D.ALL Chapter 11

Thankfully—unlike last time—the parking spaces accommodated for the Camper’s wideness and Frost parked with ease.

Free hopped out the moment the Camper stopped, stretching his legs. Foxx followed shortly after putting the synthesizer up neatly in his burrow.

“Have fun,” Frost said.

“What, you’re not coming?” Free asked.

“Yep. We are going to be here for a few days, I am selling some of our scrap.”

“Right, good idea. Been a while since we had to worry about planet cash, hopefully it's something easy to carry,” Free replied. “Oh—and don’t sell anything I got in the junk drawer.”

“Understood.” Frost turned to Foxx, “Foxx, stay close to Free, do not wander past the mall. It is easy to get lost in a place like this.”

“Ok, be safe,” Foxx bowed Frost farewell.

Frost paused for a moment before responding “I will,” then closed the door and drove off.

The two walked towards the mall as Free finished stretching, “Let’s hope we can find a lead before Frost gets back, I can already feel my gears cracking.”

More flora and flying sculptures abound, the inside of the mall was reflective of the outside—save for the clashing aesthetics of the shops within. As the two walked in search of a map, Foxx was fascinated by it all, still staying close to Free but darting his attention all over. However, something in particular caught his eye, causing him to stop and stare.

“Huh?” Free stopped and looked to where Foxx was staring.

It was the mall’s center fountain, a twelve-tiered construction of water flowing between four shell-colored pillars. Flower heads floated upon its streams, flowing up and down in an endless cycle.

“Hmm, wonder how they made that,” Free pondered as Foxx hovered closer to it.

“RM?” Foxx looked into the water.

“Definitely—but you can pin almost everything on RM,” Free moved closer to the fountain, making sure that Foxx didn't fall into it. Whether Foxx was organic or inorganic—he didn’t want to chance him being waterproof or not. “Rather, it's how that RM works which is the question, and how they use it here to make this luxurious water hazard.”

Free got a little closer, close enough to see the piping at the base of the pillars.

“It looks to be just a complex water system. There’s nothing that could suggest otherwise, right?” Free took out his notepad, but didn’t write anything down yet.

“What about the sculptures outside?” Foxx said.

“What about them?”

“They didn’t have pipes.”

“Good eye, so there must be something more to it—that or this is but one of the ways they could have made this. The fountain and the sculptures could be separate in construction, with the only connection being they’re both made of water,” Free wrote down their findings on his notepad. “Either way,” he put his notepad away, “We should get back to finding a map.”

“Ok.”

“You’d think a place this big would have them all over, I mean, they got all these fancy things and don’t to have the sense to—Wait is that an arcade?!” Free dashed over to the arcade with Foxx matching his pace.

In moments, they arrived, the arcade’s automatic doors slowly opening as Free looked to Foxx, “We’re here purely for recon purposes, you know?” When the doors opened wide enough, Free immediately entered, “If we happen to have some fun in the process, then that’s a plus.”

Very few were around in the arcade, it was just them, the prize attendant, two rowdy teen Gilieot, and the wide array of arcade machines.

Although everything looked well maintained and clean, there was a feeling of stillness in the air. Some lights were just a little too dim, the speakers a bit too frizzy, and the theming all over the place.

The front was decorated with foam shells and palm trees, with games of chance-based skill that matched, coin pushers and claw machines. Only a few more feet in, the palm trees changed to steel beams and shells into sea mines—an industrial and cold look. Then, all the way in the back, the shells and palms returned but now paired with miniature plastic sea ships and piles of cannon balls dotted around.

“Don’t we need tokens to play?” Foxx asked.

“I got a plan to get some, go check out the prizes and I’ll be back in a jiffy,” Free left, moving over to the coin pushers, and Foxx did as told.

The attendant of the prize counter was standing half asleep, not noticing Foxx had walked up to her.

She was not a Gilieot, or at least not like the ones he saw. Poking out of her work clothes were ashen gray feathers which thinned near her neck, and she had taloned hands—although they weren’t sharp, filed down short and blunt.

Thud-crash-clank, the sound of Free almost tipping over a trash can snapped the attendant out of her half-sleep.

“Wh-huh?” she looked side to side before turning her attention to Foxx, her face obscured by long hair that draped down to her shoulders. “Oh, hello little guy,” she waved, “Is there something I can help you with?”

Foxx shook his head.

The attendant leaned slightly to the side, looking to the source of the noise that woke her—seeing Free torso deep under a “Hit-ah-Vamole” machine.

“Does your friend need any help?” the attendant asked, her tone a mix of concern and amusement.

Foxx shook his head again.

“Ah, okay—wait, I think he's stuck—never mind, he just crawled under and through it.”

While the attendant watched Free crawl from game to game, picking up whatever tokens he could off the floor, Foxx looked through what prizes were available.

Most of were junk worth a pittance of tickets, clearly not what he was looking for—no, the real prizes were stashed away on the top shelves: the big plushies, water blasters, and most importantly—the electronics.

