Chapter Three: I don't care, I'm still free

Obi tapped his foot while staring at the new recruit towering over him, hoping he was sufficiently emulating Kafka when she had to look up and stare at him.

"Come on, Sam. We need to see what we're working with here."

The standoff continued for another minute, before Sam shifted. The armor burst into flames, vanishing entirely as the pilot was deposited to the ground in a low crouch.

She looked young, but weary. Pale as if her skin had never seen the light of day. Vivid teal lines angrily lashing up the sides of her face as though her veins were aflame, that only dimmed slightly once the armor was gone entirely.

A messy, stringy mop of silvery blonde hair that phased into teal towards the end, doing little to obscure the dark circles set beneath eyes the color of sunsets that tracked him as he walked around her, tensing in anticipation of a fight.

Dressed in a black, formfitting bodysuit of thick material, metallic nodes poked through the fabric up along her spine, capped by a neural implant at the base of her skull. The only bit of color on her were what looked like activation keys or storage units in the form of bangles of some kind on her wrists and ankles.

"Okay. I think I know how to go about this. Here's a bathrobe and some towels. The showers are in there and anything you need to use. Take your time, we have a long journey ahead of us."

[HSR]

Firefly quickly washed down, eager to be refueled and rearmed for the next mission. Whatever that mission might be. The open bays reminded her of training days, but being alone just brought reality crashing back each time she heard Obi shift to intimidate the mind-controlled pirates into going back the way they came.

The towels seemed excessive, but she wasn't about to complain about it. Once dried, she went back to the locker room where Obi had set up a chair and had a set of scissors and clippers. Firefly sat herself on the chair as directed, doing her level best to treat it as a medical/maintenance check like she had had so many times before.

It was peculiar. She could hear the moving parts elsewhere in the ship, the pipes and plumbing cycling through, life support whirring, and the buzz of electronics and the hum of gravitational plates, but even as close as she was, she couldn't hear a heartbeat coming from the man standing behind her. Just a low, rhythmic pulse as he went about his work.

"We found some clean clothes that fit," Sike called out, voice echoing against the tiles. "Kafka threw in a coat from her own closet, too. Altogether, that should be enough to last until we get a proper chance at getting you fitted for your own wardrobe."

Firefly idly noted the pilot's selection as he set it down on a bench, then refocused on a point in the middle distance, acutely aware of the scissors in Obi's hands as he deftly handled trimming split ends and otherwise cleaning up the mess her hair had fallen into.

"Real question," said Obi, "before today, when was the last time you had a proper shower?"

"Approximately a month of real time. Considerably longer when you account for time spent in stasis."

"Whew."

"I spent the last seven years in and out of combat with little time out of stasis when not in for maintenance. Showers were a luxury, and for most of the Cavalry, even the officers seldom got to indulge."

"Well, don't feel you have to be quite as frugal going forward. And if you need anything from clothes to hygiene products to arms and armor, let one of us know."

"Speaking of," said Sike, "We're going to have to set you up with proper identification for when we're traveling incognito. So I will ask you some questions, and you can answer to the best of your abilities. First off, how old are you?"

"Last I checked, thirty-one."

Sike looked at Obi, then said, "Damn. You look like you're barely twenty, if that."

"Entropy Loss Syndrome," Firefly answered.

"I've heard of it," said Obi, "but isn't that supposed to be a rare condition? I was sifting through medical files, and it was on every single one I set eyes on."

"…It was a deliberate design choice introduced to improve combat potential. And most don't last long enough for it to be come a liability."

Sike made a face, but shrugged and moved on. "Mm. We'll leave your age at twenty-one. It's less likely to raise questions at a cursory glance. You can also got into any bar in the 'verse and not get carded. Had to do something similar for Obi. The closest we got him for an age was 'younger than Nanook'. People would get a little curious why he's so long-lived when he's not of any known long-lived species."

