Yardiff Bey was walking to the pool with his eye on a particularly gorgeous lady in a string bikini when all the suddenly ....


*WHHHOOOSHHHH*

A transport ship buzzed over his compound at a breakneck speed and sent tables, chairs and guests flying. The wind generated from the thing almost put out his firepit! He was trying to calm down his guests when the gorram BUN tyen-shung duh ee-DWAY-RO flew pass again. This time the draft hauled half of the water out of the pool and dumped it directly on Yuri and his A-list clients.

“What’s going down Yari?”

“It’s the Feds!”

“I’m all wet!”

“We gotta get out of here!”

“No!” Yari called out and raised his arms. “Please, relax. I will deal with this. Trust me!” He walked around assuring everyone that things were okay and that he would take care of the situation. He snapped his fingers at the women and servants to make sure people had distractions from this disaster. He had no idea who it was that flew by but they would not be allowed to ruin his day. No one ruins Yardiff Bey’s Party.

He activated the communicator on his multiband and signaled his men in the hanger. “Boys! Get the Angel in the air. Find the Ching-wah TSAO duh liou mahng in that gorram Go tsao de transport and take them down. I don’t want enough of them left to do a DNA trace. Take everything!!!!! Dohn Ma??

“Woooooohoooooooo!”

BANG! CRACK! PTAANNNNG!
“We gotcha now ya gorram thievin’ monkeys!”

PTOW! PTOW! KRAAANNNG!
“Aw guay, Huey! They’s gon’ kill us…”

“Bi jhwe!”

“…They’s gon’ catch us an’ they’s gon’ kill us!”

“Shut up an’ keep runnin’, Louie!”

Huey reached a hand back to grab a handful of his brother’s shirt in order to haul him along and, in doing so, was rewarded with a quick but clear look at the men who were chasing them…

Ta mah duh! he thought as his fingers found a tangle of flannel and clamped on, Louie’s right… He could almost see down the barrel of the revolver that had harassed them these last fifty yards or so, and the hoof beats of the horses pounded like thunder under his feet… We’s humped!
…He grunted with the effort as he slung his brother ahead and tried not to look back at the men who he knew would have them dead to rights in just another heartbeat. “Keep runnin’,” he wheezed again, planning on repeating that mantra, over and over, for himself as much as Louie, “Keep… runn… Oooooofff!!”

Did I jus’ run inta a gorram tree?! Huey, half-dazed and half-panicked, scrabbled to his feet, shaking his head to clear the haze from his eyes, and ran blindly into that same gorram tree! This time, though, it didn’t knock him on his pi guh. Nope. This time it caught him before he could fall. And he realized, then, that it wasn’t a tree he’d run into but a man…

“Be still, little rabbit…”

…a bald, little, Chinese man. He ain’t but a stitch er two bigger’n me.
“…You are allowing your feet to get ahead of your mind.”

“But they’s gon’ kiiiiillll us,” Huey finally admitted with a wail, lifting a pitiful finger to indicate the pursuing herdsmen, as the little bald man steadied him.

“There will be no killing,” the little Chinese guy smiled reassuringly.

Huey didn’t realize it until it had happened but, as he… Is he a monk?… as the monk spoke, he had also maneuvered Huey to stand next to his brother (who was grinnin’ like th’ cat what et th’ c’nary for some gorram reason). He wanted to run, again, as he watched the three cowboys rein in their horses… wanted to run even more when the one with the pistol leapt from his saddle… but there was something weirdly reassuring about the little monk’s presence and Huey stood there next to Louie, eyes wide and tears quickly drying on dirt-streaked cheeks.

“Weeellll,” Pistol-man drawled overmuch as he swaggered closer, lifting the brim of his hat with the barrel of his iron, “Welll, well, well! I done told ya we’d getcha, din’ I?..”

“Stay,” Huey heard the monk say, feeling the emphasis of that command in the subtle change in pressure of the monk’s hand on his shoulder, “We shall go home shortly. Dohn mah?”

“Y…yeah,” Huey nodded as the Chinaman’s hand slipped away, “O…okay.”

Louie just grinned bigger and swayed back and forth a little, like he had to pee or something, and gawked after the little monk as he turned and strode calmly away to meet the pistol-wielding cowhand.

“C’mon, Pete,” one of the two who’d stayed in their saddles called as the monk and the cowboy came within ten paces of one another, “This is plumb stupid, puhn yoh!”

“Yeah,” agreed the other one as both men stopped and the monk bowed, “You’ve had yer fun. Let them kids go an’ let’s git back ta th’ herd.”

“Keep yer bloomers on,” Pete called back, sneering at the monk who stood between him and the two urchin boys, “This won’ take but a minnit.”

“Buddha bless you,” the monk smiled.

“Step aside, Cooley,” Pete blustered, nodding at the boys, “Them there’s some ruttin’ thieves an’ they’s fixin’ ta git what thieves git!”

“Thieves?” The monk’s smile never wavered, nor did his position. His tone, though, seemed to lean a mite to the incredulous side. “What have they stolen?”

Pistol Pete’s sneer faltered a little at that but only for an instant. His fingers flexed around the revolver’s grip and he snarled his answer; “Beans!”

“Beans,” the monk repeated.

“Yeah,” Pete growled as if beans were platinum, “Two bowls o’ beans an’ some corn cakes, matter-o-fact! Prob’ly nicked a canteen too I betcha!”

The monk nodded and, still, smiled. “And you would kill two young boys for two bowls of beans?”

Pete’s mouth opened and closed like he was trying to speak but there weren’t any words coming out of his mouth. This seemed to make the blustering cowpoke even angrier, though, and his grip on the pistol tightened as he began to draw a slow bead on the little monk who stood in front of him. “Yeah,” he decided to answer, a decidedly wicked smirk on his lips as he eyed the monk down the barrel of his iron, “an’ might be I’ll throw in a pajama-pants Cooley jus’ ta make it a lucky three, dohn mah?”

“Aw, c’mon, Pete,” the first horseman moaned, shifting in his saddle as if he wasn’t quite sure whether he should dismount or not, “The guy’s a priest!”

“There is no need for violence,” the monk smiled, his right hand clenching into a fist and his left, open palmed, moving to respectfully cover that fist as he offered another short bow, “Please, put your gun away.”

Pete snorted, coming just short of outright laughing, and spat in the dry grass at the monk’s feet. “Only way this iron sees leather, little man, is if it gets it a taste o’ thievin’ feh feh or if yo…”

There was a series of muffled pops accompanying a flurry of movement that no one was quite sure they saw properly. Regardless of what anyone saw, or thought they saw, or didn’t see, or didn’t think they’d see, the end result was Pete being disarmed and the pistol returned to his holster before he – or anyone else – could blink. The cowboy’s arm was still extended, his hand still curled as if the pistol was still in it and he was aiming at the monk… and he blinked in dumb disbelief as he came to the slow realization that it wasn’t. “What the…”

“Apologies,” the monk smiled calmly, “you were going to say ‘or if I put it away for you,’ were you not?”

Pete finally blinked passed his own empty gun-hand and glowered at the little priest.

“Look at those boys,” the monk suggested as Pete’s mouth worked on words that still failed to pass his lips, “I do not think they are thieves so much as they are hungry. Allow me to take them away from here unharmed, then, come and see me at the orphanage in the morning, and I will see to it that you are given recompense for your beans…”

“I’ll take my gorram recompense right ruttin’ now,” Pete growled, intending to rip his pistol from its holster and put a bullet to the little monk… wipe that smile from the chinaman’s face permanent-like…

“Pete! No!”


