[center][h2]It Can’t All Be Vacation - Shore Leave, Day 3 Morning[/h2][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/k85yBpj.png[/img] [/center] JP from [@wanderingwolf] and [@sail3695] Cal, enthroned in the Captain’s chair, had his feet up on the console while wearing a bright orange and red printed silk shirt embroidered with seagulls and palm trees. He gestured to the empty bridge, “Look, just ‘cause a body wears a brightly colored shirt don’t mean it’s a cry for help, that’s all I’m sayin’.” The crystal clear voice of SAM echoed back, “What’s the phrase? ‘I call it how I see it’? According to known human history, this sort of change in behavior occurs when someone seeks attention to how they’re feeling, so if you want to tal–” “Don’t get me wrong, Sam, I know you love your facts and figures, but I’m tellin’ ya, I just found this shirt in with the laundry–probably Rex’s–and I figured ‘when in Rome.’ That’s all.” His tone, despite it all, wasn’t deriding or dismissive, and the smirk he wore, had SAM been able to see it in her capture, would tell her she’d hit the nail on the head. “Is that all? Well,” she continued after a moment, “I was [i]going[/i] to say, if you want to talk, you know where to find me.” “Appreciate the sentiment,” he replied, then changed the subject, “How many passengers we got lined up for this next leg?” “It’s been a slow couple of days, but three have booked so far. Mr. Eleanor, Rev. McDermott, and Mrs. Hewitt have taken berths, but returned to town. I suspect they’re taking advantage of what’s left of the day before we leave this evening. “I might have to take advantage, myself,” Strand said, thoughtfully touching his knuckles to his lips. The sound of voices echoing down the corridor drew Yuri from the galley. He leaned through the cockpit hatch, a mug of coffee leading the way, before abruptly stopping. The man who lounged in the left seat had all the Captain’s mannerisms, right down to the timbre of his voice. But the floral explosion he wore was definitely the most ‘un-Cal’ thing the first mate had ever laid eyes upon. “Excuse me,” he buried the smile that threatened the corners of his mouth, “who are you and what have you done with our captain?” “Et tu Yuri? I just got finished settin’ Sam straight and before you come up with any grandiose designs on my mental health, let me assure you: that’s a stupid question and don’t ask.” He righted himself in his chair, swiveling toward the first mate. “Heard we got scarce few stragglers for payin’ customers next hop.” Cal crossed his arms, “Ain’t Pelorum just a ray of sunshine.” [i]Seems to be in good spirits,[/i] Yuri thought as he leaned against the pilot’s railing. The captain’s absence had thusfar yielded an unusual taste in clothing and a moderately decrepit mule…but no doctor returned to the fold. Cal hadn’t mentioned Alana, and Yuri wasn’t about to broach the subject. “Gorram stupid question, you ask me,” he nodded amiably. “A ship’s Cap’n is wise as a sage, brave of heart, and clear of eye and mind. So say we all who want to keep drawing pay,” he chuckled. “Have to admit that I’m surprised we have any passengers rostered, what with our ace lawn chair girl off skylarking.” After pausing for a sip from his mug, the first mate spoke again. “We do have a job offer, though, sir.” “Cortex books, way Sam tells it. She’s been experimentin’ with her own digital lawn chair, and apparently with a few captures and fake reviews, folk are liable to bite.” Strand chuckled. When he’d swiped the AI those months ago with designs to offload it as soon as possible, he had no idea how things would pan out. Now, much as he was loath to admit it, SAM was wearing him down; especially since she didn’t draw a share... “Music to my ears,” Cal said, rising from the Captain’s chair. “Did you catch it or did it fall in your lap?” From where his duster hung on the back of the chair, he sought out the silver case in the breast pocket. His fingers worked the mechanics of lighting the cigarette at his lips while he said through the side of his mouth, “You haggle the price like I told you?” Yuri was shaping up into quite the first mate. Having been drug from a life of ships and sea-faring, he acknowledged the chain of command and was keen to listen. He had a stubborn streak, but Cal had to admit he acted much the same a decade ago. What with Edina having appeared on the scene, he’d watched a transformation of that stubbornness into an easy-going, and somewhat goofy, nature. Women