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Post by Rikku on Oct 4, 2009 16:21:41 GMT -5
Except, see, then I'd probably have to have a galaxy called Big Squid somewhere, or Slightly Larger But Overall Quite Similar Squid, and then Midget Cuttlefish, or Odd-Shaped Nautilus, and then before I knew it I'd have a whole school of cephalapodian galaxies and nowhere near enough stars and planets to populate them! D= But. But you'll have the knowledge that a whole school of cephalopodian galaxies exists. And that's downright comforting. The only idea I can come up with for a slang space term is "the drink", going back to the "space as an ocean" concept. I dunno, it's a little inflexible and it might also be too similar to "the black". ... Fair point. That sounds like a good one. And oh, the puns I could make, with one of my characters an alcoholic, and another a rumrunner ... Call space 'the infinite', which people would probably shorten to 'the 'nite', which amuses me muchly. ^_^ ...and as for the galaxy... um. Mother? *is in an odd mindset right now, whatever* ...I like the idea of calling it Little Squid, though. I'm sorta sorry for that, but not really. Oh, that's even cooler. xD I think maybe I'll do both. The 'nite. Neat.  This sounds awesome. ^__^ Thankies! Here's hoping? I'm all for Little Squid. =DD It sounds exactly like the kind of name I'd want to give my galaxies. <3 Ditto. =D I think I might go for that, or Lesser Squid. It just sounds ... galactic. And oceany. Which is a definite bonus. |
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Post by Rikku on Oct 5, 2009 15:43:44 GMT -5
I had difficulty deciding whether I wanted to write a fragment about when Mule Beckett met his wife Ada, or something about the Prince of Thieves; eventually, I decided on the latter, because the former would require more planning. I then thought, 'Hey, instead of just having unnamed Navy men, Midas can get a cameo!', and then I thought, 'Oh, hey, wasn't Achilles his second-in-command at about that time or something?' and so it wound up that this is more about the interaction between Midas and Achilles than about the Prince of Thieves, but that's okay because I like the friendship between Midas and Achilles and it's rather a pity that they hate each other's guts by the time Starfall starts. This is about five years ago. Midas is about thirty-five here, making Achilles about thirty and the Prince of Thieves twenty-two or so.
Beige was one of those planets that was cursed with an extremely dull name.
It was in the same system as Navy, and a human planet, and, thus, Navy had finally got around to conquering it, a few hundred years ago. The people of Beige were thus expected to give taxes every year, and levies, and fines, and all those trivial little things that you’re expected to do when you’re part of an empire, even so modest a one as Navy. They were expected to have parades, and teach their children of the glory of Navy.
And they, in turn, were taught of all the wonders of the ‘nite, and they looked to the stars for the first time, and learned of curiosity. So that was all right.
Soon, though, they compared themselves to glorious planets like Cornflower and Miridian and Navy itself, that were rich with artistry and expensive things and … well, richness. And Beige wasn’t. It was the kind of planet populated mostly by old people who sat on their porches and reminisced about how things had been when they were young, and a different generation of old people had done the sitting and reminiscing.
Beige set about accumulating as much artistry and expensive things and richness as it could, but, being Beige, it went about it quite the wrong way, and over-compensated.
Thus, when two Navy men came to collect that year’s tribute, they found it somewhat … surprising.
Midas Beckett looked around the door cautiously, and then retreated to lean thoughtfully against the colossal warehouse’s outer wall.
“What’s up?” asked his first mate, Letchford Achilles, cursed with the unfortunate handicap of a first name that sounded like a last name and a last name that sounded like a first one. Most people called him Achilles, to save on confusion.
“Look for yourself.”
Achilles looked.
“It’s supposed to be grain,” said Midas, with a kind of weary resignation. “Basic minerals. Bulk resources. Grain.”
“… But it isn’t,” said Achilles, in the bland kind of voice that people use when stating the obvious. His hair had a curl in it, which meant he had to keep it fairly short if he wanted to avoid looking like a hedge. He wore glasses. This was opposed to Midas, who, with his square, thirty-something face and close-cropped hair, looked like the Navy tin soldiers sold by toymakers all over Little Squid.
