Trials and Abrogations

"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." William Shakespeare

Chapter 3: Captain Consequence

It's been almost an hour since Darks Gumblebrick left Vendra in the interrogation room. As he escorted the Nether there, he'd tried quid pro quo with her, but she was tight-lipped and avoided his eyes the whole time. She must've still been processing his words to her. He used her silence to briefly explain Polaris' degrees of murder and charge dismissals, believing she was listening. Though Gumblebrick doesn't assume the twins murdered anyone, the Polaris Defense Force still came for answers. But judging by that organization's incompetence, he expected an emotionally-driven interrogation, and thus, a shorter time waiting.

The green-skinned man folds his hands in front of his belt, feeling the ascending elevator halt. Now back at the interrogation floor, he steps forward, but stops when he sees a Markazian girl at the entryway, holding the wall with bent knees. How peculiar.

"What floor, Miss?" Gumblebrick offers.

Immediately, the Markazian straightens, eyes and lips wide on her flushed face. The lawyer grins, hoping to ease her.

She closes her lips, exhaling from her nose harshly. "Infirmary, please," she manages levelly, entering the elevator.

Gumblebrick nods and presses a button to the appropriate level, the shaft ascending again. "We actually don't do visiting hours here...unless the inmate is dying," he explains with a low chuckle.

With an audible swallow, the girl nods, then shakes her head frantically. "She...she may be."

The defense attorney glances at her out of the side of his eyes. What tomboyish clothing for a female Markazian...Wait, now he recognizes her: Polaris Defense Captain, Talwyn Apogee. She, and probably others, had arrived to interrogate Vendra. Did this girl get her answers? If so, why did it seem like it had backfired somehow, gone against her favor?

He takes a moment to really watch her, his brooch morphing to white.

Her hand strokes her right elbow up and down - pain from an altercation, probably initiated. Her panting, regardless of her attempts to subdue it, pierces the soundless elevator ride. She was running away, if her red face wasn't an indicator. He sees guilt in her eyes just before they flutter closed. And...he must stop now. It will make the girl even more awkward and uncomfortable if he chortles.

Applying this skill outside of court is a bad force of habit, really. Actions scream louder than words, especially when lawyers can easily miss them during trial. Unless the witness is a well-practiced liar, said person will play with the jury's emotions in speech but reveal the truth with their body language. There was never a point of demanding the causes when Gumblebrick already knew of the effects.

A simple scrutiny held all the details.

His only question: Will she be distressed from her mishaps?

He reaches behind his brooch and extracts a small card. "If you ever need it."

She turns her head with a skeptical pout on her lips but reaches for the card. Absently turns it between her fingers before closing them around it.

"In fact, show it to the nurses when you get to your floor. Tell them I sent you, and they'll let you see your friend."

Curious to see if his name holds that kind of power, he feels better seeing that it gets the girl to look at the card in her palm.

Darks Gumblebrick, criminal defense attorney, his number and holo-mail address. She looks at him a bit baffled; most likely from how young he looks.

"Thank you," she mutters to his long mustache, which wobbles with a smile.

The elevator opens, and she steps off.

"Don't mention it, Miss Apogee." He waves farewell as the elevator closes once more.

Talwyn spins around, her heart accelerating again. With her job, her name known by that man shouldn't surprise her, but she doesn't feel proud in this moment. Instead, she thinks anyone who knows her name will know what she did: shoot an inmate and run away from the guards' hold with a flash bomb and an elbow to one's nose.

She sighs and holds up the card again.

My 'friend,' huh?

Vendra's eyes opened; brilliant white stung them immediately. In their rapid shift, she saw her arms spread out on either side of her, flattened to a hard chrome surface. She felt her hands, cocooned in orange sleeves, trembling and sweating. Thick leather straps bound her wrists over the mending handcuff bruises. The light fixture above, rotated towards her, also held a concave mirror and a crane contraption that swayed to the central air blasting above it.

She realized too quickly that she was lying on an operating table.

Then there was a painful jerk in her chest. Her back slowly arched off the table as it became an agonizing tug. Her eyes darted down at the source.

Thin pliers held the tail of a small bullet coated in red-purple, which was also smeared dry over her cold, naked chest.

Her accelerating heartbeat made the silver objects pulsate against her. Dark colors danced in her eyes. Mr. Eye's words for "my return" replayed ceaselessly.

Why was her mind the only one crying?

Vendra screamed - the only deemed solution to remain in control of herself.

There was alarm, even faint groaning, and bodies shuffled, taking advantage of her open mouth to gag it with gauze tape. The procedure continued in a remotely quiet fashion.

But she heard worse. Through her muffled moaning, flooding eyes, and the scrunching of punctured skin as the bullet finally popped free, Mr. Eye's presence swam and splashed upstream through her blood. It reached her brain and latched on. He wanted to see her agony through her eyes...

Sleep is the eye of the storm in Vendra's mind. It's when Mr. Eye's claws loosen and her pulsating head feels like it's cradled by a cloud. Her first night in the Pent has her lain on a plush hospital bed, medications plugged into her wrists. She feels nothing but a silent calming, a lighthouse bell beckoning her out of the waves of sleep. Water - figuratively and literally - clouds her lidded eyes as they see white and a touch of red beside her. She sorts through her mind to the only face she's seen with those colors. Her small hand reaches to the close figure and registers a warm, smooth cheek.

Some rare things mar the Nether's face: tears, a toothy smile, and puff of laughter. "Nef...Even a whole day without seeing you would've been hell."

Talwyn's hand stops, and her anger pauses. The drugs must be why Vendra can't distinguish her shorter face and bigger lips, but she stays silent. Vendra strokes her thumb on her brother's small ear, which is Talwyn's tragus.

