(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸ —Back at the diner…— ¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)
Didn't take long after being left behind, for this Captain to get her steak to go.
For what it was worth, while jostling through the crowds, she'd be rather apologetic for weighing up Mayfield's dine n' dash. Being three days in, with most spent making him 'fly right', this wasn't the place, absolutely not the time, to try and crowbar his chest open.
Yet ounce by ounce, her scales began to tip, eventually enough to cast a cautious eye, and trail his steps with renewed focus as opposed to taking his side.
"Nothing 'bout him makes any damn sense… What the hell's wrong, and what's a lady to do?"
Same thought to opt her sideways into a checkpoint, where a pneumatic tube would suck her upward and shoot her through curves and loops, soon prop her feet outside HQ's front door. Couldn't ignore the history for trying to see, or hear, no evil, even to concede that better choices were made going at a leisurely pace.
Big sign halting her to slap her forehead and whisper curses; another stunt that'd resign her to fixing coffee and finding a seat. Conference at first, for hoping that cooler heads could hash things out, or if nothing else, establish a mutual agreement; great thumps beneath, though, to reconsider.
Piecing her near-scalding, the rebukes, and lack of doorbells together, she'd scurry out of sight just as that other madman rushed in, hopping as if on hot coals. He to not suspect a thing for leaving just as quick, and she to try and keep believing, until a minute later when she caught wind of conversations below.
Benefit of the doubt to become atomic; one thing to reopen backdoors, but quite another to commit such blatant breaches with regards to command. And as she'd continue listening in, let beliefs of future screwjobs fester, any pretence of calm would outright disappear.
"Expose secrets? Change custodies? Evolve at my expense? Oooh, that really chucks my berry… Swear he's gonna regret flappin' those lips."
Couldn't care to entertain alternatives as she got a smoothie going, her mind like nutritious slush—nothing sweet, hardly solid. A perfect ambush to put in motion, of a gruelling workout finished and some time to channel surf; face and tank top given a splash, a fierce eye kept on the kitchen clock.
Beat him to the lounge by a distance; her trap sprung when he'd enter and be left in babbles and crocodile tears. Mumbles about shakers to not matter a bit, as for beckoning him with a glare, she had that Officer dead to rights.
"There a thing you DON'T shed tears over?"
"Lee—um, Captain?" he'd try composing himself. "How'd you get here first?"
"Call it one of those… miracles, if you like. Speaking of which"—her arms to cross—"something you wanna say?"
"Ummm, errr, well—"
"How convenient, words escape you again… Just follow me, maybe I've a better idea."
Compliance all but ensured to stomp him toward a secret corner of their hangar, to punch in a keycode and reveal her miniature gym. A stare both firm and unwavering, while she'd wrap her hands in tape, all the time taken to—were she a generous woman—drive her latest Officer out of his wits.
"Jeez, what a big baby… Get behind that heavy bag, and try to stay on your feet."
His inquiry to ignore in taping a small photo; temptations of sending her famous roundhouse into his face, express, while she'd thump the leather. Targeted intent to create a human pendulum before long, and every effort mustered to not break out into scornful laughter.
"Okay, glad you're getting your kicks ma'am, but what's the strength of this? The eff's going on?"
"Answer 'em both by axing just one… Whose side are you on?"
"Sorry, what?"
A routine of southpaw combos, each one closer to collecting his hands: "I've no mood for games, and I'm not gonna axe again. Whose—"
"Everybody's? You saying I—"
"How stupid do you believe I am? Especially for hearing you go over my head?"
"Wait a minute, you heard—?
Bowing head upon the bag to ensure some extra regret, a lightning left uppercut to rock him backwards, leave him counting fingers. No chance of resetting his grip when she'd bust out the flying knees; whatever resolve he had to crack apart, when he'd only just avoid a shot to collect his chin.
"Well, got an answer, or do I have to—?"
"With due respect Captain, that's a goldmine you're giving up, for no good reason. And I've wasted enough treasures in life to wanna do so again."
"Never was that 'gold' I wanted, and emphasis on the word MINE… Go chasing after it again, and you're gonna get way worse than the shaft. Are we clear?"
"Uhhh, sure ma'am, but—"
"Didn't want my input then, so I don't want yours now. You're dismissed."
"Wait, damn you! Just my personal take on payback, I didn't mean to hur—"
Flashes of red to ignore the warning and speak of such words—enough to let rip a push kick that'd thunder the bag—all hundred-plus pounds—direct into his face. Didn't know of her damage, and didn't care either, as she'd unsheathe her combat knife to nick a finger.
