Samus brought her arms up in a crossing guard, rocking backward with the impact of the incoming blow. Flashing her hands out, she grabbed onto her attacker's ankle and torqued her arms, spinning the chozo through the air to the floor. She kept well back when he fell, staying safe from his floor sweep when he got back up.
"You're learning quickly," said commander Sun Streak, taking a ready stance. "Now, come at me," he said. Samus nodded, running toward one side of the grassy field, dive rolling into a patch of high grass along the perimeter. She remained low, listening intently for the large chozo's movements. "I instructed you to come at me, Samus Aran, not to hide," he called after her.
The Svestri girl pulled a small silver tube from her belt, planting it in the soil at an angle aimed at Sun Streak. She turned a dial along the tube, pressed a thin green button, and rushed forth from the brush. Sun Streak was only twenty feet away now, having cautiously approached her position while she was in her cover.
Sharply angling away, Samus skidded to a halt and faced the commander. "Head's up," she said. There came a low whine from the brush, and Sun Streak looked away from her for just a moment. As soon as he looked, the device emitted a searing beam of light right at his face. The chozo grunted, flailing backward, temporarily blinded. As he back pedaled, Samus leaped up and leveled a heel kick, her foot snapping hard against the side of his head.
The attack knocked him down, but as Samus landed in a crouch, his left hand reached out, finding purchase on her long hair before she could dart away. He yanked her close, wrapping his huge arm around her throat and squeezing until she tapped the ground for release. He let her go with a grunt and rolled over, finally pushing himself up to a seated position.
"One year," he rumbled as she took a kneeling posture facing him. "It only took you one year to finally knock me down." Samus began to smile, but suppressed the urge when she saw him scowling. "I don't appreciate how you did it, though. You used deception and trickery to accomplish your aims. Can you justify this, Samus Aran?"
The Svestri girl looked off into the high brush, where the flasher device was still firing intermittent bursts of blinding laser light. She knew full well that given another few months of training, she would be able to fell Sun Streak in singular combat. By then, the latest growth spurt she was going through would either slow down or finish up, and she could adjust to her new frame.
Samus took in a long, deep breath, closed her eyes, then let out her air and gave the commander a cool, measured look. "My father taught me that a great soldier always prepares for the worst. If he or she knows anything about an upcoming confrontation, he or she uses that information to create advantages where none would otherwise exist."
"I am not your father," Sun Streak replied.
"No, you're not. You are also a warrior, not a soldier," Samus said. "My father wasn't a soldier either, but he was a bounty hunter, and every bounty hunter worth anything has a solid foundation as a soldier." The commander's scowl softened, and he finally nodded at her with something approaching appreciation.
"Your father was a wise man indeed, Samus Aran," the huge chozo said. "Tell me why you did as you did." Samus tried to explain her rationale to Sun Streak, halting awkwardly as she attempted to convey the difficulty of adjusting her movements to her changing body. When she was finished, the commander let out a single barking laugh. "I understand," he said at last. "There is no shame in this. The greatest warriors adapt as they must to new truths in battle."
"Sir," Samus began, raising one eyebrow at the chozo. "I didn't say warrior. I said soldier. I've never heard the word 'soldier' used since arriving here." Sun Streak closed his eyes and lowered his head slightly. "Why is that?" The burly chozo made a deep noise low in his throat, then looked Samus in the eyes.
"The word is not precisely foreign to our people, Samus, but there is little use for it among the chozo. In our view, a soldier is a type of warrior, one who enforces the will of a government or a council of elders. The soldier, to my people, does not serve all persons of his kin, but rather, he serves the laws, fighting for the enforcement of rules and orders."
"How is that different from a warrior," Samus asked in reply.
"A warrior battles on behalf of himself and his tribe, without concern for things like nations or governments. For a soldier, a battle takes place in phases; for a warrior, the battle simply is, for better or worse. Warriors do not withhold anything in combat, whereas soldiers tend to fight in a conservative style."
Samus nodded to herself and thanked Sun Streak for training with her once again. Xiao-Rin, the planet the chozos had brought her and the other refugees to a little over a year earlier, was similar in many ways to K-2L in terms of geography and topography. A few key differences could not be ignored, however, even as she walked away through the high grass.
For starters, Samus constantly kept an eye out in the tall grass for creatures called gelikas, chubby squirrel-like rodents that served as a primary source of protein for the bird-men and their permanent human guests. Secondly, she felt a constant tug downward when she had first arrived, but seemed to have adapted fairly quickly to it. This, she was informed by one of the tutors who instructed younglings, was due to a gravitational field that was more potent than that on planets like K-2L.
The final major difference that she had learned to contend with was the way that the chozos' architecture tended to blend right into the surrounding nature. She sometimes walked right past entire buildings when out leisure hiking before realizing that, for example, a rolling hill she walked on had actually been covering a library hall.
She was about three hundred yards away from a thick wooded area in which her village was half-hidden when she realized that the commander wasn't following her. Samus looked back over her shoulder and saw him bowed forward, his forehead pressed against the ground. Even warriors such as he among the chozo were deeply spiritual folk, an aspect of the chozo as a race that the Svestri girl didn't quite understand. For all of their scientific aptitude and genius, the bird-men held an enormous capacity for philosophical pseudo-religious thinking.
