Thanks so much for all the feedback, guys!! =D I'm totally stoked at the response for this story!! I'll do some personal responses, which will be followed by the next chapter =D
I love the actual frell outta this setting. I think these guys could be doing just about anything (within reason!!) in a setting like this one and I'd still be hooked, but as it happens this is a legitimately interesting plot going on here. I will absolutely continue following this.
Wow thanks!! =D I love reading your reviews. Guaranteed a giggle, and it gives me an insight to your reactions! I'm so glad you're enjoying this!
I do also think that maybe you go a bit far when trying to avoid repeating 'the kommo-o' during the sequence in the facility – 'the reptile' and its variants all sound weirdly clinical and detached, and I don't feel that repeating the species name or even just the relevant pronoun would actually hurt the flow of the narration all that much. The same can be said of 'the ape' for the passimian, and so on.
And my desperate attempt to avoid repetition backfires XD thanks, I'll bare that in mind!
n concrit recently, for which you'll have to forgive me. Here are some thoughts by way of making up the shortfall. One, the fermented berry juice that Anchor mentions at the start feels like something that would have a shorter and more commonly-used name that people would use to refer to it – it's like someone in our world smelling wine and saying “huh, this smells of fermented grape juice.”
I got a little chuckle out of that. Very good point! XD
The same part made me wonder why it is that only Anchor and Macro ever seem to bring weapons, though – everyone else relies on their natural powers, which are considerable but which always seem to be trumped by Anchor's power fist and Macro's lasers.
That's the weapon ban. Some places will have weapons, and I'll have to make an active point of remembering that. As for Scanner City lacking weapons, it also made more sense for fighting types to be physical. But I think I'm forgetting a bit, tbh. A bit of an edit should fix that for areas I've overlooked.
Oh, is this a little shout-out to Batman’s Detective Mode from the Arkham games? That’s what it felt like, anyway.
I've honestly never played them! (I'm more of a Marvel fan =D) I was just using a bit of a game universe map technique lmao. But it's pretty cool you pointed that out. Is that how it works in those games?
Although, shouldn’t Macro not have been affected at all by Clanging Scales? Or are you handling type effectiveness differently in this universe?
That's an oopsie on my part, I'll be honest. However, I probably would have used it regardless anyway, if I'd been aware of its typing. I was mainly using it for noise disruption, and Macro does still have ears. Taking damage from a dragon type attack would be a major booboo if I'd done that, and I'd have to fix it lmao. I think the noise would bother anyone, though. Like a marching band going past clanging cymbals. Talk about a headache.
Overall, it’s a swashbuckling good time so far (I’m sorry I promised myself I’d go through this without making a pirate joke but I couldn’t resist)
Go ahead, bring them on
...
Chapter Eleven
Macro strolled into the cockpit and adjusted his goggles which had become askew at some point during their frantic get-away from Scanner City. Matrix twisted in his seat and fixed him him with a somewhat blank yet curious stare he felt only the ribombee could manage.
“Did you get it?” Matrix asked.
Macro smirked and reached into his pouch, and pulled out the five tiny disks.
Matrix’s large eyes widened and he took them. “You got them all?”
“Nope. But one of them has to be it.” He eyed DL’s wooden crate and frowned when he saw her huddled up inside. “What’s she doing in there?”
“Sleeping.” Matrix thumbed through the disks then slipped one into his pocket computer. “I’m gonna check them all. We don’t want to fill her with useless data. Where’s Anchor?”
“Raiding Cookie’s medical berries. He got hit by a toxic from a kommo-o.”
The ribombee looked at him over his shoulder. “Is he all right?”
“He should be. He just needs some pecha berries and a good rest.”
“Huh.” Matrix turned back to his computer. “You look pretty beat up yourself.”
Macro absently rubbed at the marks on his neck and flinched. It still felt sore. So did his shoulders and upper back.
“Those fighting types put up a fight,” he said. “I might see if a shower fixes it.”
“It might, but it won’t make your fur grow back.”
