Nocturne

[Rocket Rabbit]

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“Six crew and only one bathroom?
You’re lucky there’s not been a mutiny.”

A tale of gunfights, space flight and the search for freedom.

‘We broke the Earth. I guess that’s the simplest way to put it. After everything she did for us – giving us life, cradling us even as we outgrew her – she just couldn’t support us anymore. We broke her.

So there was an exodus. Folk what can pay always fly first, and it was no different back then. The rest – well, they did what they could. Either way, they all took to the sky, trying to escape their mistakes.

For over a hundred years, mankind was just drifting through space.

Eventually, we found ourselves a new solar system, fulla planets that could easily be adapted for our use. Lots of new Earths. Enough space for everyone. Of course, some things never change.

Some of the Earths were more like old Earth than others. They thought themselves better. Maybe they were. They sure had all the things that make a civilisation; technology, art, medicine.

Greed.

See, there was one rock, Vali that caught their eye. Just one insignificant, out-of-the-way moon, tucked away amongst the Outer planets.  Nothing much special to look at, but it turned out she was worth her weight in gold to the Inner planets.

Pretty predictable, I guess, how things went after that.

War. You pick your side. If you got any kind of moral, you stick with it.

Of course, there are those sumbitches who like to play at swapping sides. Changing their uniforms, selling out those what fought alongside them. Then again, they’re not nearly as bad as them that don’t change their colours before betraying their own. When your enemy looks like you, how’re you supposed to know who to fight?

I’ve been stabbed in the back more times’n I care to tell.

Folks like me, we’re looking to forget.’

   Captain Aiden Fenway, Nocturne

Chapters

Story Arc 1: From Burnup to Eremiah
Chapter 1: Hangover
Chapter 2: Sale
Chapter 3: Dirt
Chapter 4: Criminal
Chapter 5: Vegetable
Chapter 6: Trip-Wire
Chapter 7: Bounce

Coming soon:
Part 8: Eremiah(in two parts)
Part 9: Crucial(in two parts)

WARNING
for those with sensitive ears eyes
muchos bad language, filth, degradation.
At some point, a bit of excessive violence for good measure.
Just a heads up!
 

Off-Topic:

Kind of accidentally deleted the original thread. I had momentary melting of my mind. There was drool, I swear. I wish I hadn't done it now, very annoysome, but I will restore everything, for the benefit of anyone who was actually interested in this project to start with.

[Rocket Rabbit]

Episode 1, Part 1
Hangover

Rush could do nothing but stare. A soft breeze brushed past her neck, sending the corpse spinning gently where it hung. The creak of the rope that suspended it filled her ears. She shuddered.

“Get back in the camper.”

It was difficult to tell if it had ever even been human. It hung from the twisted lamppost by a thin rope around one foot, tied so tightly it cut into the darkening flesh. The other leg, missing from the knee down, flopped at a right-angle to the body, ballerina-style.

“Get back in the fucking camper, I said,” Mason growled from behind her.

Rush heard the vehicle door open and the sound of Mason’s boots on the dirt, but her eyes didn’t leave the body. A long, sinewy strand of gore hung from the bloodied stump where its head should have been and metallic-coloured blowfly crawled in and around the wound. Deep cuts and gashes criss-crossed the torso, but its abdomen and genitalia looked like they’d been shredded away.

“Leave her be, Mason,” hollered Lucy from the passenger seat.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mason barked back at her. “Get back in the fucking truck, Rush, or God help me -”

“I’m coming.”

Rush tore gaze away from the vile spectacle and glanced over her shoulder at Mason. He stood with his hands planted on his hips, glaring at her through slitted eyes. His lips were twisted up into a gruesome pout. Rush grinned coyly at him.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“We gotta go,” he replied, his expression growing sourer still. His eyes darted towards the suspended corpse and a fleeting look of panic crossed his features. “No telling when they’ll come back.”

As the camper pulled away from the scene, Rush watched out the back window. She could hear Lucy crooning from the passenger seat - some infernally irritating lullaby for the bundle of blue blankets in her arms. The camper bounced around on the uneven road, making for uncomfortable travelling, but Rush was relieved to be on the move again. She knew Mason was just pissy because he wanted to reach Burnup before sunset, and she tended to agree with him. If they ran out of fuel before then, they’d be sitting ducks.


Somewhere in orbit over Burnup, beside the bunk of one Michelle Corona, a small blue screen flickered into life and an automated voice relayed a message: ‘Attention. IST 01X3132447 – Nocturne. This is your landing authorisation for Burnup, Dock FK 8458…’

Chelle stirred, scraping a mass of curly hair from her face and shielding her bleary eyes from the screen’s intrusive glare. Her lips felt like they might crack if she moved them, and her mouth felt drier still. Through her hangover, she tried her hardest to understand what the robotic voice meant as it spat out a list of terms and conditions. She scowled. Damn Eggman and his drinking games! She’d bet his head wasn’t pounding as badly as hers was.

Of course! She clapped a hand to her head and then immediately regretted it. The landing authorisation! Finally. It was the only thing preventing them from landing and delivering their cargo, and the captain was not pleased with the delay. Chelle hauled herself upright and reached for the light switch, bracing herself for the sudden flood of pain behind her eyes. The mechanical voice was coming to the end of its spiel as Chelle located her earpiece and prepared to send the reply to the landing authority.

“This is IST 01X3132447 – Nocturne, confirming landing authorisation. ETA is thirty minutes.” God, her throat was dry. There was a burst of noise from the console, a garbled reply from the L.A. which Chelle ignored. She turned the screen off and began groping about beneath her bunk for some clean underwear.

Chelle’s personal space on board Nocturne consisted of a cramped, awkwardly angled corner tucked away behind the galley. The space had no door, only a curtain for privacy and there were two bunks crammed in, one up, one down. A vertical locker provided storage, or at least it would if Chelle were the type of person to ever put anything away. The locker door hung open and her clothes, both clean and dirty, were spread out over both bunks. Chelle often thought it lucky that she didn’t have to share this space with anyone. Such a thing would surely end in bloody carnage.

After dressing, Chelle pulled back the floral curtain and stepped beyond it, into the darkened common room. She picked her way through the debris of last night’s party and slid open the door to the bunkroom.

“Captain?” she called softly, trying not to breathe through her nose. The room smelt of stale air, musty clothes and sweat - the inevitable, unenviable result of four fully-grown men having to share a tiny room. Two of the four beds in the room were currently occupied, and one of the sleeping forms turned over and sat up.

“Chelle?” The captain sounded as bad as she felt right now.

“That’s me, sir.” She smiled wryly as he raised a palm to his temple and massaged it wearily. “We got the go-ahead for docking in Burnup. You might want to reschedule that hangover, sir.”

The captain coughed drily. “Nonsense. M’fine. They give us a time?”

“They’re ready when we are. I gave them an ETA of half an hour, but if that’s too optimistic…?” Chelle’s foot rested up against an empty bottle on the floor and she bent to retrieve it, staring at it thoughtfully. The ship’s mechanic had a gift for creating alcohol out of nothing. “I mean, you’re probably not as fine as you say you are. Eggman’s latest batch was kinda…”

“Potent?” More coughing. “Guess we better get moving then. Cargo won’t deliver itself. Wake the others, will you?”

“Can do, cap’n.” Chelle backed out of the bunkroom and approached the console in the common room. There were small consoles similar to this scattered about the ship, providing a network of communication between the different areas. The common room console allowed access to the ship’s environmental control and life support functions; from here, Chelle turned on all the lights on the ship and, on a whim, upped the flow on the air regulator to shift the smell of sweat and alcohol that had built up overnight.

“Rise and shine, boys,” she said into the intercom. “The world’s waiting for us. It’s coming up on sunset down there so dress warm.” She paused and then added, “And I’m going in the shower first!”


Captain Aiden Fenway stared glumly into his mug of coffee. He couldn’t help the grimace of disgust that came with every mouthful, but caffeine was the only thing on board that would get him through this morning. Especially since Chelle was testing his patience by spending ages in the shower.

“Hurry up, Chelle,” he shouted, kicking the bathroom door again.

“I can’t heeeeear you!” he heard her reply over the sound of rushing water.

“Dammit, Chelle!” Fen kicked the door one more time, but it was futile. He walked back into the common room, clutching at his head. The light in the common room was too bright and harsh and it felt like nails behind his eyes.

The unconscious form of the ship’s medic was sprawled out on the sofa. Doc lay with one arm cast protectively over his face, the fingers of the other hand curled into the matted coat of what might have been a walking carpet. Hum, the crew’s wolfhound, lifted his head and grumbled at Fen as he passed; the gargantuan dog was almost longer than the sofa he slept beside.

“Thank god we don’t have to do that again for another year,” muttered Fen, making his way up to the bridge. Last night had been a celebration, of sorts. Well, not quite. A commiseration? Fen took another sip of the tepid coffee and stood staring out the cockpit window.

Predictably, the scene showed the infinite inkiness, dotted with stars. Above the ship was an immense sweeping curve, dissected by the advancing sunlight. The planet of Burnup. Somewhere below was a city of the same name, but from this distance, the whole planet looked like what it was; an inhospitable, god-forsaken hell-rock.

“Morning, sir.” Chelle breezed into the control room with her still-wet hair scraped back in a ponytail, and with her came the faint scent of lavender. Her positioned herself in the co-pilot’s chair and swung both her feet up onto the dashboard. “I wouldn’t bother going for the shower, sir. Reyna’s already in there.”

