sail3695

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Russian Dad Jokes

OOC: Cal Strand appears courtesy of the traveling @wanderingwolf

“So there it is.” The mule idled, it’s two cycle engine softly sputtering as the captain and his first mate regarded the checkpoint. Yuri noticed two heavy, motorized gates, positioned on either side of an opening in what he judged to be an eight meter retaining wall. At this hour of the day, the guards left both gates open. As he watched, a ragged looking man in workman’s coveralls was stopped in the space between. While one guard stood ready with his autorifle, his mate checked the contents of a tool pouch in the man’s possession. Finding nothing of interest, they waved him on his way and beckoned a small group of scantily dressed women to enter the crossing zone. “Whattya think, One-Arm?”

Yuri eyed the women, apparently prostitutes returning to the blackout zone from a private party that had only just ended. As he watched, handbags were opened, but given only cursory examination as the guards appeared more interested in pawing at the women themselves. After a round of ‘slap-and-tickle’ that was clearly not enjoyed, the working girls were sent on their way into the crowded ghetto beyond. “That’s interesting,” he observed.

Cal revved the engine, kicking the ATV into gear. Yuri lurched inside the small utility trailer as they set off for the boat. “Couldn’t stick too long,” the captain said over his shoulder as they rolled away. “City’s got security captures on every block. Now,” he said as they rattled around a corner. “What’s interesting?”

“The guards, Captain. They dug through bags and got handsy with the women, but not a single ident card came out.”

“And what do you conjure that means?”

“Some other kind of tracking. I don’t know. Facial recognition, bioscan…some kind of tech at play here.” Yuri watched as the surrounding businesses and storefronts grew more rapidly upscale as they increased their distance from the blackout zone. “So how many do we have to get through?”

“Bout forty.”

“Forty.” Antonov forced his composure.

“Yup.”

Yuri’s mind worked furiously. Forty, in three days’ time. A challenge in and of itself, not the least of which was some form of legitimate excuse for them to just waltz right through the checkpoint. “Any idea how we’re doing it, sir?”

Cal shrugged as he steered them toward the spaceport. “Not ‘til you come up with one. Oh yeah, forgot to tell you. We’re meetin’ the Sister in a couple hours to tell her your plan.”

“Oh!” Yuri’s eyes widened. “Shiny!”

The rest of the trip passed in silence. Yuri pondered the problems…now his problems. Get ‘em out in small, unobtrusive groups, he added to his mental checklist. Get some read on how the BZ folk are tracked at the checkpoint…that’s the real issue. Other concerns began taking root in his thinking, but they were the problems related to secreting forty souls aboard a Class 3 Firefly. He’d have to ‘back burner’ those for the moment.

What reason would these folk have to come and go through the checkpoint? What legitimate purpose would keep the guards sufficiently bored? That was sticky. Men could be masqueraded as day laborers or tradesmen. Women…housekeepers and whores…but that was a stretch. And children? How to slip them past watchful eyes? He shook his head. This is madness. What could all these people be up to?

He’d seen damned little of the blackout zone himself. The empty space in which they’d faced off with the bikers offered no clues as to what industry might be a decent ruse. “Just piles of old bricks,” he muttered aloud.

“You say somethin’?” Cal asked as the spaceport gate drew near.

“No, Captain. Just thinking about last night in the blackout zone. Couldn’t see a thing in that open space but a bunch of old bricks…” Something tickled around the corners of his mind. Something old…a story? No…

“All I saw as well,” the Captain nodded. “Whole area was stripped clean. Looked like it’s been used for more’n one boat slippin’ in an’ out.”

Yuri’s brow furrowed. “I think so. Still tricky landing among those brick piles, sir. My compliments. They oughtta clear those out…”

“You tryin’ to suck up, One-Arm?”

Clear those out… Somewhere in Yuri’s mind, a bell rang, and a connection snapped in. “Clear those out…clear those out!” he said. “Not a story! A joke!”

“Do you need to see the doc?” Cal cocked an eyebrow as he guided the mule onto China Doll’s cargo ramp.

“That’s it,” Yuri chuckled to himself as the engine cranked to a halt. “No sir. Just thinking about a joke my father loved telling.”

Strand fixed his first mate with a droll gaze. “Well that’s all nice and such. Save it for story hour.”

“No!” Yuri exclaimed as he climbed out of the trailer. “My father just figured out how we get our people out!” He could tell by the captain’s deadpan expression that his epiphany wasn’t going to make it thirty seconds. “Please, Captain.” Yuri lifted a hand. “Give me just a minute.”

