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[flybywash]

It's a good thing Wash is a man of reasonable scruples, because at the rate things are going, he could easily start charging for tours of Serenity and make a hell of a lot of money.

Or, in other words: there's a Wash, and there's a Lincoln, and they're stepping out of Milliways into the ship's front hall.

"Cargo bay's down this way," he says, smiling as he heads for the stairs with a 'follow me' gesture.

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[renevatio.livejournal.com]

This is the first time Lincoln's been out of Milliways in two months, and he's all eyes as they step through the Door onto Wash's spaceship.

A spaceship! Lincoln almost feels like asking for an hour just to explore. Everything looks so different from what he's used to, both in the Bar and at the Institute. His face most definitely gives it all away -- that and the neck-craning and the stopping to stare and the Wash having to tell him to keep moving.

"I can't believe you get to live here!" he exclaims. He's almost forgotten why he's come aboard, he's so enthralled.

[flybywash]

Wash's smile broadens; he definitely knows what it's like to go into the black for the first time. That probably has a lot to do with why, as he shepherds Lincoln along, he's doing it with a lot more patience than he might show under the circumstances.

"Almost seven years and counting," he says. "Can't imagine being anywhere else."

[renevatio.livejournal.com]

Lincoln whistles. That's as long as Gandu has been at the Institute, and he's the oldest-timer there Lincoln knows, aside from the staff. "How many people live here with you?" It seems very empty. Surely it's not just Wash and Mal and Zoe.

[flybywash]

"Eig -- " He catches himself. Still not used to it, even a couple weeks down the line.

"Seven. Zoe, Mal, Kaylee, Simon, River, Jayne, and Inara." A slightly wry smile. "Pretty much all of whom are asleep because they're strange, strange individuals who underestimate the power of staying awake as long as possible."

The steps clatter underfoot. After a few seconds, the narrow corridor flares out into the cargo bay.

[renevatio.livejournal.com]

Lincoln catches the hitch in Wash's sentence. Hadn't he come close to mentioning something about losing someone on the ship? Still, it doesn't seem prudent to ask, so Lincoln just follows. "Sounds like you live with a lot of girls. Are Mal and Simon the only other guys?"

He peers over the railing at the cargo bay. "Hey, what do you keep down here?"

[flybywash]

"Mal, Simon, and Jayne, and...that makes you person number three in recent memory to mistake Mr. Tall, Dark, and Terrifying for a girl." A smirk. "I should keep a tally of this going in a very embarrasingly public place."

At the next, he leans against the railing. "Depends where we're going and what we're doing. Right now, not much. But that right over there...."

Wash points to a big, lumpy object that rests in the far corner of the cargo bay. It's covered with a dingy yellow sheet.

"Is where we're going."

[renevatio.livejournal.com]

It certainly is a big... lumpy... yellow-sheet-covered.... thing. Lincoln blinks at it. How that's going to teach him how to fly, he has no idea. "Okay," he says, trying to keep an open mind.

[flybywash]

Wash can't suppress a snicker at the look on Lincoln's face.

"Here," he says, and leads him down the rest of the stairs. "It's a lot more impressive when you're actually doing things like looking at it."

Grasping the sheet in both hands, he straightens his back, squares his shoulders, and whips it off with exactly the kind of dramatic air the moment demands.

What's underneath it is pretty simple by twenty-sixth century standards: a small U-shaped flight console, maybe half the size of Serenity's, complete with a yoke and a mismatched stool Wash lifted from storage. (Easier than dealing with getting a real chair somewhere.) There's a thick silver band running along its upper edge, shimmering with a weirdly iridescent color under the bright lights of the cargo bay.

Wash wads up the sheet and folds his arms, giving Lincoln a proud smile. Well?

[renevatio.livejournal.com]

Lincoln's eyes bug appropriately. "Wow." He approaches it slowly, the way any other dood would come near a very expensive car: with reverence, and awe. The array of buttons and monitors mean very little to him, but he does notice the odd ripple in the air. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up as a shiver runs down his spine. "It's very shiny," he grins, nodding. He holds a hand out. "What can I touch and what should I?"