“Dammit, Chelle!” Fen drained his coffee, except for some blackish sludge at the bottom, and slammed his mug down on the console.

“What?” Chelle snapped defensively. She rummaged in her pocket and produced a small, red bottle. Nail varnish. With a precision she rarely applied to her work, Chelle began painting her toenails. “It’s not my fault this boat is so small. Six crew and only one bathroom?” Chelle paused and smirked at him. “You’re lucky there’s not been a mutiny.”

Fen sighed resignedly and sat down in the pilot’s seat as gently as he could. “Chelle, how many times? Don’t do that in here.”

He began punching buttons on the console and around him, banks of coloured lights flickered into life. Deep in Nocturne’s belly, her engines took on a different rhythm. Fen adjusted his seat and reached for the controls.

“Sorry, captain,” Chelle said, almost sheepishly. “Please, try not to shake her too hard. I’ve still got my left foot to do.”

“Chelle, either do what I pay you for, or shut the hell up.” Fen glanced over at her. “Both would be nice.”

“You’re always such a charmer in the mornings, sir. Y’know that?” Chelle took her feet off the console, reached for her earpiece and attached it to her head. Darkly muttering something Fen couldn’t quite catch, she began typing something into the keyboard beside her. “This is IST 01X3132447 – Nocturne. Anybody reading me?”

“Nocturne, this is the L.A. for Burnup. We’ve got you on our screens. Please proceed to dock FK8458.”

“Thanks.” Chelle tugged the earpiece from her ear and glanced back at Fen. “There, I did my job. Stop complaining.”

As Chelle returned her attention to her toenails, a hulking figure entered the bridge through the doorway behind them. Silvanus Specter – the ship’s first mate and sometimes the only thing standing between Fen and certain death. Fen had lost count of the number of bullets they’d taken for one another.

“G’morning, captain,” rumbled Silv. “How’s your head?”

Fen chuckled. He’d wager that however much he’d drunk last night, Silv had drunk twice that. He’d also wager that Silv wasn’t still feeling the effects like he was.

“I’m as good as I’ll ever be. There’s a reason I only drink like that once a year.” Fen flipped another dial on the console and grimaced. “Buckle up, people. I’m taking her down.”

Nocturne’s nose tilted towards the waiting planet and with a weary groan, her engines flared into life, sending her plummeting into Burnup’s atmosphere. Fen could feel the vibrations running through the ship through the soles of his boots; beside the controls, his empty coffee mug jigged and danced towards the edge of the console. The ship tore through layers of atmosphere and the view outside faded from perfect night to the oily red of a polluted sunset.

Nocturne was designed to atmo-dive on her back, so from the cockpit it looked like they were flying up towards the planet. Once the re-entry was complete, Fen flipped her back over; the world outside spun 180 degrees.

It never ceased to amaze Fen that a place like Burnup could exist at all. It was a perfect example of what people could create out of pieces of nothing when left to their own devices. Everything in the town was cobbled together from scraps and leftovers, and its layout was almost organic in the way it had spread. The rest of the planet was a dead-zone, rendered practically uninhabitable by a series of nuclear strikes about a hundred years before. Oh, there were people out there, alright, in the wilds but they weren’t the type that welcomed you with open arms. Gut you, maybe, but not welcome you.

Nocturne hovered above the port and Fen eased her into the berth reserved for them. To his far left, a massive freighter rose slowly into the air like a bloat-bellied bird, and a small fleet of relatively dainty orbital lifters descended like a flock of blue doves, disappearing out of sight. Directly in front of Nocturne was the control tower, rising above all else, patched together from scrap metal. Antennae and comm. dishes were stuck all over it, giving it the appearance of a desert cactus.

Chelle and Silv left the bridge as Fen began shutting down the engines. The blower above his head stopped fanning cool air as he shut the life support off and opened up the air vents. Around him, Nocturne fell still and silent, the comforting turn of her engines fading away.

“Sleep tight, princess.” He patted the dashboard and left the bridge.

Fen found the most of his crew assembled in the cargo bay. Their delivery this time consisted only of a few small boxes, which looked oddly alone stacked in the middle of the spacious cargo area. Silv stood beside the stack with his arms folded, ready to unload.

“Now remember, people, Burnup’s not a friendly town,” Fen said, crossing to the control panel for the blast doors. “Stay sharp and watch your pockets.”

There was a massive creak as the blast doors opened, allowing a rush of noise and hot, dusty air to fill the hold. After two weeks of recycled air, Fen wasn’t sure if it was a welcome change or not, but he handled it better than Chelle, who clapped a hand over her nose and started coughing throatily.

“Dust storm,” Doc noted, looking out the door. “Best cover your faces. Goggles too.”

“You heard the Doc,” Fen said. “Safety first, y’hear?”

“What about Hum?” A teenage girl clattered down the steps into the cargo hold. She wore green overalls smeared with engine grease, and her dark hair was plaited and held in place with an ornamental dragonfly. This was Reyna Specter, Silv’s half-sister and Nocturne’s mechanic-in-training. Loping at her heels came Humbert the dog, his claws clicking on the metal grate floor.

“He should sit this one out, Rey,” said Doc, pulling a scarf from his pocket and tying it over his nose and mouth. Fen couldn’t help noticing that the medic looked even more haggard than usual. “Sorry to disappoint ya, hun.”

Reyna frowned and turned to Fen, ready to argue, but he shook his head. “Not now, Reyna.” He tied his scarf over his face and motioned for Silv to start unloading. “We’re already late on this delivery.”

“Forget the dog, Rey,” Chelle said loudly and grinned. “You should come with me – I know just the place. Total girl bar. All the staff are guys and they have to be nake -”

“Maybe you should stay here,” Silv cut in, staring intently at Chelle. “Burnup’s a bad town, full of filth.”

Reyna shrugged and took a crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of her overalls. “Whatever. Captain, this is Eggman’s list.” She smoothed it out and passed it to Fen. “You’ll notice he underlined this one several times.”

“You’d think after all this time, he’d cope without it.” Fen winced. The engine part in question was costly, but the mechanic had been pestering Fen about it for months.

“He says that without it, Noc’s gonna shake herself to pieces next time she goes up.” Reyna smiled like a shark. “Happy shopping. Later, guys.”

She clicked her tongue to the dog, who hauled himself wearily to his feet and padded away after her. As he watched Reyna disappear back up the stairs, Fen sighed and shoved the list into his pocket. Silv stood waiting, two cargo boxes under each of his arms. Chelle and Doc had already departed, each with their own shopping to do.

“Eggman can’t really mean that, can he?” Fen asked him, uncertainly. “He wouldn’t let Noc just fall to pieces, right?”

“I wouldn’t know, Captain,” Silv said, smiling slowly. Fen was not comforted by this, but he lifted the last of the boxes and followed his first mate down the ramp into the port.

“Can you believe it?” he said sulkily. “Guy can make vodka out of thin air. You’d think he’d be able to improvise a little, right?”

[Rocket Rabbit]

Episode 1, Part 2
Sale

“This your daughter?”

“Yessir,” Mason said. “Very own flesh and blood.”

Rush saw his jaws clench and his face redden; guy had a real problem with authority figures. About the only thing they had in common. The guard held out a hand and Rush thrust forward her forged identity papers, grateful for the dust-storm that had forced her to don goggles and tie a rag over her face. The picture on the papers looked vaguely like her, in a blurry kind of way, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

‘Be lazy,’ she pleaded silently. ‘Don’t look too closely, just let us pass.’

The guard thumbed casually through the papers, the wind threatening to tear them from his hand. Rush felt her stomach churning as the seconds ticked by unbearably slowly. To get this far only to be thwarted by some over-zealous border guard – Rush thought the frustration might kill her. Her fingers inched their way towards her gun, but she knew it was a futile action. The guard was not alone. Others were dotted about the scene, and on the watch tower behind them, they had scoped rifles. Any trouble and the guards would put a bullet between her shoulder blades without question.

‘Come on. Come on!’

“Go,” the guard said finally. Dizzy with relief, Rush snatched her papers back from him and followed Mason and Lucy back to the camper. Slamming the door shut, she tore the too-tight goggles from her face, wrenching a clump of her hair out with them. Opposite her, Lucy sank back into her seat and picked up the bundle of blue rags, cradling it lovingly to her chest. Mason started up the engine, and Rush tried to compose her thoughts again.

Even though she’d come prepared, she hadn’t expected them to check her papers coming into Burnup. Sure, it was the only place worth a damn on the entire planet, but they were never that fussy about who came and went. The problem was that the forged papers would only work for so long. She relied too much on Mason and Lucy’s papers to give it some credibility, but once she left the couple behind, the forgeries would be useless.

“Dammit.”

“Easy there,” Lucy said, looking up at her with surprise. “You should be happy, Rush – you just got taken for a fourteen year old.”

Rush scowled. Lying about her true age was nothing new. “I need to get off this fucking rock. Fast. Tonight, if possible.”

“Well, like I said, Ross should be able to help you there. We take care of our own, don’t we, Mason?”

Mason grumbled something, but Lucy ignored him. Rush fiddled with the goggles in her hand as she watched the other woman rocking her bundle of rags. Something didn’t smell right, but Rush had a feeling things were only going to become more difficult.

“Christ, look at this place,” Mason growled from the driver’s seat. Rush turned to see the street in front of them packed out with vehicles. Mason hammered on the camper’s horn and swore, but it didn’t make the traffic move any faster. “Fuck it.”

“What?” Rush climbed over into the passenger seat.

“You know Ross isn’t gonna sit around and wait for ya?”