"Wanna know why I'm here?" she continues in a lull. "Because you threw us in here. Couldn't we've taken the nice, long ride together to Vartax, huh? Skipped the court and faced the inevitable." When she gets no reply, she backpedals. "Oh, I see: you mean here. Ratchet's sweet little girlfriend shot me. She's a funny one, see: she knows me as an M-class criminal, Nether witch, and ruthless murderer. I know her as Polaris Defense Captain, daughter of a missing father, and quite honestly, an orphan now. We think we've got each other all figured out. What saddens me about her is...though she had loved ones swept from under her, she only shows her appreciation to what she does have by clinging to it like lint. Does she know what it's like to have nothing left - which could've happened entirely on the Nebulox Seven?"

Vendra pulls her hand away, hot droplets having slipped between her fingers. The red shifts away, leaving white in its wake.

"Oh, Nef. Don't cry, you big baby. Mr. Eye is...healing me. Come here so I can tell you about it..." Vendra lifts her head and aimlessly searches for her silent brother.

Talwyn coaxes Vendra down my placing her hand over the Nether's eyes.

"Rest. Doctor's orders."

Beneath her gloved hand, a frown tugs at Vendra's lips. But her eyes obeyed.

Talwyn stares at the girl that looked and talked like another one entirely. Then to the white, vacant chair she sat in. She sniffles, swiping at her damp cheeks, one still lingering with the Nether's harmless touch. She places the objects in her other hand beside a compact recorder lying on the bedside drawer: Gumblebrick's card and a yellow carnation (bought for meager bolts and meaningless to her).

"Can you believe I had to shed tears for you? Just to prove to the doctors it was dire to see you?" Talwyn whispers. "Let's make one thing clear: you were never my friend."

Finally, she pockets her small knife.

"I'll see you soon, Vendra Prog."

She exits Vendra's ward through the door. Behind it is a guard with reddish tissue stuffed in one of his nostrils.

Ring!...Ring!...Ri-

"...Doc, I'm taking this phone call alright?! Hello? If you're one of those Penitentiary guards, you'd better tell me where you took my-"

"Ratchet, it's me."

"Tal! Are you okay?! Where are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm being held in the Penitentiary overnight. I've got my own cell, food, and a bed…"

"You almost make that sound pleasant. Did you find out what happened with Vendra?"

"..."

"I-I mean, did that...get you into much trouble? Um…"

"Forget it, Ratchet. Is...there, um, a chance you'll come get me?"

"Heh, why ask so nervously? You know I would. It's just, uh...Clank and I got back to HQ and wrote our mission reports, and he mentioned our exposure to irradiated particles, so...we got stuck in a chemical ward and got decontaminated…everywhere..."

"That's happened to others before, so Clank was following an unspoken rule in mentioning it. It'll take two hours before you guys can get out with the results."

"Yeah, we're in our room and they told us not to go to sleep till- Wait. Two hours?! Ugh…I-"

"Don't worry about me, okay? You and Clank can get a catnap in and they'll wake you when ready."

"Are you sure, Tal? I could sneak out, pick you up and get back in time for that-"

"No, it's fine. I don't have much time left. Tell Clank I'm okay, too, yeah? Bye."

Talwyn hangs up the phone. She just ended the only call she was allowed as an overnight inmate. So much for the hero saving her, she nearly thinks.

She's exhausted but sleepless, sitting on the white pullout bed, her back against the wall and feet dangling above a smooth concrete floor. Beside her boots is a tray of food long cold and water beading moisture. She refuses to ingest anything for fear it'll come back up. Blood had filled her thoughts and left her mouth metallic and dry. Talwyn looks through the bars at the guard, who turned back to her when she hung up.

He takes the phone from her, crosses the single-cell office to the desk, and rips the phone's cord from underneath it. With his task complete, he rubs his hands together in boredom and settles to watching the remaining guards at work.

One guard is putting cleaning supplies - sprays, a mop, and a bucket all smuggled from the janitor's closet - in a shelved wooden closet. Another holds a bloodied jumpsuit into the tightest ball he could make, tosses it down a trash chute, and exhales deeply. After some time, a third enters, panting, and wipes sweat from his brow.

"I didn't mean to, but before the coast was clear, I bumped into the twins' lawyer!" the third announces in a loud whisper.

"They've got a lawyer that quick?" the one at the desk comments.

"What kind of question is that?" says the one who threw out Vendra's jumpsuit, absently dusting his hands. "This Pent is one big contradiction! Imprison people, then give 'em the chance to break out with Objections! and 'the jury finds this felon innocent!'" He mocks the legal jargon with drawled speech. "It's a joke."

"I had to tell that Gumblebrick guy that those Defense Force chumps tired 9971 out, and she's sleepin' in her cell!" He peers through the bars at the alert - and glaring - Markazian, then drops his voice to a whisper. "We put 9970 in there as a decoy. She's got the same color hair, so…" He shrugs, idly looking Talwyn's way again. "If you guys got her, is it okay if I clock out?"

Their attempts to cover up what happened aren't fooling Talwyn. She stands out of chagrin, her tail swishing sharply. "Instead of me pretending to wait to speak with Neftin Prog, just let me do it," she blurts out.

Each guard, slightly huddled in the compact office, looks a bit startled at her voice - not its tone, but at hearing it break their exclusive remarks.

The one at the desk clears his throat and utters, "He wasn't scheduled for an interrogation tonight."

"I don't care!" Talwyn yells. "I have the right to interrogate whoever I please, as Polaris Defense Captain! And I want to now!"

"Look, Miss..." He glances down quickly at a paper he holds in his hands - a copy of her Polaris Defense badge -"Miss Apogee? We're keeping you here all night until you tell us why you shot 9971. Depending on your reason, we'll see if it'll-"

"But you're trying to hide it!" she interrupts. "Why keep me here for some bullshit story?!"

There's a pause, then the guard who dumped Vendra's jumpsuit replies, "We were gonna tell the other twin what happened out of obligation, and we didn't want it to be ugly. If you want to tell Neftin Prog yourself, then we're eager to arrange it."

She tilts her head, a hand on her hip. "Obligation."

The novice guard interjects with a raised finger, "You know the saying, 'when one twin gets hit, the other feels it'? It's true!"

In the awkward silence that follows, the guards can almost hear Talwyn's baby blue eyes roll.

