Author's Notes: 8 pages in Word Document! That's a LONG chapter for me.

The Fetcher is brought to a close, but Samus is left with more questions than she is answers...and a few new problems to boot.

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Phaaze 08: Company Courtesy

"Sit there and don't move." I point to the limited space behind me as I take my seat in the cockpit, commanding the ship to take off. She, of course, does not take my advice and instead decides to stand, but the joke's not on me if she goes flying back during take-off. I hear the briefcase being dropped to the floor as I fire up the thrusters and pull us up off the ground. "You sure your Luminoth friend has them distracted?"

"His name's Nigul," she supplies, "And yes, I'm sure he's going to be very upset if they blow off another part of our ship."

"Good enough."

The computer screen rolls down from the ceiling of the cockpit, takes up a miniscule sliver of my vision, flickering online with the voice of its speaker. "Well, it took you long enough, lady! Was there some kind of party that I missed?"

Riina doesn't hide her surprise. "Is that…what is that?"

Ignoring her, managing a smile under my helmet, "Yeah, I missed you too, Adam."

"Adam?" She questions.

"Who's this, Samus? You finally found yourself a lady-friend?"

Riina sputters, unsure what to think of my CO. Adam laughs as we take off, the rock of the ship forcing Riina to brace herself as the thin atmosphere is briefly torn open. "Come on, what? Is there something stuck on my face?" Adam asks.

I wait until we're securely out in space before introducing the two of them. "Riina, Adam, Adam, Riina. She's a Bounty Hunter who intercepted my catch. And we are not lady-friends."

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Ouch. Point or no, that's one way to put me down…

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"Riina, eh?" chuckles Adam. "Well, howdy there, Riina. I'm Commander Adam Malkovich."

Pushing on the thrusters, I can practically smell her realization. "How could you—that can't be right. Adam Malkovich died years ago. His name's not even on the roster!"

Wait a minute.

How does she know the Federation roster?

First, that quick exchange with the Captain down there, and now this about the roster…even if Bounty Hunters make it their business to know their enemies and employers, Riina's too knowledgeable in the GF's workings. Most Hunters don't even bother to check the roster—it's too extensive and eats up wasted time, and besides that, it's downright boring.

"Well, not the official one, no," Adam says. "Just so happens that the Federation takes to transferring the minds of its most celebrated officers into computer data for future access. We're down, but not out." He laughs, "But I've served the Federation for thirty years of my life—I wasn't going to keep working for them from the grave! So, here I am…"

Silence. Riina still grips whatever she can on the ceiling to remain upright, staring at Adam in awe and bewilderment. I continue to steer us away from the junk yard below until it hits the point where I want answers.

"Samus, your ship's computer is the most celebrated military genius of the Federation?"

"Yes," I say quickly.

"…Most celebrated military genius. Of the Federation."

A sigh; "He's my CO and my friend. Could we switch our attentions for a moment? You need to answer some questions."

It takes her a moment to respond. There's confusion in her voice when she does. "…Questions?"

"How do you know so much about the Galactic Federation?"

Not so long a pause. "What's it matter if I do?" Riina quips defensively. Grip on the controls tightens as the ship rumbles. Come on, don't fall apart on me now…

"How do I know you're not working with that Captain and trying to turn me in?" (At this point, anything to get her talking would be good.)

She bursts into nervous laughter. "That doesn't make any sense! I just helped you get away from them!"

"All the same," I argue, "You could just be acting."

"You're paranoid, is what you are," she accuses me.

"Paranoia helped me to survive this long."

Hints of a growl this time, "You know what else helps that? Minding your own business."

This is getting me nowhere. Such a stubborn girl… "If you have nothing to hide, then prove it to me! Tell me why you know what you know."

In her reflection, I can see her tensing where she stands. "Due respect aside, drop it."

A faint blip from the controls interrupts our argument. "Ladies?" Adam queries, "Hate to interrupt your cat fight, but we're being hailed. As luck would have it, it's a member of the Federation. Captain Tristan Bale."

I have no doubt that's the Captain from the surface. I turn quickly to gauge Riina's reaction. She's still holding on with a death grip; probably glaring at me under her helmet. Smirking, I go back to Adam. If she won't give me information, maybe her friends in the Federation will. "Open up a channel."

In seconds, Adam's voice is replaced with that of the Captain's, green line wavering on the screen to his pitch. "Bounty Hunters, you are endangering yourselves and your clients by resisting arrest. I will ask you only once to turn your ship around and come with us quietly to HQ for processing."

"We'll decide who's endangering whom, Captain," I respond calmly. "But first, maybe you could—"

Riina lurches forward and grabs the back of my seat, removing her helmet in a huff. "Get your men off Nigul's tail!"

