Chapter 8
"We have received reports from one of the Children. We nearly have found the Host. When We find her, we must kill immediately! The Great Enemy lives on only in her, We must destroy her! The Host is our only barrier to domination now, the only threat to Our domination.
"Our army is growing, the Children grow stronger with each passing day. This, Federation, this pitiful union of weak species has brooked no resistance against us. Without the aid of the Great Host they have nothing to stand against us. Worlds fall to Our might as easily as branches snap in a killer storm.
"But what is this new threat? At the far reaches of the Federation, they used us against strange creatures. Much like the Great Host they are, very powerful. We infested one on the floating island before we were set free. Soon that one will becoming back to us, the Child of the Varians, and we will use it to supplement our legions.
"What's this? Another report from the Child! The Host! Her vessel has been spotted. Very soon the Child will have her. Then her threat will be neutralized once and for all. Go, Child, complete Our mission, and then our conquest can continue without hindrance."
Maxon tapped his foot on the tarmac impatiently, watching as the technicians scurried over his ship, unhooking hoses here, opening a panel there, rewiring some circuitry. He hadn't had the ship serviced in a few months, but all he'd wanted was a quick check-up on the systems. The mechanics whistled shrilly each time they opened up some new compartment.
Finally, after they had crawled through every nook and cranny in the craft, the chief mechanic walked up to Maxon. "You're ship's in pretty bad shape," he said, "the hydraulics are shot to hell, and most of the circuitry hasn't been repaired since the thing was made. We're going to have to hold it here."
"Like hell you are," Maxon snorted, "I'm leaving now."
"I can't let you do that, Mr. Zell. Polis laws that a ship in this poor condition cannot lift off. We'll have it serviced and ready in a day or two, check by tomorrow."
Maxon massaged his brow, "How much is it worth to you?"
"Come again?" said the mechanic.
"You heard what I said," Maxon took a step closer. The mechanic didn't back down. "How much is it worth to you, to let me take my ship?"
"Are you trying to bribe me, Mr. Zell?"
"Well, in layman's terms, yes!" he said sarcastically. "I've got some very important business to take care of, and I need to take care of it now. So how much do you want? I've got quite a bit."
"Nothing, doing, sir," said the mechanic.
Maxon's fist knotted, but he quickly relaxed. "Come on, things must be tough for you, working long days, sticking your hands in grimy ships all day," he shook his head with feigned sympathy, "surely you must be looking for something extra. Come on now, be reasonable. How much."
The mechanic clenched his jaw, "Yes, Mr. Zell, it is hard, and yes, I could use the money. But the answer is still and will always be no. You can check back tomorrow to see if we have your ship ready. Good day, sir."
The mechanic turned on his heel and stormed off. Maxon grunted grotesquely and spat were the man had been standing. "Morals," he cursed, "sometimes they piss me off so much..."
Well, things could have been worse. Polis wasn't that bad of a planet, and anywhere else it would've taken twice as long for his ship to be repaired. Polis was renowned for having excellent mechanics and shipwrights, and it was the hub space port of a large sector. The south of the main continent was almost entirely dominated by landing pads, runways, and terminals.
It was near noon now. A beer would be nice, if he could find a damn bar. In addition to being space travel capital of the Universe, Polis was so riddled with values and morals that the populace considered using a dirty word cause for imprisonment, or cause for corporal punishment. He was surprised the mechanic hadn't taken a swing at him for saying "hell". Then again, he'd said it too. Maybe Polists agreed with kids that hell was simply a place, and therefore not to be categorized as a swear word.
He passed by one of the many space-line terminals that dotted the city. People were packed in them, jostling and fighting to reach the desk. The X breakout had people scared. It hadn't broken out to full-scale rioting and violence like it did on Jek, but people were scrambling to get as far away from the X as possible. Polis wasn't even that close to the X's holdings. And so far they hadn't made any movement from the first three worlds they'd infested.
To the north invaders, to the south, the X, Space Pirates out there somewere, and all sandwiched in between was the Federation. It looked to be a doomsday for the age-old union of the galaxy. If the X or the invaders didn't destroy them, well surely the Space Pirates would play clean-up crew. That's what Maxon would do if he were them, bide out this conflict and swoop in for a one-time conquest of what remained when the dust cleared. But that plan could easily backfire, the invades of the X could win a decisive victory, then they themselves would control the Federation.
