(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸ (¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸ —Back on the ship…— ¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)
To think his Masters in 'Arcadia' had actually come in useful, as opposed to any Bachelors in academia.
Real gold and silver days, uncorrupted, to share giddays and chats at those billiard tables, Murray's care and polish put upon the oak. All the gold to slot in and silver to fire, whether clawing back credits on the classic pinnies, or to visit his own point-blank range and get blasting.
Ever since that precious Christmas morning, some time into grade or primary, had always reserved a special place for the latter. Challenges countless to hone a bevy of skills, including the acumen to blow targets apart, the dextrous rhythm while doing so, the judgement to avoid severe penalties, and the perception and stamina to win across all stages, always against the clock.
Decades since to develop, practice and test his trigger skills, that'd wind up earning a tiny taste of redemption after being beyond it for so long… Then the abyss to intervene, leave him like those losers playing on cabinets or consoles; little more than a visceral fatality.
Was sure of having more to give, much more… Though to give lives of late any thought, maybe he deserved no such dignity, not even for dying.
Seemed he was the only to believe so, however; hadn't a clue of stowaways on the ship, nor of any crawling or cold rubs of grease, but sure got them for eyes bursting open, breaths rushing in, and bodies springing to life... A freakish flood of energy to completely scramble his brain, kick off a series of curiosities far from any odd screams, or thuds straight after.
"Hey, how come am I all bloody? Why do my cheeks feel so red? And Gods, where am I getting THAT awful pong from?"
Only more questions had as he'd gaze about; string of guts like giant tapeworms, or his brains across the bridge, to bustle him away pleading for answers, and fresh air. No game, movie, book or TV show to prepare him for that, and nothing period for the single blink taken to reach the brig opposite.
"Strike a light, the fuck got rubbed on me? And by WHOM?" Right on cue, heard a long growl within: "Ahhh, of course, just starved raving mad… Way past my lunchtime."
A ruffle of pockets to pay the snack machine, but could only groan for finding certificates in place of cash. Leant into glass for this loss, only for shatters to fling him backward, beat his heart a mile per minute.
"Hooooooo-ly CRRRAAAP! Hey, wait a sec, why aren't I—?"
Not a scratch to feel, better yet, couldn't deny that despite being coated worse than Englishmen of old, this was beyond the best he ever felt. A cold splash or three to clean up, ensure he had woken up, and then a giant chocolate block to grab out and get devouring.
Half to go in a matter of moments; taste however to prompt a look at the wrapper, and a real sorry realisation right after.
"Of all the brands in all of creation, I had to get this 'Highway' bar. Still, s'pose it's better than being deep in it."
Rest in hand ready to trash it, only to get the oddest tingle for holding cocoa dust instead. So fine in fact, it became a vapour for slipping his fist; very thoughts of fantasies turned reality, to render him delighted if not disturbed.
"Could this be? Back from the dead, AND boasting superpowers? Whole new man, but again, why?"
Questions of allies and gels to chatters over, even so, would descend to Cargo Bay—evolution to beg for and deserve a serious test. Caught the best time too, for catching wind of an ugly war of words brewing beneath.
"Captain, listen! We've already lost crew, we almost lost ourselves, our dolly's a junk heap, and we'll be ripped apart trying to escape. How 'bout you cut this selfish crap out, and—"
"Ah d-d-d-don't tell me how a Captain should act, Missy! There'll be NO shortcuts under my watch; try otherwise, and you'll be lucky if I leave you breathing. We understand each other?"
"And you'd rather die slow from starvation, you dummy?"
Threats heard to clutch his insides, for knowing Leela'd carry them out—and how—until he'd get a finger-snap moment. Back up the ladders, once more braving that odour, and a minute to psyche up for spotting the keys in Bessie's ignition.
Captain to promise fierce payback for switching off his little stunt, but as she did so, he would flash behind to flick her out cold. Careful efforts to carry and seat her, and to prise out their delivery notice, before his hustle would begin in earnest.
"One thing wishing for miracles, quite another to become them… No time like now to try though."
Got no shortage of whats, hows and whens upon pleas for quiet, his waving Amy aside, as he'd begin grabbing what he could. Regrets for soaking sheets and blankets upon his shoulders, but only flitting as he crouched into a sprinter's position.
"Have the crew my Captain deserves yet, by oath… No matter the methods to make it so."
Grassy molehills and hedge-lined paths to blitz by, laws of physics flipped off as one return trip became five, then ten, twenty, and forty in record time. Townsfolk could tell he was on top of the world, when he would stop at those giant wooden doors and voice his intentions.