“Fuck. Really?” Rush frowned. “Can we radio him? Tell him it’s urgent.”

Mason looked doubtful. “You can try, but I don’t see it working. Ross don’t like to be kept waitin’.”

“I need to get off this world tonight, Mason.”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem, Rush.”

In an instant, Rush had reached out and snatched a hold on Mason’s collar. The man yelped and slammed his foot on the brakes as she yanked him closer, staring levelly into his bloodshot eyes.

“I will make it your goddamn problem,” she hissed. “Because if I am not off this piece-of-shit dustbowl rock by morning…” She trailed off and smiled like an angel. “You want me out of your hair, don’t you Mason?”

She let him go, gratefully too, since the smell of his breath made her stomach turn. Settling back in her seat, she stuck her chin out and clenched her jaw, aware that Mason was casting terrified glances in her direction. Casually, she swept back the edge of her coat so he could see the revolver at her hip. It wasn’t loaded – she had nothing to load it with – but she wasn’t about to tell him that.

“I’ll get on the radio to Ross, then?” Mason sneered half-heartedly. “See if he’ll hang around for such a… special case?”

“You do that.”

There was a brief pause before Mason spoke again.

“Them people after you, they’re serious, right?”

“Deathly serious.” Rush turned her head towards him. “You’ve seen what they do. If they catch up to us…” She raised her eyebrows and took quiet pleasure in seeing Mason nod in fearful understanding.

Rush leaned back in her seat and tried to relax a bit. There was a persistent pain in her left shoulder that had been nagging her these past few nights. Compliments of her mattress, she supposed. Damn thing felt like it had been filled with concrete. Well, she’d be glad to get out of this crappy tin-can campervan and she’d feel a whole lot better with a big heap of space between her and this sorry, burnt-up rock.

The people passing the camper weren’t paying it any attention, she noticed with relief. Not that they should. It looked completely natural amongst all the other rusted, dented vehicles in the lines of traffic around them. But still, it never hurt to be cautious.

‘I have been running for way too long,’ Rush thought to herself with a wry smile.

“The most Ross is willin’ to wait is about an hour,” Mason said apologetically. “With this traffic, we’d need an hour and ten.”

“Aw, shit.” Rush gritted her teeth. “Well, can you get me onto one of the other ships?”

“Not tonight. Took me enough trouble to get you in with Ross.” Mason grimaced. “All the passenger ships are booked up weeks in advance nowadays, in and out.”

“What the hell for?”

“Tourist season.”

Rush glared at him, unable to tell whether he was serious or not. In the end she shook her head and returned to the problem at hand - how the hell she was getting off this planet tonight.

“Take me to the port,” she said finally. “I’ll figure my own way from there.”


Fen took a deep breath, sighed and counted the money a third time, to be sure. He shook his head. “This is less than we agreed, Ross.”

“I assure you it’s all there, Captain.” Ross flicked a curl of greasy hair from his face and continued wringing his hands. Fen knew from experience that Silv’s imposing presence at his side had this effect on people. Ross looked like he might wet himself at the drop of a hat. Fen handed the cash to his first mate.

“This look like enough to you, Silv?”

Silv barely glanced at it. “No, Captain. Don’t look like nearly enough.”

“As far as I can tell, Ross,” Fen said, putting his hands on his hips. “That only buys you half of what’s here.”

“Half?”

“Half. Maybe we should take the rest, find ourselves a buyer that can pay for it.” Fen smiled. “How’s that sound?”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Ross answered, swallowing and glancing again at Silv. “Might surprise you, but money in Burnup isn’t that easy to come by anymore.”

“That doesn’t surprise me a bit, Ross.” Fen took the money back from Silv and pocketed it. He rested his elbow on the pile of delivered boxes and drummed his fingers. He had a feeling Ross really wasn’t about to come up with the extra cash, which put dampener on things.

Thinking, Fen gazed around the warehouse in which they stood. The roof was open to the sky and he could make out the shadowy bulks of the ships passing above them in the night. Ross’s ship, a battered grey thing painted with a smart red cross stood in the centre of the space. A couple of mechanics were working beneath its stubby wings and it looked like she was preparing to fly soon.

“Where’s this tuff headed, anyhow?” Fen asked, tapping the boxes.

“Couple of moons near Parisah.” Ross nodded towards his ship. “I’m heading a medical aid team. The people there have been having some trouble of late. Cholera and the like.”

“Sounds bad.” Fen looked again at the ship. Thing looked in worse shape than his own dear Noc.

“It is. Their government fell apart a few months back.” Ross sighed. “Its chaos there and they have nobody to help them.”

“Well then…” Fen cocked his head, looking thoughtful. “Our friend Doc Walker wasn’t far wrong about you. He was damn near singing your praises, telling us what a good man you are.”

Ross smiled mirthlessly. “A good man who could do better with a bit more money.”

“Aren’t we all? Ross, seeing as how I like the look of the work you’re doing,” Fen said, tapping his fingers on the boxes again. “I’m thinking maybe today, we’re having a sale - half off everything. How’s that sound?”

Dr. Ross stared at him for a moment before his face broke into a relieved smile and he reached out to shake Fen’s hand. “Thank you. This is fantastic, Captain.”

“Thank you, Doc Ross,” Fen replied, clapping the man on the shoulder. “Just hoping you’ll think of us next time you need a delivery made, right?”

“Of course, of course. Thank you.”

“So, now what?” Silv asked once they were back out in the street. Though night had fallen, the dust storm still roared overhead and the air that rushed around them was hot and thick with dust. Fen pulled his scarf back up over his nose, tugged up his collar and tried to take shelter behind Silv’s hefty bulk.

“I guess Doc Ross heads out to Parisah and makes a whole load of people very happy.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it, sir.”

Inwardly, Fen sighed because he did know it. The money Ross had given them barely covered the fuel it had taken to fly the goddamn medicine here. On top of that, there were the crew’s living expenses and salaries to pay. Plus those goddamn engine components, Fen remembered. Eggman needed them. Hell, Nocturne needed them. If what Eggman said was true, they’d be in big trouble if they tried to take her up without them.

“We hang around in Burnup a little longer than we planned,” Fen said, struggling to be heard over the noise of the storm. “Give everyone a chance to unwind a bit, walk on real earth a while. Give Eggman chance to check over Noc’s engine one last time and decide if she really does need those parts.”

“And the money?”

“I’ll figure something out.”


Chelle was starting to feel awfully naked without her gun on her. The woman opposite looked at her like she’d just crawled out of a sewer and threw her money back at her. Chelle caught it before it fell off the table and clenched her fist around it.

“That won’t buy you anything, sweetheart.”

“Bullshit, Hera. Last time I was here, that would have bought me three, maybe four -”

“Ha!” Hera almost choked on her own laughter. She coughed and looked alarmed for a moment before taking another drag on her cigarette. “Things change. Prices go up. Either you have the money, or you don’t.”

“I don’t, but -”

“Then stop wasting my time.” Hera used the end of her cigarette to light up her next one, giving Chelle a critical look.

“What about this?” Chelle took a bottle out from under her coat and placed it carefully on the table. Eggman would kill her if he find out she’d taken it, but she was desperate. It had to be worth something.

“What is this shit?” Hera tilted the bottle back, looking a label, but of course there wasn’t one.

“Taste it,” Chelle said, opening the bottle and handing it to her. Hera took it gingerly and sniffed, and Chelle had to try not to laugh as the other woman’s eyes widened in shock. “Go on, taste it.”

“What is this shit?” Hera repeated, but she lifted the bottle to her rouged lips and took a hefty swig. “Fucking hell!” she spluttered, slamming the bottle down and clasping her hand to her mouth. “What’s the proof on that stuff?”

“No idea.” Chelle allowed herself a smile. Things were going her way after all. “Our mechanic makes it himself in the engine room. Stuff’s lethal, right?”

“What the hell is it? Vodka?”

“Something like that. Only Eggman knows for sure. Anyway, consider it a present.” Chelle smiled again. “From me. What do you think?”

“You are crazy, sweetheart.” Hera took another, more conservative mouthful from the bottle and offered it to Chelle, who refused. No telling where that woman’s lips had been. “How many do you want?”

“Six.”

“Four.”

“Five?”

“Five it is. Wait here.” Hera stood up. “Oh, and leave your money on the table. I’m not feeling that generous today.”

Chelle dropped her fistful of money on the table. It was a month’s wages, but honestly she couldn’t think of any other way to spend it. Hera dropped a packet in front of her, and Chelle cringed. If Fen knew she was still doing this, he’d kick her off Nocturne in a heartbeat. She thanked Hera and turned to leave.

“Say hello to your lovely captain for me, doll.”

[Rocket Rabbit]

Episode 1, Part 3
Dirt

The port was still busy by the time the camper arrived. Ships and shuttles ducked in and out of the docks amidst the howl of the still-raging dust storm. It was well into night by now, and Rush was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. She was itching to go. Any one of these tug-boats would do, if only they’d let her aboard.

“You need help with your things?” she heard Mason ask. She turned to him and laughed.

“What things? I travel light, remember?” She patted the rucksack on her shoulder. “Everything I need is right here. When’s your shuttle leaving?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. Straight through to Parisah.” Mason paused. “Rush…?”

“Don’t worry. Once I’m gone, you’ll be completely safe.”

“We’d better be,” Mason growled. “If they decide to come after us, I’ll -”

“You’ll what? Put a contract out on me?” Rush laughed. “It’s been done. Trust me. You’ll be fine.”