Didn't matter though, the Pirates had been wanting to rule the galaxy long before either of these two, or at least they'd been trying a lot longer. They would come to the fore soon enough, no way they would let some other power become uncontested rulers of the Federation.
Maxon shook his head as he passed by the space-line. People were so easily manipulated by fear. It was the most basic human reaction, designed to extend the life of the creature by alerting it to dangerous situations, hopefully giving it the sense to extract itself from it. In civilization it was those who could control fear; the one's who could suppress it and create it, who ruled.
That was what made the Federation foolish, they tried to deny that undeniable truth; that fear was the only way to control. It was a denial that doomed it from the start, that doomed the governments of the so-called "great" nations of the 20th Century. When applied to a nation of only a few million people, that principle might work. When applied to a union that transcended worlds and species, it was too weak to control.
So as he had speculated years before during his schooling, the Federation was falling apart, right before his very eyes. He knew it would take some outside calamity for it to occur, it was a wonder the Space Pirate's initial attacks on the colonies hadn't done it. The Federation would be unable to maintain control of the populace, fearful of both the X and the invaders. In their fear, they would lash out like a cornered animal does. Violence would erupt; there would be death.
Before they knew it the Federation was going to have a full-scale rebellion on their hands. Contracts would becoming out, huge contracts, desperate gambles with the hope of maintaining control. It would be time to milk just a few more credits out of the Federation, before it collapsed. Credits would still be good, it was the only currency. Federation citizens would still take it. Then he could by some big palatial estate and live the good life, nobody coming after him.
It was all falling into place as he had predicted. Citizens were already demanding the High Command send troops to the worlds were rioting was occurring. Several deaths had already been reported. The High Command would eventually have to cave to the pressure of the citizenry. They would have to use force to make the rioters acquiesce; more people would be killed, probably by accident. Public approval of the High Command and the Federation in general would drop.
Now fearful of their own government, people would turn against it. It could be gradual or sudden, it may take a year or a day. Either way, it was inevitable. The Federation would topple, the union of species and planets that Maxon had been born in and lived his entire life in, the government that had given him all the money he'd ever had, was going to be destroyed.
And Maxon was amused to realize that it didn't bother him. No, it didn't bother him one bit.
He did find a bar. If you could really call it a bar. The people inside didn't, it was a "club". The occupants were mostly old men in rather poor looking plaid sports coats. Maxon hated these people; holier-than-thou martini sipping businessman. How could anyone spoil good alcohol with an olive? He felt the same way about those tuxedo wearing winos; who the hell spends more time talking and looking at a drink than drinking it?
The tender gave him an odd look when he ordered a beer. He had to crack open a case to get him one. Maxon suspected that he was the first to order such a beverage in this place. And he began to suspect that this was a rather exclusive club, though there was no membership. The old guys were scrutinizing him, more carefully than they looked at their wine, which said something.
Shit, I hope this isn't the seniors' gay bar.
Well, the beer wasn't bad, imported though. Plenty probably came through from the shipping. This was probably the hardest liquor he was going to be able to find. Sailors were loathe to part with their spiced rum, which was a shame. The stuff was just so damned good.
He polished off three before he stopped himself. Public intoxication is probably a life sentence, better not overdue it.
"Two creds," the tender said.
Maxon smirked. Good beer at a cheap price. The laws of supply and demand prevail again. He tossed three single credit coins on the counter top, "Keep the change," he said, turning to leave.
"Sir!"
He turned around to see the tender pointing to a sign above the bar. "No tips? Come on, one credit."
The tender shook his head stoically, "Sorry, sir, rules are rules."
He snatched up the offending credit and shoved it in his pocket, "Jesus, bunch of fruitcakes on this planet, I tell ya."
Samus guided the ship low, swooping low over the landing platforms. To the right she spied a flashing platform. STC had already specified it for her to land at. She made a pass over it, then brought the ship into a long, looping turn. Now she passed lower, gunning the thrusters to bring the ship into a hover over the platform. The ship softly touched down, the landing hear hissed as it settled onto the tarmac.
