[center][h2]”Time and Tide” Shore Leave Day 2 - Evening[/h2][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/YGKOIA3.jpg[/img] [/center] The museum’s Aviation Pavilion had been transformed for the gala. Lights swung and whirled from the ceiling above, their colorful beams painting the host of white linen table tops to set a glow in the overall space. The tables shared the floor with a number of aircraft replicas, museum built facsimiles to represent the propeller and piston engine warplanes from one of the darkest periods in human history, the early nineteen forties. As they were shown to their table, Yuri took it all in as a matter of vague interest. He recognized the planes from his reading…the Mustang, the Messerschmitt, the Spitfire. Above him, a P-40 with Chinese markings pursued a nimble Japanese Zero, the aerial ballet another work of the museum’s holographic projectors. “Flying Tigers,” he muttered absently. “What?” Edina turned, and Yuri found himself bedazzled once again. The dress she’d chosen was a simple thing, its’ neckline and short sleeves a modest cut. But fiery red color and knee length hemline combined with her mocha skin to take the breath right out of him. “You’re doing it again,” she teased at his gaping. “I’m not the only one,” Yuri managed a chuckle. The museum’s fund raising event had drawn the typical “gala” crowd, well dressed men and women whose grey and silver hair, should hair remain, was on display. Edina wasn’t the only pretty young woman in the room, but she’d nonetheless managed to turn a number of heads. “Flying Tigers,” he answered her question. “A great story from history…” “It is.” Ms. Cornwall, the museum’s curator, greeted the couple. After ushering them to chairs and alerting a waiter for drinks, she offered, “so lovely that you could come. What do you think of our little get together?” Edina responded with a broad smile. “It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I’ve seen a few captures from this period, but to look at those…planes…in person? They’re so much bigger than I Imagined!” The older woman accepted the compliment with a polite nod. “Our builders attempted to recreate them as exact, working replicas of the originals. There are some disparities. Aluminum of the era is not cost effectively produced, nor is the rubber used for the tires. Likewise, the leather of the pilot’s seats. Otherwise,” she offered the couple a contented smile, “our aircraft reproductions are completely faithful to their forbears. I’m particularly happy with the Ford Trimotor.” She raised a slender arm, drawing their attention to the band stand. There, suspended above a projected orchestra,, the larger museum piece looked down on the festivities, propellers spinning lazily. “Shiny,” Yuri managed to conceal his disappointment that tonight’s big band was, like the aircraft wheeling and darting above, a bit of holographic trickery. “Love the musical choices,” he offered a smile as ‘Take The A Train’ filled the room. The museum curator lifted a hand, a casual gesture that summoned a waiter and a bottle of champagne. “We’ve also hired a dance coach for the evening,” she offered as three flutes were filled with the bubbling, golden vintage. “From what I’ve seen of nineteen forties big band swing dancing, it’s energetic enough to remain the premise of the young. Endeavors,” she hoisted her glass. “Endeavors,” the China Doll crewpeople joined their host, the fine crystal glasses ringing softly as they touched. Though he’d never developed a taste for champagne, Yuri had to agree that this particular bottle was actually very pleasing. “That’s nice,” he observed. “Hardly sweet, and a nice tang.” Henrietta Cornwall’s ever present smile remained. “I, too, enjoy this one’s subtleties. Take a sip. This time, don’t roll it around your mouth. Just let it sit upon your tongue for a few seconds before swallowing.” Edina was no connoisseur herself, but with Ms. Cornwall’s patient tutelage to guide her, she found appreciation for something she only managed to choke down once each New Year’s party. “Wow,” she grinned excitedly. “That really is something.” “Indeed.” Cornwell’s eyes danced from one young person to the next, before her face restored its’ placid, businesslike countenance. “Tell me,” she asked as the waiter poured refills, “this vessel of yours…China Doll. I understand her to be a Class three Firefly?” Yuri nodded as the glass met his lips. “That’s right,” he answered. “And she’s in great shape for a girl of her years.” The old woman chuckled. “An enviable claim. If it’s not too rude of me, might I ask about your bookings? Are you busy?” she asked. “Or do your contracts come on more of a catch-as-catch-can basis?” It seemed a bit off putting, sharing details of the rough and tumble that was life in the black with a Grande Dame of Pelorum society. Despite the woman’s flawless veneer, Yuri found no condescension in the question…but the mild gleam in her eyes was its’ own tell. Business was about to be discussed. “As most of our trade involves hauling cargo or passengers,” he replied, “contracts are typically a series of one-offs.