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“Screwy.”
“Yes, Herta?”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me right now. Aren’t you?”
“I am not, whatsoever. May I ask what has given you such an impression?”
“What, you ask!? Well—” Herta furiously slapped a glossy, embossed card on the table between them, finding herself standing in abject anger, “—explain this, then!”
“I do not understand what you need me to corroborate on regarding this, Herta. It seems plain to see that it is a—”
“—wedding invitation. Of you. And some guy named Veritas Ratio. Who even is that, anyway? And he’s from the Intellegentsia Guild, of all things!?”
“I highly doubt you are still unaware of Mr. Ratio’s name after I had him as a collaborator in the Divergent Universe project, so I will assume that is your way of expressing disbelief. Though I see no reason as to why you might find it difficult to believe.” The android had the audacity to put his fingers on his chin, cocking his head and looking at Herta contemplatively, as if Herta was the one—
“—oh, you actually have a real screw loose in that metalhead, don’t you, Screwy? You’ve actually gone senile in your old age? Found a new rust in your old iron bones?” Herta chuckled derisively. “My de-aging formula had only begun working for the typical human makeup embodying 83% of the known universe, but for the sake of our friendship, I’m willing to foray into intellitrons sooner than I planned. Maybe your previous method of replacing your body like you did with Gold hit a previously unknown snag that you couldn’t yet overcome? That’s fine. When we tackle something, we’ve never not come out victorious, after all. I’m sure we could solve this in less than two amber eras—you wouldn’t even had time to blink before you could say open sesame.” Herta flicked back her long, gorgeous hair back and refitted her wide-brim hat that had tipped sideways in her haste to stand up. This, she could do.
“I understand now; it is the suddenness of the news that has caught you off-guard,” Screwllum stood up, taking off his hat and pressing it to his chest as he bowed. “I apologize for the short notice, but that is precisely why I am handing this invitation to you personally, and not to one of your dolls either. Your presence in this turning point of my life would be something I cherish more than anything else, Madam Herta.”
Silence lapsed between them. Herta could only stand there for the moment, her face probably pinched like she just accidentally ate one of her cheese curio. “So, this is real?” she muttered.
Screwllum only nodded, the tassel of his eyeglass bowing with the motion.
Herta exhaled harshly. What else was there to do? “Do I at least get the backstory behind this?” she asked, crossing her arms in irritation, “you owe me at least that much.”
“Certainly. Though I fear it is not a riveting tale as you may have imagined in your brilliant mind.” Screwllum finally put on his hat again as he gestured to the seats they previously occupied. “Perhaps it is a good idea for us to sit back down as we talk about this.”
Herta sighed, flopping back down on the cushion seat. She tossed her hat aside—a Herta doll quickly catching it—and draped her hair over the backrest. “A good idea, indeed.” She snapped her fingers to the Herta doll and said, “I need more coffee.”
With that, Screwllum fitted his hat back on that bald head of his as he sat down in front of her. “Well then, perhaps I should begin from when I sent the proposal to Mr. Ratio…”
Let it be known that he was a mighty capable person on his own, and that he did not only get this position out of sheer luck.
Sure, alright, he only decided to apply to the IPC out of sheer desperation, cause he was only one man and he had no cosmic superpowers to resist the fact that the IPC was slowly encroaching its silky, tangly webs into every crevice of his homeplanet. What was a guy to do when his stupid dad got himself into a gambling debt, went and offed himself, and he still gotta feed his five little siblings? Being a corporate slave was literally the only viable choice he could do—and he certainly wasn’t about to follow his dad’s footsteps, lest he met the miserable dude on the way there or something. Fuck no.
But anyway, surely, he must’ve done something right in the hellhole of capitalism if he not only managed to hold his job down, but was handpicked and offered the very position of being the Dr. Veritas Ratio’s personal assistant only five years into his career by his now-former assistant?
Margaret was a sweet if sometimes proud woman, and he knew she took pride especially in being the professor’s longest assistant to date by a mile. She didn’t even seem to be annoyed by the good doctor’s temperament even a little bit—unlike the horror stories her predecessors piled on him the moment they heard he was poised to succeed Margaret’s position—and, in fact, seemed to actually get along well with the eccentric professor.