"Keep pushing me kid, keep pulling your bullcrap… Promise you REAL payback, to keep doing so."
A single strike then drawn in her blood, right under the headshot taken on his first day.
(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸ —HQ, Friday evening…— ¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)
Hell of a headache earnt from her impromptu session, but could never be worse than the one of his own making.
The kind of kid he could've been—last hours like any other in old public service roles; train delays, dragging feet, glares of daggers, stalking through open floors… Thousands of calls in that short career, at least 95% the same—vermin to vent their spleen, spew their venom, no matter the care given or urgency had.
Between that hydrochloric bile and the boss's constant shrieks, like her beehive was full of hornets, he'd return home to pound a stiff drink, twisting inward while vowing to destroy federal files beyond recognition. Every day to plead for a liquid lobotomy, over each days' memories, and times prior.
A fool's solution and no mistake, but far better than any alternatives; was fantasising plenty when, three calls in, a screech would greet him through his headset—ears shredded into coleslaw, his neck to rip right back.
Mandatory duty to verify every caller's ID; being her latest of several to bring on sweats of panic, particularly to glance through any past notes. Agents to get the business and be left as disturbed messes, no doubt over the foregone conclusion they'd all eventually come to.
"Ma'am, I regret to advise this, but your finances remain cancelled. System won't let me do a thing, as it's subject to this—"
"Screw your fuckin' meeting, where's my fuckin' money?! Bloody useless count, my 11-year-old girl's gonna kick your stupid arse!"
Sympathy to share 'till she called him that, minus one certain vowel… Hadn't a clue, idea or hope of a steady dollar either, even before his agency booked meetings in the middle of shifts—that combined with the hundred-plus summers of home to create perfect storms that'd get him signing yet another write-up.
Ink barely dry when the boss'd preach any 'pledges' of support, then kick him straight out; bare-faced, boilerplate bullshit, straight from the cow's mouth. Serrated maze of sorts to be caught in and carved up—fake promises, wasted lives, forced demands and abuse—and that instant of grave threats to surge the entire lot at once.
"SHUT UP! SHUT, THE HELL, UUUPPP!"
Final call declared to become so bestial, a transformation to transfix everyone within fifty feet of him.
"A word to wise you up, Ma'am. You wanna go ahead with your dumbarse threats, just remember… All you've got is my voice to go from, while I've got EVERYTHING of yours at my fingers. I'd suggest you don't cross me, lest I personally feed your parasitic arse to the worms, and make your daughter watch. GOT IT?!"
Hang-up tone to unleash an almighty scream—witnesses by the dozens to go gawk-eyed as he'd smash his keyboard, rip out the landline, hurled his monitor, dented some lockers, and sent his seat through a window. For having none in his corner, and no-one to fight for anymore, that return home was where'd he eat his final shots, take a lie-down, and escape the ring of life.
Or so he thought, 'till forces beyond gave him those fighting chances; trust him to squander one over clumsy phrasing, and better yet, be labelled a crook, snake, villain in hiding over such a blunder. Captain's permanent evil eye to earn, and on first days no less…
"Payback comes in two forms, surely she knows that… Still, s'pose I oughta prove myself worthy, with OR without."
So in days to pass, he'd try dragging along those heavy loads, try heeding every order to the letter, try to confront any rare deliveries alone… Mind, body and soul to ensure pathetic struggles, but with every chewing out and eventual takeover, would come to suspect a bigger obsession, a graver offence, than first realised.
Wasn't like any patterns didn't present themselves—namely, how readily she'd deny the simplest pleasures, without reason and regardless of downtime. No chances to catch a live supernova, no rides beside Halley or his friends, no care to witness any Earthrise…
Hardest 'yakka' in his entire life, and upon finally reaching his first weekend, only a handful of Bens, Blobs and Brainos to tuck inside his jeans.
"Those tight-arsed pieces of—are they kidding me? Be lucky to get a goon box let alone the good stuff… Ugggh, least the diner's cheap and the library's free."
Eager for quality dinners and quiet reads, he'd be heading toward the hole when a bony back clap stopped him cold; burst of squirms to lay eyes on the Chief, wearing an uncannier smile than usual.
"Where do you think you're going, Mayflower?"
"Out, since I'm off the clock. Other than that, none of your business."
"Ahhh, I'm afraid I've a change of plans… Figured for giving free board that, in fair exchange, I'd take your weekends too."
"Absolutely not, HELL no! Board was given in lieu of your garbage pay, and that's non-negotiable."
"I'm sorry, who owns this property again, hmmm? Now when you're done making stupid demands and slacking off, I've—"
"Speak for yourself, ya mummified—whatever, we're done here."
