ON
High above the sleepy footnote that was Sargasso a flame burned through the sky. Small at first, for whoever down below spied it. Nothing more than a shooting star — an ancient sign of good fortune, indeed — streaking across Nepleslia Prime's upper atmosphere.
But it grew bigger and bigger as the seconds ticked by. This wasn't a shooting star, no. Though it still celebrated the fortuitous events happening as scoundrels and adventurers of every stripe flocked to the great Luca Pavone. That's why this falling star, quickly becoming more and more defined in the twilight sky, was even falling tonight.
Its transformation from shooting star to falling star continued again as the ball of fire and smoke got closer and closer to the surface and more defined in the eyes anyone lucky enough to catch the sight. Now it was clear that this was no stellar object. It was a ship. An Origin Industries Mule Ultralight Freighter to be precise, burning and writhing down toward Prime City and Sargasso. And as the little bulk freighter tore through the air over the sleepy ghost town and past the strip of unfinished highway locals called "The Long Road," it became clear that the burning machine was covered in a swarm of spiderlike mechanical constructs.
A dull thud sounded after the Mule passed over a hill just outside of town, briefly illuminating the sky with an orange flash.
BOOM
The crash itself wasn't as bad as it probably sounded. Just a rut in the muddy grass and the freighter's front end now gone and crushed halfway into its back end as it let off a big plume of black smoke. Freespacer bots littered the area in varied states of operation, having been thrown every which way on impact. Some lay in motionless heaps while others acted like they were walking despite being on their backs. Others still skittered toward the downed Origin ship, intent on finishing what they'd started.
With a sudden crash, one of the Mule's maintenance hatches was flung open. Immediately, a wiry humanoid burst out, clambering through the small passage before sliding down the wrecked ship's side. A thick bunch of cable-like cords remained at the hatch's mouth and extended from the man's left coat sleeve to soften his fall. When he landed, the metallic tentacles retracted and he kept looking up at the hatch with his natural arm firmly planted on a hip.
He stood there, just over six feet tall, oblivious to the myriad machines closing in all around him. The Freespacer man's flesh was pallid and his face was mostly hidden behind a spooky-looking mask — or adorably animal-like, depending on who you asked. Where a right foot should have been was a clunky pile of metal and pneumatic workings. His eyebrows were raised in a smile just below his greasy, unkempt brown bangs that stayed parted to the right, though his turquoise eyes didn't show anything but an empty glaze.
"Let us continue our brave venture, Lady Boots of the Northern Sectors," he declared through his rebreather, the words coming out metallic and bright despite the low-grade vocal filter. "I think they're waiting for us now."
Large metallic claws dug into the hatch frame as two glowing yellow eyes peered from the dark interior of the ship, leading the way for their owner to emerge. A second Type-3 followed the first, this one female, with only a front half of a head, it seemed. The back half was just cords and wires that trailed behind her, tied with a scarf close to her head, that snapped out of various connectors that she had been using to maintain some control over the vessel as she stepped out next to the taller man.
"I think they're still mad at us, Somerset," she observed, her one arm a massive metallic claw that flexed with a pneumatic hiss.
Somerset Two One tilted his masked head to the side, tugging at the green hose that connected the thing to a box on his chest. "Who is angry?" he wondered more than asked, quickly spinning around in a wholly unnatural way on his mechanical leg to regard the approaching crab-spider-bots. "No matter! Its good that you decided to bring along all of these bot-babies. They'll protect us from your 'they're.'"
Bootsector shook her head as two Junker drones skittered out of the ship from behind her like guard dogs on an invisible leash. "Either they all have individual SIs, or their core is really good at hiding. I'm sorry, I just couldn't get them all to behave." She knelt down to pet one of her drones with her more human-looking hand. "Applet and Servlet are near exhausted from chasing them around the ship — and now look where we are. Some new planet you're excited to explore, I bet." The Freespacer woman stood back up straight and considered her somewhat unique travelling companion. "Our boat has sprung a leak I'm not sure can be fixed."
"It's okay, Boots," Somerset replied jovially. "Our presence is for a reason. The calling through space, remember? The great void that connects everything and separates nothing is why we're here and that stupid gruff-y voice talking about firebirds and action and—"
Two One's reminder was cut short as one of the angry robots from the Mule's hull jumped up to attack his organic hand. But it wouldn't get the chance to bite as the gaunt Type Three, dressed in his grey wool striped pants and tattered brown blazer with soiled white shirt and emerald green tie, leveled his tentacle-arm at its direction and fired the integrated firearm. "Down boy!" recorded words that weren't his own came through his mask's speakers right before Somerset let out a laugh.
