Aurora - Wings of the Goddess Pt. 01

Beck left the ground with a shriek and almost fell. Bragg did his best not to laugh while Watson staggered around, clutching his ribs, and the angry little blonde looked for something to throw. She rounded on the old man, fuming. "Just for that you don't get your fuck!"

Watson composed himself, smearing his eyes. "I've got news for you. Roger?"

Bragg nodded. "I'm afraid he's right, Miss Watson. The abovementioned koala manifestly exists so my client has thus made good on his claims. According to the terms of the contract, to which you agreed, you now have a legally binding obligation to put-out."

Beck jammed her fists on her hips, still breathing hard. "Well, well, well... Looks like you're both missing out."

"On the other hand..." Bragg frowned, rubbing his stubbled jaw. "You know, according to the principle of quantum meruit, my client," he gestured at Beck, "is well within her rights to vary or terminate the aforesaid contract, on the grounds you just about made her crap herself."

"Hah!" Beck crowed. "Hear that? My lawyer just beat your lawyer!"

Watson shuddered inwardly- this wasn't the first time he'd heard those words. Craning his neck, he studied the koala, perched in a fork in the tree looking slightly bewildered. "Wonder if they're any good to eat?"

Beck's jaw dropped. "Damon Watson!"

"Just kidding. I've had one before. It tasted terrible."

Beck broke away. "Let's see if we can find another one."

"Really, Moosh? Seen one and you've seen 'em all I think you'll find."

While the others wandered off, hunting for bears, Watson parked himself on a handy rock, with a clear view over the sea all the way to the mainland. A while later, a distant shout announced the discovery of a second marsupial. Joie de vivre, the old man thought. That girl was priceless.

The koala hunters turned up after half an hour, having had their fill. Beck straddled Watson's leg and parked her bony bottom on his thigh. "Watcha' doin' old man?"

"Talking to the sky. Had enough of terrorising the locals?"

"Rodge and I were thinking. Maybe we could camp up here for the night?"

Watson had already thought about it. The island was beautiful, no doubt about it, but this was the middle of the monsoon and a nocturnal downpour was almost inevitable. He gestured with his chin at the mainland to the west. "Probably not. Those CB's will be looking for somewhere to rain on later on. Camping's great fun until the sky's falling in, and your tent's filling up as you're washed out to sea."

"How about we stay on Aurora?" she winked. "Weee could have a threeee-some."

"Sorry, Moosh. We get clobbered by a Charlie Bravo at anchor, there's no telling where we might end up."

Beck heaved a sigh. "Bloody wet season. When will it end?"

"Soon enough, Moosh. Don't go wishing your life away."

"But I want to go sailing." Beck whined, "And I want to camp on the island. And I want to run around without any clothes on."

"You will, Becky. Be patient."

"Is he always so rational?" Bragg asked.

"Pain in the anus, isn't it?" Beck sighed. "We'd have been dead a dozen times over if he wasn't, of course, but it's still a pain."

"You'll thank me one day." Watson smiled.

"No, Dommy. I thank you every day." Beck rocked forward onto her feet. Her clothes were saturated but there'd been enough thorny undergrowth to make the inconvenience worthwhile, and she had the scrapes and scratches to prove it. Now, however, there was a clear, unobstructed descent to the beach. Grabbing the hem of her T-shirt, Beck peeled it off overhead then slapped Watson over the chest with it. "Carry these?" she asked, skimming off her shorts and standing in front of him, naked but for sunhat and sandals.

The old man nodded at her wide, slitted, thigh-gap. "What if you meet someone on the way down?"

"I already thought of that." Beck arched her eyebrows. Stepping up to Bragg, she seized his T-shirt and reefed it up over his head, standing on tiptoes while he bent at the knees so she could reach. Dragging his shorts down, she looked over her shoulder at Watson. "Now," she said, hefting Bragg's rapidly inflating appendage like a baseball bat, "who's gonna waste their time looking at me?"

Watson chuckled. "Oh poor bloody Roger."

"Right." Bragg sniffed, facing the old man, unabashed by his nudity. "Being led around paradise, naked, by a little blonde goddess, by the grace of a Great Sage. Oh yes. Poor bloody Roger."

Beck took his hand. "Come on you guys, let's get back. Last one to the beach is a rotten egg."

