The character who had intruded into the restaurant groaned only slighly as he was dragged to the side of the table, and stirred only momentarilly as his arms were tied firmly to the legs of the table. He only awoke when the pitcher of water was dumped over his head. His head was thrown back as the wall of water hit is face, and the back of his cranium slammed against the edge of the table. Instantly, he cried out his pain, as the massive bruise on his head was made even larger by the recent impact. He was oblivious to the voices around him until the pain in his head subsided, and even then failed to comprehend what they were saying.
It was a few moments later that he was prodded by the tip of a rather large boot, which moved his attention away from the migrane he had to the man and woman staring in his face in the dim light of the main room. Then a voice came from the male figure...
"What are you doing here son? come to ruin this lady's establishment have we?"
The man tied up to the chair responded by trying to free himself from the grip of the rope, but to no avail. The same voice came again...
"No use trying to do that mate, those tables are Earth Oak. Your never going to smash your head through that. Now tell us, what are you doing here"
Not knowing how to respond, the smelly man told evidently what seemed the truth...
"You really wanna know huh?! I was shadowing you all the way from Cambridge to pick the right moment to swoop in and pirate you and that sorry excuse for a transport lying outside the front door!! Thought it would be one more easy picking but no way, you had to dock in this desheveled old restaurant right here!"
"Pops" responded...
"Oh is that so eh? well, i know just what to do with you..."
With that, he made his way to the front door and exited, bearing towards his transport ship.
The woman began to shuffle nervously, being alone with the man who had just so recently tried to kill "Pops". She turned her head and stared at the door to look for any sign of the return of "Pops". She did this for so long, in fact, that the man fastened to the table was able to lift the table and slide the rope out from under it, allowing the rope to slip off his wrists harmlessly. As "Pops" appeared at the doorway, the Helghast man's right arm shot towards the womans neck. With his spare hand, he began to pull out a dagger concealed on an ankle scabbard under his trouser leg......
Then there appeared a silent whistling from the kitchen direction. It was becoming louder and louder. Finally the kitchen swing door swang and a little doggie in a white T-shirt patterred towards the bar desk. While sniffing carefully he raised his leg and marked this new territory.
After he had finished he looked at the present humans and sensed a strange tension in the air. There was a frightened woman held by a strange smelling man and they were both staring at another older man whose underwear was certainly the oldest one in the restaurant. This cute doggie then decided to sit right between these humans looking alternately on both sides while wagging his tail happily.....
Merry quickly collected her thoughts and approached the stranger who was holding Pops against the wall.
"Kind sir! Thank you for rescuing us from the man in the corner. He is an unknown assassin or bounty hunter sent to capture or kill Pops here. Mr. Waverly is Hope's' benefactor, Sir. He kept the place open after Sancho and Skye disappeared. He made sure we had jobs. Please don't harm him.
Aaron looked once more at the gentleman he held, then slowly backed away, raising his hands in a universal gesture of "enough".
"Well." said Pops. "It appears you lads know your way around Hope's, and obviously were expecting refreshement rather than intrigue. Merry, would you be kind enough to accomodate our guests, while I go have a brief chat with our assailant?"
Merry's look of consternation turned to one of delight as she returned to her element.
"That I shall, Pops. Customers again! It seems that pirating has moved to other parts of the Sector, except for the few local raggedy Mollys who barely have two coins to rub together! It's on the house, gentleman! What can I get you?"
Furniture flew across the kitchen shortly after the assailant was moved into the kitchen. However, the wiser man had already had his stungun poised around the pirates neck:
"Make another move and you'll be out like a light."
The pirate stopped flailing and fell silent, coldly staring at the man.
"Where are my manners? My name is "Pops" to all those that know me. Welcome to Hopes-Haven Bed & Breakfast pub. Soon to be a place you will be vacating"
"Not without your head or a sizable lump of your bank account" the pirate responded in a deep monotone.
"I doubt it....your breath is apsolutely horrid!"
The two had a stare-down, but the pirate eventually blinked, and a small grin split "Pops" face. The pirate looked away, in a seemingly submissive manner, and "Pops" grip on his body momentarily weakened.
The Helghan noted this, but kept his breating to a minimum. He could only survive in Human air for so long, and this wasn't a time to fill his blood with the worthless humanoid atmosphere in a struggle that would likely end in his failure to escape.
"I notice you didn't try to escape. Whats wrong with you pirate?"
