Split Seconds
A convoy of armored vehicles zooms through the damp highway leading to Titan City. Clouds of mist kick up in their wake, their industrial headlights slicing a path through the dark, dreary night. The only other light comes from reflective road paint, signs, the city on the horizon, and the occasional flash of lightning.
The driver in the center transport, a young man in thick body armor with buzzed hair, gripes about the weather. "Why in the hell would anyone live here? Been here a week, and it's rained every single damn day." He took this job thinking it would be easy. Sure, it's a security job, but that only makes it look dangerous at first glance. No one is actually dumb enough to knock over an armored convoy.
His partner in the passenger seat draws a drag from a simulated cigarette. It leaves no smoke behind, instead releasing fake tobacco fumes directly into the user's mouth from a combination of synthesized chemicals. He's older, with a thick black beard, wearing a cap proudly bearing the security company's logo. "Political BS. No one actually wants to live here. It's a tax haven for corporate cheats."
"No shit? How do I get a deal like that?"
"Make a couple billion credits and call yourself an LLC. I bet most of the bigwigs who set up business on Calderana never actually set foot here. It's all middle managers, white-collar shmucks, and mercenaries looking to make a fortune on the edge of space. Benefits of doing business on a partial Federate."
"What? Wait, if no one but office-job assholes live here, why hire an armored convoy for a bunch of blank chips?" He glances back through the slats of the reinforced cabin wall at their cargo; black cases of industrial computer silicon.
The older man shrugs. "Security theater. I don't care. I'm getting paid."
As their conversation ends, the driver zones out, listening to the radio.
"-the suspect is still at large. Local police have requested the intervention of the Federation Army to help track down his whereabouts. Investigators have locked down Miranda spaceport while they dismantle the-"
"Sounds like some scumbag got the police riled up. Think the boss will charge more for service now?"
The older man nods, taking another drag. "'Course he will. He'll quote 'dangerous times' or some bullshit. Doesn't change the fact we're getting paid the same."
Something in the driver's mirror catches the young man's attention. The rear guard's headlights swerve a few times, then go out. "Hey, something's up with Wallace. Radio 'em real quick."
The other man grumbles and forces himself to sit up, pressing some buttons on the dash. "Wallace, what's up? Your lights went out."
There's no answer. He tries again.
"Wallace, quick dicking around. What's going on?"
Still nothing. The two men glance nervously at one another.
Two heavy thumps hit each door, followed by the sound of mechanical whirring and crunching metal. "What the hell was that?" The younger man looks out the door, but can't see anything in the pitch black. A flash of lightning illuminates a hover speeder with its lights off racing alongside their vehicle, along with the vague shapes of a driver and rider on the back. In that brief flash, he thinks he sees the rider holding a rifle. "Shit, I think we're being raided!"
The older man gets back on the radio to notify the lead vehicle. "Lead, we are being attacked from behind!"
There's still no answer. The vehicle ahead of them doesn't drop speed. More thumps hit the armored truck, followed by the sound of something climbing up each side. Sparks fly from the cargo cabin's ceiling.
The driver panics. "I'm stopping the truck!"
"No!" his senior barks, "We don't know how many there are! Keep going, flash your headlights!" He pulls a blaster from his side and unbuckles his seatbelt. He tries to open the passenger door, but it won't give. "What the hell? Why won't this open?"
"Open the window!" the driver says, alarm making his voice crack. He flashes his headlights on and off, and the vehicle ahead of him starts to slow and change lanes.
"They don't open all the way, you idiot! It's an armored truck!"
The sparks in the cabin stop, and someone drops into it from a freshly made hole in the roof. A slightly-oversized brown, hooded cloak and red-tinted goggles obscure their features. The guards stare in disbelief at the intruder through the slat in the cabin wall. The raider gives them a grin and two-fingered salute, sparks a handheld cutting torch, and begins slicing the bands securing the cargo cases. Once one is free, he tosses it up through the hole.
The driver panics more. "What the hell man, what the hell?!"
"Calm down! He's not going anywhere!" The escort vehicle pulls up alongside them. Its driver glances up at something on top of the truck's roof. His expression does not inspire confidence. A loud BANG precedes a web of electricity arcing over the front of the escort, and it rapidly decelerates, falling behind as its lights dim.
The older guard curses and jams his blaster in the slot of the cabin wall, opening fire on the thief. He holds up one of the armored cases to protect himself and dives for the dividing wall, under the guard's aim. The guard stupidly sticks his blaster through the slot to get a better angle, and the thief quickly yanks it from his hand, tossing it away.
The guard curses. "Give me yours!" he says, stretching his hand out to the driver.
The younger guard struggles to handle the steering wheel and grab at his holster at the same time, and in his flustered state, wrenches the steering wheel. The hover mechanism loses traction on the wet road, sending them skidding into a steel barrier. As the armored truck crashes to a stop, airbags deploy, filling the driver's cabin with fine dust.
The sudden halt slams the thief into the cabin wall. His head impacts the cabin wall, sending his vision spinning. The weight of his task still present in his mind, he quickly shakes himself off and grabs a case. "Hey! You okay up there?" he calls to his partner above. No response.
He glances through the slot at the guards, still groaning in pain, then climbs up to the top of the vehicle.
He can't see her anywhere. Sirens carry on the air over the sound of pouring rain, and flashing lights close in the distance. Two bikes draw up next to the wreck, one with a lanky driver, the other short. The tall driver yells up at him, "We have to go!"
The thief doesn't see his partner on the back of either bike. "Where is Le-" He catches himself just short of making a dangerous mistake. "Where's Fox?"
The driver looks around the dark road. "She's not with you?!"
Damn it. She probably got thrown from the top of the truck. He told her to keep a grip with the magnet clasp. He doesn't see their haul either.
