Disclaimer: Ratchet and Clank, all related names and indicia are (c) Insomniac Games. Feh, I don't own nuthin', man.
Knight of Fire and Steel
By FurrySlaver2000
Act I: Ghost in The Shell
Feb/8/7954 17:41:03.98:
I must conserve my power, who knows when someone may come along. As it stands, I could stay online for several hundred years on the charge off the auxiliary turbines alone, but we were very far off the normal space lanes when we were... attacked? I cannot recall the events completely. My main memory cells must have been damaged, and most of my repair drones are busy at this time keeping my secondary body, a Hopeful Class Colony Transport, together.
My captain, a lombax by the name of... hmmmm, I seem to be missing more information than I thought. Never mind. He instructed me to make all efforts to stay on course, to give the lombax people another chance, then he dropped from my life support monitors. As much as this saddens me, I must concentrate my efforts in making my secondary body space worthy again, if at all possible.
As I record this message, my repair drones have finished their work on the main engines. Without a solid fix on my own position, all I can do now is send out as many probes my nanotech replicators can make, and use the engines to stay as true to the original route in case someone else survived the battle and tries to track me.
Feb/17/7954 03:17:33.01:
One of my probes has detected a small, desert-like planet on its long-range sensors. Judging from the information I can discern from this range, it seems the planet has liquid water, and an acceptable, if slightly high, temperature range. Vectoring an intercept course to gather more accurate data.
Mar/1/7954 07:58:00.00:
It is time. I must obey my primary directive and ensure my charges survive. To this end, I have decided to execute Colonization Action Plan #310 and establish as many viable colonies as possible in this planet, which my incomplete charts refer to as Veldin.
According from my surviving records, my initial cargo manifest included 28 million members of the lombax species, in 140 colony pods, each with 250 thousand occupants. During the attack, 27 pods were damaged and 14 of them received enough damage to be beyond recovery. Also, 3.3 billion units of nanotech, in macro-boxes of 500 units each, were being carried. Approximately 60 percent of that was destroyed or used as emergency supplies to repair myself, leaving little over a billion units for use by the colonists.
In an attempt to make up for this loss, I shall, after executing proper colonization drops, attempt to soft-land my command module in a shallow sea near one of the drop sites, then guide the barge section into deep water so it does not become a danger to the colonies later. Hopefully, once the colonies establish themselves, they will seek me out.
Until then, I shall wait.
Act II: Out of the frying pan...
"Herr Mensk?"
A voice calls out in the ship's main control room, where I lay asleep. "Herr Mensk, there is a call for you," the voice said again, rousing me from my sleep. "Huh, what? Oh, I'll take it in my study," I say, as I make my way to my cabin, massaging my temples with my fingers. Too much Quartona wine last night. The Merc's Dive is famous for the stuff: goes down real easy, but kicks like a Grelbinian Y.E.T.I.
"This is Makarios Mensk, respond please," I said towards my modest HoloNet terminal, endlessly patched and refurbished to work more or less decently. An image formed above it: an Ursan dressed in a Krimson Sage warrior armor. I knew this particular Ursan. A specially irritable specimen by the name of Kohrd Arrden. "Make preparations for your drop, Captain Mensk. We shall wait for no one!" he half-growled in my direction. "We shall be ready, Commander," I said "Please say hello to the Security Chief for me," I joke, at much peril to my health.
You see, his 'Security Chief' and I have a bit of. . . history together. She can be a real pain sometimes, but the nights we spent together were something to behold. Or not. "Very funny, fuzzball. Get ready for your drop already!" he barked, and disappeared from my HoloNet display. Such a jerk for someone with his position. But I digress, for I must land this wallowing tub I call the Chaos Slayer. She may not be much to look at, but she's in serviceable condition, and reasonably armed and armored. In this day and age, going out into wildspace without at least a Lancer chaingun and a few square yards of Duraplate plating is asking to be killed, in the worst possible way.
Anyway, the voice you heard before is Pyotohr, my on-board navigator AI and probably the only true friend I have on this galaxy. As for myself, you may know by now that I am called Mensk. Makarios Tiberius Mensk, General Contractor (read as: Bounty Hunter), but if you happen to be one of my 'associates', you probably just call me Kar. Yep, give me a good reason and a big enough wad of bolts, and I'll do just about any job within my power.
I'm returning home from one such job, and I'm quite looking forward to spending some time on this most sacred of places to me. Good ol' Veldin, South Kyzil Plateau to be precise. It's funny how we Lombax are distributed on this planet. I would say that I know all of my neighbors by name, all four of them. Then again, I don't live in the most accessible of spots. When I said plateau, I meant it: its lowest point is a good 750 feet above the surrounding plains.