The two had been together for a few years now. When Midas had been a mere starship captain, Achilles had been his first mate. When, after a number of other promotions, Midas had been promoted to head of Navy Intelligence, Achilles was still his first mate, his second in command. There were rumors that Midas would soon be promoted to Lord Commander of the Navy, and it was presumed that, if that ever happened, Achilles would, still, be his first mate. It was just the way things were.
“No. It isn’t.”
“Should we have another look?” suggested Achilles, with the air of someone suggesting that they walk into a tiger’s den, naked and smothered with barbecue sauce.
Midas groaned. “Oh, Lord. I’m not sure I have the courage.”
“Let’s do it together.”
They shook hands briefly, and then stepped forward in dual determination, and opened the doors.
It was meant to be grain. Minerals. Bulk resources. In which case it would have been quite bland, just a bunch of sacks all over the place, maybe spilling out a few grains here and there onto the floor, in the way that sacks of grain inevitably seemed to do, albeit mainly in illustrations of children’s picture books.
But it wasn’t grain.
Everywhere the eye fell upon, it found something to make it wince in pain at the sheer garish shininess of it all. The air was so full of glitter and reflected light that it was remarkable there was any space left for the treasure to fit. But treasure there was, in bucketloads, in nuggets, in sacks, and – Midas uncovered his eyes cautiously – in one case, in an old boot, for some reason. It seemed odd that, having accumulated such a truly impressive store of treasure, it should be stored in such prosaic materials, but maybe, having smelted down all the gold, silver and precious woods that the Beigemen could get their hands on, there was nothing left for large ornamental treasure chests.
There were a few moments of thoughtful silence.
Achilles said, “It’s a three-year-old’s dream come true.”
“And the Navy’s worst nightmare. What do they expect us to do with all this?”
“I don’t think their thinking extended that far ahead.”
Midas snorted. “Obviously not. Ugh.” He ran a hand through his cropped hair, a rare gesture of frustration.
“Glitter aside,” said Achilles, “why are we dealing with this? How is overly elaborate treasure an Intelligence matter?”
“There were … rumours. Something was uncovered, they say. Something of immense value.”
Achilles looked into the gaping cavern of gleaming stuff and said, “Would it be a large ornamental statue of a dragon with ruby eyes, obsidian wings and emerald toenails?”
“No.”
“Thought not. A large sack of miscellaneous gold coins?”
“Shouldn’t think so.”
“An ornamental dagger with a ruby hilt and a blade in the shape of a fish?”
“If that’s something my birdies think is of ‘immense value’, I need better birdies.”
“A windmill made of solid gold?”
“Wait, what?” Midas followed his line of sight. “How on Navy does that work?”
“I don’t think working is the point.”
“Hoi!”
They both turned to look in the direction of the shout. A man was walking towards them. Every metric inch of him yelled ‘humble farmer’; he was wearing a drooping straw hat, another piece of straw was dangling from his lips, his overalls were many-patched and, to be honest, far from clean, and his hair had the kind of roundish look that was only obtained by sticking a bowl on someone’s head and then trimming around it. His cart, too, was very humble farmer-ish, with creaking wooden wheels that weren’t quite in true and somewhat warped planks. The only thing that didn’t fit in this picture was the huge golden bell-shaped thing perching on the cart, between a sack of grain and a smallish, complacent pig.
“Yes?” said Achilles, who, as the subordinate, did most of the talking.
“Was said to bring this here. Last minute tribute.”
Achilles frowned. “What is that? That huge, golden, bell-shaped thing.”
“It’s a huge golden bell,” the farmer explained patiently.
Achilles looked at Midas. Midas looked at Achilles.
“I probably should have guessed that,” said Achilles, in an undertone.
“Yes,” said Midas, his voice tinged with comradely amusement, “you probably should have.” He raised his voice. “Late tribute, you say? That’s poorly organised. And why aren’t there guards here?”
