To Nab a Nephew

**aka: Mortimer's Trip**

### ~Prolouge~

An old man sat by a window overlooking Nexus City. It was a decent view, but the old man wasn't looking at the city. He was looking above it. At the Stars.

Out there, somewhere, was a planet by the name of Militiregnum. A world of wizards, magic, kings and queens, and all things lordly and medieval and whatnot. Or at least, it had been, up until a few months ago, it seemed.

The old man glanced down at the datapad in his hand. Yes. Apparently, the diabolical madman behind the heinous Faction Wars, thedude, had escaped custody and landed on the planet, quickly taking it over with advanced technology, and his evil minions. Foremost among them, a bizarre creature called 'Barney'.

He scrolled through the rest of the Nexus Force report. The planet was now being blockaded by the Force, since they couldn't mount a full scale assault just yet on thedude. Apparently, it hadn't taken long for him to become entrenched, and surveillance suggested that the criminal mastermind was now on a quest to conquer the whole planet.

The man set the datapad down on the dresser with a sigh, and picked up a framed photo depicting his old geezer self in a white labcoat, and a young boy in a green polo.

"Don't worry, Perry, M'boy. Your Uncle is coming."

### ~Chapter 1~

Mortimer scratched off another number off the list and tapped the next one. The number beamed over from his tablet to his smartphone and began dialing as he shuffled through his sock drawer for actual socks.

Finding a few pairs amid the various knicknackeries, he folded them up tightly and set them inside his rolling suitcase. As he went back for boxers, the phone reached a voicemail.

"Hello, you've reached Don," said a tired middle-aged male voice. "Leave a name, phone number, and if this is about a trip, your destination or destinations, and I'll get back to you when I can. Bye...."

Just as the phone gave the beep, Mortimer said, "Tesla, Hang up." The phone did.

Tossing a healthy amount of underwear into the suitcase, he tapped the next number, and dove into his closet for some appropriate travelling clothes.

"Let's see. I'll need something comfortable. However, once I arrive, I may need to be presentable to a certain degree. Especially if I want the help of the local authorities in finding Perry on a planet with no working scientific advancement. The poor souls."  Mortimer paused. "How does that even work?"

Before he could lose himself thinking about that, his phone stopped ringing.

"He-hello?"

Mortimer jumped, banging his head on the bar on which his clothing hung.

"Fiddlesticks!"

"Hello?"

"Hi! Hullo! Yes! My name is Nathaniel D. Mortimer, and I would like a ride. Ow, that really smarts." Mortimer rubbed his head as he shuffled over to the phone on his bed and picked it up.

The voice on the other end, an female voice, sounded somewhat groggy. "Oh." She muttered something incomprehensible. "Alright. When and where, Sir?"

"Well, you're not going to like either of those, so let me start off that I'm going to reimburse you very well. 10,000 U-coins.

There was silence on the other end. Mortimer kept his sighing internal and answered the first question.

"As soon as possible, I'd like to go to the Militiregnum System."

The line remained quiet, and then all sound was cut. He pulled the phone away from his ear. No, he had not been hung up on. Suddenly, the background static reappeared. "Please hold, sir." The line went quiet.

*'I've been put on mute,'* Mortimer realized.  He set the phone down and continued to pack his suitcase.

A minute or two later, the phone crackled again. "Mr. Mortimer, sir?"

"Yes, I'm here!" Mortimer said, nearly finished with his suitcase, and packing a smaller duffle-bag with other items he thought he could use for his trip.

A deep breath. "I can take you to the Militiregnum system, but I won't be challenging any blockades. If we run into resistance, no amount of money will make me risk my life or yours, ok?"

"Smart girl!" Mortimer yelled before thinking. "Um. I mean, yes, that makes perfect sense, my dear."

"Good. Meet me in Nexus Tower, tomorrow morning, 0800 hours. Hanger level 93d. Ask for Fiona, that's me."

"Wonderful! Thank you, Fiona! I'll be there!"

"See you there, Sir." She hung up.

Grinning, Mortimer said, "48th time's the charm!"

He checked his suitcase and duffle-bag. What else would he need? He'd already gotten the essentials: Clothes, hygiene, medications. Self defense.

"No. Wait. My taser might not work on the planet," Mortimer realized.  "What to do... What to do..."

*'Well, '* he thought. *'I could still use it for there and back.'* He packed his tablet and slipped his phone in his pocket. Considering the medieval setting, Mortimer wondered what sort of backup he could use...

He decided to think about it, as he finished putting everything else in order. The newspaper was cancelled, his neighbor would house-visit for the mail and his cat Giblett, and the basement would be locked up and everything in there would be stable and not explode.

Walking in on Peragrine's room to make sure everything was in order, he saw an old slingshot on his Nephew's dresser.

"Bingo!" Mortimer knew what barbaric form of self defense he would use.  A souped-up Slingshot. Already, his mind began drafting an invention that quickly became something between a crossbow and a slingshot. He rushed downstairs to see if he could gather the materials, since there wasn't enough time to make it before tomorrow.

### ~Chapter 2~

Mortimer arrived in Nexus Tower at 8:00 am. At 8:15, he arrived on the 93rd floor, breathless with his luggage. A rolling suitcase, a duffle-bag, a slim backpack, and a fanny pack. This was without mentioning his very long brown overcoat with innumerable pockets, stuffed with their own items.

Stopping a passing Janitor with a sweaty hand, he asked breathlessly, "I'm...Fiona Flights?"

The Janitor seemed offended to be stopped from his work, but pointed a finger into the hanger beyond and said "Bay 30 today. You're late."

"Tell me something I don't know!" Mortimer cried, his face smiling, but his eyes in panic, as he and his bundles took off.

The Janitor yelled back something, but all Mortimer heard was something about 'coming back ever again'.  He paid it no heed as he rushed past the huge bays with their big blue numbers painted over each one. The numbers started at one and alternated down the way.

Running down the hanger's length, Mortimer saw a small, younger-looking, red-haired girl dressed in a mechanic's coveralls. She was talking with a man who appeared to be about the same age, dressed in jeans and a button down shirt, with rolled up sleeves. He was a full head and shoulders taller. They were walking towards him, but did not immediately look up at him, as the woman seemed irritated, and was going off about something. The man simply nodded, and listened.

"Oh dear." Mortimer thought aloud.  Was this Fiona?

A moment later, the two noticed the hustling old man. "Oh no," Mortimer saw her mouth. She turned to the man, who seemed to agree with whatever she said. Coming into conversation range, Mortimer said, "Hullo! You wouldn't happen to be Miss Fiona, the woman I spoke to on the phone last night?" He stuck a free hand out.

The woman attempted to put her irritation behind a professional facade, as she shook his hand, but for Mortimer, it didn't work.

"Yes. And you must be none other than Mr. Mortimer."

"Guilty as charged!" he chuckled. He glanced nervously up at the man next to her. "Who might this stud be?" Up close he was even more intimidating, as Mortimer found that the man (unsurprisingly) dwarfed his own height, which he considered average.

*'Then again, age and my time bent over a tinkerer's desk hasn't helped that.'* He reasoned.

The man was about to respond, but Fiona answered before he could.

"Oh, he's my boyfriend." She laid a hand on his arm. Mortimer assumed it was meant for his shoulder, but she wasn't tall enough.

"The name's Tuk," he said, swallowing Mortimer's hand in his own in a bone-crushing handshake.

"Pleased to make both your acquaintances!" Mortimer exclaimed. They both smiled kindly, as a awkward pause quickly began to take root.

Mortimer wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. "Ahh. I'm terribly sorry I'm late," he said, bending over in exhaustion. "I hope you weren't giving up on me....? Sitting down precariously on his rolling suitcase, he turned on the 'harmless old man' charm, and glanced up at the two.

The two glanced at each other. Mortimer caught it all. The boyfriend's eyes gave her a strengthening, defiant look. The girls were undecided, then in askance. She visibly shrugged, to which he blinked, confused.

"But, I thought you sai-" he began.

"I changed my mind," she announced. Turning to Mortimer, she smiled. Genuinely, this time. "Sure, Mr. Mortimer. We'll take you." She turned around and waved a hand back as she walked to bay 30. "Come on."

Mortimer couldn't stop a crinkly smile from spreading across his face. That is, until he saw the big man next to him give him dagger eyes that turned into rolling ones before he jogged to catch up with his girlfriend.

Mortimer watched the big burly man run off after the lithe little lady. Then he looked down at his old frail self and all of his luggage.

Sighing, he muttered, "It's okay, Nathaniel. You're not paying for manners. Only to get there in one piece. After all, I'm sure things will only get rougher when I arrive!"

### ~Chapter 3~

Fiona's ship was a small and compact affair. Mostly a mass of engines which wrapped around the entire shuttle, tapering slightly towards the front of the ship, which had a full, head to toe bubble canopy windshield.   It had very little armor, and only two laser canons on the fore of the shuttle which he doubted would be any use against anything but asteroids. Mortimer was certain that there wasn't a single spot on the ship that one laser blast wouldn't cause the entire kit and kaboodle to explode in an instant inferno.