She had never joined them in their meditations of this sort, not even the host family with whom she lived. Samus maintained a separate room in their humble stone house, hers being the only door in the entire village with a lock on it. After a full year living and training with them, she still maintained her unique identity as a human who did not simply rely on trust. Combined with her green hair (no dye being readily available), she stuck out like a sore thumb. Seeing Sun Streak prostrate himself under the glow of the sun merely caused these thoughts to swirl in her mind once more.
Still, it could be worse, she thought. At least I'm still alive.
"Lieutenant colonel, sir," said the burly man in the doorway of Beaker's office, a fine specimen bearing the twin stripes of a corporal in the Space Pirates organization. The turaki looked up from his holo screen on his desk and quirked an eyebrow at the human.
"Yes, corporal? Something to report?"
"Sir, Ridley's been spotted on the surface," said the trooper, his uniform barely moving as he brought his arm down out of a salute. "He's asking for you." Beaker let out a long sigh, grunting as he rose from his wingback chair. Mother Brain had granted him a number of luxuries over the course of the last few months, and one of them was the plush seat in his office deep within the compound. Once settled in, he hated having to leave its comfort.
"Has anyone been fool enough to approach him," the turaki asked, whiskers twitching.
"No, sir. We all know better," said the corporal, cringing. "Nobody has gone closer than shouting distance, especially since his latest mutation." The corporal was referring to a new aspect of Ridley's tail, which had at some point become barbed and extendable. His effective killing range aside from his breath weapon had expanded with this development, a fact demonstrated on a few of his fellow Space Pirates.
Beaker shooed the corporal from his office, then exited himself, locking the door behind him and arming a lethal trap device with a small trigger remote kept in his uniform's coat pocket. Next, he took from another pocket a pair of earrings, which he promptly slipped into place along his left earlobe. The corporal gave him a curious glance, but offered no comment. Good boy, Beaker thought. Ask no questions, you'll live longer that way.
The turaki stalked down several towering corridors in the compound, careful to keep an eye on the wandering metroids floating about. While Mother Brain had a solid command of most of the creatures, some few demonstrated moments of independence, going after Space Pirates aggressively. The brain-like overlord of the organization couldn't be blamed, really; she was simply stretched too thin.
Beaker had noticed that and taken advantage of his opportunities when they arose.
After a few more turns, he came to a concealed lift in the rock walls. Pressing on a special rock set in the wall, he opened a narrow lift platform and began his ascent to the surface. It didn't feel very fast, but he knew that this was due to the placement of several kinetic dampeners on the lift's underside. Only a handful of officers knew about the lift, which had been one of Beaker's pet projects. He thought back on how he had justified its construction to Mother Brain, smiling just a little wider each time he thought about getting one over on his overseer.
When the lift got to the top of its shaft, a flat section of wall slid aside, revealing a cozy little cavern, one wall hosting a wide but short tunnel which led directly to the planet's surface. From where he stood as he stepped off of the platform, he could just make out Ridley in the distance.
Moving that way, the turaki paused in the tunnel, his furry hand once more reaching out to touch a hidden panel. A section of the wall opened just a crack, enough for him to peek inside for a reassuring glance. Beyond the false wall was a two-person transport shuttle, a Guppy-class vessel devoid of offensive weapons systems of any sort, but loaded with a stunning array of defenses. Alongside the shuttle, near its side entry hatch, were several cases of ration packets and a water condenser unit, ready for installation.
He had trusted nobody with the details of his plan, but he suspected that the space dragon, as bizarre and foreign as his behavior had become, might have developed more than physical tricks. The earrings protected Beaker from psionic probing, but Ridley had other ways of finding things out. What those were, nobody seemed to know, the turaki included.
He let the panel slide shut once more and headed outside, taking in the soft sounds of the wind and rolling scree along the ground. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, the twin streaks of gray along his temples, and the way his oversized uniform coat hung on him, Beaker could hardly be looked upon to anyone as a threat. Yet he still possessed more than enough skill and tenacious ruthlessness to be formidable.
Perhaps it was this capability that Ridley respected for so many years. Where others tended to grow soft with age, Beaker was becoming more and more aware of how expendable he was, and as such, he dealt with problem personnel in no uncertain terms.
Well, except for this problem, he thought, staring in awe as Ridley's freshly extended, segmented tail wavered back and forth through the air. The space dragon took a slow look over his shoulder, meeting eyes with Beaker for what felt like an eternity. In truth they shared only a few seconds of staring, after which Ridley returned his attention to the skies above. The turaki lieutenant colonel slowly approached, making sure his movements were obvious, overt. Despite having already been acknowledged by Ridley, he knew the beast might still react to sudden movements.
"It's been a while," Beaker said as he came within earshot."
"Six months," Ridley replied, his voice less gravelly than usual, almost smooth. "And you were the last person I shared genuine words with." Ridley looked down at Beaker as the smaller man came up beside him, staring off over the dark blue plains. "Mother Brain hardly counts as conversation, after all."
"Too true," said Beaker. He spotted something winged off in the distance swoop up out of a natural vent in the surface. It looked, at a distance, a little like Ridley. "What was that?"