Warm night's air gracing his cheeks until a series of pained cries and groans would race him back inside. Farnsworth on the phone, feebly hitting himself, for getting closer; fears of bringing entire forces to HQ, between those awful sounds and his serious ease of injury.
Chortles upon comeback, however, to render him ready to erupt… Line was always dead; boss to crave Emmys or Annies for this act.
"You snake-bellied son-of-a-bitch," he'd bunch up his sleeves. "Fine, what do you want?"
"Quite easy I'd say, now that you're here to help me."
Gasped to hear the jangling metal, words of special exceptions… One weekend only, he'd be made the actual Captain.
"If your word's got any worth, then I think you know what I'm after. I'm giving you 'till Monday; any questions, save 'em for whoever cares."
Tried spitting on slippers the moment backs were turned, but only the once before he'd make tracks, fiddling the keys. Realisations of a serious clash cooking up between supervisor and superior; both onto his every move as he'd reach the bridge, a little breathless.
"Known only clowns and jokers… Gonna get me singing some Stealers Wheel soon."
Even as his guts sounded off, he'd begin his search from dashboard to brig, where despite surging hopes to find cabin safes open again, he'd find not even a squirt of what he sought. Three-by-four inch snapshots, thick wad of them, to discover in place instead.
"Well of COURSE I'd get trash over treasure… Still, this can't be an accident."
Grabbing them in one hand, he'd lay upon a hammock and hurry through them; Captain to remain central among the two or three beings featuring in each. To one side, a bloke of green eyes and ginger mullets who'd wear the same outfit—red jacket, blue jeans, white tee—in every single shot, some dated from years back.
"My oath, and I've been bitchin' 'bout that crab freak. Bet this guy owes her a great deal, especially to stay close and pretend he loves her."
On their other side, if not hogging the shot, was their robotic companion; head or two taller, built like a steel barrel with limbs. Frightening enough, BEFORE the evidence of being a hostile felon—novella's worth and growing to find Stinky copping the brunt of balcony dangles, jagged glass, king hits and worse.
"Commits all but murder, yet I'm the bad guy? In what bloody world does THAT make any sense?"
Jeans pocket to place them as he'd resume his quest; not a single corner to spare of anything accessible, from pristine floors to dusty cupboard tops, from engine room to Captain's seat. Quite assured of such, for by the time he'd leave with empty fists, could hear the city in full swing.
Long shower and lie-down to really crave some Cosmic Ray's; was busy flipping through phone contacts when, from out of nowhere, a rippling belch clouded his face. Singed from hair to neck, he'd almost double over in scrambling for fresh air; first for the window, then the conference desk.
"Lord Satan's love spuds, what the HELL was that? Did the old prick die and rot already, or did I?"
"Ironic as it'll sound, that was what'd help rescue you. Four days since I 'feasted', and still feeling the effects."
"Of course, had to have your dirty paw in it… You'll get my thanks, Puke Eyestalker, but you can beat it for that little stunt."
"Lord Nibbler to you, and to decide how and when we meet, that's the LEAST I'm owed. Clear?"
Would return to his phone determined for a late dinner, only for a searing pain—similar to rump roast—to travel across his hand. Could only throw a tempest of feet and good fist; oh-for-six to get him gnashing.
"By the Halls of Eternity… Of all the people we could've saved, we'd get ourselves a baby in a man's body?"
"Got me spittin' chips right now, squirt… You have the cheek to infantilise me, after forcing my rebirth?"
"Too right I do, and I'd suggest you grow up quick. As rumours have it, you've got sides to choose over a certain miracle."
"Just can't be left alone. Alright, how'd you gather that?"
"One can learn and act upon things, being loved and looked after. And would I be wrong saying that you'd get better rushes being a hero, as opposed to your booze, junk food and, ahem, little fantasies?"
Fingers to dig into his forehead: "Be lying if I said no, but can't remember a worse hangover in my life. And then to wind up being treated like a bandit, extorted to become one…"
"Trading those runners for Leela's boots, would YOU turn a blind eye and your back? And over the stakes that YOU'D spell out, did you believe Farnsworth wouldn't take your word, the chance to test your nerve?"
"Point taken 'bout the old prick, but blind eye for what? You think she'll ever let me ask, as she sticks her honker into my—"
"What's so bad that you just can't speak of it? That claims you must keep everything a secret from her?"
"She thinks low enough of me as is," he'd sit and shell up. "Throw in the life I was given, the stories of what I'd give back… One-way ticket to the abyss, and no better mercy by the time she's done."
