Three seaskippers buzz along across the caps of waves, each piloted by a legionnaire. For whatever reason, Arkold the Jupani has been given the lead, with Whitehead the Skreek and Hammerhand the Rhian as his "wing-men". Arkold has gotten more training since his first little adventure on one of these sea-borne vehicles, and this time he has an insulated wet-suit, protective goggles and a hood that can be drawn over his face to shield a bit against the spray. The suit, however, is evidently not tailor-made for Jupani … it's pretty much a suit made for a human, just with a hole cut for the tail (and stitched so that it doesn't tear any wider), and doing without headgear, since a Jupani's muzzle is far larger than a human nose. At least it keeps the Jupani mostly insulated from the cold should he take a dip in the deeper waters, but it's not the most comfortable.

The life preservers aren't all that comfortable, either – bulky, blocky padded leather vests with translucent tube ribbing that has been run along the seams, filled with some glowing pale blue fluid that's supposed to make it easier to spot a man lost in the water … and if that is a tactically bad thing (such as if one is in hostile territory, with no hope of quick rescue), a leather bladder can be torn out, allowing the fluid to drain out and dissipate.

Each legionnaire is armed with a spine-firing shell pistol in a secure holster, and with a harpoon rifle latched onto a rack behind the seat. Each seaskipper also has a harpoon gun mounted on the central pontoon, but the aiming mechanism is so awkward that hitting anything smaller than an urgan would be problematic at best.

Arkold and "friends" have been sent out on urgan duty again, under the command of the wet-behind-the-ears Prince-Captain Rashad once more. Rashad has shown his "gratitude" for Arkold's heroics on the bridge of the urgan … but sending him out on seaskipper scouting missions on every available opportunity, without an experienced seaskipper scout (such as Scrimshaw) to provide pointers. At least it beats latrine duty, which gets pretty ugly on an organic ship.

Today is yet another day hopping across the waves, hoping a storm won't pop up, watching for "corsairs" (pirates) that have been reportedly causing trouble for research vessels and fishing trawlers passing through the region.

"How's it look out there, ehh Hammerhand?" calls the Jupani over his shoulder. It's troublesome for the wolf lately, what with the captain's displeasure at his actions. Still, these scouting missions give him a chance to be away from the ship and its crew, now that he can pilot one fairly effectively. Annoying bits such as being thrown overboard to nearly drown are, at least, less common.

The Rhian rides his seaskipper across the waves, sitting up from his seat half because he's too large to fit comfortably on it. "How about we slow down and take another look?" whinnies the horse. "Can't use my binocs and hang onto a skipper at the same time!"

The rat, barely hanging onto his own craft and bouncing with every wave, nods vigorously in agreement.

The wolf casts a glance over one shoulder then the other before he nods ahead. "Eh, I guess so. Jus' watch fer my wake when yah slow. I don't want to have to fish ya'll out." He lifts his left hand and then lowers it slowly, signaling them to slow their engines.

The three seaskippers slow down to a near stop, bobbing in the waves. Every once in a while, a larger wave splashes one or more of the scouts, but it's nothing particularly troublesome. The Rhian lifts up his binoculars, though he only looks through one eye – they weren't made to fit a horse's head, after all.

Once slowed, Arkold reaches over and picks up his own binoculars. Because they were not exactly designed for him either, he needs to tilt his head down slightly to avoid bumping his muzzle into them whenever the craft bobs. "Ehh, look, water!" he comments sarcastically.

Indeed, that's all Arkold spots. Same for the horse, apparently. Then, Whitehead chitters, "Holy Moley Mother of Dagh in a Diaper!" He staggers backward from his seat, and only his harness keeps him from pitching off into the water.

"What? Hey Whitehead, you find something?" asks Arkold of the Skreek as he studies the sea. The rat's surprise doesn't exactly inspire the Jupani to react with more than a question. After all, Whitehead overreacts on a daily basis as far as he can tell. "And it had better be important this time, rat!"

The horse snorts, "Hey, Whitehead, don't forget to remove the caps from the binocs before you use them this time… "

The rat staggers, regains his balance, and wiggles around on his seat, then peers through the binoculars again. "I did so take the caps off! And I tell ya, I see … I see … I see a giant clammy-shell skimmin' o'er da water … and it's followin' us!"

