And then they can have dinner on deck. Bread, mutton, cabbage, sweet jam, alcohol (only for those going off duty). Sea-shanties about sailing swift and smooth to keep ahead of the monsters below.

Marit asks what being an OTC contractor is like, really. She's reading through the manual but it's a bit dry.

Thorn eats, but doesn't drink. (No sense in putting together a finely tuned body only to wreck the thing with ethanol. And she wants to stay on-shift anyway.) 

"I work Acquisitions so for me it's two things. First, wilderness survival in extremely hostile and surprising conditions - imagine being dropped into the middle of the Silent World not knowing anything at all about trolls. Second, being able to blend and interface with whatever culture I come across and make a good first impression. For people in Services like you'd be it's a lot safer - there can be local hazards you have to watch for, just like anyone we bring here is going to have to follow quarantine procedures while travelling, but in general OTC routes contractors like you to Trade or Halftamed worlds, not areas that are actively under threat. You'd meet strange people, quite possibly nonhuman people. You'd be expected to be courteous to them. You would probably be assigned to a particular plane for a few days or weeks at a time, maybe a month at the outside. There would be a lot of travel, and you'd probably crash either at home or in an OTC-owned hotel somewhere in-between contracts. I've never heard a serious complaint about OTC-provided accommodations."

"I doubt I'll develop a taste for diving into the unknown again, no. Especially given some of the alarming things other worlds apparently contain. I am looking forward to accumulating centuries of experience, now that it's- Well, an option. The gods seemed to want me to stick around and I'm not complaining. All that sounds pretty agreeable, all in all."

"Yeah, I have a safety net that's even better than the one you have available right now. It's expected for Acquisitions agents to die and return more than once; death is practically a certainty when you're in this line of work long enough. What scares me is things that would damage my... well, my me, my mind or my heart. Torture, subversion, addiction, that kind of thing. 

Getting off the subject... I'm enjoying learning to sail. It's complex and physical at the same time, it keeps both my mind and body occupied. I like that."

"The human body is made to move, and the mind to think. Both in concert is fulfilling. I think this is why sports exist, too."

Thorn nods. "That makes perfect sense. Maybe I should try a sport. Which ones do you know?"

"Hmm... Well, there's football. Teams kick a ball around a field and try to get it into a goal. Skiing - there aren't many really good long ski paths left, but it's a good way to cross snow and people race. Rowing contests. Wrestling, some places. Footraces. Tug-of-war. Competitive shooting. Festival games like log-balancing and rockthrow?"

"Skiing sounds practical as well as fun," says Thorn. "That's the kind of skill I'd like to learn. I have a kind of wrestling already, but it's for combat and not for sport. I'm a scary-good shot with my pistol, but a lot of that's my weapon and not me. Most of the competitive sports I cheat too much at by your standards for it to be really fair."

"I bet the Eides have spare skis. We could teach you. It's not winter yet, though. Would probably be another boat ride to somewhere north enough to have snow this time of year."

"I don't mind travelling to try something new - that's practically my raison d'etre. But... there are probably more important things for me to be doing than skiing." She sighs. "Even I have to account to my employers eventually."

"You should visit one of the cat academies after the Eides, then. Didn't you say some people would make good use of a watchful and intelligent cat?"

"Yes, they could! There are people back in my home world who use trained beasts to hunt, with enough magic involved that it becomes a partnership - but I've never seen it done where the bond works between that animal and anyone other than its handler. There are - robots that look like cats, and so on - but they are vulnerable to different things than a real cat and I expect a real cat even with extensive training is cheaper. I would love to visit."

"I don't have contacts in a cat academy but I can certainly accompany you to one. I've worked with cats before - what sorts of things make one a good partner?"

"Intelligence. Biddableness. Fluff. Combat training, if you expect to need it. I'm no expert."

"It's more scouting training than combat training. In terms of intelligence, I knew a cat that could reliably fetch tinder. Biddableness varies. I suppose we'll see, hm?"

"Sounds like they're definitely smart enough to be worth something on other worlds. For search and rescue, most likely."

"Hoh, definitely sounds like the kind of thing cats would be good at. If you can motivate them enough."

Thorn is permitted to keep working as night falls, but it's a lot more boring now. Marit goes to bed. The winds stop being favorable after a while; The sails are reefed and the engine is started up instead. They're plodding along more slowly now. Sailing when one can saves on fuel and engine maintenance, the first officer explains.

