PART 1

Prologue

Screeching through the black of space, the bulky, sharp nosed ship tore above the red, dust surface of Phobos. The beak shaped craft, inclined its course, flying over a rather tall formation of the rim of the crater. The triple thrusters blared from the stern of the ship, carrying the craft deeper into the shallow reaches of space from the moon's atmosphereless surface. Suddenly, the nose dipped down drastically and the moon's weak gravitational pull lured it back. The craft shuddered from the gain of momentum, and the thrusters gunned the ship back to the surface. With a sudden jolt, the the nose was pulled back up, trying to stabilize. Banking off to the side, the craft soared over another crater. With a violent clash, the starboard wing crashed on a development of solid rock in the midst of the crater. The ship spun hazardously from the impact, sending the craft careening across the crater to the drastically sloping wall. The beak like nose of the ship dipped and crashed to the surface. As the rest of the body hit down hard, it scraped the red-hued ground, sending sparks and dust up around the bow and a slicing a gray trench in its wake. A burst of flame and dust exploded from the askew impact on the starboard side; the entire wing port crumpled from the crash. The thrusters flared white-hot before exploding, completely engulfing the entire ship in the scorching flame.

With sharp eyes focused sternly through the window screen of the cockpit, Adam stood with his arm against the headrest of the copilot's seat in front of him. He was praying, praying in his mind that it wasn't too late. He could still hear the call through the static of the transmission. Her voice was panicky; that wasn't like her, she. He knew her better than that and known she could handle herself. The tone and shake of her voice said differently.

"What's our ETA?" he demanded gruffly, keeping the anxiety from his voice.

"The beacon's one mike out," the copilot announced in his headset.

"Alright, Adam muttered as he turned and walked through the entry and descended the short flight of steps to the cargo bay. "One mike out, last check on gear," he commanded out loud to the passengers inside. Seven either sat on the benches against the wall or stood on the floor, grasping the net overhead for stability. The Five of the medical detachment wore orange, pressurized oversuits with a clear visor helmet on their heads. Two tubes stretched from the back of the helmet to the console attached to the back of their belts. The remaining three, including Adam were clad in green, light Power Armor worn over their gray fatigues. Adam reached to a shelf against the wall and claimed his own helmet. Securing it on the slide locks around his suit's collar, the internal systems booted. On his visor displayed in his face was his HUD. Swiftly, he drew his DP-4 pistol. The linkup on the glove of his suit uploaded the interface of his pistol. Instantly a targeting reticule glowed in his face on the HUD. As he scanned the cargo bay with the muzzle angled down, the reticule corresponded with the same movement. Reholstering his DP-9, the reticule disappeared.

"First Responder 25, we're at the crash site," the pilot's voice said in his suit's comm link.

"Copy that, lowering the ramp," Adam replied. "Olsen," he called out to a man standing in the front of the cargo bay clad in a similar suit of armor. "Hit the switch." Olsen gave a nod to his chief and slung his carbine on his shoulder then held down the switch on the control console on wall. Behind the eight-manned group, the door to the cockpit slid shut. The ramp in front lowered as the servos whirred in a high pitch. Moments later the ramp was open. "This is First Responder 25, we're oscar mike." Adam led the rest off the ship. Out in front of them, a trench cut across the ground. Turning to his right, he followed the trench with his stern eyes, he found the smoking wreckage crashed into steep wall of the crater. Taking off in a run, Adam ran down the trench with the rest of the crew following behind. The crash was bad. The hull was crumpled and the window screen on the beak-like nose was shattered by the hard impact. The exterior lights flickered randomly. Assessing the wreckage, his anxiety set in again. Finally reaching the ship, the other two in the green armor of his security platoon approached with their SE-7 carbines shouldered. Scanning over the hull of the ship, Will Fuller keyed his commlink.

"No sign of an engagement," he reported.

"There wasn't," Adam snapped back.

"Then how did she crash?" Olsen inquired.

"Quit frickin talking and start cutting," their chief growled. "Who's got that lance?" From behind, one of the doctors approached, carrying a tripod, collapsible device. Adam ripped it from his grip then climbed onto the wing. "One of you doctors, get up here," he called out gruffly. Under different circumstances, he would step back and follow around one of the doctors to take charge. As the chief of the security detachment, his job was purely to protect the science and medical personnel of the Union Aerospace Corporation. But this was personal and there was a need for hurry. Unfolding the tripod, he secured the suction to the hull and extended the laser mounted arm. Working the controls on the device, he initiated the laser. The bright, narrow beam pierced through the hull. Pressing another button, the arm started to revolve under the legs of the tripod. With a single revolution, the circular slab of the hull dropped and clanged on the metal deck inside. Adam removed the entry lancer and quickly dropped through the newly cut hole. With another clang, he landed in a squat then straightened up. His rather tall physique made him feel like he had to duck even with the three foot head clearance. "Let's go, get a move on," he commanded through the hole. Carefully, the doctor slid one leg at a time through the entry then pushed off inside the ship. Landing with a messy clang, she grunted and stumbled forward, catching her fall with her hands. Adam pressed forward. On either side, the in-workings of the ship were exposed. Wires sent off electric discharges and dangled freely. The interior lights flickered spookily a lending little light inside the wreckage. Using the interface of his suit, he activated the headlights placed on his helmet. The doctor, a slim, young, bright-eyed blonde with pale skin followed apprehensively. Clutched tightly by her nerves in her hands was a hard case of medical supplies. Each of their steps clanged on the metal deck plates as they approached a sealed door. Adam rested his open palm on the holstered handle of his DP-9 as his other hand reached out to a control panel beside the door. Pressing the button, the corresponding lights flickered on briefly, sliding the door only a foot and a half into the wall. Sparks spit from the circuits around the door and it jammed in place. "Crap," he growled. Adam shuffled into the brief clearance and pushed against the door. Grunting with strain he pressed against the door, managing to allow another foot of clearance by the terrible screech of metal and eruption of more sparks. Looking back to his left, he cocked his head. "Lets go, Doc." With anxious steps, Adam entered into the cramped, dark cockpit. In the middle of the small area was a tall-backed seat behind a collection of control panels and monitors. Sparks spit from the control panels and staticy, shimmering displays struggled to stay on the monitors in the wreckage. The green-tinged window screen was breached with a large hole in the front and a web of cracks spreading on the surface. Adam hurried to the side of the pilot's seat, breathing heavily with concern on his stern face. Slumped forward over the controls was a bulky, armored figure. "Oh no," he muttered under his breath as he scanned over the orange, plated body of the pilot. Grasping the flat, curved shoulders plates of her suit, Adam gently pushed her upright in her seat; her helmeted head still slumped over her chest. "Samus! Come on Lady, answer me!" Adam pleaded with a gruff growl in his throat. She still sat limply in the seat, unresponsive to her own name; not even a shrewd comeback to her mock title. "She's out cold," he reported. The doctor approached to the other side of the seat holding a wand like device in one hand and a small monitor in the other. She hovered the wand over the pilot's limp form, eyes darting to the monitor in hand.

