Chapter Ten


Samus awoke fatigued, but with a lingering pleasure that tingled all up her spine. She looked to the chronometer that burned on the far wall; it was nearly 0800. Though it was well passed her usual rising hour, she felt no great desire or motive to move from that spot. She looked to her left at Markos, sleeping soundly amid a jumble of sheets.

His eyes opened slowly and he smiled as he saw her. "Good morning," she cooed.

"Is it morning already?" he yawned and stretched dramatically.

"Yes," she said, throwing off the covers. "Lights on," she said, and the room was awash in pale light. Markos squinted against it, then looked over to her.

She stood by the bed naked, rummaging through her small closet. She found the shorts she wore under her armor and slipped them on. "What's that from?" asked Markos.

"What?" she said.

"The scar," he said.

She looked down. There was a jagged pink line that ran across her abdomen, just above the waist of her shorts, like some canyon that marred the perfect landscape of her skin. "Oh, that," she blushed. "There's some weak flexible part in my armor there; a Pirate got his scythe into it."

Markos nodded in admiration, "You should be proud of such a trophy. Few warriors live to bear such a scar from a Space Pirate."

Suddenly the room was filled with the sound of alarms. Samus cursed and threw on a t-shirt, then ran into the cockpit, followed closely by an indecent Markos. She took the pilot's seat and smashed down the alarms, shutting off the incessant whining.

"What's going on?" asked Maxon.

She looked at the sweeping radar to see three red blips coming fast towards her, and seven more behind those. The computer quickly identified them as Federation fighters.

"Aran! Surrender yourself! You have been declared a terrorist and criminal! Surrender and your punishment may not be so harsh!"

Samus angrily struck the radio, cutting off communication with the fighter. She cinched the restraints tight over her body. "Strap in, they're going to his us a wild ride."

Despite his nakedness, Markos complied, tightening the straps until they burnt his bare flesh.

The fighters could be seen now. Flying straight towards them as they were, they appeared only as thin red disks. Samus took the control yoke, massaging the triggers under her hands. "Hold on!"

She banked hard right and the fighters zoomed past, but quickly came around for another pass. Red lasers sliced into the blackness, and the cockpit shone red as blood as they came frighteningly close. Samus jammed down hard on the controls, sending the Mark III into a steep dive.

One of the fighters appeared directly in front of her, it made no move to avoid her. As soon as the computer locked on, she eased back on the trigger. The Federation pilot, realizing his peril too late, tried to evade the attack. He climbed swiftly, and two bolts of laser shot under him. Samus followed his movement, and the next two shots struck home. The fighter exploded and bathed Samus in a pale light.

The other seven were nearby now, and they darted like great flies all about her. She shot a missile at one and it spiraled out of control, before exploding in a shower of sparks and frozen coolant. Samus now readied the lasers, and stitched a line of smoking holes up the flank of the fighter. It bounced and gyrated crazily, then its pilot regained control, though if plodded along slower than it should have. It proved simple to lock on and dispatch the maimed ship with a missile.

Only seven remained. There was a jolt the ship took a hit to the rear. Samus hit a button on the console and the rear turret popped out from under the fuselage. It sprayed out a hail of metal flechettes, but the fighters nimbly avoided the attack. She saw one on her radar darting underneath to destroy the turret.

"No you don't!" she said, yanking back on the controls. The ship started in a long, looping climb. When it reached its apex, the ship seemed to hand before it began plummeting straight down at the bewildered fighter.

Samus squeezed the trigger and a dozen emerald lances shot out and sliced into it, blowing the ship to pieces in an instant. Fragments bounced and pinged off the hull as Samus roared through the roiling wreckage, then burst out the other side.

A klaxon went off as a missile streaked towards the ship. Samus kicked hard on the foot pedals and the ship slid as across space laterally, as if it had been pushed. The missile streaked by, diminishing into a golden point, then disappeared. "You lost it," said Markos in a congratulatory tone.