"We'll just have to see how many of them we can get."

Thorn would love to work more, but she does actually need some sleep, so she heads to bed on the next shift change. She's up bright and early after four hours' sleep and ready to work again. Even if she's not put on a duty, she serves as an informal lookout by starlight, putting her brighter eyes to use.

They continue to pass other ships occasionally.

A couple of hours before dawn, the radio crackles to alert them that a Sea-Hunter crew saw a Whale Beast in the area, and everyone is tense and on extra-diligent lookout for a while, but nothing comes of it.

The whole journey takes two days. Marit spends most of it making more seals, sometimes chatting with Thorn about the Eide clan- He's married to her, their kid wanted to be a scout but couldn't cut it, this one time Jurno leapt off a building to run away from a troll, thankfully he landed in a snowbank. He swears he was aiming for it but Marit doubts it-

And then they pull into Dalsnes, which proves to be a fairly fortified settlement with rings of watchtowers and a large seawall that is opened to allow the boat into port. The settlement inside is surrounded by a wooden palisade and a barbed-wire fence beyond that, and the interior area is divided up between barracks and a few small farms. Population: 650, declares a sign. Immunity required for entry.

A wide man with a scruffy beard carrying a gun is waiting by the dock. There are also two cats.

"Ho, Marit. Back at last, are ya?"

"I haven't seen you in a decade, Trond! How's that leg?"

"Still can't go out hunting anymore. I do paperwork."

"Poor thing. This is Thorn, I think she'll get along with you all. Thorn, this is Trond of the Eide clan."

"Speaking of paperwork, I know you're immune, Marit, but if Thorn wants to get off the boat I need papers for her."

Thorn listens and watches and tries to make herself useful, and then finally they arrive. 

"Nice to meet you, Trond. Let me just fish through my bag for my immunity paperwork -" 

She pulls it out after a little bit of digging around, and presents it. "Here you go."

He checks the paper, hands it back. He says "Sniff" to one of the cats, a black one, which investigates Thorn, then rubs up against her leg.

"Great. Welcome! A few of the Eides aren't immune but a full quarantine is just not worth the hassle here, so we're very strict. It's mostly Eides here."

"Just over half, right?"

Trond nods. "We used to be the largest hunter-clan in the known world. I think we're second now, ever since three years ago."

"Oh no! What happened three years ago?"

"Giant. Giant that could fly. Sprang out of nowhere in some valley town inland. Wiped out an entire scout team, and then it started stalking the rest of us as we retreated. Got fourteen of us, including old Harsom, before we killed it with a big explosive trap. We called it 'dragon'. Cos it could also spit acid. Horrible thing."

Marit puts her hand on his shoulder. Trond shrugs it off. "These things happen. I'm just glad it kept coming after us so we could get it, instead of flying over to Mora or something."

Thorn smiles at the cat, but listens seriously.

"I agree, better people who signed up to fight than civilians." One hand strays to the pistol on her belt, touches it then moves on. "I just wish I'd been a few years earlier for you. With better equipment..." She sighs. "But it's water under the bridge now. Can I take the tour?"

"Sure. I've got to settle accounts with Olaf, but just walk that way and you'll find an excited kid soon enough. Or if you want a more serious tour, go all the way down that path to the dining hall which will no doubt be full of bored convalescent hunters, you can't miss it."

"Miao," the cat comments, and paws lightly at Thorn.

"Yes, yes, Suumi. She's not from here, it's alright."

"Thank you very much!"

She gets off the boat and heads down to the dining hall following the instructions given.

Marit follows along, and gently shoos a band of eight-year-olds carrying approximately gun-length sticks who demand that they state their business in a very military fashion. One of them pokes her with their stick, and she says the first two lines to a poem in a very serious voice - 'may the spirits pester the one who pesters others' - before the kid screeches and runs away. She chuckles.

"We can't do curses, you know."

The dining hall is indeed pretty obvious. It's like a longhouse, with big doors and a couple of lightly bandaged people hanging out on the stoop, eating bread. "Ho, who's visiting us today?"

"The name is Marit, a mage who fought with you some years ago. Is that you, Klaus?"

"Aye, I'm Klaus. Welcome back. I don't recall you in detail, I don't think we talked much."

"Have you heard about the new world?"

"Someone from another world showed up in Oresund, right?"

"This is her. Thorn. She's a scout of sorts, and I knew she would enjoy visiting here. She'd like a tour."