Seeing Mortimer's critical eye, Tuk replied. "It may not look like much, but it will get you to where your going in a hurry."

Ahead of them, Fiona pushed a button on a wrist control and the back of the shuttle popped open and lowered itself down, lending itself as a ramp to the cozy interior.  She hurried past the passenger/cargo area and into the two-seater cockpit. Putting on a headset she plopped down in the right Pilot's seat and rapidly went through preflight.

Mortimer stowed his things inside one of the benches on either side of the shuttle, as directed by Tuk.

"Doesn't it get terribly hot in here with the engines all around us?" Mortimer asked.

Tuk shook his head. "Not really. The ship is so small that the individual engines don't work hard enough to overheat." He scratched his head. "Although we'll certainly give them a workout going into hyperdrive all the way to Militiregnum..." he said.

Mortimer shrugged. Sitting down on the bench, he fished out a few parts of his unfinished slingshot, which was fast becoming a sort of 'any ammo' crossbow. There was the slingshot, and a length of wood that he imagined would rest on his right forearm and help him steady his aim. Taking out a multi-tool from another pocket, he began to tinker with it.

Tuk remained standing. Glancing at the Cockpit, Fiona swiveled her seat around to give him a thumbs up. Then she pointed at Mortimer and rubbed her fingers together, her eyebrows knitting in query.

"Oh. Right." He remembered. "Uh, one thing, Mr. Mortimer."

Mortimer looked up. "Yes?"

"Do you have your payment?"

Mortimer facepalmed. "Ah! Yes, of course." He set aside the contraption and fished through his pockets. It took a few tries, but eventually he found the payment in his left boot. "Half here, and half there, fair?"

Tuk nodded, hefting the payment. They both looked over at the Cockpit, where Fiona was leaning out from her pilot seat. Only then did she go for ignition.

All around, Mortimer heard the sound of the four main engines coming online. It was like a strangely comforting roar of a big cat.  Not as harsh as a lion. More like a tiger. What was not comforting was the bright, static-like charge he got all over.  He glanced up at Tuk, who was now sitting down on the bench across from him, and strapping himself into the harness on the wall behind him. Mortimer fumbled with his straps and got them on as well.

Apparently, Mortimer decided, the static electricity was normal-ish? He decided not to ask about it.

Since the engines completely encased this rear portion of the shuttle, he didn't get a good view of their departing from Nexus Tower, but pretty soon, he felt them accelerating very rapidly.

"Is this ship equipped with inertial dampeners?" he asked.

Tuk had been staring towards the cockpit, and the limited view. It took him a moment to process Mortimer's question. "Huh? Oh, no, not for sublight. We do have some artificial gravity tiles on the top and bottom back here, but you'll still notice a much lighter gravity than normal once we go into hyperspace. Why, do you get spacesick?" Tuk asked, beginning to reach into a compartment above himself.

Mortimer shook his head. "No, I just haven't been to space in awhile."

Tuk relaxed. "Heh. I can tell. You've packed as if you're moving out."

Mortimer winced. "Perhaps I did overpack.

Suddenly, the engines gave a large whine, and a slight boom announced their transference into hyperspace. Fiona took off her headset, and after flipping a few switches, she stood in the doorway to the rear.

"We're on our way, boys," she announced, as she leaned on the doorframe. "How are you doing, Mr. Mortimer?"

Mortimer glanced at Tuk, who'd unstrapped himself as well, but remained seated.

Mortimer fiddled with his straps, and answered. "Apparently, it's very obvious that I've somehow over- and under- prepared for this trip!" he said, mocking himself. He freed himself just as Tuk got up to intervene. "Aha."

Standing up, he did indeed feel very light. Like a small rock in water. He could easily stand on his toes. "Ah! How novel."

His two hosts smiled. Going over to Tuk, Fiona wrapped an arm around him and hopped up to give him a kiss on the cheek. "We're going to be in hyperspace for awhile," she informed Mortimer. "I hope you have something to pass the time, but if not, we do!" She moved to the wall and pressed a button. An outline in the floor at their feet hissed and the panel rose up to create a table. From it, a holographic interface came up.

Mortimer grinned. "Actually, I did prepare for that," he said, as he motioned to his unfinished contraption sitting on the bench next to him. "I hope you don't mind my tinkering with it? I promise not to leave a mess, unlike in my workshop at home!" he assured.

Fiona waved a dismissive hand. "A little monkey grease won't hurt it. In fact, go ahead and use the table." She wiped the holographics away with a hand, leaving the metal table bare.

Mortimer was pleased, and it showed. "Ah! Well, Thank you. Don't mind if I do." He pulled out a few tools from his pockets and got to work in earnest with his contraption. Tuk and Fiona inspected the contraption, no doubt trying to figure out what it was. However, after a moment, Fiona patted Tuk on the back. "I'm going to be in the Cockpit, reading," she said. Tuk nodded, before giving her a kiss. "Love you, babe," he said. She smiled roguishly and flitted over to the cockpit.

Smiling to himself, Mortimer said nothing.

Tuk eventually tore his eyes from the cockpit doorway to look at Mortimer's work. "What is it?" he finally asked.

Mortimer barely contained his comment of 'I thought you'd never ask!'.

"It's a ... Well, I suppose it's more of a crossbow now. It started life as my Nephew's slingshot." He said. He picked it up in his right hand and let the unfinished stock rest on his forearm. "I think I'll need a quicker way of pulling it back though. I'm not strong enough to crank it manually like a real crossbow, nor would I want to bend over and cock it with my foot like others."

Tuk frowned. "Wouldn't a gun be better for you then?"

Mortimer nodded. "Yes, but I'm heading down to Militiregnum's surface, where apparently, they don't work. I-"

"Wait, you want to go down to the surface???" Tuk asked, alarmed.

Internally, Mortimer facepalmed. "Well, yes, but-"

Tuk shook his head, and calmly stood up and went over to the Cockpit. "Fiona, we're not taking this guy down to Militiregnum, are we?"

Mortimer heard her reply calmly, but with a hint of exasperation at being interrupted in her reading. "No. I told him that I- we. Wouldn't be challenging any blockades. There's one set up around Milt now."

Tuk visibly relaxed. "Ok. Good. I'd hate to get stuck on that forsaken mudball."

"You and me both, Tuk."

Tuk nodded, and was about to turn back to Mortimer, but then he leaned back over. "Of course, if you were there, it might not be so bad..."

She laughed, but Mortimer could tell she was already distracted, probably by reading again.  Tuk came and sat back down across from Mortimer, who'd whittled a track into the wood stock and barrel.

Mortimer muttered to himself. He would need to shape a metal piece specifically for this design. It would fit into the groove, and give him a handle that he could slide back, pulling the sling back.  Once it would click into the latch, then it would fire like a regular crossbow, with a release.

"I suppose it would be too much to ask if you had a welding torch on hand?" he asked.

Tuk glanced at the bench beneath him. "It's not really a good idea to use it while the ship's in hyperspace..." he said.

Mortimer nodded. He decided to work on other parts of the weapon in the meantime.

A few hours passed. Tuk alternated between Mortimer and Fiona, watching and talking.

At one point, having returned from the cockpit, he flopped down on his bench and sighed.

Mortimer had lived long enough to know that kind of sigh. The man had something on his mind. So he asked him as much.

"What's on your mind, m'boy?"

Tuk shook his head, looking at the doorway.

Mortimer hazarded a guess. "She's a fine young woman."

Tuk's eyes lit up in alarm. Not making eye contact with Mortimer, he lightly scrambled over the table and sat next to Mortimer, leaning a bit to see if he could see Fiona in her pilot seat. She was sunk far into it, but apparently he saw what he was looking for, and he relaxed, sitting down next to Mortimer.

"Ok. She's got headphones on."

Mortimer set down his work.  "What's the problem?" he asked.

Tuk looked down at the old man next to him. "You've ever been in love, sir?"

Mortimer smiled. "Oh yes."

"What's it like?"

Mortimer gave it some thought.  "Being in love is.... all consuming. When you love someone, truly love someone, they're all you can think about when they're not with you..." He glanced at Tuk, who was now looking back at the cockpit.

"And sometimes even when they are!" Mortimer added. Tuk turned back, slightly embarrassed. He motioned for Mortimer to continue.

Distant memories, from what seemed like a whole other lifetime ago surfaced in his memory. They were broken and shattered because they were from before his terrible Maelstrom accident. He tried hard to capture just the feelings, but it was like looking through murky water to a shattered mirror covered in purple algae.

"It's... It's...." he sighed wistfully. "It's the most powerful emotion of all." He assured Tuk. "It can inspire a man beyond all understanding or damn one to the deepest despair.  Everyone searches for it, because it's the best feeling in the world, and yet, before, during, or after their pursuit of it,  it will cause people unimaginable pain." His smile broke softly, and he rubbed his temples. "Yet, it remains insanely popular," he muttered.  Glancing up at the young man next to him, he took pity on his confused face. "I'm sorry, none of this is very helpful, is it?"