“Rush?” It was Lucy. She climbed carefully down the steps from the camper with her bundle of blankets cradled in one arm. “So this is goodbye?”

“Sure is, Lucy.” Rush patted the woman’s arm awkwardly. “It’s been nice travelling with you guys but I really have to go now.”

“We take care of our own, don’t we Mason?” Lucy said, looked distractedly down into her bundle and tugged a few corners of the blanket straight. “We take care of our own.”

“Goodbye, Lucy,” Rush said slowly, but got no response. She shrugged at Mason, who rolled his eyes.

“Come on, sugar,” he said softly. “Back in the van. Let’s go.”

Rush watched them retreat back into the camper. Waving one last time in case Lucy was looking, she turned, hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and headed into the port. There were signs everywhere saying that the ships were all full. Ticketed passengers only. She wandered deeper into the port, searching for her way out.

“Goddamnit. Hum! Get back here.”

Rush turned in time to see a monstrous hairy beast lunge at her. She reached for her gun but the thing bowled her to the ground as easily as if she were made of paper. It planted its gnarled paws on her shoulders and barked in her face.

“Hum! Humbert, down! Down!” A small pair of filty hands appeared around the dog’s neck and wrenched it off Rush’s body. “I’m so sorry! Here, let me help you.”

The girl helped Rush to her feet, still apologising to her and scolding the dog, which was standing beside them. Its golden eyes were still fixed on Rush.

“He’s just so big,” the girl was saying. “It’s been a couple of weeks since he had a good run, so he’s all full of bounce. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Rush said. She didn’t show it, but it irked her that this girl and her dog had so easily caught her off-guard. Still, she made a show of dusting herself off and more discretely checked that the contents of her bag were safe.

“So where’re you heading?” the girl asked, cordially.

Rush shook her head, avoiding the question. Instead, she looked up in the direction the girl had appeared from. “That your ship?”

The girl bobbed her head in response, grabbing her dog by its collar. “Sorta. I’m learning the trade in the engine room.”

“She’s a Clipper, right?” Rush nodded towards the ship. “Light transporter. Can’t remember the last time I saw one of the OXL-7’s outside of a junkyard.”

The girl snorted. “Junkyard’s the only place for them if you don’t refit the stardrive. Otherwise they got no oomph to them, y’know?”

At one time, Rush might have let herself be engaged in this small talk, but she was no longer in the mood for time-wasting.  “Do you take passengers?”

The girl shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Barely enough room for us on board, especially with this lump!” She scratched her dog on the top of his head and pointed at a sign behind her. “We deliver. Specialise in fast cargo runs, pretty much anywhere you like.”

Rush was reading the sign when a pair of men wearing goggles approached, one considerably larger than the other. The smaller of the two pulled his goggles back to reveal a pair of sharp, dark eyes and he gave Rush an interested look. “Can I help you ma’am? Need a delivery made?”

Rush shook her head. “Actually I’m looking for passage.”

“Love to help you, but we don’t carry passengers.” He began climbing the ramp into the ship, and his taller companion followed him. The young mechanic Rush had been talking to smiled and shrugged apologetically.

“I’m willing to pay a lot to get off this planet,” Rush called out to them. “Let me talk to your captain.”

The dark-eyed man didn’t break his stride, but called over his shoulder, “I’m the captain. And I aint interested. Goodbye.”

“One thousand, in cash.”

He paused. After a second he turned back towards her. “You serious?” He was frowning now. “That’s an awful lot to pay just for a ticket.”

Rush had to disagree, considering she was willing to pay three times that. She thought for a moment, glancing around the port at the people rushing past them. “Now I have your attention, can we discuss this somewhere more private, captain?”

The captain considered this for a moment before nodding curtly and waving her over. She followed him up into what looked like the ship’s cargo bay and he motioned for her to sit down on a metal crate. Rush shook her head, but dropped her backpack on the floor with a heavy thud.

“So,” began the captain, but Rush cut him short.

“All I ask for is passage off this planet. You can drop me wherever your next delivery takes you.” Rush sighed. “It doesn’t matter where. I’ll pay whatever you want.”

“One thousand, just like you said. My name’s Captain Fenway.” He pulled off a glove and held out his hand to shake. “Welcome aboard.”

“How soon can you leave?” Rush asked. She warily eyed the larger man who insisted on lurking behind the captain.

“Not for a couple of days, I’m afraid. Need to scrape some cash together,” the captain said affably. “Vital repairs. You know how it is.”

“I need to get off Burnup tonight,” she said plainly.

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you, ma’am,” Captain Fenway answered. “Like I said, this ship’s in need of some vital repairs. Would be suicide to try flying without ‘em.”

“How fast can you get the repairs done?”

Fenway scratched his neck. As he lifted his arm, his coat parted and Rush caught sight of a bronze-coloured, long-barrelled pistol in a holster. “Well, our mechanic’s got a talent or two. If we had all the parts, we could be sky-worthy in a couple of hours,” he said, and then grinned ruefully. “But we don’t have the parts, or the money for the parts.”

“Money is not an issue, captain,” Rush answered. She reached down, unbuckled her bag and motioned for Fenway to look inside. “Ask me no questions and I’ll pay for all your repairs. Just get me off this planet.”

“There must be at least five thou…” Fenway stopped and looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “You have problems with the law, ma’am? This amount of money – people tend to notice when it disappears.”

“The money is clean.” Rush closed the bag and lifted it back onto her shoulder. “It’s a… an inheritance, if you like.”

“Inheritance?”

“Look, Captain Fenway.” She was becoming impatient now. Where the money came from was none of his concern. All he needed to know was that it was clean and that it was more than enough to get his piece of shit boat back in the sky. She bit her tongue before smiling again. “I will pay for everything. The parts, the fuel. You want on-board entertainment? Just say so and I’ll buy you a trio of dancing clowns. I just need to fly, and fast.”

The captain stood there, watching her. She could see the cogs turning in his head; she knew his type. Probably spent the last six months scraping by with whatever jobs they could get. Bagful of money like hers didn’t come along every day. Instant payoff, no questions asked.

“Well?” she said after a moment’s pause. “What do you say?”

“I’d say your ticket on my ship will put you back the whole five thousand,” Fenway said. He crossed his arms. “We need to take on some extra supplies, if that’s alright with you?”

“Can we leave before midnight?”

“With some luck, yeah.”

Rush nodded, feeling immediately more at ease. She nodded towards the bag. “It’s all yours.”

“Welcome aboard…?”

“Call me Rush.”


Fen had to pinch himself. He couldn’t remember ever seeing that much cash in one place. Knowing that it was now all his made his head spin.

“There are some things I need to buy before we leave,” Rush said, but Fen could barely hear her. He saw her take a fistful of money from her bag and tuck it into her pocket before turning and walking away down the ramp. Silv nodded at her as she passed him.

“We have ourselves a passenger, Silv.” Fen thought his head might be physically spinning until Silv clamped a hand on his shoulder.

“We got a package too, sir.” Silv pointed down the ramp. Reyna was talking to a man in a long yellow robe. “Last minute shipment headed for Eremiah. For the pilgrims. Are we taking that girl with us?”

“That we are, Silv. Kid’s got more money than sense, I reckon, but it works to our advantage well enough.” Fen crossed his arms and grinned. “Finding her a place to sleep, that’s the problem.” Fen hit the intercom button on the wall beside him. “Eggman?”

There was a squeal of static from the intercom before Eggman answered. “Yes, captain?”

“I have an early birthday present for you, Eggman, but you’ll have to work for it.” Fen couldn’t help but feel uplifted as he watched the cargo bay being filled with large crates. There was something damnright satisfying about the sight of it.

“You getting me that damn engine part at last?” Eggman was saying over the intercom.

“And all those other parts to replace the bits of the engine that are held together by elastic bands and the sheer force of your mind, Eggman.” Fen heard the mechanic give a loud whooping noise. “Only condition is, you make her sky-worthy before midnight, got that?”

“Make her fly, yessir, captain!”


Chelle returned to the Nocturne’s berth with her package stowed safely under her coat and her self-respect trailing some way behind her heels. Reyna was making some repairs to the cargo bay doors with a welding torch. As Chelle approached, she shut off the torch and lifted back her huge metal facemask.

“Captain wants to see you,” Reyna said. “Sounded pretty important. He wants liftoff before midnight.”

Chelle nodded and climbed the ramp into the ship. The cargo bay was full, something she’d not seen for a while. She climbed the ladder onto the upper deck and found Fen gazing around the common room with a look of horror on his face.

“Ah, Chelle, you’re back,” he said, waving her over. “We’ve got a special passenger joining us. She’ll have to bunk with you.”

Inwardly, Chelle groaned. Of all the crew, only Reyna had her own cabin; with her being the youngest, a teenager and Silv’s baby sister, Fen had sacrificed the captain’s cabin to her. Fen relocated to the big bunkroom with Doc and Silv. Eggman had a bed in there too, but he preferred to sleep down in the engine room, with his still and his own TV. Chelle’s personal space was about to become even smaller.

“Yes, captain,” Chelle replied wearily. “Just need to get myself cleaned up first. That bloody dust gets everywhere.”

Before Fen could say anything, Chelle ducked out under his arm and drew back the floral curtain to her bunk. The small space was still chaos.  Doc had offered to help her tidy it, but she didn’t want him poking through her belongings.

Especially now, she thought as she took the packet from under her coat, weighing it in her hand. There was small safe built into the wall at the head of her bunk, which she opened by typing in a number. She felt a little better once the drugs were stashed inside and she as she bent down wash her face at the tiny sink in the corner, she wished the water could wash more than just the dirt from her face.