* * *

Easing out of the bay, Watson pointed the nose for home and revved up the diesel. Beck busied herself, still naked, lashing down the RIB and stowing their gear. At the old man's request, she took down the blue canvas bimini, opening the cockpit to clear sky above, then dropped back into the cockpit and stood pointedly in front of Bragg. Her sweat-beaded skin shone like gold in the afternoon light, and she'd trussed her wild platinum hair into a bun. Her nipples stood proud on her little goose-bumped breasts, and her belly was heaving with the thrill of what was to come. Namely her. And Bragg. In her. "Wanna come down to my cabin?" she asked sweetly.

"Maybe he does," Watson cut in, "and maybe he wants to stay up here for a cold one."

Bragg looked from Watson to Beck. "Now there's a dilemma. Are those conditions mutually exclusive or is there a bit of wiggle room?"

"Why don't we think about it over a beer." Watson suggested. "Fetch us a couple of brewskies, Moosh?"

"Can I have one?"

"Of course."

"Can we smoke some weed?"

"Nope."

"Aww... why not?"

"Cos' if we get pinged by the filth on the way in, I don't want to be speaking Swahili."

Beck disappeared downstairs and returned a moment later with a six-pack of beers, their brown glass necks running with condensation. Handing one to each of the men, she ripped one free for herself and they all clinked bottles. Cuddling up to Bragg, she put the stubby to her lips and downed the contents without drawing a breath. Putting the empty down, she leant forward and reached for another.

"Oi!" Watson scolded, "Oi!"

"'Oi' what?" Beck glared. "Two each!"

"Not end-to-end, Feral Beryl. You're supposed to sip it," Watson extended his pinky, "like a lady."

Beck's throat convulsed a couple of times and she summoned up a magnificent burp.

"Christ!" Watson said, mightily impressed, "Did you see that? A million birds just took off from the island."

Bragg felt over his bare head. "Wasn't I wearing a hat?"

"I might go down below." Beck announced. She stood, tottering a little with the alcohol and swell. "Save my beer for me?"

"I'll look after it, don't you worry."

"Will you come down?" she asked Bragg, "When you finish?"

"Wild seahorses couldn't keep me away. If that's cool with Damo?"

"Don't worry," Beck ticked Watson under the chin, "everything's cool with this old boy."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Watson gave her bare bottom a smack, "but don't let that stop you."

A decent breeze had sprung up in the interim, cool maritime air drawn landwards by towering heat. "You on a schedule, Rodge?"

Bragg swallowed a mouthful of beer. "Say what now?"

"Why don't we throw up the sails? Not quite as fast as motoring but we won't have to listen to the engine. As long you're not in a hurry."

"No kidding? That would be awesome. What can I do?"

Watson necked his beer. "Jump up here and take the helm." Momentarily forgetting he was standing beside a tall, naked, well-endowed male, Watson spun the wheel till they were pointing into the wind. Leaving just enough throttle to give them some steerage, he tapped the swirling compass under its clear polycarbonate dome. "Just keep us pointing into wind, about east-ish. Then when I say bring her around to the right, about one nine zero should do."

Bragg nodded. "Aye aye, Captain."

Up on the superstructure, Watson unzipped the mainsail cover and cleared the lines. Hopping down into the cockpit, he winched in the halyard, set the main sheet, then unleashed the headsail from the furler. Twirling a finger, he directed Bragg into the right turn and after a few minutes of rapid, measured action, they settled down at a comfortable four knots, heeling to starboard on a broad reach. Dropping down into the cockpit, Watson killed the diesel and silence settled over the world.

"Oh yes." Bragg intoned. "That's what I like."

"Fusion power." Watson nodded.

Bragg looked at him, frowning. "Say again?"

"We just swapped internal combustion for fusion power."

"Have I got beer-ears or did you say 'fusion'?"

"No you haven't. Yes I did."

"Okay."

"Don't you get it?" Watson said and Bragg cocked his head like a dog listening to the theory of relativity. "The sun is just a great big fusion reactor. It warms up the atmosphere. Some of the air goes up, some of the air goes down, throw in a pressure gradient, garnish with Coriolis, and... voila... we're sailing."

"I know that all means something, Damon, I just don't have a clue what."

The nose was dropping, heading west towards an uncommanded jibe, and Watson grabbed the wheel. "Try holding your course, Rodge. One nine zero. Keep an eye on your compass. When the sun goes down you can pick out a star. As long as that green arrow-" he tapped a glowing display, "is coming from our left rear quarter then we're laughing. Fancy another beer? We can whack her on autopilot."

"Yes to the beer. No to the autopilot. This is just incredible, Damo. I'm starting to worry you might be some sort of pan-dimensional being. Supernatural."

"Bed-pan dimensional." Watson grunted. "Anyway, why would that worry you?"

"Good question. Why would it? I might as well just go ahead and accept it."