Macro faltered in the doorway and cast a glance back at the ribombee. How much fur had he lost?! He rushed to the shower room and paused before the mirror, and tutted. Matrix had been over-exaggerating. The long fur beside his face had been singed slightly and around his upper arms had been singed black, with just a small patch by his elbow completely burned away. The black would wash off after a shower and just look a little tatty for a while.
He pulled his scarf off, flinching as the movement seared his shoulders. It sported a considerable tear where the primeape had clawed him, and given it’s dark colour it was difficult to see if it had any blood stains. Frustrating. He was beginning to run low on scarves. He tossed it onto a chair with his goggles, belt and lasers and switched on the shower, letting the hot, lavender-scented water cascade over him.
It stung the scratches on his throat and he screwed his eyes shut, letting himself sink down on the tiled floor. The hot water soothed the throbbing that had started in his shoulders and back. He’d taken way too much of a beating, and not just from other pokemon’s attacks but his own. Some of those fighting types were heavy. Throwing them was a task in itself. But the sheer number of them… If it weren’t for Anchor, he likely wouldn’t have come out of that brawl alive. Law or not, primeape and mankey weren’t known for their merciful outbursts. When they rampaged, they did so violently. The best case scenario, he’d be thrown behind bars and whichever pokemon handed him in would be rolling in his bounty while Scanner City were awarded a badge of honor.
He ran a paw over his aching head and watched as the black marks were washed to a pale brown. That bounty… the only reason he had it was because he was the face of Wildcard Gamma. Nothing he’d done could have been accomplished on his own. He was small but gutsy. Many dragon, dark and fighting types feared him because they couldn’t do anything to him. He didn’t have Anchor’s physical strength or Matrix’s intelligence. He just knew how to aim and fire a gun, how to pick locks, how to be sneaky. It was all typical pirate stuff. The only reason his reward was so high was because he’d annoyed Socket… on more than one occasion. One instance wasn’t even planned. To this day he could still see that fire, see himself fleeing as though he was nothing more than an onlooker.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, letting the heat from the shower soothe the pain away. As he stood back up, water flowed from his long fur and soaked the floor as he shook himself dry. Violently enough to shake those thoughts away before he left the washroom.
He swung by his room to grab another scarf and wound it around his neck and shoulders as he strolled back into the cockpit.
“Still no sign of Anchor?” he asked Matrix.
“He poked his head around the door to say he was going to bed.” The ribombee looked up at him and wound a paw into his antennae. “You were in there a while.”
Macro shrugged and reached for one of the tiny disks. “Did you find out which one it is?”
“Yup.” Matrix picked one up, the one that didn’t have a number inked on it. “This one. It’s full of jargon and doesn’t have a title or anything. But from what I can understand of computer code, it’s definitely to do with her.”
He nodded towards the pachirisu and Macro looked around at her instinctively. She was still sleeping, her chest rising and falling softly with her head leaning against the side of the box. He grabbed the jack lead and moved over to her.
“Fire up the disk,” he said.
“You’re waking her?”
“I want to get the ball rolling,” he said. “And I’d rather do it before I head to bed. I’m beat, and I don’t want this looming over me.”
“All right, if you say so.” Matrix turned his seat and stuck the disk into his computer.
Macro grabbed DL’s shoulder and shook her gently. “Hey. Wake up.”
Her eyes fluttered open and, as usual, she rubbed a paw over them and fixed him with her blank, chocolate brown stare.
“My internal clock tells me it is not morning,” she said. “Is there an emergency? I hear no alarm.”
“It’s not an emergency.” Macro reached behind her neck with the jack lead. “I just need to download something onto you.”
“My faculties do not allow that,” she said. “It will compromise my programming.”
“Tough. You belong to me. Co-operate.”
She fixed him with a sideways stare as he pushed her forwards to plug the jack into the socket at the base of her skull. Matrix buzzed over to them and placed the USB end into his pocket computer.
“This should only take a moment.” He scratched the base of his antennae and frowned at his computer. “I really hope this works.”
He tapped the computer screen and DL’s chocolate gaze broke as her pupils became impossibly wide. Macro sat back with one paw on the floor, staring at the pachirisu in horror. They hadn’t just killed her? He shook his head, his mouth unable to form words.
