Chapter Text
The foggy planet Galatea, a place ran by the shady lot of the galaxy, its air misting with the scent of astrobarnacles left too long under the sun and of the sweat from spacers who had a little too much to drink. At the west wharf sat old man Herb Ruskin's tavern where people from different walks of life gathered to have their ale delivered and be waited on by barmaids who could get just a bit frisky. If it meant earning a little more than intended, then there was no harm in attending to a little 'extra service' as far as the management was concerned.
Ruel Wiggins sat at the small table at the farthest corner of the room, drinking a bottle of ale and blowing rings on his smoking pipe while his eyes rummaged around the place. None interested him so far; just a mess of people, most of whom he already recognized as frequent customers.
At the bar sat a ship crew, drinking and laughing with their mouths full of Solara seeds. One table had a man immersed in telling stories to his shipmates that he hardly noticed they were paying more attention to the waitress he invited over to sit on his lap. Another table had a card game taking place with noticeable bets placed on the table: coins of various monetary value, a large gold ring, several Solarium crystals scattered all over, and what seemed to be a sack of gray dust which he hoped to be just plain gunpowder. Sick of the scenery, the fisherman turned away and coughed, downing the remainder of his bitter ale and adjusting the harpoon gun that leaned against his chair.
Setting his drink down, a figure approached and pulled a seat in front of him. Wiggins looked up and saw a blue coat with four gold stripes on its sleeves, carrying a fabric-lined metal canister that slung on his left shoulder. The old man's rat-like ears perked up and a grin crawled all the way to his face when he knew who it was.
Once the stranger had settled down, Wiggins blew a surely smoke ring at him and pulled his seat closer to the table. "Didn't expect ye'd be back so soon."
"Neither did I, Wiggins," the stranger smartly replied, taking off his hat to reveal the face of a young man who was around his early twenties. "But since you said you have something good for me, I might as well get back at you fast."
"This little pastime of yers will be the death of ya, Captain Terrence Hatford. Yer bosses be catchin' ya and sendin' ya yer one-way ticket to the gallows," the old spacer guffawed.
"That aside," dismissed the young man with a casual clearing his throat. But he did not deny, he coughed in part of the slight chill he felt at the thought. "Perhaps you'll love what I have here with me."
"Very well, let's see it."
"A blueprint of a newly designed ship," he introduced with confidence, placing the canister containing the blueprint roll on the table. "A prototype of it anyway, was ordered to dispose of it."
"And what's so great 'bout this here ship?"
"It's said that it will be the fastest ship to ever sail the Etherium. This prototype doesn't give much detail how that is yet, but you can see that the architecture and the side notes give some of it away."
"I see. Anythin' else?" asked Wiggins who pushed the package away from him and shook the ashes out of his smoking pipe. "I'm a fisherman, boy, though not a decent one. Speedy boats ain't fer the likes of me."
Hatford hung his head at disappointment upon hearing his companion's dismissal. "Oh. This was the best I could manage to bring to the table this time. I thought it might at least catch your eye a bit."
"Not to me, it ain't. But to some, it just might be the case," he warned. He then looked over Hatford's shoulder to make sure if anyone was eavesdropping on them. "So if I were ye, I'd get yer part of our deal over with."
The captain then pulled out something else from his pocket, held it in the air and bargained. "Maybe I'll make it up to you if I throw in some drabloons?" he asked with a toss of the small sack on the table, a couple of gold coins spilling out.
As he eyed the loot, the man pondered for a bit. "T'is a good compensation from ya, but I won't settle meself fer a chinwag of some ship and a mere dollop of coins. I'd be inclined if perhaps ye could add a little more."
"Take it or leave it, Wiggins. I gave my share, now it's your turn."
He said nothing, however, and waved a finger in front of him. His mouth curved to a toothy grin instead and reached an open hand to the young man, goading for more.
Giving in to his extortion, the captain reluctantly reached in an inner pocket of his coat and tossed in another sack of drabloons. He had set that set aside for plans on buying new sails for his ship and now he had every right to be miserable to have given it up. "This better be good," was all that he hoped for what the old fisherman had for him.
His requirements met, Wiggins grabbed the bags of coins with a smirk and stowed it in his drawstring sack. "Ya have yerself a deal."
"Good, now what do you have for me this time?"
"Surely, ye've heard of a loud bangin' explosion less than a parsec away from Cresentia some time ago."
"I'm aware of it. Heard it faintly from the spaceport but I don't think anyone else did at the time. I don't where it came from but my superiors said it was probably the detonation of a large incoming meteor."
"Well, folks comin' from the farthest edge of the galaxy got themselves riled up by the sound of a similar explosion. The only difference to your tale is it's said to be a planet that blew up. That's right, a magnitude the size of an entire planet."
