"For the woman, sir," he said in a clipped tone. "Did you pay money for the woman?

Title: Close call
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto and Duncan Cooperstone
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan
Timeline: Current
Canon: Yes
Warnings: None


The sun was being particularly merciless that day, and as Gabe straightened her back and rolled her shoulders, she was red-faced and sweaty, her hair clinging to her forehead, and her shirt to her back. "... liáng shuí," she panted and walked up the loading ramp to where a bottle of water sat in the shade.

Loading crates was part of the gig, had always been, but that didn't mean it was the most enjoyable of tasks. Normally the mule (which was to say, Duncan) handled the actual moving from outside to inside or the other way around, but since the gorram thing had decided to take some unscheduled downtime, kicked the bucket, so to speak, it was down to manual labour. The fence had dumped the pallet outside the ship and been on his merry way, and the things had to get inside Raivenn somehow, right?

And so the sun of MacLaren's Drift was beating down on both their backs as they, on their own and with joint efforts, hauled crates filled with goods that really were a smidge too hot to be handled. Gabe unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and put the bottle to her lips, drinking down large mouthfuls with her head tilted back, relishing in the coolness of it. Some of it escaped the corners of her mouth and trickled down her chin and her neck, but it weren't like she minded. Extra relief, after all.

Eventually she lowered the bottle and, after replacing the cap, wiped her mouth, then her forehead. They really didn't have a lot of time to spare, the buyer was expecting them at the end of the week, at the other end of the Verse, but she figured she deserved a minute or two in the shade. She leaned against the side of the doors and looked out at Duncan, still hard at work. Around half of the heavy crates were inside Raivenn's cargo hold already, which unfortunately meant that half of it was still outside, baking in the sun.

"We makin' good time?" she asked.

Feet a shoulder width apart Duncan set his hands to the next crate. Sometimes he wondered why whoever designed these things had to make them just that bit too wide. A little narrower would mean his arms wouldn't be stretched as much and he'd be able to exert more pressure on the awkward cube. His hair was matted and the sweat stung his eyes as he blinked, even in the middle of the day his eyes needed to adjust to the artificial yellow glow of the cargo hold compared with the unrelenting glare of MacLaren's sun. Hefting the crate into place and breathing heavily he reached for the bandanna he usually kept knotted loosely round his neck and then scolded himself inwardly for forgetting, again, it was no longer there. "We're making time," he answered, even his breath seemed too warm, "Happen we'll pick up some of what we lost when we get out in the black." Walking over to Gabe he accepted the offered bottle. "We got the back of this broke now anyhow." Pointing with his chin toward the remaining crates he raked his fingers through his thick, wet hair before taking a deep draught.

Gabe ran her hand down his arm to rest for a moment at the crook of his elbow, fingers squeezing a little. "Yeah," she said and took the bottle from him, taking another mouthful, then put it back on a crate. "Wouldn't hate a break," she mumbled, knowing full-well that it weren't gonna fly. They were on a tight schedule as it was. She looked out at the remaining crates, then lifted her gaze a little. Her stomach dropped, and her eyes widened a little, then narrowed.

Crossing the bridge from the town was a small group of men and women, all clad in black and purple armour. As they reached the bank they formed a semi-circle, one man obviously talking and pointing, and then the armoured and armed men and women spread out in groups of two, each group heading for a vessel. One such group was walking their way.

"... oh, gorrammit," she muttered.

Duncan followed her gaze. Not his best day ever. Ship parts were fairly innocuous in most quarters. Not so much on MacLaren's Drift, where, a good mechanic was rarer than an honest man on Eavesdown. Even a barely competent one wasn't easy to come by on this dustbowl. And there they were, crate after crate of impellar bearings, engine gaskets and fuel filters. Insured, no doubt, after all that's how the legitimate haulier maintained his contract with the suppliers. Sign on to haul a cargo for a corporate outfit, some gets misplaced or damaged in transit, the insurance pays out and everyone's happy. Especially the on-the-surface reputable cargo company captain who, mid-leg, stops off at any number of quiet and lawless moons like MacLaren's and finds an opportunistic type who'll help some of that same cargo get misplaced, right into the hold of their ship in return for a quick pay off. Everything goes smoothly and the captain who ends up with the soon to be insurance write-off goods takes them off world and finds a buyer. Something goes wrong? Well, the corporate haulier is on his merry, with the money in his pocket and it's all on that opportunistic soul to deal with the fall out.

