Disclaimer: Um... I don't own any of the Treasure Planet people, places, or
things, or the concepts thereof – Disney does. If you were actually stupid
enough to think that I did, then you've got bigger problems on your hands
than some college kid with too much free time.
Besides, both Disney and I owe much to Robert Louis Stevenson on this one...
Meanwhile, over half a galaxy away, a large Ursid man with mechanical limbs sighed as he walked swiftly along the quays in the port of Chailarin, the bitter aftertaste of the Banyagung ale he had just imbibed lingering on his tongue as he reflected upon the last couple of months. Silver had been on the run almost continuously, ever since he had left the self-destructing Treasure Planet. The Legacy's lifeboat, not meant for long-distance travel, had gotten him as far as one of the Ætherium's larger, busier ports, where he had been able to lose himself amid other less-than-reputable spacers. Once there, he quickly formulated a new plan, having considered both his options and his new circumstances. While he was by no means one to give up easily, he also had to admit that things didn't look great.
He had a ship – two, in fact - docked on a remote, lifeless moon many months' journey away, and even in the unlikely event that he managed to find his way there, there was no way he could manage to sail either of them alone. Meanwhile, his crew had all either been killed or arrested during the quest for Treasure Planet. What little of Flint's trove he had managed to pocket during his flight from Treasure Planet he had given to Jim as a matter of duty and friendship. He had his pirate's stash of loot, sizeable enough, but it was back with the two out-of-the-way ships. He had given away his pet, Morph, to save the little blob the trouble of parting from Jim, whom he had grown fond of, and of being on the run. And Jim, his closest friend... well, given that Jim was likely on his way to becoming an officer in the Imperial Navy, while he himself had a long and rather vicious criminal record, it was unlikely that they would ever see each other again, at least in positive circumstances.
So, alone, pretty much penniless, and wanted across half the galaxy... indeed, things were... how had Mr. Snuff so eloquently put it?
Thbpthpbth. The Flatulan did have a way with words at times...
He had decided to try and land some temporary work in the meantime, in order to be able to buy food and whatnot – starvation was not an option, and neither was attracting attention to himself by something as trivial as stealing food. He finally managed to finagle his way into a job as the cook for a smuggling mission, and now, here at Chailarin, a port whose out-in- the-hinterspace location lent it well to rampant criminal activity, having at least a small compensation in his pocket, he needed a new plan.
Making his way as silently as he could, despite the rhythmic clicks and hums of his cyborg accoutrements, through the bustle of the dimly lit docks, avoiding the suspicious glares of aggressive-looking dockhands and shifty-eyed crewmen, he figured here was as good a place as any to start the next phase of his plan.
He paused, his gaze lingering on a small vessel of unusual construction he had been passing by just then. It was a small ship: indeed, a personal craft that could be piloted by a single person. Not the only one on the docks, but based on its design it looked to be one of the faster small crafts present at the port.
The gears on the side of his head increased their activity as he considered his options. This was a fairly lawless port, after all... a stolen small craft would not be a priority for what little there was to serve as law enforcement here, and given the craft's apparent attainable speed, he could be long gone before her owner's complaint was even heard...
Doing his best to avoid looking out of place, he nonchalantly boarded the little ship. Definitely built to be handled by a lone spacer. He looked around the deck of the craft, making his way to the helm, analysing the control panel at the centre of the helm. Displays and command buttons glowed softly at him as he identified the starting sequence controls...
...and then something flashed briefly in front of his eyes, and he realized that a large, machete-like sword had been levelled to his throat by someone who was now standing behind him.
"Sorry, mate. Looks like you picked the wrong boat to try and steal," came a confident voice.
Silver froze. Not because he could not defend himself, but because he immediately recognized the voice, despite the fact that he had not heard it in nearly sixteen years...
Author's note: Okay, sorry this update's so long in coming. I've been busy with uni and work and all...maybe this next term will leave me more time to write. I can only hope...
Also: PixieGirl13: Wow, thanks! Flattery will get you anywhere. ;) Sorry the update took so long... I'll try to update more often in the future.
WindGuardian87: Don't worry; I have a feeling that the good Doctor and our dear Captain will show up soon...
Night Music: Thanks! And, yes, Jim and Silver will indeed cross paths again. There are, however, a few complications to be gotten past first... but I digress.
