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When the captain had returned to the submarine, they knew something wasn't quite right.
He knew something wasn't quite right.
There was a weight to the captain's smile that seemed to drag his whole being down. And his optics - usually aglow with laughter and light, green and alive - seemed paled and dulled; like something covering his spark.
Or like something trying to hide in the dark.
Quincy, of course, deflected their first questions upon seeing his return, and instead drew attention to what he was carrying in his right arm.
"I've found some loot! Should come in handy. And there's some gallons that need to be brought in, too. Some of it is frozen, but should be all clean!" He said in a tone that suggested cheer. But it sounded more like a soldier answering a routine inspection list from a superior, to Wesley.
Something rehearsed.
Perhaps even bordering on automatic. Done without really thinking about it.
"New booster, huh?" Edna said, taking hold of the equipment from Quincy, inspecting it carefully. "Seems in good enough condition to use- maybe even better than the one we've got now. Want me to install it?"
"Right now? Uh... If you want! But we can wait until we're back at a bar. Don't want to stay out in the open more than we have to, right?"
"We're not in immediate danger right now, cap'n!" Stanwinch said, twisting his torso around to peer up at him and Edna from the cockpit. "Seems mighty quiet 'round these parts. Not so many Rattlers out 'n about. Could be safe enough to do some light repair work, as well as a bit of upgrading!"
"And you did think it was safe enough for you to explore," Edna said pointedly. "Can't imagine there's anything to be worried about."
Quincy stared blankly at them both for a second. Then shrugged, and smiled.
"Well...! Do whatever you think is good, then!" he laughed. Edna hummed and started back for the engine room.
"Won't take long to upgrade, Q. Me and Potts' should be done within an hour."
"Fine, Ed." Was all Quincy said.
Some of the other crewmembers were already making their way outside the submarine, to bring in the jugs of water that the captain must've left nearby.
Daisy asked him if anything was wrong.
He had replied in the negative, waving a hand dismissively at her and laughing when she accepted that reply at face value.
Chimney had tried to jostle a more informative answer out of him with little success. The easy grin he gave her lasted only as long as she was in sight.
Cornelius and Poe had simply given him a look before leaving him alone, too.
But Wesley stayed where he was.
Watching him.
When Quincy realized the attention he was still being given, he tried to meet Wesley's gaze with a smile.
It didn't look quite right.
They both knew it.
Wesley stepped closer, leaning his head over to Quincy's ear.
"... That wasn't all you found, was it?" he asked quietly.
Quincy stilled. Staring back at him.
Then slowly. Very slowly, he blew out a cloud of smoke and steam, and reached down into one of his pockets
to bring out a folded piece of paper. Yellow, and a little stained at the edges.
He looked at it.
They both did.
"... It said, "To whoever finds this". And, ha... since I had found it, I figured it was for me," Quincy said. He gave the paper to Wesley, who took it carefully and unfolded it.
The handwriting that met him was sloppy. Like someone who was in a hurry, or maybe just had an unpracticed hand that had never learnt how to keep their clamp steady.
Or maybe the bot was a good writer.
It was just something else that had been making holding a pen difficult...
Then Wesley really started to look at the words.
Quincy kept silent as he read.
...
...
. . .
Good Cog...
Almighty Cog in the Machine...!
"... Yup!" Quincy said. Swallowing. Hollow laugh. "That, uh. Was basically my expression too, I think."
Wesley turned his face up to meet the captain's eyes.
The vileness of it all burned him beyond words.
But the pain he could now see in Quincy's face made his pipes boil and crack under the pressure.
It was unbearable.
"It, was... Seemed to be a good house, y'know." Quincy said. Almost casually, if it wasn't for how hushed he sounded. "Lots of space. Nice bit of real-estate. Had a nice view from, I think was some kind of study?" He distractedly waved his hand in the air. "I liked it. You could see the Ice-Caps from the window and everything."
Wesley nodded.
Quincy's eyes unfocused. He stared at the wall of the submarine.
"They did a good job, locking everything up. The whole house, basically untouched... I guess, except from whatever damage the previous raids had done. But nothing since then. It..."
He stalled. Jaw moving, imperceptibly closing for a second, before opening it again.
"... It kinda felt like everybody had just left on a holiday, to be honest." Quincy said, finally. He chuckled. "Felt like they could be back at any minute. Wondering why some strange idiot was in their house and rummaging through their stuff."