There was no reason for him to refuse, especially in front of the frankly mindboggling salary and benefits increase compared to his current position (has the IPC been swindling him, what the fuck?). Margaret helped him wade the waters of capitalistic treachery entrenched in IPC when he first joined and he was forever grateful to her, and she liked the doctor well enough, so there was also no reason to think he wouldn’t at least be amicable with the good doctor.
In fact, he was now one year and four months in, and the doctor still hasn’t had ‘a mug thrown at him due to his incompetence—truly, how could someone be so foolish?’ The words of Margaret’s predecessor, not his. And not to be the doctor’s bootlicker, but that guy was annoying as hell. One of those “I’m your senior so you better respect me, newbie,” kind of annoying.
Be that as it may, he had no desire on testing whether that senior’s story was true or, more damningly, whether that story could be replicated to him. Which was why he had no intention of making any mistake of any kind, and to do his tasks swiftly and within the allotted time—it’d be no good to eschew Margaret’s good will and recommendation too. Which was also why, when he spotted the shiny card with a certain emblem within Dr. Ratio’s (many) correspondences, he didn’t hesitate to race over to the doctor’s office and knocked hastily on his door.
“Doctor? It’s your assistant. I’m sorry to bother you, but I received a message that—I think, it’s better for you to know immediately.”
There were a few seconds of shuffling sounds before he heard his boss’ reply. “Very well. Come in.”
He immediately opened the door, zeroing on the professor on his desk, this time not with his goofy headgear on (he wouldn’t ever say it to the doctor’s face, but it was really goofy, okay). He had his round glasses perched on his high nose and a lab coat over his usual sketchy attire, so that means he was interrupting the doctor’s research time, then. His message better be really important, or he’d risk actually getting that mug thrown at him—or at least, the professor would think of doing it.
Good thing he was pretty sure this message took precedence.
Before the doctor could inquire about what exactly was so important about the news that it had to interrupt important things going on in his very important academic life, he started. “It’s—well. It’s a letter from Planet Screwllum, sir,” he said, showing the doctor the card, embossed with the golden gear emblem of Planet Screwllum.
Dr. Ratio’s eyes blinked slowly at that (kinda reminiscent of his whole owl thing, it was actually pretty funny). The doctor stared at him for exactly two seconds before dropping his gaze to the card extended to him. The shine of the golden color of the emblem reflected on his glasses, blurring the lines between his amber eyes and the emblem. Come to think of it, they do look rather similar, aren’t they?
Before he could zone out and spiral into other rocks that looked similar in color to amber, Dr. Ratio’s voice cut into his musings. “I see,” he began, “I will take a look at it later. Put it on my table.” And then he went right back to his documents.
Err?
“Umm,” his voice escaped him before he could stop it, and Dr. Ratio’s eyes flit back to him immediately. Fuck. “Is it okay not to reply as soon as possible?” He knew Dr. Ratio regularly had his own private correspondence with Planet Screwllum’s very own ruler, but regular chatting and calling was different than bothering to send an official missive like this—especially from #76 of the Genius Society. It seemed important, and important things were usually time sensitive (not including the ever-present research going on in Dr. Ratio’s whole agenda).
As if reading his mind, Dr. Ratio answered, “I doubt it is much more important than my current research.” And just like that, the doctor’s eyes went back to his desk. “If it is something that required immediate feedback, he would’ve called me right away. Whatever it is, it can wait, and I’m sure he could, too.”
Oookay that sounds like. Personal. Not at all something he’d like to hear about, to be honest. Dr. Ratio and Screwllum were that chummy?
Yyyeah. No thanks.
“I understand,” he said instead because he was still sane, “please tell me if you need anything. I will be outside.”
Dr. Ratio waved his hand without looking, and he took it as a sign to immediately book it. Just as he opened the door to leave the room though, he chanced a look back and saw the doctor picking the envelope up gingerly and slicing a letter opener through it and realized that he had been an idiot.
Of course, Dr. Ratio would want privacy when opening and reading an important message from someone he was… closely acquainted with.
He’d just count his lucky stars that the doctor didn’t throw a mug at him for his idiocy. Dr. Ratio truly was much more lenient than people thought.
It was her duty to know each and every one of her king’s schedules, especially one that will occur in the castle itself.
