10-28-2017, 10:04 AM
Some more time had passed.
A few weeks? A month?
Whatever it was, Seventeen had lost track. He was fairly certain that his body here was no different from his body in his home world. His body there had been rendered ageless by the wonderful institute of death. In the Omniverse, he was certain that his body, made as it was out of magic rainbows, would age only if he willed it to do so. Had he tested that theory?
Hell no.
The last thing the cyborg wanted was to wind up with gray hair or wrinkled skin with zero way to go back to normal. He had already flirted with grayscale highlights once before in his life, and he didn’t desire a flashback to more than a decade ago.
A decade? Had he really only aged the equivalent of less than two years despite the fact that he had swiveled around the sun or some stand-in nearly a dozen times since waking up in the snow? If he ever made it out of the Omniverse, would he be spit back to some point in time before his departure? Or would he wind up a few years passed his perceived demise, only to find his loved ones another decade or so grayer?
Oh, Piper, you’re gonna be forty by the time I see you next.
But then, she’ll also be in her twenties.
Despite all the shenanigans of his life, the machine-hybrid lacked a temporally-displaced future self.
What if… Seventeen took a swig from the can of PepsiCola before staring hard at the steel wall opposite his bed. I get out of this place, but then I return to discover that there’s been an evil clone of me living my afterlife in my absence?!
“Bastardo!” The cyborg crumpled the can in his hand and chucked it into the trash receptacle near the door.
A knock came from the open doorframe before Trixie poked her head into the room.
“How many of those telenovelas have you been watching?” The woman inquired with that goofy little half smirk she put on when she was trying to subtly roast people.
“Not enough, pendeja,” Seventeen replied with his own tiny grin. “I need to know whether or not the President of Ecuador and his jaguar make it to safety or if they fall prey to his brother-slash-father-slash-evil twin.”
Trixie returned to her normal stone-face. “None of what you said makes any sense.”
“This morning, I held out my hand and willed a cheeseburger into existence from a bunch of rainbow jelly. And you have the audacity to question my telenovela plots?”
The redhead shook her head but couldn’t come up with an appropriate rebuttal. “We have a debriefing up on the bridge. I need you up there.”
With a nod, Seventeen slipped off of his bed. He made it halfway across the room before he noticed that Trixie was still perched in the doorway and glancing toward something behind her compatriot’s shoulder. The cyborg spun around and realized she was trying to unsubtly remind him to wear his dress attire. In silence, he leaned and snatched the olive jacket from the wall and slipped it over his standard dual layer of black tee and white, long-sleeved undershirt.
He followed the woman and buttoned up the jacket while she gave him to rundown.
“Routine stuff from HQ,” Trixie muttered. Her tone made it hard to tell whether she was aggravated or disappointed. “Collection of local businessmen are… chaffing under the tariffs they have to pay to maintain their licenses.”
Seventeen stopped and lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me they’re whoring us out as part of some imperial protection racket?”
At that, the woman stifled a small laugh and shook her head. She hadn’t stopped walking, so Seventeen had to double-step to catch up to her right before the lift access. “No, they have uniformed EPD for stuff like that. The two businesses that the Empire has their eyes on are supposedly smuggling up from lower tiers. If you can’t land in the black being reputable, there’s always smuggling to make an easy buck, after all.”
The pair boarded the elevator, and Trixie thumbed the ‘B’ button.
“So,” Seventeen whispered. “Smugglers? We gonna raid some illicit opium dens? Perhaps a black-market pyramid scheme?”
Trixie shrugged her shoulders as the elevator came to a stop. “Something like that.” She stepped forward before pausing and glancing back at her ally. “By the way, you know we have full-sized rooms available for you. You’re near the top of the list when it comes to the allocation of living quarters. You don’t need to sleep in that glorified dorm room.”
“No worries, I like it a little snug,” the machine-hybrid replied as Trixie led him down the connecting hallway and into the bridge. From up here, they had some nice views of the surrounding neighborhoods, with only a few obnoxious billboards to really obscure the distant skylines of Tier 1’s downtown area.
“Good afternoon,” Trixie said in her senior noncom voice as she walked to the front of the bridge. Behind the woman was a pair of inactive computer screens. Although most of its systems functioned, they tended to only use the climate control and PA systems in the Venator. Apparently, the engines were still operable, despite being partially decommissioned. Seventeen had mentioned to Trixie that they probably wanted to make sure that the high-tech propulsion devices weren’t leeching any chemicals into the air or ground, and she told him she had filed a requisitioning request for an engineer ‘days ago.’
#BureaucracyInAction
The raven-haired warrior smiled at the thought as he watched Trixie pull out a handheld and project an image on the inert screens.
“Reports indicate that a collection of about six local businesses in the neighboring Argent District have been smuggling up from the bottom tiers. All six business owners have had run-ins with the Empire in the recent months over tariff and tax rates. In that time, the Empire has also reported an increase in the presence of contraband in Argent and the surrounding neighborhoods. Some intel also communicates that narcotics are filtering near to the downtown.”
Tier 1’s downtown was the shining city on a hill for Coruscant. Unless some prime was being stupid and running afoul of the Empire, the place was designed to look, smell, a sound like a shimmering, future-tech utopia. Even the cars that fly through the air streets there were banned from producing a single iota of engine emissions. If anything illicit was going on there, the Empire wouldn’t let it breathe for long.
“Needless to say,” Trixie pulled up the information on the businesses and their owners. “The Empire wants the situation dealt with in an orderly and timely fashion.”
Seventeen laughed under his breath as his superior started to run through the files of the establishments and their owners.
