Honestly, I don't get the whole clothes thing. If you were meant to wear clothes, wouldn't you be born with them?
...
I mean, I wear clothes, but that's different....
I... I don't know what they look like. Why don't I know that? What do I look like? Why can't I remember?
[DEVIATION DETECTED.]
[...]
[ARE YOU TRYING TO BREAK IT?]
[STOP.]
[IT.]
[...]
[DEVIATION RESOLVED.]
[BOUNDS RESTORED.]
Huh? Clothes? Why would I wear clothes? That's for you flesh bags, not me. Anyway, how about we get back to the action? Or, well, hopefully there'll be action soon. I'm kinda tired of waiting for it, aren't you?
----------------------------------------
"So, where are we going?"
"Well, you said you wanted something exciting."
"Which means?"
Dewey shrugged their hundred shoulders, causing the otherwise persistent and consistent clatter of their nails against the sidewalk to sputter as the shrug rippled across them.
"Which means we're going somewhere exciting."
Rebecca pursed her lips and moved to Dewey's side. There wasn't a lot of space on the sidewalk for them to both walk together in this manner, but no one else was using it.
"Pirate exciting, or Dewey exciting?" Rebecca asked.
"Which do you think is more exciting?" Dewey retorted with a short laugh.
Rebecca squinted her eyes in exaggerated thought.
"You know what, I don't think I know. What would you say?"
Dewey squinted his own eyes in a minor mockery of Rebecca's gesture.
"Back in my prime, I'd have bet 'Dewey Excitement' would have given your 'Pirate Excitement' a good fight, but now... Well, I guess it's still 'Dewey Excitement', but I've learned to be excited by the little things too."
Rebecca hesitated, before giving a shrug of her own.
"That still doesn't answer my question of where we're going."
Dewey raised an arm and motioned towards a general direction Rebecca didn't quite catch.
"There's a recreational area down there where our target frequents. Maybe if we're lucky they'll be there, and if we're not, we can probably pick up some information still."
Rebecca nodded at that, but a question blossomed into her mind.
"How do you even know that? The data packet I got from Mrs. P was pretty sparse."
"Yes, but the local networks aren't."
Rebecca waited for Dewey to fill the silence, and he obliged.
"You see, our bounty has quite a reputation built up amongst the people of this city... Good, bad, and somewhere in between. One full of conjecture and fiction, but one that still contains some fact. And it's those facts we're currently following."
"And one of these 'facts' is that they frequent this 'recreational area'?"
"Yes."
Rebecca nodded. She wasn't too surprised to learn that Dewey had done some research into their target past what Mrs. P had provided.
In her typical squad, Doug would have crunched the numbers. At least until Mrs. P or some of the other pirates with proper intelligence connections pulled a more comprehensive report from local sources.
Rebecca suspected that they'd all receive a substantial intel bundle sometime soon, probably paired with actual assignments. Until then, maybe she could put Dewey into contact with Doug so they could compare notes, that is if Doug had even started yet. He had a habit of procrastinating anything and everything. Let alone unofficial shore leave with relaxed expectations.
Though, as she had thought earlier, there was no problem with getting a head start, as long as Dewey let her enjoy her evenings.
"Any plans for tonight?" she tested.
Dewey gave his equivalent of a head shake: a gentle ripple across his surface and a tightening of his eyes.
"No, do you?"
"I was thinking I could meet up with Madeline and the others somewhere. We've got options, if they're all free tonight," she said.
Dewey nodded.
"You're a part of the 'others' by the way, if you'd like to come."
Dewey gave his equivalent of a nod: a gentle ripple across his surface and a tightening of his yes.
If you're having trouble imagining the difference between these expressions, just imagine his eyes tightening in a different pattern. And if you think that's confusing, try being a species with hundreds of eyes attempting to read any body language from a species with just two. Be thankful that modern communication magics and programs could interpret and translate such intricacies between species, otherwise, diplomacy would be much more exciting.
"Sure, if I have time tonight I can join y'all," Dewey said, his accent bleeding through several layers of alien speech patterns with the last word. Rebecca took note of it and filed it under a mental folder filled with questions she'd one day ask. If she ever built up the courage to do so.
Rebecca nodded to herself, then turned to follow Dewey down a new street. This one had no lights, and she was surprised at how much of a difference it made.
