The Lepine (rabbit morph) stared out the window of the
seaplane lost in thought. Looking like just another "tourist", he
was wearing khaki shorts and a loud "Hawaiian" shirt. A little over
average height for a lepine, he was also a little heavier than was usual
for his species, and looked to be a bit past middle age. How much
past middle age was a little hard to tell. His fur was brown, transitioning
to a medium gray down his front. He rested his chin on one fist and
stared out the window at the passing clouds, lost in thought, thinking
back to the events that had brought him here.
"Dammit, Dad, you’ve done it again." Allie was furious,
standing before her father, her paws balled into fists, glaring up into
his face. Behind her, her husband, Hank’s son-in-law, scowled in
agreement. Hank glared back. "Allie, you HAVE to teach Josh
to stand up for himself! Its far better that he hit some kid in the
nose now, even if it means three days suspension from school than he suffer
under those bullies for the rest of his life!" Allie just shook her
head; "I disagree. There were ways to handle that situation without
resorting to violence. I firmly believe violence never solved anything,
but I guess you wouldn’t see it that way..." Behind her, her husband
nodded; "Hank, I think its time you found someplace else to live..."
I know you mean well, but I just don’t think you’re making a positive contribution
to the upbringing of your grandson.
Hank stared out the window. There were so many things
he was good at, but now he was too old to do most of them. In his
military career, he’d learned a lot about how to make people do what he
wanted them to do, often times more than they themselves thought they were
capable of. Many times making them do things that they didn’t really
want to do... But he’d never learned the diplomatic skills necessary
to merely coexist, to get along. The most recent spat with the family
of his youngest daughter was only the last in a long string of such incidents.
He loved his children dearly, and doted on his grandkids, all of them.
But he’d been "IN CHARGE" for too many years, to just kick back and leave
it to someone else, especially someone who’s diapers he’d changed.
Maybe it WAS better if he found someplace else to live. For a while
at least...
The seaplane was crowded and Hank waited patiently until
it had emptied before rising to gather his carry-on bag. He was half
surprised that Kari, the pilot hadn’t recognized him. Then again, she probably
saw so many folks come and go; and probably saw a good number of return
customers too... Exiting the hatch, he caught sight of the two boys
loading a cart with baggage. "When you find the bags marked 'Schmidt',
they go to the schooner" he called to them. The older one nodded,
as the younger one stared at him. As the rabbit turned to walk away,
Rale whispered to his brother Lucas; "Isn’t that the rabbit that was here
when Captain Mosby first came?" Lucas just shrugged; "Dunno; could
be."
John looked up from where he was painting the anchor windless.
Every time he raised the anchor, metal rubbed against metal, the entire
affair covered in dripping salt water. The fight against corrosion
was a never-ending battle on a ship, to be fought with wire brushes, rust
removing compounds, and paint. And the schooner Resurgent, or Rusty
to her friends, was no exception. It took but an instant to recognize
the Sergeant Major, and even less time to realize what had happened.
He watched quietly, his paintbrush dripping on the deck, as Hank tossed
his bag up to the deck. Climbing the short ladder, he stuck his head
over the edge of the deck, and called; "Permission to come aboard?"
John grinned and nodded; "Granted." Hank climbed to the deck, stopped
and turned to flip an informal salute to the flag at the stern, and then
moved forward to where John was sitting in the bow. Old habits die
hard. Before John could say anything, he sat down on the bollards,
just before the foremast, where the heavy mooring lines or anchor lines
were sometimes tied off. They looked at each other for a moment and
then John sighed; "one of your kids throw you out again?" Hank nodded;
"Allie. Her first son, Josh, has been having trouble with bullies
at school, and I told him that the best way to get rid of them was to make
it too painful for them to continue. On my advise, the next time
they picked on him, he punched the leader in the nose." Hank
grinned; "Rather forcefully from what I understand. Needless to say
the school’s administration was not pleased, and when it came out that
this was a 'premeditated assault', he got a three day suspension."
John nodded; "I know exactly what the kid’s going through.
I was always the largest in my class. My dad told me that he didn’t
care if I put them all in the hospital, just so long as I wasn’t the first
to unsheath claws, the one to throw the first punch. Somehow, don’t
ask me how, but somehow, the bullies found out about it, and found ways
to torment me that were less than physical. But I kept my promise,
preserved my father’s honor, and did nothing. And suffered for years.
For what its worth, I think you gave the kid good advice, even if you did
pay for it. Now lets just hope it helps his situation."
Hank nodded and looked out to sea; "Obviously, I’m not
fitting in with my family. Too many years at a distance, I guess.
Probably best if I kept my distance, for a while, let things cool off.
Accordingly, I’m looking for a berth..."
John grinned and nodded; "Don’t know how much I can pay
right now, but I can certainly use a hand around the ship. If you
want to take a berth for room and board, help yourself." Hank thought
for a minute, staring at the horizon with that thousand yard stare so typical
of old soldiers. Finally he shrugged; "My pension’s more than enough
for spending money. Yeah, I’ll give it a try and we’ll see how it
goes." With that, he rose and headed aft, to retrieve his bag, pushing
back the companionway hatch, to descend into the ship. As he walked
John had to chuckle at the broad white stripe across the back of his pants.
