[h1]Episode 1 - “Gateway” Finale[/h1] [h2]Scene 1 - ”Fish and Chips”[/h2] [img]https://i.imgur.com/oAozYlR.jpg[/img] [img]https://i.imgur.com/wWxbsOD.jpg[/img] [img]https://i.imgur.com/nalNq9e.jpg[/img] Baker reached the foot of the cockpit stairs when a harsh gust heeled the boat, tilting the corridor as she grabbed at a quarters hatch for balance.. She could feel the pilot correcting, swinging the ungainly nose into the hurricane wind...a smart move when it came to stabilizing her trim, but…[i] La shi[/i]..we’re gonna need help,” she thought before heading aft. The galley was empty; apparently the other deckhand, Hook, was busy with an errand.The adjoining passenger lounge was also sparse, save three passengers who’d strapped into the chairs. The two ‘horn-dogs’...her Feds, were both limp in their chairs, slack jaws emitting drool and near biblical snores as the boat rocked ‘em like babes. “I should tell the doc her sleeping pills work like a champ,” the mechanic smirked as he eyes met those of the third. She’d only met the young woman in brief passes-by, with little more than a quick smile and conversation that didn’t exceed the smallest of small talk. Abby had supplied a name...Cyd, before spelling it out to clarify the difference. Now, Cyd was ensconced in a chair, earbuds inserted to doubtless combat the rude symphony of her fellow passengers. “Hi,” she said, removing her hood as she approached. “We’ve got a job in the cargo bay, and could use an extra pair of hands. Can you help us out for a few minutes?” Cyd had collapsed into one of the chairs in the lounge. The buffering windstorm combined with the fast beat of some Techno - the only thing missing were laser lights and it would have been the perfect rave - at first. Heading back to their room proved challenging, so a brief respite was in order. Movement caught her eye, and she pulled out her earbud,“Ek?” She asked, pointing to herself. With her crop top hoodie and biker shorts, she was an unlikely ask in her own opinion, but curiosity did get the best of her at times, and ubuntu. “Sekerlek, Sure thing. Is it heavy? I have two sibs?” The woman shook her head. “Not bad...and we’re short on time. Got one of the deckhands, Abby, waitin’ for us.” “Is everything okay?” She asked warily. “With the ship?” “It’s all shiny,” Baker nodded as she led the passenger forward. “Pretty decent storm outside, which is why the captain’s in a hurry to get us moving again.” They went through the forward hatch, turning inside the airlock access to the cargo bay entrance. They emerged on the upper catwalk. Abby was on the deck below, wielding screw guns like one of the pistoleros in the book her uncle Bob give her. “Ready,” she glanced between Ms. Baker and the green haired girl who obviously come to help. “Ku,” Baker nodded as she took the aft stairway. “Cyd, we’re opening my crates. Gotta make a deposit.” “Now?” Cyd asked, holding the railing as wind buffered the ship. “Won’t stuff gebreek? … Get Broke?” The mechanic smiled. “That’s the plan. Abby, let’s do this.” At Baker’s order, Abby set tah tha hydraulics. She flipped a couple switches, held tha safety, an’ mashed tha ‘activate’ button. A two meter square of deck dropped slightly, then separated, sliding inward to reveal the howling storm beneath them. Abby glanced down. “Gorram, can’t make out the water a’tall fer the weather.” She offered one of the screw guns to Cyd. “Ms. Baker tells me it’s them four screws...two yer side, an two on mine...makes the whole enchilada come tah pieces. Ready?” “Ja Nee,” Cyd said, awkwardly holding the screw gun, not fully understanding much beyond removing two screws. “You want to ditch the crates?” Her mind briefly went to the wheels, poor Isaac would be crushed! More importantly - why pay to bring crates if you were going to ditch them into the ocean like a colonial tea party on Earth that Was? “Right again.” Baker steadied the crate as the younger women set to work. The howling wind below sent occasional tufts of spray and sea foam darting upward into the cargo bay. After a moment, the tools ceased their whining. Glancing from one to the other, Baker confirmed they’d finished, before heaving the rough hewn front wall. The entire panel