"I'm not entirely sure what they are," the space dragon admitted. "But they aren't the only odd organisms to come crawling about around the compound. The chozo defense systems haven't been working properly, and many of the creatures have been springing up throughout the base. They leave me alone," he said, joining Beaker in looking out over the plains. "But the humans and other turaki among us have been getting attacked. Surely you've noticed unexplained absences and fatalities?"
"I haven't been getting all of the reports I should," Beaker said. "The last three months have been nothing but prep on The Mastermind, as well. Mother Brain is placing major Vuclech in command of the ship to go to Dasose IV on some sort of raid. Nobody will give me details." Ridley sighed and nodded.
"Nor have I heard more about that," said the space dragon. "Mother Brain has been keeping me away since my last evolution. I developed a defense against her probing." Beaker snorted, grinning and shaking his head.
"Very fortunate for you," the turaki commented. "I found my own protection, thankfully."
"The gerada stone earrings," Ridley replied. "I was quite impressed when I saw you wearing them the first time. Where did you find the material?"
"One of the geological reports shortly after our arrival pinged a small vein of it a mile or so from the main lift entrance," said Beaker. "I only remembered the report because Mother Brain kept asking me if anyone had gone out there."
"You think she knew?"
"Undoubtedly. If anything poses a threat to her, she likely has made herself aware of it. Ridley," Beaker said, taking a deep breath. "You usually go into a dormant phase after such large mutation cycles. Are you about to do so again?"
"Yes," the hulking space dragon said, bowing his head slightly. He turned his eyes toward the turaki, and Beaker saw there something he'd thought Ridley incapable of- sorrow. "I likely won't see you again, my friend. Even if I do, you know how I am after such slumber." Beaker nodded, thinking back on the devastation Ridley had committed after his last hibernation period. An entire Federation battalion, gone, he thought.
"Yes, I know," Beaker said aloud. "We just sort of aim you like a gun and let fly. You're a savage for those first few months." Beaker used his wrist comp to quickly cycle through some data files, read through a few interesting paragraphs, and pushed his sleeve back over the device. "I wasn't aware of the time correlation."
"The longer I slumber, the more aggressive I am upon waking, yes," said Ridley. "The longest I've slept for was twelve standard years. This was long ago, before you joined the organization. Anyhow, I had been aboard a cruiser, the name of which escapes me right now, cooped up in a cabin in the center of the ship. It had been taken out of service for repairs three times while I slept away inside. When I finally came awake, the ship was populated by people I didn't know, had never seen. So, one by one, sometimes by twos and threes, I slaughtered every last one of them, then spat fireballs in every direction until the ship came apart around me."
Beaker didn't respond immediately to this, thinking back on the stories he'd heard others tell over the years. "It was 'Whistler's Luck'," he said at last. "Two thousand men on board when you destroyed it. At the time, it was a heavy blow to the organization, so we killed you, put you in death stasis for a year. Then, I asked for your revival. I was fascinated by your regenerative powers."
"I was killed again three years later," Ridley said with a snort. "William Aran, a bounty hunter of all things. I suppose life is cyclical, though. He's listed as one of the casualties from K-2L. I hope he was one of mine." Beaker turned himself toward the entrance back down into the compound, putting one hand out against the space dragon's leg.
"You know," Beaker said, not leaving room for it to be a question.
"I do," Ridley replied. "Just make sure you get away clean. If Mother Brain finds out and you're still close, she'll send fighters after you." Beaker nodded and started away. When he got to the cavern entrance, he turned his head, and have Ridley one last wave farewell. Monster he might be, but the space dragon had been his very last friend in the 'verse.
He would miss having someone to talk to.
Samus ran through the corridors as fast as she could, the armor suit restricting her movements severely. She had managed to use the rifle her trainers gave her to maximum effect, stunning and downing four of her enemies at range, and using the stun baton to quietly take out three more. There were fifteen total enemy targets in the training course, and one capture target located somewhere in the facility. She could have easily tried to sneak past most of her trainers by removing the armor and relying on stealth, but she wanted to prove that she could endure the more gruelling method of fighting her way through.
At sixteen, she'd mastered most of the fighting styles of the chozo peoples. With her seventeenth birthday coming up soon, she had informed commander Sun Streak that she intended to register herself with the Galactic Federation as a Class C bounty hunter. The burly chozo, who had begun to decline physically in the five years of her living and training with his people, had given her his blessing upon her announcement, but would only allow her to leave the planet to undergo the registration if she agreed to first complete one final training challenge, and to secondly take him with her as a guardian to the nearest Federation station.
Samus's physical abilities had grown exponentially with each passing year since her arrival on planet, and her technical knowledge and skills had grown to be on par with the greatest engineers of the chozo. None of the elders of the clan aside from the commander supported her career choice. Gray Voice, one of the most revered elders of all of the clan, had spoken vehemently against allowing her to pursue such a career path, but she would hear none of it. She had explained to him that she felt compelled to honor her father's memory, and he had backed down. The bird-men, for all of their advanced technological and scientific skills and knowledge, still held to a brand of spiritualism that prized such values in its kin. As such, he agreed with the commander.
