>>5270124>>5270199>>5270266>>5270374>>5270384>>5270833>>To Holt…“…I might take you up on that offer,” you say amicably, “But not right away. I’ve got something to take care of first.”
Holt nods. “Fair enough. You checkin’ in on friends and family?”
“…something like that.”
“Hmmm. Well, don’t worry about it.” She cuffs your shoulder lightly. “Just lemme know when you can, and I’ll keep a table waitin’ for us! And try not to eat for six hours beforehand.”
>>To Gully…“…maybe in the next few days?” you offer Gully. “I’ve got some…people I have to check in on.”
She isn’t crestfallen, but there’s no mistaking the wistful disappointment in her voice. “…I see.”
“I must be missing something good.”
“It was either an Eastwood or a Coppola,” she says, “But Hitchcock is always brings people to the seats.”
From the way she speaks about film directors, she might as well be talking about fine wine. Two subjects you aren’t nearly familiar with, but dip your toe into infrequently. Even if your go-to drink of choice is either Scurvy-be-gone or Reggie’s bootleg, oil-barrel whiskey. “From what little I’ve seen, I’m admittedly partial to Kubrick.”
“How cerebral of you.” She raises a finger towards her chin in a pensive gesture. “Most PUEXO pilots seem to like him and Kurosawa.”
You shrug. “I can see why...but anyway. I've got that thing, but I’m more than game after tonight and tomorrow’s spooks.”
Gully gives you a self-effacing smile. “Very well. Try not to hold me up too long. I’ll get hungry, and then you’ll really be paying too much for snacks.”
You wisely refrain from making comments about her fitting into her cockpit, and merely return her smile.
>>Berth No. 13, Bracken PlazaCity Security, Babylonian Marines and the Port Authority do as good a job enough of cordoning off the dock. Not that it’s stopped the curious passerby and the crowd of people that have gathered to see the <span class="mu-i">Calypso</span>. One would be hard-pressed to find fault – it isn’t every day that a salvage trawler comes back to port with an armed escort.
Thankfully, they’ve realized the gravity of the situation. Kwan’s visibly relieved to see no marching band, or cutout posters saying ‘welcome home’. What few idiots press up against the guards for a closer look at the <span class="mu-i">Calypso’s</span> bullet holes and blast markings are shoved back with extreme prejudice.
First priority goes to the wounded and the fallen. The standing watch officer trills sharply on his whistle as they’re lifted off the deck and into the arms of awaiting medical personnel. Some are able to stand, hobbling down the gangplank, and receive applause and cheers from the assembled crowd. They even politely clear the way as the convoy of ambulances, oxen-drawn carts and stretchers sprint, meander and drive to the healing quarter.
(cont.)