"There weren't any clocks where I was staying," Obi interjected, "and the constant cloud cover made it difficult to gauge any passage of time."

"And Elio hasn't already answered all these questions for you?" asked Firefly.

"Why do you bother breathing when you know there's still air?" Obi asked back. "The motions might be tedious, but neglecting them is only going to hinder you down the line. There is virtue in struggle. Meaning in the travel beyond the destination."

Sike laughed. "Kid, she probably doesn't want to hear your philosophical insights. But in short, we follow the script as Elio lays out. Usually a few lines, just to avoid complications. So, rule of thumb: If it isn't in the script, it means that we're being entrusted to follow our own natures and instincts to see the mission through."

"There." Obi stepped back, packing up his kit. "Go ahead and shake your hair out a bit, and we'll leave you to dress yourself. We'll have lunch in the galley."

"If you object to any of the wear, we'll have a nice shopping trip when we make port next time."

Once the two men were out of sight, Firefly did as suggested. Her uniform was being cleaned, as were the spares she had salvaged, so she went through the materials provided. The clothes were baggy, and the material felt foreign. Not objectionable, merely unfamiliar. She rolled her shoulders around to settle the fabric and then set off for another meal.

[HSR]

The pirates weren't exactly sitting in the lap of luxury, but they certainly weren't languishing in squalor either. Least of all the captain. Obi had been scrounging for supplies that the crew wasn't or wouldn't be using before they parted ways.

So wandering into the hangars, he spotted Sam sitting on a stack of crates. She tensed slightly at his entrance, eyes never straying from him as he walked around rummaging through bins and crates. Him knocking over a toolbox didn't exactly help. She didn't move to attack, content to scrutinize him from a distance. A rubberband ready to snap, anticipating hostility.

"Sorry about that," said Obi, once the loud clattering and clanging finally stopped. "Do you have any name we can call you off mission?"

"Do you?" Sam asked back.

Obi flashed a stilted smile that was all teeth. "No. Obi is just a shortened version of what the IPC called me. And that's slightly better than being called 'receptacle'."

"And what does the IPC call you?"

"Obliteration." His smile slipped as he explained. "I gained a bit of a reputation after I broke from the Legion, and I think they thought I was a Lord Ravager for a time. Don't know why. Ended up hiding out a scorched out husk of a world before Elio found me."

The flat, calculating stare continued, and Obi figured it was time for a change in tactics.

"Here," he said, shucking off his jacket, he tossed it to the side and stepped into the open area of the launch bay. "Let's have a dance-off. You and me."

Sam's eyes narrowed at him, confused. "What?"

"We didn't exactly get to conclude our previous match." He popped his neck and rolled his shoulders. "So let's have our tie-breaker. No armor, no weapons, just some good ol' fisticuffs to blow off some steam." He clapped his hands and began bouncing on his toes, fists raised. "Come on. You're going to drive yourself nuts like this. "

After a moment of consideration, she pushed herself off the crate, throwing her borrowed coat away. She had taken back one of her bodysuits, but was still wearing the combat boots.

"Rules of engagement?" she asked.

"Figure until first blood or tap-out. Fair?"

"Acknowledged."

The two combatants squared off and circled, while the pirates still following their routine had stopped and rushed to watch the spectacle about to unfold.

Her eyes followed the motions, almost unblinkingly.

And then she moved. Racing forward like an arrow loosed, she ducked under his opening swing, stepping into his reach and striking the inside of his elbow and then his slamming her palm against his chest, propelling her out of range again.

For such a small girl, she was disproportionately heavy. Best guess, compact, hardened muscles, and whatever cybernetics had been crammed into her frame.

Haymaker. Caught, twisted, and pulled down to a chop to the throat.

Catch the knee to the face, then her heel falling like an axe, crashing against his shoulder. When she kicked off into a flip, he seized her by the leg, swinging her around and around before throwing her through a stack of crates.