"So you're saying no-one else can suffer the same fate? Might I redirect you to that bulging pocket of yours?"
Copped a shudder as he'd spread his pile over the table; bleary eyes and long yawns as Nibbler, once he got helped up, began to study each snapshot with attentive prudence.
"All those memories, always these three, and all to remain locked… Do you get the reason why?"
"I can't even take a piss in peace, and you expect me to find out? Take these notes and take 'em to the bank; her rope of helping hands is gonna become the gallows I'll hang from."
"You CAN find out, child, you just don't want to. Now I get the hesitations given your history, but no-one can keep secrets, remain a solitudinarian, forever. Either lend an ear and let her in—dig inside yourself for once—or be welcome to tighten your own knot. Universe won't oblige any way out, and nor will I."
"You don't get it, you really don't get it. For all that's good and holy, just—"
"And you're GOING to, should you remain silent. Pleasant dreams."
Almost the crack of midnight when memories of meetings, but not the messages, were flashed into static; snacks grabbed to satisfy any squirms before he aired out the lounge, hoping he wouldn't suffocate in his sleep.
(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸ (¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸ —…— ¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)
"Knew where ya stood, yet still you must persist. Wise up and walk out, ya nosy punk, or you'll be wishin' you did as you lie in World's End…"
Springing from the couch, and almost bashing brains for tripping, he'd catch only a flicker of fabric for scanning outside; shadowy figure to vanish again into air. The situation to have him slap the window, too disturbed to return for even a nap.
Another glance upon the snapshots as sunlight dawned upon the couch, thoughts to flicker of that honest advice. Such an option to admit as tempting, yet between any hatred and unsettled payback, would make a vow to ensure his place, even to strip the headquarters clean.
Except for meal breaks, any search efforts would last from rising to setting, and redouble the day after. Brightest peaks of the attic, darkest bowels of the basement, anywhere else in between, and anything to avoid recall, but when he'd find only dust, plus the odd junk hoard, he had to bow his head and finally give in.
Ascending back to the attic, getting his last gleams of starlight, his eyes would mist over the portraits, memories to form; true Captain who'd dream of riding delivery rails, his Number One who'd become their glue and beyond, and the Lieutenant he'd never come close to, even in any prime.
"Wayward son, heavy for a brother, black sheep of you all. Idiot's tale at an ignominious end, but I shall no longer dirty and dishonour your name. Please, just be at peace, even to forsake your light upon me…"
Ensign's tears to blow them a kiss and leave, think of getting presentable for personal funerals until, lying prone upon locker room benches, he'd spot his second chance. Fastest he'd run and tightest grip had, twisting from grim to gleeful only to discover a 'READ ME' card taped to where it laid.
A grimace while he'd unfold the paper, and quicker yet, a puzzled frown to inspect it.
You alone to make this choice, and you alone to be held responsible… I'll be watching.
- L
Knuckles to his chin for this game of trust—no harder decision in his life, for getting this option to begin with. Head and heart to weigh up who helped him most, against who'd inflict the least damage; life to be forfeit, sure, but he couldn't be paid enough to leave in pieces again.
Chief to give him this roof, Captain to teach him how to keep it. He to employ the police, she to employ her arts. He to know nothing of any miracles, she to harbour serious stories of its influence, or must've been…
As options tipped toward the obvious, those lost plans would leave him clutching his face—reaching over Leela's locker to place his prize, he'd shake his head toward any 'eyes' before he'd hand the keys over, getting a series of tuts.
"Real shame to see, Mayweather… All week spent making tweaks, I'm just about to go live, and you'll be too dead to witness true beauty."
"Don't tell me I didn't try. Now if that'll be all, I'm gonna go value what little time I've left."
"Least half my life I'd be told the same. Might a lonely old man get a little longer? Pleeeaaase?"
"You sicked the cops onto me and stole my only weekend. You'll be lucky not to get punched up the throat."
"If you can't forgive my methods, then, maybe I should remind you of who I am, and why."
Professor to shuffle off and grip that sheet trawling over the tiles; odd crunch of bone to wince for, as he'd raise that other arm with pomp and circumstance.
"Move over Dolly, prepare for creation!"
Inch-by-inch the sheet was dragged until Mayfield yanked the cloth loose, revealing a giant green box, several tubes to travel above and seemingly below ground. Conveyor belt to be mere steps from a Plexiglass tub, and between that lot, a mess of wires to connect circular screens and a giant green lever.
"Oookay, well… Utter rocket science to me big boss, whatcha got here?"
