sail3695

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Episode 2 Finale Part 5 - “And The Sea Shall Yield Up”

JP/Collab from @Aalakrys, @wanderingwolf, @Gunther, @Xandrya, and @sail3695

Time spent on a pitching deck proved a skosh too harsh on Rex’s stomach. With a complexion gone long past green, the First Mate beat a hasty retreat aft, toward an appointment with the porcelain bowl. Things were looking up; the Cap’n had that easy look about him as China Doll buttoned up her bomb bay for a trip upstairs.

But nothing in this ‘verse comes easy. When the call came, it almost sounded like somebody was spoofin’. Someone named Sam was certain of a castaway, adrift on the wild sea. Cap’n thought better of rushing into the rescue, until an immovable Pen and this...Sam...managed to turn his thinking on the matter.

“Ladies! Go Hwong Tong. What part of ASAP ain’t clear--look, go pick up this Buhn Dahn before this whole job is Soh Ya Feh Tian.” (‘Enough of this nonsense’, moron, and ‘ruined at the last moment’, respectively).

"Shiny, Cap'n, can do." Pen’s voice was nigh on chipper over the intercom. Aow alone in the cargo bay, Cal and Hook could feel the force of China Doll’s atmo engines as Pen gave her the spurs. They were on their way to yet another uncertain outcome...with a boat full of fish that’d be much happier in the icy black.

Under full atmo thrust, the Firefly hurtled North. The seas beneath her hull grew ever more restless, as ominous cloud and increasingly violent wind harried her flight. As predicted, Hurricane Daniel was dying out in the much colder latitudes, but the death would prove a lingering, hard fought affair.

Joe grabbed a railing to steady himself feeling the power of the Firefly class ship move towards the distress signal. He didn’t know what they were going for, but was ready to help anyway he could.

Once she reined the ship back under her hand, Penelope checked with Sam that they hadn't strayed the estimation. No corrections were needed on speed, but they’d strayed a few degrees so she flipped the engine thrusters to hover and adjusted while letting off the throttle at an ease. They’d traveled north a ways, and external temperatures had dropped. So much for needin’ that sweater later on.

Now they just to find the source of the signal. In waves topping out in 15' while wind whipped against the ship, the China Doll descended from above the clouds. From where she sat, it was easy to spot the strayed wreckage through the viewport. Debris that was floating spread wide across the wavetops that rose and fell like someone had shook up the ocean nice and good. Hurricanes would do it, she supposed, as her eyes scanned what they could. Sam spoke up when they neared the spread. Just before the nose of the ship covered her view, she thought she’d glimpsed a huddled figure atop a wide splintered section of wood. "Cap'n, need eyes below. Pretty sure we’re over our target."

The turbulence in the sea could be felt in the sky, that was for certain. Penelope activated the underbelly floodlights as a gust struck at the neck of the bird, and instead of cresting she used the push to slow their glide. She knew without the engines burning, the ship would sail right on down like the hunk of metal it was, but used her past experience with gliders in conjunction with the Firefly capabilities rather than defaulted to what she knew. If she had to have any ship to pull this off in, it would be this one. Even if it required a bit more strain of the muscle to keep her dancin’ in this storm. In fact, the last words that’d left her lips were strained with that effort. As she held tight the controls with both hands firm, she spoke to herself with gleeful delight through the tensity, her eyes just as alight. “Tempest, my favorite mistress, you’re makin’ our final number this trip one to remember. Why not go a li’l easier for the poor soul below, ey?”

Nothing.

There was nothing left of this world but angry black clouds, howling wind, and mountains of water that tossed him about. The first of his senses to go was that of time. Though sluggish daylight had come, he couldn’t gauge the day’s passage. It might be midafternoon...or it might be years past...the ocean’s fury offered no hint by which to orient his thinking. It simply pummelled...and pummelled, and pummelled again.

Yuri, battered and chilled through and through as he was, could scarcely be bothered. Fearing the loss of his hands, he’d secured the strap to his left bicep. Now, legs that barely answered splayed across the remnants of the splintering table. His fingers were melded into two claw hooks. He couldn’t move them independently...but on the bright side, he couldn’t feel them, either. In fact, he was feeling less and less of the storm’s punishment. A deep sense of relaxation washed over him...sweet and smooth. He had to remember...he had to tap the code.

* * * - - - * * *

It was something to do...a subconscious response. The drummer held a dignified quietude as he laid down the beat. The piano fell in, an amazing whisper, kept on a delicate balance by the musician’s brilliance in knowing not just chords and rhythms, but the measure of force. Such a simple backbeat, but the whole room was held transfixed by this ancient music...this jazz…

“Brubeck.” Yuri smiled.

** ** - - ** **

”The SOS,” some voice murmured. Really kind of rude for anyone to be talking right now, when the saxophone was just about to join in. Yuri glanced about the darkened nightclub. Not a sign of the uncouth dolt. ”SOS...”

“Oh,” a wave crashed over his shattered life raft, threatening to roll him off as it swept him into a trough. That’s right...he had to send the signal.

* * * -- --- --- * * *

Yuri didn’t know if the contraption worked anymore. For all the pounding and drenching it took, most likely it didn’t...and he cared not a bit. All the radio seemed good for was to bring him back to the here and now, trapped in a body that was on its way toward shutting down amid the icy waves. They weren’t gonna find him...at least not when it mattered. So why torture himself? That night in Birdland was right there, reaching out to him. A warm comfort in the darkness, the hand of a beautiful woman...what was her name? And Brubeck. Brubeck to take him home…

China Doll dropped through the racing clouds. The Firefly swept in over the wavetops, her belly mounted searchlights playing beams that danced and plunged over the roiling tempest. Her atmo engines swiveled, going vertical as she came to a hover in the storm.

