I SHOT THE SHERIFF (AND THE DEPUTY, HE WAS A DICK)
#deliverymissionprompt { date: three-weeks-ago; location: ‘The Worthington-Eckhart Auction House’, upper quarter, mars; status: closed; personnel: {jonathan-lev}, {sebastian-x};}
Of all their regular clients, R J Atticus was definitely Sebastian’s favorite. The client didn’t send them to places that were fascinating biologically, but he did send them to places that were fascinating in a literary sense -- and although Sebastian was rarely inclined to take interest in things like literary fiction or speculative ancient history, he was nonetheless enamored by old books.
That, and with his propensity to only ever wear suits, he was rather suited to attend auctions where everybody else would be in suits, unlike many of his crew members, which Sebastian had never seen wearing anything other than a t-shirt and maybe a leather jacket if they were feeling fancy.
The Worthington-Eckhart Auction House was a spectacular example of what architects on Mars could do if they had money and the inclination to design something luxurious; even Sebastian, disinterested in gold adornments and silk curtains, had to admit that it looked quite nice. It had been easy enough to get in (after explaining to the nice doorman that Lev was his bodyguard, and that was why he needed guns and whatever other weaponry Lev was wearing on his person), and now, surrounded by people who could likely buy their ship with one week’s worth of accumulated interest on their bank account, they sat, waiting for the auction of the book they had been directed to buy.
Of course, Sebastian couldn’t resist a little commentary on the previous books.
“That’s the Codex of Elias,” he whispered to Lev. “Back on Earth, there used to be a country called America -- and when that empire started to go into steep decline, it’s said that their 64th President locked himself in his government building for four months, doing nothing but writing. He barely slept or ate, and the left the country leaderless. When he emerged, he handed that manuscript to his wife, and then collapsed and died. It’s written in code, and nobody has been able to translate it, even now, hundreds of years later.”
A lady seated in front of him turned slightly to glare at him for talking. Sebastian just blinked at her, his eyes like blank mirrors, which apparently disturbed her enough to turn back around and cease glaring.
“According to the schedule, the book we’re looking for is coming up next,” he continued whispering. “It will be exciting to see the cover, as rumors say it is made from human skin.”