Next part enabled! Did some fixes to the previous part. Manytales is right, the coffee shouldn't have moved given the conditions, which was embarassingly easy to verifty. Serves me right for taking that for granted. But I still maintain nobody onboard would drink coffee out of a sippy cup 
---
There's a lot of things I still haven't really gotten used, even after two years in space. Recycled food, Senshi, and the complete lack of trees. One of my pleasant surprises though is how damn cool zero G still is. Nevermind that its a pain in the ass sometimes whenever gravity cuts out at 8:30 every night, I'm freaking floating in space! How awesome is that?
It also lets me take part in my favorite two past-times at the same time. Inverted Coola Ball, and writing. Like Steve McQueen in The Great Escape, I dig grabbing my mitt and playing catch with whatever bulkhead is available. But doing that in zero g is more like an applied study in ballistic trajectories rather than just an idle way to relieve boredom. I've gotten pretty good at eyeballing where the ball will end up, because you really don't want any question marks on small, painfully hard moving objects. I don't throw very hard, I'm not dumb, but it still stings when I make, thankfully now, infrequent mistakes. But how, you may ask, can I do this while simultaneously writing? I cheat.
Galvius, open file blog entry August twelfth twenty one one. Begin dictation at the last line of the entry.
A harsh, slightly digitized male voice boomed out from a wall speaker. File open, my Lord! Dictation ready upon your mark. On the monitor, a white lettered on black background text file opened, with a blinking square cursor at the last word on the screen.
Mark 'But anybody who has spent any time among them knows that they don't have any more a clue how 'wavium works than anybody else. But there's certain elements within the population I've recently run into that still call us all 'Muggles'. Seriously, what the hell? I'll be the first to admit my only qualification out here is being able to bang some words out of a keyboard, but from where I'm standing that gives me half again as much experience as those people who walk around in their bath robes and pour 'wavium on whatever twigs and remote controls they brought from dirtside, which they then start calling wands. Which is retarded, because 'wavium's great and does fantastic things and woo go handwavium! but if you start applying it at random objects to make them 'magical' its going to do whatever the hell it wants, no matter how much you ''swish and flick'' it.'
A light but firm knock on the wardroom door interrupted my train of thought. Shit, Galvius stop dictation. I kicked off from the ceiling and oriented myself towards the door, ignoring the prerequisite 'Yes, Brother!' from Galvius. What?
Captain, its Cynthia. Do you have a minute? came the muted, flat tone of the first mate.
Yeah, float on in I figured this was probably about our next job. She'd have buzzed me if something was going wrong with the Ceres gig. Cynthia floated in with practiced ease, her long hair her tied up and trailing behind like the tail of a little yellow comet. She's taken to the spacer life so well that sometimes I wonder if she's getting biomodded for it when I wasn't looking. Like most rooms on the Truth, the wardroom isn't that big. It started out as a cabin that I'd ripped the beds out of and bolted a big ass steel desk and filing cabinet to the floor on the aft side. To the starboard bulkhead I drilled in a wooden entertainment center that you could close up and lock. In there I put in my 'waved computer and twenty six inch flat screen monitor. Business hadn't been bad. What's up?
Dad finished unloading the drills to the miners early. We can set course to Mars and get back around 02:30 Zulu. Sooner if you want to put the pedal down. she reported, the model of professionalism. She didn't need to tell me, I can do the math same as she could but the doctor in her keeps her thorough.
Nice. But our next job's on Triton. Didn't Calli tell you? Oh, well given that face I'd say no.
Ut oh.
No sir, it looks like she neglected to tell me. Cynthia's jaw tightened, an obvious warning sign of impending shit storm. Calli?
No response.
Calli? I tried.
Yeah, Boss? Callisto's cheery face appeared in a picture in picture on the monitor.
I thought you said you were going to let Cynthia know we were heading to Triton?