(A giant clammy shell? What in Dagh's name?) The wolf continues to spy the ocean with his own binoculars, only this time it is done partially to give the appearance of one who does not notice a pursuit. "Hammerhand, see what 'es talkin' about," he barks over to the horse.

The Rhian spies the rat and which way he's looking, then gives it another go. His jaw drops. "Arkold … he's not lyin'. First Ones as my witness … there's a great big clam shell floating over the water, headed this way!"

The Skreek tucks away his binoculars, and guns his seaskipper, bouncing wildly in his seat as he shoots forward ahead of the others. "RUN FOR IT!" he shrieks.

The binoculars are lowered and tucked away and the wolf lifts his hand before waving them forward. "Speed up, and widen our formation!" he yells to his group, which at the moment only includes the Rhian. With a push of his foot, his own craft then shoots forward to speed away from whatever is behind them.

Hammerhand guns it as well. The threesome form a diagonal line cutting across the waves, with Whitehead bouncing across the waves ahead and to the right, and Hammerhand bringing up the rear on Arkold's left flank.

"What do yah make of that thing?" hollers the wolf at his spread out group. Whenever it seems safe he tries to spare a glance at what is lurking in the water behind him. (Floating clams, ehh, Dagh's beard … strange.)

With all the leaping and splashing, it's quite a while before Arkold can make anything out with the unaided eye … At first, he mistook it for a cloud formation on the horizon … but there is definitely something big, oblong and pale making its way across the water. It's impossible to discern whether Hammerhand's claim that it is floating over the water is true or not. After all, the seaskippers spend a good amount of time airborne as well, thanks to the choppy water.

The horse whinnies, barely heard over the engines, "We're not outrunning it! I can see it now without the binocs!"

"Hammerhand, get yer hide movin' and veer to its left! I'll take the right! Whitehead stay center! Go!" orders the Jupani. With the orders given, he turns the controls and begins pulling his craft off to the right.

Whether or not Whitehead hears Arkold's command, he keeps going straight. Hammerhand steers to the left, while Arkold makes a turn to the right, banking off of a wave. As the group spreads out, and Arkold is now moving perpendicular to his original course, he gets a view of the pursuer … It does, indeed, look like a giant clam shell, perhaps as large as an airship gondola, flying over the surface of the waves – perfectly level, not bobbing up or down in relation to the water. The shell has knobby and spiny growths on it … that look like gun emplacements.

It appears that the floating clam shell is maintaining its present course, meaning that it's still gaining on Whitehead.

As the wolf gets a better look at the clam-ship following his unit, his eyes narrow. Gun emplacements – a warship. "Dagh's sharp teeth! It's armed!" He looks around quickly to spot the Rhian, and lifts his hands when he thinks the man sees him. With his hand up, he makes a circular motion and points to the vessel.

The horse nods his head … but just in case that might be interpreted as just him being jostled around by the waves, he raises a hand in acknowledgment. The horse's craft moves further out, until it's hard to spot him except at odd intervals when the waves allow – He's more easily tracked by the spray knocked up by his craft rather than any visual on the horse himself.

As the two craft converge upon the floating, closed clamshell, it appears that it is floating a few meters above the water, on average, just high enough that it still gets hit by spray from some of the bigger waves on occasion, but largely keeps clear of the water. Its airborne status can't be explained by hopping crests like the seaskippers.

There are indeed several gun emplacements on the clamshell, though most of them are angled skyward, as if resting on their mountings without anyone at the controls. It would seem that the guns are gatlings, and that the ports they protrude from can be sealed up. It doesn't appear that these are organic weapons of the sort mounted on urgans, but more conventional varieties that the Kampfzengruppe might utilize.

Conventional, that is, by Abaddonian standards…

It looks like there may be some movement on top of the shell … some people walking around … Khattas? Yes, Khattas!