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t leave us much leeway for longterm planning.” “Time and tide wait for no man,” the curator smiled. “And what of your current prospects?” This time, Edina spoke. “Normally, we base our destinations upon the largest cargo we’re booked to ship.” As Yuri nodded agreement, she continued, “as Pelorum’s chief export appears to be fun, I conjure that we’ll probably just be hauling passengers on the next run.” “Mmmm,” Henrietta pursed her lips. “And therefore, not such a profitable voyage.” Yuri’s time with Cal Strand had taught him a few lessons about people and the way they liked to deal. Here, Ms. Cornwall’s insinuation was setting the stage for an offer on her terms. ‘Don’t let ‘em fence you in,’ the captain warned about such maneuvers. ‘Change the narrative. Put yourself on better ground.’ "Actually,” he spoke up, “with so many folk coming and going from Pelorum on their own schedules, we stand to make good bank on the next run.” “Have you booked anyone thus far?” “Not yet,” he smiled toward Edina. “Captain gave the crew some shore leave. We’ll be chasing that work the day after tomorrow.” “What if you didn’t have to chase?” the elder woman posed her question with a half empty flute held before her lips. “We’re listening,” Edina said. “That we are,” Yuri agreed. A look of satisfaction crossed the old woman’s features as she sipped from her glass. “We’ve got a job,” she leaned toward the young couple, her voice low. “Artifact recovery. Your recent care of the items we entrusted to your handling and interest have had me thinking that China Doll might be the correct vessel for the job.” “What artifacts?” Edina asked. “That’s a discussion for a different setting,” Cornwall parried. “Suffice to say that to perform the job, you’d have to effectively double the operational range of a Class Three Firefly, while tripling your cargo capacity.” “An exoskeleton,” Yuri caught the woman’s drift. “Strapped with extra fuel, oxygen, and water for the trip, plus freight containers. Can be done,” he nodded. “But building that out isn’t a quick and easy job. Gonna require time…and coin.” The curator met this with a genuine smile. “This is the part where I’m supposed to tell you that coin is no object. I won’t do that,” she chuckled, “but I will make what I consider to be a very fair offer for your services. What we don’t have in abundance is time,” her expression grew serious. “Our window opens in about two months. China Doll would have to be onsite by then. From there, you’d only have about three days to search and recover, before you’d be compelled to return.” The gravity in Edina’s eyes was palpable. “What happens if we take longer than three days?” “You’d be stranded,” Cornwall replied directly. “For about the next three hundred years.” At the lift of her hand, a second waiter appeared. He fastidiously placed a silver serving tray before the two China Doll crew. “My offer,” she said as the gleaming cover was lifted to reveal a plain envelope on the dish. “We’ve taken the liberty of calculating your hard costs for the refit, the journey, and return. Total estimated time is three months.” Yuri lifted the envelope, tucking it into his breast pocket. “I’ll need to show this to the Captain,” he replied. “Of course. I think you’ll find that in addition to your operating costs I’ve added a generous markup for services. But ‘time and tide,” she smiled. “I’d like a meeting with your Captain…Calvin Strand, I’m told…to convey the details and cement an agreement. My private link is included with that offer. Please offer my invitation to set a meeting tomorrow?” “At my earliest chance,” the first mate replied. Henrietta Cornwall pressed her hands together, a prayerful gesture of gratitude as she rose from her seat. ‘Splendid,” she said. “But now, I must see to my other guests. Their donations will finance your expedition,” she smirked. “Do enjoy yourselves tonight. Oh! There’s Benjamin!” She waved toward the Period Dance Instructor. “I leave you in good hands.” With a gracious nod, the museum curator swept away, her sights set on a table festooned with the grandl;y dressed representatives of the Upper Crust. “Wow,” Edina breathed as the older woman left them. “What do we do now?” “She called the tune,” Yuri felt the weight of the envelope pressing upon his heart. “Looks like we could be dancing.”