#ice freighter

[lifewithaview]

Thomas Jane in The Expanse (2015) Dulcinea

S1E1

In the asteroid belt near Saturn, James Holden and the crew of the ice freighter Canterbury investigate a distress call from a mysterious derelict ship, the Scopuli. On Ceres Station, Detective Miller begins an off-the-books investigation of a missing heiress, Julie Mao.

*Prologue.In the 23rd century, humans have colonized the Solar System. The UN controls Earth. Mars is an independent military power. The inner planets depend on the resources of the asteroid belt. Belters live and work in space. In the Belt, air and water are more precious than gold. For decades, tensions have been rising - Earth, Mars and the Belt are now on the brink of war. All it will take is a single spark…

[mortalityplays]

talking about this just reminded me I had a dream last night that I'd launched a new epic space opera style webcomic, which was entirely about a vast abandoned space station that was a fully automated unmanned ice cream factory. it was like that one ray bradbury story except the space station made ice cream, forever, for nobody. some lost passenger shuttle docks with it and wakes its passenger from cryosleep, and then they're just stuck there. in the city sized space ice cream factory. alone.

every chapter was themed around a different stage of industrial scale ice cream production, culminating in the product being jettisoned into space through a cargo system that no longer linked to any freighters. very allegorical etc.

[bumblingbabooshka]

I know the most common fanon for Tuvok post Voyager is that he's mostly fine and one of more stable ones but I personally think it'd be funny if he cracked like a goddamn egg and went off the deep end for a few years before finding his way back to semi-normalcy. Janeway's like "Where's Tuvok?" and the answer is that he quit Starfleet, joined a temple, left the temple in the middle of the night to go wander around the desert, almost died but was taken in by a kindly old woman, lived with her for two months before she died, left the desert hut to alert her family and upon completing that task hopped on the first freighter off Vulcan, got stranded on a deserted asteroid after being the sole survivor of the crash, was rescued, mind melded with an alien who can see the future but died in the process and can't remember anything about it except for the vague feeling that he spoke with Kes, was brought back to life by Chakotay who told him that Janeway was looking for him [at which point he pointed out that Chakotay is also not in contact with Janeway and then ran away again], returned to Vulcan but only to find and climb to the top of a holy mountain which took several months and upon reaching the top he feels a sense of enlightenment which permeates his familial bonds as the first sign in almost a year that he's alive at all. Upon finishing his climb down the mountain he stays in a nearby village and serves in their temple for several more months until it's attacked by aliens because of some artifact hidden deep within the temple walls and he puts his tactical strategy to good use, fending off the attack. Harry Kim [with Starfleet] appears and is like "You need to go home, man. People think you're dead." Then he goes home and joins Starfleet again and he's literally only allowed back in because of Janeway and Janeway accepts him out of her love for her crew and also because she's kind of worried that he'll join an ice fishing expedition or cult if she doesn't. This only adds to the lore of Voyager as a cursed ship and her Crew as all-in-the-family maniacs.

[floridaboiler]

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down Of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead When the skies of November turn gloomy…

With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed When the gales of November came early

The ship was the pride of the American side Coming back from some mill in Wisconsin As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most With a crew and good captain well seasoned

Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms When they left fully loaded for Cleveland And later that night when the ship's bell rang Could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?

The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound And a wave broke over the railing And every man knew, as the captain did too, T'was the witch of November come stealin'

The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait When the gales of November came slashin' When afternoon came it was freezin' rain In the face of a hurricane west wind

When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck sayin' Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya At seven p.m., a main hatchway caved in, he said Fellas, it's been good to know ya

The captain wired in he had water comin' in And the good ship and crew were in peril And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

Does any one know where the love of God goes When the waves turn the minutes to hours? The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay If they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er

They might have split up or they might have capsized They may have broke deep and took water And all that remains are the faces and the names Of the wives and the sons and the daughters…

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings In the rooms of her ice-water mansion Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams The islands and bays are for sportsmen And farther below Lake Ontario Takes in what Lake Erie can send her And the iron boats go as the mariners all know With the gales of November remembered

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed, In the maritime sailors' cathedral The church bell chimed. It rang twenty-nine times. For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down Of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee Superior, they said, never gives up her dead When the gales of November come early…

~ “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” by Gordon Lightfoot

Image: “Every Man Knew” by David Conklin

[polle-sci]

Captain Curly, You will find in your corporate account once you make port your percentage of the cargo currently being shipped. In total, your bonus, in addition to your base pay and current seniority, will be 424,500 credits.

Testing, Testing

Hello, hello, all freighters report in with your latest course trajectories! Punctuality is key! Remember, when the company does well, we all do well! The first ship to report in will get a 50 credit bonus to be divided amongst the crew!

Failure to report in to Corporate HQ will incur severe penalties.

-Clyde Palmer

PONY EXPR. COMMS OFFICER

[ironworked]

60 Sec Rec: The Expanse

Hundreds of years in the future, humans have colonized the solar system and Mars has become an independent military power. A missing person links an asteroid belt detective, the captain of an ice freighter and a diplomat trying to avert a war. [Rotten Tomatoes & Netflix]

Detective Miller is in a futuristic-noir, a cop tasked with finding wayward heiress turned political activist Julie Mao.

James Holden and crew are in an action/adventure in space, the everyday guys who go from the frying pan to the fire.

Chrisjen Avasarala, UN Security Council member, is in a political thriller, trying to avoid a war and figure out who she can trust in the government.

A bit of Blade Runner/Total Recall, a bit of Alien, a bit of Battlestar Galactica, as the show progresses these storylines intersect and the genres mix. Characters don't become found family but a forged one; forged in near death experiences, impossible choices, secrets kept and shared, and even some romances (not all requited).

This show can fit SO MANY BLORBOS. Also polyamory! one of the leads has 8 parents, and a recurring character, who is the love of my life, is in a poly relationship later in the show. The actors are fantastic (Tipper has an episode in one of the later seasons that's a tour de force. She's tremendous), and the set design and costumes are gorgeous.

The ship names (I mean actual ships here) are so cool too: Rocinante, Guy Molinari, Scipio Africanus... a nice bit of trivia.

It is so, so, so GOOD. You have to give it some time at the start because you might need a while to 'get settled' in this universe, but don't worry because it's a rich story but not a dense one. It's also not grimdark; bad things do happen, and there are losses and casualties, but it's not a cruel show. It won't laugh at you for caring.

Developed by Mark Fergus and Hawk Ostby (Children of Men, Iron Man) based on the book series by James S. A. Corey (pseudonym for Daniel Abraham and Ty Franck). Written by the novelists and mostly new writers. Directed by Breck Eisner (Fear Itself), Jeff Woolnough (Vikings), Terry McDonough (Better Call Saul)... Starring Thomas Jane, Steven Strait, Cas Anvar, Dominique Tipper, Wes Chatham, Florence Faivre, Shawn Doyle, Shohreh Aghdashloo, Frankie Adams, Cara Gee, Keon Alexander, Jasai Chase Owens, Nadine Nicole, David Strathairn, Jared Harris...

Trailer for s1

Previous: Deadloch - Dead Boy Detectives - The Tick - This Close - Kung Fu - Nancy Drew - Kevin Can Fuck Himself - Silo - The Flight Attendant - Severance - Hacks - Hit The Floor - Black Sails - 12 Monkeys - T@gged - The Diplomat - The Mick - Timeless - UnReal - Kings - All Rise - Barry - Halt and Catch Fire - Resident Alien - Santa Clarita Diet - Claws - Roswell New Mexico - Upload - Rutherford Falls

[illuminatedquill]

Ghost Stories 06

Feat. Ursa Wren + The Ghost crew

Story Summary: The Ghost lands on Krownest for a brief resupply and also to visit Sabine, who chose to remain with her family to help marshal the Mandalorian forces against Imperial rule on Mandalore. Ursa Wren, Sabine's mother, comes onboard the Ghost to formally introduce herself to her daughter's friends.

The bitter chill of Krownest's morning air greeted Ursa Wren as she stepped outside the fortress walls of her home. Even with a heating unit installed into her custom-made beskar armor, the cold still found a way to seep through. Despite having spent a lifetime living on the frigid planet that her ancestral clan called home, she never could get used to the freezing temperatures.