Stopping herself shy of a corner in the corridor, Samus slid down onto the floor and inched toward the intersection, drawing a small mirror from one of her armor suit's gear pouches. Holding it out on the end of a thin gripping tool, she peeked around the corner, spotting two more enemy guards, their backs to her. Her armor hadn't been struck by any attacks as yet, and had been rated to take five overall hits before she would be failed by the commander. If she could take out these two men quickly, she could probably bull her way through the remainder of the test opponents and complete this final exercise.
But that would just be lazy, she thought to herself as she grabbed a nearby pebble off of the floor and tucked the mirror away. Samus let the rifle hang down to her side and took out her stun baton, then lightly tossed the pebble back down the corridor she had just come down, letting it bounce and echo. She listened intently as boots scraped, indicating a shift of posture in her targets. Next came the light jogging rhythm of their footfalls as they approached the corner-
And in a flurry of swings and weaving footwork, she downed the two sentries, caught off-guard by her presence so close around the corner. The second chozo had just been bringing his own test rifle up when she struck him in the head three times in rapid succession, dropping him to the ground. Samus took a small blue rag from this second guard's belt, using it to quickly wipe the sweat from her brow. She tried to user her gauntleted fingers to move a stray lock of green hair from her face, but only succeeded in spreading the strands out, nearly blocking her right eye entirely.
"Well shit," she grumbled, tugging the armored gloves off and adjusting her hair. She then knelt down over her stunned foes, rifling through their gear pouches for anything that she might make use of. In one of the first guard's pouches she came across a small orange device, pentagonal in shape and small enough to fit into the palm of her hand. She set it on the floor, then opened up the hatch panel over her wrist comp, scanning the device and running an analysis. She read through the resulting info screen quickly, grinning to herself like a fiend. "Very nice," she muttered, scooping up the device and adhering it to its owner's chest. She then hefted the stunned man up over her shoulder with a grunt, snorting to adjust to the stench of his sweat.
She had a surprise in store for whoever she came across next.
Marcher North had arranged his final wave of guards precisely as commander Sun Streak had recommended, six heavily armed soldiers standing in a ring around the center of a large, darkened chamber. They had positioned themselves such that none would be in a line of fire until Samus stood directly in the entryway, and by the time she was there to take a shot at them, the others would be ready for her to come the rest of the way in, opening herself to a crossfire that would easily end her test in a failure rating. Marcher enjoyed Samus Aran well enough, even considered her a friend, but the commander's will was not to be bucked. He would follow his orders, and try his best to fail the Svestri girl.
He heard movement coming from the shadowy tunnel leading to the final chamber, and brought his weapon up into firing position, bending his knees slightly and taking aim. The others around the room mirrored his movements, the air redolent with tension as they waited. There came a resounding set of thudding steps, followed by a grunt that was half a roar. Marcher raised his weapon to firing position, and as soon as the figure came hurtling through the tunnel entrance into their midst, he and his comrades opened fire. The orange pulses of stun energy slammed into the bulky, armored figure, following it all the way down to the floor where it landed in a crumpled pile. Marcher waved his hand overhead to call a cease fire, slowly approaching the still figure.
"You have my apologies, Samus Aran," he said, his voice light and lilting. He and the others approached the crumpled figure, but Marcher stopped as soon as he was finally able to see the head of the figure in the armor. "Get, b-" he managed before the stunner grenade, strapped to the paralyzed figure's breast plate, discharged, throwing out a concentric ring of orange force that knocked the chozos to the ground. Marcher groaned, his body going stiff inside his medium weight armor. A large, bulky figure came into view looming over him, rifle in hands, and knelt down beside him. Samus grinned down at him, an impish gleam in her bright eyes.
"And you have mine, Marcher," she whispered. "There's still one guard unaccounted for, by my count of your people here. I assume he or she will be in that last room," she said, pointing off to the far end of the room from where she'd entered at a solid security blast door. "Given your typical methodology, you instructed this guard to disguise himself as my capture target, and to hide the capture target themselves somewhere within the room. So, I'm going to go in there, stun the capture target, and disarm them. At that point, this exercise will be over, and I'll have yet another victory to hold over your head." Marcher would have scoffed or snickered playfully, but his entire body had gone stiff from the training stunner. Samus rose slowly and stalked out of his field of vision, towards the final room.
Marcher lay in the dim chamber, utterly still, for another five or six minutes, when an ear-splitting klaxon alarm droned out three long peals, signaling the end of the test. Three beats, he thought, grinning finally as the signal undid the stun effects of the training weaponry throughout the facility. She passed. As he gained his feet, Samus Aran came walking out of the final chamber with her capture target handcuffed, the slender chozo struggling against his shackles. "You can let me go now, Samus," he whined.
"I don't know, I kind of like this look on you, Dell," she replied, shooting Marcher a cocked eyebrow. "What do you think, Marcher? Do I let him go?"
"I say aye, Samus Aran," Marcher replied, undoing the securing clasps on his training armor and letting it drop to the floor around him. "You've embarrassed us all well enough for one lifetime." Samus undid the shackles and gave Dell a light shove away, then began undoing her own training armor, revealing a dark blue jumpsuit beneath. "What's that," Marcher asked, pointing at her. Samus planted one hand on her hip, accentuating the way the suit hugged her body. It left little to the imagination regarding her curvature.
