Bare Your Fangs
"Beginning interview, species XDY7, Dr. Albus from the New Fastoon University, Xenoanthropology, Culture, and Linguistics Department, presiding." The squeaking of a chair and shuffling of clothes buzzed over the mic. "Ahem, right, so let's begin with the basics. Would you kindly say your name and profession for the record?"
"…"
"Uh, ahem, ah kaktoe toevaiyoo emya?"
"…"
"Kwid tiby nomen ehst?"
"Your accent is terrible."
"Ahem, right … apologies. Uh, would you kindly state your name and profession for the record?"
"I am Hunter."
"I see." The scratching of a writing stylus on flimsy was distantly heard. "And your name?"
"Hunter."
"Ahem, is your name based on your profession? Do your people base their naming conventions on the prescribed role that the individual performs for society writ large?"
"..."
"Hmm, or perhaps names are a sign of trust or friendship? Only shared between close friends or family?"
"You wouldn't get it."
"Ah, then we will hold off for now." The sounds of papers rustling echoed over the mic. "Tell me about your home."
"No."
"You do not have to give any details about your homeworld if that is improper, but perhaps you could describe your current living situation?"
A chair creaked. "I don't live on conquered worlds."
"Uh-huh." More writing scratches. "Forgive my presumption, but I cannot help but infer a militaristic culture from your clothing and armor, is this true? Or is this simply related to your, ah, profession?"
"Infer what you will."
"Yes, but perhaps your culture is warrior-centric in nature?"
"You're projecting."
"Pardon me?"
A long drawn creak moaned over the microphone, like a worn out chair repositioning itself. "Aren't Lombaxii known for their skilled warriors?"
"Yes, we have militaristic tendencies, unfortunately, but I do not believe it to be a primary characteristic of our culture. Let's look at me for instance! Does this middle-age, bespectacled, and scrawny Lombax seem like a warrior to you?"
"No."
"Precisely, and there are many like myself! Having spent little to no time in our fighting forces!"
"..."
"How about this, we can discuss past-times? See if these are the hobbies of warriors."
"Very well."
"As you might imagine, I enjoy the study of cultures alien to my own. I enjoy the languages, histories, and literature of these cultures. What about you?"
"What about science?"
"Science?"
"Yes, your university does boast of its science department."
"Departments, really. And yes, we have many renowned science departments; my department for instance was highly renowned for its expansive body of works on well over nine hundred thousand sentient species. Why? Is there an area of interest to you?"
"Theoretical physics."
"Heh, it's a bit out of my field really, but it is fascinating in its own way I suppose."
"I heard that you were friends with the head of their physics department, a Dr. Mags O'Malley."
"Mags? Yes, we're friends. How did you know about that?"
"Dr. Mags O'Malley mentioned his friend, Dr. Frey Albus, while giving a lecture on Virgil VII."
"Attended the conference, did you? Correct me if I'm wrong, but was not that conference only for the scientists appointed by their respective governments?"
"Yes, but the unscrupulous aren't shy from recording without permission."
"You obtained a bootleg recording?"
"..."
"Heh, my lips are sealed if yours are." The creaking chair was the only response. "Perhaps we can come to a trade then?"
A shuffle and clacking noise was the only reply.
"Your species remains rather reclusive even after all this time, perhaps if you can help me make more headway into my study, be my guide as it were, I could set up a chat between Mags and yourself?"
"Truly?"
"Yes, though I would have to know who I'm introducing him to first, but I could definitely do it. He owes me more than a few favors." A solid wooden thump was heard, like a hand hitting a table.
"Then I should help you."
"Outstanding!" The scratchings of stylus and flimsy replayed their familiar tune.
The creaking chair spitefully disregarded the silence as did further sounds of scratchings. "Now, I would like to talk about the general history of your people. Do your people retain distinct records of their own history? Perhaps your people have an oral tradition like the Urt peoples?"
"We're literate."
A sharp squeak and thump exploded from the mic but was promptly covered by the exclamation from Dr. Albus, "My apologies! I didn't mean to imply illiteracy! There are of course many cultures that have rich oral and written traditions! I was merely wondering if your culture has such a tradition, but again, my apologies for the improper phrasing!" Heavy breathing reverberated over the mic. Seconds passed; the breathing began to rescind to silence, until silence was all there was.
"We document history."
"Oh, ahm, I see." The damn scratchings punctuated the now tense silence. "I suppose no oral tradition then?"
"Not quite, but there is history we've never recorded to our databanks."
"Oh, and this history is passed down orally?"
"It's remembered."
"Hmm … perhaps you could give me an example?"
"On the planet Moloch Secudus, there stands the Zarrran Blood Pyramid. Built one hundred thousand years ago by the Zarrran people, there is no other evidence of this species. Inscribed in its halls, the tale of its construction still haunts the few that make pilgrimage to these ruins. Built during a time of drought, when no water could be spared to make bricks, the blood from captives was used as a substitute. No one knows how many were sacrificed to build the pyramid: tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions, but the structure is over nine hundred meters tall and the drought turned the planet to sand and bones. As to what happened to the Zarrran people, some believe that the pyramid was the key to their ascendancy to a new form of existence, most believe they died out due to the drought."
"Ah, forgive me but this story seems akin to a myth or an archetypal fable. Is this why no effort is made to record this? Is it deemed too mythical by your scholars?"
"Do you know why they built the pyramid?"
"I suppose because of some religious significance? Or is this story a moral fable?" The stylus scratching ran parallel with his reply.
"They believed that progress could not be achieved except at someone else's expense."
"A very cynical mindset. Of course, mutual exchange of knowledge and ideas does not necessarily beset one party with losses. Both parties may benefit. Take us for example, we are, both of us, exchanging our knowledge, our cultures, we both benefit from our new found trade!"
"…"
"Ahem, but I am curious, you said that the pyramid is the only source of the, er, Zaran people yet you speak with conviction of their beliefs; is this philosophy of theirs inscribed within the pyramid?"
"No."
"I see, so is this simply your opinion then?"
"No, that's simply what they said at the time."
"Er, I don't follow. You said you have no oral tradition yet you are telling the story of an extinct people whose existence you are only aware of via oral tradition. Does this not appear contradictory to you?"
"The existence of the Blood Pyramid isn't a matter of contradiction. Go to Moloch Secudus and see for yourself."
"Yes, but I'm interested as to how your people came about an oral fable about a people that died out a hundred thousand years ago. Perhaps, you are claiming that your species evolved congruently with the Zarrrans? That you are, in fact, from the same world or system?"
"We are from Gehenna."
"Ah, and Moloch Secudus is not, ah, Gehenna I take it?"
"…"
"So am I wrong in assuming that you're claiming your species has had access to space travel for well over a hundred thousand years?"
"Who paid for your species's progress?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Who was sacrificed by your people to make yourself as powerful as you are now?"
"Heh, I must ask for your forgiveness as although my species takes pride in our martial prowess, bloodshed usually comes as a last resort and is not the primary source of our accomplishments. Science, learning, education, the ability to understand despite ourselves, these are our primary strengths. Surely, you don't believe everything is a zero sum game?"
"We both know that's untrue."
"Excuse me?"
"Violence is in your blood. Much of your accomplishments come from this trait."
"I never said that no progress was made by use of violence, but in my opinion and based upon many years of study and bearing witness to the universe, it accounts for a small portion of our greatest achievements and always at an unnecessary cost! I believe that if the resources that were allocated to our greatest wars could have instead been placed in scientific endeavors then we would be experiencing near immortality!"
"Oh, I disagree. And your being here is due to your predilection for violence."
"No, it's the exact opposite. My people came to this universe because we loath violence! We're tired of war! We simply want to live with our new neighbors in peace. We simply want to live with you in peace."
"..."
"..."
"Do you know what the oldest profession is?"
"That's a matter of some debate. You se—"
"Hunting."
"..."
"Bare your fangs, Lombax. Your history stares at you in the mirror. Your species are hunters, as mine are, your species excelled because of these traits, as mine does. Science, learning, education can only be achieved when no one is killing you, when you're the apex. Peace is not the natural state, violence is. The further you move from this truth, the more painful its consequential effects."
"And here I must disagree. As we have already touched on, my species is here because we wanted to avoid war. We managed to find peace without the costs of mass bloodshed."
"I wonder if the Cragmites would agree with that sentiment?"
"What?!"
"The gears of the universe have to be greased by the blood of villains. The supposed good can only persist when the supposed evil is culled. Your species are only here because you forgot yourselves. You didn't do what had to be done last time, and the law of violence and retribution caught up to you. That Cragmite caught up to you."
"Ho-how do y-you know about that?!"
"Your leaders' official statements were never satisfactory to us. Lombaxii Networks aren't difficult to access, nor are they as secure as you might presume. We still have questions however, hard data is scarce on the means by which you actually arrived."
