by Groveclearer
"His eyes were blue," Squire said. Kristie tapped a few lines into the database, and the image on the screen pixelated before coming back into focus. The dragon on the screen was large with slate-black scales and a rotund blue underbelly.
"Blue on blue," Squire clarified. "Blue irises and sclera. Like he was on melange."
"What?" Kristie asked.
"Blue on blue eyes," Squire repeated. Seems they didn't have that particular franchise in this particular reality. A dork like Kristie Sparks would've certainly gotten the reference if they had.
Another few key taps and the image was modified once more.
Squire leaned on her crutch, shifting the weight of her cast as the image clarified. She'd have had this finished half an hour ago if the Argo didn't have a strict policy against letting visitors have direct access to their mainframe. Captain Sonora wasn't a woman to cross on the best of days and Squire would be far from peak form for at least another couple weeks.
Stupid leg-breaking, bounty-stealing, ship-wrecking, obese dragon.
"That about right?" Kristie asked.
"Yeah," Squire said. The hair was a little off and the gut was smaller than it ought to be, but otherwise the computer had done a commendable job of recreating her assailant. "He's called Pyrodox," she said. "Or calls himself Pyrodoox. Or wanted me to think he's called Pyrodox."
"Or all three," Kristie smiled, and Squire nodded at the bit of levity. "Soooo... he broke your leg, stole your bounty, wrecked your ship... you're now gonna hunt him down and kill him, are ya?"
Something primal in Squire's being told her that's exactly what she should do. He's a threat. He knows who you are. He knows who your family is. Moreover, he's an unknown. A very skilled, very cultured unknown from another sector that, if left unchecked, could threaten the sovereignty of the Fa'Tik Empi-
"No, I'm not," Squire shook her head. "I'm just giving you guys a heads up for old times' sake. This guy... there's something about him. Something behind him. He was too organized to be operating alone and all I'm turning up so far is whispers of esoteric nonsense."
"Like... shadow government nonsense or alien-beyond-our-understanding nonsense?" Kristie asked while typing in the final bits into the dragon's bio, what little of it they could ascertain.
"Cult nonsense," Squire said. "He spoke like a man of faith once I got him talking so it's possible that..." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I dunno. There are millions of cults out there and it seems like half of them are supposed to have secret assassins or nuclear weapons or something."
For a second Squire considered telling Kristie the real reason why she was so concerned about Pyrodox - he'd known about the Well of Time, known about the Traveler, and by implication known who she really was. There was an organization, or in the very least a hyper-competent individual, that had tabs on her journeys aboard the Cryok. She'd immigrated to an entirely different reality to escape this type of bullshit and here it was, popping right back into her life again after twenty years of apparent anonymity, mocking her for thinking she'd ever be able to truly move on. Instead of telling Kristie all of this, unloading her life story prior to arriving on Spira 'lo those many years ago to a friend she'd walked through fire and shrapnel with, Squire shifted the weight on her crutch around once more and said nothing.
"Well, we'll keep an eye open for him," Kristie said. "Thanks for the info. Please stay a night or two. You look pretty awful."
"Thanks," Squire said. "I feel awful, too." And she did.