The sirens are uncomfortably close now. The other driver shouts at him. "Shrike! We have to go!"
He scowls and descends with the single case in hand, mounts the back of the bike, and they turn around, speeding in the opposite direction of the incoming GFP patrol cars. Shrike looks over his shoulder and sees their lights sweep over Fox just as she limps past the treeline by the side of the road.
Whether she makes it is on her now.
000
Samus hasn't left the captain's chair since they changed course for Lirahad. Crystal-blue eyes scan over the distress signal they intercepted, pouring over every detail of the frequency, looking for some kind of clue to who sent it.
Several holographic screens float above her station, dispensing technical information and dissecting the signal, laying its aural tissues bare. She's alone on the bridge, having dismissed the rest of the crew when they proved too distracting for her to focus. Nothing keeps her company save for the digital clicks of her work and the low hums of automated systems.
The Federation towed Lirahad out of the Herelia system months ago, its population evacuated in the aftermath of what happened there. A quick extranet search confirmed that hasn't changed. It's still classified as a hazard zone, off limits to civilians. The Federation doesn't intend to move it back to occupied space until it's been incident-free for at least another standard year.
The route the Crosshair took out of Saleni Beta is unusual for civilian craft. In the hours of FTL travel since lifting off, they've moved into uninhabited space. It's not surprising that someone else hasn't picked up and answered the distress beacon; they'd never fly within its range taking typical travel or shipping routes. The nature of a baby's cry signal is to be loud and unguarded, literally a cry for help from anyone nearby, even hostiles. It's only used when the person issuing it is in a desperate predicament.
It could be anyone. It could be a looter trying to strip the station of any valuables left behind, trapped in a critical situation. It could be a trap set up by anti-Federation militants of any kind, hoping to lure in a patrolling vessel.
It could be him.
No. No, it couldn't. Don't even think that, she tells herself. There's no point in getting her hopes up. Cernan is gone. The dead don't come back.
Adam's voice pulls her from her thoughts, speaking from the bottom of the captain's ramp. "Samus, it's been twenty hours since you last slept, and you took on a mission today. You need rest."
She shakes her head. "I'm fine." Samus turns her chair to face him, pausing in consideration. Adam came back. He's right there, talking to her now, his presence contradicting her doubts. No. That's not the same. "We're only a few hours from Lirahad. I need to stay appraised of any intel that comes in."
"I'll notify you of anything that happens. You need to sleep. The crew needs you alert once we land," Adam says.
Samus takes another long look at the frequency readout on her console. Nothing new stands out to her. She sighs and gets up from her chair. "Fine. But the moment you learn something new, you come get me, understand?"
He nods, letting her pass.
Samus staggers back to her quarters and falls face-first into her mattress without bothering to remove her uniform. She's exhausted, but can't shut her brain off.
It could be him. It could be him.
000
Shrike marches into the warehouse he and his gang call home, tossing his goggles across the room in disgust and shaking off his hood. His proud crest of spiked, blue-tipped hair explodes from its release, pointing upward.
His crew converted this industrial building into their hideout, metal walls bearing racks of tools, trophies from their misadventures, and wrinkled photos of the team. Near the door is a collection of couches and a large, slightly askew television hung on the wall. Arranged in front of large industrial shutters are several makeshift maintenance pits for their bikes. Black stains of grease dot the floor, evidence of their constant work, and the smell of oil mixes with the air.
A tall figure clad head to toe in an industrial jumpsuit glances up from his work on a bike through a round, black-tinted visor, complete with a filter mask. He speaks, his voice muffled behind the full faceplate. He fumbles for a button on the side of the mask, and his voice comes through a dusty speaker set into its mouth, somewhat warped in the transition. "How'd the magnetic gear work out for you?"
Shrike slams their haul, a lonely, singular case, on a worktable.
"That bad, huh?" He cocks his head over his shoulder, mumbling something under his breath.
Behind Shrike, the two remaining members of the heist crew race to match his angry pace. The tallest one reaches out to grab his shoulder, but he shakes it off. "Don't touch me right now!"
"Jack, chill!" The rider pulls off his helmet, addressing Shrike by his real name. "We'll find her! Levonne's smart, she's not gonna get nabbed!" The rider is taller and thinner than Jack, with dark skin and pale, near-white eyes. He unzips his jacket, letting the wrinkled tan jumpsuit beneath breathe.
"We don't know that, Dim! For all we know, they've got her in a cell right now!" Jack spits.
The second driver adds her voice to the conversation. Her tone is cool and detached. "And blowing up about it is going to solve what?" She lets down her hood and pulls off her helmet, releasing a messy mane of purple hair, pointed ears and pale blue skin. Taking off her jacket reveals a loose tank top splattered with neon paint colors. She's easily the most colorful member of the crew. Heavy makeup darkens her eyes and lips. "Let's give it a day. If we haven't heard from her by then, we'll start looking."
Jack is unconvinced. "You're not always right about everything, Kris! I'm going now." He strips off his long brown duster and grabs a hotrod-red jacket off of an old, beat-up couch, jamming his arms through it. His lean, toned proportions complement his fiery attitude.
Kris glares and stomps up behind him in heavy boots. "Haven't you ever heard of returning to the scene of a crime? The FPs are gonna be all over that crash!"
"They won't know it's me," Jack insists.
Dim points out what should be obvious. "Won't stop them from taking you in for questioning, anyway. You pull up on a bike and any of the witnesses there could point you out."
Jack ignores his friend's flawless logic. "Old man Servo! I'm taking your bike!" he calls out to the jumpsuited mechanic.
The mechanic gets up from his work, a beautiful chrome hover speeder, tricked out with goodies even Jack can't begin to understand. Again, the mechanic's voice gets deafened by the thick mask.