Tuk shook his head. "No, no... " He seemed to be trying to find something nice to say, but instead he groaned, plastering his hands to his face. "No, it's not."

Mortimer picked up his tools to resume building, but then realized he'd totally forgotten his train of thought with his creation. Dropping the tool, he leaned back against the bench.

"I wish I could help you more, my good man, but the mystery of love is something every man must unravel for themselves to fully understand." He stretched his neck. "I had my chance, and age has taken that particular token of wisdom from me." He continued, half muttering now. "Not that it would help you."

Tuk pulled his hands off his face and turned his head to Mortimer. "Did you ever get married?" Suddenly, hearing that question out loud, he realized how personal it was. "Um, if you're ok talki-"

"No." Mortimer said. "No, I never got married." He was staring at the ceiling.  "I do remember being engaged, but her face is lost to me now."

Tuk didn't really know what to say, except more questions. "So she said yes?"

Mortimer smiled at the ceiling. "I think so.  It was in a lab. I was so happy that I'd surprised her. I know her answer wasn't a straight yes or no.  Emotions are complex." He frowned.

"So then what happened between being enga-"

"She died."

Tuk bowed his head. "I'm sorry."

"That's alright."

"If you don't mind my as-"

"I don't remember how."

"But you don't regret meeting her?"

Mortimer was silent. Tuk looked back at him, and saw that he'd closed his eyes in concentration. He laid a gentle hand on Mortimer's thin shoulder. "Sir?"

Mortimer groaned softly, rubbing his head as he bent over his knees. "That's just it, m'boy. I can't remember her." Tuk leaned over to check on him.

Suddenly, the old man snapped his head up and gripped Tuk's wrists in two talon-like grips. "If you ever get the chance to live your life out with your one true love, don't you DARE pass it up. Everything else will become empty and hollow if she gets away."

Surprised by the old man's swift change, Tuk didn't stop to think before he spoke again.

"What if I'm not sure she feels the same?"

"Tell her anyway, Tuk. Only the truth shall set you free."

"But what if she rejects me? What if she says no?"

"Then you shall have an answer, and the both of you will be better for it."

Tuk's face showed he wasn't certain of that. "At least now I work with her. I see her, I can talk with her."

Mortimer finally let go of Tuk's wrists, but he remained agitated, a strange violet glint burning in his eyes. He stood up and edged around the table till there was a small area between the rear ramp-door and the table where he could tread two feet back and forth.

"Yes, my nephew would call that the 'friend zone.' Do you want to be her *friend* forever?" The old man's burning gaze pierced right through the young one's.

Something inside Tuk reacted with revulsion. "No. No, I want to hold her. I want to hold her tight and never let her go. I want to keep her safe and make her laugh and see her every day for the rest of my life."

Mortimer nodded vigorously. "Go on!"

Tuk trembled. "I want to care for her, know all about her, hold no secrets from her, and her no secrets from me!" At some point, he'd stood up. "I..."

He glanced down at himself and realized he was very near to yelling. He took a deep breath. "But..." he whispered as he sat down. "...it doesn't mean anything if she doesn't feel the same way."

"Feel the same way about what?"

Tuk whipped around so fast that he banged his knee on the table, making the various tools and items jump.

"Fiona!" he yelped, seeing her leaning out of the Pilot's seat with one side of the headset pulled back.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," she said under her breath. "I felt people walking around. Is everything ok back there? What are you guys talking about?"

Mortimer replied cheerily. "You'll have to ask your boyfriend. He's the one who's going on and on about something!"

Tuk whipped his head back around to Mortimer. He could still see something simmering under his casually crossed arms and disarming smile...

"Tuk-hunk? You ok?"

Tuk turned back to Fiona. "Never better, babe!" he chuckled nervously. She beamed a smile at him, and the ache in his knee faded like magic.

"What were you guys talking about?" she asked.

Tuk searched frantically for a good reason. 'Anything but the truth!' was his initial reaction. "The ship," he blurted.

*" 'Tiona',*" muttered Mortimer behind him.

Fiona raised an eyebrow, glancing at the ship around them. "What about it?"

"He says it's a deathtrap," Tuk mentioned.

Now Mortimer raised an eyebrow at Tuk. Sure, he'd asked a lot of questions about the ship over the past few hours, but he'd never said it was a *deathtrap*... It was just... something he would have built, not something he would have expected a legitimate company to mass-produce.

Fiona's lips pursed together at the insult directed at her ship. "Well, this 'deathtrap' is going to get you to your destination in-" she checked the dashboard behind her. "-just over 3 hours from now, so deal with it."

Then she flicked her headphones back on and went back to reading. "And I'll have you know, this ship and her pilot have never been defeated, so there!" she called back.

*'Of course I know that,'* Mortimer thought. *'Because if you'd ever taken even just one hit, neither ship or crew  would be here to talk about it...!'*

~~~~~~~

After that, Tuk didn't ask any more questions. He was quiet, almost sullen. Mortimer found it hard to concentrate on his building. He didn't get very far with his crossbow.

The next few hours went by quickly and quietly, with only the hum of the engines for noise.

"Alright boys, strap in!" Fiona said. "We're going out of hyperspace in a few minutes now, and you don't want to get thrown off your feet."

\

### ~Chapter 4~

Commander Quinton sat down in the captain's chair with an over-sized mug of black coffee. His well-kept bushy sheriff's style mustache wriggled under his nose as he took a big sniff of the lovely aroma.

Normally, he didn't drink coffee. In space, there really wasn't a concept of day and night. Therefore, no morning to have coffee in.

But today he would drink it non-stop to stay awake. Today he had bridge duty.

Alas that he couldn't delegate this mind-numbing task to his underlings forever. He took a deep swig. Yes sir, today, his only challenge would be to not fall asleep to the sounds of interns whispering and consoles beeping, chirping, chiming, and humming away all around him. All of it meaning nothing to him. Unless something terribly drastic happened. He took another sip. Did he want something to happen? He considered this question as he leaned back in his chair.

On one hand, that would mean he wouldn't have the trouble of trying not to fall asleep. On the other, that would mean trouble, now wouldn't it?  Scratching his head, he then readjusted his uniform's cap on his full gray-haired head. Between the two, he supposed he'd rather take the trouble of not falling asleep over some other unknown tr-

"Sir, I have a vessel approaching from hyperspace!"

Internally, Commander Quinton cursed his wandering mind for jinxing a perfectly quiet day.

"Is it one of ours? Is it friendly?" he asked, sipping his cup of coffee as he turned to the intern who'd spoken.

Another intern spoke. "It's not Nexus Force, but whatever it is, it's small."

"Charge Ion cannons," Quinton said.  "Just in case."

"They're hailing," "Sensors say it's a civilian signature," "They'll be here in minutes," Inputted various underlings all around him.

"Put it through."

The audio was riddled with static, since it was connecting through hyperspace, but they could hear the female voice well enough. "Hailing Nexus Force Blockade. This is Fiona Shepp, piloting her personal starship *'Aero'*. I have a passenger who wishes to go down to the surface of Militiregnum. Do you read?"

The commander's various personnel looked to him as he responded.

"This is Commander Quinton of the Nexus Force Blockade around Militiregnum, to the personal starcraft *'Aero*'. I'm afraid all traffic to and from the surface of Militiregnum has been restricted. Your passenger will not be allowed to land. Do you copy?"

There was a static silence, as expected. Then the Pilot replied. "Understood. Once we drop out of hyperspace, may we dock with the blockade? My passenger would like to speak with you all personally. It's a matter most important to him."

Commander Quinton signaled for a mute, then looked to one of his subordinates. "What can you make of their weapons status?"

"Sir, they have a lot of energy for their class size, but I think most of it is engine capacity, not weaponry. Either way, something so small poses no true threat to the blockade."

"What is it's class size?" Quinton demanded. In response, his crew threw up a quickly forming holographic schematic of the fast-approaching vessel. It was indeed very small. Weapon capabilities were little to none.

"Scramble some light fighters, we don't want it to slip past our big guns," he stated.

"Commander Quinton, do you copy?" the pilot repeated.

Motioning to the communications officer, the mute was lifted, and he replied. "I copy you, *Aero*. If you come out of hyperspace and power down all non-essential systems, we'll tractor you in to a hanger. We don't want you sneaking past us to the embattled planet below."

"Understood. I'll power down the engines as soon as I drop out of Hyperspace."

The Commander turned to one of his men. "Have the *Venture Ques*t tractor them to it's hanger. Inform Captain Benedict that he will be having some visitors, including myself."

"Sir, Yes sir," "Aye-aye," "Yes, Commander." The various stations sprang to life as everyone set to do their part to keep the blockade running smoothly under this new development.