Samus shook her head. "No, the burn trail is facing towards us, we just can't see it. Its making another pass."

Markos soon saw the silver bullet speeding towards them. It was becoming awfully large in the viewport. He shifted uneasily in his seat, and the fabric chafed against his skin. It was so close now he could nearly read the serial number on the nosecone.

She pulled up at the last possible moment, and the missile passed a hair's breadth from the underbelly of the ship. It flew into the pursuing fighter formation, and they scrambled to avoid their own weapon. One was not so quick, and smacking into the missile head on.

"Five left," she whispered.

One fell to her lasers. Another was blasted by a missile, and shrapnel from that explosion clogged the drives of another and sent it careening off into the void. Now only one remained; its pilot exhibited great skill than his comrades. He never let her get a clear shot at him, and he even managed to connect a few shots against the ship. But the Mark III's armor was thick, and the lasers did little but scuff the finish.

He was directly behind her now, and it was apparent that conventional methods could not beat this pilot. Now matter how mind-bending the maneuver she tried, the fighter remained fixed firmly on her tail, as though it was attached by string. Thinking quickly, Samus rammed the throttle as fast as it would go. Her opponent sped up as well, matching the blistering pace.

Lasers seared nearby. The pilot was drawing a bead on the ship when Samus threw the throttle backwards, nearly shutting off the drives.

The pilot slammed on his decelerator, and the Mark III loomed huge before him. He realized that no matter how hard he pressed the brakes they were going to collide. He was just about to pull off when the whole space before him shown a pale blue. There was searing heat and his canopy cracked, then his ship exploded as the fuel touched off from the larger ship's wake.

Samus sighed in relief and took her hands off the controls. Markos chuckled. "That was the greatest piloting I have ever seen. Even if you couldn't make it any Varia as an armored soldier, they would surely accept you as a pilot."

She smiled and reset the course for Thullos. It was nearly as big as her thumb print now, an opaque gray sphere set in the crushed velvet purple. "We're just a few more hours," she said.

Markos nodded, "Lets land outside of the cities. There's a deep forest on the southern continent, no one ever goes there. Its easy to slip through STC there. We can remain unnoticed until we have to get a new ship.

She brought up the planetary data, "It says that Thullos is in its winter season now." Markos grinned sheepishly as she looked over at his naked form, "Get some clothes, you're liable to freeze to death. And wash that chair."


Maxon cursed Samus, the Federation, the invader, the X, and his ship as he hurtled through the cloud of debris created by Samus debacle. He had wisely elected to wait out the battle on the fringe before resuming his hunt. It seemed Samus had left a little surprise for him. Tiny slivers of metal hung in the air like clouds, and the needles pierced into his ship. He even detected hull breeches in some places.

"I'll have to land in the city for repairs first," he grumbled, slowly pulling his ship off Samus' course. He knew they would make for the uninhabited areas. But then what? Would they wait there or would they come into town and try to steal a ship? There was no way to tell. His best bet would be to search the outlying areas himself and use some local thugs as spies in case they made for the city.

He tapped his knee impatiently, creating a faint metallic sound that echoed loudly in the cramped cockpit. There was still around four hours left before reentry into Thullos. He was growing tired of waiting.

Time passed slowly. The four hours seemed like an eternity to Samus. When it was finally time for reentry, she called Markos forward and they strapped into the chairs. "Make for these coordinates," Markos said as he typed them quickly into the computer. "There's some landing zones there. STC doesn't even watch that area, its so small. We should be home free from then on."

He closed down the navigational computer, "How's the ship?" he asked.

Samus activated the cameras all around. They panned about the surface of the ship, showing some superficial scorch marks, but nothing worse than that. "Looks all right, we-shit!"

Markos followed her gazed to the monitor. It was focusing on the area of the right engine well. There was a series of three long, parallel gashes, like some predatory cat had raked its claws over the hull. Armor was curled back and she could see the components inside. "Doesn't look good," he said.

