Leverage fic: The Treasure Planet Job; PG-13
Title: The Treasure Planet Job
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Ensemble
Words: 1, 410
Disclaimer: Don't own any of the show or the characters
Notes: au_bingo prompt-- Future - In Space!!!
Author's Notes: I tried writing for this fandom. I suck with space + cons, I know. My bingo card
He double-checks the escape pod and the emergency transport before switching to the concealment capability of the ship.
The lights power down, from bright white to a warm yellow, as a steady hum fills the room. He glances out the window and smiles, knowing that if somehow another vessel finds its way to wherever he is, Lucille would merely appear to be another useless rock in the vastness of the Korra System.
He goes out of the cockpit and heads to the kitchen to grab some turnip crisps and a big tin of orange soda before heading out to the hallway to assist with the operation.
The lights automatically turn on and off, depending on where he is. When he finally reaches the control room, he plops down on his bubble-wrap couch (there were only 25 of these babies made during the 2050’s. It’s worth a fortune and for a very old chair, it’s very comfy). He sets down the orange soda on one side and the crisps on the other before starting with the satellite re-routing.
The set-up is taking longer than usual. The planet which the Captain wants to steal for this con, Marron, is one of the outer planets in this rather obscure star system. They have three communication satellites for 12 planets. Three for 12. Who are they kidding? They need at least half the number of the planets in the system to have decent communication links with each other, not to mention with the entire universe.
“Lucille, sweetheart,” he starts, commanding the ship’s computer as he takes a handful of crisps again, “May I have the visuals please?”
He glances at his left wrist, looking at the old-fashioned timepiece Eliot insisted he wear when the con calls for the hacker to be off-planet (“It’s for better synchronization, Hardison”)
The dials (hands, things, whatever) tell him that he has a few more moments (minutes) left before their comm links go online again. At that moment, bright lights fill the room as the holodeck powers up.
“Thank you, sweetcakes.” He jumps up from the couch and stands in the middle of the room, flicking his wrists left and right to create four, separate visual windows. The first one for the Captain and Sophie, who are sitting on different tables in a cafe, drinking coffee and waiting for their mark; the second one for Parker’s location, an aerial view of their mark’s office building with a 2-mile radius; the third one for Eliot, who’s loitering outside their mark’s house, pretending to be the cable guy; and the last window for the view of the planet’s capital- an in-planet, eye-level view of the city.
He takes a step back and admires his work. He can see everybody (except for Parker, since she’s inside a building… in the ventilation shaft, to be exact).
“Hardison, what’s your status?”
“Up and running. I’m looking at you now, Cap’n.” he says. Captain Nathaniel Ford, formerly of CenGov’s Insurance Ministry (some might even say he IS the Insurance Ministry, at least behind the scenes) and now a thief who helps the helpless, looks up to the sky.
“And?”
“Satellites aren’t posing any problems. They’re actually pretty high-end, judging from the non-existent pixelations on everybody’s faces.” And, as if to prove a point to nobody, zooms in and out of Eliot’s face on the third window. He lets out a chuckle.
“What are you doing, Hardison?” Eliot’s growl suddenly booms out the speakers. Sometimes, it’s just really eerie how he seems to know what’s going on, several thousand miles up in space.
“What makes you think I’m doing anything, Eliot?”
“You’re giggling.”
He furrows his brows and puts up both his hands, “I do not giggle.”
“Yes, you do. You giggle every time you do something to my face in that damn holodeck.”
“I’m not doing anything.” He replies in annoyance.
“Diffy’s on the way to the café.” Parker whispers.
He turns his attention to the second window and zooms in on the building entrance. “Yeah, I see him. He just got out of the building.”
“What’s his ETA, Hardison?”
He glances at his timepiece, “Uh, five, ten?”
“What’s in his office, Parker?”
“Ooh, there’s a red lamp that spews out lava.”
“Spews out lava?” Sophie interjects.
“I think its lava. I haven’t seen one for real.” He can hear the amazement in Parker’s tone, “Can I have it?”
“Focus, Parker.” Captain Nate answers “Find his database and get his files. Eliot?”
“His house is pretty quiet.” He sees Eliot scan the area from atop the crane, no doubt using his implanted ‘scope to survey the area, “Security’s shabby. Either he really believes no one’s going to dare steal from him, or he actually thinks his system’s secure.”
“Do you think it’s shabby enough for you to get in?”
“I can manage.”
“Good.”
“Leave me breadcrumbs.” He tells Eliot, who slides off the crane before suavely crossing the street. They can use the breadcrumbs - his little mechanical insects - to spy on their mark, record every conversation that happens in his house and get records that he adds in his home database.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Knowing it would take few minutes for all the information to get to him, he drags the holodeck from the middle of the room and positions it in front of the couch. He sits down, fixes the arrangement of the windows before kicking back his shoes and slouching against his chair.