Innkeeper's "Can I help you?" to throw him for a loop; gargles of gravel to have greeted him, not to mention that ear-to-ear handlebar, impossibly squat body, and some Euro-styled outfit, as if Oktoberfest came early…
"Uhhh, hello sir, your blankets and fitted sheets? Sincere apologies 'bout the blood, real long story there, but I can ensure that they've been counted. Your signature, please?"
"Nothing a good wash won't fix, and I know not to ask. Thanks boy, your crew might have a hope yet."
"Just their latest Officer of a long line, sir… Will be a while yet I imagine, IF I can survive."
Swishes of Leela's pen to exchange bank funds and gratuities, and over a brief chat, offers to hear of heavy German cuisine and one-ton steins. Savage growls inside in protest of his waving-off, but knew that he'd occupy a shit list or two for having gotten here. Especially to rush back on board…
Would find his Captain still motionless, in spite of Amy's desperate slaps, cries to awaken her. And it weren't just fears of accidental homicide to unnerve him, as breathless sprints or broken glass soon made clear.
"Ssshhhit, of all times to know they're temporary! Now what the hell are we gonna do?"
With nothing to ease the suffocation, he'd pace up and down, gripping his neck with eyes wide, until his foot would skitter a thick tube across the deck. An inquisitive grab to discover 'Dr. FlimFlam's Miracle Cream'; label of white and gold, and upon flipping it over, a mish-mash of quirky, foreign symbols. Few to come across them, none to ever decode the lot…
And warnings in plain English, to not care of having a go himself.
"May cause super—so THAT'S what must've saved me! Then, that has to mean…"
Ignoring any frantic handwaves and blanching faces, he'd squeeze a decent lump upon his palm and rub Leela down; twenty seconds tops before she rose with the haste he would. Was thinking of going ghost, 'till she rounded on her co-pilot, well beside herself.
"Now this bees my gees! Amy, I thought I WARNED you about using this."
"Ma'am, crazy as it'll sound, I swear it wasn't me."
"And you think I'm gonna buy that garbage? Just remember what I can do WITHOUT any miracles."
"Christ's sake Captain, back off!"
Leela to spin around in surprise, but as she began closing in, such a look would fester into seething.
"Busy day since I blew your brains out?"
Sweat beading, breaths to again hurry: "I… I wish I knew."
"Cabin, now."
A collective "What the?!" when the Captain's fingerprint overrode his own; actual raid, and quite the opposite to what either could expect, to have taken place. Perhaps between his time of death and any blow-ups beneath, for having to guess—no way that'd satisfy her here and now.
"Wanna start explaining? I mean, this cabin's CLEAN, that's safe's OPEN, and I'm sure this is YOUR signature."
"Signature I'll vouch for, hundred percent… But you've really lost me on anything previous."
Would feel a hand press upon and grip his shoulder; promises to prove no joke once he heard cricks of bone.
"And why should I believe you?"
"You mean besides saying it yourself? I'm sure as hell not Mr. Conrad, for starters, and as if I'd bloody know any code… Wouldn't you rather eat glass than give that up to me?"
He to keep wincing over the squeeze, until an easing grip finally brought relief.
"Huh, think you're telling the truth… Course, that leaves the actual culprit in question."
"Speaking of questions—"
"Make it a good one."
"Why threaten Amy and spare me at first? I imagine between us, you'd trust her more… Right?"
"So you heard us arguing, huh? Listen, as fine a crewmate as she's proven, her family's neither moral nor mysterious about it. You, however, I can't gauge just yet…"
Softest whisper in his ear: "Not that I won't try, to be given good reasons. Get me?"
Only a gulp to give as, with miracles firm in hand, she'd close and lock the safe; thing or two to impress upon him as, clothes and all, he hustled to clean himself of all the chaos before.
One, that absurd control with such tempting abilities; ever since he believed men could fly, such phoenix acts and powers were just fantasies of ink, imaginations running wild from fan film to blockbuster.
And two, just what secrets his Captain wanted hidden, to so advise of consequences, AND put on that intimidating display.
"Who'd so give up such awesomeness beyond compare? Not I; course, gonna take guts of steel now to get myself the goods."
(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸ (¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸ —…— ¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)
Given all the calls, repairs and instant invoices prior, he'd be full of good vibes for hearing landing requests above HQ. Same to vanish even quicker though, once the big boss insisted on clearing them personally.