…Trying so very hard not to get angry. Where does she get off taking over the negotiations like that? On my ship, no less! (Then again, it may give some insight into her connections. Now would be the time to back off…whether I like it or not.)

"Riina, is that you?" wonders the Captain. "Your friend Nigul is involved in this affair, too, isn't he? By law, I have to arrest him along with the both of you."

Rage flies over her expression. "Are you an idiot? Need I remind you that Nigul is a standing member of the Luminoth? How do you think Aether's going to react when the Federation shows up arresting one of their own?"

"Forgive me if I was under the impression we already burned those bridges," he mutters. "Isn't that what the ARP is for?"

"Aether and its surrounding colonies founded the ARP in conjunction with the Federation. You assholes are the ones who left us sitting out there. Don't you dare say we're the ones who gave the slap to the face!" Her fingers are digging into my seat. I can hear the material squelching under her grasp. "If you pull Nigul in for helping to restore the planet, I can guarantee you Luminoth trade will wither on the vine."

"The Luminoth need all the income they can get. Whether or not arresting their own is an insult, such a move would be foolhardy."

She doesn't have a response to that. I can see the frustration in her face: teeth gnashed tightly together, a wall of angry white hissing words of distaste. Eyes burning until they're more gold than green.

"Riina," the Captain sighs, "the briefcase in your possession contains valuable property of the Federation. I must have it returned to me. If you could just do that, then maybe I can pull some strings; let all of you go without charge. How does that sound?"

"What valuable property?" she demands. Good question—I've been wondering that, too. I need to know what I was cheated into before I go shoot that miserable Kriken in the face.

"That's classified."

Riina lets go of her ceiling anchor and steps back some before I hear the low hum of an energy sword. "You wanna bet?" When I turn to check, she's crouching by the briefcase, sword poised as she stands it on its side. I smile.

"What are you doing?" snaps the Captain.

The sound of shattered metal and broken locks rings in the cockpit space and my smile widens. "De-classifying your classified briefcase," I say.

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Over the noise of Tristan's protests is the clang and clatter of my tearing into the metal box. Slicing off every lock and mechanism keeping it shut, sparks flying everywhere when I nick the fancy mechanics on the lip. When I've all but cut it to ribbons I retract my swords, wedge my fingers in and flip the top.

A din of silence falls. I can't say that I'm surprised at the contents; still doesn't make them hurt any less, though.

Two mid-size pistols, sleek blue frames nestled in a firm bed of gray foam, stare out at me. The magazines are tucked away on either side of them. An instruction manual and set of blueprints are strapped to the inside of the lid, giving me names and specs that I briefly look over. New and improved plasma firing mechanism; built-in target tracker for increased accuracy; solar-powered battery that can last for months without a charge. Set to stun for civilians and "fry it dead" for Space Pirates. It's impressive, I'll admit that much—this is top-of-the-line stuff, but I've never seen it before. That can only mean one thing: prototypes.

Even if this is guessing at a stretch, it doesn't stop me from glaring in the direction of Tristan's voice. "So…how do you and your cronies like your new little toys, Trist?"

"Riina, for God's sake," he groaned, "weapons improvement happens nearly every day. You didn't used to care about what guns we manufactured…"

"Sure, when I was twelve," I snap. "But that was before, you know, you decided extending the arms of the Federation was more important than helping us and the Luminoth…who are right on your doorstep."

"I'm not going to argue politics with you here!" He growled. "Seeing as how you're not going to give us the briefcase, I simply have no choice but to target Nigul and track you both down."

Static noise mucks up the frequency, painful on all of our ears before it goes away. When it settles, a third voice joins in on the conversation: deep and heavily accented in Luminoth. "My apologies, Captain, but I'm afraid I don't like the idea of being caged in a tiny cell."

Relief floods through; I smile wide. "Nigul!"

"But I commend your officers for trying," he continued. "They should be returning to you any moment now reporting that they'll need repairs on their ships. And speaking of repairs…they've made a whole new mess for me to clean up, too. Rather displeasing."

Tristan is silent. I can't help but cackle on the inside and gloat for our victory. Poor guy just never got the hang of our style!

"Those prototypes are volatile, unfinished models. If you sell them into the hands of your dealer, you could be endangering every person, every colony they come into contact with."

My smile flips. Anger boils, though more controllable now. "And if I give them back to you, I could be endangering every species you deem 'worthy' of the GF's attentions." I close and pick up the briefcase, dangling it in one hand while bringing out my right sword. It barely keeps together as I cleave through it completely, sparks and plasma energy spitting out in rivers. I rip everything into pieces of four or more and look at Samus, whom I notice has been watching me half the time. She seems to understand and opens up the waste disposal near my feet. I kick the shattered remains down the shaft and watch them float past us through space.

"No dealer or Bounty Hunter is going home with those prototypes today; but neither are you."

