★ ⁺ — SEARCH FOR TRUTH
content warning: descriptions of blood and violence
★˚⋆ LEONE ABBACCHIO ONCE JUMPED IN front of a moving vehicle to save his mother. Then again, they had been leaving the school parking lot and no one was driving faster than a crawl, but nonetheless, he threw himself in front of his mother without hesitation, his little arms outstretched.
She ruffled his hair and smiled fondly. "My hero," she said, and Abbacchio felt like a small star, ready to burst into the sky.
It was Abbacchio's duty to protect his mother. His father told him as much every time he left for work.
"Take care of your mother, Leone," Abbacchio's father would say.
Abbacchio's mother would look up from where she was grading assignments."From what? Little elementary kids?"
"You never know," Abbacchio's father would whisper conspiratorially. Abbacchio would strike a jaunty salute, and his father would hide a smile before saluting his son back and stepping into his Levi.
His father was a high-ranking Galactic Authority officer. He wasn't often at home, but when he was, he had no shortage of tales to regale his son with; stories of stalking through abandoned warehouses, elector drawn, leaping out at bad guys, beating them to a pulp and locking them behind bars. They were stories straight from the holoscreen, made all the more exciting because Abbacchio's father had actually been there.
To Abbacchio, his father was his own, real-life superhero. He made the galaxy a better place, bashing away evil and restoring justice. More often than not, the grandiose word flew right over Abbacchio's little head, but he liked the way it sounded. Justice. It sounded right and true. There could be no greater thing than justice.
"What does justice mean?" Abbacchio decided to ask his mother one day.
"It's to be fair and reasonable," she replied. "It's to make sure that people are treated in the way they deserve. And if they behave badly, it's to make sure they face the consequences."
Abbacchio nearly keeled over from amazement. From then on, everything Abbacchio did was for justice. Crossing the street, eating his apple slices, saying goodnight to his stuffed lion. It amused the adults and aggravated his friends. No doubt he crushed the word to pieces, wielding it as often as he did in his little fist, but the word resonated with him. As he grew older, it would continue to resonate. It became Abbacchio's true north, corny as that was, some integral part of him that he measured his heartbeats and breaths by. He always mentally sauted to the blindfolded statue he passed on the way to school everyday. He never told anyone, but he considered the statue of justice outside of the GA office to be his guardian angel. If nothing else, she was the one thing he could trust in.
As the end of his twelfth year approached and his classmates agonized over university and career choices, Abbacchio wasted no time in handing his application to the Academy of Galactic Authority. He was athletic, hard-working, and focused. He didn't doubt for a second that he would get in. He told his father about it, ready for a slap on the back and a broad smile, but his father only frowned.
"Why would you do that?" he asked.
Abbacchio didn't know how to arrange his face. "What do you mean?"
"You could be anything else, and you decide to be a GA? For what?" Abbachio's father ran a hand over his face and sighed deeply. A part of Abbacchio curdled at the sound.
It was at that moment that Abbacchio realized how tired and drawn-out his father looked. He had retired early a few years ago, congratulated heartily for years of dedicated service, but his father had never settled into the pride that most other retired officers did. Abbacchio didn't know what it was exactly. Bitterness? Resentment? But those two words didn't go along with what he knew about the Galactic Authorities.
Abbacchio was confused. "I want to serve the galaxy. I thought you would be proud."
"Do you have other options? Being a GA might not work out."
"It is going to work out. I'm willing to make it work out."
Abbacchio's father looked like he was debating with himself. "You're young," he said at last. "You don't understand things yet. When you get older, you'll see that things aren't black and white. Some days, you can't pick apart right and wrong. They're confused together, and you spend nights wondering if you made the right choice."
"I know things are complicated," Abbacchio said. "But I want to serve and protect people. You taught me that. I can't think of anything else I'd rather do."
"What if people aren't worth serving or protecting? You haven't seen a lick of what people are capable of. Being a GA makes you lose—" His father didn't finish the sentence. He turned his face from his son, staring somewhere a dozen light years away.
In his mind's eye, Abbacchio could still see his father dressed sharply in his GA uniform. He'd never seen that uniform askew, never seen it torn and dirty, never looked at it with anything other than respect and admiration.
"I want to be a Galactic Authority Officer," Abbacchio said, resolutely.
