Chapter Four: Take me out to the black

Firefly's eyes had adjusted to the relative darkness of the parking garage and sitting in the back bench of the van they had acquired for this mission. Clenching and unclenching her hands, she noted them to be more responsive, if only incrementally. It almost made the rest of the experience worth it, if only just.

She and Obi had been called into the Kestrel's infirmary. A decently stocked facility, although kind of cramped, and kept in fairly good shape. The feeling was mitigated courtesy of three treatment rooms, one of which was largely filled with something resembling a stasis pod.

"Hate to spring this on you," Kafka had started, "but one of the things Sike gathered were some interesting pieces of medical equipment."

"What is it?" Firefly asked.

"According the instruction manual, it is supposed to restore some lost entropy. It won't cure ELS, but it'll help mitigate the effects."

"I see." A stay of execution and nothing less. But the needs of the mission came first, as always. "Anything else I should be aware of in its application?"

"It's supposed to hurt like hell."

"I am accustom to pain."

Obi's fist lightly bumped against her shoulder, and said, "It lets you know you're alive."

"You should have some time to familiarize yourself with it before we arrive at Amory. We'll need you in your best shape for your big debut."

Letting the memories pass, Firefly drew another fortifying breath. Her nerves had settled, and the numbness that had followed had similarly faded to background levels. Pain had been an understatement. She would have preferred to have suffered in privacy, but that was simply not possible, and someone had to monitor her progress, and that someone had been Obi.

Feeling eyes on her, Firefly looked towards the front of the van and saw Sike's eyes reflected off of the rear view mirror.

"Are you good back there?" he asked.

"All systems remain functional," Firefly answered. "I am fit for combat action." She paused, and added, "I do not care much for the waiting, though."

"Don't worry. With the way things run in this outfit, there's bound to be more than a few bouts of excitement."

A pair of beeps echoed in the van, and Firefly pulled up her phone to see a message from Elio.

SAM is rapid response

Standby until the first key goes into play

Unleash hell while stepping into the spotlight

"What does yours say?" she asked.

"A time and a place to pick up the team. A sign when to withdraw." "It'll probably make more sense once Kafka and Obi arrive." He looked up. "Ah. How fortuitous."

Kafka had the lead, Obi following just slightly behind. Both were dressed in formal business wear, though Obi wore a mask more fit for a wrestler than a businessman. The pair of briefcases were set inside the van and the Stellaron Hunters loaded inside.

"Take us away, Sike," said Kafka.

"What's with the briefcases?" asked Firefly.

"An excellent question that leads right to the mission briefing.

She sent a pair of images to their phones. Both middle-aged men.

"Meet Doctor Chambers, Director of Antiquities and Mister Greyhawk, leader of one of the local crime syndicates. Both of them were acquainted during their academic days, and while Chambers went into archaeology, Greyhawk went into the business world. Unknown to most, they've maintained a strong correspondence in the form of smuggling artifacts and curios on- and off-world." "Our appointment is with the Director. A slight deviation from form, but one that on the surface seems reasonable."

"Do they know who you are?"

"In part. They've long maintained a distant partnership of sorts with Elio, namely by passing along Stellarons into our care. That appears to have changed. Now that we are more present in the eyes of the galactic community, they're raising their prices. Or so they've said.

Sike snorted. "It means they're going to sell us out for the bounty while taking their intended payment off of us before trying to turn us over to the authorities."

"When that happens, Mister Greyhawk is going to go to ground until the IPC's mercenaries deal with us."

"Why not strike first?" asked Firefly.

"Because they think they have the upper hand," Obi explained. "And because of that, they're liable to divulge more information in that position. Besides, a trap that is known is hardly a trap at all, especially when you have a means to slip it. They'll be focusing on us, thinking us contained, so when the first shots are fired, panic will be the order of the day."

"And both of them are too involved in their affairs to preemptively withdraw without reason, and any time they need to run into hiding is time for us to catch up to them."

"There are two objectives of critical importance, a pair of passkeys. Both need to be recovered in a window measured in six minutes, otherwise they both go into lockdown and clear access until their security heads can get around to programming in the new ones."

"Obi and I will make contact with Director Chambers. Mister Greyhawk will be the subject of our new member, SAM."

"Understood. Rules of engagement?"

"Focus on the objective and recovering it intact. Any collateral is acceptable, so long as you don't go out of your to cause it." The van pulled to a stop in front of a large "And here we are."

Obi nodded, and said, "See you in a few."

Firefly watched the duo hop out of the van and then settled in as Sike peeled away from the curb.

They had a timetable to keep.

[HSR]

Obi took in the scene around him.

A courtyard that would have seem downright bureaucratic in aesthetic if not attached with the seven-story office building of rusty-red bricks that looked more like an over-sized manor. Everything about the front lawns were mathematically precise in their placement, directing eyes to this sculpture or that awning.

"How are you handling your latest lessons?"

"It's a little tricky, having to be the one to explain the plans and reasoning. But it's also helping some of it make more sense."

"That's pleasing to hear. I'm sure the rest of it will come to you in time."

