TEN
"Alright, Cutler," Knighton said slowly, "There's no need to shoot."
"Don't call me Cutler. Only people who deserve it address me by my first name," He said with a scowl. Knighton sighed inwardly—a mistake already. He should probably have looked up more on seventeenth-century etiquette.
"Okay... Beckett..."
"It's Lord Beckett." Augh! What an insanely irritating man!
"Lord Beckett," Knighton realized that Beckett didn't know about the other five agents in the room. He made a gesture behind his back, hoping one of them would get the drift.
Apparently, one of them did—Mosquito suddenly darted through the other side of the curtains, knocking both herself and Beckett onto the ground in an undignified heap... not quite what he'd been planning. And not exactly polite, either—but his future self was right, Beckett was annoying... so he decided to let it slide.
"What do you want?" Beckett demanded, looking up from the wooden floor, as the revolver spun away across the floor. At least he was acknowledging his defeat.
"You have to come with us, Beckett," Knighton snapped, nodding at Mosquito, who scampered off and picked the revolver up off of the floor. She examined it with a big smile on her face—a real life seventeenth century weapon!
"Come with you?" Beckett wrinkled his nose, "What does that mean?"
"Follow," Knighton snapped, waving his laser-fake-revolver around. Beckett stood up, and brushed himself down. He looked rather different from the suited-up, wig-baring man they'd seen before; in a nightshirt, with blonde-brown hair tied in a queue, and an ungentlemanly scowl on his face. He smoothed it off, though.
"Well, at least let me change first," he said. Knighton frowned, but remembered Benjamin's words about being polite—and it was a reasonable request after all. "Sure," He said, wondering what harm it could do.
A three-hour wait followed.
----------
"Are you ready now, your majesty?" Knighton demanded, as Beckett finally walked out from behind a screen, all dressed-up.
"Well, it took a while longer, seeing as you wouldn't let me call in my servants," Beckett said airily, fiddling with a sleeve, "Honestly, it wouldn't have caused that much trouble. And servants are easy enough to call, anyway... oh, Mister Mercer?"
A man stepped out from a side-door, his arms folded, his eyes narrowed. He had brown hair, slicked back and tied into a queue, and was fully-dressed in dark brown clothing, with leather gloves to finish. His dark brown eyes travelled to each of the men, his revolver loose in his hands. They were outnumbered three to one... there was no point in trying to shoot them all.
"Evening, gentlemen," he said instead, with a smile.
"Beckett," Knighton hissed, spinning to face the grinning lord, "I told you to not call out any of your little servants!" His pistol shot up to point at Beckett—in reaction, Mercer pointed his pistol to Knighton, and ended up with five pistols aimed at him. The sudden chain-reaction was almost comical, it was so quick.
"But he's not just any little servant," Beckett drawled, "He's my personal guard, my aide, he's like my right-hand man. I can't go anywhere without him... even when I'm being kidnapped."
"This is not a kidnapping..." Knighton said, carefully, "It's part of a business deal. My master needs your help—we're from the future. Far, far into the future; we've invented a machine that can travel through time. Pirates have risen again... and we need your expertise in this matter."
"Pirates have risen again, hmm? Well, at least they were driven to extinction once... the future, you say?" Beckett looked around at them all, as if wondering whether to believe them or not, "Am I famous?" He demanded.
"Uh, yes," Knighton said, thinking that he might as well humour the man.
"Huh... well, I thought it would happen," Beckett said, looking pleased with himself, "All of my great work hasn't gone to waste then... I've gone down in history! Or I will..." And then he gave the small, satisfied smile of a young child who felt life couldn't be more perfect. Knighton felt a little sorry for him. He'd been so unfamous that it had taken weeks of research to dig up the slightest thing about him.
"Come with us, then," Knighton said, nodding towards the door.
"Mercer will be accompanying us, of course," Beckett said.
"Of course," Knighton said, through gritted teeth. He turned and began walking through the boat, with Beckett and Mercer behind him, and the other five following behind, keeping a close eye on them. Mercer seemed wary, but Beckett looked delighted.
Eventually they got to the pod, and Beckett stared at it, craning his neck to see every inch of it. Knighton, again, had to wait while Beckett insisted on examining it all around.
"Will you get in?" He finally snapped. Beckett raised an eyebrow, not seeming put out in the least.
"I suppose so," He said, stepping through the hatch. Mercer's weaponry had been stolen—Mosquito had found a rather large amount of guns and daggers secreted about his person. Mercer looked scandalized at having to be searched... and by a woman, too! Now he sat sullenly, not liking this at all. As if he believed them.
"Just sit there and shut up," Knighton said warningly, pointing them to a small cell-like room at the back of the pod. The pod itself was very small—and the cell had only just enough room for Beckett and Mercer to both sit comfortably in.
Knighton resisted the urge to close and lock the hatch dividing them. They all sat down, and Fly and Blue fiddled with the controls, and after the usual slight feeling of static, they were back. Beckett frowned and leaned forwards, seeming interested in the buttons and the screen and... well, everything, really.
"What do we do now?" He said, "How do we get to the future?"
