sail3695

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Hey Dan,

Look for a PM.

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Firefly - Second 'Verse

Hi Jarl,

Sending you a PM.

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Firefly - Second 'Verse

Lightfoot's song is a decent retelling of the story they knew as of 1976. Obviously he had to take some poetic/dramatic license to build cohesive lyrics (the Fitz wasn't headed for Cleveland,) but even after 45 years it still carries the emotional impact.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

"The church bell chimed til it rang twenty-nine times
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald." -Gordon Lightfoot

Yesterday was the 46th anniversary of the sinking. At about 7:10PM on 11/10/75, without issuing a distress call, the Fitzgerald disappeared from the radar of the Arthur Anderson, another iron boat that was 10 miles behind her in a particularly violent November gale.

She went down with all hands. Her ending was abrupt.

Since that night, the sinking of Edmund Fitzgerald has been the subject of debate and no small amount of acrimony. The initial Coast Guard report on the sinking blamed her demise to "improperly applied hatch clamps." The Anderson's captain was convinced that she bottomed out on the six fathom shoal, a well known (but poorly charted) hazard to navigation. Ohter armchair historians point toward the condition of the vessel herself, heavily laden and with numerous stress cracks and a loose keel.

A final hypothesis is the documented appearance of two forty foot rogue waves. These waves struck the Anderson at roughly 7:00PM. Their height was confirmed by the damage done to a lifeboat on the upper deck.

As I was writing "And The Seal Shall Yield Up," I attempted to involve each of these hypotheses as accomplices to the sinking of the Eileen McSorley. Having read several books, the USCG and Canadian reports, as well as the dearth of interview footage featuring the Anderson's captain and aux crew from the Fitzgerald, I tend to believe that it was a number of these failures combined that sent her to the bottom of Lake Superior.

Regardless, twenty-nine families were forever changed. I hope that my portrayals of fictional crew and captain were sufficiently respectful of those involved in the inspiration for this story.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

”What Comes Up…"

Lucky the Parrot and Rex Black are characters created by @Psych0pomp

“REX!” Abby give a harder knock this time. Rumors was true, ‘parantly. She heard he done got seasick. Abby seen the squeamish type afore. Them as come aboard with weak stomachs was just as like to catch the ‘spaceman’s malady’. “REX!”

The ladder hatch jerked open. “What?” His voice sounded powerful rough, an’ she held a quiet sympathy. The smell what come waftin’ up from inside ‘o’ Rex’s quarters was one tah pull the curl right outta her hair. Sweat, an’ stale clothes, an’ the scent of a man closed up doin’ naught but pukin’ hisself empty.

“I come fer Lucky,” the girl answered. “Boat’s startin’ to git cold. Gonna keep ‘im in tha engine room tonight.” She heard the man stirrin’ about his place, a flap ‘o’ wings, and tha hollow ring of Lucky’s cage door bein’ closed. A minute later the cage come up. Only part ‘o’ Rex on display was the hand what give it a shove onta tha deck. Lucky flappped his wings, keepin’ balance as his home come slidin’ to a stop. “Rex, I…” Her words was cut off by the hatch slammin shut in her face. Abby’s ‘bout tah pound on it til she heard the sound what muffled up from below. Rex was busy...bent over his commode agin.

She give ‘im a minute to collect himself, then swung the hatch open. “Rex,” Abby said quieter this time.

“WHAT NOW?” he demanded.

At first, Abby’s gonna climb down with her bag, til a glimpse below showed her the leopard print thong unders he’d slung over one ‘o’ the ladder rungs. “Brung yah some things,” she offered. “Towels...pack ‘o’ crackers...coupla bottles ‘o’ Cap’n Bob’s...fer yer stomach.” She held the bag out over tha hatch openin’. The same hand come up an’ snatched it down inta his lair.

“Thanks,” Rex said in a tired voice.

“No worries,” the deckhand replied. “Doc gimme couple pills fer yah, too. They’s in there. She says take ‘em both, right now.”

He balked at that. “How in hell...JAYSUS!” Rex exclaimed. “These are horse pills! How’m I supposed to get these down?”