Fen sat in the pilot’s chair, drumming his fingers on the dashboard. The cargo – religious supplies for the Emeraic pilgrims, apparently - was all stowed away safely for the journey. The common room was respectable again and his crew were happy. Not only was he planning to give them a bonus with their salaries, but he’d splashed out on a few crates of fresh fruit and vegetables, and some extra rations. Eggman had made all the repairs they needed to get Nocturne back into space safely, and was even preparing to check the whole engine over and replace all the worn-out parts. All in all, this day had turned out better than Fen could have expected.

But something was still off. He’d checked the money himself for anything suspicious; at least the girl had been telling the truth about it being clean. Where she’d come across so much money, especially on a planet like Burnup, was something Fen would quite like to know. How she’d managed to walk around with it on her back like that without being robbed was a mystery.

She still hadn’t returned from her little shopping trip either, Fen realised, looking at the time. It was coming up to midnight. He frowned. If she was so eager to leave, why was she…?

“Captain,” Silv’s voice crackled over the intercom. “She’s just boarded.”

Fen reached over and pushed a button. “Cheers, Silv.” Another button to talk to the whole ship. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Fenway. We’re all set to go. Chelle, Silv, can you come up to the bridge, please?”

With a grumble, he adjusted his seat before leaning over and flicking switches, pressing buttons. He opened an audio to the engine room. “How’s she looking, Eggman?” he asked.

“She’s running smooth again, cap’n,” the mechanic replied, and Fen could hear the pride in his voice. “She’s purring like a pussycat.”

“Glad to hear it.” As Fen shut the audio-link, Chelle sashayed onto the bridge with Silv following behind her. Silv settled himself into the co-pilot’s seat while Chelle sat on the arm of Fen’s chair. She reached for her earpiece and Fen caught a scent of something on her clothes.

“You been hanging out with Hera again?” he asked coldly. Chelle paused before flicking her hair back and straightening up.

“She asked me to stop by for old times’ sake.” There was something in her voice that made Fen look up at her properly. “She’s clean now.”

Fen looked away from her, turning his attention back to Nocturne as he prepared to launch. “We’ll discuss this later. You just keep listening to the squawkers, y’hear?” Fen glanced over at Silv. “Silv, as a precaution I want you to make sure our new passenger isn’t armed.” He fumbled in his pocket for a small key. “Confiscate any weapons. Put them in the lockup in the cargo bay.”

“Yes, captain,” Silv rumbled, standing up to leave. Fen watched him pause at the door and look back over his muscled shoulder. “You wanna be careful with that Hera, Chelle. Some people never change.”

“Sit down, buckle up,” instructed Fen to Chelle, wrapping his hands around the controls and flicking more buttons. “It’s time to go.”

[Rocket Rabbit]

Off-Topic:

There! All restored and, if I may say, even swankier than it was before! 

[Chinaren]

 

Awesome!  I've only read the first chapter, but I'll catch up with the rest later.

Nice one Robbit!  Very enjoyable so far.  Good to see something by you again.  

Oh, and I spammed your bloggy thing too, just for good measure.

[Saint]

I'll try and get to this later, Rabbit.  And this time I actually meant it.

[Rocket Rabbit]

Off-Topic:

Don't worry - it's not going anywhere. Unless my brain melts and I delete the thread again... 

[Chinaren]

Off-Topic:

Don't worry - it's not going anywhere. Unless my brain melts and I delete the thread again...  

 

...and all caught up!  Very nice Robbit.  Look forward to more oh yes.

[Rocket Rabbit]

Episode 1, Part 4
Criminal

The take-off was bumpy and uncomfortable. Rush really didn’t think much of this pilot, having flown in a Clipper like this before. They usually handled pretty smoothly. Still, she waited it out in the cargo bay, clinging to the ladder like a child in a storm, until the vibrations subsided and she deduced that they must be outside atmo.

With a sigh, she slung the new canvas bag over her shoulder and climbed up the ladder to the upper deck, and found her way into what looked like the common area.

The room was small, the ceiling rather low and it had the sense of being almost cosy. A mismatched collection of patchwork rugs covered the floor and there was a lumpy, worn-looking sofa with faded blankets tucked over its cushions. There was a bookcase bolted to the wall behind it, all the books held in place with twine and beside that, a pin-board stuck with photographs and coloured bits of paper. The dog that had jumped on her was sprawled out at the entrance to the galley, its golden eyes half-closed. A faint, fishy odour hung on the air, coming from the galley, along with the sound of clunking pots and pans.

“Don’t know why no-one else ever does the bloody dishes,” muttered a voice.

Rush glanced down at the bag in her hand. Just new clothes, nothing special, but she’d been travelling in the same gear for a few days now. She’d left everything else behind. Hopefully things would be better once she reached Eremiah. Beneath the clothes was small box – new bullets. She wasn’t sure what to expect when they landed.

“Oh, hi there.” The figure in the kitchen turned and spotted her. He looked a couple of years older than she was, though the stubbly beard and worn-out expression made him seem older still. He wiped his hands on a towel and reached out to shake her hand. “I’m Andrew. You can call me Doc.”

“Doc?”

“Yeah. Ship’s medic.” He chuckled softly. “Not that there’s much need of one.”

“Not much action in the courier business?”

“Sometimes I’m tempted to shove someone down the ladder into the hold, just for the excitement.”

Rush smiled faintly. So things on board the Nocturne were generally quiet, then. It was reassuring to know. She gestured to the bag in her hand. “Where should I put my things? The Captain said I was bunking with… Shell?”

“Ah.” Doc grinned. He pointed to a purple, floral curtain to the right. “Michelle’s bunk is through there.”

With trepidation, Rush drew back the curtain and looked in, with Doc peering over her shoulder.

“Sorry about the mess,” Doc said. “Our Chelle’s not exactly a domestic goddess. You can put your things in the locker. She doesn’t seem to use it anyway.”

He gestured to the metal locker which hung open. Rush peered inside and saw it was empty except for a pair of socks at the bottom. “Thanks,” she replied. She looked at two bunks. Considering one was supposedly empty, they both looked like they’d been slept in.

“Chelle sleeps on the bottom,” Doc supplied helpfully. “I’ll put some clean sheets on the top one for you.”

“That would be… great,” Rush said. “Where can I clean up?”

“The shower room?” He pointed. “That way. Opposite Rey’s… well, opposite the Captain’s cabin.”

She thanked him quietly, and after he’d pottered off to find clean sheets, Rush stepped into the small space and drew the curtain shut behind her. The top bunk was covered with the other woman’s clothes, so Rush scraped them altogether and dumped them on the bottom bunk. She placed her bag of new clothes in the locker and then furtively glanced over her shoulder to make sure the curtain was closed.

With a whispery sigh, she unbuckled her belt and removed her gun-holster. Even now, when she looked at it, the gun evoked memories she’d rather forget and her face twitched with distaste. She knew she was stupid to keep the gun on her like she did – it would be a dead giveaway if anyone ever got a close look at it – but she couldn’t help herself. She liked it, she thought, brushing her fingers over the smooth metal of the revolver, and the tiny engraving on its barrel. She always had liked it.

With one last glance over her shoulder, she bundled the holster up in her coat and shoved it behind her bag in the locker. In the shower room, Rush peered at her face in the mirror. Her skin was almost orange with Burnup dust and dirt and her hair was blown back in stiff strands, caked with sand. She itched all over and she couldn’t wait to strip off and climb in the shower.

She washed thoroughly and dressed in the new clothes – just a pair of jeans and a black vest – and wrapped the old, filthy ones together in a ball. She found that her hands were shaking as she combed her fingers through her hair, staring absently at herself in the mirror. Once upon a time, there was a person who did all this stuff for her; washing her, picking out her clothes, brushing her hair. Rush snorted. Those days were long gone and good riddance. Still, she thought, a hairbrush would be useful.

Finally finished in the bathroom, Rush pulled on a long grey jumper to give her a bit of warmth. It was cold in space, colder than she remembered. When she returned to the common area, Doc was still clattering around in the galley, this time with the teenage girl helping him, washing and drying the dishes. He nodded to Rush as she passed by and raised a soapy hand in greeting.

The curtain rail make an awful squeaking sound as Rush wrenched the curtain aside to find Michelle Corona lying on the bottom bunk. They stared at each other for a moment, before Corona scowled.

“You’re the new girl?” she said curtly, and Rush nodded. “Don’t ever touch my stuff again.”

“Believe me, I won’t,” replied Rush, just as curtly. She screwed up her bundle of old clothes even tighter, ready to stow them away in the battered locker. “Have you…?”

“Have I what?”

Rush dropped the bundle on the floor and reached into the locker. Her bag of new clothes had been disturbed, some its contents were hanging out, but it wasn’t that which was bothering her. Behind the bag, her smelly, dusty coat was still there, but it looked like…

“Somebody’s been through my things.” Rush turned to glare accusingly at Corona, who shrugged unconcernedly. Anxiously, Rush pulled out the coat and unfolded it. Her revolver was gone.
Dammit!

“Miss Rush?” The first mate, tall and muscular, stood behind her with his arms folded and an unreadable expression on his face.

“One of your crew stole something from me,” Rush said angrily, straightening up. “It was right here in this locker, now it’s gone. Do something.”

“I have a message from the captain, Miss Rush,” Silv said evenly, his voice betraying no sign of emotion. “You must surrender any weapons for the duration of this journey. Our policy.”

