Their stories start to merge together...

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Phaaze 04: Promises and Premises

Since Kaon is in a perpetual state of darkness, time is measured in "cycles". It basically translates into a day. The time still keeps the same on a twenty-four hour clock, so it's not like my circadian rhythm notices much difference. I'm used to the darkness of space.

According to the Kaon cycle, it's about 3:42 PM. I'm at an ATM machine on one of the Upper Levels accessing my account. It's a new one, separate from the one the Galactic Federation could access to pay me for my missions. I'm sure that if they saw I was still in business, they would want to question and investigate.

"I put down payment on account," Shield had told me. "You go. See for yourself."

Punching in the number of my account and checking my balance, I see that he's correct. And since Dasha Silver Pieces translate like royalty in Kaon, it's skyrocketed. The amount is staggering and for a moment I'm so happy I forget to breathe. I feel liberated. I haven't had this much cash on my hands in months.

I think I might be crying. Am I crying? Upon inspection, no…but I'm getting really choked up. Wouldn't anyone, after they found out they'd just become rich overnight?

And it's even better because this is only half of what I'm expected to get. Half! Shield, you magnificent bastard, I'd marry you if you weren't such a slime-ball.

Hands trembling, I make a hasty withdrawal. I know, I know, I'm bad—I shouldn't be dipping into the payment until after I've completed the mission—but I just can't help myself. If I take out just enough, maybe a few hundred Kaon Strips, I'll have enough to go to a nice place with good booze. Call it a special celebration, if you will; because, God damn it, I'm sick of being broke and bitter and hungry. I need a reason to smile. Good food and good wine—yes, wine, I've had enough of the shitty beer they have here—that'll definitely do the trick.

Three-hundred glorious, pale yellow Kaon Strips in a group of six bills spit out of the machine after I make my transaction. I hold them in my gloved hands like they're the most beautiful creations in this galaxy. The way I'm folding them up and putting them in my wallet, I must look pretty dismal, even a little insane…but I don't care. I can pay for things. I am crazy…crazy with joy, that is!

Walking away from the ATM, I pull out a small communicator and dial up Shield's number, slotting it into my ear so I can listen and speak. Shield picks up right away, of course.

"Yessss?"

"Shield," I greet, "I believe you."

There's a brief pause where I can almost hear him smiling. "I knew you would," he purrs. "So, then…you do job?"

I'm still dizzy thinking about the precious money in my back pocket. "Absolutely," I breathe, mesmerized.

"Goooood," he coos at me like I'm a spoiled child, but it doesn't matter to me. "Bring box here by next cycle. Finish early, I give you rest of money in person. Good deal? Yes?"

"That won't be necessary," I say, smiling widely. "I'll get the job done. When you have your box, just put it on my account." I pause; then, I add: "What's the drop-off point?"

Shield falls silent, thinking about this for a moment, as I take a public elevator to one of the lower levels. Base-Upper 04 is just skimming the top of the Base Levels. It's not luxurious, but it'll definitely be much better than the slums. Best not to shoot too high—I don't want to fall too hard when I run low again.

"Sssssouth Dissstrict, Base 03," Shield hisses, "There sssmall unmarked building on corner of Qu'shen and Haalid. You meet there. Give box."

South District, Base 03, Qu'shen and Haalid, unmarked building. I commit it to memory. "Got it," I reply. "You'll have your box, Shield." I hang up, and the deal is sealed. I laugh. It feels alien to me; I haven't laughed in so long.

It's just a little bit brighter above the Base Levels, but not by much. Kaon is a sham of a colony, with just enough atmosphere to breathe and filter out all the bad stuff, but that's about it. The good news is that means the weather always stays relatively constant; except the "summer" periods when Kaon's atmospheric generators routinely decide to break down and up the humidity and heat (nobody has bothered to fix them yet, and I don't think anybody wants to). However, it also means your vision can decline fast if you're re-exposed to areas with lots of light. BU-04, the go-between of the Base and Upper Levels, is usually lit up by bioluminescent plants, either gathered from exotic planets or home-grown in one of Kaon's minimal engineering laboratories. It's actually quite gorgeous, especially the ones that make color. Sometimes the more important streets are color-coded and you can tell where you are by the shade of the trees.

Walking through the streets, searching for a good bar, the trees and the brush around their trunks sway in a non-existent wind, winking their illumination on and off in hypnotic patterns. Eventually, after some searching, I find a low-profile place that seems calming enough and slink inside. Not looking for anything besides a little something, I take up a stool at the island bar I find in the middle of the place. It's a nice atmosphere, with dimmed-down lights and a relatively well-to-do crowd; people of all race and species are gathered around at varying glass and metal tables and a species of reptilian aliens are scuffling about, serving drinks and food. Off-beat but pleasant music trickles out of the speakers in the ceiling and the bar itself is lit up under the glass countertop by more of those bioluminescent plants, arranged by color in streaks of rainbow.