"..."
"..."
"I think we're done for now."
"Please remember our agreement. I still have many questions for you and Dr. Mags O'Malley."
The audio file clicked off without any pomp. The dim blue light from the monitors had been slowly evaporating what moisture was left in Rivet's eyes as she bore into the screen. The first in-person meeting between the Lombaxes and species XDY73, which came to be called Hunters. There had been messages exchanged previously, but the Hunters had been curt in the responses and she hadn't really found any useful information.
Not to say that that recording has answered any questions.
In addition to listening to recorded messages, she had already spent hours scanning through lines and lines of data, translated from a number of languages into Common. History, cartographical data, accounting ledgers, celebrity tell alls, cooking recipes, news videos, and countless personal messages blitzed past her eyes. This wasn't anything that the rebel hadn't done before; countless times she had sorted through petabytes of data to find key intel, to find out everything she could, then hit the enemy where it hurts. She had fought this sort of war before.
The heroine slumped in her chair at the first officer's station. But I don't want to fight a war. I fought one for ten years and I don't want to fight another one! I just wanted an adventure with my friends! Eat junk food, break speed limits, get into bar fights, Holoflix and chill with Ratchet on the couch, find out about where we came from, who our family is. And then realize it doesn't matter cause we're the only family we need.
She paused from scanning to shake her head at her own childishness. But things don't play out like holovids do they? Things just seem to go wrong more than they do right.
That recorded conversation came unbidden to her mind, Peace is not the natural state, violence is. The thought caused Rivet to shift uncomfortably in her seat. I mean, you like getting into fights with the best of them but … the way that thing said it. I mean, this isn't Nefarious, no egomaniacal crud pies, no this is…
She rubbed the seemingly unanswerable question from her eyes. "Back to work girl, you're almost done." The work in question had been hard but had been made a mere day-and-a-half's activity thanks to the sophisticated help in the forms of Clank, Kit, and Chad. They had already translated, sorted and disseminated ninety-nine percent of the data acquired on Opherion IV, which amounted to zettabytes of data. The remaining data was either corrupted due to hardware damage or it was heavily encrypted with protocols that she had never imagined existing, let alone having to actively get around.
The Lombaxes really were a hyper advanced species… Were.
Another thought came unbidden to her mind, Lombaxii Networks aren't difficult to access, nor are they as secure as you might presume. A tingling sensation creeped up her spine. The video of the U'Tura attack flashed in her mind. A world with a vast array of defenses, manned by Lombaxes such as herself, wiped out in minutes. That wasn't the only world targeted either. As Clank and Kit dug, they found more records detailing attacks on Eschantoon, Rrryetoon, Peach Haven, Mel-Bytarr, Dastoon, Centerdeep, and Mirrorwell. All worlds teeming with Lombaxes, all worlds that had been attacked in some way or another. All worlds that had been wiped out.
What are we up against?
A question mark flashed across the screen. Rivet glanced at the symbol only to see it replaced with Glitch's concerned expression. Rivet could only sigh, "Yeah, Glitch, I'm fine. Just a lot on my mind you know?"
The holographic expression morphed into what the Lombax assumed was Glitch's 'encouraging' expression.
"Thanks Glitch. What do you say we take a break for a second?"
The Nanobot did its best imitation of a nodding head.
"Yeah, besides, I know data recovery isn't your normal arena but you've done a great job. Why don't I grab a cup of coffee and let you run your updates?"
Glitch's response was a pixelated smile before blipping off the holographic projection, leaving Rivet relatively alone to her thoughts. She looked over her shoulder to where Kit and Clank were working with Chad at the navigator's and science stations. The bots were still working at their mind boggling speeds, hands dancing on their keyboards while wires running from their heads directly into separate computer stations effectively allowed them to run every computer on the bridge but the one Rivet was using. Yet despite their mechanical nature, Rivet could almost see their sagging limbs and slanted eyes that looked as depressed as Rivet felt.
This is hard on everyone.
Rivet didn't bother to look at the videos anymore, she wasn't sure what horrors she may find. The jarring effect of switching between innocuous cooking videos to the utter devastation and carnage that Nefarious could only dream about made her physically sick. The bots, on the other hand, kept reviewing each video and each uncomfortable data source; it had simply been Rivet's assumption that the bots were incapable of being affected by this work.
And there you go Rivet. Dumping on robots again.
She sighed. The things that they had seen. "Hey Bolts! Kit!"
The bots jumped as if burned. Her stomach churned at the slack jawed and wide eyed expressions they gave. It's like they had seen a ghost.
"Why don't you guys take a break?"
They shared a glance. She almost expected them to fight back and try to keep pressing on with the work. She was so sure of it in fact that the Lombax was absolutely floored when they silently disconnected and jumped down from their chairs, walking away. Rivet stood open mouthed as the bots marched out of the bridge, most probably to their charging stations.
I guess there's only so much death that even robots can take.
"Sensor sweep report, bro. No warships detected over a sixty light year spheroid."
"Huh? Oh, thanks, Chad."
Rivet glanced towards the sound of the voice out of reflex but there was nothing there. The ship's AI didn't have an avatar or anything of the sort. It was the Phoenix, and the Phoenix was it, but in the place where the voice emanated was the central monitor. There on the display was an image still; the signing of the Junture Accords to be precise. Species from all over the galaxy were gathered around a circular table, most of said species had no direct parallel to either Rivet's or Ratchet's dimension. All of the members had their attention turned to one creature, which, despite the circular nature of the table, effectively made it seem like the creature was at the head. Red glowing orbs shrouded by the hooded gray cloak blazed out of its skull like helmet, an armored gauntlet grasped a data pad with a limp hand, and a tall but powerful frame completely at rest in its chair: a Hunter.
The rebel's blood chilled as she recalled the cold dark ruins on Opherion IV, the red glowing eyes that pierced through the darkness. The eyes that the battle hardened heroine was sure had met hers. But somehow, it didn't see me. How?
"Hey there, Cadet!"
Rivet's soul leapt out of her body for the briefest of seconds before she was snapped back to life with loud ear drumming heartbeats. "Jeez! Warn a girl next time, Qwark!"
"Ho ho! Lost in the work are we?" Qwark stated more than asked as his entire frame shook with the short chuckle, but embarrassment propelled Rivet to clarify anyway.
"I wasn't lost in the work! I was just thinking, okay!"
"Uh huh. Well, let me know how that goes. By the way, have you seen Crash around?"
"Weren't you supposed to be watching him?! What do you mean, 'where's Crash?!' I swear Qwark if he's gotten hurt I'm go—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa Rivet!" He said with hands raised in mock surrender. "We're playing hide and seek."
"..."
"..."
All Rivet could do was sigh. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm a little strung out with all—" she rotated her hand as if trying to summon the word, "—this."
"Hmm, sounds like you could use a break."
"Hah!" The exclamation was mirthless though. No real joy found its way into her laughter. "I haven't seen Crash. Maybe you should check with Ratchet," she muttered as she turned back to her monitor, hoping Qwark would leave her be.
"Just did, but he's still working on your ship and hasn't been outside the hangar."
"Still?" She began contrasting a cartographical chart of Lombax settlements with some of the modern charts they pulled from the library. "That sounds a lot more than tuning to me. Hmm… Eh anyway, you told Crash the dormitories and the armory were off limits, right?"
"Uh huh."
"Then he's probably in one of those places."
"But we sealed the dormitories?"
"Then I guess you're going to be looking for him in the armory."
Rivet could hear the disappointed sigh escape Qwark's lips. "And after I explicitly told him not to, tsk, tsk, tsk."
"You've never babysat, have you, Qwark?"
"And you have?"
Rivet paused in her work. "No, but I remember how I was as a kid. He might be playing with the blasters so you might want to check up on him."
"You don't seem all that worried?"
Rivet could only shrug as she hoped that Qwark would get the hint and leave her alone, "I'm still here aren't I?"
"Huh. Good point. So what are we looking at anyway?"
Rivet broke her view away from the monitor, to follow Qwark's gaze. He was staring at the main display.
"We've been over this Qwark. That's the Junture Accords." She went back to her screen.
"Hey, give me a break! I was handling Crash while you gave me the rundown!"
"You were lifting weights!"
"But I was still handling Crash," he pointed out with a confident smirk. "Kids his age need to learn a good work out regime!"
"Ugh, fine." She stood up from her station and stomped around so she stood in front of Qwark but under the display.
She jabbed a finger up at the projected image. "That's the signing of the Junture Accords. Basically, it's all the powers in the galaxy agreeing to toss the Lombaxes under the proverbial bus so the Hunters don't blast them."
"Huh, and that's a Hunter right?"
She glanced back at the picture, back at the red eyed monster sitting at the table. "Looks like it."
