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Later, Bowdy and
Gammon are watching the door.
"Where'd Jatant go?" Bowdy wonders.
"Couldn't put the recharge off any longer," Gammon
remarks.
"So we can hold down the facility for awhile," Bowdy
smiles, "I'm surprised they didn't send a substitute."
Gammon pauses, then explains, "There aren't any."
"Oh," Bowdeccia says quietly, "Well at least we
got our house worked out."
Gammon looks ahead, "That was some risk, you took this
morning."
"What do you speak of?" Bowdy asks innocently.
"You know," Gammon replies, "In a zone where
Centurions and Raider crewmembers are referred to only by numbers, using the
titles they call each other is a good way to get fried."
Bowdy smiles, "I did get their attention didn't I?"
she waits, then continues, "Let's say that maybe I remembered a couple
names from a happier time long ago," she looks over at Gammon, "and
I couldn't let the Apex just march off like that."
"He didn't," Gammon says.
"And we're still here, we just have to face an
inspection," Bowdeccia answers.
"And now he knows that you know," Gammon observes,
"He doesn't show it, but you're leading him to the rattle- box."
"I know," is Bowdy's next answer.
"You are enjoying this, aren't you?" Gammon remarks.
Bowdy smiles but says nothing.
They are interrupted by the surviving mover clanking its way
along the edge of the Landing Way.
The beraggled tourists come out of the Hanger to watch the move
rumble up.
There is slight adulation as the internees see that the mover
carries their daily water-ration.
The tourists rudimentary atmospheric water-collecting set was
barely providing enough for survival.
And the AdJatant was also in the mover to return from a
recharge.
"That was quick," Bowdy observes, "He was barely
gone a centare."
"Maybe his power conections are working better,"
Philobuster ventures, "I know I was crimping up a lot of loose
connections in there."
"Your new and improved Cylon?" Windham says.
"Your treddle-pedal provided his amperage," Bowdy
points out.
"There were so many shakey connections and if that is an
advanced model," Philobuster frowns, "I can only conjecture what's
coming off Cylon production lines now."
Windham nods," Cheaper. Faster."
"That's our connection," Gammon remarks tersely.
Bowdeccia agrees with Gammon, "Take care of your
customers," But then she spots something and quickly asks, "Say, is
there additional cargo besides the daily ration?"
"The way that mover is wheezing, there must be," Philo
backs up Bowdeccia.
The Adjutant dismounts and scans as the Centurion driving the
mover lowers the platform on the rear to leave the table-pallet standing on
the Landing Way before the hanger.
The mover-Centurion rolls the mover ahead enough to clear the be
from under the load. And then raises the bed to its operating height, and
then starts the mover clanking and wheezing away to its next task.
The Adjutant scans over the load, then pivots stiffly in the
direction of Bowdeccia.
"You're being summoned," Gammon remarks.
The AdJatant means nothing," Bowdy answers, "He
directs his dealings to me because he percieves me to be the capstone of the
internees."
"So that makes you an Apex too," Gammon observes.
Bowdy frowns, "I certainly hope that the Jatant has better
judgement in his fellow being than that," she shakes her head, Bowdeccia
steps out fron the sliding door, and steps forward to the table-pallet,
"Everyone, our water-ration has arrived."
The internees come out just short of a scramble, and form a
ragged line just short of the water container.
Bowdy directs Philo and Windham to ladle out a prtion to each
internees drinking tin.
The parched internees gratefully gulp each portion.
Bowdy judiciously allows the offspring to come through the line
twice for a second ration.
Centons later, the distributers are savoring their rations.
"Ahhh, the Nector of Kings," Philobuster says after a
sip from his tin.
"Despite the what some would have, we still are a Republic,
remember?" Windham reminds Philo.
There is a brief moment of silence.
But then the man with the cheerful voice breaks in to observe,
"But has a king ever quaff a libation more precious than this?"
Those assembled consider the motion, and then nod, "Heere,
Heere," they confirm.
A low whistle interrupts the reverie. They look up to see
Bowdeccia give them a quick motion to come over to the table-pallet where she
and Gammon are examining the cargo.
"What do we have here?" Windham asks.
"Casks," Gammon replies tacitly.
The Lady with the cheerful tone of voice runs her hands down the
cool, moist sides of the un stainable metal casks, "Condensation?"
she is surprised.
"Water?" the Man with the cheerful voice quiries,
"What would the Cylons want with water?"
"Perhaps to serve as a coolant for their computers and
other devices," Philo suggests.
"Ballast," Gammon remarks.