The bartender himself fits perfectly with all of this illuminating material; his "hair" is a constantly flickering blue fire and his body is translucent, made of deep blues and bright violets. He reminds me of Gandrayda. It's possible they could be the same species.

"Afternoon, ma'am," says the bartender politely, smiling at me. "What'll it be?"

I stop for a moment, thinking. My eyes examine the lovely architecture on the ceiling while I do. "How much for your best wine?"

The bartender shouts to one of his attendants in a language I'm not familiar with. The reptilian hisses and snickers back at him. He turns to face me, all charm and smiles again. "Our best bottle is a special Phrygisian vintage, blended with Bes III ice crystals and flavored with top-grade Norion grapes. This particular blend is given a crisp edge and kept cold by the crystals and has aged about thirty of your human years. It'll cost you 289 Kaon Strips."

"I'll have that," I reply, not even hesitating. If I'm lucky enough to pay for it, I might as well.

"Anything else?" he asks.

I shrug. "A bread basket and some oil for dipping," I answer.

"That sums up to 294 Strips."

Not breaking the flow, I pull out my wallet and slap down my fresh yellow darlings. It's not normally smart to flash your cash around here, but I'm so thirsty for a good meal that I don't care. The bartender gives me an odd look, but takes the money with a generous smile. "Your wine and bread will be a moment, madam."

I nod at him, thank him, and he goes off. Sitting in silence, I drum my fingers on the glass and stare at my reflection on the flawless surface, my skin glowing a pale color because of the luminescent plants. When I catch sight of myself, I smile wide, trying on the face of happiness. I decide that it looks good on me.

Soft music dripping down from the ceiling and chatter of all languages swirling around me, I'm overjoyed when the bartender returns, setting down in front of me a basket of assorted bread slices and a small dipping plate with a thick greenish-blue oil. I recognize it as something from Aether. That means it looks disgusting but tastes like bliss. The bartender shifts the shape of his hand and easily does away with the cork on the wine bottle, which is a rich green color with a bright blue Phrygisian label. When the cork pops off, cold steam immediately spills off the lip of the opening, making my eyes glisten. The bartender sets down a lovely spiral-imprinted wine glass and pours a sample's worth.

"Here you are, madam," he says, gesturing to the blush-colored liquid in my glass.

I reach out and take the glass by the stem and swirl the liquid a little, examining the pinkish color. It's not because I'm a wine expert or anything; I'm just admiring the fact that this looks absolutely delicious and I could afford it for once. There's a faint blue shimmer to the liquid and cold steam breathes upon the inside edges of the glass.

Lifting it, I press my lips to the edge and slowly take a sip.

Oh God, it tastes so fucking sweet. It's heaven in a bottle! None can dispute this. Frigid temperature, godly smoothness, light, crisp taste…like roses and winter…seriously! I'm not usually this poetic. It's the only way I can describe it. It's so good.

Apparently, my awe over the liquid is showing, because the bartender flashes me another charming smile. "Is it to your satisfaction, madam?"

"Yes," I reply. I set my glass down and he fills it half-full, and he's about to walk away with that bottle of love and bliss when I hold up my hand. "No no! Leave the bottle. Please." I wonder if he could hear the elated desperation in my voice.

He doesn't argue, only chuckles and sets the bottle gingerly down on the countertop. "As you wish, ma'am—enjoy."

Oh, I definitely enjoy. I enjoy it so much, in fact, that I don't realize I've sped through my first glass until I lift it to take a sip two minutes later and find it completely empty, along with my first slice of bread being half-eaten and tasting of cream and coconuts when I soak it in the oil. Blushing, I shyly refill my glass, wondering if anyone saw me. When it's full this time, I take it slow, savoring each crisp, heavenly sip. Nothing exists now but me and this divine meal. I forget about my Metroid DNA and my deformed arm; I forget about Shield, his ridiculous job, my bitter struggle with poverty and my ever-present fatigue. Because none of it matters when I have a bottle of vintage Phrygisian wine and the most delicious bread I've tasted in what feels like eons.

I zone out with the meal in front of me and become enamored with every bite, every sip; every minute that ticks by where I'm sitting here with my little celebration of being not-poor. I don't recall the bartender asking me if I want my change back, but it doesn't matter. He can keep the whole 300, for all I care. At this moment in time, I'm the happiest woman in the world and would have no regrets if I dropped dead right now on the floor of the restaurant. Yes—that's how happy I am.

So into my godly little slice of heaven am I that it takes me three-quarters of a bottle to become interested in the smooth, ancient alien tongue being spoken right next to me. I have no idea how long it carried on without my noticing, and I can only pick up on pieces of the conversation. It's a language I've heard before, but only a few notable times when outside of my suit and its universal translator.

