SEVEN WEEKS LATER
NORTH QUADRANT
ORBITAL PLATFORM ZETA
DOCKING BAY 3

"Remind me again why we're here?" Roger Lee grunted as he followed Samus Aran out of the ship carrying the bounty hunter's armor in a crate. It was lighter than he'd expected. But then, he'd expected it to weigh half a ton. She had apparently "misplaced" the hover carrier. He didn't believe it for a second. Her aloofness had disappeared, but in its place was a sort of sadistic patronizing. It had been a long trip.

"My suit is damaged," Samus explained sweetly, but as though speaking to a child. "I have done some repairs but this requires skill beyond a level even I possess. I know a weaponsmith who lives on this platform, the best I have met and the only one I feel confident to work on Chozo technology. At least the only one I can expect to be somewhat successful with it. If there is anyone who can get my suit back to its previous form, it is he."

"Why can't you just go get the Chozo to do it?"

"That is a rather sore subject, and you should know better than to ask about it." Samus frowned. "I do not know where they are. If they wished to find me, they would. It does not work in the other direction."

They continued to walk, in silence now, and Roger actually took time to notice his surroundings. He began to commit the word "Dåi-ori" to memory. Within the Galactic Police, they almost universally used the word "troll" to describe the race, and the nickname was not complimentary or received as such. As soon as they got away from the docks and onto the upper levels, the amount of untrustworthy races would thin out quickly, but you couldn't restrict anyone from the docks unless there was a full-fledged rebellion under way. Which was stupid. A Dåi-ori uprising was always a question of when not if, and the Federation would be better off if the trolls would just be forced to settle somewhere else, the West, maybe, where they and the Pirates could kill each other to everyone else's benefit.

When he mentioned this to Samus, she didn't take it well.

"Counting only adult males, not women and infants, I have perhaps killed more Dåi-ori than even you, Policeman," she said. "They do not weep or beg or whine or apologize. They are beyond the reach of torture, and would do for pride what no amount of money could sway them to. They are stupid and arrogant, but worthy. And I can imagine worse outcomes than a successful troll uprising."

"I can imagine worse things than a troll mugging you and snapping your neck," Roger mumbled.

Faster than he could blink, Samus turned and swung the flat of her hand into his side. It was light – for her – but still took his breath away and he strove to stay upright without dropping the crate. He failed and collapsed on top of the box.

"Now now," she said, bending down and bringing her face up close to his, wearing a factitious expression of concern. "Is that any way to talk to the person who is about to buy you a shiny new present?"

"What are you talking about?" he gasped. He got his breath back and asked the question again, now sounding less surprised. "What are you talking about?"

"Regardless intent or perhaps capacity, you have saved my life. I am therefore," her nose crinkled, "in your debt and as you lost your powered exoskeleton, I can repay at least some of that debt by purchasing a suit for you. Do not think yourself too special: the dragon saved my life as well. However, I am quite certain that I cannot repay his debt now. Hopefully our mutual enemy did not survive either… How Ridley and I found ourselves on the same side of this conflict, I still am trying sort out. Nevertheless, do not think that you are getting anything else, freeloader. Had I not cleared the way for you in the Aknor base, you would be dead now as well."

"What kind of suit is it?" Roger asked. Samus turned and started to walk away. He got up to follow her.

"The best there is. Well, the best money can buy, one should say. The weaponsmith we are visiting contacted me a short time ago. He has a new prototype he is working on and wanted me to test it. He constantly tries to make an armored suit better than mine and so far has failed, but his disappointments would be the delight of all others. They are also much more expensive than all others. We will see if this one is worth its price. Now shut up and let us complete the remainder of our walk without incident, hmm?"

He did, and they did. Zeta Platform was one of the larger artificial colonies in the North Quadrant but wouldn't even be considered a proper suburb if it was in the Central Planets. Just like everything else, size was relative.

They moved out of the docking bay and into Üntan District. Bright lights. Fine food. A few trinket shops. A church. Street stand scams. Hotels. Hookers. Everything that should exist in the first area travelers would visit. Then they moved through Üntan district and kept going, and Roger wondered how good the weaponsmith could actually be if he was in the second level.

Zeta platform was at the nexus of several major trading routes, and more cosmopolitan than most of the surrounding colonies. Roger had counted at least fifteen different species before even getting out of the docking bay. In Dostan District it was much the same though, as it was in the North Quadrant, Dåi-ori were everywhere. Most buildings in Dostan were still pocketed with bulletholes and several hadn't been repaired since explosions had taken them half apart. Apparently Zeta had gotten more peaceful since he had been last been here. But of course the last time he'd been here, it had been to kill every troll he laid eyes on.