Jack gestures to the side of his neck. "You gotta press the button, old-timer."
Servo raises a finger to the red button. "She's good to ride, but don't mess with any controls you don't recognize."
As Jack moves toward it, Kris stands in his way, arms spread wide. "You need to listen to us! We need to get this stuff fenced before-"
A chime in Jack's pocket cuts the argument short. The three fall quiet as he pulls an old-model handipad out. Jack looks at them and nods. "Hello?" He feigns a cheery tone, aware he's probably being recorded.
A familiar female voice speaks on the other end, matching his deceptive energy. "Hey cuz, it's Alex. I know it's late and miserable out, but could you come pick me up from the GFP precinct in Titan City?"
"The police station?" He feigns surprise. "What'd you do?"
"I didn't do anything! I got grabbed off the roadside. Apparently, some bullshit happened on the highway tonight and they wanted to question me. So anyway, can you come help me out? They're all done with me, and I just need a ride back to my place."
He glares at the other two, maintaining his fake tone. "Yeah, sure. I'll be right there." The call ends.
"See?" Dim says with an open hand, "Just needed to wait a little."
"Whatever. Get the chips sold. I'm going to pick her up," Jack dismisses. He turns to their mechanic. "Still gonna need your bike, old man! Grab the others and bring them in while you're at it."
000
It's always raining on Calderana. It's disgusting. Makes excellent cover for their work, but still, Jack can't wait to be anywhere else. As he speeds along the highway toward the heart of the city, every drop against his body feels like a little hand trying to hold him back. He'd give anything to feel the unimpeded wind against his chest.
Grey buildings loom closer as he weaves between traffic, standing in cold judgment of the young man. Even as he watches the lights of surrounding vehicles, eyes ahead, planning his next movement, he can feel the monoliths watching him.
This score was supposed to be what gets them out of debt and off this rock. Two cases per person would have been more than enough. They've got one. If that goddamn guard hadn't been such a reckless driver, they wouldn't have lost them.
Doesn't matter. One more job, one good job, and they're set. Fix up the ship, set course for a core planet, then get work as mechanics or some shit. The simple life. No danger, no more broken bones, no more debt collectors.
He pulls up in front of the police department just as the rain slows to a drizzle. Levonne sees him through the window and comes out to meet him.
Jack can't help but feel his heart go aflutter. There she is, the most gorgeous girl in the galaxy! Long, straight, black hair, curves that make a man sing, and the most badass sense of style this side of the Transgalactic Veil. She's wearing a textured purple dress and heeled black boots; her decoy outfit in case something happened. Must have ditched her job gear somewhere.
Her smile lights up the moment he sees her. "Hey-"
She's interrupted by a cop right on her tail as she walks out the door. "What's your name?" the pig demands.
Despite being sorely tempted to tell them to fuck off, Jack stays polite for the sake of the cover. He takes off his helmet and gives a fake smile. "Rodrigo, but my friends call me Rod. What happened, cuz?"
The officer doesn't let her answer. "We picked her up on the side of I-53. That's a nice bike," she says, glaring at the polished silver frame between his legs. "You know anything about an incident that occurred on that highway tonight?"
"No, officer," he says with practiced geniality, "I've been home all night. This weather is too awful to go out in."
"Didn't stop your cousin."
"Alex" rolls her eyes. "Like I said, I went clubbing and my date ditched me on the side of the road when I wouldn't give him a handjob. I still wanna press charges over that, by the way!"
The cop scoffs and crosses her arms. "It's not illegal to ask someone for a handjob, or to get out of your car. It is illegal to walk on the side of the highway. Get out of here before I fine you for it."
Jack gives a fake wave to the officer as she goes back into the station. "Good night, officer!" His wave transitions to a middle finger as the doors close. He offers Levonne his helmet. "Come on. Let's get the fuck out of here."
Levonne throws her leg over the back of the bike, pulling in close and wrapping her arms around his midsection. Mm, that always sends a tingle up his back. They speed off into the city.
"How'd we do on the take?" she shouts over the air rushing past.
He deflects. "Fuck that, how are you doing? You hurt?"
She squeezes him tighter. "I'm fine. Took a tumble, but I was wearing a helmet and leathers. Like you should. Now what's the haul?"
He grimaces. "… one."
"Fuck. Not worth it. He doesn't take partial payments."
"We'll be fine. Kris will find a buyer willing to pay big. And we'll work another job. We still have a week left."
000
Samus shields her eyes from the bright summer rays. It's a gorgeous day for a picnic. The sun is shining, long-hair squirrels play in the trees, and there isn't so much as a shadow of a ship hanging in the sky. Everything in the distance is hazy and undefined, yet it feels so familiar.
Samus appreciates the warmth of daylight on her skin. She breathes the fall air in, then suddenly coughs. That's odd, it's such a lovely day. Why does she smell ash and smoke?
She feels a comforting squeeze around her hand and looks to her left. "Come on, we're already running behind!" Cernan grins back at her, pushing her onward. He's just as she remembers him; messy blonde hair pointing in every direction, scruffy facial hair, and those beautiful green eyes.
Then comes the same loving squeeze of the hand on her other side. She already knows who it is.
Ian matches Cernan's energy. "Don't want to let everyone down!" She'd almost forgotten how handsome he is. Short brown hair, a nice, square jawline, well-defined muscles that press against his shirt. He's almost too perfect. Their combined positivity is so infectious it even gets to her.
The two men pull her along enthusiastically, sweeping her up in their energy. She lets them take her, happy to shed the heavy shell she's so often forced to bear. They pull her toward a clearing several other people have already claimed.