"If that's how you want it, I have no problem telling him," Talwyn speaks after a moment. "He owes me an answer anyway."

During the wait, she manages to drink the water from the tray, though it doesn't particularly cool her. There's a carpeted lounge behind the office, and the two burlier guards push the couches out to the concrete, leaving a marble table and two chairs situated on the sides. The bar and vending machines are disregarded, blending in the background of the makeshift interrogation room. A guard ushers Talwyn to a seat.

She feels the guard observing her quietly sitting, waiting for her statuesque form to flinch. Her eyes blink tiredly.

"Why didn't any of you intervene until after I shot Vendra?" Talwyn asks sporadically.

The guard sighs through his nose, throws up a hand and pats it against his leg. "We couldn't mutually decide when and how to act."

"And why put me in here? Can't you just take me to another interrogation room?"

"There aren't any cameras in here," he explains. "Miss...I know we may not look it, but we're here to help you. We're just doing it the way we know how." He almost looks pleading, a look Talwyn doesn't see with her eyes ahead, to where that empty seat will be filled with one of her guardians' murderers.

After a while, the door slowly opens, and the guard - who will perch for safety as silently requested - pats Talwyn on the shoulder, his trembling palm revealing he's more nervous than she is.

She was so confident before, now she trembles...but she doesn't show it on the surface.

Neftin Prog enters the room.

On the one hand, Talwyn can describe Neftin's size how her seven-year-old eyes perceived her father: a huge, comforting lug. On the other hand, she knows better: the reason behind this Nether's strangely large body was something unimaginable, something she'd only ask of if Cronk and Zephyr weren't the subject of the matter. Or if she wasn't shaking so much inside.

Neftin's glass eye glints in the light as he neutrally looks down at her. Talwyn hears the pipes breathing, not him. They're pumping steadily, sticking out from his neck and his back, where his stubby wings flap silently. The jumpsuit is a shiny copper-colored metal, not fabric; grey steel encases his neck like a collar and is cuffed where the sleeves and shirttail would be. His ID number, 5004, is branded near his left shoulder.

She's seen sketch artists' drawings and the holo-vision's captures of him, but seeing the criminal in the flesh does something to her: it makes her imagine killing him, too.

"Looks like you're the one I should be giving my humblest apologies to," Neftin says as he sits.

"I think you owe me more than that," Talwyn replies tightly.

"Ratchet told me...those two helped raise you," Neftin continues softly, carefully. "Vendra and I lacked that constant guardianship growing up. They...must've meant a lot to you."

So Ratchet bonded with this criminal? How much more do they know about each other, about her and her loss? The girl's ears become muddled with those thoughts and her unpleasant perceptions of Neftin and his sister, despite his remorseful tone. She doesn't feel shocked about the shooting anymore and feels empty about it.

"Let's just cut to the chase." Talwyn crosses her arms, leaning back a bit. "You killed my warbot guardians, and I shot your sister."

Neftin blinks a moment. The pipes on his back gradually pump faster as his eye narrows, nostrils flare, and thick teeth grind together above a jutted jaw. He wants to react, but waits; he declares one scornful word:

"Elaborate."

Talwyn speaks in slight hurry. "Ratchet was interrogating Vendra. She mocked Cronk and Zephyr's deaths, so I confronted her about it. Next thing I knew, she was strangling me. She looked possessed…"

Her brief pause, which occurred because she looked at his unchanged expression, promotes him to speak. "You shot her. Shot my sister." He rises from his seat, towering over her.

The guard from behind Talwyn scowls at Neftin, who holds up his palm, relaying the silent message, I won't harm her.

"Everything happened so fast. You need to tell me why you let my friends get killed." The rising tension makes her words lose some of their bite.

The Nether's colossal palm closes, a finger pointing at Talwyn shakily. "You...said you've already been choked today...so I won't do it. But just know, now that I know this...I don't want you ever in my sight again." He swallows. "I - let them die because…"

Neftin's finger retracts, his fist clenches, and suddenly it plummets down on the marble table, caving it in two. Talwyn leaps in her seat at the explosive sound, and immediately, the guard lifts her from the chair by her shoulders, stepping back. The vending machines' sodas shake in a loud, unified fizzle.

"You think I owe you or that space rat anything?! Huh?! We threw ourselves in jail, isn't that enough?! You arrogant Defense Force members can't just push our buttons 'till we give the reaction you want! So what, those warbots died - they're gone, they didn't suffer! Meanwhile, my sister is! With the very bullet you shot her with! What more do you want me to explain?!"

Talwyn gapes, unable to look away from the Nether's rage. She knows any more cruel words that were playful to Vendra will just provoke her brother. She has no fight left.

"That's enough. Let her go."

A guard has opened the door a crack, directing his sentence to the one inside, pointing to Talwyn and curling his finger in. Following orders at lightspeed, the guard practically pushes Talwyn back into the office, and the one at the door approaches Neftin and slings energy cuffs around his wrists. "Time's up, Prog. Back to the coop."

"Looks like you got bailed out, Miss Apogee," the guard holding her shoulder says, cracking a very relieved grin.

Talwyn tries to mirror it as her heart pounds in her chest. Her theory was proven again: guards react at the last minute. Forced to readjust to the "safer" setting, she becomes dizzy, her eyes rocking in her head.

"Unacceptable. Imprisoning my captain overnight with no privacy or decent food? And by no one's rule but your own?!"

The voice belongs to Vorn Garblak, Supervisor of Polaris Defense. Seldom is he angry, more often voicing his outrages with quotes, philosophies, and a straight face, then dumbing it down whenever the listener doesn't get the message. Barely half the height of any of those in the room, this would've been funny, but an unhappy supervisor meant business. His normally timid face has cracked with disdain, which never ceases to surprise Talwyn nor Vorn himself, as if leaping at his own shadow. He rid his body of robes of an impish minion, and he wears a deep blue tie and a suit entirely of opal, which shimmers in the light at certain angles.