Luck be damned, Cal had hailed Alana to tend to a possible shipwreck survivor. She knew the hurricane had taken some lives with it, and it was a miracle the poor soul had survived at all. She grabbed her medical bag which was always at the ready, slinging it over her shoulder so it hung across her frame, then took off for the cargo bay.

As the doc joined Hook and Cal in the cargo bay, the com squawked. Pen’s voice rose from the tiny speaker. "Cap'n, need eyes below. Pretty sure we’re over our target."

At Penelope’s call, Cal flipped open the bomb bay doors again, peering through the wind and rain to the sharp waves below. Sure as the mail, the China Doll hovered and lilted over a scrap of something buoyant enough to buoy a lifeless figure to the surface. As the Captain opened the hatch, Joe dropped into a prone on the cargo bay floor looking out at the surface below. His hand clipped on the walkie, “Hold steady, I see ‘em twenty feet below.” Just as the Captain radioed the bridge, Joe pointed at the figure in the water.

“Sure thing, Cap’n,” Penelope chirped back as she set the Doll to hover over the ocean for the third time during this visit to New Melbourne. This time, there was more a sense of purpose for her - the first, an unknown criminal act, the second just pickin’ up some fish - also could be judged as a criminal act if’n they didn’t go loop-holin’. But this time they were savin’ someone. It made the tension in her arms all the more easy to just be part of it.

********************To Be Continued**********************

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Hi Auz,

Though we recommend a greater frequency of posting to maximize your enjoyment, we do understand that people have lives. Wolf and I will contact you via PM.

sail

Firefly - Second 'Verse

For Captain Cal Strand, looks like nothin’ ever goes smooth. Now he’s hightailin’ it to the black with a hold full ‘o’ legit cargo...but that don’t stop them hairs on the back of his neck standin’ up. Of course, he wasn’t countin’ on a crime boss puttin’ him right square ‘tween the Alliance an’ the Browncoat underground, a cranky teenager gettin’ stitches in her butt, or a pilot what gangs up on ‘im with a pithy AI. The China Doll could be that gift horse whose mouth he shoulda checked, dohn mah?

The year’s 2521. War ended a decade ago. Been 3 years since the Miranda Broadwave riled some folk up, but the Alliance put the boot down on that right quick. It ain’t easy for “naughty men to slip about” these days, but there’s still work as can be had, long’s the price is right an’ you ain’t the curious type.

“Firefly – Second ‘Verse” is an episodic PBP game. Character and plot development will be encouraged and written over the course of each episode. Certain adventures will involve “capers,” live action scenes played out in chat by member players. These scenes could vary from crimes to action to something as simple as everyone talking over the galley table.

Cal conjures his crew could do well to hear The Word, so we got need of a Shepherd or other spiritual type, male or female. He also wouldn’t object if we got a Companion aboard. (lookin’ for a male Companion, but that ain’t my place to ask.) Passengers, too, but don’t let none of this fence you in. There’s lots of different folk out there. After all...it’s a mighty big ‘verse.

We’re ‘bout to touch down on Greenleaf, a planet known for it’s tropical jungles an’ the major pharma hub for the entire ‘verse. If you wanna fly with us, send us a wave!
@wanderingwolf - he’s the brains...
@sail3695 - he runs the mop...

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Episode 2 Finale Part 4 - “Let Your Conscience Be Your Guide”

JP/Collab from @Aalakrys, @wanderingwolf, and @sail3695

”That’s the last of it. Thank your captain for the bourbon, China Doll. Morning Light out."

The cargo bay was strapped and strung up with four-thousand pounds of freshly caught tuna, and the smile couldn’t be any bigger on Captain Strand’s face. A full cargo bay meant a full payday, and after Badger’s deep cut into the bottom line on the leg to New Melbourne, the ‘Verse was starting to right itself. It was more than a payday, though, if Cal was honest. There was a magnetism to the black; always something to be crossed--always something to get past, for most people. For Cal, the black was the most serene place he could imagine.

Once he was in the black, he felt he could breathe. Felt like he could think. And Cal needed to think. Sam, Marisol, and the chips still weighed heavy on his mind. In point of fact, Sam was the reason he was in this mess, but there was something about it--about her--that kept him from cashing in on that black box, like he’d planned. That part still puzzled him. That, and what it all meant to General M. Chavez.

For now, he could table that for a few short clicks until they were in the black. Picking up his walkie, Cal held it to his cheek, “We’re buttoned up here. Take us up. I hope Sam crunched the numbers proper and we don’t freeze to death ‘fore we make it--”

“Penelope, I have detected a weak distress signal on this planet.” Sam spoke - cutting off the pilot’s response back to the captain. It wasn’t that there was a sense of urgency in her tone, just that it was an unexpected announcement, entirely disconnected from the job at hand. “It is broadcasting at very low frequency. I am trying to triangulate its origin as I believe it is in connection with the downed vessel lost in the hurricane.”

Penelope’s brow furrowed. Hadn’t she heard something like that on the speakers at the shop while Alana and her were shopping? It was in the background, and she hadn’t properly paid attention. But, she was paying attention now that Sam brought it up. “Cap’n, got a situation. Sam’s picked up a distress call.”