Adam and Old Bird converse nearby, pausing as Samus and her boys approach the gathering. "Ah, you're late," Old Bird notes with a familiar, weathered smile. The grey in his feathers is more pronounced than the last time she saw him. His tall beak is that same dull grey; she recognizes some scratches along its surface. Even for the aged, dying Chozo race, he's practically ancient. Yet a spark of rebellious spirit still twinkles in his inquisitive orange eyes.
"We can't finish everything by ourselves. Going to need you to pick up the slack, lady," Adam says with an uncharacteristic smile. He looks so sharp and handsome in his uniform. He's clean shaven, bearing that same square jawline as his younger brother, and his black hair is picture perfect cut-to-regulation, appropriate for an officer of his station.
"All right," she says, "Take me to the chef." She giggles as she's pulled along.
Cernan and Ian lead her over to a small grill nearby, sending up a black plume of smoke. Something about the smell is anything but appetizing. The scent of ash and smoke gets stronger the closer Samus gets. Two figures, their shapes somewhat nebulous, come into definition as she draws closer.
Rodney and Virginia Aran turn to face her, instantly happy to see their daughter. The feeling is mutual, as Samus rushes forward and throws her arms around them. "Whoa!" her father exclaims. "When did you get so tall? You're like a whole other person!"
"I can't even recognize you!" her mother comments.
Both of them reflect her, a combination of familial features plain between them at a glance. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed. Both are beautiful in their own ways. Yet… they look entirely too young to have a child as old as Samus. In fact, they look almost the same age as their daughter.
But she doesn't care. She hugs them both tight, arms shaking. There's a desperation to it that doesn't quite fit the moment. She doesn't want to let go. It's as though at any moment, they'll slip right out from under her.
The sun beams down on the joyful family reunion, warm and loving. Then hot. Then burning.
Something is wrong.
Samus lets them go and turns around. The sun has fallen, not past the horizon but right down to the earth at their feet. Everyone else stares directly into it, but Samus has to shield her eyes from the overwhelming brightness.
"Well, it's just about time, isn't it?" Old Bird muses.
Samus' father gives her a quick hug and passes her. Her mother kisses her on the cheek and joins him, hand in hand, as they walk toward the fallen star. Samus calls after them, "Wait, I don't understand. What is it time for?"
She watches as they draw closer to the blazing sun, perfectly content.
And they burst into flames.
Samus lunges toward them to pull them away, but she feels something snag her legs, rooting her in place. "Let go of me!" she demands. At first she assumes it's Cernan and Ian, trying to keep her from getting hurt. But as she looks down, she sees myriad metal gauntlets sprouting from the ground, grasping her legs, binding her in place. Most are yellow, orange, or purple, though some break from this standard. She recognizes every one of the steel hands.
Samus looks back up in time to see her parents collapse into piles of ash.
Ian gives her a pat on the shoulder and a carefree smile, and starts walking toward the fallen star. "Ian! Get back here right now!" she demands. "Didn't you just see what happened?!"
He ignores her, and crosses the point of no return, catching aflame.
As his ashes join her parents, Old Bird moves. "No, you know better. You know everything! What are you doing?" she cries out. It makes no sense, he's too smart for this! She strains against the hands holding her, but they multiply, more of them tying her down.
Soon, even wise Old Bird gets consumed in cosmic flame.
Adam walks after him. Tears stream down Samus' face. Her voice cracks as she begs. "Adam, please, don't do this! You don't have to do this!"
He turns to look back at her, now in the familiar Federation Army blue armor. He gives her a thumbs up. "Finish the mission, Lady." Then he takes one more step and bursts into flame.
Samus can feel what's coming. She turns to grab hold of Cernan's arm as he passes her, but it crumbles in her grip, breaking off and turning to gray dust in her hands. She chokes, sobs, and pleads incoherently as he moves out of her reach, collapsing to the ground as the armor holds her in place. Samus reaches out, trying to get through to him, trying to make him stop. "Cernan…! Please…!"
He doesn't even look back as he walks directly into the blazing sun. Then, all at once, it vanishes.
When it goes, it takes all light with it. Samus can't see the ground beneath her or the world around her. She can only see herself. The disembodied gauntlets vanish, finally allowing her to move.
But she can't. How can she? Why would she? What point is there now? She curls into a ball on the ground, weeping quietly into her knees.
A hissing, otherworldly voice echoes from the surrounding blackness. "Sad, so, so sad. They're all gone."
She can hear it, lurking and stalking in the dark, circling her.
"But don't worry, Samus. You're not alone. I'll be there. I'm always right behind you."
A massive, boney, curled violet claw tightens around her.
000
Samus awakens with a start. Her eyes dart over to her bedside clock; only three hours since she went under.
The stark walls of her quarters ground her once more. Familiar, organized, calm. Taking a deep breath, she steadies herself. She's fine, everything is fine. She's in control again.
She groggily stands up and straightens out her uniform before leaving her room.
On the other side of the deck, the door to Arrande's room opens just as she exits. They both freeze. "What are you doing up?" Samus asks.
He walks down the shallow stairs to the main catwalk, appraising her. "Samus… are you okay? You look exhausted."
"I'm fine." She comes down to the same level, trying to pass him on the way to the bridge.
His arm shoots out and grabs her. She whips around and glares down at the offending hand, then up at him, getting him to release her without a word. It doesn't stop him from speaking his mind. "Respectfully, no, you aren't. The others don't know any better, but I know you've been to Lirahad before. That's where Cernan was trying to get to last year, before it became the site of some kind of disaster."
Samus turns away from him. "Go back to your room, Arrande."
"It's my shift on the bridge. I'm worried about you, Samus."
She gives him a look over her shoulder, cold as ice. "Captain."
That single word stabs into his chest, drawing a familiar pain. He swallows and straightens his posture, the warmth and concern draining from his expression. "… Captain."
Samus turns around and stalks onto the bridge. "You're relieved. Go to your quarters."
