Chapter Text
“So,” the red-suited captain starts, “do you think M.I.R.A. is going to be mad that we are returning with no cargo and no crew?”
He lifts himself up onto the cafeteria table, his long, slender legs swinging back and forth as he eyes the other. His frame is narrow, small buttons and medals adorn the breast pockets of his uniform, although the quality of such spangles is more reminiscent of the kinds of trinkets and toys one would receive from sending in box tops to a sugar-cereal company. Tin or brass, perhaps, but nothing of true value or status, the only button of value being a small thumbnail of metal with the MIRA M embossed into the shiny speck. His visor narrows as he looks down at the disgusted other, who he would insist is his subordinate on any other day.
“Well, Red,” the harsh voice of the purple-suited other grates against his visor, “if I had to garner a guess, M.I.R.A. is probably going to wonder why two recently-blacklisted employees are showing up on their company site with no Ore+Eggs, no living crew beside the two whistleblowers they suppressed, no recordings of any incidents and a hole the size of your ego where the cargo bay should have been.”
She steps up to him, her hand pushing against his thigh before gripping his flesh and shoving him clean from the table onto his back, his shoulder press square against the floor and, when he attempts to rise, his chest is pinned down by the leather of a purple boot.
The other leans down on him, squatting almost as she holds him in place, her visor narrowing as she glares into the reflection of herself in his sight. She is slender, malnourished one could say, and quite a bit taller than her captain, nearly four inches over him without the heels of her boots, giving her a solid six-inches difference. If not for the sizes of their caps differing their statures, Red would look dwarfed next to her instead of being only a few inches shorter between his own platforms and cap. He chuckles and gulps down his anxiety, hands raising defensively to either side of his head.
“So, if we go back to Industria, do you think I’ll be given a new crew or—”
“I think you’ll be given a new crew, a new ship, a huge promotion and so many beans that you could retire the both of us, Red,” Purple says, a sweetness to her voice that catches the captain off-guard.
“Wait, you really m—guh!” the breath crushes out from him as her heel recoils into his ribs like a pistol-spring.
“Why in the ever-loving seven hells would they give us another crew, Red? Our whole crew is dead, from intern to HR.”
“To wish us better luck next time?”
Purple stares, hey visor falling flat in disbelief. He truly believes that.
She sighs, leaning off of him and falling back into a chair beside the meeting table.
“No, Red, I don’t think there is going to be a next time, I don’t even think there is going to be a time after we drop the ship off. We could return the ship and face our deaths with dignity or we can run like every other space pirate out there that has ever crossed M.I.R.A.”
Red, now free of her oppressive heel, sighs and sits up, the wind slowly returning to him at the new angle. He looks to her, then to the viewport, then to his shaky hands.
“The handbook did say that in the event of a total loss, the ship would automatically be returned by auto-pilot to its target destination or point of origin, whichever was closer.”
“Do you actually think that M.I.R.A. put enough money into this ship to have an autopilot return it?” Purple glances over to the captain, but the look on his face is uncertain through and through.
“Truth be told, Purple, I’m not even able to guarantee M.I.R.A. wasn’t writing us and the whole ship off the moment we left the asteroid field. The only one on this ship who felt genuinely competent was—”
“Blue,” they say at the same time.
Red looks over to Purple, she meets his gaze.
“You don’t actually think that, Red, I know you don’t,” Purple stands up from her seat, her feet shuffling as she tries to move passed him.
“Don’t I? We had two unionized employees, a bubbly and over-the-top HR, a gemologist more interested in energies than energy, a geologist less able to hold a conversation than the stones she worked on, two former interns who could be massive whistleblowers if allowed to be let loose, a former investor who needed to be cut out of the deal, a mentally-unwell engineer with a serious degree of medical issues that would cost a fortune in insurance claims and a country bumpkin who I’m not even sure wasn’t a M.I.R.A. plant put in place to guarantee all loose ends were tied up all put into a ship more outdated and expensive to repair and modernize than it would be to write off as an unfortunate deep-space accident and collect donations for.”
The room grows cold, silent, tense, Purple staring at Red like he’s grown a second head and Red staring at Purple like he’s finally been given a chance to speak.
“Yeah, I really wanted to believe this was a dream job and everything was just going to work out,” Red starts, “but I’m pretty good at the hindsight thing.”
Purple looks away, fists balling up at her sides.
“Then why didn’t you do something sooner, Red?”
“Because it wasn’t hindsight until it was over. You’ve always been better at looking at the picture, I’ve always just,” he sighs and follows her toward the captain’s cabin, “I’ve always followed your lead until I had enough to look back on and pretend I was the one who thought it all first.”
Purple snorts, shaking her head, “hindsight really is coming in for you right now, yeah, you have always done that. Doesn’t mean I didn’t find it endearing in its own way.”