Oh, yeah. Sorry 'bout that. I've been frazzled all day running malware checks that it must have got sorted into a low priority. Anyway, it's no big deal. I don't need to bother Cynthia with every little plotting course we make anyway Boss. You just tell me where!. She can help Dieter out lifting stuff in the cargo hold or deal with the clients. She'll spend more time with her dad! Calli smiled sweetly at Cynthia, the very picture of helpful innocence.
That's ok Callisto, I can handle it. It's my job after all. Cynthia replied, her words glacial.
Well, if you insist. Just trying to help you out and make the Captain's life easier!
Thank you Callisto, but you really don't have to do that.. Brrrr!
Ok then. Wouldn't want to put you in over your head! Anything else for me Boss?
Um, no Cal, that's it for now. Thanks.
No prob Boss, it's my job after all. Night Boss.
Good night Callisto. Cynthia said.
Oh, yeah you too Cynthia. Jaunty wave at me, and the picture disappeared
I'm proud I successfully kept my jaw from dropping at the exchange.
I turned and regarded Cynthia with raised eyebrows, mentally bracing myself. But I had to open my fool mouth and say what I was thinking. Wow, did you do something to piss her off?
Cynthia's expression darkened, and a fierce scowl opened up over her face like storm systems converging over Texas. No, Captain. I didn't do anything to 'piss her off.' I just tried to do my job and she's constantly interfering. I getting pretty sick of it all. I don't get this kind of crap from Gay or Galvius.
I know you guys get on each others nerves, but you need to work that out amongst yourselves.
I tried that Captian. I tried that after our first Luna run. I tried it again after we had to leave Venus. It's not ME who has the problem. You know that. And you know why. Cynthia had begun to clench and unclench her fists a bit. So of course I did my best to diffuse the situation in a smart and mature manner. Right?
Hahahahahaha.
Look, she's a little overprotective of 'her guys' but- I said evasively, putting up my hands in protest.
Goddammit Jonathon, this jealousy shit has got to stop! How the hell am I supposed to run this boat if the boat's fighting me half the time? She undermines my authority in front of the costumers, purposely misinterprets my orders, acts dumb when I call her on it, and gets sulky when she has to do HER JOB. Its affecting the Truth and how we run the real jobs! I'm serious Jonathon, you're the Captain. Do something. I'm sick and tired of her passive aggressive little jabs. She calls me Captain Bitchface under her breath! What a joke! She controls the volume of those speakers, if she didn't want me to hear she wouldn't have said anything!
Wow. First name and everything. Thia's seriously pissed off. This must have been a long time coming. Which I can look at now and go 'duh stupid' but in my defense I am apparently blind and dumb as a sack of hammers.
I took off my mitt and rubbed my eyes. I like Calli a lot. Perry and I had a vague idea of what kind of personality the AI would have, which amounted to 'fun girl.' Not vague at all I know. But she turned out better than either of us could hope. She's like the cool cousin who takes you out drinking when you visit while on vacation, then covers for you when you're hung over in front of your grandma. Dumbasses we are, we didn't predict that the handwavium would simply interpret our rather loose set of instructions in such a unforeseen manner. Callisto's in charge of most ship functions, keeping track of our heading, local objects, and most everything else having to deal with ship functions with, well the only word I can describe it is gusto. She's really good at her job, so good that Perry mostly has to manage the personality conflicts rather than any software glitches. Her biggest flaw is that she doesn't get along with anybody carrying around a pair of X chromosomes. It's been a problem in the past, but I always discounted that to her not like people who aren't crew. I know she throws Cynthia some static, but I didn't think it had gone this far. I should have learned my lesson after Brother-Captain Galvius, but shows some people don't learn lessons the first time around. The lessons need to be lit on fire from a series of bonfires that spell it out. Ok ok, calm down. I'll talk to her.
Will you really, Captain? I remember you said something like that after she told a boat load of Browncoats I moonlighted at Candy Apple Red's!
