Maya Kaido sat alone in one of the cabins of a high-speed train car. The cabin itself consisted of two banks of seats that faced each other, with a door leading to the corridor that ran the length of the train car on one side, and an outer window on the other. The view through the outer window showed Maya the rugged Glamis mountains, which gradually receded away to foothills as the hours passed.
After Sasha was called away on another mission, Maya had to cut this little retreat short. The dark feline had made arrangements to have Sasha's belongings shipped home, for which the hotel staff were thankfully accommodating once they understood it was essentially an emergency situation. From there it was a simple matter for Maya to pack herself up and book a ticket for the train ride home. The vast state-of-the-art rail network that spanned most of Macbeth made long-distance surface travel simple, easy, safe, and reliable. However, these meager matters of logistics were not what was on the mind of Maya Kaido at the moment.
Tough times were ahead for her and Sasha. Maya had been meaning to discuss their relationship for some time, but a suitable time and place rarely presented itself. For the times when discussion was suitable, it often wound up not unlike the situation Maya found herself in now: Sasha being called away for her shadowy occupation of black-ops military. In many ways, that in itself was the crux of Maya's concerns for her relationship with Sasha. When that kind of disappearing act, however little control Sasha had of it, was paired with Maya's desire to settle down and hopefully start a family, it meant that their relationship as lovers needed to be addressed, and the concerns brought to light. Their time together simply could go on forever, not the way Sasha seemed to have envisioned it at any rate.
For the time being, Maya could only hope that her dear friend could understand–
Maya jolted out from her thoughts to the sound of a light tap tap tap, on the door to the train car's corridor. There was a middle-aged avian man outside the cabin, one with rusty red plumage and prominent black swept back head-feathers.
The dark feline quickly collected herself, stood up from her seat, and opened the cabin door to greet the stranger. Before Maya could begin though, the mysterious avian man spoke first.
"Excuse me Miss, may I sit here?" he asked politely, then added with a small jerk of his had , "the other cabins are all full."
"Sure, it's fine." Maya said, stepping aside to let the man in before taking her seat again. She didn't have time for anything else though, because as soon as the cabin door closed, the stranger spoke to her.
"Miss. Kaido," he uttered curtly, but with a great urgency. Maya was shocked for a moment, taken aback that the avian stranger knew her by name, but he spoke too quickly for her react, "I don't believe we've been formally introduced, but I believe we have a mutual acquaintance: Captain Sasha Zura."
"Who exactly are you, and what's going on here?" Maya asked, her tone just shy of a demand.
"My name is Connor Griffon, and I'm with Venom Intelligence," the stranger answered formally, but swiftly, "for some time now it's been my pleasure of work with Captain Zura on a fair number of covert operations..."
"Something's happened to her," Maya guessed aloud, while a a shiver of fear and concern swept over her, "that's why you came to find me, isn't it?"
"I'm afraid so," Connor confirmed with a small nod.
What if it was Sasha's shattered mental state, after Maya tried to start a discussion with her, that was a cause of her mission's failure. At this thought a sudden wave of guilt shocked through the dark feline, but she continued the talk with Connor, trying to get more information.
"Was she..." then Maya choked up trying to say the word 'killed' out loud, as she considered the worst.
"No, absolutely not," the avian agent reassured with a firm, practiced confidence to his words, "If she were, it wouldn't be me speaking with you, and it wouldn't be here nor now. Sasha is alive, Miss Kaido, and unhurt as far as we can surmise, but she is in incredible danger."
"But 'incredible danger' is what Sasha does for a living day in and day out," Maya said, only slightly relieved by Connor's words, "why am I involved?"
"Because of the kind of danger Sasha is in right now, it means you're in danger too," Connor answered with an ominous gravitas, locking his sharp raptor eyes with Maya's.
"What do you mean?" the dark feline asked, while her concerns grew again, "What's happened to her?"
"Captain Zura was captured during her most recent assignment," the avian agent explained as thoroughly as his quickness allowed, "I can't say by who exactly, but they are very dangerous, very resourceful, and have no qualms about hurting those close to Captain Zura in order to hurt her. Sasha is strong, and I know from personal experience that she won't bend or give up anything on her own, not even under intense interrogation and torture. I'm certain that her captors will figure the same, which means they'll instead go after those who Sasha cares for to intimidate her. That means her family, her friends: you."