From some platform up high to hangars below, they could've collected Social Security by the time they landed; Leela'd be left cracking knuckles, and Amy cursing in foreign tongues. In fact, he'd eventually watch the former carry their dolly scrapheap—real light work of it too—down to ground; this to get him eager to eavesdrop.
"Ahhh, it's so lovely seeing cash in my assets again… How 'bout a hug, my splendid crew?"
"So we're clear Professor, I give hugs like I give honesty or an ass-kicking. What you deserve, you shall get."
All that scavenged titanium, for guessing, to then drop right at his feet; clangs to echo about and cause anyone a heart attack, before she'd lift him clear out of his slippers.
"YOU can take your embrace and shove it, for time and again, you've screwed us around or stood in our way. Matter of fact, I'd sooner kick you into Zoidberg's dumpster, exactly where you belong."
Amy to just cross her arms and nod, didn't even flinch over the rants and raves that'd burst forth. Near one-to-one odds—personal experience making such bets—that Leela would be pink-slipped, punted out on her arse, and put into the cannons; intrigue then to hear everything calm down inside a minute.
"What's it going to take, for everything to sink in? A collection of cardboard boxes, your entire life AND legacy inside them?"
"Ooooh, still yapping are you?" he'd shake his fists. "Swear I'll freeze Hell and send the bill to Satan, before I figure out why I keep you."
That to prompt Amy's rushing in between, if only to stop lips—faces too—from getting smacked right off.
"Shwhoa, cool it Captain! Always bigger concerns to deal with, don't you think?"
"You axe that while Doctor Do Little's in charge? Jeez, no wonder we've got a noose 'round our neck."
Copped a stiff bump as she passed by, but it wouldn't be just shoulder throbs to grow right then. Own separate issues for sure, especially for denying the Reaper today, yet even he knew a certain old boss would've balked to treat him like that.
"The hell are you playing at, old bloke? As the one trying to save your business, our SHELTER, maybe she's got a point?"
"Professor idiot! And so what if she does, now be quiet and know your place."
"Sorry, thought it was Farnsworth. And what of my place when you're bought out, when someone pays pocket change to piss over the ashes? Never mind that rotting crab and I, could YOU adapt outside this roof?"
"That's my business, not yours. So how 'bout you scram, dead weight, before I start dialling?"
Off he'd go to let it be, figuring this wasn't his fight, least until that series of theories began pooling about again. Only because of gauging potential did he dodge a harsh sentence, same to now believe had flown out of reach.
"Captain's gift to be her crew, and abyss to already take it away. Yet if I abuse such benefits of doubt, or those second chances…"
Knowing the chief's mind was elsewhere, could only mutter in propping up couch cushions, massage his skull over the madness then, and still yet to come.
"Trust me to pay back saviours by stabbing them in the back. Do so again and I'll be done for, yet I'm still gonna need those damned—"
"Hey rookie, could ya get the TV for me?"
Sprung up scared as Amy's gaze grew confused, before he'd reach for the remote and make room. But as she'd keep changing the channel, he could feel nausea curdle his insides, and not just from his growing hunger.
"So I've got this straight, Miss Wong… I've seen no shortage of elementary school sluts, super-sized superheroes, and kids in diapers kicking each other's arses, and that's called KIDS entertainment now?"
"Mmm-hmm," she'd keep clicking on.
"And I thought I'd seen real disgraces… What the hell's WRONG with these Tickleodeon bastards?"
"Spleesh, you act like they're worse than being ejected… Oh before I forget, take this."
A roll of eyes as she'd palm a pile in his lap; over the quick flicks had, chest could've lost a beat.
"Umm, I ain't the one paying student loans anymore. You sure this 250 won't go astray?"
Her shimmy up to invade space, furtive glance or two taken: "Forget the money, just listen up. Call me crazy, but I doubt you're done with any miracles."
"So what if I'm not? To even believe I'd THINK of giving that up, you would be."
"Look, I get it, I really do. Especially to call space travel a fantasy, become that superhero of sorts…"
A hand on his knee, and a stare to focus: "I'm just worried that you'll abuse that chance to 'transform,' y'know?"
Almost slid down the backrest, to contemplate such limits: "But for being so far behind, how else can I step up? And for that matter, keep up?"
"Dude, you plugged those lizards, AND our breach, on your first outing. Didn't need powers then to prove a hero; otherwise, one delivery at a time."