Shit. I was hoping she'd forgotten about that. Or at least wouldn't bring it up again. More eye rubbing occurred. You're right. You've been with us for almost as long as we've been out here, you shouldn't have to deal with this kinda crap. I'll get her to lay off. Really. I felt bad. Cynthia's gets crapped on a lot by some of the less tolerant Fen's for being basically a 'Dane. Unlike the rest of us on the Truth, she didn't really choose this life so much as had it shoved in her lap. I know she'd rather be making a career of being a surgeon, but she's out here in the Black with us. But Cynthia's good at it and manages to run this boat a hell of a lot better than I could have in her place. And truth be told, I tend to spoil the AIs some, because like I said they're like cousins you like but don't get to meet much and want to please.
Cynthia studied me for a moment, then seemed to deflate and curled up, hugging her knees to her chest as she floated a couple feet off the floor. So what's this job on Triton? I didn't think there was much stuff out there.
I grabbed the subject change with both hands. I'm not proud. There isn't. Just those guys on Pluto and some other small stuff. But apparently Triton's got some interesting ice cliffs for the climbing enthusiast. A couple guys went out there with their tour guide and got stranded somehow after only an hour. So we're going to go fetch 'em.
Cynthia cocked her head, confusion and annoyance evident. We're not the drunk bus Captain, why are we getting tapped for this? There are a lot faster ships out there that are closer. The Browncoats must have half a dozen in better positions than we are
No denying that. But part of the job is hauling back the minivan the tour guide was using, and the Truth can do that easy. What really marks us for the gig, though, is who got stranded. Or rather, whose kid got stranded. Cynthia groaned and buried her face in her hands. I put my mitt back on and tossed the ball towards a bulkhead. Yeah, the kid of some industry mogul back 'daneside is an adrenaline junky, and crawling around icy rocks on Earth isn't interesting enough, so whoosh off among the Fen he goes!
Cynthia didn't blink when the ball whizzed past her head, missing only by about six inches. Telling you, natural spacer. Still doesn't explain us.
I made a face. It's politics, or something close. Apparently, Daddy Warbucks has done some work with the Banzai Institute and called them for some under the radar help. Having your son be so brain dead as to get his ass frozen to death on the outer reaches of the Solar System is a sign of weakness in the business world or something. And the people at the Banzai Institute wouldn't just let somebody die if the can stop it, but they aren't anybodies bitch either and don't mount secretive, deniable rescue missions just because somebody tells them too. So long story short, the Institute gets a sizable donation, we get a phone call from Banzai for a fatty paycheck running 'salvage' to Luna and keeping our mouths shut, and Bill and Ted and their space Sherpa get saved from their excellent adventure. Everybody wins! I reached down to my right and caught the ball with a satisfying smack of leather on leather.
And we get the job because-
Right, I did Tom Cat al Shiad that favor back on The Island in 2010, and he offered me that stupid pin-
Which you stupidly accepted, forever marking you as a a big softy. Right, heard it all before Captain. Cynthia's eyes lost focus, as she chewed here lip in thought. I don't know. You never seemed inclined to care what anybody thought of the stuff you posted. And taking money for keeping quiet sounds like selling out to me.
You don't approve? I replied, quirking an eyebrow.
I'm just wondering why all of a sudden you're willing to censor yourself now. I'd like to think its not because of the money, she smoothly replied. You said history is history, and making stuff up to cover what happens is an intellectual lobotomy.
Right on! Somebody paid attention! I pumped my fist in the air once, before beginning to toss the ball into the mitt rhythmically. Seriously, while it makes a funny story to tell while drinking beer in a cantina, its not exactly the kind of Truth that needs to be shouted from the rooftops. I think I'll sleep fine knowing that some exec's kid's retarded ice climbing expedition isn't tomorrow's splash on the site. Second, the Banzai Institute are good people; the money they get will be used to help others and actually make a difference in the world. That's reason enough for me. I bounced the ball off the floor and back into my glove, only to look back at Cynthia an see the first smile on her face in two days. It was a small one, but it was there. What?