His father sighed again. It had never occurred to Abbacchio to ask why he had retired from service early.
- ✦ -
Abbacchio got accepted. He left as soon as he got the notice, ready to prove his father wrong, although on what he didn't know. He fit in quickly with the other cadets, just as brash and headstrong as any of them. All GA cadets had a healthy dose of self-righteousness and it was probably that that led them to being a cadet in the first place. Abbacchio lived and breathed the life. He ate the dry food and slept on the hard cots, performed the gruelling drills and rattled off laws and bylaws. He accompanied GA's on patrols sharp-eyed and ready, pointing out misconduct and misbehaviour by the textbook. Things were very black and white then, and Abbacchio thought they couldn't be easier.
His teachers and supervisors nodded approvingly. Very promising, this one. Once he graduated, he would make a superb GA.
At the academy, Abbacchio was assigned to a partner, the one directly under his name in roll call. To this day, Abbacchio couldn't remember what his name was. All he remembered was that he was small, slight, and had cornflower-blue eyes, blue as any hologram made them out to be. The other cadets called him Tuft, because of the tuft of hair that stood up on the back of his head.
Abbacchio and Tuft worked well together. They didn't speak much to each other, which suited Abbacchio just fine. Tuft did what Abbacchio told him to do. He never questioned him or tried to argue. He had a backbone, but he seemed to recognize that Abbacchio knew what he was doing, so he let him take the lead.
Abbacchio wouldn't say he and Tuft became close, seeing as they never talked about anything but the academy and GA's and being cadets, but inevitably, they became used to each other, tuned in to each other's movements so that they didn't have to say a word during sims and practice drills.
Graduation came by in no time at all. In acknowledgement of Abbacchio's stellar record and performance, he was given the opportunity to pick a partner for his probationary period. Since Tuft graduated too, it was a no-brainer to pick him.
Those first few months were . . . different. It was easy enough to identify who did wrong and punish them accordingly, but people didn't always react the way Abbacchio would've thought. There was respect and derision in equal measure: people who looked up to him and people who couldn't bear to look. It was obvious that there was injustice, and yet it existed in degrees. There would always be ways for it to leak out, no matter how many people Abbacchio arrested. The galaxy was a fundamentally flawed place, and Abbacchio realized his arrogance in thinking he would be able to change it at all.
These thoughts he kept to himself. He recognized that they must have resembled his father's thoughts at some point, that this must have been what he'd been talking about. Becoming a GA meant realizing the galaxy's disparity. The people Abbacchio rescued thought he wasn't doing a good enough job. The people he locked away got out on bail or technicalities. Although he thought justice was a fine line, there was no way Abbacchio could win.
He wondered if Tuft was feeling even a fraction of what he was. The various contradictions tugging him all over the place. It didn't seem likely. Tuft was as mellow and soft-spoken as ever. Still letting Abbacchio take the lead. Still not speaking up. Abbacchio wished he would.
It must have been at the end of his first probationary year. He and Tuft were coming to the end of a shift; just a few more minutes and they would've been off-duty. The two of them had been talking about nothing in particular, the latest Eva model that had come out, how the new Prince Giovanna was adjusting to things. Just as the two were stepping into their patrol Levi, a couple stumbled past. The man was practically spitting on the woman, yanking her along down the sidewalk. Abbacchio exchanged a glance with Tuft. He closed his Levi door and approached the couple, a hand hovering near his shoulder holster.
"Everything alright here?" he asked. Tuft stalked up silently beside him.
The man straightened but didn't let go of the woman. Abbacchio watched the man appraise him. Abbacchio was taller and leaner, but he was still wearing the uniform of a probationary GA officer. The law, but not quite.
"Evening, officers." The man said and Abbacchio didn't miss the slight hesitation before officers. "Can I help you with anything?"
"Just checking in." The woman leaned heavily on the man. Her eyes were dull and unfocused. For a second, he thought a bruise bloomed across one of her eyes but it appeared more like a tattoo on second glance. A star almost.
"Is everything alright, Miss?" he asked. The woman didn't answer. She didn't appear to be hurt.
"A little tipsy," the man said easily. "She's a light drinker."
Abbacchio switched his attention to the man again. They must have been about the same age. He had brown hair and grey, flinty eyes. His accent said he was Upper Space. Although he technically wasn't doing anything wrong, something about him rubbed Abbacchio the wrong way. There was a smug arrogance to him. Abbacchio irritated him, he could tell that much.