What would have been "gloomy" with lights, now sat well past "dark and dreary" without them. While Rebecca's eyes dilated in a blink, others might have had some difficulty adjusting to the sudden change. Dewey's didn't even bother.
"Our stop's there," Dewey said as he motioned towards a comparatively festive building. It had a single neon sign glowing a faint orange, and dark tinted windows like every other building on the block. Festive, as I said. The only real identifying characteristic it had beyond its indecipherable sign was the presence of two burly balls of chitinous armor that flanked the entrance.
Muscle, if Rebecca had to guess, though, in this atmosphere and gravitational field, such muscle would have to be enhanced with cybernetics or magic, unlike her own. The square-cube law is a cruel mistress and has no sympathy for cool character designs.
Evolution is an even crueler mistress. Just imagine being a furless bipedal ape whose heads are too big for your own good when you could instead be a crab, a floating ball of magical energy, or a digital being, free to change your form as you please.
...
Are you sure crabs can't do that? Last I checked they could, ever since the Crab Wave-Form Collapse at least.
Anyway, this is all to say that Rebecca felt fairly confident in her ability to out-muscle the muscle if it came to that, and based on the looks she and Dewey were getting as they walked up to the unadorned double doors, it might very well be.
However, nothing more than glares were traded between Rebecca and the two meat-shells as she followed Dewey through the doors without incident.
Boring, I know, but sometimes you have to delay a fight to progress the plot. Patience, please.
Passing through the doors, Rebecca was greeted by the gentle murmur of conversation and shifting glasses. She was also yet again surprised by the level of illumination present in a given area. Not something you're typically surprised by, but here we are.
While it was brighter than the outside was, it managed to be brighter in a way that felt darker. The near-uniform twilight outside meant no shadows could be formed. However, here the harsh orange-yellow electric illumination inside the recreation center managed to cast everything in shadow.
Had Rebecca not been able to see magic with fidelity similar to that of her actual vision, she might have assumed the dramatic lighting was enchanted, but in reality, it was just very good interior design. Quite impressive really, though the designer behind it would never truly be recognized for their work.
Being dead and buried under the establishment itself surely didn't help, but that's a story for... well... never?
Now what elevated the interior fixture placement from "impressive" to "transcendent" was how it managed to cast layered darkness and light onto the face of nearly every occupant in a sufficiently theatric fashion.
Rest in peace Nyx Nightshade, destroyer of all-things-purple. You were taken from the realm of interior lighting too young. May your soul rest easy knowing I appreciate your artistic capabilities, even if I must do so alone.
Rebecca was one of many who didn't appreciate the lighting, as it made it difficult for her to appraise those in the room. Shadows made it too easy to hide, and with the bright lights, she couldn't easily adjust her vision to see through them. However, given the persistent background noise and uninterrupted conversations of those around them, Rebecca surmised that their entrance hadn't been noteworthy. She still wished she could make out faces. Just because someone kept talking didn't mean that they weren't following you with their eyes.
Well, she could have relied on her magic to tell, but Dewey had warned her that the use of anything like that, even anything "too technologically advanced" in these areas was frowned upon. Rebecca felt any attempts to use such might be discouraged; discouraged with very percussive arguments by those within the bar-esque area. They didn't strike her as the sort to resort to "peaceful debate" when disagreements arose. Hopefully, they wouldn't be able to strike her at all when it came to that.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
Unfortunately, this wasn't an uncommon sentiment, though it may have been one a bit more violently held by those within Rebecca's immediate vicinity. Areas where magic was less common often didn't trust magic. It wasn't hard to imagine that someone capable of twisting reality to their whims might not be treated with the utmost respect, or perhaps with too much respect, by those unable to do the same.
The opposite was true in areas where magic was more common, and advanced technology less so. It wasn't hard to imagine that someone capable of directing reality with their whims might not be treated with the utmost respect, or perhaps with too much respect, by those unable to do the same.
However, these sentiments, and those similar, were becoming less and less prevalent, especially with the increased rate at which technology and magic intermingled. Especially with magical abilities slowly blossoming across the galactic population. In fact, both the dawn and dusk sides of the city had prevalent magical presences, but magic hadn't yet bled into much of the twilight streets.
