TITLE: When Adventures Begin...

CHAPTER: Two

AUTHOR: The Chronicler

UNIVERSE: M7 Aurora Adventures

RATED: PG

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When Adventures Begin...

By The Chronicler

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Chapter Two

~~~~~

The Aurora turned out to be a large dirigible, an air ship. A gondola lifted by a huge sky blue balloon and propelled by a whisper quiet propeller engine at its tail.

The gondola was oval shape, 120' from nose to tail, 40' from bottom to top. It had three stories.

The lower story contained the engine room, water storage and boiler, and storage compartments.

The second floor held the common areas: in the back was the tiny kitchen and a tinier lab, and, larger than either of those two, an armory; the center was a large open area that consisted of the dinning room, study/library, and sitting room; beyond that, at the front of the ship, separated only by a folding wall which was now folded back and tied down, was the bridge and mapping room; the front walls of the bridge was completely glass for the exception of the steel framing of the french doors that opened out to the observation deck.

The third and top most floor was the sleeping quarters: four two-bunk rooms in the middle, two on either side; and two comfortable sized cabins, side by side, at the front of the ship. At the back was a state of the art bath/shower room and a tiny infirmary.

Each room was elegantly furnished, most of which was polished black oak. The walls were all polished redwood paneling from the California coast, as were the bookcases and the wall clocks. In the mapping room there was a wall clock for each time zone, and below each a toprigraphical map of each zone. The steering ball sat in the center of the bridge with full view out the massive windows. Beside it stood a thick cabinet, table higth, with a glass top. Beneath the glass top was a large compass and maps of their current area. Each room was lit by large, thick windows, vents below every other window allowed fresh air to circulate through out the ship. At night, each room was lit by gas lamps fueled through lines in the walls of the gondola. The stove and oven in the kitchen were also gas fueled. Water pipes, specially coated to resist rust and freezing, ran to both the kitchen and the bath/shower room.

Ezra Standish stood in the main entry in the sitting room and stared at the wonder. "So... this is the Aurora." he breathed in admiration.

"Aurora Class." the brit, Lord Phileas Fogg, corrected. He walked around the room, running his fingers across the polished coffee table. "She was designed after the original Aurora, though suited, of course, for many more occupants than me own dirigible."

Ezra tilted his head in acceptance of the correction. "It is quite the... gift." he observed. He stepped into the ship and slowly walked around, taking in every little detail. A thought came to him. Who said he had to deliver this prize to the Count? He could take to the sky and make his own escape, flying up and out of the reach of that damn Count and anything else that would try to run him.

Fogg turned to face him. "I'm curious, Mr. Wilmington." he said, sitting down at the dinning room table. "You haven't asked about your crew."

The gamblers emerald eyes narrowed. "My crew?" he repeated.

"Your crew!" was snarled in his ear from behind.

Ezra spun about to come face to face with a tall, black clad man. his breath caught in his throat.

"What's the matter, Buck?" Chris Larabee continued. "Didn't expect me back on the job?"

Lord Fogg crossed his legs, excepting a glass of brandy from his valet. "Really, sir, how incompetent do you think the world's secret services are?" He waved a hand in the air. "We do, you know, on occasion speak to one another."

Ezra remained silent, his mind racing, trying to figure a way out of this one. Damn the Count! Damn his mother! Damn, damn, damn...!

"Passpartout, it seems our friend is at a loss." Fogg observed with a smirk. "Would you be so kind as to make the introductions?"

The little frenchman grinned, obviously enjoying the show. "Sir, Captain of the United States first, and thus far only, Aurora Class dirigible, Agent Chris Larabee."

"That would be the rather upset man standing before you." Fogg pointed out with a wave of his glass. He too seemed to be enjoying himself.

"To Master Larabee's left is the well traveled Agent Josaih Sanchez." Passpartout continued.

Sanchez was a huge man, though not so much in higth. His shoulders, chest and hips were wide, his arms and legs thick with muscles. Despite his huge, intimidating frame, his eyes were almost kind as was his gentle smile.

"Master Nathen Jackson, me believe, is the corman." Passpartout nodded to a young negro who leaned against to entrance to the hall.

He was a handsome man with chocolate skin tone, dark brown eyes, and short black hair. Ezra didn't miss the blue uniform. Though it had no rank or any other identifying ensign, it was obviously a yankee uniform.

"Lieutenant Vincent Tanner is the pilot." the valet introduced.

"Lieutenant no more." spoke a man standing in the entry to the bridge, his arms crossed over his chest. A combination of his long dusty blond hair, buckskins, and accent labeled him as clear as if he was he was wrapped in the Texas flag. The sawed of shotgun strapped to his hip and the boot high moccasins were just added detail of that fact. "Jus' plain ol' Vin will do." he said, pushing his hat back on his head.

"My... crew." Ezra said softly. "Of course..."

Chris slammed his shoulders suddenly, pinning him back against the bookcase. "Who the hell are you and where the hell is Buck Wilmington?!" he roared.