Duncan Cooperstone was such an opportunistic man, he had to be, and now he was stood, hip resting against a crate of parts that had be acquired in that exact manner, the rest not even loaded yet. Their mule lay beached and sputtering outside, they were falling behind time with a pair of Feds closing fast. And it was gorramn hot. Not his best day ever, for certain and for sure. He nodded a little and picked the bottle back up from where it sat, stepping out towards the bright, white daylight and the approaching troopers. Not taking his eyes from their ingress he gravelled "Stay frosty" as he passed her.

Frosty? Now, that weren't how one would describe Gabe's usual disposition, and with the weather being the way it was? Good luck with that, Captain. Gabe clenched her jaw and stalked after him, a few steps behind, not taking her eyes off the troopers either.

"Good afternoon, sir, ma'am," said one of the troopers as they got close enough. His name was Corporal Cray, and he was a long way from home. A tall fair man with a thin moustache that looked like it couldn't be bothered, he was stationed at Unity Barracks, Persephone. They had recently been tasked with running ident-check and cargo inspection assignments to the rim planets, however, and if he could be anywhere in the Verse other than here? He would be. There was no arguing with orders, however, and more to the point, there was no arguing with the Sarge.

"Just standard inspection. Is this your vessel, sir?" Corporal Cray glanced up at the towering ship. Looked like a flying scrapyard to him, but, he didn't have to fly in it, did he?

"Afternoon! And can I just say what sight for sore eyes y'all are." Anyone who was listening would possibly describe Duncan's tone as bright, grateful even. Anyone who was listening who actually knew him would understand just how incongruous that was. Duncan stepped down onto the gang ramp, the thumb of his free hand pulling the strap of his suspenders back onto his shoulders from where it had been hanging loose.
"Yessir!" he continued, the chirp in his tone muted only by his rough sounding voice "I was just saying the other day..." Frowning with confusion he turned toward Gabe. "Were it yesterday or the day 'fore? When I was just sayin' these parts don't see enough law an' order?" He had to look away, if his eyes stayed on her a moment longer he knew a smile would crease his features and so he faced the troopers again. "You know this place don't even have a sheriff nor nothin', it's plain dangerous for honest folk to--" The cough was rough. He made it sound like a bag of glass bottles had been dropped on a concrete street as he stepped forward toward the troopers some more, almost bent double as he rasped and hacked. When he straightened up, red-faced, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and, pulling the cap from Gabe's bottle, took a long drink. Finally, almost as an afterthought he pulled the bottle from his lips and offered it toward the upright trooper. "Drink?"

The act was so convincing that Gabe had to consciously restrain herself from stepping up to Duncan and pat his back. Just for a moment, though, then her hand shot up and rubbed over her mouth to hide a quick grin. When it was schooled off her face again, she hooked her thumbs inside her belt and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "That's what you said, Captain," she said lowly.

Corporal Cray stared at the coughing man and just barely managed to keep from taking a step back. This is great, this is just excellent, he thought to himself. Not only is this place hot, dusty and downright insanitary, they got a sickness as well. Luckily, expeditions to the rim required special equipment.

"Masks," Cray said and looked at his companion. He flicked open a compartment on his belt and pulled out a thin protective mask which he placed over his mouth, pinching it over the nose to keep it in place. Feeling a bit more at ease, he turned back towards the coughing man.

"Now, sir," Cray said. "You did not answer my question. Is this your vessel?"

Trooper First Class Downey fitted his particle mask in place and glanced between the man, his ship and the woman shuffling her feet. "Rim rats," he muttered quietly beneath his mask as he peered into the belly of the old cargo hauler. Even from the outside, corroded boltheads and pipework with residue stains were clearly visible. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and adjusted the sling for his weapon. These routine patrol stops annoyed him. 'See the 'Verse'? So far he'd seen a dozen dust balls, or half frozen or anywhere in between half-developed worlds. All of them dung piles and none of them the green rolling hills of Shinon like the recruiting desk sergeant had said.