“And what’s that got to do with us?” The abrupt static that followed punctuated his reply.

S.A.M.N.T.H.A juggled satellites. Armed with a detailed signal track from MILSAT 9, the AI abandoned the connection, erasing evidence of her incursion as she went. COMSAT’s 7, 5, and 3 would offer a chance at triangulation. Their civilian firewalls were easily circumvented. Within seconds, she had employed unused channels in each to determine the faltering signal’s origin point. She had a fix. Next, Sam considered a visual track. The weather satellite through which she’d accessed the sonobuoys possessed optical scanners. These were quickly ruled out as the source location proved to be obscured by clouds from Hurricane Daniel. But her efforts weren’t to be defeated. The weather sat also possessed infrared thermal imaging.

“The signal is originating from just inside the perimeter of the hurricane’s transpired environmental wind field. Southwestern quadrant, three hundred twenty-seven-point-six miles North of our current position,” Sam reported, likely as she was pinpointing. It took Penelope a second to mentally translate what she’d been told, and just as she figured it out, another fact was added: “Thermal imaging has confirmed the presence of a sole survivor.” Curiosity next led the AI to the Central Medical Databank. There, Sam found human thermal images by the thousands. In a millisecond she ran comparisons and sifted corresponding health data from each.

“Cap’n, there’s a person out there bein’ jostled by the storm. Can’t rightly leave ‘em to die.” Ever the morally good heart, Penelope felt what she said even as she continued holding steady above the Morning Light. The cargo was loaded, the hoist resecured, and bomb bay doors sealed tight. Still, its pilot hadn’t set course to exit the atmosphere as planned.

Captain Strand’s walkie waffled on the bridge, “Then give the marine patrol a wave, drop the coords, and Tze Sh’un Tze Mieh. They got a job to do, and we got ours--what sees us gettin’ my cargo to the icebox ASAP.” (Leave him to his own fate).

To further the stubbornness of the pilot’s resistance to high-tail it out on command, Sam gave argument for her in the next report. “According to biometric and physiological data related to thermal images I have captured, the subject has a zero-point-two-three-eight percent chance of survival unless retrieved within the hour. Rescue is not possible based on geophysical positioning of cataloged rescue vessels and their maximum velocities.”

"And how much of that fish down in the hold would go bad in the time it'd take to mount our own rescue, Sam?" Penelope asked, her usual tone slipping as the earnest nature of the question peeked through.

"Within the atmosphere of the planet, optimal output and the trajectory I've uploaded into the navigation console would show no expiration effects based on what I have learned about iced 'sea critters'. However, I could better calculate if --"

“Ladies! Go Hwong Tong. What part of ASAP ain’t clear--look, go pick up this Buhn Dahn before this whole job is Soh Ya Feh Tian.” (‘Enough of this nonsense’, moron, and ‘ruined at the last moment’, respectively).

"Shiny, Cap'n, can do." The grin on Penelope's lips was there once again before her captain had even finished the claim of more impatience than defeat. Either worked for her since that meant they didn’t knowingly leave a man to die. She set to follow the course Sam had laid out, flipping to forward thrust after rotating the Doll to line up on route.

*********************To Be Continued*********************

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Episode 2 Finale Part 3 - “You Can’t Stop the Signal”

(Written under adult supervision by @Aalakrys and @wanderingwolf

S.A.M.N.T.H.A. knew no rest. For an AI possessing her....her=gender misappropriative reference used by Cal and Penelope due to the similarity of the descriptive acronym to a popular given name for females...based upon her capabilities and reach, there were simply too many other things to know. The portside atmospheric engine output was hampered by point zero zero seven two percent, the result of an inadequately installed thrust director. The IAV Dortmunder had just put into orbital drydock above Ares for a series of structural and propulsion systems repairs. Overnight snowfall on New Kasmir reached a record setting point-eight-seven-meters. Local government would requisition four additional thorium reactors to meet the increased seasonal power demand. Wealthy financier J.R. Mammon was reported to have survived an assassination attempt. He was last seen boarding his personal yacht under the care of an unnamed physician. Pulse beacon readings ceased once the vessel exited the White Sun system. Incarceration files for Independent P.O.W’s James and Yolanda Travis had been erased from Central Records. Canton Mud was trading at a premium in commodities markets.

Penelope’s interest in sea critters…critters=colloquial mispronunciation of the English word ‘creatures’. If Sam could be accused of the act of “liking” such an idiosyncrasy, the AI reasoned that to prefer the use of the term “critter” in response to the pilot was an appropriate intuitional reaction. The study of New Melbourne’s indigenous marine life had produced a fascinating informational subset. Access to the planet’s weather/sonobuoy network afforded Sam the opportunity to listen to the social lives of numerous cetaceous species. Cross referencing the songs and clicks of whales to the scientific record had proven worthy of reallocating her primary processing.

The leading marine mammalogists hypothesized that whales used their songs for purposes beyond mere sonar and pod location. S.A.M.N.T.H.A. could now verify those guesses. At first, the ethereal tones and occasional clicks offered little by which to base analysis. The absence of low frequency from the audio spectrum drove the curious AI to access system specifications of the buoys themselves. Sure enough, the search revealed a dynamic frequency limit to their signal upload capacity. Sam quickly remedied this with a command override to one of New Melbourne’s communications satellites.