She twisted and rolled in the air, mitigating the crash, then rolled into the pile of debris. Then a crate came flying back, then another.

"No weapons," Obi lightly chided, batting away one that came too close.

"Not weapons," she retorted. "Obstacles."

A final crate was thrown, flying an inch or so from Obi's head. He dropped and swept his legs around as Sam darted at him again, jumping over the leg-sweep. A booted foot catching him across the face.

Rolling with the kick, Obi pushed off the ground and raised his arms in time to block a double blow to the sides of his head, then tackled Sam into a bear-hug. She twisted in his grip, elbowing him in the face, then again, loosening his hold long enough for her to slip out of reach.

No time left to recover before she kicked one of his legs out from under him, to which he retaliated by striking her in the abdomen. While she was winded, he rushed her, tackling her to the ground, and was rolled and thrown over. Both regained their footing, Sam adamantly refusing to double over before running in again.

She pushed off the ground and kicked up. This time, Obi caught it. Unfortunately, he did not see her follow-up. She pulled close, spinning around and throwing her weight against his head and shoulders, then yanked him down, smashing his face against her knee.

Obi grabbed her leg and flipped her over, which she flowed with, landing right on her feet again.

"Again with the face," Obi groaned.

"It's optimal to attack sensory organs. And joints."

"Ain't that a fact." Obi wiped his face, smiling. "Is this how the Iron Cavalry spars? If so, then I shouldn't be holding back as much."

The energy changed and charged around him, gold light emanating from the lines crawling up his neck.

Sam prepared to answer in kind, fire erupting off of her from and whipping around her arms.

The two warriors charged, preparing to meet in the middle-

"Both of you, stop at once."

Obi and Sam both halted mid-stride, muscles locking on Kafka's command. They were both in control of their mental faculties, but physically, they were directed to look up at the Devil Hunter sitting on the landing overlooking the hangar.

"Anything to say for yourselves?" she asked.

"Just a bit of stress relief, Kafka."

"So I can see." She paused, looking at the mess the two had made, amused. "And as much as I'm sure you would like to see the results, we don't need any hull breaches. And the life support is already questionable as is."

And then she was gone. The two combatants relaxed as they resumed control of their bodies.

"How about we call it a draw," said Obi. "Sam?"

Sam had already gone to collect her things. She stopped briefly at the door, slightly angling her head to look back at him.

"My wingmates called me 'Firefly'." And she slipped out of view.

"Firefly…" he repeated, rolling the syllables over his tongue, and smiled. "A pleasure to meet you."

[HSR]

Firefly had little else to occupy her time in transit. She couldn't remember the last time she had nothing clamoring for her attention between missions.

She joined the rest of the Stellaron Hunters in the landing bay to board shuttle to the Kestral. The cargo hold was packed with loads of loot and salvage they had collected from the Abaddon and the barge, leaving but a little room for the passengers.

"Where's Obi?" Kafka asked Sike.

The pilot lazily hung from the top of the cargo bay. "If the box of craft supplies I saw empty in his quarters is any indicator, likely setting glitter bombs."

"Elation?"

"So it would seem."

Before more commentary could be had, Obi jogged up to join the group, clapping his hands clean, purposefully shaking them away from the shuttle's loading ramp.

"And that's done."

Sike shook his head. "If you're quite finished, I believe we have some shore leave to see to."

[HSR]

The shift in gravity heralded their passing into a planetary atmosphere. Firefly winced as she jerked around in her seat harness.

"You good?" Obi asked. "It's disorienting at first, but it'll pass."

Firefly clenched and unclenched her hands. "We're deploying, but no mission has come in. No orders have been received. No duties or tasks have been assigned."

"Let me handle this, Obi," said Kafka, then cleared her throat. "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to acquire articles of clothing and costumes for blending in with society off-mission and during reconnaissance operations. Obi will be held in support of the main operation and Sike will be handling our transportation, both on- and off-world, and will be running a resupply task. We will regroup six hours into the mission, with extraction at nine hours in."

