[mvisconte]

It strikes me a bit odd that Bermuda would have anti-aircraft guns, or that they'd be so eager to target friendly strangers, passing in the night.

Checking the pilot console, making sure everything that's supposed to be going "beep" is, in fact, going "beep"... that the green spin-ey thing is both green, and spinning, with a reassuring "boop" as lighted figures drift across the screen. A few things going "fisss", and one thing that is making a noise I can't recreate, even mentally, but everything looks all Jim Dandy. so, having exhausted my piloting skills, I decide to roam.

I wander into the lower lounge. There's a crap game going on in the booth in the corner, with dvsick and poohbear alternately yelling "CRAP!", "CRAP!" at each other, then laughing hysterically an drinking from dark colored bottles. Maybe it was my wearing dark glasses that made the bottles look darker than they really were. I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can, so I can.... watch you weave and breathe your stor--- sorry, got carried away there.

I make my way to the bar where pshrynk has a Dirty Martini waiting for me. I ask for a clean glass, and take a sip of the new Martini. It's like a late season Sharav blowing across the Rub'al-Khali. Dry.

Pshrynk nods gently, and smiles to some internal conversation, while he polishes a glass. We all talk to ourselves from time to time, but he seems to get answers, and ones he likes. I smile and nod to myself. Then I notice he has one half of an iPod headset in his other ear. OK, maybe I'm the only one who talks to myself. They say it's a sign of... GENIUS! Isn't that right? Damn skippy it's right!

Deb walks up and nods to Pshrynk, and to me, and says, "you're talking to yourself again, aren't you?" I smile sheepishly and murmur a soft "NO!".

"Give me one of those," she points to a bottle. "No, not a shot, the bottle." Pshrynk knows better than to try to charge her. So far, between us, we have $46.45, several IOUs, some poker chips (the cheap plastic kind), and pocket lint. We've started paying for booze and food on-board with toothpicks. It doesn't bother me, I've got the key to the supply room.

WD(E) is sitting in a booth, nursing a beer from a largish dog bowl. "That's kind of big for one drink, it's it?" "I plan on bathing in it, later."

To pshrynk: "Remind me not to drink the beer..."

Speaking outloud, to nobody in particular, but positioning myself between Deb, psjrynk, WD(E), and Geoff (drinking a mug of hot choco), I say "It strikes me a bit odd that Bermuda would have anti-aircraft guns, or that they'd be so eager to target friendly strangers, passing in the night."

"Yeah," says Geoff, "we read that at the start of the post. What do you think it means?"

Now that I have their attention, well, most of them... KK is above the skylight, which is sad because it's night, I walk over to the entertainment center, which looks suspiciously like a 1940's RCA Victor free-standing. "What, " I said, pausing for effect, "happened to the big screen hi-def? Where's the satellite feed? Where's the blue ray? Alright, who's been monkeying with the radio?"

"Some radio, " said Geoff. "All I can get is 'Fibber McGee & Molly', 'Charlie McCarthy', and 'The Chase and Sanborn Hour'... fat lot o' good THAT does us!"

Somewhere, in the back of my brain, is a little voice yelling, sotto voce, "get. Out. NOW."
I never did like those little voices. Besides, it was night, we were tucked all tidy in a luxury dirigible, and it was almost a mile to the sea below. I think I'll just turn in tonight and see what the voices has to say in the morning...