Markos stood up, walking back to the cabin. "All right, so is this everything?" he held up a piece of paper with basic shopping items listed on it. She nodded, "The mechanics will take care of the ship. There's a tram at one of the terminals that will take you to the city."
She opened the loading bay and the ramp lowered down from the side of the ship. "Don't talk too much with the locals. They're a weird bunch.
Markos laughed, "Remember, stay here. We don't want the Federation catching on to us, we've still got a long way to go."
"Don't worry, I'll stay here." Polists would be the most likely of anybody to report her to the Federation.
Markos gave her a smile then walked down the ramp onto the landing pad, "See you soon."
"Bye," she replied.
The loading platform raised upward, popping into place in the smooth fuselage of the ship. Markos stood on the tarmac, staring at the ship. He slid the list into his pocket and headed down the landing platform.
The sky was clear blue, deeper blue than the pictures of earth he had seen. Something about Polis' atmosphere having more hydrogen. He'd read up on it before they came. Apparently a match would burn brighter and longer due to the higher concentration of flammable gas. He would have to try it out sometime.
"Identification, sir."
Markos opened his wallet. He thumbed through the thick pile of cards. Brought back some memories. All the aliases he'd used in the few years he'd been in the Federation: Rolf Meyers, Peter Swanson, Eric Colb, Terence Collier, Karl Streicher. Karl Streicher, what was he doing in there? He hadn't cleaned out the old toolbox in awhile, Karl Streicher had been killed back before he'd gotten the mission. Sloppy play on his part, if some Feddies found that ID and cross-checked it, they'd be mighty suspicious.
He pulled out a card marked Andrew Hastings. That identity had been a real work of art. It was a lot like writing fiction, making a false identity, except only on rare occasions did fiction writers get killed. Hastings was a recent graduate of the Federal Astrophysics Institute, with a degree in Astronavigation. He was apprenticing to get his astro-navigator's on a transport freighter called the Hercules. It was the perfect masquerade for a shipping center like Polis.
He handed the Federation officer the ID card. The policemen took it with a smile and briefly looked over it, glancing up at his face once. Then he handed he ID back. "Welcome to Polis, sir."
Markos managed a little half smile and jogged past the post, down the escalator. The guard waited until he was out of sight, then slowly dialed his phone. It rang a few times before the other end answered, "What?"
"He's here," the guard said, who was actually Federation agent John Morris. He glanced up at the landing pad and spied a hint of purple metal, "And I think Aran is with him."
"Are you sure?"
"No, not positive. He came with one of those Mark III assault ships they started making a few months ago. You know, the one's that have the AI management systems?"
"Yep, Aran's got one of those. Sit tight for awhile. We'll bring a team up."
"Right. And if she comes out?"
"You know the orders."
"Yes, sir, I do."
"Check back in a few minutes."
"What?"
The little man nodded. His black eyes were far too big for his head. "I did like you asked, and I tapped all the sentry post communicators. A ship matching Aran's just landed in the main docking complex."
"Are you sure?" Maxon said skeptically. These street thugs weren't always the best sources. Sometimes they had to be double and triple checked.
"I've got a recording of it here," he pulled out a palm computer.
"It's one of the Mark III ship's they started making a few months ago. You know, the one's that have the AI management systems."
"Yep. Aran's got one of those. Sit tight for awhile. We'll bring a team up."
The man looked up at Maxon expectantly.
"What port did that come from?"
The man brought up his computer, "Ahhh, landing pad 66-A."
"How long ago was that?"
"Only a few minutes."
Maxon checked his watch. It was 0200 GST. If only a few minutes had gone by, the Federation team could be there already. No way he was going to lose this huge contract to some civil servants. "Very good."
The man took a step forward, "Maxon." He held out his chubby hand. "How about my money?"
"Oh, of course," Maxon said, smirking to himself as his hand went to reach towards his back pocket. He smiled wolfishly at the man, who shivered in response. "Usually I only give about a hundred for this kind of a job."
His hand closed around the pistol stuffed in his waistband. He brought it to bear in one fluid motion, pointing it straight at the man's head. "But for you, I brought something special."