"I am simply here to collect your balance and whatever rubbish is left in this sorry excuse for a pub"
"Pops" forhead creased, and before he knew what had happened, he was struck with a fist in his jaw. His teeth cracked together and his head doubled backwards, straight into a brick wall.
Instead of crying out, the smelly man rebounded his head right into "Pops" nose, almost causing it to break.
He backed away in pain, blood streaming from his nose. The pirate bypassed him, and headed straight for the door from which he came. The pirate was almost at the entry to the main part of the pub, a scant fifteen metres from the door he was aiming for, when three men, one of which had attacked him earlier, walked into the kitchen.
He threw himself at the man in the centre, reminding himself of how foolish it was for him not to have grabbed the nearest weapon. After all, he thought, four against one aren't good odds.
"Give me just a moment, Reggie. You gae on back t' the Oro.de.. I'll be along shortly."
Reggie gave Moira a quick hug, and strode towards the front doors of Hope's Haven.
Moira stood in the quiet dusty main hall of the large pub, tears streaming down her face. She walked to the long bar, and ran her fingers along the real oak of its top. She thought again of the large, well-appointed kitchen off to one side. She marveled at the curved stairway which led upstairs to half a dozen large comfy guest rooms.
She walked towards the huge double entrance doors which opened onto a utilitarian passageway, and placed her cheek against the intricately carved arebesques which decorated them from top to bottom.
So, what if this magickal place was on a Molly base, in Molly territory, in a remote system dotted with Bretonian installations. She could make this haven live again. She could visualize the tables full of men and women from diverse factions, with different goals and beliefs. She could imagine both Gaians and Mollies discussing the Sector's problems and events over tankards of ale.
"Hope's Haven, indeed! Ye are a dear, dear man, Reggie Waverly. The Veranda Incognita may be dust, but I've not a single doubt that we can make a home and a life right here."
The solid sound of the huge doors closing followed Moira down the passageway towards Belfast's hangar deck.
The outdated comms box on the main room's backbar crackled to life.
"This is Waverly to Hope's Haven, lookin' for the lady with the prettiest green eyes in all of Sirius, come back?"
"Ahoy the Bafflin' Queen. This is Moira speakin'. And is this the fellow who blew up the potential customer with the most voracious appetite in Newcastle? I should be mad at ye fer blowin' up me trade like that!"
A chuckle. "Well, your Innkeepership, I'm inbound to make amends for that. I've lifted 20 new staff from the finest resorts and restaurants on Curacao for your review. i also have a week's reservations for all dozen rooms, and you'd best plan on dinner for 30 more. I talked a few of our Baffin tourists into a wee side excursion."
"Why, you old bugger! There'd best be two good housekeepers and a head chef amonst that lot, or I'll send the lot of ye packin' right back to Cuckooland! Sendin' you off to battle the Ultimate Evil was surprise enough for one week, Reginald Waverly. Any more this week, and i'll be off to Edinburgh, and you'll be sleepin' alone again!"
"Now, now, Kentigearna.. our ETA is 90 minutes. I'll help you sort out the staff, and the menu. If any other amends are needed, I pray we can discuss them.. in private.. upstairs?"
"Why, you old goat! We'll be waitin'. Put on yer best grovellin' kneepads, and I'll think about it. Moira out!"
The [TAZ]Sophie.Noir slowly thrusted towards it mooring with Belfast Production Facility, a load of optical chips bound for Cambridge in her hold.
Sophie had decided to stop and visit Hope's Haven for a few hours on her way through Newc'sle. She wanted to "see" how Moira Kentigearna was faring with her renovations and new staff. Sophie had some experience in the trade, after all. She had helped run the Perfect Blossom on Roppongi before opening her own cafe in Port Canaria.
Sophie had found Moira bustling about Hope's, her flaming red hair tied back by a bandana decorated with small golden apples.. a present from Reggie, no doubt.
Their conversation had bounced through many topics.. menus, decorations, pricing, and had drifted into more personal matters. Moira prodded Sophie about her past history with Reggie Waverly. Sophie had shared tales about her partnership with Reggie in the 1st Bank of Flax, and even about the days when she had been little more than a FnordNet transponder attached to Reggie's first ship, the Daddy Warbucks. Moira had laughed with delight at how Sophie had once "stolen" Reggie's ship to go "shopping" on New London while Reggie had been soused at the IND bar on Newark.