"The Clone-O-Mat 3000, now with object-moulding capability! Borne from the remnants of salvage, scrap, spares, rares, and months of tireless work, I was finally able to add the finishing touches, courtesy of everyone's efforts on Stumbos-4."
"Right, right… And?"
"At last, our miracle to launch us forward." In saying so, a subtle hand of beckoning.
"Exactly what miracles are we—oh, ohhhhhh…"
"Was afraid I'd have to carve out a cave painting."
"Yeah, as if you wouldn't. Well, you want my support, gimme the ins and outs first."
"It's really quite simple. Place any item in that input box up top. Then, adjust how many you require by dragging this thingy left or right. Finally, slap that big green button, and let modern science take care of the rest."
"I see, and anything else?"
"Oh nothing, nothing at all… Oh wait, two things actually. First, this'll scan only one thing at a time, and it WILL require the original's loss. Second, it's a twenty-four hour cooldown per copy; better trust me and the doomsday device to power this thing. Ahhh, if only I could've reused the lava pit."
"Doomsday device? Lava pit? Cooldowns? Gods help us, what else ya hiding in your closet? So if you're telling me that our best case is this gigantic wait, what the hell's the worst then?"
"Would suggest we all take the ship, fly a good fifty thousand light years out." Madman's laugh to get shivers up the spine.
"Great, as if matters weren't messy already. And to think I'd speak up, for believing my Captain deserved better than a punk kid playing Officer."
"I don't believe you're a punk. Sure, your attitude sucks and so does the language, but—"
"Ohhh please, don't pretend like you care Professor. Can we just kick this into gear now?"
Each pause between labs and lockers to create cardiac attacks in waiting, before he'd return with the goods; all manner of bleeps, bloops and blips to atomise that tube into the aether. Everything he could and couldn't describe to form the properties, ingredients, labels and warnings he'd come to know, as he'd watch that lever be carefully tilted.
All going just fine before cricks in his ankle sent Farnsworth crashing hard; both to gasp out after the kid propped him up.
"Wait, several THOUSAND copies? Whoopsy-daisy, let's just correct this here… Legacy's awful enough WITHOUT billions dying."
A couple of particular dings, boss's own claim, and their wishful goldmine to gather up—every tube of seven barely hitting the belt, before Mayfield would snatch them off. That moment to finally admit to any chaotic brilliance, as he'd fail every effort to spot a screwy label, some crooked text, or even a misaligned glyph.
"You're our ticket to caviar dreams… Hmm hmm hmm hmm, precious."
"Now if that'll be all, I've got a nice breeze to enjoy."
Big grin to flash the Chief, not even processing what was said, only to confront the man without his lab coat, or anything layered under. Tubes to collapse out of his hands, to watch several bits wrinklier than a Shar-Pei start flopping about.
"Auuugggghhhhh, my eyes! Why do we have no bleach 'round here?"
"Indeed, and call that MY payback for squandering my time. You better make this worth my while, got it?"
"Uhhh, sure Rip Van Wrinkle, just don't melt into a puddle before then."
Stashing his treasure then spreading across the couch, he'd drift away with an actual smile, even in spite of the potential nightmares to come.
(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸ —In the wee hours…— ¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)
To once again continue nightmares of justice unserved, this time confronting the 'hero' at her helm, Leela'd whoosh herself back into headquarters, pyjamas and bare feet be damned. Latest memory loop of many to leave her begging for answers, to sneak in through the back and take the lift.
Daily coffee budget, of all bills, to wax wise that power—she'd add the 'S'—was the best exposer of one's honour and nature. A once dear friend to proclaim, promise that as truth; course, all taken with generous salt since that one criminal summer, that ridiculous Johnny Carson 'quote.'
"Time I see where the kid's loyalties lie. Wrong choice, he won't leave HQ alive."
Hoping not to alert anyone, she'd riff through the in-house security tapes and soon get to taking notes, starting with Amy's chat and cash hand-off as planned. Wasn't any good at reading lips, so to hear only reluctance and whispers, could only confirm that scheme as a complete dud.
Closed-door meetings to come next, cross her fingers that what she'd overhear remained only to imagination. A great deal of footage to somehow become static, right until the reveal of HER keys in the kid's hands… Same ones she would sanitise thoroughly with each morning 'recovery.'
And if simmers didn't become boils then, they certainly would over the last tape and eventual decision, one to tempt a 25-to-life as Mayfield bashed himself against his locker, and finally defied her order.
"I'm sorry Captain… I'm truly sorry. You deserve much better than me, and this is the only way."
Revelation to eject the tape and hurl it headlong over the railing, thinking she should've ignored the voices and kept her miracle secret. Vitals to spike and a vicious growl to escape, as she'd hurry for home eager to plot her revenge.