"It's called a Zero Suit," she replied, joining Marcher as he headed toward a partially hidden exit corridor out of the training facility. "Gray Voice had it made for me. It provides a short-radius atmosphere like a space suit, and repels damping field energy, as well as offering a mild degree of physical protection. It's nothing like a full combat suit, though, so it's more of a supplemental or defense of last resort. Do you like it?" Marcher gave her a once-over, humming, and nodded, facing forward as they came to a curved section of the exit tunnel.
"It seems a wise addition to your considerable arsenal," he replied. "Samus, is the commander really going to accompany you to Tau 3 station, to register as a bounty hunter for the Federation?"
"He has said as much," she replied, her boisterous, positive vibe decreasing as she walked. "But I'm not so sure he should. His health is less than ideal for any sort of extended trip, and the flight will take at least two months. I might be better off going on my own." Marcher put one hand on her shoulder and paused, halting their progress out of the facility.
"I will go with you instead," Marcher said. "But you must be the one to suggest this change of plans to the commander. He will take it poorly if it comes from a novice such as myself." Samus gently laid one hand over his, leaning into him.
"Thinking about discussing our, ah, situation, during the trip," she asked with mischief dancing in her eyes.
"Possibly," he replied honestly. "But the commander's health is my chief concern. If something were to happen to him in transit, we would be losing easily our greatest tactical mind in the clan." He pushed open one of the twin doors leading out of the training facility's west end, the sunlight knifing down from above, merciless in the face of the gruelling hour they'd all spent inside of the darkened training facility. Samus held her breath for a moment, slowly taking in a single long breath and holding it, allowing the natural odors and pollens of the outer world to fully work into her nose, throat and lungs before flooding herself with more. This was yet another trick she'd learned from the chozo during her training, one which often allowed warriors of their clans to adapt to new environments far more quickly than their enemies throughout the ages.
"The commander said he had a present for me if I managed to pass this test today," Samus said, starting slowly toward the nearby village, setting her rifle to full pulse setting. Marcher did the same; there were some fairly aggressive animals in the wooded area around their current hometown, and nobody went to or from the training facility unarmed. "Any idea what it is?" Marcher grinned and waggled one long finger at her.
"Tut tut, Samus. It's not for me to ruin the surprise," he said playfully. She gave him a faux glower, then jogged ahead, visually sweeping the path ahead for signs of wildlife. By the time she and Marcher got to the village, they'd only seen a single zeppara, a kind of oversized, claw-wielding rabbit the chozo enjoyed making stew of. Samus had pegged it with a single blast of her rifle, cutting its head off with a few swipes of her vibroknife and carrying it by its tail. As she came upon Red Wind near the outermost dwelling, she handed the carcass over to the smaller chozo.
"Can you prep it for us, brother," she asked of him. Red Wind nodded, carrying it inside of the humble hut. She then squared herself to Marcher, expression flat once more, returning to her usual demeanor. "We should part here for now. I'll try to track you down later on, after I've had the chance to speak with the commander. My thanks for your participation today, brother," she said, raising her left pointer and middle finger to the center of her forehead, then sweeping her hand out to her side.
"Ever welcome, sister," Marcher replied, mirroring the gesture. The two parted ways then, the chozo heading west while Samus strolled further north, into the more densely populated part of the village. The structures were mostly narrow huts, composed of the various light woods of the surrounding forestland and stone, hand-shaped by the chozo and fitted to make each one capable of standing up to whatever weather circumstances might arise on the planet's surface. The bird-men possessed unrivaled prowess when it came to shaping stone of any sort, and Samus had never seen one use a tool to cut or grind down their material. Instead, they used their retractable claws to shape the object of their design.
This reverence for nature seemed in stark contrast with the chozos' expertise with technology and science, epitomized by the open-air diagnostics station which stood smack in the middle of the village square. Composed of dark, angular metal and holoscreens, the small turret was ringed by six rolling chairs, all fitted with a singular gala-wave projector which repelled moisture and wind in a ten foot radius, thus protecting the equipment. Samus didn't wholly understand the science behind it all, but she was grasping the basics, which was more than most humans could honestly claim.
Then again, I'm not entirely human, she thought as she strolled past the displays. There was one cottage along the inside ring of the homes closest to the station which stood out among the others, a front deck protruding out around the front door. The wood of this structure was also darker than the others, and the windows along the exterior of the house revealed nothing on the inside; they were all actually two-way mirrors. The only time Samus had ever been able to see inside had been late at night, when the cottage's owner kept light on in whatever room he was in, and nothing more. It was up onto that deck she stepped, rapping twice on the solid door and taking one step back.
Commander Sun Streak was still bulky, but as he opened the door for her and looked down upon Samus Aran, she felt the wasp sting of concern at the sight of his sunken eye sockets, the flakes of crust near the corners of his beak. He was in bad shape, and only getting worse. None of the medical sciences the chozo knew of seemed capable of curing the degenerative condition they had come to refer to over the centuries as 'beak rot', and its conclusion was ever the same; the shrinking of body mass, the decay of the beak, and finally, convulsions during sleep, many of which resulted in death. The once-mighty Sun Streak, victor of over five hundred battles according to most of the tribe, their most deadly duelist in melee combat, had become a shade lesser than he once was.