~~~~~

J.D. tugged on his collar. "Didn't know a little backing included a uniform." he grumbled. "I'm never gonna get used to this." But, with a sigh and a glance out the port window of his little room, he was reminded why, for the last three days, he stayed.

He was flying!

Well, actually the Permetheuse was flying.

The huge air ship was under the command of General Coal, the same man who had stopped J.D. on the dark trail only a few nights before, who had brought him here to float among the clouds. The General had said it would be inspirational.

J.D. glanced about his room. The walls were covered with drawings and diagrams and tidbits of ideas. He smiled. "Guess he was right."

His stomach growled, reminding him he had yet to visit the cafeteria. With one last tug on his collar, he hurried out of his room, closing the door behind him.

It took him a total of five minutes wandering the metallic halls to become completely lost... again.

"Damn it!" J.D. hissed to himself, leaning against the wall.

He didn't want to ask directions again. Asking anything generally earned him a glare from the crew... one he was sure included such thoughts as `What the hell is this idiot kid doing here?' J.D. was sure that the only reason they even endured his presence was because the General had ordered it... And no one crossed General Coal!

A soft cry...

J.D. glanced about.

A faint scream.

He pushed away from the wall and glanced about.

Again, the faint scream.

J.D. frowned at a slightly opened door leading down a hall.

Sounds were coming from behind that door. Cries, groans... of pain.

He knew he shouldn't go, knew he'd get in trouble for being where he shouldn't be.

But... curiosity? concern?

J.D. glanced around, making sure there was no one to see, then pushed the door open just enough for him to slip in.

~~~~~

Buck collapsed forward against his manacles, gasping for air.

His torturer angrily paced in front of him. The steel heals of her thigh high, black leather boots sparked as they struck the steel floor. Her striking red hair was pulled back in a baraid that laid down her back in striking contrast to the tight, black leather vest. Her bare arms were crossed over her chest as she shook her head. One hand patted the bloody blade of her Bowie knife against her arm.

Despite the agony that raked his body, Buck Wilmington chuckled.

She stopped, her eyes snapping about to look at him. Not glare with anger or stare with curiosity. She simply looked at him with absolutely no emotion what so ever.

It took all his strength to lift his head enough to see her. But his smile came easy enough. "Boy, have you ever screwed up." he choked out. His head dropped, spitting out blood.

Placing the flat of her blade under his chin, she lifted his head for him. "You think so?" Her gray eyes fluttered. "In case you haven't noticed, you are the one bloodied up and in the hands of your supior enemy."

Buck continued to smile. "I hand my hands on you." he reminded her. His eyes glanced down, then up again, looking her over. "Trust me: we wouldn't waste actual working hours getting our hands back on you."

Her eyes flared with sudden and violent a anger. With an animalistic growl, she yanked her knife hand back, across her body and slammed her hand back down, striking him across the face. Her knuckles ripped his cheek open, smearing blood across the back of her hand.

Smirking, she watched his head snap about, then dangle as if dazed.

But, after a moment, he chuckled again. "By the way... I'm not the only one bloodied."

She glanced down at her hand and then the bloody splatter the knife hand left on her arm. With out a word, she spun about and stomped out of the cell, slamming the bar door behind her.

As soon as she was gone, so was Buck's smile.

With a loud groan, he let his head fall forward. Everything hurt. He was burned, slashed, beaten. Most of his clothing laid in torn and bloody strips on the floor.

She was right... he had really screwed up.

But, then again, he had yet to give her anything she wanted, answer any of her questions or demands.

Guess they were both screwed.

There was a clank.

With a heavy sigh, Buck lifted his head, expecting to see her return.

But it his torturer.

It was a boy. Dressed in the same black uniform as the his guards had been, but his had no insignia indicating rank or assignment. Despite shoulders that indicated that he could, eventually, be a good, strong man, he was small, slim... as if he had spent time... a lot of time... hungry. Shaggy, ebony black bangs laid over his forehead. Bright, curious hazel eyes watched him intently through the bars.

It were those eyes that caught Buck's attention. So big, so bright, so... innocent.

And concerned! The boy was concern for what he was seeing: a stranger in agony.

`What the hell was a kid like that doing in a the belly of this hell beast?' Buck wondered. Out loud, he mumbled in disbielf "A kid. just a kid."

"I'm not just a kid!" the boy suddenly spoke up defensively. As soon as the words were out, he blushed and backed away again.

Buck instantly felt the need to protect this boy. Looking at him as if he was a fellow prisoner, needing to be rescued from these evil bastards.

"Who are you?" came the boy's soft, shy voice.

Buck eyed him. It had been the same question asked by that hellish woman a hundred times.

Of course she knew who and what he was. She just wanted to get at least one question answered.

And now this boy asked it.

And, without second thought, Buck answered him. "Bucklin Wilmington, Secret Service Agent of the United States of America."

Again the boy edged forward, encouraged by Buck's calm and gentle tone. Hands on the bars, he leaned against them. "Secret Service Agent? What's that?"

"I work for President Grant. I fight to keep him and the Union safe and whole."

The boy frowned. "But the war is over."

Buck smiled. "The South isn't the only enemy the Union has, boy." Then his smile faded. "Your boss for instance..."

A tight, painful grip grabbed the boy's arm and whipped him around, slamming him back hard against the steel bars.

"Ow!" the boy protested. He started to push back, but he was again slammed into the bars.

With a sudden surge of strength, the prisoner slammed against his chains. "Get your fucking hands off of him!" he yelled.

The woman glanced over the boy's shoulder, eyeing her prisoner. With a slight smile, she turned those evil gray eyes back to the boy. "My my.... now we get a rise out of him. And just who, pray tell are you?"

"J.... J.D... ma'am." the boy stuttered.

"Get your hands off of him, Margarita!" General Coal growled as he stepped out of the same hall.

Her eyes darted to him. "Ah... I see." She smiled down at the boy in her grasp. "You are the General's new pet." She pressed her body up against his, pinning J.D. to the bars, Holding her face close to his ear and breathed in deeply. "So sweet the fragrance of such a little thing. I'd bet that you are soooo juicy." she hissed, snapping her teeth at the end of the last word.

"Margarita!" General Coal snapped.

Smiling, she leaned back. With little more than a flick of her wrist, she threw J.D. aside, dropping at the General's feet. "Have your pet, General."

Coal glared at the woman with his one eye, before reaching down and dragging J.D. to his feet. "Go back to the main hall, John, and wait for me." he ordered.

"I'm sorry.... I didn't mean..." J.D. started.

"Do as I say!" the General snapped, pushing the boy back behind him.

With head hung, J.D. started off. But then he paused to glance back at the prisoner.

Buck offered the boy a slight smile. `Don't worry, kid.' he silently assured. `I ain't leaving without you.'

Then J.D. spun about and ran back the way he had come.

Once his ward was out of ear shot, the General turned his full attention to the woman. "If you harm that boy in the least of ways..."

"Don't bore me, Coal." Lady Margarita chided. "You have your methods and I have mine." She turned those gray eyes on the General. "Have your pet, smart and brilliant as I am sure he is, thinking of all the possibilities Count Gregory just might, maybe, be interested in. While I have my own." Her eyes turned back to her prisoner. "No maybes. Simply, hard facts."

General Coal also turned to the prisoner. "Facts which, apparently, are difficult to get to." he observed.

Margarita spun on the man. "Be assured, General, that you're pet is safe from me... as long as he stays away from my pet!" she promised in a cold, sharp tone.

The General's eyes narrowed. but he had nothing to say to the woman. She had said everything. Fact was fact. If the boy got in her way again, she would kill him.

Of course, then he would kill her... but that was beside the point.

General Coal turned and walked away.

Margarita watched him go. Then she returned to Buck. "Well, nothing like a little visit to re-energize one. Don't you think?"