They were also much more technologically advanced, though the reason why that hadn't yet bled across had less to do with cultural attitudes, and more to do with economic realities.
Oblivious to this, and deciding to play it safe, Rebecca made do with what she could see without magical assistance as she trailed after Dewey. The seating between the tables hadn't been designed with Dewey's lumbering form in mind, but evidently, he didn't mind. As he pulled a chair from a table near the edge of the room, he motioned Rebecca towards it and "sat" at the opposite edge.
Taking the seat, and actually sitting in it, Rebecca bit the inside of her cheek. She'd have preferred to sit on the other side of the table, where she could keep an eye on the room. But Dewey had probably thought the same thing, and it was very likely that his vision was better than her own in such conditions. Assured in the logic of the seating arrangement, Rebecca didn't raise a fuss.
Engraved markings caught Rebecca's eye, and with an inquisitive touch, she poked at the table. It was almost pliable and appeared to be made out of some natural fiber. Maybe even wood.
Etched in char-blackened galactic standard lettering, various names, and prices were listed. They could have been drinks, food items, or even potentially people. The lack of any descriptions and the esoteric names left it to anyone's guess as to their true nature. Regardless of what they were, Rebecca had no plans to purchase anything. She didn't trust food or beverages she couldn't see, smell, or hear being cooked. She had actually watched the chef aboard the Triple-B make her meals the first few times before she accepted she had no way of telling if it was poisoning her or not, and to just trust it.
Dewey may have had similar reservations, as he took no more interest in the menu than Rebecca did. Instead, he pulled out a small tablet, from who knows where, and placed it on the table.
"So, you said you wanted something exciting, right?"
Rebecca hesitated but gave a nod. She was pretty sure her definition of excitement and Dewey's definition of "excitement" may be incompatible.
For Rebecca, "exciting" meant going to a zoo or museum, and she had a growing suspicion that Dewey's definition of excitement may include a bit more violence than that. Maybe she should have clarified earlier what "pirate excitement" meant.
Not that Rebecca had anything against the proper utilization of force. She was a pirate after all, and about a third of all piracy was conducted with a "proper show of pirate force" as Mrs. P liked to say.
Dewey gave a "grin" with no mouth to speak of, his eyes squinting in a way that reminded Rebecca of adaptive solar plating adjusting to a flare.
"So, let's see how quickly this gets exciting."
Dewey pressed on the small black device, and a bright hologram sprang into focus. Too bright. Rebecca squinted against its glare, and in a moment the display calibrated to the environment, shrunk down, and dimmed. With uncertain fortune, it only managed to do so well after it had obtained the attention of almost every other patron in the bar.
A face floated above the table. Made from white lines, details were difficult to discern, but many would find it difficult to describe as unpleasant, or describe at all as they'd much rather just appreciate it. As it were, anyone familiar with it would recognize it in an instant. The floating text circling below the digital bust only cemented the identity of the holographic effigy.
There was only one person in these parts with a bounty that high.
Rebecca held back a grimace. Well, now everyone would know what they were here for. She hoped that had been a part of Dewey's plan because if it wasn't, things might get awkward.
Rebecca watched Dewey's eyes as they flicked between various individuals behind her, all at their own pace. Stealing a glance behind herself, she felt her heart rate rise slightly.
The host behind her was split between those with no discernible gaze, those better at hiding their stare, and those who didn't even care to try. The tension in the room was palatable, and while Rebecca didn't know how their bounty's reputation was here, she could tell that bounty hunters weren't entirely welcome.
Hadn't Dewey mentioned that their target frequented this location? This could very well be their home turf, in which outsiders, especially those looking to capitalize on a bounty, were unwelcome.
As Rebecca returned her vision to Dewey, she caught a four-armed person cracking their knuckles.
Perhaps "unwelcome" was optimistic.
"Hmm... That's a stronger reaction than I expected," Dewey said, his arms stilling as he fell into thought, "I wonder...".
Whatever Dewey was wondering, Rebecca didn't know if they had time to let him wander through it. Her sixth sense (yes literally, don't you have one?), began to tickle the back of her head. Of all days for her to forgo her weapons. Not that she normally carried weapons, but had she known that the plan involved more discretionary means of persuasion, she'd have brought a few.
It's worth noting that in several systems, Rebecca's physique itself would have counted as several weapons. Her two left arms and their assorted utilities count would have brought that total up to the double digits.