With Hammerhand proceeding as directed, Arkold circles around from the right. Although no orders were given to him to do so, Whitehead is proceeding as a decoy as the wolf expected he would. (You kin always count on that rat to run.) Since a wide circle would be difficult to do and maintain pace with the large vessel, Arkold opts to veer off more and let the clam ship pass to the side of him for now.

This is accomplished in short order, as the clamship speeds on past. Now that the back side can be seen … there are several holes in the back, through which can be seen what look like propellers of some sort, and there's definitely some air being blown out of the back of the clam. However, there's no evidence of any such jets on the underside, and the clam doesn't seem to be moving nearly fast enough to be flying. Not that Arkold would know much about aircraft or aerodynamics – It just looks wrong.

Now that he is towards the rear of the strange vessel, Arkold takes some time to inspect it and put its shape to memory. Khattas are aboard, but it isn't a Kampfzengruppe vessel so far as he can tell. Nothing like this ever came near Gateway Island. No longer willing to wait for an identification, he searches for Hammerhand so that he can give him another hand signal.

Hammerhand appears to be closing in on Arkold, now behind the clamshell as well as the wolf. Before the clamshell gets too far ahead, Arkold is at least able to discern that the Khattas on the craft show no signs of wearing uniforms, but it seems like they may be wearing some sort of armor. A number of females show an awful lot of fur, though, calling into question just how functional this armor really is.

Arkold lifts his hand again and points to the Rhian, and then back off the area of sea where they had just come from. He momentarily braces his steering device with his free knee so that he might free his other hand to finish the signaling. One flattened hand moves into a fist and then he points to the clam again before waving the Rhian away.

Hammerhand tosses a salute to Arkold … then shoots back the way that the scout patrol originally came from, back toward the urgan.

A staccato "pakapakapaka" can be heard from the direction of the clamshell. Whitehead's seaskipper veers back and forth erratically, and little splashes can be seen of projectiles hitting the water nearby.

The wolf grins wryly at the salute. (Eh, General Arkold. When'd that happen?) He lets his gaze move back to the clam vessel and gives it a prompt glare as it begins firing upon his "wing-man". Deciding he had best do something, the wolf speeds his craft up more and attempts to catch up with enemy vessel from behind.

Fortunately for Arkold, the clamship is slowing down, so as not to overtake its "prey". So far, it looks like none of the shots have scored on the craft, and it seems that it is only training a single gun on the seaskipper, even though it obviously has several that it can bring to bear. It shoots to one side of the Skreek, prompting him to turn one way … then overshoots the other direction, and forces the Skreek the other way. It looks as if the clamship's crew are playing with the rat. The rat, no doubt, is not having a good sporting time, though.

"Let's see how yah like this," growls the wolf. He continues to spur his craft onwards, and as he does so, he reaches over and prepares the torpedo controls in order to prepare the weapon for quick firing. When that is done, he keeps pace with the enemy craft, not very far at all behind, waiting for a large wave to form behind it.

Sure enough, a big wave swells up behind the clamship, and it looks like it'll probably spray the hovering vessel before it reaches its crest.

Spotting the wave he's been looking for, Arkold guns his craft to go even faster in order to meet it. When his vessel hits, it shoots into the air, and just when the bow of his seaskipper is pointed at the arc the Jupani believes will work, he yanks the firing mechanism.

The seaskipper hits the wave, performs a wild jump, and the harpoon fires away … arcing toward the clamshell … and skipping off of its hull, then exploding in a ball of flame. Alas, it appears that the harpoon is more effective against "soft targets" like various sea predators, rather than against the armor of … whatever this thing is. Still, it prompts several of the crew on the top of the clamshell ship to scatter in a panic, and to abandon the forward gun mount. Arkold's seaskipper follows … descending toward the clamshell's top.

"Uhh … Vhai," mutters the wolf as the ship fails to sustain any damage. His eyes widen as his seaskipper flies through the air towards the giant clam. He quickly grabs his pistol free from its holster, before leaping off the seaskipper in an attempt to land on the deck away from where it will crash.

With cat-like reflexes (at least this time), the wolf leaps free from the hurtling seaskipper, and rolls onto the deck. The craft crashes and – predictably – bursts into flames, skidding across the deck toward a big crate that is labeled "Explosives" and another marked "Ammunition". Fortunately, Arkold's roll takes him behind one of the knobby growths on the irregular deck just as an even bigger fireball blasts into the air and the whole ship lurches!