"That's not possible though," said Hatford. "Montressor is the nearest neighboring planet around Cresentia. There's just no other planet around that proximity to be blown up."
"I ain't talkin' about a planet near the spaceport. I meant one near the Karian Abyss, one that got people shakin' on their knees when they heard it explode."
Hatford carefully pondered on his words. "Then perhaps these are two separate events, both of which are described as massive detonations?"
An amused smirk crept on Wiggins' face. "Ah, but word is goin' 'round that they're one and the same. I confirm when I went checkin' records with a friend of mine, a privateer. His logs tell what he heard while dockin' in Cresentia occurred no more than five minutes apart from what I did while I was 'round the coastline of St. Lucius' Pass."
Shock was now apparent on the young captain's face. "An explosion that took place in two distant locations at the same time?" Then in a brief second, his expression dropped at what his companion just told him. "Wait, did you say you've been around St. Lucius'?"
"An occasional trade on me prize catch, nothin' more. People there are not to be trifled with, that's me advice to ye."
"Well, peril awaits those who go to sail in its waters they say, but I wouldn't know. I've never been given an assignment to the place."
"Eh, it looks like any pirate town to me. Ya wouldn't want to go there unless ye need to."
Humming in discernment, he nodded. "I see."
"But goin' back to our conversation on exploding planets, that's just the beginning. I also heard from other fishers 'bout loot fallin' from the sky, just after the explosion. Drabloons and jewels flyin' and scatterin' here and there, and mates of mine told me of treasure gettin' caught in their fishin' nets."
"Loot that came from the destruction of a planet, you say?"
"Then I checked on me net one mornin' and saw this shiny old thing." His wrinkled and calloused hand reached in his sack and placed a small parcel on the table. He unwrapped it and revealed an orb that seemed to be made of gold alloy, chipped and burned, and missing a few small pieces as if it came from the very explosion they were talking about.
Hatford reached for the item, and noted that it was surprisingly lightweight in his hand and had markings that could be pressed, cranked and turned like a puzzle box.
"What is it?" was the first question that popped in his mind as he inspected in every angle the small gizmo.
"Dunno, but it's not like I have anythin' to do with it. Kept fiddlin' with it here and there but zilch, ain't nothin' happenin'. It ain't even good paper weight since it'll be rollin' all over the place."
With a certain glimmer in his set of blue eyes, he declared. "Perhaps I could show this to the higher-ups, then they might find someone who could get it to work."
Wiggins leaned back on his seat, a satisfied look on his face, and kicked up a pair of booted feet on the table. "Like anyone would take a shine to that thing. Ye could get flak fer thinkin' ye've been sendin' 'em garbage."
The captain replied and smirked at his companion's remark. "Won't hurt me to try."
The two walked out of the tavern to the docks after their negotiation, where their respective ships were docked. Even when he was drawing near his downtrodden vessel, Hatford was still pressing on the small circular marks on the chunk of metal he held in his hands in an attempt to make it work but none of his efforts paid off.
Eyeing his companion who was walking a couple of steps ahead of him, Wiggins couldn't help but want to reprimand the young spacer. Hatford was a Navy man, a captain at that. He had just graduated from Naval academy about a year ago, that was what he recalled when the tale suddenly slipped from the young spacer's tongue during one of their exchanges. So far, his bosses haven't heard anything about him getting into anything questionable by the Navy's standards, particularly the shady trades he did with the fisherman.
It wasn't that Wiggins wanted them to end. Most of the prizes and information he received from Hatford either amounted to something or were a gag and worth a couple bottles of ale. But he was definitely aware that one day if Hatford just continued making negotiations with him, the big guns might find out all about the young man's misadventures and it might not end well for either of them. There was the heavy possibility they could get thrown to prison, be hung in the gallows, or something much worse. However, Wiggins was more concerned for the young lad, all because of his position as a Navy captain that being sentenced due to act of treason was a heavier burden to bear.
Wiggins was aware that he himself wasn't among the most honorable fishermen in the whole Etherium. He has already done a number of similar negotiations back in his early days and had a few run-ins with the law. Not exactly a suitable role model to begin with, and yet Hatford still chose him as his primary source of surreptitious intel. And the young man was a Royal Navy captain, for goodness sake!
"Seriously, boy," he grumbled and broke the silence between them. "Ye've a big future above yer head and the makings in the world. It'd be a waste to throw all that in the gutter and spend yer days dilly-dallyin' in these sorts."
"I know, I know," the lad groaned as if being told on by his parents, tossing the sphere back and forth in his hands. "I figured I might as well have a little fun while I haven't come across on any of the more serious stuff yet."
"A little fun, my arse. Go ahead and squander all ye want, but had yer old men caught that I'm in this crazy fad of yers, I ain't gonna have a word in it!"