Markos felt like he was in a herd of cattle as the tramway doors slid open. It seemed like there was an equal amount of people trying to get in as there were trying to get out, and neither group was willing to yield. "First time on Polis?" a man had asked him as the tram neared the station.
"Yeah," he replied.
The man chuckled, "Take it from me. It will take you at least three tries to get on that tramway. First-timers aren't ruthless enough."
We'll see about that Markos thought as he fought his way towards the door, virtually swimming through the crowd of people. The departing passengers threatened to force him back, but he pushed hard and managed to reach the doors. Now I know what a salmon feels like.
The doors slid shut amid some annoyingly cheery chimes, leaving the roiling throng behind.
"Three times, eh?"
The man raised his eyebrows, "You're tougher than most. I think you've been here before. You sure you weren't lying?"
"Never been here before in my life. Say, doesn't this kind of go against the whole Polis mythos. I thought people here were supposed to be amazingly courteous."
The man nodded, "You're right, any Polist who came here would instantly die from cardiac arrest. Nearly all the people near the landing pads are foreigners, except for the workers, but they're used to it. Word of advice, watch what you say in the main city. Some mild expletives may land you a few nights in the stockade."
Jesus, what a nut farm.
"So what are you doing here?" the man asked.
"Ship repairs. And picking up a few supplies."
"It can be hard to find stuff `round here if you don't know were to look. Got a list?"
Markos dug into his pocket and handed the man the scrap of paper.
The man chuckled as he read over the list, "Conditioner? Moisturizer? Bras? I hope you're shopping for a wife, son."
"You could say that," Maxon said.
"Didn't want to come check out the big city with you, huh?"
"Not really."
"Listen, there's a department store just a few blocks from the station. I'll take you there."
"Thanks, I appreciate it," Maxon said.
The tram glided smoothly to a stop. "Get ready," the man said, clenching and unclenching his fingers. Some slightly different bothersome chimes sounded in the cabin. Then the doors swing open.
This time it was easier. There were less people trying to get on, so he had less to fight against, and the crowd at his back pushed them along. Once he and the man were lifted into the air, riding the crowd like a wave. The man whooped with joy and they touched down safely on the concrete.
"Well! Nothing quite like crowd surfing!"
They started off towards the escalators to bring them back up. "So what do you come here for?" asked Maxon.
"Business," the man said, and left it at that.
Maxon shrugged. If he wanted to keep his business a secret, well, that was fine with him. It was the man's affair, not his. But it did make him a little suspicious, suppose he- no, of course not. The man couldn't be a Federation agent!
They stopped in front of a large concrete building. "Here it is, just follow the signs to get back to the station."
"Thanks," said Markos, extending his hand. The man took it and gripped it tight.
"Good luck," he said.
Markos turned and went into the store. He gave him a final wave before he disappeared from sight.
The man reached into his coat and pulled out a mobile communicator. He raised the device to his ear. "The package is inside the Super-mart, 55th and Devon. Team is going in now. Aran is alone, repeat, Aran is alone. Mobilize second team now."
Samus sighed with boredom. She was sitting in the cockpit, bouncing a tennis ball off the side endlessly. It was becoming tiresome. She wished Markos would hurry up and get back so they could leave, and the temptation to get off the ship and get into the world would be gone. She hated being cramped into the ship, especially when the only thing between her and the outside world was its two foot thick superstructure.
She looked over at he clock above the screen. Just five minutes past 0200! Markos had left just a few minutes before two; it had only been around ten minutes yet it seemed like hours! Why couldn't she just sit still? Maybe something to drink would help.
The kitchen's refrigerator wasn't well stocked, as Markos had aptly pointed out. She wasn't much for drinking anyway, and when she did, it was never the hard stuff. The stuff was too debilitating, it made her perform poorly.
Oh well, a little something wouldn't hurt. She started headings towards the kitchen. As she passed through the cabin on her way back, she heard some muffled yelling from the outside. She went to the viewport to investigate.
All she could see was one man, standing out on the tarmac in a stained navy coverall; probably a mechanic. He was waving his arms and yelling at somebody, but she couldn't see who. She couldn't tell what they were arguing about, but the mechanic was getting angrier by the second. Veins were bulging from his forward and his face was red as blood.