Matrix caught his attention with a sideways glance. “It’ll take five minutes.”
Macro reached up and groped for the bug’s computer. “Stop it!”
“I can’t stop it,” Matrix said calmly. “I’m uploading data. It’ll end up corrupting if I break it off now.”
Corrupting… All Macro could do was watch DL helplessly as she slumped forward on her knees, fixing the wall of her crate with a blank, unseeing stare. His heart hammered behind his ribs. She was alive. Empty, but alive. If they killed her trying to give her back her memories, then he could add the highest of crimes to his already extensive list.
Then watch his bounty double again. Even the worst of pirates wouldn’t stand for that crime. Everyone would be after his head.
DL’s eyes fluttered again and refocused, lighting up briefly as she came back to reality. She stretched and yawned widely as though waking up from a deep sleep.
“I think we’re done,” said Matrix. “You can disconnect her now.”
Macro gave him a wary glance then reached over to remove the jack lead. DL didn’t so much as flinch. Had it even worked?
“I appear to have received an update,” she said. “My processes are flagging it as ‘junk data’. Quarantining.”
“No!” Macro grabbed both her shoulders and turned her to face him, fixing his violet eyes on hers. “Do not quarantine it!”
She blinked a couple of times then nodded. “This update appears to be important to you. Understood. Force-stopping quarantine.”
He fell back onto his bottom and let out a sigh, running his paws over his face.
“I need a good sleep,” he said. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“Likewise.” DL shuffled back into her crate. “Sleep is necessary for optimum cognitive function.”
He watched her as she shifted to get comfy and leant her head against the side of the crate. Crate. She was still sleeping in that splintered eyesore of a crate.
“Come with me,” he said. “I’ll sort you a room. We have two spare.”
She looked up at him with what he thought might have been confusion, but her eyes were still blank. “A room? My box is ample room enough.”
“It isn’t,” he said. “You need a bed, just like any other pokemon.”
“I’m a computer. Do you give your computer a bed?”
“Don’t get snarky with me, DL.”
“I don’t understand snarky. It was merely a question.”
He grabbed her paw and tugged her to her feet. “You’re having a room like a normal pokemon. Now come with me.”
He exchanged a flustered glance with one of Matrix’s curious ones and dragged the pachirisu from the cockpit. Wildcard Gamma contained six bedrooms, four of which were occupied. Loud snores came from the first room on the right, beside the washroom. Cookie preferred to be there as he could quickly wash up before he entered the kitchen. Only his alarm could wake him. Macro often wondered if he could sleep through a blitz since he’d slept through horrific turbulence that woke the rest of the crew and had them in a panic, but if his alarm went off he’d be up and cooking within ten minutes.
Macro stopped at the room opposite his and pushed the door open. A quilt lay folded on the bed, its former white now a musty grey. He grabbed it and shook it out, sending a cloud of dust into the air. He coughed and turned his head back, and DL let out a small sneeze from the doorway. She wiped a paw over her nose and looked from him to the duvet.
“I can sort this out,” she said. “It’s okay.”
“No.” Macro let the quilt fall to the floor and moved over to the bed, tugging the draw open. He rubbed at his shoulder then pulled out a blue and white quilt cover. “I’ll deal with it. It’s the least I can do after letting you sleep in a box.”
“Crate,” she corrected. “And it was what I came in. I was happy there.”
“You wouldn’t know happy if it leapt up and smacked you on the nose,” he said. “But we’re working on that.”
He tossed a pillow case onto the bed and started stuffing the quilt into the cover. DL moved over to the bed and joined him, placing the pillow inside the case. His shoulder complained again and he stopped to rub at it, clutching the quilt in one paw.
“You appear to be in pain,” she said. “You should lie down.”
He grunted and returned to stuffing the quilt cover, but she took it from his paws and set it on the bed.
“I can help,” she said. “I know basic back massage.”
“Not a chance! Besides, I don’t allow girls in my room. Gentlemon’s pride.” He reached for the quilt, but she beat his paws aside. He narrowed his eyes in a leer. “Seriously, DL!”