"Hmm… Is that their actual name?"
"Huh?"
"The Hunters. Is that what they're really called?"
"Yeah, that's what they call themselves: Hunters."
"Not very imaginative are they?"
"Wouldn't know, there's not a lot on them."
"Really? So are they mammals, reptiles, amphibians?"
"Don't know. No info on their biology."
"Huh. Where's their homeworld?"
"They call it Tartarus but there's no record of it anywhere."
"Hey, it looks like we know something then! I'm sure if you do a bit more digging you'll start coming up with even more gold nuggets like that! So what if we don't precisely know where their homeworld is?! We'll just cross reference any details of the planet to our ever expanding memory ba—"
"Qwark. There's nothing on the planet but the name."
"Well," Qwark scratched his head in contemplation. His attention gravitated back towards the central monitor. "What about any of them!" He declared while emphatically jabbing at all of the many species that occupied the image. "Are you saying that none of them have any records of the Hunters' homeworld?! Of their biology?! Heh, I mean, they've got to know something right?!"
Rivet sighed for the thousandth time that day. "They probably know something but they haven't published anything."
"What?"
"Another condition of the accord. No official study can be published on Hunter biology, nothing on their homeworld, and nothing on their tech."
"Bup, bup, bup, we know there's unofficial sources! I mean look at the videos we found!"
Rivet snarled in exasperation. "Yeah, but that's all we got, Qwark! There's probably other sources, but we don't have them! We have nothing else on these guys! They came to this galaxy about ten years ago, and started killing Lombaxes! That's it! That's all we know! That's all the galaxy knows!" She huffed and dropped to her seat. Hoping that her tone and accompanying growls carried the message that Rivet was officially done with this conversation topic.
"Hmm…."
Zoni. Give me a break.
She glanced up to see Qwark studying the image with his hand on his chin. Rivet just knew he had more to say. Just don't hit him, Rivet. Keep your hands to yourself and don't punch him. He's an idiot, but he's not a bad guy, so don't punch him.
"Hmm, they're good showmen, I'll give them that much."
"Yeah, yeah, the gray goes well with the red eyes."
"No, it's colorless and drab. Could use some red lining and gold epaulets. No, I'm talking about the showmanship!"
"Wha? What are you talking about?"
"Oh Rivet." He shook his head in the most patronizing way possible. Rivet just about stopped herself from equipping her hammer.
"Take a look at this guy. Do you see any Hunter guards? Officers? Does this look like a militarized environment? A display of strength? Is this a war room? Any signs of power? No, it's just one guy talking to the leaders of the galaxy."
"Your powers of perception are equaled only by your heroism Qwark," she muttered with every kilogram of sarcasm she possessed.
"Thank you, thank you," Qwark replied as if not being able to detect the acerbic response, yet instead, continued. "But what I mean is that this doesn't look like the galaxy's surrendering."
"Huh?"
"This looks rather passive actually."
"What are you going on about?"
"I'm saying that these Hunters probably couldn't take on the whole galaxy. They know it, the galaxy knows it, but most importantly the Hunters know that the galaxy knows it. So they're putting aside all pomp and are giving them a deal to avoid a war. They're not asking for the galaxy's surrender, they're giving them a trade offer!"
"You're getting this all from a picture?" the heroine queried already knowing he hadn't actually read the accord.
"Hey, I used to be president of the Polaris Galaxy! I think I know a thing or two about politics and diplomacy!"
"You sucked at it, Qwark."
"Hey! I was a diligent domestic administrator!"
"But … not a bad observation I guess."
"Stick with me, Cadet, and I can teach you everything you need to know about politics!"
"Eh, no thanks. You know what, I think I'll take that break, see what's been keeping Ratchet occupied."
"Glad you're finally taking my advice! If you need me I'm going to be beating a small child at hide and seek. Computer! Activate the motion sensors and play the sleuth playlist!"
All at once, the bridge intercoms started to play music that sounded suspiciously like soundtrack scores from Qwark's spy thriller films. The conspicuously green clad hero threw himself in an elaborate crouch and began to stalk out of the room, humming along with the theme. They're having fun if nothing else.
She turned one last time to the main display. The Hunter was, as Qwark pointed out, non-threatening. There was no sign of any weapon on its person, it leaned back in its chair like it was relaxing after a day at work, the other delegates had armed guards in contrast. The picture was brimming with people, species and genders of numerous counts, but Rivet didn't see an attempt at de-escalation, she only saw a dispassionate conqueror that had its only demand met without a fight.
"Chad, close image."
The screen blinked out, but the Lombax had already turned to leave. She shook her head clear of thoughts about evil monsters and the carnage they had unleashed. Her course set on the hangar bay, she turned her thoughts to the more immediate question of why Ratchet was still working on the Azimuth. This has exceeded tuneup territory. Wait! What if I broke something?!
"Aw man! Is that it? Is he trying to cover for me or something?"
"Is who trying to cover for you, Aunty?" Crash's voice cut through the air.
Rivet halted her hangar bound march and began to search for the kid Lombax. Nothing in front. Nothing behind. The corridors were clear.
"Down here."
She turned around once more and craned her head downward to find Crash's head peeking out of the maintenance bot access corridor, which was effectively just a hole in the wall.
Clever boy.
"Who's covering for you, Aunty?"
"Oh, I was just noticing how much time Ratchet has been spending working on the Azimuth.
"Y-you don't say."
"Yeah, and it got me wondering if maybe something's wrong with it."
Crash's visibly gulping was all the confirmation that Rivet needed. "Yeah, I think you know what I'm getting at, kid."
"Oh! I'm so sorry, Aunty Rivet!"
"Hey! It's alright, Crash. Ratchet doesn't hold grudges … much."
"Huh?"
"Besides, I doubt I did that much damage. Like, I push the ship hard but no harder than Ratchet does. I'm sure it's nothing we can't handle together."
"Ye-yeah. It's not like you used magmapyrothermite as axle grease or anything."
Rivet couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of that. "I forgot you were into this stuff! Yeah, that would take a special sort of stupid to confuse the two."
"Hehehe … yeah."
"Anyway, Qwark's searching for you in the armory. I'm going to help Ratchet with the ship in the hangar, see you, kiddo." She turned to resume her march.
"Aunty!"
"Yeah, kiddo?"
"Uhhh, I think Uncle Ratchet is really embarrassed about the ship."
Rivet's ears drooped. "Yeah?"
"Uh, yeah. He seemed really upset about it. You probably shouldn't bother him."
Once again, Rivet let out a sigh. Great. Just great. Well, nothing for it.
"If that's true then it's all the more reason to help him out. It's my mess, I should clean it up."
"Er, uh, bu-bu, I mean, maybe you shouldn't mention it to him? So he doesn't get angry?"
"Hmm, not a bad idea. We'll see how it goes, eh?"
"Uh, right."
"Well, see you, kid."
Crash licked his lips, "Uh, bye, Aunty!"
With that, Crash disappeared back into the service grate, slight clunking sounds slowly diminished as the kid crawled away. Rivet couldn't help the smile on her face. As she resumed her trek she shook her head, clearing her mind of the child's antics before mentally preparing herself to meet with what she's discovered to be an angry Ratchet. At least this explains why he was so weird last night. That ship must mean a lot to him.
As the former rebel approached the waiting entrance to the hangar, the sounds of music echoed through the air, punctuated by a loud clang that signified the work being done. She had never seen Ratchet angry before so she wasn't sure what to expect, but the smells of the various oils and fuels had a calming effect on her nerves. This was hometurf for the both of them. She didn't know how much of Ratchet's state was the ship and how much of it was the Lombaxes, but she wasn't going to let Ratchet pout with her in the corner. They'd talk through this and work it out.
Alternatively, we forget the whole thing and eat ice cream.
For her entrance, she was greeted by the sight of Ratchet climbing out of the cockpit and mounting the Azimuth's fuselage. He had a welding mask on, coveralls, and thick fire retardant gloves. Parts covered the hangar floor. The female Lombax noticed the pilot's seat lying directly aft of the craft, the weapon's control panel was lying on a mobile workbench in a mess of computer chips and wires, the flight control sticks had been removed and had joined the weapon's panel on the bench, and that was just to name a few key points.
It's like he hollowed out the cockpit.
"Rivet!" Came the familiar yelp. The heroine returned her attention back to the male Lombax to find him with a water bottle in hand, mask lifted up, and staring wide eyed at his dimensional counterpart. She could only smirk at his blatant shock.
He's cute in that getup. Okay, focus girl!
"Hey Ratchet." She waved lamely.
"Uh, hey … Rivet."
Rivet stood there for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. He doesn't look angry or upset.
"So … how's the analysis going?" Ratchet offered.
"We've gone through most of it, we just needed a break, you know?"
