Fur glistened with sweat. Eyes narrowed, focused on nothing but the goal that lied ahead. He was the picture of determination.
Lean forward to create more speed. Crouch lower for better balance. Keep your feet as still as possible; even the slightest movement could send you hurtling uncontrollably towards the nearest wall. All the power is in your legs. Hands are to be kept outstretched at your side; placing them on the sides of the board can help with control, but he is supposed to be a professional. He does not need training wheels like that. Use your senses to your advantage. Every sound, sight and even smell must be used to your advantage if you are going to get anywhere, let alone win.
The finish line was just up ahead. Just a few more cubits...
Time.
"So," Ratchet asked the robot sitting next to the marker, panting, "How'd I do?"
Clank gave the small stopwatch in his hand a look, blinked, then turned back to Ratchet, "The time for your last circuit is one minute and fifty-two seconds. Rounded up, as per your request," The small timekeeper was placed within his storage compartment, "It is your best time by far. You really are very good at this."
Despite the compliment, Ratchet's face was grim, "'Very good' doesn't stand a chance against four of the galaxy's best hoverboarders. I need more practice."
In their short time of knowing each other, Clank had never seen Ratchet so invested in anything. More puzzling was that he had not been nearly this devoted when they had arrived in Blackwater City about three days ago, carefree but hurriedly searching for the registry. When they had finally located the track, hours later, Ratchet had stared almost blankly at the practicing racers as Clank used the card Skid McMarxx had given them on Aridia to sign Ratchet into the race, ignoring the odd look he got from the Rilgarian woman at the registry. When they had left the tall building, Ratchet had given Clank a serious look and stated:
"I'm gonna need practice."
Which Clank had, at the time, wholeheartedly agreed with. In fact, he had been pleasantly surprised with the change of attitude: Ratchet suddenly showed a sort of single-minded obsession, much like his own, with an objective that fit their mission. However, that quickly wore off as Clank realized just how far Ratchet was willing to take this.
Far enough to practice the same course over and over again since dawn and demand more only three hours before the race.
There was this strain on his core when he looked at Ratchet's sweat drenched face, clenched with determination. Although he could not say quite what it was, he found that it had some correlation to Ratchet's exhaustion and that it alleviated – at least somewhat – when the Lombax took a break. So, with only minor hesitance, he began speaking, "While your dedication to the cause is admirable, Ratchet, I think it would be best for you to take a break. The race, after all, is in three hours, and you will not be performing at optimum capacity if you work yourself to exhaustion now."
Ratchet's ears twitched subtly; the only movement the Lombax made. For a terrifying second, Clank wondered if he had done something to offend the Lombax. Then, to his relief, Ratchet sighed and sunk to the ground, utter exhaustion finally defeating him, "You're right," He muttered, though Clank suspected it was only because he did not possess the energy to fight him, "I think I could use a little food. You mind?"
It was a simple enough task, so Clank eagerly nodded, "Not at all. I will be back in a moment," and walked away, a subtle smile crossing his face.
Beyond Ratchet's practicing, the last few days had been rather unproductive, and Clank found himself looking for any little task to keep himself occupied. Judging Ratchet and helping him with small tasks were only a part of the new activities he had taken up to keep himself from going insane over their amazing lack of progress. Others amongst his new tasks included cleaning, studying Blargian transmissions and, perhaps most time-consuming of his new found hobbies, studying Ratchet. After comparing him to some other organics he had observed throughout the last few days, it was decided that he was, indeed, an anomaly amongst organic lifeforms. Of course, not that he gotten to know any of them like he got to know Ratchet. But it was an interesting way to keep his attention. Compared to random strangers he sometimes talked to in shops, Ratchet was... odd. In a word.
But, back to the subject at hand. What would the Lombax like to eat? Yesterday, Ratchet ordered a sandwich from a nearby cafe, but according to his research, organics tended to hate overindulgence. Therefore, the logical choice was to get him something different. But what? And then there were things like allergens and calories to think about... the sheer amount of calculations required to pick a decent meal for the Lombax were causing his head to spin. Perhaps he should just ask whoever was selling the food.
During their short time on Rilgar, Clank had come to another interesting revelations: he was more fond of urban areas than he was of agrarian areas. The more rural areas were random, with certain structures placed as needed, without any consultation to any designs or strategic planning. Civic areas, however, were based off of structure, allowing for easily navigable streets and attractive placement of buildings and plants. Even though he had a computerized memory, the structures made it easy to tell where one was going, as opposed to the repetitive and often vast wilderness where one could easily get lost. Clank did not even have to consult his map while walking to the cafe several blocks from the practice track.
"Hey," A voice called from somewhere to Clank's left, causing him to pause and look at a young Rilgarian leaning laxly against a nearby wall. Below a pair of tinted glasses, he smirked at the robot, "Where you headed, friend?"
With one of his lower eyelids raised as he examined the Rilgarian, Clank responded, "I am en route to a nearby superstore to obtain some edible nourishment for my organic companion. Why?"