The results proved revelatory. The previously documented songs of whales proved a symphony only half heard. Adding the low frequency dynamics produced astonishing depth which extended well beneath the human aural spectrum. These missing sonic links were the key...the linguistic underpinnings of a language both advanced and, if Sam were any judge, eloquent in its simplicity. She couldn’t understand just what was being said, but she had locked down the patterns of the whales’ speech...a beneficial finding, if the mammologists were to be heeded. She filed this information under Present to Captain, with a note to include Penelope, should Cal react positively.

During a live audio sweep, the anomalous signal caught Sam’s attention. Initial analysis defaulted to categorizing the source as a spurious biologic, a conclusion Sam refused for the fact it hadn’t been picked up by a sonobuoy. RF entirely. The weak transmission proved intermittent, but multiple samples did reveal a pattern...a human generated pattern. To truly isolate the pulses, she would require phased trilateral tuning and signal amplification. She would require military hardware.

After a discreet search, S.A.M.N.T.H.A discovered the command access to MILSAT9, a two hundred channel behemoth whose ELD assets were focused largely upon the planetary approaches. Cal had been clear about such research…”Don’t go leavin’ your fingerprints where they can be found.” This would require some careful routing to mask her signature. A rolling crypto-encoded signal, relayed from Pensacola to Rangoon to New Canberra, with a final bounce off the repeater at Slocum’s Atoll would provide sufficient masking. Thus protected, the AI logged into the defense satellite. Sam claimed five unoccupied channels, training their receivers toward the turbulent ocean below.

* * * * - - * * * *

Frequency analysis proved low...bottom end of the communications spectrum. The staccato bursts were unevenly timed...indication of human effort. The message code, however, bore no recognizable pattern. Basic Morse was most likely, but the translation I, I, M, I, I had no correlation. Sam listened, recorded the awkward bursts again and again. She highlighted the common repetitions to isolate the most probable message. Her observations soon ruled out the odd I,I, M,I,I for the clearly discernible outcome.

* * * - - - * * *

S, O, S.

S.A.M.N.T.H.A understood that completely. Alliance Maritime Law was equally clear. ”...explicitly states this requirement in its' Systemwide Convention for the Safety of Life at Space or Sea: “A master of a ship, which is in a position to be able to provide assistance on receiving a signal from any source that persons are in distress at sea, is bound to proceed with all speed to their assistance…”

Sam moved to China Doll’s intercom. Cal was relaying departure instructions to Penelope. Mindful of the required discretion, the AI opened her channel to the cockpit. “Penelope, I have detected a weak distress signal on this planet.”

*********************To Be Continued*******************

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Episode 2 Finale Part 2 - Net Gains

JP/Collab by @wanderingwolf, @Aalakrys, @Gunther, @Xandrya, and @sail3695
(Parts for Rex Black written by sail3695 in the author’s absence.)

Sam patched through the feed, and Penelope was starting to feel mighty spoiled by having an assistant on hand. If she were the sort to worry, the AI’s ability to function without command might be a bit peturbing, but weren’t no concern of hers.What was her concern was the message playin’ and what it meant.

”China Doll, China Doll, this is Morning Light. We see you approaching to our West. We’re laying across the wind to keep our masts and crane clear of your hawser. Point your nose to about two-ninety degrees and you should steady up fair nice, copy?”

“Copy.” Penelope responded, figuring Sam was transmitting again for her. “Linin’er up.”

“Estimations show windspeed ranging between 20 to 30 miles per hour with gusts in no discernable pattern.” Sam supplied as Penelope watched the gauges, navigating to the sweet spot after flipping the thrusters as the AI continued to provide statistics. “The fishing vessel is ‘pitching’ on waves topping at 6’.”

“Rollin’, Sam - if they were pitchin’ this would be a different number.” Penelope said just before falling into an old habit of pressin’ her tongue to her canine as she found the rhythm of the waves. That was more predictable. Gusts would have to be improvised by her arm-strength, or the steadiness of them anyway.

Instead of continuing the conversation, Sam played the incoming transmission: ”Good to go, China Doll. Lower your net.”

“‘s time to cut in, Cap’n.” Penelope radioed Cal. “Cargo’s waitin’.”

After a moment, Captain Strand’s voice replied, “Copy, that. Keep ‘er steady; don’t want Rex to take a dip,” his comm was still on, but he paused, “Though I reckon it’d be a might funny to see from up here, outside of rifle range,” replied Cal, a smirk in his voice.

Joe had a good view of the water below. He could see the First Mate clinging to the cargo netting. He could see the ship below. The waves were rolling pretty good now, maybe six foot swells. He began working the winch lowering the netting and Mr. Black towards the waiting fishing vessel below.

Rex descended from the ship’s belly toward the fishing boat. China Doll wasn’t hovering much higher than the tips of the radio masts on Morning Light, but still, rolling as she was in waves that smacked her side, she still looked like a mighty small target to hit. Below, two deckhands reached up with gaffs, looking to capture the cargo net and guide him in. When he finally set down, it was with a tough bump as the deck rose up to finish the trip. The First Mate held on until he could make a reasonable show of having his sea legs.

Once steadied, he unclipped both the cargo net and his harness. The deckhands laid the net flat, and set to work shoving the first heavy tub onto its’ center. Rex watched the work, until the tap of a hand to his shoulder distracted him. The man he turned to face was huge, a tower of ebon flesh and muscle. “You got somethin’ for me?”