"Are you sure your friend is alright?"
"She's just fine. Aren't you, Sheila?" The man nudged her. She lifted her head weakly, her pupils narrowed to pinpricks.
"I'm fine," she said woodenly.
"Can I see some identification?"
The man smiled and tilted his head. "I'm sort of in a rush. Can we do this some other time?"
"Identification, please."
The man extricated his arm from the woman's. For someone in a hurry, he took his sweet time showing Abbacchio his ident chip. It might have been on purpose. Abbacchio was aware of the gazes of passersby, eyeing the rookie cops and the well-dressed noble. Tuft shifted uncomfortably beside him. He might've suspected the man too, or he might've just been too nice to tell Abbacchio to mind his own business.
Pascal Caprese. No criminal history. Nothing marring his record whatsoever. Except—
Caprese put his ident chip away before Abbacchio got a closer look. He could've asked to see it again but that would've defeated the purpose. He looked at Abbacchio expectantly. Looking at the woman, Abbacchio wasn't willing to let him go just yet, but he was running out of reasons to keep him.
"Officers, can I let you in on a secret?" Caprese leaned in closer to Abbacchio and lowered his voice to an indulgent whisper. "I picked this girl up from one of the clubs downtown. We hit it off, and I just didn't want the night to end. She's tired and tipsy. I'm just trying to be a gentleman and help her home."
If that's the case, why were you yelling at her and dragging her down the street? Abbacchio thought but didn't say. He didn't know if he was overstepping right now. When in doubt, it was best to call your supervisor. But the guy would be long gone by then and all Abbacchio knew was this "Sheila" person wasn't safe with this man.
"That's kind of you," Abbacchio said. "If you'll allow us to take her off your hands, my partner and I would be more than willing to escort this woman home. You don't need to trouble yourself further." Tuft had moved around to the man's opposite side, closer to the woman. Her head lolled every now and then, as though she were falling asleep standing up.
"I like to see my business through," Caprese answered. "You officers look like you were just about to finish your shift. I'd hate to bother you."
"It's no bother at all." Abbacchio would not relent on this. Even if he turned out to be wrong, he didn't want Caprese anywhere near that woman.
Tuft's gaze was intent, alternating between the woman, Caprese and Abbacchio. He had some of the fastest reflexes Abbacchio had ever seen. In a blink, he would be able to whisk the woman off or shoot an elector pulse into Caprese's chest. Maybe even both.
Something jarred Abbacchio and he seized up before realizing Caprese was tapping his ident chip against his back. It was a strange, off-putting sensation. Abbacchio glared at Caprese, wondering who in their right mind would do something like that.
"How much do you want?" he asked.
Abbacchio's mind drew a blank. "What are you talking about?"
"A couple of rookies like you are probably tight for credits. How much do you want? I don't mind handing some over."
Abbacchio's fists tightened. Handing some over? Was this supposed to be a bribe? Did Caprese honestly think he could pay Abbacchio and Tuft off to leave him alone?
He wanted to arrest Caprese, but technically, there were no grounds for it. He also wanted to sock Caprese in the face. There didn't need to be any grounds for that.
"Come on," Caprese coaxed. "You don't have to be modest. It's no skin off my back. You go about your business; I go about mine. No shame in that."
Abbacchio looked into Caprese's eyes. They were sharp, striking. They looked like they could cut Abbacchio open if he wasn't careful.
Suddenly, Abbacchio could see it all very clearly. He would turn this man in and return the woman to her home. Battery and aggravation would be the best charges. A few days later, there would be a call: a family member or friend. There would be terse words between them and the authority chief; Abbacchio would be called in later for a talking-to. An exchange of a few thousand credits and Caprese would be out, dragging along another woman, tapping his ident chip on another GA's back.
What would be the point? Maybe, if Abbacchio just took the credits and looked the other way, that would make things better. The system could spend its time dealing with criminals who would stay in jail, who deserved to be deliberated on and tried. This man was scum, but he was petty, small-fry scum.
"Give me a thousand," Abbacchio said from the corner of his mouth. He slid his holopad from his pocket and with a tap, the credits were transferred.
