milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Wash is in his booth, blueberries at one elbow and coffee at the other. In front of him are a slowly shifting digital map of one sector of his galaxy -- a couple of planets are scattered across it, along with markers for fuel points and major trading ports -- and a notebook scratched full of equations. His forehead's creased a little in concentration as he leans over them.

Two fuel points within reasonable distance of Illyria: one four hours before, if they burn carefully enough, the other six hours out the other side. No telling yet exactly how much havoc the shields'll play with the engine and their reserves, but....

Absently, he nibbles a blueberry and jots down a few more numbers.

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Wash shakes his head. "Not really. Just typical fuel res -- "

And he finally looks up, and blinks. "Hey, I thought you were in jail."

*Tim arches a brow, sipping from his tea again. He seems somewhat humored.*

I was. I did my time. Now I'm out again. All those years in advance of us, and you still haven't foudn a good self renewing fuel?

A little testily, "No, we haven't. Duìbùqĭ for not living up to the lofty standards set by the twentieth century."

He bends back over the chart.

*Tim frowns, looking over the map again.*

Well, both the Martians and the Antlanteans use ships based on thought power. And the Daxamites are big on the whole solar power thing.

That gets another flat look.

"Meanwhile, Tim, all we got in my 'verse are normal, boring humans with normal, boring ships that actually need something to burn," he says.

Well, no I was more suggesting that I could bring you some engine parts if you wanted....

*He shrugs.*

Or something. theres some really odd ships up on the Moon that I have access to.

He sighs, finally giving Tim his full attention as he props his elbows on the table.

"Look, ain't saying I don't appreciate the offer, but incompatible tech is what gave me this -- " he waves a hand at the charts -- "in the first place. Only so much retrofitting and reassembling you can do to one ship before it just stops working. I don't want to risk it right now."

*It's probably a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.*

Why not get an all new ship?

Wash?

Just stares.

He doesn't headdesk outright, but it's a very, very close thing.

"You want the long list or the short one?"

*Tim ponders this.*

The long one.

Wash sets down his pen and starts ticking them off of his fingers.

"It's not my ship to sell. It's a ship I've been flying for six years and know better than anything else I've ever flown in my life. It's a gorram Firefly, and you don't just up and sell something that falls into your lap like that. Cap'n would never part with it. My wife would never part with something the cap'n's attached to. I'd never part with Zoe or the ship. And did I mention the part where we're scraping by and barely able to keep her in repairs, much less just junk her and get a shiny new boat that won't handle as well and'll be too conspicuous for us to get any work done?" He drops his hands. "Can I keep going, or is that enough?"

*Tim winces.*

s'nough. Anything I can do to help?

He shakes his head, expression softening a little.

"We got by fine before we found Milliways. We'll keep getting by." Beat. "Xièxie nĭ, though."

*Tim grins.*

Let me know If i can help any. Talk to you later.

*And he's off.*

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