wanderingwolf — Roleplayer Guild

Cold Calculations

New Melbourne

Properly caffeinated thanks to Hook's brew, Cal entered a silent bridge, except for the whirring and ticking of one S.A.M.N.T.H.A.

"Hey Sam, how're our fuel reserves lookin'," Captain Strand asked the empty room as he sat in the pilot's chair.

"Hello Cal, our reserves have been topped off thanks to the crew that departed last evening. We're fueled up and ready to 'break atmo' as you put it," there were hints of a smile forming on the digital lips of the speaker--the slight, black box that sat on the flight console.

"Now, that's great news to hear. Penelope been treating you right? Not riddling you with questions, is she?"

"Whatever do you mean, Cal?"

"I guess you're just as inquisitive as she is," Strand chuckled.

"Why do you ask?" Sam replied, unfazed by Cal's pronouncement.

"Well, see, Marisol, or General Chavez, alluded to you being part of some larger Alliance conspiracy to control people's minds. Sounds a bit far fetched to me..." the man was picking lint off the arm of his shirt.

"She was correct."

"Come again?" Cal said, looking up as if he could make eye contact with the black box.

"Through neural links."

"Neural what?" Cal paused, chewing on the direction this conversation was headed.

"A microchip embedded in human hosts allows me to suggest actions based on micro haptic feedback in the chip itself," Sam's Bostonian accent lilted from word to word, matter-of-factually.

Cal stroked his chin, listening. So Marisol was telling the truth, and there were more secrets here to be plumbed. "You mention any of this to the pilot?"

"It hasn't come up," Sam replied, "would you like me to?"

"No, not right now. Let's keep mum on all things to do with the Alliance," Cal shook his head, "Don't need any more Purple Bellies showin' up on my boat."

"Purple Bellies?" Sam asked, intoning the word 'bellies.'

Captain Strand laughed aloud. "You had to be there, sister." Changing the subject, he asked, "How's the weather fairin' for launch day?"

"Skies are clear here, but there's a category four hurricane about five-hundred miles North East of us. They're calling it Hurricane Daniel."

"Movin' this way?" Cal brows knit together.

"No, satellite reports read it's moving at about ten miles per hour, North Westerly."

"Jao Gao (not good)," Strand muttered; the China Doll was due in that direction tomorrow for cargo pickup. "Well, let's hope it clears up."

"Unlikely, as historical almanacs indicate--" Sam began.

"--I don't need the details, just a little hope is all," Cal interrupted. "We're about to be heavy with cargo, fish, for a leg to Greenleaf..." He started, then hesitated.  "How cold would the passenger and crew areas get during a sixteen hour flight in the black?"

The black box on the console was silent for a moment as whirring and ticking filled the void of Sam's response. "At sixteen hours without atmospheric temperature systems, the external hull temperature in the shade would be near negative one-hundred degrees Celsius, and in direct light from the suns, as hot as two-hundred and sixty Celsius," Sam began, "As an average, there is more shade on our route to Greenleaf with enough light from local suns for the China Doll to maintain an internal temperature of negative five degrees Celsius without atmospheric systems for that amount of time."

"That ought to do the trick," Cal said, considering it would freeze their four-thousand-pound haul of illegally fished tuna for his buyer on Greenleaf. Given that the season had just officially opened in New Melbourne, any ship caught with cargo prior to yesterday would face serious charges and impoundment.

"At that temperature, you may expose passengers and crew to suppressed immune systems. You may want to ask Alana if she has any preventative means to stave off illness," Sam implored.

"Good thinkin', I'll be sure to have a chat with her before we launch." Beyond bundling up and those couple space heaters he had in storage, Cal couldn't think of any other 'preventative means' aside from gritting teeth. "Now, let's get you set in the avionics bay, that way inquisitive eyes needn't go snoopin' about." With one hand on the Epsilon adapter, he carefully snapped loose the black box from the console and made his way down into the avionics bay.

Collaboration with @sail3695 and @wanderingwolf

The Galley

Mornin’ come with a fresh batch ‘o’ pain tah her backside, but the same old need fer some coffee.  Abby’s still in the doctorin’ gown with its’ back all open.  After diggin’ in her duffel, she come out with her bathrobe.

She’s halfway up the steps when she conjured what a bad idea this was.  Ever’thin’’ hurt this mornin’.  If it was North of her knees an’ South of her navel, it hurt like all hell...sore, stiff, an’ stingin’ tah beat all.  Wrapped in her bathrobe an’ barefoot, Abby climbed one step at a time.  Left foot up, pull on tha handrail, right foot up.  Repeat, gasp, repeat.  