Ignoring the question, the Rilgarian made his way over to Clank, giving him a toothy grin and placing a light hand on the robot's shoulder, "Wow. Those are some fancy words there. You always talk so smart?"
Now Clank's suspicion turned to mere confusion. What was wrong with his vocabulary? He tilted his head to get a better look at the Rilgarian, "Can I help you with something?" He finally asked.
"Friend," There was a short pause, during which the hand on his shoulder tightened, "I'm hurt. Really, truly hurt, man. That was just cold. You always act like that?" Upon receiving no answer from the fidgeting robot, he got back on topic, "Now, listen, I can tell when a guy needs weapons and you- you my friend, you're in desperate need of some grade-A weaponry. I think I have just the thing for you," With a subtle glance to his left and right, he discreetly pulled open one side of his coat, revealing a rather impressive collection of firearms. Blasters, pyrocitors and even...
"Is that a RYNO?" Clank asked, rather engrossed in the collection despite himself.
The grin on the dealer's face was just as it would be on any salesman; obnoxiously wide and cheap, "R. N. Y. O. Rip ya' a new one. The most powerful missile launcher in the galaxy, courtesy of Chairman Drek himself.
Clank knew Executive Chairman Drek, and he knew the man would not allow Blargian technology – especially anything as powerful and new as the RYNO – to fall into the hands of such unsavory characters. The RYNO had to be stolen. More importantly, it meant everything else in this arsenal was most likely stolen and probably been sold off to whoever this guy saw on the street. If someone with a less than sane state of mind got a hold of something like this... his mind was made up.
"Sir," He stated, his voice as strong and powerful as he could get it. Seeing as this was Clank, that was not a whole lot, "You are in violation of the Solana Weapons Regulatory Proclamation, Section A-F, paragraph six. I will have to report you to law enforcement," With that said, the robot moved to exit the immediate area and find a place where he could contact local authorities.
The Rilgarians eyes widened some behind his tinted glasses, "Whoa there, friend," He pushed Clank back, "I don't think that's necessary. How 'bout we talk about this?" The grin appeared again, but this time it inspired unease within Clank. But before the conversation could go anywhere else...
"Clank! Hey, Clank!" Both the robot and Rilgarian turned towards the voice of Ratchet, wrench brandished and eyes slightly hostile, "So... who's your new little friend here?"
The two stared each other down; an invisible battle that Clank, it seemed, was excluded from. He was honestly quite alright with that. Finally, the Rilgarian tossed a friendly grin their way, walking off with a swift wave and a quick, "See ya around, friends."
Ratchet still looked angry, and it did not take Clank long to realize his ire was now directed towards the robot himself. He wanted to speak up in his own defense, but it felt like there was a weight attached to his vocal processor, rendering him incapable of speech. Instead, he stood silent and stoic as Ratchet finally spoke up, "I know you're kinda new to this whole 'being around people' concept, but a quick newsflash: if someone on the street tries to sell ya something, just tell them you're broke. That'll get 'em to leave ya alone real fast," Clank nodded mutely, "And if you're gonna threaten someone who has at least seven different types of firearms within reach at all times..." He frowned, though what was going through his head Clank had no idea, "...well, just make sure you've got good cover."
"Affirmative," Clank answered, hesitant, "My... apologies."
He got one confused look from the Lombax – one eye squinted, one widened – before the Lombax rolled both eyes and chuckled, "Don't apologize, you dork. Just don't do it again. Now, c'mon. We need to head down to the course for final prep, and maybe THEN I'll be able to get something to eat."
Suddenly, Ratchet felt that the medium-sized bucket of fresh fries that had, mere seconds ago, smelled so appealing was now nothing short of nauseating. Or maybe it was just nerves. Either way, eating didn't seem like a good idea anymore. The last thing he wanted was to get sick so close to the event he was supposed to be competing in. Or worse, during the event. He really wished he had ignored Clank and gone one or two more rounds on the practice course. Maybe it wouldn't have made him any more confident, but at least he wouldn't have this nagging feeling that he should have done more.
"Here you are," Clank approached him with a paper in hand – Ratchet's registration number, he realized. It was really a formality for the professional race, since there were so few competitors. But the amateurs were assigned races with these little pieces of paper. With a quick sigh, the paper was folded and stuffed into one of his pockets. Clank tilted his head at the Lombax, eyes narrowed, "Are you ready?"
"No," Ratchet answered suddenly, "but I don't have much choice, do I? Damn," He gave large sigh, suddenly feeling the exhaustion weighing down on him. It hadn't been this bad earlier...
Clank's head was still tilted, but his eyes were now in their normal neutral state, "You have been practicing nonstop for three days. You have done all you can to prepare on such short notice. Just focus on the goal and you will do just fine."
"Yeah..."