Red looks at her, squeezing past her to get into the captain’s cabin first.
“Endearing? That’s a lot of syllables, mind breaking it down for me?”
Purple would roll her visor if that were a thing she could do, but in spirit, she rolls her visor at him. She gets into the captain’s cabin after him and starts looking around.
“Why not have us stop at Smuggland? Maybe we can sell off some of that really nice medical equipment and get the ship’s credentials traded over?”
“Smuggland? You can’t be serious, Purple, everyone there is so smug! Not just because everyone there are smuggling illegal goods and because everyone there are smugglers.”
Purple looks back at him, blinking in confusion, “you have no idea what Smuggland is, do you?”
“Well, no, but I can make assumptions, but since I did, are you the ass or am I?”
Purple whinces, “well, you’re not entirely wrong. There are smugglers in Smuggland, which was why it got its name, but it’s got more going on than that.”
“Really? Like what?”
“Uh, things, you know. Cool things. Lots of things, lots of really cool things that are things that definitely happen,” Purple realizes quickly that she didn’t want to admit he was right, but being so deep into the grave already, she just keeps digging.
It’s Red’s turn for his visor to narrow out, even he is able to catch on how bad the attempt to lie is. “Right, so, what are you looking for, anyway?”
Purple is thankful the topic is changed so quickly, “I’m looking for the ship tracker, there’s no way M.I.R.A. doesn’t have tracking information on their ships. If I can disable that, we can let them assume the ship is a—here it is!”
Purple pulls the closet doors open, inside is a panel labeled “tractor”.
“Uh, Red, why is the ship tracker labeled tractor?”
Red stares, then reaches across her chest and grabs the metal metal plates placed over the labeling.
“Trash Compact…or—they really are so cheap that they wouldn’t even put tracking information on our ship?”
“I really think this was a loose-ends job, Purple, but without a tracker or comms, how about you pilot and get us to Crime Island or wherever you were taking us and I will go and make sure the rest of the ship is stocked and capable enough to make the trip.”
“You’re going to go nap in the Captain’s Quarters?”
“I’m going to go make sure there is food and the nap in my quarters, yes.”
Purple groans.
“Fine, but I’m the one napping in your quarters after you’re rested.”
“Fine, deal, no touching my box of mysterious objects and mysteries.”
“Your what?”
“What? Anyway, come get me if you need anything that isn’t—actually, don’t bother me, I’ll be back when I’m awake.”
The door closes and Purple is left alone in the cabin.
She sighs, rolls her visor and gets familiar with the controls, systems and navigation.
Nearly three weeks of shoddy navigation and recalibrating later, the Skeld is finally pulling in to the moon, Crimis, the primary starport being Smuggland.
“So, Red, when we get down there, what’s the plan if they identify the ship as stolen?”
Purple turns the chair around, her uniform open, skin dappled with sweat. Her white tanktop is snug, but not overly so, comfortable in the heat of the ship and it’s broken conditioning.
Red groans, pushing his hand back through his hair, his focus solely on guiding the ship in for landing. He shifts in his seat, his wifebeater clung to his skin, his heart-dappled boxers hanging loose from his frame. At least the crocs keep the dogs at bay, but another week in this heat would have killed him.
“Then we crash the ship through the landing pad and try to sneak away while they deal with the fire?”
Purple looks at him with annoyance, “I mean it, Red—”
“So do I, Purple, the Skeld is an absolute unit of a ship and we will be just fine if we had to crash the ship. We go our separate ways and lay low for a week or so and then we meet at whatever counts as a park nearest the landing pads.”
Purple blinks, sitting up a bit straighter, she zips her uniform just beneath her chest, “you really are ballsy to make such an asinine plan, but at least I can trust you’re not going to go out of your way to get me killed on a whim.”
“Why would I do that?” Red looks back to Purple, almost hurt, “Not even in the last two months have I thought about getting you hurt,” Red returns his attention to the landing procedure.
“Wait, serious? We just had a whole body-snatching crewmate imposter wearing the faces of our friends and you never thought to hurt me?” Purple pulls back on the thrust, the Skeld easing down into controlled descent.
“If it wasn’t Green, Purple, I would have just accepted my fate and let it happen,” Red states calmly. No whimper or waver in his voice, a statement as mundane as the weather or the score of the sportsball game.
Purple feels a twinge of guilt pull at her, but suppresses it, focusing on the landing at hand.
“This is Tower Seven, long-range communications appear to be down, do you copy?”
Red looks over to Purple, but she isn’t looking at him. He reaches over and grabs the short-wave receiver from her console and pulls it to his mouth, his thumb hovering for a moment to find the words before he presses down the red tongue of the radio.
“This is Captain Red of the M.I.R.A. Skeld, requesting permission to land. We’ve suffered catastrophic damage and are bingo on fuel, over.”