You really are a big softy. The smile was taking on the aspects of a smirk. I just made a rude noise in response and went back to playing catch. Well, she said, face back to business. I guess I should go chart a course out to Triton. We'll have to go full burn to get there before they become popsicles. Can they even last that long?
Pretty sure. Their suits are emergency survival issues, so they should have twelve hours worth of air and unless their van is completely fucked up, the guide should be able to rig up a temporary hab dome, which they should have if he's got even a lick of sense. If it were just about saving lives, I think they would have got somebody closer to give them a lift.
Cynthia stretched a bit, before kicking off and grabbing the hand wrung by the door and pivoting around. Fine. I'll go tell Dad you're going to overtax his ship again. Expect to hear from him in about twenty minutes.
I'll be sure to take up smoking pot and get so high I don't care.
Another tiny grin. Roight. Well, good luck with that Captain. Some of us work for a living
Thia?
Yes sir?
I'm sorry. 'Bout everything.
Cynthia sighed and tapped a finger against the door frame. We all have obligations, Jonathon. But meeting them isn't always easy. And with that she was gone.
I sat in silence for a couple of minutes, the only sound being the repeated dull thuds of ball impacting padded bulkhead. After I caught the ball for the fourth time I spoke. Calli?
The wall mounted monitor blinked to life, and Calli appeared with the 'camera' zoomed out far enough to see she was dressed in bright green pajamas with little watermelons on them. Normally I would have chuckled but having to do captain shit puts me in a mood. Yeah Boss?
I just floated there with my arms crossed, giving her a flat look that I've been told can be pretty intimidating, even on my thin frame. I should hope so, I'd worked on it enough as a kid. Gradually, as the seconds passed, Calli began to sense she was in trouble and began to squirm. She never said anything though, just endured the awkward silence as the tension ratched up. I finally decided I'd roasted her enough after a couple minutes passed. You know Calli, you can be a real five star bitch sometimes.
Jon, look, if this was about Cyn-
Save it. I turned around and pushed off towards my desk, steadying myself before toeing open the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet and tossing my glove and ball inside, using my foot to keep it from bouncing out before I closed it. I scratched the top of my head and sighed. I'll deal with you tomorrow. I gotta finish this piece by tonight before we get too far out of range. Night.
... night Boss. Callisto replied quietly. I heard, rather than saw the screen wink out. My excuse was only half true. While I really did have to finish that editorial I contracted out for some of fenservers, I had enough good will with the people in charge that I could say 'I need another ten hours and get it. No, I needed to think about how I was going to deal with this situation. All I'd do now if I pressed things was getting seriously pissed off and probably start some sort of verbal scorched earth policy. All that would do is pour gasoline on the fire. No, I needed to figure out a long term and hopefully permenant fix for this mess. That required a good deal of heavy thinking and I do my best thinking right before I fall asleep or in the shower. And I'd bathed already today and water rationing didn't allow for another.
Hell. Why did I want to do this shit again? I said, kicking off to float into the middle of the room. Galvius.
By your command, Master Helscher!
Where were we?
You were heaping down words of righteous fire upon the blasphemous heads of the witches and sorcerers of the heretical Wizarding World, was his instant reply.
Close enough. Galvius, begin dictation at the last line of the entry. Mark. 'Most of the Fens who make up the Wizarding World are as even minded and reasonable as the rest of us out here, but the more... I dunno how to describe it but isolationist is as good a term as any, of them are a bunch of douche bags. I'd liken their mindset to Purebloods of their canon but I think that would be classified as hate speech by them and I'd be a marked man by countless hordes of people who carry pointy sticks and have liberal ideas of what wavium can do. I did that already with most of the Crystal Millennium crowd last year. Say what you will about those guys, and I have, but when you start a flame war with them they keep it within the spirit of the 'Net back home. Digital only, completely devoid of any relation to the actual argument, and finished when somebody fulfilled Goodwin's Law. And ignore those rabble rousers who point out it was clearly an application of Quirk's Exception...
It was going to be a long night.
---------------
-Jon
Being the Mariner hitting coach is like being the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts.