Maya simply listened to Connor's truncated exposition in tense silence, and let the gravity of the situation catch up to her. She –little Sales Associate and Manager-to-be Maya Kaido– could be targeted and threatened by incredibly dangerous people; professional assassins, spies, mercenaries and the like; all so they could get at her soldier friend Sasha...
"We want to keep you safe, Miss. Kaido–" Connor Griffon began, before Maya cut him off.
"I know, it's... just a lot to take in," the dark feline, uttered with a worried sigh, "I always knew Sasha running into trouble was a risk, doing what she does, especially when she started taking on more and more secretive missions. I never knew she'd gotten so involved in the dark underbelly of spy work though: so involved that it could come back to strike her at home. She rarely ever talks about her work with me, and never any details."
"As well she shouldn't," Connor agreed, adding with sympathy to Maya's situation, "It's very easy for us to compartmentalize these grisly aspects of Intelligence work away from personal life, especially if one of us comes from military like Captain Zura. What happens while out on mission stays with the mission, and what happens at home is just for home. Truth is, we quickly begin to realize in Intelligence that the world 'out there' and the world 'at home' are both one and the same. The threats can come from anywhere, at any time, from anyone, and it's why we need to keep you safe, for your sake as much as for Sasha."
"I think I understand," Maya said, a tone of understanding coloring her words and actions now, "you want to deprive Sasha's captors of potential hostages to use as bargaining chips."
"In short: yes," Connor answered, seeming surprised by Maya's sudden coolness to the situation.
"So if you're planning on keeping me safe, then I'm guessing you have a plan?" the dark feline then added as a follow-up.
"I can't tell you any details here, but we're mounting a rescue operation for Sasha as we speak," the older avian spy answered quickly, but then took a little more time with his next proposition, "the main crux of my offer is: I want you to come with me, and join us for the operation, directly."
"That... really doesn't make any sense," Maya said, confused and dumbfounded at Connor's proposal, "Why bring me, a total untrained civilian, on what's clearly a very dangerous mission? Didn't you just say you wanted to keep me safe?"
"Under the current circumstances, the safest place for you actually is with me, under the protection of the elite crew I've assembled for the mission. Otherwise, you're out there in the open: easy pickings for Sasha's captors.
"I can't order you to come with me, Miss Kaido, but if you go your own way from here, I can promise you that you will be targeted, and I can't promise that Venom Intelligence or any other authority will be able to keep you safe when you are, not as safe as I can at any rate. If it makes any difference, if you're with me on this mission, you'll be there for Sasha the very instant we get her back, when she'll probably need you the very most."
There may have been apprehension, but there was not an ounce of hesitation when Maya answered, "Okay, what do I need to do?"
"We'll get off at the next station," Connor said quickly, "my ship will be waiting for us there."
\
Chased by Shadows
/
The elaborate stowaway trip to Titania was nearing its end, or at least it was according to timing, rough estimates, and as much of a general feel for the environment they could distinguish from inside the modified containers. It had been about three days time since the trip began, and Sasha was just about ready for it to all be over and done with. According to the schedule, they should've been just a few hours out from their final destination, and so Sasha and Alastar began final preparations for their exit plan.
The trip itself was mostly uneventful. Alastar and Sasha had each gone into their own routines of sleep, exercise, drilling and other preparatory activities. Shortly after their departure though, Alastar did produce a welcome surprise, mainly in the form of equipment. The scruffy canid mercenary had gotten his hands on the exact make and model of 'mercenary' gear that Sasha had used during Operation: Bank on Zoness, all perfectly sized to her specifications. Not only that, but it came with headset and tactical HUD of a similar model that Sasha was used to working with. There was also a small selection of weapons provided. It wasn't anything overly elaborate, but it covered the usual basics: assault rifle, handgun, combat knife and a few grenades, as well as necessary ammunition and periphery equipment they all required. After a few hours of familiarizing herself with the arms, armor and other gear trusted to her, the husky officer was reasonably comfortable with her loadout, plus it made her feel considerably less naked and helpless than when she had nothing to use but her clothes and whatever happened to be on hand.