In the legends of Clan Wren, the world had once been a beautiful, thriving green planet, filled with lush forests and bountiful lakes. But then a great battle had taken place, between her ancestor, Princess Lenora, and a great witch that had come to steal something precious from her. The fight had scarred the planet's ecosystem, somehow plunging Krownest into an endless winter.

Krownest's unhospitable climate made it good for a few things, she admitted. It made Clan Wren a particularly formidable force, even among the fabled Mandalorian warrior caste. Surviving out here, in the frozen tundra was a rite of passage for any warrior on Krownest: you had to be resourceful, quick to adapt, and possess sheer force of will to battle against the elements.

There was also the added benefit of making any potential ground invasion a suicidal venture. Whoever was foolish enough to attempt found themselves wishing for the swift death by a Wren, instead of the slow freezing hell they would find themselves resigned to from the planet's unforgiving nature. Flying was also hazardous, since the erratic changes in weather could freeze fuel lines in vulnerable space craft or decrease visibility so drastically that all a pilot could see was a wall of white ice and sleet before slamming into a mountain side.

Finally, because of the constant blizzards and storms, it rendered most scanners commonly in use by the galaxy useless - which meant that Krownest was an excellent place to hide contraband, ranging from different types of medicines to various weapons of war, from prying eyes.

It was for this last reason that they had received visitors on this day. Sipping at a mug of freshly brewed caf, with a splash of honey added, Ursa stared at the old freighter docked in their landing bay below.

The Ghost. Its crew made of an eclectic team of rebels, comprised of a Twi'lek, two Jedi, a Lasat, a homicidal astromech unit and, formerly, her daughter, Sabine.

Her mouth twitched. These were the people who had housed her daughter - her heir - for the past several years. She had spent time with the two Jedi and, from what she could tell, they had earned her daughter's trust and loyalty.

Enough to defy me and the Empire, she thought with no small amount of bitterness.

She knew how suspicious Sabine could be towards people, which said volumes about how deeply she cared for the people on that ship if she would defend them against her own flesh and blood.

But, then again, she was the reason why Sabine was so slow to trust others in the first place.

Tristan, her youngest, appeared by her side. "Good morning, Mother," he murmured.

Ursa nodded at him. "Same to you. I take it Sabine is already onboard with her friends?" she asked.

The ghost of a smile played on his lips. "Never seen her move so fast. They hadn't even landed yet when she bolted from the war room."

Ursa felt her mouth twitch again. Is this jealousy? she wondered.

Tristan glanced at her. "Do you wish to meet them?"

Ursa sipped again at her caf, contemplating. "I'm not sure if that's wise. Sabine would most likely disapprove."

Her son turned to her fully, his expression intensely curious.

Ursa eyed him, feeling unnerved by his stare. "What?" she demanded.

"You're scared," he observed. "That's a first."

She almost spat out her caf. "Scared? Of what?"

Tristan pointed at the freighter. "Scared of them. Sabine's friends. You're afraid that they're really better than us."

She glared at him. "That is nonsense. Strike the thought from your mind, young man. We are Sabine's true family."

He shook his head sadly. "It's not like that, Mother. Not for Sabine. It's not 'us versus them' to her."

Ursa arched an imperious eyebrow at her son. "Oh? And what is the truth of it, then?"

Tristan gave her a pointed look. "You'd know that if you actually talked to her."

She glowered at him. "I am losing my patience," she growled.

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "We're all family to Sabine," he said quietly. "All of us - and them, too. She wouldn't replace us anymore than she would with them."

Ursa fell quiet, his words twisting their way through her gut.

"There was no trade, Mother. Her family just got bigger, that's all," he pointed out.

She studied her youngest for a long moment - and then smiled. Reaching out with a hand, she fondly ruffled his hair. "When did you grow up to be so wise, my beautiful boy?" she asked.

He grinned at her in a disarmingly boyish manner, breaking through the normally serious outlook that was the default expression for Tristan. "Are you going to meet them?" he asked.

Ursa sighed. "I suppose so," she said reluctantly. "If anything, just to be a good host."

"You'll turn on that famous Clan Wren charm, I hope," he teased.

She swatted a hand at him in annoyance.

The hatch was closed when she arrived a few minutes later. Steeling herself to whatever encounters she was about to experience inside the ship, she knocked loudly on the steel frame.

For a few tense seconds, nothing mattered. Then a speaker blared with an unfamiliar voice: "Who's there?"

Ursa replied, "This is Ursa Wren, Sabine's mother. I wish to come inside, if that's alright."

Another pause. Then: "Uh, hang on just a second. I'll open the hatch."

She stepped back a few paces. The hatch opened with a pneumatic wheeze, lowering into a ramp for her to step into the freighter. Standing in the entrance was a large Lasat, dressed in a modified combat suit for his stature, staring at her with a curious expression.

Fo a few moments they just exchanged a look; two warriors, both from dying cultures, sizing each other up.

Ursa broke the silence first. "A pleasure to meet you, Garazeb Orrelios."

The Lasat blinked at her and then did something surprising - he bowed, if somewhat clumsily. It was a formal gesture of respect; one he clearly hadn't done in quite some time, she observed.

"I extend the same greeting to you, Lady Wren," Orrelios replied.

She studied him some more. "Sabine told me you were once a captain for your people's Royal Guard."

"That is correct, Countess," confirmed Orrelios. "I am familiar with royalty."

Ursa smiled. "I am not royalty. My title is simply an inheritance. I am no Queen."

"But you bear yourself with as much regality and grace as any royal subject," Orrelios observed. "And you have done much to earn the title several times over, despite the title being inherited."

She blinked. "Did Sabine talk about me?"

The Lasat shook his head. "No. But I see it in the way she conducts herself. Your daughter wears her surname with pride and steel, just like her mother."

She was touched. The Lasat had a rough appearance, but he spoke with no small amount of heart and authenticity. It wasn't hard to see why Sabine regarded him so highly.

Ursa bowed to him in return. "May I come aboard, Captain?"

"You may," he replied. "And please - call me Zeb."

Zeb, as Ursa now called him, gave her a brief tour of the freighter. She was surprised at how roomy it was, despite the sheer number of supplies crammed inside. The Lasat rarely had to duck down to enter a hallway or room, and walked with the ease of someone who was comfortable with their accommodations. Ursa rarely travelled on ships, preferring the commonly used Fang fighters that were synonymous with Mandalorian culture as a vehicle of transport.

When she first saw the ship at a distance some time ago, her first reaction was to be appalled that her daughter called such a place home for some time. Now, looking around at all the different customizations and obvious care taken into the ship's interior, she began to realize that Sabine might have felt more at home here than back at the fortress of Clan Wren.

How many hallways had she walked down only to spot a doodle on a wall? Sabine's artwork popped up everywhere she looked. On Krownest, her daughter had kept her art kept within the pages of a sketchbook only.

These friends, Ursa began to realize, have not only physically returned my daughter to me. They have also brought her back to herself.

Finally, they came to the communal room. Stepping inside, she saw two figures sitting at a table: one was the familiar face of Kanan Jarrus, one of the Jedi that had accompanied Sabine when she first returned home. The other was a green-skinned Twi'lek woman, similar in age to Jarrus, wearing an orange flight uniform that had seen its fair share of usage.

Jarrus had his arm draped around the Twi'lek's shoulders, his head reclined as though dozing. The Twi'lek - Hera Syndulla, Ursa now recalled - was concentrating on a data-pad, reading intently what was on the screen.

As they entered the room, the Jedi sat up - his partially masked face turned in their direction. "Zeb," he said cautiously. "You've brought a guest."

Hera looked up. Ursa was taken aback at how blue those eyes of hers were - it felt like they were piercing right through her.

"Hello," replied Ursa. "We've met before, Master Jedi."

Jarrus nodded respectfully towards her. "I remember, Countess. This is the captain of our modest little crew - Hera Syndulla."

She extended her hand, which Syndulla grasped firmly. Ursa felt her respect towards the Twi'lek rise several more notches at the strength in her grip. There's steel in her, she remarked.

"Pleasure to meet you at last," Syndulla said politely. "I see where Sabine gets . . . well, everything."

Ursa snorted. "Is that a good or bad thing?"