"Undocking checks complete. Main latch separation in 3... 2... 1..." With a huge clang and a whoosh, we are undocked and free. Good thing I have a contract with these guys, otherwise I would be out of luck and out of fuel right now. As the Chaos Slayer clears reentry, a pair of SandEagle heavy fighters take flanking positions. "This is Makarios Mensk of the LSS Chaos Slayer. Request clearance for landing at coordinates X 340.33 by Y 145.87, South Kyzil Plateau. Please confirm," I say into the comm. This is all routine by now, but it must be done, otherwise the Chaos Slayer is vaporized, and me along with it. "Checking IFF signature. Do not attempt to land until confirmed, or you'll be fired upon," One of the fighter pilots announces. As I said, all routine.
Seconds pass by, stretching into a minute, then: "Chaos Slayer, you're being redirected to Gelarta Spaceport for safety reasons. Please follow the traffic controller's instructions for landing. We apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Mensk," the pilot said in a pained voice. Most of these guys know me by name.
Wait a minute! "Safety reasons? What's going on there?" I demand, a bit ruffled now. "I'm sorry, sir. We have confirmed reports of a Thyrranoid combat force landing on the plateau. Main Ground Forces and the Galactic Rangers have been dispatched, and all civilian traffic is being rerouted. Rumor has it that a MegaCorp commando is with the Rangers there," the pilot said.
MegaCorp. The very mention of that soul-sucking company sickens me. They are the ones responsible for the fact that my right eye is a nanotech cybereye. Makes for great sniping, but it looks damn scary to anyone who hasn't seen one before. As for the Thyrranoids, no love is lost on them, either. "Look boys, I have to go down there, there's people there that needs to be rescued before your ground guys duke it out with the 'noids. People I care about," I said, a growl barely caged in my throat. "Sir, we cannot allow you to do this," the other pilot chimed in, sounding even more spooked that the first. "Well, it's gonna be down to you trying to stop me, shooting me down in the process, me going down there, shooting you guys down. Or you could just keep on flying and you let me do what I must. Now, what's it gonna be?"
I'm almost sorry to damage such beautiful pieces of equipment. Great flying and fighting on their part. I sincerely hope I did not injure either of them. I would like to make it up to them by furnishing them with new, upgraded fighters. Straight from Mr. Cognito...
Act III: And into the fire
I landed reasonably close to my personal landing pad on the south end of the plateau. Very little opposition in the form of one-eyed stragglers and the occasional saucer. The flyboys shouldn't have concerned themselves that much. If they hadn't, they would still be flying. Sure enough, the 'noids open fire again as soon as I touch down. Three saucers advance from astern, and countless one-eyed grunts attempt to surround.
Heh. Big mistake.
I open fire myself with my main guns, a Quad-N90 Hurricane minigun turret in front, and two Annihilator free-flying drones in the back. After four seconds of death-dealing plasma flinging and the concussions from the missiles fade, it is mostly over.
After cleaning up with my gunblade and some well-placed vaporizer shots, I fully opened the back hatch. Should've waited a while: the stench of burning 'noid is overpowering. 'Never mind that, you've people to save,' I silently berate myself as I saddled up on my Hamaya hovercycle, and made my way to my closest neighbor, Spence Graffath. An old aerospace technician that had decided to spend his last years in relative solitude and peace.
But he could very much defend himself if need be. He even taught me some unarmed combat way back when I was but a buck private in the Royal Ground Forces. Long before that black day... No, it wasn't him I was most worried about: it was his two daughters, Minna and Ayla. I was sure they were visiting him this time of the year, last time I checked. If they were still here, they were in grave danger. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a pretty face. Besides, I lost my pretty one to the evil in this universe. I didn't want that to happen to anyone else that didn't deserve it. I know I did.
I made it to the old man's in record time. It looked untouched, so I did as always, and I walked right in.
To this day, I wish for that small instant, that I wasn't a creature of habit.
It was good ol' Graff, or what remained of him. Laid back in his old, big recliner. Shot full of plasma. At point-blank range. Looks and smells very recent, too. I strain to fight the tears and the gag reflex. I swore to myself I would not cry for a fallen loved one ever again. Better to save the hurt to when it really counts: when you pay it back.
They must have jumped him, as there seemed to be no signs of scuffle. No sign of the girls, either. I prayed to whatever higher powers are out there that they didn't see this happen and that they didn't get captured. I stalked into the old guy's workshop and grabbed some ammo rolls for the gunblade and extra plasma clips for the vaporizer. I had the distinct feeling I was going to need them.
I mounted my Hamaya and headed towards Mr. Grizztall's only to be greeted by raining Lancer rounds around a bend in the path. Damn 'noids. Always looking for an ambush. I swerved and stopped behind some scrub for cover, prepped my energy sheld, and took out my gunblade in gun mode. I really hate to fight like this.
Normally I would just charge into their midst, and wail away with my gunblade. But right now, I can't even see them. Those 'noids are going to wish they've never been born once I'm through with them. That old lombax was not only an associate, but also a source of information. Now I'm going to have to shell out some serious bolts in order to buy the info that I need: just who's behind this farce.