"No," she agreed, "but it may not be deep enough to affect the engine. We've got to try. Orbital maintenance isn't going to be too keen on helping us."

"Us being interplanetary terrorists and all," Markos snorted. "Damn the Feddies and their lies!"

Thullos filled the canopy now. They were aimed straight for a cloud covered spot over the southern mainland. "Here we go!"

Markos saw the beginnings of flame dancing over the canopy, and as they plunged deep into the atmosphere, the air all around them ignited, licking the sides of the ship. The craft began to buck horribly, and Markos feared his teeth would be jarred out. He'd heard about that happening once, but that had been on a small patrol boat during a naval bombardment. Still, he didn't see it as altogether unlikely.

The vibration increased in violence and he heard loose articles rattling about in the cabin. Then there was a particularly violent bump, as if they had run over a curb, and the right wing of the ship bounced high. They were thrown against their restraints hard. Samus grunted and cursed, "That was the engine! We may not have enough thrust to get to the LZ. This thing's not built for atmospheric.

Markos wiped sweat off his forehead. Condensation was dripping off the metallic roof like rain. Though it was winter on Thullos, the high speed reentry was hellishly hot. He felt like he was suffocating, like he was being cooked alive in an oven.

Then they broke through the cloud layer, bursting down and plummeting like a stone. Air screamed and whistled like howling wolves as they rocketed downward. Samus found her prediction had been correct. The thrust was far too weak to reach the landing zone. They might not even be able to pull out of the dive.

She fought the controls, but it seemed the ship had a life of its own, and it wanted to kill itself. Her strain was paying off, but barely, the nose pitched up two degree, three degrees, four degrees, it was rising, but agonizingly slow.

Suddenly the ship seemed to fly out from under her. The rear heavy craft kept nosing up until it was almost perpendicular to the ground. Trees bent and twisted against the craft, and it came slammed down on the canopy, turning dozens of pines to splinters. It plowed through nearly five hundred yards of forest before settling to a stop, smoking and sputtering.


Markos awoke first. He ached horribly, and his skin was purpling were he had been thrust against the restraints. He coughed; the cockpit was filled with thick black some. Samus lay asleep in her chair, arms hanging limply over the side.

Slowly he unbuckled himself and walked to Samus. The ship had landed askew, and the path was sharply uphill. It was difficult going on the smooth metal, but he made it, anchoring himself against the control yoke.

He unbuckled Samus harness and her eyes fluttered open. "Were are we?" she said groggily. Markos helped her out of the chair and steadied her as she stumbled.

"We took a hard landing," he said. The smoke had lifted and was now streaming out of cracked canopy.

Samus shivered, "Its freezing," she said. Steam puffed from her mouth as she spoke.

"We've got to leave, they may be on to us," said Markos.

They went into the cabin. Equipment was strewn all over the floor, and their armor was thrown against the lower wall, twisted and bent like circus contortionists. Markos swore and rubbed his hands together vigorously. "Let's get in our armor, those'll be the best in this damn cold."

Samus took up her armor and quickly sealed it. The warmth of the suit flowed into her, smoothing out the gooseflesh that had formed against the chill.

Markos was slower getting into his armor. It was much bulkier and thicker. Samus saw now that it was festooned with various markings. Upon the right black shoulder there was a pale white ghost, white except for its glowing red eyes. Then under the tattered trail of the shade was a long sword. On the opposite leg a red shield with the number fifty-two set in gold. At his waist a bronze handled knife was thrust into a sheath. The handle was carved into the likeness of a roaring lion.

He saw her eyeing the emblems on his suit. With a black metal finger he pointed to the ghost, "The symbol of my branch, intelligence." Then he tapped the shield, "My mother unit, the 52nd Heavy Armor." Then he half drew the blade at his waist. It shone keenly, "This is my knife, the knife all Varians receive on the day of their acceptance as a warrior." His voice took on a tone of reverence as he spoke. "I will show you my home soon. The 52nd is the greatest group I have ever lived with. Soon we'll go home," he said.