The Twi'lek's face split into a warm smile. "A little bit of both. Are you here for her? I can call her up, if you like."

She paused for a moment, thinking about what she should say.

Finally, she simply said, "I just wanted to say thank you. For Sabine."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jarrus smile a little. Syndulla looked surprised and asked, "For Sabine? Why?"

"Everyone here on this ship . . . you restored her to herself. I thought I had lost my daughter forever," Ursa replied, fighting to keep the quiver from her voice. "Not just in a physical sense, but in who she was before everything went wrong."

Syndulla shared a look with Jarrus. Next to her, Zeb scratched idly at his head. Ursa heard a loud sniff from his direction.

"Sabine has inherited much from you, Ursa," Jarrus said firmly. "We may have helped Sabine find her way back to you, but it's only because she had the strength to persevere through whatever challenges the galaxy threw at her. And that incredible strength comes from you."

"And there were quite a lot of challenges," Zeb agreed. "Feels like it was practically every week, in fact."

"Families are complicated," Syndulla added. "Believe me. I know."

Ursa said wryly, "Our family is certainly no exception to that. I just wanted you to know how grateful I am to you all for giving Sabine a home. A place where she can be herself."

"You all talk with her so easily," she said. "I wish I knew how to do that."

Jarrus shared a look with Syndulla, a faint smile playing on both their faces. "Well," Jarrus said, "it helps if you talk to her."

Ursa frowned. "I do talk with her," she replied.

"Not the way Sabine tells it," Zeb pointed out. "You talk at her. That's different."

She thought about it. "Oh," was all she said.

Syndulla interjected, "Although, with Sabine, it is difficult to hold a conversation with her at times. Especially when she's upset."

"That happens a lot when we talk," Ursa replied dryly.

Jarrus chuckled. "We've had our fair share of that, too."

"How do you get her to speak openly then?"

"How do we get her to lower her guard, you mean?" asked Syndulla.

Ursa nodded.

Syndulla smiled. "Lower your own, first."

Ursa paused outside the door of her daughter's room; inside she could hear a pair of voices, loud enough to be heard through the metal.

One of them was certainly Sabine - and the other one was . . .

She leaned in close, straining to listen.

" . . . long have you had these bandaged like this, goober?" That was Sabine.

"Uh. A few days, I think." This voice belonged to Ezra Bridger - the young Jedi who was close to her daughter.

"You're supposed to change out the bandages," said her daughter, sounding annoyed. Annoyed . . . and worried.

Ursa narrowed her eyes, thinking.

"Oh. Right," came the hesitant reply. "Anyway, how are things with your family?"

"They're fine, Ezra," said Sabine impatiently. "And don't change the subject. How did you get hurt? Those Jedi senses of yours getting rusty?"

"Stormtrooper snuck up behind me during a firefight. I'm . . . I'm still getting used to you not being there to have my back anymore," Bridger replied quietly.

"Oh," was all her daughter said.

There was an uncomfortable pause. "I didn't mean it like that, Sabine," Bridger said hastily. "I meant - "

"I know what you meant," replied her daughter quietly. "It's okay."

Ursa, entranced by what she was hearing from her daughter's voice, leaned in closer to better hear the conversation -

The door slid open.

She almost fell straight onto her face, catching her balance at the last second.

Ursa looked up to see the two of them look horror-struck at her sudden presence, sitting close together on the bottom bunk of a two-bed configuration. Sabine, staring at her with wide eyes, exclaimed, "Mother!"

Bridger, on the other hand, abruptly stood up, banging his head on the top bed's underside. He yelped with pain, clutching at the top of his head.

It was then that Ursa immediately noticed that the young man was shirtless. A medical bandage, presumably applied recently by her daughter, was visible on his upper arm.

A-ha, she thought.

Straightening up quickly, Ursa said, "Hello, Sabine."

"W - what are you doing here?" Sabine sputtered. Her eyes were flitting nervously between her and Bridger.

"Just came to formally introduce myself to your friends," Ursa replied.

Bridger, to his credit, recovered with haste. Standing ramrod straight, a lump on his head, he stuck out his hand. "Hello, Mrs. Wren!" he said in a squeaky voice. "It's a privilege to meet you again."

Ursa stared at the young man, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "Why are you shirtless in my daughter's room?"

She glanced at Sabine. "This is your room, correct? That is what the others told me."

Bridger took a small side-step to position himself between Ursa and her daughter. Despite the situation, a smile threatened to crack through her stern facade. The boy was brave, she had to give him that.

"It is, Mrs. Wren - "

"Countess Wren," she corrected.

"Countess Wren," continued Bridger, his face coloring to an alarming shade of red. "Yes, this is Sabine's room. I was just - uh - we were just - you have to understand, I'm not usually shirtless when I'm alone with Sabine in her - her room."

It was like watching a train wreck. Bridger stumbled through the final words of his statement, his eyes widening with embarrassment as he realized in real time how what was spilling out of his mouth did not help clarify the situation at all.

Amused, Ursa let the silence hang thickly after his words. "Why are you not shirtless in your own room, then?" she asked, her voice whisper soft.

The young Jedi turned to look at Sabine, who had buried her face into her hands. He would not find help there, it was clear.

With a loud gulp, he looked back at Ursa. "This isn't what it, uh, looks like," he said lamely. "I mean, your daughter and I - we're just friends."

"Indeed," observed Ursa. She glanced at Sabine, who still was hiding her face. "Friends who seem comfortable enough to be semi-naked with one another."

"Yes," said Bridger, not picking up on the sarcasm. He looked relieved. "And this isn't even the worst Sabine has seen because one time I fell into a thorn bush and it was all over my legs, so she's seen way more - "

Sabine's face finally snapped up. "Ezra! Please, stop making it worse for yourself and just get out."

The young man froze at her daughter's voice, blinked several times in quick succession, and then quickly acquiesced to her command. Grabbing his shirt, he scampered out.

Leaving Ursa alone with her daughter. Sabine let out an exasperated sigh and laid back onto the bed.

Ursa took in the sight of her daughter's bedroom, drinking in the colorful art displayed all over the walls. "He's certainly a handful," she commented, finally allowing a smile.

Sabine snorted. "I take it that he won't be strangled then?" she asked.

"Not today, no. I was listening outside. I know you were tending to his wounds."

Her daughter peered up at her. "You're not upset? Really?"

Ursa shrugged and sat down next to her. "He's your friend. You care about him. And I'm grateful to him for bringing you back to me."

Sabine sat up and looked at her thoughtfully. "So am I," she said.

"Do you miss him?" Ursa asked suddenly.

Sabine looked away. "Yeah," she admitted. "I miss him. I miss everybody on the Ghost."

Ursa studied her. "You could go back to them," she said quietly. "If you wanted to."

Her daughter's face snapped back to hers, eyes wide. She could see the gears turning behind those eyes, considering. Ursa saw a conflicting array of emotions warring for control in Sabine's expression.

Finally, Sabine shook her head. "Someday, I'll go back," she answered. "But my place is with you. I've been running away for too long."

Ursa reached out and enveloped her daughter into a hug. Sabine froze and then melted into her embrace. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity.

"I should have said this before," whispered Ursa, "but thank you for coming back, cyare. Despite all that has happened between us."

Sabine squeezed her tightly. "We are family, Mother. I will always come when you call."

Ursa smiled and then released Sabine from her grasp to look at her.

My how she's grown into a beautiful young woman, she thought. How much have I missed with my stubborn pride.

Blinking away the tears, Ursa sought to change the subject. "So, you and Bridger. You're really just friends?"

Sabine's cheeks turned a faint shade of pink, but her expression remained neutral. "Yeah. Been that way for a while now."

"I noticed the wound was located on the upper part of his arm."

Her daughter frowned. " Yes. Why?"

Ursa gave Sabine a sly look. "Doesn't seem necessary to remove his whole shirt for that, I would think."

Now her daughter's cheeks were definitely a rosier shade of pink. She cast her eyes down and shrugged. "I was just, uh, being thorough. Ezra's clumsy with medical stuff. I wanted to ensure he didn't miss any other wounds."

"Uh-huh," said Ursa. "Sure."

Sabine looked at her, expression defiant. "What?" she demanded.

Ursa just grinned and ruffled her daughter's hair fondly.