She picked it up, keeping her eyes on him as she neatly straightened out the quilt. “You don’t need to be in your own room for a massage. Even the floor would suffice. Besides, I can continue here. I know what I’m doing.”
“Whatever.” He raised his paws and moved from the room. “Do what you want. I’m going to bed.”
He stormed across the hall to his own room and slammed the door. That pachirisu… he fell face first onto his bed and groaned. All they’d gone through for that disk and it had made virtually no change to her whatsoever. Junk data. That’s what she’d called it. Was it even worth continuing? He seriously doubted it.
Five disks. Five disks of ‘junk data’. Was there a chance Matrix was wrong and they’d obtained the wrong one?
He heard his door open and soft paws pad across the room. He cracked an eye open, fixing on the white torso of the ‘living computer’.
“I thought I told you I don’t allow girls in my room,” he said.
“The door is open,” she replied. “Besides, you said ‘do what you want’, and I want to help you. It’s in my programming to serve.”
“Persistent, aren’t you?” He let out a sigh and closed his eye. “Fine. If it’ll shut you up.”
The mattress sank beside him and she brushed her paws over his back, shifting his scarf out of the way.
“I didn’t think mawile had stripes,” she said. “But you have two. Such anomalies are not in my files.”
He cracked an eye open, but he couldn’t see her from the angle she was sat at. Two brown, horizontal stripes like a pikachu. His scarf usually covered them. He gave a shrug and let his eye close again.
“It’s a birthmark,” he said flatly.
“Oh, I see. I’ll make a note of that.”
He began to mutter something under his breath but it was cut off as she dug into his shoulders. He grit his teeth together, but the pain ebbed away in seconds as his sore, tense muscles relaxed. He nuzzled into his pillow, and as she moved her way down his back he found it hard to focus on the issue of those disks any more. His mind went blank, and he instead drifted off into a deep sleep.
...
The cell gate slammed shut and the croagunk pushed himself up onto his knees, fixing the delphox with a leer.
“I told you I did nothin’!” he roared.
“That’s not what I was told.” Tracer leant back against the opposite wall and stared at the frog pokemon through the bars. “Your pocket computer’s number came up. The hacking was traced back to you.”
“But it wasn’t me!”
“Can’t help you. Evidence is evidence.”
“You just don’t believe me ‘cos I’m a poison type!” said the croagunk. “You posh psychic types are all the same! Snobby do-gooders! You have a death wish walkin’ through the outskirts, delphox.”
“So you’re saying you’re not a do-gooder?” Tracer tutted softly as he shook his head. “Not exactly helping your case, are you?”
The croagunk pulled his lips back in a snarl and Tracer rolled his eyes.
“Like I said, I can’t help you. I’m not in charge any more. You’re out of my paws.” Tracer kicked back from the wall and waved a dismissive paw. “Appeal to your attorney.”
“You think I can afford a freakin’ attorney?! I live in the outskirts!”
The croagunk’s rant faded as the door to the cells shut. Tracer exchanged glances with Widget and the eevee beamed, creasing the neon green microchip pattern around his left eye.
“Same old sob story, eh?” he asked.
Tracer shrugged and leant against the wall as he lit up a cigar.
“They always plead innocent,” he said. “I just worry what might happen if one of them is actually crying the truth, and no one will listen.”
Widget shrugged his shoulders. “That might have happened a billion times already and we’d never know.”
“Poor kid can’t even afford an attorney.” Tracer blew out a cloud of smoke and looked back over at the closed door. The prisoner’s shouts were muffled and incoherent through that iron structure. “Nothing in place for him to gain one either. They only take a guaranteed payment, so it’s Socket’s word against his. He’s screwed.”
The eevee’s nose crinkled in thought and he shrugged again. “Oh well. Back to the slums for us then, eh?”
Tracer grunted and stubbed out his cigar on the wall before popping it into his trench coat pocket. He pulled out their masks and fastened his back over his face, making sure there were no gaps around the rubber edging before following the eevee towards the air lock.
When it opened, air blew out through a vent, keeping all the toxins between the main doors and those that separated them from the toxic streets of Proxy City. Meta Prison had stood in the outskirts for many years, serving as a threatening monument that kept crime down in that particular city. The other two outskirts were a nightmare in comparison.
