Keep in mind that the acid that Tal fell into was not your mundane, run of the mill acid. As explained by the scientist some chapters earlier, it was some pretty vicious stuff that operates on a very different level than the acid that Tal could spit.
Regarding one comment: I feel certain that compliment would be more appreciated if I had ever read either of those stories.
This chapter marks part of a diversion that does not focus upon Samus, for good or for ill, though it does impact the story to a severe degree. I've received varied comments about it, but I'd be curious as to the general opinion. Regardless, there isn't a great deal of it.
Chapter 20: Lethal Filler
His fingers slowly moved over the cool metal, feeling its contours and crevices. Turning the object over in his hands, he examined it as if he was seeing it for the first time in his life, as if he hadn't worn it every day for the past four years. Sweeping lines formed the symbol of the Galactic Council, a triangular star designed to represent unity. The blue letter GC were stamped in the center, in old roman-style letters.
Sighing heavily, the man reattached the identification to the lapel of his suit. While he did so, he looked over himself, invoking another soul-weary sigh. This suit... he'd been wearing it for three days straight. A formal grey piece, suitable for his position but still slightly casual. That was how he had campaigned, after all: as a casual guy who could have lived next door.
What did it mean? What did any of it mean? Now his suit was rumpled, his eyes were nearly closed from lack of sleep, his feet ached in his shoes, his voice rasped slightly from talking. Though his hair had once been neatly combed, it was now less than so, despite the best efforts of his aides.
It wasn't just that, either. Even in a broader sense, he was slowly going downhill. Muscle had faded from his sedentary lifestyle; he was beginning to get softer around the middle; his hair was thinning out. Modern technology ensured that his face would remain smooth, but he knew that a poor man would have begun to develop wrinkles. These days when he moved there was occasionally a twinge of pain.
He was dying. Slowly and surely. Oh, he knew the process would take years, he knew that he probably still had twenty years of his life remaining. People told him his eyes were still bright and clear, his smile still warm. But how rarely did he smile any more.
Putting his face between his hands, he glanced between his fingers. They were all dying. Some of them didn't know it. Some of them denied it. True, many of them were still young, still filled with vitality, still able to work constantly. But they were dying, as surely as all the others. Maybe not even in body, but in soul. He barely even could tell them apart any more. All just suits that had grown blind and corrupted.
That was what all of this felt like... an aging body. All of the galactic organization was a gigantic being, lumbering along, unaware that it was being eaten away from within. Though it might still appear mighty, and might be able to crush its opposition, it was still losing what it once was. Disease was rapidly spreading throughout it.
And though he wished to deny it, wanted with all his heart for it not to be true, the corruption had probably spread here, to the mind of the beast, to the Galactic Council. He had poured his life into the organization, and this was his second term on the prestigious Council itself. Just one more year... one more year then he might want to retire.
Admitting that all of this was becoming corrupted hurt. But he didn't really feel that hurt anymore, just a dull ache that was another sign that he was getting older. In spirit if not in body. More than anything else, he was just tired. Tired of corruption. Tired of manipulation. Tired of cover ups. And now this...
"Stevenson!"
The voice jolted him alert. One of his fellow council members, sitting in the seat next to him, gave him a sharp jab with a foot. Saying his name would have been enough... but now he was awake enough to comprehend the question that was coming his way.
"-wondering as to the potential for an official vote of no confidence?"
"Such is unlikely," Mr. Stevenson answered, voice crisp. These things would likely be eventually televised, or portions of them could be used as statements. At the very least he had to put up a false front to the others. They couldn't know how weak he was. "At the moment the Assembly is split between almost evenly 49 liberal and 50 conservative. However, this issue is mixing party lines."
"What are the chances that they could be convinced to take partial action," another council member asked, to the floor, "action that would require only an Assembly majority?"
Immediately Mr. Stevenson was involved with the discussion again, mind latching onto each portion of what was being said. Shaking off the gloom surrounding him, he recalled the facts of the situation. Someone had managed to send Galactic Council troops without operation, and had attacked the Bounty Hunter Headquarters. Not a smart move, so it was indubitably motivated by something else.
Questions were being asked all across the galaxy, and they were still hiding behind a shield of not commenting on the situation. This session had been going for three days, members of the Council drifting in and out as they had to sleep or eat. All of them were here now, however, because it was possible it would come to a vote.
A side door opened, and all eyes in the chamber turned toward it. One man in a plain black suit, an aide, no doubt, entered the chamber and moved into the circle of grim looking politicians. Ah, this one... he was more than just an aide, he was their liaison to the Assembly, and a source of quite a bit of information.
"Well?" the Council Head asked. With a slight bow, the man began.
"Proceedings were held up because the order of the day was continually drawn away toward another bill. Six attempts were made toward two separate bills, 23 and 41, but all of them failed. This absorbed some time, and then a motion was made to suspend the order of the day and move to the issue on the table- the situation at Bounty Hunter HQ.
"It appeared that the motion would pass until it was revealed that a piece of tax legislation was also pending. The initial motion barely failed, and a motion to consider the tax legislation was entertained and passed. After several speeches, the matter dissolved into internal politics.
"Resolution looks to be fairly near, and the voting members of the Assembly are mostly locked. At the moment the Assembly is undergoing a minor filibuster. Meanwhile, an amendment to the order of the day has shifted the issue of the incident down further. There will be no movements made within four hours."
"Thank you, you may go." Almost before he was out of the door, the Council Head was glancing down the circle of council members, looking each in the eye. Mr. Stevenson looked back, face not betraying his emotions. Had they already reached the Head? Was he being bribed, or had he been a part of their plans from the beginning?
"I suggest that we form a committee of select Assembly statesmen to consider the issue separately," one member suggested. "Perhaps then the internal politics can be avoided."