[honey-floret]

Prologue

(CW// Transphobia, Injury, Gore)

***Bzzt***

This is Charlie, November, Sierra Fang of Serpens hailing Cosmic Navy station Papa Zero Victor Seven. Request permission to take off for patrol of the India Charlie 2391 cluster, over.

***Bzzt***

This is Cosmic Navy station Papa Zero Victor Seven, acknowledged Fang of Serpens, you are clear for take off. Heard a bogey was last seen somewhere in the vicinity of Hotel Delta 61005. Find out what it is and report back. Happy hunting. Over.

***Bzzt***

Roger Papa Zero Victor Seven, will do. This is Fang of Serpens out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The engines of the patrol ship roared to life as the Fang of Serpens began undocking procedures. All hands manned their posts as the space station's magnetic mooring locks released the ship back into the void of space. A few blasts of the ships guiding thrusters and the ship was on its way. The Jump drive spooled over and the whole jump lurched ahead. Once its heading was established the command bridge crew relaxed.

"So a bogey eh? There's not much out here but gas and rocks. I don't know why the big wigs back in the Sol system even moved half the navy out here. There's jack all!" Complained gunnery sergeant Louis Gibson.

"You shut your mouth, this is the best posting I've had since I joined the Cosmic Navy," replied Comms Officer Lucas Anderson, "Nothing but flying around doing nothing. Better than being in a fire fight with rebelling miners in the middle of an asteroid belt."

"What I wouldn't give for a good scrap. You're such a fucking wuss Anderson!" Chimed in the pilot, from her tank, Chief Flight Control Officer Alexandra Aetos, the ship jiggled a bit with her movement. "Flying around doing nothing is the opposite of why I joined up. I love the thrill of a dogfight, weaving through debris and death. There's nothing like it."

"At least I'm not a psycho like you two!" Anderson spat back.

"What you mean like that freak of a brother of yours? Flying around space in that hunk of junk freighter of his, thinking he's a woman because 'oh he feels like it'. What you want to join him? You're one to call someone else a psychopath Anderson." Aetos said with venom in her voice, "Joining the Cosmic Navy and not wanting to participate in combat, that's certainly a good look. Perhaps you're just like your faggot sibling?"

Anderson was about to unbuckle himself from his seat and drag Aetos of her tank and show her just how wrong she was when the commanding officer of the Fang of Serpens, Captain Nolan Tian, cut in, "That's enough, we have a job to do and I won't let my officers kill each other. We should be on high alert, there's been reports of civilian and Cosmic Navy ships going missing over the last couple of weeks. So, no Mr. Anderson, this isn't as pleasant of a cruise as you think it is. The big brass haven't told anyone why we're here, just to be wary of enemy vessels. Perhaps the pirates that raid this area of space have become more organized than they last thought, or maybe it's another rebellion. Whatever it is we need to be ready for anything got it?"

"Aye aye Captain!" The bridge crew shouted in unison.

"Good. Now Ms. Aetos keep on your heading, and Mr. Anderson, please radio me when we get close to our destination. I'm going to my office to catch up on some reports." With that the Captain left the bridge.

"That's right Anderson! Get back to listening to your comm channels and let the Captain know when we arrive." Sneered Gibson.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took a several at full speed for the Fang of Serpens to reach the ships destination, a solar system comprised of a young yellow dwarf star, and a large debris disk surrounding it. A belt consisting of dust, ice and many asteroids. The whole area resembling a massive moth.

"Fuck, this area is going to be tricky to navigate. Whatever bogey Command thinks is there is probably well hidden, it's practically a labyrinth." Cursed Aetos.

"Didn't you ask for a challenge Aetos? But oh no this isn't combat so it isn't as exciting is it?" Teased Anderson.

"Shut up Anderson don't you have a job to do?"

"Alright, alright," Anderson flipped a switch on their console and place their headset on, "Captain Tian to the bridge, we've arrived at our destination."

It didn't take too long for Captain Tian to arrive on the bridge. "Let's see what we're working with...," he pulled up a command console and inspected the screen, "Looks like we have our work cut out for us. Be on guard anything can be lurking in that cloud. Ms. Aetos bring us in. Mr. Anderson I want you to search different radio frequencies. See if there's any chatter out there. Alert me if you find something."

As the Fang of Serpens slowly descended into the debris field, a seed of worry started to grow in Andersons stomach. It could have been the immense sheets of ice and rock that drifted by, it could have been the nature of the mission. He could worry later, right now he has a job to do. He started flipping different buttons and switches on his console listening for anything. He heard between different crew members on the ship, talking about what they were going to do with their upcoming shore leave, nothing unusual there. But, they shouldn't be using shipboard channels for personal communication, he cut in and scolded them. He flipped to another channel, this time old radio waves from earth from several centuries ago. Advertisements for long discontinued products, music that Anderson would consider classical, radio shows about dead celebrities. Anderson enjoyed listening to these old broadcasts when he could, and listened in for a couple of minutes.

As he listened to a song about a woman named Helena, that the radio DJ called a golden oldie, the ship continued its journey into the icy labyrinth. Every so often, the hull would creak and moan as as the ship passed close to parallel asteroids. When the song was finished he flipped another switch to listen to what the space outside sounded like. The sounds of the great void were always haunting, the screeches and screams of distance nebula, the howling winds of far off planets. There was a certain beauty to them. The noises outside were familiar to him, but this time was something else mingled in with them. It almost sounded like a melody, echoing off the ice and debris. He flipped some more switches to try and isolate the sound, the melody became clearer. It was definitely music with a constant hum underneath it. That definitely shouldn't be there.

He thought about calling the Captain over to listen to the melody but something inside stopped him. It told him the right course of action was to investigation all channels, if there was a melody there might also be a ship nearby. He flipped more buttons and switches on his board. Static and more static, the buzz of the Fang of Serpens engines, a foreign tongue, radio chatter of other Cosmic Navy ships light years away.... wait.. what was that? He flipped back, a foreign tongue? Something completely unrecognizable. Whatever it was, the voices sounded alien. He looked at his monitor to try and pinpoint the distance between the ship and the voices. He did some calculations and oh, oh fuck, the signal was right on top of them.

Before he was able to get a word out, the ship lurched as it hit something, or perhaps something hit it. Alarms started going off as parts of the hull started to decompress. Sparks erupted as panels and wiring exploded around the command bridge.

***Bzzt***

In his ears he heard screams and shouts coming from all decks. Some great tendril had pierced right through the ships armour. Something.. something about being boarded. He turned his attention back to the bridge, someone was yelling at him. It was Aetos; she had gotten out of her tank and was in the process of dragging him out of his seat. He looked down at his body, there was a spike of metal poking out of his leg, that's.. that's not supposed to be there. He tried to mumble something as Aetos slung him over her shoulder, and raced down the hallway out of the bridge.

They only made it to the next deck down before they could hear the screams, and moans? As the lights flickered around them, Anderson heard the words "Fucking hell!" Leave Aetos's lips as something grabbed her leg from beyond the darkened hallway. He fell to the ground hitting his head hard as Aetos was rapidly dragged off. As the world slowly turned to darkness around him, he gazed down the hallway and saw a mass of tendrils slithering towards him....

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 28

>:D

mastapost

The Panama Canal was one of the greatest feats of 20th Century engineering. Originally, ships that wished to cross from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean, or vice versa, were forced to make the long and arduous journey around South America, a trip that would take 20,000 kilometres, which would also mean our story would be much, much longer (or at least require more time skips).

It was not as simple as digging a ditch. Panama is a beautiful, but very rugged country, with hilly and mountainous terrain that halted the French in their tracks. That, and the copious mosquitoes. Landslides and rain beat back attempts to dig the canal in the 19th Century. But the dream did not end.

How did the Americans do it? All they needed was a bit of lateral thinking. Instead of digging the entire canal and attempting to conquer the mountains and hills, engineers built a dam to flood an artificial lake, leaving a 15km stretch of unflooded land. This is where they built the remaining canal. In order to raise ships into the canal’s lever, they build a system of locks. Each lock would funnel water into the one behind it, raising the ship until the water level was even on both sides, and so on.

The Canal was vital in the war effort in World War 2, and it was a target of the Japanese I-400 programme, until Okinawa fell, and it was decided that destroying the locks would have had no effect on the war.