Several Khattas – all of them female, and under-armored – rush about, screaming. One male, scrawny Khatta in a mish-mash outfit of leather and shell armor – with spikes sticking out in imposing positions (but entirely unserviceable) rushes about, his tail aflame!

"Dagh Dagh Dagh!" curses the Jupani as his seaskipper explodes into a ball of fire on the enemy vessel. (Some plan, wolf, now what?! Think!) When it looks like he won't be roasted by the flames scattered about the deck, he stands up and dashes for the nearest, and safest, gatling gun mount while keeping his pistol aimed at those on the deck. If any present a remote threat, he's ready to fire.

The Jupani manages to make it to one of the mounts, of which there are four on the upper deck. The other mounts sticking out of the shell appear to be manned from somewhere inside the craft, and these particular mounts look as if they can be retracted and covered up by covers made out of smaller shells … and perhaps even sealed watertight, given the fit. However, the mounts are designed to face away from the clamshell ship. Unless any threat presents itself from outside the deck, it appears that the gun won't help him much, as it doesn't swivel around far enough to face the crew.

The clamshell pitches forward, and the debris of the seaskipper starts to slide forward as well, taking with it the ruined front gatling turret. The male Khatta with the flaming tail rolls around, putting the flame out … but then starts to slide along the deck toward the front. Arkold, however, has a fairly nice anchor in the form of the gun emplacement he's currently taking cover at.

Giving up on the ship mounted guns, the Jupani searches for some sort of hatch that might lead into the ship itself. However, the pitching of the deck doesn't allow him much time to do so as he reaches over and grabs for the gating gun in order to anchor himself. Holding tightly with one arm, he keeps his pistol ready just in case something not screaming or running around uselessly pops onto the deck looking for a fight.

The clamshell ship splashes against the water, and starts bobbing along with the waves. While it's still not stable ground, it's good enough for Arkold to make a dash for the hatch – and it looks like one just presented itself, as one pops up – again, shaped like a clamshell, and seemingly made from one, too – and a punkish-looking cat with a mohawk of head-hair peers out from the hatch, scanning with what looks like a gatling gun scaled down to the size of a large pistol.

Spotting the nearby Khatta at the hatch Arkold, dashes forward towards him as stealthily as possible considering the circumstances. His free left hand reaches over and draws a steel combat knife, which he readies to use if he can get back behind the cat. If not, his pistol is always there to do the job from a distance if he can't get close enough.

The Khatta doesn't notice Arkold's approach. In what sounds like heavily accented Khattan, he shouts out, "Fool! Father will kill us! Get down here and help me fix the pearl before we sink!"

The knife is lowered and put to the Khatta's throat after Arkold tucks his pistol away. The blade slides along the neck fur and the wolf grins evilly behind the man. "Shhh, now. Gimme yer gun and don't try anything funny. We're goin' downstairs," he whispers to him.

The Khatta's ears flatten back, and his gun falls to the deck with a clatter. "Gnh," is all he says, as anything more would run his adam's apple against the blade.

With a careful nudge, the Jupani pushes the Khatta to head down into the ship, and when he gets far enough down, the wolf begins to follow him. He reaches for the gun when he gets low enough to do so without removing his knife from the Khatta's neck. "No screamin', no yellin' … "

The interior of the ship is a strange sight indeed, though no more strange than, say, the urgan. The interior of the ship is a jumble of Kampfzengruppe-type machinery, only having the appearance of something cobbled together from pieces of junk, and without all the nice convenient labels that Kampfzengruppe engineers like to slap on everything (along with many, many warning signs). This is incorporated with hard, quasi-organic forms – shells, growths of coral – that makes the interior look like a constant struggle between the jumbled, broken lines of clunky machinery, and the elegant, organic lines of shell and coral.

A female Khatta rushes up … sees the wolf, then clasps her hands to her cheekruffs and shrieks. She's dressed something like a cross between a dancing girl in the Emir's own harem (or what Arkold might imagine such a girl to look like) and a pit fighter, with bits of leather and armor here and there that look like they're more for show than function.

