[center][h2]So You Want A Job…  - Greenleaf Day 3 Afternoon[/h2][/center]

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/qBAfRqw.jpg[/img][/center]

JP/Collab from [@wanderingwolf] and [@sail3695]


Once inside the engine room Yuri waited as the Captain closed the door.  “If I did something wrong, I’m sorry,” he began.  “The girl was excited to get the problem fixed and…I feel like I owe you all.”

Strand let the man stew for a moment before his reply. "So..." he began, collecting a wrench from the side wall and shaking it for emphasis, "You're sayin' all it took was a few turns of a wrench to fix our shore power blip? That thing's been driving me [i]fēngkuáng de[/i] since we landed on Greenleaf. Reckon the storm mighta knocked somethin' loose while hoisting your soggy self aboard." (Crazy)

Yuri answered with a smile.  “Just  Abby’s oscillations, sir.  Nothing unusual about a boat with wrench tightened connections coming loose over time.”

The Captain paused to look Yuri over in earnest. The man had a glint in his eye, and aside from the sling around his shoulder, appeared in good health--probably thanks to their Doc. Damn if she didn't have the brains to match that smile. He rubbed his chin again: made no lick of sense to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Thinkin' I ought to thank you for fixin' our little problem. And seein' as you feel you owe us, how about we call it square?"

The mechanic’s smile dipped ever so slightly.  “That’s kind of you.  I think I came out way ahead on that deal.  So…Captain Strand, I  was wondering.  Abby mentioned you might be looking to hire?”

At the man's query, Cal turned toward the engine itself, "You know, she's a beautiful thing; never let me down." He placed an affectionate hand on the dormant casing, "Always points the way; keeps us flyin'. No spot in my sky too far for her to carry us, but only if she's taken care of. Me, see, I've been less than nurturing. I've let her corrode, pass from mechanic to mechanic like she's the town whore. Hell, I even let Badger's men fiddle with her when my back was against the wall. She deserves more, and I know that."

He faced Yuri, hand still on the China Doll's sleeping heart. "I am lookin', but I got a few mechanics lined up for the job. Why? You lookin' to make a change from sea to stars?"

The mechanic had come to this moment with a host of prearranged lines, all intended to sell his skill set and general reliability. But as he watched the captain’s stern facade melt with a simple touch and prosaic words for this boat, Yuri dashed those out of hand.  The honest truth, [i]”my Niska appointed lawyer suggested I take to the black,”[/i] would paint him as just another running man in a ‘verse full of them…a liability he felt certain Captain Strand would shun straight away.  In fact, there were other points, all equally true, to be made, but a mechanic with a broken wing and a known litany of other injuries was clearly the least appealing candidate.  

In the end, he kept it simple.  “The black is where I started, on an orbital skyplex.  I’ve been listening to machines talk ever since my father put me to work,” Yuri answered.  “If you’d asked me that question five days ago I wouldn’t have heard you, ‘cause my old ship was hurting and I was doing everything I could to bring her home.  In the end,” he paused as a shadow crossed his eyes, “it wasn’t enough.   I was half delirious when China Doll lifted me out of the ocean, but even then I could hear what she told me plain as day.  Portside atmo engine’s thrust director needs a minor adjustment.  Your pilot compensated for it on hover and landing, and she takes pains to avoid undue stress on the spaceframe and hydraulics.”  He looked about the engine room.  “This girl’s had plenty of hands on her, but from what I see, most have been good as conditions allow.”  

He patted his cast.  “That goes for the hands that tended me, too.  I know there’s better choices than a one armed mechanic for certain.  It’s true I’d have to lean on your deckhands for anything strenuous for a few weeks.  For that, I’d take whatever pay you thought was fair.”

Strand saw Yuri's heartfelt yearning for a machine to nurture weave its yarn through the vibrations he'd already picked up on concerning the Doll. He saw, too, the reverence with which he spoke when he mentioned his past and last station which lay at the bottom of some sea on New Melbourne. There was a fire in this man's belly; something propelling him to go all in here, with the China Doll. Maybe he was mighty grateful. Maybe he had nowhere's else to be now that his old life was dead and gone. Cal could somewhat empathize.

"Well, I'll tell you what: I see goin' down with the ship as indicative of a body's loyalties, and, son, your number's already been called there. If past is prologue, I could see a place for you on board." Cal looked the man over again, then patted the China Doll's engine. "If you and my pilot can get on the same page on what's what, and Abigail can lend you a hand here twixt moppin', I'd consider you for the post."

Captain Strand held out his hand to the man's non-casted arm. "Shiny?"

Yuri gripped the outstretched hand.  “Shiny,”  he smiled as he gave the captain a formal nod.  “Glad to be aboard, sir.”