Tuft did not react to this. Caprese looked expectantly at him but he didn't say anything. With a shrug, Caprese headed off, slinging his arm around Sheila.
"Appreciate it, officers. Have a pleasant evening."
Abbacchio didn't watch them leave. He went back to the patrol Levi. For a second, he thought Tuft wouldn't join him, but the passenger door opened a second later and Tuft got inside.
Abbacchio started driving back to the station. His hands buzzed strangely and if he didn't know better, he'd say his holopad was burning a hole in his pocket.
"Why did you do that?"
Abbacchio didn't register that Tuft had spoken until he repeated the question. Tuft didn't look angry. He didn't look like anything, really.
"Don't you think it's all a little pointless?"
"Pointless?" Tuft repeated.
"We lock him up. He pays bail. He gets out and does the same shit. What's the point? It's all the same for Upper Space nobles like him. No matter what we do, they'll just use their money and get out."
Tuft thought about this. "What if it's not just about the results?"
"What would it be about then?"
"What if it's about searching for truth? The action of working towards justice and wanting to maintain it? Locking people up not just for the sake of it, but so that justice, in some form, is preserved? If we ignore these things completely, that's what makes it pointless, don't you think?"
"Is that really what you think?"
"Right now it is." There was no judgement in Tuft's voice. Abbacchio appreciated it; he was judging himself hard enough for the both of them. If his pride would allow it, he would go back right now and drag Caprese to the station.
Abbacchio realized a part of himself must have thought like Tuft when he was a child. But then things had gotten more complex. The more Abbacchio saw, the less he understood. He wasn't even a full-fledged officer yet, but already he could feel himself marching towards that end that his father had found himself at.
"I don't think I could keep up that kind of mentality," Abbacchio admitted.
"You will," Tuft said, and the simple certainty in his words gave Abbacchio pause.
They didn't bring up the bribe or Caprese for the rest of the ride.
- ✦ -
Abbacchio and Tuft were made officers without incident. Caprese's bribe was a constant blight in the back of Abbacchio's mind; he fully expected at any moment to be kicked out of the GA's for it. But no one ever did, and the guilt and relief took turns kicking Abbacchio's conscience. It made him more aloof and waspish than usual, and within the precinct, he gained the reputation of being the rookie with a stick up his ass. The only person who could talk to him without being barked at was Tuft. Still, Abbacchio remained diligent and hardworking, no matter how his mind churned.
They received a call for a robbery one evening. Unfortunately, such calls had been on the rise lately. An influx of people stealing from Upper Space nobles and pawning off their spoils. Abbacchio drew out his elector from his shoulder holster and nodded at Tuft to go around back. The robber was still inside, apparently. A male, around 5'10" with dark hair. They'd surround him and trap him inside. The owner of the house had locked himself in an upstairs bathroom. If he was smart, he would stay there.
Abbacchio carefully picked his way inside the house, keeping his footsteps light. The interior was dim, everything grey and shadowy. Abbacchio poised his elector by his head, hearing the faint hum of its charge. He strained to make out any sound and stiffened when there was a slight creak.
At once, Abbacchio darted towards the sound. He heard a rattle, then something like one of the windows being forced open. He came just in time to make out someone stuffing themselves through the window frame.
"Stop right there!" Abbacchio fired, the elector pulse fizzling out against the wood. The intruder startled and lost his balance, falling heavily to the ground. Abbacchio wasted no time getting his arms behind him.
"You don't understand. This isn't what it looks like," the intruder said, his face smushed up against the ground.
"You're under arrest," Abbacchio gritted out. "I suggest you cooperate."
All of a sudden, the intruder's body went lax. He turned his head to try and look at Abbacchio and the lazy smile that curled his mouth made Abbacchio's blood freeze.
"I thought I recognized that voice. Fancy meeting you again."
It was Caprese. Even though he shouldn't have, Abbacchio lurched back from him, bile rising in the back of this throat.
"You look scared. Do I look that bad?" Caprese drawled.
"You're under arrest," Abbacchio said, but there was nothing behind it. All he could think about was the thousand credits, the tap-tap of Caprese's ident chip against his back.
Caprese eased himself up. He drew the sack that he'd dropped closer to him, whatever he'd stolen clinking together inside.
"It's a shame you got me before I escaped, but why don't we treat this like last time? You go about your business, I go about mine. No one will think twice about the senile old man."
