Tales of the Bonaventure

Part 1 : Growing Pains

. . . . . “Boros Port Control to Bonaventure – your alternate flightplan has been approved, and landing zone confirmed. Proceed with caution, and have a safe landing, over.”

. . . . . “Roger that, Port Control,” replied the bouncy blonde in the primary console. Holly adjusted the fit of her baseball cap and tilted the control yoke, subtly changing the Harpoon’s flightpath. Behind her, Jasmine grinned, and gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder, before turning back to the assembled crew in the ship’s cockpit.

. . . . . Reese, red eyes nearly pulsing with curiosity, watched her captain over the edge of the sketchpad that she had been working with before the tall, long-haired woman had entered and ordered the course change. “Explain why the cargo isn’t going to the spaceport, please?”

. . . . . Nataliya, sitting at the secondary console, also watched her captain with curiosity, though she wasn’t too concerned. She trusted her captain to deal with these affairs, and with most, with ease. “Da. Is unusual to be delivering goods directly to purchaser in this way. Are we avoiding an Alliance levy or tax?” Illegalities, on the other hand, did tend to worry the slight Russian woman.

. . . . . “Saw the name on the purchase invoice. Katja Patroval.” Jasmine’s explanation was curt, and not given without some reluctance, and perhaps a bit of prevarication. “Thought it might save some time and effort if we delivered it personally. And I do sometimes get tired of landing at spaceports.” Turning back to the pilot, Jasmine added, “That’s no problem for you, right, Holly? I reckon the boneyard is as flat as the spaceport would’ve been.”

. . . . . “Sure thing, cap’n,” came Holly’s quick reply. “Be nice to fly in without port authorities clucking their tongues every time I slip outside o’ their carefully-decreed parameters.”

. . . . . Patrice suddenly stood, having had an uncomfortable look ever since Katja’s name had come up. “I have some business in town,” she said abruptly, as the captain returned her attention their way. “You won’t be needing the Mule, will you?”

. . . . . Jasmine regarded the buxom redhead, some sympathy creeping in behind her eyes. “I’m sure they’ll have plenty others, where we’re headed.” Jasmine knew that Patrice had known Katja a lot longer than Jasmine had... relatively speaking. Katja’s departure from the crew and their lives was abrupt and unexpected, but no moreso than learning that Katja’s promises – both to Jasmine and Patrice – were forgotten, instead given to Mantissa Avaria, a woman all three had known and loved in their own way. Jasmine didn’t have it in her heart to hate either Katja or Tissa, though being left behind carried a terrible sting for her, since it was Katja who had pulled her from a scavenging life, homeless on Ezra and then Persephone, and enabled her rise to her current position as captain of the Bonaventure. What Katja had done for Patrice was no doubt as profound, though Patty would not speak of it to anyone.

. . . . . As Patrice nodded her thanks - for more than just the Mule - and swiftly left the cockpit, she passed the youngest and oddest member of the crew, who slipped in to sit at the cortex station that Patty had just left. Bearing a jar of fireflies they’d picked up at their last stop, Jessi was something of an enigma to most of the crew – a 20-year-old woman, possessing the mind of a six-year-old girl, most of the time - a six-year-old girl who liked blood, stuffed animals, knives, and cheeseburgers, and acted as the ship’s guard dog and mascot. Traumatized by something in her past, Jessi had regressed into this state long ago, so long ago that no one present even knew her last name, nor if ‘Jessi’ was her true first name. She had two other personas as well that those close to her had been able to give names to, a complete innocent named Bianca and a sensuous temptress named April, but Jessi was the most prominent persona, one geared toward survival at all costs, for both body and mind.

. . . . . Jessi looked at the fireflies in the jar. “Think bug friends' lights are broken,” she declared.

. . . . . Nataliya, ever the patient one, turned to Jessi and tried to explain. “Do not have the power to stay bright always, Jessi... so they blink instead.”

. . . . . Jessi nodded knowingly. “No room for batteries,” came her elaboration.

. . . . . Tali smiled. “Blinking serves another purpose, too, syestra. In this way they send signals to each other.”

. . . . . Jessi looked up at the Russian, suddenly curious. “What sort of signals?”

. . . . . Tali reached for the jar, as if to see if the fireflies were communicating. “Oh, mostly love letters,” she said softly, her eyes flitting up to the Captain, who still stood in the aisle, watching after Patrice.

. . . . . Jessi was not impressed. “Eww.”

. . . . . Jasmine grinned. Apparently, April was not in evidence today. With a sigh, she turned to look out the front viewport. “Time to landing?”

. . . . . “We’ll be down in a hot minute,” came Holly’s quick reply, adjusting the thrust controls.

. . . . . Nodding, Jasmine turned to leave the cockpit. “Meet by the ramp, all those who’re going ashore.”

