Welcome to Port Royal, Kingston

"Ransom?" asked South as he, Ransom and Dustie sat on a small balcony jutting out from the stern of the piratical airship.

"Yes?" said Ransom in a silly sing-song voice from underneath a book that was open on his face, shielding his eyes from the hot Caribbean sun.

The three (plus a half, counting Robert the cat) had been having a pleasant afternoon meal consisting of stolen rations found in storage lockers and wine pilfered from surprisingly large cellars. An upturned crate and deck chairs that had been sourced from some poor pirate's possessions and been re-purposed into make-shift furniture.
It was actually quite nice, considering the situation. The food, cooked by Dustie and South, was far better than the the usual slop that was deposited from the machines back on the Dwarf.
Music from the brig drifted up to their ears, the pirates locked out of their own prison by the chorus of captives that had rallied around Brigadier General Pontefract. Instruments had somehow been found and the tones of violins and accordions were now added to sounds of Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Ah, the Dwarf. What was left of it was dust floating in space. Thankfully that subject and been quickly forgotten when Ransom produced the best wine from the ship's cellars. Not finding any Scottish blue wine or Welsh green wine, Ransom settled on a fine French red wine.

"Ransom," said South, leaning over the balcony's barrier and peering out into the blue seas bellow, "Did the Titanic crash in the original timeline?"

"In my universe or yours?" Ransom replied, still beneath his book.

"Oh, in my mine."

"Probably. Why?"

"It's crashing again."

"Should we do something to help them?" asked Dustie, sounding a little panic-y.

"Nah," said Ransom, "It's their turn to get themselves out of trouble."

"I suppose so," said South, falling back in his warm deck chair and forgetting about the impending doom the Dwarfers down below faced.

"Imagine a ship crashing into a port town," said South, sipping the wine from his glass, "You'd think that they would be paying attention to something like that."

"Do they look like they are going to make it?"

"Yeah, looks like they've got some kind of plan. There trying to do something with the fighter pilots they have on board, couldn't really say what it was."

"Doctors," began Dustie, playing with Robert in his hands, "Perhaps we should go see the captain now?"

"Oooooh, do we have to?" sighed Ransom.

"Yeah, I suppose we do," replied South, pulling himself from the deck chair.

"Why?" Ransom moaned, "I like sitting here wallowing in self pity."

"I worry that the pirates will over power the prisoners in the brig," Dustie explained, "I heard that he was looking for you two especially."

"Fine!" cried Ransom, throwing himself from the chair, "Only if we really have to."

"Right, Dustie," said South, downing the last of his wine, "Lead on."

From below, a loud rumbling roar echoed up to meet them, a hideous crunch of metal and stone.

"Sounds like it's going well."

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