Following someone around wearing a deerstalker and peering through a magnifying glass, whilst deducing things. With someone named Sherlock around, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Bonus points for an exasperated Watson getting dragged along.
Eridite Watson passed from transitory population zones to residential in a cloud of chemicals. She dutifully breathed in the immunoflu, after breathing out her own local germs for Medical to catalogue as harmless. All before she put her clothes back on.
At least they let her have relative privacy and female attendants on request.
This was a strange and unusual place. Socialism abounded and corrupted everyone. But instead of the dismal and depressing picture given her by Greater Deregulation (Hubwards), it was brightly lit, overflowing with plants, and oddly colourful.
Good news, there was a directory. Bad news, it was in that god-awful phonetic mish-mash called GalStand.
Good news, her tourist-goggles had the technology to translate it into good, old Greater Deregulation (Hubwards) English. Bad news, she had no clue how to even turn them on.
“Ye put ‘em on and press the bridge, ye ken. Yuir techies’ve already adjusted it for ye.”
The creature was speaking to her in English. Her English. But the accent was… bizzarre. Nobody on Greater Deregulation (Hubwards) spoke like that.
Watson tried it. Ah. English floated over the GalStand mess, but wasn’t very helpful.
“I’m looking for the offices of the Security Chief. I have an extradition treaty for Gareth Wifnikov-Smythe.”
This earned a sharp-toothed grin from her criminally dark face. “Ah, finally and at last, then. Good riddance tae bad rubbish. Name’s Shayde. I could walk there in me sleep.”
That should have been her warning sign. But she introduced herself, regardless. “I’m Lieutenant Eridite Watson.”
“Lovely!” An enthusiastic pumping of her offered hand. “It’s almost too good! You stay right there, I’ll just be a tick.”
And, without any further warning, the strange woman fell into her own shadow and was gone. Watson stared in confusion at the patch of floor she had been standing on. Poked it with her foot. It was solid, so how–?
“Ah,” said someone else. A shorter man with sort-of mauve skin. What was it with her and attracting coloured people, today? “I’m sorry. Shayde’s happened to you, hasn’t she?”
He, too, was speaking Greater Deregulation (Hubwards) English. But it looked like he was making the greater effort.
“She told me to wait,” Watson bit down hard on a 'sir’. This… thing… was not a 'sir’. Despite appearing to be male, it was a dangerous and polluting alien with all sorts of alien diseases. For all she knew, it was readying a blood-attack with a special, weaponized ring. “My name is Lieutenant Eridite Watson and I have an extradition treaty for Gareth Wifnikov-Smythe.” She dug the flimsy out of her jacket as proof.
“Watson, you said,” asked the little blue… not-quite-man.
“Ye-e-es…? The…. Shayde. Seemed to think it was good…”
“…powers…” muttered the thing in the rainbow coat. “If we keep on our toes, we can get this over with quickly. I apologize in advance for… the oncoming event.”
Shayde stepped out of another shadow and bounced all the way over to the little blue not-man, making high-pitched squealing noises. She proceeded to embrace… him… and continue to bounce.
The blue not-man’s expression told Watson everything she needed to know about the… oncoming event.
*
“Sherlock… May I introduce ye tae Watson.”
The alien was busy forcibly removing a deerstalker hat. “Right. That explains that nonsense,” he said in sharp GalStand. The tourist goggles provided subtitles. “What’s your nonsense?”
“No nonsense, sir.” Damn! Aliens were not 'sir’s. They were things. This place was corrupting her already. “I have an extradition treaty for Gareth Wifnikov-Smythe.”
The alien took it, read it through a monocle - fending off Shayde and the hat the entire time - and finally swore. “We’ve almost rehabilitated him and you want to take him back -stoppit!- back to your… own facilities…” pronounced, 'mediaeval torture chambers’, “in a system where a criminal has no choice but to remain a criminal.”
The blue one finally snatched the hat off the black one and glared her into stillness.
“I have been charged to secure and retrieve Gareth Wifnikov-Smythe and return him for proper punishment as befits a criminal of his nature,” said Watson. “What happens to him once he’s out of your jurisdiction is not important.”
Sigh. “…and I had such hopes…” He shook his head and handed over a device with a friendly map on its screen. “This will guide you to his cell. Please use ethical restraints until you’re on your own vessel?”
That pushed an automatic, instantly regretted, “Yessir,” out of her mouth. Red-faced, Watson focussed on the map and left without any courtesy. These were things. Things didn’t get courtesy.
*
“A-a-a-awww…” said Shayde. “But– Sherlock and Watson. Ye were meant for each other.”
Sherlock rubbed his temples. He already had a busy day. He didn’t need Shayde making it interesting on top of that. “Rael, get her out of here before I find a reason to arrest her again…”
“Yessir. Sorry, sir.”
The hat, at last, went back into its glass case behind his desk.
Humans…
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