~~~~

Mortimer stepped off of the ramp of the *'Aero'* with his fanny pack, backpack, and rolling suitcase. He was greeted by armed guards of both Sentinel and Venture League factions.

"State your name and business." One of them said. "All of you."

Mortimer's eyebrows raised, not exactly expecting such a welcome party, but he nevertheless complied as he stepped aside for Tuk, who was carrying his duffle-bag. "My name is Dr. Nathaniel D. Mortimer, and these are my travelling companions, Tuk, and the Pilot whom you spoke with, Fiona."

Everyone, including Tuk and Mortimer leaned forward to look into the shuttle at Fiona, who was still finishing something in the cockpit.

"Miss Fiona, I need you out of the ship now," demanded one of the guards.

"Coming, coming. You don't want it to float away do you?" Having finished whatever final Pilot check she had been doing, she hurried out and stood next to Tuk.

Giving them all a final look over, the same guard nodded. "Follow us."

Mortimer had a bad feeling about this....

### ~Chapter 5~

Mortimer's fears were unfounded. At least, where the Nexus Force were concerned.

They had been brought to a sort of Captain's Mess, with most of the captains and commanders of the blockade present. There, they had a decent meal, while the various authorities had badgered him, Tuk, and Fiona with questions. Eventually, they all seemed satisfied by their innocence, and it was arranged to get Fiona and Tuk re-provisioned and underway within the next 24 hours. Until then, the three travelers were given rooms to get some rest.

Despite Mortimer's best efforts, he had barely got a word in edgewise about his reasons for coming. Every time he asked about going down to the planet, he was flat-out refused or the question was deflected.

Exhausted by the rapid verbal exchanges, and filled with good food, Mortimer had fallen asleep quickly, but now awoke to his room's door-chime. It took his clouded mind a moment to realize what it was, and where he was. It rang again. Seeing his luggage beside him on the bed jogged his memory.

"Oh. Oh! Coming! Com..." He brushed himself down, and realized he'd fallen asleep in his brown lab coat.

*"All the better,"* he thought, before yelling "Come in!" Then he remembered his hair, and quickly ran his hands through it twice before recognizing the entering figure as Tuk.

"Ah, Tuk, m'boy. What do I owe the pleasure?"

Tuk sighed despondently. Clearly, it wasn't a pleasure.

"I told her."

"Ah." Mortimer put things together in his head. "And she was... surprised?"

"More like confused. And so I tried to explain it better, but then she seemed to get offended, and then I sorta tried to backpedal and start over, and that made her angry, and so I decided to just stop trying to explain it and then she was yelling at me to talk and... " He threw up his large meaty hands. "I don't know why I even listened to you, old man." He didn't say this angrily,  which surprised Mortimer. Instead, he sat on the edge of Mortimer's bed, bend over in defeat.

"It just got so quiet and hostile in there that I decided to take a walk."

Mortimer scratched his head. Then he went over and sat next to the gentle giant. "She kicked you out."

"Without ever saying a word."

Mortimer nodded. "Well, I'm no expert bu-"

"I thought you said you were???"

"No, never did. Older doesn't mean wiser. Just more experienced. But let me finish my sentence."

"....Sorry."

Mortimer thought to pat him on the shoulder, but then, remembering how Fiona had done before during their trip, he decided not to.

"I was going to say that you handled that well enough."

This elicited an actual reaction from Tuk. He leaned away from Mortimer and gave him a nearly disdainful look.

Mortimer explained. "Well, you didn't get hit with anything. That's a plus. Do you think you got your message through, even if it was a bit cut up?"

Tuk pondered. "I... I think so."

"If you're not sure, then you better go back in there and make sure."

Tuk shook his head vehemently. "No, I'm sure."

Mortimer nodded. "Then all you can do is wait. When are you two leaving again?"

"A few hours from now."

"Then in that case, you can, as they say, 'crash' here."

Tuk was silent for awhile. Mortimer waited patiently.

"What am I going to do if she doesn't want to see me anymore?" he whispered.

"I highly doubt she's going to leave you here," Mortimer replied.

"Worse, what if she doesn't say anything, and I'm left wondering the whole ride back?"

"Then you'll have to ask her what she thinks, not wonder the whole way back, man."

Tuk shuddered, but Mortimer wasn't sure if it was out of worry or fear or something else. "I think I'm going crazy."

"Good! You'd have to not be human to not be going crazy with a lover like that. Red-haired ones are always a handful."

Tuk snorted in slight amusement. "All right, Mr. Mortimer. I've taken your advice this far, I might as well keep going with it. I'll try and get some rest on the couch there."

"Good man!"

Tuk settled down on the couch, while Mortimer laid back down atop his covers on his bed.

Neither man got a single solid hour of sleep.

### ~Chapter 6~

It was 'early morning' according to Mortimer's internal clock. Roughly two more hours till Tuk and Fiona were due to leave.

Mortimer intended to see them off, so he thought about getting up and make himself presentable. First, he'd take all of the extra items out of his pockets. Then he'd smooth down his coat, and comb his hair. Maybe find his toothbrush and get some fresh minty breath...

The door chime went off. Both men reluctantly got up. "Who is it?" Mortimer asked. A microphone picked up the voice from the other side.

"It's Fiona. Sorry to bother you, Mr. Mortimer, but I heard th-"

Tuk was already at the door, and it slid open.

"-at Tuk was... here."

Fiona stared up into Tuk's eyes. He noticed that she'd been crying. He wondered if that was a good or bad sign. Then he berated himself. It didn't matter what she'd been crying about, he didn't want her to of cried at all! The next thing he noticed was that she was fully dressed in her coveralls, ready to leave already.

"Are we leaving already?"

Fiona shook her head, as he gaze dropped. "Maybe in a little bit. It's all ready." She was hardly speaking above a whisper, but Tuk hung on every word.

"Invite her in, you doof!" Mortimer said, in a casual voice that broke the delicate silence.

"Um-Ah, Come in," he said, stepping to the side of the doorway.

She smiled and stepped in, then turned and leapt up to wrap her arms around his neck, giving him a romantic kiss. He caught her from falling back down.

"Tucker, I love you," she said, staring into his bewildered amber eyes.

"I... I..." he stared into her dark navy blue ones. Ones that reminded him of space. Infinite, endless, space. Full of terrifying unknowns and indescribable beauties....

"And..." Fiona blushed, and their eye contact broke. She seemed ashamed all of a sudden.

"What's wrong, Fiona?"

"I just... I didn't realize that till today."

Tucker sighed. "I know. I should have told you sooner," he admitted. "But I just didn't have the courage to-"

"-Because you were afraid I'd-"

"Yeah, which you did and-"

"-Well, yeah, I mean, it was a bit sudden!"

"I know."

"But I'm glad you told me."

"...Me too."

"I mean, now I feel like a dork, having never realized you thought of me like *that*!" Fiona said, giving a single nervous laugh as she flicked her hair out of the way.

Tuk's face flushed as he smiled and said, "But I always have. Ever since our first flight to that desert planet."

Now Fiona blushed, but her smile was coy. "That one where the guy never showed up and it was unbearably hot?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm. That makes sense. I'll admit, the sight of you without a shirt still-"

"AHEM."

The two suddenly remembered they were not the only creatures in the universe, and turned their heads to Mortimer, standing there. Tuk spoke up, still smiling.

"Well, old man. I guess you were right."

Mortimer pretended to wipe some nervous sweat off of his face, only to realize that he had actually been sweating. "Good! I'm glad."

"Wait, so he's the reason you decided to tell me?!" Fiona seemed a little indignant.

Tuk's eyes went wide. "Um... yeah?"

She let go of Tuk's hand, stomped over to Mortimer, and gave him a big hug, nearly crushing him with her surprising strength.

"Goodness!" Mortimer squeaked, turning red as a beet with pleasurable embarrassment.  Tuk's face eased, and with it, a weight seemed to visibly lift from his wide shoulders. He stood a little taller. He would have to duck just under the average-sized doorframes now.

Fiona stepped back from Mortimer after wringing him.  "Thanks, Mr. Mortimer," she said. Turning back to Tuk, she took his hand. "There's one thing I need to tell you. Actually, a few."

"Tell me anything."

"Well... I was really angry when you left the room, and once I'd calmed down enough to think, I actually got the Aero ready to fly away by myself- Ruthless, I know, BUT..."

She led him outside, and Mortimer decided to get slightly more presentable before chasing after them to see them off. Besides, he thought sagely, they needed a little alone-time.

A few dozen minutes later showed Mortimer and the happy couple, along with a few hanger workers standing outside the space-ship Aero.

Fiona and Tucker couldn't seem to stop smiling as if there was some constant inside joke they shared.

"Well Mr. Mortimer, it's been an interesting trip," Fiona said. "But I'm glad I decided to take you, even if you were so terribly late."

Tucker shook his head. "And I'm thankful that you're impulsive enough to change your mind after ranting about his lateness for 15 minutes!"

Fiona rolled her eyes, grinning like a schoolgirl.