“Understood, M.I.R.A. Skeld, prepare for final descent to Platform Eleven, a technician will be with you shortly. What is the status of your vessel? Over.”
“Copy, Tower Seven, ship status critical but sustainable, two crewmates aboard, inventory lost. Can you bring a bucket of ice and some water to platform? Crew status Emergency Code Ignis.”
“Understood, M.I.R.A. Skeld, over and out.”
Red sighs, leaning back in his chair as Purple guides the ship in for a landing, the landing thrusters squealing their fury before whimpering out with a huff as they find their footing. Red looks over to Purple, Purple looking back at him and zipping her uniform back up to the neck.
“Well, Purple, if this is the end of the road, I’m glad you and I got to walk it before it was over.”
Purple doesn’t say anything at first, she gets up from her chair and wipes her brow. She pulls her security cap back into place, her visor turning to focus in on her captain.
“Look, Red, I’m not going to say anything I’ll regret in case we make it out of this, but, there’s worse people I could have done this with,” Purple turns away and crosses her arms beneath her chest before exiting the captain’s cabin.
Red pushes him palm against the arm of his chair, tilting around to look back at her as she leaves. He wants to say something, to open up or open her up to actually giving him anything to work with, but alas, nothing comes and he is okay with that.
Red pushes out of the chair and follows her out of the Skeld and onto the platform.
The outside world is bright and musky, the smell of a seedy underworld of crime, corruption and backdoor deals having a humid and pungent reek of their own. Red gags at it, Purple looks at him with an embarrassed confusion as she can’t quite understand what his deal is.
Both stand at attention as the Shipwright steps out to meet them, a clipboard in his green hands.
“Hello! Welcome to Smuggland, I am Shipwright Shamrock, but you can both call me Green if it makes it easier for you.”
A smaller crewmate follows behind him with a diagnostic cart, shuffling her yellow feet as the weight of the object refuses to work with her.
Red looks between them, then takes the bottle of water out of Green’s shirt pocket and starts drinking.
Green stares at Red, unable to process the audacity of such an action.
Purple sighs, “Hi, yes, thank you, Shamrock, mind if we stick with that? We just need to get this company property which was totally not stolen after an alien invasion back into working order so we can return to our destination, is that something we can do here?”
Green looks between Red and Purple, then nods to Yellow.
“Dandelion here is our diagnostics expert, she can get the ship figured out, but you said this ship is company property?”
Red whinges, “yeah, it is company property and we got into a slight detour to Industria—”
Green butts in, “that’s funny you say that, this ship was registered as scrap about two months ago, we let you land because we assumed you were a salvage crew pretending to be M.I.R.A. operatives, not genuine corpo-rats. Is this ship scrapped or not?”
Purple glances to Red, Red glancing back with a huge sigh of relief flowing from his chest.
“Oh, thank the stars, no, this ship is salvaged scrap and we are trying to get it re-registered under new ownership,” Red says, bending under the weight of relief, his palms pressing into his knees.
Green looks to Yellow, then back to Purple, “Right, since it seems you’re the competent of the two, we can get your salvage retitled, we just need about eighty-thousand beans to get the documents forged and everything filed so you can land at any port.”
Red screams, holding his knees as they feel about to give out under the weight of the sudden expenses.
Purple would join him, but that would lose all of her bargaining ability. “How about a trade?”
Green looks to Yellow, who shrugs, “alright? What’s your trade?”
Purple pulls at her collar, letting some of the heat out. “A fully-equipped medical lab and a fully-stocked kitchen inventory?”
Yellow looks to Green, now speaking up, “Shamrock, that’s about enough, I would need to get aboard and do a proper inventory, but medical equipment is in high demand currently.”
Green grumbles, then looks back to Red and Purple.
“Alright, we will consider it. Give us a day to take inventory of your ship and we will get back to you about the offer. Understood?”
Red and Purple look between each other before nodding nearly from standing to bowing in thankfulness that they aren’t about to be stranded here.
“Absolutely, absolutely, is there any way we can be directed to overnight lodging?” Red stands back straight, the suave and charm smoothing over his voice.
“Uh, sure, go down to the terminal and take Shuttle Six, it will get you to where you need to go. Just be back here tomorrow before noon and we can go over your outstanding fees.” Green steps aside, then moves passed Red and Purple for the ship, Yellow following in tow.
That evening, at the Pilot’s Hotel, Red swings his legs over the side of the bed, watching Purple’s back as she does her hair in the mirror.
“Kind of a lucky break, huh?”
“Kind of?” Purple looks at Red in the reflection, her visor traveling across his awkward and avoidant features, “I don’t know where you’re keeping all this luck, but I sure hope it doesn’t run out, Red.”
Red looks up, catching her glance before they both look away, finding anything else in the room to focus on.