Lucas and Rale Grunted as they tried to heave a trunk
marked "Schmidt" onto the deck of the schooner. The noises attracted
John and he grinned down at them; "Whatcha got there, boys?" Lucas
looked up; "Luggage for that rabbit. If he’s a guest, chartering
your ship, he sure did bring enough stuff with him!" John just grinned
and reached down to take the handle at one end of the trunk, to help the
boys lift it up. "No, he’s my new first mate. Please tell your mother
we’ll have another for dinner tonight. She’s to put his meal tab
on Rusty’s account, but any liquor is on his own tab." Lucas nodded,
but Rale looked up; "Is he the rabbit that was here when you came home?"
John smiled at that, and nodded; "He’s Sergeant Major Hank Schmidt, Retired,
late of the Marine Third Amphibious Group. Like so many folks, he’s
looking for a home." Rale just nodded and then turned to help Lucas
boost a few more pieces of luggage up to the deck. Then they waved
bye and turned to push the luggage cart back down the dock.
John was back to painting the windlass when Hank emerged
from belowdecks. He’d changed from his traveling clothes to a pair
of fatigues cut off above the knee, and a white tee-shirt. The rabbit
glared at the bollards, and then looked at John. John just grinned
and shrugged and reaching down into a pocket, produced a dry paintbrush.
Hank grinned and turned, to start touching up the bollards, where he’d
sat on them.
The two walked up to the main lodge about an hour before
dinner; "Part of the show" John explained; "Obviously, I’m trying to drum
up charter business for Rusty. I find its useful to sit in the bar
before dinner, and on the porch after dinner, and tell tall sea tales.
It kinda sets the atmosphere. You’d be surprised how many half-day
excursions I sell that way." Hank nodded, and opened his mouth to
speak, but John beat him to it; "Any stories you tell, just remember the
guests are here to have a good time; no war stories that’ll give folks
nightmares!" Hank just nodded.
The bar was fairly full, the resort being well booked
at this time of year. Hank and John sat at the bar, and John fielded
questions about the schooner until they were called for dinner. Sylvia
had adopted a pattern similar to that of a cruise ship, with elements of
boarding house thrown in. To help out, John looked after one of the
larger tables, helping the kids to move food out to it, and watching the
guests to make sure that they had all they wanted. Hank watched carefully
and picked up on the pattern, taking the chair at the far end of the table.
The food was simple this evening, there being too many guests for the staff
to get into anything too creative, but that had never phased John.
Sylvia’s cooking was still light-years ahead of his own. Afterwards,
he helped the kids buss the tables, retiring afterwards to the porch with
a big mug of sweet tea.
He found Hank there, talking to one of the older guests.
Turned out, the older raccoon had been in the wars too, and they were exchanging
tales of people and places, that dance that old soldiers frequently perform
to see if their paths had ever crossed, to see if they had acquaintances
in common. John listened for a while but was distracted by a young
couple inquiring after Rusty’s charter rates. It turned out to be
too expensive for them, and John suggested that they talk to some of the
resort’s other guests; perhaps they could work out a group charter?
By the time they’d left, it was getting on towards twilight. Hank
was still in animated conversation with the Raccoon, and John turned, to
padd back towards the ship.
It was much later that night, when Hank staggered down
the dock. Being a hot night, John had slung a net hammock beneath
the main boom, over the roof of the deckhouse. The breeze was cooler,
and he was more comfortable there than in his rather hard and narrow bunk
in the closet that passed for the Master’s cabin. He opened his one
eye as Hank struggled up the short ladder to deck. Hank wobbled for
a minute, obviously having had too much to drink, and then staggered to
the companionway, to head below. John just smiled, thinking of all
the times the two of them had "done the town", on this leave or that, in
strange and exotic places. Shrugging, he closed his eye and went
back to sleep, thinking that once again, his world had changed, not necessarily
for the better, not necessarily for the worst, just changed again.
The morning found the lion down in the hold. He’d
picked up some cargo and some trade goods for some of the outer islands,
and he wanted to make sure the cargo didn’t shift. Rusty had two
cargo holds, the main one between the fore and mainmasts and a smaller
one aft of the mainmast. He’d loaded the cargo into the forward (main)
hold, and was down there checking the tiedowns when Hank joined him.
Hank had secured enough military vehicles on amphibious transports, and
even some cargo in aircraft, that he was able to pick up on the scheme
John had laid out for the cargo. When they’d double-checked everything,
John took the rabbit up on deck, for a quick review of the sails, the lines
that controlled the sails, and the standing (permanent) rigging.
Then they cast off the mooring lines, and motored out into the lagoon,
John waving bye to the Slipsunder kids on Buck’s Rump.