And so, the moment Dr. Veritas Ratio’s shuttle touched down on His Majesty’s private landing port, in her capacity as Screwllita, the chief of staff to Mechanical Aristocrat Screwllum I, she was ready to welcome the honored guest with the gravitas it required.
Not a moment too long, Dr. Ratio’s airship door opened with a sizzle, its stepladder already laid down. It was not the first time Screwllita had seen him arrive to Planet Screwllum, nor was it the first time he came directly to the palace having been personally invited by her king. Even so, her years observing all sorts of organic creatures had recognized the difference this visit entailed, with how the doctor carried himself and his even-measured steps. Were that not enough of a sign, the skittish-looking assistant trailing behind him in trepidation as he looked around would be one—especially seeing as this was the first time Dr. Ratio had brought company along. She knew the doctor and her king preferred their time alone in privacy.
As she bowed to the doctor in warm welcome, she led the two fellows into the hallowed halls of Screwllum Palace. The doctor’s familiarity with all its corners notwithstanding.
His Majesty had not told her the full story as to why he asked her to send an invitation to Dr. Ratio in such an official capacity, but perhaps she could begin to guess.
Leading the two humans down the winding corridor into the official conference room where her king was waiting, she began thinking as she opened the majestic door for her guests.
This would be Dr. Ratio’s 15th visit to the home of her king, after all. Perhaps it was time to move things along.
The shifting air was evident in how His Majesty’s eyes never once stray from the doctor the moment he entered, and how Dr. Ratio’s posture went even straighter as he tried to mask the rising rate of his heartbeat as he greeted her king—which perhaps only worked on his assistant, who was very clearly trying to hide how nervous he was. The poor man only got even more flustered when her king finally placed his attention on him, introducing himself properly and asked the assistant to refer to him casually. Fortunately, Screwllita was equipped to perform basic organic first aids.
Evidently taking pity on the young man before he could truly faint, His Majesty motioned her to bring out the documents he had prepared and for her to lay them all down on the table for both to inspect. It would look like any other meeting of His Majesty and the doctor, except the increasing height Dr. Ratio’s brows disappeared to as he scanned through them made things apparent how different this was from their usual scholarly rendezvous.
For a moment, not a word passed between the two of them. Then, Dr. Ratio slowly put down the papers back to the table and made a point to not meet his gaze to anyone in the room.
“The fact that you invited me here means this… proposal of yours are not set in stone, yes?” he demurred, then flitted his unchanging gaze back on His Majesty—the gaze almost catlike in nature, if Screwllita had any right to compare. “Then I would like to make my own offers of suggestions, if I may.”
“Of course, Mr. Ratio,” her king smoothly replied as if fully expecting the doctor’s reply. Though, Screwllita should perhaps expected that, too.
With that one confirmation, the discussion was in full swing, with her and Dr. Ratio’s assistant standing by the door, ready to assist at any moment’s call. Or at least, Screwllita was—she could feel the human standing beside her just radiating nerves.
If there was one thing she learned standing by His Majesty’s side all these years, it was perhaps the need to understand humans more than what was expected of them.
“Please be at ease, mister assistant,” Screwllita intoned in what she hoped was a soothing voice, though she was by no means a master of her voicebox in organic’s cadence like her king was. Unfortunately, she could not assess its effectiveness, for the human beside her jumped where he stood despite her measures.
“I’m—um, sorry. It’s just, this is the first time Dr. Ratio has ever invited me to go along with his… proceedings with Mr. Screwllum. Uhh, that is, His Majesty, I mean.”
Screwllita nodded. “I noticed. However, rest assured that there was no need for you to call His Majesty by that title. Us Screwllumites call him that as we are his citizens, but it is perfectly acceptable for other planet dwellers to speak about him without the expected reverence. As His Majesty himself already said to you in his introduction prior.”
Screwllita meant that to be an additional form of assurance, but it has yet again failed its intent with how the man beside her seemed to be sweating even more. The days spent observing Mr. Ratio more closely than her peer Screwllumites thought her more insightful of the human nature, but it was becoming increasingly clear that it was her own prideful assumption.
Screwllita had much to learn.