“Doc says yer s’posed tah put ‘em up,” She couldn’t help the smirk what come next. “They’s suppositories.”

Silence from below. “Oh,” the First Mate replied. “You wanna give me a hand with these?”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Least yah ain’t puked out yer jackass.” Now she knowed Rex weren’t gon’ die, she could be at her chores. “I’m about. Lemme know if ya need more blankets an’ such.” Once his hatch was battened, the girl lifted the cage. “C’mon, Lucky,” she said all friendly like. “Let’s gitcha sitchiated fer tha night.”

The bird give ‘er some wary side eye as she took ‘im aft. Hook was busy in the galley, brewin’ up hot drinks an’ tendin’ a big pot ‘o’ somethin’ what already smelt perty fine. Despite tha gatherin’ cold, spirits all over tha China Doll was runnin’ high. Word was that the fella they hauled outta tha drink was alive, an’ the doc conjured he’d be on his feet in two shakes. Cap’n seemed perty positive…’buoyant,’ she’d read in one ‘o’ her books. Tellin’ jokes ‘bout “more mechanics than fish” in tha ocean. Either way, folk felt good ‘bout what they done today.

The radion core was spinnin just so when she come inta the engine room. “Here yah go,” Abby said. “Should be right cozy here fer tha night.” She hung Lucky’s cage from a utility hook overhead, right by the mechanic’s workbench. He’d be safe there, with all movin’ parts outta wing’s reach. “Gotta keep yah closed up,” she tole the parrot. “But I’ll keep checkin’ on yah til yer dad’s back on ‘is feet.”

Lucky seemed thoroughly unimpressed with his new surroundings and her assurances. He worked at the latch, beak open, miniscule tongue probing the device for any weakness. That morning, Rex had assured Abby that Lucky couldn’t open it. She’d take him at his word...for now.

From the engine room, she made the rounds of the boat, checkin’ faucets was runnin jest a trickle to ward off freezin’. She reminded them as had lavs in their quarters tah do the same, afore headin’ back to the galley. “Don’t conjure what that is,” Abby sniffed the air as she joined Hook, “but I’ma want a bowl of it.”

<open tag>

Firefly - Second 'Verse

A Word About Greenleaf:

firefly.fandom.com/wiki/Greenleaf

To add to that, our own Penelope is a native of the jungle. The term "barefoot" is slang used by the locals to describe themselves. Through Penelope's memories, we know that there is one large city on Greenleaf around which all the pharmaceutical producers and their supply chains have been built.

One of our passengers, Prof. Marquina, is a botanist who will head into Greenleaf's jungles on the report of a previously uncatalogued orchid.

I'll leave it to Pen to offer up any further local canon she's created. In some previous offline writing I created a run down saloon, "Hap's La Frontera." Not sure if this will feature at all in a story beyond Abby picking up a tee shirt, but local color is local color.

What we can guess is that big pharma means big money. You know what comes after that. Have fun!

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Firefly - Second 'Verse

Happy Monday from the cargo deck!

We're finally here. Episode 3 - "First World Problems" has officially begun! Players are invited to post for their characters' thoughts and activities that occur just after China Doll breaks atmo.

Also, there will be a crew JP for folk who're sharing the warmth of the Skyes' shuttle. Seeing as Wolf is traveling this Sunday for business I think we'll post the link to that doc tomorrow night. In the meantime, if you've got individual character posts or other JP's on the brain, now's the time.

16 hours to Greenleaf. No heat. Button up, kids.

Also, I just wanted to thank all of the crew for some outstanding writing of the Ep. 2 finale. You guys created a thrilling read! I can't wait to see what we'll do next.

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Firefly - Second 'Verse

Episode 3 - “First World Problems”

Preface

China Doll lifted herself into the black. For those lucky enough to be near a viewport, the swirling violence of the hurricane beneath presented a rare spectacle. The pilot’s hand was steady as she eased the boat onto her new heading. New Melbourne now lay to the ship’s thrusters. Sixteen hours ahead lay Greenleaf, a lush, tropical world whose teeming jungles had yielded to a burgeoning pharmaceutical trade. Opportunity...if you knew where to look.