John had let Hank hold the wheel, trusting the rabbit
to hold the schooner into the wind, as he went forward to crank up the
donkey engine. The Jib went up smoothly, and then the main went up
with its usuall grumbling, the yard traveling upwards in fits and jerks.
No matter how he oiled its rollers, or greased the mast, it STILL liked
to stick at various places. Eventually, however, the mainsail was
up, and John returned to the wheel. "OK to kill the auxilliary now"
he rumbled and the rabbit leaned down to hit the switch. They sailed
for a bit, under just jib and main, and as Freedom’s run disappeared astern,
John turned to set the windvane autopilot.
Leading Hank forward, he showed him the donkey engine,
how it turned the winch, and how he’d led all the halyards (ropes used
to raise and lower sails) back to that one station. Hank watched
as John raised the flying jib and the staysail, and then as he fought with
the foresail, watching its yard climb the mast in fits and jerks, listening
to the donkey engine labor as it tried to stick somewhere along the mast.
"I really should talk to a naval architect about converting this thing
to more of a Marconi rig" the lion grumbled. "I know she’d sail better,
and it would be a lot easier to raise and lower sails... Sometimes
when the yard sticks you have to climb up there and jump up and down on
it to free it up. In a seaway, with the boat rocking, and bucking,
that can be dangerous..." Hank nodded; "so why don’t you? Waiting
on finances to catch up with your desires?" John just grinned; "partially.
The other part is it just wouldn’t... "look" right. Schooners should
have yardarms. Got to resolve my romantic, nostalgic streak with
cold hard reality, I’m afraid..." The rabbit just nodded.
Hank had sailed many a small boat, although most of his
seamanship ability was in powerboats. The lion let him handle the
helm for a while, letting him get the feel of how Rusty handled, letting
him see what it took to "come about;" to tack into the wind so that the
main and foremast booms came swinging across the deck, the canvas cracking
as the wind shifted to come over the other side of the boat. John
busied himself "pulling strings", adjusting the set of this sail, or that,
to get the most speed he could out of his small ship. He wasn’t in
any particular hurry, he had no deadline to meet. Its just something
sailors do...
After lunch, John again engaged the windvane autopilot,
to show Hank some of the safety systems on the schooner. The lines
for the harnesses, where the lifejackets were, where the liferaft was,
in its canister on the deckhouse roof, and of course where the EPIRB (emergency
position indicating rescue beacon, a floating transmitter that would call
for help to an orbiting satellite as soon as it hit the water), flare gun,
and radio were.
Hank grumbled, as he tried to make sense out of the harness;
"are you SURE we have to wear these things?" The lion just nodded;
"This far out at sea, you fall overboard, you’re dead. Period.
A life vest would keep you afloat, but you still might never wash up somewhere,
or be spotted before you died of thirst. With a harness, you go for
a wild ride as the ship tows you, but eventually you can work your way
back on board. With only two of us on board, them’s the rules."
Hank sighed, and shook his head, slipping the straps over his shoulder
and buckling it across his front. With a wry grin he hooked the safety
line to the harness. John chuckled; "it’s a royal pain till you get
used to it, but better safe than sorry." Hank just nodded; "its just
that I feel like one of my grandkids, in a harness, on a leash, so I can’t
go running off somewhere..."
It was towards dusk when they headed into Bibbity bay,
a small fishing village on one of the outer islands. John was at
the wheel, as Hank went forward to lower some of the sails. Of course,
on a schooner, the sails are a LOT larger than on most sailboats, and as
the rabbit released the Fisherman’s halyard, the sail decided to catch
the wind. The canvas ballooned out to leeward, and Hank was snatched aloft.
That is until his safety line went taught, leaving him hanging, suspended,
a dozen feet in the air. John laughed and turned the schooner into
the wind, until the sail went limp and Hank descended gracelessly to the
deck. John left the ship "in irons" (pointed dead into the wind)
until Hank had gotten all the sails down, and had then started the auxiliary
to motor into the harbor.
They’d been seen coming, a long way out, and there was
a crowd on the village’s single dock, eager hands ready to help tie up
the schooner. "Hey Captain John!" called Sam, one of the village
elders. The otter grinned widely; "we saw ya flying some sort of
strange flag out there, and thought you might need a hand!" Hank
bristled as John laughed; "No, Sam, that’s just my First Mate; he’s still,
ah, "learning the ropes." Betty, his wife, laughed; "John, how could
you hire someone who didn’t know how to sail?" Hank had finally found
his voice and growled; "I think the Captain decided he’d rather train someone
he could trust, than to hire someone who could sail, and then figure out
if he could trust him. The two of us, we served together in the war,
and, ah, a few other places as well." John just nodded in agreement.
Hank rode the cargo up, as John worked the winch.
They were using the foremast boom to lift the cargo for Bibbity bay from
the forward hold. Of course the ship swarmed with villagers, the
rigging alive with children of all ages, as they watched their new windmill
generator rise from the hold. Hank carefully fended the load off
the rigging, as John swung the boom to port, and out over the dock, to
slowly lower it onto the waiting flatbed. The village had been running
an ancient diesel generator, supplemented by solar cells, but as the place
had grown from a single family to an extended family to a village, the
power needs had outstripped the supply. The wind almost always blew
here, and the government agent’s recommendation had been for a windmill.