But what did Clank know about hoverboarding, anyways? He always assured Ratchet that the Lombax was doing fine, but was he really? His gut sank at the thought; was he really any good at this? Before he could do anything with this new revelation, though, the announcer's loud squawking told him that it was almost time for his race. With a gulp, he gave a nervous thumbs up to the robot and raced, on foot, to the starting position. On either side of him were racers; three on one side, one on the other. They were all professionals, each with their own styles and techniques. Giving each one a quick look-over, Ratchet swallowed and looked forward. Clank's last words echoed in his mind. Just focus... he'd be fine. He just had to believe that.
"Three..."
Each racer took the starting position; this was one thing Ratchet knew he'd get right even before the race. As a kid, he could faintly remember echoes of laughter from two little kids on makeshift skateboards mimicking the professional pose. They looked happy...
"Two..."
No, no, he couldn't think about that. Focus, Lombax, focus!
"One... GO!"
And they were off.
To the surprise of the Lombax, he actually got off to a good start. As is typical of professional races, the four competitors immediately raced ahead, trying to cut each other off. This left them apparently none the wiser as he made his way to a boost ring, temporarily sending him careening forth at high speeds. But it didn't take long for his lead to be noticed and all too quickly the opposition was directly behind him. One racer came up to each side of his hoverboard and narrowed in on him. Quickly realizing what they were attempting, Ratchet ducked low and placed his weight on his back foot, slowing just enough to fall behind the two. They collided, anticlimactically, and managed to stay on their boards as the two spun. It took Ratchet not even a second to come to the conclusion that, should that happen to him, he wouldn't be able to get it under control like that. He'd have to be careful.
He was in second now; one of the other two racers surpassed the rest of them. The last one was closing in fast as well. Ratchet didn't have much time to think before swerving gently to the right, onto a ramp. The launch helped. Not in his placing, particularly, but in clearing his mind. There had always been something about free-falling that made his mind blank; made the world around him disappear for a brief moment. Just him and the air, transcending time and space together. He could still hear the voices...
"Hold tight, fuzzball. We're about to go flying!"
...and was glad when they disappeared as he hit the ground, zooming forward at insane speeds. A sharp turn. Watch for the exploding boxes. The heat of the explosion could still be felt even after he vanished beyond the sharp turn. There went one of the five racers... four left. Ratchet narrowed his eyes and continued forward. By some miracle, he was still in second place, though he'd hardly call it a miracle. More like dumb luck.
First place was getting closer...
But so was the opposition. They were right on his tail, keeping close. He had to shake them before he could even think about taking first place. He leaned forward slightly, sending him forward just slightly faster. He had to keep going, just keep moving. They were getting closer... thinking quickly, Ratchet sharply turned. This sent his opponents jettisoning into a wall, their target gone. This also sent Ratchet on an alternate course; one that he hadn't studied. There was no way he'd catch up if he had to continue along this path. There was no way...
"C'mon, fuzzball," The invisible voice widened Ratchet's eyes, "There's nothing to be afraid of. The worst thing you can do is crash..."
With a gulp, Ratchet leaned forward, propelling himself towards a nearby ramp. A boost ring at the top fueled his speed as he hurtled into the unknown. Thanks to the little stunt he did earlier, none of the other competitors chose this course; they were all forced on the normal one. Without them, Ratchet was able to focus completely on the haphazardly placed obstacles ahead. The wind was pushing harshly from both directions; one natural, one created from his own speed.
The two pathways merged together and, when they did, Ratchet was surprised to find himself in the lead. The route he had taken, as he would later discover, connected two different ends of the course. Talk about blind luck. But it hadn't been much of a lead; the skilled professionals behind him were gaining and gaining fast. This couldn't be won on skill and luck alone; Ratchet had to come up with something...
One of the riders came right up to him, knocking into him harshly. Thank goodness for feline reflexes; a normal person would have been knocked off his board. Glaring at his opponent, Ratchet took a brief moment to look ahead. There was the goal... just a little further... He was tied for first. He needed to get ahead quick. Without a second thought, he placed his full weight on one side of the board, sending him careening into the opposition. The racer seemed surprised at the sudden resistance, but retaliated exactly how Ratchet expected the Rilgarian would – by attempting to barrel into the Lombax. When his opponent attempted this, Ratchet took a quick nosedive. He was still moving forward, yes, but now he was also falling at a dangerous speed. Not anticipating this, the other racer barreled over the empty space and had to slow down to keep from lodging into a nearby wall. The finish line was just ahead...
Victory.
The wild applause, the screaming fans, the dream of every hoverboarder come true... and all it really served to do was give Ratchet a headache. Despite this, the elation and adrenaline kept his spirits high, higher than they'd been since... well...
"Or perhaps we can simply use this swingshot on those telecommunication orbs."
Since Metropolis.
"Congratulations to the winner of the 457th annual Hovercon Intergalactic Professional Tournament!" The announcer, Ratchet noticed with a dash of irritation, was a scrawny man in a pressed blue suit. Not Qwark, "What's your name, kid?"