As those aboard prepared for their frigid sojourn, crew and passengers alike entertained thoughts of just what might be awaiting them.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Episode 2 Finale Part 6 - “Big Damn Heroes”

JP/Collab from @Aalakrys, @wanderingwolf, @Gunther, @Xandrya, and @sail3695

“Hold on! We’ll get you!” Joe attempted to yell at the man he would later learn was named Yuri. As the ship steadied to a hover, Joe jumped up to his feet, moving with a purpose pulled a safety harness from a storage bin. The harness was constructed of an inch wide nylon webbing with a flotation device in the chest area. He placed it on the deck ensuring the leg holes were opened for his feet. Then he stepped inside. Reaching down to tug on the nylon straps, he pulled them up over his lower torso then over his shoulders. A simple click at the chest tightened the straps around his body.

“Good thinkin’ Hook,” Cal called as his deckhand settled the gear around himself. “I’ll grab the other one; What, you think you’re the only one gets to have fun?” But if his first mate’s eager footsteps toward the commode were any indication, this could end any number of ways. Looking up from beginning to strap himself in, Captain Strand laid eyes on the doctor, nodding her toward them as they gazed down the bomb bay opening at their feet. At her approach, and from the look in her eye, it became plain that sending the medic was a wiser choice. Unhitching himself, Cal held out the harness for Alana to step into.

Upon her arrival, Alana rushed over to Cal and Hook. "You're not going alone," she chimed in, noting what little she could make of the storm from a distance as she placed her bag down on the deck. Alana then wasted no time getting geared up. She moved quickly and efficiently, having been part of a rescue mission once or twice before. But despite the fact that she was moving expeditiously, Alana still took the time to give a few tugs here and there and double check the harness was secured on her body before hooking herself up to the cable.

Joe looked at the captain with a thumbs up. “Me and the doc will go get ‘em Cap’n. You kin operate the winch, a’ight?” He then moved closer to the bombay doors. When the winching cable and hook were close to chest level, he grabbed the hook and attached it to the D-ring on his chest harness. He made sure to pull a pair of heavy rubber gloves over his hands not knowing how cold the water would be. He coiled a strand of rope and attached it to his safety harness. He might be able to use it to tie around the man’s arms. He looked at the Doc, “you ready to get wet?”

“Let’s get this sorry Wong Ba Duhn before he freezes to death, dohn-ma?” Cal already had his hands on the winch line.

She scoffed with a smile. "As ready as I'll ever be. But please, after you," she motioned, not the least bit looking forward to voluntarily plunging into the cold depths below. "Adios, Captain. Do make sure Hook and myself—and our survivor over there—make it back in one piece." She stared at him for a silent second before turning her attention to the task at hand.

With a half-hearted smirk, Cal nodded to Alana, “Don’t worry Doc, I won’t let those other fish in the sea getcha.” Captain Strand raised his walkie with his free hand, “Abigail, fire up the starboard shuttle cabin heater, if you’d be so kind. Reckon three folk who might appreciate it--if we aren’t too late.”

“On it right now, Cap’n,” the deckhand’s voice crackled over the comm.

With a sudden roar and a hot wind, the heavens above split open. Blinding light washed over him, the force of another world smashing its’ way into this frozen hellscape. A slow hand rose to shield his eyes. The howling wind grew louder still, erasing all about him but the brilliant light above. He’d heard of people describing such visions when on the verge of death; Yuri reckoned this must be his time. The bitter wind carried gusts of warm air, even hot sometimes….which he knew wasn’t natural. As the next world reached toward him, the mechanic called his beliefs into question. His mother prayed to her ikons every day. She tried to persuade her boys to adopt the faith, though neither had. Now, as he gazed upward into that holy light, the sight of two angels descending filled the youngest Antonov with regret. “I...don’t....deserve,” he tried to stammer.