"These guys," he said looking straight at Bootsector, "these guys aren't any fun. Maybe their friends'll be more of a help." Just as he said it, more and more of the scattered junkerbots woke up from their shocked state.
Datajack Bootsector Eight One nodded to her companion before addressing her Junker drones, "Okay boys, go follow that signal, we'll be right behind you." As ordered, the two automata skittered off toward the center of Sargasso. "As for you," she addressed the tiny annoying bots that were snipping their tiny metal pincers at the two Type-3s. "Now that we have a little breathing room," Boots didn't finish the sentence, choosing instead to take a swipe at a robot who was inching too close.
With a loud clang of metal on metal and an electronic spark, Boots crushed the robot into the ground. A fizzling noise followed by a small puff of smoke was its death cry. "C'mon, Somerset!" she urged, her one humanoid hand grabbing his. "This way!" Pulling him along, she followed her drones toward the town.
And with that, the Datajack and Wayfarer were off. Off toward Sargasso with a literal legion of pissed off metal spiderbots riding as their wake. The two moved at a prodigious pace despite the heavy equipment both had integrated in their bodies and were able to keep ahead of the skittering, snapping tide on their heels. Over the hill, across The Long Road, and straight down one of the sleepy ghost town's main thoroughfares.
Applet and Servlet led the Freespacers right to the heart of town and didn't let up. Bootsector and Somerset couldn't tell what passersby thought of it and the automata junkers chasing them didn't care either — their only goal were the two who'd taken their master's ship. A sharp turn here and a ducked alley there brought the whole scene to a tower block apartment. Without thinking the Freespacers followed their junker guides up seven flights of stairs and through the monolithic Nepleslian prefab.
When they arrived on the building's seventh floor, the junkers stopped. The door that separated the stairwell from the apartment block was like any other and yet it stood out among all the rest as a glowing beacon of destiny and fortune. It would be here, the door at which Applet and Servlet scratched to signal an end to their trek, that Somerset and Bootsector would find salvation.
They went through and slammed the flimsy gateway behind them. And that would be the last Bootsector Eight One and Somerset Two One would see of the pursuing junkers that rode on their shooting star.
END
High above the sleepy footnote that was Sargasso a flame burned through the sky. Small at first, for whoever down below spied it. Nothing more than a shooting star — an ancient sign of good fortune, indeed — streaking across Nepleslia Prime's upper atmosphere.
But it grew bigger and bigger as the seconds ticked by. This wasn't a shooting star, no. Though it still celebrated the fortuitous events happening as scoundrels and adventurers of every stripe flocked to the great Luca Pavone. That's why this falling star, quickly becoming more and more defined in the twilight sky, was even falling tonight.
Its transformation from shooting star to falling star continued again as the ball of fire and smoke got closer and closer to the surface and more defined in the eyes anyone lucky enough to catch the sight. Now it was clear that this was no stellar object. It was a ship. An Origin Industries Mule Ultralight Freighter to be precise, burning and writhing down toward Prime City and Sargasso. And as the little bulk freighter tore through the air over the sleepy ghost town and past the strip of unfinished highway locals called "The Long Road," it became clear that the burning machine was covered in a swarm of spiderlike mechanical constructs.
A dull thud sounded after the Mule passed over a hill just outside of town, briefly illuminating the sky with an orange flash.
BOOM
The crash itself wasn't as bad as it probably sounded. Just a rut in the muddy grass and the freighter's front end now gone and crushed halfway into its back end as it let off a big plume of black smoke. Freespacer bots littered the area in varied states of operation, having been thrown every which way on impact. Some lay in motionless heaps while others acted like they were walking despite being on their backs. Others still skittered toward the downed Origin ship, intent on finishing what they'd started.
With a sudden crash, one of the Mule's maintenance hatches was flung open. Immediately, a wiry humanoid burst out, clambering through the small passage before sliding down the wrecked ship's side. A thick bunch of cable-like cords remained at the hatch's mouth and extended from the man's left coat sleeve to soften his fall. When he landed, the metallic tentacles retracted and he kept looking up at the hatch with his natural arm firmly planted on a hip.
He stood there, just over six feet tall, oblivious to the myriad machines closing in all around him. The Freespacer man's flesh was pallid and his face was mostly hidden behind a spooky-looking mask — or adorably animal-like, depending on who you asked. Where a right foot should have been was a clunky pile of metal and pneumatic workings. His eyebrows were raised in a smile just below his greasy, unkempt brown bangs that stayed parted to the right, though his turquoise eyes didn't show anything but an empty glaze.