"Gotta be kiddin'… First, you think I'm gonna line up to get my guts sucked out again? And second, trust and believe, that claiming I'm redeemed has gotta be the steamiest load I've ever heard. Know damn well I've much more to do, and I doubt even that'll be enough."
Dirty looks to brace for questions when the door slid open again; Captain of course to grab herself a seat, and control the remote. Not fancying any repeats of rubbish, would steal glances at that sunlit city, least until he heard everything stop on two presenters, some city nightlife behind them.
"Welcome to Root 2 News, Channel Surd for your grandpas. For your afternoon update, I'm Linda van Schoonhoven—"
"And I'm Morbo the Annihilator. Nominated Earth's Greatest Nightmare three years running… Your winner soon, I promise you."
Gruff accent to give him shivers, as the entire city made the top story; growing civil plague they would caption "Going Loony for Luneditis." First time mentions of suicide booths to startle him enough, but to get wind of spiking queues, dog-eat-dog brawls, even the odd food truck…
"Of all the places to stamp my passport, I get one where it's a privilege to quit LIVING first?"
No response given as Morbo scribbled papers to bits, boasted of world domination, pulsed that impossible head like his own heart. Prayers mumbled, just once, that it was only a gag owing to Linda's chuckle, before they'd greet their special guest just across from her.
Or rather, their floating head—vat of lime liquid to send him squirming up the couch. Was one thing to be gifted another life, but it became quite another upon seeing that name and undoubtable face… A once Surgeon General and, contrary to what he believed, one even HE could've met.
"Thank you Linda, nice to be here. While I've spoken loud and often about public health matters, I pray we don't dismiss the subtle power of our spirit. Burns me still that cigars bear my name, that children remain denied of real life, but they're those I shall always fight against or for. This is C. Everett Koop, recommending a mug of ready-mix, 'fore you call in the morning."
Such blunt prose, thoughts of old doses to bring on giggles, enough to earn a tilted head or two.
"I don't get it, what's so funny?"
"Our dialect back home Captain, only made polite. Typically, we'd tell the sods 'Harden the eff up!' to set 'em straight."
"Says you tough guy, but who knows? Won't say you're any hero, but I could still hold out hope."
"Ohhh please… Just don't bother ma'am; nothing I do now can ever polish up what I've done."
Series of gurgles to interrupt, loud enough to leap her off the couch: "Say, maybe I can get to know why over some lunch? My treat."
"Thanks, but I think I'll pass. Just didn't sleep a single wink again."
"For a guy eager to get breakfast on my time, that's rich to refuse a meal. Don't you think?"
"Yeah yeah, spare me. You ladies go enjoy yourselves, I'll be happy to settle for toast."
"Mightn't get another chance," Amy raised. "Not to mention, it's good to get out."
"Uggghhh, alright fine! Gods forbid I get a minute for myself."
Crossed his fingers that they weren't onto him, as for finding the big boss ducked under that tarp, muttering and whacking away, any invasions of ideas would seal his choice to see his game through.
"Scuse me Farnsey, you have a mo—"
"Can't you take a hint, Maynard? Go away!"
Hoped the tarp would obscure his obscenity, before he'd follow Leela and Amy out the lobby.
(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸ (¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸ —…— ¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)
That they'd leave him behind—often and with distance—could only believe those ladies were cooking up a scheme; of what and for why though, would try to reserve judgement once they'd enter their eatery of choice.
Newspaper readers, murmurs among patrons, and quiet hums to take in; lunch hour gathered for checking the clock. Cuisines of every culture to roll along that S-shaped belt, including selections of absolute favourites that'd get him on twinkle-toes; steaks, burgers, ribs, Sundaes, and fresh pancakes.
"Still think you were gonna resist this, rookie?" he'd see Leela smirk.
"Won't be able to leave, forget resist… Was always my plan, till you bastards twisted my arm."
Worst ketchup ever tasted to eat a slap—thankfully without powers—and every effort given to remain tough, as they'd settle into foam-stuffed booths and grabbed their plates. Course, trust that grand burger with fries, the peckish boss helping herself to spillovers, to falter such efforts with speed.
"Again with the crying? I pulled back before, so cut it out."
"Just this flash I'm getting… Don't tell me how I oughta feel, thank you."
"Huh, a thing in common. But maybe you can handle yours better?"
Fixed her only a glare before he'd chow down; fine start proven to coat every tastebud with buttered brioche, then a world of beefy tender succulence, odd condiments acting as a complement, then finally, a myriad melt of crunches, chews, and crispy bits to leave him grinning ear-to-ear.