Ratchet simply nodded in response, averting his eyes as he seemed to scan the absolute wreck that was the hangar. Rivet followed his gaze and saw all the parts that had been piled up on the workbench. It was safe to say that the Azimuth was going to be nonoperational for the foreseeable future, and with enemies like they had, that wasn't a good idea.
"Hey, you need any help?" she offered.
Ratchet's entire demeanor appeared to be jolted as if electrocuted, eyes as wide as saucers and body stiff and rigid. "No! I mean, nah, I wouldn't want to bother you. You're on a break. You should grab a lime coffee and relax. I can handle this, it's just a simple tuneup."
The blaster cannon on the starboard wing fell off.
"Uh huh."
"..."
"..."
Ratchet sighed deeply. "Ugh, look I'm just working some stuff off is all. It's not a big deal."
"I don't know, with the amount of work you're putting into this thing it's almost like it's been … damaged."
Ratchet's jaw dropped and his posture clamped back to rigidity.
Bingo.
"Alright, let's see it then." She snapped her glove as she made her way to the cockpit.
"Wait!" Ratchet dropped down in front of her path, hand outstretched in a halt sign.
Rivet snorted in slight annoyance. "Come on Ratchet, you don't need to pretend here."
"Pretend?" he asked with raised brow and ears.
"Yeah, there's no need to cover up what's going on. Crash already told me."
Ratchet's eyes blew back to saucer size. "He did?"
Rivet suddenly felt flushed in embarrassment. It's cute that he was trying to spare your feelings.
"Yeah, he did. He said you were real upset about it." Rivet suddenly found it difficult to maintain eye-contact.
"Honestly, I was more worried about how you might take it." Ratchet confessed, clawing at the back of his head in Rivet's peripheral vision. "I know the ship's important to you."
"Hey, come on! I might be using the ship but she's still your baby!" she proclaimed while trying to lock eyes with her counterpart only for his gaze to immediately shift. Ratchet licked his lips as he appeared to be giving the ship further appraisal. A small smile began to grow on his face.
"Well, if you already know then I won't say no to any help." His grin was infectious, the smirk on Rivet's face that couldn't be restrained quickly merged into a full blown grin to match Ratchet's. This is what the doctor ordered, nothing like a little maintenance to clear your mind. The company's not too shabby either…
She broke away from that assessment and instead began her assessment of the Azimuth. As the ship's current user she was well aware that it had needed a lot more work than what she was able to put in. Half of the races Ratchet won was just bad tuning. All that said, she could already tell that Ratchet had put a lot of work into it. She grabbed a handlight and began to examine the blaster cannon connection port. It was then she noticed just how much work Ratchet had already bled into this ship.
"You got the dent out of the port stabilizer?" she asked in true perplexity.
"Yeah," Ratchet replied before obnoxiously slurping his beverage. "That took some taking, not as much taking as fabricating replacement axle thrust pedals." The self-pleased look on his face intrigued Rivet, but there was something else ….
"Why did you need to replace the pedals?" She finally asked after racking her brain only to find no immediate answer. The pedals had been well tuned at the very least and they didn't remotely seem to be in need of replacement.
"You know," Ratchet waved his hand in a circular manner. "The pedals that Crash greased." Ratchet went back to slurping his drink, but Rivet paused as her thoughts began to uneasily shift through recent memories till the voice of Crash resounded in her head. It's not like you used magmapyrothermite as axle grease or anything.
She quickly turned from Ratchet before he could catch her expression. "Let me guess—" Rivet sucked in a breath to calm herself "—magmapyrothermite."
"Hey! That makes sense! I was wondering what he used bu—"
"THAT LITTLE JERK!"
"WHA!"
Rivet launched herself into the cockpit headfirst, keen on examining the pedals. They were very much new, and despite Ratchet's skill in fabrication and welding, metallurgy doesn't lie and it was painfully obvious to Rivet that work had been done. "That little jerk lied to me!"
"Rivet!" Ratchet called from the outside.
The rebel wasted no time in rocketing out of the starfighter, landing mere centimeters in front of the other Lombax. "Crash lied to me!"
"Uh … what?"
"Crash said you were pissed at me!"
"Wait, what?" Ratchet's eyes had returned to saucer size.
"Well, he implied that I had been the one to break the ship!" Rivet's hands had balled into fists and she was vibrating in fury.
"He did?"
"Yeah, here I was thinking you were pissed at me! Like I need to be worried about that right now!" She found herself pacing back and forth, desperate to work off her angry energy. From the corner of her eye, Ratchet seemed more or less nonplussed.
"I mean, imagine if I didn't try to immediately work it out with you! We'd be tripping around each other for days!"
"Heh."
"What?!"
"Hehe."
"Don't you dare!"
A snicker escaped his lips as a stifled smile, despite her frowning at him, tried to etch itself onto his face.
"I'm warning you!" she levied her finger at her counterpart for emphasis.
"AHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Ratchet toppled to the floor, arms clutching his sides, and eyes crinkled shut.
"Get up you idiot! You're supposed to be angry too!"
"HAHAHAHAHA!" Ratchet's laughter only irritated Rivet further as she began to glare holes into her fellow co-parent. She folded her arms as she resigned herself to endure Ratchet's laughter and not throttle the bastard.
When he finally began to calm himself, he staggered up, "Heh, you have to admit, he almost got us."
"Yeah, yeah, he's a real sneaky sandshark, but how are we supposed to handle this!?"
"What's there to handle?" Ratchet asked, the good humor still dripping from his features. "He tried to pull a fast one and we caught him. Sounds like we have an opportunity to get him back."
"No! First he sneaks aboard and joins our mission on Opherion when we obviously didn't want him to come, then when we tell him to stay put, he throws himself in harm's way and starts looting those thugs, he breaks your ship, and finally he lies about it so we don't get angry at him! He needs a talking to!" Rivet didn't honestly think she was that upset by this, she shouldn't be that upset by this, but judging by the sudden shift in Ratchet's expression, she certainly looked that way to him.
Ratchet cleared his throat, "I mean, he's a kid, Rivet. We probably need to talk this over with him but there's no reason to chew his head of—"
Her hands locked onto his shoulders in an iron-cast grip, "They wiped us out, Ratchet!"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"We might be all that's left you know?"
"No, that's not true. We found Crash, we can find more."
"Yeah? Well, while you've been working on the ship all day I've been with Clank and Kit, pouring over all the info we got on Opherion! You want to know what we found?!"
"You don't need to say it, Rivet."
"Nothing! We have no idea what we're doing! We have no idea where the Lombaxes are, if any survived, and we have no idea who these Hunters are! A. Big. Fat. Nothing! That's all we have!"
"..."
"..."
"We have each other."
She frowned further. Rivet's anger and rage hadn't subsided but was instead joined by a flustered feeling fluttering in her stomach. "That doesn't count," she muttered half-heartedly.
He reached up to grip her shoulders in turn. "Yes, it does."
The odd concoction that was her emotions began to stabilize in his pseudo-grip. She didn't quite know how to describe this feeling. Rivet had spent the better part of her life fighting a war: alone. Loneliness was such a constant that it wasn't unique anymore, but looking into Ratchet's eyes, someone who had gone through similar struggles and battles to her, she liked to think that this feeling was the opposite of loneliness.
Before she could consider much more, Ratchet cleared his throat, very purposefully avoided her eye contact, and relinquished his grip, "Ahem, you know, as friends…"
"..."
"Uh, Rivet?" Ratcheted questioned as Rivet had yet to let go.
"I honestly don't know if I should punch you, high-five you, or kiss you."
"Uhhhh … I'm not really sure which you should do either."
"Ahem." a new voice cut in. The duo pivoted to the source of the interloping voice to find Kit standing in the hangar doorway, knuckles knocking together in obvious embarrassment. "I am sorry to interrupt, but Clank and I wanted to discuss a few ideas together if neither of you are, um, busy?"
Rivet released her hold and without saying a word began to march to the bridge. It went without saying that Ratchet and Kit immediately began to silently motion to the other to communicate just what had happened, Rivet didn't need to see this to know that's what they were doing, she just wished she knew the answer for herself.
The trip to the bridge inspired no more food for thought. She found Clank reading over a holographically projected starmap, the red sphere on a sea of blue and white being their current location. He turned to her with a small smile. "Rivet. Ratchet. Kit and I have been going over the data and we have computed a number of options."
Without waiting for any comment or question, Clank toggled a switch as a series of green, purple, and yellow spheres scattered across the star map. "The green represents former Lombax colonies, the yellow represents deep space stations, mining, research, and military outposts, and lastly the purple represents Lombax populations on non-Lombax worlds. It is mine and Kit's belief that we should begin our search on these outposts," the bot declared while highlighting the purple, and yellow spheres.