"We're there already, you ass," Knighton muttered, throwing the hatch open and clambering up. The rest of the team followed suit—and with a shrug, Beckett and Mercer stepped out too... and received quite a shock.
The boat was gone. Just a second ago, they'd climbed through the very same hatch from the boat—but now, they came out, and there was not a boat in sight. They were in a weird room, and lots of people in white coats were bustling around, and the team was walking out of a door. With a swish of coattails, Beckett followed suit, frowning at everyone around him as if they were below his notice.
"Lord Beckett?" Asked a man, Adam Kirby, the head doctor, if you don't remember, "Would you mind an examination?"
"Yes, I would mind," Beckett snapped, "Now tell me where to go and how to find this chap who wants me to help him get rid of pirates." Adam shot a reproachful look to Knighton, who simply shrugged.
"Alright, then," Adam said, turning to heel, "Follow me."
----------
Beckett then had his first experience with an elevator. When directed to it, he paused by the door, looking around inside.
"What's this for?" He asked. To his surprise, Adam chuckled.
"I'd forgotten you were from the past," He said in an amused voice, "Well, Lord Beckett, this is an elevator. It's a machine that goes upwards—so you don't have to climb loads of stairs."
"Hmmph," Beckett said, but stepped inside anyway. Mercer, soundless as ever, walked in behind. Adam stepped in, and pressed a few buttons on the side. The elevator rose quickly—but thanks to the gyroscopes, there was no feeling of any movement at all. Beckett raised an eyebrow, but did not comment on their apparently reasonless standing in a small room. Until the doors pinged open.
"This is the private office of Benjamin Buck... vice-president of Nutriware Ltd," Adam said, helpfully.
"Yes, yes," Beckett said, and strode into the office, seeing the man in the big chair, and taking it that he was the man he needed. What was his name again? Ah, yes, Benjamin. Beckett looked at a chair that had been pulled up in front of the desk, and made himself comfortable. Mercer stood just behind and to the side of the chair, looking warily form Benjamin—to Adele.
"You must be the infamous Cutler Beckett," Benjamin said with a small smile.
"Firstly, it's Lord Cutler Beckett, please use my proper title," Beckett said, blinking, "Also, you haven't yet offered me a drink, which is plain rude—and lastly, you have something on your face." Beckett arched an eyebrow, and did not return the smile.
Benjamin hated the man already.
"Lord Beckett," He said heavily, "We have no time for drinks now. But if you are feeling so parched..." He pressed down on a button and said in the general direction of the tiny microphone attached to his desk, "Please bring up some drinks,"
"Who are you talking to?" Beckett said, wrinkling his nose. Mercer would have looked behind him, but he was too busy glaring at Adele. Ever since they'd walked into the room, Mercer and Adele had both stood stock still, glaring at each other. The two subordinates, so to speak. Mercer stood with his legs slightly apart, his arms behind his back, his eyes narrowed. Adele, on the other hand, had her feet together, her weight more on one then the other, and her arms were folded—she didn't show dislike, just a light superiority, on her face.
"You have a lot to learn about the future, Lord Beckett," Benjamin said with a small smile, steeping his fingers, as the doors swished open behind Beckett and a woman stepped in with a tray of glasses and a bottle of some brown liquid.
"I do," Beckett said. The bluntness of his reply made Benjamin even madder. Sly and tricky one second—and then honest and short the next. It was infuriating. "But before we go into that... please explain to me in full detail why you have decided to kidnap me from my boat and bring me far into the future."
So Benjamin did. It took a while—and Beckett would stop him every now and again to ask a question—but eventually, it was all explained; Davy Jones, Nutriware Ltd, New Pirates, and a whole lot more of it.
"And you want me to help you control Jones to help you kill these... New Pirates?" Beckett asked.
"Yes," Benjamin said with a nod. There was a pause, as Beckett took a sip—and then frowned severely.
"What is this?" He demanded.
"It's coca cola," Benjamin said with a wide smile, "It's a... future drink." As you can see, the same brands still haunt the markets to the future day.
"Disgusting," Beckett muttered, putting it down.
"Anyway, back to matters...?" Benjamin said, raising an eyebrow.
"And why should I help you?" Beckett asked, leaning forwards. Mercer and Adele had not ceased their glaring match, even after the two hours it had been. Beckett didn't ask his question in a taxing manner though—he sounded more amused. Benjamin had him in the bag.
"Why, to rid the world of those scummy pirates, of course," Benjamin said lightly, though his tone changed as he continued, "And the amount of money it would save Nutriware Ltd is substantial."
"Money," Beckett said with a sneer, "The root of all evil... I think not."
"We are both men of business, Beckett," Benjamin said, not bothering with the 'Lord' anymore. Beckett did raise an eyebrow, but didn't comment on it. "We both know the value of money, and how it... it makes the world go round."
"It does what?" Beckett asked, frowning.
"It... never mind. Are you going to help us?" Benjamin smiled, though it was somewhat forced. He was trying to keep smiling, but smiling at someone like Cutler Beckett was making his face ache.
"Hmm... alright, then," Beckett said, finally, "But I would like payment."
"Certainly," Benjamin said, glad that Beckett probably knew nothing about the rate of inflation these days.
