Lol, sorry for the huge wait, those few of you who have read this ficseries before...and actually remember it... XD
I'm hoping to do Shyacho's reaction to Hocotate Freight's... situation next, unless I get distracted/bored/decide to do something else XD *fail*

Uploaded: October 26/09 (Last update was a over a year ago. My bad. XDD)

Edit Sept 2012: Despite the fact that the I haven't done anything with this story in years now, I honestly haven't forgotten about it. I've had a few anons ask for more, but I need ideas. All my notes are... not very good, shall we say, and I haven't played Pikmin in quite a while so I need some kind of inspiration.

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The Angel idly wondered if at some point he'd done something to offend the gods and was now being punished for it. There wasn't really any other explanation for this remarkably degrading turn of events.

It had all started with a few billion drops of water.

Back on Hocotate, in the area his hangar was located, sandstorms were common in the dry months. When the plants all dried up, there was nothing to hold the soil down. At that point, it just kind of blew everywhere in the slightest wind and got into every little crevice that wasn't properly sealed. The proper sealants and methods had been perfected a century before, so ordinarily that wasn't a problem.

However, on the very rare occasion there were freak thunderstorms in the middle of the dry months. And the sand sealant was not waterproof. Even this normally wasn't a problem. There were always water droplets at high altitudes, no matter the season. All ships were insulated against that, too, underneath the sandproof coating.

The Angel, however, was an old ship, much as he hated to admit it. He was ready for the scrapheap, to be perfectly honest. Because of this, he hadn't gotten a new coating of the more expensive waterproof sealant in a good few years. It had long ago deteriorated and was now useless.

Thus, the Angel found himself in an open air hangar with the rain pouring in for several hours.

And then! Then! The rain had finally let up, but both his coats of sealant had been washed away. The next day had been particularly warm and windy and the soil dried out again in no time. Because of this, there was a sandstorm.

The dirt had eroded away at much of his frame, stripping him of his former beauty. Half his paint was gone, most of his sigil was smudged out, he'd been sanded in ways he had never, ever wanted to be sanded... and then the water did its work and he'd begun to rust up in places he hadn't even known he could rust. Quite bluntly, he was a mess. No one bothered fixing him up, but that was to be expected. It wasn't like he would have been in commission for much longer anyway. Half a decade, if he was very lucky.

So at that point, the Angel just figured that meant he'd be kicking the bucket sooner than expected. These things happened, c'est la vie. Or lack thereof.

But then Louie had been sent on an interstellar trip with a single freight hauler carrying a very expensive load indeed... one that he'd managed to lose to a space bunny and plunge Hocotate Freight deep, deep into debt. The higher ups had begun to sell everything they could get their hands on to anyone who could pay - stocks, shipping contracts, supplies... ships. The Angel, for the first time that he could easily recall, had gotten lucky, though he hadn't realized it at the time. He wasn't pretty or roomy enough to be a passenger ship, didn't have the right type of processor or personality to become a building or city AI, and was old and damaged enough that his parts were practically worthless. It was rather insulting to a ship that valued his beauty and usefulness above all else.

And then Olimar and the Dolphin had miraculously returned, carrying with them a small trinket worth a startling amount of money...

So, perhaps... he hadn't offended the gods after all. Maybe Fortune was smiling upon him for once. Maybe this distant planet wouldn't become his and his crew's grave...

"Ouch!"

The Angel grinned from his seat, watching Louie suck on his scalded finger. If nothing else, at least Fortune had seen fit to provide him with some eye candy.

"Careful, cutie. You need to keep yourself uninjured for tomorrow, remember?"

Louie swiftly removed his finger from his mouth upon seeing the Angel's expression. Hey, he couldn't help it; it was fun to weird out the kid. And, well. It wasn't like he was actually lying about the whole 'cutie' thing. He was pretty attractive for an organic who wasn't even trying at it.