000
Jack sleeps best with Levonne in his arms. It doesn't matter where they are. She's everything he needs. Holding her to his chest, he snores away on the old couch in the hideout, a leg and arm draped over the edge of the cushions. Similarly, Levonne finds peace with her ear pressed to his chest, soothed by the rumble of his breathing, the gentle rhythm of his heart.
Kris and Dim sleep in makeshift hammocks drawn up against the walls. A morning storm makes for a hypnotic backdrop of white noise, lulling them into the pleasant embrace of a late morning spent sleeping in.
That peace gets shattered as the metal door to their haven gets kicked in. Everyone jolts awake as two broad-shouldered goons force their way in, a blonde human in a gaudy pink suit, the other a taller black man in teal, wearing shades.
Jack immediately starts spewing expletives. "Hey, the fuck is wrong with you?! Get the hell out of here!"
The two ignore his protests. "Where's our money?" the one in pink demands.
"If you wanted your money, why'd you kick the door in?! You don't have to be a dick!"
Pink suit grabs him by his hair and drags him off the couch, tossing him into the TV and shattering it. Levonne tumbles to the ground.
Kris and Dim struggle out of their hammocks, grabbing wrenches and pipes off the floor. Teal suit stops them cold when he draws a blaster from inside his jacket and trains it on them.
Pink suit yanks Jack up by his shirt. A stream of blood drips down the young man's face from a cut on his forehead. The thug's expression is utterly taciturn, stating in no uncertain terms that this is nothing more than a job to him. "Don't mouth off. Where's our money?"
"Wha- we still have a week! What the hell?!" Jack protests. His impudence gets answered with a fist in his gut. His vision swims as he gasps for air.
"Boss says money is due today, so it's due today. I don't know what deal you made, not my problem."
"We're looking for a buyer!" Kris cries out, on the verge of tears. Both thugs look at her. "We've got a score. All we need is a buyer and we're good!"
The one in teal cocks an eyebrow over his gaudy sunglasses. "Whaddaya have?"
She glances at Jack. He shakes his head; he knows what will happen if she tells them. She ignores him and points under the couch.
Pink suit releases Jack and marches toward the hiding spot. Jack tries to grab his ankle, but is so disoriented he only grasps at empty air. The enforcer pulls out the case, cracking it open to assess the ill-gotten goods. He nods to his partner, then closes the case and turns back to Jack. "This just bought you one more day to get the rest. Let's say you have… ninety-k to go."
"Bullshit!" Dim yells. "There's no way those chips are only worth twenty!"
"It's worth whatever the boss thinks it's worth," teal suit says. "We're doing you a favor by lowballing you. You're gonna want more than enough when you're due."
Pink suit sees the bikes in the pits. "You sell those and you could make that easy."
"Fuck you!" Jack spits, coughing up the blood pooling in his mouth. "Those are ours!"
"Yeah, so's your kidneys right now. But you're gonna haveta sell somethin' if you're gonna make what you owe." The two walk back to the door they dented in. "Trust me kiddos, you don't want the boss making that call for you. Midnight tomorrow, or I'd start runnin'."
SLAM
Levonne dashes over to Jack, worrying over him. "Fucking bastards," she sobs. "We still have a week, I know we do!"
"The fuckers know it, too. They're doing this on purpose," Dim says, scowling. "They either want this place back or they want an excuse to chop us up."
"You'll be lucky if that's all they do to you," Kris says with a shiver. "You're not pretty like Levonne and me."
Jack picks himself up, brushing away the blood on his lip. "Nah, none of that matters, cuz it ain't happening. We're goin' with plan X."
The rest of the crew instantly looks apprehensive. Levonne grabs a fistful of his shirt. "No. We can pack up and get out of here-"
He pulls her hand off him. "And go where? We'd just be taking the same problems to some other city on the same damn rock! Our ship ain't ready yet, we haven't got all the parts! Nah. We pay him off for one more month and we'll be able to make enough to finish the fix."
Kris poses an alternative plan. "We could take what we have and try to get a shuttle out of here."
Jack scoffs. "You know the second they pull our IDs, they'll come up as fake."
"Plan X is too high-profile. You're gonna get snatched!" Dim objects.
"I'll be fine."
"Let me do it," Kris offers.
Jack shakes his head. "You stand out too much. There aren't a lot of Pyrali out here. And they've got prints and ocular IDs on Dim and Levonne. It's gotta be me."
"What about old man Servo?" Dim counters. "He hasn't worked a single goddamn job with us! Hell, I think he slept through everything that just happened!" He points to an office in the warehouse's corner, its window unlit.
Jack shakes his head again. "He's paid in plenty. Wouldn't have pulled half the jobs we did without his gear."
He moves toward the bikes, sitting on his and starting the engine. With the press of a button, he opens the shutter doors. The sound of pouring rain roars into the warehouse.
Jack pulls his hood up, snapping his goggles into place. "If I'm not back by tonight, take the bikes and get the hell out of here!" With that, he races out onto the dismal Calderana roads.
000
Every single passerby in Titan City wears a bland suit. Jack watches them with disinterest, standing apart in his bright red jacket. Dirty streets overwhelmed with advertisements for shitty products light up every possible passage, blaring so loud it's hard to think. All anyone can do is shut the noise out, inure themselves to all of it, and keep shuffling forward toward a job, a life, and a world that doesn't care about them. Or do what Jack does; stick close to the alleys no one wants to look down. It's quieter there, and easier to let the abundant noise from the streets veil him from notice.
Still, a few of the white-collars give him nervous glances as they pass. He doesn't worry about them, he's minding his own business. He tips back the can of a drink laden with caffeine and who knows what else meant to fake energy and focus. Once he empties it, he crushes and drops it into a recycling chute in the vending machine he got it from.