Fssssh…pop…pop…pop… fsssst.
…Pete’s arm extended, he sneered viciously, and his finger squeezed a trigger that wasn’t there… He knew he’d skinned the iron. Knew he’d felt its grips in his palm and it’s trigger under his finger. Knew that the little monk’s face should be a bloody pulpy hole through which he could see the thieving boys by now. But, somehow, the pistol seemed to have never made it from the holster and the monk was still standing there, still smiling…

“Please,” the monk persisted, his smile not quite as warm as it had been an instant ago, “Do not do that again. I do not wish to hurt you.”

“Peeeete… C’mon, puhn yoh…”

“Hurt me?!” The words were meant to come out on a laugh but the anger and embarrassment that had continued to well in Pistol Pete’s heart bore them onto the prairie air on something more akin to an enraged screech, “Gun cai (f*** off), little man! I’m gonna kill you!”

Pete’s hand, missing the pistol it was accustomed to gripping, curled into a fist, launched with ferocious intent at the monk’s head, and, though the little Chinese man hadn’t appeared to move, missed completely.

“Gorramit!!!” Pete howled, swinging at the monk, now, with a haymaker left…

“PETE!!!”

“Reason, I see, is lost on you,” the monk observed, leaning back a fraction so that Pete’s wild swing whiffed harmlessly past the tip of his nose, “I am sorry that it must come to this.”

Everyone but Pete saw the monk move, then. The little man rocked forward and his right hand shot forward, palm open, to strike the enraged cowboy in the solar plexus. The air exploded from Pete’s lungs with such force that it appeared to have lifted him from his feet and launched him backwards to land, on his back and unconscious, some three meters away.

“Ta mah duh,” Huey and Louie breathed together as the other two cowboys finally dismounted.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Fu Sheng,” one of them said, addressing the monk, as the other crouched down beside Pete’s finally still form, “Pete’s kinda new on the crew an’ had more’n a little to drink. We tried ta get him to cool his heels but…”

“Quite all right, Dan,” Fu Sheng smiled, waving a hand to dismiss the apology, “I don’t believe there was anything you might have done to keep him from this path. He seemed rather determined.”

“Heh,” Dan chuffed, casting a glance at where Pete lay a few feet away, “I reckon he was.” He grinned at Fu Sheng, then, and nodded past the little monk to where Huey and Louie stood, right where they had been told to, and asked; “Them a couple o’ yers?”

“They are now,” Fu Sheng nodded.

“Figgered as much.”

“How is Bryant Shian Shen?”

“Doin’ good,” Dan replied as he and the little priest moved to assist the third cowboy with lifting Pete onto his horses back, “Him an’ Miss Kathy’re plumb tickled that yer goin’ on this run fer ‘em. Hell, all o’ us are. Things go smooth an’ crops oughta start lookin’ up fer ev’ryone, round here… Won’t make Deadwood no Harvest or nothin’ but least ways we shouldn’t have ta go off-world as much…”

“That is the hope,” Fu Sheng smiled, backing away as Dan and his partner finished securing a now moaning Pete into his saddle. “Do these boys owe you anything for the supper they took?”

“Nope,” Dan shook his head, “I reckon not.”

“Wha…” Pete mumbled, trying to lift his head and survey the surroundings through bleary eyes, “Wha’ th’ hells happened?”

“You done got set on yer pi guh is what,” Dan answered with a chuckle.

“I feel like I been kicked by a mule.”

“Nah,” the other cowboy smirked, “Smacked by a Sphinx. I warned ya.”

“Buddha bless you,” Fu Sheng added, patting Pete lightly on the cheek and then offering yet another bow.

“Buddha bless you, Cheung Fu Sheng,” Dan called as the little monk wandered away and gathered up the two boys, “You mind yerself out there in the Black, puhn yoh!”

Fu Sheng lifted a hand in reply to that as he whispered to a stop before Huey and Louie and offered them a smile.

“Are you really Fu Sheng the Sphinx,” Huey asked, wide eyed.

“I was,” the little monk replied, “a long time ago...”

“Told ya so,” Louie said, nudging his brother with an elbow.

“…Now, I am simply Cheung Fu Sheng,” the monk continued, gesturing towards where the lights of the Moriah Gulch Orphanage had begun to wink through the gathering night, “You may call me Sifu. Come. Let’s get you home and washed. I am sure that your brother will be happy to see you.”

“Dewey?!? You know where Dewey is?!? He ain’t dead?”

Fu Sheng smiled as he looked into the eyes of the boys that scurried along beside him. The tears that fell from those young eyes weren’t born of fear, now… Instead, they were tears of happiness. “No,” he answered, “only sleeping. He’s wondered about the two of you since he came to us…It is by Buddha’s grace that I found you tonight.”

The mechanic took the tool from John’s hand, thanking him, and resumed his quick work under the open compartment. Waiting for the guy to emerge John laid his backpack against the side of the ship, it didn’t take long as soon the mechanic was standing, surveying John, the man’s eyes lingering on his sidearm, and shaking his hand.

"Thanks again for the interlocutor, woulda sucked having to crawl all the way out to grab it. Name’s Fenris.

“John Ryan.”

“Glad to meet ya."

John was just about to explain his presence when a familiar pop caused Fenris, who had been collecting his tools, to swear loudly and an unfamiliar voice to sound through the bay-door speaker, addressing Fenris as Wolf and asking what was happening. The mechanic, Wolf, responded through the in-ship comms before turning back to John.

"Well like I said it was nice meeting ya and thanks for the help, but I have to get back to trying to fix this go tsao duh of an electrical system."

John smiled a bit once Wolf had finished, he couldn’t help it, his prospects looked even better now he knew the mechanic was having problems with the electricals.

“Gimmee a looksee. I’m not half bad with dog humped electricals.”

At first Fenris was hesitant to let the stranger under the ship; however he had still not been able to figure out the problem. Looking this ‘John Ryan’ over he decided, against better judgment, and went with his gut. Waving him to where he had just crawled out of he made it very clear what would happen if John were to attempt sabotage.

“Ok go for it. But mister if you damage her more then she is already I’ll pack you into one of her engine exhaust fans and then start her up.”

Nonplussed, and reaching into an inner pocket of his jacket, John pulled out a miniature tool case and asked Wolf about his tools.

“Can I use some of your tools? Most o’ mine are packed and ‘n’ these won’t do the big stuff” Brandishing the small case to make his point clear. Noting that the tools Ryan was showing were the real thing the mechanic’s trust of the strange went up a notch.

“Yeah help yourself.”

Removing his jacked the stranger slipping under the ship and, using the interlocutor, opening the compartment flap John instantly saw the shiny new grav-dampener and surmised the problem, having seen similar before, a compatibility issue between the ship’s software and the new part’s firmware. Diligently, however, John pulled a pencil torch from the tool case and began examining the surrounding systems, finding nothing else wrong he calls out to Wolf.

“You want a quick patch or something more permanent”

After getting a quick run down on the exact nature of what Ryan was talking about Wolf, knowing you get nothing for free, leaned over to look Ryan in the face.

“Say I agree to you fixing her up what do you want in return. Ain’t got much creds”

“Gimmee a chance as pilot and I’ll patch it for free, the proper fix’ll ground her for a while and I’ll charge if I’m not crew.”

Hearing the stranger’s offer he knew he’d have to ask Wyatt first. Moving once again to the intercom he called the Captain once more.