“If—uh, I mean, I am the visitor of your planet here, so I think I should probably follow your customs, right? Even if His Majesty said so. It just, you know, doesn’t feel right,” he replied, anxiousness palpable in his every word. “And, well, I’m not someone with enough grand titles and prestige to match your king. Unlike my boss over there, heh,” he swung his head lightly to where Mr. Ratio was deep in conversation with her king. With the way they were talking, it almost seemed that they were the only two conscious presences in the room, but Screwllita was used to it.
Screwllita went silent for a moment, trying to extrapolate the deeper meaning behind the human’s words. “It is true that His Majesty had never once reminded Mr. Ratio to call him by his proper royal title when he was visiting. I was under the impression that it was because His Majesty held Dr. Ratio in a special place different from other organics, but with the way he assured you, that hypothesis was now invalid. For this insight, I thank you.” She finally continued.
The assistant, as if it was possible (Screwllita definitely didn’t think it was), sweated even more as he tried spluttering through his next sentence. “I mean—well, I wouldn’t say your hypothesis was—invalid. I mean, he’d never—well, His Majesty would never… propose,” the man visibly cringed, “those things they’re discussing now, to me, would he?”
Screwllita nodded. “Indeed. This was a proposal especially for Dr. Ratio.”
The human assistant nodded slowly. “So… I think your hypothesis isn’t invalid, per se. Just that a… form of address is probably. Not the deciding factor? I mean,” he laughed nervously, “just look at what they’re discussing. If Dr. Ratio and His Majesty agreed on those terms, well—well.” He suddenly went silent, before continuing in a whisper. “Well… Lots of things are going to change after this, wouldn’t it?”
Screwllita nodded again. There was no need to confirm anything they both already knew.
And as the both of them became witnesses to the two of the most important figures in the known universe sign off on an agreement that would change not just their lives, but also the known universe’s status quo, Screwllita chanced a look upon those figures.
The too-bright shine of His Majesty’s eyes. The slightest, almost imperceptible tremble of Dr. Ratio’s fingers as he crossed his arms, waiting for Screwllita’s and his assistant’s signatures as witnesses to the deed they have approved towards themselves.
Screwllita was reminded of her assistance in providing the final part of the first Divergent Universe project atop the Trailblazer’s Radiant Feldspar. These were the same exact reactions they were sporting as they gazed upon their very first creation together.
Screwllita affixed her electronic signature via the screwllumite way—unchangeable, undisputable. There was only a single thought left running through her neuron-wires.
After this, everything would change.
“So let me get this straight.”
Ratio only raised one perfect eyebrow in front of him, the infuriating man.
“You went to Planet Screwllum by official invitation of Screwllum I, with his capacity as both Monarch of Planet Screwllum and number 76 of the Genius Society.” Ignoring the multiple visits you already did because ‘because you are both of scholarly minds and your discussions could spin the yarn for further unravelling of the truth in this known universe’ or however that spiel goes, Aventurine didn’t add but very much thought.
Visibly holding back a sigh, Ratio managed to bite out a simple if cutting, “yes.”
“In there, you discussed… let’s say for the sake of the argument, ‘mutually beneficial’ agreements. Am I still on the clear over here?”
The good doctor did not manage to hold back his exasperation this time. “Get to the point, gambler.”
“Oh yeah, the point—the point where somehow, in all of that, you agreed to be the queen of Planet Screwllum In just the span of one meeting!” Aventurine snorted, still trying to grasp his head on the utter ridiculousness of the situation. “Ratio, I think you may have just beaten me in my own game—I did not expect you to be that all or nothing, truly. Most masterful gamble I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen—and went through—a lot.”
“It was the furthest thing from a gamble,” Ratio frowned—honest to goodness frowned, like Aventurine was the one being a difficult idiot over here. “You said it yourself; this was part of a mutually beneficial agreement. I have calculated the pros and cons of each proposal he gave me, made my own counterproposals, and we have each reached a satisfactory conclusion for all that we need from each other.”
Oh, it was a ‘proposal’, alright—Aventurine didn’t say. Instead, he swivelled in his chair, making the doctor now stand behind him. He stared at the shiny embossed card slash wedding invitation in his hand, twirling it between his fingers. The weight felt solid—a high quality card, no doubt. One would be hard pressed to find such an old-school material in such top-notch quality anywhere in the current digital age except for maybe the IPC, but the monarch of Planet Screwllum had always been included in that equation.