"Uhhh... sure." he turned back around to the stove and his potful of Space Noodles. Hiding his expression, probably. He could be blushing. He did that sometimes. Well, and he had to try and actually cook said noodles into some sort of palatable form. Not an easy task, but if there was anyone who could do it, it was Louie. He was a master cook... or, so said Olimar. The Angel, lacking any sort of taste sensor and not really having any real idea of what tasting things was like, had to trust him in this matter. Having gone through as many crews as he had, however... 'trust' wasn't exactly part of his repertoire of emotions.

"Um... Angel?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Could you, uh... could you maybe stop staring at me? You're kinda weirding me out."

Then again... this particular crew was endearing enough that maybe they'd be able to change that. "It's not my fault that you're aesthetically pleasing." With a wink, he dissolved his hologram. No need to make the kid more nervous than he already was. Even if it was far more amusing than it should be.

Louie blinked at the spot the Angel had just vacated for a few moments. He hadn't quite realized yet that ships didn't need to be using their hologram in a particular room in order to have their full attention on it. Or the fact that it had only been the hologram that had been staring, which couldn't actually see. Of course, it wasn't like Louie'd been around ships for long - barely four months - so it was to be expected. The Angel still wasn't sure why Shyacho had sent Louie and the Orca - a notoriously unreliable ship - to deliver such a large and expensive shipment. Was it the hope of their keeping a low profile, perhaps, and avoiding the attention of pirates? Or was it because Shyacho was as brainless as he occasionally seemed and honestly hadn't considered just which Hocotatian and ship he'd sent?

Or perhaps Fate had conspired to bring the three of them together...

The Angel was well aware of the fact that he placed more importance on religion and the supernatural than most ships or even Hocotatians. It wasn't something he'd ever admit out loud, of course. Spiritual beliefs just weren't 'in' - never had been for ships and AIs. Probably never would be. No religion had openly accepted the idea that artificial beings could have souls, could be accepted by whatever deities they believed in. Not that the Angel could blame them. He had never, in his decades of existence, thought that maybe the gods were on his side. Quite bluntly, his life - if one could call it life - had been one disaster after another.

That was rather more depressing a thought than he wanted to think about, though, especially with this wonderful view of a now-oblivious Louie dancing along to whatever music only he could hear...

Sometimes the Angel wondered about the kid. Was he intelligent enough to be part of this mission? Was he even mentally stable enough? Did he even realize the perils that greeted him every single day in the form of environmental hazards, of beasts, of the very air that surrounded him? Even a small fall carried the possibility of cracking his helmet or puncturing his air tank, and if that were to happen...

The Angel shuddered inwardly at the thought. Oxygen exposure always yielded... painful results.

By the gods. He'd managed to depress himself even more, imagining Louie's demise. Time to visit his Captain.

The Angel moved the majority of his attention to the crew quarters. Olimar always cheered him up, simply through his presence. Gave him hope, if he were to be perfectly honest with himself. He and the Dolphin had survived on this world for twenty-eight days, a time span that the Angel wasn't sure he'd have lasted without breaking down. Certainly not if he were organic, with the promise of a slow and agonizing death hanging over his head should he not finish rebuilding his ship in time...

And now here he was, back on the planet that could have so very easily become his grave, a victim of Shyacho's stupidity - or possibly Louie or the Orca's - seemingly none the worse for wear. The Angel wished he was half as courageous as his Captain. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud, of course. He did have a reputation to maintain.

He considered materializing his holoform, but decided against it. Too many blind spots in this room - organics tended to find it disturbing when he couldn't see through the holoform's eyes and was blind to things he was 'looking' directly at. "Good evening, Captain."

Olimar looked up from his datapad only briefly, ascertaining that there was no holoform present, before looking back down. A wonderfully practical move, the Angel thought; the floor and the beds were as much a part of his frame as whatever other objects Hocotatians would fixate on when speaking to him. "Same to you, Angel. Have we gotten Shyacho's daily mail yet?"

"Not yet, Captain. We're on the wrong side of the planet - we should be able to receive in a few hours, however."