Watson shook his head with a wry smile, twisting the top off a beer. "Wish the bloody editor was so easily impressed."

The sun hit the horizon, somewhere behind the thundercloud battlements, and golden sunrays pierced the firmament. "Supernatural." Bragg nodded, "The jury's in."

Seawater hushed past the hull as Aurora did what she did best, plying the waves with perfect confidence and absolute grace. "You're really getting the hang of this, Rodge."

"Did Tanny tell you? I sailed Rebekah down to Sydney? Well, I didn't sail her, my instructor did. I just ran around while she shouted orders."

"Uh huh." Watson nodded. "And I have to say I was incredibly impressed."

"Don't be. I was all at sea, pun intended."

"Well I had my doubts you'd even keep her. Good on you for taking the plunge."

Bragg shook his head. "So much to learn."

"A journey of a thousand miles." Watson sighed then gestured at the darkened hatchway. "What about...?"

"Dammit..." Bragg cursed. "Do you think she'd mind if I stayed up here for a while? This is awesome."

"Only one way to find out."

Ducking through the hatch, Watson silently descended the companionway and made his way aft through the darkened interior. Beck was flat out on her belly on her bed, one arm under her pillow, fast asleep. One knee was hitched up, revealing her pink, pouting charms, and the tips of her fingers, which had been busy caressing her clit when she fell asleep. Too much sex, too little sleep, a run up a mountain and a beer, and Beck's little battery had finally run flat. Pulling her arm free and tugging a sheet over her body, Watson bent and kissed her gently on the temple.

"Dead to the world." he announced, emerging into the cockpit to find their course hadn't budged a degree.

"Poor baby." Bragg chuckled with a shake of the head.

"That girl has two speeds. Flat out and stopped."

"She's incredible, Damon. And not just saying that because I... we... well, you know."

"I guess..." said the old man who had risked his life for her numerous times. "She has her moments."

"No, seriously. Sometimes I wonder if she might be supernatural herself."

"Well you can stop wondering. She is." Watson looked around, checking the coast was clear. "Here." he said in a low voice, "Don't tell her I said this, but ever since we met, her mind's been expanding exponentially. It's absolutely voracious. I dread to think what her IQ might be but she certainly runs rings around me."

"Or maybe she's just had an awesome teacher."

Watson grunted with laughter. "Thanks for the compliment, Rodge, but no. She was virtually illiterate when I first found her, and totally innumerate. Now she's reading books on bloody aerodynamics for fuck's sake. I swear to god she's got a photographic memory."

"She seems pretty determined to fly."

"Tell me about it." Watson rolled his eyes. "Want to know the lift formula? Bleeding C L half rho bleeding Vee squared bleeding S. It's all she ever talks about. She's even worked out that a sail's just a flippin' aerofoil, just sticking up in the vertical. She tweaked the bloody things to give us an extra knot!"

"Tsk," Bragg shook his head, "you deserve better than that."

"I know, right? Bloody feed her and clothe her, give her the best years of my life."

"So unfair."

"Teach her everything I know... the longest two minutes of her life I might say... and this how she bloody repays me."

"By excelling."

"By showing me up. Exactly."

"It's gonna be expensive." Bragg announced matter-of-factly.

Watson hefted a shoulder. "Tell me about it. Still, if it costs nothing it's worth nothing, I always say."

"As long as you can afford it."

"I'll have to afford it. It's either that or condemn the poor girl to this... drinking beer and smoking weed and sailing around in paradise. I'll have to take out a bank loan or something." He shuddered. "Bank loan... brrr..."

There was a moment's strained silence then Bragg spoke up. "There is another way you know."

Watson shot Bragg a glance. "Rodge. If you're thinking what I think you're thinking."

"It would be a way of giving something back."

"You already have, Roger." Watson said wearily. "Her birth certificate. And thereby her passport. We were stranded before that, in an authoritarian wilderness. Now we have the world at our feet."

"Not to make too light of it," Bragg hedged, "but that authoritarian wilderness is my happy hunting ground. I won't say it was nothing, but..."

"Because it wasn't nothing."

"Look, that sort of thing is my stock in trade. But you don't understand. You changed my life, you and Beck. You made my life better, you made my wife's life better, you even made life better for someone you'd never met. And then you actually met her and made her life better still."

"Macca?"

"Macca. All of Tanya's good will and patience, all the financial help in the world, nothing could tear her away from the clutches of that evil cult. But you did, Damo, over the space of a couple of days. You saved her life. There's no other way to put it."