Wesley nodded again. Not sure what to say.
He chose not to mention the leakage around Quincy's face.
It was cold. One could claim it was condensation on hot metal.
"... Was there anything else we should take, captain?"
Quincy shook his head.
"The booster engine was the only thing of value. And the water. But we've got enough... Maybe someone at a pub needs a free drink. Hah- better not let Crowbar know we've got those gallons, then. We'll never see them again if we do."
"Hm."
Perhaps that was meant to be a joke.
But it didn't matter. Not when it was clear Quincy didn't have the heart for it right now.
Shifting his eyes down, Wesley scanned the paper still held tightly in his grip.
He had already read everything he needed to know.
But there was something else at the bottom of the page that he hadn't noticed before.
He moved a finger out of the way to see it properly.
A list of names. And beside them, a list of ages...
...
"..."
Without a word, Wesley carefully refolded the paper and placed his clamps over it.
"I'll keep this safe," he promised.
It wouldn't take the burden off his captain. But maybe sharing it would give him some comfort.
Quincy nodded. Absently. Then with a smile and an exhausted chuckle, said "Please don't show that to anyone else."
Bowing his head slightly, Wesley held the letter close to his engine.
He didn't need to ask why. Didn't need to know why.
"As you wish, captain."
If it meant so much to him, he'd make sure nobody else would set eyes on it until they were both dead.
With a sigh of relief, Quincy left. Only pausing long enough to pat Wesley on the shoulder- as if offering condolences to someone going through a hard time.
Wesley wished the captain would give himself that same consideration, too.
Because Wesley knew that what he needed wasn't consolation.
What he needed was a gun and permission to hunt down and break the rusted and worthless scraps who were responsible to what happened here.
Good Cog- but what he wanted to do would still be too kind a death for the Rattlers. Impure, heinous wretched beings-
Quincy's frame disappeared behind the doors to his private quarters.
Black smoke spat out from Wesley's chimney, clogging his smokebox.
Piles of ASH and SLAG, each and EVERY ONE OF THEM, he thought mercilessly.
Steambots driven from their home. Robbed. Pillaged, plundered, and murdered for nothing less than their resistance and their courage to stand against evil.
And if what was written on the note held any weight, or any scrap of truth to it
not even the children had been spared.
All of them.
Every single member of that household,
brave
and honorable,
scrapped.
Taken apart and thrown into cold, unfeeling waters
with nothing left behind except an empty house
and a piece of yellowing paper to tell what had happened.
Wesley... inhaled.
And exhaled.
Steam hissed from between his ears.
Logically he knew there was nothing they could've done to prevent this.
And, reasonably speaking, he knew their captain would've done everything in his power and beyond to have rescued those that had needed them.
If they had known this was going to happen, they would've done something before it was too late.
But... alas.
It was too late for anything now.
Wesley slowly turned on his heel and made for the lower deck of the submarine.
To the bunkroom where he slept.
He'd find the little box he kept in his trunk of personal affects. The one filled with papers too important to throw away, or too personal to forget.
He'd keep this note the Captain found safe.
And then afterwards?
He'd get his gun.
And wait for the first word of a Rattler raid.
He'd volunteer to be on the next boarding party.
And he'd make sure that the sacrifices from the damned weren't left unrewarded.
He would make sure there would be more than the bodies of the innocent at the bottom of the ocean.
Even if it meant his own had to join them.
He'd make sure his honor would not let him rest until it was done.
But for now...
Closing the door to the cramped bunkroom, he stood up straight. Facing forward. Staring at nothing.
Smoke exhaled through his chimney. Like incense, it bled into the air above him.
He took off his hat, resting it on his chest and stood to face the porthole. Weakening rays of light slid through icy haze and greying clouds. Refracting.
In the quiet of this room. In the sanctity of this vessel they called home...
A moment of silence for the fallen.
It was not much. But for those who had died... For those who had been taken to that final glory too soon...
The least they deserved was this.
It was the only thing he could give to them right now.
May Cog take their hearths and give them justice in death through him.
The cock of a gun concluded his prayer.
And the rumble of engines, like a choir of storms, roared through the submarine.
He would turn these wrongs into right.
For the Captain's sake, as much as theirs.