He answered with a wink, and the withdrawal of a cash pouch from his jacket. The payment thuis transferred, Morning Light’s First Mate gave a thumb’s up to his deckhands. “Welcome aboard the Morning Light. Pleasure doing business.”

Once the first tub was secured, Rex reattached the net. With a thumb’s up signal of his own, he stood back to watch the first load rise upward.

When he received the signal from the first mate, he began bringing the netting back up into the ship. Then he would angle it over to one of the locations to store the fish during the trip to Greenleaf. He repeated the process several times as the hoist lowered to the fishing vessel and then back up into the cargo holds to store the fish for the trip.

Rex chose the seventh load…”lucky seven”...to make his trip back to the boat. Morning Light’s deckhands knew the drill. He could count on them to handle setting up the final load themselves. The job had gone pretty smoothly so far, a thought he regretted the instant it crossed his mind. He had no business tempting fate like that. Still, luck shone through as he rode up into China Doll.

As Hook, Rex, and Cal sorted each batch of fish into their respective corners of the bay, Cal saw Rex readying himself to take the last plunge for the final payload. “Hold on, now. Got something special for Captain Nguyen to celebrate our mutually beneficial relationship on such short notice.” Strand produced a bottle of bourbon with a holographic label from a compartment under the cargo bay stair and held it out to Rex. Bottle in hand, Rex nodded in a flourishing toast before stepping onto the netting. Hook lowered him down to the fishing vessel below.

On the final trip, the hoist started to sputter and yaw making all sort of noises. The First Mate would have felt the netting jerk and tug then stop halfway up to the China Doll. “Captain! Somethings wrong with this thing?” Joe yelled to Captain Strand. He stopped the system so it wouldn’t put any unnecessary force on the hoist. Then he climbed up the arm to wear the cables were and found it was bound up slightly. “May need to lower him back down to fix this.”

The whole gig was going swimmingly until this hitch, “Check the winch, Joe. I’ll hold ‘er tight down here,” Captain Strand said, swapping sides of the hoist with Hook. “Look out below!” Cal bellowed down to Rex.

Joe clambered back down to the deck and yelled, “Mistah Black! I need to lower you agin. The cable is bound up!” He then returned to the seat and tried to lower the cable. At first it did not want to go, but the weight of the fish helped get it back to the fishing vessel below. Once the weight was off the cable, he climbed back up with a prybar and was able to loosen the cable enough so it would move freely over the pulley.

The First Mate responded with a wave. “Winch problem,” he told Darius, his counterpart on Morning Light. “I could use a Wench problem right now. By the way,” he pulled the bourbon from his coat. “Captain Strand sends his compliments.”

He returned to the bombay door. “Ok Mistah Black! Ready to lift you agin!” He jumped into the hoist seat and was able to bring the sixth load of fish up into the cargo bay and deposit it into its space. “That should do it, Captain,” Joe responded with some finality.

After a handshake for Darius, Rex clipped his harness to the hawser once again. He didn’t bother looking up to gauge his progress. Not about to tempt the fates a second time.

Cal gripped Rex’s forearm with his own as he hoisted his first mate the last step up into the China Doll. “Almost lost you to the soup, there; thought I might have to write your epitaph: ‘The ugly duckling who took a swan dive.’”

*******************To Be Continued******************

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Episode 2 Finale Part 1 - Fish Tales

JP/Collab by @wanderingwolf, @Aalakrys, @Gunther, @Xandrya, and @sail3695
(Parts for Rex Black written by sail3695 in the author’s absence.)

Captain Nguyen checked the time. “Fifteen-oh-two. Just barely legal,” she smirked at Darius. “I’ll signal the China Doll.”

The little chirps resounded on the China Doll’s dash, heard by her pilot who’d been sitting all snug with leg tucked and working on a little project involving some of the shells. Penelope left the little winding needle secure between a knot she was pulling taut and set the entire pile of thread, shells, and seaglass aside on a flat part of the console. She picked up the receiver after glancing over while Sam reported: “The signal is coming in from the fishing vessel, Morning Light.”

“That it is,” Penelope said as she clicked on the transceiver and pressed. “Cap’n, we have a green light from our client. Doll’s warmed up and ready to go when you give word.”

With the handheld back in its cradle, the pilot got to making final preparations for departure. The engine had been in idle for just a handful of minutes, Penelope having sent word to the docks to let them know they’d be lifting off here momentarily - if they idled too long, she’d tell ‘em somethin’ was delayin’ departure. Somethin’ being she was threadin’ twine around stone and shell rather than putting her hands on the controls, waitin’ on the signal, but they didn’t need know all that. Luckily, she didn’t have to spin a tale up since the signal came though and her hands got to workin’ on her actual job.

The radion core was smooth as silk ever since Pen spun ‘er up. Abby moved about the engine room, takin’ care in her final checks afore China Doll’s feet would lift off. Reactor fuel flow an’ temp...check. Atmo engines ready at idle...check. All hatches an’ vents sealed...check. Life support...check. Hydraulics...check. Power distro...balanced over her three phases. Pen had fire tested all thrusters an’ they’d been runnin’ on ship’s power fer thirty minutes now. Abby ticked off the checklist an’ signed her name inta tha log.

Seein’s how this run was gonna get mighty cold, she gone throughout the boat, turnin’ on spigots an’ openin’ water valves fer tah trickle. Best way tah keep pipes from freezin’, an’ she weren’t worried ‘bout losin’ much water on this short run. She wore a red knit cap belonged tah her Aunt Lupe. Abby also had a hand-me-down sweater she’d pull on when it started chillin’. Them ew socks would be a right blessin’ ‘bout then, too.