-Poster on USSMariner.com
---
Jon
"And that must have caused my dad's brain to break in half, replaced by a purely mechanical engine of revenge!"
---
There's a lot of things I still haven't really gotten used, even after two years in space. Recycled food, Senshi, and the complete lack of trees. One of my pleasant surprises though is how damn cool zero G still is. Nevermind that its a pain in the ass sometimes whenever gravity cuts out at 8:30 every night, I'm freaking floating in space! How awesome is that?
It also lets me take part in my favorite two past-times at the same time. Inverted Coola Ball, and writing. Like Steve McQueen in The Great Escape, I dig grabbing my mitt and playing catch with whatever bulkhead is available. But doing that in zero g is more like an applied study in ballistic trajectories rather than just an idle way to relieve boredom. I've gotten pretty good at eyeballing where the ball will end up, because you really don't want any question marks on small, painfully hard moving objects. I don't throw very hard, I'm not dumb, but it still stings when I make, thankfully now, infrequent mistakes. But how, you may ask, can I do this while simultaneously writing? I cheat.
Galvius, open file blog entry August twelfth twenty one one. Begin dictation at the last line of the entry.
A harsh, slightly digitized male voice boomed out from a wall speaker. File open, my Lord! Dictation ready upon your mark. On the monitor, a white lettered on black background text file opened, with a blinking square cursor at the last word on the screen.
Mark 'But anybody who has spent any time among them knows that they don't have any more a clue how 'wavium works than anybody else. But there's certain elements within the population I've recently run into that still call us all 'Muggles'. Seriously, what the hell? I'll be the first to admit my only qualification out here is being able to bang some words out of a keyboard, but from where I'm standing that gives me half again as much experience as those people who walk around in their bath robes and pour 'wavium on whatever twigs and remote controls they brought from dirtside, which they then start calling wands. Which is retarded, because 'wavium's great and does fantastic things and woo go handwavium! but if you start applying it at random objects to make them 'magical' its going to do whatever the hell it wants, no matter how much you ''swish and flick'' it.'
A light but firm knock on the wardroom door interrupted my train of thought. Shit, Galvius stop dictation. I kicked off from the ceiling and oriented myself towards the door, ignoring the prerequisite 'Yes, Brother!' from Galvius. What?
Captain, its Cynthia. Do you have a minute? came the muted, flat tone of the first mate.
Yeah, float on in I figured this was probably about our next job. She'd have buzzed me if something was going wrong with the Ceres gig. Cynthia floated in with practiced ease, her long hair her tied up and trailing behind like the tail of a little yellow comet. She's taken to the spacer life so well that sometimes I wonder if she's getting biomodded for it when I wasn't looking. Like most rooms on the Truth, the wardroom isn't that big. It started out as a cabin that I'd ripped the beds out of and bolted a big ass steel desk and filing cabinet to the floor on the aft side. To the starboard bulkhead I drilled in a wooden entertainment center that you could close up and lock. In there I put in my 'waved computer and twenty six inch flat screen monitor. Business hadn't been bad. What's up?
Dad finished unloading the drills to the miners early. We can set course to Mars and get back around 02:30 Zulu. Sooner if you want to put the pedal down. she reported, the model of professionalism. She didn't need to tell me, I can do the math same as she could but the doctor in her keeps her thorough.
Nice. But our next job's on Triton. Didn't Calli tell you? Oh, well given that face I'd say no.
Ut oh.
No sir, it looks like she neglected to tell me. Cynthia's jaw tightened, an obvious warning sign of impending shit storm. Calli?
No response.
Calli? I tried.
Yeah, Boss? Callisto's cheery face appeared in a picture in picture on the monitor.
I thought you said you were going to let Cynthia know we were heading to Triton?
Oh, yeah. Sorry 'bout that. I've been frazzled all day running malware checks that it must have got sorted into a low priority. Anyway, it's no big deal. I don't need to bother Cynthia with every little plotting course we make anyway Boss. You just tell me where!. She can help Dieter out lifting stuff in the cargo hold or deal with the clients. She'll spend more time with her dad! Calli smiled sweetly at Cynthia, the very picture of helpful innocence.