Abbacchio levelled his elector on Caprese. "You're under arrest for breaking and entering and robbery. Put down the bag and put your hands where I can see them."
Caprese continued to smile. "That's cute. Did you memorize that from the rookie handbook?"
"Hands up," Abbacchio barked. "Now."
Caprese rose to his feet. Mortified that he was still on the ground, Abbacchio scrambled up too.
"If you bring me into the station, our little bribe won't be so secret anymore, will it?" Caprese said. His eyes glinted eerily in the gloom. "I wonder what your higher-ups will say when they hear about it."
"I don't care about that," Abbacchio lied. "I'm taking you in."
"What if I told them that wasn't the first time it happened?" Caprese said, tilting his head. "What if I said you took money every time we passed by? The probationary officer who didn't know any better. Who thought he was entitled to the money."
Abbacchio tightened his grip on his elector. "I'm just trying to do my job."
"You won't have a job much longer if I talk to them. What's the point anyway? You know I'll just post bail and get out, don't you? Tiny things like this don't mean a thing on my record. I'll just get out and you'll have arrested me for nothing."
What if it's about searching for truth?
The action of working towards justice and wanting to maintain it?
Caprese was leaning against the window frame. "Is it going to be me or your job, rookie?"
Abbacchio felt himself lowering the elector. He saw a malicious grin spread across Caprese's face, the hard gleam of an elector emerge from his sack.
Bang!
Abbacchio's head knocked painfully against the ground. Someone was yelling. It wasn't him.
He looked up to see Caprese, holding his hands against his face as blood streamed between his fingers. He became aware of a weight against him, something warm and solid.
"Tuft," Abbacchio rasped.
His partner smiled wanly at him before he slumped forward. When Abbacchio tried to get up, his hand slipped on the floor, and drawing it towards him, he found it covered in dark crimson.
- ✦ -
It was lucky that Tuft didn't die or the guilt would've taken Abbacchio too. He was put on leave for a few months to recover from the shallow wound Caprese's elector pulse put on him. Tuft said nothing about Caprese or the bribes. He remained loyal to Abbacchio, which only served to make Abbacchio feel worse. Caprese himself was never captured. A few weeks after the incident, Abbacchio put in a formal request to transfer districts.
For some hare-brained reason, Abbacchio accepted an assignment for a group of petty space thieves that had been menacing the surrounding planets and colonies. Passione, they called themselves. Everyone told him there was no point. They acted like lunatics, but no GA had been able to get close to them. They always managed to slip past the tightest defences and disappear without a trace. They must have had superpowers or something, or maybe they were decked out with black-market cybernetics that made them impervious to capture.
Abbacchio could only react. In cat-and-mouse chases like this one, it was best to anticipate, to wait at the hideout or the diamond about to be stolen. It seemed virtually impossible, however, with how unpredictable Passione was. The only thing connecting their crimes together was that they stole things of inordinate value and fenced them off. Nobody was safe, and it had all the Upper Space nobles trembling in their boots.
Abbacchio slipped his hands into his pockets as he left yet another noble's house. They were beginning to blur together, all the nobles Passione had stolen from. They could only give the same half-hearted answers; no concrete details and certainly no concrete evidence. People often seemed confused why such a young GA like Abbacchio would be willing to waste his career on such a fruitless pursuit. Honestly, Abbacchio had no idea either.
They never showed up on security footage of any kind. Why was that? If he could even get his hands on one flacking grainy recording, at least Abbacchio could confirm to himself that Passione was even real.
He sighed. If only he could see something from them. Anything at all.
Someone brushed by him. Instinctively, Abbacchio apologized and moved aside, then had to stare. He'd seen his fair share of eccentric dressers but this was . . . It wasn't a person at all, was it?
Abbacchio backed up against the wall, suddenly feeling panicky. A few people walked by without a second glance at the humanoid thing and Abbacchio couldn't tell if they were ignoring it or genuinely couldn't see it. The thing was shiny and holographic, about the same size and shape as Abbacchio himself. It had no mouth, but eyes that looked a little speakers and a timer set into its forehead. The thing cocked its head at Abbacchio, then its body shimmered like Old World static.
"What the hell?" Abbacchio murmured.