She weren’t thinkin’ ‘bout Thomas..not that she didn’t want tah. His time would wait til she’s off duty. Fer now, boat had some tricky flyin’ ahead. Pen and tha Cap’n would be on their toes, an’ they’s both countin’ on her tah do too. “Time tah check it all agin,” the girl whispered afore runnin’ her list.

Cal heard his pilot’s voice echo from the wall comm in his quarters. He’d been trying to clean up things a bit; clothes what normally found themselves strewn across the floor or on the pull out desk and chair were being stuffed every which way in the closet here, or drawer there. Pick up this cargo, get to the black, then keep warm with the doc, his plan was short sighted, sure, but how far did a body need to see for needs needin’ met?

His palm flattened the button on the comm, “Shiny, be right there.” With a scrutinizing eye passing over his humble abode, Cal nodded at his work. Except for the toilet seat left up, it seemed passible--all things considered. Taking the ladder rungs up from his quarter two at a time, Captain Strand walked into the bridge in no time, donning his duster as he entered with a nod to Penelope. “Nguyen called? They broadcastin’ from the same spot we figured?” He approached the console and beheld the intricate crafting cast aside, “You know, first Sam, then Abigail; I’m startin’ to feel like we’re on the outs considerin’ I ain’t been the recipient of one of your fancy shell souvenirs.” He fixed her with an arched brow, elbow resting on the flight console.

"Aw, Cap'n it takes time to make 'em up real nice and no one more than the cap'n deserves the best." Pen gave a little wink as she ran through the log Sam had been narrating to her when Cal came in. "Systems are lookin' good with the shiny new part in place. Sam, got any conflict? Don't see none here. We are good to meet Nguyen where promised."

A velvet voice responded from the console, “The catalyzer is operating nominally, Penelope. The replacement has increased the rate of chemical reactions in the injection mechanism by thirty-three percent. Abigail was successful with her installation, Cal.” It was spoken matter-of-factly, but the tone was one of excitement. It appeared that Sam was enjoying her new role aboard the China Doll.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Captain Strand settled into the captain’s chair while cranking a few calibration knobs which brightened the viewport from the China Doll’s glass-shield eyes. The contrast showed a clear horizon except for a shadow of cloud to the North East. He reached for the comm to raise the engine bay. “Sam says you did a fine job in there, Abigail. ‘Preciate you steppin’ in.”

“Uh...shiny?” Abby pondered that a spell. They get new crew? Somebody named Sam? Don’t make no mind right now, she give her head a shake as them numbers danced afore her eyes. “Good tah go, Cap’n.”

Replacing the receiver, Cal turned to his pilot, “I got a mighty need to kick dirt, Penelope. Will you oblige?”

“Can do, Cap’n.” Penelope could feel that hum building up in her chest just as the engine whirred at her direction, the control unlocking and sliding back into her gloved palms. Every bit of flyin’ was a thrill, and it’d only been buildin’ since time had ticked down to this moment. Her fingers curled round, and with her eyes on the sky she repeated: “Can do.”

She’d piloted a few up-thrust vessels, but the light design of a firefly cargo ship was unique. The tension in the controls was more loose without all that extra weight in the hold, but not somethin’ more than marginal. The incoming load would surely fill the belly; it was always a balancing act with a bi-thruster, of which were flipped at a switch and locked with another. “Clamps fastened, the Doll is ready for her dance.”

Those feet of hers retracted into the landing gear well as Penelope fired the engines and had the Doll steady at a hover while her eyes scanned the fuel line coursin’ through steady and even. “Get your spurrin’ heels ready, Cap’n, the dirt is about … to … be … kicked.”

The only difference between her glider and this model ship was the gravity dampener makin’ sure the upward force weren’t going to floor the folk inside her at the speed they lifted. Oh, it could surely be felt to some degree, and the pilot pushed herself right into it as they rose. Once they reached altitude, Penelope pressed the release for the pivot spindle to turn the wing thrusters back into position for forward motion in the easterly direction. “Sun’s above us, so ‘least it ain’t in our eyes whilst we make way for pick up. Should be smooth ‘til we get closer to the funner winds.”

JennaBeth, the oyster farmer, was good as her word. Now, as the roar of China Doll’s atmo engines echoed throughout the cargo bay, the five tubs were arrayed to balance their weight for flight trim. Their place in the cargo bay’s aft end would permit the next cargo, fresh tuna from the Morning Light, the broader space. Everything was secured. Straps were at the ready. The boat’s overhead hoist was now positioned above the bomb bay. The cargo net which hung beneath swung lazily as the boat took to air and nosed onto her course.

Joe Hooker and Rex Black had just made it to their jump seats. There’d been passengers to tend, folk who, despite knowing the frozen journey to come, had still signed on for the trip to Greenleaf. After strapping Mrs. Wyman and Professor Marquina to their lounges for the flight, the deckhand and his First Mate awaited their call to action.

Joe looked up at the hoist. He had checked the winch out before they left their mooring. It would provide a critical function for their primary cargo this trip. He wanted to make sure it had no defects. He was confident it was working fine.