Resting his elbows against the nearest packing crate Duncan nodded. "That she be, bought an' paid for." He gestured over his shoulder. "Mite rough 'round the edges an' the containment's a touch suspect... oh, an' of course we only just found out the septic storage's been leaking effluent into the fresh water tanks... but she serves."

Corporal Cray wrinkled his nose behind the mask. That people could stand to live like that was beyond his comprehension.

"Very well, sir," Cray said, keeping most of the disgust he felt out of his voice. "Registration documents and ident cards, if you please, sir. You too, ma'am," he said, nodding at the woman as he produced an ident card reader from his belt.

Gabe gritted her teeth and took a step forward. "I ain't your gorram 'ma'am'--" she started.

Downey started a little as the one he discerned to be the ship's captain clapped his hands together loudly. "Ain't she a firecracker?"

Downey looked over at the woman and then back to the Captain as another bout of hard coughing seized the man.

Duncan patted his chest hard grunting a little at the same time as if the cough was troubling him, as it would be if he really were as disease ridden as he was making out. He took the opportunity to afford Gabe a look that left no confusion. There were times to bend like rye grass under a plains wind and times snap back with a mare's kick. This wasn't the latter, at least not yet. Looking back toward the troopers he continued. "Picked her up over there on Jiangyin, came from a broken home; do you know it weren't a full hour after she'd birthed her second baby that her husband set his hand to her again? Makes you wonder, don't it?"

Gabe stared at Duncan for a dumbfounded second, then seemed to transform before the troopers' eyes. Her shoulders sank down, slumping, and her back hunched a little. She slowly swung her gaze around to the troopers, then dropped it to stare at the ground. Inwardly she was still gritting her teeth, though it was more directed more towards Duncan than the purplebellies.

Corporal Cray looked at the woman, his nose wrinkling a little again. "Did you pay money for her?" he asked. Sometimes asking outright yielded the most surprising results. And slaving, after all, was by its nature a federal offence, unless you had a license, that was. And this man did not look like the type who could afford it.

Duncan arched his brows and nodded "I rightly did, I have a bill of sale somewheres sayin' as much." He stepped up on the gang ramp next to Gabe, his back to the troopers and looked up at Raivenn's angular neck. "Probably could've gotten a better model mind you... she's a mite... temperamental." Returning his attention to other two men he slipped his hand into the waistband of his breeches. "Course lot of them shinier aught-three's you're just payin' for fanciful things like refitted internal sewage processin' an' filtration units."

Corporal Cray closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Back-water people. Really. "For the woman, sir," he said in a clipped tone, opening his eyes again. "Did you pay money for the woman?"

It was probably lucky that Gabe was looking at the ground, as she most like wouldn't have been able to hide a very nasty glare in the trooper's direction. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. It wasn't just the comments, the general I-got-the-right-to-push-you-about attitude. The contents of the crates was stolen, and it was hot, and it would most likely set off all kinds of bells and whistles if they were checked against their fancy system. If the troopers decided to look in the boxes, and run the serials, then they were good and truly humped. And this notion did in no way help improve her mood. Her heart was beating a mite faster than usual in her chest. She had to bite her tongue hard to keep it obedient and silent.

"Oh!" Duncan's heavy brows arched almost in the same shape his mouth described as the sound came out, then reached out draping an arm 'round Gabe's shoulder. Unless he missed his mark she'd be about ready to spring at this purplebelly and knock all seven shades of gao se out of him, and if it came to that, having her in that frame of mind would be more than useful. For right now everything was going well. They hadn't been tossed as yet and hadn't even had to test just how good the most recent set of forgeries he'd been fixed up with really were. They weren't bound by law and weren't exchanging shots with these troopers with their backup close at hand. So long as they kept distracting the two Feds the chances are they'd make it out of this tight spot without a hand raised in anger. They'd be behind time, that much was a given and it probably meant they'd miss the sale. That means they would be out of pocket and in possession of stolen goods for longer than he'd planned and longer than he'd like; but it wasn't like passing on parts and spares was a difficult proposition. Duncan smiled warmly. "Truth be told..." He hugged her a little closer to him, hoping his earlier words 'stay frosty' were still with her, "This prize of a woman ought to have paid me... she came on board as payin' passenger... an' then well, what can I tell you? Now we're married an' everything's just shiny."