A black gloved hand shot out from the side of the viewport, sending the mechanic sprawling on the ground. Now the other man stepped into view. He was garbed all in black, with military style boots and a steel helmet. Grenades and ammo were strapped all across his chest and back. He reached across to his hip and pulled out a pistol. With the silencer screwed over the barrel, she heard nothing through the soundproofed walls. Just saw the gaping hole in the mechanics head and the dark red blood oozing over the concrete.
The man turned to face the ship now. She could see the white letters on his vest. "SWAT!" she gasped aloud. They'd found her! She didn't know how, but the Federation had tracked her down. Even with all that evasive action they took; that route could've fooled even her!
A high pitched whine emanated from the loading door. She'd seen SWAT in action too many times to not know what was happening. They were using an electronic pick to find the access code. Next they would open the bay door, and have half the team go up top and drop some stun grenades through the hatch. Or maybe it would be frag grenades. The Federation didn't want her back alive, it seemed, not if they were willing to kill innocents to get to her.
Thinking quickly, she ran to the locker and ripped her suit from its rack. She stared at it forlornly. I guess I was wrong. No way I can leave this life behind. Angrily she broke out of her reverie and slipped into the suit. The smooth inner layer hugged her skin tightly. She eased her right arm into the control socket of her arm cannon, letting her fingers rest over the trigger.
Then with her free hand she lowered her helmet into place. The pneumatic seals hissed as they pulled it tight over the collar. Then the HUD began to initialize itself.
*Begin Display Initialization*
*Life Support Systems Online*
*Checking Weaponry Configuration*
Charge Beam-confirmed
Wide Beam-confirmed
Plasma Beam-confirmed
Wave Beam-confirmed
Ice Beam-confirmed
Diffusion Missile-confirmed
*Morph Ball Calibrated*
*Checking Morph Ball Components*
Bomb-online
Power Bomb-online
*Gross Motor Movement System Calibrated*
*Varia Temperature Adaption System Calibrated*
*Gravity Suit Calibrated*
*System Initialized*
*Welcome back Samus*
The suit hummed and she felt it warm as power began running through it. The indicators on her arm cannon registered fully operational. She whirled around as something metallic bounced against the side of the hull. She traced the sound as it scraped down the opposite side of the ship. Rope, she thought.
She squeezed into the vacant locker, leaving her arm cannon exposed and pointed at the access hatch.
The SWAT team member took one end of the black nylon rope and clipped it to his harness. He motioned to the two men at the top to start pulling him up. He was jerked roughly off the ground and bounced up, pausing at intervals when the men stopped to reset and grab a new stretch of rope.
As he leveled with the ship, he grabbed the side. One more pull and he dragged his knees over the side. He made an effort to be quiet, but his movement still echoed through the inner workings of the ship. He crawled now, towards the access hatch. The access code appeared on his wrist computer.
He deliberately punched the code in and the hatch shot open. At first sight, it looked clear. He made a roundabout move, gazing into the cabin from every possible angle. Everything looked secure, perhaps Aran was in another part of the ship.
Swiftly he unhitched his gun from his utility vest, holding the weapon in his right hand. Slowly, ever so slowly he lowered his head through the port, the gun's muzzle following a few inches behind. How surprised he must have been when a face full of plasma sliced his head off and sent his body tumbling down into the cabin.
The rest of the team at the cargo door heard the blast. "Go!" yelled the element leader. One of the yanked down on the door lever, and it began lowering. Before it reached the ground they were on the ramp, moving swiftly up it, guns at the ready. Two swung towards the right to check the cockpit. The others filed quickly to the left to check the cabin and berthing space.
They entered the cabin, "slicing the pie", in police parlance, each man entering at different angle and covering a different firing lane. Nothing happened. "Room appears clear, sir."
The team began gathering at the entrance to the berthing space, ready to execute another entry movement. Samus burst from the corridor leading to the kitchen, arm cannon blazing. The panicked yells of the SWAT were quickly stifled as the super-cooled beam smashed into them, freezing them so fast their hearts stopped dead.