“Ah yew OK with what we’s doin’ Mister Black?” Joe asked the first officer. He looked over the hoist controls, aware a storm was lingering, and this was the area where the Eileen McSorley went down. “This storm must have been pretty rough, sir.” He knew the waves would be pitching badly. At least they could hover out of the soup and not have to float inside it. He Looked at the controls. Everything was fine. He looked down at the water through the opened bomb bay. They were ready to lower the cargo net with the First Officer attached. “We gettin’ close, Mister Black. Ah hope you don’ mind getting a little wet.” Joe looked over at the man, attempting to get a feel for how he was doing, what he was thinking. “Sho glad its yew an not me, Mister Black.” Joe suppressed a smile or any sign he might find any humor in this situation.

“Nothin’ to it, my man,” Rex loosed a wolfish grin as he clapped Hook on the back. “Just like riding a sex swing in a whorehouse...either way you end up soaking wet and smelling like fish,” he wagged his eyebrows as he clambered to his feet. “I should harness up,” the First Mate hiked a leg into the first loop of his safety rig. “Think I can get this in leather?”

Alana had been idly sitting by for some time. She imagined the rest of the crew was busy with one thing or another, and though she didn't have any responsibilities at the moment, she thought it best to stay out of everyone's way. She had once more ran inventory in the med bay, and it was as equipped as it could be to handle practically any casualty despite its unimpressive size. Admittedly, the layout was one Alana found to be effective, nonetheless. From the entrance, the sickbed was set up against the wall to the right, with ample space on either side to allow a comfortable level of movement. Her workstation was positioned on the opposite side, more so used for a check-up or a quick procedure not requiring anything beyond routine care. In between the two was a sink surrounded by cabinetry and storage spaces galore which spanned to the adjacent walls as well. Far from a hospital, but enough to bring someone back from the dead if needed be.

Leaning against the backrest, Alana decided to look over the patient log to check for any possible inconsistencies she may have made during the note-taking step, not that she had much to go over.

Cal watched the view through the Doll’s eyes as his pilot took them up and toward their first destination. The water replaced the ground beneath them and waves stretched out for leagues. It was akin to walking on water, now, the China Doll under Penelope’s hands, and Jesus himself would have patted her on the back.

He took a moment to appreciate the view before turning, “I’m gonna to make sure we’re ready for the goods; got my comm. Give me the finch call when you lay eyes on the prize.” With a wink, Cal strode to the door.

"Will do, Cap'n." She said, holding her eyes steady on course. The cheer was in her tone, grin spread pretty and wild as ever. She was really in her zone, even more so since all that weight she'd been luggin' around was dropped now that it'd finally been addressed. Been a while since she felt so free, it had. Sure, she was still a little daunted by the prospect of returning home, but now she could be a measurable bit more excited. Risky thrills had always been her thing.

When the first wind current pushed against the Doll's hull she laughed a little to herself. "Gettin' to windsurf in my own way again. … Can ya feel that sorta thing, Sam?"

"Feel?" Sam responded after a moment, the pilot considering the gauges to adjust while the AI must've been figuring on what Penelope meant. "I do not believe measuring reading fluctuations is a method of feeling, from what I understand."

"'s too bad." Penelope said honestly, feeling for the little black box even though she knew Sam was more than that in some way. "That's … huh. I reckon a sense of excitement with the lunge, a little bit of fear. Those are emotions, that are reactions, I guess, ta the sensation of crashin' against somethin'."

"Crashing would not be advised." Sam's velvety voice managed to sound as if she was appalled and giving warning at the same time. Penelope laughed again, shaking her head and explaining: "Naw, not like that kind of crashin'. Wind ain't solid, so I reckon I worded it wrong. Anyway, these pitches aren't near as fun as the other night when we came in. But that's good since we're loadin' and not pitchin' this time."

"You were referring to crashing as a wave on the ocean does?" The question came a little while after silence passed between them, Penelope focusing on flying and Sam doing whatever she did until she asked. It, like their interactions before, didn't throw Penelope off track. She continued following the Morning Light's beacon as she went on instructing Sam, amused at that's what they'd been doing during flights.

"Huh, sorta. Pitches like a wave, but … more like a dolphin splashin' back in the water after doing that jump up it does when swimmin'." Penelope had always liked the notion of sea critters. A sea was like a forest in a way, stretch of blue as far as the eye could see with all sorta life beneath its surface. "There's a breach, in a way, but no pain. Like, breakin' through a resistance. Wind and water are fun that way. More fun when ya can feel it against your body, but in the ship ya can still get a little of the sensation - if I let it, that is. Probably get a scoldin' if I skipped air tunnels."

She chuckled again at the notion, spotting a ship in the distance through the viewport. No sooner had her eyes spotted the ship rockin’ steady on the waves, a transmission came through hailing the Doll. "Almost there, Sam."

**********************To Be Continued*************************

Firefly - Second 'Verse

F/V Morning Light

After the past two days, the act of splashing cold water onto her face held no restorative benefit. Except the absence of salt spray, Bian smirked at her reflection. The woman in her mirror appeared somewhat older than her fifty-three years. Creases and bags around the eyes were more prominent, just as likely the result of sleep deprivation as they were a sign of her age. Decades of sun and wind had coarsened her skin. Once lustrous jet black hair now streaked grey, with a weatherbeaten frizz to which she’d long ago surrendered. The sea had transformed her into its’ own creation.

She checked the time. Fourteen-fifty. In a few minutes, the season would begin properly. She could send the signal, and have her decks cleared of their illicit catch. It had been risky, spending the last two days fishing the churned waters in the hurricane’s wake, but so far, the move had paid off. Not a single Marine Patrol boat had shown, and there’d been no flyovers. The crew were all equally weary, but their spirits held. The preseason catch had been robust. Once China Doll collected her cargo, their work would begin anew.