"Took you in, and that's how you treat me? Rat bastard, this time you've DONE it!"
The morning after to confront her nightmare made real—reeking of eucalyptus and ego, that dead Officer walking to inspect that busted tape. Had to face that if she didn't strike anytime soon, he'd mutiny and make the ship his; after all, 'true heroes' to have tried before, and almost succeed in stranding her.
As he cleaned up any scatters of plastic and celluloid, marvelling that they still existed, she'd rack her brains wondering when to finish the job, how she'd ensure her lesson, before going to confront him inside the cargo bay.
"Get a look at you then… Take it you had a good rest?"
"Don't mistake feeling at one's prime for being at rest, Captain. Never gonna happen here."
"Is that so? Well, I'm the better counsel of us both, so if there's anything to say…"
"Yeah, right, as if you actually care. You think I'm gonna open up after reading that awful note of yours?"
"Wouldn't have had to write it, had you quit your ideas… Why didn't you bail on this one?"
"Where would I go, to give up again? Back to Cookieville? Back ten thousand miles away, to places of broken promises and bad memories? Better yet, should I do so, how would I survive for being an ancient Bachelor of bare experience, barren networks, and no way to advance either? Let's hear it, Ma'am."
"So we're all you have, is that what you're saying? Sorry but no, and especially not anymore."
"And you wonder why I'd remain silent… From the day we met, you hoped I'd hit the bricks; why bother sharing any stories?"
"That's because you're likely the sorriest crewman I've ever led, in spite of the LOW bars set before you. How could I care to hear out the clowning, whiny, wannabe hero you've been ever since Cookieville, since I'd call you Officer?"
"Most your words I won't deny, Captain… But when you've NO idea of this mind or the memories it holds, don't you DARE mock how I cope. And don't lecture me how, either."
Pat-down of pockets to provide an obvious gimme, the tap-in of clues, as she'd watch him rush up the ladder and, presumably, right to his cabin.
"Maybe I do, and more than you think. But you won't have to worry before long…"
Ship to bolt skyward once any crates were loaded, and lessons to override any warnings from Amy, least 'till a gamut of slavers would suspend her curriculum. One thing facing creatures wanting fresh meat, just minutes in, but very much another to witness comms snatched and surrenders called, not even a cut fuel line to justify it.
Thoughts of cuffs, chains and coarse rags yet again, as that gang boarded her ship, before any subtle fixes in odds flipped the script of surrender.
Broken gun here, slippery fall there, so on and so forth, to take advantage of and outclass those clueless invaders—no apology nor mercy, and no thanks to cowardly Officers. Eulogies to be brief after dragging carcasses for the airlock; trash to then get blown out, burn to dust despite any cries.
Fine sacrifices for Dame Fortune, to 'bless their SOLs', and right about now, any blessing to confess as quite welcome.
Noumel-13 to declare her first stop among several, crates branded with 'BUILDING MATERIALS' for their Senate and its violet, crumbling Grand Statehouse. Orders and objectives to outsource as usual, and was hoping to relax until cracking sounds sprang her for top deck, ready to escape.
Looking out the dashboard to slap it and stomp right out; rookie caught punching the ground and shovelling in their chocolate crust and vanilla mantles… Real problem episode once, and one now hitting too close to home.
"Un-be-lievable… Did you even bother checking that this was safe to eat, idiot?"
"So I'm a sweet tooth, sue me! Could've been happy to enjoy this ice-creamy filling, but noooo."
Face to flush even redder, to abuse every detour and flout every order—not just hers either. Didn't hesitate with yells of "Greedy asshole!" as he'd feast upon anything in sight; giant maze of rainbow candies, falls pouring of maple syrup, limitless lakes of quality fudge. Again his mess to clean up when, as powers petered out, he'd tumble in and flail in panic.
Temptations to let the Lord sort him out when only a hand waved above the goo, before she'd pull him free with an almighty drag, then paid him a swift kick up the ass. Arriving at the Statehouse, turned out she'd give him too good a fate; shouts among the creatures to avenge his destructive gluttony, including against HER for saving his life.
Questions on who'd kill who first, and no use scattering the materials for how they were packed, as those creatures brought their knives out, utterly lost their Milk Dud minds. While she'd punt a bunch to kingdom come, he'd again give up and go into gibbers, letting the numbers seemingly overwhelm him, and eventually, them.
Satisfaction to lose once she got her thighs slashed, and as spurts became pints, as dizzy spells turned to darkness, she wondered if her future—any answers therein—were to remain in the abyss…
Emergency miracles however, and yet another ploy of surrender, to exact one more chance; one she wouldn't waste to return good as new, with powers to boot, aboard the bridge.