This is where the story takes Danny and Damian.

“Land ho!” Danny cried out at the first patch of land. At last, after however many thousands of miles travelling (Danny had lost count) they were here.

“We are not sailors.” Damian grumbled. Maybe he was getting excited too. Danny could feel the way the kid’s fin’s thumped on Danny’s scales, like a puppy wagging its tail.

“Right, we’re just borrowing one of man kind’s most impressive engineering accomplishments for sailing.”

Damian huffed. “As sea creatures infamous for attacking sailors. Be glad we are not in the olden days, or our presence would have caused national, or international panic.”

Danny felt the urge to riff on the kid’s comment, but he remembered the stinging silence from yesterday. He decided not to push boundaries this early back into their kind-of make-up. “As it is I’m sure the authorities don’t mind that much. Probably don’t even believe in sirens. I think they’d just be angry that we didn’t pay the fee.”

With the canal in sight, Danny zoomed into the bay in minutes. The bay narrowed into a waterway leading inland underneath a huge bridge. Danny gasped at the size and scale of the thing. The boys continued up the bay. They dodged ship propellers, dove underneath hulking hulls. The water tinged with the smell of barnacles and metal. Nobody was out on the shoreline looking for sirens, which was a big plus, but Danny still kept a tight handle on his invisibility whenever they got close to the surface.

Soon, they reached the first lock.

“We gonna jump over or what?”

Damian trilled. “That would be an easy way to get spotted.”

“I can make us invisible, duh.”

“They would notice the splashes. We have not seen the GiW in some time, but I would prefer not to give them any ideas. We do not know who could be watching.”

With that, Danny found himself icing his body to the hull of some random cargo freighter. The ship approached the locks. They waited for painstaking minutes, watching the water level rise inch by inch. Once it reached the midway point up the next lock, the gates opened. Then the ship slowly inched forward. Then the water level inched upward again.

“This is gonna take for-freaking-ever.”

“Swimming around South America would have taken forever.”

“Uuggghhh.”

It would’ve been nice if there were some pretty landscapes to stare at for the next however many hours this would take. Sadly, their surroundings were all smooth concrete underwater, void of life and energy. Above water, it was the same, save for some small patches of grass and dirt lined the edges of the locks. Workers and vehicles milled about with their tasks on barren grey roads. The shipyard buzzed like persistent mosquitoes. Whirring machinery, shouted orders and gasping engines filled the air. He even felt a literal mosquito land on his nose when he surfaced to check. He was invisible! What the fuck!

So Danny dipped back underwater, hopefully drowning the little blood sucker. He didn’t want to know what a mosquito could do with his blood.

“What is the situation?” Damian asked.

“Boring. And normal, I guess. The stench is killing me though. God damn.”

Damian’s ear fins quirked. “Do sirens worship Christ?”.

“Uhh, not sure. I’m totally atheist though. Must be why the Fentons call me godless sometimes.”

The next lock finally finished opening. The ship continued inching painfully forward. The hum of its engine echoed back and forth in the ditch.

“Gahhh! Please. Move. Faster!” He banged the hull.

“Please stop complaining. You are contributing to the noise.”

Danny went to make another complaint, only for Damian to nip him in the ear.

“Yowch! What was that for!”

Damian went for the other ear.

That was when Danny sniffed a familiar scent. He slapped his hand over Damian’s mouth. “Wait. Something’s up.”

Damian froze. “What?”

The boys scanned the lock. They were alone in there, without a doubt. Danny’s lateral line only sensed Damian with him, and the scent of another sea creature would have been a beacon in the stale water.

Danny broke off from the ship. He melted his ice, just to be safe. The boy carried Damian above the surface invisibly.

“You see anything?”

“Just employees. And equipment.”

“Let’s look behind us.”

The water level had just about filled the up to the top of the gate behind them. There was little risk of being left behind by the next, seeing as Danny’s swimming speed would let them catch up with the boat in seconds. It took little effort for the boy to scale up the walls and peek overhead.

He was treated to a vast overhead view of the waterway. Danny hummed. All he could see was more machines dotting the side of the canal underneath tree cover, and beyond, the vast blue sea.

Damian squeezed his arm like a vice. “We have potential trouble.”

The older boy scrambled. “What? Where?”

“Down there.” Damian pushed the back of his head down.

Danny’s heartrate spiked. Just approaching the lock system was a familiar white boat. Nerves buzzed underneath his skin, like insects crawling into his scales. “I don’t understand. They have no reason to think we’d be here.”

“Perhaps they are just passing by. It could be a coincidence. Will they detect us?”

“Probably not. Radars to detect are expensive as hell, and only the Fentons know how to make them. They’d have to use sonar, and that can only happen if they’re in the same water as us.”

The boys dipped back into the water. Damian clenched his white shoulder. “We will be past these locks by the time they open for that boat.”

Danny nodded quickly. “Yeah. We’ll be fine.”

They returned to waiting.

His fins flipped back and forth in place. Back and forth. He counted the inches. He cheered every new inch the water level took. Why did it take so long just to move some freaking water?! His fins sped up, becoming a blur. They stirred up eddy currents and swirls. At some point he even felt eddies from Damian’s fins too.

Danny took a deep breath. Fear was the mind killer, or whatever they said. Even if his back scales felt like knives were raking over them, the rational part of his mind tried to insist it was all fine. They were probably just moving some assets to the Atlantic. A million and one different ships used this passage.

But it wasn’t right. His nose was good in this form, but not that good. That boat was over fifty meters away in a completely different body of water.

“Damian. There’s more to this. There’s gotta be.”

“Your nerves are contagious. Keep a handle on them.” Damian grumbled.

“I’m serious. I couldn’t have smelled that boat. It’s like a football field away on a different lock. It’s impossible.”

The swirls of water from the small siren’s fins ceased. Danny couldn’t see him, but he felt the weight distribution change a little, like Damian had just lifted his head. “This warrants further investigation.”

The boys resurfaced again. Danny climbed his way up the walls of the lock on the side. They peered over the edge, keeping their noses open. “I don’t see anything.”

Maybe he was overthinking it from stress…

Just then, Damian tugged his sail. “The other side!” He hissed.

Danny turned around. At the edge of the shipyard, his vision clipped onto two distinct white suits talking to some important look guy in a black suit and hard hat. The black suit guy pulled out a walkie talkie. Suddenly, Danny realised the water level had been still for some time.

His voice lowered to a whisper. “Damian, I don’t think they’re just passing by.”

“It cannot be. What reason would they have to suspect we would be here?”

“I don’t know.” Danny clenched his fists around the concrete wall they had been sticking to. “But this is getting bad.”

More men appeared on both sides now, carrying harpoons, hydroplasm guns, and water testing equipment. Quiet adrenaline fired into his fins. A warbling growl rumbled in his throat.

“What if we can swim ahead? You have the speed to outrun them.” Damian’s voice trembled unevenly. His hands shook.

“Damian, the water’s stopped raising. They’ve locked down the lock. If I jump, they’ll be on me in a second.”

“We cannot sit here and wait for them.”

“I know.”

Danny wasn’t doing much better. If he were in human form, his hands would be soaked in sweat by now. His head whirled. The agents seemed to be in every direction. The water still wasn’t moving. The gate was still shut tight. Danny could probably squeeze his body through some kind of gap, but Damian? He didn’t want to grind the kid’s bones into pulp.

“What if we fight them?”

“You don’t have any of your weapons, and I’ve barely had anything to eat.” No food meant no healing, and little energy to toss ice beams willy-nilly.

“Do we have no other option?”

He cursed the stupid freaking GiW. At least his parents had their moments. Nothing good ever happened when the goons in wetsuits showed up. The last time he and Damian saw them was in freaking Amity Bay! His head spun trying to figure out what had given them away. What could get them out of this situation?

There was one other option. The option Danny had desperately hoped would never have to be considered. But it wasn’t just Danny’s safety now. At least his parents had the decency not to dissect Damian (at least during their stay on the SAV). The GiW would be much less merciful.

Danny’s heart rate spiked. Do or die, then. Sink or swim. He gathered up every ounce of courage that still survived his parents.

“We do.”

“Do it now.”