She rounded the turn into tha galley, limpin’ along like she’s ninety.  Her eyes was dulled with pain, but still brightened a whit at sight of a pot ‘o’ coffee.  After a careful pour out, Abby shuffled tah tha big dinin’ table.  Once her mug touched down, she lowered herself inta a chair, eyes half closed and mouth hung open  as she eased onta her left hip.

Leanin’ as she was, weren’t no way tah git comfortable.   But when that first taste of Hook’s coffee passed her lips, she conjured it was worth tha hurt.  Abby swivelled forward, hair all askew, her hands closed over the steamin’ mug.  She closed her eyes an’ breathed in tha fragrance.  Still, she thought.  Jest keep still.

“Goooood morning Abigail!” Captain Strand said at outside volume as he crossed from the crew quarters, “How’s our favorite holey deckhand fairing this fine day?” The scent of coffee crossed his nose, “Ah, worshippin’ the Almighty Bean, I see.” The captain beamed as he stepped up to the pot himself, filling a tin cup which he set down across from the sagging young woman. “Now I think there’s just one question needs answerin’: doc let you keep the bullet what caught you in the pi gu?”

Fer a second there, she ‘membered Aunt Lupe, boomin’ out her ‘good mornin’s’ tah Uncle Bob when she knowed full well he’s all hung over.  Abby ain’t never had no hangover, but somethin’ ‘bout tha way Cap’n was carryin’ hisself this mornin’ give her tha notion gettin’ it like this must feel perty gorram close tah tha real thing.  Her mouth was all set tah crank out somethin’ a deckhand shouldn’t oughtta say tah her Cap’n...so she swallowed that right quick.  “Cap’n,” she shifted, careful not tah set down on her right cheek.  “Ain’t fer certain, but I think I fergot tah pick it up.  I’s sorta moon brained last night.”

Cal smiled into his cup, “Don’t you worry none, look at it this way: if you don’t get this one, you always got the other cheek.” Setting down proper, Captain Strand took in the girl’s harried hair, her robe, her bloodshot eyes. “In seriousness, Abigail, how you doin’? I know it don’t feel that way right now, but it was Ta Ma Duh Jin Yun that bullet met where it did(damn lucky).” He took another sip before meeting her eye, “Plus, menfolk like scars.” 

“Got no plans tah go wavin’ that scar about,” she answered afore takin’ another swallow.  “But I’m walkin’,” Abby’s brows lifted.  “Shot tah tha paddin’s best place I could ever conjure...and Alana?  She took right good care.   Yah picked a good one in her.”  One more swallow warmed her insides.  “I’ll git sitchiated here in a short,” the girl propped on one elbow as she brought the mug down easy.  “Git them rooms all put right, an’ tha wash.”

“Much as I’d like to watch you try, I think Hook, Rex, and me can handle the rooms. That bullet earned you some sittin’ time… just not literally.” Cal took another mouthful of Hook’s coffee black as night. “Glad to hear the doc’s not wet behind the ears--you never know who you can rely on to stitch up a deck who catches lead while helpin’ strangers tip strange things into the ocean.” Captain Strand watched the woman, bent over and sideways as she was. “Reckon I ought to apologize for gettin’ you wrapped up with Ms. Baker.”

Abby scoffed at that.  “Weren’t nothin’ I didn’t know could happen in tha black.   I conjure you’n Hook kept that Fed from puttin’ a bullet inta one ‘o’ them boys.”   She thought on that moment, an’ them what led up to it.  “That Marisol woman,” she cast an eye upon Cal.  “Taught me some stuff ‘bout mechanickin’...more’n I knowed...knew...afore.  ‘Course they’s alot happenin’ ‘bout time she jumped, but what’s all that ‘plan A, plan B’ talk that come afore?”

Cal’s pursed his lips, “Marisol…” he began, pausing as Abby seemed to know more than she let on, “Is a complicated woman. I know it’s tempting to follow such a woman, given said woman’s enigmatic nature.” He hesitated, “‘Nother word for complicated; see what I’m gettin’ at here? She’s got her own agenda far from the China Doll, hell, she’s talkin’ about fighting a war, but the war’s been fought! Don’t you mind her talk of plans and such--your pi gu is a reminder of what can happen when folks follow ‘Ms. Baker’s’ lead.”