Proceeding through the doors, they were hit with a wave of cool, dry air. The entryway opened all the way up to the third floor, with balconies looking down. A cafe overlooked form the second floor on one side, a study area on the opposite side, and then a library dominating the third floor. What he could see of the map, the first floor was home mainly to a pair of auditoriums and assorted classrooms.

Towards the back of the atrium, flanked by a pair of elevator bays, was a circular desk where a mousy woman with muddy brown hair and eyes with a pair of glasses sat. Engrossed as she was with her work, she didn't notice their arrival until Kafka cleared her throats. When she looked up, a shiver of terror visibly crawled up her spine. .

"We have an appointment with Director Chambers," Kafka announced.

"I s-see," the secretary stuttered. "I will let him know you've arrived."

While the secretary called the Director's office, Obi surveyed the room. The mask alone should have made them a sight worthy of attention, but most of the room looked as though they were doing their level best to avoid eye-contact. Or any sign they were paying attention to the newcomers.

"The Director will see you now," the secretary informed them, barely maintaining professionally level tone. "Please proceed to the elevator. I will clear you to the penthouse. He will see you shortly."

"Much appreciated."

Kafka and Obi glanced at each other as the elevator doors closed. Now would be the best time for an ambush, but none was forthcoming, and the ding announcing them at the seventh floor ushered them into the yawning chasm of the Director's office. Unlike the rest of the building, every inch was made of contrasting colors and modern style furniture. Abstract art was the trend for paintings, sculptures, and the furniture.

Chambers' guards watched their every move as they loitered in the receiving area, Kafka merely smiling at their vigilance until the Director emerged from the penthouse suite.

"I do apologize for the delay," he said, neatly seating himself behind the desk. "I hope we can settle matters amicably on account of our mutual friend."

"That would depend on your answers, dear Director," Kafka replied. "Mister Greyhawk has been rather reluctant to speak with us as of late, and that we're speaking to you instead, one might think he's getting cold feet."

"Things aren't that simple. Local law enforcement has been cracking down on any kind of illegal dealings, and then there's the IPC taking a greater role in managing planetary affairs. I assure you, nothing untoward is at play."

"That was much the same thing your partner said before he stopped returning our calls."

"The IPC offered a better deal."

"Is that so? Whatever did they offer that surpassed the benefits you were receiving?"

"In that we don't need to worry about the aforementioned law enforcement. They also have seen fit to give us the reward money one you are safely behind bars. Not an inconsiderable sum, as you should already be aware." He looked over their shoulders, and commanded, "Security, please take the Stellaron Hunters into custody. I'm sure the IPC would like to have a few words, and I'm sure our accommodations will be satisfactory until we can arrange for a transfer."

The four closest to them approached, but instead of moving to detain Kafka and Obi, they instead raised their weapons at the Director.

Chambers looked at the security guards. "What are you doing?"

"The situation at hand is even less simple than you might think. Before we get to that, there is one particular detail that needs addressing. Your passkey. Where is it?"

A gun pressed against the Director's jugular loosened his lips. "I transferred it to my secretary this morning!"

Her smile remained, and became sharper. "She's making a run for it right now, isn't she?"

"Uh…yes?"

"Obi, do be a dear and recover our fleeing acquaintance."

"You've got it, Kafka." Obi armored up and proceeded to walk through the wall, tearing through the reinforced walls as if they were styrofoam. And then the next, before bursting out to the balcony.

Kafka stood, tracing her fingers along the desk as she closed the distance between her and the patsy. "Now, I do believe we have some finer points on our arrangement that need discussion…"

[HSR]

Skidding to the edge of the balcony, Obi searched the campus grounds and saw the nondescript sedan pulling away. It shouldn't have stood out, in fact, they appeared to be following all traffic laws as they began proceeding to the freeway.

He keyed his radio, and said, "Target One is on the move. SAM, be ready for deployment."

"Understood."

His mask was replaced with his helm and leapt down to the courtyard, barreling down the street in pursuit.

The squeal of tires told him they had spotted him.

Before crashing to the delivery truck as it crossed through the intersection.

Landing on the hood of the car, squishing it under his weight before he lightened his gravity field and dug his hands into the roof of the car. The airbags had deployed, knocking out the driver for the moment. The secretary was still awake, staring up at him in terror as he stepped down and dropped to a crouch, nearly putting him face to face with her.

"Excuse me," he said, as lightly as he could, "I believe you have something of mine."

[HSR]

"Target One is acquired. The window is now open."

Already in flight, Firefly swooped down towards the target car. A secondary message from Elio had offered a brief description, and the point of acquisition. All that remained was securing the objective before the window closed.

First: separate the target from allies.

Clamping to the car, Firefly wrenched the door free, and then seized Greyhawk and yanked him from the car before dropping back with her target, all but throwing him onto the sidewalk. Onlookers quickly began screaming and fleeing for safety while she looked on her quarry.

He looked exactly as he had in the pictures. Mostly. His arm was missing, the remaining stump bleeding profusely. The objective he was supposed to be carrying was nowhere to be found. Firefly looked after the car that was still racing away.