Unexpectedly, the mic was shoved up against his muzzle. Ratchet flinched back, more out of shock than anything. Wait, they wanted him on camera now? But there was no Qwark, no anything. Ears flattened against his head, Ratchet leaned closer and, as confidently as he could, managed to stutter out his name, "R-ratchet."
"Well, R-ratchet," The announcer mocked with a grin, "You just beat out four of the best hoverboarders in the galaxy! Care to tell us your secret?"
Gaining a little more confidence, Ratchet shook his head, "Now what'd be the fun of telling you that?"
"Haha," The laughter was so fantastically fake that Ratchet had to make an honest effort not to gag at it, "And a witty one, to boot! Certainly beats out last year's champion by a mile! Well, you've all been waiting for it: the award for this year's champion, R-ratchet, is one Platinum Zoomerator! And broadcasting live to commemorate this is... Captain Qwark!" The audience behind him went wild, but Ratchet felt his ears flop as the image of the Captain came on screen. Yet another dead end.
But this revelation did nothing to quell the enthusiastic spirit of the audience or their vexatious host, all of whom were grinning widely as the well-recognized face appeared above their heads, on every HV in the arena. They squealed and cheered loudly enough for Ratchet's ears to instinctively attempt to fold in. It was taking everything he had not to bolt; his muscles were already tensed to do so. But he persevered, and looked upon the face's seemingly tireless smile.
"Greetings, sir or madame," Qwark spoke with vigor, as if this was the first event he had guest starred at, "Today's winner will receive the patented Gadgetron Platinum Zoomerator! This nifty device gives your hoverboard more lift, speed and style! It's almost as if you have a little me with you on your board," Qwark gave a forced laugh at this, echoed by the audience's own genuine laughs. It was getting particularly hard NOT to roll his eyes and saunter off stage, "Well, I'm afraid that's the end of our little event, folks. But make sure to tune your infobots to the Qwark Classic Channel for this night's episode of 'Dogfight Over Death Canyon', starring the prodigious Captain Qwark!" And with that, the feed cut. There was some lame finale, but Ratchet didn't bother listening to them for even a moment. Instead, he made his way out of the arena, eyes searching frantically. He had to be around here somewhere...
"Ratchet?"
Ah, there he was. With a small grin, the Lombax answered, "Hey. Sorry 'bout not catching Qwark's attention-"
"Do not worry about that," Clank looked a little distracted. The red light on his head was pulsing at a rate slightly faster than normal, "I am currently tracking the location of that transmission. It was short-range, and there were telecommunication orbs outside of the arena. Just a moment... done," There was a silent, almost inaudible 'ping', "I have located Captain Qwark. However, I have also determined that it is impossible to get in their without the proper clearance."
"I'll show them clearance," Ratchet muttered quietly, pulling his wrench from its resting place and slowly banging it against his open palm. Clank stared at the display and quickly rejected it with a shake of his head.
"No, no no!" He cried, "We will get arrested before we could reach his trailer. No, I have determined an alternate route into the area, but you may find it unpleasant..."
To this, the Lombax scoffed. Did he not see the invisible coat of sweat on his fur, or the subtle oil stains on his wrench from where it had been driven into a robot's head? What could possibly be more unpleasant than an amateur entering a pro race or running from the authorities with a talking backpack as his only form of guidance? Whatever this alternate route was, bring it on!
"Ugh, the sewers? Really, Clank?"
The Lombax looked thoroughly displeased with their current situation. His nose was crinkled in disgust, his ears drooped at his shoulders and he did a careful job of making sure as little of his furry body was in contact with the ground as physically possible. Clank did not quite understand why; the water in this place was already filtered and clean, so there was no reason to him to be so squeamish about their trek through the underground of Blackwater City. Still... he was a creature covered in fur. Perhaps he simply did not like to get it wet? That might make sense...
"How much farther is it, anyways?"
"According to my internal scanners," Clank responded, simultaneously pulling up one of the maps he had purchased, "We should be heading in the right direction. In fact, this next series of chambers leads straight into the area where my sources tell me that Captain Qwark is currently stationed."
Still, the Lombax looked a tad skeptical, "What 'sources'?"
Clank froze. How was he supposed to explain the elaborate process of repairing his infobot's memory banks and scavenging through the surprisingly thorough amounts of data on almost every planet in the solar system? Sewer maps, locations of Ranger posts... with all this information at their disposal, it was no wonder the Blarg were doing as well as they were. But, while troubling how much they knew, he could at least be grateful to the information the infobot was providing. It would certainly be helpful in the days to come.
"It is unimportant," He responded quickly, then switched subjects, "Would you still like me to secure that letter of recommendation from Qwark?" The look on the Lombax's face suddenly changed from one of scrutiny to one of moderate surprise. If Clank had to guess, he would to say that Ratchet had forgotten about that. Not that he could really blame him; organic minds tended to wander easily, so said his programming, and it had been an eventful past few days.