Gabe raised her head a little and smiled a strained smile at the troopers. "Yeah. Shiny. Never better." Behind Duncan's back, she jabbed her fingers into his ribs.

"I am happy to hear that," Corporal Cray said flatly. "Now. Sir. Registration and ident cards. Please." He had to ask nicely. He had to ask nicely many, many times, more times than he preferred, but that was regulations. Eventually, though, the 'nice' ran out. He shifted his weight, his eyes moving from the man's face to the woman's, then back again.

Duncan smiled again, the same idiotic smile he'd given the troopers a dozen or more times already, this time to cover the sharp dig in his side. "Darlin', you run on up now and fetch the documents these fine men're waitin' for, can't be keepin' them all the live long day, not when they got important things to 'tend to." He stepped away from Gabe a little as if in this made up marriage the husband was used to speaking his piece and wife did as she was told. There'd be words spoken about it later, no doubt. So long as they weren't running, or worse being hauled off to a detention centre.

Downey hefted a sigh of relief. He was fed up. Fed up of this niufen world, fed up of the unrelenting sun as more sweat trickled down his back and more than fed up with these two backwater, half-wit rim rats. Finally the Corporal was asking them again, hopefully they'd check the idents and be on their way.

Gabe turned her face up towards Duncan's and smiled sweetly. It didn't reach her eyes. "Yes, dear," she said and stood on tippytoes to kiss his cheek. With another quick glance at the troopers she scuttled up the ramp and across the cargo hold. Once she was out of sight she climbed the stairs to the upper levels, three steps at a time, then hurried along the corridor until she reached their room. All those papers, plentiful versions of them, were in a tin cigar box, hidden behind a loosened panel. She brought it out and set it down on the bed, sorting through the contents with rushed fingers. Her heart was still beating hard in her chest. Finally she found everything she needed, and she hurried back down again.

"What's in the boxes?" Cray asked the captain as his woman disappeared into the ship. "Also, are you loading or unloading?"

"Loading," Duncan answered and then as he opened his mouth to continue he raised his hand, as if he had just remembered something vitally important and craned his neck so he could call back into the hold and up into the walkways of the ship "Don't forget to mind that bucket!" And without waiting for a response he spoke again the the trooper, "Head's packed up."

Gabe slowed down her steps as she approached the men, holding the registration documents and the ident cards in both hands.

"Here you are, sir," she said, stepping closer to the purplebelly doing all the talking and holding the documents out to him. Her head was lowered; to the casual observer, she appeared humble, respectful, but in reality, she fixed her eyes on the ground to avoid the man seeing the hard anger in them.

"Thank you," Corporal Cray said, breathing a silent sigh of relief as he accepted the offered documents. Finally. He looked at the ident cards, angling them to see the holograms signalling authenticity. Jacob Copperfield and Karen Yosemite. He looked up.

"You didn't take his last name, miss?" It was a simple question, again, to the casual observer.

'Who gives a damn?' Of course Downey didn't say it out loud. He knew better, but by now he was past bored, past impatient and past downright hot and uncomfortable. Inwardly he wished that something would happen, they'd get a call on the comms to regroup and move on or more pointedly the Corporal, now he'd scanned their idents would decide they'd wasted enough time with mister and missus tramp hauler already.

"Well..." Duncan, or as far as these two were concerned, 'Jacob' began. "That might be a sore point Sir--" It was about time for another bout of coughing before he continued, forcing a distinct wheeze into his breathing. "Seems she don't like the sound of it. You ever heard tell of such a thing?"

Corporal Cray's expression did not change. "Not sure I have, sir," he said flatly as he stuck first one, then the other of the ident cards into his scanner.

Gabe held her breath. Seconds seemed to turn into hours as she waited for the scanner to beep all clear, signalling that no warrants or other inconveniences had been linked to these two particular identities since they were last used. Finally the beep came, and the thin man handed back the documents.

"Seems to be in order," Cray said. "Sorry about the trouble, sir, you'll be on your way in no-time." He hooked the ident scanner back in his belt and nodded towards the cargo. "What's in the boxes?" he asked for the second time. If someone was to accuse Corporal Cray of being dim-witted, they'd be mistaken. The man had dodged the question the first time around, and Cray had been on his guard since.