Alastar on the other hand had gone all-out with his equipment, at least as compared to what Sasha had seen him use before. The canid merc's armor was of a far more advanced model, offering nearly complete coverage with little to no movement hindrance. The G-diffuser and four-point thruster assembly Alastar had mentioned earlier had the miniature G-diffuser mounted on his lower back, with two thrusters mounted over his shoulders, and another two built into the heels of his armored boots: four points. As an additional safety feature, Alastar's armor was also fitted with a kind of backwards-apron, or half a cape, attached to his waist, made of flexible but highly heat-resistant material, meant to protect his backside, tail and legs from his own thruster's heat. The merc's chosen weaponry for the operation was however more meager, but understandably so if he wanted items he could handle with all his extra bells and whistles. To this end, his ever-present sword was secured to his back between the shoulder thrusters by a specialized clamping scabbard, a high-powered blaster handgun rested in a cross-draw holster, and finally there was a SMG weapon small enough to be comfortably wielded in one hand strapped to his right thigh.
Still, between the prep-work Sasha had done for her equipment, and watching Alastar prepare his own dizzying array of gadgetry, a question that had been lingering in the back of her mind sprang to the forefront. She probably should have asked this of Alastar before, but now at the end of the trip was as good a time as any.
"How exactly are you able to handle all of your gear?" Sasha asked the scruffy schnauzer, while he tweaked yet another item of his copious loadout: a helmet and headset. It covered his head well despite leaving the face exposed, but it looked like there were fittings at the front that could accommodate a face-mask.
"Huh?" Alastar replied, looking up from his task with a slightly puzzled look about him, "What do you mean?"
"You've got a thruster pack, grapple tethers, shield generator, phantom module and God-Lyla only knows what else you've got packed away," the husky replied, counting off the items on her hand as she listed them, "that's an awful lot of sensitive equipment to keep track of in the heat of battle, not to mention how your hands are full most of the time with a weapon or something else."
The scruffy mercenary bit his lip and looked away from Sasha and her questions, apparently made uncomfortable by the line of questioning she was pursuing.
"How exactly is it, Alastar, that you can activate, use and control all of your equipment like a one-man-band without it all flying off the handle, malfunctioning, or somehow failing in the heat of the moment?" then Sasha added in a playfully accusing tone, "So what's your secret?"
"Um..." the schnauzer mumbled, fidgeting with his helmet a bit while he figured out how he was going to address the questions. Eventually, he pointed to the side of his head, and directed, "take a close look, right here."
Sasha leaned in, squinting at the spot Alastar indicated at his left temple. He pulled some of his wiry fur up, showing his bare skin beneath, and the tiny interface port hidden there.
"Oh? You're a cyborg?" the husky asked, beginning to understand Alastar's reluctance.
"Yeah kind of, a little bit," Alastar confirmed with a small shrug, "but 'cyborg' is such an ugly word for what it is..."
Cybernetics, biological-technological augmentation, and other titles for artificial enhancements of the living body were once something of a hot-button topic across Lylat, before widespread political tensions flared up. In many ways, the cybernetics question was at least partly related to the concerns surrounding the rapidly developing technology of the day. Enhancement of the living body was a very powerful image, and was often used to represent the whole of the emerging technologies issues in microcosm. People who had such enhancements or modifications weren't always keen to share that information, since it so often brought with it a whole host of opinions, many of which were scornful or hateful.
As far as Sasha could tell, Alastar might have been expecting some of this opinion from herself, since he went quiet, looked away for a bit, as if to brace himself for being judged. To his pleasant surprise though, Sasha offered no such negative preconceptions.
"So what exactly is it that's implanted in you?" the husky asked with a sudden surge of interest. Though many hard-line Cornerians held suspicious opinions of cyborgs and the like, and they may have targeted Alastar for discrimination, Sasha herself didn't harbor any such negative opinions of cybernetics that way, "come on, I'm curious. I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't," she insisted.
For a few moments, Sasha just looked at Alastar with playful puppy-dog eyes.
"Well, okay then..." the scruffy mercenary, said as he took a small breath, getting himself more comfortable with the subject, then delving into the details, " It's a cerebral neural interface, mostly networked to motor control sectors of my frontal cortex. Almost every piece of equipment I use is linked to this interface, so I can control them all directly with my thoughts, totally hands-free."
To demonstrate this, Alastar stepped back and held his arms out wide. A low hum emanated from some the gear he was carrying, and then the small thrusters over his shoulders and at the heels of his boots fired, making him hover a few inches off the floor.
"No wonder it looks so easy when you do it, bouncing around the battlefield with all that extra tech strapped onto you," Sasha said, clearly inpressed, then added in a playful teasing tone, "still, isn't that a bit like cheating though, just having everything at the tip of your mind ready to go?"
"You ever try juggling?" Alastar asked, mimicking the action of juggling while he hovered, "That's kind of what it's like."
