Metroid: The New Hunter
This is my second published fanfic (see my profile for the first one). The main character, Gene, is an original character.
Note: This chapter is still in progress. I haven't decided yet if this is the end of Chapter 1 or not.
Disclaimer: I don't own Samus, et cetera, et cetera, blah blah blah. You get the idea.
Keep in mind, I may decide to change the title of the story or the main character's name in the future.
Chapter One
"Done!" Gene said, grinning, as he entered the final changes to the design. He silently thanked Aran for allowing the higher-ups to do such a thorough scan of her equipment as he saved the schematics to his personal storage device and punched in the command to send the design to the automatic replicator. The auto-rep would look at his design and build it, atom by atom, one molecule at a time. The process would take a while, though, so he decided to run some errands and get something to eat.
He set the lock as he left, checking over his shoulder as he walked down the corridor to make sure the door system had accepted his PIN. The door's six triangular panels swirled shut, but the low-energy sensor shield didn't activate. He turned back to the corridor and continued walking. Without the shield, the door couldn't be opened, and the only way to activate the shield was to input the proper access code—his code.
Gene doubted anyone would have tried to interrupt anyway; he was signed up to use the lab for the next six hours, and the do not disturb light above the door was lit…but there was no point in taking chances. He didn't want someone learning about his project and getting the idea to take credit for it. If it worked like he planned, he could patent it and likely get a military contract that would have him set for life. But he had to test it first…which is what brought him to the armory.
Several months before, the Galactic Federation had asked legendary bounty hunter Samus Aran to let them attempt to duplicate her Chozo-designed Power Suit. Aran had initially refused, but when the Federation brass had offered her a king's ransom in exchange for the opportunity to try to unravel its secrets, she had reluctantly agreed. The Feds had run every scan and test they had, and then they'd thought up some new ones. Then they took that data and used it to design their prototype Hazardous Environment Advanced Armored Tactical Suit, or HEAATS for short.
So far the Federation had created three prototypes of the HEAATS, and all three were under strict lockdown. No one could get access to one of them without a verified order of release from the head of Federation R&D.
Like the one Gene fished out of his pocket as he approached the gun cage.
"How you doing, Gene?" the quartermaster asked, making small talk. "I heard you were working on some special project."
"You know you're not supposed to be yakking with people while you're on duty, Fred, so stop asking," Gene replied. "I'm here for a HEAATS, Fred. Get on it."
"A hot-suit?" Fred said, using the Suits' nickname. "What do you need one of them for?"
"If it works, you'll find out. If it doesn't, it won't matter. Now quit fishing for gossip and get to work," Gene said, handing Fred the order form.
"We've been having some problems with the hypercomm systems. It may take a while for this to go through," Fred said, gesturing at a utilitarian metal bench on the other side of the room. "Make yourself at home."
"I know about the hypercomm, Fred. It's been giving me a headache. That's why I'm going to go get a snack while you argue with it for a while."
"You're not supposed to go anywhere, you know."
"I know," Gene said, then laced his voice with a conspiratorial tone and continued, "but, you see, I've gotta use the head really bad, and the armory's latrine is always clogged, so I've gotta go use the one in the refectory…" he trailed off.
Fred grinned. "Don't worry, I've got your back."
"Thanks, Fred," Gene said. He turned on his heel and headed for the refectory.
When he arrived, he headed for the food unit and ordered a plate of eggs and bacon. He found a seat and had just finished the first piece of bacon when his link beeped. He pulled the communicator out of his pocket and looked at the screen to see who was calling him.
---------------------
CALL
Fred Mallory
Quartermaster
Sigma Station
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He could have just paged me over the P.A., Gene thought, as he put the link to his ear. "What is it, Fred?" he asked.
"The hypercomm's completely dead," Fred said. "I'm gonna have to do it the old-fashioned way."
"Just get it cleared," Gene said. "I don't care how long it takes."
"Alright, but it could take a few hours. You know how far Fed HQ is from the jump point."
"Now, Fred!" Gene snapped, turning the link off and shoving it back in his pocket in one motion.
I shouldn't have been so harsh, he thought. It's not like it's his fault the hypercomm's out of commission.
He was just frustrated with the delay. Without the hypercomm, the verification request would have to be routed via encrypted radio transmission to a ship or courier drone that was headed to the system where Federation Headquarters was located. Once the ship jumped, the stored request would be sent from the ship to HQ, again by radio. Once verified, the approval would be radioed to another ship going the opposite direction for the return trip.
Gene shrugged. It was probably for the better. He'd worked through the night to finish his design and he needed sleep. Maybe this would let him get a few hours of shut-eye.
He finished off his breakfast and—dumping his tray, plate and all, into the recycler on his way out—headed for his quarters.
An insistent beeping roused him some time later. Funny, he thought. I don't remember setting the alarm… Then he remembered that he'd turned his link back on so he'd know when his orders had cleared.