The farmer glanced at the bell, for some reason. “Oh, normally there are,” he said. “Several hundred guards, with swords, and lasers. And a few hovering helicopters. With further lasers. In case of thieves, you understand.”
“Even more a thief’s dream come true than a child’s,” murmured Midas, and Achilles nodded agreement.
“But the Farmer’s Committee decided that the Navy would be more than protection enough today.” He nodded in respect. “We all know how powerful you are.”
Midas could tell, just by the sound of it, that ‘Farmer’s Committee’ had an apostrophe in the wrong place.
It was true, though. Navy were well-trained, and there was only one door in the building. No thief could get past the two of them, even without swords, lasers and helicopters.
“So if that’s all, sir?” He touched the general area of his forelock in respect, and, when Midas nodded, trundled past, wheel squeaking, and then shortly later, trundled out again, minus one huge golden bell-shaped bell. The pig rolled over, showing considerably more liveliness than the dour-faced farmer did.
The cart squeaked away into the sunset.
They observed sunset. It was a clear, beautiful sunset, as sunsets go.
“I notice a distinct lack of transport ships in that clear, beautiful sunset,” said Achilles. He sighed resignedly. “We’re going to have to stay here all night, guarding it. Aren’t we.”
“Yes. Yes, we probably are. It’s the Navy’s duty to this planet to protect it, and this is technically the Navy’s wealth, whether we want it or not.”
“At least we won’t have to look at it,” said Achilles, swinging the doors shut.
*
The bell wiggled. One of its edges was raised. Then, with infinite carefulness, a man slipped through the gap, and lowered the bell carefully to the ground again when he was through.
This tricky maneuver may have been helped by his size; he was of only average height, though some of that must have been in his huge boots, and he was as slender and quick as a ferret, albeit a ferret dressed in huge boots and a dark blue tunic and pants, with a crumpled cloak that was as black as ‘nite impressively topping the ensemble. He immediately smoothed out his cloak, and only then looked around.
The Prince of Thieves smiled.
Even with such a distinct ‘I just climbed out of a huge golden bell’ look about him, he was a dashing sight, with shortish hair so dark it was almost black, strong, bold eyebrows of the same shade, a pointed little beard, quick, clever dark eyes, and quick, clever fingers.
He dragged a large bag out from beneath the bell, carefully, so as not to make a sound. Then he set about filling it with golden statuettes, golden jewellery and miscellaneous gold, humming cheerfully under his breath, though he may or may not have realised that.
When the bag bulged pleasantly, he rubbed his hands together with the satisfaction of a job well done, then looked around for a way out.
“…Slight miscalculation there,” the Prince of Thieves said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Easily remedied.”
He looked around again, hopefully, but no door or window magically appeared amidst the piled gold. Indeed, the only exit was that which those two Navy gentlemen stood in front of, and the Navy might well have cause to have a … minor disagreement with someone in his current occupation.
He sighed. “Slit-eyes, Brushtail, don’t abandon me now,” he said, using the alternate names of Lady Luck and the Trickster, though in all likelihood he was more talking to himself than them.
No, the door was a last resort. Maybe, when they were loading up the gold, he could slip away unawares …
But in the mean time, he had time to spare, and there were a lot worse places to spend it in than in a huge warehouse filled with gold.
He picked an old wooden chest, the only chest in evidence. It looked drab in its glimmering surroundings, which, he was willing to bet, meant that its contents were anything but. Out with his lockpicks, and in a few seconds he was easing the chest open.
Inside it were gold coins, jewels, pearls, all of a far higher quality than that he had already stuffed into his sack.
He stared at it for a second, eyes wide, and then cursed. There simply being too much to steal wasn’t a problem he encountered very often, but when he did, it was infuriating.
He stared at the chest for a second, calculating, and then pulled a pouch from inside his tunic and filling it, more slowly, picking only things that caught his eye for their workmanship as well as for the materials they were made of.
Once he’d sorted through most of the small chest and his pouch was nearly full, he caught sight of something, and, curiously, dug it out. It was an old coin, bent and discoloured, and for gold to be discoloured meant that it was very old indeed, for he was fairly sure it was gold. The Prince of Thieves was young, but he knew his job.