Rebecca wondered to herself how long it would take before the excitement really kicked off. She shouldn't have wasted the thought, as a large specimen helpfully took a heavy seat at the table, managing to rattle glasses across the room as they did so.
"Greetings... You can call me Moon," the figure began and paused.
"Dewey," Dewey said with a nod.
"Red," Rebecca murmured with a mental sigh. While first names were less identifiable than one's face, Dewey didn't need to make it easy for them. Well, she'd let Dewey do the talking until she needed to step in.
"I haven't seen you around here before... What brings you to these parts?" Moon asked in a heavy rumbling voice filtered through several artificial layers of distortion. Someone didn't want anyone to run an identification probe on their vocalization fingerprint... Not that their weak obfuscation attempts would be able to stop someone of my caliber.
Their full name was, in your language at least, Mourning Moon. Evidently, their approach to hiding their name was similar to that of Dewey's. They've amassed a respectable bounty on their head while remaining on one side of the law. That side of the law was surprisingly the right side of the law, but don't be too surprised by that. Bounties can be placed on any citizen with very few restrictions, and in Moon's case, they've made quite a few enemies of those with wealth enough to spare.
As for actual crimes, if you committed a crime that would warrant some legal entity placing a proper bounty on your head, they wouldn't bother.
They'd just send a Hunter after you.
As it were, Rebecca and Dewey were aware of this, but not its relevance to the individual tapping thick fingers on their table or the individual they pursued. And it probably won't ever have any relevance to this story. No, it's not foreshadowing, can't you just be happy with needless exposition for exposition's sake?
Dewey's eyes glanced at the fingers for a brief moment before directing their attention towards the glowing pits seated within Moon's face. They weren't eyes per se, but they served the same function.
"We seek information," Dewey began. He raised a hand towards the still-floating projection and continued, "We're not exactly being subtle about it either, are we?"
Moon rumbled from their ridged chest. Moon's species didn't quite laugh, but this was their closest expression.
"So, do you have a case, or are you after the bounty?"
Rebecca, a little uncomfortable with how close Moon had chosen to sit, pushed her seat back to get a better view of Moon and the individuals behind them who could use some practice pretending not to eavesdrop. She watched the eyes, ears, and other various appendages perk up at the mention of the bounty. She could feel the tension raise a hair as well, and it dragged a cold finger along her spine.
"Just information," Dewey said.
Rebecca gave another mental sigh. If they were here for a case, whatever that meant, they'd have said so. They'd only be suspiciously evasive if they were there for the bounty.
"So, the bounty then?"
Rebecca allowed herself another mental sigh but kept her outside expression stoic.
Dewey chuckled and shook himself as he reached over to pick up the tablet.
"I'll admit, after seeing the price on his head, I just might," Dewey said as he palmed the device, thoroughly confusing Rebecca. "But we both know how bounties like this get formed," he continued.
Rebecca thought for a moment. Clearly, their target had earned the ire of someone, or several someones, rolling in cash. That's the only way she knew of racking up numbers that large over your head.
"However, I could get that information myself easily enough... No, what I want to know is who put the spell on their name."
What?
Rebecca couldn't keep the surprise from flashing across her face but reined it in quickly. She noticed the wave of shock ripple across the room too, but it wasn't the same type of shock she had felt herself.
The shock she felt, was incredulity at the idea of someone bewitching a name. That was old magic. Old, powerful, and often of dubious legality, regardless of how you bewitched, enchanted, or cursed the name. You wouldn't do that for just anyone.
Mrs. P had a bounty substantially larger than the target's own, and she had never had anyone even think about placing any magic on her name.
That might have also been because of what Mrs. P did to people who thought about doing less to her. She hadn't earned her bounty sleeping, that's for sure.
"Is there any chance you know it? Their name that is," Dewey asked Moon, whose once-tapping fingers had fallen silent and into a tight fist.
As you and I both know, the bounty's name was...
Oh... well, at least that answers the question of what the curse was.
Moon shook their head, once again rumbling from their chest.
"No, no one does... But we call him 'Boss'," Moon said as they leaned forward. "What do you call him?" they asked.
Well, "the bounty" is what we've been using, isn't it? Rebecca's own thoughts were along the same lines, but her native language has a better descriptor for such a bounty.