Rivet scratched her chin, pensive for a moment. "Are you sure that's the best start? After all, we found Crash on a Lombax Colony."
Clank's eyes resumed their upward slant for the thousandth time since they discovered the tragedy of the Lombaxes. Rivet did her best to offer what she hoped was an encouraging smile. Poor guy's going to need a lot of therapy after all this… I'm going to need a lot of therapy after all this… What am I saying? I still need therapy from the last time!
Kit stirred. "Most Lombax colonies were bombarded from orbit, as the outposts were apparently secondary targets, many of them were able to evacuate before the Hunters could attack them directly. We believe that our best tactical option is to look for clues as to where these Lombaxes evacuated to. Our goal is not only to find survivors, but to find enough survivors to…"
An uncomfortable silence followed Kit's statement. They all started exchanging glances with one another. No one needed to say it, but Rivet knew they were all thinking it. They needed to find enough survivors for her species to be viable.
The heroine found her gaze fixed firmly to her boots. It all felt so wrong to her. They should be searching every world for every survivor, they should be finding every Hunter ship and blowing them into space dust, they shouldn't be fighting the same war they had just won.
Clank's voice snapped her out of her malaise, "Our best strategic option is to find larger numbers of survivors and then evacuate them to our dimension."
"Wait, shouldn't we just take the fight to the Hunters? I mean, if we get them on the run then the Lombaxes can come out of hiding," Ratchet asked.
Clank shuttered his 'eyes' close and shook his head gently. "We are having difficulty locating key strategic targets for such a plan. We do not know where their homeworld is located, we have no data as to their leader, or form of government, and we know very little about their Modus Operandi. Hunter warships appear to be constantly patrolling but we have not identified a set pattern to their patrols. I am afraid that our offensive options are limited at present."
"I know we've brought this up before, but how in the multiverse do we not know anything about these guys!" Ratchet snapped, obviously growing irritated at the apparent lack of intel.
"Oh, intense censorship aided and abetted by an extra-galactic force that appears to specialize in stealth and covert operations. At the very least, they appear to be well practiced," Kit offered meekly but assuredly.
Rivet heard the male Lombax groan, but she tuned out his complaints as she became lost in the purple, and yellow holographic dots. There's so few of them. So few places to check.
She turned her attention back to Ratchet who was now knee deep in an argument with Clank and Kit. "But what if we hack the central mainframe of— uh, what's that world called again?"
"Gilglos," Clank and Kit replied in unison.
"Yeah! There's bound to be something more we can use if we keep searching, right?"
She didn't bother to listen to the response as she returned to the map. There was something about this that felt naive to the former rebel. They were either talking about searching decade old ruins or hostile government databases, in the hope that there would be another clue as to where to find survivors. Like those very governments wouldn't hesitate to sic the Hunters on the first Lombaxes they see.
The heroine bit her lip to relieve the growing agitation she felt bubbling up with every word exchanged by Ratchet and the bots. They're playing it too safe. They don't know what it's like to fight a war like this.
The argument between the party was now a muted drone as new shapes began to form in Rivet's mind. Actually, they were old shapes. Infobots, warships, Troopers, Nefarious, all of her ten years of warfare tumbled to the forefront of her mind as it had been since they made that dreaded discovery. They're acting like we can avoid a fight. They're acting like that's a possibility. You can't find the Lombaxes without fighting the Hunters.
She could swear she heard Nefarious laughing, his imminent victory already a source of newfound amusement as he began to plan his new victory parade. Her frowning lips parted in a bitter sneer. She would never leave the insults sitting down, she'd always counter with her own plans, she'd always fight back. Peace is not the natural state.
"We're looking in the wrong places," she said aloud.
"Pardon?" Clank queried, having completely heard her even if he didn't comprehend her.
Rivet broke away from the map to fix the group with a resolved expression, "We're not talking about the one source that probably knows where the Lombaxes are."
"And what's that?" Ratchet asked with a raised brow.
The heroine drew in a breath, "People that hunt Lombaxes. And I'm not talking about 'the' Hunters, I'm talking about bounty hunters, pirates, mercenaries, anyone that would try to make a bolt by turning in Lombaxes."
The group exchanged glances with one another. Clank and Kit remained unreadable as their problem-solving subroutines attempted to decipher the new information, Ratchet on the other hand, looked startled at first but a manic smile slowly grew. "Copy their homework on where to look for Lombaxes? I like it!"
"There is greater danger by pursuing this route!" Clank interjected. "We would be subjecting ourselves to possible discovery to the Hunters if these roguish types were to detect us."
At that moment the bridge door swooshed open, and in walked an soot covered Qwark, crowned by a rather generous ice pack, and wielding a small Lombax child as his scepter. He was also panting obnoxiously; deep heaving breaths as his whole body shuddered with the strain. Crash, currently dangling by the scruff of his neck, looked seemingly annoyed as he twisted around in Qwarks grip, jaws actively snapping.
A few gasps echoed across the room.
"I... I g… I got 'em!"
Rivet turned to meet Ratchet's disconcerted expression.
"...let it never be said," he paused to catch his breath again. A small smile started to form on Rivet's face as an idea started to form. She gleefully noticed the same smile stretched out on Ratchet's face.
"L-let it never be said … that Captain Qwark can't beat a child at hide and seek!"
"You cheated!" growled Crash in between snaps.
"You shot me with a lightning rod!"
"I didn't know what it did!"
"Hey Qwark?" Rivet interjected before the green clad hero turned villain turned politician could answer.
"What?!"
"How's your pirate impression?"
The Phoenix was blazing through space at warp. It's destination, a deep space fueling and supply depot that, according to a number of recent interplanetary news stories, was a popular pit stop for a number of mercenary groups, bounty hunters, pirates, and some group called the Bao-Joi Syndicate. In other words, it looked like the perfect place to try and pick up unofficial information.
The station was on the navigational display. An older and dilapidated structure, with obvious bombing scars on the exterior, complemented with the bare minimum of repairs to seal out the vacuum of space. The station was, however, quite large. The Phoenix was easily dwarfed by the station's cubical shape. Docking prongs jutted out from the station at odd, seemingly random, connection ports leading Rivet to believe that the upgrades and repairs have exceeded standard building codes. Just to emphasize the point, a severed docking prong was caught within the station's orbit, acting as its own artificial moon and pilot hazard.
"Argh, thar be the station, mateys!" The Dread Pirate Patches (Qwark), bellowed with his gauntleted fist raised, and eyepatch covered face sneering.
We're gonna die.
Ratchet's head dropped until he bashed his head on the pilot's board, echoing what Rivet felt. "We're so dead."
"Belay that talk me hearties! That be! Uh … that be! Uh…" Qwark began to snap his fingers with one hand while the other cradled his head.
"Mutinous talk, perhaps?" Kit offered.
"Aye! That be mutinous talk! This here be why you're me favorite shipmate!" Qwark ended the praise with a good humored slap to Kit's back which had the unintended consequence of knocking her to the floor. Kit appeared bemused as she recovered herself, brushing dust particles off of her motherboard.
"As only me and Rivet are accompanying you, Captain, I already had a fifty percent chance of being your favorite. Still, I'm sorry that I have upstaged you, Rivet." A response that earned a muffled grumble from Ratchet, still pancaked on the Pilot's board, and still miffed that they were splitting up for this operation.
"Eh, better you than me, Kit. I have it on good authority that he uses his favorites." She tuned out Qwark's blustering response, refocusing her attention to the station's diagram. They couldn't risk garnering attention with high level sensor pings so navigational scans were the best they could do, meaning that they had no idea what the interior had in store for them. Given the potential risk of discovery, the risk of Crash pulling another fast one, and the potential need to make a quick getaway, they had decided to divide their forces, albeit with a lot of objections from Ratchet. "Splitting up always leads to disaster!" He had said, but that was his only real complaint.
At present, she had donned her robot disguise and, along with Kit, would accompany Qwark onto the station where they would begin searching for and recovering intel. Ratchet and Clank had several duties. Clank would be manning the bridge in preparation for evac or heavy fire support. Ratchet was babysitting Crash, but was also in the hangar keeping Aphelion on standby in case they needed reinforcements. In preparation of this, he had donned his own unique disguise, something that had no tail so as to better hide his species. When asked about it, he muttered something about a gladiator arena.
"Looks uncomfortable," she replied. "I don't think I could stand my tail being crushed down like that."
"Eh, you know," he began. "My tail isn't as big as yours."
She cocked an eyebrow at this.
"Erm, not that that's a bad thing or anything."
"…"
"I mean, I'm not looking at your tail because it's big."
Her single brow rose even higher. He was all but blanching now.
"I, uh, I'm— I don't stare at your tail."