Danny squared up his shoulders, acutely aware of how the scales on his arms touched those on his armpits. How the water touched his back with no clothes in the way. “Do you trust me?”

Damian hesitated. He could smell the kid’s reservation in the water. He counted the steps the GiW agents took, as if in slow motion. “I have no other person to rely on.”

“We won’t be able to cross Panama. We’ll have to go back the direction we came.” Guilt jumped into the party of stressors stomping on his nervous system.

Damian warbled, like a wounded animal. “I know.”

They were so fucking close. They’d just barely gotten into Panama, and it’s all been ruined and he didn’t even know why.

“Hang on to me. And whatever you do, be quiet.”

Danny placed one arm on the top surface of the lock. He used it to pull himself up and over the edge, pushing with his second arm. Slowly he pulled his entire body over the edge of the wall. Danny began wiping drops of water off his body. He could do it while still being completely wet, but it hurt like a bitch and took ages.

Slowly, invisibly, his scales receded into skin. His tail split open. Its bones reshaped into legs. His tailfin hardened into feet. Danny stood up, still clutching Damian to his chest. The boy gasped at the sudden increase in elevation. And despite being invisible, he could practically feel the boy’s judgement baring down on him.

The GiW agents were closing in.

Danny stuck to the dirt and grass. The asphalt would have fried his bare feet off. Not a pleasant sensation. A pair of agents approached the canal, guns in hand. Danny crept along the side, tiptoeing carefully so as to avoid making a sound and drawing attention.

As Danny slipped away, the pair of agents came up to where he’d just been standing. Thank god.

There was an issue though. The locks were obviously built uphill. That meant going along the canal would bring him through the treacherously steep terrain. Not a good look for a scrawny boy with no shoes who needed to be silent. One slip and the entire force would come down upon him.

Damian squeezed his hand. There had to be a way somehow.

Danny swallowed a thick lump. He formed a layer of ice. Despite it only being a few millimetres, it felt clunky and horrible to walk in, and would definitely make a sound, but it would have to do.

Just carefully. One foot over the other. Let the foot come down gently, like a bee’s landing. Danny walked out into the asphalt, just within earshot of the agents at the edge of the canal.

“Got anything?” The one crouching over it said. He was so tempted to shoot an ice beam and knock him into the water.

“Not yet. It could be hiding from the sensor. We’ll give it another five minutes.”

“It better be close. Sun’s killing me out here.”

One of the nice things about sirens is that they were quite sensitive to heat. Thanks to some nifty evolution, it meant that Danny’s invisibility extended into the infrared and ultraviolet range. That was the only reason he wasn’t getting sunburned out the wazoo, and the only reason Damian hadn’t dried out yet. The air was still very, very warm, but he didn’t need to worry about the radiation from the sun itself.

Danny managed to get out of earshot of those agents. His concentration was split between keeping this ice on his feet solid, and on keeping Damian from dying of heatstroke. The boy remained silent, as requested. Danny’s eyes snapped from one side of his vision to the other, hyper aware of his space, and of the dozen or so agents scattered around the perimeter.

Let it be known that he was no ninja. Probably the only saving grace he had was the fact that they were expecting an invisible fish in the water, and not a kid walking on land. One of the agents barked an order. The agents split into groups of two. The pairs scattered, probably making for the other parts of the canal. That meant two of them were coming his way. Danny’s breath hitched. Sweat dripped down his brow. He iced it over.

Damian’s fins hung low too. Their sharp tips brushed against his belly. He couldn’t stay out here long. He needed water and quick. The boy chirped quietly underneath Danny’s hand.

He ambled to the right of the matching pair. Best to get out of their way. For a bunch of guys in fancy suits, they walked quickly. But Danny couldn’t. His makeshift shoes would be too loud.

He was barely able to get out of their way, barely able to avoid brushing shoulders with the men who wanted him a lab rat. Relief cooled his system like his ice.

Then one of them stopped.

“Wait, G.” He turned around. Turned toward Danny. Hairs stood on end. Knees rattled. “Agent H!”

Danny was seconds away from bolting. Only Damian’s tight grip was able to ground him from doing something stupid.

The man pulled a bottle of sunscreen from his suit. “Agent H! You forgot your mandated sunblock!”

With the GiW agent breaking into a light jog, Danny had seconds to react. He threw his body to the side just as the agent rushed through. The motion pushed his upper body just an inch too far off base. Danny’s eyes widened. He flung his arms wildly, but he could not stop the descent.

He shifted gears. The boy twisted his body so it faced the ground. Damian clung tighter, his claws digging into Danny’s chest. He shoved his hands forward. No time to ice them over. Danny planted his fingers on the ground. Sunbaked pebbles seared his fingers. His tongue bled as he bit down the urge to cry out.

His scream was only muffled into a groan. The footsteps of the agent stopped.

“What?” The man whispered.

Danny became a statue. The man’s gaze crawled over his back like an ant colony. Danny’s pulse stomped around in his ears. In his burning fingers. Each millisecond a war between the urge to cry out, the emergency signals of heat and pain, and the adrenaline that he could not let out. Just hunched over, still.

“Agent F! I’m turning into sun-dried tomatoes here!”

At last, at long last, the aforementioned Agent F took off. “Sorry! Just got distracted by some mosquito buzzing.”

Fuck. That was close. Too close.

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.

Panama Canal.

What was that menace doing, heading for Panama Canal?

Maddie Fenton’s phone lay off to the side of the console. The new stream chattered. She paused from her work (really just staring at the radar) to refresh the news sites in English. Then whatever Spanish sites, translated by her browser. Nothing. A week ago she would have gone in guns blazing, ready to take out the pelagic punks and stop them from carrying out their dastardly plot.

With their engines busted, that plan wasn’t looking very good. After six hours of repairs, she and Jack had only managed to achieve a fraction of their original top speed. Enough to get them to Panama eventually, but not any time soon. They still had more repairs scheduled. It was only due to Jazz’s intervention that they sat down and took a break.

She wanted to work. She wanted to throw herself into metal and nuts and bolts. Anything to keep her mind from that face.

For years she had made it her mission to bring the sirens to justice for all they had done to her family and others. The few times she got up close to a siren they were vicious, snarling predators. She expected the same stubborn defiance from Phantom.

His resistance was token, at best. She could tell how scared he was even as he put up a tough face. Then he broke down, sobbing and incoherent. It was fake. It was all an act. It had to be. Phantom was stalling for time. He was manipulating her from the start. It had to be. It had to be.

How could it be?

She pulled off her gloves. She stared at the quivering hands, the hands that were a moment away from pulling the trigger. She was so sure she would have done it. He had to have known. He was an awful liar. Tried to misdirect and feign ignorance, and gave himself away every time. Who did he think he was fooling? And yet she could not steady her hands.

Maybe that was his con all along. Not even try to be convincing. Just babble whatever nonsense to lead them along like a string of helpless ducklings until help arrived.

Phantom had never worked with anyone else before. Not from his own kind, at least.

Maddie sipped a cold cup of tea. Maybe he had been migrating, and these were his original pod? If he were with his original pod, then there would be a lot more noise in Panama. The canals were narrow. Phantom was on the smaller side, but even two adults would have been noticed, right?

Did they even exist at all?! She had rebooted and reconfigured the radar, spending hours only for it to fail to detect any of Phantom’s pod. It was like they showed up for one moment, then vanished into thin water the next.

It wasn’t enough. The scientist in her demanded more evidence. Her hypotheses felt flimsy even to her, like there was something that was glaringly missing.

It all went back to that expression. That haunted anguish. Those streaming tears. The face that tore her vision away and replaced it with years of comfort. Years of holding Danny close. To that day when Danny showed up back home six months ago, the day a miracle came to her.

His face was the same back then. Maddie had rushed to hug the son she’d thought she’d lost. However, her baby boy flinched back, like she was going to strike him.

It broke her heart then.

“Mom?” Her daughter leaned into the door way.

“Jazz, I told you to take it easy.”

Jazz came inside, and sat down on the chair beside her. “I am taking it easy. Just getting some fresh air.”

She leaned to the side, her eyes discerning like they’d always been.

“Mom, are you ok?”

Dammit. Was it that obvious? Maddie shook her head. “You know me too well, Jazz.”