That's ok Callisto, I can handle it. It's my job after all. Cynthia replied, her words glacial.
Well, if you insist. Just trying to help you out and make the Captain's life easier!
Thank you Callisto, but you really don't have to do that.. Brrrr!
Ok then. Wouldn't want to put you in over your head! Anything else for me Boss?
Um, no Cal, that's it for now. Thanks.
No prob Boss, it's my job after all. Night Boss.
Good night Callisto. Cynthia said.
Oh, yeah you too Cynthia. Jaunty wave at me, and the picture disappeared
I'm proud I successfully kept my jaw from dropping at the exchange.
I turned and regarded Cynthia with raised eyebrows, mentally bracing myself. But I had to open my fool mouth and say what I was thinking. Wow, did you do something to piss her off?
Cynthia's expression darkened, and a fierce scowl opened up over her face like storm systems converging over Texas. No, Captain. I didn't do anything to 'piss her off.' I just tried to do my job and she's constantly interfering. I getting pretty sick of it all. I don't get this kind of crap from Gay or Galvius.
I know you guys get on each others nerves, but you need to work that out amongst yourselves.
I tried that Captian. I tried that after our first Luna run. I tried it again after we had to leave Venus. It's not ME who has the problem. You know that. And you know why. Cynthia had begun to clench and unclench her fists a bit. So of course I did my best to diffuse the situation in a smart and mature manner. Right?
Hahahahahaha.
Look, she's a little overprotective of 'her guys' but- I said evasively, putting up my hands in protest.
Goddammit Jonathon, this jealousy shit has got to stop! How the hell am I supposed to run this boat if the boat's fighting me half the time? She undermines my authority in front of the costumers, purposely misinterprets my orders, acts dumb when I call her on it, and gets sulky when she has to do HER JOB. Its affecting the Truth and how we run the real jobs! I'm serious Jonathon, you're the Captain. Do something. I'm sick and tired of her passive aggressive little jabs. She calls me Captain Bitchface under her breath! What a joke! She controls the volume of those speakers, if she didn't want me to hear she wouldn't have said anything!
Wow. First name and everything. Thia's seriously pissed off. This must have been a long time coming. Which I can look at now and go 'duh stupid' but in my defense I am apparently blind and dumb as a sack of hammers.
I took off my mitt and rubbed my eyes. I like Calli a lot. Perry and I had a vague idea of what kind of personality the AI would have, which amounted to 'fun girl.' Not vague at all I know. But she turned out better than either of us could hope. She's like the cool cousin who takes you out drinking when you visit while on vacation, then covers for you when you're hung over in front of your grandma. Dumbasses we are, we didn't predict that the handwavium would simply interpret our rather loose set of instructions in such a unforeseen manner. Callisto's in charge of most ship functions, keeping track of our heading, local objects, and most everything else having to deal with ship functions with, well the only word I can describe it is gusto. She's really good at her job, so good that Perry mostly has to manage the personality conflicts rather than any software glitches. Her biggest flaw is that she doesn't get along with anybody carrying around a pair of X chromosomes. It's been a problem in the past, but I always discounted that to her not like people who aren't crew. I know she throws Cynthia some static, but I didn't think it had gone this far. I should have learned my lesson after Brother-Captain Galvius, but shows some people don't learn lessons the first time around. The lessons need to be lit on fire from a series of bonfires that spell it out. Ok ok, calm down. I'll talk to her.
Will you really, Captain? I remember you said something like that after she told a boat load of Browncoats I moonlighted at Candy Apple Red's!