The static intensified. Abbacchio thought he heard a dial tone, then blinked as the humanoid shifted before his eyes. Its body lost its vinyl-like sheen, morphing into clothes and a different figure. Its face changed into a pair of shifty eyes and crooked smile—a face that Abbacchio knew regrettably well.
Y/N L/N. Captain of Passione.
Dumbstruck, Abbacchio could only stare as the humanoid-turned-Captain looked over its shoulder and then darted forward on the pavement. Abbacchio hesitated, then followed after it, not sure what the hell else he was supposed to do. All of those sleepless nights must finally be catching up to him. That or the obscene amount of caffeine he'd been ingesting.
"Good work," the humanoid-thing said in the Captain's voice. "We got the cricket ball just as planned."
Abbacchio kept pace with the humanoid. The resemblance to the Captain was uncanny. Abbacchio could make out their individual eyelashes and the flecks in their eyes. It was like he was walking next to the Captain themself.
The Captain appeared to listen to something. As if from thin air, the aforementioned cricket ball appeared between their fingers and they tossed it up and down casually.
"Our buyer is going to meet us at the Pan and Stack Diner the day after tomorrow. Should be quick. We'll be taking a little break after that."
Abbacchio tried to catch the cricket ball but his hand passed right through it. He touched the Captain's sleeve, disconcerted to find that even if it didn't feel like fabric, it was still solid. What the hell was going on?
"Oh, shut up," the Captain said, startling Abbacchio. "You won't be saying that after we cash in."
With that, the static overtook their body and the humanoid reappeared. Abbacchio stared at it.
"Can you do that again?" he asked, and immediately felt stupid. The humanoid said nothing—could it even talk? Eventually, it melted out of view, leaving Abbacchio to wonder if he'd even seen the damned thing.
The Pan and Stack Diner. That would be a satellite diner a little ways off of this colony. And if Passione was meeting with their buyer, that would make it sometime tomorrow, assuming what the humanoid had shown him was recent.
It was stupid. Abbacchio had imagined this whole thing. He wasn't going to drag his ass out to that diner and wait for Passione to show up. He needed to rely on concrete sources and witnesses, not phony humanoids made of vinyl.
Abbacchio thought all of this as he pulled up the diner on his holopad and saved the directions for later.
- ✦ -
This was stupid. Abbacchio didn't even like pancakes. He'd been sitting in this booth for at least an hour at this point, drowning his pancakes within an inch of their life in syrup. Passione wasn't going to show up. They weren't. He told himself that every time the doors slid open and some other schmuck came in.
He told himself that as he noticed two people come in, both in large sunglasses. One had a cap pulled low over their head. The other's hair gleamed blue-black under the diner lights. Abbacchio watched them thread their way through the diner toward an inconspicuous table in the back. He looked out of the window; squinted at the flash of an arrow hat.
In the end, Abbacchio was just as surprised as anyone else when he managed to put Passione into custody. So the humanoid hadn't been lying. Somehow, it had managed to show Abbacchio a conversation the Captain had actually conducted, showed him their exact movements as they went down the street. Abbacchio couldn't stop to think about how that was possible because it wasn't.
Abbacchio was given the chance to talk to each member of Passione individually. Personal statements. Bucciarati was withdrawn and quiet. Mista was arrogant and brassy. It felt a little surreal to be talking to them in person, to confirm that they were actually real people and not just holograms Abbacchio had been chasing.
Eventually, it came time to talk to the Captain. He didn't know what to make of them honestly. They were keenly alert at all times, putting on a veneer of indifference but paying attention to everything. They answered none of his questions and their only goal seemed to tick him off.
"Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" Abbacchio asked. "With your record, you'll have to serve at least a decade in jail."
The Captain smirked. "Worried about me?"
Abbacchio found that he was, a little bit. "I'm trying to give you the fairest chance I can. If you feel that you've been arrested on the wrong grounds, now is the time to tell me."
"I'm a thief. Thieves get arrested and the stars go 'round." The Captain leaned back in their chair, crossing their arms in front of them. Abbacchio had noticed a scar on one of their arms. He wondered where it had come from. He wouldn't mind knowing, truth be told.
"Why do you do it?" Abbacchio asked. "Any one piece that you steal is worth thousands. Why keep this up and risk getting caught? You should have more than enough credits by now."
The Captain looked thoughtful. "I'll answer you a question for a question, how's that?"