The little Markazian takes the taller one's hand, pulling her closer to him. "Are you alright?" he murmurs, eyes behind bubble lenses squinting in concern. When Talwyn nods convincingly enough, Vorn addresses aloud, "I told them to get in there as soon as I heard some kind of explosion!"

One guard speaks on behalf of the group, replying, "We offer you our humblest apologies, Mister…"

"Garblak. Supervisor or Minister, if you please."

"Well...'Supervisor' Garblak, we have an M-class criminal just behind that door-" he waves his hand behind his back - "so, once you've endorsed that check, I advise you both to leave immediately."

"Wait, a ch-check?" Talwyn gushes, her voice meek. Her face manages to look quizzical.

"To officially bail you out," the guard clarifies, offering Vorn a pen from the desk.

Vorn has already materialized one from his lapel, proceeding to the desk where the paper check lay.

"You don't have to do this, Vorn," Talwyn, whose position is on a first-name basis, protests. "I earn my own bolts, and you do so much already-"

"Consider it a favor, Captain Talwyn." With his back hunched over the tall desk, he swipes his signature and recaps his pen before turning to her with the start of a grin.

With eyes squinting sadly, Talwyn shakes her head incredulously and storms out the office.

"Oh dear. Captain Talwyn!" Vorn calls after her.

He catches up to the younger Markazian at the elevator. She pounds the lobby star with her fist. This floor is the lowest of the three she's traveled today.

"A-are you really okay, Talwyn? You don't have to shelter your emotions...that's only advised at work…"

Funny how a change of setting - a descending elevator, ironically - drops Vorn's authority. He's like a newborn butterfly afraid to shatter the chrysalis. Talwyn leans on the elevator bar and uncrosses her arms, questions on her tongue.

"How did you even know I was here?" Talwyn already knows the answer; she just wants to see how concerned he really was for her without blatantly asking.

"Nav-unit, time-log re-entry when you requested backup at the bank. And I still have your fingerprints!" the midget answers, pushing up his glasses. "How were those ruthless Thugs-for-Less?"

"Buncha scaredy-cats deep down. Remind me of a few people I know." Talwyn smirks.

"Keep talking. You'll find yourself demoted, running suicides with Troopers again," Vorn jokes.

The elevator opens to the lobby, and the two exit its quietness quickly, refusing to be dragged back in. The Penitentiary's automatic doors slide apart, cool and fresh air blowing through. Lamps light the staircase and - as Talwyn steps back to see the building - a few of the windows, creating an irregular pattern on the tortoise shell. The moon rises behind, half-shadowed.

"We have a lot to discuss, Talwyn," Vorn says with a crack of earnest, returning the girl to the seriousness of her actions.

She's lucky she's not Ratchet - even with a turned back, his ears would have drooped, exposing his shame. Her telltale sign, though, is her hands crossing over her elbows.

"Just let me have it, Vorn," she mutters, crestfallen. "What does this mean for my job?"

She hears the short Markazian sigh. "We can't talk about it now."

"Then when?" Her head turns a little. "At Headquarters?"

"We can't go back there either. At least not yet." Before the girl can ask why, Vorn reaches inside his jacket for a paper folded in two, the sound of it flapping making Talwyn turn around. "Igliak Weekly. Today's issue released midnight tonight."

chapter 3

I almost fall face flat into my syrupy waffles. Frustrated, I reach over for my mug of coffee, hoping the overdose of espresso will wake me up. A few Galactic Troopers pass our table, and one claps a wiry metal hand on my back, almost making me choke. "Pep up, Lombax!" He says in a goodnatured, two-toned voice, joining a cluster of other scattered Troopers with oily entrées.

Clank looks apologetic at me again, and I wave it off. We would've slept in, but PD HQ has all Troopers on strict schedules, and the PD Suites' breakfast halls are only open between 5 and 8 A.M. sharp. Late-night radiation test or no.

Clank and I reluctantly returned to Polaris Defense Headquarters when we were practically thrown out after Vendra and Tal were taken away. Once there, it was mandatory to turn in a full, if not statused, report before we could be reissued our room key to the Polaris Defense Suites building across. Clank was specific whereas I just stubbornly checked off mission failed instead of mission successful - as far as the original mission of escorting Vendra via Nebulox went. What'd bugged me was that we had to report for Cronk and Zephyr, too, staining their records with TERMINATION.

In said specification, Clank mentioned Pollyx exposing us to irradiated particles. When the front-desk girl read that, she looked in hysterics and pressed a button. Sirens blared too loudly for the time of night, and rubberized chemical specialists snatched up Clank and me. Things got personal when they tried to strip me of my armor and clothes, but once they got me standing bare against a concrete wall, Clank promised not to look.

I honestly think he was.

Decontamination would have taken a shorter amount of time had I not been cut at the back of my neck from that water tank-the rubber freaks told me the radiation could've seeped through my blood-but after abnormal bathing of my fur head to toe and Clank soaking in what I called "an oily mudbath," I was wrapped up like a mummy and Clank looked like a rolled up rug as we were escorted out of HQ and across the street to the Suites. I never felt so naked in my life, the night chill seeping through the gauze wrappings and sheet robe. Luckily, no traffic crossed last night and everyone from lobby to our floor was asleep.

Talwyn called me when we reached our room, and I felt guilty thinking about sleep while she was somewhere uncomfortable. Even though I wanted to sneak out and get her, I couldn't. She also informed me that we had to wait two hours-and it was well past midnight-for the results of transmissive toxicity, which were freaking negative. My Nebulox suit and clothes came back to me in a sealed bag, detoxicated.

After sleeping as late as we could so we could eat (a recent regulation was passed to accommodate our populous synthetics), Clank woke me with two glowing eyes and many apologies, standing a breath from my groggy face. I told him to shut up...Then I held him close and noogied him. Then we laughed at our mummified appearances and unwrapped ourselves.

I mutely thanked him for waking me from the nightmares I hid with covers over my head and between my teeth. He rescued me from shouting for Cronk and Zephyr's ghosts or running away from Mr. Eye's translucent, killing hands.