Eventually, Ratchet gave him an unsure shrug, "Dunno," He spoke with his voice lowered, "I haven't really given that much thought... I guess I don't need it now, do I?" His grin re-appeared, but felt... insincere, "I mean, I've got hoverboarding in my future, right? After that race..."
"It would still be wise to have a back-up," The comment came more automatically than anything. His map told him to go to the left, so he turned, with Ratchet keeping close behind him, "Not all career choices – especially one as dynamic as sports – will work out. It would be wise for you to have an alternate career, in case your current one does not work out."
"Don't worry about it," Ratchet's voice became unconcerned, "It'll all work out- you've got to be kidding me."
But no, he was not. The route to where Captain Qwark was involved sliding down a greasy, dirt-coated maintenance pipe. Perhaps he should have warned Ratchet about this, considering the Lombax's show of disgust when while they were walking through the cleaner parts of the sewer. But it did not seem to particularly matter. Clank simply demonstrated the lack of harm by sliding down first, then turning and motioning for Ratchet to follow. With a grimace, Ratchet followed, making sure nothing touched the sides of the sewer pipe save for his feet. Which worked out well... until he slipped close to the rear and landed in the large pile of muck that had accumulated close to the bottom of the pipe. The occasion inspired Clank to practice his new ability to laugh. Which he did. Loudly.
"Yeah, yeah," Grumbled the muck covered feline, "Very funny."
"Well, we should keep moving," Clank blinked, "unless you are not done mucking about?"
For some odd reason, Ratchet gave a loud, annoyed groan at the line. Before he could ask for an explanation, though, the Lombax walked ahead quickly. This was an odd circumstance; Ratchet usually kept his pace slow, so Clank could easily keep up. The robot ran as quickly as he could to catch up with Ratchet, poised to ask about whatever had made Ratchet so upset – maybe the muck had something in it? – only to be interrupted by something that made both of them stand stiff. The sound of rushing water.
There were no words. Ratchet grabbed Clank by the hand and – while running, hoisted him onto the harness. While not their fastest time, Clank realized that this had been the first time they had attempted such a feat while moving. Perhaps they were getting far too used to this.
Then again, they were being chased by water, so he digressed.
Ratchet moved quickly – split platforms and maintenance buoys were quickly hopped over and maneuvered through as he ran through the sewer. Not one drop of water so much as touched him as he moved, with all the grace and poise that Clank had seen before while he was maneuvering through tight situations. This time, though, there was a concentration, a rush that had not been there before. It seemed that the motivation of drowning had encouraged the Lombax to unleash his full potential, moving at speeds that would have made an organic in Clank's situation nauseous. However, he was not organic, and thus the possibility of regurgitating partially digested food did not apply to him.
The two of them moved faster, going as far up as possible. In one circumstance, the buoys moved upward as well, allowing Ratchet to easily reach the platforms. Clank wondered, idly, if there was anything he could do, then decided against acting. After all, slowing their descent would only make them slower, logically. And Ratchet was doing fine on his own.
Then they came to a point where they had to go down.
It seemed that this area had already been flooded with water. The shock of seeing it made the two pause, but Clank realized that they could not stay that way for long – the water was still rising and, sooner or later, they would be sunk. Quite literally. Clank tried to determine a solution when Ratchet started speaking, "Clank, no matter what happens... keep me awake. Pull my tail, pull my ears, I don't care, just keep me awake."
And before Clank could ask what he meant, they jumped.
This would be the first time that Clank had been completely submerged in water and, he had to say, it was not a very fun experience. As a part of an automatic protective system in his programming, he could not open his mouth underwater, lest risk rusting his internal parts, and therefore could not speak. Even worse, his helipack seemed to be working under the same coding. Their situation was not helped in the least bit by the fact that, while Ratchet was able to swim, he clearly had no idea how to do it quickly. His movements, unlike on land, were clumsy and awkward, flailing desperately in attempt to make controlled movements. While exasperating, he had to give Ratchet credit; after being raised on a desert planet, it was impressive that he had any idea how to swim at all.
Thankfully, the swim was not particularly long and they arrived at the other side with little to no complications. But the water was still rising and Ratchet had to keep moving, despite his constant gasping. They came across more split platforms and buoys which Ratchet had to jump across to reach the area that, he alerted Ratchet, was just below where the transmission had come from. But there was one more thing standing in their way: more water.
This time without warning, Ratchet dived, pulling himself down into the flooded passageway with struggling limbs. He had not stopped moving at all, and had not really gotten a chance to catch his breath. Combine that with the exhaustion slowing, Clank realized suddenly, and they were not going to make it. Not by a long-shot. And, most certainly Ratchet started slowing, going at a dangerously stagnant pace. An impulse surged through him and, without consideration, he grasped at the striped tail waving uselessly behind him and pulled. Hard.