I hazard a look over the scrub. They're milling around and talking, if you can call the haphazard collection of hand signals, screams and bodily functions that they use a language. I cannot see any specific leader. 'Noids are cowardly without a leader. Then there he(or she, I've never been sure nor cared to find out) is: with the tell-tale sash across its chest. I took aim, breathed, and put a megatanium round into its only eye.
As if awaiting my action, all hell broke loose then.
From out of nowhere, it seemed to me, a group of heavily armored Galactic Rangers appeared and started the grim work of turning 'noids into buzzer lizard chow with their LaserBlades. But wait! Those aren't Rangers! Those are Royal Special Forces seals on their armor. Hmmm, this might be more interesting than I thought, I think as I slowly reveal myself. One of the soldiers sees me and draws a bead on me with a Heavy Lancer almost instantly. But something stops him or her from shooting me on the spot. Then I get it: he/she recognized me. Something tells me it would have been better if they had shot me. "Mr. Mensk," the voice sounds male enough. "We were advised to keep an eye out in case you showed up," the soldier continues, lowering his gun but still keeping it at the ready. "We were also told to take you into custody," another voice chimes in, as one of the soldiers approaches me, signaling the others to lower their weapons, and removing his helmet in the process. "But then again, a good soldier learns soon that his superiors sometimes say one thing, but mean another. It's good to see you again, Kar,"
"Lieutenant Morebar Zulartes. I should've known they would send you out here. No one else except for me knows this area well enough for this kind of operation." I say, now a bit relieved. I really wouldn't have liked to tangle with these guys. Not because they would probably kill me, but I would be forced to kill them in order to keep them from following me.
"What are you doing here, Kar? You know the situation, yet you decide that a handful of people is worth potentially injuring two of our best pilots. Sometimes I don't know what's going on in that screwed-up brain of yours," Morebar says, still annoyed. "Look, I know what I'm doing. If I find anyone alive, I'll let you guys know, and you can pick them up. You'll look like heroes, and I'll get what I want." I propose, looking as determined as possible. Morebar could be a hard-headed little brat when he put his mind to it. But this time, he surprised me.
"You know me too well, Kar. But it's no use: we scouted your neighbors, and anyone else that lives in this plateau already, except for old Graff," he says, motioning with his hand towards Old Graff's home. "He's dead." I say, fighting a tear coming to my eye. Not yet, I say to myself. "Well, that just about wraps up things here, then." Morebar says, signaling the others to move on.
"Wait" I say. "Old Graff's daughters. Are they okay?" I asked, almost pleading him to tell me that they were. "I knew it. They're fine. Team Alpha picked them up half an hour ago. Kar, you old softie. Get the hell out of here before I truly have to aprehend you." Morebar said, putting his helmet back on. "Watch yourself out there, Kar. Things are going to get worse before they get better." he said, his camo cloak fading him back into the Veldinian heat. He didn't know how right he was: things were going to get worse, a lot worse.
Act IV: Options and Extras
I made it into high orbit with no further trouble, but the situation still nags at me: What do the Thyrranoids have to gain by attacking Veldin? Hmm, I wonder if my sensor net is still active? "Pyotohr, establish a link with home base sensor net on transradio channel 783-501." I say. "Yes, Herr Mensk. Working..." In the meantime, I call up our supply situation: Raritanium fuel core at 1708.03 milligrams; 94 percent, nanotech tanks holding at 28,544 units; 95 percent. It should be enough for the changeover, but it's going to leave the Slayer very hungry Warrior instead.
For those who don't know, I'm about to change the Chaos Slayer into its 'Warrior' mode using a special application of nanotech, called a 'nanomorph'. This takes loads of power and material, so we'll need a supply run just after we finish. For the nanotech morph will partially affect me, mostly around my cybereye and assorted minor cybernetics on and in my body. After all, you don't survive an explosive decompression on toughness alone. I should know.
I return to the main console and survey the situation down on Veldin: there's heavy fighting all over the plateau. To my relief, Morebar and his unit seem to be at base camp on the west slope of the plateau. My compound, on the southwest corner, is being overrun. Its inner autogun defenses are online, but they're been overwhelmed by the sheer amount of one-eyed grunts swarming the place. Oh, well. There goes the neighborhood. I should detonate the R.Y.N.O. missile cache in the basement, but there might be Rangers or Ground Forces near. Cannot afford that. They can have the place... for now.
Well, time to get changed. I go to my cabin and remove all my weapons and equipment from it: the space will be needed for redundancy systems and extra shielding generators. Which means I'll be sleeping on the bridge, which will also shrink considerably, and will be moved towards the center of the craft. Ugh, I've just remembered how cramped things are going to get.