"I told you, pal, I blame the radiation, not you," I remind him again, setting my mug down. "Never you."

Clank grins sheepishly, steeping some oil tea. "Let us hope that espresso kicks in. What do you think is in store for today?"

"Beats me. Between you and me, I hope it's a 'free day,' for lack of a better word. Since the twins are incarcerated and all."

"Free day? The only day heroes should rest is their death! You sidekicks still have a lot to learn!"

I really gotta try the number-one method to keeping secrets: whispering. I mumble a greeting to Qwark, who towers over our two-person booth with green and a grin. He pulls up a chair and nestles his milk and cereal box in the middle of the table, almost knocking over Clank's steeping tea.

"Good morning, Captain Qwark," Clank says through annoyed optics, trying to be polite. He picks up his tea and sips it. "As always, your timing is impeccable."

"That's either a compliment or nerd for 'I was the subject of the conversation,' right?" Though Qwark is asking me for confirmation, he surmises the answer himself. "Yes! The revolution is already starting!"

"That was not a-"

"Do enlighten us about this 'revolution', Qwark," I deadpan. Because if we don't let him, he'll talk about it anyway. I lean an elbow against the back of my chair, all ears.

"Feast your eyes on my greatest service to PD!" Qwark folds out an Igliak Weekly newspaper, one relic of Polaris that has not been made paperless. Facing Clank and me is a very compelling word search.

"Well, I found the word Bluestreak," I quip, shoveling waffles into my mouth. Clank giggles.

"Do you know what this is?" Qwark presses, tapping the paper with his spoon.

"A newspaper?" Clank supplies, and I snort and fist-bump with him.

"Very funny, sidekicks," Qwark says, drumming the spoon as if to silence us, like he's the teacher and we're his students. "This is today's issue of Igliak Weekly, hot off the press! And on the cover is-"

"Me?" I say it as to finish for him, not to include myself.

"Yes, me!" Qwark points to himself with his trusty pointer spoon, then pauses, clarifying, "Not you, 'me', or you, 'me!'" He points it to Clank, then to himself again. "Me, 'me!'" He almost looks hurt that we're not praising his 'service.' "Could you guys let me finish?"

"Okay, sorry," I say, chuckling. Clank and I straighten and salute. "Proceed."

Qwark clears his throat dramatically and rustles the paper in both hands. "I told these newspaper guys all about myself escorting the Progs to prison! Titled-"

Before Qwark can read, I snatch the paper from his hands and slam it on the table. He worriedly warns Clank and me not to wrinkle it, which falls on deaf ears.

With a quizzical frown, I let the headline fill my eyes. They suddenly widen beneath my lifting eyebrows and wildly shift. I hunch my shoulders forward with my palms on the bottom corners, my fingers slightly pinching them. Clank mounts the table to stand beside my arm to join. He stares at my stiff form before tilting his head to read. His antenna blinks and his mouth gapes, and incredulously he turns to Qwark, who giggles beneath an overstretched smile.

Just by staring at the bolded phrase, the glossy selfie, and the structured words in front of me, suddenly the images of mobs of paranoid people and hungry reporters breaking through the glass doors of HQ overtake my mind. My breakfast almost rises back to my throat.

TWIN CRIMINALS PROG SURRENDER, QWARK LIVES TO TELL IT

MERIDIAN CITY- Meridian City Penitentiary guards were on perimeter watch when one reported that an unauthorized airship had penetrated its maximum security barriers. "[But] it was a holoshield keycard encryption we recognized," stated a guard with the longest work history: 11 and a half months.

The aircraft, green with a Q-Force logo, stood empty. Only when the guards returned to survey the entrance did they see three figures, and who they saw could only pardon the shame of "borrowing" one's holoshield keycard.

Captain Copernicus Qwark had escorted twin criminals Vendra and Neftin Prog (all above), both of whom were surrendering to the system. Neftin Prog (right) confessed on their behalf to the heinous crimes of murder, kidnapping, arson, and theft. Through the confession, Meridian City Penitentiary guards believe Vendra Prog (left) is doubly responsible for the newer crimes not convicted 6 months ago. Though Qwark (center) looks accomplished in the picture, he briefly explained the dangerous encounter to IW's editor, Lucy Basher.

"I took them into custody in my ship," recalled Qwark to Basher. "The large one [Neftin] gave me some directions, but the witch [Vendra] wanted to kill me! Luckily I didn't need to use my super-hot blaster..."

Should Qwark's struggle be added to the list of crimes? Though Qwark says he won't press charges, he believes a certain, quote, "show-stealing Lombax" and a "bossy, overdressed Markazian" should.

Said Lombax is none other than Ratchet, who, wearing his backpack buddy, Clank, was last seen stopping Thugs-for-Less from robbing the Meridian City Bank last night with Polaris Defense Captain, Talwyn Apogee. Whether she is the aforementioned Markazian or if it's the distinguishingly dressed Minister of Defense, Vorn Garblak, is a matter of whether or not Qwark really wants to keep his job.

The Progs are currently incarcerated and await "protocol" trial, which is administered at the Meridian City Penitentiary by the Penitentiary Chief and Judge - and also "Qwark's new best friend" - Isidore Bronislaw. Their defense attorney will be Darks Gumblebrick, the youngest attorney in the roster.

But who will the prosecution be-The Defense Force, or all of Polaris? The crimes reach a serious level for those whose loved ones were murdered.

Qwark, who works as a sorter at the Polaris Defense Headquarters, added, "It [The Force] plays a big part in why plans go south. I mean, come on, four people against two deadly villains plus a gazillion Thugs?" The "dysfunctional" leadership, as he struggled to pronounce, produced an army of incompetent Troopers, and he concluded, "Next time, they should let me fulfill the mission!"

For his service, IW will issue front-page promotions for Qwark's incoming holofilm, My Blaster Runs 2 Hot.

"Did ya let that last sentence sink in yet? I should thank the judge personally for promoting me so gratuitously!" Qwark slides the news from the table, making my eyes bore intently into the granite.