[flybywash]

"Well, let's...."

He leans over to touch his palm to a smooth, flat rectangle on the far left. Nothing happens at first; frowning, he gives it a quick slap and tries again.

The shimmering in the air increases and twists into something nearly solid as the holo-array boots up: blank and blue at first, until a series of Chinese characters unroll down its length.

He beams, satisfied. "Go ahead and sit there," he says, indicating the stool, "and we'll -- oh!"

Suddenly remembering, Wash yanks on a panel beneath the right edge and fishes out two small devices that look a lot like behind-the-ear hearing aids. "Motion/sound bugs," he explains. "Right ear," holding one up, "and left ear," the other.

[renevatio.livejournal.com]

"What am I doing sticking bugs in my ears?" Not to mention the fact that they don't look like insects at all. Still, he sits down and puts them in. He tries to keep still while Wash readies the sim, but it's hard. The air is thrumming, and he is too. He tastes it, in the back of his mind: the wind through his hair, the growl of the engine, velocity--

Does he? How does he know any of that? He shakes his head to clear it of the sudden barrage of sensations, and waits for Wash's next instructions.

[flybywash]

Wash gives the Chinese a thoughtful frown, then pokes a finger at a string toward the middle. It shimmers out as several more lines pop up; he selects three more in quick succession.

"Translating. Gorrammit," he mumbles to himself as he works through the text. "Knew I forgot something."

But that can be worried about later. Right now, he's got a willing student, and the array's shifting into a photorealistic representation of a popular racing spot on Greenleaf: Cook's Canyon.

It's been a long while since he's done a proper canyon run.

"Okay," he says as he puffs out a breath. "Not so much with take-off and landing right now. Today we're just gonna do steering. The object of the game is to not crash and die, which is accomplished by using that." He indicates the yoke. "Put your hands on the side parts and keep them pointing up. Turning right takes you right, turning left takes you left, pushing in takes you down, pulling in takes you up. Easy. Got it?"

[renevatio.livejournal.com]

"Got it," Lincoln nods. He eyes the console. "Where's the ignition?"

[flybywash]

"The -- ? Oh. Fàngxīn, that kind of thing'll come after your skills at not-crashing has been firmly established. Right now we're airborne, engines are warm and paced at mid cycle, aaand...."

Another tap of the black square. Lincoln should feel a slight lurch, as if from natural inertia, as the image starts to move.

"We're off."

[renevatio.livejournal.com]

Lincoln's knuckles go white briefly as the console moves beneath him -- but they haven't, have they. He's not jiggling or moving on his own: it's just a trick. He takes a breath. "Okay."

Cautiously, he pushes the controls forward. The image zooms toward him. He tests the movement while the sim is still slow. Just like Wash said: left, right, up and down. Okay. This seems easy enough.

Come on, mate, you already know--

He pushes harder, and this time they zoom forward with a victorious growl. "I'm flying!" All caution falls behind in their wake. Lincoln turns around just long enough to give Wash a view of the ear-to-ear grin on his face, and then settles back into his seat. He cocks an eyebrow and veers right around a long curve. "This is bloody fanastic!" he shouts, picking up speed.

[flybywash]

Huh. Not bad. Not too bad at all.

Wash watches the sim screen with the small, proud smile of a father seeing his kid ride without training wheels for the first time. He's not too convinced of the idea of "natural" pilots: you're suited for it, you might be a little better suited for it than the dirtbound, but nobody pops into the world with an innate knowledge of flight. Might have something to do with the lack of wings or some kind of convenient levitation device.

Lincoln's as close to a natural as he's seen since flight school.

This is pretty damn shiny.

....Of course, it's still his first time flying, and Wash's smile drops away as Lincoln starts picking up speed: more than the simulated ship can handle this soon. "Uh, Lincoln, you don't want to -- "

The screen shakes, slows, and abruptly plummets. Wash winces.