The villagers had raised part of the money, with a federal grant providing
the rest. The delivery was certainly cause for celebration, and the
villagers were doing the occasoin up in style.
John and Hank helped push the flatbed off the dock, to
where the small tractor could take the towbar. It led the procession
to the top of the hill that was the highest point on the small island.
They had the homemade wooden derrick all ready, and everyone bent to tearing
open the crates, and bolting together the tower with a will, small children
constantly underfoot, adults yelling for this bolt, or that wrench.
A committee bent over the plans and instructions, trying to make sure what
was happening actually matched the design frequently yelling contradictory
instructions at no one in particular. It turned out that Hank was
in his element; he’d supervised hundreds of such jobs in the military,
putting up everything from temporary bridges to radar towers, and by midnight,
by all appearances, he was in charge. John took a break to grab a bite
to eat and a cold beer. The ladies were keeping the food and beverages
flowing quite well, and he sat on a log, munching a sandwich and watching
as they bolted the last section of the tower together. All that remained
was to lift the generator to the top of the tower, and then bolt on the
propeller. Hank sauntered over after a bit and sat down with a beer.
"How’d we get drafted into helping them assemble the thing?" he wondered.
John just shrugged; "dunno; sometimes you help your friends. Some
day we may need a favor in return. And I’m willing to take the time
to build some good will..." Hank just nodded.
It was well after dawn when they stood back, watching
the fan blade turn slowly, listening to its Whoop - Whoop - Whoop...
One of the younger men was watching the power distribution panel, calling
"Two Hundred... Three Hundred... Three fifty... Four Hundred... Four fifty...
Four seventy-five... Four Ninety five... FIVE HUNDRED AMPS!" John
grinned as a cheer went up from the crowd. Hank just shook his head;
"back home, five hundred amps would barely be enough for a dozen houses.
Here, they’re going to run a whole island on it?" John just shrugged;
"big step up from what they had before. And they seem to be happy
with it. I just hope it survives the next big storm." Hank
nodded and yawned; "well, I think I’m going to go find a place to curl
up, and get some sleep." With that, the rabbit rose, and padded off
down the hill towards the schooner. John watched him go for a while,
sipping his beer. He looked up as someone's shadow fell across him.
He smiled at Beth, one of Sam’s older daughters as she settled next to
him. She’d been off to the university, but in the end had missed
her family, and the village and had returned. When he’d started making
regular stops at Bibbity bay, they’d become friends, and a bit more...
John grinned and tilted his head to kiss her hello, one paw reaching out
to caress her shoulder. Like most of the villagers, she was running
about with nothing on, something that John found rather suggestive, considering
her closeness... "Sleep can wait" he grinned to himself; "we still
got some celebrating to do..."
Hank was well rested and chipper, while John was dragging
the next morning. They battened down the cargo hatch and slipped
their moorings while most everyone else was still asleep. As John
backed the schooner from the dock, he grinned up at the windmill, at the
top of the hill, its one red light at the top still visible in the early
morning gloom. By the time the sun was up, they were on a broad reach,
the schooner flying across the waves towards Donnovan’s Reef. The
Reef was also engaged in fishing, although it was a different sort than
Bibbity Bay; While the bay was family owned, and almost everyone was related
by blood, or marriage, the Reef was a corporate fishing station, a fish
farm run almost like a military installation. John had been approached
by their purchasing department; furrs always looking to save a penny, they’d
decided that John’s freight rates were lower than anyone else’s, and for
cargo that wasn’t time sensitive, they preferred using him. There
was an air compressor in the hold, a twenty ton monster that had taken
a dockside crane to lower into the little schooner, and would take something
similar to extract.
It was just about sundown, and Hank was looking from the
chart to the SatNav system. "We, uh, aren’t going to make it until
tomorrow, are we?" he asked, looking up at the lion. John looked
down from the mast tops and shook his head; "nope. Just too far.
But the water’s deep, and the shipping lanes here aren’t traveled much.
I think between the two of us, we can watch over Rusty as we sail through
the night." Hank just nodded; he’d been quite familiar with staying
up for several days straight, when military operations had become intense,
but he’d never liked it. And he knew the lion liked to "cat nap."
Shrugging he settled down by the weather rail (high side of the ship, the
side the wind blows over), to try and catch some sleep while he could.
Hank awoke with a start. He looked around wildly;
John was still at the wheel, his gaze directed up at the sails, watching
how the air flowed across them. Rising, the rabbit stretched, and
padded over to look at the SatNav system, and then at the chart.
They were making good time, doing almost six knots. Radar showed
clear too. No traffic, or islands to worry about hitting. Looking
over at John, he found the Lion staring out to sea; "This night remind
you of anything?" Hank thought for a minute, and looked around.