One in particular caught his eye, a handheld water fan that advertised itself as self-cooling and self-powering, although it didn’t have a price tag.

“Excuse me, how much is that?” Foxx pointed at the fan with his snout.

The attendant looked at the fan, “Strange, they must have forgotten to put the tag on—let me check…” She took out a clipboard from under the counter and looked over it, “Should be in the electronics category—Ah, here it is. It says here it’s a thous—”

“Foxx, what we’re aiming for?” Free popped out of nowhere, surprising the attendant—although she did not move a muscle, instead her feathers just puffed up big.

Foxx pointed at the fan again.

“‘Self-powering,’ interesting,” Free said. “With that we can get a clue about a power source, good find.” He turned to the attendant, “How much does that go for?”

“A thousand tickets,” she fixed her feathers.

“That’s a lot?”

She put the clipboard back under the counter, “It is.”

Free looked to Foxx, “I guess we’ll have to get serious.”

“No time for playing around?” the attendant asked.

“Exactly.”

She chuckled, “Have some serious fun then.”

Foxx and Free left the prize counter, wandering around the arcade for a short while. They stopped by two or three games that piqued their interest, Hit-ah-Vamole being a standout—but overall, nothing seemed that exciting. That was until they made it to the far back, where inflatable cannons and hard plastic wood boards laid dormant from a theme long past.

Tucked deep within was something a marvel—a recreation of a sea scarred galleon that barely fit inside the room. Hanging above it was a plank that read, “The Siege of Port Turndrus.”

“What is that?” Foxx hastily walked up to the ship.

“Some kind of sea pirate game, seems fun, want to look inside?”

Foxx nodded his head rapidly then leaped up the steps leading inside, Free following behind.

Inside was a recreation of a ship’s front deck, with cannons mounted near the railing, wooden barrels, and a pole that extended up to the low hanging ceiling—representing the crow’s nest. There was a gap between the railing and the walls, which were electronic screens that displayed a calm beachside.

Behind the steering wheel at the back of the deck was the game’s token slot; it asked for ten tokens to start the game, expensive compared to the one-coin slots they had seen so far.

Free hesitated putting tokens in, there’s was no way it’s worth that much he thought. However, seeing Foxx looking towards the simulated ocean, eyes closed as if he could feel the breeze—he decided it was worth at least a try.

Free slotted the tokens in—immediately the beach view was covered by splashing waves, and when the waves fell, they then displayed the open sea—now filled with pirates flying flags of wilted flowers.

BOOM KA-RACK, a cannon ball hit their portside.

“Ahoy, mateys!” a stout Gilieot covered in seaweed and wielding a cork-tipped saber appeared on the screen in front of them, floating ghostly above the bow. “We arrr under attack by the dastardly backstabbing rogues led by the Traitor King. They have turned their back on Port Turndrus, forsaking the code of hon-arrr!”

The Captain raised his sword into the air then pointed it forward, “I ask ye, as the captain of this fine ship, to defend this port and blow these cowards back to whence they came, argh!”

Foxx’s ears and tail raised high; Free leaned on the steering wheel, tapping his foot.

“Aft-arr choosing who among ye shall man the helm or cannons, spin the sailor’s wheel all the way around to start,” the Captain idly floated up and down, staring blankly forward as audio of a health adversity played.

“Your call, Foxx—what do you want to do?” Free said.

“Cannons,” Foxx quickly responded.

“Alright, I’ll take the helm,” Free grabbed the wheel. “Never drove a ship before, but this should be easy. From what I’ve seen, it's basically flying, just with a wheel instead of wings.”

Free spun the wheel around and the Captain stopped idling, now next to him was an overlay displaying how to play the game.

It showed which ships give the most points, how some ships can only be sunk by hitting a weak point, and that there was a secret item on the twentieth level—a bell stolen from the ship that they needed to recover if they wished to be “True Pirates.”

Shortly after, the captain disappeared and level one out of twenty-five started. The duo cleared it in seconds, not thanks to skill—rather, lack of challenge. They only had to sink one unarmed slow-moving ship.

The second went by almost as fast, this time they faced two ships that at least each had a cannon to fire back with.

Free was practically half-conscious steering, as the clear open seas don’t present many interesting and engaging challenges for the helmsman. At most he had to turn left or right—port or starboard—to help Foxx aim the cannons.

Free yawned as the third level loaded in, this time there were four ships with two cannons each. “Hopefully this gets more interesting, or at least is over quick,” he said quietly to himself.

***

“Starboard, Foxx—starboard!” Free shouted above the sounds of the roaring tempest and brutal waves. “We can't risk being surrounded—Show no mercy!”

Foxx slashed his ghost-lit torch across the rows of cannons on the starboard side—firing all of them simultaneously then reloading each with the speed of an entire crew. Salt and foam blocked his senses, overpowering sight and smell, but he was sure of his keen ears and the helmsman’s eye.