“What?” Rush “You took it? My gun?”

“I did.”

“You rifled through my things without my permission?!”

“Do you have any other weapons with you, Miss Rush?”

“You had no right.” Rush glared at him with open hatred. Almost trembling with frustration, she balled her hands into fists and put them on her hips. “I want to speak to the captain.”

“Fine by me,” Silv replied and gestured for her to follow him. At the entrance to the cockpit, he paused and motioned for her to enter first. The sound of the computers was almost comforting, but the room smelt of cheap coffee. Captain Fenway glanced over at them from the pilot’s chair, surrounded by lines of lights that blinked like fireflies, and monitors flashing green and white, but Rush’s eye was immediately drawn to the window. It had been a good long while since she’d looked out on a view like that.

“What’s the problem here, Silv?” Fenway was saying, idly flipping some switches before turning to face them properly.

Rush didn’t even give the man chance to reply to his captain. “This man searched through my belongings and took something of mine.” She stared at him coldly. “I want it back.”

“Sorry, ma’am. No can do.” The captain leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms in an infuriatingly casual manner. “Hasn’t Silv already explained our policy to you?”

“Is it your policy to invade the privacy of your passengers?” she spat back at him, but Fenway just smiled and shook his head.

“Ma’am, we don’t carry passengers. Hell, we’re not even licensed for that kinda thing.” Fenway looked triumphant. “In all likelihood, if the powers-that-be realised you were here, we’d all be done for human trafficking.”

The captain had a point, she thought angrily. Contacting the authorities would open up a whole can of worms and make things even more complicated. Boarding a ship with complete strangers was dangerous enough these days, especially on Burnup. “How do I know you aren’t just going to slit my throat and dump me out the airlock?”

“You’re just going to have to trust us, sweetheart,” Fenway replied, smiling widely. “Or not. Either way, the gun stays where it is until we hit Eremiah.”


Fen watched the struggle going on behind her eyes. He knew she wanted to argue further, but no matter how he looked at it, he had the advantage. Her lips were twisted in a sour grimace as she thought about it and then finally she shook her head despairingly.

“I have other ways to defend myself,” she muttered darkly. Without another word, she shoved her way past Silv and disappeared.

“Well, she is something.” Fen chuckled. “Aint she something, Silv? What was she packing anyway? Anything I should know about?”

“Funny you should ask, captain,” Silv replied. He moved away from the door and there was a protesting groan from the co-pilot’s seat as he sat down heavily. “You’ll never guess what our girl was hiding in her locker.”

 “I’m guessing it wasn’t a bouquet of flowers.” Fen frowned. Silv looked serious. “Go on.”

“A Centralian Naval Officer’s revolver.”

“Really?” Fen glanced at the empty door. He knew the type of gun Silv was talking about. Hell, he’d had them aimed squarely in his face often enough. “You sure?”

Silv smirked. “I’m sure. All the trimmings too - looks like a special issue. Got a fancy picture engraved it too, but I couldn’t make out what it was.”

“How about that?” Fen said thoughtfully. From what he remembered, those guns were given to those who reached a certain rank in the Centralian Navy, but a special issue? What could that mean? “No wonder she was so itchy to get it back. She thinks we’re going to turn her in.”

“Sir?”

“Our girl’s a thief.” The more Fen thought about it, the more it made sense. The revolver was a rare piece. Only a couple of officers in the whole fleet would receive a special issue weapon, so it was worth a fair sum of money. Then there was the horde of cash Rush had been toting around Burnup. Oh, she’d said it was clean, but that just meant untraceable.

“One other thing, sir?” said Silv. “Thing isn’t loaded, but there was a box of ammo in with her things. Looks like that was the shopping she did in Burnup.”

“It’s all in the lockup?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Silv, nodding. He produced the key from his pocket and handed it back to Fen. “Safe and sound.”

“Just the way I like it.”

[Rocket Rabbit]

Part 5 should magically appear sometime today.   

[Rocket Rabbit]

Also, on a random note (and forgive me if I posted this elsewhere), I thought maybe you guys would be interested in this.

http://thebookshelfmuse.blogspot.com/

It's a very useful resource. It includes an 'Emotion Thesaurus'. What's one of those, you ask?

The Bookshelf Muse has a something new for your writer’s toolbox: an Emotion Thesaurus. Now, if you draw a blank on how to show your character’s emotion through a physical action (a beat), we can help. Each Thursday we will introduce new cardinal emotions to our thesaurus, offering you an ‘idea bank’ for the times when you get stuck. You can scroll through our lists, and see if one of our ideas sparks one of your own. At the bottom of the list you will see an Addendum to the Thesaurus, comprising of secondary/reactive emotions (loneliness, fatigue, pain, etc).

Also on there is the 'Setting Description Thesaurus', which pretty much does what it says on the tin.

EDIT: And I've just noticed the new feature - A colour, texture and shape thesaurus. Hmm...

It's definitely worth checking out.  

RR x

[Rocket Rabbit]

And tharrrr she blows!

Part 5 now complete. Just a quick proof-read and formatting session, first...

Then it shall be yours.

[Rocket Rabbit]

Episode 1, Part 5
Vegetable

They were there, mere inches from her head, locked away in that little safe, away from prying eyes. Breeze. Chelle closed her eyes. How long had it been since the last time? A week? Just less than a week. Sometimes she had trouble keeping track of the time.

Softly groaning, she rolled over onto her left side and buried her face in the pillow, gritting her teeth. The thought of the package of Breeze being so close – her fingernails were biting into her palms. Why now? Why now, of all times? Like she didn’t have little enough privacy already, now she had to share?

‘I’ll have to wait,’ she thought, trying to breathe slowly. ‘When they’re all asleep. Take it down in the hold.’

She curled in on herself, hunching her shoulders towards her chest and groaned again. That would be hours to wait. The thought was almost unbearable, but she couldn’t risk being caught. She’d have to wait.

There was a soft knocking. “Chelle? You in there?” A pause, and then the curtain was tugged aside to reveal Reyna standing there with a spatula in her hand. “You wanna come help with dinner? We got real life vegetables tonight.”

Chelle rolled over on the bunk to face her and forced a smile, just because the young mechanic looked so enthusiastic about cooking with fresh ingredients. “Sure.”

Bouncing on her toes, Rey gave her a toothy grin and waved her spatula in the air before leaving. Chelle ran her fingers through her ponytail and made an effort to smooth the wrinkles from her shirt. Slowly, she rubbed the soft material between her finger and thumb, thinking, and then tentatively lifted the hem to her nose. Her skin tingled as she breathed it in – the scent of Hera’s place. It was all over her clothes, caught up in the fabric, and it was intoxicating.

It was on her skin too, she realised - inside her skin, inside her. The sharp, citric tang of Breeze. Chelle stiffened, noticing for the first time that she was shaking all over. It was torment. It was right there, within her reach and she couldn’t have it! Feeling dazed, she turned to look at the safe and slowly, the drumming in her head subsided.

“Chelle!” Doc’s voice. The sound of metal rapping on metal. “Are you coming or not?”

She trembled. Her mouth was so dry. ‘Wait, wait. I have to wait.’ Her lips parted and she tried to speak, to reply, but the words wouldn’t come, only a feeling of nausea. Fighting it back, she swallowed and tried again. “Just a minute.”

Any second now, one of them might pull back that curtain and see what a state she was in. The muscles in her cheeks ached with effort of not crying, and Chelle ripped the shirt off over her head and stripped down to her underwear. A bottle of perfume Doc had given her for her birthday lay on the shelf beside her bed and she grabbed it, spraying it liberally all over her body. The scent clogged up her throat, stung at her eyes, but it covered the smell of Breeze. Satisfied, Chelle looked for a clean top, a jumper, anything.

There was a small, midnight blue and silver dress folded neatly beneath her bunk, and Chelle’s hand only hesitated for a second before she pulled it out. It was beautiful really, she thought, but what occasion did she have to wear such a pretty thing aboard this rust-bucket? Still, she slipped it on anyway, draping it around her neck and letting it drop into place.

Doc and Reyna were in the galley, examining the box of fresh fruit and vegetables the captain had bought for them. As Chelle approached, Doc turned to her and grinned widely.

“Hey, what do you think?” he said. He grabbed the lone pineapple from the work surface and balanced it on his shoulder, and Chelle saw that someone had drawn a sketchy impersonation of his face on the fruit’s knobbly skin. “Two heads, better than one, right?”

Reyna erupted in a fit of giggles, bent double at the waist, but Chelle just shook her head at them both, forcing another smile onto her aching cheeks. The pineapple slipped from Doc’s shoulder but he caught it before it hit the ground and placed it back on the counter. All semblance of frivolity faded from his face and he regarded Chelle critically for a moment.

“What?” she asked him petulantly, suddenly feeling exposed. She began tugging absently at the lacy hem of her dress, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re all dressed up, sunshine,” he said, his eyes wide. He lifted his head and sniffed the air. “Is that the perfume I gave you?”

“No. Yes.” Chelle huffed. “What does it matter? All my other clothes were messed up, okay?”

“You look nice,” said Reyna. She frowned and looked down at her dirty overalls. “In fact, I think I’m going to change too.”

Chelle watched her leave – the kid always had a bounce in her step – but found Doc was still staring at her with that look on his face. He was always giving her that look, and he was always sticking his oversized nose in her business. Sometimes it made her just want to-

“What’s up?” he said finally. He opened a cupboard behind him and took out a frying pan, placing it on the electric stove. “Chop those, please?”