"They aren't the only ones in existence, Riina," he sighs. "You really think you can make a difference just by tearing up that briefcase and tossing it to the stars?"

Smirk. "I must have made an awful big one somehow, for you to make such a fuss over them."

In the quiet that follows, I can hear Samus chuckling.

"I think we're done here, Captain," Nigul purrs. "Riina, I will meet with the two of you shortly. I'm certain you can tie things up here." Another burst of static and Nigul is off the channel. Tristan is none too happy about the development: his voice is strained, tight-lipped to the point where every word is a venomous hiss. I forgot how capricious he can be when he's in one of his tempers.

"Make no mistake, you two: just because you're in the ARP doesn't mean you're off the hook for this. Perhaps it's not the best idea to arrest you, but I can press charges. You've just destroyed valuable Federation property."

"Go ahead then," I challenge. "Press your stupid charges! You know as well as I do that I can pay that sucker out of pocket."

"However, I can't say the same thing for Samus." Her head snaps up; so does mine. "Legally, her ties with the Federation were severed long ago. For a felony like this, I could have her brought in on a penalty for life."

The ship quivers and veers sharply to the left; I'm unable to tell whether it was the ship itself or Samus hitting the point of shock. Either way, when it all settles out, I can see her clutching the controls with a death grip suitable to an adult Sheegoth pinning down its prey.

"If you really care about keeping her safe…I would suggest you make good use of the head start I'm giving you."

I gawk at the computer screen, before grinding my teeth tight and leering. "Bastard," I growl. "You think giving us a head start makes up for the fact that you're a complete asshole?"

The cold shoulder comes in full swing. "I'm not disputing how much you probably hate me right now."

"I hardly think it needs to be said," Samus grumbles, voice tight. Silence cuts through the cockpit.

"You have twelve hours," Tristan informs us. "That is all."

Neither of us seems to care that the transmission cuts after that, and we're left to ourselves. I bite my lip, looking out at the stars. Words fail me at that point and all I can do is sigh deeply. I do want to help Samus…I feel partly responsible for getting her caught in that mess just then, even if she tried to steal the case too. But what the hell are my options supposed to be?

The infinite expanse of space drifts us by for a while before a private transmission breaks the quiet. Even the great Adam Malkovich didn't appear to have any words of wisdom for us during the moments that followed. Both of us spy a signal on the tracking screen before we hear the hailing call. "It's your friend Nigul," he reports.

No hesitation on Samus' part. "Patch him through."

I lean forward to listen, realizing for the first time that her sound system appears to be pretty out of shape. I'm not sure how I was able to make out Tristan's words before. "I've found you. I'm approaching on your starboard side; do you see me?"

"Yeah, we do," I say, checking the massive signal blipping at us from the ship's panel.

"Brilliant. Samus, I would like to couple our ships together for the time being, if that is acceptable."

I watch her, both of us awaiting her green light; she hesitates a moment before answering. "Fine…I've got some questions still, anyway."

"I'll walk you through the docking sequence," Nigul offers. "I'm not quite sure how well it will adapt to your ship, since the mechanism it uses is rather out-of-date…still…prepare for contact in T-minus fifteen seconds."

"Roger that." Samus cuts the thrusters and slows our momentum to a crawl, setting up her ship for docking. To try and smooth out the kinks, I watch the gauges and numbers that pop up on the computer screen as she works it with curiosity. "What's your ship's model number?" I ask.

"It doesn't have a model," Samus replies, "It's a Hunter Class custom."

Humm; having a model number would have made it easier to pinpoint the sequence involved. "Then do you at least know what kind of hydraulics you're using?"

"Semi-magnetic double-pump; XG-04 structure type, roughly," she lists. I wince. She's still working with the double-pump system? Everyone's gone fully magnetic since almost ten years ago.

"This could kill your pump hydraulics," I caution. "Victor runs on fully-magnetic."

Samus sighs as the shadow of the Victor looms over us, ready to couple up. "Oh well," she mutters. "Not like there's much else still working on this piece of crap anyway."

I've never heard a Hunter put down their ship quite like that before. But then again…frowning, I wonder, "If it's such a piece of crap, why do you still have it? Why not at least set your eyes on a newer model?"

"Part of it is sentimental value," Samus explains. "The other part of it is cost."

"You don't have the time for it," I venture.

Samus snorts. "Or the money; gotta eat at least half of the time."

…I'm still in half-bewilderment that I'm hearing these grim proverbs from the mouth of one of the most notorious and talented Bounty Hunters in history.

"Ready for docking, Samus?" Nigul asks.

Samus gives the go-ahead; but I cut in for a moment after a quick thought. "Nigul, could you cut the docking magnetics down to about fifty percent?"

"I most certainly can, but could I inquire into the reasoning behind it?"