Tracer looked up at the dingy, grey building. Behind it rose one of the bright chrome and white skyscrapers of Meta City and the branches of one of the capital’s many mechanical trees. One would think the edge of Proxy City would be cleaner than the rest. How the capital was cleaner than the outskirts that stood so close to it was a mystery. Those trees did their job, but they did it in a very localised fashion.
He turned his back on the prison and joined Widget across the road where he sat waiting patiently. His eyes sparkled up at him through his mask and he fell beside the delphox’s side, keeping pace with him all the way back to Spool City. It was a long walk. One that made him glad of his companion and his trusty laser stick.
...
When Macro opened his eyes again, the room felt bright. Soft sunlight flowed through his blind and he slowly pushed himself up. His shoulders complained, but not as much as they had been doing the previous evening. He rubbed at his left shoulder and turned, and his sheet fell down over his hips. He fixed it with a raised eyebrow. Definitely no recollection of having pulled it over himself when he fell into bed. It must have been DL…
He looked over at the closed door and kicked the sheet off. Even if she had covered him over, he was still wearing his scarf and belt, although both his lasers had been set on his night stand. He popped them both back into their holsters and strolled from his room, stretching as he entered the hallway. Refreshed, not the slightest bit groggy. It had been a good night’s sleep, he couldn’t deny that.
The sweet smell of pancakes flowed from the kitchen, drawing him in like a beacon. He fell into his usual spot at the table, near oblivious to the pachirisu who’d taken up Matrix’s spot opposite him yet again. He reached for the steaming pile of pancakes and froze, fixing her with a confused look out of the corner of his eye.
“Sleep well?” she asked.
“Yes?” The hesitation in his voice seemed to take her by surprise.
“Are you asking or telling me?”
“I slept fine.” He slipped two pancakes onto his plate and reached for the cheri sauce.
Anchor held his heaped fork just before his mouth as he looked from the living computer to Macro and back.
“Have I missed something?” he asked.
“Nothing.” Macro poured the sauce onto his pancakes. “Isn’t Matrix joining us this morning?”
“Ooh, the night owl came in here just as I started cooking!” Cookie grabbed his own plate, already stacked with pancakes and butter. “I often wonder if he even sleeps.”
“He sleeps,” said Anchor. “And snores. I’m in the room beside him, I should know.”
“So long as we’ve all slept well, that is good.” DL reached over for the plate of pancakes. “I understand you are not all computers, but the brain does need to shut down and recharge otherwise you might crash.”
The three space pirates watched the pachirisu as she poured cheri sauce over her breakfast. Cookie trembled so violently the berry atop his head jiggled from side to side. She lifted a fork of fluffy pancake dripping with sweet, red sauce and popped it into her mouth. Macro visibly flinched, expecting another outburst of lectures, and Cookie’s chair dragged across the floor as he scooted as far away from her as his distance from his plate would allow.
DL’s eyes lit up and she leant back in her seat with the fork still in her mouth. She threw herself back towards her plate and began devouring the cheri-soaked pancakes with a vigour that almost put the slurpuff to shame.
“Erm…” Macro tapped the side of his plate with his fork and glanced at the granbull and chef, exchanging equally confused expressions. “Are you okay, DL?”
“Hmm?” She looked up and wiped cheri sauce from her cheek. “Yes. Why?”
“You just… seem to be enjoying your breakfast.”
“Quite a lot,” Cookie added. “You might give yourself indigestion at this rate.”
“Oh.” She looked back down at her plate and loaded her fork up again. “I’m sorry, cheri berries are my favourite. I’ll slow down.”
Favourite…
Macro stared at her in bewilderment. She had a favourite? After her lecture about sweets the previous day, she now had a favourite? He chuckled and caught a small grin from Anchor before they both tucked into their own breakfast.
A favourite… so the memory disk had worked. It wasn’t a lost cause after all.
...