"I've got her vitals," she announced. "They're weak but there. We've got to get her to the ship and fast so we can run a diagnostic." The doctor suddenly jumped as she heard the shattering of glass. Snapping her attention to the front of the cockpit, nearly dropping her instruments in fright, she saw Adam give a series of hard, straight kicks at the window in front, making the hole bigger.

"Chief, everything all right?" Inquired Fuller. Outside on the moon's surface, the security guard had snapped his carbine to the source of the disturbance in the front of the cockpit.

"No, we've got to get her to the infirmary pronto. Tell one of those doctors down there to head back to the dropship and send another up here with a stretcher."

"Roger that," Fuller said over the com. With the help of the doctor inside the wreckage, Adam managed to sever the crash restraints on the pilot's seat and pry her away from the control terminals. Within moments, another doctor had climbed onto the battered nose of the wreckage and handed the collapsible stretcher through the enlarged hole of the window. Adam carefully lifted the pilot onto the stretcher then with the assistance of both doctor's, hefted the heavy figure through the hole. With the added assistance of Olsen, the four of them held up each corner grip of the stretcher and climbed down the battered hull of the wreckage. Adam led them quickly across the dusty surface of the moon back to the awaiting dropship. Their boots clanged on the metal deck of the ramp and continued noisily into the cargo bay. Already inside, one of the doctors had set up first aid station. Secured to the deck was a metal docking frame for the stretcher, surrounded by an IV console and other easily stowed monitors.

"Get her on the table," commanded the blonde doctor as she handed off her corner of the stretched before breaking off from the group. Making her way to the front of the cargo bay, she hit the switch of the ramp controls which whirred loudly as it sealed shut. Reaching first to the console on her belt line, she unsecured the hoses then removed her helmet, freeing her mess of a bun of blonde hair. Her pale blue eyes were wide open and focused as she starting issuing the orders. Turning to the security guards off to the side, she pointed to the cockpit. "One of you tell them to get us back aboard the shuttle."

"Yes Ma'am," answered Olsen. She removed the rather bulky gloves of her orange oversuit.

"Get that armor off her," she ordered as she went off to the side for her medical instruments. Adam had backed away along with the other security guards, allowing the four doctors to do their work. The dropship's thrusters engaged, taking them away from the surface of the moon. All the time, Adam kept a straight, focused look on his hard face, though inside, he was wracked with worry. The doctor approached the table now with blue latex gloves and a stethoscope around her neck. Adam watched her thin, pale face for a reaction, any sign of Samus' condition; focusing so much on her features, he was surprised to find a drastic similarity of her face. They shared the same eyes, hair color and even nose. Samus of course had a far fuller and stronger version of their features but it was breathtaking just how alike they were. "Anything?" the doctor inquired of the others.

"No sign of trauma, internal bleeding or any injury at all."

"The suit shielded her from the crash," suggested another. The doctor looked down at her patient, stripped down to the sleeveless top of her blue zero suit with the orange, armored leg plates still in place. Her own short-cut blonde hair was matted from her armor's helmet, now discarded to the floor of the cargo bay along with the other plates of her power armor. Her eyes were closed and mouth cracked open in a troublingly relaxed state. Over her nose and mouth was a breathing mask with a single clear hose reaching to a console among the medical equipment.

"Pulse?" she inquired. The reply wasn't good. The inside of the cargo bay beeped slowly and sparsely from the monitors registering her vitals. As the doctors worked to treat their patient, Adam could feel his own heartbeat pound within the confines of his power suit, thundering in his ears. One of the doctors glanced down to the floor at the discarded shoulder and chest plates and helmet. He frowned and bent down to the inspect the chest more closely. On the edge of the plating, he rubbed away at a slimy, orange residue.

"Uh, Samantha," he called out. "You should take a look at this." The blonde haired doctor looked up from her patient to the doctor across the table, holding up the shoulder plate. Adam inspected her expression, unnerved suddenly by the widening of her eyes and drop of her mouth. Adam dropped onto the bench against the wall, watching intently, slouching with his elbows rested on his knees and clasped hands held in front of his mouth, muttering quietly under his breath.

"Damn it, Samus, what's happened to you?"