"Pyotohr, autopilot the Shadow out of the hangar an dock it at ring A, then execute nanomorph procedure 1-C and stand by for further commands." I order, as I put on my space armor. I must monitor the process from outside the ship, for it will take several hours to complete. Even my blarg-made heavy fighter which I call the Shadow will be partially affected by the nanomorph. I make my way to the airlock ring, and depressurize the bridge. Upon spacewalking outside, I find the familiar shape of the Shadow already waiting for me. Such efficiency. I need to invest on a nice AI upgrade for Pyotohr. He truly does deserve it.
Act V: Attack of Opportunity
"Sir! We're picking up a nanomorph signal! Strong sucker, too!" the Systems Officer announces unceremoniously "Calm down, lieutenant! We know the thyrranoids don't have that kind of technology. Deep scan and identify, quickly!" barks Commander Arrden, Captain of the mercenary cruiser Andross. An imposing member of the Ursan species, this anthropomorphic bear is by far the most intimidating person on the bridge. A human observer would confuse him with a kodiak bear with human-like hands instead of forepaws.
"Source identified, Captain. It's the Chaos Slayer, sir!" the Systems Officer declared. "Mensk's ship." the captain growled. "Navigator, set intercept course at once!" he barked in the direction of a slender, scared-looking Draali crewman. "Y-yes, sir." the crewman squeaked. "First Officer, you have the conn. Security Chief, in my office, please" Capt. Arrden said, ponderously but regally walking to his private study. His Secutity Officer following a few seconds later.
Once inside, the captain sat in his very wide chair, specially built for his race's specs. His Security Chief stood there at parade rest. "Please, be at ease, and be seated. This is not a formal meeting." he said, scratching the back of his left ear. "Commander, I am aware that you have some... connection with this bounty hunter we are about to go see. What can you tell me about him?" the captain asked, stroking his broad chin as he talked.
She shifts slightly on her chair then begins. "Well, sir, he seems driven by some tragic event in his past, seemingly connected to some company called MegaCorp. Apart from that, he has proven to be deadly to his enemies, and faultlessly loyal to his allies. Although of course, those can change at a contract's notice, in his case." she said. "I take it you dislike him, then" the captain added, looking somewhat somber.
"Not precisely, sir. I have the fortune of being considered an... 'associate', by him. I've used said associate status to my advantage in negotiating contracts with him in the past." she says wistfully. "I sense you're not telling me the entire situation here, but it is enough. You may leave now, Commander. Keep in mind, though, that I may need to call upon you to use this advantage you have over him." the captain said, a smirk creeping across his muzzle. "Certainly, sir. Anything to further the cause." she said as she turned and left. "Indeed. Just what I've come to expect." the captain said, his smirk suddenly disappearing from his face, replaced by a half-snarl.
Act VI: Pit Stop
I wake up from the nanotech-induced trance, to find that the ship is almost ready. Damn, I thought I was used to it already: It's probably been about six hours since we started the morph. Using the fighter's comm system, I check upon the ship's status: nanotech storage at 4,217 units and dropping; Raritanium fuel core at 53.17 milligrams and holding.
"Narrk! Took a lot more power than I thought." I mutter, adjusting the Shadow's flight path to re-dock with the now almost complete 'Chaos Warrior': six-inch Neutronite armor, four N90 Hurricane quad turrets, and six Decimator free-flight drones. And a fully powered, dual-LaserBlade sporting armordress waiting for me in the airlock. Pyotohr does think of everything.
Just as I enter the now much-smaller bridge, the HoloNet commlink comes alive with beeping, as well as the. . . proximity warning? "Pyotohr! Report!" I bark out as I jump into the command seat, ready to have the Warrior do an emergency warp jump. "Gravimetric distortion 140 kilometers off the starboard side," announces Pyotohr, displaying the phenomenon on the main screen: a glowing purple ripple in spacetime quickly becoming much larger, and letting something through.
"Pyotohr, identify," I command. "It's the Andross, Herr Mensk," he counters, Hmmm, so eager to help, are they? I guess we'll know soon enough. "They're hailing, Herr Mensk," "Patch them through," I command, working up a proper opening remark for the imminent 'negotiations', as I'm sure they will ensue.
A familiar shape forms above my HoloNet terminal. "This Captain Arrden of the Independent StarCruiser Andross. As per contract guidelines, we're supposed to offer our assistance in the form of resupply station, but you seem to need a bit more than that. Therefore, a renegotiation of contract is in order. Do you concur, Captain Mensk?" he announces, looking as smug as a mercenary captain has any right to be.
"This is indeed a special set of circumstances, but what if I refuse?" I say, staring back at him. "Well, if that were the case, we could always leave you here for the lombax authorities to find. But that would be bad for business," he responds, "Not to mention the fact that you'll be paying for a large repair bill – on your own ship."