Noticing the change in the tone of his voice, his younger companion queried. "Perhaps you're concerned that I might take you with me to my grave. Eh, Wiggins?"
"I ain't concerned about me own, ya whelp. More or less, I'd hate to think all that wasted potential of yers is gonna keep me up at night."
"Ah, I see... So you are worried, but for my sake." For a few seconds, he waited for a reply but the graying fisherman just walked on and spoke not a word. "That's my concern, Wiggins. Not yours, so don't go beating yourself up over an odd one out like me. Maybe odd two out if JD counts, but he just sort of puts up with all my crap."
Wiggins understood what the young man meant but breathed out an exasperated sigh. "But there be plans on givin' up this guile leisure of yers one day?"
"Maybe. When I get my big break, whenever that will be. Sad to say, you probably won't be hearing from me in a long time when that time comes."
The man scoffed at what he just heard. "'Cause ye'd be too busy danglin' in the gallows, is that it?"
"Not in that sense, no," Hatford quickly corrected. "I meant I will probably be too busy finally getting to do some actual and work stuff."
He pulled his pipe out from his lips that pulled into a straight line, and blew a handful of smoke. "I'd hate to break it to ya, lad. But I'd rather say that I can't wait fer that day to happen."
From behind them, quick footsteps began to thump on the dock right to their path. It became louder and louder until a man having the features of a capuchin suddenly grabbed the gizmo from Hatford's hands and hurriedly darted away from the two.
"The sphere!"
"Ah, I thought that scalawag was listenin' in on us." Wiggins then slid down the harpoon gun that slung behind his arm and handed it to his companion. "Here."
Hatford wasted no time and grabbed the weapon, rushing to where the thief was. On his way, the pink-faced man knocked down a few empty barrels behind him to slow his pursuer down but Hatford just easily vaulted on them. The robber then made a turn to a street and weaved through a small marketplace. The young captain, however, decided not to pass through the crowd and made a detour instead, tramping on alleys with not a nick of people in sight and climbing on buttresses. Jumping back on barren soil, he got back to the chase but could barely catch up with the felon who was a few feet ahead of him.
"Dang it!"
Seeing no other choice, he shot the only loaded harpoon at the crook, catching it by the shirt and pinning it to a wooden wall. Hatford then dashed to his target, grabbed the sphere from a pair of filthy hands and hightailed out of the scene. Ripping the fabric off of the metal that held him, the capuchin man pulled the harpoon out from the wall and upon catching up, struck the poor captain on the head with it, the impact causing him to fall on his back.
The thief then struggled to pry the metal orb out from Hatford's hand, throwing punches that the captain blocked with his other arm. He then grabbed the arm that shielded the young man and kicked him on the groin. In pain, Hatford fell on his side and the crook instead got a hold of the canister he carried with him. As the young spacer groveled and held onto his hurting area, the mugger took the chance and quickly darted away from his pursuer.
The captain staggered to get up as he slid the sphere in one of his pockets. He then picked up the discarded harpoon and ran after the pink-faced thug once more, contemplating whether or not he should let the guy slip with the blueprint. He took a detour once more and as soon as he was back at the wharf, the hoodlum was already sprinting to a pirate ship.
"Take off already, ya scurvy dogs!" the capuchin man yelled as he ran, with the vessel edging away from the wharf upon his word. Reaching the end of the port, he jumped aboard and dangled among the shrouds, chuckling as he watched his pursuer from a distance.
Hatford was loading the harpoon back to his weapon and was about to shoot until he realized that he had already reached the end of the platform. He stumbled and fell from the edge but his one hand quickly grabbed on a beam that saved him from a bad fall to the sharp rocks beneath it. From there, all he saw was the pirate vessel sailing away and disappearing in the thick mist that engulfed the planet.
Defeated, he cussed under his breath. "Drat, lost him!"
"Oi! Ya need some help there, boy?" Wiggins called out, running to him when suddenly Hatford's ship, the RLS Myrtle, veered to where he dangled.
"That's okay. I got him," spoke a man on board stepping on the starboard side of the deck, and threw a rope to the captain.
"You came just in the nick of time, JD!" he thanked as he shifted his weight on the rope to be pulled up by the black-haired spacer. "Well, I heard a spaceport dame once said that while we were checking out of—"
The man, JD, glared at him, his tawny eyes so bright behind a pair of rectangular eyeglasses. "Oh, just can it, will you?! You're one-liners aren't making any of this easier for me!"
"Right, right, but she did mention that," he mumbled, mostly to himself out of caution that his companion might hear him and carry on with his complaints.
Stepping on the deck, he bid farewell to the fisherman with a tip of his hat, tossing the harpoon gun back to its owner who readily caught it. "See you 'round, Wiggins."