did the strangest things to men, he conjured. That thought pursed his lips a little too tightly around his cigarette, as he surveyed his first mate. “Repeat customer,” Yuri shifted, his palms landing on the rail. “The museum we hauled those artifacts for? The Curator has a recovery job she pitched to Edina and me last night. There’s an asteroid she thinks might have some cargo containers ditched from one of the original colony ships. Its’ elliptical orbit puts it back within reach of the ‘verse for the first time in over three hundred years.” He paused a beat as Cal touched fire to a cigarette. “She wants us to head out and get what can be got.” During a long draw on his smoke, Strand calculated the ship and crew specifics behind Yuri’s words. To check his work, he replied, “Haul like that means scaffolding and belly tanks; orbit like that means a narrow window to get the goods…” Cal let out a jet of smoke, eyebrow prompting Yuri to continue. The mate nodded, his gestures more emphatic as the captain ticked boxes of a mental checklist. “All true…all true,” he agreed. “We’d need a truss exoskeleton bolted to hard points on the boat, extra fuel, extra oh-two, extra water. Pretty heavy prep that’d have to be done in the black somewhere off the beaten path.” He straightened his posture, the expression deepening as he delivered the next bit. “Not to mention a pretty wide berth we’d need to cut out past Miranda.” The Captain nodded as Yuri confirmed the particulars. “Miranda?” Cal didn’t like that one bit. “Does Mrs. Museum conjure what she’s askin’?” Cal drew on his cigarette, considering. “When does this rock see this side of the ‘Verse?” Yuri was right: they’d need time to prepare, and more importantly, to find a pilot what could maneuver through asteroid fields. Cal’s hand was steady at the yoke, but he had to admit his reflexes weren’t honed for guiding the Doll. The wheels started turning on the latter subject. “We felt her out as much as was do-able in a room full of folk,” Yuri replied. “She conjures the prep to be done, and our want to tiptoe the entire job to avoid pirates and claim jumpers, not to mention Reavers. I’m guessing she wants this just as quiet as we do to steer clear of the Alliance making their own claim.” He set the empty mug down beside the pilot’s console. “We didn’t talk coin. I told her that was for you and her to work out. But she did make it clear she’d have our charter for three months to get the job done.” Cal nodded, “Three months of honest work is no joke. You did good. Maybe I oughta attend more hoity parties like you. I’ll wave her down and walk her toward a figure that’ll put us right.” He moved to the ashtray on the captain’s console. “I got an inklin’ on how to find us a pilot, but I need to suss a few things. And we’ll need one for this gig.” Cal looked out the nose view pane, “You know Abby’s gonna be over the moon for this job.” He shook his head, “Girl loves the black more than white on rice. Didja see the chalk picture she drew on the hull before Osiris? Gigantic butterfly. ‘Mariposa,’ excuse me.” Cal sighed and ground his cigarette in the tray. To that, Yuri responded with a slow nod. [i]Hope she’s got her ‘surprised’ face ready,[/i] he mused briefly before lifting a mild smirk toward Cal. “Think we should add a bucket of chalk to our bid?” “Reckon I might just.” Cal hooked his duster on a finger as he made way toward the corridor. “Though, I oughtta inspect Edina’s cookin’, first. Man alive, woman’s got a way with spices, don’t she?” “She’ll be pleased to hear that, sir.” Yuri collected the coffee mug as Cal made for the corridor hatch. “Museum’s expecting us today. I’ll set the meeting.” “Shiny,” Cal replied, then hesitated half-way through the hatch, “And Sam?” “Yes, Cal?” “Don’t tell nobody you saw me in this getup,” he said, gesturing to his shirt. “Goes for you, too,” he said, pointing to Yuri. “Saw you in what?” the first mate asked. “My lips are sealed,” her lilting accent punctuated the digital smirk. “Uh-huh,” Cal replied before disappearing, shortly before the sound of his bunk ladder clapping shut behind him. Reassured by the heavy clang of the ladder hatch, Yuri cast an eye toward the video capture pickup. “So…Sam?” he said easily, “did you get pretty pictures?” “High resolution color,” the AI responded crisply. “Good.” A smile touched his feetures as he strode toward the hatch. “Please add ‘em to the ‘Blackmail’ folder, along with Abby’s new nickname…Cornflakes.” “Already done.”