Translation Walkthrough with Plastic Farmers, Part III

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Dear Readers,

  I think we've gleaned about all we can from the primary sources.  Let's turn this into a narrative, shall we?

  Always,

   Dr. John Skylar
   Chairman
   Department of Anachronism
   University of Constantinople

The deck's constant pitch and roll made Stephen wan to grab one of the plastic bags off the litter and vomit into it on the double.  He could handle flipping a kayak with just his stomach muscles, but this damn ship and its slow waves out in the Gyre drove his anxiety and motion sickness into overdrive.

He punched the railing and cursed, "Why do I gotta be out here?"

Though he mean the question to be at the sea and the circumstances, he got an answer growled from behind him, "Because ain't another's got the chick-hands we need to use the machinery, that's why.  Not getyerass back to work.  They need this plasty soup back on the shore, maggot."

Stephen knew that voice.  Blogston, the asshole first mate.  Stephen stared at the rail in front of him, where he'd punched a moment before.  When they got back to port, he would hire the first person he could find who could make Blogston's death take more than 24 hours.

He stowed his fury, however, and just answered, "Fine."  If Blogston did not know Stephen hated him by now, then the first mate would have to be the thickest meathead in the butcher's shop.

"That's what I thought." the first mate huffed and the  walked back down the deck.  Stephen started to sigh his relief, but then he noticed a rope coil right in the first mate's path.  His eyes followed it back to the main plastic processor.  If the first mate stepped wrong he would get sucked into the machine and die in seconds.  Not that Stephen cared.  Instead, he felt his guts sink when he realized that if the first mate went into the machine, their entire catch would be ruined and his father would be furious.  Maybe even furious enough to send him out on another of these punishment missions.

Stephen dashed down the deck like a man possessed, and slipped on a water spot in the process, just as the first mate stepped closer to the rope.  They collided, and Blogston went down right next to the rope.  His nose broke the fall.

It took a couple of seconds for the large, bearlike superior officer to gather what happened.  He stood up, with a guttural roar from deep in his gut, and picked up Stephen by the sealskin collar.  No simple feat, at Stephen's size.

"You little shit!" Blogston growled through the blood that streamed down his face, "I'ma break your face too!"  A little blood flecked onto Stephen's shirt.

He meant it.  Stephen kicked out into Blogston's chest, which freed him from the hulk's slick grip.  Blogston yowled and tried to throw a punch out at Stephen, but the younger man ducked.

"I just saved ya from trippin' on the damn lead-rope, peasant sealcrap."  He placed a jab right into Blogston's cheek.  Strength wouldn't beat skill.

Blogston roared, "I wasn't gonna-"

The loudspeaker roared to life, "You wasn't gonna do shit, Blogston.  Kid's correct, this time.  Kid- get up to the wheelhouse, I'm gonna whip you for hitting my first mate.  Bein' correct don't make you in the right for hurtin' my man.  Captain's orders."

Blogston got in close to Stephen's face and hissed, "We'll finish this later."

The loudspeaker crackled again, "Like hell you will, Jeff.  I'll take care of the kid.  You get the damn plastic."

Stephen glared back at the first mate.  Perhaps they wouldn't kill each other.  Today.