“Just,” Cal fixed the mate with a dubious eye.

“The joke comes from my family’s homeland on Earth-That-Was,” Yuri began. “A man worked at a tractor plant. Every day when work stopped, he’d come out of the plant, pushing a wheelbarrow filled with scraps and useless junk. Every day, the security guard would stop him and go through it to look for stolen tools or parts. But he found nothing.”

“Is this going somewhere?”

“Yes, sir, yes sir,” Yuri nodded vigorously. “This went on for forty years. Every day, the worker wheeled out junk. Every day, the guard searched and came up with nothing. Finally, both men were retired and living on their pensions. One day, they bumped into each other at a tavern, and decided to share a bottle of vodka and reminisce over old times.”

Cal tapped his watch, urging Yuri to wrap it up.

“The former guard said, ‘I never figured it out, Comrade Worker. I know you were stealing something, but I could never solve the mystery.” Now a smile rose to Yuri’s lips as he remembered his father’s laughter at the punchline. “And the worker says, ‘It’s easy, Comrade Security Guard. I was stealing wheelbarrows!” Yuri couldn’t help but laugh along with the memory, until the captain’s withering eye stopped his mirth dead in its’ tracks.

“I know you’re gonna get to the point,” Cal said.

“Yes, sorry, sir. Wheelbarrows! And bricks! We haul bricks!”

“Now I think I should get the doc.”

“No, no!” Yuri protested. “It’s easy! Our people roll wheelbarrows of old bricks out…and different folk roll empty wheelbarrows back in!”

“Different folk,” Cal repeated.

“Yes sir!”

“And where we gonna get these ‘different folk?”

Now the smile returned to Yuri’s face. “If what you told me about the Sister and her connections is true, she can provide some…volunteers?”

“Volunteers.”

“Yes, Captain. Sounds like she’s popular with the college crowd. My guess is there are enough idealistic kids whose rich parents can buy their way out of trouble if they get caught?” He could see the captain’s mind at work, chewing the details and weighing options as the harsh expression slowly faded. Presently, Cal’s furrowed brow gave way to a lift that might even be called ‘pleasant.’

“Shiny,” the Captain turned for the aft hatch. “That’s our play until the Sister shoots holes in it. I gotta send a long wave. Call a crew meeting in ten ticks,” he ordered. “Passengers, too. Not gonna leave them blind about this.”

Yuri’s smile widened. “Right away, Captain.”

“Your dad did good,” Cal said. “Now you’ve gotta suss out how those folk are bein’ tracked.”

“I’m on it,” the first mate answered. “I need to watch that entrance a bit more. Promised Edina I’d take her for a drink tonight. There’s a little cafe across the street from the checkpoint. That should give me a chance to put eyes on it.”

Captain Strand stopped before the open hatch. “Don’t I have a policy about crew datin’ passengers?”

“No, sir.”

“Oh,” Cal shrugged. “Remind me to make one sometime.”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Captain’s Office, 13th Precinct

Fitzpatrick wasn’t having any of his man’s account. “Not sure you’ve been reading the tea leaves, detective.” The captain’s desk chair emitted a screech as he shifted an uncomfortable amount of girth to nearly envelope an armrest. “I sign off on investigating anyone, let alone a nun? Based on one visit to a boat and stories from a couple tweakers? Take a minute to think about those optics.”

“Sir,” Hekubah landed his elbows on the desk, before a fresh scowl from his captain signaled their hasty withdrawal. “They’ve supplied me with good info in the past…”

“Right,” Fitzpatrick cut him off. “You bring me something like kids getting drops from the BZ? That I can take to the Commissioner. But her?” A pudgy finger bent slightly backwards as he pressed it into the still capture. For the moment, Sister Lyen Giu’s face was obscured as the precinct commander brought the weight of his office crashing down on the detective. “That nun’s a royal pain the the pi gu, detective, but she’s…off…limits. No stakeouts, no tails. And no personal O.T. either. She’s got powerful friends up the chain. Long as they’re pumping coin into her soup kitchens and med clinic, everybody’s happy…including the Commissioner. You got me, Ernie?”

Hekubah closed the open file. “Yeah, yeah. I got you. But there’s something happening, and she’s neck deep in it. My DI’s tell me she walked right into a faceoff between a boat crew and the BZ Kings last night…in the brickyard. Today, I saw her come right off that same boat in the port. We know she’s been seen with both Zona Libre and suspected Browncoat radicals…”

Fitzpatrick lifted his hand for silence. “Been to the U of O campus lately? The Student Union building is wallpaperred in Zona Libre posters. Kids are all shouting slogans and trying to out ‘Che Guevara’ each other. Never seen so many freakin’ berets.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. The point is this. You can’t walk that campus or the blackout zone without tripping over a half dozen nose pickers playing at being a revolutionary. Until you can connect the dots on this, all we can prove is the Sister’s milking a cause celebre from both ends.”