Finally he shrugged; "No, not really; whats it remind you of?" John
just smiled and shrugged. "That night on the Austin, just before
we hit the beach at Donumbraugh. It was warm, and the moons were
reflecting off the water just like that." Hank shuddered; "that was
the last peaceful moment we had for a LONG time." John nodded; "Yeah,
the landing was unopposed, but moving off the beach was murder. Mostly
I’m glad we’re past all that, but sometimes I get the strangest... nostalgia,
I guess you’d call it, for those times. Strange, isn’t it?"
The rabbit just nodded.
They sailed in silence for a while, the only noises the
wind and the water. Finally Hank said; "You know what I miss?
The sense of purpose. We knew what had to be done, we knew how to
do it, and although it may have been terrifying, the way forward was clear.
Now... Well, everything seems so... bland, and listless. Yeah, I
know, we’ve got cargo to deliver, and money to make, but it just isn’t
the same..." John just nodded.
After a while, John handed the wheel over to Hank, and
found his own spot to lie down on the deck. A short while later he
was snoring softly, much to Hank’s amusement. The rabbit guided the
ship through the night, watching the stars, and the waves, and wondering
about his path through the universe...
It was well after sunrise when they arrived at the drilling
rig-like structure that was Donovan’s Reef. They negotiated their
way through the "fences" that kept the fish in, a pilot boat dashing here
and there, to open the electronic gates. John didn’t know just how
they kept the fish in; some sort of electromagnetic field he thought, that
disrupted the fish’s sense of direction, turning them back the way they’d
came. In any event, the passage of a steel ship caused interference,
and as they passed over a "gate" the pilot boat turned it off, and then
back on. Finally they came to the station itself, and tied up alongside.
They were met by the station’s maintenance chief, a Kangaroo by the name
of McMasters. Almost before they’d finished tying up, the schooner
was swarming with workers, preparing the compressor to be hoisted off the
ship.
Hank stepped forward to try and help at one point, only to be rather
gruffly informed that this was a union operation, and his help wasn’t needed,
or wanted. John stuck his nose in to growl; "By GOD, Mister, as long
as you’re on MY ship, you will allow MY crew to inspect the hoist.
If YOU drop that compressor, it’ll sink me, and I will NOT permit that
to happen!" The union steward backpedaled before the growling lion,
and almost wound up going over the side. Finally McMasters interceded,
allowing John and Hank to inspect, without touching. Hank of course
had to find several things wrong, which were relayed to the crew, which,
while grumbling, fixed it until Hank was satisfied. The compressor
was lifted clear without incident, the schooner rising almost a foot in
the water as the load was removed.
McMasters looked particularly satisfied as the compressor
was lowered into the structure of the fishing station; "we’ve been making
do for months, since the old compressor broke down. First there was
the battle to get Corporate to authorize the money for a replacement, and
then there was the lead time as the unit was ordered. Now we can
restart the bubble fences, and keep some of the larger predators at bay."
John blinked; he’d been thinking about taking a swim... "Predators?"
McMaster nodded; "Yeah; sharks are too dumb to be fooled by the electromagnetic
fences; they sometimes bull right through. But when we sparge air
into perforated pipes on the ocean bottom, we can create a curtain of air
bubbles in the water; they see that and don’t try to go through it.
Must think its solid or something."
John shook his head; "well, I guess we’re through here...
If you’ll call the pilot boat, we’ll clear your dock." McMaster nodded;
"Yeah, and I’ll get the paperwork started for you to get paid. Accounting
should have a check out to you in thirty business days or so..."
John just sighed; "Yeah, I’ll try and be patient. Take care, McMaster."
It didn’t take long to get the schooner back out to sea.
"Those folks aren’t the most hospitable around." John grumbled; "and they
take forever to pay you too. Typical large corporation. Still,
when they do require our services, the pay’s good." Hank nodded,
looking back at the station as it receded I the wake. John continued;
"Had to lay over there one night due to a storm. Wouldn’t feed me
in their cafeteria; said it would screw up their books, so I wound up eating
and sleeping on the ship; should have put back out to sea... Hank
nodded again; "so where we off to now?" John just grinned.
"We’re off to a place called Eddie’s Key. There’s a fairly large
village, or a small town there, and I buy trade goods on speculation for
them. I show up like a traveling discount store and we work out deals,
swapping for this and that. Sometimes I do well, sometimes I loose
money, but its always interesting." Hank grinned; "oh? How’s
that?" John chuckled; "well, their sexual mores are just a little
bit looser than those at WaterWings... Neither of us should lack for company
tomorrow night." Hank just grinned.
After a bit, John handed the wheel over to Hank, to head
below, to make something for dinner. This was proving to be a real
challenge, as Hank was mostly herbvore, and John was mostly carnivore.
Still, he tried. Tried hard, too; pity Hanks only comment was that
he’d had better field rations. They decided they’d each do their
own cooking...