Mortimer chuckled. "I'm glad it all worked out in the end. Oh!" He fished into one of his pockets, and pulled out a sealed envelope. "It occurred to me last night that I never paid you two upon my arrival!"

Fiona and Tuk seemed surprised by the mundane item of business. It seemed like an entirely different time when they had been concerned about that payment.

Tuk accepted it, as Fiona replied, "Oh! Thanks, Mr. Mortimer, but what you've given us is priceless beyond anything. Here." She handed him her business card. "I know you probably have my business phone already, but I've got Tuk's and mine's personal ones written on the back there. Give us a call if you need a ride anywhere, OK, Nathaniel?"

"Please, call me 'Uncle'." Mortimer suggested. He got some quizzical looks from the two, but he continued before they could say no. "And yes, I most certainly shall! Though not anywhere illegal, I wouldn't want to put you two in that sort of spot. At least, not in that explosive tin can!"  he laughed.

Tuk grinned gently as Fiona laughed with Mortimer. "Yes, I'm afraid I don't do blockade running."

"Smart girl!" Mortimer applauded.

The conversation lulled just long enough for one of the hanger-workers to stick his head out and say, "Hey, so is this ship leaving or not?"

Tuk turned to Fiona. "We should get going."

Fiona bobbed her head in agreement. "Yes. Gotta get back home. You sure you're going to be ok, Mortimer?"

"Oh yes! This is perfect. I'll be able to find my nephew from here!"

Fiona smiled once again.  "Alright. Then, come on, Tuk! Let's get this rocket into the sky!"

"Aren't we already in the sky? Technically speaking?"

"Oh, you know what I mean. And no, sky implies there's atmosphere. We're above that."

"But what about when people say..."

They scurried up the ramp and into the cockpit. As the ramp came up behind them, Mortimer heard them bantering like an already married couple.

Yes indeed, Mortimer was glad he had been right.

### ~Chapter 7~

After seeing Fiona and Tuk off, Mortimer went straight to the bridge with all of the bluster he could muster. He was stopped by guards once or twice, but successfully pulled off the 'irrational old man' card, and thusly acquired an escort directly there.

He was brought to Captain Benedict's attention.

"Doctor Mortimer. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Mortimer wasn't sure if he liked Capt. Benedict yet. His well-combed, vibrantly blond hair and clear, light blue eyes made him look years younger than his voice, which had the full authority of someone in his 30s. At the dinner, he'd proven to be shrewd, thoughtful, and had asked very few questions. Instead, he'd let others do the talking, and Mortimer had felt his eyes scrutinizing him all throughout the dinner. Mortimer had come to the conclusion that Benedict was more of a tactician than a warrior. Hopefully, that meant he and the captain could reason something out.

"Captain Benedict," began Mortimer cordially, surprising the people with whom he'd made a fuss to get here. "I understand from last night's dinner that no one is allowed onto the planet..."

Benedict gave a kind but firm nod.

"So, since that is something of an impossibility, I was hoping to get some help locating my nephew from here. Perhaps with a scan of the planet, or by checking radio chatter. Anything, really. Also-"

"Hold on a moment, Dr. Mortimer. What did you say your Nephew's name was?"

Mortimer paused, not liking having been interrupted. It took a moment for him to stop his train of thought and redirect it along this new path.

"I'm not sure that I did, yesterday. I couldn't get a word in edgewise with the polite interrogation of all those military men," Mortimer said sourly. When he saw Capt. Benedict's momentary indignant flash, Mortimer added, "Not that I hold it against you all. I quite understand your wariness. Space blockades are notoriously hard to maintain."

Benedict gave him a sardonic look.

"Right. Name. My Nephew's name is Peragrine Wanderthistle."

Suddenly, Benedict's calm demeanor became troubled. "I've heard that name before..."

"You have?" Mortimer's excitement leapt up in practically physical form into his throat. So they had reached the blockade!

"Yes. Hold on a moment, Doctor. I'll have our communications officer run a search. Say the name again for me?"

"Peragrine Wanderthistle. He would have been travelling with one other passenger, a friend of his. A 'Starling' or something like that."

The Captain nodded his understanding, and ambled over to his communications officer, who was already sorting through the backlog. The officer asked something to Benedict, who leaned back and waved Mortimer over.

"How far back would this have been?"

"Oh, perhaps a month ago...?"

It took them a few minutes, but soon, the communications officer found the file. However, she paused before opening it up.

"Captain, does he have clearance for this?"

Benedict glanced at a surprised Mortimer, then back at his communications officer.

"It's his kid, Ensign Ette. I'm not going to stand on protocol for this one."

The communications officer looked relieved, and played an audio for them all to hear, as the transcript scrolled along on a screen next to them.

*[Venture Caramel]: "Nexus Force Blockade to unidentified vessel, please identify yourself! I repeat, identify yourself, or we will open fire!"*

*[Unidentified Class-2 Shuttlecraft]:  "Not necessary!"  "Hold your fire!" "And your horses!"*

"That's my Nephew!" Mortimer cried, nearly jumping up and down.

The other two hushed him as they continued to listen.

*[Venture Caramel]: "Friend or foe? Unidentified Nexus Force shuttle, PLEASE identify!"*

*[Unidentified Class-2 Shuttlecraft]: "Roger-roger, blockade, this is Captain Peragrine Wanderthistle, piloting [Cosmic Brownie], a dereli- I mean- decommissioned Nexus Force shuttle that I have aquirr- purchased! Before you ask, my business is my own, but if you must know, I am dropping off a passenger by the name of Stirling Silverstine to the surface. His business is his own."*

"Aha, yes, that was his name!" Mortimer interrupted again. He received some shushing, and they continued to listen.

*[Venture Caramel]: "Well, that passenger better not be a civvie, because its bad down th- did you say 'Silverstine' was his last name?"*

*[Cosmic Brownie]: "Ah,uh. . . "*

*[Venture Caramel]: "Not at all related to the noble family of miners of the same name, I hope?"*

*[Cosmic Brownie]: "Er, well. . .Ye-es?"*

*[Venture Caramel]: "He is?  Well then you better get him on the line. I have bad news for him."*

*-Static-*

*[Cosmic Brownie]: "This is Stirling Silverstine, son of Harrison Silverstine, Son of Sir Harris, conqueror of the Scary Mountain's heart. Tell me, why do you blockade Militeregnum? "*

*[Venture Caramel]: "I hate to give bad news to you, sir, so I'll spit it out and just be done with it. Your father's dead, sir.*

*"Oh," Mortimer thought privately. "That's too bad for my Nephew's friend. Stirling, that was his name! Yes, good man. I think I remember meeting him once or twice. I don't think he liked me," Mortimer mused as the recording droned on. "It must have been my 'crazy old man' vibes..."*

Peragrine's voice came back on the recording, causing Mortimer to pay attention to it again.

*[Cosmic Brownie]: "Oh yeah! He's still here! But see here, I thought there was some spell on the land to stop anything electrical to run?"*

*[Venture Caramel]: "Oh no. Not anymore. When tehdude came onto the throne, he had that old sorcerer who was sustaining it executed, so that he didn't have to rely on froofy unreliable messenger pigeons. But instead get email. Not to mention cable TV. Really popular with night shift guards."*

*[Cosmic Brownie]: "Who is this usurper they call 'thedude'?"*

*[Venture Caramel]: "Only the most powerful enemy this planets ever seen! And perhaps one of the top twenty that the Nexus Force have ever faced! If not top ten! Where have you been for the past few months?!"*

*[Cosmic Brownie]: "The battlefront. Or what I thought was the battlefront. It appears I'm just getting started. Permission to land?"*

*[Venture Caramel]: "No! No one is allowed through! Permission denied! You don't even know a thing!"*

*[Cosmic Brownie]: "I know enough. More importantly, I've heard ENOUGH."*

*--End transcript--*

Captain Benedict turned around to another officer at a different station. "Lieutenant Reed, what is the tactical report for this time?

Lt. Reed spun around, apparently having already looked it up. "It looks like they tried to run the blockade, and they got through successfully, but got shot down over the planet. The damage was minimal though. In all likelihood, they survived the crash."

Mortimer grinned. "Yup, that sounds like my nephew!"

Reed grinned. "There's some remarks about the very impressive 'daredevil flying' the pilot did in that old shuttle., including a very flashy barrel roll across *Venture Iridescence's* bridge. Wish I'd been on duty to see that. "

Capt. Benedict nodded, thoughtful. "That sounds more familiar now."

Mortimer refocused on the important detail. "So that means my nephew and his friend are down on the surface!"

The Captain's thoughtful features turned stern. "That's very unfortunate, Dr. Mortimer, but I still cannot allow you down to the surface. It's not safe. Besides, with the tech curse as spotty and unreliable as it is, there's no guarantee that you could get a ride back up."

"And that's not even mentioning the Red Mythrans, the BarneyBots, the war going on, or thedude himself," added Lt. Reed.

Mortimer's interest and guardian instincts were both piqued. "Red... Mythrans? War?"