"Well it was hardly a sacrifice." Watson rumbled, hunched over his beer, "I'm sure you know what I mean. And it could have ended badly. There was no way of knowing in the heat of the moment."

"But it didn't end badly, did it? No. You single-handedly obliterated twenty odd years of toxic brainwashing and now she's free. You opened her eyes to the world, Damon, pretty much like you did with me. They should give you a frikken' medal."

"For Christ's sake, Rodge, stop it. My ego's about to erupt."

"Except you don't have one. Well you do, but it works for you, not the other way around. The evidence, as we say in the trade, speaks for itself."

"Rodge," Watson sighed, "It's not how it looks. I'm just an opinionated old bastard with too much time on my hands. I just read a lot. And as for Vicky, I'm the one who should be grateful. She gave me her most sacred possession. Me, a busted-arse scribe old enough to be her dad."

"You mean her virginity?"

"I mean her trust. Her total, absolute trust. Though that other thing was amazing enough."

"Right? And what did she get out of it? Admit it, Damon, you're just too self-effacing."

"You can't be too self-effacing, Rodge. That's like saying you've had too much sex. It's a nonsense."

"Well you got that right!" Bragg concurred. "Anyway, let's agree to disagree. The fact is you're a fuckin' bad influence, making people's lives better the way you do. In fact there's another one," he pointed at the floor, "asleep downstairs. If she becomes a pilot it'll all be thanks to you."

"No," Watson shook his head, "it'll all be thanks to her. She's the one who has to do all the work. I just have to find the money."

"Which brings us back to the subject." Bragg said. "Look, I'm not trying to buy her, Damo, but I have the material wherewithal to make her dream come true. In abundance you might say. Her dream, my money, your inspiration. It's got 'red-hot bargain' written all over it."

And Bragg could do it, Watson knew, without his wallet even breaking a sweat. He'd even considered the idea himself, of asking Bragg for help, rather than making Beck wait the two or three years it would take to save up. Not for the first time he had to consider- if he didn't have the financial ability, then stood in the way of others who did, what did that have to say about him? Was it just a matter of pride, or was he vying for Beck's undying gratitude? Should he hold her back, simply to prove his devotion?

Bragg finished his beer. Watson raised his own as if to say, 'One more?', and Bragg nodded. Ducking below, Watson tore another stubby from its six-pack and climbed wearily upstairs. They clinked bottles then Watson resumed his seat, settling back into the warm spot, while Bragg held the wheel, still defiantly naked. Miles away, over land, the nightly boom-crash opera had just opened with a dazzling light show.

Watson cleared his throat. "Okay, Rodge. What did you have in mind?"

"She can do a prepaid course, full time, in Sydney." Bragg began, reciting a well-rehearsed script. "The more study she does now the better, but she has to pass all the exams before the flying. That's one way of hedging our bets as well. If it turns out not to be to her liking, well, I guess we lose the least of the investment."

"Investment." Watson said under his breath.

"Which is exactly what it is. Anyway, after all the ground school, that's when the fun starts. She'll start off in a light piston-single for the first hundred hours, then move onto an IFR twin for the next fifty."

"You're talking TLA's, Rodge. What's an IFR twin?"

"I don't have the foggiest." Bragg shrugged, "This is from Ally."

"She's on in this?"

"Everyone is."

"Tan?"

"Everyone."

"Vicky?" Watson teased.

"Damo. Everyone."

"Really? Even Vicky?"

Bragg rolled his eyes. "Damo."

"Really?" Watson frowned. "What role does she play?"

"We'll get to that. Anyway, at the end of the flying, Beck will graduate with an Airline Pilot's Licence, a night rating and an instrument rating. Then she'll go to the sim in Dubai and do her type-rating on the Gulfstream."

"The Gulfstream? Are you kidding?"

"No." Bragg shook his head, "Why would I be?"

"Straight out of training? Onto a jet? She can actually do that?"

"That's up to Beck. Anyway, Ally says she can, and who's gonna argue with her?"

"Why Dubai?"

"That's where the simulator is."

"Will you be going with her?" Watson asked, and Bragg picked up the tiniest hint of accusation.

Bragg shook his head, cast-iron alibi at hand. "No, she'll go with Alana. Ally has to do her check in the sim once a year. She'll extend this time to look after Beck. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to go with her and I'd be more than happy... in fact I'd be stoked... if you came over as well, cos' we could all hook up and I could blow your mind."

"How so?"

"Damo. That place just shits money. Now... what do filthy-rich old men adore, besides money?"

"More money?"

"Chicks. Dubai's got some of the most stunning renters on god's Earth, and health checks are mandatory so they're also pristine."