Instead, he asked Ratio the question that was bugging him the whole time the doctor told him the world-shaking announcement.
“Why tell me all this, Ratio?” he asked softly, not looking back at the doctor. “It can’t be because you’re hoping for me to, what, stop you from this marriage like you’re a runaway bride wanting out of this union that you yourself arranged. Nor is it because you want me to tell you this was a bad idea, because honestly? It definitely sounds a thousand times better than being cooped up under the IPC’s thumb. So, what gives?”
The silence between them stretched. Aventurine had long put down the wedding card, opting to play with his trusty coin instead to flip it into the air. Heads for a truthful answer, tails for a deflection. He chuckled silently. Which would it be?
Finally, the good doctor deigned to break the lull himself, to Aventurine’s relief. “Perhaps,” he began slowly, like the sound was coming out slowly as if it was muffled by his plaster headgear. Even though there was no need for it, since Aventurine wasn’t even facing him in the first place. “Perhaps I simply wish to share this news with… a friend.”
Aventurine’s coin landed perfectly on the back of his hand. Heads.
With a small and for once, sincere smile, Aventurine swivelled back in his chair to face his ‘friend’, without the apostrophes. The doctor did have his headgear on after all, which didn’t help the twitching on the corner of Aventurine’s smile.
“Don’t start,” Ratio warned.
Aventurine quickly put his hands up in surrender. “I haven’t said anything!”
With a huff, the doctor dispelled his imaginary headgear and turned his head away as he crossed his arms. Aventurine would call the action petulant if it wasn’t done by such a grown-up human man, but he decided to take pity on the poor man for once.
An eye for an eye, after all.
“Thank you for that, friend,” he said, and for once, he meant it genuinely. “That means a lot.”
Ratio nodded, still silent for a few moments. “Does that mean you’ll be there?”
Aventurine raised his brow, still smiling in amusement. “For your wedding to be the consort of Screwllum I? I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Consider my presence duly noted.”
Ratio rolled his eyes at that, his perfect posture relaxing minutely as he sat down on his office’s guest chair in front of him. “I would say you’re being needlessly insufferable about this, but I suppose I would receive those kinds of mocking commendations from everyone in the cosmos in about a hundredfold worse way.”
“I wouldn’t say mocking,” Aventurine interjected. “Probably sarcastic, if anything. Though I’d bet you’d get them a thousandfold worse, or even a thousand hundred worse, honestly. You do realize who’s going to be your partner in life as per the date printed in this card, right?” he said, pointedly holding up the invitation card between his fingers.
“I realize that, thank you,” Ratio sighed, putting his elbow on the armchair as he rested his temple. “The political ramifications before the ceremony would perhaps be the busiest and most troublesome part of my life.”
Aventurine shrugged. “I’m sure I wouldn’t need to remind you that you were the one who agreed to this,” he almost snickered. He wouldn’t say he enjoyed his (newly-explcitly-acknowledged) friend’s suffering, but hey, silver lining in everything, right?
“Thank you for the greatly helpful input,” Ratio drily replied, sarcasm dripping from each word. “I would make sure to keep your friendly tips in mind.”
Aventurine only chuckled in response, his fingers fiddling with the flap of the wedding card envelope. “Now that it came to this, I’m kinda curious,” he began. “What was the deal’s content anyway, that Mr. Screwllum himself actually agreed to it? Only if it’s not confidential, of course.”
Ratio shrugged. “It wasn’t, though we have no intention of disclosing it to the whole wide universe.” Ratio then conjured up his electronic chalk, like he was about to go on a lecture to write on a chalkboard. “But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell you.”
Aventurine waved his hand nonchalantly. “Fire away, then.”
Ratio sat up properly in his seat, then he began talking again. “Well, he first brought up the fact that he’d like to—"
“You proposed on buying the right to Ratio’s anti-planetary weapon!?”
Herta wished she didn’t take off her hat. She would love to fling it to her friend’s unmoving face.
“Elaboration: to be precise, we would have joint custody of it, with him being entirely in control of the final decision. My proposal was simply to request its help should there ever be a need for it and, perhaps more crucially—the final say in the stopping of its usage.”