So he was definitely one of them. Anything sent to committee, particularly a bipartisan committee chosen by someone who was a part of the corruption, would not see the light of day for over a week. That would be essentially suicide for any opportunity to truly change the situation. Was that what they wanted? Did they have some vested interest in keeping this entire situation a complete mess?
"Perhaps a committee is not the best forum for such discussion," Mr. Stevenson suggested. "In this case, greater efficiency of speed would be desired, and I would suggest-"
"Yet the idea is a good one," someone else interrupted. Glancing toward him, Mr. Stevenson identified another member of the corruption, or at least someone they could afford to pay off. "A committee would avoid squandering time while the Assembly filibusters bills about completely irrelevant legislation. The executive branch has to take action to get around all of this unfortunate wasted time!"
He continued speaking, but none of the words reached Mr. Stevenson's ears. How many of them were there? At least three of the nine council members were a part of this specific corruption. All but himself and possibly two others were corrupted in some way. But how many was he going against? Four? Five?
The issue was coming to a vote. Sighing heavily, Mr. Stevenson tapped the second button on his own control panel, signaling that he was against the motion. Now was the time to see how the situation truly stood. How shaky was the ground beneath his feet?
"All votes have been received," the Council Head announced, glancing down at the panel before him. All the others could see the results as well as he could, but it was bureaucratic procedure for him to declare it none the less. "The final vote is seven - two in favor of moving the issue to committee."
Was it that hopeless already? Mr. Stevenson sighed, and moved a hand to his head, closing his eyes to the world. He didn't want to try anymore, didn't want to fight them. It was no use. No matter where he would go in the government, there would be corruption. Who was controlling everything this time? In the end, those with the money and connections always ended up pulling the strings. Democracy... feh.
"Can I speak with you privately?" Glancing up, Mr. Stevenson saw another council member beside his portion of the circular structure, leaning close to him. Once they had been friends... but what did friendship mean in these days? Getting out of his chair wearily, Mr. Stevenson moved with him out into the hallway.
"I've known you for a long time," the other council member said slowly, as if bringing his thoughts together. "What are you doing, Gogo? Why are you working against progress?"
"Progress?" he asked heavily. "Do you call this progress?"
"The rest of us are working together toward a better future, Gogo, and you're opposing us every step of the way. Why?"
For a long moment Mr. Stevenson was silent, leaning against the cold metal wall. He opened his eyes just slightly to look at the other man standing in the corridor with him and sighed heavily. "A better future for who?" he asked softly. "For the galaxy or for you?"
In the chamber, the council members continued glancing at one another, none of them speaking. There was no point in speaking any further, not with only six of them here. Two were still talking in the hallway, and another had briefly excused himself. The silence had continued to stretch.
"When we return to the floor," the Head told the others softly, eyes watching the door, "I will suggest that we unofficially adjourn for fifteen minutes. The two of you, argue against doing this for some time and eventually relent. After the break, we will work on preparing a press statement. This should consume another hour."
"The plan is sufficient." A new voice entered the conversation, and all of the members of the Council stiffened in their seats. Perfectly modulated steps clicked against the metal floor as a new person entered the chamber from another door in the far corner of the room. All eyes rested on him fearfully.
Looking as immaculately perfect as always, Mr. Divel glanced around the chamber silently.
"I will require your assistance momentarily," he told them quietly and commandingly. "Once the subject has been acquired, I must have everything covered up for at least seven days. That will be all that is necessary. Do you think this will be possible?"
"We almost entirely control the Council," the Head told him, voice obviously deferential. "Seven of us can be counted on to support these initiatives for the duration. Only two oppose us. One has ties to a crime lord opposing us; he has too little power to stop us and we can reveal his illegal actions if it becomes necessary to discredit him. The only other opposition is a tired old man. I anticipate no problems."
"Very well," Mr. Divel answered, as if he would have been disappointed with anything less. "I will be examining our operations myself. Gentlemen... see that it is done."
Tapping her fingers on the armrest, Samus continued observing her progress. Her gaze flickered between the front of the ship, the radar and her sensor reports. Nothing yet, but she knew that she would be soon approaching the station. Assuming it was a highly sensory station with illegal modifications, its sensors would be just beyond hers. If it had shifted at the same rate since she last saw its position...
For the sake of safety, Samus shifted into cloaked mode and powered down the ship almost completely. Her anti-matter drive dropped to the lowest level necessary, just in case they had developed something to detect that as well. Remaining still in her chair, Samus began working on her ship's identification codes.
The largest problem would be getting onto the station. There was need for momentary stealth, though she had no intention of making this a quiet visit. Already she was pressing her luck by trying to sneak up to them. Perhaps it would be best to enter the station in the sensor shadow of another ship, and then assume that enough bounty hunters would be on the station that her ship would go unnoticed.
Of course, they probably would be checking identification. Pulling up the codes she had stolen from the previous ship she had been on, she changed a single digit and hoped that it didn't match the identification of any other ship. Best to change the computer's logs so that it registered having docked at the Bounty Hunter Headquarters than then come here on autopilot.
Deleting the former log, Samus quickly found the temp file and the cookies that indicated she had made modifications and destroyed them as well. Best to run a full memory clean so they couldn't pick up any traces and then reboot. It wouldn't take too long.
Finishing the operations, Samus shut down the computer and slowly got up from her chair. She was feeling strangely sluggish at the moment. That usually happened whenever she was about to go into a situation she knew would be dangerous. It would wear off by the time she had to act.
Drifting back through her ship, Samus moved into her own room. Funny. She hadn't actually used the bed in quite a while. With a bio suit such wasn't very necessary. But whatever. There was nothing to do until she reached the station, so she might as well. Falling backward onto the bed, Samus remained staring at the ceiling for a very long time.