As Joe and the Doctor lowered toward the surface of the water, he forgot any fear of heights he may have. This soul needed help and that was all he could focus on. His boots lowered into the icy cold water. It was a shock initially, but the price needed to be paid. Joe unhooked himself from the winch cable and swam ten meters to the frozen figure gripping to what appeared was once a table. “T’sall gonna be alright, man,” Joe’s soothing voice attempted to calm the figure, to let him know survival was imminent. Joe pulled the rope around the man’s back, lifting each arm one at a time to wrap it around his body. He then tied it off in the front and made a loop at a distant end. “Don’ talk. Jus’ let me do my job.”

Following her counterpart, Alana fought against the waves and the wind to get closer to Hook and the half dead man. To say the job was far from easy was quite the understatement as she was just about being tossed like a damn ragdoll. That, and she found the deep ocean terribly unsettling. And was she the greatest swimmer? Absolutely not.

“Doc, bring that cable closer so I can hook this on,” Joe yelled over the din of the China Doll’s engines. As Alana brought the line closer Joe continued talking to the frozen figure. “Everything gonna be a’ight, man. Don’ you worry none. You be warm and safe soon.”

“Just about there!” she practically yelled, being a few strokes away. Her body involuntarily shivered to protest against the freezing water but slowed down none. They had a mission to accomplish after all. A moment later, Alana handed off the cable to Hook.

One of the angels was dark skinned with deep, knowing eyes. Yuri felt weak as a child in his powerful grip. The second angel had golden hair, all aglow in the heavenly light. He’d seen her before...in mamushka’s ikon. Her eyes flowed compassion. As they lifted him up, Yuri could only weep. “Unworthy,” he rasped. “Unworthy.”

“Ah’ll stay in the water for now. Git ‘em up into the Doll quick!” Joe yelled to Alana. He planned to wait long enough for the winch to go up and then back down so he could get out of the frigid water too. It was cold. His body started to grow accustomed to the temperature, but he knew that only meant his own body temperature was adjusting.

The man was hooked up to the line. He was safe for now, and Alana pulled out the penlight from her small side pocket. Battling the elements, she shined the light on both of his eyes. He began mumbling something or the other, but she calmly shushed him. At least his pupils were responding. Alana then put the light away and nodded in response. "Don't stray too far now or I'll have to jump back in after you as well." She then wrapped her arm around the man's back, securing him against her. She waved up at the captain to pull them back up before looking down at Hook. She was not happy leaving him to fend for himself, but they didn't have any other choice.

Cal peered into the dark waves illuminated in the sharp contrast of spotlight from Pen and Sam on the China Doll’s bridge. He could make out Alana and Joe, soaked to the bone, lashing a cable around a dark form. Cal shook his head, chance said they were too late, and fate was even less generous. That’s when the signal came, and Captain Strand hit the winch, patting his open palm against the cargo bay wall to spur the Doll on faster.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Alana impatiently waited as they were pulled up the remainder of the way before reaching out with her foot for support. She maneuvered the both of them onto the deck, her patient nearly making her crumble under his weight as the cable wasn't holding him up anymore. Alana immediately unhooked herself from the line so it could go back down to Joe. She did the same for her patient, who was on the brink of collapsing himself, and she used some of what little strength she had to carefully guide him down to lie flat on his back.

Zagrobnaya zhizn'. The Afterlife. His mother had warned him to be prepared for it. “Live a virtuous life, Yuri,” she admonished the rebellious teen. “A virtuous life…” One of the angels, she who had the golden hair, knelt over him, obscuring much of his view. He thought she was speaking. Her mouth moved, though he heard nothing but the eternal roar. Wherever she’d laid him down felt solid enough. The surface moved and shuddered beneath him, but not enough to force him clinging for his life. A bulkhead. Yuri saw a bulkhead. Was this the Mick? “The reactor,” he rasped. “Have to finish the scram…” He made to rise up, get back to his post.

Cal recognized the rantings of a man close to death, visited upon by regrets and fears. This man was still on the ship, hoping to flip the killswitch in time--hoping vainly to button up whatever catastrophe had befallen his vessel. His shaky hands reached out, but Alana had him by the shoulder. Strand still manned the winch, steadying it to plunge back into the soup for his man.