"What would you want to know about me?"
"Why did you pick up this case? We've had a few GA's try to track us down but you've been on our ass for a while. Why did you keep it up? You should've quit by now."
"I don't give up easily," Abbacchio said, and wondered why he sounded defensive.
"Evidently." The Captain smiled. Abbacchio liked that smile. Crookedly charming. "Have you been a GA for long? Don't tell me you're secretly sixty years old."
"Seventy, actually. And you didn't answer my question."
"I get a kick out of all of this," the Captain said. "There's an unmatched thrill you get when you steal something. Plus, I get to stick it to all of the rich nobles who don't know any better. You won't admit it, but you know what I'm talking about, right?"
Internally, Abbacchio admitted to himself that he felt a grim satisfaction whenever some noble or other was stolen from. They treated it like such a grave offense, but the truth was, what they lost barely dented their massive fortunes. It was nice to see them get humbled every now and then.
Thinking of Upper Space nobles got Abbacchio thinking about Caprese and he instantly became gloomy. They had never found out why he'd been stealing from that old man, considering he had no shortage of money himself. If Caprese was ever stolen from, Abbacchio wouldn't be sorry for it.
"You look like you have a lot on your mind," the Captain said. "Are you alright?"
Abbacchio blinked. Why was the Captain acting like they weren't handcuffed and Abbacchio hadn't just arrested them? People rarely asked him that nowadays. Tuft must have been the last one.
"If there's nothing further you want to say, I'll be taking you to your cell," he said gruffly.
"That'd be swell. I appreciate it."
Once they were secured, Abbacchio went back to his office and tried to finish the rest of his paperwork. He kept thinking about the Captain, about that strange earnestness they spoke with. They were cocky, but they were also perceptive. It seemed like they understood a lot more than they let on. Abbacchio had read in their records that they'd used to be a soldier. A strange progression to go from that to a thief.
- ✦ -
The day that Abbacchio got promoted to Inspector was the same day that Passione broke out of jail for the first time.
Abbacchio tried to keep his head straight but it was impossible not to feel like a flackbag. Checking in on the cells revealed no signs of tampering whatsoever. The crew had simply been there one moment and gone the next. The simplicity of it infuriated Abbacchio. And they'd chosen to do it on today of all days so that his inspector badge would feel more like a spit in the face.
The first chance he got, he slipped into the cells to use his ability. By now, he'd figured out that he could summon the holographic humanoid at will and that it responded to what he wanted. He had it resume the position of the Captain, cursing how he could ever have admired them for even a second.
He watched the Captain crouch up against the wall, pressing their ear against it. Then they leaned back and followed something with their eyes to the adjacent wall. They got up, stepped closer to the wall, and disappeared. Abbacchio replayed the scene three times and each time got more confused.
He must not have been the only one with an ability. Passione had them too. In a way, it must have been kismet that he'd decided to pick up their case, because there wasn't a GA in the galaxy that would be able to keep up with Passione without some kind of ability of their own.
He reported his sheepish findings to the chief. No, he hadn't found anything. Yes, he had done everything according to procedure. He was terribly sorry this had happened and was willing to give up his badge if necessary.
"That won't be necessary," the chief said with a long sigh. The sound reminded Abbacchio of his father. For a second, he wondered how he was doing, how he would react if Abbacchio told him about his ability.
"Do you have any idea where they could have gone?" the chief asked.
Abbacchio opened his mouth. On a whim, he had taken his ability outside and tried to find a playback of the Captain outside of the jail. He'd found them easily enough, even caught the name of the place they were planning to go next. It was lucky that they were clueless about his ability, or they would've been more careful about what they said and where.
Abbacchio knew that if he wanted, he could easily have the crew back in their cells by tonight. From here on out, it wouldn't be difficult to catch them. They were cunning, but Abbacchio could replay their every move, listen in on their conversations. In that way, he was something of an honourary member.
Abbacchio could very well tell all of this to the chief. But the Captain liked to stick it to Upper Space nobles and to be honest, Abbacchio wasn't all that fond of nobles either.
He had accepted by now that he was a terrible GA. Accepting bribes, not backing his partner, not divulging information. What more did tacking on "lying to a superior officer" do?
"No, sir," Abbacchio said, his voice even. "I don't have any idea where they could have gone."