It seemed to do the trick. Ratchet flinched in pain and began moving faster – an instinctive urge to get away from the pain. His scrambled kicks and frantic strokes actually seemed to be getting them somewhere, and they rose upwards, towards the surface of the water. Finally, after all that, they reached an emergency maintenance elevator and wasted no time in activating it to rise to the surface. Only then did Ratchet, exhausted and soaked, collapse onto the ground, heaving heavily and shivering. Clank pulled himself off of the bolt harness and examined Ratchet as he coughed up some water that had found its way into his lungs. So THAT was coughing...
"I'm good," Ratchet forced out, still panting, "I'm fine. So... what next?"
Damn it, his name was Butch, not Bob!
The green man groaned in irritation as Qwark, as per usual, prattled on about nothing. Well, okay, he was boasting about himself, but it was pretty much mindless blabber that he'd heard a thousand times already. Sure, sure, he'd been excited beyond belief when he had learned that he, of all people, had been chosen to work with the legendary team Qwark – who wouldn't have been? – but this- this was not what he'd had in mind.
But hey, that's what happens when your only goal out of secondary school was not to be like your father.
Thankfully, Qwark didn't talk too long before deciding that he needed a 'power charge' and that 'Bob' (Butch, the bodyguard corrected in his mind) should go outside. It was only moments later when the loud snore penetrated the trailer's thick tin walls and violate his ears. He grunted, rolling his eyes. OH how he hated this job. Six bolts an hour, nothing extra for traveling all across the frickin' galaxy and nobody ever got his name right! Nobody! It was always 'Bob, do this' or 'Bill, do that' or 'Barbara, hand me that monkey shaver'... although given the circumstance of that last one, it probably wasn't fair to count it.
But he'd do so anyways.
Sighing, he leaned against the door of the trailer. Sometimes, life would just be easier if he had caved all those years ago and went into the family business. But, dammit, he hated math! What the hell kind of accountant hates math? Ugh.
In the midst of his pity, Butch blinked and noticed movement out of one of his eyes. Glaring, he called at the person, "Hey! Hey! Hey! Press conference is over, pal. Get lost!"
"Sorry, sir," The person stated, voice young and small. The guard frowned as he noticed the uniform. Unfortunately, the kid was a part of the security team. If he beat him up, he'd get admonished for it. Probably not fired – He wasn't that lucky – but his pay would probably be docked. Damn it. And the kid was still talking, "I'm just looking for something to do. I mean, walking the perimeter of the place is alright, I guess, but there's just no fun in it."
"Mm-hm," Butch nodded sympathetically. He'd been new too, once, and he knew just how it felt to get stuck on border patrol, of all things. As if anyone short of Doctor Nefarious himself would try a direct assault on the place. That would be just stupid, "I feel ya, kid. But hey, at least you're not sitting in front of this damn door all day. I mean, I get paid a measly six bolts an hour, keep out all the paparazzi and obsessed fans and then when our beloved," He spat out the word in disgust. Beloved, yeah right, "Captain dances in front of an open window in his underwear during my break I somehow get blamed for it," he sighed, "Our jobs suck, kid. Let me give you some advice: Get outta here while you still can."
"At least if I were standing still I'd be able to do a logic puzzle or something. Can't write while I walk," A gleam suddenly went off in the kid's eyes, "Hey, how 'bout we switch places for the next rotation? You get to walk around the building once and I'll be able to draw up some puzzles that I can do on the go."
To his own surprise, Butch actually considered the offer. It would be nice to stretch his legs, even if it was only for one rotation. And this kid didn't look dishonest. Although he did question why he was carrying a wrench instead of a standard-issue blaster... ah well. But if anyone found out or caught them, they were so screwed.
...Ah, what the heck. Maybe he'd get lucky and be fired for leaving his post. Better yet, the kid would be fired before he trapped himself in this dead-end career like Butch had. A grin snaked its way across his face, "Alright, kid, you've got yourself a deal. I'll be back in about fifteen minutes. Don't go anywhere!" He warned, walking away. Besides, he'd learned long ago that border patrol was the job with the least regulation. He could go out and get himself a nice cup a' Joe. Pipin' hot and black, just the way he liked it!
Unbeknownst to him, the moment he had left the picture a small robot appeared, coming out from a service elevator that Butch had forgotten about, "Well done, Ratchet," The 'bot applauded, "Now, let's go talk to Captain Qwark."
"About time," The disguised Lombax rolled his eyes, "Qwark's body guard certainly didn't sound too upset about leaving his post. I wonder what that says about Qwark..."
Actually, it said that Qwark was sleepy.
Awakening him had not been easy. The man slept on a large cot in the middle of the room, surrounded by lavish wardrobe and make-up items – odd, as Ratchet had never seen him in any different costume or wearing any make-up – and tons of Qwark merchandise. Posters and bobble heads and even a cereal with his face on the cover. What a self-indulgent mess. Clank, on the other hand, was fascinated by the massive amounts of memorabilia. Especially the photographs of him beating up various villains. Every one proved his worth in the robot's eyes more and more. He had made the correct choice in Captain Qwark. Now if only they could wake up the snoozing superhero...