A present, albeit weak pulse. No dislocations, one major fracture on his left arm, and no heavy bleeding. Also, no frostbite on any of his extremities, which had quite the potential in particular case. Lots of cuts and bruises to add, though the guy did survive a shipwreck so that was to be expected. Her initial screening was meant to check for any life-threatening injuries that had been sustained. She looked over her shoulder at Cal. "As soon as Hook is back up we need that stretcher!" From the corner of her eye, she noticed movement. He was trying to get up. "No, you need to lie back down." Her voice was calm, yet stern. Ever so gently, Alana placed both of her hands on his chest to prevent him from sitting up, reassuring him that he was safe and no longer in danger. One hand broke away as she reached into her medbag for a makeshift splint in order to prevent further injury to his arm. She also reached in for a sedative as he was pretty out of it. Whatever blow to the head he received was not doing him any favors at the moment. Alana once more reassured him he would be all right as she injected the sedative. The effects of it would be nearly instantaneous, and it would be beneficial for his concussion in the long run. Moving about like a chicken with its head cut off would only make matters worse for him. After settling him down some, she began to place the temporary splint on his arm, all while readying herself in case there was any sudden movement.

“Way ahead of you sister,” Captain Strand said as he wrenched the lever to retrieve Hook. “Joe, hook in!” He called through the bomb bay doors.

Joe could feel the cold creeping deep to his core. He wondered how long this man had been here. He remembered the report of the Eileen McSorley sinking, assumed he was a crewman. The cold was still tolerable. Annoying but tolerable. He looked up at the belly of the China Doll, his home. It was an unusual sight from this perspective. Eventually the winch cable returned. Joe’s hands were shaking. He reached for the hook. Pulled himself closer and worked at trying to get the winch cable’s hook onto his D-ring. He fumbled with it in the waves as he rose and fell away and toward it. It was a seesaw battle and took more than few tries. Finally, he was reattached to the cable. He waved his arms violently yelling, “pull me up!” repeatedly to get the others’ attention to pull him back into the cargo bay. He knew it was going to be cold. He planned to shower and change his clothing then set about baking pies to stay warm in the galley.

Cal worked the winch as fast as he could to the opening, then abandoned his post to hoist the deckhand up the final step, pulling off the winch’s hold on his “D” clasp. “Fine work, Hook,” he added before returning to the console to shut the hydraulic bomb-bay door.

Once, Joe Hooker was back in the cargo bay dripping like a drowned rat, he quickly pulled the safety harness off. He shivered from the cold clothing that clung to his body. “Shall we help get him to the shuttle, Cap’n?”

“This way,” Cal led the soaking Hook to the infirmary to pick up the expandable stretcher. They returned a moment later, kneeling the stretcher beside the luckiest man stranded in New Melbourne’s Rigby Ocean. “Let’s get him to the starboard shuttle ASAP.”

Yuri couldn’t cease trembling; though wrested from icy grip that held him for God-knows-how long, he felt it welling up inside him. The golden-haired woman oversaw his movement to a stretcher. She watched over him, tending wounds he’d not even been aware of. His mechanic’s ear picked up the sound of metal...heavy plated driven hydraulically, until with a solid report they came together. At once, the tormenting wind was muted.

He heard another roar, this one steady and echoing slightly as two men, one of them his rescuer, hefted the stretcher. “Engine thrust,” he muttered, his voice slurred by whatever she had given him. Atmospheric thrusters...large open bay. A space going vessel. He thought to ask...so many questions...but the tiredness rolled over him like the first warmth he’d known. As the men carried him up a set of steps, the woman hurried at his side. Her hair flashed gold each time they passed beneath a light. Angelic…

Once the man they’d plucked from the drink--all thanks to Sam and Penelope--was deposited in the warming shuttle with his doctor, Captain Strand raised his walkie to the bridge. “Penelope, doc’s tendin’ to your distress signal in the shuttle. Looks like we were just in the nick of time.“ Much as he treasured playing the ‘Good Samaritan,’ the captain scanned the four-thousand pounds of King Tuna in his hold with a singular intention: get to the black.