"Let us continue our brave venture, Lady Boots of the Northern Sectors," he declared through his rebreather, the words coming out metallic and bright despite the low-grade vocal filter. "I think they're waiting for us now."
Large metallic claws dug into the hatch frame as two glowing yellow eyes peered from the dark interior of the ship, leading the way for their owner to emerge. A second Type-3 followed the first, this one female, with only a front half of a head, it seemed. The back half was just cords and wires that trailed behind her, tied with a scarf close to her head, that snapped out of various connectors that she had been using to maintain some control over the vessel as she stepped out next to the taller man.
"I think they're still mad at us, Somerset," she observed, her one arm a massive metallic claw that flexed with a pneumatic hiss.
Somerset Two One tilted his masked head to the side, tugging at the green hose that connected the thing to a box on his chest. "Who is angry?" he wondered more than asked, quickly spinning around in a wholly unnatural way on his mechanical leg to regard the approaching crab-spider-bots. "No matter! Its good that you decided to bring along all of these bot-babies. They'll protect us from your 'they're.'"
Bootsector shook her head as two Junker drones skittered out of the ship from behind her like guard dogs on an invisible leash. "Either they all have individual SIs, or their core is really good at hiding. I'm sorry, I just couldn't get them all to behave." She knelt down to pet one of her drones with her more human-looking hand. "Applet and Servlet are near exhausted from chasing them around the ship — and now look where we are. Some new planet you're excited to explore, I bet." The Freespacer woman stood back up straight and considered her somewhat unique travelling companion. "Our boat has sprung a leak I'm not sure can be fixed."
"It's okay, Boots," Somerset replied jovially. "Our presence is for a reason. The calling through space, remember? The great void that connects everything and separates nothing is why we're here and that stupid gruff-y voice talking about firebirds and action and—"
Two One's reminder was cut short as one of the angry robots from the Mule's hull jumped up to attack his organic hand. But it wouldn't get the chance to bite as the gaunt Type Three, dressed in his grey wool striped pants and tattered brown blazer with soiled white shirt and emerald green tie, leveled his tentacle-arm at its direction and fired the integrated firearm. "Down boy!" recorded words that weren't his own came through his mask's speakers right before Somerset let out a laugh.
"These guys," he said looking straight at Bootsector, "these guys aren't any fun. Maybe their friends'll be more of a help." Just as he said it, more and more of the scattered junkerbots woke up from their shocked state.
Datajack Bootsector Eight One nodded to her companion before addressing her Junker drones, "Okay boys, go follow that signal, we'll be right behind you." As ordered, the two automata skittered off toward the center of Sargasso. "As for you," she addressed the tiny annoying bots that were snipping their tiny metal pincers at the two Type-3s. "Now that we have a little breathing room," Boots didn't finish the sentence, choosing instead to take a swipe at a robot who was inching too close.
With a loud clang of metal on metal and an electronic spark, Boots crushed the robot into the ground. A fizzling noise followed by a small puff of smoke was its death cry. "C'mon, Somerset!" she urged, her one humanoid hand grabbing his. "This way!" Pulling him along, she followed her drones toward the town.
And with that, the Datajack and Wayfarer were off. Off toward Sargasso with a literal legion of pissed off metal spiderbots riding as their wake. The two moved at a prodigious pace despite the heavy equipment both had integrated in their bodies and were able to keep ahead of the skittering, snapping tide on their heels. Over the hill, across The Long Road, and straight down one of the sleepy ghost town's main thoroughfares.
Applet and Servlet led the Freespacers right to the heart of town and didn't let up. Bootsector and Somerset couldn't tell what passersby thought of it and the automata junkers chasing them didn't care either — their only goal were the two who'd taken their master's ship. A sharp turn here and a ducked alley there brought the whole scene to a tower block apartment. Without thinking the Freespacers followed their junker guides up seven flights of stairs and through the monolithic Nepleslian prefab.
When they arrived on the building's seventh floor, the junkers stopped. The door that separated the stairwell from the apartment block was like any other and yet it stood out among all the rest as a glowing beacon of destiny and fortune. It would be here, the door at which Applet and Servlet scratched to signal an end to their trek, that Somerset and Bootsector would find salvation.
They went through and slammed the flimsy gateway behind them. And that would be the last Bootsector Eight One and Somerset Two One would see of the pursuing junkers that rode on their shooting star.
END