Sophie was curious about Moira's time with the NLH Gaians, and the Plague Dogs before that. They had been standing at the bar, and Moira had been telling her about her mates in the NLH.. Silvy, Sean Dawson, Red, and the one who had reappeared from the Dogs, Damien McEwan..
Suddenly, Moira's face had gone ghostly white! Her green eyes had rolled back into her head as her knees buckled, and she collapsed behind the long bar of hopes.
Sophie had keyed into Belfast's comms instantly. *Infirmary! We need a medic at Hope's Haven, level 14, now!!* Sophie hovered above the raggedly-breathing Gaian for what seemed like an eternity, but was actually a few minutes. The medics arrived, and revived the shaken women with a mild stimulant. They reported no apparent medical problems.
As soon as the medics had left, Sophie questioned Moira. *Lass, you went down like you'd been poleaxed! Is there something I should know? You're not bloody pregnant, are you??*
"No, Sophie." Moira still seemed disoriented, and in mild shock. "It's.. something I used to experience when the Plague Dogs were active. We all became so close that we shared a sort of.. telepathy, you might call it.. something at the intuitive level.."
Moira looked at Sophie with eyes which reflected pain and loss. "I've lost that ability for the most part, Sophie, but what just occurred doesn't bode well. It feels as if something from my past has just been lost to me.. forever!"
Moira Kentigearna, former Plague Dog, buried her face in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably. Fnordette Sophie Noir for once wished she had real arms that she could throw around the grieving woman.
Moira listened for a moment to the sounds coming from the kitchen of Hope's Haven. Sophie Noir's metallic but commanding "voice" could be heard above the clamor. She took pity briefly on the poor cook staff. She tended to coddle 'em a bit. Well, Sophie knew her "beans".
Moira turned again to the Comms unit behind the bar, and finished recording her message. It would be sent after a 15 minute delay. She didn't want Reggie to interfere, bless his heart. She keyed in the delay, activated the unit, and left the huge bar through the main doors. Her gunboat was being prepped on Belfast's huge enclosed Hangar Deck.
As Moira's gunboat was entering the remote Chester system, her message went out over FnordNet...
To: Waverly, [TAZ]Bafflin'.Queen
From: Kentigearna, Belfast
Reggie,
Somethin' urgent hae come up. I'm not rightly knowin' what it is, or means, but I've got te hie back t' Islay immediately. When ye get this, I'll already be on the way.
Sophie has agreed t' watch the Inn while I'm away. She'll still be needin' that extra crockery, Reg. See that it gets here from Denver, eh?
Don't fret, me dearest. Yer Moira will be careful 'n safe. And don't come traipsin' after me, neither. It regards some old friends, 'n there's little ye can do t' help.
Ye just be keepin' yer own hide safe, Lammikins. I'll be back afore ye've missed me.
Moira Kentigearna didn't got to level 66 of Islay Base.. to the "Green Hell". She didn't need to. The scuttlebutt was all over the base. Damien McEwan had killed Caul Phage. The very same fight she had run sobbing from had ended in the death of a friend and mentor, at the hands of a young man she also had considered her friend.
She left a quick note on the Station's digital "bulletin board", addressed to Sean, Silvy, and Red. It was short and to the point: "Friends, I came by Islay t' learn a terrible thing, and now I can't stay. If you need me, send a message to Hope's Haven on Belfast. I'll still fly with ya against the fookin' polluters and royalists, but I'll have nothin' further t' do with Damien MecEwan. Moira."
Once back to the dimly lit hangar deck, she had called her small crew together, and explained that they might not be returning to Islay for a great long while, if ever. She gave those with family on Islay the option of leaving ship, with no repercussions and a generous separation payment. Two of her engine room crew had decided to remain.
She would replace them at Skye Base, on the way back to what she would now consider her "home", amongst former enemies, but also alongside the kind gent she was learning to know, and love.
Within the hour, Moira was on the bridge of the Kentigearna, course set for the Dublin jump hole. The pained and heartbroken expression she had worn when she learned the news of Caul's death had been replaced with one of grim certitude and resolve.
"Dimi, you bastard. If ye ever want to speak t' me, you can just come grovellin' on yer knees to my bailiwick, sport."
Someone's been fiddling with my comms dials, my sweet. Almost lost the frequency for Hope's.
All's fine. Should be home in a day or two.
Did a little scuba diving on Canaria. It appears some lovely stone crabs have made their homes in the sunken Veranda. Glad it turned out to be useful for something.
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