Hearing they’d managed to save the person after all let tension all wound tight in Penelople’s shoulders ease some. She hadn’t known it was there, what with all the force of her lean muscles having the focus thanks to the bit of wind they were holding up in. “That’s fine news - let me know when the rest of our crew is all fastened in and I’ll get our cargo squared away at a steady freeze in the black.”

At her reply, Cal added, “Let’s not tempt fate in this storm. Take us up and out.”

Now that they were closed up and everyone was tucked in, new passenger included, Penelope let the wind rock back the head of the ship. The momentum pushed the China Doll’s nose up, loosening the tension the pilot had been straining against while they retrieved the person from the waves below. She spun the dual-engine thrusters in the release, pushing the throttle steady to get them above the clouds and on into the black. Riding at that angle made for some turbulence until they broke cloud cover, but she kept the jolting as minimal as she could without losing the trajectory. It’d make for a cleaner break, which she always appreciated.

Fade to black.

Roll credits.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Episode 2 Finale Part 5 - “And The Sea Shall Yield Up”

JP/Collab from @Aalakrys, @wanderingwolf, @Gunther, @Xandrya, and @sail3695

Time spent on a pitching deck proved a skosh too harsh on Rex’s stomach. With a complexion gone long past green, the First Mate beat a hasty retreat aft, toward an appointment with the porcelain bowl. Things were looking up; the Cap’n had that easy look about him as China Doll buttoned up her bomb bay for a trip upstairs.

But nothing in this ‘verse comes easy. When the call came, it almost sounded like somebody was spoofin’. Someone named Sam was certain of a castaway, adrift on the wild sea. Cap’n thought better of rushing into the rescue, until an immovable Pen and this...Sam...managed to turn his thinking on the matter.

“Ladies! Go Hwong Tong. What part of ASAP ain’t clear--look, go pick up this Buhn Dahn before this whole job is Soh Ya Feh Tian.” (‘Enough of this nonsense’, moron, and ‘ruined at the last moment’, respectively).

"Shiny, Cap'n, can do." Pen’s voice was nigh on chipper over the intercom. Aow alone in the cargo bay, Cal and Hook could feel the force of China Doll’s atmo engines as Pen gave her the spurs. They were on their way to yet another uncertain outcome...with a boat full of fish that’d be much happier in the icy black.

Under full atmo thrust, the Firefly hurtled North. The seas beneath her hull grew ever more restless, as ominous cloud and increasingly violent wind harried her flight. As predicted, Hurricane Daniel was dying out in the much colder latitudes, but the death would prove a lingering, hard fought affair.

Joe grabbed a railing to steady himself feeling the power of the Firefly class ship move towards the distress signal. He didn’t know what they were going for, but was ready to help anyway he could.

Once she reined the ship back under her hand, Penelope checked with Sam that they hadn't strayed the estimation. No corrections were needed on speed, but they’d strayed a few degrees so she flipped the engine thrusters to hover and adjusted while letting off the throttle at an ease. They’d traveled north a ways, and external temperatures had dropped. So much for needin’ that sweater later on.

Now they just to find the source of the signal. In waves topping out in 15' while wind whipped against the ship, the China Doll descended from above the clouds. From where she sat, it was easy to spot the strayed wreckage through the viewport. Debris that was floating spread wide across the wavetops that rose and fell like someone had shook up the ocean nice and good. Hurricanes would do it, she supposed, as her eyes scanned what they could. Sam spoke up when they neared the spread. Just before the nose of the ship covered her view, she thought she’d glimpsed a huddled figure atop a wide splintered section of wood. "Cap'n, need eyes below. Pretty sure we’re over our target."

The turbulence in the sea could be felt in the sky, that was for certain. Penelope activated the underbelly floodlights as a gust struck at the neck of the bird, and instead of cresting she used the push to slow their glide. She knew without the engines burning, the ship would sail right on down like the hunk of metal it was, but used her past experience with gliders in conjunction with the Firefly capabilities rather than defaulted to what she knew. If she had to have any ship to pull this off in, it would be this one. Even if it required a bit more strain of the muscle to keep her dancin’ in this storm. In fact, the last words that’d left her lips were strained with that effort. As she held tight the controls with both hands firm, she spoke to herself with gleeful delight through the tensity, her eyes just as alight. “Tempest, my favorite mistress, you’re makin’ our final number this trip one to remember. Why not go a li’l easier for the poor soul below, ey?”