“Just give me the time, Captain,” Hekubah pleaded.

A fresh protest squealed from the chair as the senior officer rocked back. He folded his hands atop his belly, his well worn signal of deep thought. Hekubah would’ve laughed at the sight, but for the fire in his own belly. “Tell you what,” Captain Fitzpatrick turned a profile to the detective. “You can either work this as unpaid O.T., or burn some vacay on it.” Now he turned again to lean forward. “You bring me something. Something solid I can take upstairs,” his brows lifted for emphasis, “then I’ll see you get recompense and full credit for the collar. Best I can do.”

Ernest Hekubah pondered the ball now resting in his court. “Vacay,” he finally said. “I’ve got a week, but Connie killed me in the divorce. Rather do this than watch a bunch of broadwave and eat ramen.”

“Fair enough,” the captain nodded in reply. “I’ll authorize it.” As the detective rose for the door, the precinct captain stopped him. “Ernie.”

“Yeah, Phil?”

“Bùyào gǎo zá zhège.” (trans - “Don’t fuck this up.”)

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Wednesday evening from the cargo bay!

The "All Hands" JP is officially underway. Each of you have received an invite in your email, and we've also posted the link in our group chat. Come on in, grab a drink, have a seat, and try not to stare at the girl who looks like five miles of bad road...

WWIF,

sail

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Best Worst Kept Secret

OOC: Cal Strand appears courtesy of @wanderingwolf.

To say that Yuri was surprised at the revelation would be an understatement. It was now becoming clear that Sam was on track to becoming the worst kept secret on the boat. “I’m sorry,” he spoke up. “Tommy Pearson, meet S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A, our resident AI. Sam, Tommy,” the first mate concluded. “Very like to be our new pilot. Sam’s okay,” he offered a conspiratorial grin. “We’re slowly getting her wired into ships’ systems, but there’s about four generations of interfacing we’ve got to account for…so don’t fret. She’ll replace my job before she replaces yours,” he tossed a crooked smile toward Sam’s optical pickup.

Though hoping the jape would reap the fruits of the system’s developing penchant for wit, Yuri instead heard the Captain’s summons. “One arm…meet me in the cargo bay. We got business in town.”

The mate rose to his feet, a hand outstretched to clutch at the dangling intercom mic. “On my way,” he answered. Having made an artful sorting of Tommy’s paper records for easy capture by Sam, he addressed the pilot. “You passed my muster,” Yuri said to the newcomer. “Once you pass the ‘Sam’ test, you’re in. Now, SAMANTHA,” he said, “when you’re satisfied, kindly direct Mr. Pearson to his quarters…the cabin our former pilot used. I conjure she left it sparkling,”

<tag Sam>

The order given, he regarded the new aviator. “Welcome aboard the China Doll,” Yuri offered his hand. As the two men shook, he said, “I’ll look you up when I’m finished with the captain.”

<tag Tommy>

Firefly - Second 'Verse

All The Crew Means “All” The Crew…

OOC: Working in “Yuri Time.”

Hook’s drastically increased provisions list had pretty far exceeded what the captain said they could afford, but in the end, Yuri tapped his own account for the overage. While it wasn’t a move he’d make on a regular basis, the newly minted first mate decided that a run of first class meals would pay real dividends in rewarding the crew for their tough stand last night. Especially Hook and Abby, he considered as a quick rev of the throttle sent the mule into China Doll’s cargo bay.

He knew that the young deckhand would receive more than her share of goodwill and nurturing from Dr. Lysanger and Edina. But Hook, he reasoned as he called the cook to join the offload, would be a tougher challenge. Without going to detail, Cap’n had made it clear that Joe had demons to wrestle. Yuri could see with his own eyes the pain written on Hook’s face, compounded by a sense of shame that drove him to isolation. He wasn’t a shrink, but the mechanic cum mate understood that it was the way of men such as Joe Hooker to salve their wounds through a self validating immersion in work.

And Yuri had plenty of that to dole out.

“Found everything,” he announced as Hook appeared in the cargo bay.

“Thank ya, Mister Yoo Ree! Ah knows you kin’t carry the heavy stuff, but mebee some of the lahter items? We’ll git them up to the galley fo’ storage.”