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'thank the gods for small favors' and the Angel barely restrained a snort of laughter. Thank the gods indeed.

"Is there something you wanted to talk about, then?"

Nearly a month with the Dolphin had made him far more perceptive than most Hocotatians, it seemed. Either that or more caring. The Angel liked both of those ideas, but that didn't mean he was going to share his feelings with the Captain. Openness was not a quality that was good for ships. "Not really. I've grown tired of the wailing that Louie calls 'singing'..."

Olimar laughed. The sound was surprisingly deep considering his oddly high-pitched voice. "So you want a distraction, then."

"I suppose you could say that." It just wasn't for the reasons he thought... but that was alright. Just another little white lie in a very, very long sequence of them.

"Alright then. Anything in particular you want me to distract you with?"

"What's on your pad?" Of course, the Angel could have easily just peeked into Olimar's files; they were stored on his own hard drives after all, and the datapad was merely a tool to write them with. It was much more enjoyable to ask rather than assess them himself, though. And, well. The whole 'distraction' thing.

He bounced the pad against one leg, absentmindedly gnawing on the end of his stylus. The Angel found himself mildly surprised; he wouldn't have pegged the Captain as a chewer. It seemed more like a Louie thing. "Various things. Journal entries. Observations on the planet's flora and fauna. Treasure catalogue. Drawings."

The last was surprising. Olimar was an artist? "I didn't know you could draw."

He shrugged... and blushed, the Angel noticed with some amusement. It wouldn't have been visible to organic eyes, slight as it was. "It's a hobby. I got a lot better at it over last month... helped me relax a little." He paused, and the tone of his voice was suddenly different. "Dolph liked to watch me. Said it helped keep his mind off things..."

Such as the painful fact that his parts were scattered across the planet and the knowledge that he would likely have to watch his Captain die, no doubt. Not for the first time, the Angel wondered at their relationship. They had been more than merely Captain and ship, that much was evident... "If you wouldn't object to it, I'd like to watch you sometime."

"Help keep your mind off things?" one corner of Olimar's mouth quirked in a humorless smile as he looked up again, eyes fixed on a random spot on the far wall.

Like the fact that he was probably going to end up scrapped the minute they got back to Hocotate if not beforehand, and the knowledge that the gods he believed in didn't give a Bulborb's behind about him? Perceptive was indeed the case, it seemed. "Precisely. I can't say I can stand much more of that atrocious 'singing'..."

Olimar let out a bark of laughter - real laughter, despite its shortness. When was the last time he'd been in good enough humor to laugh this much? Last time he was home, probably, not living in the cramped space of a cargo ship. It made that flicker of pride and satisfaction all the more fulfilling, because now he was finally repaying his Captain for all the emotional support he didn't know he was giving.

"Well in that case - I suppose I should indulge you, shouldn't I?"

"Please." The Angel injected as much dry humor as he possibly could into the word. Louie actually had started singing - his voice wasn't horrible, admittedly, but it certainly wasn't something one wanted to hear echoing through their interior. Not that there were many things the Angel wanted to hear echoing through his frame. At least it drowned out the chirps of the Pikmin in his cargo hold and the clanks of his own deteriorating body by way of giving him something else to concentrate on...

Still grinning, Olimar looked back down at his datapad. "Well, okay. Anything I should be drawing?"

"Some of the beasts we encountered today, perhaps? I'm sure the scientists on Hocotate would appreciate it."

"I've been doing that, actually. I was trying my hand at the Snagret..."

Well, it made sense. He certainly fancied himself an amateur scientist... not that he seemed unsuited for the role. He had a remarkable attention to detail, one that seemed more suited for a ship than an organic. "Please, continue."