“Cap’n I got a take on what the problem is and I can’t fix it. I got a guy here o’ name of Ryan says he can do a quick or permanent fix but he wants a shot at pilot”

"Well, then," Wyatt's calm voice returned followed by a slight echo. "I suggest y' allow the fine gentleman his recourse, an' then show him t' the bridge."

Returning to where Ryan waited under the compartment, Wolf once again kneeled down to talk to the man.

“Cap says you get your shot if you can do a perma fix and get us up for the test safely.”

Knowing he'd heard his best offer John spent the next short while flat on his back, the grav-dampener above him, expertly disconnecting, re-wiring, and re-connecting it. First he had to isolate the component from the surrounding systems, easy enough, but then re-wiring everything so that it worked hitch-free was more troublesome and involved a small element of trailing and testing connections until the right connections were found. As surprising as he found it John hadn’t actually done this kind of work on a firefly before, but he’d done it on other ships of similar age and things weren’t significantly different. Finally, reconnecting the device, John locked up the compartment and slipped out from under the ship, carefully pulled on his jacket, and gave his verdict.

“She ain’t delicate but don’t let her get thrown about. Probably be best for me to keep an eye on the internals if you’re flying though, make sure all’s well.”

“Thanks for the fix. Well Captain Wyatt said you get a shot at being our new pilot so I better get you up to the bridge ta meet him”


(OOC: Ok stopped the post here so Lance can post an intro between himself and the stranger and how Ryan ends up in the engine room with Wolf. Will post a reaction to ‘Dudes’ wild flying later.)

Lights lit across the control board as Gator began the start-up sequence. The ship rocked gently as she left the ground. Tess stood quietly behind the captain as the would-be pilot hit the switch for the comm.

“Wolf dude! Let’s get ready to rumble!!!!”

Her stomach dropped a notch as he let Rocinante dip towards the ground before launching her into the sky. Clouds rushed by as he rocked the ship on. Her nose dipped sharply towards the ground and he let out a bellow, “Weeyooo!” Crops fanned out in front of Rocinante’s prow, and Tess winced as he swung her around sharply.

Easy, boy. she thought, feeling the ship creek beneath her feet, ain’t like we got Reavers on our tail.
Gator’s hand stretched out and reached for the switch to kill the starboard engine.

Oh Ancestors Above. Tess grabbed the co-pilot’s chair to brace herself before Rocinante began spinning wildly. Her mind had switched into that calm, placid field, letting all thoughts and emotion wash over her as the ship was thrown into disarray. He re-engaged the engine and shot across the field of crops once more. Tess’s grip tightened as he threw Rocinante into a barrel roll, and then drove her into an accelerated climb.

And there goes the relays. She could feel the grav start to slide as he pushed the ship more and more as they climbed to the black. Images of all hell breaking loose briefly blipped into her mind before she pushed them aside. The ship wasn’t in a bad way. Yet. Pots and pans clattered in the galley as they momentarily lost gravitation throughout the ship.

Glancing down at the display screen told Tess that they had barely left the atmosphere before Gator slammed his hand down into the button to activate full burn. Then it happened. An unearthly sound rocketed through the ship. It was a horse galloping. Tess knew the sounds well. The sound filled her ears and …

She was riding off to gather up a cow that had strayed from the herd. Her daddy had sent her to get it all by herself. All by herself! He reckon’d it was down in the gulch, which meant at least a twenty minute ride all on her own. Her heart swelled with pride at the thought of gettin’ that cow. After all, her twelve birthday was comin’ up, and her daddy had trusted her with a lot of responsibility.

Black clouds swelled above her, promising that her catch wouldn’t be a dry one. Tessa shook a yellow rain slicker out of her saddle bags and threw it over her shoulders. Lightening began streaking across the sky and thunder bellowed. Sweetness, the beloved Morgan she rode, shivered and wickered.

“Easy now, girl,” Tessa said, patting the horse on the flanks. The storm escalated quicker than Tessa had expected. The sky was completely dark, blotting out the sun and giving the gulch a gloomy look. Lightning and thunder continued to inundate the heavens. She shivered herself. Daddy’s counting on me.
The cow was found munching a few patches of grass under a single tree in the gulch. It looked up at them with dull eyes before continuing to graze. A flash lit up the area around them and a loud boom sounded in answer. Sweetness crow hopped and whinnied. Tessa’s hands patted the horse again, more reassuring herself than the horse. She was vaguely aware that stray strands of dry hair had begun to stand up from her head.

As they were about fifty yards away from the cow, lightening struck again. A flash blinded Tessa momentarily as it hit the scrubby tree, and a sound like a gunshot went off in her ears. Sweetness reared and pivoted, letting out a shriek as she galloped out the way they came.

…goose bumps erupted across her skin.

They had found a horse ranch that was in neutral territory. Joe Bronson was sympathetic to the Brown Coats, and had agreed on letting troops stage at his ranch for the ground battles on Ezra. There was the added advantage of having a flanking position against the gathered purple bellied troops that looked to be preparing assault in the next day or two. Tess had been charged with transporting minor troops and supplies to Bronson’s place. He had given a specific location for her to land so the transport wouldn’t spook the horses.

Thirty six hours of transport later, Tess had just finished guiding the craft down for the last run. This is it. I hope it’ll give em’ hell, at least for a little while.
She rested against the hull of the ship as she watched the last of the troops unload the mules with crates of ammunition. Hers was the last, and then they would blast those purple bellies to the ever lovin’ hells they believed in. Calls of orders broke her out of her moment of rest. She strode out into the middle of the clearing to observe the last of the supplies get loaded up. A smile broke across her face as she heard the words, “Gorram it, private! If I have t’ jump this Yi Dwei Da Buen Chuo Roh crate one more time, I’ll be sending your Feh Feh Pi Goh across those lines first!”

A sound rent the sky. A sound that rumbled at first, and then slowly grew in pitch. She knew what it was. Flyin’ Angels. But she was the last of the fleet to be landing today. Those angels weren’t there for their salvation.

A spy.
“Get in the gorram ship!” she screamed. Men stopped in stride, hands poised above straps for the cargo, cigarettes halfway to mouths.

“GET TO THE SHIP!” She ran full out towards the transport. Lights erupted in the direction of Bronson’s ranch. The Alliance were bombing his ranch, along with the dozen platoons of ground troops, supplies, and land vehicles. A terrible sound drifted towards her from the farm’s direction. It grew steadily louder as Tess approached the cargo doors, and she had just swung herself inside before she could hear nothing else. Her hand swayed towards the button to shut the doors, but men were still scrambling to get inside.

The sound was screaming.

Hundreds of horses were galloping away from the ranch in terror. Their shrieks filled Tess’s ears as she watched them thunder past. One hit the side of the transport and split its side open. Hot blood sprayed into the cargo doors, but it kept galloping past as if all hell itself was close on its tail.

It was a gallop of terror.

Gator pulled out of the hard burn. The sounds of the galloping horse faded away. The hair on Tess’s arms stood straight on end, and she stared at the lanky yuppy that sat in the pilot’s chair. Wyatt leaned over, picked his hat up off the ground, and moved towards Gator. His face was inscrutable. Blood pounded in Tess’s ears

He leaned down towards Gator and said, “Get the hell outta my pilot’s chair.”

Tess didn’t even have time to think. As soon as Gator stood up, she took one step towards that lanky chwen joo, pulled back her fist and laid it square into the man’s jaw.

Moriah Gulch Orphanage: Moriah Gulch, Deadwood – 12:30 p.m. local time
“Let’s chase dragonflies!!!”