“Bian.” Darius’ voice over the intercom. “We got company.”

She finished drying her face, then hung the towel before keying her mic. “What do you make of her?”

“Fast mover, on a southerly course. Grey paint job.”

Captain Bian Nguyen only had to utter a single word. “Showtime.”

The F/V Morning Light was no stranger to the act of poaching. Her crew were well drilled in the art of “nautical naughtiness” and the ways to defuse the curiosity of both surface vessels and aircraft. As she climbed the aft ladder toward the wheelhouse, Bian noted the heavy tarp which covered the waiting tuna. Paint work consisting of numerous meter length brown stripes would be read from the air as a stack of crab or lobster traps. As she took to the bridge, her deckhands completed the masquerade by making a show of hauling a trap line. The final accessory to her costume, the placards, had been put into place when they’d begun fishing.

“Vessel to my port beam,” the radio squawked as she entered, “this is the charter boat ‘Slippery When Wet.’ You copy?”

“Five by five, Slippery,” Darius traded glances with Bian. “This is the fishing vessel Mariah P, at your service.”

“Havin’ any luck?”

“Negative, negative,” the First Mate responded. “Hurricane scattered our crab traps all to hell and back. Gonna be lucky if we recover half of em, copy?”

Bian cast a glance over her shoulder, her eye satisfied by the sight of the deck crew hoisting a trap from the heaving seas. The intruder spoke again. “Fair sorry to hear it, Mariah. Got a couple guys chartered us for King Tuna, but considerin’ who they brought with ‘em I conjure won’t be much fishin’ goin’ on.”

Darius trained his binoculars. After a moment’s study, he smiled at the number of bikinis in sight on the charter yacht’s after deck. “Roger that, Slip. Guess it’s good somebody’s gettin’ some, copy?”

The other captain laughed. “Not these two horn dogs. They’re takin’ turns bent over the head. My deckhand’s gonna try’n teach the little cuties to fish so the trip’s not a total bust.”

“Sounds like mighty tough duty, Cap. Seas ahead on your course should even out by nightfall. I gotta get back to it. Mariah P. out.”

“Good luck to you, Mariah P. Slippery When Wet out.”

Bian had studied the radar throughout the exchange. “He’s not changing course. Should drop below the horizon in another ten ticks.” She lifted her binoculars. After a moment’s study, she turned toward Darius. “Looks like they’ve got enough distractions aboard to look at. Let’s drop our veils.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the First Mate hustled from the wheelhouse. Within a minute’s time, the faux crab trap operation was removed, tucked away into its’ stowage. Placards bearing the name “Mariah P” and a false registry number were removed and stashed. Nguyen looked down upon the deck in time to see the pantomime tarp being rolled and folded. The exposed cargo, four thousand pounds of King Tuna, lay secure in eight large ice tubs.

She made the final reveal, switching transponders. Now, if anyone cared to look, the Morning Light was on station, ready to enter the fishing grounds and claim her due.

“Deck’s clear,” he announced, his frame filling the aft doorway.

Captain Nguyen checked the time. “Fifteen-oh-two. Just barely legal,” she smirked at Darius. “I’ll signal the China Doll.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The new catalyzer fit like a dream. Didn’t take Abby no time for tah pop it inta place, just like Marisol taught her. More she learnt, more she conjured most things in the ‘verse was butt simple...til folk stepped in an’ made ‘em all complicated.

Like Fireflies. Once yah got tha flow down, they’s jest easy tah suss out. She checked the fuel tanks. Full an’ ready. Run her eyes all along lines an’ couplin’s to the pumps. They showed pressure an’ standby mode, jest like they should. Reactor was warmed up an’ ready, soon’s she kicked over tha radion core. No leaks, no weird sounds, all happy gauges an’ green lights. Still, she took ‘er time, folllowin’ tha checklist one by one.

Marisol had kept a good log. ‘Sides the catalyzer, she mentioned two-three things looked like they’d need replacin’ in another couple runs. One ‘o’ tha heat exchangers was wearin’ down, and somethin’ called a tri-modal supply router fer the portside atmo engine. She’d give each one a look-see in turn, soon’s she had ‘em off shore power.

Power distro looked shiny, even if ‘twas in shore bypass mode. Life support...all good. Water tanks was full, an’ tha recycler’s empty. In a minute, all these workin’s would come to life. China Doll would be herself again. “Engine room,” she announced herself over the comm. “I’m ‘bout tah start ‘er up.”

Pen come right back with an “all clear.” Abby took both hands on tha core crank, pushin’ it over til it clicked home. Tha core give a chug, then another, and another as she cycled an’ commenced tah spinnin’. Her data screen come alive with fuzzy green numbers cyclin’ up whilst the core set tah hummin’. Things looked right. Numbers looked good as her checklist.

Abby had her hair tied back, pony tail tucked ‘neath ‘er collar as she moved about the engine room. She’s wearin’ a pair ‘o’ her new denims...durn if Thomas’ mom couldn’t measure an’ take ‘em in just right. First time a pair ever felt good on her waist an’ hips. Brand new socks in her boots was already warm, an’s she’d pulled stuff out fer when it got cold.

“”Pen,” the girl keyed her mic. “Engine room checks out. I’m headin’ fer tha atmo engines. Gotta walkie if ya’ need me.”