Yes, I knew Vendra and Neftin surrendered under my order. No, I didn't know Qwark had brought them, I assumed they walked. Yes, I was vaguely informed that the Progs would be arraigned in court soon enough, but no, I didn't know Qwark was inside the Pent and mingled with this Chief-Judge while Clank, Talwyn and I battled for entry. Yes, I knew the Polaris Defense Force was more incompetent than Solana's - a group of synthetic toddlers who only listen to their Captain after doing their own thing - but no, I didn't know Qwark was dense enough to openly assume that was due to poor leadership!

And, oh God, his corny film's got a sequel?!

I want to kill this idiot cradling the paper like a baby. Death by butter knife sounds like a dutiful way to go...

"Does this make you feel nobler, Qwark?" Clank speaks first, before I consider sawing Qwark with a syrupy knife. I turn to my pal who has his hands on his hips, glaring at Qwark who sits down. "The only good I see in this is speeding up the process of getting the Progs to answer in court. Must you have belittled the slightest chance of turning the Force around with your indecisiveness?!"

"C'mon, it's not like I was lying!" Qwark mumbles over a mouthful of cereal.

"But that is exactly why Miss Talwyn is in office, to revolutionize the incompetent ways! "

Qwark hums with the spoon in his mouth. "And how's that working? By initiating the Single 'N' Hating It dating con while a light eating Z'Grute attacks Luminopolis?"

"That was an icebreaker during her recent promotion." Clank's optics narrow further. "Since then, she has gained respect and trust from the Troopers, and they have slowly started to obey orders the first time given!"

"Face it, if I didn't blow the whistle, no one would've!" Qwark contends, sweeping his spoon for effect. "Don't you see? This'll get me noticed that my lackey Sorter position in PD should be promoted. And everyone will know that the great Captain Qwark should be Captain of Polaris Defense!"

My stomach lurches, and the lukewarm coffee I swig sputters from my lips. "That's your revolution?" I cough, pounding my chest. "Qwark, a-are you crazy? No one is gonna feel reassured that you performed a service here. And Talwyn's already a great Captain."

"Well," Qwark leans closer to Clank and me with a secret, "in one of the filing folders, I saw a citation notice with Miss Captain's name on it! Won't look too good in the Supervisor's eyes, no?"

I look at Clank, and though he doesn't turn to me, we both know. Firing a weapon on any unarmed person is a serious offence here. Vorn Garblak, the Supervisor/Minister of Defense, has zero tolerance for broken rules. I've come close to breaking that rule simply because of Qwark many times.

"That all sounds dandy, Qwark," I say smugly, leaning off my seat, "until Minister Garblak sees how you mocked his leadership and clothing style." Two more things he doesn't tolerate. I roll the paper in my hand, slapping it into my palm. "You know, since the Force now has to restore its honor, I'm betting one thousand bolts there'll be a meeting today... Whaddaya think, Clank?"

"I think he will sort Qwark into the janitorial position," Clank agrees with his signature chortle.

Qwark almost swallows his trusty spoon.

A squeak pierces through the PA system, and the congregation groans a bit before falling silent.

"Attention, all Polaris Defense Troopers." The voice of Minister Garblak sounds through the dining court and echos through the nearby halls. Heck, maybe even in the restrooms' hand dryers. "I hope you're listening because this is not a reminder to fill out your paperwork following the fighting of Thugs-for-Less, if you have not already. All Troopers must report to the Headquarters Auditorium immediately for a mandatory meeting. And I will not repeat my-"

The entire league of Troopers whoop and drown the intercom in a sea of excited shouts, high-fiving one another. The collective cheer is so sarcastic that I almost laugh. No one enjoys a meeting that's more about our own issues than about the galaxy's.

But snitching on Qwark sounds too good to pass up. Clank and I run, easily immersing our short selves within the sea of tall robotic Troopers exiting the dining hall.

With Qwark out of our hair for now, I hook Clank to my back and fall into the gradual clanking steps of everyone else. The plain white halls open along the right to reveal the stories above, opaque blue glass dark with shade. The lobby is cool with its all-glass encompassing, letting in the rising sunlight.

The air whips inside my ears as we exit the Suites. My gaze rises to the surrounding and sunlit buildings that shelter the Suites in geographic privacy. I hear from within the crisp blue skies the succession of horns always accompanying the morning rush. We cross the cul-de-sac leading to the crosswalk, traffic blocked. Headquarters, typically rectangular and glassy, lies in the middle of the conglomeration of buildings with the Polaris satellite logo at the very top.

The free feelings fade once inside HQ.

Before we get in the Auditorium, holograms are passed out by a cleaner bot wearing a tie, and ones labeled "Reserved" are issued to me, Clank, and Qwark when he eventually emerges from the crowd. We're seated up front, about fifteen cubits from the stage, all seats in the first two rows of the three seating sections vacated. Troopers fill the remaining seats and the silence, noise swirling the chamber as everyone waits for the lonely stage to fill.

There an empty seat to my left and I hope Talwyn shows. She should be back now; she flew herself to the Penitentiary last night and was supposedly released this morning, and meetings typically include the Polaris Defense Captain.

I absent-mindedly scroll through the hologram, which shows the meeting's itinerary. As if a structure will make us anticipate another part of the lecture besides the end. Like always, 'Introductory' and 'Closing Remarks' are spoken by Minister Garblak, but so is everything in between, unless vaguely noted 'Guest Speaker.'

It's like a holofilm cinema when the upper balcony sound booth dims the lights, all steps lit in dots, and a side of the emergency exit opens. The auditorium erupts into the pre-programmed applause as the spotlight follows the miniature, balding Markazian to the center stage podium - distracting the optics from the shadowy blurs that dart in and occupy the reserved rows directly far left, right, and behind me, Clank, and Qwark, murmuring incoherently beneath the ovation.

I sneak a glance behind me at who I assume are guests. Men and women professionally dressed. One woman in a suit waves as if she knows me. I turn back around, bewildered.

Minister Garblak likes to wear suits with unusual, eye-catching colors. Today, it's opal. When the room grows silent to only the sounds of blinking, he clears his throat into the mic.