"Captain, thank the Gods… Thought—"
Reflex was to grip her Officer's jaw, squeeze, and lift him high: "One more word, even one TOE on this deck again, and you'll be the one I bless next… You've got five seconds, now get out."
Cardiac or cuffed up, was due for an arrest as Mercury swung into view, inside of fifteen minutes. Lethal heat to engulf them both, having orbited too low for safe descent, as again she'd send her Officer away.
"Get into HG's, get this done, then wait inside. We'll be back to come pick you up. Got it?"
His curt nod to leave him there and drive Amy to Luna Park, allow herself a break to compete in arcade round robins, smirk at gopher jokes, clap along to Moon Street, or hum with those whalers. None however to help her relax, as once again—even over gift shops of all things—she'd get reminders of impulsive or plain brazen crew.
Speaking of which, only Amy's worried insistence to return, watch his eventual collapse onto the cargo platform. 'Goldilocks' band of Mercury's heat to mistime, not that she cared a great deal as they'd then fly for Symphonia-9.
Safe, quick delivery of a dozen Holophonors to be offered a choice by the orchestra; signature to come with either a big cash bonus, or custom Symphods. Those several thousands to grab quick, made up mostly of Gores, as she'd give the crew those glorified iPods; Amy could spend hers in a single blink, and she knew that Mayfield wasn't going to, period.
More so to make a final stop upon the Waldorf Asteroid; Mrs. Astor their client, and a crate of priceless Ming vases to secure and set up. Mutant and madam to prefer their distance, plus each other's backs, so instead would send Amy out; like hell she'd let her Officer ruin it, or get richer from it.
Amy to see things differently though; didn't just bring him back on bridge, with excited mutters and shaky legs, but would find out she'd literally pass the bucks as well.
"I warned you about coming back up here… So you better have a good reason."
"Ch-ch-check my right pocket, ma'am. Got thousands in there, even for counting mine."
"I don't reward laziness or liability, so what's yours is mine too. And pal, you'll lose worse to not comply—airlock's ready after all."
"Smeesh, hasn't he paid enough of a price? It's like you're HOPING to get calls from Homi—"
"Careful who you cross, Wong… You might have more money, but I make the rules 'round here."
Frowns of concern or injustice to ignore; Amy's loyalties, all the money made, to instead question over quick showers and bedrest. Even to crave this phoenix act, these chances to upgrade the old girl and afford quality gear, this wasn't the cost she prepared herself, or was willing, to pay.
No greater backstab nor wound, for not just personal plans turning into ash, but to hear the applause and see the handshakes, notice that smug grin as her Officer became their newest Executive Delivery Boy.
A position he wouldn't hold, her promise, as she trailed him to his locker, ignoring any calls of goodnight from her colleagues.
"Congratulations kid… Now leave your things, and come with me."
"Yeah, thanks. Be right with ya, just gotta—"
Her shove aside and door thudded shut; if impulses were correct, a chat to insist on, and no doubt their last.
(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸(¯ˆ·.¸ —The bowels of HQ…— ¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)
To be warned of what'd happen for walking away, and to observe offbeat hallways, creaky doors, clicks of locks, and a glaring lack of witnesses, he figured his Captain didn't actually care to discuss a thing.
Confronting the only room to escape any recall, he never knew a roaring fireplace could freeze his insides, that full bookshelves could unnerve him to such hideous degrees. Ancient busts and bastard swords to imagine what Leela had in mind; eternities to pass before she'd return, carrying a porcelain tea set and cookies on a tray.
Quick snap after she'd place them on a coffee table, before pointing him toward a chaise lounge.
"Can you gather why we're here, Mayfield?"
"Uhhhh, no, can't say this rings a bell…" Slow pours heard to sniff about, and skip a beat over: "Wait, is that English Breakfast? How on Earth did you—"
"Never mind my refreshments, just let me enlighten you… We're in our accusing parlour."
"Sure has been the scariest library I've set foot in. Mind telling me why I shouldn't take a powder? Get myself lost?"
Got only an "Ah!" in response after she would scan the shelves, seize a volume with deliberate haste. Details of days and entries once she sat beside him, dog-ears noted for every casual page flip.
"So, seems now above almost anyone else we've had on board, you're officially one of us. Wanna say I'm glad, daresay proud, but speaking the plain truth, I—"
Bridge and forehead to pinch: "Ohhh, I'm pretty sure I know where this is going…"
"Oh you do, do you? So how could you excuse everything you'd do since Stumbos-4, and worse, go about 'em all so blatantly? What, did I kick your ass so bad that you forgot, or something?"