In seconds it was over, the team lay dead, their shocked expressions encased in crystalline ice. They would thaw out in a few hours.
"Over there!"
Bullets zinged by, punching holes into the wall nearby. Samus rolled to the side, compacting into the morph ball, then popping back out again. Her HUD highlighted the SWAT's position near the entry ramp. She activated her X-ray visor, turning everything a transparent white. Through the thin lines marking the walls she made out the skeletons of the two SWAT. One was holding his weapon ready, pointing down the hall. The other was whispering into his radio, probably calling for back-up.
She selected the plasma beam and squeezed down on the trigger. The muzzle of the cannon began glowing red hot. Her legs coiled under her, ready to spring like a tiger. She leapt to her left, the SWAT glancing into view for a half second. She released her hold on the trigger and a searing jet of plasma shot from the cannon.
The stench of the burning flesh overpowered her suit's filters. She resisted the urge to vomit and gingerly stepped by the hissing, bubbling bodies. Her radar listed no contacts. The threat indicator read nothing.
She brought up her communicator on her wrist. "Markos, do you read?"
The transmission was garbled and incoherent. Even if Markos could hear her, the citizen bands were probably being heavily monitored. The best thing to do would be to leave the landing pad; the local law enforcement would figure out pretty quickly what had happened to their SWAT team.
She ran down the stair way, the suit propelling her to greater speed as she vaulted down the case three at a time. The arrows led her to the tram station. Just as she entered, she saw a tram leaving the station. "Damn!" she cursed.
The station was deserted. Business hours were nearly over. Soon people would be returning to their ships. The next tram would probably be full of commuters. The cops were going to have an easy time spotting her, especially in her armor. She needed to find Markos, and get off the planet before anything else happened.
"Hello, Samus."
She whirled around, and let out a gasp. Standing into the shadows was a man clothed in a dark trenchcoat. He looked like he was having difficulty suppressing a grin.
"Maxon!"
"Deodorant, toothpaste, water," Markos read from the list in his hand. "That's just about everything except..." he looked down to the last item on the list. "Bras? Christ, I told her not to put anything like that on.
With a heavy sigh he started towards what appeared to be the clothing area. He tried to look inconspicuous as he edged his way towards the women's underwear section. "A, B, C? What the hell is this? How am I supposed to know what size she is?" He wandered about aimlessly in the underwear section. Every time a knowledgeable shopper came by he would try to covertly discern their sizing method, but he learned nothing from it. Mostly all he got was disgusted looks.
Finally a bemused female clerk approached. She had been watching his struggle from afar, and much to his thanks she'd decided he needed help.
"Not used to this area, huh?" she giggled.
"Huh? No, not really." His cheeks began to blush.
"What exactly are you looking for?" she asked.
"That' the problem. I'm supposed to find bras, see?" he held up the crumpled paper, "But I don't know shit about them."
She stiffened slightly. Mentally he berated himself for forgetting the local customs. "Sorry about that. I'm from off-planet."
The clerk smiled warmly, "Don't worry about it. Now about the bras. Are you looking for function or looks?"
Markos thought a moment, then said with finality, "Looks."
She smirked at that, "Well, just follow me."
They passed into a section marked "lingerie". Markos had only heard that word a few times before; he'd never really known what it meant. High time to find out.
They stopped at a shelf. She took a black, lacy piece off the rack and held it up to him at eye level. He could see her through the lace. "How's that?" she asked.
"They wear that?" Markos exclaimed.
She laughed, "Of course, what else would they do with it?"
Markos couldn't think of anything else. "Well, what is that?" he demanded, stabbing his finger at pair of black silk stocking.
"Stockings," she answered.
"And they wear those, were? On their legs?"
"Yes," she said slowly. "What kind of backwater did you come from?"
He didn't answer, only continued with a flurry of questions and finger pointing. Markos questioned and confirmed, examining each article with intense scrutiny. To him it was unbelievable. Varia was a harsh world. Everything, all energy, had to be devoted to survival. His sex education was squeezed in somewhere between his armor training and tactical studies.
The clerk shook her head, "My, my, I find it hard to believe that a guy as old as you wouldn't be well versed in these things. Haven't you ever had a girlfriend before?"