She saw now the homesickness in him. He had lived a long time in the Federation, separated from his home on Varia by many light-years. Then she caught what he had said, "Varia's not my home," she said, her voice made tinny by her helmet.

Markos nodded, but in his suit his shoulders only dipped slightly, "No, not yet anyway. But I know you'll like it there. The Varians have a warrior spirit. You've got that same spirit."

Samus went to the overturned equipment locker. She took out a thick nylon box and tossed it to Markos. "That's enough food for around five days in that."

Markos looked at the rather small bag, "Five days?"

"It may not look like much, and it doesn't taste like much, but the stuff will keep us on our feet," she said. "Now I'm going to see if the navigational computer to see were we are."

Markos rummaged through the rest of the gear, finding nothing of use. As an afterthought he grabbed his repair equipment and jammed it into a spare compartment. Samus returned. "No good," she muttered. "The nav computer's shot."

"It's all right. We're somewhere in the south forest. The city's large; if we go due north we should ht the edges of it, at worst."

"How far?" asked Samus.

"Around fifty miles. If we hoof it, we can make the city in five days. Barring any problems."

"Well, there's no reason to waste more time," Samus said. She kicked down the landing hatch and it swung heavily down. Before them was the pine forest, spreading wide before them like an endless army, bristling with a dozen arms and a thousand green darts each. For some reason she could not explain, the forest was threatening.

"Let's go."

They left the ship behind and began their trek, Markos leading since he knew the planet better. Their pace was rapid, but their muscles felt no fatigue as their suits pushed along with their legs. Dust flew from their feet as they sped through the game trails in the forest.

"I once had to flee here when the Federation caught wind of me. They were quick, and I was afraid that I would be caught."

"How did you escape?" Samus asked, the first inkling of fatigue showing in her breath.

"I turned behind them, and killed their rearguard. Then I burned a hole in my armor and sealed the body in my armor. Then it took his laser rifle and hid in the woods nearby. When his companions found the suit, I shot them all down."

After that they did not speak for a long while. Soon even with her suit Samus felt fatigue creeping up on her, burning her legs and constricting her lungs as though some snake had wrapped about his ribs. The sun began to sink below the treetops, blazing red as it fell between the trunks of the pines.

Even as darkness fell Markos urged Samus on, forcing her to keep running until night was several hours old. At last they stopped and Samus collapsed thankfully onto the bed of pine needles. Snow began falling, large flakes that hung long in the air. It came down thick and heavy, and soon the ground was covered and all the trees were crowned with ivory.

"Why did we run so far? At this rate we will be there in two days."

Markos didn't answer. He peered out into the snow, wiping flakes away from his visor with his hand. It was dark, darker than usual. Snakes of cold air slithered through the joints in his armor. Even the Varia temperature system couldn't stave off the biting cold of Thullos. He cursed as he looked at the thermometer on his HUD; negative thirty- five degrees.

The snow swirled about him, seeming to take shape; snowy phantoms that walked towards him, reaching with icy arms, then scattered away in a great gale. Samus saw them too, and they reminded her chillingly of the Chozo spirits on Tallon IV.

"I can sense something out there," he whispered. "Whether it's real or just my nerves playing tricks with me, I'm not sure."

He looked down at her. "Get some sleep quickly. We must move within two hours."

Samus was awakened rudely in only forty-five minutes. Markos pulled her too her feet; she was half-buried in snow. It was coming down harder now, and it lay thick about Markos' ankles. "Sorry," he apologized, "the snow is coming down too fast. If we wait longer, we'll move too slowly."

He looked skyward. The snow cascaded down in great columns of white. "I saw your friend Maxon's ship pass. He would've seen the crash by now. He'll be hunting us."

"But he can't catch us on foot in this cold," she said.

This did nothing to comfort Markos. They began running, and Samus find that she had a renewed strength. She ran even with Markos now, pumping her arms as they ran. The snow was like a wall that they ran against needlessly, throwing themselves against it. Now it was Markos' strength who failed.

