[mvisconte]

OK, I have over-extended, and I am getting further behind in my plotting... I'm going to have to give some general outlines and come back and fill in details and dialogue later (maybe). I hope it's at least a little fun.

We wait until late dusk for our liberation...

Geoff has kindly volunteered to cut us loose (well, WD(E) helped by growling and snapping when he tried to get out of it). Up the interiour, between the gas compartments, up the scaffolding, over the cat-walk (I'm too sexy for my shirt), unlocked the hatch, and discovered that it is an electric latch, controlled from the wheel-house. Much merriment resulted.


It seems we've taken on additional passengers... two, to be exact. Speaking in bad english with broken (or at least sprained) accents, they claim to be "inspectors, customs, securities, you know, official stuff". No badges, and no real knowledge of what they're supposed to be inspecting, but hinting heavily that it will take very long, with many forms, beeg troble (for moose and squoril?) before we can leave. Mebbe they can speed up many forms, but ees beeg risk for them. Beeg risk. Wasn't ANYBODY watching the entrance?

Hinting heavily at the risk, the time it will take, the number of forms, and how much trouble we will be in if they have to do an "official" inspection, "you know, there are probably many, many theeng that are note write on thees sheep". They must "mek a coll." What is this? Chicago in the 20's? We're up against a syndicate? Sheesh. OK, first, eet's -- sorry, it's, it's not a sheep, it's a dirigible. Didn't these guys read the handout? Second, they have no patience. I'm playing dumb, something I am especially experienced at. They give up and tell me outright that they will need a payoff -- sizable, or sometheen bad might happen.

Catching Deb's eye, I ask her if she can escort our guests to the interiour lounge while I find some gold boullion for our visitors. Gee, suddenly they understand me very well. Just get them to an interiour room for a little while. These ships are extremely stable and you don't notice they're moving unless you're at a window (or we're doing evasive manuvers -- loop-de-loop?).

Deb and KK smile a very beeg smile. Yes, indeed, can we get you something? Coffee? Tea? I know that look... that's the look that the female praying mantis gives the male when she decides his insurance money will put the kids through college quite well. Uh-oh, I also know THAT look. Buddy, inspite of having women on the staff, this is not a 50's secretarial pool. If you try that, I'm thinking you might wind up missing limbs.

Listen, guys, I could save you trouble and just shoot you outright, but then we'd be short a plot point, and a lot of fun.

Deb and KK giggle, girlishly, and take our friends by the arm and lead them to one of the lounges. Drinks for everyone, pshrynk is serving, so I know they'll be heavy. dvsick is hovering, but just to provide less privacy lest our friends get too frisky too soon. Pshrynk is serving the better booze, against my better judgement, but hey, I trust him to know how hard to hit. You want attractive bait before the hook is set.

Hanger door is open, and we're easing out just over the water. The wash from the fans making a nice froth on the surface of the water. Makes me want espresso.

We're at the edge of the harbor, still well within comfortable distance to land, but far enough that we're more grey than visible. In the lounge, a light flashes. Deb stands up and says "well gentlemen, its time to go." Not understanding, the big guy smiles and reaches a hand out for her wrist. He moves a fraction of an inch forward and stops. Well, kind of. There is a sharp pain in his throat, an inch above his sternum. A sharp pain that he can't quite get away from. Deb has one hand on his tie, reeling him in, and one hand on a very sharp stilletto, the tip pressed just against his neck. He notices that there's warm liquid pooling in his belly button. KK has done a dosey-do on her friend and has his arm twisted so far up behind his back that he can scratch his head. A bit melodramatic, yes?

Sputtering, torn between wounded ego and not wanting to get wounded further, he resorts to implied theats, "you don't know who you are deeling weeth".

"Oh, I'm sorry, what was your name?" He didn't think it was funny, but I did. I watch on the monitor as the women frog-walk the goons from the lounge down the corridor into the wheel house. Released to glare as us, they men are sizing up the situation. One guy reaches up to his shoulder, and looks puzzled. Deb tosses a couple of cheap pot-metal semis on the chart table. KK notes "You boys don't have a very big budget, these are crap".

"Gentlemen, would you step out on the patio for a second?" Nobody's got guns, be these guys are not really comfortable with the thought of not being the main muscle. They're eyeing the hatch to the corridor, the chart table, the hatch, Deb, the door to the open patio, me, each other. They turn, slowly, facing the patio. You can see their shoulders tense as they get ready to spring...

And a deep growl comes from the hatchway. You know, a dog sounds a LOT larger when you can't see it. Their shoulders drop and they move toward the patio. Deb follows them out. They look back inside the wheel house and WD(E), KK, and I head out, closing the hatchway.

They go from puzzled to sly. They step apart and forward, moving so that Deb is more in line betwen them. They've ganged up on victims before. They look like the fox, for a little bit.

It's not a good feeling when your target knows they're a target, and they're smiling.

Deb faces one, and takes a step forward, and in a quick sweep, grabs lapels, pulls him close, and pushes hard, out and up, as she continues forward. I wish I had been there in person... I've never seen someone jetisoned so cleanly.

The man shot backward off balance, caught his legs on the top of the railing, and tumbled over, disappearing in the gloom. A spash followed quickly -- the wheel-house observation deck was just a couple dozens of feet above the water.

The second man panicked and rushed forward, whether to avenge his friend or try to safe him, I don't know. Deb turned half-way right, pushed off with her left foot, and dropped her right knee, and then stood up suddenly. And caught the man about two feet from the railing, and executed and perfect shoulder throw. The man followed his friend into the surf, and soon joined him yelling at the tops of their lungs.

KK ask "why don't I ever have any fun?" Patience, I'm sure you'll get to shoot something, hit something, or blow something up.
"Soon?" I promise.
Molified, she stepped to the chart table, scooped the guns up and joined Deb on the patio, where she tried to bean one of the men with the guns.
"He said I'd get to hit something soon... he promised. I'm just practicing."

It's a quiet, moonless night... take a little altitude, set the auto-pilot, and step out to the mess for a light dinner.

Geoff has several pounds of steamed broccoli, and no main course. The crew is sullen, except for Shortncuddly, who has chocolate. I decide to step to the lounge and drink my dinner. Tomorrow is another day. In about 9 hours.

----

So, anybody up for pirates? Energy weapons? Deeds of daring-do?

Any ideas?