Capt. Benedict drew a hand over his face and poorly stifled a sigh, even as Lt. Reed realized that the last thing Mortimer wanted to hear was that his nephew was in extreme danger.

Lt. Reed fumbled for a recovery. "There's ah, a lot of stuff happening on the planet, but it's our job to keep it all there, and not let anything else go in or out."

"I'm sure there will be time for you and Reed to catch up on everything when he's not on duty," Capt Benedict announced firmly, directing Mortimer to the bridge exit. Apparently, Mortimer had overstayed his welcome.

"But, there's still so much that I do-"

"I'll be sure to get you access to some of our reports concerning what's been happening on the surface." He stopped man-handling Mortimer right outside the bridge doors, where guards were ready to grab the Doctor from the Captain.

"It's the least I can do, seeing as we failed to keep them safely away in the first place," he said calmly, patting Mortimer on the arm.

Mortimer's heart warmed a little bit, offsetting the creeping, cold anxiety he was getting for his nephew. "I appreciate your help, Captain."

With this, Mortimer stepped out from the bridge of his own accord, and made his way back to his quarters. He only had to ask for directions once.

### ~Chapter 8~

Over the next few weeks, Mortimer would come once every day to the *Venture Quest's* Bridge where he and Captain Benedict would join forces in an attempt to find Peragrine.

Using the ship's sensors, and on occasion, some of the others in the blockade thanks to the request of Captain Benedict, they first attempted to pinpoint Peragrine's Nexus Force comlink. However, there was a very heavy interference coming from the planet. The Blockade's experts explained that it was most likely the Paradox Rogues jamming their signal. However, on top of that was the tech-curse, which was most likely compounding the issue. There were also reports that attempted transmissions affected the Red Mythrans, but these could not be verified, as the Mythans maintained their distance from the blockade. If it did affect them, the most they did was move around, as if changing the guard. Circumstantial evidence at best.

Next, Mortimer suggested trying a visual scan of the *Cosmic Brownie* crash site. Capt. Benedict was skeptical that they would be able to even find the site, as they had only recorded a general angle of it's descent and possible crash zone, which put it somewhere in mid to west Morcia, but despite their best efforts, and the crew's combing of the daily orbital scan archives, they could not find a crash site. The best that they could do was the tactical reports that Lt. Reed was able to procure from the starfighters that had scrambled to debilitate the shuttle. Mortimer got to see his Nephew's fantastic flight for himself from the viewpoint of his attackers, who broke off before the atmosphere, but beyond this, they could not find the *Cosmic Brownie.*

"But why didn't the Red Mythrans destroy the *Cosmie Brownie*?" Mortimer had asked.

"We've been asking ourselves the same thing ever since," Capt. Benedict replied. "Maybe it was because we were shooting at her, so they adopted the 'enemy of my enemy' philosophy?"

They tried many other tricks with the sensors, but ultimately could not punch through the signal interference. With this knowledge, they stuck to visual scans, but could not discover anything new concerning Mortimer's Nephew. Mortimer asked if they'd ever sent a probe for a closer look. They had. It had lost all power and telemetry when it hit the atmosphere, due to the 'tech-curse.' They went back to basics, listening to the recording.

"What about this Silverstine fellow?" Mortimer asked. "Can we try to find him?"

Capt. Benedict had dared to let a smile show. "Yes. The geography he mentions is something we can work from." He then pulled up a holographic model of the planet, and pointed out a large mountain range along the north of the nation of Morcia.

"From our reports, this entire range is called the 'Athelas Mounts.' It reaches from one end of Morcia to the other, making a tentative border between it and Aquila," the Captain explained. Mortimer rubbed his chin and motioned for the Captain to continue.

"Now, inside this massive mountain range, right around the middle of it, here-" Benedict poked a finger into the holograph, and a ping was placed. "-Is a local region called the 'scary mountains.' No idea why."

Mortimer interrupted. "That Silverstine fellow said he was from there, right?"

"Or his ancestors or something. More importantly, we know it as where the 'Silverstine Mines' are located, which we can corroborate with thedude's broadcasted rant about taking them over."

Mortimer raised an eyebrow. "So that's where the Silverstine went, and we're hoping my Nephew went with him?"

"That's the idea."

They conducted visual scans there, and when they found a small ruined keep on the southernmost mountain in the area, they fervently searched the records from a month ago.

One of the other officers, Lt. Anyssa Zephyr, explained the archives system to Mortimer.

"So, since we're in a defensive mode, the ship's scanners are constantly monitoring the planet below, bringing in tons of data all the time. But we're focusing on the visual scans. It does that continuously throughout the day, and then they're compressed into hourly files. Now, these highly detailed, full 24 hour visual scans are put into our system for about a week. If no one goes through them and saves anything in particular, we have a program that goes through it and purges each 24 hour file of anything it considers exact duplicates. In other words, if there's no visual changes for that specific area, it will delete all of that extra footage and simply leave a note denoting how much time there was in which 'nothing changed.' " She smirked. "Of course, it has kinks. It's not perfect. For example, at first the program kept whole 24 hours of footage of a forest because of the swaying of the trees made every frame minutely different, so we scaled back it's sensitivity. But then it wouldn't take pictures of a busy town square, because it just saw the same moving dots inside the same area. Of course, we want it to keep all of those different ones there! So we try to sort through it ourselves before we leave it at the mercy of the program."

"What happens to the 24 hour records after a week?" Mortimer asked.

"I was getting to that. After a week, if nothing's noteworthy to either us or the program, they get chopped up into photos for every 15 minutes, to make room for more pure video. And a month after that, they're reduced to hourly shots, barring a few exceptions we've placed in hotspots like cities and such."

Mortimer pondered this. "So, an old keep up in the mountains might not have 15 minute footage if it's from a month ago?"

"Probably not," she admitted.

They found the file, and a variety of the bridge crew gathered around with the Lt. Zephyr, Capt. Benedict, and Dr. Mortimer.

"Nope, just hourly," the lieutenant sighed.

They watched as she flipped through 48 hours of the same unchanging group of mountains.

"How far do you want me to go?" Anyssa asked the Captain. The captain considered the globe of Militiregnum, wondering, not for the last time, where indeed the *Cosmic Brownie* had crashed. His worst fear was that all of this was a goose chase, and they had crashed into the sea with not enough fuel to reach the shore....

"Give it a week," he replied. "That should be enough to see if they do or don't show up, don't you think, Doctor?"

Mortimer nodded gratefully.

So Anyssa continued to flip forwards through a full 168 hours. One week.

As she moved into the 100's, some of the bridge crew would pat Mortimer on the back or give him a comforting word before moving back to their posts.

"s'all right, Uncle. We'll try something different."

"A month's a good long while, but we're not going to give up, sir."

"So, they didn't show up there. Not yet anyway. I'll be sure to keep a look on it from now on..."

"Hold it!"

Mortimer pointed a finger at the screen. "Did you see it, Anyssa?"

As everyone else rushed back to get a look, the lieutenant peered at the screen, then went back a few hours.

"Is it... a single figure? Climbing around the mountain?"

"I believe so," Mortimer breathed. "Is there any way to zoom in on it?"

Anyssa tilted her head. "Mmm. A little bit, but this ain't *'Star Walk'*. You're not going to 'extrapolate the partial facial features' to get a full render of this guy.

Mortimer blushed. He *may* have been thinking of that, yes...

Lt. Anyssa Zephyr worked the keyboard for a minute.

Mortimer turned to the Captain. "If this is either Peragrine or that Silverstine fellow, we can follow them back through the other visual scan data back to the crash!"

The captain maintained a calm demeanor, but Mortimer could tell that he was holding back his pleasure. "Perhaps. It will be very tedious, but I think we're finally getting somewhere in this hunt."

"There. That's the best I can manage," announced Anyssa.

Mortimer looked over the photo. Understandably, it was a nearly vertical shot of the figure, and extremely grainy, but it showed enough for Mortimer to realize it was definitely not his slim-shouldered, green-sporting, cheery Nephew. This man walked with a solid gray horse. He was far to broad-shouldered, and appeared to be wearing equally light gray armor. Mortimer couldn't be certain, but..."

"I say. Is that Sentinel gear?" he asked the crew. They weighed in.

"Makes sense if this guy is the 'Stirling' from the recording."

"Well, armor is common on this planet. It's possible it's a close approximation."

"Does it have blue highlights?"

"I see a little blue. Yeah, I'd be willing to bet it's sentinel gear."

"It's not Space Ranger gear."

"The Knight kit would have some gold highlights."

"I see the shield there on the horse. Must be the knight kit."

"I dunno. Those shoulder pads look too small for the Knight kit. I think it's the Samurai kit."

"But we all agree it's the Sentinel faction?" Mortimer asked.

"Yeah." "Yup." "I'd say 75% chance." "Sure." "Uh-huh!"

Grinning, Mortimer looked at the Captain.