. . . . . Jasmine’s boots clanked down the short stairwell into the cargo area – basically a cluttered storage room. Unlike a Firefly or a Dragonfly class vessel, a Harpoon’s storage capacity was quite low, being able to carry less than a third of the cargo that a Firefly might. Rather than the cavernous warehouse that Jasmine had seen aboard some vessels, this space was only two storeys tall with a relatively small floorplan; she’d seen taprooms that were bigger. Thus the room was always cluttered and dark, and as she passed through Jazz’s eyes searched the horizontal surfaces, looking for where she’d last laid down her longcoat, reprimanding herself for not getting a coat rack installed near the entry ramp.

. . . . . As she climbed up the somewhat longer staircase to the Crew Area, she remembered where she had left her coat, and made a beeline to the captain’s cabin, her quarters now. Sure enough, the longcoat was lying atop the side table, along with her matching fedora.

. . . . . Jasmine took the hat and plopped it on her head, then grabbed the coat, uncovering a gold necklace that lay on the table. As she shrugged into the coat, her eyes lingered upon the necklace. Katja had given it to her. Jasmine had never owned a more expensive piece of jewelry. When she and Katja had been together, she had never taken it off.

. . . . . Placing her fingers upon the pendant, gold with inset sapphires, she contemplated wearing it today. It would signify to Katja that she still cared for her. With a frown, she decided she didn’t want to reveal that. But... if she didn’t, then why was she here at all, when the cargo could have been left at the spaceport?

. . . . . Jasmine looked at herself in the small mirror above the side table, seeing her unadorned neck. To boldly display her naked throat would be throwing it in Katja’s face, and that didn’t feel right to Jasmine. But to wear the necklace would declare that all was forgiven, and Jasmine felt too much pain to do that.

. . . . . Jasmine sighed, and instead opened a drawer, revealing several folded bandannas. Removing one, she refolded it into a triangle shape and tied it around her neck, hiding the absence of the necklace. Then, with another cursory glance in the mirror, she sighed again and departed.

. . . . . The Bonaventure set down on the tarmac in an empty space between the White Star and the lines of derelict vehicles that generally inhabited the boneyard of Boros. The White Star, however, was a nexus of activity in an otherwise desolate location. Ground vehicles carrying supply crates and equipment were parked in a rough perimeter around the passenger liner, with powered skids, pallet jacks and hovercarts moving between them like bees in a hive. The liner itself was crawling with maintenance personnel; some aboard hovercarts replacing the running lights, others hanging from cables while painting the hull, still others on rough scaffolding making repairs to some of the ship’s systems.

. . . . . Moments after the Harpoon had touched down and cut power to her main thrusters, the boarding ramp clanged down onto the tarmac and Patrice roared out of the ship’s cargo hold aboard their ATV Mule, taking a direct route to the dirt path that led from the platform to the road that led to town. By the time the rest of the crew had emerged, a foreman and two other workmen had approached the craft warily. It was a simple matter for Jasmine to show them the invoice and relieve them of their worries. Soon, the men were walking at a brisk pace before the Bonaventure crew, outdistancing them in their haste to round up enough people to unload the cargo they had brought.

. . . . . Jessi dashed heedlessly past the quartet of women, holding the glass jar aloft before her. Reese tried to grab her shoulder as she sped by, and failing that, called out, “Careful with that jar, Jessi! You might trip and break it, and... and let your friends escape!” Telling Jessi that she might cut herself was a pointless exercise, as Reese concluded mid-warning, hence the change in wording.

. . . . . Jasmine shook her head slightly at Jessi’s exuberance, and smiled. “Reese, you’d better follow after Jessi, keep her out of trouble.”

. . . . . Having been officially hired onto the Bonaventure as security, Reese had scoffed at the title. Traditionally wearing long white dresses and being referred to as an angel by some people, despite her albino traits of pale skin and red eyes, she looked nothing like a security guard ought to. But, since her main activities had seemed to centre around controlling Jessi, she mentally adjusted that title to ‘internal security’. It was a task that, while not unsuited, did sometimes chafe. “As per usual,” she replied, letting her exasperation show. “On my way.”

. . . . . The note of displeasure wasn’t unobserved by the captain. “Holly, maybe you should go with her. Tali, keep an eye on these movers – we don’t want them carting off our own equipment by mistake.”

. . . . . Tali and Holly both nodded, accepting their assignments without any signs of distaste. Holly smiled amiably to Reese, moving to follow. Then, glancing toward Jasmine, she asked, “What about you, cap’n?”