"No," replied Markos. Never could. Not enough time.
"Oh," she said quietly. "Will this be all?" she said, holding up the lacy black bra.
"Yeah, but make it two."
She nodded and rung up the price.
"Forty credits."
Markos reached into his pocket. This is costing me dearly. She'd better wear the damn things, that's all I've got to say.
"Freeze!"
Instantly he stopped, hand still thrust into his pocket. "Raise your hands slowly!"
He complied, easing his hand out of his pocket and sticking both arms straight up in the air. His hands were spread wide to show they held nothing.
"Now interlock your fingers behind your head!"
He lowered his arms, lacing his fingers together and pressing them to his head. The clerk had done the same.
"Go to your knees and don't move!"
Markos knelt down slowly. He heard the jingling of handcuffs being taken out. Come on, bastard. I'm ready for you.
The first cuff clamped around his left hand. Before the second could be set in place he wrenched his hands free. He swung the dangling cuff upward, catching the SWAT officer across the cheek. He stumbled backwards, and Markos rammed his elbow into the cop's gut.
The SWAT dropped his gun and Markos snatched it up. "Drop the weapon!" bellowed one of the other SWAT.
"Run!" Markos yelled to the clerk.
He ducked behind a display counter as the SWAT opened fire. Glass tinkled as the bullets shattered a mirror into thousands of shards. Markos popped out and shot off a few rounds. One of the SWAT grunted as he went down from the shot. Another ran to help him and Markos down him, as well.
Markos crawled down the aisle, staying low enough that the SWAT didn't spot him. Around the corner he spied the backs of SWAT, still looking towards his previous cover.
He set the submachine gun to full auto and squeezed down on the trigger. A hail of bullets spread over a wide cone. Puffs of red mist exploded from wounds in the SWAT's bodies.
The gun clattered to the floor and Markos took off, shoving his way through the crowd of gawkers. "Police, police!" someone screamed.
Too late, they're dead.
Markos burst out of the glass doors. Lying on the concrete were several people, facedown in pools of blood. I hit some bystanders, now the Feddies are really going to be after me. He slowed down to study the bodies. Large, smoking holes gaped in their mid-sections. That's too big to have been that gun...and the wounds are burnt. He forced his hands to stop trembling. What did this?
In answer to his question, a car nearby exploded in a brilliant fireball. He was lifted several feet off the ground, then deposited roughly on the concrete by gravity's boundless hands. His head swam as it smacked against the surface. Through blurry eyes he saw an obscure shape, wreathed by the flame's of the wreckage. His vision returned and the image sharpened into a tall, orange and yellow armor suit, with an opaque green visor. The arm cannon was pointed menacingly down at him.
This was the creature Samus had spoken of. The SA-X, a parasitic clone of Samus that retained all her powers.
Markos fought down panic rising within him, calling on all his years of training to keep from losing his nerve. The SA-X's free hand twitched, adjusting the arm cannon slightly.
Just as death seemed inevitable, the SA-X whirled to the side. It leapt backward, jetting its space boots and flying shy of the missile that streaked in. The twisting waves of electricity arced from its cannon, sending up cries of agony as it dispatched its assailants.
Markos leapt up in the confusion, making for the subway entrance. The SA-X spotted him moving, fired a prolonged burst at him. He felt his hair stand on end as the charged particles sizzled by his face. A missile streaked in and blasted the stone banister to dust, scattering shards of marble across the stairway.
He pressed on through the cloud of smoke. The SA-X walked to the top of the stairs, surveying the darkened tunnel below. Its sensors picked up no motion. Assuming its quarry dead, it turned and strode back to the street, effortlessly cutting down line of riot officers with its cannon.
"Long time no see, Samus," Maxon bared his teeth like an angry wolf, "been a year or so, hasn't it?"
Samus clenched her hand into a fist. "What do you want, Maxon?"
He chuckled, "Are you that out of practice? Please! I came here to get you."
"Right," she sneered. "What did I always tell you? Wait until the bounty is most vulnerable." She spread her arms wide, "I'm in my powersuit, how vulnerable do you think that it?"