Whusah: Um... I'm not really sure what 'yall' are complaining about, but sorry... *shrugs*
Meanwhile, over half a galaxy away, a large Ursid man with mechanical limbs sighed as he walked swiftly along the quays in the port of Chailarin, the bitter aftertaste of the Banyagung ale he had just imbibed lingering on his tongue as he reflected upon the last couple of months. Silver had been on the run almost continuously, ever since he had left the self-destructing Treasure Planet. The Legacy's lifeboat, not meant for long-distance travel, had gotten him as far as one of the Ætherium's larger, busier ports, where he had been able to lose himself amid other less-than-reputable spacers. Once there, he quickly formulated a new plan, having considered both his options and his new circumstances. While he was by no means one to give up easily, he also had to admit that things didn't look great.
He had a ship – two, in fact - docked on a remote, lifeless moon many months' journey away, and even in the unlikely event that he managed to find his way there, there was no way he could manage to sail either of them alone. Meanwhile, his crew had all either been killed or arrested during the quest for Treasure Planet. What little of Flint's trove he had managed to pocket during his flight from Treasure Planet he had given to Jim as a matter of duty and friendship. He had his pirate's stash of loot, sizeable enough, but it was back with the two out-of-the-way ships. He had given away his pet, Morph, to save the little blob the trouble of parting from Jim, whom he had grown fond of, and of being on the run. And Jim, his closest friend... well, given that Jim was likely on his way to becoming an officer in the Imperial Navy, while he himself had a long and rather vicious criminal record, it was unlikely that they would ever see each other again, at least in positive circumstances.
So, alone, pretty much penniless, and wanted across half the galaxy... indeed, things were... how had Mr. Snuff so eloquently put it?
Thbpthpbth. The Flatulan did have a way with words at times...
He had decided to try and land some temporary work in the meantime, in order to be able to buy food and whatnot – starvation was not an option, and neither was attracting attention to himself by something as trivial as stealing food. He finally managed to finagle his way into a job as the cook for a smuggling mission, and now, here at Chailarin, a port whose out-in- the-hinterspace location lent it well to rampant criminal activity, having at least a small compensation in his pocket, he needed a new plan.
Making his way as silently as he could, despite the rhythmic clicks and hums of his cyborg accoutrements, through the bustle of the dimly lit docks, avoiding the suspicious glares of aggressive-looking dockhands and shifty-eyed crewmen, he figured here was as good a place as any to start the next phase of his plan.
He paused, his gaze lingering on a small vessel of unusual construction he had been passing by just then. It was a small ship: indeed, a personal craft that could be piloted by a single person. Not the only one on the docks, but based on its design it looked to be one of the faster small crafts present at the port.
The gears on the side of his head increased their activity as he considered his options. This was a fairly lawless port, after all... a stolen small craft would not be a priority for what little there was to serve as law enforcement here, and given the craft's apparent attainable speed, he could be long gone before her owner's complaint was even heard...
Doing his best to avoid looking out of place, he nonchalantly boarded the little ship. Definitely built to be handled by a lone spacer. He looked around the deck of the craft, making his way to the helm, analysing the control panel at the centre of the helm. Displays and command buttons glowed softly at him as he identified the starting sequence controls...
...and then something flashed briefly in front of his eyes, and he realized that a large, machete-like sword had been levelled to his throat by someone who was now standing behind him.
"Sorry, mate. Looks like you picked the wrong boat to try and steal," came a confident voice.
Silver froze. Not because he could not defend himself, but because he immediately recognized the voice, despite the fact that he had not heard it in nearly sixteen years...
Author's note: Okay, sorry this update's so long in coming. I've been busy with uni and work and all...maybe this next term will leave me more time to write. I can only hope...
Also: PixieGirl13: Wow, thanks! Flattery will get you anywhere. ;) Sorry the update took so long... I'll try to update more often in the future.
WindGuardian87: Don't worry; I have a feeling that the good Doctor and our dear Captain will show up soon...
Night Music: Thanks! And, yes, Jim and Silver will indeed cross paths again. There are, however, a few complications to be gotten past first... but I digress.
Whusah: Um... I'm not really sure what 'yall' are complaining about, but sorry... *shrugs*