~~~~~

As soon as J.D. saw him, he started apologizing to the General. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean any trouble. I just heard some one yelling. I thought they needed help. Honest, I did mean..."

Coal laid a hand on the boy's shoulder, silencing him. "It's alright, John. No blood shed." he said, turning J.D. away and started him down the hall.

"No blood?" J.D. repeated, shocked that that was assurance. "That man was covered in blood. He'd been hurt.... tortured." The last word hit him hard as he realized that that was indeed what had happened to the prisoner. "Who is he? Why was that done to him?"

The general stopped then, turning the boy around to face him. "Understand, John Dunne, that that is a very dangerous man. Released, he would do everything humanly possible to bring us down. Do you understand?"

J.D. frowned. "But we want to build a better world. Why would he want to destroy that?"

"Everyone has their own idea of what is best for the world." Coal explained. "Generally it is based on what they, themselves, want. A world based on an individual's wants does not fit everyone's needs." He stepped back, straightening. "Count Gregory's plans for the world are based on the needs of all. This isn't the vision others have. Thus, they fight to stop it."

"But she was torturing him!" the boy protested.

The General took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Have you ever heard the phrase `have to crack a few eggs to make an omelet'?" When J.D. nodded, Coal continued: "Sometimes you have to brake a few people to make world." He shrugged. "That man is part of a secret army with designs on our patron, Count Gregory. It is Lady Margarita's duty to find out whatever she can about this army so that we can defend ourselves and our ideals from their attack."

"But..."

General Coal's grip tightened slightly on the boy's shoulder. "No more questions, young John. No more doubts. Good guys, bad guys.... we can all fall from curiosity." He smiled, blinking his one eye. "Now, I did not see you in the cafeteria for the morning meal. and it is falling late for even the afternoon meal. I want you to go and eat. Then return directly to your room and continue your work. Understood?"

Though his frown remained, J.D. nodded.

"Good." General turned and started away.

"General Coal, sir?"

He paused, turning back.

J.D. hesitated. But he had the courage for one more question: "How do I know you're the good guys?"

The General's one eye narrowed, but he smiled. "Because I told you." he answered, before continuing on his way.

J.D. Dunne continued to frown.

~~~~~

tbc