"Good morning, dear Troopers of Polaris." His face is straight, a poker face with all aces and control. Smiles and frowns lie in the tone of his voice. "And welcome to all of our fabulous interns." All of the unfamiliar people - a lot to be interns, I think - give themselves a short applause.

"I just request that if you must view your holograms during the meeting, please fully dim the screen. Let us begin." A large holoscreen projector beams a slideshow to follow his speaking, its overwhelming brightness used to keep everyone awake. The first slide displays a single question mark. "A question for my Troopers: How many of you have Spacebook accounts?"

Qwark's hand shoots up. It's the only hand risen for about twenty seconds.

"I do not think he is asking out of mere curiosity, Qwark," quietly warns Clank, who's sitting next to him.

"Do be honest, or I will embarrass you," the Markazian continues.

With that, my hand sheepishly raises, as does 80 percent of the Troopers both organic and synthetic, the rest either too self-conscious or indifferent to consider social media. Clank's raises too, Secret Agent Clank having become popularly streamed in this galaxy. I wonder if Qwark's arm has cramped yet.

"Good. Honestly is the best policy. I ask because the Polaris Defense Force issues serious and often classified information that the public ears should not hear. I have let this petty luxury slide for a while, but-" Great, the but - "all members of the Force must deactivate their accounts if they wish to remain a part of this team. Especially after today's delicious bite of info. Pass it along to anyone absent or outside of this room. Understood?"

The audience groans in semi-unison, "Understood."

The next slide shows a faceless figurine wearing a crown and sitting on a throne. We all know what's next: our mission statement. This is probably for the "interns" to take notes, otherwise we'd already be getting to the meat and potatoes of this meeting.

"Recite our mission statement for our guests."

Loudly but unenthusiastically: "To protect the kingdom that is Polaris, with the head high that wears the crown, administering orders to the body to serve on demand."

Our recital appears beneath the figurine. "Good. I needn't remind you that I am that head, your Captain is the crown, and the Troopers are the body." More notes. "Through leadership, courage and compliance, we can keep this galaxy safe. But that cannot work if any part of the body becomes uncooperative." I swear behind the glint of his bubbly glasses, his eyes, but not his head, shift to our most honest Spacebook user.

"Four members of the body were assigned to escort Vendra Prog to the Vartax Detention Facility. Two made it back unscathed...and the others lost forever..."

Clank rubs my forearm, making the lump in my throat a bit easier to swallow. It's Minister Garblak's riddles that most won't get without firsthand experience; they must wait for him to clarify his words.

"Another decided to lift his finger to help, but with an ulterior motive: propaganda. And our crown lost its jewel of self-control." He breathes in and out. "In the Prog twins' capture, Cronk and Zephyr lost their lives..." He lets that sink in before he continues, letting the audience bemoan.

From what I hear with my head in my lap, the interns sprinkle their condolences to the Troopers behind them, sprockets rattling with disbelief. Then Minister Garblak clears his throat to continue, and I lift my face, the projection stinging the backs of my eyes.

"Qwark has made the Prog surrender a public announcement, which makes it our job to ensure security throughout Igliak and the rest of the galaxy tenfold." Some ill-natured "boo's" are thrown toward the front of the Auditorium, causing Qwark to sink in his seat. Well, there's no need to snitch on him.

Minister Garblak lets that piece of news die down before throwing out another. "And if you just noticed that Captain Talwyn Apogee is absent, it is because she is suspended indefinitely."

"What?!" My cry falls beneath the onslaught of disbelieving murmurs by the rest of the Troopers. My heart hammers in my ears and my lips tingle. Where is Talwyn now? Does she know what's happening? I look down at Clank, his dim face alight with worry, and I almost consider running out to find her.

But Minister Garblak glances my way, probably because I was the first to respond, and voices for everyone to quiet down again, so nonchalantly that I wonder if he cares that he caused the uproar.

"I won't bore you with those details," he says to the interns as the complaints dull to whispers. Sure, now some details are extra. "With that said, a new crown must be placed speedily..."

Minister Garblak goes on about the qualifications of the Polaris Defense Captain piece by piece for notetakers to follow. It gives me time to exhale, processing this. Tal's suspended, and she hasn't returned to Polaris Defense.

"Clank, you didn't see Talwyn's ship return, did you?" I ask quietly.

"I did not," Clank answers. "I am worried we may not be able to see her."

I shake my head, not wanting to believe that. Suddenly, to my right, a weird gasp emerges, and it's only now that I notice Qwark, who's practically jumping in his seat like some anticipated kid. Without much more warning, Qwark sloppily climbs on stage.

"Qwark!" I whisper-yell, which brings out a stifled laughter from behind me, giving the hilarious impression that Qwark is my runaway pet.

I realize what's gotten Qwark so riled up: Minister Garblak's next words that I perk my ears to hear, "...And now, I pronounce our new Polaris Defense Captain-"

"Thank you, O prime Minister!" Unceremoniously in a way that could for sure fire him, Qwark shoves the pint-sized Markazian to take his place on the podium.

I facepalm and groan, rocking my body in my seat.

"I'm glad the majority of you casted your votes in my favor! You can call me Double Captain Qwark!" He clears his throat. "What is a Captain? A ship's pilot by air or sea? Those who sacrifice their own glory and fame for two hours and thirty-six minutes of..." He trails off, sensing his speech becoming highly inspired by the script to his holofilm. "Being a king of the Polaris galaxy! The first thing I'll have all of you do is thank me for mentioning you in Igliak Weekly! And, uh..." He looks at Minister Garblak, who is wiping his glasses with his tie. "You have a really nice fashion sense, O mighty Minister! I didn't mean to-"

"Yes, yes, thank you for that wondrous little speech, Captain Qwark, but I'm afraid your title will remain singularized," says Minister Garblak loudly, shoving Qwark's shoulder feebly aside and remounting the podium, speaking into the mic. "But I announce and hereby present the true Captain of the Polaris Defense Force, Ratchet."