"All right. Anyone who's not busy, which is apparently all of you-" Captain Benedict said, motioning to everyone standing around Anyssa's station. "-Is to start searching the archives for this Stirling figure. Start from here, and trace this guy back till we find his travelling buddy, Mortimer's Nephew."

"Yes, Sir!" the crew replied with one voice. Mortimer saluted with the rest, and got to work.

### ~Chapter 9~

Mortimer looked at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. His eyes were bloodshot, the bags under his eyes had bags of their own. He was certain his brow was frozen in that eternal 'concentration' unibrow.

Yes, he'd been staring at screens all day, scrutinizing pixels. So what?

They had managed to trace the Silverstine fellow out into the southern plains, but he was heading out in an angle which made it difficult to bridge his trip from one sensor quadrant to another. At least he showed up more easily against the grassy plains than the stone. But eventually, Mortimer had been forced from the bridge by those worried about his health. Anyssa had said something about his face being too close to her screen and then she'd gotten the attention of Cass Ette who'd spurred the conversation that it was unhealthy to be staring so intensely for so long. Then others had joined in and despite his insistence that he was quite fine and awake, he'd been cast from the bridge by what could only be politely called a mob. And the Captain had only smiled and nodded!

Mortimer rinsed his mouth and spat into the sink. Yes. Capt. Benedict could be a complete pushover sometimes.

Rinsing his toothbrush, Mortimer set it away and moved into the main room of his quarters.

By this time, it had been nearly three weeks since Mortimer had arrived at the blockade, and taken up residence on the *Venture Quest*. Mortimer's personal quarters were quickly becoming more and more like his old lab at his home in Nexus City... The bed used, less and less. The free space crowding up with tools, gadgets, gizmos, whiteboards, and schematics. Various nuts and bolts lay like caltrops everywhere.

When he had not been on the bridge actively working to find his Nephew, he'd read up on all of the reports detailing the conflict on Militiregnum's surface over the past 5 years. And though everyone here had been so welcoming and helpful, (indeed, he was all but an honorary member of the bridge crew) and everything they were doing was meant to assuage his curiosity, alleviate his worries... They did no such things.

In fact, they did the exact opposites! Though he couldn't tell anyone on board, especially Captain Benedict, he was all the more excited, desperate, and nervous to reach the surface and reunite with his nephew, safe and sound. However, he kept this growing desire to himself as best as he could. Thus why his quarters were such a mess. He had been building prototype contraptions to allow him to get down there safely, through all of the different hazards he'd been reading about in the reports.

It had taken all of his considerable 'harmless old man' charisma, but what he'd not been able to build or piece together from his luggage he'd brought with him, he'd been able to 'borrow' or purchase from his new friends. New friends that he had manipulated carefully and tediously. Normally, he might have felt somewhat guilty about his partial manipulations, but all of that guilt melted away with any number of excuses.

*"Well, they are my friends, really! I just also happen to know that they can help me, by getting me this or that."*

*"This is all so that I can get my Nephew home safe."*

*"I'll return this once I get back from the surface. As long as I don't crash land."*

*"'It's only illegal if you get caught', isn't that what I used to say?"*

*"This will speed things up considerably, and then I and my nephew will be out of everyone's hair, safe and sound."*

*"Just one more time."*

Indeed, it would not be long now. His latest invention was nearly complete. He had read about the 'other blockade' around the planet. The 'red stars' that were the Red Mythrans. The occasional prototype-looking Barney Fighters that roamed the upper atmosphere. The potential for total systems failure, no matter what power source he was to use.

He had taken into consideration all of these factors, and had come up with a possible solution.

He was going to modify an escape pod into his own personal  one-time roundtrip stealth ship. With it, he would zoom down to wherever his Nephew was, and back up, before anyone was the wiser.

He moved to the window he was fortunate enough to have. Ironically, it showed his ultimate objective. Militiregnum.

Soon, very soon, they would find where Peragrine was. Then he would pop on down to the planet, scoop him up, and zip back here. Of course, he'd have to face the music. His friends would probably all feel betrayed and hurt. The Captain most of all.

But he'd deal with all that once he got there. Once he had his Nephew's appreciation to lean on. His hand to grip. His energy and cheer to keep him going.

"Just a little longer, m'boy. Sorry about the wait."

### ~Chapter 10~

Only a day later, they found Peragrine. Mortimer walked onto the bridge to the news. Everyone was ecstatic, and they explained it to Mortimer as they brought him to Lt. Zephyr's station to see.

Some folks from the previous bridge shift had continued the search together during their off time and had only just returned to show the current bridge crew the time and location in the archives.

Mortimer took a look.

The specified archive photo was of a large stone tower, and a surrounding gardens. Anyssa had zoomed in on the north gate, and three figures. There was the departing figure on a gray horse. The Silverstine fellow. And at the gate was a brawny, black-haired man who stood next to a brown-haired, green-sporting kid who Mortimer instantly recognized as his nephew.

"That's him! That's my boy!" Mortimer exclaimed, having suddenly caught the same joy bug that everyone else had. "How did you know?"

"Well, you described him very well," rumbled Science Officer Petros Guantanamo. "And often!" This received general confirmation and laughs all around.

Naturally, they checked the place immediately with their visual sensors, to see what it was like now.

In the archives, the tower and surrounding gardens were of a medieval taste, as were the people.

But now, it appeared that the tower was in the middle of being renovated. The main parts of the tower were being reinforced and armored with steel, and there was no more garden. Instead...

"It's a launch site. A Silo of some type." The Captain's young brow furrowed. "But is this the work of thedude, or..."

"I don't see how it could be anything else," Lt. Reed answered. "No one else has that kind of resources. Or way of keeping it secret."

Fear creeped back into Mortimer's heart. "But this was where Peragrine was seen last, right?"

The crew all returned to the archives for answers. They started from when the Silverstine had left and advanced towards the present day. Nothing significant happened until...

"Uh-Oh."

"What? What is it, Cass?"

"There's a saved group of *video* here."

Everyone rushed over to Cass's station. It was set a little over a week from Silverstine's departure.

Silently, they watched the video, and witnessed a bird's eye view of the Raid of Calibus Tower.  Time-lapsed and sped up as it was to compress storage, it was still hours long, but nearly everyone, including the Captain, watched it all the way through. Spellbound.

As it ended with the departure of various contingents of Paradox Rogues, streaming away in their groups of red, black, and occasional purple, the spell was broken, and Mortimer walked off the bridge, barely hearing his friends assurances that they would scour the footage for a single, greenclad, freckled youngster.