He's looking for a mark. Someone easy, someone who won't put up a fight, but still looks like they've got plenty of money on them. He palms the heat-edged box cutter in his jacket pocket, hand clammy just from touching it. Jack doesn't want to hurt anyone. He just needs a threat to look legitimate, is all.
There needs to be more than a good mark, though. Jack needs opportunity. So he stationed up by a vending machine next to a shady alley. An unassuming industrial door within leads to one of those speakeasy-type hi-end restaurants that rich assholes with more money than sense like to go to. The kind of jerks who think secrecy and exclusivity contribute to taste. He's been casing the place for a few hours now, has his bike hidden and ready to go at a moment's notice once he has what he needs. He's mapped out escape routes, backup plans in case the cops get involved, conceived of every possible outcome.
A flash of the knife, a little bit of pressure, and a few quick swipes of a jail-broken handheld fund transactor. It'll be quick and painless for all involved. It's the type of high-risk, high-profile job he doesn't like, since it puts him face to face with his target, but that won't matter once they get the fuck out of here.
Hell, if it nets them enough, fuck the rent. He'll just buy the parts they need for their ship outright and grab the crew, hide out in the sewers until it's ready to fly.
There. Fat, balding suit with a ray parasol floating above his head. Tacky sense of fashion. Every bloated little finger has a ring on it. Nice leather shoes, genuine by the look of them. Rare for most of these standard nine-to-seven types. He pads at his forehead with a handkerchief, oblivious to Jack's presence as he walks into the alley. Jack steals a glance down the alley; the man stops at the restaurant's secret door and presses his hand against a hidden scanner. A bouncer on the other side opens it, and he walks in.
Jackpot. Jack walks into the alley and hides among the garbage bins and crates.
A few hours pass.
Jack wonders what the hell the fatass is gorging himself on that he's taking so long. Other patrons have come and gone; he measures out and averages the gaps in time between people entering and leaving the alley. He should have plenty once his target actually fucking-
The door opens. He tenses up, peeking from his hiding spot.
It's him.
Jack waits for the door to close before he steps into the man's path. The man moves to go around Jack, but he steps in the way again.
"Excuse me, young man. I'm trying to get around you." What's happening still hasn't sunk in for him.
Jack pulls the heated box cutter, pressing a switch on it and extending the blade. Raindrops sizzle against its edge as it rapidly ignites, the dim glow lighting up the darkened alley. The man's eyes widen in surprise. Now Jack has his attention.
"I'm gonna make this easy. Give me-"
BLAM
The pain doesn't even register at first. Jack felt it connect, felt his body recoil. He can see the blaster primed in the man's hand. He looks down to confirm it.
A small, bleeding hole in his stomach. Oh, there's the pain now.
Jack staggers to the alley wall, clutching at the wound. The blade drops from his hand, hissing in a shallow puddle while he tries to find his legs. He's never felt a pain like this before, not ever. He doesn't think the shot hit his lungs; why is it so hard to breathe?
The suit simply frowns and shakes his head. "Such a shame. So young and full of potential." He holsters his weapon under his jacket and activates his ray parasol as the rain picks up, then saunters down the alleyway without a care in the world.
The alley is a blur to Jack. He can feel cold creeping up his arms. He struggles over garbage bins and boxes toward his bike's hiding spot.
000
When Jack comes to again, he's in front of the warehouse. He isn't sure how he got here. He's just faintly aware of driving the same routes he knows like the back of his hand, passing the same landmarks and signs to get home.
Jack parks outside and falls to his knees, crawling, trying to keep pressure on his wound. He can't feel his hands or feet, and his arms and legs are going too. Just barely gets his hand on the doorknob and lets his weight carry him through.
He hears a scream, then falls into the black ring pulling at the corners of his sight.
000
The Crosshair lands in one of the open bays of Lirahad Station. Lighting is minimal, with only a few dim safety lamps illuminating the area. The environmental shields still work, exposing the dock to the sea of stars beyond the glowing blue barriers acting as a gateway between wanted and unwanted material.
Samus and the ground team descend the loading ramp in full armor, save for Adam, who joins them for this mission. Samus needs all hands on deck today.
Without hesitation, Adrian launches into their mission. She tries her best to sound direct and authoritative, but her wariness about the captain's state reflects in her tone. "There are four civilian-accessible docks. Split up and scour each one. After that, pick a quarter and start sweeping residential areas. Report over shadowband the moment you find anything."
"Split up?" Arrande questions. "What if we run into something dangerous? Shouldn't we have backup?"
Samus answers him, tone chilly and controlled. "You won't. There shouldn't be anything here."
"Shouldn't be doesn't mean won't be," he pointedly remarks. "There shouldn't be a distress signal broadcasting from an abandoned station either, but here we are."
Her backlit visor conceals the withering glare she sends his way. "If someone needs our help, we need to find them as quickly as possible. If you're that scared, partner up with someone, but if our target gets hurt because you wasted time-"
"Who is our target? Why does it sound like you know what to expect?"
The stale air of the landing pad goes still. The rest of the ground team silently watches Arrande and Samus stare each other down.
She turns around and walks toward the bay doors. "You have your orders."
000
Samus never thought she'd set foot in this place again. The rapid pace of her boots echoes against lonely walkways as she circles the residential sector of the third quarter. On her right, the path overlooks a public park, now brown and deteriorated from months of neglect. The space is quiet, dark, and utterly abandoned. Dead. It pulls her thoughts toward dark considerations and fears.
Bury them, she thinks. Act first. You're on a mission.
She comes to her first destination; the Apex apartments. She spent a good chunk of last year calling this home. It was the closest she's ever come to settling down.
Leaving for a mission, spending a week or so out in the black… then coming home to a warm bed, a warm meal… a warm, familiar face…
She heaves a heavy sigh. There's no time to stew in bittersweet memories. Get back to work.