“Shiny,” the mate responded. The two men bundled their loads up the stairs, making several trips to empty the mule’s trailer. As Hook remained to store all the perishables, Yuri made the last couple runs with dry goods. “This is it,” he said as a number of fruit powder mixes tumbled onto the counter.

“Mister Black ne’er helped me carry foodstuff. Might kin’ of you, mister Yoo Ree.”

Yuri shrugged it off. “Wait til my broken wing’s all mended,” he chuckled. “Speaking of that,” he stopped, thoughts shifting gears to another pair of wings, “I've got to run. Let’s get together later this afternoon. We’ll divvy up the duty roster while Abby’s cooling her jets.”

As Hook busied himself in the galley, Yuri stepped into the forward corridor. “First hatch portside,” he whispered as his bearings settled on the compartment directly opposite the captain’s. With a slight grating noise, the ladder hatch swung down and open, releasing a cloud of noxious odors from the space within. “Ugh,” he grunted while climbing down into the locker room stink. This compartment, his future home, would take hours to clean before the first mate could even think of moving in. Not a task to which he was looking forward, but he wasn’t about to foist this off to one of the deckhands.

The parrot sat hunkered in his cage, a posture that even the uninitiated could read as being low in his spirits. “Hey Lucky,” he greeted the bird. “How’s your food and water holding up?”

Lucky shied to the back, clearly ill at ease with the stranger who now reached inside. His beak came open, a warning to those unfamiliar hands to keep their distance. Sure enough, his food bin held only the empty hulls of seeds. The water trough was disgusting; what water remained was clouded with excrement which was now forming a grey crust around the edges. “Oh, man,” Yuri frowned at the sorry state of affairs. “Your cage needs a good cleaning, doesn’t it?”

The bird didn’t move, save for the mistrustful eye which followed Yuri’s every move.

“Tell you what,” the human interloper spoked as he eased the bottom tray free. “I’ll have to come back after I find a liner, but for now, just the bare tray is better than this mess.” After carefully dumping the foul paper into an overflowing trash bin, Yuri set to scrubbing and resupplying Lucky’s food and water bins. The moment he withdrew his hands, the bird sidled along its’ perch to dip into a lengthy drink.

Yuri watched as Lucky drank to satisfaction. Think I heard that parrots are highly social, he considered as the bid moved on to crunch his way into the fresh seed. “This place doesn’t work for you,” he said out loud. “I conjure you’re gonna be with us for awhile, until we see your dad again.”

The parrot watched him, his look seemingly reflective as he chewed on a seed. “I’ve got a couple ideas,” Yuri said to his silent companion. “Let’s see what we can do for you. Back soon,” he offered the creature a simple goodbye as he took to the ladder. The first mate had promised himself to go visit China Doll’s youngest deckhand. Armed with a fresh purpose, Yuri headed for the lower deck, and Abby’s quarters.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Kicking The Tires

OOC: This takes place before Yuri delivers groceries to Hook. Apologies for my absence.

“C’mon,” Yuri gestured toward the ramp. “Follow me.”

After tucking the man’s documents into a pocket, the 1st mate led him through the empty cargo bay. “We’re on shore power right now,” he said over his shoulder as the sealing bulkhead lowered into place. The boat now secured from any prowling, Yuri led the pilot candidate as they took an aft stairway. “Just got in last night late, so we haven’t topped her off yet. This way.”

The pair arrived on the upper deck, Yuri’s narrative resuming as they entered the galley on their way forward. “Got a solid cook on this boat. Joe Hooker’s his name. Also appears to be a decent shot with a long rifle.” He glanced about. Failing to locate the man in question, Yuri shrugged. “He’s likely pulling double duty right now. We’ve got a deckhand who’s been given some extra bunk time to heal up. Here we go,” Yuri directed Tommy up the forward corridor to the open cockpit hatch. “Head on in.”

China Doll’s cockpit appeared none the worse for wear, even after the former first mate’s haphazard piloting. Everything still appeared clean and well ordered, a holdover from the spritely woman who’d last occupied the chair. “Have a seat,” Yuri offered. “She’s pretty close to yard spec. The captain…Cal Strand…hasn’t gone for any ‘hot rod’ mods over the years, so she should feel similar to your quals.”

As the pilot took to his console, the mate settled into the captain’s seat. “Feel free to run her through a preflight check. The radion core’s offline right now, and it goes without saying we can’t spin up the atmo engines with all that foot traffic, but short of that you should get a decent feel for her.”