DOSTAN DISTRICT
DAKEN YA HOKEN (HOME OF THE MUTT)

Daken the weaponsmith worked on a new handgun design he had been tinkering around with for the past month or so. So far he had been able to successfully shrink the rifle size down while maintaining the power, but it still wasn't enough. His "pulse-pistol" had to be directly connected to a stable energy force to work properly. If only he could get a suit with that much power to spare…

He laughed to himself. Samus Aran had a suit like that but good luck finding another one. Or building it. That suit was as unique as the bounty hunter herself. And the fact that he knew which pronoun to use meant he was also privy to her "deep, dark secret," such as it was. Daken was still of the opinion that she worried too much. He certainly never hid what he was but then, he thought to himself with another laugh, he didn't have much of a choice did he? But it was her choice and her life, not his. Besides, she paid beyond generously for services rendered. Any time she showed up at his establishment it was for a huge amount of work and therefore a huge sum of money.

He was better than any other weaponsmith in the Galactic Federation, and he knew it. And he knew better than to flaunt it, too. He wasn't capable of mass production but he could design and build the very best. Or rather almost the very best. His new suit was a step above all his previous designs in every way. It was faster, sleeker, and more powerful, as well as capable of higher offensive and defensive output. He'd wanted Samus to come in and compare his new suit to hers but he knew that it was still a long way from even being in her league. Whoever and wherever the devil the Chozo were, they were good. Her suit was so well made it almost seemed organic, a second skin covering a first skin that was perhaps just as finely made.

Daken's laugh came as fast and easy as always, filling his shop with the noise. Had he been one of those perverts so inclined to another race, he imagined that Samus Aran would be quite attractive to him. His tongue had loosened quite a bit one time while he was at a bar and he had drunkenly mentioned the dimensions of his secret bounty hunter to a human peace-keeping officer. After getting to the hips, the man, even more drunk than Daken, had quite seriously threatened to beat the weaponsmith to death if he didn't reveal the identity of the woman and where to find her. Daken had managed to avoid the pummeling and more importantly, managed to avoid having to hurt the officer and face the officer's fellows afterward. The last thing he needed was to give the Federation Military a reason to be pissed off at him, even if all he'd done was defend himself from a drunk, horny man. Men of all species seemed to let their crotch do most of their thinking for them. He smiled. As if he was any different from the rest of the universe. As if he had any right to preach about it. He was the same way as everyone else but the females who would accept a man like him without compensation were a very limited number. At the end of the day, he usually just gave himself a hand.

Frowning, Daken pushed the thoughts he didn't wish to dwell on out of his mind and got back to tinkering. He'd taken the pulse pistol as far as it could go with the present technology he could find, and he had to accept that. Perhaps in another few years it might be able to be used effectively. Ah, but his other project actually appeared quite promising. The device still had a few power problems but with a little work and a little time that wrinkle could be ironed out. After all, can't all problems be wrinkled out with hard work and time?

Just then he heard a knock at his door.

"Hello? Is the owner home?" someone called out.

His ear twitched slightly towards the voice. Couldn't be, could it?

"I'll be right there," he answered.

He walked over to the door and opened it to see two humans, a man and a woman, standing side by side. The man was carrying a very large crate and appeared to be straining. Daken didn't recognize him at all, but the woman, oh, the woman was unforgettable.

"Samus Aran!" He shouted and gave her a hug. It wasn't reciprocated and he withdrew. "What are you doing here? I sent you a message a few months ago but I wasn't expecting you until the end of the year at the very earliest."

"You know how it is. Plans change. Things happen." She shrugged.

Daken cocked his head and looked at the crate a bit more closely, understanding.

"I'm sure they do." He clicked his tongue. "How bad is it?"

"You can see for yourself as soon as we get inside," Samus said. "Daken, you Zetan cur, are you going to invite us in, or must I go fetch your mother and have her let us in."

"Oh no! Not that! Anything but that!" Daken waved his hands in a gesture of mock horror and anguish, falling to his knees. "Your threats have worked. Come in, come in you devils, what's keeping you?"

Samus smiled and immediately walked inside. The man that was with her stayed where he was with a strange expression on his face.

"Is there a problem, my friend?" Daken said, returning to his feet.

"Roger. And forgive me but my xenolingualism isn't that great so correct me if I'm wrong: doesn't 'Daken' mean mongrel in Dåi-ori?" he asked, hesitating.

The weaponsmith laughed to try to dispel the tension.

"Actually I prefer 'mutt.' It's not my birth name but I think it's what everyone has called me since I was born so it might as well be. And does it not describe me aptly? After all, there are few creatures with blood as muddied as mine. Besides it rhymes with 'home' and gives this little shop its oh-so catchy title."