They've replaced the shattered window on the fourth floor with a temporary plexi. She fires a missile at it, smashing it apart, and uses her space jump to somersault up to the fourth floor.
At the end of the hall, the door to her former abode hangs askew in its slide. She dashes toward it, her pace fervent now that she no longer has to worry about her crew's eyes on her.
The detritus of her clash with Cernan lays scattered across the floor. She checks his room first; she can't tell if anything has changed. Things lay broken and strewn about, but their fight started in this room, so that means nothing. She races to her room.
Someone disturbed her bedsheets. She makes her bed almost every morning. Did she forget that day? No. Someone has been here. Here, specifically. Why this apartment, this room? It could only mean-
Stop that, she rebukes herself. For all you know, this is the only unlocked bedroom in the entire station with a whole mattress. Or someone investigating the fight forced their way in here.
Don't get your hopes up. It could be anyone.
000
Samus arrives at her second destination; the comms center. The floor is strewn with garbage, loose metal scraps and food wrappers. A scan of the open door reveals scratches on its surface made in an attempt to force it open. Someone has been here.
She moves into the room, scanning the computers. They're on limited power, but they're working. This is where the signal originates.
As she traces her hand along the console, her eyes sink in resignation. She didn't know what she'd find here... but she was hoping it would be something more meaningful.
She taps away at the communications console, looking for any information about who sent the baby's cry. She sees some video recordings saved in an easy to find spot and opens the most recent one... then stops cold.
Cernan.
His face, right there, on the screen. A thick, uneven beard almost makes her mistake him for someone else, but she recognizes his eyes. Her heart sinks as she takes in how gaunt and malnourished he looks. His Zero Suit hangs loose on his body, and she can see his ribs through it. He's wrapped his chest and arms in old, frayed bandages stained bloody in spots. The sight breaks her heart. Tears sting the corners of her eyes, threatening to overflow.
But it's only a recording. She patches her suit through to the computer's audio system.
"- been here... I don't know how long anymore. What's the last log say? Oh... that was twelve days, so I guess this is thirteen. I can't find any more food. Tried to eat some of the spoiled stuff left behind, but I couldn't keep it down. Anyway... this is probably my last video diary. It's weird... but I can kind of feel the end coming. I know it's happening today." He laughs. Dense anguish sinks into Samus' heart at the sound. "I guess if you're seeing this... well, you've either already found me or... or you're too late."
He pauses for a long moment, looking down. Then, back up, with a deprecating smile on his face.
"You know, lately I've wondered if I really died in that explosion. Maybe everything that happened after that was my last test. My judgment to see if I was worthy to pass on to the next life. I think if that's the case... I probably failed. Maybe this is my punishment. To die slowly, alone, in darkness. So do me a favor. Two favors actually. First, grab my body and spread my ashes somewhere around Saturn if you can. It's my favorite planet. If that's too far out of the way, eh... just dump 'em out the airlock, I guess."
He laughs again. Samus hates it. The way he's smiling, the way he's laughing, the way he's talking about his own end like it doesn't hurt anyone else. It's like a ball of sharp metal churning in her stomach.
"I know where I'm going to spend my last moments. There's a lovely little observation deck in the third quarter that gets a good view of the sun. The shielding there blocks enough light that you can see the nebula beyond it. It's a beautiful place to die, I think. And ah..."
He stops again. This one longer. More considerate.
"Depending on what year it is now... if Samus Aran is still alive... tell her Cernan Roan says he's sorry. She was right. I was obsessed. I couldn't move forward. And..."
His eyes look directly into the camera, directly at her, with a peaceful expression.
"I should have seen what I still had."
The recording ends.
Samus double checks its date; four weeks ago.
She collapses, falling on all fours, her suit dematerializing as her focus shatters. For the first time since she left Lirahad months ago, she openly weeps. She screams and pounds, furious with herself. She should have known, should have done something!
She was so close. So goddamn close.
And now he's gone all over again.
000
The sound of rainfall on the metal roof lulls Jack out of his slumber. His eyes flicker open, and the world becomes unbearably loud. "He's awake!"
That's a familiar ceiling. So he made it. The couch cradles him, the sunk-in cushions remembering the shape of his body. It's like waking from a bad dream.
He reaches down to feel for the blaster wound, finding gauze and bandages in their place. Not a dream, then. "I lived… ha… knew I would…"
Familiar faces surround his vision. Levonne grips his hand tightly. Her makeup runs in dark streaks down her face. "You fucking son of a bitch! You scared me!"
Jack tries to get up, but each of them puts a hand on him to push him back down. "Nuh-uh," Dimitri says, "You're gonna rest. I know exactly what you're gonna say, so don't bother. Old man Servo is already calling up potential buyers for the bikes."
Jack's face twists between expressions before going slack again; he doesn't even have the energy to get mad. "Those are our lives, man. What are we supposed to do without them?"
"We'll figure it out," Kris says. "But you're benched. What you did was stupid. No more solo jobs."
The young man lets his head fall back into the pillow under him and stares at the ceiling. "He had a blaster on him. Didn't figure he'd be strapped. Didn't look the type."
"Kris and I have been tuning up the bikes all day, getting them ready for the buyer," Dim comments. "We think we might get enough to finish fixing up the ship, too."
"But Levonne hasn't left your side since you got here," Kris says.
Jack shifts against his pillow to look at Levonne. She offers a tearful smile and gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. Kris and Dim give him conciliatory pats on the shoulder and turn back to their work. Levonne stays right next to him, sitting on the floor by the couch, holding his hand.
An odd calm sweeps through Jack. With nothing he can do, with no power to control what happens next, he flows into a state of resignation. He accepts that the best thing he can do in the moment is let himself heal.
