No Weaveling Your Way Out of This One

[Ridley]

The Dreadnought soared through the space between worlds, on a salvage mission from Ridley in order to obtain additional Materials for Omelette and Olivia’s… Curiosity.

The Dreadnought’s acting First Mate, Jervix sat back in his command chair - Not Ridley’s throne, of course, not even he was cocky enough to sit in the Captain’s chair.

Ridley had taught him the folly of that firsthand a long time ago, and he still had a certain ache crawl up his back every time he sat down the wrong way.

Still, right now, Ridley was not here, and that made him, essentially, the captain, so it took none of the air out of his lungs as he barked orders to the rest of the pirates.

“Vizzix, bring low power up to the weapons and keep point-defense solutions on. We don’t want to be surprised by space dust going through the windshield! And sit up straight, I don’t run a group of slackers!”

“R-right, boss!” Vizzix stammered, jumping to position in the chair, though he bristled at the statement.

“Laice, bring us closer, but err on the wide side. The Dreadnought’s engines haven’t been brought back to full functionality, and I’ll make sure Ridley has your hide if you bump the ship into an asteroid while we’re up here.”

“Done. P’tak.’

“What was that?!”

“Sir.”


Ratt, keep sensors going and continue to monitor the communication frequencies. If another ship pops up out here, I want to know about who it is, who it’s talking to, and who it’s having lunch with tomorrow, are we understood?”

Ratt gave a nod. “Then I suppose you’d also like to know about any… exotic company, I assume?” the Zebesian spoke, his sensual voice causing Jervix to curl his lip in disgust. Ratt’s voice was at best grating and at worst offensive with it’s.. implications, but Ridley had appointed him for his relative competence, and Jervix was far too easily frightened to argue with lord Ridley.

“What is it, Ratt? Get to the bleezin’ point!”

Ratt gave a nod, before pulling up a few readings on one of Jervix’s view-screens. “I have found someone calling out to us. It appears they know our frequencies Intimately, and have been broadcasting for emergency assistance for some time. Shall we… lend some tender loving care?”

Jervix sucked in his teeth. “We will move to investigate and salvage. Assistance… regular, normal, assistance… will depend on what is broadcasting.” Jervix said, in his best version of a Ridley impression. He was sure Ridley would be quite proud of his second-in-command’s forcefulness, when he saw him next. Once he told him about it. Assuming the Captain was paying attention.

“Oh, I believe I can tell you that, sir…” Ratt added, giving a narrowed glances as he washed a hand over his control panel, a familiar string of numbers popping up.

BDS-R00-235122512W.

Jervix sucked in his teeth. Memories of a familiar concussion and a frantic escape, before his return to Zebes, flitted past his mind.

“Contact Lord Ridley. Inform him we have possession of Roachboy supreme.”

“...W-what?” Vizzix asked from the weapons station

Jervix gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “...Weavel. You weren’t there when he split last time. I’ll tell you all about it while you work the tractor beam, so you know just how hard you’re supposed to kick ‘em in the head when it’s your turn.”

 

[Ridley]

600,784 ticks left until Oxygen tanks are depleted..
6,095 ticks left until Oxygen tanks are depletedt. Warning.
321 Ticks left until Oxygen tanks deplete. It is recommended you seek out Oxygen immediately.
43 ticks left until Oxygen depletes. Recover Oxygen now!
-
-
-
Oxygen restored.
Welcome back, Weavel.


I awoke with a splitting headache, the last part of me that really could feel pain, only for a set of redundant error messages to flit through my neural interface. Artificial lungs swelled with air used to push what passed for blood through what passed for a heart.

It took me a moment to remember what happened. Some of it at least. Landing on Z3-B15, encountering the nightmares below, fighting for my life against creatures that had forced me to accept magic was real… and it was dangerous.

Something had destroyed my spaceship, leaving me for dead and returning to the caverns below. Trying to remember it’s form only left me more confused, more frightened, so I resolved to let the memory go… for now.

Instead, my visual synaptic HUD was powered on, within my cold metal shell, and sensors fed vital data through my body. I could see I was on a table, cables re-attached and body mostly aligned. Power had been cut, though, and despite my struggles, I couldn’t move.

Synthesized voice commands that I had long accepted marked me as a walking dead man crackled to life in an approximation of my old, natural voice.

“Weavel, at your service. Who do I owe? I doubt this was free.”

A chuckle I recognized reverberated through my audio receptors, and I wished I still had the face to scowl as I recognized my old comrade… and a man far too easy to bully, back in the day.

Jervix.

He didn’t say a goddamned thing, but he came into view, the lanky, underfed zebesian he was. And he was holding a lemon, something I’d only grown accustomed to seeing after being in the crossroads for some time… which likely meant I hadn’t escaped this jobless hellhole.

The little bastard took a bite of the Lemon, chewed with his beak open, and smeared the half-eaten fruit across my chestplate.

“Boss wansa talk to ya.” Jervix added with a jovial tone.

“So, found a new boss, then. Figures you would find someone who would take your talentless ass in. You’re a successful parasite, at least.”

Jervix just grinned, as a Video screen was lowered, and a voice that chilled me to my core echoed through the room.

“At least a parasite would stay latched on, Deserter.”

Shit. Ridley was here. Somehow, someway, he had gotten sucked into the crossroads same as plenty of the other old pirates and hunters.

And he remembers me flipping a self destruct switch and leaving with a king’s ransom, too, judging by his expression. Ridley’s face was hard to judge for most, but when you’ve long since lost your own face, you can read others.

The way his lips were pulled forward, the subtle hook of his frown…

Putting out a distress signal might not have been the smartest idea, judging by what he wants me to live through now.

“Lord Ridley. This is a surprise.”

I mean, it was.

His amusement grew.

“I’ve business to deal with, Weavel, so shut up. You’ve a list of chores, and a debt you’ll spend the rest of your life paying off. Your first job starts tomorrow. If you try to run off, the bomb in your chest explodes. If you fail to earn coin for me, the bomb in your chest explodes. If you attempt to betray me, the bomb will not explode. I’ll crush your pathetic metal shell with my bare hands, and trap your brain in a nerve simulator, so you can feel all the pain a real pirate can.”

Ridley shifted, looking at me expectantly, like a cat watching a mouse.

Fuck. I knew what he wanted. And I wasn’t going to be able to move until I gave it to him.

“Yes, Lord Ridley.”

The Dragon’s frown turned to a sadistic grin, and like that I knew it was going to be a long few years ahead of me.

The vidscreen snapped off, and Jervix sat there with a grin, that smug little shit

“Lord Ridley gave me a li’l neural interface, along with a couple others. Lets me shut off your arms and legs when I want.” Jervix taunted, and I Turned my neck servos towards him.

“If you want me to work so bad, give me a Flickin’ job. I’m not here to listen to you whine, softshell.”

Jervix gave a smile. “You know what? I’ll let that slide.”

And that was when he threw the lemon on top of my visual stimulator, and I found myself locked up.

“Once your servos start working again in five minutes, we’ll wire the mission data to you directly. Till then, enjoy the sight of citrus. Welcome aboard the dreadnought you colossal dipshit.”