Firefly's pulse slowed and her skin settled. "Orders received." She sat up. "Initiating mission."

"Attention passengers," Sike announced, "we are now entering Rugar airspace, free port and capitol city Therrin. If you look out the window, you can see the riveting skyline as we make our descent."

Firefly relented and looked out the window to a sprawling urban center of brutalistic architecture, shaded in grays. The color came from the windows, and the gardens that seemed to cover everything, even climbing up the buildings. The skyscrapers rose in tiered citadels, almost like small towns packed together and atop one another, glittered in a rainbow of color as the sunset caught the colored planes of glass.

"Welcome to Therrin airspace, home of some of the largest botanical gardens in the known universe. The weather is currently mostly sunny with a pleasant 20 degrees."

"That sounds cold," said Firefly.

Obi looked over at her. "Really? That sounds downright pleasant."

"Wrong unit, kiddo."

"Be careful when opening the overhead bins, as cargo most definitely shifted during transit. Have a pleasant day, and thank you for flying Sike Airlines."

The docking clamps settled onto the hull with a loud thump, and the docking tube nestled against the airlock.

"One more thing," Kafka added, "Therrin isn't under the authority of the IPC, but that doesn't mean they don't have eyes on this place. And even if they aren't paying attention, there's plenty of bounty hunters lurking about here, and no small number of petty crooks looking to make it big. So do try and keep a low profile."

"Understood."

"The mission timer begins. We'll meet at the Hanging Gardens for dinner."

The Stellaron Hunters rose to disembark, proceeding out the docking tube, light pouring in as they stepped out into the terminal.

All around them were crowds offloading from their own crafts and making their way to the front end of the spaceport, motorized carts moving baggage and cargo to and fro, chatter filling the space where people did not.

So many people unbothered, unhurried. It was maddeningly inefficient.

A light chop by the side of Obi's hand pulled her back to the present.

"Not used to crowds, are you?" he asked.

"Not particularly."

"It's a bit overwhelming at first, but you'll get used to it."

"I can't remember setting foot on my own homeworld. I have images that I had scribed into my head, and there were some simulations that we went through, but it never looked so…alive."

Her squadron had seen the news footage, though. Everything had been tense, what with the Swarm evaporating almost entirely, and the rest of the Iron Cavalry was poised to defend Glamoth, and all their homeworld had for them was distrust, anger, and outright hatred.

The Empress had taken them away from the smoldering ruins and had never looked back.

"Well," said Sike. "Time's a-wasting. See you at dinner."

Kafka smiled. "Come along, you two. We have a lot of ground to cover and little enough time to get everything done."

[HSR]

Arriving at an upscale clothing store, Kafka immediately set them to work.

"Here. Let's start with the basics. I'm thinking earthy color palettes for the most part. Accents of teal and gold, maybe dashes of white rounding the ensemble out. See what you can find, Obi."

While the ex-Legionnaire went about his assigned task, Kafka saw Firefly measured and fitted. It was all rather tedious, but Kafka seemed to know what she was doing. Relished in it, too. Soon, a steady parade of outfits were gathered, tried on, evaluated, and were either discarded or carefully stowed away, leading to a cart full of wares and Firefly standing in a pair of shorts, tights, and a long-sleeved T-shirt and vest.

"How do you feel in this one?" Kafka asked.

"A little exposed and unarmored. But...it is comfortable."

"That's good to hear. Obi, what do you think?"

Obi leaned over into their aisle, squinting. "The short hair might be considered a detraction by some. Hm…" he went rummaging through stack of hair accessories he had gathered from earlier and pulled out a hairband. "With your permission?"

Firefly nodded, and let him set the accessory into place.

"There. If we can't do anything to change it, let's draw attention to it instead."

Firefly turned looked in the mirror again. The hairband made her look younger somehow.

"I think that's enough for now, and it's about time we meet up with Sike."