The sky was black with thunder and rain, fog thicker than mud, and winds so strong it could slice a lesser vessel—yet, Free could see even the faintest shadow.

“Rocks—brace yourself!” Free steered through the gauntlet of rocks and dead ships ahead. “Not much farther until we breach the 24th brigade and face the 25th—portside!”

Foxx fired off another array of cannons, whether they hit a vital point was irrelevant this far into the siege—Foxx could not take time for accuracy, and just a single breach sunk ships in these waters.

With the portside cleared—Free steered into it, as now there was a gap in the blockage.

Sailing full speed through the thickest fog, only sure that the enemy was on the other side, he was shocked to find…

Clear waters, a blue sunny sky, and soft winds; not a ship in sight.

Free looked to Foxx, “Does me eye deceive, cannoneer?”

Foxx moved to the tip of the bow—peering at the still waters, seeing the same as Free. However, when Foxx turned around to nod in confirmation, his attention snapped back—he heard something ever so lightly bubbling from under the water.

SPLASH—from under the water ships raised up, fleets of a hundred at a time. In mere moments, they were surrounded by a coalition of a thousand war ships each the size of a mountain—but they all seemed small when the final ship breached from the undersea, the Traitor King’s ship.

A hulking monstrous warship made of vessels it had slain, stapled together with rope and nail, armed with cannons of crude-iron that fired the teeth of monsters.

“Foxx,” Free roared. “It is time we finish this voyage, just one last tempest to conquer,” he smoked an—imaginary—pipe. “We just need a little help from our Captain’s old friend.”

Foxx nodded and ran to the base of the crow’s nest—ringing a cracked silver bell roped onto it, which they recovered from their battle with the 20th brigade.

The 25th brigade closed in—only an eel’s length away when the broken bell silently rang its sixth time, crumbling into dust as a black spot grew in the waters below them, and a deep long bellow purring from underneath.

ROOOAAARRR—the bell had called a gigantic kraken that blocked the sun when it breached the water’s surface. With its a hundred and one arms, it quickly thinned and pushed back the traitor horde—which tried to slay the beast, but their blasts bounced off its bulbous skin.

“Arr friend has this,” Free maneuvered the ship through the chaos—straight towards the Traitor King’s ship. “Only we can bring an end to the Traitor King—bring an end to the siege. Steel yourself, for we only got one shot.”

Foxx ran to a cannon then pushed it to the bow, readying himself to aim true as there was only one way they could sink a ship ninety-nine times the size of theirs—a weakness foretold by the Captain.

Long ago, during the battle which spelt the end to the Captain’s voyage, he left a gift in the Traitor King’s ship—a cannonball embedded in the hull of the hold, cursed to never be removed by anything other than another fired by the Captain’s cannons. With a shot aimed right at the cannonball’s center, it could breach the hull—and if the stories are true—disseminate the Traitor King’s hunted heart within its hold.

Foxx aimed true at the black glint of his target, if he missed, they would have no time for another—as they would be obliterated in an instant by the Traitor King’s cannons.

BOOM, Foxx fired—the cannonball hitting the one embedded, slamming it into the ship’s heart.

Light flashed from within before—crack-kackle, KA-BOOM!

The Traitor King’s ship was now nothing more than dead wood floating in the water. The ships that remained fled at the sight of their king’s fall, scattering like the cowards they were.

Free ran from the helm and to Foxx’s side, looking at the rubble in awe.

“We did it!” Free held out his hand for a pirate-ly fist bump…but forgot Foxx had no hands—so Foxx jumped up and fist bumped with his snout instead.

“Ahoy!” the Captain appeared out of thin air. “Yarr have saved Port Turndrus, and me and my ship can rest, for now—but first, your reward,” tickets spiraled out of the dispenser as the sea faded out into a blur and the Captain waved goodbye. “I’ll be waiting for ye’s next voyage, but until then, fare-thee-well.”

Free snagged the mound of tickets, barely able to carry them with both arms, “We could count, but I’d say this is enough, yeah?”

Foxx nodded.

“We should play this again with Frost after setting up the radio, if we have time.” Free moved to the exit, “This game is right up their alley, don’t think they’ll let me steer tho—”

Free tried to open the door but it didn't budge, he tried again—and again—it didn’t budge. Putting more and more pressure on the handle, he nearly snapped it before giving up.

“Hey! We’re stuck, can we get some help here!” Free banged on the door for a minute, but no help came. “You know what, I’m not waiting,” Free transformed his hand into a screwdriver then unscrewed the handle, finding that the door was locked, and swiftly disassembled it open.

“Why were we locked in?” Foxx asked as they exited and Free put the lock and handle back on.

“Don’t know. The lock looks old, so probably when we entered, we shimmied it,” Free slinged the spiral of tickets over his shoulder. “Slim chance it was that attendant, didn’t seem like the type,” he shrugged. “But eh, whatever, doesn’t matter. Let’s go plund-arr—cough—I mean plunder the real treasure.”

“Aye aye.”