The sound of a vehicle approaching outside soon interrupts that surreal state. Something about the pitch of the engine puts him on edge. Levonne calls out to the corner office. "Hey, old man! I think the buyer is here!"
It's not the buyer. That engine sounds too nice for one of their contacts. It's someone with money. Jack cranes his neck toward the office. Servo pokes his head out, shaking his head no.
"Fuck!" Jack rolls himself off the couch and scrambles for a pipe lying on the floor. Levonne tries to hold him down, but he throws off her hands in a fit of adrenaline-fueled terror. Pain shoots up his body, and he feels healing flesh tear, but he has to arm himself. He knows what's coming. In his uncoordinated struggling, he accidentally sends the pipe rolling across the floor.
Before he can get to his feet, the warehouse door opens, and the suits filter in. The same two guys from yesterday… and four others on top of that.
The gang freezes at the invaders file in, making way for their boss. He enters casually, four amber eyes scanning the squalid hideout. He wears a fine pressed white suit custom fit for his unique physiology, which provides a deceptively pleasant contrast against the violet hues of his skin tone. One of his lower arms massages the other, soothing a still-recovering wound. His upper set of arms shove their hands into his pockets, granting him the image of a man disinterested in the business at hand.
Nin Tarmos, Torminoth gangster, walks in as though he owns the place. Because the fact is… he does. He utters a single word aloud, reflecting his species' penchant for brevity.
"Money." His tone is aloof. Detached. This is just another day, another dollar. Another bunch of bugs under one of his many rocks.
His men line up behind him, hands clasped in front of themselves in a united gesture of strength and intimidation. Tarmos makes a passing glance over the motley crew of kids before him, waiting for one of them to speak up.
Kris is the first. "M-Mr. Tarmos… sir… your guy there told us we had until midnight tonight. We've got a buyer lined up for our bikes. We'll have your money today."
Tarmos glances at her, then clicks his tongue and jerks his head at Kris. The same pink suit as yesterday strides up to her. The young woman mistakes the gesture, and tries to upsell the bike's quality, but the goon grabs her by the back of the head and slams her face-first into the bike, knocking it over. Dim shouts furiously, but stops himself from charging the man.
Tarmos repeats himself, something he hates to do. "Money."
Jack's eyes flick over to Levonne, ducking low behind the couch. She meets his eyes and shakes her head, mouthing "no." He glances at the pipe he tried to reach for before. It's too far. Feeling his jacket pocket, he picks out the box cutter and clicks it on behind him.
The sound gets Tarmos' attention. He slowly shakes his head, disappointed by the choice. "Stupid."
He gestures with one of his smaller arms, beckoning one of his goons forward. The man draws a pistol. Biting down the pain from his blaster wound, Jack shouts at the others, "Run!" before charging at the man, blade drawn.
The goon levels his gun and fires.
000
After taking a moment to compose herself, Samus suits up once more and makes her way to quadrant Cernan specified. She finds the spot he mentioned, with the view. She stops just outside the walkway to the viewing area, bracing herself for what she's about to see.
From its entrance she can see a few stepped benches stretching out to fill a wide room, lining up before a long, reinforced viewport. She sees the sun from here, and the nebula beyond it, glittering in a violet cloud, only visible thanks to the particular treatment of the viewport's glass. It's as beautiful as he made it sound.
Samus hesitates. Anguish and grief claw at her shoulders, holding her fast to keep from confirming the terrible truth. She desperately wants to hold her composure, present strength to her crew, but she's terrified if she walks into this room, she'll break. This is too much, it's too personal. It's like a knife hovering above her chest, ready to plunge and sunder her façade once and for all.
As she floats in the fugue of her indecision, her comms crackle, and Chowa's voice comes through the line. "Captain Aran, I believe we've found something of importance."
She uses the communication to distract herself from her morose state, an opportunity to hold off from her awful task just a little longer. "What is it?"
"Adam and I are at the dock in quadrant four. The dust here looks recently disturbed and there's a residual engine signature about four weeks old."
Samus's eyes shoot wide, her breath catching in her throat.
"Captain Aran?"
"Hang on-"
Her mind floods with manic possibility. She dashes for the overlook, searching around the bench seating and... nothing. Not a soul, nor a hint of one.
The next words that leave her mouth, she breathes into the world like the first light of a star breaching around a moon's silhouette.
"He's alive."
000
A sliver in time. A sole moment where everything seems to slow to a near-still. Jack, falling backward on one foot. The thug with the gun, its muzzle flashing with energy. And old man Servo positioning himself between the two of them, sleeve shredded, silver hand outstretched. The shot collides with something unseen, deflecting harmlessly into the concrete floor.
Summoned from the ether, silver plating destroys the synthetic, protective welder's suit around him. Converse to the baggy full body wear, the armor that takes its place is tight and form-fitted to his body. The respirator mask falls from his face as his helmet takes form.
The goon has a second to register the man isn't as old as these punk kids made him sound. Messy, short, blonde hair and a jawline speckled with a light layer of fairly fresh but unkept facial hair. Maybe thirty years old.
Then, the second passes, and the thug gets thrown backward by strength no ordinary man could possess. He skids to the ground in front of his boss, humiliated in the span of a breath.
Nin Tarmos feels every iota of poise leave his body and stares in abject horror. "No… not again…"
There stands a warrior, clad in armor disturbingly similar to the woman who ruined his operation on Herelia Prime.
Cernan Roan stands tall, projecting confidence. "If you can't be civil, you'll have to go."
00000
If you have a moment, please consider answering one or both of these questions for me in a comment!
1. Did you enjoy the introduction of Jack and his crew?
2. Were you confused by the disjointed time difference between the main events of the story and last chapter? With this chapter, was it clear that the events of the last chapter were not happening concurrently with the main story?