Fu Sheng smiled, watching as a group of younger children stormed off across the meadow in pursuit of the target insects that where driven from the grasses in advance of the exuberant kids, and, after a long moment, curled his legs underneath him and pulled a well-worn book from where it had waited in his coat. He sat the thing in his lap and, still watching Little Flower and her friends, let his fingers drift over the tome’s title- The Wisdom of No Escape - embossed into its leather cover. He absently flipped the cover open as his gaze panned left and took interest in the seven older kids who had decided to practice their wushu despite being told they were free to spend this class-time doing whatever they wished to do. The little monk thumbed past the first pages of the book and, once again, shifted his attention to another student (a girl of thirteen or so who had found a spot beneath a scraggly tree with her sketchbook) when Rebecca Tanner, one of the too few teachers in Moriah Gulch, knelt down in the grass beside him.

“No kung fu, today,” she asked after a minute or so spent in silence.

“No, Tanner shao jeh,” Fu Sheng answered, his eyes dipping to the page beneath his fingertips, reading the first sentence (for the hundredth time), and then turning to regard the sandy-haired woman beside him as he closed the book’s cover…

“Rebecca,” the younger woman demurred, “please.”

“Rebecca,” Fu Sheng nodded, his smile widening a little and his cheeks, perhaps, flushing a bit. “No, there is no gong fu, today… Rebecca.

Today,” the little monk said, folding his hands atop the book in his lap and letting his gaze drift over the meadow, “I thought perhaps I would let them teach me for a change.”

“Teach you,” the school teacher asked curiously, only to be answered with an enigmatic nod and smile until she pressed the matter, “Teach you what exactly?”

Fu Sheng contemplated this for a moment, his eyes drifting over the field to take each of the children before settling, once more, on the teacher who sat beside him in the grass. “They teach me what it means to be a child,” he grinned, “to be free.”

Rebecca smiled, herself, and nodded as if she understood the little monk’s explanation but, even at that, her eyes met his and asked for more.

“The taolu, the wushu forms, that I teach them are lessons in structure,” Fu Sheng said, “Instruction in cultivating their chi… guidance in harnessing and directing it… this,” he made a sweeping gesture with one hand to indicate the various clusters of children, “allows them to let that chi flow, uninhibited, and express themselves outside the confines of that structure.

It is pure and free and innocent,” the monk smiled, his eyes meeting Rebecca’s once again before wandering away to observe a small group of kindergarteners tumbling down a tiny knoll. “I teach them structure,” he shrugged faintly, “and they teach me abandon.”

“Purity, freedom, and innocence. All things that you missed experiencing when you were a child,” Rebecca whispered after a moment, not really having intended for her thoughts to escape her head just that way. Most people at the orphanage knew all about Fu Sheng’s ‘childhood,’ it was not a secret that he tried, at all, to hide, but, that didn’t mean he ever cared to discuss it. Most people knew that, too. She swallowed hard, then, and nervously folded her hands in her lap as she tried to look at anyone... at anything… but the gently smiling Chinese man beside her.

“What I did not experience then,” she heard him say, “I experience now…” she felt the feather-light touch of one of the monk’s hands on her shoulder and watched as the other made a sweeping gesture to indicate his ‘class,’ “…through them…” she felt more than saw him smile at her, then “…through you.”

There was a hint of sadness hiding in the school teacher’s return smile when she at last offered it and, perhaps, it was that secret melancholy that prompted the young woman to close her hand over the priest’s where it rested atop the book just then; “You are a curious man, Sifu Cheung…”

“Fu Sheng,” the monk offered with a grin, strategically interrupting the words that flowed from the school teacher’s lips and through her mind, “please.”

“Fu Sheng,” Rebecca repeated, offering a sheepish smile when she realized she had inadvertently taken the monk’s hand in hers and blushing a bit when she, at last, let it go, “Of course.

I… I’m sorry.” Her gaze tried to flit away, again, and she wasn’t sure exactly what to do with her hands.

“No need for apologies, Rebecca shao jeh,” Fu Sheng said as he captured her hands between his own, “Touch communicates where words often fail, no?”

Her own hands steadied as, clasped gently between the monk’s, they were guided back into her lap and released from their escort. “I suppose it does,” she said, her cheeks still pink, as she managed to look away from him and follow the antics of the dragonfly-chasers.

Fu Sheng seemed content to follow suit and, for several long moments, the both sat there, watching the children at play.

“They’re going to miss you,” Rebecca said, finally.

“And I am going to miss them,” Fu Sheng answered.

There was more silence as they watched Little Flower stalk and narrowly miss capturing a particularly large dragonfly.

“They’re worried about you.”

“I know.”

“They’re worried that there will be Reavers,” she laughed, only a little nervously.

“Yes, and, one night a year, a fat man, in a red velvet suit, sneaks into our houses through the chimney,” Fu Sheng allowed a chuckle of his own, “Very scary.”

Rebecca giggled at that, the nervousness she felt dispersing a little in the face of Fu Sheng’s levity. That respite lasted only an instant, though, and as the school teacher’s laughter was carried away on a prairie breeze, she and the monk were left in silence for another short while. Her smile faded in that silence, too, and she wondered if the monk could sense what it was that had chased it away… wondered if she should tell him even if he could… “They’re worried that you won’t come back,” she almost whispered, after a time, her eyes shining as they framed the serene face of the monk, “I’m worried that you won’t come back.”

“That the birds of worry and care fly over our heads, this we cannot change,” Fu Sheng said, just as softly, as he turned to look at the woman beside him, “but that they build nests in our hair, this we can prevent.”

The school teacher found her smile again and offered a nod but said nothing in reply.

“I will come back,” it was Fu Sheng’s turn to break the silence, at last, and he did so with a characteristic smile and a light touch on her cheek, “I promise.”

You can’t promise, she wanted to tell him, it’s not your way. You go where you’re needed and you stay as long as that’s so. What if you find someone who needs you more than we do? Although her lips moved as if she might just say so, no sound made it past them and, instead, she just smiled a little brighter and took his hand from her cheek. “I…” She held his hand between hers for a second longer and then let it go; “When do you leave?”

“This evening,” Fu Sheng answered, “Bryant Shian Shen and the others have purchased my passage on a small transport that’s leaving from Spearfish.”

“Will you stop in to see me before you go,” Rebecca asked, “I’ve got something… the children drew you some pictures… and…”

“I caught one!!! Sifu!!! I caught one!!!”

The monk and the teacher let go of each other’s eyes then and turned them toward the meadow where Little Flower, wide-eyed with excitement and her hands cupped together, was racing toward them with her dragonfly-chasing cohorts close behind. It wasn’t long before the breathless little girl, her hands, in which the dragonfly was caged, held out before her stood before them. “Sifu,” she grinned, “I caught one… Hi Miss Tanner…”

“Hello, Jin Lei,” Rebecca smiled in reply.

“So you have said, Little Flower,” Fu Sheng said, grinning up at the little girl, “let me see.”

Little Flower thrust her hands forward, then, and Fu Sheng caught them in his own. He peered between her fingers as the insect that waited patiently inside it’s temporary cell. “Ah, yes,” the monk smiled, “and orange-veined darner. Very pretty.”

Little Flower’s smile widened as the monk let her hands go. “Does it make good medicine, Sifu?”

“I am certain it has useful properties,” Fu Sheng nodded, reaching out once again for the girl’s hands and, this time, coming away with the dragonfly trapped in his own, “but, even better than medicine,” he grinned, “they make wonderful snacks.” He popped the darner into his mouth, then, and made a show of displaying his hands to prove that the little bug was no longer in them.

“Eeeeeeewwww!” more than one of the girls squealed.