Eddie’s Key was just a low hump of land in the ocean,
one of a number of small islands, or "keys." This one had a decent
harbor, however, and as John brought the schooner around the headland,
Hank could see several small boats shove off from the beach, to paddle
in their direction. By the time the lion had brought the ship around
into the wind, to drop the anchor and the sails, they were surrounded by
canoes, kayaks, and skiffs, full of laughing youths. Hank watched
in amazement as half of those in the boats dove overboard, to swim to the
schooner, clambering up the side. One, a rather shapely and completely
nude ferret lass gave the startled rabbit a big hug; "Hello! You’re
new! What’s your name?"
John found plenty of eager hands to help him fold the
sails, and more to help him remove the hatch covers. By the time
he was opening crates to show what he’d brought to trade, the village elders
had shown up. The only dry one in the lot was the matriarch of the
village, a pretty middle aged vixen by the name of Sassy. Apparently
she’d felt that her "station" required her to step from her skiff to the
schooner, instead of merely diving overboard and swimming over. She
was also the only one wearing a stitch, her sarong wrapped low around her
hips. After giving John a big hug hello, and being introduced to
Hank, John offered her a seat on a crate and began to show what he’d brought
to trade.
Sassy nodded; "Yes, the solar powered radios are worth
trading for, although I think you’re asking too much. The vitamins,
and antibiotics we... could use. And I suppose the children would
go for the powdered drink mixes. The ice cream maker would be nice,
if we had a source of milk, but as we don’t have cows or goats, I think
we’ll pass on that..." As they talked, one of Sassy’s daughters had
brought down a flagon of palm wine, to pass around amongst those involved
in the negotiations. John nodded; "OK, the ice cream maker is no
big deal. Let me show you the sailcloth I’ve got..."
Hank was in heaven. The ferret and her sister had
latched onto him, almost shoo-ing the other young girls away. Giggling
between themselves, they talked him into showing them his quarters, and
once there, they proceeded to tease and torment him until he had no choice
but to have his way with them. As one of the sisters later explained;
"we seldom get to see anyone new here, and making love to the same old
boys can get so old after a while. Its so refreshing to make love
to someone new, don’t you think?"
John was finding it a bit hard to stand. The hold
was hot, and the palm wine was strong. He was sure he’d consumed
less than anyone else there, but still, he felt as if the hold was slowly
spinning. "’bout 12 RPM, I’d guess" he thought to himself.
Still, there was no way he could break off the "negotiations" to get a
breath of fresh air... "Now, about that teak; its not full of knots like
the last load you sold me, is it?" he rumbled, his sentence punctuated
with a hiccup.
Hank laughed and tore through the brush like a teen-ager.
Some of the islanders had offered to show him the island, and he’d dove
over the side to swim to their skiff. Now, the tour seemed to have
degenerated into a game of hide-and-seek. His particular quarry was
a buxom squirrel lass that had been making eyes at him...
John took another swig of his palm wine and looked down
at himself, wondering curiously where his pants had gotten to. Sassy
had long since lost her sarong, claiming it was too hot in the hold (yeah,
right), but as they’d dickered, and drank, he had no remembrance of removing
his pants. Or of the other village elders drifting off... Oh well...
Hank crouched in the tall bushes, watching quietly; he’d
almost caught the squirrel lass he had been pursuing, but she’d slipped
free with the taunting cry of "if you can catch me, you can have me!"
Now he saw her, moving down the trail cautiously in the moonlight.
Waiting until the last instant, he leapt, knocking her to the ground.
Her squeal was somewhere between surprise and delight, and she wriggled
for a moment, trying to get away, and then gave up. Kissing the lepine
softly she giggled; "not here, though; I know a MUCH better place," and
with that she led him off through the jungle night.
John panted heavily; it was hot in the hold, and his head
was spinning from the palm wine. He was flat on his back, with Sassy
astride his hips, and the way she was rubbing herself against him would
make ANYONE pant...
Hank kissed her hard under the waterfall. The pool
and its surroundings weren’t exactly deserted, but the night and the falling
water concealed the other couples scattered about. The rush of the
water drowned out all but the most passionate cries. Hank leaned
back against the rock, in that small pocket behind the falling water, and
pulled the squirrel fem closer. She chirrred, and tilted her head
up to kiss him, as her thighs parted, one leg going on either side of his.
As they kissed, she slowly rubbed herself against him.
When in full voice, a male lion’s roar can be heard for
almost five miles, and the roar of this particular Lion was heard over
most of the island. Sassy had teased him until he was hard, and then
ridden his cock until he roared... and afterwards, she lay on top of him,
as they both panted.
Hank woke up in someone’s grass hut. He blinked
and looked around; yup, it actually was a genuine grass hut, just like
in the movies. Better still, the squirrel was draped across him,
sleeping quietly. He was tempted to wake her, but figured with their
acrobatics of the night before, she needed her rest. As he gently
disengaged himself, and stood up, he realized his shorts were nowhere around.
Shrugging, he stepped out, to breathe the fresh morning air. After
a minute, he headed for the lagoon, and the schooner.