He rolled over and picked up the link so he could see the screen.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
MESSAGE
FROM: Fred Mallory
SUBJ: HEAATS Cleared
Orders cleared, sleepy head. Time to go shopping.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Gene smirked. Good ol' Fred, he thought, as he pushed the covers back.
Getting to his feet and trying to work the wrinkles out of his clothes, he walked over to the desk comm terminal. He activated the voice function and, walking back over to the bed to put on his shoes, he said aloud: "Cignus, new local message."
"Recipient?" prompted the comm's artificial voice.
"Fred Mallory," he said, putting on the first sock.
"Acknowledged. Ready."
"Message begins. Thanks, Fred. Have the bodysuit sent to Lab Six. I'll be on my way shortly. Message ends. Cignus, affix timestamp to message." He finished with the second sock and reached for a shoe.
"Acknowledged."
"Send message."
"Message sent."
He slipped his foot into the other shoe and said, "Cignus, multi-command."
"Ready."
"Disable voice mode and shut down. End command."
"Acknowledged."
"Execute."
"Acknowledged. Shutting down."
Gene stood up and, picking up his ID tag as he passed the desk, walked out of his quarters and headed for the lab.
After putting in his access code, he placed his hand against the shield. A nanochip embedded in one of his fingertips fed enough electricity into the shield to trip the sensor, which then deactivated the shield and opened the door.
Walking into the lab, he saw that the blue light on the auto-rep was lit. Good, he thought. They're finished.
He went over to the unit, opened the cover, and pulled out two objects that looked much like the Arm Cannon on Aran's Power Suit, albeit colored a dark grey instead of the emerald green of the original.
These were his project: the Special Cannons.
The original Chozo Arm Cannon, and Aran's human-adapted one—and thus the arm-weapon units that were developed along with the HEAATS—could be used on either the left or right arm, but when mounted prevented that hand from being used for anything other than operating the Cannon. In order to use both hands simultaneously, the Cannon had to be removed.
The Special Cannons—So it's a cheesy name, Gene thought; I'm no poet—were designed so that the barrel end could be retracted behind the wrist, leaving the hand available for anything that required dexterity; and each cannon could be retracted and extended without requiring the use of the other hand, which allowed two Special Cannons to be equipped simultaneously.
The chime sounded, alerting him that someone was at the door. "Enter," he said.
The door opened and a cadet in his early twenties walked in. "Quartermaster Mallory asked me to bring you this," he said, holding out a square package.
Gene took it from him. "Thank you," he said. He opened it, revealing a black bodysuit with microcircuitry and tubing on the outside of it. Good, he thought. Now all I need is— He looked up. The cadet was still standing there. "Well?" Gene said.
"Sir, I've been ordered to escort you back to the armory," he replied.
Gene sighed. "Wait outside. I'll be out in a minute."
"Yes, sir." The cadet saluted, and held it.
"You can drop the formalities, kid," Gene said, loosely returning the salute. "I'm not military, you know."
"Right." The cadet turned and stepped out the door, letting it close behind him.
Gene quickly shed his work clothes and slipped into the bodysuit. When he fastened the seal, he felt a tingling sensation across his body. The bodysuit was powered thermoelectrically, meaning it literally used his body heat to create the electricity. The tingling was from thousands of tiny electrical contact points sending miniscule amounts of electricity into his body, which allowed it to communicate with his neural implant without Gene needing to have an external jack implanted in his skin.
He concentrated and, finding the mental "tone" to send instructions to the suit, decreased the level of current the suit was using to link to him. The tingling lessened noticeably.
Gene went over to the lab's utility closet and pulled out a coverall. The bodysuit was skintight, and he figured he probably shouldn't walk around the station like that.
Zipping up the coverall, he walked over to the door, set the lock, stepped outside, and turned to the cadet. "Shall we?" he said, and started toward the armory.
The cadet jogged to catch up to him, and they walked in silence for several moments. Gene sensed that the cadet was trying to work himself up to say something.
"Just say it and get it out there, kid," Gene said. "Don't worry about getting the right spin on it."
"Sir, um, may I ask you a question?" the cadet mumbled.
"I'm not gonna stop you."
"Is it true that you're going to the armory to pick up one of the hot-suits, sir?"
"Maybe," Gene replied. "Why?"
"It's just that...well, a lot of the cadets have been speculating about them, but nobody really knows how they work or what they can do."
"And?"
"Well, I was wondering, if you are getting a hot-suit, could I maybe stick around and see it in action?"
"You'll have to take that up with Fred—er, Quartermaster Mallory, kid. It may be classified."
The cadet looked dejected.
Gene sighed, then lowered his voice and said, "I'm assuming you, like every other cadet on this base, have figured out how to sneak into the weapon range, right?"
"Um..." The cadet had that hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar expression on his face.
"I'll take that as a yes. Don't worry, I won't get you sent to the brig."
The cadet let out the breath he'd been holding and looked relieved.
"I'll be in there, with the armor, in an hour. Just don't get caught."
"Right."
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