"That was…it's like…no time at all…then…done with…out of here, right, Bro?"

The single English-spoken word is jarring on the alien rhythm of the speech, but still seems rightly placed somehow. After a moment of thought I peer over and take a look at the two speakers.

I realize then that it was the short woman beside me who was speaking first, as fluently as if she'd been born on the planet where it came from. She has dark caramel skin and an oval-shaped face and thick, short hair that's a mess of half-straight spirals with some beaded dreads scattered throughout the mass of it. She's smiling wide at her companion with bright green eyes. She stands out, to be sure; but it's her partner I quickly grow more interested in. A tall and gangly figure, perfectly shaped and glowing dim red in some places on his armor, leaf-like ears on his head and thin, elegant wings protruding from the top of his back.

I'm immediately intrigued. What in all the galaxies is a Luminoth doing all the way out here?

Taking a few more sips of my wine, I force myself not to stare, but try to listen in on their conversation. I can't pick up on very much. I can speak Chozo very well, but only on a few occasions have I met the Luminoth, even during my childhood when they were still trading pieces of technology. I'm not entirely helpless—Luminoth and Chozo tongue are remarkably similar—but with the loss of the Chozo, plus the number of years that have passed, the vocabulary has expanded in some places and shrunk in others. The structure has also changed a bit.

Listening in, I manage to grasp a few important notes about Aether; something about a…Restoration…Resurrection? And I also hear about some piece of technology and discussion of "home" and "the next job". The first two tidbits make sense immediately. I remember all too well the state Aether was in the last time I visited it; I'm not surprised it's still under the veil of recovery. The rest of it makes them sound like Bounty Hunters of a fashion; but I'm not sure if they are or not. It's very rare that Bounty Hunters are set after objects instead of people. (Consequently, the personal irony of this thought does not escape me in the least.)

The Luminoth ends up getting a tall, thin glass filled with a thick reddish liquid, which he begins to down heartily. The human girl who is his comrade starts to make short work of a pint of dark beer. I'm hearing very little of importance now, so I start to mind my own business again, eating another tasty roll from my bread basket.

I don't pay attention again until the woman sitting beside me gives me a nudge. "'Scuse me!" she says, and I blink at her, caught mid-sip with my wine. She smiles lightly at me. "Do you know where we can get some supplies around here? Food, fuel…?"

Examining her and her Luminoth friend, I give a frown. "Kaon isn't the best place to do business exchanges."

"Yeah, we get that," the woman replies dismissively, "We'll watch out for any con artists. We just need some fuel for our ship and a little food to take with us on the way to Aether."

I don't think she quite understands. Kaon cheats you no matter where you go. It's impossible to find a good deal, either on the Upper or the Base Levels. I don't particularly like the idea of Kaon taking advantage of a non-resident human and a Luminoth. "I'd advise you to look someplace else," I say honestly, sipping my wine.

"Can't," the woman frowns, "We don't have enough fuel. The only reason my friend and I," she gestures to the Luminoth, "are here is an emergency landing for supplies. Can you help us out or not?"

Awfully stubborn little woman…sighing, I set my wine glass down and think for a moment. "Lady?" she presses, urging me to hurry up. I still her by holding up a hand and consider the options, trying to think of the least sleazy supply store I know of. After a very serious debate between my choices, I find one.

"There's a small store on UL-03 in the West District called Kasha's Market. It's got everything you'll need. But watch out for the dealer. He's an old war veteran of some sort and drives a hard bargain. Whatever he offers you, it'll always be too high. Haggle hard and don't pay him in GF currency. My guess is if you talk Dasha Silver, he'll roll over like a puppy."

"Kasha's Market, Upper 03, West District, offer Dasha Silver; got it," she grins, "Thanks, it's a really big help!"

I go back to my wine, shrugging it off. I actually feel bad for pointing them to any business in Kaon—here, no business is good business.

On the other hand, this gives me a good opportunity to find out more about them. "So what's a Luminoth doing so far away from Aether?" I ask.

The Luminoth gives a low, thrumming trill and quirks his leaf-like ears forward. "On a mission," he says. His voice is a bass rumble with a thick-tongued accent.

"What sort of mission?" I wonder, glancing over at them both. The woman seems more than happy enough to answer that one.

"We're part of the A.R.P.—the Aether Resurrection Project. It's an ongoing effort of the colonies orbiting the Luminoth home world to bring it back to its previous state of beauty."

An effort of the colonies…? Last time I heard, the Federation was funding Aether's restoration. Lines crease down the middle of my brow as I pull it tight. "What happened to the Galactic Federation?"

The woman goes sour. "Bastards dropped us off the roster years ago; halted the cash flow. I guess the Luminoth stopped being important to them somewhere along the line."