. . . . . Jasmine was gazing up at the White Star, and at a boarding ramp specifically for passengers, which had a raised platform something like a balcony. Stepping out onto that balcony was a lone female figure, with an olive business suit and dark red hair in a shoulder-length bob. With an air of confidence suggesting ownership, surveying her domain, the woman glanced down at the group of women on the ground below, smiling as she locked eyes with Jasmine.

. . . . . With an odd tone in her voice, Jasmine replied offhandedly to Holly. “I’ll be back,” she murmured, and began walking toward the platform.

. . . . . News of the ship’s arrival had of course been immediately conveyed to Katja, where she worked with the technicians in the ship’s operations control area, trying to coordinate repair and refit activities. A repeated glance at the security screen had both surprised and delighted the ex-Companion, and she had hastily and surreptitiously checked her appearance in a reflective surface. Now, she stood waiting as Jasmine ascended the stairs to the boarding platform. Jasmine’s face was unreadable, a trick Katja could also perform, if she so desired. But she preferred at this time to display warmth and friendliness, since it was what she genuinely felt.

. . . . . “Captain Geddes,” she said with a smile, as Jasmine climbed the last few steps and drew level with her. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

. . . . . Jasmine’s face altered subtly, her lip twitching upwards into a half-grin. “One should never do what’s expected.” Once that has been said, her expression thawed to a similar one of genuine warmth. “How are you?”

. . . . . “Busy,” came Katja’s admission, as she turned to regard the labour crews and the massive patchwork hull of the White Star. “There’s so much to do, before she’s ready to fly.”

. . . . . Jasmine nodded, also looking. “Seems mostly superficial,” she appraised. “But then again, you’re refitting the inside as well,”

. . . . . Katja nodded, her smile contagious as she surveyed the hull, her eyes seeing right through the plating into the interior. “She’ll be the most luxurious floating casino in the ‘Verse.” She turned back to Jasmine, her smile softening slightly.

. . . . . “Definitely a trade-up from our old war-horse,” Jasmine commented, her own expression tempered from within. The Bonaventure was built for speed, but with few amenities. Referring again to the White Star, she added, “The perfect domain for an ex-Companion. I know how you like to play hostess.”

. . . . . Katja grinned, and placed a hand on Jasmine’s shoulder, guiding her toward the entry hatch. “Come, then,” she purred, “let me welcome you to my domain.”

. . . . . “Fly, fly!” Jessi cried aloud to the bugs in the jar she held. “See, you’re free!” She ran with the jar, trying to convince the bugs within that they were moving through space of their own volition, as she scampered past Reese and Holly once again.

. . . . . “So, what’s with the captain?” asked Holly guilelessly, glancing back toward the boarding ramp of the White Star where Jazz and Katja stood. “She seems more tightly wound than usual.”

. . . . . Reese regarded Holly thoughtfully. Apparently, the young pilot had not yet been appraised of the Bonaventure’s past. Not certain how much to divulge, Reese simply stated, “She and Katja have a history.”

. . . . . “Oh,” came Holly’s reply, pulling a packet of gum from her pocket. “That’s never good.”

. . . . . Resse grinned. “Really? I didn’t know you were that jaded.”

. . . . . Holly rolled her eyes at Reese and shrugged, the wrapper crinkling in her fingers. “You know what I mean... if people have fond memories of someone, they don’t call it ‘a history’... they usually only use that term when something bad happened.” Slipping the stick of gum between her teeth, Holly crumpled up the wrapper and threw it to the dirt of the path, as a demonstration of the serious turn her thoughts had taken.

. . . . . Reese knelt and pivoted, reaching to scoop up the litter with a sigh. She needed to divert Holly’s attention from this topic, before the girl’s curiosity got the better of her. “Where did you glean this amazing insight?” she asked, probing into Holly’s background, which she was only vaguely aware of.. . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . Holly shrugged, chewing. “I watch people,” she replied, glancing around at the few technicians that were in view. “I see how they interact, what moves them.” She glanced over her shoulder at the platform, then said, “I guess it would be sort of romantic, to have had a torrid love affair in one’s past.”

. . . . . Jessi frowned at the jar in her hands. “They’re not lighting up,” she complained, lifting the jar and shoving it into Reese’s face.

. . . . . Reese sighed, gently pushing the jar out of her field of vision, and patiently explained to Jessi, “It’s too bright out here, you can’t see them blinking.”

. . . . . With that, Jessi was off like a shot, looking for someplace dark so she could see the lights more clearly.

. . . . . Reese returned her attention to Holly’s remark, and thought it over; no doubt what occurred between two lovers seemed romantic to the outside observer, even if it was painful for those directly involved. “I don’t know if you’d call what they had a ‘torrid love affair’, Holly,” she explained patiently. “They got engaged, and then business interfered with their relationship, and they had to break up.”

. . . . . Holly listened with interest, then seemed to frown. “It doesn’t seem all that romantic when you put it that way, does it?”