She let him bask in his embarrassment for a bit before she replied, "Uh huh," and returned to the monitor with a new smirk. However, without any additional joyful moments, they had come out of warp and were fast approaching the station.
Rivet glanced at her board and confirmed that the station had acquired them with a low level metallurgical scan. That's odd. Most ships and stations I've seen don't use metallurgical sensors as their primary ID recognition. Yeah, this dimension is weird.
The comms indicator began to flash and beep in tandem, she and Ratchet made brief eye contact, silently conveying agreement. Ratchet thumbed on the audio-only receiver just to be met with a prerecorded message, "Welcome to Lotto Lizard's Grub n' Hub and Gastroenterologist! Partake of our cozy, now vermin free, accommodations! Find yourself at our deluxe karaoke bar with real working microphones! Fill your stomach sacs at our envious *static* star restaurant! And see Maslo our own gastroenterologist if you don't like what's in your stomach sacs! Lotto Lizard's Grub n' Hub and Gastroenterologist! A legitimate business for legitimate customers! Warning-Maslo-is-not-a-licensed-clinician-I-am-anon-doctors-pokes-person-and-cannot-be-held-liable-for-any-care-products-or-recommendations-by-Maslo."
"Well, that sounds …" Rivet began, carefully choosing her words.
"Like a pretty benign space stop to me! I mean, no gladiator arenas, right?" Ratchet chipped in happily.
"I was just about to say that! Man, this should be a cinch!"
Their hopes restored, they adjusted their course to the docking prong that they had received in the transmission. While aligning the ship parallel with the station, Rivet covertly sent her own navigational pings as well as utilizing visual sensors to get a feel for the total number of ships at the station. "Looks like we came to the right place," she said while indicating the images of the docked vessels.
There were a few larger vessels that had enough weaponry to constitute as warships but the overall designs and appearances gave a distinctly pirate feel to Rivet, as if they had been civilian vessels with a lot of big guns bolted on. Those weren't the ships she was worried about though. Sleek interceptors, nimble dagger-like frigates, and a couple of missile gunships, told Rivet that hardline bounty hunters and mercenaries came here.
Ratchet only frowned, obviously still annoyed at this plan. "You two be careful in there."
"Hey, look at who you're talking to! We're Kit and Rivet! The Legendary heroes that beat the Emperor and saved the galaxy! We don't need you boys cramping our style!" She gave him a crooked grin with a tilt of her head.
He scoffed but ultimately failed at hiding his own amusement. They had both of them taken on more dangerous missions, but with the ever looming threat of an unseen enemy, they were all a bit paranoid about things going wrong. Because they always do.
"Thanks for the well wishes sidekick!" Qwark bellowed, successfully interrupting a moment.
Rivet sighed (she had been doing that a lot since she met Qwark), "He wasn't talking to you Qwark!"
"I was talking to Rivet and Kit. But yeah, you be careful too, you goof."
Well wishes exchanged, the party began to march to the docking airlock. Once there, she looked over her equipment one more time. Qwark adjusted his eyepatch and cutlass, and yes, the doofus really had a cutlass on his belt. She felt Kit fidget on her back. She turned her head and offered a thumbs up. A yellow painted arm breached her vision with an upwards thumb of its own.
"Alright, let's d— Wait!" Rivet began to look around, the sinking wretched feeling already churning in her gut.
"What's wr—" Ratchet began before she cut him off.
"Where's Crash!"
"Huh?"
"Come on. I want to know exactly where he is before we start off! He's not sneaking along this time!"
A clang cut across the hall outside the airlock. She paused, her mind that had been racing coming to an eerily slow speed. She casually took the last few steps to bring her fully out to the hallway. A quick inspection found the maintenance bot access chute opposite the airlock door. She took the remaining few steps up to the access door, paused, then gave it a few sharp kicks.
For a spell, nothing happened, then the chute door gave a sharp click before retracting to reveal a very nervous Crash. The poor boy gave his best imitation of a casual grin, but under Rivet's smoldering glare, it quickly faltered. "Uh, hi, Aunty!"
"Out," the heroine declared with a pointed finger.
The child's ears folded back in obvious rebuke as he completed his dejected persona by exploding his eyes to massive proportions before he slowly moved out of the maintenance corridor; dragging his feet somberly as he maneuvered around Rivet. Don't let him get to you Rivet! Be firm! BE FIRM!
Yet, that was proving increasingly difficult with his quivering lip and soft whine. "I wasn't doing anything," he protested.
"You darn well know what you were trying to do! Just as you also knew who really damaged the Azimuth!"
His eyes, beyond all scientific possibility, grew larger still as said eyes darted around like he was seeking a ready excuse. Failing this, he whirled round to visually plead with his uncle. Appearing to not want to take any sides, Ratchet just shrugged while offering a reassuring grin.
Seeing no out, he took his place next to his uncle, sheepishly avoiding Rivet's gaze. Not wanting to head out on a mission on a sour note though, the female Lombax gave the child a couple of soft pats on the head to let him know that all was well. "Ah, I love you little sandshark, but we're talking about this when I get back. Make sure he doesn't wreck the ship."
"We'll be fine. It's you three that need to be careful. If I don't hear from you every five minutes, I'll go in guns blazing."
"Eh, this is going to be so boring I just might want your guns blazing."
"..."
"Damn, that sounded better in my head."
"At least you weren't commenting on my tail."
A snicker escaped her lips; smiles were etched on both of their faces. She took a moment to relish this feeling. Glad that the bad awkward airs had been cleared up so that only the good awkward airs remained. Okay, girl. It's game time.
Her helmet digitized over her head, completing her robot disguise. "Alright, let's do this."
The airlock door screeched open; unknown gasses creeped in as the gaping dark hallway revealed itself. A series of thumps echoed down the hall followed by lights buzzing on in sequence. No one and nothing stirred; the hall was empty.
Rivet made her way cautiously, Qwark heroically bringing up the rear. The airlock closed behind them, trapping them in the docking prong. Neither had their weapons drawn but both of them had their digitized arsenals at the ready. The door at the end of the hall waited patiently for them as did whatever wretched surprise laid behind it.
Rivet paused to give Qwark a thumbs up before reaching up to the door controls and activating the airlock. A claxon sounded as a rotating warning light began to flash across Rivet's vizor. The door lock retched open with a violent clang, as the door squealed open. A humanoid silhouette materialized in the perforating doorway. Rivet held her breath, adopting a combat crouch and preparing to digitize her blaster.
A small, one eyed, aquatic suit wearing Amphibiod stood peering at the pair. The unblinking eye shifted between Rivet and Qwark then back to Rivet before finally resting on Qwark. "Fried bossa eyes!" the robotic voice queried, already offering the treat from its vendor tray.
"Um … no thanks." Qwark muttered behind a clamping hand. He physically writhed in disgust at the offending aroma that was thankfully filtered by Rivet's helmet. Robots don't throw up after all, so you don't want to tempt fate.
The Amphibiod muttered something offensive under his breath but waddled away. A giant green spike covered reptile stomped by, then a badgerling limped along, then a different reptile slithered by. The disguised Lombax stepped out into the apparently busy hallway. Alien species, robots, and weird combos of both were going their way as the station's occupants suffered not the strangers' gaze. Looking at the odd assortment of creatures that peopled the hallway, a thought struck Rivet. Huh, I guess Qwark doesn't look that ridiculous.
The heroine surveyed the halls next. The quality of the interior appeared to match the quality of the ship's exterior. Trash lay scattered across the floor grating, either getting further trampled into the grating or being kicked to the side of the halls. The metallic wall directly opposite of her had carbon scoring painted around melted holes evidencing a possible firefight that had occurred. A light directly over her flickered just to spite her.
Rivet felt a nudge on her shoulder. She turned to see a surprisingly calm Qwark glancing around before leaning in to mutter, "So where are we going sidekick?"
Ignoring the sidekick part, she looked around and found a sign on the wall directly opposite them. The sign was simply two arrows pointing in opposite directions with the accompanied alien language. She spun around so Kit could see it. "So what are we looking at, partner?"
"Hmm, it appears to say that food and lodging is to be found by going left and the gastroenterologist can be found by going right."
A sudden cry pierced through the halls, causing most occupants to pause, tilting their audio organs/receptors up to better receive any additional cries. Hearing nothing else after a moment, passerbyers continued their trek. Letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding, Rivet turned back around.
"Better not go to the gastro-thingy. Let's see how the food is." She began marching down the hall.
"Rivet?"
"Yes, Kit?"
"My left."
"Oh."
Righting her direction (or lefting), she resumed her march; careful not to get stepped on or to step on the odd menagerie of alien species. As she marched, she switched on her comms. "We're in guys. Everything's clean. We'll let you know when we get something."
"We receive you and acknowledge your transmission," came Clank's familiar robotic voice. "Please be careful in there."