Little Flower laughed and swatted the little monk playfully; “Sifu!”

Fu Sheng offered a wide smile and then opened his mouth and the dragonfly flew away. “Run,” he said, making a gesture to shoo Little Flower and her friends away, “go play. Class time is almost over.”

Little Flower and her friends scurried away giggling and squealing as Fu Sheng turned to regard the now truly smiling Rebecca Tanner. “Of course I will come and see you,” he said, “you did not think I would go without saying goodbye, I hope?”

“No,” Rebecca replied with a faint shake of her head that set her braids to bouncing on her shoulders, “I know better than that.” She smiled at him, then, and started to get to her feet, nodding at the book in his hands as he followed suit; “Are you enjoying the book?”

“The first two pages are very enlightening,” the monk answered with a cryptic smile, “but, then, the words start and, though I have tried many times, I can never manage to get past the first sentence.”

First two pages? Rebecca wondered, glancing, first, at the book; And then the words start?, and then, back to the monk’s smiling face as her own smile quirked up on one side, causing the freckles across her nose to dance. “The first two pages are blank.”

“Indeed,” Fu Sheng nodded, “It took me three days to understand the first.”

Rebecca blinked.

The monk laughed softly; “Perhaps I will find the time to read it on my trip.”

“You are a curious man, Cheung Fu Sheng,” Rebecca shook her head and laughed, as well.

“I should go,” she said, then, gesturing toward the building that served as the orphanage’s school house, “I’ve got a class to prepare for…”

“Yes,” Fu Sheng smiled in reply, “and, I, one to end.”

“So,” Rebecca said, backing away, now, almost reluctantly, “I’ll see you about 4:30 or so, then?”

“Yes,” the monk nodded, smiling at her even as he raised a hand in the air to silently summon his class, “4:30. I shall see you then.”

“Shiny.”

“Buddha bless you, Rebecca Tanner,” Fu Sheng added as the children gathered before him.

“It’s Becky,” the school teacher answered as she turned and strolled toward the school house, “and bless you, too, Fu Sheng.”

“Becky,” Fu Sheng repeated, almost under his breath…

“Sifu,” a young voice interrupted his thoughts… Buddha be praised… “Umm… did ya want us ta med’tate er sump’n ‘fore th’ end o’ class?”

“Meditation,” the monk nodded, still smiling as his gaze shifted from the departing school-teacher to the waiting children, “Yes. Exactly…”

“Why’s yer cheeks pink, Sifu?”
...

John rushed into the cockpit, flinging himself up the few steps with the aid of the handrails, just in time to see Captain Sung yelling at the man in the pilots chair and his other competition, a younger girl who seemed to have a bit of a temper, punch the man square in the face. Making a note to not make her angry if he ever saw her again, John, brushing a dishevelled strand of hair from his forehead, addressed the captain.

“Chuan zung, the steep ascent threw the grav-dampener out, it couldn’t compensate so we lost a-grav for a bit.”

Although thinking back on the short flight that was probably one of the more minor things that could have happened. Back in the engine room everything had kicked off as soon as the floor uncharacteristically fallen away from them just after take-off. Both himself and Wolf watched in disbelief as circuit after circuit sparked, it was all they could do to reset them to keep the engine spinning and the whole ship from kissing the dirt, then the grav-dampener slipped and failed to compensate for a few moments. The suddenly competing forces tossed everything not strapped down, throwing both John and Wolf across the engine room; and by the sound of it quite a few pots and pans around the galley. Knowing he’d get it in the teeth if he didn’t explain John resolved to, as soon as the ship had stabled out, explain why it was the pilots fault the grav-dampener had failed.

Having explained the fault John couldn’t help but add insult to injury, after all for a decent number of years he’d captained his own ship and although he wouldn’t have ever hired a pilot he defiantly wouldn’t have hired the guy that just flew. The man, recovering being punched in the face, although likely more suffering from shock and wounded pride, was slumped near the pilots chair when John passed him on the way to the avionics bay. John, pausing, remarked “Dun da bao tian.” before turning back to the captain to make a request in his normal, professional, tone “I’d like to check avionics, gèng hǎo de ānquán bǐ yíhàn.”

((OOC: Avionics, as mentioned in the Q&A is down the ladder in front/below the pilot’s and captain’s chairs.
“Chuan zung.” – Captain
“Dun da bao tian.” – Recklessly bold/extremely audacious
“Gèng hǎo de ānquán bǐ yíhàn.” – Better safe than sorry))

Remove old lockset, disassemble strike plate and clean plate receiving area.
Measure depth of deadbolt penetration and align strike plate TR34065 with receiver location.
Measure alignment location. If replacing a BlueSun security cabinet lockset ,match model number to replacement list for mounting match location.
This model TR 57634 BIOtech Storage Security Unit is designed for the greatest unauthorized access deterrence with simplest ease installation.
“Sure that sounds great but why won’t it open?” Ash poured over the installation and operating instruction of his new TR 57634 BIOtech locks he’d just installed on his gun cabinets. All three cabinet were the same GSB4578 BlueSun gun security cabinets. They were matched serial numbers and they were listed on the replacement list that came with the units. He’d followed the programming and the other two had operated fine.

Ash had left his quarters in hoping that getting away would help make things clearer. He’d made his way through the cargo bay to just outside the engine room. If the kid couldn’t figure it out he’d fetch the plasma cutter to remove he lock.

Just as Ash was about to toss the gorram papers, Wolf and a stranger came through to the engine room.

(O.O.C. assuming Wolf would briefly introduce John )

Wolf stopped as he and a stranger noticed Asher's frustration. The mechanic gave a brief introduction to John and said that he was here for the pilots test. Wolf had said the man helped him outside and Capt’n was allowing him to follow up it the engine room.

The man noticed the specs in Asher’s hand ask what had him so twitchy.

With a weak smile Ash said.” I put these new locks on my cabinets and one won’t open. I’ve tried everything I can think of and I was about to get the cutters and burn the gorram thing out.”

The stranger held out his hand asked if he might see the paper. Ash looked skeptical, but Wolf gave him a nod so the kid handed the papers to John.

John chuckled as he opened the papers. He told Ash it was a good model but they have their quirks. First thing he recommended was to just give the doors a good swift kick.

Besides feeling good it could align the lockset. Sometimes that’s all it was. They can be sensitive if doors were not completely closed. He showed the Kid quickly that the locks had a three way interface that had to be complete and aligned if the lock were to open.

John asked if the BIO light had flashed green when Asher had started the I.D. set up. Once that was set no one else could open the lock even if they had the combo. Ash confirmed that it was set up.

John told him there were only two choices left. First if kicking the door doesn’t work then the number code could be reset. There was small hole on the side near the key pad, inserting a wire would reset the combination and allow the number to be re-entered . It was almost like starting over, doors closed, BIO active and the proper code sequence. So align the door and reset code, that should work.

The Kid smiled and then asked,” What the other choice?”

John handed him the papers and told him, “Burn the garrum thing out!”

Wolf and John headed to engineering and Ash went back to his cabin.

--------------------------------------------------

Back in his cabin Asher stood in front of his troublesome gun cabinet. Drawing from the lessons he’d shared with Willow he placed a graceful yet powerful side kick right on the seam between the doors.

John had been right, it did feel good to lose his frustrations on that chunk of steel.

Nothing seemed to have moved.

Grabbing the handle and entering the code proved to that indeed the doors had moved, the handle moved smoothly and door pulled open.

Smiling the kid breathed.” Tian-Ling-Ling, Di-Ling-Ling. (Abracadabra-alakazam). Reaching in Ash took out his Peace Makers and his cleaning tools.