swung upward, before she pitched it back, a motion which sent all of the wooden siding collapsing to the deck. The case hidden underneath was sleek, gleaming black, with a red orange shipping label affixed...a glaring advertisement for the Alliance. “The Alliance?” Cyd asked with disbelief, holding up both hands. “They’re not gonna take kind to that, Oke, we’re not looking for Pers Maag trouble.” Ms. Baker glanced toward Cyd. She was right, of course. What business did she have foisting her war upon someone whose future still glowed bright before her? Or Abby, for that matter? These two could move on, live lives, find that right person...without some nutcase witch woman dragging them into all manner of “Pers Maag” trouble. She didn’t know what that exactly meant, but she conjured the gist. “I’m wrong to ask you,” Baker replied. “You’re free to head back in...avoid any hangups.” She undid the latches, swinging the lock hasps until they snapped loose. The lid swung upward, revealing contents that glittered like pale gold. Row upon row of microchips lay neatly tucked into the partitions of padded trays. Cyd looked to Abby and who she surmised was Ms. Baker, arching an eyebrow. “Free passage to next stop for me and my sibs?” She asked. “That’d be worth the hangups!” Baker tilted her head, delivering the classic “you’ve gotta be kidding me” expression. “I don’t get to make deals for this boat,” she turned toward the open case. “We gotta be quick. Abby,” the mechanic hefted a tray full of microchips, “Let’s feed the fish.” With more than a little satisfaction written on her face, the woman upended the tray, loosing a rain of the tiny devices into the violence of the storm beneath them. “You have say, the Captain’s one up, right, Chana… Mate?” Cyd asked Abby, eyeing the microchips as she rocked on her toes. “Why transport, if you’re just going to ditch them?” The raver was getting antsy at the chips, which had to be worth more than she’d see in a lifetime, being cast off. Baker pitched one tray after another, freeing hundreds of the tiny chips with each upending. “It’s called Plan B, hon,” she quickly replied as another tray was lifted. Abby watched the scene, all them feelings she’d held from the first meetin’ with them three jest gettin’ cemented-like. She seen Ms. Baker...had a trust growin’...knew ‘bout how quick this had tah run tah git ‘em movin’ out tha storm. Pair mcouldn’t be more opposite. “Oh, fer fuck’s sake,” she cursed, “fifty percent fares an’ y’each git a room….this next run only,” she added. “Done!” Cyd said, happy Isaac would have his own bed. Asking for the wheels could wait. She eyed the chips one more time. “Skande… shame, these look top of the line!” “Only the finest for the great and powerful Alliance!” Baker spat her contempt as the last tray spilled into the tempest. “Done! Send it over!” With a shove delivered by Abby, the crate trundled over the edge, and was soon vanished from all sight. “Next one!” Now a united team, the three women popped the straps from the second crate. The screw guns did their work, and in seconds this time, Baker was busily undoing the hasps. “We’ll be good to go in just a few,” she offered as the lid swung open. “Lekker, Lekker,” Cyd replied, pulling her hoodie down further over her head to keep her hair from blowing. “Skande.” The mechanic laughed as she pitched a tray into the storm. “They’re almost gone,” she thought as each sprinkle of gold felt one less weight upon her. “Liquor, liquor!” she chuckled over Cyd’s offbeat slang. “Once we’re on the ground I’ll take you both…” “Stop right there!” A man’s voice bellowed above the roar of the wind. All three whirled about to see a solitary figure standing in the aft hatchway. “Cap’n MacReady?” Abby was dumbstruck. Her space sick passenger din’t show no signs ‘o’ the green apple quickstep now. “All three of you!” he roared. “Put your hands in the air!” The pistol in his hand was Alliance issue, flat black carbon steel with a muzzle that seemed to widen as he swept it over the three women. The lethal tool came to rest, its’ maw pointing squarely upon Ms. Baker. Marisol Chavez, you are bound by law!” “Who?” ............................to be continued...............................