“You’re playing hero to the cosmos now?” Herta clicked her tongue. “I’m not saying the anti-planetary weapon going off willy-nilly wouldn’t be our concern, but surely this wouldn’t warrant you to personally handle it. It’s not even the most unique of the numerous planet-wide destructive weapons out there." Herta huffed. This was getting more ridiculous by the second, and the more second passed the more she regretted asking about it.
“Besides, from what you’ve told me about the man, he seems like he’s in touch with his sanity. Why the sudden need to take a hold of it? You’re a control freak, but not that much.”
Herta stared at Screwllum’s unblinking eyes. Screwllum did not budge even a little and continued to proceed in a timely manner—he could be so annoying sometimes.
“The mechanism of his anti-planetary weapon was meant to be used mainly as an armament—a defensive mode in an interstellar travel vessel. We have discussed and shared our findings, and its core principle is remarkably similar to Planet Screwllum’s own battleships mechanism. Of course, our discussion was thorough in that I do not wish to adopt his system into one of my own battleships mech, merely that his system would come to Planet Screwllum’s aid should it ever be needed.”
Herta rolled her eyes at that as she threw her hands up in exasperation. “Of course, let’s pretend the planet with the most advanced battlemechs fleet in the universe need the help of a single armament for the sake of this argument. What did he even get out of this? What did you give that he actually agreed to your insane proposal?”
Screwllum did not look even the least bit rattled as he said, “In exchange of this joint ownership, I have given him the complete blueprints of Hyacinth, Poppy and Oleander. In addition, he has complete access to all of Planet Screwllum’s archives and libraries, and the freedom to share the contents with the cosmos if he so chooses—provided the knowledge does not incriminate or endanger my planet, of course.”
Herta’s eyebrows raised so high that she was sure they were hidden behind her (lovely) bangs. “You’re not serious.”
That stupid android had the gall to chuckle. “Were I be joking, I am sure you would find it highly offensive indeed, madam.”
Herta didn’t bother closing her mouth as she gaped there for three seconds. She didn’t even have enough energy left as she whispered, “are you out of your mind? How is that even slightly comparable to a single measly weapon? One that you don’t even fully own?”
Screwllum’s posture or lighting signals did not give away even a single thing. Which was its own damning sign, if Herta knew anything about her oldest living friend in the universe.
“It’s not actually the anti-planetary weapon you want, is it?” Herta remained in her hushed tones, still in complete disbelief of the absolute insanity Screwllum was willing to partake to indulge in this—obsession of his.
“You can layer it behind the concept of moral high ground all you want, Screwy. That’s just a convenient excuse—a gentleman’s reason. A noble answer one might expect from Mechanical Aristocrat Screwllum I.
The truth is you just wanted the person attached to it—Veritas Ratio himself.”
Screwllum stayed silent, like the hypocrite he was. Herta couldn’t help but pinch her eyes closed, her fingers instinctively massaging the bridge of her nose. She felt a headache coming on.
“And that’s why this is a wedding invitation, not just a contract. Because having access to the entire repository of Planet Screwllum isn’t something just anyone can have, even with a written contract notarized by the IPC. Only someone of your equal rank and standing in the planet may be privileged to it. In other words… your spouse, should you have any.”
Herta narrowed her eyes. In disbelief, in disgust, maybe both? Even she herself didn’t know at this point.
“But that’s exactly the point, isn’t it? You need him to be irretrievably chained to you, one way or another. And marriage has always been the most surefire way to chain someone.
Screwy, you—you fashioned your entire knowledge—your entire being as a… dowry. Just to make him yours.”
At that, Screwllum finally moved. Standing up, his hands tucked primly behind his back in proper gentleman posture as he walked up to the window of the space station. That was fair enough—they could see each other through the window’s reflection anyway. Besides, Herta was the one who couldn’t bring herself to look at her friend too long, right now.
Screwllum inclined his head just a bit, his monocle’s tassel visible from her point of view. “There was never any doubt as to how remarkable you are, Herta, but I’m afraid even with our long years of friendship that I may have underestimated you. For that, I apologize.”
As he looked beyond the stars once again, he continued, “Mr. Ratio, too, is a remarkable man, with even more remarkable ambitions. However, I have observed that his ties to the Intellegentsia Guild and consequently, the IPC, especially regarding his activities and inventions, had done exactly that—tied him.”