And all this before he'd get to feasting on golden shoestrings, drown several in a dressing or two.
"Everything and, for sure, a wedding ring…"
A long glass of whiskey and cola to then come by, perhaps by coincidence, which upon grabbing it would elicit a toast to the heavens.
"Well, to those titans, and to brighter days…"
Taking his time draining the lot, he didn't notice through obscuring glass any falling eye or twirling finger; couldn't ignore the sudden topples of ceramic, the mess of potato mash over the table though.
"Um, Captain, there something wrong for you to try cutting the table?"
"Regarding you, or whatever else I've got going on in my life?"
"Figure you'll just tell me anyway, so I guess I'll get meself over with."
"Lotta work ahead, as if our plates weren't already full, to get you on our level. Let's face it, you can't fight for crap, you can't look after yourself, and you sure can't keep your mouth shut…"
"Fights aren't always physical, I've tried for getting no choice, and this mouth's all I got left. And I'm sorry, but when better sorts before have tried and failed to help, why would I bother asking you?"
"Oh for—I offer an open chat, and you're gonna throw it back in my face?"
"Damn right I will. For one, you've NO right to make my life your business, and two, my plate's full trying to forgive what I couldn't, likely won't, forget. Don't you dare expect my trust so easily, AFTER piling your share."
"Pal, if I were you, I'd suggest trying anyway… You're made too much of glass to go throwing any stones."
Could only turn his eyes away, clench hands out of sight, only to catch a tea set coming towards them. Wasn't quite the scent to what he'd know anywhere, but that just didn't matter when Leela upon Amy's polite request, would grab it.
"Gods-dammit, can't I get a break ONE TIME?!"
Ignoring any stares, he'd whip himself out the booth and those double doors, not even looking back to yell out thanks. Any other time his appetite would've polished that plate clean; probes of then and promises now to render him livid, stomping down the streets.
"Got some real nerve, Leela does… Actin' like she's clan, when she'll NEVER have that right."
Begging for anybody else, a distraction or daresay a word, he'd only arrive to a 'DO NOT DISTURB!' sign slapped across the lab's doors. Ear up close to gather high-pitched cackles, constant bubbling, and frantic gibbers; mind of a madman again in full flight.
Finding himself alone over subtle glances about the hallway, he'd begin thundering his fists over the sign. A disturbed Hermes to come rushing from his office, chew him out with threats like arsenic, yet nothing would warrant even the slightest reaction from beyond.
Conference view to also prove inconclusive, and for huffing sprints down the alleyway to discover 'back doors' boarded up, he grew sure of filling a jar or two as big kicks kept bouncing off.
"Once again I can't reach that corpse… This keeps up, I'll have nothing worth keeping for."
Sudden stench to put harsh brakes on any breakthroughs; strange for having heard no scatters of rubbish, nor distinctive accents or clacks of claw.
"Mayfield, my friend! You seen all the barnacles on my tuchus today?"
As claws sped to and pinched those slacks, his instincts were to wave his surrenders and almost crack his neck for shaking it. For this crab to cross his line, that odour alone was quite enough…
"Oh no, no no no no no…"
Protests on deaf ears when that bright pink, flab-folded meat got revealed in full, including the dozens of oozing bumps to blacken it. No other support but to wobble toward the wall, his lunch rising rapidly up his oesophagus. A fight to choke any bile down, but would wind up coating the ground, and himself, instead.
"Ugh, urrrp, ooooh… You absolute dropkick, did I ask to see ANY OF THAT?!"
"I never heard a no."
"Then Gods help what you hear next, when Hermes gets word of this."
Had hoped to bank on oblivious hatred for walking away; instant withdrawal once the crab scuttled after him, pleading for another chance. Wasn't sure of mercy, of giving any kind of alternative, before the idea burst right in him.
"Alright bisque meat, how 'bout this? Break a few boards for me, and I'll keep this quiet. Deal?"
An offer taken and dealt with in a heartbeat; lack of work once again obvious as he'd beeline for the locker room, trying to clean his tongue of any foul taste. New threads to soap down and water—hadn't enough to keep changing, after all—before he'd discover why his legal entries were locked up.
Couldn't help but grind whatever nubs were left inside; any cackles and gibbers to come only from dreams, that long beaker to still bubble away, but dangle loose in his fingers. A devious grin to manifest for getting another idea, once he'd curb obvious disaster with one careful pluck.
"Mmm-mmm! Delicious lime cordial boss, just like Cottee's used to make."
