Having a Blast
"Goal! Goal! Goal!"
The automated announcer trumpeted the news over the blast ball field, leading the marines of Platoon 17 to let out a cheer, as the totally inferior and completely different marines of Platoon 16 looked dejected. Or at least Private Ronan Munthe supposed they looked dejected, it was hard to tell with polarized visors. But he was still going with "dejected." Because after an hour's play, after Platoon 17 had scored the first and only goal of the match, after they had finally put those smartarses in place…yes, in his mind, it was safe to call them dejected.
"We won," came the voice of another member of his troop. "We actually won."
"Well, don't sound so surprised about it."
"We won. I can act exactly how I want."
He supposed he'd have to give Private Jiangling that. Platoon 17 had just come back to Daiban after saving the Aegis, only to find that Platoon 16 was hogging all the glory after taking out a measly goliath beetle on some no-name desert world. Sure, it had been threatening a Federation research outpost, but Ronan would have liked to think that saving a starship from Space Pirates counted for more in this day and age.
"Losers."
He watched as Corporal Anwar came over – an elfin, and the platoon's only non-human. Some said the Federation was a "humans only club." He liked to think that Anwar proved this wrong, as well as giving Platoon 16 the one-two.
"Look at them," he sneered, taking off his helmet, his ears pointing up to the Daiban sky. "They thought they'd win. Thought they couldn't take us. Thought that a goliath beetle was their ticket to fame and fortune."
"We're marines," Jiangling pointed out. "We've already got the fame."
"And fortune?" Ronan asked.
"Retirement fund," Anwar said. "Lucky for you pricks you'll get to that age much sooner than I will."
Ronan let the two bicker – it was all in good fun, even the specism. And he was about to join them when-
What?
The blast ball moved.
Huh?
It couldn't have. The game was over. The teams were heading off the pitch.
Hmm…
He began to walk over. One of the ball boys would come to fetch it eventually, but he was on a roll right now, and figured he could take the time to do the job himself. So he kept walking. The ball was small, round, and orange. Its exterior singed by an hour's worth of energy beams.
Bit small though.
Well, that was no matter. Blast ball was usually played with mech suits, not power armour. It stood to reason that the ball would be smaller. And it wasn't as if blast ball was the only sport that involved a round, spherical object in the Federation.
"Is it over?"
Ronan blinked – had the ball just talked?
"Is it over?" the ball repeated.
"Um, yeah," he said, reflecting that while a smaller ball made sense, a talking ball didn't. And that in all of those other sports, the balls didn't talk there either. "It's, um, over."
A ball. I'm talking to a ball.
Well, there were stranger things to talk to in the universe, he reflected.
"Good. Because you're getting it."
And the ball began to transform. Fold out. It-
Oh my God.
Transformed into a two metre tall, fully armed and armoured bounty. The most famous (or infamous, depending on who one talked to) bounty hunter in the galaxy. A bounty hunter who hadn't been seen or heard from for five years. A bounty hunter that made him feel helpless, even with his own power armour.
"Samus Aran," he whispered.
There she stood, in all her singed, but otherwise unblemished glory. The Hero of Zebes. The Slayer of the Metroids. The Hunter, the Outcast, the Hatchling, according to some sources. Looking pissed off. Without a doubt, even with that polarized visor.
"Um…" Ronan said. "We were…um…playing blast ball…and…"
"And someone mistook me for a ball."
The words were simple, without emotion. Ronan hazarded a guess that she didn't blame him. But might exact vengeance on him anyway.
"We won," he said softly. "Um…you'll be pleased to know that you partook in the first blast ball game that-"
Her arm cannon made a humming sound.
"That…well…I mean, did you see me when I scored? I-"
And a missile's warhead popped out of it.
"And I'm just going to stop talking now before you blast me to smithereens."
Samus lowered her arm cannon. "Good choice."
She began to walk off, and Ronan remained in place. Five years. Five years of nothing, bar rumours of Biologic Space Labs, and the Bottle Ship. Whispers, rumours, tales. And here she was, finally, on Daiban.
And I played blast ball with her.
Well, he reflected, that was something to share with the rest of the platoon.
"By the way," Samus called out. "Your team's terrible. You had a dozen shots at goal and never took them."
Or maybe he'd keep quiet.
A/N
Why yes, this is based on the blast ball min-game of the upcoming Metroid Prime: Federation Force. How could you tell?