John Porter & Jenny: The Windward Passage

Part I

Disclaimers:

A. Don't own John Porter or the Strike Back - verse, not making any money off this, and have severe doubts anyone could.

B. This story was written as a great conceit. I believe strongly in the rule of fanfic that reads: "No one gives a crap about your Mary Sue." But we were presented with a challenge that necessitated it. I beg forgiveness, and hope that readers can use my Mary Sue as a lens through which to get to know these characters better.

Part I

-July 2010-

Happy coincidences in life are few and far between and one should grab hold of them when one can. So it was I found myself in Freeport, Grand Bahama, weaving my way through the folks loading cargo up the gangplank to my old ship, sturdy white-hulled 135 foot brigantine with plenty of mileage on her and plenty of love in her. Everything was where I remembered, only it newly painted and polished with fresher ropes and, hopefully, a couple new sails. Even the dark teak deck has been sanded and newly stained and sealed. The SSV John Paul Jones just had a complete overhaul, and before she went home for another year cruising college students up and down the eastern seaboard and Caribbean, one of my Greenwich instructors was doing a bit of foreign exchange by taking her on a trial cruise (and the a little free advertisement) with the Tall Ship Challenge around the Caribbean. As part of a good will tour, various ships in the fleet are also carrying supplies to Haiti.

I weave my way around the pallets and firemen lines of loaders. I'm about to stick my head in the Doghouse where the radar, GPS, radio, and other equipment are housed to report to someone when a hand covers my eyes.

"No pin diagram. Name the braces in order from aft."

"Course, Top sail." But I'm all grins. "Hey Kev!"

"Hey K-Dawg!" The tall skinny younger man envelops me in a spider-like hug. "You look great!'

"And so do you, clean shaven. How will I cope?" I reach up to rub the stubble covered head that usually sports untamable brown curls.

"Give it a week."

Kevin and I catch up as he walks me to my berth forward, threading our way around another fire line stowing supplies in the focs'l cargo hatch in the floor of the sleeping quarters. "…And of course, you remember the zero gravity chamber," he refers to the sometimes rough ride in the focs'l of the ship that can result in brief moments of free fall.

"Honestly, it's better than being in the main cabin with all the traffic. Oh hey! I get the top bunk this time! Yay!" I toss my gear in the bunk.

"Yeah. Lauren is the steward, so she's bunking by the galley."

"Seriously? Oh this will be a blast." I say, hopping up on the ledge in front of my bunk. "This is better, I get a direct shot across the ladder at you. I can just chuck something at you to wake you up."

"Actually, I'm second mate this trip so I'm bunking aft."

"You made second? That's awesome!" I hop down to give him a big hug.

"Thanks, but you can be wake up buddies with your watch mate. She's probably on deck with everyone else loading cargo."

"Speaking of which I should pitch in a hand. Which watch am I on?" I ask as we ascend the ladder to the foredeck.

"Mine. Behave yourself."

"They stuck you with me again? Your poor soul."

"I remember last time, you're good crew."

"You're sweet. I'll try not to lean on you too much while I relearn the ropes."

"Just don't release the mainstays'l outhauls without checking the tension first"