"What do you want?!" Greyhawk shrieked, curling up against the fence to a nearby park.

"Your Passkey."

Ignoring Greyhawk's pleas for help, Firefly launched herself back into the air and resumed her pursuit.

Summoning a sword, she just ahead of the fleeing car and threw it like a javelin, the point driving into the pavement just in time to catch the bumper and cleave through the car like wax. The last-ditch attempt to swerve out of the way only made the bisected vehicle tumble and spin. The objective, and the arm still attached to it was thrown clear into the air.

Thrusters burning, Firefly launched herself to intercept, carving a pair of furrows along the road when she landed. The case was snapped open, and the passkey removed.

"Objective acquired. Proceeding to the rendezvous."

[HSR]

The warehouse was plain as they came, and registered to a fishing company that had no business operating in a landlocked metropolitan area, it could only be by design. Obi wanted to laugh. It was blatantly bland it should have been obvious to any casual investigation. Then again, you had to be looking there in the first place to see what was wrong.

Finding a large freight elevator hidden in the middle also helped blow any sense of concealment away.

A burst from above heralded the arrival of the last member, and Obi began making his way to the elevator.

"Just in time."

SAM's entrance was as much as could be anticipated, melting through the roof to make a three-point landing on the concrete floor. She quickly strode over to Kafka and handed her component of the operation to her.

Descending into the lower level, they were confronted with a large vault. The keys were inserted, and Kafka counted off.

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

With a loud hiss, the vault door pulled back and rolled aside, and the Stellaron Hunters strolled inside.

Forming a U-shape were four tiers of shelving, holding all manner of materials and items. Their placement here likely hinted at some kind of importance, but the center of the vault was where there prize was at.

Seated on a pedestal were four Stellarons, each sealed separately in sealed canisters with robust containment fields.

"Who leaves such hazardous materials in such a state of vulnerability?" SAM wondered, aloud.

"Not as vulnerable as it looks. Those containment field have their own independent batteries that would last long enough for a generator to kick in, or until it could be safely relocated. These guys do trade these things. And let's not to mention their rather intricate security arrangement."

"The ceiling could easily be breached by a simple mining drill."

Obi smirked, and said, "We'll get you thinking like a criminal yet."

"We can critique their methods later," Kafka mused, snagging a few jeweled necklaces from their cases. "For now, let's get the goods before the welcoming committee gets their act together."

Grabbing a nearby cart, they threw their purloined goods and made their way back to the elevator.

"Did you get to make any snappy one-liners?" Obi asked SAM.

"No."

"Did you run into any trouble?"

"If any further issues arrived, I would have communicated them. I extracted Greyhawk from his vehicle while it was in motion. Regrettably, his arm, and the objective, did not leave the vehicle with him."

"Aw…really? That would have been perfect moment! You have a foe who's just lost his arm, and you walk up to him and say, 'looks like you need a hand'."

SAM stared at him, the mask doing little to convey any kind of emotion.

"That would both inefficient and distracting. Your mental faculties are best suited for remaining vigilant for enemy action."

"Please tell me its a lack of humor and not a lack of understanding."

"I do not find your attempts at humor amusing."

"Well, I guess that's something we can work on later."

A land crunch saw Obi look down at a large metal spike protruding from his chest.

"And there's our welcoming committee now," said Kafka, and called out, "Hostiles on roof to the south."

"I see them," SAM answered

A second bolt shot threw the building, SAM catching this one and returning into assailant that had fired it, demolishing the sniper's perch, and likely any accompanying fighters.

The van squealed into the warehouse, side door open for Kafka to hop right in while Obi and SAM finished off

"There'll be more of them soon," said Sike. "Everyone load up so we can get out of here."

SAM immediately dismissed her armor, leaving enough room for Obi to clamber in. Sirens were already approaching by the time had pulled away, but they were ignored as they drove off to the spaceport.

Obi leaned into his seat and dismissed his helmet. "By the way, SAM? That was pretty awesome back there. And thanks for not saying 'I told you so'." When Firefly failed to respond, he he looked over and noticed Firefly staring at the metal spike, and he looked down to inspect the damage. "Don't worry. It looks pretty bad, but it didn't hit anything important. Can't feel a thing." He reached up and wrenched the offending object free. "Still kind of cumbersome, though."

"Where to next, Kafka?" asked Sike.

Kafka smiled and pulled out a pair of tickets. "How does the Attouine Universal Auction sound?"

"Where did you get those?"

"Courtesy of Director Chambers."

Obi mirrored Kafka's expression, and said, "At least we're ready for a black-tie event."


A/N: Amory-IV gets its name from the series of concept albums by Coheed and Cambria, and also a comic book series, detailing the Amory Wars. Good Apollo I'm Burning just happened to be one of the things I was listening to while writing this chapter, hence the naming scheme.

While coming up with the design of this particular "stage", I generally had English manors and some bits of the New England area as the inspiration. If visualization was proving difficult, try going through it again with that in mind.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Theories? Gratuitous errors I missed because I was trying to finish this before the 2.3 update finished? Let me know with a PM or review. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Until next time!

Winterman, out.