"This ship is on semi-mag D-pumps," I explain. "If we drag her in full strength with the state she's in now, the pumps are gonna get shot to hell."

Nigul mutters something in breathy passing on the Luminoth tongue, before doing as I asked and helping Samus through the docking sequence. It takes a few minutes, and her ship doesn't stick at first, but eventually with a mild shudder we make contact and she diverts all of the energy towards staying in place and running the necessities.

"You didn't have to do that," she says, turning to look at me as everything settles. "About halving the magnetics I mean."

I only shrug back at her, offering a smile. "Nigul always believes that if you take care of your ship, your ship will take care of you. I can tell that this ship is older than the frickin' sun…" I look around the interior, chuckling, "and that it runs a ten-years-old double-pump hydraulics system…but you say it has sentimental value, and that it's a custom, so it must have seen you through a lot. And if that's true, then it's one hardy little bitch for not falling apart at the seams until now." I grin. "That's impressive enough for me."

"…Thanks," is all she has for that. And it's enough.

We go up into the belly of the Victor together, and have to maneuver to a separate elevator after boarding to get to the main deck. I try not to fidget while we wait—it isn't much of a ride, anyway. Still I fish for a topic of discussion.

"About the briefcase," I start.

"…Don't bother." Samus fiddles with her helmet; presses its buttons until it hisses and she can remove it with ease. She scruffs her fingers roughly through her hair while exhaling a breath. "I'm a little disappointed that I won't be getting the second half of my payment, but…I think I would have done the same as you." Samus frowns, looking down at her helmet; eyes narrowed to slits while her tired face tightens at its lines. "My gut instinct told me not to take that mission. The pieces just didn't fit together. Stupid me; I didn't listen."

I don't have any words of comfort for her, because I don't want to risk being condescending. So I choose instead to keep my mouth shut. I don't know what it's like for her right now; I'm sure any amount of money must be a good pull for her, no matter the risks. But as sure as I am, I don't really know. And it may sound silly to say so, but I'm afraid of finding out.

Samus looks over at me at one point as we reach the deck. "You and that Captain talked like you knew each other," she notes.

"Oh…" I laugh. Some. "Yeah, I guess so. That's because we do."

"How did you come to know him?" she asks. By the inquisitive tone, I can tell she's just gone right back to prying me for information…she wants to know how I'm connected to the Federation, no doubt. I guess I can at least offer her this much as we head up to Nigul at the main controls.

Christ, my poor Celare suit is missing a lot of pieces. I wiggle two red fingers on the left arm and try so very hard not to pick at the cracks forming everywhere else. "We were best friends," I say.

"Were?" Samus wonders.

I clarify. "He and I hooked up at one point, but it was a botch relationship." I shake my head, roll my eyes. I'm over it now. "Our parents knew one another, so, growing up, we saw one another a lot. But past the point of technology, we just never saw eye-to-eye. After a few months and some such we broke it off."

She seems ready to ask more, except at that point Nigul bursts in and jerks my arm up with frightful alarm. "Your suit! What happened to it?" he demands.

"I got into a fight?" I offer questionably, snickering. "No need to baby it. It's just a few scratches here and there; not like any of the good system tech was damaged."

"The armoring is clean off in some places!" Nigul complains. He turns my arm and sticks a finger inside one of the sword bases. Sparks eat at the claw. "And you've crushed half the defensive blade! What on earth were you doing down there?"

Samus and I exchange glances before I turn back to Nigul. "Bro, stuff happens. Don't worry about it. Is it fixable?"

"Is it fixable? Of course it's fixable. If by 'fixable' you mean a royal pain in my ass." Nigul lets my arm drop with a grumble, and shakes his whole body like a flustered puppy, wings fluttering briefly behind him. "First those Federation bug-ships shoot off my plasma hook and damage the new energy subverters, and now you come home with your blades in disrepair…"

"Oh, excuse me for being such a nuisance!" I laugh. "Would you rather I stay up late into the wee hours of the morning working on them with you?"

"Verily, one would hope so!" Nigul exclaims. He finally flickers his attention to Samus, folding his hands together courteously and bending into a low bow. She's smirking at him when he does, though for whatever reason, I can't tell. Perhaps our little exchange amused her somehow. "So, Samus, it is an honor at last to meet you properly. You said you had some questions?"

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I did have some questions, but maybe they can wait for now. I have more important things to worry about: like telling Shield to go stick it to a Reptilicus and finding a place to relocate to. I'm running out of places to hide; the Federation's chokehold has been exponentially increasing in the last few years. Almost no place is safe anymore.

"Maybe a little later," I say. "Instead, I'd like it if we could stop by someplace first while my ship takes a break…I'm not sure it could handle a long flight right now."

I need to grab what I can and get the hell out of Kaon before Tristan decides to change his mind.