He takes his tin of soda and his crisps and starts eating them again. This is how a con should always go-him up in space with Lucille, doing what he does best with orange soda and a bag of processed turnips by his side.
“Heads up, Cap’n.” he says, looking at the first and third windows, “He’s rounding the corner.”
Sophie stands up from her seat and goes inside the coffee shop. Captain Nate stays outside, reading literature on a tablet.
Their mark’s car pulls in front of the café and he steps out. Even in space, he can see that the man’s hair is too oily. He shudders at the sight.
Their mark struts around in his garish green and blue suit before going in the shop. He’s sort of like a peacock, in a way that if peacocks weren’t extinct and had oily hair.
“Oh, oh! My shoes” Sophie shrieks, making sure that an Aquilean accent is evident in her way of speaking, “And bagel, all over my hair!”
“I’m so sorry, madame,”
“Look at what you’ve done, you, you-oh… oh.” He can’t help but snicker in his seat. He can only imagine what’s going on inside that café, with Sophie acting about, “You look so familiar. Do I know you?”
“No, madame, I don’t think so.”
“Yes… oh, I know! I saw your interview before I left Aquile… CenGov gave you an award.”
“I doubt Aquilean news would deem me important for the works I’ve done for that award. It’s quite regional. I’m Xanos Diffy.”
“Lullette Sanders. I saw your interview on a major news stream. It’s probably newsworthy.” Sophie says, before giggling coquettishly.
“Well, come to think of it, I only reinvigorated half the business sector of Korra. It is probably newsworthy.”
“Ooh, a businessman. I’m a businesswoman myself, and I’m actually here in Marron to meet a-”
“What kind of business?”
“Mining. My family’s into mining. But I have to run. I can’t meet a prospective associate with bagel and coffee all over me. Although, frankly speaking, I don’t really think this associate is a good match to our company.”
He can almost hear their mark’s brain quickly processing the information Sophie had just given him. Mining is his forte, it’s how he’s tricking people in other star systems and trapping them here, without any means to contact anyone.
“If you find your prospective associate, well, failing, I might be interested. Mining, after all, is something I deal in.”
Sophie pauses, trying to appear unsure.
“Here’s my card. Give me a call. I’m based here, in Marron. I assure you I’m a very legitimate and very profitable asset and if my CenGov award isn’t a proof of that, then a tour of this planet would probably suffice.”
Sophie giggles again, “I’ll give you a call, Mr. Diffy. And I’m quite sure that call’s going to come sooner rather than later.”
“I’m looking forward to that call, Ms. Sanders.”
The con is afoot.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Ensemble
Words: 1, 410
Disclaimer: Don't own any of the show or the characters
Notes: au_bingo prompt-- Future - In Space!!!
Author's Notes: I tried writing for this fandom. I suck with space + cons, I know. My bingo card
He double-checks the escape pod and the emergency transport before switching to the concealment capability of the ship.
The lights power down, from bright white to a warm yellow, as a steady hum fills the room. He glances out the window and smiles, knowing that if somehow another vessel finds its way to wherever he is, Lucille would merely appear to be another useless rock in the vastness of the Korra System.
He goes out of the cockpit and heads to the kitchen to grab some turnip crisps and a big tin of orange soda before heading out to the hallway to assist with the operation.
The lights automatically turn on and off, depending on where he is. When he finally reaches the control room, he plops down on his bubble-wrap couch (there were only 25 of these babies made during the 2050’s. It’s worth a fortune and for a very old chair, it’s very comfy). He sets down the orange soda on one side and the crisps on the other before starting with the satellite re-routing.
The set-up is taking longer than usual. The planet which the Captain wants to steal for this con, Marron, is one of the outer planets in this rather obscure star system. They have three communication satellites for 12 planets. Three for 12. Who are they kidding? They need at least half the number of the planets in the system to have decent communication links with each other, not to mention with the entire universe.
“Lucille, sweetheart,” he starts, commanding the ship’s computer as he takes a handful of crisps again, “May I have the visuals please?”
He glances at his left wrist, looking at the old-fashioned timepiece Eliot insisted he wear when the con calls for the hacker to be off-planet (“It’s for better synchronization, Hardison”)
The dials (hands, things, whatever) tell him that he has a few more moments (minutes) left before their comm links go online again. At that moment, bright lights fill the room as the holodeck powers up.
“Thank you, sweetcakes.” He jumps up from the couch and stands in the middle of the room, flicking his wrists left and right to create four, separate visual windows. The first one for the Captain and Sophie, who are sitting on different tables in a cafe, drinking coffee and waiting for their mark; the second one for Parker’s location, an aerial view of their mark’s office building with a 2-mile radius; the third one for Eliot, who’s loitering outside their mark’s house, pretending to be the cable guy; and the last window for the view of the planet’s capital- an in-planet, eye-level view of the city.
He takes a step back and admires his work. He can see everybody (except for Parker, since she’s inside a building… in the ventilation shaft, to be exact).