"About bloody time you'd admit it. However, I absolutely don't; just was adamant on my idea of payback, its meaning far less applied than it should be."
Her stare of claymores, forget daggers, to bring about fresh chills; none to waver at all as she drank without glancing away.
"WHO are you trying to fool?! Did you think I was so stupid that, after fighting out of hostage situations and pissed off Noumellians, I'd BELIEVE such a story?"
"Chriost dean trocaire… I never intended to bring such harm for having such great powers, but they were tests for a greater purpose. Regrettable, yes, but tests regardless. Get one thing clear, if you're comparing me to your robot freak, then we—"
"You really wanna go there? So I s'pose my eyeball wasn't gonna notice your love of money, hmm? Your drinking? Your disrespect? Your screwing us for any pleasure or shortcut?"
"I'm a boy of vices and priceless needs, it's true. But that accusation crosses a fuckin' line, to say I'm sticking knives into—"
He to scooch over backwards, over a sudden rise and advance: "Are you telling me you speak from experience? Can't believe this… All I ever wanted was quality crew."
"Gods-dammit Captain, you're getting the wrong idea! Please, just take a walk with me, and I'll show why I grabbed your goldmine to begin with. What little honour I've left, or my life."
Constant turns from lounge to door, his every beckoning to grow desperate, until a sharp corner smacked him between the eyes. A taste of her life to be thrown, with an assassin's timing and precision.
"One single hair out of here, and they won't find your body. Now, here's how it's gonna be…"
As if headaches didn't make him enough of a marked man, he'd feel himself go rubbery as all other options went poof.
"Inside any of your pockets, I'll bet your life that Dr. FlimFlam hides within. You give that up, I'll let you grab your things and get out. If you don't, then I've a lesson for you that'll make our first day feel like a papercut… So what's it gonna be, kid?"
"Ma'am, I made real serious mistakes coming to this point, but I'll say it again, you deserved better than the boy you'd 'adopt.' Just lead me back, for the love of—"
"You're right, I absolutely did. Time I get one step closer, for ripping up my papers… Hiiiiiiiii—"
"Ahhhhhhh SHIT!"
Coughing fit worse than any flu, once her boot drilled into his torso; was sure of broken ribs even before he'd be kicked down and stomped upon again. Deep breaths of satisfaction heard as he'd scramble in crawls for the hallway, tears coursing forth as he'd get swiftly caught and swung back inside.
A glare to freeze hellfire itself, and a fate as good as sealed once, in manners that'd remind him of bespoke knights, the door handles would be locked again, one-by-one.
"Get up."
Circled his body about, trying his hardest to heed the order, only to be grounded again with a wave of fists and flying knees. The head-hunting to crack chins and swell his cheeks like balloons, and no doubt there was worse in mind.
"Get up. Now."
Grinding effort on his behalf as he'd push up from his own fists; was almost level until she'd rip a kick into his knee, snapping it inward. Again a yell to raise the dead as he'd tend to that spot; big mistake upon a stomp that'd render his right hand to dust.
"What the hell were you hoping for, in trying to hurt me?"
Only salty cries to answer with, as his life fell in her hands… Literally, to wrap around his neck.
"Did you imagine I'd hold my hand out forever, after all the secrets kept and trouble caused?"
No answer good enough, not even violent headshakes and frantic points, to avoid getting picked up and belted against the bookcases; good time picked for none of them to come to any aid.
"Now's no time to talk charades, buddy… I didn't keep the tea extra hot just for my own pleasure."
Mimes of buttons to press, of fingers held up to reveal his combo, but she was having none of it; tossed again like a week of dirty laundry.
"For the last time, no. You never wanted to listen, so frankly, I'm as done with you as I'll ever be."
Every last ounce of energy given, only to fall back prone; couldn't even turn heads to see her raise an encyclopaedia, before all that knowledge would burst in at once. White and black to make plain red, and much too broken to notice any steam scalding the air.
Latest King to crown when she'd cook the skin off his face, pours akin to molten gold as another close-up earnt him a shattering across his nose. Wasn't any doctor he knew, but felt quite assured of final resting places, to no longer be able to scream.
"Ahhhhh, I actually feel finished… Think tomorrow morning, gonna let the abyss claim what's left."
Fine by him, to summon a salute from his last good limb; either his secret died in this parlour, or, if she did actually break inside, beating one in ten billion odds…
He'd only regret missing the look on her face, for realising the truth of his 'betrayal.'