Eventually Ratchet, annoyed, pushed a button that caused the cot to fold into itself, sending Qwark to the floor. THAT certainly woke up the startled Captain. Though, to be fair, he seemed to have no idea what had happened.
"Who- What- Where?" He looked up and met the stares of Ratchet and Clank; one of whom was staring with admiration; the other was giving an amused and somewhat annoyed glance, "Hey, you finally found me!"
"Found you?" Repeated the robot, blinking his green optics in slight surprise, "You mean you knew that we would come?"
The green suited man stood to his full height – a good twice the size of the Lombax. Ratchet's ears flattened and he bared his teeth instinctively. He wasn't feral by any meaning of the word, but something about being towered over at such a close distance got him riled up. Clank did not seem to notice the behavior and instead looked in awe as Qwark spoke, "Of course I knew! We are in the middle of a galactic crisis! Some dastardly villain, even as we speak, is plotting to tear the planets of this solar system apart! And you two are the only ones who have Intel on this dastardly villain!"
"Ratchet," There was no hiding the pure adulation in his voice as he spoke, moving closer to Ratchet in order to pull on his pant leg, "He knows!"
The first minute or so of Clank's geek-out had been fun, Ratchet supposed, but now it was just getting annoying. He rolled his eyes at the 'bot and told him, "That's great, Clank. Really, just wonderful. He's so amazing, isn't he?"
The robot seemed to miss the sarcastic tone and responded, "Well, you would have to expect that of someone like Captain Qwark. Finally, we will be able to put an end to the Blargian Menace!" The 'bot smiled at the prospect – which was probably as close to 'giddy' as he could – while Ratchet frowned. He had thought that they were doing a pretty good job on their own. What the hell did they need Qwark for again?
Then, to his surprise, Qwark knelled onto one knee and placed his hand on Clank's shoulder. This had the dual effect of calming Ratchet's innate response to the hero's height and quieting the 'bot's excitement. Or maybe he increased it so much that Clank couldn't respond. Neither robot nor organic were sure of which. The Captain gave a charming smile – odd, as it had seemed so forced on the holovision – and scolded Clank gently, "Now, now, friend, this victory will have to be a team effort. It's not just my amazing skills and experience you need. We also need your intelligence on the Blarg and Ratchet here's-"
"Wait," The Lombax looked confused, "Me?"
"Of course," The super gave Ratchet a look, "I've seen your performance out there in the field, kid. Helga's obstacle course and then today on the race track; I've only ever seen such raw potential in one individual. To a greater degree, of course, but that can't be helped. I mean," He smirked, showing off his perfect white teeth,"look at me. But, getting back to the point... I think you could be a valuable member to Team Qwark just yet, kiddo."
"Me?" The very confused mechanic repeated dumbly. He'd never been completely into the Captain Qwark fad – personally, he was more a Starshield fan – but to have someone like Qwark come straight up to him and tell him that he had potential was beyond his wildest dreams. After all, such compliments didn't come idly from such people. He MUST have meant it. And that meant that finally, FINALLY, someone looked at him and saw someone other than a shady kid in a pair of messy green pants. As more than just a thug with a wrench. As better than just a suicidal, possibly insane maniac that needed to be in an asylum – that one still hurt, just a little.
Clank smiled at the bewildered response. Never had he seen the Lombax so caught off-guard. Was it wrong to want to laugh at the sight? The urge to do so flowed through him, though he restrained it.
This was, after all, a serious mission they were attempting to accomplish. He could not allow himself to become sidetracked with silly things anymore. Not when the end was so close.
"Yes, you," Captain Qwark smiled, "You're probably the most skilled Qwark cadet I've seen yet."
Ratchet never had the heart to tell Qwark he wasn't a member.
"But, back to matters of galactic security," The hero stood to his full height again, although this time he took a step backwards, "We will need to work together to put a stop to this – but I cannot do it without your help. Here, watch this," The large man pulled out of his back pocket an infobot, then set the automatic playback. An orchestra played in the background as the three were treated to an instructional video.
"What makes one man toil in obscurity while another becomes a hero?" Asked Captain Qwark's voice, "Is it strength, compassion, determination or just pure, blind luck?"
As the narration went on, series of images were displayed; most of them of Captain Qwark.
"Wise men through the ages have struggled with that very question, but Captain Qwark knows the secret! That's why he's been able to defeat more desparates, rescue more damsels in distress and save more civilizations than any other hero in the Galaxy! And now..."
The image showed Qwark with his arm around a figure that was blacked out.
"...is your opportunity to see if you got the stuff heroes are made of! You will be tested at Captain Qwark's secret base, where you must quickly conquer Qwark's killer candidate of gwonfounded complexions-? Er, can you quickly gwon – can, can you qwarkly quick – AGH!"
There was a sigh, tired and clearly not liking the script. But someone had to do it, so he finished up.
"Just make your way through the defenses to the center of the base! Prove yourself, learn the secret and you just might earn your place amongst Qwark's elite!"