Shit. I was hoping she'd forgotten about that. Or at least wouldn't bring it up again. More eye rubbing occurred. You're right. You've been with us for almost as long as we've been out here, you shouldn't have to deal with this kinda crap. I'll get her to lay off. Really. I felt bad. Cynthia's gets crapped on a lot by some of the less tolerant Fen's for being basically a 'Dane. Unlike the rest of us on the Truth, she didn't really choose this life so much as had it shoved in her lap. I know she'd rather be making a career of being a surgeon, but she's out here in the Black with us. But Cynthia's good at it and manages to run this boat a hell of a lot better than I could have in her place. And truth be told, I tend to spoil the AIs some, because like I said they're like cousins you like but don't get to meet much and want to please.
Cynthia studied me for a moment, then seemed to deflate and curled up, hugging her knees to her chest as she floated a couple feet off the floor. So what's this job on Triton? I didn't think there was much stuff out there.
I grabbed the subject change with both hands. I'm not proud. There isn't. Just those guys on Pluto and some other small stuff. But apparently Triton's got some interesting ice cliffs for the climbing enthusiast. A couple guys went out there with their tour guide and got stranded somehow after only an hour. So we're going to go fetch 'em.
Cynthia cocked her head, confusion and annoyance evident. We're not the drunk bus Captain, why are we getting tapped for this? There are a lot faster ships out there that are closer. The Browncoats must have half a dozen in better positions than we are
No denying that. But part of the job is hauling back the minivan the tour guide was using, and the Truth can do that easy. What really marks us for the gig, though, is who got stranded. Or rather, whose kid got stranded. Cynthia groaned and buried her face in her hands. I put my mitt back on and tossed the ball towards a bulkhead. Yeah, the kid of some industry mogul back 'daneside is an adrenaline junky, and crawling around icy rocks on Earth isn't interesting enough, so whoosh off among the Fen he goes!
Cynthia didn't blink when the ball whizzed past her head, missing only by about six inches. Telling you, natural spacer. Still doesn't explain us.
I made a face. It's politics, or something close. Apparently, Daddy Warbucks has done some work with the Banzai Institute and called them for some under the radar help. Having your son be so brain dead as to get his ass frozen to death on the outer reaches of the Solar System is a sign of weakness in the business world or something. And the people at the Banzai Institute wouldn't just let somebody die if the can stop it, but they aren't anybodies bitch either and don't mount secretive, deniable rescue missions just because somebody tells them too. So long story short, the Institute gets a sizable donation, we get a phone call from Banzai for a fatty paycheck running 'salvage' to Luna and keeping our mouths shut, and Bill and Ted and their space Sherpa get saved from their excellent adventure. Everybody wins! I reached down to my right and caught the ball with a satisfying smack of leather on leather.
And we get the job because-
Right, I did Tom Cat al Shiad that favor back on The Island in 2010, and he offered me that stupid pin-
Which you stupidly accepted, forever marking you as a a big softy. Right, heard it all before Captain. Cynthia's eyes lost focus, as she chewed here lip in thought. I don't know. You never seemed inclined to care what anybody thought of the stuff you posted. And taking money for keeping quiet sounds like selling out to me.
You don't approve? I replied, quirking an eyebrow.
I'm just wondering why all of a sudden you're willing to censor yourself now. I'd like to think its not because of the money, she smoothly replied. You said history is history, and making stuff up to cover what happens is an intellectual lobotomy.
Right on! Somebody paid attention! I pumped my fist in the air once, before beginning to toss the ball into the mitt rhythmically. Seriously, while it makes a funny story to tell while drinking beer in a cantina, its not exactly the kind of Truth that needs to be shouted from the rooftops. I think I'll sleep fine knowing that some exec's kid's retarded ice climbing expedition isn't tomorrow's splash on the site. Second, the Banzai Institute are good people; the money they get will be used to help others and actually make a difference in the world. That's reason enough for me. I bounced the ball off the floor and back into my glove, only to look back at Cynthia an see the first smile on her face in two days. It was a small one, but it was there. What?
You really are a big softy. The smile was taking on the aspects of a smirk. I just made a rude noise in response and went back to playing catch. Well, she said, face back to business. I guess I should go chart a course out to Triton. We'll have to go full burn to get there before they become popsicles. Can they even last that long?