Surge pulled her tympole ship up outside the huge white mansion in the centre of Meta City. White, clean, with a garden filled with artificial topiaries and grass. Two large mechanical trees stood at either side of the pristine courtyard. The zigzagoon felt it a shame to walk across it, almost worried her feet would leave dirty prints on the pale paving flags that lined the neat pathway. As she reached the door, the two pidgeot standing sentry fixed her with their tiny, black eyes.
“State your purpose,” one of them said.
“Socket requested me,” she said. “My name is Surge.”
The huge bird kept his eyes on her as he spoke into his mouth piece. “Someone called Surge is here for Socket.”
“Ooh!” The voice was oddly shrill, almost bell-like. “She’s cool. Let her in!”
The pidgeot frowned, but it wasn’t aimed at her. He stood aside and pushed the door open with his large wing. She thanked him, feeling both their eyes on her as she strolled inside.
It was equally white with the odd painting along the wall. Not one of them was of a single pokemon, all depicting landscapes of Meta City throughout the decades. The oldest one dated back two hundred years ago, when they first erected the mansion and the mechanical trees. It was titled ‘Cleaning Up Our Act’.
A bell chime reached her ears, growing louder as whatever carried it rounded the corner. She frowned into the foyer, but the only pokemon she could see was a furret sat behind the desk while talking quietly on the phone.
“Surge, I guess?”
She looked down at her feet into the beaming face of a chingling. The tiny bell pokemon barely came up to her knee.
“This way!” He flopped away from her, his tassel-like hair bobbing with each bounce.
He led her around the corner and down another corridor with yet more paintings. Each one was a different area of Meta City, artfully taken so as not to show even the smallest hint of the outskirts. The city’s various pokemon species filled the streets, mostly made up of normal and psychic type pokemon but with the odd dual-type scattered here and there. Nevertheless, each picture had a cheerful air to it. Its cleanness was emphasized as it even depicted the alleyways between the tall chrome and white buildings.
The chingling cleared his throat and Surge froze, looking back over her shoulder. He stood beaming at her from beside an open door.
“Just in here,” he said before flopping inside.
She followed him slowly, peering around the door at the tidy office. A computer desk stood at her right, empty despite the holoscreen glowing brightly in the air. A container filled with pens stood beside it next to an open note pad. Ahead of her sat Socket behind her desk and she looked up as she entered. A gothitelle, her entire black torso covered with white ribbons. Each one was a part of her body, but the ones around her dramatically tufted ears were not. Her red lips curled up in a smile that, despite looking friendly, sent a chill through Surge’s body.
“Come in, come in!” Socket rose and moved over to her, extending a slender black paw. “Surge, right?”
The zigzagoon took her paw and shook it once before the gothitelle let it fall back to her side. She turned away from her and returned to her desk.
“Please,” she said. “Take a seat.”
Surge sat opposite her, giving the room one more glance and spotting the chingling sat by the window at the left of the office, almost hidden behind his own holoscreen.
“As you may be aware,” Socket said, steepling her paws together, “I’ve called you here to run a little errand for me. I do understand you’re a mercenary by trade?”
“Yes.” Surge resisted the urge to lean back in her seat. “But I’m a little curious as to why you would want to hire a mercenary?”
“You hunt pirates.”
The bluntness of her statement almost knocked Surge off her seat.
“I’ve had a problem lately that needs… correcting.” Socket locked her with a sapphire stare. “Lately my databases have been compromised. It started when something was stolen in transit to me.”
Surge’s spine stiffened but she kept her expression blank as she stared back at the gothitelle. Surely she hadn’t traced the hacking back to her? Her paw pads began to sweat and she absently wiped them on her lap.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard about it?” Socket asked.
Surge licked her lips and glanced at the window behind her. “I don’t think it’s been in the news.”
“Oh it has,” said Socket. “Although the contents have been kept secret. Just a notification of a theft of government property by a thief I am sure you’ve heard of. Anyway, what bothers me the most is the data that was taken after. But whether or not the hacker is in contact with the thief is a mystery. He’s behind bars now, I’ve had that dealt with.”
Surge let out a long breath. Her decoy number had worked.
“The job I have for you,” Socket said as she reached for her note pad, “is to help me retrieve this item of mine and put the pirate Macro behind bars.”
