Hey, um, thanks.
I’m sorry, but with the attack my memory isn’t what it was. So forgive me when I ask, how do we know one another?
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C’mon, Walleye, you’ve see Quackers skulking around, surely.
You’re Brummel’s do-boy aren’t, ye?
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Indeed, yessss. He took me and my nessst brothersss in after our father died in that terrible acccssssident.
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Really, Quiddich? I didn’t realize that. I should be more understanding what with Mum and Da having been killed during the Nutter’s Rebellion.
All of us wards need to stick up for one another less one of these terrible accidents befalls one of us.
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Rap-tap-tap
‘Ello! Heard somebody was laid up. Oof, you ain’t looking so good, are ya friend? Ah well, ol’ Tommy’s got just the thing to make the time go by. Master Walleye Crusher, may I introduce you to the esteemed Baby’s Best Bedtime Littlest Laudanum. Mum swore by it, why, don’t right remember half my childhood I think!
Say now, that looks like one o’ them machines the Dr.'s always 'round bout the engines with… Why’s it keep screeching every time Frog-oh there gets close by?
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Hello Ensign,
Sorry to hear about your being cupped in the pudding-house.
Quite terrible, really. Whatever your .net was up to, that was no way to treat you. Of course, if it had been lobsters like me instead of the softskins that make up most of this planet’s population, we’d just have eaten you and been done with it.
Anyway, I gathered up the rest of the gear form that .net. Where should I put it?
when we pulled the last of your equipment off the bottom, I also found this interesting fellow
What the hell were you baiting your .nets with?
-Eighth
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Oh Tom, what good tide-ings!
whispers: I was going to ask you to score me some whipweed but this looks more interesting
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Thanks, Eighth, for all your help in putting the .NETS in and taking them out.
That’s a Gargille. We find these sculptures keep the hungry from eating our .NET devices.
If only there were a totem to protect us from the mobs of Weatherby.
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Whipweed, eh? Good thinkin’. Multi-spectrum approach, take care of anything. Never can be too careful when it comes to your health [winks]. You just count on ol’ Tom here to get you the best medicines, whatever you need.
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[ a brief knock on the front door frame, then Dick enters, carrying a gift ]
I heard you were ill, Walleye, so I brought you a little something to cheer you up. Looks like I’m late to the party! Hello, fellows!
Anyway, here you go. I hope it brings you some comfort.
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Thank you, dear friend.
Nothing like the comfort of a stuffed apex predator.
Speaking of…yawwwn…all this company has me so worn out I feel I could hibernate.
Thanks for stopping by, friends.
dozes off
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I may need to ask for your assistance in this regard in the near future, Ratchetcrank, depending on the continuing availability of Rounder’s “patent medicines”.
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Hey, Boy-o. Before you ship off for the front line…do you think you could score me some Macadamias?
You seem to have the best … connections.
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Of course, Ol’ Tom’s always happy to help. Something specific in mind or you lookin’ for a more bespoke tonic, something to soften planetfall as it were?
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Macadamias? You truly are a gentlesentient of refined tastes. Should have just the thing for you coming in on the Cmdr’s next ship.
Ehhh, just give me a little bit t’ sort out the pieces.
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Oi! Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to resort to finely powdered Macadamia.
Coat Rack would just assume I’ve developed a snuff habit.
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This is where he died, as he was.
The local constubalry only requires autopsies for True Citizens, so the scene is undisturbed. When the papers inquired, I described vague plague-like symptoms, so most believe that he died of dysentary.
Also, here’s his science log, his communicator, and his journals.
Let me know what you find, Lt. Commander Cata.
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I will do my best, Commander.
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Commander,
I have finished my analysis of the records.
As several witnessed, Ensign Crusher was run-through with a spear. According to his report to you, this injury came from a mob who alleged him of supporting New Prussian intelligence activities.
As you noted, it was curious that Ensign Crusher had gone out-of-his-way when returning from Dr. Franksenketchup’s fishery. I discovered that Ensign Crusher sent a parcel to the young maiden @Ssskidwish. I recovered the following copy of one of his draft messages from his personal iFin:
Interestingly, the post office registers that someone from Dewclaw Manor sent a reply but I could find no record of the contents of that reply.
The timing is important, though, as it was only the season before the attack when you and @Chewseen upgraded from a spartan apartment to a fashionable apartment. Young Walleye was using the post office to hold mail during the move. When he was attacked by the mob, he lost two parcels: a letter from Dewclaw Manor and a receipt of registration of his new address.
The contents and whereabouts of The Dewclaw Letter are unknown.
But we do have a record of who knew about Crusher’s new address, and his attackers may have paid a visit while he tried to recover.
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First to visit was Rockford “Rocco” Julius, ward of Hieronymoose Farnsworth, III. Abacus Racks is notable for being one of the first sandfisheries established on Weatherby, and the only to deny entry to Ensign Crusher to inspect for sentience. Rocco also is known for his taste in sandfish.
Next to visit was Qaaxtzl, the reclusive ward of the previously retired Lt. Erythro Brummell. The flowers gifted by Qaaztzl still register a high degree of alpha wave emission, reminiscent of the cold-blooded political assassinations of the Mondo era.
The infamous drug-runner Tom Ratchetclank arrived next, delivering some black-market laudanum. This opiate would only have worsened Ensign Crusher’s respiratory difficulties, and Tom appears to have known this.
Unsurprisingly, the Landau Collective sent a late-generation emissary. It’s known throughout the city of Weatherby, and the planet of Weatherby, that Mr. Jules Rothschild Karekin desires to be the primary supplier of ethically sourced sandfish. And now, holding one of only three UFOS Certifications of being a sentient-free sandfishery, it would be uncharacteristic of them to not try to optimize that competitive advantage and corner the market.
Last to visit was Mr. Richard Oomingmak Ticklebot Liversnaps-Grayson. The stuffed animal provided to Walleye was steeped in a concoction of whipweed tonic wine, Merrimoose syrup, and collodial seryl, the likes of which I’ve never seen. It is unknown what neurological effects these vapors would have upon a sentient being, but certainly would be dangerous for someone in such criticial recovery as Walleye.
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