Pretty sure. Their suits are emergency survival issues, so they should have twelve hours worth of air and unless their van is completely fucked up, the guide should be able to rig up a temporary hab dome, which they should have if he's got even a lick of sense. If it were just about saving lives, I think they would have got somebody closer to give them a lift.
Cynthia stretched a bit, before kicking off and grabbing the hand wrung by the door and pivoting around. Fine. I'll go tell Dad you're going to overtax his ship again. Expect to hear from him in about twenty minutes.
I'll be sure to take up smoking pot and get so high I don't care.
Another tiny grin. Roight. Well, good luck with that Captain. Some of us work for a living
Thia?
Yes sir?
I'm sorry. 'Bout everything.
Cynthia sighed and tapped a finger against the door frame. We all have obligations, Jonathon. But meeting them isn't always easy. And with that she was gone.
I sat in silence for a couple of minutes, the only sound being the repeated dull thuds of ball impacting padded bulkhead. After I caught the ball for the fourth time I spoke. Calli?
The wall mounted monitor blinked to life, and Calli appeared with the 'camera' zoomed out far enough to see she was dressed in bright green pajamas with little watermelons on them. Normally I would have chuckled but having to do captain shit puts me in a mood. Yeah Boss?
I just floated there with my arms crossed, giving her a flat look that I've been told can be pretty intimidating, even on my thin frame. I should hope so, I'd worked on it enough as a kid. Gradually, as the seconds passed, Calli began to sense she was in trouble and began to squirm. She never said anything though, just endured the awkward silence as the tension ratched up. I finally decided I'd roasted her enough after a couple minutes passed. You know Calli, you can be a real five star bitch sometimes.
Jon, look, if this was about Cyn-
Save it. I turned around and pushed off towards my desk, steadying myself before toeing open the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet and tossing my glove and ball inside, using my foot to keep it from bouncing out before I closed it. I scratched the top of my head and sighed. I'll deal with you tomorrow. I gotta finish this piece by tonight before we get too far out of range. Night.
... night Boss. Callisto replied quietly. I heard, rather than saw the screen wink out. My excuse was only half true. While I really did have to finish that editorial I contracted out for some of fenservers, I had enough good will with the people in charge that I could say 'I need another ten hours and get it. No, I needed to think about how I was going to deal with this situation. All I'd do now if I pressed things was getting seriously pissed off and probably start some sort of verbal scorched earth policy. All that would do is pour gasoline on the fire. No, I needed to figure out a long term and hopefully permenant fix for this mess. That required a good deal of heavy thinking and I do my best thinking right before I fall asleep or in the shower. And I'd bathed already today and water rationing didn't allow for another.
Hell. Why did I want to do this shit again? I said, kicking off to float into the middle of the room. Galvius.
By your command, Master Helscher!
Where were we?
You were heaping down words of righteous fire upon the blasphemous heads of the witches and sorcerers of the heretical Wizarding World, was his instant reply.
Close enough. Galvius, begin dictation at the last line of the entry. Mark. 'Most of the Fens who make up the Wizarding World are as even minded and reasonable as the rest of us out here, but the more... I dunno how to describe it but isolationist is as good a term as any, of them are a bunch of douche bags. I'd liken their mindset to Purebloods of their canon but I think that would be classified as hate speech by them and I'd be a marked man by countless hordes of people who carry pointy sticks and have liberal ideas of what wavium can do. I did that already with most of the Crystal Millennium crowd last year. Say what you will about those guys, and I have, but when you start a flame war with them they keep it within the spirit of the 'Net back home. Digital only, completely devoid of any relation to the actual argument, and finished when somebody fulfilled Goodwin's Law. And ignore those rabble rousers who point out it was clearly an application of Quirk's Exception...
It was going to be a long night.
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-Jon
Being the Mariner hitting coach is like being the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts.
-Poster on USSMariner.com
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Jon
"And that must have caused my dad's brain to break in half, replaced by a purely mechanical engine of revenge!"