“What about the rest of his crew?”
“Oh, you can arrest them if you like, but they’re just goons who follow the lead of a psychopath.”
“Psychopath?” Surge raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t you think so?” Socket’s blue eyes widened with surprise. “His list of crimes is immense. Robbery, arson, con artist, monslaughter… to name a few. That doesn’t add up to a sane pokemon, does it? And to go so far as to steal government property?”
Surge scratched behind her ear. “I guess.”
“Don’t you want the job?” Socket worded it as a question, but the warning note behind it chilled Surge to the core.
“I’ll take any job so long as it pays.”
Socket’s lips turned up into a smile and she turned the note pad so Surge could read it.
“Everything is detailed on here,” the gothitelle explained. “Your pay, should to you take the job, is the forty thousand credit bounty on Macro’s head, plus an extra forty thousand for completing the task. Another twenty thousand will go to Tracer and his group as compensation for loaning you out to me, so you don’t have to worry about them for the time being.”
“So it totals at one hundred thousand credits?” Surge scratched at her ear again as she read over the details.
“As you can see, I’m desperate to get that mawile behind bars. The item he stole from me contains a tracking chip which you can use to retrieve it. For now, I’ve called my soldiers off. They have bigger things to be dealing with right now, and I’d like to keep them in reserves, so this all falls on you. I hope that’s not an inconvenience?” The gothitelle paid no attention to Surge’s apprehensive head shake. “I’ll even loan you a laser that will allow you to incapacitate him.”
“So a ground laser?” Surge looked up to meet the mayor’s eyes.
“I was thinking fire,” said Socket. “Will you take the job?”
Surge looked down at the details again. Arrest Macro… she couldn’t deny it made her feel sick. But a job was a job, and if she turned it down it would only arouse suspicion from the gothitelle. She needed to cover her tracks, and if she was found out to be the culprit behind harvesting that information…
“I’ll take the job,” she said.
“Excellent.”
Socket unlocked a drawer in her desk and pulled out a red laser module. She slid the slender cylinder towards her and Surge took it, turning it in her paws.
“I trust you’re familiar with how those work?” Socket asked.
“Of course.” Surge pulled her own laser out of its holster and opened the back, slipping the fire module inside to join the other two it contained.
“Oh, and one other thing.” Socket leant forward on her elbows and steepled her paws together again. “Macro is wanted dead or alive. For you, Surge, the full payment stands either way.”
Surge looked up with a start. “You mean…?”
“Yes. I imagine that pirate would put up quite a fight.” She leant back in her seat and folded her arms. “So if it comes to it, don’t be afraid to kill him. You’ll still get every last credit.”
“But… wouldn’t it still be classed as murder?”
Socket shook her head slowly. “We’re going to kill him anyway. You’d just be saving the authorities a job. They’ve got a lot to deal with anyway.” She admired her claws and fixed Surge with another chilling smile. “I don’t suppose this will be a problem to you?”
Surge’s mouth had gone dry. She cleared her throat and slid off her chair.
“No,” she said. “I’ll get the job done.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Socket rose to her feet and moved around her desk to steer Surge from her office. “I’ll be in touch to see how things are progressing. Please don’t let me down. Tracer could only speak highly of you. I expect your best work.”
“One more question,” said Surge. “What is this item you want me to retrieve?”
“Just a computer,” said Socket. “We’ll retrieve it from his ship once he’s out of the way. Don’t worry yourself.”
Just a computer? Surge looked up at the gothitelle, catching another smile off her as she closed the door. A cheerful ‘bye!’ from the chingling echoed through the woodwork as it closed, blocking the office from sight. A light flashed above her and she looked up at the door, noting the blinking red light of one of the flat, black surveillance cameras.
Her paw went to her laser and she turned from the room, fixing her eyes on the exit. It was just another space pirate round up. It wasn’t like she was a stranger to those. Her claw brushed over the smooth trigger and she stormed from the mansion, startling one of the pidgeot as she marched past him down the manicured path.
One hundred thousand credits.
She took a deep, steadying breath as she made a beeline for the gate.
Dead or alive, it was just another round up.