Eyes were drawn to Kafka as they walked down the street, even as they tried to avoid Obi's bulk in passing, all leaving Firefly mostly ignored in their wake.

Having spent some time analyzing her new squad's movements, she had come to note how confident each of the Stellaron Hunters were, and how it was expressed individually. Obi was a mountain, unaffected by wind or waves. Sike was more like a leaf on the wind, flitting about on the current without a care. Daring, was probably apt.

Kafka, on the other hand, seemed to lack any sort of hesitation. As if the very notion did not exist or apply to her. With as many avenues for attack there were, the idea that someone could step out and attack them at any moment didn't seem to bother her.

They met up with Sike at the restaurant, who had already secured a table ahead of time, so they neatly bypassed the line that had already begun stretching out for dinner hour.

Dinner itself was tense. The food was fine, certainly more than Firefly could ever have remembered eating on even the best days in mess. But it was all too difficult to focus on the food when their position was so exposed. Too many entry vectors. Windows, doors, thin walls that anyone could break through. Too many unknowns in the form of the other patrons.

Finally, she excused herself to make use of the facilities and clear her head. It gave her time to think away from the rest of the unit. Her pulse thundered in her ears, demanding action, but slowly came back under control.

When she left the washroom, she had to pass the bar to rejoin the others, and standing in her way was another patron.

As far as bystanders were concerned, he was plain. She did not like him. But he didn't immediately register "ally" or "hostile", leaving him in the nebulous zone of "non-combatant".

"Hey, there, sweetheart," he said, slouching to further take up space. "Care for a drink?"

He wasn't quite blocking her path, but he was making it inconvenient to push past him without initiating contact.

"I decline," said Firefly.

"Oh, don't be so harsh, missy. Can I at least have your name?"

Firefly began calculating the potential threat, and the possibility of any allies he might have at hand. Her fists clenched when he reached for her, but before violence could be had, Obi's hand fell on the interloper's shoulder, pushing him aside.

"Excuse me," he said. "We were looking for this one."

Firefly reluctantly let herself be led away. "That was unnecessary."

"Remember what Kafka said? Let's not make a scene."

"Should I forego the first strike?" Firefly inquired.

"No, but I couldn't have you flattening the man's head against the counter. Not everyone is as durable as I am, and it makes a mess. And that would have sparked trouble for our time here. Take it from someone with firsthand experience on that subject."

"…I see."

"You'll get the hang of it."

All of them looked at their phones as they beeped and buzzed.

"It seems we have our next script. Speaking of which, Sike? If you would be so kind."

Sike produced a phone, similar to the devices used by the rest of the team, and handed it to her.

"You can decorate it later, if you feel like it," he said.

Firefly acquainted herself with the device and saw a new message from Elio.

Enjoy the night on the town.

Tomorrow Amory-IV awaits

Dinner paid for, the four of them stepped out into the promenade near the restaurant, where they wandered around aimlessly, visiting stalls. Sike had Obi try on silly hats and glasses, the ex-Legionnaire stoically enduring the lunacy, even taking pictures.

Firefly saw little point in acquiescing the same, but tolerated it for the time being. A new mission was about to begin. These strange people, the alien notions they were trying to teach her, all fighting against a dozen directives and regulations. All of these past weeks feeling like she was holding her breath, and it was time to finally exhale.

A/N: Last bit of shore leave before the gang hits the trail again. Also, Kafka thinks it helps unit cohesion for everyone to be well-dressed.

Figure the big names dropped from Kafka's Myriad Celestia trailer will make an appearance in some form or fashion in this story. And speaking of trailers, I'll probably integrate a little of the Myriad Celestia for Firefly, but ultimately, I think I'll probably diverge a bit more than not. I will, however, update Firefly's service serial, though I prefer the idea of Firefly being the name of who she is rather than what she is.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Theories? Let me know with a PM or review. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Until next time!

Winterman, out.