Warm light poured down over Winston as Puala’Lolo’s rotation took him out of the faint shade of the palm tree he had been relaxing under. He snored contentedly in a lounge chair in the early afternoon till the baking sand’s heat gently woke him.
He looked off into the seemingly endless distance to the ocean’s edge. Bright white local clouds puffed up into little thunderheads like ancient sailing ships, while above them the grandiose clouds of the Dream drifted by in pale pastel pinks, teals and oranges common to its tropical upper layers.
Life here had been a veritable spa as part of his convalescence following their departure from Nova Tortuga. The last few weeks out of the cab at this height of the Dream turned his skin a deep tan. He picked up his Plammer from the small table beside his chair and took a swig. The ice cold sweat felt good in his hand, and the mix of iced tea and lemonade was perfect for his lazy mood.
He paused mid-drink as he saw the long tail of a far off skytrain pulling away from Puala’Lolo, its huge tug pulling hundreds of shimmering containers behind it. Memories of piloting the Sierra Madre all over the known Dream came back in a rush. Despite all the bad times, he really missed that simple life. No way back to it now. He’d have to make do with whatever came next.
The thought struck him that this was his first vacation ever, even if it was due to his current cavalcade of suffering. A bitter bubble of memory rose to the surface as he realized he could not share this moment with Val and Emmy.
Had so many things gone wrong in such a short time? Getting blackballed from the only career he knew, then Mother getting him mixed up with gun runners for the rebellion, barely surviving a Black Void event was only the tip of the ice cube it seemed. Rescuing a secret insane asylum and getting brainburned really didn’t help either. Then there was Holly. He didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, smile or pine for her loss thanks to her messing with his brain with that limbic manipulator of hers.
An ice cold bead of water dripped from the glass in his hand, hitting his chest and giving him a start. The recollection popped, and he sighed at its passing.
Reaching over to the little table, Winston picked up his pocket assistant and checked the time. He’d been sleeping peacefully for over two hours. Maybe it was the after effects of all the neuro-therapy he had been undergoing with Doctor Amanda Junker, but even his nightmares refused to come to this paradise. He tossed the device back onto the table with a lazy flick and settled back into the cushions.
In the surf, Billy Joe Bob was fishing, using his own metamorphed utility sand arms as rod, reel, line and lure. Winston never considered a mechoid being interested in fishing, but there he was, fishing away. Probably something to do with that personality mod he’d been using, Winston thought with a faint smile. Waves washed around Billy Joe’s nanosand skirt as if he was a tide rock. At least he wasn’t noodling.
Their time on Puala’Lolo had been one of new experiences. Thanks to the battle between Mother and the Bonavitae hacker, neither dared to use the Sierra Madre’s mainframe. The tug’s computer was riddled with viruses and other dangerous programs that could snatch Billy Joe’s consciousness out of his CPU just as easily as it could scramble Winston’s frontal lobe.
They even avoided their favorite idle entertainments for fear of drawing any potential pursuers right to their doorstep. As far as Winston was concerned, he had just gotten his head straightened out; no way he was risking screwing it all up again for a stupid game or some silly video. Lady Amanda had given them permission to use the local network for such petty vices, but neither had felt the need to log in. There were plenty of new ways here to keep them entertained in real life.
Bubby landed another fish. It was a big, exotic thing. Possibly a ray of some type, flapping its huge wings in frantic splashes of water as he hauled it to the surface.
“Check it out, Hoss!” Bubby shouted back to Winston. “Hoo-boy! Look at it!”
Winston raised his Plammer in salute.
Like a happy kid getting approval from his parents, Billy Joe held his catch up high while a wide, silly grin broke across his face. “Take a picture!”
Winston snorted. “Why?” he called back. “You can replay that memory later.”
“Come on! I want it from your point of view!” his partner shouted, wrestling to hold on to the squirming fish that was almost half his size. His drive skirt spreading out more creating a lattice of columns to help keep balance, his arms wrapped around the fish to hold on a few more seconds.