And now, considering this, Samus felt even more committed to convincing him not to accompany her to Tau 3. She didn't think she could bear to see him wither right before her eyes during the trip, potentially passing away before even arriving at the massive floating space station. "Samus Aran," he rumbled, trying unsuccessfully to smile. "I have heard tell that you passed your test. This is well." Sun Streak ambled out onto the porch with her, pulling the door softly shut behind him.
"Yes, commander. I presume you and Gray Voice will rescind your objections to my departure, as promised," she said, careful not to make her statement a question. This was one of the tenets the commander had drilled into her head consistently, one which she took to heart; 'Expectations should not be made into requests, but statements of truth. Elsewise, you will always be asking, rather than telling.'
"That is correct," said the commander, sauntering down off of the porch. Samus followed him as he walked away from his own cottage, ambling away north and slightly east of his home. He walked with his hands folded behind his back, an unusual sight for Samus. In all the time she'd lived with the tribe, she had only seen him move this way twice before. Once, he had been heading to attend the hatching of four new chozo babes. The other time had been when he attended a funeral for Quiet Foot, one of the tribe's eldest members until a year before. "Gray Voice does not like that you are leaving us. I do not like it either. Very few of us want you to leave, but we all understand your drive, your desire. Humans ever suffer from wanderlust, and you are no exception, though Svestri you be, Samus Aran."
Samus made no verbal reply, simply nodding and following the older man. Their path took them just past the outskirts of the village once more, walking along a well-beaten sod pathway into the nearby woods. Samus hadn't bothered traveling up this path but a few times, years before. She knew there was a modest clearing about half a mile into the woods along the trail, and little else for the wayward wanderer. There weren't even that many animals in the area for hunting. She wondered momentarily if outhe commander was merely seeking a quiet place to talk away from prying eyes.
"Sir, there is something I need to discuss with you, regarding my departure," Samus finally chimed in as they passed out of the open fields and into the tree line. "I believe it would be best if you didn't come with me, sir."
"Intriguing," Sun Streak said with a half-grin, looking back at her for a brief moment. "Explain, if you would."
"Sir, you have beak rot. The less travel, generally speaking, the better. The more physically active you are, the quicker the disease will spread. We shouldn't even be taking this walk, and the rigors of a space flight would undoubtedly cripple you in short order," Samus said, her voice devoid of emotion, her words chosen for maximum efficiency.
"I agree completely," the commander said, ducking a low-hanging branch on the left side of the path. Samus ducked as well, more out of habit than need. She was still a good foot shorter than the commander, but whenever he moved, she mimicked the motion, trusting to his instincts and judgments where she couldn't immediately see what he did. Beak rot or no, he was still sharper than most. "I suppose you would recommend or request that Marcher North accompany you instead, yes?" Samus paused, noting the lightness in the commander's tone. He knows, she thought.
"Actually, yes," she replied slowly, once more taking up the walk behind Sun Streak. "He is roughly of an age with me, on scale, and is nearly my equal in terms of his navigation and combat skills, though he lacks certain of my proficiencies."
"And will continue to, for he is not the same as you, Samus Aran," the commander said, guiding her into a dense bit of thicket, carefully ducking down and crouch-walking through a kind of tunnel of brush and bushes. "You are uniquely suited to this career path you have chosen to pursue, that of a bounty hunter. It is much like the way of a soldier, but without specified allegiances, except to oneself. He is a warrior, of the chozo. Your skills and preferences will always be different. But there is one commonality you share with one another."
"Oh?"
"Yes," said the commander, stopping long enough to pivot toward her and reveal a wide smile and eyes shimmering with mischievous delight. "An intense attraction to one another. Just don't let that get in the way of your task," he said, slipping quickly and seamlessly into utter seriousness. Samus nodded, and Sun Streak led her through more of the brush tunnel, coming round a corner perhaps fifty meters on.
He finally stopped and turned once more toward her, his frame filling the exit from the pathway. Samus raised an eyebrow at him. "Sir?"
"I have waiting for you two gifts, Samus Aran, and they are not merely from me, but from the tribe entire. We know you will make the best use of both, but I feel it necessary to inform you that while one of these gifts was suggested by all of the elders, the second was of my own choosing. Come, and see what awaits." Sun Streak wheeled about again and ventured forth, rising to full height and stepping aside to let Samus through. When she came out of the foliage, Samus gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth in shock and wonderment. Sun Streak put one still muscular arm around her shoulders, and gave her a light squeeze. "Brilliant, isn't it," he asked quietly.
Filling almost the entirety of the clearing they had come to was a heavy gunship. Crimson and gold, it was shaped almost like a beetle without legs or antennae, held aloft on landing bolts. Four anti-grav pulsors lined its undercarriage, along with several repeater plasma cannons, and just under its front visor ports stood two more heavy-duty rail guns, primed and ready for combat. Grappler arms were fixed along its flanks, extended as a couple of chozos on ladders adjusted the joints with their tools and spanners, none of them aware that Samus was present.
"It's amazing," she rasped. "Simply amazing."