Once inside the wolf nudges the man to close the hatch just as the woman dashes up and screams. He jerks his new pistol up to point right at her, the sudden motion likely causing the knife in his hands to press more at the Khatta's neck. "Sha'dap, or yer dead," he growls quietly.

The Khatta woman doesn't look as if she registers any recognition, but the Khatta hisses at her (in Khattan), "Silence, wench! Go back to my cabin! I have everything under control!"

The Khattas, incidentally, look like a hodgepodge of wildcat features: a few stripes here, spots there, rosettes there, some with tear-marks, some not.

"Go on deck," says the wolf in Khattan to the woman. He gestures with his pistol up towards the hatch and pulls the captured man with him out of the way towards a spot where Arkold can watch the captive and not be approached from behind.

The wolf's prisoner looks momentarily surprised, then yowls, "Do as he says!"

The girl looks momentarily perplexed, then at another snarl from the male, she shimmies up to the deck, tail-bells jingling.

Once the girl is up on deck, the Jupani prods the man into closing the hatch and securing it tight. That done, he taps the knife against the underside of his chin and snarls into his ear. "Take me to the control room, NOW," he orders him, speaking in Khattan from this point on.

The Khatta's ears are flat back, and he starts to nod … but that hurts, and he soon figures out not to do that again. "R-ght th-s w-y," he says through clenched teeth, chin held high as he makes his way further down.

"You'd better get it right the first time, eh? No second chances 'ere, boy," growls the wolf as he follows the Khatta's lead. Every so often, he casts a glances around him to make certain no one is arriving from the sides or sneaking up behind him.

No, the ship looks to be surprisingly empty, given the number of crew it could probably support. Just two males so far, and several females who don't exactly appear to be battle-hardened warrioresses. The Khatta leads Arkold into a wide, rounded chamber with walls of mother-of-pearl, inset with big green glass windows, through which can dimly be seen images that look like views outside of the craft, flickering every so often.

The controls to the ship appear to be the usual mish-mash of organic-looking shell and clunky-looking machinery, the latter sparking here and there.

Now in the control room, Arkold moves his captive up towards the controls and taps the knife against his chin. "Eh, you got a problem 'ere, and I know it. Here's the deal: you're gunna fix it, and do what I say, or you and yer crew are gunna be scuttled to the bottom of the sea. You understand me?"

The Khatta fiddles with some controls frantically, and hisses, "My father is Warlord Baraja! If you lay so much as a hand on me, he'll have your hide!" He doesn't look very confident in his own boast, though, and seems to be speaking very loudly as if doing so gives himself more confidence.

"Once he learns that his youngest son, Garan, was forced against his will to accompany his eldest son, Fraja, on an expedition with a stolen nautilus with wine and loose women, he will be furious, but even more so if he learns that an alien cutthroat is threatening him!" the Khatta yowls. "And he will surely be here soon, for the coordinates of 30 by 21 by 15 are very close to his flagship!"

"How'd yah like it if I skinned yer hide?" asks the wolf as he pulls the knife painfully close for a moment before releasing. He sneers at the Khatta and nods to the controls. As the Khatta continues, his eyes widen and he snarls loudly. His eyes dart to the controls immediately after. "If yer flagship surfaces here, yah fishlord, I'll kill both your kids! Stay back!" he yells at the machine before promptly introducing the Khatta's head to the butt of his knife.

The Khatta slumps to the floor, unconscious.

A voice crackles from one of the round orifices of the cluster of machinery. "Garan? Garan?! What is the meaning of this? GARAN!"

"Garan can't talk at the moment, but he wanted to tell you that if you value his life, you'll stay away from this ship," barks Arkold at the controls before he begins dragging Garan back into the main area, gun pointing out into the hall.

Arkold can hear more female screams, and what sounds like someone blathering a stream of curses in whatever offshoot of Khattan this language is, but nobody impedes the wolf's progress as he gets back to the main area on the interior of the clamshell vessel.

There are several doorways open, revealing rooms beyond. Most of them look like fairly cramped quarters, with a mix of primitive-looking swords and more complicated – even bizarre-looking – weaponry with the same cobbled-together junky look of every other bit of machinery on the ship.