"Yeah well, most people can juggle with a little practice," Sasha countered coolly, folding her arms as she challenged him again, "How hard can it be to do what you do?"
"How hard can it be, you ask?!" Alastar guffawed as he shut off the thrusters and landed, his armored boots striking the floor with a heavy thud as he landed, "Alright then little Miss nosy, instead of just juggling, imagine you have a whole new set of limbs suddenly attached, and at the end of each new limb is a hand and the controls for a piece of gear."
"You know, that really doesn't sound so bad."
"Of course it doesn't 'sound' bad. On paper, the concept of advanced gear wired directly to a user's thoughts is nothing short of astounding. But as cool as it seems, neural interfacing a lot more complicated and a lot more dangerous than everyone makes it seem..." Alastar cut himself short, noticing Sasha listen all the more intensely to his cautionary words, "Wait, you're not actually thinking of getting an interface, are you?"
"I dunno," the husky replied with a dismissive shrug, "your success and capabilities definitely make a strong argument in favor for it, and I can't deny how useful it could be."
"Bloody hell, you're serious about this!" Alastar blurted out, throwing his arms up.
"You're damn right I am!" Sasha replied, matching the schnauzer's intensity while she jabbed an index finger into his armored chest, "I'm going to have to do something with myself when this is all done and blown over, and if its gotta be mercenary work, then its gotta be mercenary work. If having some extra cybernetic tech in my head could give me a leg up out there, then I ought to at least know what the risks and benefits are so I can make an informed decision. And besides that, we've got some time to kill, so if it's alright with you: inform me, please."
For a few seconds, Alastar could only stare back wide-eyed into Sasha's own relentless gaze, taken aback by her hash forwardness on the subject. Then when the shock of it faded, and finding no real reason not to, the merc let out a weary sigh and obliged.
"Better settle in then, it could be a long one," he began, and took a seat at one of the cabin's spartan beds before continuing, "for starters, getting an interface implanted and installed is just the very first step in a long, grueling process, and even then it's not like you can just walk down to your local arms dealer and pick one up. You have to get one specially made and prepared, and you have to make sure you get a good one. Too many idiots have gotten themselves screwed up in so many ways by cheap knock-off implants: either by infection, metal poisoning, electric shock or a whole slew of other nasty mishaps. Then once it's in your head and settled, you have to learn to utilize the interface. New neural pathways have to be developed in the brain from scratch, which can only be done with relentless practice, trial and error, until the new actions can be committed to reflex and memory. It's like having to learn how to walk all over again, but with far greater risks. Rather than simply falling over, for example, a flubbed mental input for a thruster pack like mine could send the user careening into the ground, or a wall, or somewhere else dangerous. Between all these potential risks, it should come as no surprise that lot of new users get themselves badly hurt or crippled figuring out how to work a neural interface, or even get themselves killed."
"I've never been daunted by a challenge before, and I'm no stranger to dangerous risk. If you're trying to scare me into not pursuing this, you're actually doing the exact opposite: now I'm all the more intrigued," Sasha insisted, adding more than a bit of sass to her words, "Speaking of: what about you?"
"What do you mean what about me?" Alastar asked.
"Your neural interface seems to work just fine," the husky reminded him, poking the scruffy merc in the forehead, "So where and how did you get yours?"
"If you must know, it's a special military issue made just for the Cornerian Dragoon Guard, one of the unit's best kept secrets," Alastar explained, "Every recruit gets an interface implanted when they join, so don't expect to get one the way I did."
"You're trying so hard to be a buzzkill about all this," Sasha said while suppressing a giggle, "It's kind of adorable, actually."
"I'm only trying to tell you the..." then the schnauzer stopped himself, rubbing his forehead with a little grumble. When he spoke again, it was in a tone that had finally relented to Sasha's stubborn curiosity, "Okay, alright, fine, I'm done. If you're really, absolutely, dead-serious about all this, I think I can recommend a few experts for getting a good quality neural implant, and I can help you get acclimated to the new interface and gear once it's installed."
"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" the husky said, giving Alastar a small, playful punch on his shoulder.
"What have I gotten myself into?" the merc said quietly to himself nervously–
Everything lurched to a sudden stop, nearly throwing Sasha and Alastar off their feet. The constant background hum of the transport's engine died down, and the emergency comm in the cabin-container crackled to life.
"Everybody out, now! The convoy is... under attack, I think!" Cupelo's frantic frantic voice called out from the speaker, adding, "and make sure to cover up, there's a nasty sandstorm outside!"