He collapsed, and quickly tried to struggle to his feet. Samus hoisted him up. "We've got to keep going," he gasped through his helmet. They continued on, but soon after he fell again, and this time Samus did not try to raise him.

"We need rest," Samus said as she sat against a pine tree across the trail. "Let's move again in an hour."

Markos didn't answer. He had already fallen asleep.

Samus struggled to remain awake. After consulting her mapping system, she found they had traveled fifteen miles in less than two and a half hours. She wished she had a true map for this planet, but with no map, there was only a small yellow line drawn from their starting point a the crash site. Perhaps Markos new the way, then again he may not. She would've felt much better if she knew were she was really going.

Suddenly her helmet beeped and she sat up straight. A gold dot appeared on her motion sensor, far way behind her, at the very edge of the sensor. She turned around and the dot disappeared from her sensor. Nothing appeared through the thick snow; only the trees stood sentinel, and the only movement was the stirring of their branches in the breeze.

Then the dot burned solid again, this time closer. She raised her arm cannon and the reticule projected on the HUD. But no target came from the woods, and the gold dot disappeared.

Markos woke after less than the prescribed hour. She quickly recounted the events of their mystery companion. After hearing of that, Markos grabbed her by the hand and they began their run again. He ran with great urgency now. They did not stop for nearly two hours before they both succumbed to fatigue.

Day was coming on now, the sun rose above the peaked trees and the snow shone brightly. The fall abated slightly, but not after the storm had dumped nearly two feet of snow on the ground. It nearly rose to their knees now.

With the dawn Samus felt the fears of the night melt away. They walked a short way, then slept long under the shelter of a large tree. Though they meant only to sleep a few hours then make the remaining thirty five miles. They had time to eat some of the tasteless rations that they brought. Then they slept for a long, long time.

Markos jolted awake. It was nearly nightfall the next day. He tapped on his helmet and his HUD flickered to life. On his motion sensor display there was a single gold dot, close by him. The threat meter leapt almost to the top.

"Samus!" he bellowed, grabbed her by the wrist and wrenching her up. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a shape burst out from the snow were it had been buried. "Run!"

They turned and sprinted headlong through the forest, Markos dragging Samus behind him. The dot on the sensor followed them, it was right on top of them.

Markos led them on a long looping trail, so then they were running straight towards the ship once again. Still the unseen enemy followed them.

Then Samus heard something whiz by her head, then it slammed into Markos.

Markos' suit suddenly froze in mid stride, right leg bent upward, left leg thrust backwards. He pitched forward and fell with a crunch of snow, and his visor revealed on the crystalline snow. "Run Samus!"

"No way!" she said, bringing her cannon up to bear. "I can take him down!"

"No!" he barked. "Run back to the ship! There are coordinates to Varia on your hard drives. Get them and go there! My people will know you! Go! And don't let anyone see the way to Varia!"

Another silver ball whizzed by and smashed into a tree, were it exploded in a shower of bark.

Now Samus saw their pursuer, the SA-X, walking purposefully towards her, arm cannon smoking. It looked at her balefully, the green visor piercing her like a cyclops eye. Then it raised its arm cannon.

"Go!" screamed Markos.

With great reluctance, Samus turned and ran. Another silver projectile shot by and missed narrowly. The SA-X rushed forward, blasting away with its arm cannon. On struck home and Samus fell into the snow, her armor was breached. Then she struggled to her feet and kept on running, firing wildly as she went.

Markos still lay there, struggling vainly against his metal prison. He heard the crunch of snow as their assailant walked by him and stood by his head. He could see a sliver of orange metal through the snow.

"Ahh, the famous invader at last. We finally meet, Markos."

He didn't know the voice. But somehow it was familiar, but not in a friendly manner.

"Damn! She got my cannon!" there was the sound of something heavy falling. "She won't get far," the voice said again, this time softer, more congenial.