"And look there," said Sun Streak, pointing to what Samus had thought was another chozo, this one wearing a modified space combat suit. A second, more intense look informed her, however, that the helmet was rounded, shaped for a humanoid head, and the torso had none of the bulges most chozo armor was known for. Chromatically, it matched the gunship, and the right arm appeared to be prepared into a multiform attachment. "Samus, these I present to you, as offerings of proof of our pride in you."
In the first, she could but stare in wonder, until the sight drew close, her senses strained tight as all focus narrowed upon the suit. In a moment of bafflement, she went from thinking that she had used her heightened training of sight to view the armor at a distance to revelation that her legs had carried her, absent of her conscious will, right up before it. She ran one hand along the bulging shoulder plating, drinking in the promised strength and grace of its design, noting the expert craftsmanship which barely concealed the pneumatic pistons and gears peppered about the joints in the armor.
"I recognize this torso construction, but it isn't precisely chozo," Samus commented, looking back over to the commander. He had followed her over, but was now keeping a respectful distance from the armor. Among the chozo, whenever a new weapon or armor was received from the tribe, it was seen as an almost sacred moment, not to be sullied by the presence of another. Sick though he was, the commander remained stolidly observant of many of his people's olden ways.
Still, Samus's observation reached him. "It has been fashioned using a mix of traditional design, and record logs of your father William's armor," the elder chozo replied with a grin. "You were not blessed with a wealth of days with him, but we all know how much you loved him. We agreed that you would welcome the opportunity to honor him in this way."
Samus looked away from Sun Streak, once more marveling at the suit. "Father," she whispered, touching the mounted helmet lightly. "I wish you were here."
There had been no active hits for his new identity when he checked in on Station Xavier, pulling his shuttle into a free dock with the skill of old and repeated practice. Considering how long it had actually been since flying such a basic vessel, Beaker considered it something of a miracle that he managed without causing damage to himself, the shuttle, or the dock. When he stepped out onto the pilot/passenger platform, he produced an identitag and held it out to a Federation Security Forces officer making the rounds. The young human scanned the card, read his wrist comp, and handed the tag bag without so much as even a perfunctory smile or nod.
Standard procedure, nothing to see here, move along civilian, the turaki thought with a quirk of his whiskers. His first stop on the station was only a few corridors away, and he wasted no time on the handful of tourist shops peppered throughout the primary entrance corridor between the dock and the station's primary atrium. He passed scores of smiling, buzzing people, mostly human, all of them blissfully unaware that one of the Galactic Federation's most wanted criminals sauntered in their midst. Had he been the menace he'd been in younger days, he might well have used a juvian stabbing needle to poison and kill a dozen people, inciting station-wide panic for little more than a laugh.
But he had grown since those days, and such laughs were the property of unknowing, arrogant youth and lifelong psychopaths. Now he simply made note of what faces stood out in the crowds, who looked too curious about certain people. Anyone sporting non-standard militia armor or weapons of an exotic nature also quickly earned a second look, because in all things, he had to be cautious. After all, he had spent years on K-2L without raising any alarms from Federation forces, only to be caught out by Billy Aran, a bounty hunter.
Not that Aran had been an average man of his trade, however. Among all manner of outlaws, he had been deeply respected, even feared. But his style was not merciless, as was that of so many of his peers, no. Instead, he had been relentless, which proved far more damning for those making their living outside of the boundaries of standard galactic law.
Aran had worked with some few men and women over the years who learned from his style, and keeping an eye out for them had been a marked priority as soon as Beaker escaped Zebes. No one had come in search of him from the organization, thankfully, and thus far, he had escaped detection from the law. Neither of those groups worried him, however. Bounty hunters had a huge profit motive, though; he was currently worth 2.5 million credits as a live capture, 1.25 if brought in dead.
It was this caution that forced him into one of the shops just off the main station atrium as he exited the primary corridor. A lone man in Higherguard Mark III armor, sporting an electro-halberd on his back, had caught his eye, a man clearly out of place among the civilian populace. Beaker slipped into a coffee shop, getting in line before checking over his shoulder for another glimpse of the man. His guess proved right moments later as the man hollered at someone else in the crowd, a reptilian humanoid who immediately began shoving his way through the people, trying to run away.
He would have to wait a short bit before continuing on his business, but that was a small price to pay for his freedom.
Samus snap-rolled forward once again, this time adjusting for the Variasuit's momentum enhancers, rising inches away from Marcher instead of barreling into him as she had three times already. He chuckled as she stepped back and sagged, tired from the long hours spent training with the suit. "Much better, Samus Aran," he said, slowly clapping. She pulled off the helmet and shook out her ponytail, taking an exaggerated bow.
"Thank you, Marcher," she replied. "Will you be ready to depart as scheduled?" She grabbed a bottle of water from outside of the grassy ring she had brought him to, just beyond the ship in the woods. The day was dismal and wet, her armor slathered with mud and dirt. It was ideal for the purposes of training, in her mind; prepare for the worst, hope for the best.
"I will be, yes. Four days," he said, casting about the tree line. "Except for the mission to K-2L, I haven't left this planet for more than a week since we first arrived. It is as much my home as anyplace else I've ever been." He shifted his weight and gave Samus a brief look of something akin to longing. "It will be difficult to leave it, even if only for a short time." Samus logged that away in her mind, that she might bring it up later when she had to have another, slightly more difficult conversation with the young chozo warrior named Marcher North. She already knew him well enough, as well as the circumstances of their near future, to have an idea of how and when that dialogue would take place.