Hearing the warning, Sasha secured a pair of goggles over her eyes, while Alastar secured his helmet and pulled down the visor. Both of them also wrapped a length of cloth over the rest of their faces to keep the dust and sand out of their mouths and noses.
True to his word, with a rhythmic clank of disengaging locks, the container door swung open, through which Alastar and Sasha exited to a kind of hell that could only exist on the surface of Titania.
A blood-red wind whipped and tore at Sasha the instant her boots fell on the sand beneath her feet. It was made red by the torrent of dust and billowing sand that choked the air, and made the sunlight struggle to pass through it, resulting only in a vast, misty red glow that roared and howled all around, interspersed with dark, colossal cyclones of even more sand, dust and ripping wind. But every few seconds or so, with a mighty crack, the infinite redness was challenged by brilliant flashes of blue-white lightning, leaping across the sky out of the cyclones. This only set the backdrop of this moment's hell, however.
There were dozens of overland vehicles around, many transports of varying varieties; Sasha and Alastar's container were secured to a modular ground transport not unlike what they were first loaded onto back on Macbeth. There were also many military vehicles though, ranging from troop transports and fast patrol craft, up to bulky heavy tanks, and possibly a battle-mech in the distance. The transports had all come to a stop, but all of the armed vehicles that could be seen maneuvered toward one particular direction, all firing their weapons, adding their angry chorus of firepower to the cacophony of the ion sandstorm surrounding them...
What exactly were they firing at though?
Sasha peered through the billowing sand and dust, following the lines of weapon-fire as best as she could. It was faint, and she wasn't quite sure what she was seeing –it could have just been a trick of the sandstorm if not for the weapons firing– but in the distance, a colossal, dark silhouette loomed over the dust-shrouded convoy. It must have been at least as high as a twenty story building, maybe larger, and most troubling of all: it was moving.
The giant shadow lunged down, toward the flickering muzzle flashes of heavy weapons hidden in the swirling red mist. Then a thunderous boom and fiery flash signaled the destruction of one of the vehicles or tanks Sasha had just seen charging toward the titan. Then there was something in the sky, swarming around the shadow. They all flew in perfect patterns, more perfect than any pilot would be able to, especially in these hellish stormy conditions: they were drones, hundreds and hundreds of drones, attacking all at once and in absolute synchronicity–
Rick, Olsen and Sancho quickly met up with Sasha and Alastar outside their transport. Like Sasha and Alastar, the others had also put on eye and face protection to try and stave off the stinging onslaught of windblown sand and dust, and only stopped to take in the scene for an instant before Rick spoke.
"We need a ride!" the old raccoon shouted as best he could over the noisy chaos, "a fast one!"
A pair of headlights crept out of the mist, closing in fast, from the opposite direction as the hidden battle.
"I got it! No problem!" Sancho Cupelo replied when he saw the lights. He gave Rick a thumbs up, then turned to Sasha and Alastar, nearly screaming over the surrounding din, "Cover me!"
Without an ounce of hesitation, the small gray-brown fox sprinted into the path of the oncoming vehicle, waving his arms and shouting at the top of his lungs, "Stop! Help! I need help!"
The vehicle came into view, and skidded to a stop next to Sancho. It was an all-terrain 4x4 wheeled variety, with the driver's cab and small passenger compartment mounted forward, and a large heavy blaster mounted at the rear, operated by a gunner. The diver and crew probably couldn't hear Sancho's cry for help, but must have seen his waving arms and understood the request.
As soon as the 4x4 stopped, a hatch opened over the passenger side of the driver's cab, and a figure emerged, clutching his helmet and screaming over the noise, "What's the problem?! How can we help?!"
"Stay with Sancho!" Alastar barked to Sasha as he drew and prepared his SMG blaster.
Before Sasha could ask him for any clarification, the armored merc made a great leap into the air and surged forward toward the stopped 4x4 with the aid of his thruster pack. With her assault rifle in hand, the husky rushed to Sancho's side, and saw just what Alastar was up to.
Catching the crew completely by surprise, the armored merc landed on the vehicle's gunnery station with a flying kick that launched the hapless gunner clear off the back with a painful scream, and left him sprawled in the sand below. Without losing a beat, he aimed his SMG blaster into the passenger and driver's cab.
"Everybody out, now!" Alastar shouted, keeping everybody inside covered, "Drop your weapons! Hands where I can see them!"