“Were you afraid he’ll end up like Chadwick?”
Screwllum hummed, the whirring of his processor echoing in the silence of the room. “Perhaps not exactly,” he answered in a measured voice. “Chadwick had little to no influence before the IPC recruited him. Mr. Ratio was already a popular figure in the scholar’s community universe-wide before his induction into the Intellegentsia Guild.”
Herta closed her eyes, her elbow resting on the armrest as she propped up her cheek. “Then what is it?” she snorted, “don’t tell me it’s because you love him and want what’s best for him.”
“I would not call it that yet as of now,” Screwllum replied smoothly, “but I do want what’s best for him. It remained the most important thing that has compelled me to this action, though I would understand if you found it hard to believe, Herta.”
Herta only snorted. “So, you think it’s best for him to escape from a lion’s den into the jaws of a tiger?”
Screwllum chuckled. “That is perhaps the first time anyone has ever made a comparison of me to a tiger, though I failed to find another comparison that is more apt indeed.” With that, Screwllum turned around again to face her fully, warm fondness radiating from his voice. “To assuage your concern, be assured that we had a very thorough prenup, witnessed by my and his own assistants. I can safely conclude that the agreement is to both of our benefits.”
“Why would I be concerned?” Herta tossed her hair back, offended by the notion. “I knew you have your penchant for craziness; I just didn’t realize that guy could match it. That, or he’s more of an idiot than I imagined, to be accepting a deal like this at face value. You’d think he’d be more skeptical, with that stupid nitpicking habit.”
“You truly are much more caring than you give credit to, Herta.” He said gently as he walked back to their set of chairs. “I, too, was under the impression that my proposal’s success chance would max out at 28%. Perhaps it was our trailblazer friend that had given me an inspiration of boldness?” As he sat back down in front of her, he continued, “were it not for that, I would have never taken that risk.”
Herta opened one of her eyes, raising her eyebrow to the android cozying himself up in his seat once more. “28%? That’s generous, for such a bonkers proposal.”
As Screwllum picked up his steaming cup of machine oil, he only replied with, “I am glad it worked.”
Herta sighed. Well, there was only one thing left to say.
“Fine. Congratulations on your wedding, Screwy.”
Screwllum paused his drinking, lowering his cup to meet Herta’s eyes. “Thank you, my dear Herta. It means more to me than you would ever know.”
Herta heaved a bigger sigh. “Well, don’t be upset if my gorgeous dress upstaged your or your groom’s attire on the D-day, okay?”
Screwllum’s eyes twinkle, his mirth evident in her eyes. “We would count on it.”
Herta glanced at the Herta doll waiting by the door. “Replace my coffee with some tea, would you? And fetch me some tea snacks—Ruan Mei’s should still be available somewhere in the fridge.”
The doll salutes and quickly headed out to complete her order. Meanwhile, Screwllum was still sipping his ‘tea’ carefully. Herta lets herself sag on the sofa’s cushion.
She needed a goddamn break.
“Well then, how did you like the maiden voyage of our now joint battlemech, Mr. Screwllum?” The human standing beside him spoke, warmth radiating from the skin of his exposed forearms.
Chancing a glance upon the human’s side profile as his amber eyes glow reflect the starry skies outside, Screwllum could feel the temperature of his core’s processor raise. Perhaps this was similar to how organics experience warmth as they look upon the visage of their loved ones.
Screwllum could not say he dislike it.
“Quite so, Mr. Ratio,” he replied instead, hoping that the tone of his voice or the cadence inside it somewhere conveyed how thoroughly he enjoyed his time with the doctor. “I could only hope the same of you. It is imperative that this ship lives up to both of our expectations, after all.”
Beside him, Ratio sofly laughed. Finally, those amber eyes turned their full attention on him—and if Screwllum thought he was warm before, comparatively speaking, he should have been on fire now.
“If I say I dislike any of our time together, Mr. Screwllum,” Ratio intoned slowly, like he was speaking to one of his slow-to-catch-up students, except Screwllum didn’t sense the mocking that was supposed to lace such a voice, “I’m afraid I would be lying.”
And just like that, Ratio’s eyes went back towards the skies. The temperature of Screwllum’s core didn’t subside, though, for Ratio’s honest admission of his enjoyment of their time together ensured its constant state of warmth.