He pointed to a pile of carrots and onions on the chopping board, a knife ready beside them. Chelle obliged, thinking how long it had been since they’d had real vegetables. Fresh ones, not out of a can. The smell of chicken frying met her nostrils and she glanced over at what Doc was working on. Fresh chicken too. The captain really had gone all out tonight. Doc smiled at her, nudging the chicken around the outside of the pan and reaching for a small shaker on the shelf above him.

“Smells good, doesn’t it?” He sprinkled some herbs into the pan. “My tongue is twitching, I’m so eager to get my taste buds around this.”

Chelle didn’t reply. Her hands were shaking again, and the rings of onion kept slipping around beneath her fingers. On top of that, her eyes were starting to water and a fat curl of hair keep falling in front of her eyes. Briskly shaking it aside, she concentrated on her breathing, trying to subdue the shakes and trembles that were rattling up and down her body.

“I’m glad we’ve got all this stuff, aren’t you?” Doc said, almost tentatively. “After a while, the stuff in cans all starts to look and taste the same, don’t you think?”

Through pursed lips, Chelle made a non-committal sound. She diced the last of the onion, lifted the chopping board and scraped the lot into the waiting pan. Doc said something very quietly, but she couldn’t hear it over the hiss of the cooking meat. Why did he always have to be like this? Prying, all the time. She started work on the carrots, which were big and thick, and crunchy with freshness.

“And you act like I’m the one who -” Doc was saying, but she tuned out the sound of his voice. She chopped each carrot into slices, making each cut sharp and deliberate, still trying to quell the trembling in her hands. The knife made a hollow chock sound each time it struck the board, and it was starting to grate on her nerves.

“Michelle.” Doc touched her shoulder. Like she’d been stung, Chelle recoiled, letting the half-cut carrot slip from her grasp. She took a step away from him, feeling the shakes intensify.

“I’m fine!” she barked, holding up a hand to keep him away. “I’m fucking fine.”

“Chelle,” he said softly, reaching for her arm. “Hun, you’re bleeding.”

“Fuck off!” She wrenched away from him again, noticing for the first time the gash on her finger. A trickle of blood was seeping down her hand and as she lifted it towards her face, a scarlet bead swelled and dropped to the floor.

“Michelle, please,” Doc pleaded. “Let me look at that.”

“Leave me alone,” she growled through gritted teeth. She tossed the knife down and it hit the sink with a clatter. She could see the look of hurt on his face, and if she wasn’t so worked up she might have felt bad about it. “Please, just leave me be.”

Her head spun and she stood there, quivering for a moment. She wished her glare would wither him away where he stood, infernal person that he was, always pushing her. Finally she spun on her heel, dashing the tears that threatened in her eyes and staggered away.


There wasn’t really much to do on board, Fen sometimes thought. Especially when the cargo bay – the largest space they had – was full. Otherwise he might have run laps. He picked up his book from the control console and checked everything was all in order before locking the controls and leaving the cockpit.

In the corridor outside, he heard a cry from the galley. Chelle’s voice. Girl always was a firecracker, always making a fuss about something, usually because Doc was teasing her. He clutched at his stomach, feeling it rumble beneath his hand. Time to go see what was cooking, he thought.

When he reached the entrance to the common area, Chelle appeared. He opened his mouth to tell her to keep the noise down but she just shoved right past him, knocking the book from his hand and slamming him against the bathroom door.

“Chelle?” he called after her, but she disappeared down the ladder into the cargo hold. He shook his head; he was bemused but it wasn’t uncommon for Chelle to go storming about like she owned the place. His book lay on the floor, and when he leaned down to retrieve it, he saw with a note of irritation that he’d lost his page.

“What’s her problem?” he said, entering the common area.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Doc replied. The medic slouched on the sofa, looking like he’d just returned from a battlefield. Fen leaned against the doorway, thumbing through his novel, trying to remember how far he’d read. He could smell burning, and he glanced up to see a trail of smoke coming from the galley.

“Doc, I didn’t pay good money for all that food just so you could burn it,” Fen snapped. He threw his book down and rushed over to the galley, frantically wafting away the smoke. The last thing he wanted was for Noc’s ECU to detect it and take action – the ship’s computer was very serious about fires.

Wrapping a dishcloth around his fist, Fen lifted the spitting, smoking pan off the electric ring and slammed it down on the draining area beside the sink. Over the sputtering sound of the ruined food, he said through a clenched jaw, “Are you just going to sit there, or what?”


When there was no reply, Fen turned to see Doc still slumped there, his shoulders sagging like he was collapsing in on himself. The medic didn’t give any indication that he’d heard Fen speak, except for heaving a shuddering sigh. Watching his friend staring at the wall with that spiritless expression on his face, Fen felt his anger at the cooking debacle fade.

“Something on your mind, Doc?” he said mildly. Turning back to the galley, Fen found the switch for the extractor fan, to clean out the rest of the smoke and tried to decide if the burnt chicken and vegetables were salvageable.

“You remember what her dad said to us?” Quietly, Doc spoke, and Fen almost didn’t hear him over the noise from the fan. “About her – about Michelle being the only thing he was fighting for?”

Fen thought back to the day in question; oh, he remembered it, alright. Ed Corona was a decent man, a strong leader, a quick thinker, but he was never truly a soldier. In fact, Fen doubted that any of them had really been soldiers, but Corona saw them through the devastation again and again. Fen knew that the man had a white-hot, searing steel in his soul to see the war end, just so he could return home and see his two children again. When he thought about that final day, Fen’s heart still skipped a beat. Nothing quite like watching your commanding officer die right in front of you, he thought, coldly.

“Something’s…” he heard Doc say, with a strange, strangling edge to his voice. “She’s… Fen, I think there’s something wrong with her.”

“She’s just wound a little tight.” Never the skilled cook, Fen tipped the burnt food into a large pan and began making a sauce. He wasn’t sure how it would taste, but his crew would damn well eat it and be happy. “It’s just that time of year. It gets us all.”

“She was all dressed up. She looked…” Doc said, and stopped. He cleared his throat. “I don’t think it’s as simple as that, Fen. I’m worried.”

Stirring furiously, Fen rubbed at his face with the back of his free hand. How the hell was he supposed to tell Doc that Chelle had been back to Hera’s? After everything the three of them – Doc, Silv and himself – had done to help her recover, to give her a new life, she was hanging around with her old dealer like nothing had happened.

The trouble was that Fen couldn’t really make up his mind – suspicions were one thing, but outright accusing Chelle of using again could ruin two years of careful work. The only thing he was sure of, looking over his shoulder at Doc, was that Chelle’s behaviour today had really hit the medic hard. Whether she realised it or not, she was destroying him from the inside out.

Off-Topic:

Included here is the extract I wrote for Monday's the Hour. 

[Chinaren]

Damn, you're writing this faster than I can read it!  I'll catch up when I have more than five minutes free, so I can do it justice!

[Rocket Rabbit]

Alright. I'm giving myself a bit of a time-constraint on this. I want to have Episode 1 finished by this weekend and I'm going to try blasting through Episode 2 next week. With any luck, I can start Episode 3 at a slower pace after the 28th, which the day I start back at Uni.

Episode 2 will be somewhat shorter than Ep. 1, which I suppose is a sort of extra-long pilot. Y'know, giving y'all chance to meet the team and get an idea for the story yet to come. Ep. 2 also picks up a couple of weeks after Ep. 1 finishes.

I'm just saying this now because I'm working through the plot.

RR x

[Chinaren]

Right, caught up with part 4.  Things are looking interesting.

One small thing:

Beneath the clothes was small box

I think you're missing an 'a' here.

[Rocket Rabbit]

Okay so my time-constraint thing turned out to be a load of bull. I'm revising it instead to have Ep. 1 complete by the end of this week. =]

Hopefully, Ep. 1, part 6: Trip Wire will be uploaded tomorrow.

 

[Chinaren]

Okay so my time-constraint thing turned out to be a load of bull. I'm revising it instead to have Ep. 1 complete by the end of this week. =]

Sounds like the same 'time constraint' that I have on my next episode of Walk in the Dark. 

[Rocket Rabbit]

Sometimes I think the notion that I have any control over the time it takes to write something is merely an illusion. 

[Rocket Rabbit]

Right... gonna see if I can't bash out a couple thousand words before midnight.

Wish me luck!



=]

[Rocket Rabbit]

=[ I've managed 501 words in the last hour. I can usually do better, but I'm kinda tired.



Will finish part 6 and then call it a night. Find something more relaxing to do. 

RR x

[Rocket Rabbit]

Episode 1, Part 6
Trip-Wire

Unable to sleep, Rush lay in her bunk listening to the soft thrumming of the ships engines. Her eyelids drooped – she was exhausted – but every time she came close to drifting off, she heard something that sent her heart fluttering. A rustle, a footstep on metal, the sound of a gun being readied. Each time, she lay trembling; waiting for the curtain to be ripped back and a weapon to be shoved in her face, but it never came.

Ever since that last night on Burnup, she thought. Seeing Brunswick’s face again, realising that the sanctuary she’d found was an illusion – but now she was being irrational. Brunswick and his goons couldn’t know where she was. She’d left no trace.

A fit of creaking came from the bottom bunk and Rush saw Corona rise and stumble into the gloom, out of sight. A tremor raced through her body and Rush rolled on her side, tugging the blankets up around her neck. She needed her gun. Even unloaded, its weight at her hip soothed her nerves.

