Arriving At Point Lookout

For a moment Ellen considered kissing the ground. She was already halfway down to the ground; it would camouflage an actual fall-

No. No, she could stay on her feet. Even if she felt dead certain she was still on the boat. She could do this. "Cross?" she said faintly.

"I'm here, 101." A hand rested for a moment on one of her shoulder plates.

"Oh good," said Ellen. "Is Dogmeat-"

"Your dog's just fine," drawled Tobar somewhere behind her. Ellen tried to hide her grimace. They'd only been on the man's boat two days and she'd come to despise his voice in that time. "Might want to try paying some more attention to him. He's probably got a lot to teach you. You two ladies think you're going to be all right, now?"

Cross lifted her hand away. "We'll be fine, Tobar," she said coolly. "Thank you."

"Suit yourself," said the bearded man, and shrugged. "If there's anything else I can do for you two-"

"Putting us in touch with the tribe you're going to trade with might be helpful."

Tobar shook his head. "Sorry," he said regretfully, and Ellen thought he almost sounded like he meant it. "They don't much like talking to outsiders. They barely even talk to me. We trade the old fashioned way- I put what I have to offer on shore and go back to the boat, and they come out and start stacking up punga fruit until they think they've offered enough. If we don't approve of each other's piles, that's the end of that. I haven't really talked to 'em since I got one of their hunters to agree to the trade. I don't even know where these people live."

Ellen pulled herself up straight. Cross was eyeing Tobar dubiously; eventually, though, she nodded. "Very well," she said. "I believe we can manage from here. When will you return to this dock?"

"About a week from now, I'd say," said Tobar. "Takes me about that long to get the trading done and head home to patch the old girl up. Don't you worry yourselves. You'll see me again soon enough." He paused. "Word of advice, though?"

"I'm listening."

"You be careful out there, all right? The tribe's not the only people here in Point Lookout. Between the swampfolk and the wildlife, this place isn't nearly as friendly as it looks."

They'd landed at a rickety two-hundred-year-old dock in ill repair, at the head of a muddy path that twisted between gnarled, dark-trunked trees and led away into a green-gray mess of growth and rubble. The only reason Ellen knew that she was seeing fog in the distance, rather than having sudden-onset visual disturbances, was because she'd once seen fog at Milliways. If this was Tobar's idea of friendly...

"Good luck finding your friends, though," Tobar added. "Just- make sure you're extra careful. It's catfish spawning season hereabouts, and those things bite."

Cross nodded once and cast a look Ellen's way. Ellen knew an order when she saw it; she whistled to Dogmeat, and they fell in behind the older woman. A few minutes later, the path had them out of Tobar's sight.

"So," said Cross after a moment. "What do you think of our captain, there?"

"I think I'm going to need to go to Milliways and find somebody there who knows how to drive a boat," Ellen answered promptly. "Because I really don't think we're going to be going home with him at the helm."

"Mmm." Cross peered up the path to where it faded into the shadows of tangled plant growth. "One has to wonder if Whydah and Morgan got the same impression and decided to strike out for home themselves. Do you have those goggles available? The ones you said you used to navigate your way to the Pitt?"

"Right here, ma'am."

"Good," said Cross. "Give me a moment to get Whydah's helmet lining out of my pack. I doubt there'll be traces of them here, but I want you to get a good fix on what we're looking for before we run into any of the locals."