"Ahhh, you underestimate me, old teacher," derision dripping in his voice, "you are much more vulnerable than you think. I have already alerted Federation control to your presence. Even if you best me, I will still get the reward for locating you."
Samus shot her arm cannon out. "Say I kill you first? What good's the reward then?" She debated mentally about which beam weapon to use; either the plasma beam's slow burning death or the agonizing electrocution of the wave beam. And of course the ice beams creeping frost.
"Please," Maxon took on a pained look. "I have already foreseen that. Because certain death waits for you if you do not come with me now."
"Hah! Who's going to kill me? You?" she regarded him with scorn. "I taught you everything, Maxon. But I'm still the better hunter."
"Maybe," he rolled his eyes to the ceiling speculatively, "maybe, the best human."
"What?"
"In the outer city at the other end of this tunnel, the SA-X is waiting for you."
Samus lowered her arm cannon slightly, thankful that the rigid armor suit hid her shuddering. Even with prior knowledge that the X lived on, revelation that the SA-X was here, on Polis, was a shock.
"Doesn't matter," she scoffed, valiantly hiding the fear in her voice. "I've beaten it before; I can do it again."
"No, Samus," Maxon stepped forward, "You can't. You haven't fought in months. It'll beat you; it'll kill you, and you know it." He raised a gloved hand, offering it to her. "Come with me. I can save you."
She looked down at his hand. The polished leather shone keenly in the light. It twitched as she moved towards him. Samus hesitated, staring into his obsidian eyes. "Come on!" he said earnestly, "We don't have much time."
Samus looked past his arm, in the folds of his coat she spied the dull gun metal. His offer was appealing; Markos was probably dead, killed by the SA-X. But Maxon was Maxon. "No." she stepped back.
Maxon shook his head, "That's too bad." He reached into his cloak, Samus tensed into a fighting stance. Instead of the gun she expected, he withdrew a baseball-sized metal sphere, with exposed circuitry running through its hemisphere and across its meridians and latitudes. "This little gizmo cost me quite a bit on the black market."
He depressed a small red button with his thumb, then whipped the ball towards her. Before she could react, the object clanged against her armor, sticking to it like glue. She felt the pressure receptors of her suit suddenly give out, and it hardened around her, freezing her in that position. Her HUD became garbled and static, then blacked out completely.
Maxon chuckled, taking out a small tool kit. "That's been several years in design. Interrupts power armor technology." He popped the kit open and brought out a syringe filled with green fluid.
Traniquilizer, Samus thought. She frantically tried to move her arm, but no matter how hard she strained, the armor wouldn't budge. Maxon raised the needle, ready to plunge it into her arm and inject the tranquilizer. Great, I'm finished.
From the side of her view plate an outstretched hand jabbed fiercely into Maxon's neck. The bounty hunter crumpled and his attacker walked into view. "Markos!"
He turned towards her, "What's wrong?" he asked.
" My suit's out! Get that thing off me!"
He followed her eyes to the ord, glowing with electricity. A kick sent the orb skittering across the floor, were it coughed smoke and sparks before exploding in a tiny pop. Her suit immediately warmed up, and the HUD flickered back into view. She tested her movement, taking a few quick steps and squeezing her fist. "I'm good, let's-look out!"
Markos ducked and Maxon's pistol flew over his head. He shot his hands up and grabbed Maxon by the arm, wrenching the gun from his hands and then throwing him roughly into the wall. He brought the gun butt around in a wide arc, smacking Maxon across the jaw. The bounty hunter tumbled down, spitting saliva-blood onto the floor.
Presently Markos brought the pistol's hammer back, taking careful aim at the prostrate form below him. He was just about to pull the trigger when, "Stop!"
Both men looked up at her, Markos in disbelief, Maxon with the same, as well as some relief. "Why?"
Samus didn't answer. She didn't know herself; why not kill Maxon and be done with it? She looked down to the bounty hunter, cuddled pitifully on the ground. "I'll explain later, come on!"
Markos lowered his gun but kept his eyes trained on Maxon. He glanced hesitantly between his submissive enemy and Samus. "Why?"
"Just come on!" Samus bellowed.
With great reluctance Markos turned, and the two began running down the tunnel towards the landing bays.