He offered the smallest of nods as a reply, already absorbed in the drawing again. The Angel watched with interest; 2-D representations weren't his forte. Weren't many ships' forte, really. Most of them were far better at 3-D modeling. A by-product of the way they were required to process visual information, perhaps. Whereas Hocotatians were stuck on a relatively 2-D plain - able to move forwards and backwards, left and right, but finding it difficult to go either up or down - ships spent half their lives in space, which of course lacked any sort of up or down, left or right, forwards or backwards. It required an entirely different way of thinking, one that took Hocotatians many years to get the hang of.

"Um... Angel?"

The Angel casually focused his attention back downstairs, still half-paying attention to Olimar's sketching. "Yes?"

Louie looked around for a moment, undoubtedly searching for something to fixate on, before staring at the chair that the Angel tended to 'sit' in. "Could you tell Olimar that supper's ready? Or, I think it is..."

He smiled inwardly. Strange, how Louie always second-guessed himself, even when dealing with something he was apparently a master at. "Sure thing, cutie." And back upstairs, to Olimar - "Dinner's ready, Captain."

Olimar stretched, stylus still clutched in one hand, before standing. "Already? Hmm. I guess I lost track of time. Thanks, Angel." The stylus and datapad were tossed haphazardly onto the lower bunk before Olimar went downstairs; the Angel saved his work for him, then shut off the pad so as to conserve its batteries. He allowed himself an audible chuckle before moving his attention to the kitchen again. Sometimes... sometimes he just felt a little too much like some kind of mother hen to the two of them. Even if Olimar was a decade older.

Out of habit, he materialized his hologram in its usual chair, watching with fond eyes as Louie dumped some of his apparently improved Space Noodles into a bowl for Olimar. They were a great crew. They really were. The best a ship could hope for - friendly, unprejudiced, level-headed, serious...

"You sure I'm not going to get food poisoning again, Louie?" Olimar asked with a grin.

Louie retaliated by flinging a noodle at him. The Angel promptly erased 'serious' from his mental list. Honestly, though, there was nothing wrong with a little bit of brevity - and Olimar ducked a little, a perfect dodge, not that Louie's aim had been particularly good anyways - he was too used to throwing the far heavier Pikmin, it seemed -

The noodle sailed through the air in a high arc, one that the Angel calculated in a fraction of a second. If his holoform had actually been solid, it would've impacted square between its eyes - as it were, the noodle was going to fall straight through and land behind the chair. It didn't mean he couldn't have some fun with it, though. So the moment it impacted the 'skin' of the hologram - and fell through - an identical holographic noodle materialized on his forehead.

He put on his best 'not-pleased' expression which prompted a stifled laugh from Louie. "I totally meant to hit Olimar - I swear! He just dodged and..."

Pointedly, he peeled the 'noodle' off his forehead, holding it in front of his face. Then, grinning wickedly, he bent over to rub it in the large amounts of dust and gods knew what else that had gathered underneath the table -

"Eeew, Angel!"

- before very calmly tossing it back toward the pot. Louie grabbed for it - but he couldn't have caught it even if the Angel had wanted him to, and so it landed smack dab in the middle of the real noodles, the holographic grime coating it slowly dissipating. Louie stared at it for several long seconds, expression torn between disgust and distress. "...Angel... dude... did you seriously just..."

Olimar knew what was going on, of course. He'd been around ships for far longer - he knew the noodle couldn't have been real. So, there was a cheerful grin plastered on his face as he patted Louie on the shoulder. "Don't worry - a run under the tap will get rid of the dust, right? It's still edible."

But Louie was catching on that something was up, as evidenced by his narrowing eyes. The kid was smarter than a lot of people gave him credit for, honestly - "...Wait. I thought holograms were... y'know. Light."

"They are, cutie." With a wink, he dissolved the noodle - and its attached dust - leaving only the perfectly clean real ones behind.

Louie scowled in a 'not-pleased' expression that put the Angel's own facsimile to shame. Olimar clapped Louie on the shoulder, grinning widely. "You should have seen your expression! Priceless."

"Oh, ha ha. Very funny, guys."

The Angel laughed along with Olimar and decided that the gods didn't hate him.

They loved him.