Roger still seemed uncertain, but came in and sat down the crate on a large table covered with various weapons and suit parts.

"I don't mean to be rude it's just… I've never seen a hybrid as old as you in Dåi-ori territory. I didn't think it was possible, especially in the line of work you're in."

"What, you don't think my charming personality can win over everyone I meet?" Daken smiled broadly, pointing at his mouth. He let the smile drop, but kept the echo of it on his face, as usual. "I don't deny growing up was difficult, but it is my very line of work that has kept me alive as long as it has. If someone around here were to try and shoot me dead they'd probably be using one of my guns or at the very least one of my designs. Imagine how awkward that would be. Hey, I do good work, and I don't cause trouble. I do my best not to give anyone any particular reason not to like me, and I get by. Speaking of which, while you listen to drafts of my autobiography, that bounty hunter is getting restless and might be considering not letting me get any older."

Both shared a laugh at that, but Samus didn't join them in it and they quickly stopped.

Daken coughed. "OK, let's see what we're dealing with, shall we?"

Daken put a twelve digit code into the crate's security mechanism and laughed with delight as it opened. He glanced back and saw a stunned expression on the bounty hunter's face.

"Ah, Samus, it appears you've become too predictable. I got it on my first try this time."

"Or perhaps you used the electronic lock-pick you have hidden in your hand," a recovered Samus answered smoothly. Daken laughed again.

"I can't fool you can I, Aran? I suppose I'll just be forced to stick with my ace in hole from now on if I want to pester you."

"And what might that be?" Samus said, amused.

"A certain nickname inscribed on the inside of your suit. A certain pet nickname." Daken smiled. "Teaching myself Chozo script was well worth it, it appears."

"How clever of you. You would not be so stupid as to speak it aloud, then," Samus said. The mirth was gone from her voice.

"That is debatable, but I should be getting back to what I'm being paid for regardless."

Daken picked the suit up out of the crate and set it on the ground. He was amazed at how it was able to "collapse" and take up such a small area while still remaining structurally intact. Yet another amazing facet of this marvelous device. Unfortunately, that marvelous device was horribly damaged.

"What in the devil happened to you, woman? The fuel cells are almost completely shot, and that 'almost' only exists because of some meager repairs you appear to have done."

Samus gave a voice command in Chozoan and it maximized back to its original form. Daken was even less pleased at the sight he saw as he inspected it.

"This is very bad," Daken said, circling around the suit, feeling it. "Considering the toughness of this material, I may not be able to completely return the suit to its previous shape. If you wanted to replace portions of it with another material on the other hand…"

He saw Samus shake her head.

"I didn't think so. I can't blame you, but it definitely makes my job a hell of a lot harder. On the bright side, it appears your weapon arm is still in working order. Good. Last time I thought I'd never get that working right again. What is the purpose of that damn grappler beam of yours, anyway? You have the Space Jump upgrade and can practically float, after all. Well, maybe not anymore. Ugh, the condition of circuitry in the chest is abysmal. Listen, this is just my first walkthrough and I've already found enough problems here to keep me busy for a week. I don't know if I can get everything fixed but I will try my best."

Samus smiled at him warmly.

"I know you will and I also know that you are going to overestimate the time required so it will seem more impressive when you finish ahead of schedule. If you cannot fix this, then no one can. If such a person existed, do you not think I would be visiting him rather than you?"

"I do know it. And you know me too well. Still this will actually take a lot of work and even more time. Let's talk compensation."

"How much would you like?" Samus asked. Her face became entirely impassive and impossible to gauge a reaction. Damn it.

Daken mulled it over and decided to shoot high, knowing he'd probably have to haggle, perhaps for a few hours. She was extremely costly for someone else to hire but just as cheap when she was the one paying. He gambled that she had recently pulled in a large bounty.

"Three million."

"Deal," Samus answered immediately.

Daken was dumbfounded. He was getting paid double what he had expected. Apparently his confusion showed on his face because Samus laughed.

"I am exceptionally rich at present, and still only half paid. But more to the point, that should actually be a fair price considering all that you have to do. You will still come out ahead but you are not 'robbing' me as I know you thought you were. My associate and I will return throughout the week to see your progress and what assistance you may require. Now come Fido, we must find a place to stay for a while."

Roger gave a half-hearted "woof" and followed behind Samus with slumping shoulders and dragging feet. Daken was no human expert but there appeared to be something going on between those two. On the other hand, he was no expert on human behavior so it could easily be nothing. His head jerked up and he stopped what he was doing. Something wasn't quite right…

Bah! They had forgotten to check out his new suit. He wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye and then laughed. Apparently the two of them had more important things on their mind, he thought to himself, raising a mental eyebrow in the process.