The sound of switches flipping filled the air as Yuri removed Tommy’s documents from his pocket. His position afforded him the opportunity to gauge the man’s actions and body language, noting the thousand little tells which revealed experience, confidence, and the workings of his mind. I’ll have to compare notes with Sam, Yuri thought of the AI who must surely be observing the hands to which all their destinies might fall.

<Tag Tommy>

Firefly - Second 'Verse

It's a real joy to let you all know that this morning, @Xandrya gave birth to a healthy baby boy! Let's welcome Alexander Ilya to the crew! Both mother and son are doing well, and hopefully getting lots of rest. CONGRATULATIONS and warmest regards, @Xandrya!

wolf and sail

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Brass Tacks

“Family reunion, I’m told.” Yuri replied. “We are in the market.” The man seemed forthright about his experience. Qualifying in a Firefly was a good deal different than actually flying one on a day in, day out basis. Still, he zeroed in on one of the key differences with the Komodo, whose four atmo engines provided a stable lift and simplified VTOL. As Rex had proven so blatantly in Khao Yai, the Firefly was a balancing act that required a fluid hand.

“The job pays a standard share,” the first mate offered. “You’ll get a topside crew berth and three squares a day. Gun bonus if we need you to draw. Of course,” he added, “we’ll need to look at your license and any history. The captain’s got final say on who flies his boat, but if your bona fides check out I think he’d agree to see you at work.”

<tag Tommy>

Firefly - Second 'Verse

”...Comes a Horseman…”

If Yuri had to guess, the stranger now before him might hail from any planet which relied upon skilled use of a saddle to get about. Cattle drover was the first impression cast by the duster coat and a well used pair of leather chaps. The weapons, however, suggested a different profession. Bounty hunter? He laid the question aside to respond to the man’s greeting. “She’s a Class Three, alright,” he answered.

"This might actually be the first ship I've seen today that don't look like it'll lose half it's passengers out the side breaking for the black. Pilot could use a stick on the back of their knuckles though. No offense intended, but jus' cause she's built like a brick don't mean you can handle her like a brick without the wear and tear on those engines."

“Or her hydraulics,” Yuri’s mechanic side blurted, before his better sense caught himself short of rattling off an account of China Doll’s near disastrous liftoff from Greenleaf. Fortunately, the stranger didn’t allow any air in the conversation, artfully deploying a rapid segue and a friendly lift of his hat.

"I'm sorry, here I am spoutin’ the negative when I haven't even told you mah name. Tommy. Tommy Pearson, bit of an amateur ship enthusiast and a reasonably talented pilot. Just ask me how talented, I'll tell ya."

The palm of Pearson’s hand was hard callus. Until he voiced claim of piloting skills, Yuri would’ve sworn that any ride this hard bitten stranger undertook was designed to last eight seconds. As the men shook hands, he replied “Yuri Antonov, first mate of the China Doll. And I’m asking.” He released his grip, the free hand moving to pull the clipboard he’d tucked beneath the cast on his left arm. He held it at his side, ready to prop open if their conversation bore fruit. “You’re a pilot?” the first mate casually asked as he tilted his head toward the boat. “Got any hours in one of these?”

<tag Tommy>

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Sunday from the cargo bay!

It's been a good week of posting. Quill, Imani, and Yijun have all been shown aboard. There are some JP's brewing that I'm aware of, all of which involve our intrepid Captain and featuring Quill, Imani, and Abby in turn. And then, out of the blue comes our new pilot! Welcome aboard @Herald and his character, Tommy Pearson!

All in all, a happy day for China Doll and her crew. So of course, your humble hosts are gonna mess that up.

Cap'n's going to call an all hands meeting to talk about our next run and pick brains as to how we pull it off. All you passengers will be in on it, 'cuz a quick look about shows we're a might short handed. Writers can expect to see a link to a Gdoc as early as Monday night, 8/1.

Game Time: China Doll touched down Tuesday night at midnight. Cal is planning for her to stay put Wednesday through Friday, with a departure Saturday at 3PM. As the plot unfolds you'll see that there are opportunities for every character to participate. This also leaves plenty of leeway for individual character subplots to develop.

(This is the part where I chant the mantra about your friendly game hosts being more than happy to help your characters grow their individual subplots. Be sure to rattle our cage if there's any support we can offer as you tell your stories.)

All our gaming fun aside, let's all send best wishes and good karma to @Xandrya, who is on the verge of becoming a new mom! We'll keep you posted as we learn the latest.

WWIF,

Wolf and Sail