She came to a decision, and gritted her teeth. Bracing herself for the cold air, she drew back the blanket, climbed down and ragged her boots onto her feet. Beyond the curtain, there was no sign of life. Where had Corona gone? Passing the door to the bathroom, Rush saw that it was empty.

The air in the cargo hold was much chillier than she’d anticipated, and Rush regretted not wearing a jumper. Not that it mattered, she thought. She wasn’t planning on staying here long. The hold was illuminated by the husky glow of the overheads, and the stacks of wooden crates cast shadows across the floor. The crates were arranged like a maze.

Rush located the weapons lockup and crouched to examine it. A hefty steel padlock kept it securely shut; in fact, Rush feared her only chance of opening it without a key would be to shoot the thing off. Shame her only weapon was inside the damn case. She glanced around. Firing a weapon in the hold was a stupid idea anyway; in a pressurised space like this during flight, ricocheting bullets could soon become everyone’s problem.

A dull clunk from the maze of crates set her nerves back on edge, and Rush turned, ready to defend herself.

“Who’s there?”

There was quiet for a moment, before she heard another sound; a light rasping, almost like dry laughter. So they’re spying on me too, now? Rush thought back to her bag in the locker, wishing she had the pair of leather fighting gloves with her now. She hoped to find herself face-to-face with the hulking first mate; she really fancied breaking his nose.

“Who’s there?” She approached the first row of crates and peered over it. “Hello?”

In her mind’s eye, she saw Brunswick’s face lunging towards her again, the gun in his hand flashing in the candlelight. She squeezed her eyes shut and steadied herself on the crate, trying control herself. It was real. His rancid breath, his gloved hand gripping her shoulder – it was all still real.

“Ha!”

The cry cut through the nightmare, dispelling Brunswick’s leering grin; Rush snapped her head around, fists clenched, looking for the source. A hint of movements between the crates to her left caught her eye and she moved towards it, poised for action.

“What the…?” Rush relaxed her balled fists and stared.

Michelle Corona lay sprawled on her stomach on a blanket on the floor between the rows of crates. Her unruly hair was in a massive tangle around her shoulders and her vest had inched up her back to reveal a tattooed peacock. She looked up at Rush and gave a wail of laughter, thumping her fists on the floor.

“What the hell is this, Corona?” Rush demanded, but Corona just rolled over onto her back and giggled unnervingly. Rush watched as she ran her hands up and down her own body, and squirmed in delight. Still no reply.

Something was wrong. Rush crouched down beside her and gripped her head, trying to get a good look at her eyes. Her pupils were two yawning wells of blackness and they were completely empty. Corona’s flesh was warm and flushed, even a little clammy to the touch, and she writhed and pulled away from Rush’s hands.

“Damn it.” Rush dropped Corona’s head back on the ground. The stupid kid was high. Breeze, by the smell that lingered on the air. Rush watched, feeling her lip curl as Corona’s eyes started rolling in her head. “Get up,” she snapped, wrenching on her arm. Corona let Rush yank her about like a ragdoll, but she wouldn’t stand up.

Disgusted, Rush turned to leave but a wet frothing cough from Corona stopped her. The girl was fine – she continued giggling as before – but at the edge of her lips, a trickle of sickly-looking spit appeared. It wasn’t unusual for Breeze addicts to choke on this foam when it gathered in their throats, Rush remembered and she stared uncertainly at Corona. She barely seemed to notice that Rush was even there.

If she stayed here alone, Corona could die. Rush didn’t like that thought. This wasn’t because she had reason to feel any compassion for her, but she had a feeling it would upset the crew and delay the rest of the trip. Though she was exhausted and she would have preferred to sleep in her bunk, Rush propped herself up against a crate. Her eyes never left the bucking, writhing form beside her. She just hoped Corona would appreciate it enough to do her a favour in return.


Rush dreamed of Brunswick. She dreamed that they’d landed on Eremiah two days late because Fen fell asleep at the controls. Silv escorted her down the gangway and pushed her out into the crowd, saying “Don’t come around here anymore. We aren’t your friends.”

Uncertainly, she stepped into the crowd, feeling people bump and shove against her and she looked up straight into the barrel of Brunswick’s gun. “Bang,” he said, but didn’t pull the trigger. Rush heard herself scream – such a strange noise for her body to make. She didn’t have her gun, so she plunged through the swaying crowd, trying to reach the safety of the Nocturne’s cargo doors.

A glance backwards and Brunswick had gone. ‘Not gone,’ Rush thought. ‘He’s around here somewhere.’ She struggled on through the ranks of people, the gangway seeming further and further away the closer she got. After an eternity, her way was clear and she cried out desperately to Silv for help.

“Don’t come around here anymore.”

“Please. He won’t stop until he… he…” She choked on her words. Before her wide, terrified eyes, Silv was fluidly morphing into Brunswick.

“Long time, no see, Neroli.” A wide, cruel smile crept slowly across Brunswick’s face. He lifted his arm and put cold steel to her forehead. “Bang.”

Rush woke up, hopelessly disoriented. Her heart was hammering out a brutal rhythm on the inside of her chest and she could taste acid in her throat. She felt like her skull might shatter if she tried to move.

“Coffee?” Corona’s voice.

Rush screwed her eyes shut, waiting for the nausea to subside. Her head felt like it had been shaken about in a tin can. When her head finally cleared, she saw Corona knelt in front of her, holding out a mug with an uncertain look on her face.

Wordlessly, Rush took the mug offered to her and watched Corona settle herself uneasily back on the blanket. They passed a moment quietly sipping their drinks; Rush wrapped her fingers around the warm cup, finally realising just how chilly she was.

“Fen…” Corona began. She paused, blushing and blew sharply on her drink. “Fen saved my life once already.”

Rush said nothing, but studied Corona’s movements; the bird-like flutters of her free hand that kept reaching up to massage her throat and the way she glanced all around them. Her face had lost the trademark clownish grimace that defined most Breeze addicts, and but for the bags under her bloodshot eyes, she looked healthy and normal.

“He can’t know about this,” she continued. She glanced up at Rush from beneath her blanket of hair, her eyes wide. “I was in a bad way, but he pulled me out and gave me everything I have now. He can’t know.”

Corona’s hands were trembling. As she raised her mug to take a sip, she twitched and split coffee in her lap. Rush didn’t voice her thoughts, but she wondered why. Why had Corona relapsed if she’d been saved from her addiction once already? Still, she decided it was none of her business either way, and she told Corona this.

Corona’s head jerked up. “So you won’t say anything?”

Rush shrugged. “Your captain has a right to know,” she said stonily.

Corona went pale. Rush revelled in the look of fear and discomfort on her face. There was something – a feeling of power to be had. She set her mug down on the steel grating floor with a muffled clink and leaned forwards.

“You want me to keep quiet about this?” she said in a tone stretched as tight as a piano string. Corona nodded. “Then get me my gun back.”

She drew back and shook her head. “Something else.”

“What?”

“I can’t do that.” Corona looked pained. “I’ll do something else. Anything.”

“Don’t you even have a key for it?” Rush nodded towards the lockup, but Corona shook her head again, her curls bouncing.

“Fen doesn’t let anyone else have that key. He’s serious about that rule. No weapons.” She frowned. “Anyway, you’re safe. The rule applies to us too.”

Frustrated, Rush dropped her head in her hands, stroking circles around her eyes with her fingertips. She sighed. “The gun is actually more valuable that you think.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t trust your captain. I’m worried I won’t ever get it back.”

“You can trust Fen.”

“I’m sure I can trust him, but I don’t intend to.” Rush sipped her coffee, which was getting cold. “All I care about is leaving this boat with that gun in my possession.”

Corona leaned back against the crate behind her with a small frown on her face. After a moment, she spoke. “If you keep this a secret until we reach Eremiah, I will personally hand that gun to as you walk out the door.”

“Alright.” Rush nodded in approval. “But if that gun isn’t in my hand, you know what my parting words to your captain will be.”


Ta da! Took a while, but there you go. =] Not that anyone was waiting with bated breath, I suspect.

[Chinaren]

And a very nice chapter it was too Robbit.  I read it and enjoyed it thoroughly.  And I'm beginning to suspect that gun is more than just a gun.  Maybe some information concealed in it?  A valuable (but very small) item? 

Mmmm. 

[Rocket Rabbit]

Hopefully, part 7: Eremiah, will be availabubble soon. =]

 

Fen stroked his chin and frowned at the monitor. Eremiah was just hours away and they hadn’t encountered any other traffic during the entire journey from Burnup. Now the scanners had picked up another ship, lagging some way behind them, apparently on the same course.

RR x

[Chinaren]

Fen stroked his chin and frowned at the monitor. Eremiah was just hours away and they hadn’t encountered any other traffic during the entire journey from Burnup. Now the scanners had picked up another ship, lagging some way behind them, apparently on the same course.

OOhh!  Teaser!   

[NicTei]

I'm all caught up now!   Can't wait for more!

[Rocket Rabbit]

Ooh. Welcome aboard, Nic!  You're just in time. We're just getting to the actiony exciting part now. =]

The final two parts will include plenty of woe and bloodshed. You wanna know some more sneaky bits?

Look in the box.

...

Go on. I dare you. Look in the box.

...

[spoiler=The Box] NO SPOILERS FOR YOU!!  [/spoiler]

[Chinaren]

Look in the box.

...

Go on. I dare you. Look in the box.

...

[spoiler=The Box] NO SPOILERS FOR YOU!!  [/spoiler]

Oh no you don't! 

[Rocket Rabbit]

Oh no you don't!