It was a good day the kid was in his zone as he went through the comfortable routine of disassembly and cleaning the tools of his trade. As he sat he had felt and heard the familiar rumble of the Roc’s engines starting up. The pilot tests had started.

But then without any warning over the comm all hell started breaking loose. His gun parts started to scatter as the boat suddenly dropped and then accelerated.

Before he could get out his chair to start picking up the parts he felt the inertia shift as the Roc must have gone into a tight turn. He was pinned to the seat as the craft again turned only this time he could tell they heading away from the surface.

With the sudden shift also came a momentary lose of gravity. Asher’s container of cleaning fluid floated off the table and when the garv kicked back in it crashed down, spilling out into Asher’s lap, soaking him in petrol smelling liquid.

“Tian Fuhn Di Fu,( sky tumbles while earth turns over) what the garrum are those Chwen”s(retarded) people doing up there?”

As Ash gained his feet and started head out of cabin he hear Rocinante’s gallop that let he know they were going to full burn. But this time it wasn’t the strong confident sound he usually knew it was more like something terrified trying to escape.

That was the last straw, he had to get to the bridge before what ever fool was flying his home could kill them all.

Racing up to the bridge he saw he wasn’t alone, Trish was on the move with her pink shotgun and the fellow he’d met with Wolf was taking stairs two at a time.

As the kid entered the bridge he heard Wyatt’s voice.” “Get the hell outta my pilot’s chair.”

That was all the needed, he started for man. The kid was going to show this Feh Feh Pi Goh (Baboon’s ass crack) what public relations was all about. But before he reach the fool the small goggled girl standing behind the pilot’s station step up and planted her fist squarely in the man's face.

The man reeled back and Asher grabbed him by the collar and shoulder, taking the man’s own movement Asher nearly flung him out the door into the passage way. As he passed the girl on the bridge he nodded his approval .

Then holding him by the collar and grabbing Gator’s belt Ash lifted him to his tiptoes and rushed down the gangway to the nearest passenger cabin.

“You just cool your jets here for the rest of the flight, if have you have any smarts you won’t show your face until we land. It’s a long fall from where you brought us and the Capt’n is ready see if you can fly back without us. ”

Ash started to turn to head back to the bridge but stopped, looking back at Gater he said, “Dude!”

Willow had been too upset to sit through any more pilot interviews, and, in any case, it looked like Wyatt had decided to let two applicants progress to the next stage. One was the lanky man Willow had seen before her wave, Gator, and the other was a woman, small but with a quality about her that made her seem bigger. From off to the side, at the console, Willow sharpened her study, taking in posture and body language. There was an intensity about the woman that made the air around her nearly hum. Willow nodded to herself, and stood up to leave, catching Wyatt's eye before angling her head towards the woman and nodding slightly.

If that girl puts her mind to something, nothing else in entire Black exists until the job's done. That would be the opposite of twitchy, and a bit more of what we need
She ignored the lance of pain that even a passing thought of Sam caused and made her way to the galley. She knew Auntie had intended to make a big batch of broth with as much as the fresh veggies bought on Beaumonde, and some slicing and dicing was a perfect activity for her hands while she thought about her wave.

Trish brightened to see Willow come to help, but the older woman saw the troubled expression on the doctor's face. She tilted her questioningly, but when Willow shook her head, Trish shrugged and pushed a cutting board and a mound of onions Willow's way. Willow was the delicate flower of the crew, smiles and tears equally just below the surface, but she was somehow impervious to onion fumes and could chop away dry-eyed.

Tackling the first big onion, taking a sniff at it's dust-dry paper skin and sweet white flesh within, WIllow thought about the wave she'd received. Cameron Bridges. Her first lover who'd hadn't been a boy her own age. It had been exciting and illicit - sneaking away to be together, and thrilling to be in the arms of someone with experience. To know that she could seduce a man of the world, and have him just as eager to bed her as the boys and girls among the servants...it had been an intoxicating time.

Until they'd been caught. Her father had been furious, though you had to know him to see it beneath his customary glacial calm. He'd simply asked Willow to go to her room, and it was only afterwards that she'd heard that Cameron Bridges had been banned from the house, fired from his position at Father's company and that no one was allowed to speak his name. She heard later, from servants that forgot the ban over time, that Bridges had been ruined financially, and although no one knew why, he'd been dropped from everyone's invite list; a social death knell for anyone who used connections to do business. Willow didn't see her father again for over a month (not that it was unusual; he travelled extensively for business) and when he did, he's acted as if nothing had happened. She'd tried to apologize, to ask about Cameron, but he'd simply stared her down.

Willow shook off that uncomfortable memory, then realized that she was still shaking. Rocinante was airborne, but she didn't feel right. There was a sudden drop in the pit of Willow's stomach, then a push against her spine as someone sent Rocinante off at high speed.

"What kind of a test drive is this," Willow asked Trish with some asperity, "Wyatt didn't say anything about strapping in or...Auntie! The soup! Look out!"

The stock pot has risen above the burner as they suddenly lost gravity, drifting sideways before crashing to the ground, spattering hot broth and protein nuggets everywhere. Trish had danced out of the way, but slammed her open hand down on the counter and ran out of the galley, heading for the cockpit, grabbing Bessie from the rack above the galley sink.

Willow dashed after her, realizing belatedly that she was still holding onto the big knife she'd been using on the onions. When the ship had lurched, she'd reversed her grip on the hilt without thinking so that the blade lay along her outer forearm. Am I bringing a knife to a gunfight?
Trish stopped suddenly as she reached the cockpit, bracing herself in a wide legged stance and bringing the shotgun to her shoulder in a practiced sweep. Willow barely skidded to a halt behind her as the would-be pilot stood up, only to be cold-cocked by the small woman with the goggles.

"Merciful Buddha," breathed Willow, "that's intense, alright."

Aboard the Knorr Class freighter Haphazard; 34.5 hours from Beaumonde, 03:15 a.m. ship-time
“Aw, geez!”

Clang!
“Apologies. Did I startle you?”

“Yeah,” Silas Kirby acknowledged, rubbing at the spot on the back of his head that had recently met, rather forcefully, with a conduit pipe that ran the length of the narrow corridor, “Just a little, Mr. Cheung.” He winced at the little monk that stood before him in the passageway; “Ain’t usual anybody but me’s up, this hour.

Can’t sleep?”

“I sleep just fine, thank you,” Fu Sheng smiled politely, “The accommodations are more than adequate.”

“That’s a kindness,” Silas grinned back, still rubbing at the goose-egg rising on the back of his noggin, “Don’t reckon there’s anythin’ ‘bout ol’ Hap as can true be called more’n adequate. Got enough space for me and the missus to care for our own… enough cargo room as to make a fair livin’ doin’ so…”

“And that is not more than adequate?”

Silas, his hands abandoning the bump on his head to tend to the straightening of collar and cuffs, looked quizzically at the little Chinese man and said; “I ain’t sure I take yer meanin’, Mr Cheung.”

“You could have no ship,” Fu Sheng smiled, “no family, no living.”

“I…” Silas Kirby grinned and tugged at the hem of his vest, “I reckon yer right, there, Mr Cheung.” He gestured up the corridor toward the hatchway onto the ship’s tiny bridge, indicating that’s where he was bound and that the monk was welcome to follow. “What I meant to infer, I reckon, weren’t so much bent as to what I got but more to yer… I dunno… jaunty disposition as to yer passage.