A few of the other rooms smell heavily of perfume and cologne and liquor, and have lots of plush cushions and silks strewn about.

"Whitehead! Can you hear me!?" hollers the Jupani up towards the deck as he drags the unconscious Khatta's body onwards. He searches for anything he can use to bind the Khatta's arms and legs.

The first thing Arkold manages to find is some silken attire. Looks like this must have been one wild party. A bit of trussing up, and it looks like Garan won't be going anywhere soon … and he wouldn't want to be caught dead trussed up like this, either.

Whitehead, alas, appears not to have been so bold as to scramble up onto the clamship to investigate. Knowing him, he's probably still running, as far as his fuel supply will take him.

The wolf proceeds back to the hatch now that the Khatta is bound. His chuckling echoes the halls even as he cautiously makes his way with both pistols readied. Once back at the hatch, he moves to prop it open without climbing out or putting his head where anyone can see it.

As Arkold does so, the whole clamship rocks. That wasn't a wave. Something hit it.

"Dagh's feet on fire!" curses the wolf as he shakes with the impact. "I'm too late!" He holsters the spine gun and climbs up just enough to point his own weapon around to see if anyone is waiting for him.

There are a few Khattas staggering about on the deck … but Arkold can see a plume of water and vapor shoot into the air … an urgan's plume. There she blows!

In the harsh-sounding tongue of the Kampfzengruppe, a soldier bellows on a bullhorn, "Put down your weapons immediately!"

The Jupani scrambles up onto the deck and uses the hatch to brace himself against further impact. "This is Arkold of the Kampfzengruppe! The 'ere ship is already captured; get up here an 'elp me!" he yells off to the urgan. He repeats this in Bosch as well.

In the following minutes, the crew of the urgan sends over a boarding party, rounding up Garan and Fraja and their "friends", and swarming the clamship. Hammerhand apparently made it back to warn the urgan. Some more scouts head out to fetch Whitehead.

Amidst the boarding and investigation of the ship, a big tiger-Khatta wanders by, and flashes a grin to Arkold. "Way to go, pal! Too bad about the seaskipper … but not a bad trade, eh?"

Up on deck and surrounded by the boarding party, Arkold stands with the gatling-pistol resting on his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear in a cocky pose. "Eh, like I said, pirates … no problem et all!" He offers the tiger-Khatta a hand to shake before gesturing around with his pistol. "Where's the first mate?" he asks.

"Back on the ship," says Scrimshaw. "Wouldn't do to send full-fledged crew over here, when it might blow up or something. That's a job for us legionnaires!" The tiger winks. "Whoo-eee! Looks like they had one Dagh of a party! Sorry I missed it. Shooting at Whitehead would've been a blast!"

"Ha! Wouldn't it? But ehh, I've got me 'ere new ship, so that makes up fer it. Not like they'll let me keep it if it works but, vhai, if it ain't something." The Jupani goes to holster the gatling-pistol but finds it doesn't quite fit, so he uses it as a pointer some more. He directs it out to the sea. "As much as I'd like the tell yah how I captured this all by m'self, I got some bad news. The flagship of this here floating clam is probably coming this way. We need to get this ship captured and probably get outta 'ere; dunno how big their flagship would be!"

"You don't say … ," says the tiger-Khatta, looking off past Arkold. The water churns, off to starboard.

"Go back to the ship and tell the cap'n, quick … Very quick … ," says the wolf as he leans over to peer at the churning water. " … and if that doesn't work, grab one of them boys and hold a gun to his head. The flagship is commanded by Warlord Baraja … those are 'is boys."

Even as Arkold speaks, a giant clamshell starts rising from the water … and rises. It's bigger than the first one. It's almost as big as the urgan … and most of the urgan's body is just critter, not crew space and weapons.

Scrimshaw gulps. "Sure … sure, pal … be riiiight back… "

Arkold's gun hand wavers for a moment, the weapon pointed out where the clam is rising. He blinks a few times and then just lets the gun fall to his side. "Oh, vhai … ," he says as he stares at the giant clam. He begins backing up one step at a time and glances around for everyone's location.