Farnsworth to rise in an instant, his fists out and throat trembling: "You'll take this lab from my cold dead—wait, Mayweather?"
"You better believe it."
"Trust me to hire a moron who can't read," he'd fume, adjust his glasses. "And dear Buddha, don't drink that, it'll liquefy your insides!"
"You left that way too late; lucky for me, was only stirrin' ya. But since we're speaking of brainless sorts, perhaps you've forgotten how we've still everything to lose?"
"Yes, yes, yes! Swear you sound like that nagging meddler, what's-her-name… Well, since I can't get any sleep, I'll just get to inventing things. Out of my way."
Barrage of belly ruptures he just couldn't help for hearing that, and such writhing to leave the Professor in quite the huff.
"You, unable to get sleep? Ohhh Farnsey, please, don't bullcrap me. If I got here five minutes later, your beaker would've left a big hole in the floor, IF you were lucky."
"Besides being plain false and stupid, language!"
"Welcome to prove otherwise, whenever you like. Besides that though, I'd wager that such 'busywork' is only to avoid the actual work. Yay or nay?"
"Nooooo! Swear if I were a third of my age, I'd drag you outta here myself… Now start making my minutes good, before I go get it booked in."
Ideas so absurd that he'd be rumbled by guffaws again—latest attack would end quick, though, for finding neither break nor twitch in that stare. Must've spoken from pure experience, somehow, and enough to wonder if extortion was in his future.
"Oooookay then, straight to brass tacks it is. It's simple as, really; first mission of mine, a really special tube, and wanna make something of it. Thing is, we're gonna need each other to make it happen, much as I'm sure we'd hope otherwise… With me so far?"
"Your half a day's work, versus my ownership of forty-plus years… And you think I need YOUR help?" Professor's own ruptures to require bending him back, which for fear of hurting him, the kid was reluctant to do.
"Boss, that reveals a great deal more about you than me, don't you think?"
"Careful which words you choose, boy… 'Round here, you're more expendable than everyone else."
"And that excludes you, I take it? A pity and shame; can imagine this HQ's like your child, to cut no losses and cling so tight. Yet far from helping her expand beyond these walls, your deadbeat arse just hides in here, wasting whatever money she can make. Won't be long before she gets a change of custody, if you catch my drift."
Two leathery hands to grab and grip his top; mix of surprise and temper over that sudden lunge.
"How DARE you dictate the way I do things… Listen here you worthless hypocrite, I'd suggest you hit the floor and beg, or Zeus help me I'll call the police to pound you into dog meat!"
"Do that, and the very secrets that'll gild your doors, launch everyone's lives, shall die with me. Had I the skills you did, then trust and believe, I'd never even bother giving you the time of day. So how 'bout it chief? Since we've no other home in this hellhole, you keen to help me rig our odds?"
Crossed arms to proceed, though could see the taps rivalling ancestral jigs as he'd speak of that mission. Didn't help either to experience gaps in recollection or just in general, make the whole thing come off as a complete farce…
"I've spent two LIFETIMES living by hard data, hypothesis, and heaps of test subjects… Do you really believe I'll be sold that 'miracle' nonsense?"
"Look, I get it, even a total idiot would be sceptical for being told. But I stand before you as proof, as one prepared to BECOME such a subject. You never had to bring me in, let alone offer this place to stay…"
Hints of growls to question whether he was hearing things, least until the Professor snapped back and got his attention.
"Ooooh, get to the point! Unlike you, my time's precious."
"I've only my mouth and manhood to offer, inverse though they are. You help me evolve beyond that, and I promise we're gonna help HQ fly far… Daresay forever."
"How so, wise-aleck?"
"Call me a dreamer, but just imagine that WE, not just the ship, could deliver on your promises. Imagine having a true 'express' service; the word of mouth, the opportunities, the money to pile in. Certainly would fund a crapload of research, I'd wager."
Boss's stammer to have him smile; Warne-like spinning pitch to expose and just plain stump him. Literal lifetimes spent inventing up to this point, but lest he watch his life's work be destroyed, could no longer deny their threats and dangers.
"Oh confound you… Bring that blasted thing, and I'll tweak what's under my tarp. Now leave me!"
"Cheers Farnesy, sure appreciate it."
"That's Professor to you, and don't you EVER forget that."
Taking the long walk to the lounge, his smile would remain for knowing those second chances were ensured. Might even say, in his raring to rest up and get ready for the next job, that he'd grown sick of saying hello, and talking again, to old friends.
Friends that, far as he was concerned, only he had ever known…