A few weeks? A month?
Whatever it was, Seventeen had lost track. He was fairly certain that his body here was no different from his body in his home world. His body there had been rendered ageless by the wonderful institute of death. In the Omniverse, he was certain that his body, made as it was out of magic rainbows, would age only if he willed it to do so. Had he tested that theory?
Hell no.
The last thing the cyborg wanted was to wind up with gray hair or wrinkled skin with zero way to go back to normal. He had already flirted with grayscale highlights once before in his life, and he didn’t desire a flashback to more than a decade ago.
A decade? Had he really only aged the equivalent of less than two years despite the fact that he had swiveled around the sun or some stand-in nearly a dozen times since waking up in the snow? If he ever made it out of the Omniverse, would he be spit back to some point in time before his departure? Or would he wind up a few years passed his perceived demise, only to find his loved ones another decade or so grayer?
Oh, Piper, you’re gonna be forty by the time I see you next.
But then, she’ll also be in her twenties.
Despite all the shenanigans of his life, the machine-hybrid lacked a temporally-displaced future self.
What if… Seventeen took a swig from the can of PepsiCola before staring hard at the steel wall opposite his bed. I get out of this place, but then I return to discover that there’s been an evil clone of me living my afterlife in my absence?!
“Bastardo!” The cyborg crumpled the can in his hand and chucked it into the trash receptacle near the door.
A knock came from the open doorframe before Trixie poked her head into the room.
“How many of those telenovelas have you been watching?” The woman inquired with that goofy little half smirk she put on when she was trying to subtly roast people.
“Not enough, pendeja,” Seventeen replied with his own tiny grin. “I need to know whether or not the President of Ecuador and his jaguar make it to safety or if they fall prey to his brother-slash-father-slash-evil twin.”
Trixie returned to her normal stone-face. “None of what you said makes any sense.”
“This morning, I held out my hand and willed a cheeseburger into existence from a bunch of rainbow jelly. And you have the audacity to question my telenovela plots?”
The redhead shook her head but couldn’t come up with an appropriate rebuttal. “We have a debriefing up on the bridge. I need you up there.”
With a nod, Seventeen slipped off of his bed. He made it halfway across the room before he noticed that Trixie was still perched in the doorway and glancing toward something behind her compatriot’s shoulder. The cyborg spun around and realized she was trying to unsubtly remind him to wear his dress attire. In silence, he leaned and snatched the olive jacket from the wall and slipped it over his standard dual layer of black tee and white, long-sleeved undershirt.
He followed the woman and buttoned up the jacket while she gave him to rundown.
“Routine stuff from HQ,” Trixie muttered. Her tone made it hard to tell whether she was aggravated or disappointed. “Collection of local businessmen are… chaffing under the tariffs they have to pay to maintain their licenses.”
Seventeen stopped and lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me they’re whoring us out as part of some imperial protection racket?”
At that, the woman stifled a small laugh and shook her head. She hadn’t stopped walking, so Seventeen had to double-step to catch up to her right before the lift access. “No, they have uniformed EPD for stuff like that. The two businesses that the Empire has their eyes on are supposedly smuggling up from lower tiers. If you can’t land in the black being reputable, there’s always smuggling to make an easy buck, after all.”
The pair boarded the elevator, and Trixie thumbed the ‘B’ button.
“So,” Seventeen whispered. “Smugglers? We gonna raid some illicit opium dens? Perhaps a black-market pyramid scheme?”
Trixie shrugged her shoulders as the elevator came to a stop. “Something like that.” She stepped forward before pausing and glancing back at her ally. “By the way, you know we have full-sized rooms available for you. You’re near the top of the list when it comes to the allocation of living quarters. You don’t need to sleep in that glorified dorm room.”
“No worries, I like it a little snug,” the machine-hybrid replied as Trixie led him down the connecting hallway and into the bridge. From up here, they had some nice views of the surrounding neighborhoods, with only a few obnoxious billboards to really obscure the distant skylines of Tier 1’s downtown area.
“Good afternoon,” Trixie said in her senior noncom voice as she walked to the front of the bridge. Behind the woman was a pair of inactive computer screens. Although most of its systems functioned, they tended to only use the climate control and PA systems in the Venator. Apparently, the engines were still operable, despite being partially decommissioned. Seventeen had mentioned to Trixie that they probably wanted to make sure that the high-tech propulsion devices weren’t leeching any chemicals into the air or ground, and she told him she had filed a requisitioning request for an engineer ‘days ago.’
#BureaucracyInAction
The raven-haired warrior smiled at the thought as he watched Trixie pull out a handheld and project an image on the inert screens.
“Reports indicate that a collection of about six local businesses in the neighboring Argent District have been smuggling up from the bottom tiers. All six business owners have had run-ins with the Empire in the recent months over tariff and tax rates. In that time, the Empire has also reported an increase in the presence of contraband in Argent and the surrounding neighborhoods. Some intel also communicates that narcotics are filtering near to the downtown.”
Tier 1’s downtown was the shining city on a hill for Coruscant. Unless some prime was being stupid and running afoul of the Empire, the place was designed to look, smell, a sound like a shimmering, future-tech utopia. Even the cars that fly through the air streets there were banned from producing a single iota of engine emissions. If anything illicit was going on there, the Empire wouldn’t let it breathe for long.
“Needless to say,” Trixie pulled up the information on the businesses and their owners. “The Empire wants the situation dealt with in an orderly and timely fashion.”
Seventeen laughed under his breath as his superior started to run through the files of the establishments and their owners.