Mortimer **had** to know if his Nephew was in that massive grave.

~~~~

Unable to sleep, Mortimer had lain in bed staring at the ceiling for hours now.  His mind was whirling. Warring. With itself.

One side of him wanted to rush down to the planet. Rush down to the tower. See if Peragrine was there, alive or dead.

The other side of him recognized the risks. If his nephew wasn't at the tower, alive or dead, he wouldn't have any more leads to go on. If he went down, there was no guarantee about coming back up. If he was stranded down there, was he prepared for the conditions? His two warring sides didn't agree on this last question.

On one hand, he'd been to far more dangerous places than this before. Which was true, but he'd been younger for one, and he'd had his Nephew at his side for most of them.

On the other, consequences be dashed; This was his Nephew he was trying to find!

As the night wore on, Mortimer identified these two sides. One was his chaotic side, demanding immediate, swift, and dangerous action. The other was his more imaginative side, demanding that there must be alternatives, different possibilities, some way of looking at this issue that he hadn't thought of yet...

Mortimer lost himself staring into the blank ceiling, that was filled with his internal debates...

### ~Chapter 11~

It was 0200 hours. Give or take a few minutes. Mortimer had observed that this was when the ship was at it's least busy. Anyone awake was nearly asleep on their feet, or drinking copious amounts of coffee to avoid such a fate. (Out of curiosity, Mortimer had done the math and discovered that the entire blockade drank enough coffee in one 24 hour period to fill three Olympic swimming pools.)

It was during this time that he was going to make his move.

Swinging his feet out of bed, he skittered over to his desk. There was his completed contraption. Ready to go. It looked exactly as he'd imagined it. A gigantic, black, 8-pointed compass-badge, slightly wider than his chest.  It was far too heavy to carry, so he slid it off his desk onto a small steel wagon he'd found for just this occasion. It clanged noisily, the big metal badge sitting only halfway inside of the wagon. Confident that it wouldn't tip out, Mortimer dragged it behind him as he left for the escape pods.

It had taken a few separate innocuous trips down to the escape pods over the course of a week to make sure he had the correct measurements and dimensions for his device. During one of those, he'd met a guard, whom he'd cajoled into showing him the inside of one of the pods.

"Fred, that was his name," Mortimer remembered. Silently, he thanked Fred for his friendliness and his poor employment as a guard, and hoped he didn't run into him tonight.

Mortimer reached the pods without incident. Once there, he input the code that he'd seen Fred enter in, so as to not raise an emergency alert throughout the ship. Shutting the hatch behind him, he struggled to get the black badge out of the wagon and onto the floor of the pod. It took a minute, but he eventually got it to flip out and land on the floor of the pod.  Kneeling down, he entered in his code, and turned it on. Mortimer heard his device whine, and then the sound of teeth anchoring it to the floor of the pod. Checking it's indicators, and listening to the humming it emitted, he knew without a doubt that it was working perfectly, encasing the pod in a shroud of bent light.

Then, moving over to the pilot's seat, he found the launch button, with a little clear case over it. He flipped it open, and it began blinking a bright red.

His hand hovering over it...

Shaking over it...

Mortimer took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His plan was foolproof. His device would technologically cloak his tiny vessel till he reached the atmosphere, whereupon the possibility of technological failure became possible. From there, he would have to rely on the durability of the escape pod, which he was certain would be tough enough to withstand all but the harshest of landings. Then he would find his Nephew, and for the trip back, his contraption had some concentrated rocket fuel that he'd made himself, and would refuel the ship with. Even if none of the technology worked, he knew that basic chemistry would. Hopefully, his rocket fuel would be able to give him enough thrust to reach orbit.

Before his more logical thoughts began finding faults in this line of reasoning, Mortimer opened his eyes, then quickly squinted. The bright red light from the launch button was rather harsh. It bathed the entire inside of the pod in crimson light.

Covering the light with his hand, he pressed the button down with finality, and looked out the spaceshield.

Directly into the lumionous, pupil-less eyes of a Red Mythran

*'Oh. That's where the red light's coming from.'*

Mortimer felt his heart stop, even as his mind went from 0 to lightspeed in that same moment. What was a red myrthan doing here?! How come no one in the blockade had seen it approach? Had it somehow known of his plan to-

"Launching," an automated voice said, and Mortimer was tossed into the pilot's seat as the escape pod launched at the Red Mythran. But instead of the Red Mythran becoming a hood ornament, the Mythran phased right through the metal, and instead collided with Mortimer.

"YAAAAAU-"

Mortimer screamed with absolute terror as the being enveloped him. He fell to the floor of the pod, rolling around with the Red Mythran, who seemed to lose even more cohesion and wrap around Mortimer, as if trying to possess him or something...!

As he hit the floor, though, a dozen needles of pain dug into his body as he rolled, and he realized...

He realized he was rolling around his room. Wrapped up in his sheets which had fallen off the bed with him.

He'd been dreaming. Or, hallucinating. He couldn't actually remember having fallen asleep. He craned his neck to look at the clock on his bedstand. 02:15.

Mortimer let his head drop. Relieved beyond anything, he simply waited for his heart to stop racing. Once he was breathing normally, he attempted to extradite himself from his wrappings. As he did this, he realized he was soaked in cold sweat, and thusly smelled quite offensive. He decided a nice cool shower was in order.

Free of the blankets, he began undressing.  As he did so, he spared a glance for the open window, still having not gotten used to having an open window and yet full privacy.

And there, on the other side of the tinted window...

Two bodiless red eyes.

Mortimer froze, one leg out of his trousers, one in.

A red hand appeared, putting two digits on it's eyes, then turned them at Mortimer.

***'WE'RE WATCHING YOU.'***

Mortimer didn't move. He couldn't. All of the terror he'd felt a moment ago was once again upon him with full force, holding him rigid.

Slowly and deliberately, the red hand pointed a single finger at Mortimer, before both the eyes and finger turned in tandem with a phantom head and shoulder which pointed to the planet. Suddenly, the eyes flicked back around to the old man, and the hand behind those eyes clenched into a fist, and dissipated in a rush of blood-red embers that floated into the back of those horrifying eyes.

***'MAKE ANY ATTEMPT, AND WE SHALL UTTERLY DESTROY YOU. KAPEESH?'***

Mortimer nodded his understanding. With this acknowledgment, the Red Mythran, (or at least his eyes,) faded away, leaving only the beauty of Militiregnum's surface in the window.

But now, Mortimer could only see the tiny distant red dots. An impenetrable barrier between him and his Nephew.

### ~Chapter 12~

Mortimer never spoke of the 'Red Visitor' to anyone. Only out of mild curiosity did he ask Security if they'd gotten any strange readings during that time. They hadn't noticed anything. They double checked the records, but the only thing that showed was a small surge of energy in the ambient shields. Nothing to worry about.

Time would pass, and Mortimer would spend it on the blockade. After thinking it over for a day, he would disassemble his stealth creation, and return the borrowed parts and tools. It would be months before Mortimer would eventually find someone resembling Peragrine in the Tower footage.  He would be filled with doubt, and continue to agonize over the footage for over a year.

Long after all of his friends had.

Eventually, though, he would admit that the filthy, lanky, prisoner who'd rode off with a group of Paradox Rogues towards Mount Thunderclap... was most likely his nephew.  His friends, most notably Lt. Cass Ette, Lt. Jeb Reed, and of course, the Captain, would be very relieved for his mental well-being.

Mortimer eventually came to the Captain, and asked to be officially part of the blockade, so as to earn his keep, and stay as close to his nephew as he could.  The Captain had obliged quite readily, stating that he practically already was, in all but official capacity. And then he had proceeded to give him the rank and title of a junior science officer, and a position aboard the bridge of the *Venture Quest.*

Of course, Mortimer kept a close eye upon Thunderclap Keep. Ever was his worry that he would miss Peragrine's coming or going. At first, he would fill every idle moment viewing the most recent timelapsed visual footage of Thunderclap. But over time, and with more and more duties, both voluntary and mandatory, he became less and less utterly obsessed. Though he still made a point to never miss sorting through that group of visual sensor scans week by week.

As the years would pile on, Mortimer's duties would begin to outweigh his stamina. His health would deteriorate. The blockade's doctors would attribute it to the ship's general environment, (such as recycled air, screen-intensive duties, processed food, etc. ) compounding the regular effects of his advanced age. But upon further investigation, the subject of Mortimer's past revealed the true reason for his decline.

Having lived in the Crux system for the greater portion of his life, Mortimer had taken for granted the life-giving powers of the Imagination Nexus.

Indeed, he had already been an old man when he'd left Nexus City on this trip. In hindsight it made perfect sense that he would begin to feel more his age the longer he was away from the Nexus...

When it was recommended he take some shore leave back home for his health, Mortimer stoutly refused to leave. It wasn't like he was going to drop dead anytime soon, either. He just had to be more careful about his lifestyle. He couldn't muster up a jog without spraining something. He had to think about how he would get up before sitting or kneeling. His medication and his diet were both something he planned as carefully as any new invention of his own.

Thin as his hope was that he would see his nephew again, he held on to it dearly. He wouldn't leave now! And when he asked his fellow crewmembers, his friends, if they would force him to leave, even if it was for his wellbeing, they assured him that he was welcome to stay as long as he liked.

And Mortimer was nearly brought to tears when he thought about how he might have thrown this all away in his rashness.

He was glad that he hadn't taken that escape pod.

~~~~

Fast forward a decade. Mortimer truly felt his age as never before.

He had stoutly refused a walker or cane, having stuck to walking till someone unkindly put him up to a race against a box turtle...

And the turtle had won.

Now, Mortimer used his own reversed-engineered electric wheelchair to get from point A to point B in the ship.

He was still quite capable of standing and walking by himself. The wheelchair just helped with the speed of those things. Beyond this, his mind and his hands were as sharp as they ever had been. He was a senior science officer, though he shared the duties of that position with Officer Petros Guantanamo. But there was one thing that hadn't changed.

Mortimer sat in his quarters, skimming through yesterday's footage of Thunderclap Keep. He watched it curiously with a practiced eye accustomed to it's accelerated rate of play.

Suddenly, Mortimer gasped, nearly choking on his juice. He wound the footage back and slowed it down.

A fight had broke out inside the Keep's courtyard!  With a practiced ease, he zoomed in and got a better resolution. Over the years, he'd improved on a few tricks of Lt. Anyssa's. He got a clear, though still distant shot of the combatants. Two of them had messy brown hair...

*'Could it be...?'*

~~~~

 "Captain! CAPTAIN!"

Mortimer burst into the bridge at full-tilt on his scooter. Going fast enough to squeak rubber as he turned, he stopped suddenly right in front of Captain Benedict.

"Woah, slow down, Doctor. You'll break the sound barrier going like that. What is it?"

Mortimer thrust himself up out of his chair, and handed his friend, the captain, a photo.

Benedict looked at it. It was a photo of a wooden cart filled with people. But only the one standing had been sharpened and enhanced visually. It was a young man with a large shaggy head of walnut brown hair and a goatee which radiated in a poor attempt at a full beard. He had his hands outstretched towards the front of the cart, or perhaps beyond it, and his light gray prisoner gown barely made it past his knees. His expression was not quite discernable, but he was showing teeth, either way.

Mortimer answered Captain Benedict.

"I found my Nephew. I've found Peragrine Wanderthistle."

**End.**