Hang tight a sec,” Haphazard’s co-owner said, holding up a finger on one hand to stay the monk while the other hand operated the lever to open the bridge-hatch, “Gotta check the nav-sat readin’s. If Wynnie’s right, we should be less’n a day an’ a half outta Beaumonde.” He ducked through the doorway and continued; “An’ knowin’ Wynnie, she’ll manage us a slingshot off’n a moon or two an’ get us there in half that.”

For a moment, above the drone of the air-scrubbers, there were the sounds of the lanky man squeezing himself into the cockpit, flipping a few switches, and muttering to himself. Following that moment, Silas emerged from the cockpit and beamed; “Jus’ like th’ li’l-woman said. We’s about thirty-four an’ a half out.” He pulled the hatch to but didn’t lock it, straightened to his full height and, with another tug of cuffs, collar, and coat-hem, edged passed the priest and made for the galley. “Now,” he said as he turned his shoulders to get past Fu Sheng, “What was I sayin’?”

“Something about my jaunty disposition,” Fu Sheng reminded him, following along behind the larger man.

“Right,” Silas chuckled, striding into the ship’s little kitchen and reaching up to open one of the upper cabinets, “Well, we don’t take on too many passengers an’ them as we do usual cotton ta turnin’ up their noses at th’ vittles an’ bellyachin’ about how small th’ bunks are…”

His hand came out of the cabinet with a long-stemmed clay pipe and a small tin. He turned, nestling the bowl of the pipe in the crook of a finger as his hands worked to open the tin; “…you don’ seem ta mind, though.” He pinched a bit of tobacco from the tin, stuffed it into the pipe, and screwed the lid back on; “Give ya a bunk so small ya gotta go out in th’ hall ta change yer mind, feed ya pro-paste stew an’ frozen burritos fer a week, let ya sweep up an’ do th’ dishes,” he returned the tin to its hiding place in the high cupboard, “an’ not so much’s a peep o’ protest outta ya.”

Fu Sheng shrugged as Silas moved to stand beneath an air-scrubber return vent before setting a match to the pipe. “What is there to protest,” he asked with a smile, “there is room to sleep when I need to sleep, the food you and your family so kindly share with me has kept me nourished, and the work I have done is the least I can do by way of thanks. Besides, it has served to keep me busy as opposed to bored.”

“If more passengers took that attitude, Mr Cheung,” Silas chuckled from within the ring of aromatic smoke that encircled his head, “I reckon there’d be a good sight more profit in ferryin’ ‘em about.

Gotta thank ya, too,” Haphazard’s co-pilot continued as the scrubber sucked the smoke away, “fer th’ talks ya had with Trip. I conjure what you said ta him made him see as discipline an’ focus wasn’t swear words. Hell, I reckon some o’ that mighta even seeped inta Ron!”

The little monk waved away the thanks and simply smiled.

“Been a pleasure havin’ ya aboard, Mr Cheung,” Silas grinned from behind a fresh wreath of smoke, “If I don’ get ta say so later.”

After the introductions were over Wolf made his goodbyes and headed once more to his engine room for a last check that everything was ok for the upcoming pilot tests. With everything now once more in the green, thanks to this Ryan fellow, Wolf was confident they were good to go. Calling to Wyatt Wolf let him know the tests could commence at the Captains leisure and with the arrival of Ryan in the engine by Wyatt’s orders they were ready. As the ship lifted off the ground, hovering under the power of the side engines Wolf kept a close eye on the readouts. Then almost as if in dire warning the first pilot to take the test called him over the engine room intercom

“Wolf dude! Let’s get ready to rumble!!!!”

Fenris Apollo aka Wolf knew this was going to be bad and he was right, by the end of the ‘test’ flight he had warnings everywhere. Racing to put a patch here or release a over pressured valve he had no time to go to the bridge to find out what the *Da-shiong bao tse shr la doo tze! was going on.
Turning to Ryan he shouted to him.

“Ryan please get to the bridge and find what that **go tsao duh idiot is doing, the engines can’t take a lot of this! I‘ll do what I can to maintain engine integrity.”

As the pilot candidate ran out of the engine room Wolf went back to fixing anything broken in the wild movements. Wolf swore if no one killed this ‘Gator’ person he would personally put a few caps into the ***Shee-niou himself.

*The explosive diarrhea of an elephant!
**Dog humped
***Cow sucker

“Get the hell outta my pilot’s chair.” Wyatt said in a tone that was colder than ice and twice as deadly.

Gator raised his hands off the controls and started to stand, "Hey dude? You said impress you. I turn this thing on a dime and now you are...."

*BIFF*
Tess reached up and punched Gator in the face, without warning or the mere sign that she was going. As the tall man reeled backwards, Asher came storming into the room with John Ryan shortly behind him. Blood poured freely from Gator's nose as he caterwauled like an injured kitten, "Ow! She hit me! Did you see that! You want that driving your boat? She hit me! By Buddha's pink pony, she hit me!"

Asher grabbed the tall man by his collar and unceremoniously hauled him up and pushed him out the cockpit door. He nodded his approval at the young lady on his way out the door. John watched them go and said out loud, "“Chuan Zung, the steep ascent threw the grav-dampener out, it couldn’t compensate so we lost a-grav for a bit.”

(assuming a "figured as much. gonna land so Wolf can check things out and we can go again. You'll get your chance")

“Dun da bao tian.” John said before turning back to the captain to make a request in his normal, professional, tone “I’d like to check avionics, gèng hǎo de ānquán bǐ yíhàn.”

(assuming a "go ahead but get back up here soon if you want your chance to try out")

In the hallway between cockpit and galley, Asher tried to get Gator to go down into a bunk area but the tall man was having none of it.

“You just cool your jets in there for the rest of the flight, if have you have any smarts you won’t show your face until we land. It’s a long fall from where you brought us and the Capt’n is ready see if you can fly back without us. ”Asher said evenly

"Come on Dude! This ain't no pleasure cruise. You dodging the man and you can't baby the engines because the mechanic doesn't want to do work. Mechs always baby the machines but flying a firefly is a lot like dealing with a woman. It is fine to wine and dine them a bit but sometime you have to push them to their limits and ride them hard or they won't respect you dude."

Ash's eyebrows rose at that comment and Gator heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned to see two ladies, one was a hot asian chick in a Sari and the other, an ugly one that might have be her mother.

"Hey ladies. I was just ...."

*BASH*
Trish brought the butt of her shotgun up and hard into Gator's already wounded face. He reeled back and with his height being what it was spun and clocked his head on the rafters above before crumpling down to the floor unconscious. Trish looked at Asher and made a sign at him with her hand - a lifting motion that turned into a finger pointing to the cargo bay. It was the same sign she gave him whenever it was his turn to empty the trash.

Wyatt brought Rocinante down to the field that they were in before. It did not take long for Wolf and John to reset the relays and check the systems - no more than fifteen minutes. Just enough time for Asher to pick Gator out of the ship and dump him in the long grass by the landing area. With any luck, he'd wake up before a robot harvester came by.

Wyatt turned the controls over to Tess as john came up to the cockpit to take his turn afterwards. With any luck, this young lady wouldn't pull the same stunts but Wyatt had a good feeling about her. The others settled back into the ship as Tess began the take off sequence.

It didn’t take long for Wolf and the new kid to get the relays reset and the grav boots back inline. Tess took the time to look over Rocinante’s displays, gingerly fingering the throttle and looking at the love that had been given into the control panel. Once Wyatt gave her the word, she swiped her hands under the pilot’s seat before beginning the start-up sequence.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Capt’n,” Tess said, snapping the goggles over her eyes, “shall we this girl dancing to a better beat?”