Winston reached over, picked up his pocket assistant and snapped the picture. Billy Joe whooped in delight and reabsorbed his fishing gear into his arm and tossed the critter out into the water with a flat smack. The ray took off like a shot. Winston watched it disappear beneath the waves, then turned toward the shore.
He slid up out of the surf and over to Winston, still smiling from ear to ear. “It’s no industrial press video, but there’s something soothing about this sport.”
Winston chuckled and dipped his drink towards him. “To Bubby, the mechoid fishing champeen of the Dream. Who’da thunk?”
Billy Joe gave a goofy, auto-tuned musical laugh.
From the corner of Winston’s eye, a flicker of movement between the manicured bushes drew his attention from the mech.
A hovercar approached, following the curve of the shoreline. It was an exotic, touristy sort of thing with open sides and a fabric canopy that fluttered with a fringe that was completely incongruous with the stiff, uniformed figure who piloted it.
“Oops. Looks like playtime’s over,” he said, giving a head jut up the dunes toward the Baron’s compound. “Here comes the Baroness’s guard to collect us.”
The smile on Billy Joe’s face dropped into a bitter grimace and he looked from the approaching vehicle to his partner.
Winston sat up and swung his feet off the lounge chair with a groan. He scowled at the compound then turned his darkening gaze back out across the water, his good mood souring.
“I’m not looking forward to this either, Hoss, but what else can we do?” Billy Joe said. Winston’s own sadness echoed in his partner’s voice.
“Like watching your favorite horse get put down in her prime,” Winston groused. With a few big swallows, he finished off his drink, put it on the small table and stood up.
The car came to a stop on the sand beside them, and the driver stepped out.
“Mechsters Winston and Billy Joe?” he addressed the pair walking toward the hovercar.
“Yah, yah. Keep yer pants on,” Winston said, putting on his straw panama hat and sandals that completed his beach bum appearance. He shuffled through the soft beach sand to the car and climbed aboard after Bubby. The driver circled back around to the driver’s seat and put the car back into motion, gliding over the dunes and deeper into the island compound grounds.
They wound their way through the tropical forest and a pineapple plantation where mechoid harvesters toiled. Rising above the jungle in the blue hazy distance, the anti-airship spires glinted in the light. They were part of Puala’Lolo’s defense grid against pirates and other principalities that might come a-knocking in an unfriendly manner.
Trees gave way to manicured grounds and extensive gardens tended to by servants. The main house came into view, a bright white clapboard mansion that reminded Winston of a similar house in the middle of some Earth prairie he saw in a movie poster once. It sprung from the top of a small hill and towered over the careful landscaping.
Looping around a hill, they passed by other outside recreational sports and drove alongside the golf course before veering towards a large reinforced lab building built into the coral cliff from the main house. The driver stopped the car in front of the office entrance.
“Did we get everything out?” Billy Joe asked.
Winston sighed. “Think so, but I plan to take one more check. Check all the storage spaces. Make sure I missed nothing in the sleeper. You know how it can get.”
“Not really,” Billy Joe responded.
Winston smiled and shook his head. “Difference between bioids and mechoids, I guess. We leave clutter behind no matter how well we try.”
The pair hopped out and went through the glass doors to the salute of compound security.
“Ain’t never gonna get used to that,” Billy Joe mumbled after they cleared the lobby.
“Comes with being made a ‘Special Retainer of the Barony’ I guess,” Winston reminded him. “Whatever that means.”
“Too bad Mother and H-” Billy Joe started to muse.
“Nahq it, Bubby!” Winston snapped, whirling around to face the mechoid. “This is bad enough without you adding to my misery by bringing them up!”
Billy Joe slid back a few paces. “Sorry, Hoss,” he apologized. “Sometimes I just cain’t help my nature.”
Winston stared hard at him for a moment before rubbing his stubbled cheek with a sigh. “Let’s just get this over with,” he growled. He started back down the hall towards the industrial lab, the slapping tempo of his sandals increasing with his agitation. After a moment, Billy Joe hustled to catch up in silence.