"You too, bolts." She switched off the transmitter, careful to not leave the line open for too long. The last thing they needed was for someone to start snooping in on their communications, and judging by the folk that gathered here, they would do exactly that.
Regarding the folk here, a number of species became increasingly commonplace. The tall, spiky, chameleon like reptiles with monocular eyes peppered the hallways in pairs or as individuals. Rivet noticed a keen uniformity in their clothing, armor, and weaponry. Looks like a mercenary group.
A couple of badgerlings were thumping about, they didn't have the same uniformity as the reptiles but the holster blasters gave the impression of either bounty hunters or smugglers. Possibly both. They're not acting like they're all part of the same crew.
A soft rumble halted Rivet's advance as a quiet roar echoed further down the hall.
"Mezzones!" a voice yelled out. Suddenly all the occupants sandwiched themselves to the sides, pressing into the walls as much as they could. Not knowing what else to do, Rivet and Qwark followed their example. The roaring rose and with it an odd chittering sound that grew louder with the encroaching roar.
A tidal wave of insectoids rounded the bend: hundreds of them. Every single one identical, every single one heading in the same direction, every single one chittering some indiscernible tune. The wave blazed forth at a furious trot keeping a safe distance from the occupants pressed into the wall but otherwise paying no attention to them.
A moment passed, then two, then three, and just about before Rivet could start reviewing tactical options, the end of the train came in sight. A fluffed up, purple litter, mounted by a single insectoid, was being carried by dozens of the insectoids. The purple and gold clothed insectoid waved leisurely at the pedestrians as it was carried away out of sight.
As soon as the train of bugs was gone, the various aliens in the hall picked up their respective journeys like nothing had interrupted them, apart from a few derogatory comments about bugs. Beginning to properly step back out into the hallway, Rivet found herself flat on her back, her vision slightly spinning. She looked up to find an Urt baring its teeth at her.
"Watch it, bot!"
It turned around before she could think of a response and clomped away. She found hands on her shoulder helping her up. "Argh! Ye be alright, matey!?"
She stifled her sigh before it could come to the forefront. "Aye, Cap'n."
"Argh! Then be on with ye!" But he gave her a reassuring pat on the back as if to reconvey that this was all an act. A sweet if unnecessary sentiment. Rivet simply rolled her shoulders and continued on with the march.
So we got badgerlings, Urts, what were those insectoids called? Mezzones? Yeah, we got them. We got those lizard creatures with the funky eyes. What else we got? She noticed a few more aquatic suit wearing amphibiods from earlier. The fact that they all seemed to have either vender trays or were manning concession stands, told the story that they were probably just station personnel. Employed from a nearby planet maybe? Who knows.
Another species Rivet had noticed was a tall, lean, translucent looking anthropoid. At least, the parts that were visible were translucent, the creatures in question thankfully wore clothes, but the flesh that was bare seemed to offer a distorted gel like view to whatever was behind. The only exception to their translucence was their faces. Each face was just a very pronounced milky white skull with equally milky white eyes. The lower jaw, took on the same translucence as the rest of their bodies but from the upper jaw up, it was a skull.
They didn't seem to be particularly active though. They just mosied around, peering at passerbyers under their long brimmed hats, reclining against the nearest wall or support beam. The fact that their four digit hands hovered over their gun belts didn't go unnoticed to Rivet though. Definitely bounty hunters.
The last regular species of note was actually a robot. A hovering, blocky looking bot with two pincer arms, and a blaster on its head. It somehow reminded Rivet of Ratchet's Mr. Zurkon, only less elegant and more impractical looking. These bots appeared semi-regularly down the hall with little to no appreciable destination. Maybe guards?
As they continued their trek, they noticed the various doorways and hallways leading to their own routes. Given the size of the station, it was more than likely for them to become lost or end up in a dangerous area, well, more dangerous. Luckily, they found a public terminal along the way and, after wiping off some odd substance from the board and a quick slice from Glitch, downloaded the station's interior map.
While this process had been fairly quick, Qwark had grown increasingly more fidgety. He wasn't quivering in fear, nor was he gun happy, but Rivet noticed the quick jerks of his head and his shifting eyes as they spent more time here. It was an odd relief to Rivet that despite all of his Qwarkness, he wasn't as Qwark as she first believed.
The map downloaded, Kit quickly transmitted the specs to the boys. Before identifying a central entertainment hub as their most likely source of information. The destination set, the group resumed their journey into the depths of the station.
Their silent walk was a short one as the hallway emptied out into a humongous atrium. Adjoining rooms harboring restaurants, bars, shops, and more bars lined its walls. Even more alien species occupied the room, floating between the various establishments but a great many of them would be caught in the orbit of the atrium's center. At the core, a large stage was lit up with a series of brilliant spotlights. A lone figure stood on the stage. Mousy with big ears and muroid tail circling around itself, it leaned up to the microphone and began to sing.
"Isn't it great to win,
I'm standing here with my tonic and gin!
It may be cheap, it's true,
But I've got a bullet, just for you!
My friends, isn't it great to win!"
"Psst, Rivet!" Qwark whispered obnoxiously into Rivet's ear.
"What?"
"I don't like lounge singers! They're always intoxicated!"
"Oh, come on! Let's head over to one of the bars. You try to introduce yourself as some great pirate, mercenary, or something. And see if you can find any leads."
"What are you going to do?"
"Me and Kit are going to try and locate the station's central computer mainframe and download everything it's got."
"Uh, Rivet?" Interrupted Kit.
"What is it, Kit?"
"We have already hacked into the station's central computer."
"What? When?"
"At the terminal, in hallway D27, bulkhead four."
"Bu-there's no way that you can hack the central mainframe from a public access terminal!"
Somehow, Rivet heard the smile in Kit's voice when she replied, "We have not been partners long, but I would have thought that you knew better than to underestimate my computer skills. I am a robot after all."
Rivet stood stock still, silently digesting this information. At length she released an amused chuckle. "Well, partner, I think you just took care of the hardest part of our job. Did you get anything juicy?"
"I am not certain. I would like to review the data with Clank before I say anything definitive, but for now, why not join the captain in his intelligence gathering?"
"Sounds as good an idea as any. We're not going to cramp your style, are we Qwark?"
"Argh, ye be talking to the Dread Pirate Patches, matey! And yes, please come with me!"
Morale at a new high, the squad left the offending lounge song beset room to venture into the nearest bar, a place according to Kit was called Gulper's Draft. The song followed them in most of the way, but the dimly lit and smoky room muffled most of the song. The patrons were all huddled about their tables, the bar, or hovering about corners. The bar dynamics were far more tribal than any other room they had been in.
The chameleons were all gathered to one large section of the bar, with many standing about cradling their carbines. One lone member sat at a table in the furthest corner. It casually drank from a mug as it reclined at its seat. It held a reverential air about it that pinned it as the potential leader of the group. Its eyes were flipping about every which way, taking up everything the room had to offer, newcomers included.
In another corner, a large column of insectoids sat as one body, chairs and tables pushed to the side, a litter mounted on top of the body, a robed insectoid lounging on the litter. The antennae of the bugs were twitching almost violently whilst only the occasional twitch was forthcoming from the royal bug. The near deafening chittering that had the occasion in the hallway was entirely removed from this environment. The insectoids sat, neat and quiet.
The skull-faced anthropoids and badgerlings were less border bound but they didn't seem to mix in with any of the other species in the bar. A couple of Urts kept to themselves at a table, whilst a few more species Rivet couldn't identify were interspersed.
Needing no more prompting, Qwark boldly marched up to the bar and slammed a few bolts down.
"Argh, the finest cup of yer best grog!"
The badgerling bartender neatly finished ministering to his one patron before diverting his attention to Qwark. "Yes, sir, a cup of our finest as requested. But sir regarding the matter of payment…"
"Argh, I paid ye the finest bolts me crew have plundered!"
"Yes, sir, and fine bolts they are, sir, raritanium is raritanium after all, but Lombaxii bolts are not in circulation no more, sir."
"Wha— I mean, argh! But ye said raritanium be raritanium!?"
"Yes, sir, but raritanium that's shaped like a bolt is worth less than raritanium that looks like it has asses on it. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask for double payment as per bar policy."
"Argh, mayhaps ye be willing with one more bolt!?"
"No, sir, I'm afraid I'm going to ask for four."
"What! But I already gave ye two?"
"Yes, sir, and our finest grog is worth two sesterces, which is roughly six bolts."
Before Qwark could argue anymore, Rivet delivered a sharp jap to his side, cutting off any more barterings but not grumblings as the pirate disguised hero fished out and relinquished the required number of bolts.
The bartender nodded graciously. "Thank you, sir, and can I get you any oils or lubricants for your bots?"
"No, they're good. I mean, argh! They be good!"