Nothing.

There was nothing left of this world but angry black clouds, howling wind, and mountains of water that tossed him about. The first of his senses to go was that of time. Though sluggish daylight had come, he couldn’t gauge the day’s passage. It might be midafternoon...or it might be years past...the ocean’s fury offered no hint by which to orient his thinking. It simply pummelled...and pummelled, and pummelled again.

Yuri, battered and chilled through and through as he was, could scarcely be bothered. Fearing the loss of his hands, he’d secured the strap to his left bicep. Now, legs that barely answered splayed across the remnants of the splintering table. His fingers were melded into two claw hooks. He couldn’t move them independently...but on the bright side, he couldn’t feel them, either. In fact, he was feeling less and less of the storm’s punishment. A deep sense of relaxation washed over him...sweet and smooth. He had to remember...he had to tap the code.

* * * - - - * * *

It was something to do...a subconscious response. The drummer held a dignified quietude as he laid down the beat. The piano fell in, an amazing whisper, kept on a delicate balance by the musician’s brilliance in knowing not just chords and rhythms, but the measure of force. Such a simple backbeat, but the whole room was held transfixed by this ancient music...this jazz…

“Brubeck.” Yuri smiled.

** ** - - ** **

”The SOS,” some voice murmured. Really kind of rude for anyone to be talking right now, when the saxophone was just about to join in. Yuri glanced about the darkened nightclub. Not a sign of the uncouth dolt. ”SOS...”

“Oh,” a wave crashed over his shattered life raft, threatening to roll him off as it swept him into a trough. That’s right...he had to send the signal.

* * * -- --- --- * * *

Yuri didn’t know if the contraption worked anymore. For all the pounding and drenching it took, most likely it didn’t...and he cared not a bit. All the radio seemed good for was to bring him back to the here and now, trapped in a body that was on its way toward shutting down amid the icy waves. They weren’t gonna find him...at least not when it mattered. So why torture himself? That night in Birdland was right there, reaching out to him. A warm comfort in the darkness, the hand of a beautiful woman...what was her name? And Brubeck. Brubeck to take him home…

China Doll dropped through the racing clouds. The Firefly swept in over the wavetops, her belly mounted searchlights playing beams that danced and plunged over the roiling tempest. Her atmo engines swiveled, going vertical as she came to a hover in the storm.

Luck be damned, Cal had hailed Alana to tend to a possible shipwreck survivor. She knew the hurricane had taken some lives with it, and it was a miracle the poor soul had survived at all. She grabbed her medical bag which was always at the ready, slinging it over her shoulder so it hung across her frame, then took off for the cargo bay.

As the doc joined Hook and Cal in the cargo bay, the com squawked. Pen’s voice rose from the tiny speaker. "Cap'n, need eyes below. Pretty sure we’re over our target."

At Penelope’s call, Cal flipped open the bomb bay doors again, peering through the wind and rain to the sharp waves below. Sure as the mail, the China Doll hovered and lilted over a scrap of something buoyant enough to buoy a lifeless figure to the surface. As the Captain opened the hatch, Joe dropped into a prone on the cargo bay floor looking out at the surface below. His hand clipped on the walkie, “Hold steady, I see ‘em twenty feet below.” Just as the Captain radioed the bridge, Joe pointed at the figure in the water.

“Sure thing, Cap’n,” Penelope chirped back as she set the Doll to hover over the ocean for the third time during this visit to New Melbourne. This time, there was more a sense of purpose for her - the first, an unknown criminal act, the second just pickin’ up some fish - also could be judged as a criminal act if’n they didn’t go loop-holin’. But this time they were savin’ someone. It made the tension in her arms all the more easy to just be part of it.

********************To Be Continued**********************