Gabe glanced at Duncan, keeping her mouth shut. One of the many things that could make this situation go rapidly south was for them to simultaneously blurt two different answers.

'Persistent sunvabitch,' Duncan thought silently. On the outside he appeared as unflappable and unfocused as he'd done since the beginning of the encounter. He'd kept them standing there in the sun as beads of sweat ran down their temples and soaked into their chinstraps, he'd rambled and droned on in an inane way that'd make all but the most dogged inquisitive officer give up and decide their time was better spent elsewhere. Trust this one not to be the usual cut and dried, functional, random rim-world patrol officer to decide to walk on up and unnecessarily complicate Duncan Cooperstone's existence.

Returning Gabe's glance Duncan stepped between the Alliance troopers and around to the other side of the, as yet unloaded, crates. As he rested his elbows on the inexpensive, unplaned wooden packing and rasped again for good measure he looked back to the troopers and where they stood, one looking distracted and little annoyed, in between him and where Gabe still stood in the mouth of the cargo bay. If there was to be an unavoidable unpleasantness he'd rather it happened on his terms and on his timescale, that is to say before any more of the troopers decided to head their way.

"Whole mess of things, folk just can't do without. 'Pparently," he stated simply, almost rolling his eyes. "Docket says fertilizer enrichers and nitrate bins...truth be told, all I know is they're heavier than a politician's pocket book an' the gorramn mule's decided today'd be the day to give up the ghost." He quirked his brow and continued quickly, "I don't 'spose two fine fellas such as yourselves would be interested in lendin' a hand would you? An' afterwards you can eat dinner with us, so as we can show our appreciation."

The rust bucket's registration documents were still in Corporal Cray's hand, and he glanced down at them. "Afraid not, sir," he said and looked up, his eyes steady on the moustached man's face. "Pardon me for saying so, sir, but that's not my gorram problem." Downey was not the only one starting to get annoyed. He unclipped his cortex reader and punched a combination of keys, occasionally glancing down at the registration docs and up at the bow of the ship to make sure the registration numbers matched.

"Very well. I'm going to let you go about your business, sir, ma'am," Cray finally said. "I am flagging your ship for inspection, however. Seems it's about time you got your licence renewed. I figure it slipped your mind between that cough and the new missus." His eyes did not leave Duncan's. " Next time you come someplace more... civilized, you'll be hailed by a cruiser and required to dock. That way you won't have to remember it yourself, sir." He punched the final key, saving the Firefly's information into the internal database.

Gabe tightened her fists by her sides. Like he was doing them a rutting favour, gorram purplebelly. Her stomach was in knots and she shifted her weight from foot to foot restlessly.

Now was the most crucial time, it'd taken longer than Duncan'd wanted and he needed to make sure they didn't come across as too impatient in the last moments. "Well..." he arched his brows and nodded his head, almost resignedly "It'll cost me some, having her serviced and that... but, you're doing your job..." He raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck roughly. An unexpected cruiser inspection wasn't part of what he bargained for, and for it to creep up at an inconvenient time, which as far as he and Gabe were concerned would be just about any time. And by the same token, was mostly assured going to be when soever they had a hold full of contraband. Then again there were reasons why he ran the ship dark, that as to say, with the transponder beacon offline, while in the black. Not strictly legal. Not at all legal, but practical in their line of work at times. And if an alliance patrol happened by? Well there were reasons why he'd learned from older captains than him the value of paying those that know how to fix it so the transponder could transmit the beacon codes of any number of ships, all of them non de-script and none of them matching the ident numbering of his own ship. So if this was all they were going to incur from the visit from the Feds, it was easily enough carried. "...thank you kindly," he added with an accepting smile.

Downey toggled the local comms channel and spoke into his helment mic. "Bravo Two, this is Bravo Two-One, nothing to report..."

"Welcome, sir," Cray said and handed back the ship documents. "Have a nice day." He nodded to Downey and pointed to the ship parked beyond the banged-up Firefly. "Let's go."