He's downright threatening me, but I try to stay as calm as possible. "You drive a hard bargain. Request permission to come aboard to... discuss the new terms," I say, stifling a growl. "I knew you would see things our way. Permission granted. You may also obtain a temporary berth aboard our ship while your current, ahem, situation is resolved. I'm sure sleeping in your command chair must be very uncomfortable." he says, chuckling. His image fades from the HoloNet terminal, leaving me to get ready to dock and transfer over to the Andross. I had hoped I would never have to go in there again.
Act VII: To Do List
After securing the Chaos Warrior in the Andross' main cargo bay and instructing Pyotohr to defend himself if need be, I make my way though the semi-labyrinth of corridors this Pegasus Class StarCruiser possesses. Why do they have to make this things so maze-like, I will never know. At some length I find the Quartermaster's office, and I sign myself in as a 'guest' of the captain's. As I proceed to my assigned quarters, I encounter several members of the crew, in pairs and groups. Most of them don't spare me a second glance. Almost as if I was just another crewman. Hmmm, curious.
As I enter my new quarters I notice the size of them: this is easily twice the amount of room I had aboard the Slayer, when it was the Slayer. Also, shortly after I enter and the doors whoosh closed behind me, the commlink comes alive. "Yes?" I ask. A now-familiar mug appears on the vid-screen. "Greetings, Captain. I take it you find the accomodations to your liking?" he asks with a predatory look in his eye. "Humph, a bit overdone for a lowly bounty hunter, maybe?" I comment, looking around some. "No, not at all, Captain. My clients deserve the best. And so I shall provide. In fact, would you like some... entertainment? Hmmm?" he says, with a slightly disturbing look.
I think hard about that particular proposition. It's been almost a year since I last conceded to my lower instincts and completed a mating. Some would say that's too long, others would say not long enough. Well right now, I tend to agree with the former. I usually get by the season by taking inhibitor shots, but those only prevent pregnancy, if taken at the right time.
"What do you have in mind?" I ask, pretending to be disinterested. "I knew you would ask, but I rather have it be a surprise. Just be ready when she arrives," he says, with a mischievious grin on his face, making him look all the more menacing. Once I digested that little annoying piece of information. I started with a full cleanup: It's been almost ten hours since I lost my living facilities, and sitting fully armored in a fighter's cockpit for eight of those hours does nothing at all for your hygiene.
I tossed all my clothes into the sonic washer while I got myself clean. It's a good thing this is an old ship, with actual water showers: I can't use a sonic shower. I don't feel much cleaner afterwards if I do. After the shower, I got back dressed in my basic clothes, which consist of a pair of worn military cargo pants, a brown undershirt with a '357th Royal Ground Forces' emblem in front and on its right sleeve, and a light jacket. Once dressed, I realized that I have exterior windows. Hmm, he really went all-out for just me. I open the shutters, and I'm treated to a view I miss or disregard most of the time: Good ol' Veldin. So beautiful from this position. If only I didn't know the violence that was going on on the surface of such a serene-looking planet.
Shortly afterward, the door to my room buzzed. "Enter," I said, without looking to see who it was. I was too involved looking out, so what was said next took me by surprise, indeed. "Shunai, Anan Mensk," the voice said. 'Thank you, Lord Mensk', she said, in imperial lombaxian, no less. "Speak Basic, please," I say as I turn around to face my 'entertainer', which she must be. I am taken aback by her appearance: I was expecting someone in particular, clad in as little as possible. Instead, I find myself staring at a very well filled-out cazar woman, with long blue hair, haunting sea green eyes, and dressed as plainly as I am. But that's not what catches my attention. It's the mark on her face, below the left eye: the ancient Marcadian symbol for 'Psi', but with a backlash symbol over it. This brings back bitter memories. "A Doll. I should kick his ass for this," I mutter. You see, Marcadian law can be downright draconian if you commit a crime grave enough. For certain crimes, lifetime servitude is the usual sentence. To ensure such punishment is carried out, the condemned is 'Thralled'. By this I mean psychically robbed of his/her will. Such as this girl standing before me.
It disturbs me that a Thrall(or a Doll, in the case of a female) is serving aboard a ship, but then again, this is no ordinary ship. There ae probably several of them aboard, as property of some of the officers. I recover my composture and approach her. She looks up at me, being a couple inches shorter than I am. "I wonder what did you do to deserve this," I say, looking into her eyes and caressing her pretty, furry cheek with the back of my left hand. Darn, instincts are already kicking in. Her essence is already working its way into me. I must watch myself, or I could really get her pregnant. She brings her hand up to my face, her fingers brushing against the base of my left ear. This sends shivers down my spine as it reminds me of the old blaster wound on the very center of that ear. Wait a minute: she should have stayed still until I told her to do something. Unless... As if reading my mind, she speaks up. "I serve my country in this guise, Captain Mensk. I'm here because I choose to be," she softly says. A Sleeper. I've heard of those before. Partially fake Thralls/Dolls with psi powers of their own, specializing in infiltration and espionage.