Red stares at his coat, the bulkier and broader fit covering up but not fully concealing the longer, purple coat, the thinner fabric much more comfortable for constant or quick maneuvering.
Purple, on the other hand, returned her focus to herself, finishing up her hair in the mirror.
“I like to think the luckiest part of all that happened,” Red says, a relaxed sigh leaving him as he sits up straighter, “getting you on that ship with me. If it were anybody else, Purple, I wouldn’t be having this conversation, now, would I?”
Purple looks back to him in the reflection, her features softening to see him so vulnerable. She turns around and leans on the corner of the vanity, her focus falling on him. It’s been a long few weeks, but he’s right and she knows he’s right. That uncomfortable bit of truth he sometimes can come out with when they moment gets too quiet, when he thinks too long about something and it eventually blurts itself out.
He sighs, she sighs, then their focuses fall away from each other.
“I would still be broke, struggling to find any work,” Purple pulls the hem of her tanktop up, wiping her brow with the fabric and exposing her toned-by-malnourished belly to the red other.
Red leans back, then lays back, his visor finding comfort in the patterns on the ceiling. “I would be dead with everyone else in my crew.”
Purple grabs a towel from beneath the hotel sink and steps into the doorway of the bathroom.
“Don’t think about it too long tonight, Red, okay? We can focus on other things tomorrow. Tonight, I’m going to enjoy my first running shower in months, take full advantage of this in-unit washing machine, then sleep free as a dove in that other bed.”
Red looks over at Purple, “not wanting to cuddle?”
Purple’s visor tilts, a smile falling across her as the bathroom door closes.
“As friends! Friends can cuddle, right? Right!? Come on, don’t make it weird!”
“Looks like you’re only a couple-hundred beans short of the bundle, Captain Purple,” Yellow says, double-checking her inventory list, “I could remove the repair from the list of services and bring you just under the registration requirements, but you’re going to want to get that taken care of sooner rather than later.”
Yellow turns the clipboard around for Purple, her visor reflecting the dollar-signs due for the number of beans they can salvage from the inventory of the Skeld.
“I’m not the captain, that would be Red, but how would we get enough beans to get the cargo bay repaired?” Purple looks through the inventory list, no personal effects appear to be on the invoice, neither does any of the kitchen, the only things here are the lab equipment and that is not the biggest loss to her.
“Well, you could get a forward payment if you were willing to deliver the medical equipment to Crimis II, it would save us the logistics and time of unloading, unpacking and hiring another crew to deliver your cargo to its intended destination.”
“And that would cover the repair and the ship registration?”
“If you were willing to wait a couple hours longer, yes, it would cover both but we will need a new ship name when the ship is registered,” Yellow says. She takes the clipboard back from Purple.
Purple nods, mulling it over before looking back to the Skeld, then her focus returns to Yellow.
“Do it, I’ll go tell the Captain we’re taking a delivery job and then we’ll be out of your hair.” Purple steps passed Yellow.
“See you in a couple hours.”
“Like space pirates, if that sounds fun to you,” Purple says, leaning on the edge of the bed.
Red wipes the sleep from his visor, his focus on the ceiling rolling over to Purple as she finally finishes speaking.
“I prefer privateers, less illegal-criminal-underworldy and much more commissioned-legal-approved. With less scurvy.”
“Alright, call us whatever you like, but we do need a name for the Skeld. It has to be reregistered under a new name and that one is already taken.”
“Well,” Red gets a grin, “we are calling it the M.I.R.A. Thunderfu—”
“No we are not,” Purple groans.
“Fine, fine, how about, uh—” Red thinks a few seconds, “the Cool Beans?”
Purple sighs, disappointment eating her up at such a ridiculous suggestion.
“Fine! We call it the Purple’s Choice!”
Purple grips the sides of her head, what poor choices, “at this rate, we should just call that shitbox anyth—”
“The Shitbox, what a fantastic name for a fantastic ship!” Red snaps his fingers, sitting up.
“Wait, you’re not serious, are you?”
“Well, of course I am! I did say it was Purple’s choice, didn’t I?”
“I thought Purple’s Choice was a ship name, not—”
“I’ll go get it registered right now, Miss Meow.”
Purple’s whole body shudders at that one, leaving her unable to react quickly enough as Red flies out the door undressed and quickly dressing.
Purple gives chase.
Yellow looks over the documentation, the registered name somehow being approved to the ship’s new identifiable number. “Seems everything is in ship-shape,” Yellow shoots a finger gun that quickly flops as she realizes her genius is unappreciated.
“Sign here and you two can be on your way,” Yellow hands over the clipboard.
Red looks to Purple, Purple looks to the clipboard then back to Red.
“We doing this?”
“We? That includes me, Purps, and I am the E of We and Me.” Red signs his name on the clipboard, registering his ship for the delivery job of one cargo of medical supplies to Crimis II.