[center][h2]Houses of Stone[/h2][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/VAc8UZD.png[/img][/center] Cal Strand, Sister Lyen Giu, and S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A. appear courtesy of [@wanderingwolf] Aboard China Doll, ‘Merry Hob’ was having a high old time. The mere seconds granted her crew to change over from working a ground op to whipping and running like a rabbit meant precious little stowing and battening. While the galley stove mighta been doused an’ hot grease an’ boiling water dumped, time wasn’t left to secure pots, pans, and lots of sharp edges that now became missiles with each wild maneuver the boat undertook to avoid capture. Likewise, the cargo bay. Though Edina had been careful to pack each artifact as they came up, what she wasn’t prepared for were the work tables themselves, which now stampeded about the place like a herd of enraged cattle. No place was safe; each time the boat rolled or plunged, the tables, along with bracing pipes and any other tools they managed to knock loose, would tumble about, tearing down the poly sheeting as they lined up once again on their human target. “Eddie!” Cal’s voice over her helmet comm, barely distinguishable over the blood roaring in her ears. “We gotta close that belly hatch!” “Doing it…NOW!” she grunted, propelling herself upward with a backward flip that just managed to evade the ragged claw of a shattered table leg. She had some four meters to cross on a pitching deck, with the boat’s G forces climbing as she took on speed. Time to haul [i]pi gu[/i]... For the moment, China Doll was scooting through clear black…the worst possible place to be..with the Reavers right on her heels. Ever since Abby’s voice crackled over the comm….”R#%vers”... Cal ordered every trick in the book to avoid their grapples and harpoons without bleeding off any of the precious speed that was gonna mean livin’ or dyin’ today. The Firefly swept over the distant ridge, rolled onto its’ head, and then plunged down, down, down the asteroid’s shadowy backside. Their pursuers, all close and angling for kill shots, were caught off guard, and forced to make wider turns to keep up the chase. The captain craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the hunters. “Two Sampans,” he said aloud, “with a Trans U callin’ the shots. Little guy bringin’ up the rear…I can barely make him out. SAM?” “Unusual,” the AI responded. “The radar signature indicates a Peregrine class racing yacht. There are radar distortion anomalies, typical result of Alliance Stealth Tech hull coating.” “He was painted black,” Cal observed as he tapped the pilot’s shoulder. “Down there. In the asteroid belt,” he said, pointing toward a wall of stone. “Get us in there.” “The Peregrine’s drive signature is still clean,” SAM replied, though none heard her for the welling argument in the cockpit. “None of the usual reactor containment issues. The Peregrine could be a recent capture…” The pilot was aghast. “In there?” “Like now,” the Captain ordered. “We’ll get killed in there!” “We’ll get killed out here! You’re a hot shit pilot. Time to show us what you can do.” The flyboy shook his head at the advancing wall of stone. “What I can do is keep us outta there!,” he said. “Never had a sim for nothing like that…cuz it’s slap dab moon brained!” “”What?” Cal demanded. “You mean all those thousands of hours an’...” There was no time for this. With a grimace, the Captain took the copilot’s chair. Hands driven by years of muscle memory activated controls and brought his yolk to life. “Then call me moon brained. I got the stick,” he growled. “Stay up here with me. I need your eyes. This is gonna get real stupid, real fast.” “It’s already there!” the discharged pilot took his hands off his yolk. The firefly swooped into the asteroid belt, her captain white knuckling his yolk and throttles as he threaded a very lethal needle. “The Sampans are pursuing,” S.A.M.A.N.T.H.A. reported. “Radar indicates the Trans-U is keeping pace from the belt’s exterior. The Peregrine has reversed course.” “Gorramit,” Cal swore to himself. His people on the ground were sitting ducks. [i]One tussle at a time,[/i] he reminded himself as he hauled the boat’s nose into a narrow gap. [i]Won’t matter to them if I can’t get us outta this one alive.[/i] In the cargo bay, Edina had sprinted…if such was possible in an EV suit…the final distance to the equipment controls. With one hand to steady her before the small panel, she turned the key beneath the hatch lever, which changed a once solid red LED to a rapidfire flashing. “Closing the belly hatch,” she announced over her helmet comm. Her hand wrapped the lever’s grip, pushing upward, when a sudden blow sent her tumbling over the panel. She felt herself roll, her body pitched like a rag doll, trampled beneath a marauding table. Suddenly, black sky. Table flying into nothing. Houses of stone rising up to the underside of the boat. Edina heard herself scream, but in the confines of her helmet it seemed a muffled, inconsequential thing. “Edina! Pull!” That’s when she felt the hands. They had her by the calves. She could feel the fingers struggling for a better grip. “The hatch is closing! Pull! Edina!” Transfixed as she was, she almost didn’t make the connection. If anyone was to ask her later, Edina would say she honestly didn’t remember stretching her arms out wide til her hands caught the advancing edges of the outer hatch. She used their momentum, both halves of the hatch lifting her up as they came together. An arm tucked about her waist, pulling her to final safety as the inner hatch rose and sealed into place. Now restored, Edina took a ragged breath, turned, and looked through the suit faceplate into the almond eyes of her rescuer. “Sister…thank you,” she stammered. The nun responded with a smile. “How else can I be of service?” “Y’all alright down there?” Cal asked over their helmet comms. “Yes, Captain,” both Sister Lyen and Edina responded as one. “Shiny. Here’s what I need. Get to Abby’s quarters. Grab her guns and ammo. Also, every mop, broom, and roll of duct tape you can find. Bring ‘em to the galley.” “On it,” Edina replied a touch shakily as she and Lyen dodged more of flying table wreckage. “What are we doing?” “Gonna take short pointy things an’ make long pointy things out of ‘em, [i]dohn mah[/i]?”