For a moment, it seemed like the vehicle crew might have gone for their weapons and fought Alastar then and there. The bundled figure at the hatch –the commander by the look of him– looked like he was going to do just that, as his hand slowly went for the handgun holstered under his arm...
"Do as he says!" Sasha added from her position on the ground, rifle aimed squarely at the commander, "And you'll all live!"
The commander snapped his head toward the husky, and with a jerk, he unfastened his holster and threw his weapon at Sasha's and Sancho's feet. At this, the gray-brown fox took the weapon holster and secured it to himself, then drew and prepared the blaster handgun for his own use. Following their commander's act of surrender, the rest of the vehicle crew followed-suit, relinquishing themselves of their own weapons and climbing out one by one, until all four of them were out on the ground.
"Hands on your heads!" Rick ordered the crew, "Form a single rank!"
Sasha kept her weapon trained on the vehicle crew as they all lined up with their hands on their heads as they were ordered. At the same time, Sancho climbed up into the 4x4's driver's seat to prepare for their getaway, Olsen hoisted himself in afterward and settled into a seat in the cab, while Alastar made himself comfortable at the gunner's station, swinging the heavy blaster around toward the crew below.
"You won't get away with this," the vehicle commander growled as he passed Rick and Sasha, confident in his words.
"Listen up everybody!" the old raccoon said as he paced behind the surrendered vehicle crew, shouting over the noise of the sandstorm and nearby battle, "On my mark, you will walk fifty paces forward, then you may disperse and regroup with your unit as you see fit! If there is any deviations from these instructions, you will be shot! If that is understood, answer 'sir, yes sir'!"
"Sir, yes sir!" the entire crew of four replied in unison, making no effort to hide their anger and disgust at the situation, but complied nonetheless.
Then Rick came close to Sasha, close enough to speak quietly without being overheard, and instructed, "get in."
She gave him a nod, and did so, climbing up into the 4x4 on the passenger side to join Sancho and Alastar.
It was a little unsettling to Sasha how easily Rick assumed the mantle of 'officer' in order to give the vehicle crew instructions. She realized it was the old spy playing on their ingrained training, their habit of obedience to authority, so that complying to Rick's demands would be as easy as responding to their drill instructor. Hell, Sasha nearly uttered a 'sir, yes sir' herself as he gave his orders.
"Forward, march!" Rick hollered, and the crew did exactly that, stepping forward in perfect unison like good soldiers would–
* Blam! * Blam! * Blam! * Blam! *
Four shots rang out, and a sick, black wave of horror overcame Sasha Zura. The Husky burst out out of the hatch to see, and what she saw only fueled the flame of her disgust and outrage.
The vehicle crew had all fallen face-down into the sand swirling underneath them, each with a hideous blaster scorch in the back of their heads. Then Richard Cooney turned his back to the fresh corpses, smoking blaster in-hand, and climbed into the stolen 4x4 with the others.
Sasha dropped into the cab below, slamming the hatch shut overhead, and shot a fiery, fuming glare at the old raccoon as she swore with all her bitter hate, "You sick son of a whore!"
Rick just ignored her insult, and just said to Sancho, "Drive."
The gray-brown fox quickly nodded, and with a grunt of the engines they were off, driving through the storm, away from the still ongoing battle against the shadowy colossus. With the doors, windows and hatches closed now, Sasha took off the goggles and face-covering cloth, so she could show her infuriated scowl to Rick, who likewise had shown his face: cold, unfeeling, but looking away, like he couldn't bare to look the angry husky in the eye.
Sasha refused to let the old spy off the hook though, and pressed her question, "are you gonna explain what the hell that was all about back there?"
Nothing. The raccoon just stared out into the swirling mass of dust outside, all but ignoring Sasha.
"The threat was neutralized, Rick. They surrendered to us," the husky said, getting right up to his face, "You didn't have to fucking kill them!"
He still watched outside, into the sandstorm, where there was still the occasional flash of lighting, or a distant explosion, growing further and further away with each second. For a minute, it seemed like Rick wouldn't respond at all, until he did at last, but quietly, "Tell me Sasha, why do you kill while you're on a mission?"
"I only kill if someone is a threat to myself, my unit, or my mission, and if the most effective means to neutralize the threat is to kill them," the husky officer explained, confident and satisfied in her answer.
"My reasons are the same as yours: neutralize the threat."
"And exactly what threat did they pose?"