Strange things happen all at once. I snap my head up to see Minister Garblak initiate the applause. I hurriedly flip my hologram and see under 'Announcement' and next to 'Announcement Remarks' a series of numbers matching my ID. Clank snatches both his hands in one of mine and looks on the verge of short circuiting with shock; all he can say is my name against the noise. I bring him with me on stage, for both our sakes. The applause is endless, and even with the bright stage and shadowed audience, I see the conglomeration of Troopers exchange glances in utter confusion. The interns stand and pile downstage, some on stage, all with equipment in their hands. One I recognize as a pole mic, one as a video camera, and the rest as hand mics. And I realize with horror that these are not interns. They're reporters from both Channel 5 and Igliak Weekly.

I can't flee lest I really put the Defense Force to shame, and on camera, too.

Talwyn makes public speaking cakewalk. I can feel my ears wiggling shyly. I tap the mic, knowing it's already on, and clear my throat, which reverberates loudest through the floor speakers. "Well, guess I don't get to opt out on military affairs 'cuz I'm flat-footed, huh?"

The Auditorium breaks into a chorus of laughter, some in relief and others so outlandish that I chuckle nervously. I glance at Clank by my feet, unsure of what to say next.

"Um...Being the crown, uh, takes strong leadership, like Qwark and Minister Garblak were saying, and...it's something not everyone can mount up to. Sometimes...though not to my notice...such a responsibility must be passed along." Then it comes to mind to use Tal's inauguration as a template; she mentioned an accomplishment she was proud of: finding a lead to her missing father. "One of my biggest missions involved since joining the Defense Force was tracking down the Prog twins in Axiom City. Part of their plan, I guess, was to separate. Vendra was alone. To make a long story short, I was the one who captured her with a Mag-Net and handcuffed her. That took, um, skill..."

"With your skill, Ratchet, do you think you can take on the responsibilities as Captain?" a male reporter asks, which urges all others to yell out their own questions.

Minister Garblak calms the storm, announcing, "To be honest, Ratchet needs some work. Neither he nor Qwark have commanding prowess, so I was left to a figurative coin toss. An egotistic captain or a cowardly one?" Completely ignoring Closing Remarks, he steps off the stage, heading up the steps to the north exit, leaving the crowd torn between following him or staying to listen to me improvise.

Cowardly. Like I'm afraid to accept change, even one as sudden as this?! A fire burns in my gut. I don't know if it's from my confusion or overall frustration, but I'm done being underestimated.

"Then why not give it to Qwark?!" I shout, the mic screeching with it. The room falls silent, and I feel the camera lens zooming in on me, eager to film an argument. "Because a big ego is much better as long as your name gets put out, no matter how stupidly, huh?!"

Minister Garblak stops walking but doesn't turn around. A spotlight gleams atop his balding head.

"Ratchet.." I hear Clank murmur beside my leg.

Qwark ducks his head into the mic, startling me. "Um...I second that-" I push his face away.

"You imply that the head is the most stable part of the Force, but if it can't control what its own body does, then it's no good, either," I say sternly. "So if I'm gonna be your new captain, you've gotta help me."

It's silent for a moment, heads turning back and forth between myself and my boss.

"Why isn't it Qwark, you ask." He declares it, not asks me. "There's a question in this morning's Igliak Weekly: 'Who will the prosecution be-the Defense Force, or all of Polaris?'" That question sinks into everyone's minds as he slowly turn around, his face plain and stoic as he adjusts his glasses. "The last time any prosecution lawyer has had a vacation was almost a decade ago. So while they're all off, Qwark will represent the Defense Force, and all of Polaris, as a lawyer against Gumblebrick and the Progs."

I don't know if Qwark is ecstatic that he 'earned a promotion' higher than Captain, or if he's befuddled because he knows absolutely nothing about Polaris law, but I hear a pretty loud thud from behind the podium.

And the meeting's adjourned, with reporters all over me.

"Ratchet, do you believe your friend Qwark is lawyer material?"

"Do you think you'll permanently be Captain of the Polaris Defense Force?"

"Any knowledge of Polaris laws that could or could not make court the best choice?"

That's enough - I've had enough.

I grab Clank's hand, hop over the fainted Qwark, and dash out of the Polaris Defense Auditorium, reporters right on my tail.

A/N: Oh my god, I finished this! 21 pages! Yes! The wait was taxing, I know...but I had a rough semester/half of 2014, guys. A lot of shit I went through, especially after losing my baby sister. But I'm better now. :) This story was part of my escape from it all.

One reason why I love the Progs is because they're twins - since I'm a twin, I like to express their bond in a way me and my sister share, for example, being able to tell each other everything about how we're feeling.

The yellow carnation that Talwyn gave Vendra symbolizes disdain, which she feels toward Vendra and her actions.

Part of the struggle to writing this was how to start off writing some scenes. I had an OC that was originally gonna be the Minister of Defense, until I found out Vorn took Zogg's place at the end of the comics. That must've been implied...Also, I kept changing the interaction between Vendra and Talwyn - I didn't want it to be a repeated yelling of chapter 2, but I wanted Vendra to be less 'evil' and more honest. This is only a fragment of what I'll portray of her next. The chapter 3 section was a bit tough but fun to write to with my "non-OC" adjustments. I also made stubble accommodations to chapter 2.

I think my favorite part writing this was Neftin - the fact that his own sister was shot was something he would never tolerate and trust, if anyone touched my sister, I'd be mad, too. I also liked expressing the comic relief in the chapter 3 section with Qwark, he's a nut! I wanna keep the wittiness Ratchet has - or "used to have" so he isn't some depressed loner (though saddened) from losing Cronk and Zephyr. Talwyn won't remain mean and bitter either (she just needs to listen to Qwark: "just let it out...let it ALL out. Don't be afraid to cry...").

Thanks to all the new followers/favorites and hits! I love your feedback and support!

We're getting farther with this. Next we'll see how Ratchet can handle taking on Talwyn's roles as Captain and how Qwark assumes rapid training to be a lawyer!