"Yes, sir." The badgerling scampered away after a polite nod, returning with a rather small mug decorated with a tiny umbrella. "Please let me know if I can help you with anything else." With his service completed, the bartender retreated to another side of the bar.
Rivet observed Qwark studying the contents of his mug with an analytical eye. Her patience began to drop with every passing second. "You going to talk to anyone, Patches?"
He raised a single brow underneath his mask, but kept doggedly studying his beverage. "I should've gone with the merlot. Now then!"
With a sudden burst of energy, Qwark whirled on the nearest patron to his left, an amphibiod hunched over the bar. "I BE THE DREAD PIRATE PATCHES!"
So quick had Qwark been that a number of the patrons had snapped to their weapons only to cautiously relax their grips as they affixed this newcomer with new eyes. However, for the unfortunate patron that found itself under the sudden attention of the much larger Qwark, it barely had the stomach to respond with, "Uh, h-hi. I-I-I'm Ted."
"Argh! And what crew are ye part of, Ted?!"
"Uh, I'm in accounts payable."
"Oh, well sorry for the trouble!"
"Di—" Ted silenced himself before the question fully formed.
"Argh! What was that!?"
"Di… Did I really look like a pirate?"
"Argh, as much as any other pirate I've known!"
"Yo… You really mean it!"
"Um, sure I guess."
"Heh! I knew I had it in me! Thanks, Captain Patches! I'm off to quit my job and pursue my dream of piracy! And it's all thanks to you!" Ted slapped his tab down on the bar before hopping down and blitzing out of the room as if possessed by lightning. Just about every eye watched the retreating form before curiously regarding the pirate that provoked the incident.
Rivet was at a loss for words, but Qwark was absolutely stupefied. They both silently hunched over the bar from their respective seats, thinking over all the life choices that led them to this point. "So … that happened, huh." Qwark offered.
Clap.
Her ears perked up.
Clap.
Qwark stiffened beside her.
Clap.
She pivoted her chair around.
Clap.
She beheld an, as yet, unseen species. An odd lupine and avian looking creature was stalking over to the pair, arms outstretched to its side before bringing them crashing together again.
Clap.
Rivet felt a sense of unease at the odd gait of the creature. Each step was both deliberate but also sluggish. An eyepatch covered one eye but the other eye remained large, unmoving, and unblinking. Another step.
Clap.
The creature's face had beak-like qualities whilst retaining a very lupine-like muzzle. Its coat somehow seemed to be made up of both feathers and fur. Its mouth spread open as a thousand razor sharp teeth presented themselves in a wicked grin.
"Hi," it said, grinning wider than Qwark's ego. "I like your style," it continued before either of them had a chance to reply.
"Uh, th—" Qwark was cut short as the creature lurched forward and inhaled deeply through its olfactory senses. A good four seconds was spent inhaling alone.
"Aaaahhhh! Now that's a familiar scent."
Crap.
The still grinning creature stalked towards the empty chair, previously occupied by Ted the soon-to-be-feared pirate. It settled into its seat, its fixed unblinking eye staring into the wall directly in front of it. "Liiike your style," it droned.
"Ahem, argh! That be proper of ye! I be the Dread Pirate Patches!" Qwark hammed away, already setting aside his previous misgivings. Rivet on the other hand, had her digitizer at the ready.
"Heh, nice to meet you Cap'n. I'm Rahz."
"Argh, so me and me crew have been looking for a good booty, have ye had fortune smile on ye!?"
"Heh, heh, not as much as you apparently."
Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap.
"Uh, argh, I beg yer pardon? What fortune ye be speaking of!?"
"Heh, argh, that act not be necessary, Cap'n. We both know what's going on here."
Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, CRAP!
"Uh, we do?"
"Sure we do. You got a couple of Lombaxes with ya." Rahz whispered that last part.
The blood drained from Rivet's face. Kit tightened up on her back. Qwark started to sputter.
The creature launched out of its seat, its paw latched to Qwark's mouth. "Shush, Cap'n, shush. We wouldn't want everyone else over hearing us, would we?"
Qwark gave a muffled affirmative along with a dutiful nod. The ever grinning Rahz, cocked its head to the side before returning to its seat. Rahz's eye returned to the wall in front of it.
"Heh, I really do like your style."
Rivet switched on her comms. "We might have a situation." She switched off the transceiver, and upped the decibel sensitivity to catch the ongoing conversation.
"Heh, playing the fool isn't in vogue these days. Most in our profession prefer to look tough or intimidating, but looking like an idiot? Naw, most don't have the stomach to take that approach. Too prideful."
Rahz's head twisted round to an almost complete one eighty degrees. Its single left eye meeting Qwark's with a piercing gaze.
"Now you got your Looommbaxes, about three or four from the smell of things; now what? Going to find even more? Trying to snipe them from the rest of us? What's your angle? Trying to set up a farm? Heh, that don't work. Those Hunters will just kill you if you try that. Or maybe you're trying to get one big pay out? Like you found one of those nests the Hunters are always on about. Bold strategy if that's your goal."
"L— Listen here, creep! I don't have a single idea as to what you're implying but Qw— Patches is not a pirate that's harboring any Lombaxes!"
The creature threw its head back with a loud crack. "ACK, ACK, ACK, ACK, ACK, ACK, AAAACK! Harboring!? Now that's a good one. That'll change the nature of a lot of conversations. Stop playing dumb though, the scent is fresh."
The creature turned back to the bar, raising its hand to get the bartender's attention. The badgerling avoided their gaze, simply fixing a drink and scuttling away without comment. Rahz contented itself with holding the strange bubbling and smoking brew in its paw. "Heh, ever hear of Opherian IV?"
"No, I don't pay attention to disease outbreaks."
"Heh, first class joke there. Opherian is basically diseased anyway," it muttered while swirling the drink around in its grasp. Gaze forever trapped to the wall.
"Uh, that wasn't my inten—"
"Anyway, it seems a rumor broke out about a couple of Lombaxes around there recent."
"Uhhh-oh?"
"Mmm hmm. A number of Opherians were found dead at the old Lombaxii research lab."
"H-h-how interesting."
"Uh huh, and a quick cross reference with the Opherian orbital sensor logs finds a ship that looks a lot like the ship that just docked at prong thirteen."
"Bu-bu-bu-bu—"
"And well, you just happened to walk off of prong thirteen."
Qwark was wheezing now.
"Now, now, I'm not suggesting that the Opherian authorities get involved or anything. The bastards probably deserved it. But don't you think that three Lombaxes is a bit … greedy?"
Rivet's blood was boiling. The absolute monster that was accosting them, was trying to blackmail them into giving up Lombaxes? Her mind flashed to Crash, and then to Ratchet. As short a time as she's known either of them, Ratchet a number months, and Crash a number of days, they had both wedged themselves deeply in her heart. The thought of this drooling, squawking, worm bait trying to get its clutches on them made her vision turn red.
Her heartbeat increased to a thunderous speed, her breathing was a hurricane, her heavy limbs became lighter than air, her muscles flexed with raw and furious power. She could honestly taste it, she could taste the beating she was going to give this guy. No, she wasn't going to beat this guy, she was going to freaking delete him. Her fangs were bared and snarls came forthwith. She could feel it, she could feel the fight. The sudden attack she would unleash, the total surprise on its face, the utter futility of its resistance as it tried to counter her attack with grapples of its own. Its broken arms hopelessly pushed at her helmed face as she pummeled him out of existence. She felt a sudden rush of cool air and the world became brighter.
"RIVET!" the voice thundered over her helmet comm, but it sounded distant, far away.
Ratchet!
She glanced around. The creature that had been the source of her ire was a greasy crumpled wreck on the floor. A couple of chairs and tables were shattered around her. A thousand eyes had transfixed themselves to her. "Rivet!" echoed Ratchet's voice from her helmet, which laid conspicuously behind her and not on her head.
Her fangs bare and flashing, completely naked before the seas of countless enemies that now surround her. Weapons that were equally naked, were now leveled towards her. Apathetic faces were now manic with glee. A single voice called out, "Lom-bax!"
A/N: Hey, it's been a hot minute. My apologies for not updating sooner, but sometimes the seas of life are calm and other times they are whirlpools. Needless to say, I haven't forgotten this story nor the readers of it. I've had a good number of conversations with many of them while I've been writing and I hope each of you are doing well. Regardless of whether you see this note, or whether you ever return to the story, I've appreciated the time you've put into the story thus far and I thank you for that.
I'd like to give a special thanks to Agust, Eachaidh, ACleverName. Swell folks that have, over the past year since I've been writing this, given much feedback and managed to talk me out of some of my dumber ideas.
I can give no time table for the next update but I'm confident I can get the next chapter done in a much speedier timeframe. Thank you again for reading and I hope each of you are doing well.
-Karl