Gabe watched the two men walk off, her shoulders still stiff. She wanted to breathe a sigh of relief and didn't let herself; as long as they were still dirt-side, this weren't over. She looked at Duncan and echoed the officer's words. "Let's go," she said and hopped off the ramp. She made a beeline for the crates and hoisted one up on her shoulder by herself, carrying it towards the ship.

"Let's," Duncan agreed, hefting another crate against his chest as his legs carried him quickly toward where he could set it down again. "I'm developin' a powerful urge not to tarry longer than needs be here, buyer or no buyer."

Gabe nodded and put down her crate amongst the others inside the cargo hold. "I hear that..." she murmured and headed outside again. A stone-throw away the troopers were harassing the owners of the Trans-U parked next to Raivenn, and Gabe's heart would have gone out to them if she didn't have a lot more urgent things on her mind. "Help me with this," she said, grabbing the rough rope handle at one side of a large crate.

Duncan didn't take his eyes of her, as he twisted the rope loops in both hands. Her attention was still on the crate between them as he felt his arms take the strain "Well, least you got your break," he quipped as they sidestepped toward the hold, wondering if she'd call him on the act that had just transpired.

Oh, she would, when she was good and ready. There were other things taking priority in her mind, though, and first and foremost among those was getting the hell off this gorram dust-bowl and letting lost in the Black again. She raised her head enough to be able to give him a long, hard look that showed him exactly how amusing she reckoned he was right at that moment. The rope cut into her hands but she ignored the pain, knowing she'd have plenty of time to sit and pluck sisal-splinters out of her fingers with the tip of her knife that evening.

There was no mistaking his earlier conclusion was right. There would be words spoken for between them. Duncan had to wonder if he'd rather still be leading the feds in a two-step than have go through it. "Near finished," he grunted as he shoved one of the last crates into place.

"Yup," she said shortly and started securing the cargo with nets and straps, leaving the last couple of crates for him to bring inside. They'd been working fast, too fast, and she was exhausted, but finally they were all set to go. She looked outside one last time, then hit the buttons that closed the hatch and the ramp.

"Go wake her up," she told Duncan. "I'll finish up here."

As she dragged webbing over the well stacked crates Duncan slipped his arm round her waist squeezing her appreciatively for a beat before taking the stairwell up to the forward section two at a time. Grill treads of the gantries rattled their familiar welcome as he crossed the space above her and on through the common area to the bridge. Only when he slipped into the pilot's seat did he notice the dull, throbbing ache of his muscles from the morning's exertion as he reached out to let his fingers dance across panels of mismatched switches. A cursory glance at a smeared and streaked monitor bank told him the core was already warmed and the engines ready to be spun up. "How we doin' down there?" His voice was flat as it crackled through the overhead speakers in the cargo hold.

Gabe braced her foot against a crate and pulled strap after strap as hard as she could, making sure nothing would come sliding across the floor at an inopportune moment, then rested a beat or two before she walked over to the comm and pushed the transmit button with her thumb.

"All set," she said, her voice slightly out of breath. "I'm comin' up." She released the button and started climbing the stairs, a minute later sliding into the co-pilot seat and sinking down to an undisciplined half-laying slouch. The sun was still glaring through the window in front and she squinted and held her hand up to shield her eyes. "... good bloody riddance," she muttered to herself.

Duncan laughed gruffly as Raivenn described a one hundred and eighty degree turn and gained altitude, slowly at first, the yoke virbrating in his hands. Responsive to his lightest touch, the work weary Firefly steadily climbed into the clear baking sky of the Drift. "Just a couple of feds doin' what feds do, getting in the way of folk like us any whichway they can." As he eased back on the yoke, correcting pitch and yaw the nose of the ship came up as he set them on a vector for breaking the atmosphere.

On the ground far below Downey, more distracted and uncomfortable than ever in the close, unrelenting heat and unrelenting sun glanced up the retreating silhouette of the ship they'd wasted all of too much time on, only to be stuck going through the same motions with another rim rat border word trader. As he tried not to let the corporal see exactly how bored he was with the whole state of affairs he watched as the Firefly grew smaller and cursed silently. Just once, he wished, they'd encounter some actual criminals, arrest them and sieze their ship. Just once he wished he'd have something to put in his report. That would even make a day's routine patrol in a dustbowl like this bearable.

Far, far above him, the Firefly disappeared from view.