. . . . . Reese smiled. “No, it doesn’t,” she agreed, glad that Holly’s head wasn’t completely in the clouds. It was amazing how may pilots tended to be dreamers as well... it would be fascinating to study if such tendencies were inherent in the character traits that made a pilot good at his or her job. She began wondering if that particular sociological study had been documented recently... and as her eyes cast about for Jessi, she suddenly became alarmed when she couldn’t find her. “Where’d Jessi go?”

. . . . . Holly looked up, her face registering surprise and dismay as Jessi didn’t immediately appear within her field of vision. She turned in place quickly, as if hoping to spot her, then pointed toward the White Star’s lower hatch. “She probably took her fireflies in there, to see if they would glow.”

. . . . . Reese groaned. “Come on,” she said, picking up her pace. “We’d better go after her, before she gets into trouble.”

. . . . . Nataliya had halted at the command of her captain, turning to observe the activity of the men moving en masse to unload the cargo of sundries from the Bonaventure. But that didn’t stop her from glancing back toward Jasmine as she stood on the boarding platform, talking to Katja.

. . . . . She was worried about her captain. Jasmine had told her upon hiring her that she was replacing her entire crew; that there had been another person in charge of the Bonaventure in the past who had undermined and then betrayed her. But Jasmine clearly had feelings for Katja, beyond those one would expect of a business rival.

. . . . . Nataliya found herself questioning the nature of her own worries. Jasmine was a capable leader, despite her own fears. She had a presence that drew people to her, inspired them to follow her, as she had drawn Tali. She was also quite attractive... Tali thrust those thoughts aside. Jasmine had made it clear that she was not looking to get into another relationship for a long time. And it was clear that the wounds that Katja had caused were still fresh.

. . . . . Nataliya sighed, and once again glanced over at the men unloading the Bonaventure. There was a great profusion of them, shifting the loads about. Some of the goods were being stacked just off the landing platform, for later dispensation, while others were being trundled over to the White Star right away. All in all, it was very confusing to watch, and Tali grew exasperated that she had been assigned this duty... though she understood how necessary it was. Things could easily get misplaced, or taken by mistake.

. . . . . One of the men looked her way, as he navigated a powered lifter past her toward the storage area on the White Star’s lower decks, and for a moment their eyes locked. Tali blinked first, with the shock of recognition. She had seen that face before...

. . . . . Dinner was prepared, a protein stroganoff whose recipe had been in the Obukov’s family for generations. The fragrant aroma wafted before Nataliya as she climbed the stairs to the ship’s cockpit, intending to pull Jasmine away from her work to sit and attend what she hoped would become the first of many communal meals aboard ship. True enough, there in the cortex station’s task chair sat Jasmine, her long braid falling down her poker-straight spine as she watched the cortex intently.

. . . . . “Is now time for eating, dorogaya,” came Tali’s words gently enough, but they startled Jasmine out of some intent reverie. She turned almost guiltily to regard Tali in the doorway, then nodded. “I’ll be there shortly,” came her reply, as she moved to shut down the terminal.

. . . . . “Something wrong, Jasmine?” came Tali’s instinctive query. Her eyes flickered down to the screen, moments before it went dark.

. . . . . “Just... remembering something from my sordid past,” came Jasmine’s words, hollow with thoughtfulness.

. . . . . The screen had shown a wanted poster, and the face of the man staring out was cold and calculating, enough to cause even Tali to shiver with her unease.

. . . . . Those same cold eyes had gazed into Tali’s, and then looked on, clearly not recognizing the Russian, or seeing her as any kind of threat... but Tali could not help but be concerned. She tried not to gawk after him, but she did make note of what group of men he seemed to be with, by merit of his matching jumpsuit, and what their duties seemed to entail.

. . . . . Most of the workers who were refurbishing the White Star wore uniforms of one kind or another, and it didn’t take much in the way of detective work to determine who was supposed to be doing what. Those wearing hardhats were involved in the physical reconstruction, those with white coveralls were handling the painting of the hull, those in blue boilersuits were dealing with electrical and mechanical engineering.

. . . . . The man she had recognized wore a blue boilersuit, but he was driving a loadlifter, and it was empty. Considering that everyone else was taking goods from the Bonaventure, his actions seemed counterproductive. As he drove the lifter into the White Star’s loading hatch, Tali glanced back at the boarding platform. Jasmine and Katja had moved into the ship, out of her view.

. . . . . Tali considered using her iComm to call Jazz and tell her ... tell her what? Driving a loadlifter into the ship empty was a curiosity, but there could be a logical explanation. Resolving not to bother Jazz with inconsequentialities, Tali decided instead to follow the driver, and see what he was up to.

. . . . . (to be continued...)