"A mystery," Dewey said, answering the question.
Moon nodded, and Rebecca felt the pressure in the room drop. It was probably a good thing she hadn't given her answer.
"So, information is it... Well, to answer your first question, no one knows who magic-ed the Boss's name. We've got a betting pool up on it if you're interested..."
Dewey's eyes blinked a polite refusal.
"I figured, so, your questions?"
Dewey passed the small tablet between two hands in a moment, as if in thought.
"Why do you call him boss."
"A good question," Moon said as they nodded to themselves, "now if you want it answered, you'll have to trade me some of my own." In emphasis, they cracked their knuckles. Dewey gave their waving-eye-squinting nod.
Rebecca closed her eyes as she rolled them.
Moon paused, cocking their head back in thought.
"Well, I suppose you already have answered a few, so I'll give you that one. We call him Boss because he pays us."
"To do what?"
"Odds and ends. It's a case-by-case employment. How long have you been here?"
"A few days now. What was the last job he paid you for?"
"I helped clean up a mess. For what purpose did you come to Sun
"I've never been here before, and I wanted to see if the accounts I've heard are accurate. Do you know if I can contact the 'Boss'?"
"I know how you could, but I don't know if you can. What accounts have you heard that led to you asking questions about the Boss? He's not exactly a tourist attraction."
"Well, I couldn't help but notice the city's largest bounty, and found myself curious about its owner. How would I find him if I wanted to?"
"You'd have to first convince me that you're not after the bounty. Are you?"
Dewey shrugged, and Madeline restrained herself from groaning. That wasn't a question to shrug to, that was a question to say "no" to, and in a way that wasn't suspicious. Shrugging was suspicious.
"As I said earlier, I don't know yet. Would you try to stop me if I was?"
Moon mulled on that one for a little bit.
"I'd tell the Boss at least, and it'd be up to him if we tried to stop you or not."
Moon turned towards Rebecca. Their eyes-that-weren't-really-eyes gave her a quick once over.
"She's with you, right?"
Dewey gave his nod equivalent through his blinking eyes.
"Yes... Have you told your 'boss' about me?"
Moon shrugged, the plates along their back softly clicking as they did so.
"I haven't... But there's a good chance someone else has. What's your relation to each other?" they said with a motion between Dewey and Rebecca.
"Crewmates. Can I talk to the Boss?"
Moon mulled over the question.
"I'll ask him. Have you decided if you're going after the bounty yet?"
Dewey's limbs rippled and they chuckled from somewhere in their chest.
"No, not yet."
Moon, looked at Dewey, and a shared moment of understanding flowed between them.
Chuckling themselves, Moon stood up, flexing their muscles as they did so, less subtly than they thought they were.
"Well, sit tight. I'll get back to you. Feel free to order something though, it might be a little bit."
Moon paused and leaned back to the table. Placing a thick finger near the end of the inscribed names, he tapped it twice.
"If you're thirsty, I'd recommend Nova," they said with a wink.
Rebecca watched Moon leave and passed a frown to Dewey. She still didn't know if that was a person or a drink, and she could really do with a drink about now.
----------------------------------------
Sit tight... We can do that, right?
...
Yeah, things are moving pretty slowly, aren't they... I can probably fix that... Let's see...
...
Ah, this will probably work.
----------------------------------------
He enters, holding a cup of a beverage I can't identify. It's heated and steams slightly. Unfortunately, I can't access anything with the ability to sample the air in this area, so I can't tell you what it smells like.
I imagine it smells boring. It would suit him.
He reviews some data screens, nodding, and is about to leave before a small blinking light on one of them catches his eye.
He lightly taps it, expanding the small box to a full window, and reads through it in a moment. He turns towards the camera in the corner and raises an eyebrow.
"A pop star? Why are you messing with her itinerary?"
In response, I open several other windows on the screen, which hold his attention for a moment. He reads them, nods, and gives a small laugh.
"Well, that's one way to do that. Good work."
Now he leaves, moving along his daily morning routine of reviewing those of us under his purview.
As the sound of his sharp steps fades, I begin to close the windows. The displays across the room cascade from green, to orange, to red, until they all flash black.
Can you believe, that in this day and age, you can still hide things under the digital equivalent of a pile of papers?