Happy Landings
The rush of cold air announced the hatch’s opening. “Kin I come in?”
The voice was unfamiliar. All that Yuri could deduce was its’ owner had to be female, and sounded young. He pulled the sheet up to mid chest before answering. “Yes.”
A girl stepped into the shuttle. The fresh face with a few lingering freckles from childhood offered clues. She was medium height, a bit on the thin side, and her reddish hair told its’ own tale of what she valued. But to Yuri, the real prize was tucked under one of her arms in the form of his boots and neatly folded clothes. “Name’s Abby,” she offered. “Cleaned yer clothes. I also soaked the salt outta them boots and dried ‘em proper. They might be a fair bit stiff fer a few days.”
Yuri sat up to receive his things. “Thank you. I’m Yuri...Yuri Antonov.” He gratefully accepted his things before eyeing a tightly rolled blue tee shirt. “I don’t think that’s mine.”
“Doc didn’t conjure yah gettin’ that arm inta a coverall sleeve,” the girl replied. “Thought I’d give yah that tee shirt tah wear underneath.” She eyed the sling. “Need help gettin’ into it?”
“No, I…” The mechanic looked downward, gauging the actual mechanics of getting into a tee shirt with a broken arm. “Actually...yes,” he grinned sheepishly. “I could use a bit of help.”
“Shiny.” With the girl to stabilize his arm, Yuri removed the sling. She carefully guided the left sleeve up the forearm, and past the elbow until it rested upon the securely bound bicep. After a tilt of his head and the right arm through, he was in. Abby helped him pull the shirt down upon his torso before applying the sling once again. “Fits perfectly,” he smiled his satisfaction. “Jinks Marine Outfitters, Pensacola,” he read the artful design. “I like it.”
“I’s gon’ use it fer sleepin’,” the teenager said, “but yew can have it.” She looked over the remainder of his boots and clothing. “How ‘bout all this? Yah good, or do yah need a hand?”
Honestly, he had no idea, but Yuri wasn’t about to expose his nethers to the girl, no matter how helpful she was. “I think I can manage, but thank you, Abby. You’ve been so kind.”
“T’ain’t nothin’,” she tossed her hair. “We’ll be on tha ground soon. Gotta head fer the engine room.”
“Are you the mechanic?”
“Don’t got one right now,” Abby said. “Hopin’ tah hire on Greenleaf. I’m jest babysittin’.” She pointed toward the shuttle’s seating. “Once yer dressed, kindly strap inta one ‘o’ them chairs? Burn-in’s always a skosh rough,
dohn mah?”
”Ku.” After a final glance toward the tee shirt, Abby made her exit. Yuri set to work, struggling into the underwear and coveralls, which he could only button to mid chest height. He’d just slipped into his boots and was pondering their lacing as the first buffetting caused the hull to shudder. Yuri strapped himself in, and spent the next minutes listening to China Doll sing her songs of burn in and the rough caress of the winds over Greenleaf.
He closed his eyes, focusing upon every subtle shift and nuance of the boat’s changing attitude.
This pilot’s got a great hand, the mechanic observed as the landing...acid test for flying prowess...was performed with the fluid grace of a dancer on pointed toe.
They were down. People would be coming for him. He could only hope that Niska was good as his word.
Lady Arya
wanderingwolf
Tlaloc
erikh