As to demonstrate her independence, she slides her hand behind my neck and pulls me into a kiss. Egads, she tastes good. She better be ready for this if I lose control. "So, ah, what should I call you?" I say, a bit breathless from her kiss. "I have many names, but you may call me Ysira," she says, sliding her right arm around my waist. "Somehow, I don't think you came to me just to entertain me," I say as I embrace her fully but gently, trying to hold on to conscious thought for as long as possible. "Of course, since you do... have free will, you may refuse to do so. I will not... force myself on you," I say, still fighting the urge to clamp my already deployed marking fangs into her shoulder. But, those eyes!. Eyes I could get lost in. And be very, very happy about it. "Not a chance, sailor. I was sent to you, so I'm yours, for now. We can talk later. And, don't try to hold back: You won't enjoy it as much," she huskily says, edging me towards the plentiful bed behind me and taking my jacket off. My mind begins to cloud over now. I just hope that inhibitor shot I took after I showered takes effect in time. Otherwise, I could be looking at a one to six cub litter in about ten months. My last coherent recollection is her cooing two words at me: "Silly lombax..."
Four hours later...
I awake from what seems to me the most chaotic dream sequence I've ever experienced.
And it looks like it followed me out of the dream world: my bed is in total disarray, I can faintly taste blood in my mouth. At least the marking fangs are gone, meaning I completed the mating. I hope I didn't mistreat her too much. Not even those little cybernetics I have in my brain can completely stem the tide that is mating season.
The bundle of covers beside me shifts and slides, revealing that stunning cazar woman from before. What was her name? Ah, Ysira. She shifts onto her side, still asleep, but now I can see what I did to her: the fur of her shoulder is torn in places, some all the way down to skin, where small scratches are evident from the drying blood. Not much, but she may want to shower soon, or those will sting badly in a couple hours.
At this point I realize that I'm starving.
I should know this area well, though. I spent a fair amount of my time around here the last time I was aboard this ship. I wonder if she is still here? As I think about her sculpted, luscious body, I feel the cold blade of a knife against my neck.
Damn, got distracted. I should've brought my armor, Captain Arrden's stipulations be darned. "A stowaway, hmm?. You'd be dead by now if it had been anyone else," a very feminine, but somehow familiar voice says. Great, first I get 'persuaded' into renegotiating a supply contract, and now this. "What are you doing aboard my ship? Another failed theft, maybe?" she continues, pressing the knife closer to my neck. "Let us go somewhere more private," she commands, and leads me down the corridor, to the Security Office. "Funny. I was headed this way anyhow," I say, still a bit unbelieving of being caught this easily. Once inside, in a lightning move, she moves the blade from my neck and shoves me towards the desk.
My moment to act.
I go with the move, but I do not stop at the desk. Instead, I plant a hand on the desk, and vault myself over it, pulling my gunblade out with the other. By the time she has a chance to react, I already have a bead with my gunblade in gun mode. "I don't know what caused your deathwish, lady. But I..." I do not get to finish that sentence, as my eyes widen in shock when I realize who it is that has 'captured' me.
"N-Naaria?"
Act VIII: An Old Score
"I knew you'd come back eventually, Kar!" Naaria says with a mischevious smile, putting the knife away. I swear, if I make it a habit to come aboard this ship, this xardian female is going to be the death of me. I stand up and lower my gunblade, but I switch it to sword mode before putting it away. Knowing her, she might just charge me without warning, since she might still be fuming about the last time we sparred: according to the computer's damage assessments, I kind of cut her in half with a gunblade swing.
"You must have a good reason to be on board, I presume?" she asks, placing her hands on her ample hips, striking that oh-so-adorable pose that drew me to her in the first place. Her straight, shoulder-length light brown hair swishing around her head with every move she makes, her piercing navy blue eyes scanning my form, almost sizing me up. . . I got to get out of range before she gets any ideas. "I'm here to renegotiate my supply contract with your charming employer. But right now, I'm very hungry. Can you show me the way to the mess hall?" I ask, as I slowly circle around her and out of the office, keeping her at arm's length from me. But she has other ideas.
"Oh no, you don't. We have a score to settle, you and I," she says, crossing her arms, and barring me from the exit. I casually put my left hand in my pants pocket, securing an item from inside, but not pulling it out. "You know, any other time, I would be most pleased to comply but right now, you're between me and my food. That's not a good place to be," I say, and then execute my plan.
I quickly swing my left hand at her, she parries, but I got what I wanted done. The moment she parries, a metallic click is heard. She is taken by surprise on this, and I thrust my hand against the wall, and another click is heard. "Now be a good girl, and Stay!" I say moving my hand from the wall. Her eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in a frown. "Kar! You cad! Unlock me this instant!" she says, struggling to get free of the MagnaCuff I just put her in. "Sorry. The battery will run out in an hour ro so. It'll give you some time to cool down," I say, stepping back and around. No sense getting tangled in this particular stituation right now. "Urrghh! You're still gonna pay for this!" she growls at me as I leave the office. I'm so glad I was able to get rid of her, at least temporarily.