John GROANED. His head throbbed. Sassy was
still laying on top of him, and he found he was stiff, and a bit sore,
and quite sticky. He was trying to gently slide out from under her
when she woke up, a sly smile on her face; "Oh, no, you don’t escape THAT
easily" she purrred. Somehow, the way she moved, the way she touched
him, he was hard again in an instant. This time, he showed her what
its like to mate a lion, taking her from behind, roughly, the back of her
neck held lightly in his jaws.
Hank heard the rythmic sounds from the hold as he climbed
aboard, and just grinned. Heading for the companionway below, to
the crew’s quarters he just shook his head. By the time the Lion
roared again, he had found another pair of shorts and had the coffee going.
John held the cup of coffee with both paws, as if his
life depended on it. "Rough night?" Hank asked with a chuckle.
John just nodded, and then winced at the motion; "way WAY too much palm
wine. My head feels as if it fell off a few miles back and got run
over by a tracked vehicle. Sassy says we came to a mutual agreement
last night, but to tell you the truth, I don’t remember what it was..."
They both looked up as something thumped the hull. Scrambling up
on deck, they found a work boat alongside, its crew still laughing and
carrying on, as if every task could be turned to play, as seemed to be
the style here. John blinked as he gazed at a huge stack of teak
logs, baskets of pineapple, and bales of dried fish. With a shrug
they set to swinging the foremast boom over the side, to start loading
their cargo.
John turned down Sassy’s invitation to stay another night,
claiming scheduling problems. Hank was convinced that he was still
suffering a hangover and was dreading the thought of more palm wine.
Sassy just shrugged and kissed him goodbye, saying that she hoped they
could come back soon. She grinned at Hank and gave him a wink and
said "REAL soon..." John just grinned weakly and nodded.
As the sun passed its zenith, they were beating to windward,
headed for the port of Snug Harbor. John thought that he could market
the stuff they’d traded for at the market there. The wind was good,
the salt spray refreshing, and John was finally starting to feel himself
again. Hank had gone below to catch up on his sleep, and John guided
the schooner by himself, thinking over the previous evening, and wondering
just at what point they’d made their deal...
Hank sat on the deck house roof, idly kicking his feet,
and sipping a cold beer as he watched the dockside traffic. John
had left about two hours ago, his slight limp pronounced today as he headed
for the "market", a large building where the trading of all sorts of goods
was accomplished. As this was a busy port, the Harbormaster had
felt it would be best if someone stayed to watch the ship, at least as
long as they had a cargo worth stealing. As he watched, he noticed
a pair of "rent-a-cops" making their rounds. They’d made the circuit
about every half hour since Hank had been sitting there, and they were
starting to give him an idea...
John Groaned; "That’s all its worth? You gotta be
kidding me!" The agent just shrugged; "Might find a better price
over in Cape Suzette, but around here there just isn’t that much call for
it. Organic fertilizer, or an animal feed supplement is about all
I might sell it for..." John sighed and shook his head; "OK, Mister,
looks like you bought yourself a load of dried fish."
Hank grinned and handed the two security cops a cold beer
each. As he’d suspected, they were bored to tears, walking the same
old beat day after day after day, for close to minimum wage. It seemed
they were quite amenable to watching the ship, that evening, for a little
cash and a little beer...
John looked at the paperwork as he walked back to the
ship. The teak, as he’d suspected, had sold quite nicely, bringing
a tidy profit. In fact, it had paid for the trip. The pineapple
had done all right, not bringing as much as he’d hoped (it being the middle
of the season for that fruit) but more than he feared he’d have to settle
for. The dried fish he figured he’d given away... but he was just
as glad to get the smelly stuff off his ship. Some of the funds he’d
banked, and some had gone towards expenses. And some he’d kept as
pocket cash. He kinda figured he and Hank deserved a quiet night
on the town...
They’d seen the cargo unloaded, and carted off.
The teak was the first to go, its buyer eager to start the process of turning
it into fine furniture. Amazingly the fish was offloaded next, and
then the sweet-smelling pineapple. They’d cleaned out the hold, and
gotten the ship, well, ship-shape. John was a bit surprised when
the two security guards showed up, but decided it was worth a case of beer
and a few bucks to make sure the schooner was left undisturbed. It
was dusk when Hank and John, dressed in the best clothes they had on board,
walked up the pier towards town.
The first bar was a waterfront neighborhood bar, full
of rough longshoremen, and commercial sailors. The Longshoremen ignored
them, and the commercial sailors thought it a riot that they were off a
sailing vessel. They had a few beers, and then shoved off to find
something a little more to their tastes. The second bar was a middle
class neighborhood local place, and they spent a while playing pool and
talking to the locals. Hank tried to put the moves on a svelte lady
rabbit.. until her "boyfriend" showed up. After a while, they moved
on, to find themselves in the bar of a hotel downtown. They watched
the well-dressed crowd for a while, feeling like they were out of place
in their comparatively rough clothes, and after a drink they moved on again.
It had been a quiet, pleasant evening, and they were both feeling rather
mellow when they decided to stop back into the waterfront bar on their
way back to the ship for a nightcap. They were leaning against the
bar, towards the back of the room, talking quietly, minding their own business,
when trouble walked in. Three or four toughs, looking for some action.