He got to his feet, biting into the coin. It was soft, a sure sign of gold, and, just to make sure, he rapped it against the closest thing to hand, which happened to be the huge golden bell.
… Which was a bell.
The bell pealed. The sound was sweet, but strong, and it echoed even in the vast warehouse. The Prince of Thieves, standing right next to it, fell to his knees, covering his ears.
“Luck,” he cursed painfully, and bent further as the last echoes of the bell forced their way into his brain.
*
A sweet, strong sound rung around the cheerful landscape.
Midas and Achilles looked at each other.
“You know,” Achilles said, “that bell was kind of … man-sized.”
“Yes,” said Midas. “Yes, it was.”
They looked at each other again.
Achilles pushed the door open a little so his superior could go ahead first. “Mind you,” he said, following, “I don’t know many thieves who’d be brave enough to—”
There was a man standing by the huge golden bell, with a distinct ‘I just accidentally hit a huge golden bell’ look about him; his shortish hair, so dark it was nearly black, was in slight disarray, and his dashing clothes were likewise disordered. He was of average height, with clever almost-black eyes under strong almost-black brows, and a pointy little almost-black beard.
His dark-as-night-or-‘nite-as-the-case-may-be cloak would have looked more impressive if it hadn’t been partly covering his head in an effort to escape the sound.
They looked at each other for a few moments, the Navy men and the man by the bell.
Then he recovered himself and gave a bow, swirling his cloak behind him. “Evening, gentlemen,” he said, with a smile. “I—”
“A thief!” said Achilles, recovering enough to put his hand on his Navy laser.
The thief gave him an insulted look. “If you’ll let me finish?” he said, sounding a bit annoyed.
“Right. Sorry to inconvenience you,” said Achilles sarcastically.
“Good. I” - and here he struck a pose, cloak billowing slightly, hands on hips, eyes bright with the light of reflected gold – “am the Prince of Thieves!”
This impressive statement fell upon the silence it fully deserved.
“So, a thief, then,” said Achilles.
The Prince of Thieves cocked one of his expressive eyebrows, nodded his head slightly and grinned. He made an unmistakable ‘come here’ gesture with one hand, smiling lazily.
Midas nodded to Achilles, who drew his gun and ran forward, squeezing the trigger at the Prince of Thieves, who –
Ducked.
The laser hit the golden bell. The bell trembled, as though not sure whether it was meant to be cut apart or to ring, and, physics aside, decided to go with what it knew. Sound rung out once more, so deafening that Midas and Achilles stumbled, sharing a wince.
The Prince of Thieves, with a swirl of black, ran towards them, somersaulted over them, and kept on running.
Achilles, recovering, aimed his gun, but Midas stopped him with a cautionary hand. “Too far at this distance,” he said, because the Prince of Thieves had already seized the chance to dash dashingly quite some distance away while the Navy men were still bemused. “Besides which, look. He had to leave his loot behind. No harm done.”
“I guess,” said Achilles, cradling his head. He cursed. “darn him!”
“It’s not your fault,” said Midas quietly. “No one’ll blame you.”
He knew he was lying, even as he said it. He was the head of Intelligence, up for promotion to Commander of the Navy; Achilles was just his subordinate, his second-in-command; skilled, but not invaluable. If there was any blame to be had, Achilles would take it.
But he didn’t want to think about that, because Achilles was his friend.
*
A little way along, the Prince of Thieves slowed to a saunter, whistling.
It had been quite a successful day, all things considered. It had pained him to leave all that gold behind, not to mention the bell, which he had intended to salvage and melt down, but at least he hadn’t gotten nothing out of the deal, and the jewellery in his pouch tucked safely inside his shirt jingled reassuringly.
And there was something else, too; the old, interesting coin. It was worth little except as a curiousity, but it was Luck that had gotten it, so lucky it was.
Heads I win, tails you lose, he thought with a chuckle.
He flipped it in the air, then, without checking to see what the result was, walked on into the sunset.
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This sounds awesome.