Several of the legionnaires – brave souls that they are not – scramble for the boarding raft and the seaskippers.

The clamshell continues to rise … then hovers oddly over the water exactly the way that giant clam shells don't.

"I … ," the wolf begins walking backwards now, " … umm … we should, uh, probably get outta 'ere now … " He backs into the hatch and pauses for a moment before he checks for something he can escape on.

Alas, Arkold's seaskipper is in no condition to be used again. Making a heroic leap for the boarding raft might be an option.

"This is Warlord Baraja!" bellows an amplified voice from the larger clam-ship.

Snapping out of his stupor, Arkold dashes off towards the life raft in hopes of getting to it in time.

Arkold doesn't quite make it … but he has a wet-suit on and a life preserver, and he bobs for a few seconds before Hammerhand comes by on the seaskipper and leans down to grab one arm of the wolf and haul him up.

"Clear away from the nautilus immediately!" bellows the giant clam-ship, even while the legionnaires are already doing just that. "Where are Garan and Fraja? If either of them have been harmed, you shall pay in blood!"

The Jupani reaches his grabbed arm to clutch at the Rhian's before he tries to scramble up onto the seaskipper. "By Dagh's dancing maidens, am I ever glad to see you!" he tells Hammerhand, shooting him a relieved grin.

Hammerhand smirks. "I see you've run out of body parts of Dagh to curse by. I hear cursing by the names of Babelite goddesses is pretty popular back on Sinai now… " He revs the motor and speeds back toward the urgan's docking port.

"Ehh, maybe this planet'll give me somethin' to curse with," mock-grumbles the wolf as he holds on tightly to the vehicle with his free hand. "Could probably curse by using Warlord Ticked-off's name, seein' as how I sorta beat up his sons and smashed his clam-boat."

The horse snorts, and bounces the seaskipper up onto the spongy ramp just inside the docking port, and hurriedly detaches his harness, clambering off. "Sounds like a start! Or else you could shout 'Fishsticks!' real loud!" He winks at the wolf. "Boy, I hope the boarding party got some good loot off that clam-ship… "

After getting off the docked seaskipper, the wolf shakes himself off before walking back to Hammerhand. "Naw, can't do that – 'fishsticks' is the name I use fer these 'ere water peoples," says the wolf with a lopsided grin. He shows off the gatling-pistol that he's still holding onto."The ship was loaded with wine and weapons, those girls, and some loud-mouthed sons of a warlord. Got a good look at the inside when I had one hostage. Made 'im take me to the control room before the brat yelled for help." He shakes the water off the weapon and begins cleaning it. "Did get this, though. Ain't it somethin'?"

Some legionnaires hurriedly haul out two trussed-up Khatta males – Fraja and Garan, neither of them looking too happy – and stick them on a small raft, shoving them out into the water. Meanwhile, the last of the other rafts gets hauled in, and legionnaires start clearing the port as the organic portal begins to seal against the water.

The horse peers at the pistol. "Well, I'll be! That'd have some terrible kickback. I wouldn't think those little kitties could handle an iron like that… "

The wolf turns his gaze towards the two trussed-up Khatta males. "Oh, look at that! They're givin' them up! Cap'n Kitty has done it again, crumblin' before pressure." He shakes his head in disgust, and begins looking for somewhere to hide the gun on his person. "Never did fire it. The boy had it, up until I gave 'im my knife, if yah know what I mean. Lots of other weapons on there as well, but I didn't have time to get 'em."

The horse sighs. "What a waste." He grins. "What I want to know is … how did you get onto that ship in the first place?"

The pistol is jammed into a holster as best it will fit and then the holster is removed to be tucked under the wolf's arm carefully. "Uhh," he begins to answer the question, reaching up to scratch at his head as if considering how to answer, "see, I ramped a wave in order to fire a harpoon onto the deck. Well that sorta didn't work, because the harpoon bounced off … and my seaskipper crashed into the deck and a whole bunch of explosives. I jumped off before this, 'o course, and that's how I got on. Boy were they are screamin' when my vessel blew, too! Whoo! … "