Gang members by the look of the symbols on their jackets. Rude, and
loud, even for that crowd, they had the bartender growling and the waitress
all but cowering. The other patrons in the bar either studiously
ignored them, or quietly left. John was more in favor of the latter,
not in the mood for a fight, and took a long pull of his beer, looking
to finish it. Hank, however, had always been the feisty sort, and
when one of the toughs elbowed him, he growled and shoved back. The
tough, a mangy looking cheetah, turned to look the rabbit up and down;
"well, looky what we got here" he growled. "Got a bunny doesn’t know
his place." With a sneer, he teased; "whats wrong Pops? No
one ever tell you herbivores shouldn’t bother the Carnivores? I’d
be careful if I were you, you MIGHT just get bit!"
John groaned to himself; he knew what was coming.
The tough turned to grin at his friends, as if to say "told him, didn’t
I?" When he turned back, he found the somewhat shorter rabbit grinning
ferrally at him. Without a word, Hank simply raised his paw, middle
finger extended. The Tough’s jaw dropped, and then he growled, baring
fangs; NO one gave HIM the finger! He raised one paw to take a swipe
at the rabbit, claws extended, and that’s when Hank kicked him square between
the legs.
Rabbits are famed for their speed, and their ability to
hop, or jump. Their legs are quite powerful, and when Hank kicked
him, folks all over the bar winced. The minotaur behind the now prone
and mewling cheetah lowered his head to charge, and Hank neatly sidestepped
him. As he went past, John neatly brought his now empty beer bottle
down on his head, right between the horns. It was debatable whether
this merely confused the minotaur, or actually did him some damage; either
way, he went right past John too, to slam headfirst into the wall.
The remaining tough, a panther growled low in his throat; looking from
John to Hank, he reached behind him, and pulled out a fighting knife.
Circling, he tried to watch them both, as he moved in to the attack.
John shook his head and knew they’d already won; this guy should have cut
and run by now, but obviously was either too overconfident in his own abilities,
or more likely was too stupid. He feinted at Hank and then took a
stab at the Lion. They circled for a bit, the lion watching warily,
claws out, as the Panther flicked his knife from John, to Hank. It
was when he passed between them, as he overextended himself taking a swipe
at the Lion, that Hank dropped to the floor to sweep his legs to one side,
knocking the feet out from under the Panther. The panther went over
backwards, almost landing on Hank, and John pounced, one paw pinning the
knife to the floor as his jaws sought out the throat of the Panther.
The panther struggled wildly for a while, but between Hank and John they
had him pinned, and after a few minutes, the Lion’s powerful jaws had suffocated
him into unconsciousness.
When John felt the Panther’s body go limp, he released
his hold. Sitting up, he looked at the Bartender; "how long until
the police arrive?" The Bartender shrugged; "called them as soon
as that crowd came in; should be here in another hour or two.. John
just sighed. The waitress peeked out from behind the bartender; "Boys,
I’ll pay your bar tab if you just haul 'em out somewhere and ditch them.
Might teach ‘em a lesson."
Hank swung the Minotaur by the feet, as John swung his
paws and after two or three swings, they tossed him over the edge of the
dumpster. The Cheetah and the Panther were already so interred.
Grinning at each other, the two headed back to the schooner (and their
escape), their good deed done for the day.
They watched from the shadows, as four more members of
the gang went past. At least John thought they were the same gang,
from the markings on their jackets; but from the way they moved, they weren’t
"hunting," just going somewhere. After they’d passed, the two continued
on their way to the schooner, moving warily through the early morning stillness.
John wasn’t surprised to find their "watchdogs" sound
asleep on the deck of the schooner. Hank just shook his head; "didn’t
even finish all the beer, either" he grumbled. John just chuckled,
and fetching the riot gun from below, settled himself in his usual perch,
atop the folded mainsail piled on top of the boom. Hank watched him
settle in, the shotgun cradled in his arms; John looked down and yawned,
and then shrugged; "its comfortable, no one ever expects to find me here
(they always assume I’m down below for some reason), and it’s a good lookout,
just in case those three wake up and track us here. I think it must
have something to do with Lions being able to climb trees. Dunno,
can’t really explain why I like it here." Hank just shook his head
and grinning, went below, to a REAL bed.
In the morning they rousted the security guards, who appropriated
the remnants of the case of beer and staggered off towards the city.
Casting off, they made for the open sea, the schooner ghosting quietly
over the slight ocean swell in the soft morning breeze. By noon,
the wind had freshened and they were moving faster, headed towards Freedom’s
Run and WaterWings.
Sylvia strolled out onto the dock, as the two were tying
up Rusty at her usual spot at the resort’s dock. She watched for
a moment and then smiled; "You two have a nice cruise?" John nodded,
and answered with one word; "Profitable." Hank nodded, thinking back
to Donnovan’s Reef, and the ladies there; "It had its moments, but truth
be told, its good to be 'home'." Sylvia just smiled and nodded.
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