"Pleasure doin' business with ya as always," he saluted back as he tucked the weapon behind his arm.
The Myrtle's only two passengers took their posts at the bridge and finally swerved the ship away from the docks on its way out of Galatea, going back to the waves of the Etherium once more.
"I swear one day, all this cleaning up after you will be the death of me," JD commented, two of his hands steering the helm.
With a snicker and a tease, Hatford grabbed him by his shoulders and shook him. "I know, I get that a lot from everyone but where would I be without my first mate?"
"Probably dead by now. Dead as this forsaken ship would've been."
"Oh, cheer up, will you? All that frowning will do a number on your pretty face. Betty probably won't even recognize you by the time we get back to the spaceport if you keep that up."
"And I get that a lot, too, but why would I even care?"
"You should. You've no idea of the sticky stares barmaids and doxies throw at you. Heck, you're even hogging all the compliments from the guys back at port. And you, of all people, won't even bat an eye!"
JD, sensing the incoming comments on his looks that made him the all the more uninterested, let out a long and annoyed sigh. "Because it's not important."
"Of course it's not to you but if I were in your shoes, I'd flaunt all I want." And he would do just that without fail. But upon saying those words, Hatford sensed just a hint of déjà vu in them that just made him cross his arms and shudder. "Now I think I know what Wiggins was probably trying to tell me."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing."
"Anyway," the first mate spoke, in hopes of changing the topic. "How did the trade go? I assume the prize is as good as what Wiggins promised you?"
"Heck yeah, it is. Wiggins turned down the blueprint when I offered it to him so I made some last minute 'adjustments', then some wretched goon almost snatched the deal from me on the wharf. Took chase, and got it back, but I've never felt more humiliated in all my life."
"And the blueprint's with Wiggins now?"
"Same guy who pinched on the prize kinda took the blueprint in its place."
"Wait—you lost it to some scum?!"
"Hey, I was told to get rid of it, wasn't I? So I did, more or less. Even though it wasn't the way I planned, it's not like they'll find anything useful from it anyway. Besides, I did ourselves a favor and actually got something out of all that." He then pulled out the contraption in his pocket and tossed it to the man behind the helm who caught it in one hand.
"A metal sphere," JD inspected. "Lightweight material, probably bronzium, weighs below three hundred fifty grams, covered in patterns and got ashes in between nooks and crannies."
Smirking, his captain winked at him. "I love it when you do that analysis-thing."
"Wiggins told you anything more about it?"
"My friend..." He paused and made an adjustment of his hat, turning a confident smile to the stars. "You will never believe what I just heard."
"You mangy mutt!" a colossal boatswain erupted, delivering a punch to the capuchin man's face with his meaty fist as the rest of the ship's crew witnessed the scene. "You're supposed to be coming back with this week's ration of ale but instead you get yourself into some grating mischief!"
The thief cautiously faced him, a hand touching a cheek that was starting to bruise. "Fergive me, Huggus. Please speak not a word of this to the cap'n."
"And what have you got there, you sniveling runt!" he inquired, pulling the canister from his shipmate's arm. He unfurled it and the cobalt blue paper revealed the outline of a rather peculiar-looking ship. "What is this?"
"It's a chart of a ship."
"You'd waste a keg of ale over some blasted sketch of a ship?!"
"Huggus," a voice spoke from behind them that quickly stopped the pot-bellied bloke from making any further reprimands. A tall lean man stepped to them, garbed in a blue long coat with a few visible stitching done on its tears. "If this thing is something of value to Quibble, then we must absolutely hear from him first."
"Thank ye, Cap'n," the thief peeped. But in the blink of an eye, it was as if the captain had a sudden change of heart and gave the little man a harder hit, a heavy knee colliding with his side that made him curl up in pain.
"That is for looting, which you did instead of doing what you were sent out for, and without my permission even," resonated his low guttural voice in anger, but soon calmed down the instant he continued his queries. "Now tell me, Quibble. Would you like to share your venture with the rest of the crew?"
"Aye," he winced, holding to a sharp pain beside his stomach as he struggled to get on his feet. "I-It's about a ship."
"I heard, you already said that so don't waste my time and be out with it. What is so valuable about this ship?"
"Ye could see fer yerself, sir."
Without a word, the boatswain held the roll of paper to the captain who took it in a firm grip. His lifeless blue eyes, obscured beneath his hat and a neckerchief that hid the rest of his face, skimmed on the thin material and saw the design of the most unique ship he had ever laid eyes on. In that moment, he knew he had to get his hands on the vessel no matter what it would take.
An iron hand skidded on its outline and at the very top of the page, a lone finger traced the lettering of its name: RLS Centurion.