At least I've some time before then, she thought. "I can imagine," she offered. "But at least we'll have each other for company, and quite possibly one of the finest gunships in the 'verse to travel in until we get to the Federation station. It should prove a pleasant experience for the both of us." She used a swift internal control mechanism to open the torso hatch of the suit, climbing up out of it and stepping forward, her Zero Suit creaking as she stretched. Her wrists cracked loudly, as did her lower back, each pop eliciting a wince from Marcher.
"I fear what could happen to you if you continue training this hard in the Variasuit," he said. Samus laced her hands together behind herself and bent forward, trying to work out knots in her shoulders.
"I have to train in it at full force, Marcher. Otherwise, it will become the world's heaviest paperweight." She stood back up and rotated each arm individually, then sighed, turning about and pressing her thumb to a small yellow panel on the Variasuit's chest plating. The suit whirred shut, the left arm coming up in a hooked uppercut upon which she set the helmet. "I have it mostly under control, anyhow. How long did it take you to become used to your war suit?"
"A week and a half, ten days or so as I recall," he replied, walking with her back down the path toward the village. "It was brutal, and Grey Voice offered me no quarter. He oversees those of us who become sentinels." Samus nodded, paying only partial attention. The majority of her thoughts were already spiraling off into space, wondering after what sort of sights she would witness once she became a registered bounty hunter. Marcher was speaking once more, and she tuned herself to him. "The greatest sentinel in my graduating group was Carmine Wiseclaw, the brother who oversees the basic warrior training now that the commander has taken his ease."
"Carmine?" Samus paused a moment, eyebrow quirked. "Does he possess the right temperament for the task? He seems a bit, well, easygoing for the job."
"There is steel if one burrows deep enough, Samus Aran," Marcher replied with a grin. "As I recall, you once thought I was little more than a footsoldier myself." Samus ducked through the final bit of brush blocking the path into the village, shaking her head slightly.
"Your own words, not mine, Marcher. Although, I will confess, I didn't think much of your abilities when first I saw you training with the others. You were being knocked about by Bulaf Weingart."
"And yet," he said, leading her on as they came to her cabin. Samus pressed her way inside the humble abode, a sparsely furnished central chamber opening off to a bedroom and a bathroom. The central chamber's left side from the entrance was a small kitchenette, rarely used since she took most of her meals with Marcher and his parents a few cottages over. She unzipped the front of the Zero Suit, then disappeared into her bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar so she continue speaking with Marcher, who respectfully remained in the middle of the central chamber.
"And yet perhaps twenty minutes later, you were toying with him as if he were a child, using some of his very own maneuvers against him at easily twice the speed he'd used them at," Samus said at last. She slid out of the Zero Suit entirely then, a plain set of smallclothes her only cover until she changed into a clean set and donned a long-sleeved white shirt and khaki pants. She slipped her feet into a soft pair of moccasins, and returned to the central chamber, sitting slowly in one of the two cozy armchairs situated on either side of a crude fireplace. She nodded to the empty one, and Marcher took it up. Samus pulled the hair tie off of her hair and shook it loose, letting it hang over her shoulders.
"It's a training technique I picked up early on, working with Grey Voice," said Marcher. "He taught us that if you see a new maneuver in training with others, you should allow the wielder to use it against you, repeatedly if necessary, until you understand every moment of the technique." Marcher rose and reached under the mantle, flipping a concealed switch to turn on the fire. He stared down into the flames a long moment before softly saying, "Bulaf never forgave me for that day."
Samus, feeling restless with her guest on his feet, headed over to the kitchen area to begin brewing tea for them to relax with. "Why would he be angered? Weren't you just following Grey Voice's teachings?"
"I was," said Marcher, still gazing at the flames. "But very few of us can actually do as he suggested. The technique had been handed down through generations of Bulaf's clan, and had never been used by an outsider. He felt I had dishonored him." Samus returned to her seat, and thankfully, Marcher followed her lead.
"That isn't logical," she replied evenly. "You were merely doing what you had been trained to do."
"He did not see with the clarity of wind as you do, Samus Aran," he said. This expression had been used in reference to her on several occasions, and she had let it go unquestioned. Now, however, in the comfort of her own home, she felt bold enough to ask.
"What does that mean, precisely," she inquired evenly. Marcher cleared his throat and looked into the fire for a moment before meeting her gaze.
"It is a phrase used to say that a person sees events or hears information without emotion, without heart. It can be used either as an insult or a compliment. You know, I trust, how I mean it." Samus nodded, rising to fetch them their tea as the kettle began to whistle.
"Yes, I do. I hear it in your tone of voice. But when Doza says it, she seems almost angry with me," she said.
"Doza teaches the ways of spirit. She does not trust those who can close their hearts, even for a moment. It is not a failing in you, Samus. I admire your control."
"Well," she said, sipping her tea. "Let's just hope that control carries over to the gunship once we've departed." They shared a chuckle, then proceeded to discuss plans for their voyage.
Soon enough, she would learn all about control in the 'verse.