“Though perhaps,” Ratio continued, unbeknownst to Screwllum’s state, “we should also thank whatever Aeon is out there that ensured our smooth voyage made no demands to test this ship’s battle equipment. After all, we are both of the opinion that this weapon should never be used until it became the last possible option, do we not?”
Screwllum chuckled. “I would think that you would be more amenable to thank both your work and mine in our calculations of the trajectory of this voyage, Mr. Ratio. After all, we made sure our pathway made no contact with other planets, let alone other lifeforms.”
Screwllum assumed Ratio’s sardonic gaze went to him for a second before staring out into the window again, but it was obscured by a single lock of his purple hair. Screwllum was surprised to find that he was holding back the urge to brush it back.
Patience, he told himself. All in due time—and if all was well, that time would be sooner than later.
“Contrary to popular belief, Mr. Screwllum, I do not discount the probability of luck or divine interference in my equations—or ours, as it were.” Then, Ratio tilted his head as he looked back at Screwllum, his amber eyes shining in what Screwllum could only describe as mischief. “I imagine my future partner should know that about me.”
In that moment, the electrical impulse running through Screwllum’s veins were, he hypothesized, akin to that of the neuron signals that went through organics’ nerves. After all, that was the only possibility he could surmise, as his palm went up to cup Ratio’s cheek with his thumb slowly rubbing the rosy hue of its cheekbone.
Ratio’s blood underneath the skin thrummed, with Screwllum’s whirring machine-heart following the strum of its echo.
“How do you feel about that, Mr. Ratio?” Screwllum whispered instead, soft voice echoing through the walls of the observatory deck. “After we disembarked this ship, the procession—our procession—would officially begin. You would soon be known as the partner to Screwllum I, and I yours.
Are you perhaps, having any second thoughts?”
The brightness of Ratio’s gaze did not dim even the slightest before he closed his eyes, bringing his own hand up to palm Screwllum’s that was still resting on his cheek.
“Should I have any of that,” Ratio responded in the same volume, as if unwilling to break whatever spell was laid between them. “I would think that I had the sense to not board the ship symbolizing our union before I made myself the runaway bride of the amber era.”
As Ratio’s eyelids slowly opened, Screwllum was once again beholden to the shine of Ratio’s eyes’ depth. He was once again reminded that amber was fast becoming his favorite color.
“Don’t you think there are better questions we should be asking, Mr. Screwllum? Perhaps something like…” Ratio hummed, tightening his hold on Screwllum’s hand. “What should we name this ship?”
Against his better judgment, Screwllum released his palm on Ratio’s cheek—but only to better hold Ratio’s hand in his.
“I think I have my fair share of naming ships in my lifetime,” he replied instead, squeezing Ratio’s hand as he put their intertwined hands between them. “How about you name our ship instead… Veritas?”
Screwllum would, once again, thank (blame?) the trailblazer for his newfound confidence and audacity. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it, however, when the apple of Ratio’s cheeks darken considerably than before—and that Ratio said nothing to discourage Screwllum’s usage of his first name.
“An intriguing proposition indeed, Mr. Screwllum,” Ratio began, voice slightly strangled as if he was hiding a cough. Screwllum would be hard-pressed to not find it charming all the same.
“How about… Belladonna?"
If Screwllum had an eyebrow to raise, he would’ve done so. “I assure you, Veritas, there was no need for you to follow the naming customs of my previous battleships.”
Ratio shrugged, the motion moving their joined hands slightly to the side. “I would like to do so,” he answered, “besides, I think it’d fit us.”
Screwllum hummed. “May I ask how, exactly?”
Beside him, Ratio’s smile grew—visible from Screwllum’s wide peripheral vision.
“I admit, I didn’t expect to know something you didn’t so soon,” he almost simpered with a chuckle. “But to be honest, it was simple, wasn’t it? Atropa bella-donna, of Atropos of the three fates. Symbolizing inescapable fate.” Screwllum could almost hear him smirk as he continued.
“Well, that sounds rather like what was soon going to happen to us, doesn’t it?”
Screwllum was sure his smile didn’t have to be visible for the man beside him to know he was doing it.
“That does sound rather like us indeed, Veritas.”