"...do that," he finishes lamely as the ship tumbles end over end, image freezing a split-second before it hits the canyon floor. "Āiyā."

[renevatio.livejournal.com]

Lincoln frowns, perplexed, at the screen for a moment. He then turns around and looks up at Wash.

"I'm guessing we died just then, didn't we."

[flybywash]

"Spectacularly and fiery...ly. Yeah."

He props a hand on the edge of the console, reading the Chinese that's now overlaying the image. A really rough translation might go along the lines of GAME OVER, INSERT COIN.

"Okay, lesson one: too much speed too soon, and things start going boom. Or stop going boom, more like, 'cause the engine overclocks and kicks. Dŏng ma?"

[renevatio.livejournal.com]

"Dong ma," Lincoln answers, trying his best to recreate the phrase. It doesn't sound at all like Chinese. "Do I get to try again, or is it boomed for good?" He really hopes he didn't kill the sim or something. If that was his one shot, he did blow it. (But at least it was spectacular! There's that.)

[flybywash]

"Wŏ dŏng," he corrects absently, reaching to skim his fingers over the array. "Someone asks you dŏng ma, proper response is either wŏ dŏng or wŏ bù dŏng -- means 'do you understand?' and either 'I understand' or 'I don't understand.' Lesson two." A quick grin. "Anyway."

Skim, poke, skim skim. The simulation resets.

"Not boomed for good. Want to try again?"

[renevatio.livejournal.com]

"Whoa dong," he says in all seriousness, nodding.

Wash's diagnosis brings back the little kid grin. "Are milkshakes tasty?" He rubs his palms briskly and cracks his knuckles, settling back down into the seat. "Okay, ready again."

He takes the controls and nudges the ship forward some. After some markedly more cautious fiddling, Lincoln gets the sim into a smooth coast along the canyon's middle. "Not quite so thrilling," he remarks, "but it's... neat." He uses that word in place of others that just can't name this feeling. It's more right than just about anything he's done since he came to the Bar. Find a term for the mutt offspring of bliss and highest-energy buzz and you could help Lincoln with his vocabulary.

[flybywash]

He's been subjected to enough bad Mandarin in the past nine months to keep a straight face at Lincoln's mangling. Which does not prevent him in any way, shape, or form from adding another mental tick mark to the Reasons To Start Up A Basic Chinese Course In Milliways column.

"I'm thinking it's an epic tragedy you weren't born five centuries later," he comments, eyes on the screen. "Empiron'd commit huge amounts of bribery and coercion to get you enrolled. You're, ah, shiny to speed up a little more if you want. Not too much. Keep your eyes on the N-dial and haul back if you start going red.

"...uh, N-dial's this one," he adds, with a sheepish quirk of the lips, as he points to a gauge near the center of the console.

[renevatio.livejournal.com]

"Really? Huh." He grins a little more, flattered. "Cool." Wash's opinion means a lot to him: after all, on top of being an ace pilot himself, he was one of the first people Lincoln met in the Bar.

Without another word, he accelerates the sim, until they've doubled their modest starting speed. The cliffs slip behind them, in mixed shades of russet and gold. Lincoln glances up at the impossibly blue sky. "Hey, can we go up out of this, and see what's around the canyon?" The idea of flying without walls is too appealing to resist entertaining.

[flybywash]

On the one hand, the whole point of canyon runs is to get used to how a ship handles, test the manoeverability in a place that's not too forgiving of stupid mistakes. It's a good sim for beginners. Doesn't give them much of a chance to form bad piloting habits.

On the other....

Wash smiles.

"Yeah, why not. Go ahead."

[renevatio.livejournal.com]

The sim purrs; Lincoln is inclined to agree. He pulls the ship up, rising gradually, until a moment comes when the canyon sinks fast beneath them and a wide desert rimmed with mountains fills the screen. Scrub brush colors parts of the ground dusty green. They are alone in the great emptiness.

"I think I like this better," he breathes, enraptured, and moves in to skim low over a run of dry grass.