"Threat to the mission, Sasha," through it all, the old spy just continued watching the sandstorm outside, avoiding eye-contact. He spoke softly, but deliberately, "my mission is to escape to Cornerian space with Olsen and his intel, without leaving any detectable trace if at all possible. The crew could have ID us, giving our location away."
"You don't know that–" Sasha countered.
"I rather think I do, 'Captain' Zura," Rick said in a suddenly grave tone. He turned away from the window he'd been transfixed by, and looked back at Sasha through cold eyes of stone, "Connor Griffon, one of the absolute best agents I've ever known, is at the head of the most extensive manhunt he's ever conducted, with all the resources Venom Intelligence has at his disposal. He will be looking into any and all possible leads of our whereabouts, leads which would include a crew who lost their vehicle to a small band of fugitives and lived to tell the tale."
"What, and dead bodies are somehow less conspicuous than live ones?" Sasha questioned, dripping with sarcasm and outrage, "how many people have to die for your grand escape plan to work, Rick?!"
"This wasn't part of my plan!" the raccoon snapped back, spreading his arms wide to imply the whole situation around them, "You think I planed for the Goras titan to attack the convoy?! I'm flattered you think I'm that good, but I can't control the actions of that giant ancient golem; no one can! Even I can get caught off-guard, and I have to find a way to work with whatever the circumstances give me. Sometimes, always more often than I like, there are no good options to choose from, and I have to decide in an instant which evil is lesser, and then act on it without hesitation–"
"Oh spare me the 'ends justify the means' speech! I've heard that line before: it's old, and it's long worn out its welcome," Sasha huffed, rolling her eyes at Rick's frantic explanation, "I get that you want to stop this supposed genocide Red Dust might cause, that you're skilled, experienced, and determined to see your plan through, but there has to be a line somewhere that's not worth crossing. Hell, you don't even know if this will make anydifference at all–"
"Miss Sasha?" Cadan Olsen said, easing in between the heated exchange.
"What?" the husky spat at the intrusion, annoyed.
"Do you know the purpose of that convoy we escaped from?" the old snowy owl asked, "Do you know why Venom is so hellbent on setting up shop on this forsaken dust-ball?"
"I don't see what that has to do with anything."
"Please, humor an old scientist and doctor," Olsen implored, giving the disgruntled husky a kindly look, "I promise it will be worth your time, and will help put all of this madness in perspective for you."
"Fine. It's raw materials and resources from what I hear," Sasha answered quickly, not entirely interested in the subject, "mining and the like."
"Only half true I'm afraid, like so many of Venom's claims," Olsen said with a weary drawl to his voice, "I'm sure there's the usual natural resources lying around this sandy wasteland planet, and maybe it is worth the effort to dig them out and use them for wartime industry. However, Titania's greatest resources have always been the ancient secrets that lie buried beneath her sands: secrets that so many have ignored because of the risk, and effort, and sacrifices required to learn about them: secrets that many only believe to be mere historical archaeology. The leadership of Venom has no qualms whatsoever about such risk, and they know the potential rewards are worth whatever sacrifices have to be made."
"Take the fight against the Goras we just saw for example," Rick said, easing his way back into the discussion, "did you notice anything odd about the whole situation, anything at all? Think in terms of tactics, like the excellent soldier and commander you are."
She was a bit irritated that the old raccoon wedged himself back into the conversation, but with a small sigh, she humored him, and put the pieces in their places. After quickly reviewing what she saw in her head, and thinking about the decisions that would lead to those particular actions, she came to a conclusion, "They weren't trying cover an escape for the vulnerable unarmed transports: they were advancing on the Goras, targeting it."
"The Goras titan represents both the risks and rewards this planet has to offer," the owl said, adding, "If what Andross believes about the Goras is correct, it may yet be subdued, and repurposed as a terrifying weapon for Venom."
"Is that even possible?" the husky asked, nearly dumbfounded by the possibility, "Rick just said no one can control the Goras."
"Ah, that's the question, isn't' it? 'Is it possible?' 'What if?' 'Suppose we can?' " Cadan Olsen rattled off, and looked Sasha dead in the eye as he continued, "Do not ever underestimate the power of unanswered question, nor the resolve, the ambition, or the resourcefulness of those who pursue it with impunity. In this case, the question is asked and pursued by Venomian Engineer-General Suleiman Aster, and that was his personal entourage we just escaped from. You may have seen his drone-swarm at work earlier, attacking the Goras with the rest of the convoy's escorts."
"Engineer-General?" Sasha said, wondering about the term Olsen used, "What kind of nonsense rank is that?"