I find the mess hall after about 10 minutes of exploration. The place is almost deserted, except for a few off-duty security personnel, and the kitchen crew. They look my way once, then go back to talking among themselves. I scan around, looking for that furless chef that was here last time. "Mr. Martell?" I ask tentatively. "Yes?" is heard from the back. A human of large build and about my height, with blond hair and tanned skin comes into view. Matthias Martell, one of my most trusted 'associates'. "Oh! Captain Mensk! How good to see you!" He exclaims upon seeing me.
He comes over and shakes my hand vogorously. "I can't say I'm glad to be aboard, but you know what I mean," I say, my brains slightly rattled. "Ah. Naaria is at it again, isn't she? Well I see she is not hounding you just now, so what it'll be?" he says going back behind the counter. "Two large portions of your patented groundbird stew would be great just about now," I say, looking over my shoulder. She could appear at almost anytime, so I better make this quick. "Two? That hungry, huh?" he says, surprised. "Actually, the second one is for a guest of mine," I say, trying not to sound too guilty. "I see. All right, coming right up," he declares, disappearing into the kitchen. I sit at one of the tables while I wait for the food. The situation at hand grows more complex the longer I stay aboard the Andross, but it cannot be avoided. As I think of this and other issues on my To-Deal-With list, the main door opens with a whoosh.
"Oh, no. Not again," I mutter as a very angry Naaria stomps in, the MagnaCuff still attached to her wrist.
Upon seeing this, the security crewmembers scurry out of the mess hall. They either know what's about to happen here, or they just got caught loafing. "Matt, can you set the safety forcefields? I've got a challenge on my hands," I say, unstrapping and putting down my gunblade on one of the tables. "Sure. Please try not to break anything, or anyone, this time!" is heard from the kitchen, a second later the main doors close and lock, and a low thrumming sound is heard as the safety forcefields stabilize.
She does not say anything, but sets herself up, drawing her ton-fas. I carefully readjust my forearm shields. "All I wanted was to get some food before I agreed to pound you into the deck. It may have made me slightly slower. But there's not much of a chance for that now, is there?" I say, switching my armguard shields on and settling into a ready stance. "Ooh, I'm gonna make you eat those words, Mensk!" she says as she circles closer. This is going to be tougher than last time. Last time it was just pride. This time, it is pure instinct. The problem is that I know why she is being so aggressive: she is entering a heat period, and I'm about the closest species match for her aboard the ship. Therefore, she has to test my worthiness before she will 'submit' to me. Not that I'm looking forward to it. She can be... forceful.
A ton-fa swishing in front of my face brings me out of my distracted thoughts. I block the second swipe and dance backwards. I feel a table edge behind me, so I roll right to avoid a strike meant for my head. Man, she is fast! She then comes at me with the fury of an Eldar dervish. I manage to block most of it, but she gets two solid hits in. I get a jab of my own to her nose, dazing her for a second. I use that second to backpedal and gather myself. My cybereye's status monitor indicates I've sustained minimal damage, but the pain says otherwise. She looks even more threatening, with a small trickle of blood flowing from her nose. I got to finish this quickly.
She comes at me again, more methodical in her attacks. As she swings in for another body hit, I let it come through unblocked. Instead, I step in and drop my forearm down on her wrist, hard. Curiously enough, the same arm she has that MagnaCuff still on. She yowls, and drops the ton-fa on that hand. Snarling, she attempts to swipe across my face with her outstretched claw, only to have my fist bury itself in her lower chest. She staggers a step back, gasping for air.
This is my chance. Gathering all the energy I have left, I fully swing out a circle kick, connecting solidly with the side of her head. She is thrown a few feet sideways, then crumples to the ground, unconscious. I really should not have done that, but this would've dragged on for hours if I hadn't. And I'm about to collapse myself. I hear the safety forcefields recede, and Mr. Martell calling for medical personnel.
"This is getting to be a real chore with you," I say in her direction. I stagger to the serving counter. "Is the food ready?" I ask in a slightly shaky voice. "S-sure. Here you go," he says, handing me two large, sealed bowls. "You sure laid it down on her this time," Matt says, eyeing me disapprovingly. "She had it coming. She came between me and my food. Even you know never to do that," I say, winking at him and taking the bowls. The medical personnel come in, pick her up and lay her in a antigrav stretcher, then they take her away. Good riddance, for the moment, anyway.
She'll be back, I know it.
Act IX: Purchase and Payment
I return to my quarters with the bowls, only to find that the door slides open on me approaching. Funny, I thought that I voice-locked it before leaving. She must've woken up. I enter, expecting to be pounced upon or something, but it never comes. In its place, I'm treated to an interesting sight: the so-called Doll doing what appears to be Tai-Chi or some other form of martial routine. She wears nothing but a long sleeping shirt. My walking into the room seemed not to bother her in the least. So is the fact that the exterior windows are still open. So I set the bowls down on the glassteel table ans sit down myself, waiting for her to finish.
