting a heavy sea and a head or cross wind, she’d lose that momentum. The reactor was running at capacity, with only two rods inserted for moderation....a worrisome setting in a very delicate ballet of physics and chemistry. He’d increased the cooling flow, which aided the balance and steadied output. So far, so good…

“...heard tell them sisters walked bowlegged for a whole week!” Edwards laughed.

The tale was ended. Now, the necessary adulation. “Never in my lifetime,” Yuri shook his head. Praise for the chief's narrative thus given, he could now expect Edwards to reciprocate.

“Tell you what, son. I’ll have Chrissy give all the pumps a good going over on the morning watch. That settle your nerves?”

“Sounds good, Chief…” A sudden gust of cold wind tore at their clothes, whipping shirtsleeves and trouser legs as both men instinctively huddled.

“Brr!” Edwards stubbed his cigarette into the red “Smoko” bucket. “Shoulda worn my foulies!”

“Same.” Yuri emptied the last of his briars into the pail. He was officially off watch, but one more look at the reactor couldn’t hurt. “I’m headed below,” he said.

Chief Edwards made for the galley door. “Thinkin’ another slice of that pie would suit,” he replied. “See you at oh-seven-hundred.”

……………...To Be Continued……………….

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Me too.

And that reminds me, @Gunther dropped a good thumbnail in the last Hook/Abby post.