Can't say I'm surprised. It sounds just like something the Federation would do. Changing the subject, I continue, meeting eyes with the woman, "So what's your job on this Project? Where do you and your friend fit?"

"We're Tech Hunters!" she answers, grinning wide. "Nigul and I travel the depth and breadth of space looking for lost Chozo and Luminoth tech to help speed up the rebuilding and maintain the upkeep…oh, this is Nigul," she thumbs off-handedly to the Luminoth beside her, who gives a polite nod. I nod back. "And I'm Riina," the woman introduces herself, all smiles and sunshine, and extends her left hand for a shake. "You are…?"

To begin with, I'm not used to such a cheery demeanor after being lost in the glum of dirt-poor paucity, so for that reason alone I find her attitude jarring in high doses. Secondly, she extended her left hand, needlessly reminding me of my deformity. She means nothing by it, I know—but I still take it that way, and I get bitter. Pointedly, I ignore the handshake and sip my wine, trying my best to forget that particular problem. "Oh, I'm nobody." Trying to throw off the spotlight—I don't like talking about myself.

She doesn't seem satisfied with the answer. Her face falls and she tries again. "You've gotta be somebody," she insists. "Come on, we're all friends, here—just a couple of pretty ladies and a big moth man having drinks on a low-budget colony." She's smiling again, flashing rows of white teeth. "Why not get some names?"

"I'm not very social," I clip, not looking at her anymore. I hope the excuse is enough to snuff her curiosity.

Apparently, it isn't.

"Well, there's a first time for everything!" she cries. Ugh…there's no first time for this. My right hand and left eye twitch in unison and I focus on my wine.

"If you don't mind," I growl, getting more irritated.

She ignores me. "Just your name—that's all I'll ask for. Give me that, and I'll leave you alone."

There's no way she'd leave me alone if she knew my name. But she's not going to sit here and leave me in peace, either. The joy of my wonderful meal is ruined now, and I'm feeling acidic. She's just like a Metroid…doesn't know when to quit.

I see now there's only one path out of this mess, so I take it. I finish the last of my bread and chug whatever's left in my wine glass, destroying the beautiful flavor of the wine as I set the glass down and push off, brushing the crumbs off my gloves. I stand.

"It's Samus."

I make the mistake of turning my head to see her reaction. I'm not sure what possessed me to do it. It's been so long since I've spoken my own name, one would wonder why I'm not in awe of it myself. Maybe I'm feeling especially smug because of the down payment Shield put on my Fetcher; or maybe I'm just wondering if that was sufficient enough to shut her up.

What I see staring back at me is a look of pure wonder, green gold-flecked eyes wide, jaw hanging open. I can't read her Luminoth friend. He just gazes on, looking contemplative. His only visible response is to flick the very edges of his wings. I'm surprised that I can still garner this reaction out of people…it's a bittersweet sort of moment.

"…Hold on," she says, reeling now. "You're—Samus Aran? The Samus Aran?"

I turn my head; swivel on my heel towards the exit. "Good luck with your ship," I say. It's the only thing I can think of, and I might not have even said it very nicely. I don't really care. I head out, making a mental note to go straight to my Fusion Suit, and then to my ship. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to get my mind off of things.

The woman shouts after me. I ignore her.

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"Hey, wait a minute!"

Nigul is the only thing stopping me from jumping off my seat and following her out. He grabs my arm and gently guides me back down while I gawk at the living legend walking away from us.

"Let her be," Nigul rumbles. "She is in a bad mood."

"She says she's Samus," I mutter, blinking profusely.

"Yes, I heard her."

"She says she's Samus." It seems to be the only thing I can say.

"I know," Nigul repeats. "Shocking, isn't it?"

I'm still gathering my thoughts. If that was really Samus Aran—then she was the one to save the Luminoth. She's the one we have to thank for giving us a chance to start this Project. She jump-started it all. That legend walking out the restaurant door was Samus Aran.

But when the awe wears off, I find myself frowning, wrinkling my nose in concern. It takes me a moment to discover that the new emotion I'm feeling is disappointment.

She isn't how I pictured her to be. She was bitter and snippy and looked like she hadn't slept well in a long while. She was young, too—I don't know, I always thought a Bounty Hunter with so much experience would be a little further along in life. But this didn't seem to be the case.

Another thing that gets me is this: what kind of business does a woman like Samus have in such a shitty colony?

"Come on, Riina," Nigul coaxes, nudging my shoulder. "Finish your drink and let's go. We don't want to linger."

I can't disagree with that. But I can't help but wonder, as I bring the frothy liquid to my lips, if maybe I could convince Nigul to stay a little longer—so that I might be able to ask around on Samus and her whereabouts. Because I could've sworn she was still the best Bounty Hunter card in the hand of the Federation.

When the Federation pays, they pay well. A Hunter working for them wouldn't be caught dead scraping leftovers in a place like this.