She pulled her daughter in. She held her and let herself be grateful that at least she was still here. That there was still hope, somehow. But that hope now clouded over with uncertainty.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

It shouldn’t be that way. Maddie was the mother here. It was her who was supposed to be comforting Jazz, but it was the other way around again.

“I just don’t know. Jazz. I thought I knew everything I needed to get the job done, but…”

But now she didn’t. Jazz nodded silently, letting her continue.

Maddie held her tighter. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Sweetie, I’m not sure anymore. Jazz, I can’t get it of my head. The way he looked at us. The way he didn’t. And I’ve been thinking about it for hours and I can’t make heads or tails on it. None of my theories can make up any kind of framework that could explain what happened.”

“Maybe it’s time to find a new framework?”

Maddie pulled back in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

“Find new evidence. If the current evidence contradicts established theories, then hunt for new evidence that could explain the discrepancies. And then establish a new more comprehensive theory.”

That… made a lot of sense. It was at times like these she marvelled at the brilliance of her daughter. But there was just one issue.

“But your father and I still haven’t finished repairs yet.”

“That’s ok, Mads!”

Her husband and Bruce leaned in to the bridge as well. Bruce Wayne’s head still sported a large bandage around it, but the man was looking much better for wear.

Jack continued. “It was obvious we weren’t as prepared as we could be. Otherwise the fishie little fiend wouldn’t have given us the slip. With the SAV busted, I say we take Jazzie’s advice and go on recon mode.”

Determination shined from Bruce’s squared shoulders. “Jack’s right. We can take the jet skis and catch up to Phantom easily. Then we can observe him ourselves or deploy a drone or two.”

That was surprisingly sensible. They needed more information. Then they could cross out the possibilities and the what ifs, and narrow down the truth.

More than anything, Maddie needed the truth.

Damian was beginning to get uncomfortable. The mucus coating his scales meant that they remained moist. However, he still lost water due to respiration. Not to mention the sweltering heat. Although he did not suffer the burning sunlight due to Danny’s invisibility, the humid air also contributed to his discomfort. As a fish out of water, Damian could tell he could not last much longer.

But his physical discomfort could only distract from the real questions in his mind for so long. Why did Danny hide this ability from him for so long? What was he so scared of? In hindsight it was logical that a siren with the ability to turn humans into their species could also turn themselves into humans. Damian felt the soft, human skin of Danny’s chest against his own scales. His cheeks just so happened to be laying where the teenager’s gills used to be. Now they were smooth. Damian numbly counted Danny’s ribs, which jutted out.

Why did he expect Damian to trust him when he still continued to hide things from him?

Danny walked into a clearing. He carried Damian far past the shipping yard that they had crawled out of, and into a building. It appeared to be some kind of administrative building. Damian nudged him with his chin. Where was he taking them? He walked through the glass sliding doors behind a member of staff. Cool air conditioning chilled Damian’s scales. Danny bee lined for the bathroom, finding it empty. He iced the door shut.

Damian found himself placed into the (thankfully clean) sink. Cool running water washed over his body, bringing much needed relief. Damian purred quietly underneath the cool tap. For a moment, the room contained only the sound of running water, and Danny’s heavy breathing.

Danny’s invisibility deactivated. Damian watched pallid skin appear out of thin air. Stickly legs shivering. The newly human teenager leaned against the war, panting. His chest had no gills, as he’d expected, and his skin was completely opaque. Black hair appeared where there was white. Eerie aquamarine was replaced with dull blue. A familiar face rendered bare of scales or fins was revealed. A very, very familiar face.

And instantly, everything clicked into place for Damian.

[dearorpheus]

Later I swim on my back and look up at the sky through the framed glass roof. A vivid blue with white cirrus clouds at an altitude, I'd guess, of about 5000 metres. (The Latin for curl is cirrus.) The curls slowly shift, join, separate as the clouds drift in the wind. I can measure their drift thanks to the roof frame; otherwise it would be hard to notice it. The movement of the curls apparently comes from inside the body of each cloud, not from an applied pressure; you think of the movements of a sleeping body. This is probably why I stop swimming, and put my hands behind my head and float. My big toes just break through the surface. The water below holds me. The longer I gaze at the curls the more they make me think of wordless stories; wordless stories like the stories fingers may tell, but in fact here stories told by minuscule ice crystals in the silence of the blue. Yesterday I read in the newspaper that in Gaza twenty Palestinians were blown to pieces in their homes; that the USA has covertly dispatched 300 more troops to defend their interest in Iraq's oil refineries; that James Foley, an American journalist held hostage by Isis, was beheaded and a video of his execution uploaded to the internet; and that 35 illegal immigrants from India, men, women and children, were found suffocating in a shipping-container on a freighter that had just crossed the North Sea to dock in London. The cirrus is drifting northwards towards the deep end of the pool. Afloat on my back, motionless, I watch it and chart with my eyes the pattern of its undulations. Then the assurance the sight offers changes. It takes me time to understand how. Slowly the change becomes evident and the assurance I receive becomes deeper. The curls of the white cirrus are observing a man afloat on his back with his hands behind his head. I'm no longer observing them; they are observing me.

— John Berger, Confabulations

[carouselcometh]

I made the worst iced coffee of my life earlier, then went to go watch the freighters and only saw ONE despite being there for like an hour and a half, came home and promptly made the 2nd worst iced coffee of my life

[spiritofthenortheners]

Deserted Minds

Rating: E

Relationships: ARC-5555 Fives/ CC-1010 Fox

Tags: Developing Relationship, Post Order 66, Mind Control Aftermath and Recovery, Mental Health and Memory Issues, References to Drugs and Torture, Fuckbuddies to Enemies to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending

Written for @clonebang 🧡 with gorgeous art by the lovely @marbled-polecat 🧡🧡🧡

Summary:

During the chaotic early weeks of the Empire, a rogue Imperial Commander survives Lord Vader’s wrath. Onboard a stolen freighter, IC-1010 leaves Coruscant behind with nothing but his fragmented memories and the Emperor’s pet project in tow. The man that used to be Commander Fox sets himself one last mission: to find the remains Fives from the broken mind of a brand new Death Trooper.

[interdimensionalburnout]

>>Berri's sitting atop a stack of cargo crates, tucked into the corner of a truly massive elevator, riding up a dark shaft, carved out of the depths of the ancient, windsheared plateau that hosts the planet's most important shipyards. Massive freighters hang in front of the stars, just out of atmosphere, sending an endless swarm of delivery shuttles to the tarmac, in those common cases where the cargo ship was too large to just land on its own. This elevator, which in another place would be a warehouse in its own right, was meant to transfer large quantities of cargo containers down to the rail-lines, or to the seaborne docks. Somewhere further down, Berri had passed a subterranean hangar, a repair yard for ships, and a fuel-shop too.

>>Berri's coat is resting on her lap, a secret pocket on the inside opened, a palm-sized device retrieved from within. It's an ancient-looking talisman, wrapped in rough-cut machinery and scavenged electronics. She's been tinkering with it again, not as satisfied with her latest modifications. Berri has apparently decided that diverting the power of her unique body-wrapping energy shield to "just gloves" wasn't as useful as its old function, though it was just as fun. With her strength on the rise, and her ability to feel pain always kind of... dull, she reverted her Ghost Armor to its old ways. Above her head, the blackness of the elevator shaft had given way to the dull-gray of the hangar. The Tarmac awaits.

>>A looming woman, standing six-feet tall and too lean to pack the punch she does, hops lightly to her feet. A pair of loose sandals hang about them, matched by a pair of capri pants and a thin, silk button-down, patterned with flowers. Out-of-season barely describes such an outfit in a planet cloaked in eternal winter, and her threadbare duster, a lucky coat if ever there was one, barely helped. A long thing, with loose sleeves and a cream-colored fur lining that smelled a lot like strawberries and tobacco, its leather creases easily matched the bend of her arms, the newly added metal pauldrons already looking as tattered as the rest of it.

>>By now, she'd managed to blot out the alarm klaxons. Stealth had flown out the window the minute she realized she'd have to get into the dockyard the hard way, slamming the elevator's activation panel with an unauthorized fist. But, as her remote tech support had suggested, Berri liked it better this way, and they both knew it. She smiled wide, a demonic thing that seemed to make the long-faded scar on her face flush red, from the left corner of her lips to the base of her ear. She slaps a pair of goggles to her face, protection from the wind and a good means of seeing through the rain and darkness, they flicker to life, a glowing red that's quickly become a bit of a known commodity around the planet.