Rocinante rocked gently as she lifted off the ground, but she didn’t dip suddenly before taking off. Tess skimmed her smoothly over the field before steadily gaining altitude. Her hand pressed the comm button and said, “Alright boys, we’re gonna take her nice and easy. Couple of loop overs, barrels, and an Immelmann or two. Dependin’ on how this girl feels after that, I might’n be going fer a defensive spiral. Nothin’ too taxin’ on those grav dampers.”

Sunflowers ruffled under Rocinante’s wake. Her steady incline gave way as Tess looped the ship over so her belly was facing the sky not once, but twice. Each loop was nice and wide, and Tess was pleased to feel her controls responding smoothly to her touch.

“Shiney.”

What in the sevens hells was in that boy’s brainpan? Ain’t nuttin’ but a kindly caress and she’s boogyin’ just fine.
Rocinante’s nose tipped skywards as she was eased into an Immelmann out of the second loop. She twisted gracefully as Tess righted the ship. The relay patch was still holding steady, and Tess decided to take her into the downwards spiral. The ship creaked slightly as she was taken into a series of three sixty circles while decreasing in altitude. Tess flipped a switch to give the trace compression block a burst of power, and Rocinante straightened out and swept out above the sunflowers. The pilot smiled slightly at the picturesque quality of it all. She was in a sturdy, charming ship on a bright, sunshiny day, with a field of sunflowers to play over.

“Well, Capt’n, I ain’t sure we should go out to the black and go fer hard burn, seein’ as how that ruttin’ t’su lao hu already spent’n wasted quite a bit of this little lady’s fuel. What…”

A light started flashing on the console. Tess’s mouth was still open in an unfinished sentence as she punched up the proximity display. Something was following Rocinante, and it was gaining. A few more screens showed her that it was an ASREV. Here? In a field of gorram flowers?
“What we have here, Capt’n,” she said, activating a few more sensors as Rocinante rocked across the valley, “is an Angel. And she ain’t got no marks, neither. Seems her pulse beacon’s gone a missin’.” Tess automatically started ducking and weaving the ship, gaining altitude progressively as she went. That’s a girl. Tess thought, nearly patting the dash as she looked to see where the ASREV was, keep ‘er up like that, in case we have’ta change the tune.
Klaxon alarms rang inside the bridge. Lights flashed as the screen showed the ASREV in sharp relief with two objects moving away from it. Missiles. Guided missiles.

“I highly suggest ya’ll hold onto sumthing. This might’n be an Angel of Death,” Tess slammed her hand into the shipwide comm, “Hope you boys is ready down in engineerin’. Things might’n be gittin’ a little dicey.”

Wyatt appeared the epitome of a relaxed drifter as he leaned back against the gun cabinet, arms folded across his chest, left toe over his right foot, his tired blue eyes fixed on Tess’s dextrous and well-orchestrated motions at the console. She’d performed some preflight voodoo before firing Roc’s engines up, and Wyatt had been reluctant to admit that this superstitious behavior had endeared the wild-haired spitfire to him a little more. It had also set his nerves to rest even before she’d settled Roc into her motions as smoothly as a dancer on one of them fancy stages Captain Sung had heard about, but never before seen. He had to mentally catch himself every time she performed a new action not to refer to her as the pilot seeing how there was still that fellow who had been helping Fenris to try his hand at the stick. But it was gorram hard not to. Tess was handling Roc like a mother handled a baby, and she’d plucked Gator off his feet with that solid punch like a mother protecting her baby (another thing that had endeared her to Wyatt). That had been something: the whole of the crew practically coming together like a Mormon lynch mob after the man who’d kilt their bishop. The thought of the all too recent event nearly caused Wyatt to smile...then the alarm sounded.

“What we have here, Capt’n,” Tess said, activating a few more sensors as Rocinante rocked across the valley, “is an Angel. And she ain’t got no marks, neither. Seems her pulse beacon’s gone a missin’.”

Wyatt peeled himself from the wall and moved right up behind her so that he could see the sensor for himself. He recognized the signature, sure enough, and the thought of it set his blood cold. Someone didn’t want them up there...but the why’s and what’s of it would have to wait until after they’d cleared his sky of pesky insects.

“Well, Miss Tess,” Wyatt stepped back and took hold of one of the handy grips underneath the overheads. “I ain’t gonna say this was planned, but it sure as hell looks as though you’ve got yerself a full-fledged opportunity to be a big damn hero. I say, you take it.”

“I highly suggest ya’ll hold onto sumthing. This might’n be an Angel of Death,” Tess slammed her hand into the shipwide comm, “Hope you boys is ready down in engineerin’. Things might’n be gittin’ a little dicey.”

Wyatt settled back for the ride, the whole time conjuring what evil he was going to visit on the one responsible for once again putting his boat and his people at risk.

The Kid just shook his head slowly as he looked at the man sprawled unconscious on the passage way floor. Gater may have had the skill to fly a boat but he sure didn’t have the judgment and common sense needed to pilot this boat.

Trish signed to Asher to “take out the trash.” The gunslinger respectfully nodded to the woman that had just cold cocked the arrogant fool now lay on the floor. Ash reached down, grabbed the man’s collar and drug him down to the cargo bay. When the Roc had landed he hit the hatch control, hefted the Tian Di Wu Yohn Luh Suh (Completely useless Garbage) and dumped him off in the long grass.

Asher returned to his cabin to clean the mess caused by the antics of the last candidate. It didn’t take long to get things back in order.

The comm clicked on and a bright female voice came over, “Alright boys, we’re gonna take her nice and easy. Couple of loop overs, barrels, and an Immelmann or two. Dependin’ on how this girl feels after that, I might’n be going fer a defensive spiral. Nothin’ too taxin’ on those grav dampers.” He had felt the Roc lift off with a smooth purposeful movement. With his guns now secure in their cabinet he stretched out on his bunk.

Just as it starting to feel right thing went wrong. The klaxon blared and Ash was on his feet and out of his cabin. Wyatt had practiced them before so in an emergency folks acted, not waiting to see if it was a false alarm. Asher’s place was down in engineering so he was bounding down through the cargo bay and into the heart of the Roc.

As he took the place he had been assigned by Kora when she’d been his mentor in the engine room that calm female voice once again came over the comm. “I highly suggest ya’ll hold onto sumthing. This might’n be an Angel of Death, Hope you boys is ready down in engineerin’. Things might’n be gittin’ a little dicey.”
Ash looked over to Wolf, “You tell me what you need.”

After setting the Rocinante down Wolf was able to get a better idea of what systems if any were fragged up. Once again with Ryan’s help, the possible pilot candidate was proving to be a big help with the old girl, Wolf had everything checked in record time. If he did not get the pilot’s seat Fenris might have to talk to Wyatt about keeping him on as crew anyway. With everything fixed and back in the engine room Wolf gave the all clear for the next pilot test, this time the girl candidate. Hopefully she would be nothing like “dude” The first Fenris knew of any trouble was when the girl’s, Tess was her name he thought, voice came over the ship’s comm

“Hope you boys is ready down in engineerin’. Things might’n be gittin’ a little dicey.”

~Dicey, what the Wuh duh ma huh ta duh fung-kwong duh wai-shung doh did she mean by dicey?~
Then the ship started to turn and bank and as Ash came running into the engine room Wolf knew it was bad whatever was going on. As Ash looked over to Wolf, asking

“You tell me what you need.”

“I have no idea what I need, what the **guay is going on??”


* Holy mother of God and all her wacky nephews
**Hell