He heard the sound of someone tinkering on his armor. The HUD reappeared, but when he tried to move he was still stuck fast. "Look at your thermometer, Markos."

Markos complied.

"Yes, the cold is coming deeper. Soon it will be fifty below. Poor Markos, if only he'd checked the weather report."

Then there was a snap, and a warning message appeared on the HUD.


*Varia System Malfunction-Service Immediately*


*WARNING: Ambient Temperature at -32ĚŠ Fahrenheit*


*Estimated Survival Time at Current Ambience: 3.5 minutes*


"Yes, Markos. You can feel the onset of hypothermia coming on. You're suit will shield you for now, but without the Varia system you'll freeze."

"What's this?" the voice said. He heard a grating sound as the knife on his belt was drawn. "A pretty thing. For use on other pretty things, perhaps?"

He heard an abrasive cackle, "Good luck, Markos. Don't worry about the bitch. She'll be dead with you soon enough."

Then there was a series of crunching footsteps as Maxon hurried away. The sound became softer and softer and softer, and with it Markos' breathing went softer and softer, until it faded away into silence.

Samus collapsed heavily against the ship. Her suit was barely functioning. Soon the movement systems would fail, and then it would be useless. She retreated into the shelter of her ship. The gold dot on her motion sensor was fast approaching.

She stripped from her outer armor, leaving only a loose body suit that offered some warmth. Now she had to find her gun. With a well placed shot she could finish off the SA-X.

Suddenly from the open loading bay the SA-X leapt up. Samus let out a cry of fear as old pains awakened from the debacle at BSL. She gritted her teeth and waited for the killing blow to come.

But all she heard was a harsh, tinny sound as the SA-X's shoulders shook. It had no arm cannon, she had damaged it with a wild shot. But in its right hand it clutched Markos' ceremonial dagger.

"Well, Samus. Finally, we are met here. Too bad you didn't turn yourself to me on Polis. You're death would've been much less painless." It twirled the knife; the blade flashed in the light. "Not to mention I could've had my way with your limp, dead, but nonetheless succulent body. How I miss those days. If only you're invader friend hadn't shown up."

"Maxon!" she hissed, recognizing the voice.

"Yes, it's me? Surprised? I guess the duds are a bit different than the last time you saw me."

"Were did you get that?" she demanded.

"Well, our friends the X gave it to me, in exchange for you dead. That occurrence is greatly beneficial to both of us, though I'm afraid my parasitic compatriots are far messier than I am. A bloody corpse is no good to make love with."

Samus gasped and spat at her feet, "They've poisoned your brain, Maxon. Even you wouldn't do something so sick and perverse."

"Maybe. But I'm a different person now." He took a step forward and Samus dropped back. She was in the doorway to her bedroom now. "I have power, Samus. Power like you wouldn't believe."

He pressed forward and she retreated into the room. A metal hand shoved her down onto the bed. The knife reared back like the fang of a venomous snake. The gun, the gun! A voice seemed to scream in her brain. The gun under the pillow, from when she had first met Markos!

She reached up and felt her hand closer around the cold grip. But what good would it do? Bullets would only bounce off the armor.

The scar! The scar! What scar? What did it mean? Then she remembered talking with Markos, the scar on her abdomen, the weak point in the armor. It had to work.

"Well, Samus, my old friend, it finally comes full circle. The teacher falls at the hands of the old pupil."

He tensed his grip on the knife and poured all his strength into his arm, till it shook with strain. Then he started to plunge it down.

Samus ripped the gun from under the pillar and drove it into the soft, flexible armor weave on the suit's abdomen. She fired one shot and crimson blood squirted from the wound. Maxon sagged forward, so close to her head the she could see the disbelief in his eyes through the visor.

"No way, bitch," he gasped, trying to bring the knife down on her throat. No thoughts of riches and credits filled his mind now, only the thought of killing Samus, of seeing her blood flow freely in the cold air.

Samus squeezed the trigger and the gun barked four times. The knife fell from Maxon's hand and he collapsed on the bed beside her, dead.