Abby thought on that.  War was somethin’...jest a thing, somethin’ yah knew was around but never part of yer day tah day.  War took her folks.  Uncle Bob said was the fever got her ma.  An’ her pa?  Thing called a ‘griz-wold.’  She looked it up once, an’ decided never agin.  Cap’n says it true,’ she unnerstood where he’s comin’ from.  There’s a life tah live.  She got a job, good job, near’s she could tell.  Good Cap’n.  Good boat.  That’s where her mettle was best spent...and then she ‘membered how she done Gǎo zále...

The girl’s brow furrowed.  “Got somethin’ yew should know,” she stared inta her coffee.  “I screwed up...gonna cost money.”

Cal’s expression didn’t change as he lifted the tin cup now half-full of coffee to his lips.

“Them Skyes,” she’s workin’ up what tah say ‘bout her foulup.  “I give that green haired girl my word she’d git three single rooms fer half fares each on this next run.”

Reclining in his chair, Captain Strand tipped his hat up, “Now why would you go and do a thing like that?”

“‘Cuz I’m stupid,” she dern near spat the word.  “She come to tha cargo bay with Ms. Ba...Marisol,” the deckhand said.  “Actin’ all friendly an’ such, ‘til we got that first crate open.  Then she set tah bargainin’...try’na git free passage.   We’s hoverin’ in a gorram storm an’ she’s…” Abby give an exasperated sigh an’ a shake of her head. “So I promised her what I did to shut up an’ stop gummin’ up tha works.”   Her eyes wore remorse as she looked up.  “I’m sorry, Cap’n.  Made a bad call.  I’m willin’ tah work off tha cost...anyway yew say’s shiny with me.”

Cal met her eye with a steel look in his own. Less fare meant crew ate outta pocket. Meant Badger’s thin line they’d managed to just scrape above was threatened. He’d looked over the numbers, and they didn’t look good--not with Badger claiming seventy percent. If it weren’t for the next job he’d lined up… Those eight ten-plus-pound salmon he and Hook caught last night were starting to look mighty small. “Three for half?” he said, tone measured. In light of what had happened in that storm, the cost amounted to adding insult to infamy--now that there was a dead Fed not reporting in on Marisol’s whereabouts, and his last known location aboard the China Doll.

Her eyes was moist.  “I’m powerful sorry,” Abby give ‘em a wipe on the sleeve of her robe.  “An’ bein’ all laid up...but I could still help.  Yah need somebody out front fer bookin’s?  Sure’n I could handle that ‘til I’m back on muh feet.”

Seeing Abigail laid up, twisted in her chair from the Fed’s bullet, and crying to boot softened his frown. With a sigh, he said, “Clean yourself up, kid, and you’ll do just that. We need to recoup two more rooms at standard rate for this haul to Greenleaf, dohn-ma?” He loosened his jaw to take in the last of his coffee.

“Thank yew, Cap’n.”  She fought the quiver at her lip an’ give a nod. ‘I’ll git squared an’ right out there,” Abby piped up.  “An’ I’d be much obliged if yah’d take mah share back?   All I need’s enough tah git a couple pairs ‘o’ socks.”

Captain Strand rose, “Socks, huh?” He chewed on that for a moment, “You earned your share workin’ hard as anyone on this boat. Deck works hard, she gets paid for what she done. You’ll take your share, buy your socks, and fill the Doll with folk, just like you did on Persephone. Of that I have no doubt.” If she’d asked him square, he would’ve told her he’d have done the same thing in her shoes. In the moment, she negotiated for what needed to be done, and for that Cal knew he’d chosen true in Abigail.

Abby ran fingers through her hair, pullin’ it all back tah fall more proper.  “Yessir, Cap’n,” she nodded all serious.  “Mighty kind ‘o’ yew...I won’t letcha down agin.”

 With that, Cal set his tin cup in the sink and made his way toward the cockpit.

The girl watched him go.  Uncle Bob used tah talk about “the measure of a man.”  Hard fer her tah conjure at first ‘cuz it didn’t have nothin’ tah do with a yardstick.  Only since she took tah sproutin’ inta her womanhood an’ seein’ how men behaved toward her did his words ring home.  Cap’n was a man who gave trust, even after she let him down.  A man who knowed what’s in her heart to do right by ‘im.  As Cal headed forward, his measure looked mighty tall in her eyes.

He’d left the clipboard for her.  Abby welled up at the sight.

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