Quickly speaking, Qwark continued, "Consult your doctor before attempting any strenuous exercise. Not responsible for death or dismemberment. Your results may vary."
Back in reality, Qwark smiled at the duo, "Do the two of you have an infobot I can transmit the coordinates to?"
Ratchet opened his mouth, ready to reply, when Clank beat him to the punch with a surprising answer, "Actually, yes, we do," He opened his compartment and, surely enough, an infobot zoomed out posthaste.
"Where did you-? Wait," There was a dent in the side of its head. An awfully familiar one... "Is that the one I bashed over the head?"
"He forgives you," Clank responded, gently rubbing at the infobot's head as it – apparently he – received the download. Ratchet rolled his eyes in response. 'He'. Great, now he was outnumbered... no wait, they were still tied if he included Qwark. That would take a while to get used to.
Qwark patted Clank's head, "I'll see the both of you at my secret base on planet Umbris. Oh, and, if you need a new infobot..." Clank's personal infobot squeaked awkwardly at the thought, and it retreated back into the larger robot's chest cavity as Clank denied Qwark with a vicious head shake, "Eh, suit yourself, little fellow," He cast a smile in Ratchet's direction, "And you make sure to stay cool. You're going places, kid."
Clank almost – ALMOST – let out a giggle at Ratchet's goofy smile. He was embarrassed again... were all organics so easily embarrassed? He pondered the situation shortly, then decided to file it for later research. After all, defeating the Blarg was just a few blocks away. The two gave a quick salute, then began to walk away. Until Ratchet tripped over something, that is. He frowned at the white remote with its single button, "Ah, what's this thing?"
"O-oh, that?" The hero chuckled loudly enough to cause Ratchet's ears to bend, "That's just my-my radio remote."
Ratchet clicked the singular button. Nothing happened, "Your battery must be dead or something."
"Or something. Now, why don't you two go ahead and prepare for Umbris? I'll be... here, for now. Can't leave until my shuttle gets here tomorrow."
That was where the two left, each in high spirits. Clank was happy to finally see his mission completed. Another goal accomplished, and this one without any casualties! Ratchet was still reeling from Qwark's comment and, combined with his earlier win, boosted himself up a bit. He could be as great as Captain Qwark – Maybe even better! He wasn't quite sure yet, but Captain Ratchet had a nice ring to it...
"Hey, pal!" Ratchet froze, then turned back to face the security guard from earlier. The only difference was, now, he was holding two bagels and a coffee, "Here. I woulda gotchya a cup a' Joe, but I wasn't sure a lightweight like you could handle black. Thanks for the relief," He sighed, "Too bad it hasn't gotten me fired yet. Ah, well. Back to standing in front of a door. Yippee."
Ratchet gave the man a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, "Hey, it's not so bad. I overhead Qwark say he's leaving tomorrow so... there's something."
"Yeah, whatever," He patted the Lombax on the back, "See ya, kid."
After farewells were done with, Ratchet, with a carefully retrieved Clank on his back, took off and escaped the compound without notice. Mostly thanks to Ratchet's guard uniform. The REAL border patrol would probably wake up in a few minutes... probably. But the most important thing in their agenda was complete. There was no more reason to worry.
"So, ya figure out what caused that flooding, Reeger?"
"Think I got it," The Rilgarian plumber answered, digging around inside the pipe that had been, just hours ago, spitting out water at a dangerously high velocity, "There we go... Ah!" He grimaced at the sight of the device, "Yuck, it's all covered in gunk... hmm, looks like some sort of transmission device."
Reeger's partner took a look at it, "Hey, yeah, I've seen that before. Remember that Senior prank day when a bunch of the kids attached a number of these things into the school's plumbing? They were able to flood the school with the press of a button."
A grimace went through Reeger at the memory, "Yeah, that was not fun to clean up. But who'd wanna flood a sewer?" In the end, they both shrugged and decided it was probably some kid trying to pull a prank. And since nobody actually visited the sewers on a regular basis, the duo decided against filing a police report.
Disclaimer: Ratchet and Clank do not belong to me.
Authoress' Notes: THAT RACE! IT JUST- UGH!
I mean, the rest of the chapter was kinda easy. It just came to me. I guess that was to make up for my complete lack of racing knowledge. So, ya know what? Screw commentary, I'm going home...
(Three days later)
I'm over it.
Daily Lore: Reeger's name was originally Bob. Then I remembered the Butch scene and hastily named him after a Mass Effect character. The more you know.
What did I do good on?: Not dying... haha. No. Probably the Qwark scene, if I had to chose. Or maybe the scene with Butch. Ya see, the more stoic and useless a character is, the more you can play around with them. So, eh, you decide which scene was better.
What did I fail on?: Please don't make me remember that horrible race scene... it wasn't so much that it was bad, though it probably is, but it took me forever to write. I'm serious, it took three times as long as every section after that to write the race scene. UGH, I am not looking forward to the Gadgetron planet...
Random Question for Reviewers: Can you feel the sunshine? ._.