"Gammon," Bowdy tells the Warrior in hiatus,
"I've asked you how many times not to use that kind of language around
the guests."
Gammon shrugs, "When they move cargo, they use these casks
to distribute the weight evenly so they can make level takeoffs and
landings."
"A crude improvisation when one does not have access to
scales and balancers," Windham nods.
"And the air supplies some humdity," the Lady with the
cheerful tone of voice chimes in.
The Man of the Cheerful Repartee holds a hand to the side of his
head, "And so they save all that weight when transporting the casks to
their destination!"
Bowdy is over surveying the casks, "All very fine and
well," she says, "But their is still the question of gaining access
to he contents," she motions, "Philo, see what you can do with
them."
Philo comes over, and looks over the caps. He takes out a
portable tool ad gingerly taps the the side of the lid to make sure its not
booby-trapped.
And then Philo begins to tinker and tamper with the capper.
After five centons, Philo gives up and shrugs his shoulders,
"Too many safety-features, these seals are tamper-proof."
"To prevent inadvertant leakage and spillage going in and
out of accelerations," Bowdy ventures, "Our luck to run into
compulsive Cylons."
"Expert advice," Gammon starts to say.
"Yes, an expert on deciphering Cylonian Glyups would be
welcome just now," the Woman with the usually cheerful voice puts in,
Philo then gets a look on his face, "Pardon me," he
tells the others quickly before he gets up and disappears.
After three centons, Philo is back, and goes to work.
Working quickly, Philo deftly pulls out a pin, turns out a
couple hexgonnal keys, opens two levers and then rotates them before locking
them into their opposite side, and finally screws off a safety ring. And at
that, Philobuster is able to remove the cap from the cask.
The gatherees hurry over. The Lady with the Cheerful voice
splashes her hand into the water and splashes it onto her face, "Cool
liquid, with out limit."
The Man with the Ceerful voice adds, "You are right, there
must be a kilo-keg here and in each cask!"
Windham has the ladle and is about to test the larder,
"Careful folks, let us spread this boon around for everyone."
Philo is reveiwing the intricate workings of the safety cap when
he sees Gammon looking on.
Philo shrugs his shoulders, "Consulted with the
experts," he explains.
That is when Bowdeccia notices that AdJatant has turned from his
lookout, and is surveying the revelers.
"What's wrong, maam?" Philo asks.
"That Jatant, his scanner-beam is going faster than it has
been," Bowdy answers.
Philo scratches his head, "Yes, I thought that after the
adjustments that his current wouldn't oscillate so widely."
"Maybe he's got a Taurun," Gammon comments.
Bowdeccia gets an idea, and then goes over and searches through
the other crates and shipping packages.
She surveys the contents and remarks to herself, "No wonder
they call him Loot," before calling out loudly, "Soft cloths and
rags, varous soaps, olfactory powders, People, the Jatant doesn't want us to
drink this water, he wants us to get cleaned up for inspection!!"
The others check Bowdy's find, and the water distribution
smoothly transforms into a program to clean up the indigenous Colonial
population.
Upon seeing the Humans discovering the solution suggested by the
puzzle, AdJatant's scanner returns to its accustommed rate of oscillation and
Adjutant returns to his assigned duty of Sentinel.
Later, as the cleanup of the internees continues, one of the
internees approaches Bowdeccia.
"Pssst, Hey Lady, uh, Maam," the internee gestures for
Bowdeccia to step aside.
"Umm, Yeah," Bowdy answers with some suspicion.
That doesn't stop the internee one bit, "You should hear
what I am hearing," the internee looks around.
Bowdy doesn't encourage him, but the internee continues,
"Sonme of the Houses have been talking it over amongst themselves, and
there seems to be consensus that as everything gets quieted down here, that
we ought to grab our essentials and machines and make a run fro the
hills."
"Umm, Whatt??" this is a knuckler Bowdy didn't see
coming.
"Well yeah," the internee is exasperated, "The
Mercanaries are vanquished, and our captors, uhh hosts are too busy to hold
us down much longer."
"And how long do you suppose we can hold out in those
hills?" Bowdy asks the internee directly.
"It wouldn't have to be forever," the internee offers,
"Just until the searchers from the Colonies show up, or maybe some
passing merchant vessel.
Sure, Bowdy thinks with sarcasm, the Quoroum would more like to
see this as an oppurunity to mortarboard over this entire matter and no
itinerant merchantman would be convoluted enough to be caught rowing through
these forsaken parts.
Bowdeccia is not sure where this thinking is coming from. It is
good to see some of the Colonial swagger and morale was coming back. But too
much swagger could get troublesomely sticky.
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