“Hardison, what’s your status?”
“Up and running. I’m looking at you now, Cap’n.” he says. Captain Nathaniel Ford, formerly of CenGov’s Insurance Ministry (some might even say he IS the Insurance Ministry, at least behind the scenes) and now a thief who helps the helpless, looks up to the sky.
“And?”
“Satellites aren’t posing any problems. They’re actually pretty high-end, judging from the non-existent pixelations on everybody’s faces.” And, as if to prove a point to nobody, zooms in and out of Eliot’s face on the third window. He lets out a chuckle.
“What are you doing, Hardison?” Eliot’s growl suddenly booms out the speakers. Sometimes, it’s just really eerie how he seems to know what’s going on, several thousand miles up in space.
“What makes you think I’m doing anything, Eliot?”
“You’re giggling.”
He furrows his brows and puts up both his hands, “I do not giggle.”
“Yes, you do. You giggle every time you do something to my face in that damn holodeck.”
“I’m not doing anything.” He replies in annoyance.
“Diffy’s on the way to the café.” Parker whispers.
He turns his attention to the second window and zooms in on the building entrance. “Yeah, I see him. He just got out of the building.”
“What’s his ETA, Hardison?”
He glances at his timepiece, “Uh, five, ten?”
“What’s in his office, Parker?”
“Ooh, there’s a red lamp that spews out lava.”
“Spews out lava?” Sophie interjects.
“I think its lava. I haven’t seen one for real.” He can hear the amazement in Parker’s tone, “Can I have it?”
“Focus, Parker.” Captain Nate answers “Find his database and get his files. Eliot?”
“His house is pretty quiet.” He sees Eliot scan the area from atop the crane, no doubt using his implanted ‘scope to survey the area, “Security’s shabby. Either he really believes no one’s going to dare steal from him, or he actually thinks his system’s secure.”
“Do you think it’s shabby enough for you to get in?”
“I can manage.”
“Good.”
“Leave me breadcrumbs.” He tells Eliot, who slides off the crane before suavely crossing the street. They can use the breadcrumbs - his little mechanical insects - to spy on their mark, record every conversation that happens in his house and get records that he adds in his home database.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Knowing it would take few minutes for all the information to get to him, he drags the holodeck from the middle of the room and positions it in front of the couch. He sits down, fixes the arrangement of the windows before kicking back his shoes and slouching against his chair.
He takes his tin of soda and his crisps and starts eating them again. This is how a con should always go-him up in space with Lucille, doing what he does best with orange soda and a bag of processed turnips by his side.
“Heads up, Cap’n.” he says, looking at the first and third windows, “He’s rounding the corner.”
Sophie stands up from her seat and goes inside the coffee shop. Captain Nate stays outside, reading literature on a tablet.
Their mark’s car pulls in front of the café and he steps out. Even in space, he can see that the man’s hair is too oily. He shudders at the sight.
Their mark struts around in his garish green and blue suit before going in the shop. He’s sort of like a peacock, in a way that if peacocks weren’t extinct and had oily hair.
“Oh, oh! My shoes” Sophie shrieks, making sure that an Aquilean accent is evident in her way of speaking, “And bagel, all over my hair!”
“I’m so sorry, madame,”
“Look at what you’ve done, you, you-oh… oh.” He can’t help but snicker in his seat. He can only imagine what’s going on inside that café, with Sophie acting about, “You look so familiar. Do I know you?”
“No, madame, I don’t think so.”
“Yes… oh, I know! I saw your interview before I left Aquile… CenGov gave you an award.”
“I doubt Aquilean news would deem me important for the works I’ve done for that award. It’s quite regional. I’m Xanos Diffy.”
“Lullette Sanders. I saw your interview on a major news stream. It’s probably newsworthy.” Sophie says, before giggling coquettishly.
“Well, come to think of it, I only reinvigorated half the business sector of Korra. It is probably newsworthy.”
“Ooh, a businessman. I’m a businesswoman myself, and I’m actually here in Marron to meet a-”
“What kind of business?”
“Mining. My family’s into mining. But I have to run. I can’t meet a prospective associate with bagel and coffee all over me. Although, frankly speaking, I don’t really think this associate is a good match to our company.”
He can almost hear their mark’s brain quickly processing the information Sophie had just given him. Mining is his forte, it’s how he’s tricking people in other star systems and trapping them here, without any means to contact anyone.
“If you find your prospective associate, well, failing, I might be interested. Mining, after all, is something I deal in.”
Sophie pauses, trying to appear unsure.
“Here’s my card. Give me a call. I’m based here, in Marron. I assure you I’m a very legitimate and very profitable asset and if my CenGov award isn’t a proof of that, then a tour of this planet would probably suffice.”
Sophie giggles again, “I’ll give you a call, Mr. Diffy. And I’m quite sure that call’s going to come sooner rather than later.”
“I’m looking forward to that call, Ms. Sanders.”
The con is afoot.