[h1]Episode 2 Finale Part 1 - Fish Tales[/h1]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/t2w0g4b.jpg[/img]

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

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

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. [i]Pick up this cargo, get to the black, then keep warm with the doc[/i], 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?  [i]Don’t make no mind right now,[/i] 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*************************