Mosby’s Scenario: Homes and Escapes by jonwI’ 7/25/98 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.