I cannot detect her musk in the air, so she must've woken up right after I left and taken care of that. Still, something about her fluid, graceful movements stirs now-ancient memories. Memories I thought I had buried long ago. A few minutes later, she stands down from her exercise, and finally notices that I'm in the room. "Ah, Nie tearai, Anan Mensk," 'Good day, Lord Mensk,' she says, once again in imperial lombaxian. "Basic, please. I thought I told you that already," I say, a bit annoyed. My mother used to scold me in imperial so I would know she meant business. "My apologies, Lord Mensk. My former handler was a lombaxian noble, and he would speak nothing other that imperial," she says with a crestfallen look on her beautiful face. "That's all right, but what's with this 'Lord' thing? I'm nothing more than a lowly bounty hunter, an attack dog for those same nobles you work with. That's why I left the Royal Army to begin with. Agh! I'm boring you now. Please, sit and eat. You must be as hungry as I am," I say, trying to change the subject. She looks at me with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, then sits across from me.
"So you hate the Army, then?" She asks at length. "No, not really. What I hate is the way it is manipulated by those power-hungry layabouts I had as superiors," I answer. "I mean, I've learned that to truly do good sometimes you must do things that many would consider to be evil. Some would consider that callous and cynical. But that's how it works. Now for someone to use that same principle for personal gain at the cost of innocent lives. . . No, I could not live with that," I continued, sampling the stew in front of me. Egads, Matt outdid himself this time. The taste and smell is very enticing, but then again, so is the cazar in front of me. I now notice just how gorgeous she is: her deep, shining eyes; her slender, dainty legs; her never-still tail; her ample but firm bosom... "Ahem! You were saying?" she says with a knowing look on her eyes. "Ah, yes. I could not carry out a certain set of orders, so I was given a choice: go to prison for insubordination, or renounce my tenure as a Royal Army Soldier. So with the help of a sympathizing superior, I did just that. Hardest thing I ever did," I say looking down at the stew in front of me.
Once again, I try to change the subject. "So, before you decided to release two years' worth of stress from me, you wanted to speak to me about something. So speak away. As the human joke says, I'm all ears," I say, running my hand over my right ear, chuckling. She smiles, then crosses her legs. Man, she's doing this on purpose.
"Indeed. I have a proposition for you, Master Mensk," she says, opening her bowl. "I need some convincing way to get off the Andross so I may report my findings to my handler." She takes a spoonful of the stew, her eyes go wide for a split second. "Mmm, what is this? It's so flavorful!" she interjects, licking her lips.
"You mean to tell me you've never had Mr. Martell's groundbird stew? I'm shocked," I say, feigning surprise. I know Matt doesn't make this dish for many people. "Now, how do you propose to manage that, and how do I figure into this plan of yours?" I ask, still stealing quick glances at the rest of her body. She doesn't seem to notice, or mind about it.
"Well, my idea is for you to convince Captain Arrden that I was such a good girl that you wish to keep me," she says with a sly look. I can tell her intent is not just business after all. "Your task, after securing my purchase from the captain, is to take me to a set of coordinates I will provide you once we are underway. As for payment, I can offer you is full reinbursement of the several hundred thousand bolts he is bound to ask for me, plus an additional 250 thousand bolts, and normal expenses on our way to the rendezvous point. And of course, there always are other payment options. Who knows? Maybe you'll be fully aware this time around," She says with a smoldering 'come hither' look. It takes quite a bit of will not to just pounce her again.
"Hmmm, very interesting, I must say. I might just come up even on this job. But, once you're mine, so to speak, I might just not want to let you go, you know," I say with a slight purr on my voice. "That can be arranged, once I have completed my current mission," she says, echoing my purring.
She then gets up, and seductively walks to my side. "You know, this could be a most interesting time, if it not were for the war and all," I say, then I remember: the MegaCorp Commando. Wherever this mission takes me, I must keep tabs on that corporate attack dog, lest I lose his trail. "It's a deal. I'll bring up the issue on my meeting with the captain," I say, finishing my stew. "Thank you, Master Mensk. I will make sure you'll never regret this," she says, kissing me deeply.
Once again, I must put some distance between me and another female if I'm to get anything done. "So, ah, if you'll excuse me, I have some negotiating to do," I say, gently nudging her off so I may get out before I do make her regret this particular venture. As I walk out and towards the main conference room four decks up, I consider my entire situation: I'm probably in hot water with the Veldinian authorities for that little skirmish with the pilots, the now Chaos Warrior is still starving, and now I'm juggling two very desirable females who appear to see me as their only viable choice.
And to think I was going to retire and live in peace not two days ago. Irony, indeed.
Hmm, a bit of a womanizer, is he? Of course, it's all happenstance. :) All right! Major space battle coming in Act XXI(11)!