"Only the highest possible rank in the Venomian military hierarchy, second only to Andross himself," the owl explained, "I'm sure you know that Venom can't fight a head-to-head war they way Corneria can; I think that was explained earlier. What Venom does have instead is dazzlingly advanced technology, beyond cutting-edge research, and the committed minds to create them and put them to use for war. These are the Venomian Engineer-Generals: scientists turned warlord. It is their mission to find, research, develop, and utilize technologies the likes of which have never before been seen, to shock and awe their enemies with such grand and terrifying creations that they are frightened into submission, or utterly obliterated if they resist."
"How exactly do you know all this?" the husky asked in a suspicious tone, "I've never once heard of these so-called 'Engineer-Generals'."
"There are still a lot of things you haven't been told, Sasha," Rick said quietly, "both from Venom, and from us."
"Well there's a surprise," Sasha said with sarcastic 'amazement', "So when the hell am I going to be brought up to speed on the full intel of your mission? I can't really help unless I know exactly what your gameplan is, and I know you have a plan, Rick!"
"Sasha please, we're trying to amend that right now," the old raccoon groaned, hand on his forehead.
"Really now Richard, that's no way to speak to a lady," Olsen declared with a small, proud chuckle, "To answer your question, Andross's Engineer-Generals are one of his most closely guarded secrets: few outside the upper echelons of the Venomioan military know any more than rumors. The reason I know about them is because, at least early on, Andross wanted me to become one of his Engineer-Generals, to make Red Dust and nanite technologies my ultimate weapon in the war against Corneria."
"So why didn't you do it?" Sasha asked, "I know why Rick is here, or what he's deigned to told me at least, but what about you? Why did you choose to stand down from the vision of Venom, to turn your back on Andross's cause?"
For a moment, Cadan Olsen just waited a bit, staring off into the distance, occasionally clicking his sharp beak. When he spoke again, Sasha realized the owl was taking a moment to prepare his full response, because he read it like a carefully prepared speech, "When the howling masses turn against you and your life's work, accusing you and your fellows of conspiracy and deceit, their bitter scorn fuels an unquenchable outrage deep within, and you want desperately for an outlet through which to channel it. Andross gave me and so many of my colleagues just such an outlet: a chance to say 'enough is enough!', put a foot down, and show the world just how much power we could command if we put our minds to it, and if we really did want to use that incredible power in anger.
"I swore an oath when I became a doctor of medicine: 'do no harm'. I created my nanite technology to heal and rebuild, not to kill or destroy, and I'll be damned if I lie down and allow others to do so, not while there's something I can still do about it."
"But what exactly can you do about it?" Sasha asked eagerly, feeling like she was closing in on the crux of the issue, "sure, you can bring Corneria up to speed on the capabilities of your nanite tech, but simply knowing about it doesn't mean you can stop it."
"And here's the important part of the plan we haven't told you yet," Rick chimed in, apparently relieved that the husky had calmed down a bit, "We have a way to not only to neutralize Red Dust as a threat, but also to use it to destabilize the entire Venomian war machine."
"And how exactly do you plan to do that?"
"As much as I love to ramble on and on –and you know I do– it's probably better in this case if I let her explain the finer details of the 'how' if you really want."
"Her?"
"Not all of Titania's secrets are ancient, Sasha," Rick said with a sly little grin, "We're just a short drive away from one of my oldest and most secure safe houses, where one of my oldest most trusted contacts is waiting for us."
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Author Notes:
Not gonna lie, I've been in a bit of a funk for a while (a long while, geez) about writing, and I think I'm beginning to know why. I couldn't attribute it to recent changes in my life, namely my employment. Honestly I should have seen it coming, and it shouldn't have taken me this long to figure it out.
There's a phenomena I've experienced before, and maybe some of you other writers out there have experienced it too, where when the story that's being worked on approaches its climax, there's a kind of tunnel-vision that focuses solely on that story, and demands attention, distracting from any other projects that may be on the side or back-burner.
This story is a lot closer to its climax than I'd given it credit for, and it threw everything out of whack, which was only exacerbated by sudden major life-changes. My apologies to those who have waited way too long for me to get back to the Legacy series, but I'm going to have to delay work there for just a little bit longer while I button this story up, or it may never get the attention it deserves.
In the meantime, this story does take place in the same continuity as the Legacy series, and major references and hints will be present. So although it may not be the Legacy you're looking for, it may warm you up for what is to come.
As always, your feedback is most welcome.