>>Berri's holding her short sword, it's blade seemingly rimmed with red neon light. She gives a twirl, watching the light trail off behind it, before she tucks herself into the shadows above the crate-stack. The elevator's come to a stop, the hangar door starts to open with the strained creaking of too much ice. It's show time, she thinks, slipping a pair of chainmail gloves, with plated knuckles, over her hands. She hears a shout, then two. People barking orders, leveling rifles, examining the unauthorized return of undelivered containers. Her head pokes out over the edge of the containers, two red lights, waiting for the first flashlights to come into vision.

>>It doesn't happen until a flashlight passes over her face. The first man can't even shout before Berri pounces, but his buddy yells in surprise as a blade, shorter than either of their forearms, cleaves the first guard in vertically in half. The concrete, reinforced to carry space ships and thousands of tons of goods, chips where the blade strikes, but Berri and the blade have already veered hard to the left before the stunned guard can avenge his friend. A fist, holding a sword, shatters the man's helmet, filling his eyes with a burst of light and cracked glass as the digital overlay inside is damaged utterly. More men come running at the commotion, two of them only to catch the blinded guard with the force of a rolling log. The third one turns to try and help them, while two more take aim and fire at Berri.

>>Berri takes the bullets, recoiling in pain as she appears to chip away into little flakes of fading light, no more than a Flash-Clone from her Ghost Armor. One man cries out in confusion, swiveling his gun to look for the real Berri, only to see one of his comrades clutching a high-caliber gunshot wound in his chest, his combat armor giving off the ozone-scented smoke of an overloaded energy shield. As he falls to his knees, the other gunner is shoved into his back, pushing the man over. In front of that other man, Berri's grabbed him by the collar of his combat vest, holding him steady so she can punch him in the helmet a few more times before sticking her sword through his chest. The man spills light out of every gap in his armor and fatigues, falling to a pile of empty gear and ash as Berri steps over him. The last man falls in similar fashion, and Berri savors the fear in the shot man as she leeches him, too.

>>The open doorway out of the hangar is a mess of floodlights, alarms, and rallying guards. Berri can hear the metal thud of a few auto-mechs, pilotless machine bodies, walking tanks. The government's own port is well defended, but Berri's been used to "well-defended" since a time well out of memory. She rolls her neck, her neck-length, copper-blonde curls swirling behind her head in the stormy winds that scatter her victims behind her... And she steps out.

>>One foot barely clears the threshold without a fist crunching a chestpiece, the blade-holding fist coming up and over and slamming into the top of the man's head. He crumbles like paper from the quick one-two, and Berri sidesteps him. The guns all open fire, as Berri seemingly splits into three, three glowing pairs of red eyes, three smiles marked somewhere between casual fun and vicious predator, all bearing that sword and its trailing red lights. Men die, to the left, and the right, sword-stabs and punches thrown at armored professionals like it's a street brawl, shoulder-bashes knocking down trained killers like chairs in a bar fight.

>>One of the Berri's brandishes what looks like a sword-hilt, with a simple hand-basket and a lot of component parts, which suddenly emits a short beam of red light as she closes the distance to a bipedal tank, armed with a pair of extremely heavy machine guns. The beam of red light reaches out with a lashing impact, Berri's energy whip grabs the mech's arm at its shoulder joint, and with a hard yank, she lets its great weight slingshot her through the air, to land on the top of it with a light tap. She lines her sword up for a deliberate second, and drives it into the top of the heavily-armored core, filling it with some kind of cherry-red neon light.

>>The machine responds to the light, being bombarded by a combination of Berri's psionic powers, and in no time at all, it's under her control, it's armored plating turning to something that would look more reasonable on a sleek crimson sports car. She gives the gladius in her hands a yank, using it like a control stick and jerking the rampaging tank towards its counterpart. Heavy machine guns, infused with the essence of Berri's infuriating soul, fire burning-hot bullets in a wild arc across the tarmac, cleaving through the other mech and breaking one of its knees apart. It returns fire, punching head-sized holes in Berri's hijacked mech, only for Berri to buck hers into a running start, forcibly colliding the two into a tangle pile of metal and grinding sounds as she jumps high and wide from the mess.

>>Far from the chaos, which is quickly getting the attention of the entire waterfront district, a man with a wide bandage over his nose sits at computer, at a desk in the bay of a small cargo plane, and watches the unfolding carnage through hacked CCTV cameras, rubbing his temples. The explosion that booms across the city is echoed in the cameras, prone to a half-second delay, as Berri rips a grenade launcher from a guards hands, and fires an entire magazine of pill-shaped explosives into the idle exhaust port of a medium-sized spaceship. Its detonation is violent and sudden, the fire bursting up and then out of it's engine carrying the golden hue of Gild. Ten men are incinerated in the blast, and half of a third mech ripped away, causing it to fall useless to the black ground. The nearest hangar follows the mech into the junk heap.

>>But Berri doesn't stick around to watch the fire works, slamming the empty launcher into the back of a guard's head, and kicking him into a trio of men, following right on his heels and beheading the three of them, even as she lands on the back of the kicked man, ensuring all four of them kiss the tarmac, only to leap further on. A one woman army, split three ways, continues to commit the kind of carnage that would be more befitting of a large, piloted mech, somewhere on a contested planet that corporations would be throwing mass amounts of money at. A man in angular, blue-toned powered armor is cleaved from shoulder to pelvis, but not in half, by one of the flash clones. Berri follows behind the clone, passing the man with a palm-strike that opens him up like a tin can, passing the occupied clone, closing in on a metal door, unadorned beyond a single "RESTRICTED ACCESS" sign on its front, and single hanging light. Berri's eyes alight as she looks above it, and takes notice of intercepting aercraft, the first gunship rallied after the surprise had worn off.

>>If only the pilot had known what was coming, as that red beam of a whip reaches up and clutches at one of its landing rails, he might've called out for the day. Or at least, he might've not veered to the left and into Berri's trap. Berri, sword sheathed, grips the whip with both hands and takes a running slide beneath a looming gunner mech, whose guns follow her ineffectually as darts between his legs, catapaulting herself onto its back and using it for leverage. She gives a mighty heave, pulling the four-rotor gunship to far into its turn, tilting it out of balance and into her mercy. Berri kicks off the mech as it attempts squish her between it's back and the wall, crashing gracelessly through that restricted door.

>>As the machine attempts to regain its balance and return to kill the "other intruders," those other intruders vanish away in a shower of light-flakes, causing a confused uproar among the guards. No one but the pilot, and the air-control monitors, were aware of the finale, because no one else could hear the screams of the gunship's pilot. All they heard was the instance of crushing metal and stone, and then they felt the wave of heat, and gold-edged flames. Those who saw it happen were speechless, the rest were outraged. The intruder, that red-eyed curse, that lightning bolt in a duster, had cut her way through an entire military garrison, leaving almost half of them dead, their ordinance spent or destroyed, and covered her exit deeper into the facility with a burning pile of gild-poisoned wreckage.

[johnschneiderblog]

Ship ahoy

The 2024 Great Lakes shipping season officially began on March 22 when the Poe Lock, part of the Soo Locks, in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, opened to marine traffic.

That was three days ahead of schedule, thanks to a mild winter - a trend that's likely to continue.

Warmer winters mean less ice, which, some believe could extend the shipping season by up to three months. However, less ice means more evaporation, which can lower water levels and limit where the big freighters can go.

This ship, which sailed past our cottage Thursday, is part of the Canada Steamship Lines fleet.

[kcg69]

Great Lakes Freighter Alpena making her way through the ice.

[lesbianneopolitan]

Just popping in to say you're an incredible person with wickedly insane art skills in the best way. Seeing all the content you create, the raw emotion and passion... it's just amazing to see someone so devoted to their faves and to produce such outstanding art in record time. And of course, I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for me; they will always bring me smiles every time I see them. You deserve the world and all that is good. If only I could send you a freighter full of ice cream and whatever assortment of materials a feral gremlin might need for an outing... no questions asked!!

I don't even know what to say other than thank you 💕