First job
Several days ago...
Yria Ardonis is a lone, wealthy, eccentric industrialist, and Giran is her planet. Over the course of her career, she's amassed a collection of several gigantic terraforming factories across the world's surface.
Decades ago, her peers warned her against purchasing a territorial stake in the planet; it was choked with toxic, acidic fumes had no potable water sources. Now? It isn't much more habitable, but certainly survivable. And profitable. Beneath the harsh exterior of the planet is a series of spider-webbing ley lines of norium, an element discovered when she was just striking out on her own as an ambitious young businesswoman. And this element made her rich.
Now, as she watches the latest cargo ship depart her facility's landing pad on the lowest level, she muses about how her investments have panned out. Norium's unique properties make it one of the key components of the Federation's artificial intelligence research and production, and she's the sole major importer for the entire galaxy because of her shrewd business decisions.
She leaves the overlook of the landing pad and heads to an elevator, a handsome young man following along, right on her click-click-clicking heels. She picks off an errant strand of lint off her sharp three-piece business suit, keeping it meticulously pressed and neat, and fluffs her quaffed updo with a gentle, deliberate prod from her palm, making sure not to get her nails caught in it. Boarding the elevator, she turns, folding her arms and letting her assistant select the floor for her. She has no desire to press the buttons herself; who knows who's touched them today alone, or the last time they were sanitized? This is why she hired him; an extra set of hands and a pretty face more than any other purpose.
The elevator doors open, and she steps out into a small corridor, the doors sliding shut behind her aide as he dutifully shadows her. She continues forward until she reaches another elevator, which she uses to get to the upper levels of her complex. This elevator is glass backed, exposing an expanse of cracked earth spewing sickly green gases onto the surface of the planet. Large multi-legged machines traipse across the terrain, on occasion pausing their labored crawl to pull something from the surface with long, burrowing drills in the centers of their bodies. Pushing her glasses up on her nose, Ardonis moves down the proceeding hallway into a large black-tinted room. Her pace doesn't falter as she makes her way toward the windowed outer wall of her office, to the large steel desk set before it.
However, before she can take her seat, a pinging electronic sound rings out from a device clutched in her aide's folded arms. He holds it out and taps away at a thick, industrial computer tablet. "Oh... Miss Ardonis, you need to hear this. The transport that just lifted off has gone dark."
She gnashes her teeth, some spittle flying from her mouth in her sudden fervor. "Damn it all, another one?! That's enough, I've had it! We're dealing with this problem right now! Cho, arrange a meeting with the board. I need to twist their arms for an expenditure."
"Yes, Ma'am."
She throws herself into her chair, sighing in exasperation, and waits for him to leave. Once he's gone, she swipes her hand through the air in a particular spot, and several holographic monitors spring to life in front of her. "Those Federation idiots aren't setting foot in my facility. I need to take matters into my own hands. ARIA," she barks, "Access the Federation bounty system. I want to hire someone who can actually do a professional's job."
"Yes, Ms. Ardonis. Would you like to post an open bounty or stipulate requirements for the-"
"I don't want some loner hotshot, I want a team! With competent leadership! Someone with an experienced record. State that any team that can figure out what's happening to my ships will receive four million credits, plus another million for each ship recovered. After Federation taxes!"
"Yes Ma'am. Bounty posted."
She leans back in her lavish executive chair, exhaling and setting her jaw. "I'd better get someone damn good."
000
Samus sits in the captain's seat, appreciating the view. The new ship's bridge is a step above any of the gunships she's piloted in years prior. A high-end hull mounted camera array projects a photorealistic image of the surrounding space, submerging her in a veritable live planetarium, as though she's sailing through space on nothing but her seat. The low thrum of the long distance engines massages her body through her chair, leaving her with a sensation of floating weightlessness.
She sinks into the feeling, her eyes dreamily half-lidded, letting herself disconnect from the sensations of her body. She can scarcely feel the thin layer of her Zero Suit hugging her form beneath the surplus GFA deployment pants and a worn old green military jacket. The only thing she's conscious of is the gentle warmth of her breaths coming and going.
The sensation of sitting in a meditative state is so pleasant, so welcome, that she loses herself within it, her conscious thoughts slowing and slowing until they seem abstract, distant. She isn't thinking of anything in particular in the moment. She's just... drifting.
"Samus," an electronic voice calls, jostling her from her peace. "You're receiving a transmission request from Giran on the high-priority channel. It is likely from our client."
Samus straightens her posture. "Already? We just entered the cluster. Patch her through, Adam." She looks over to a communications console on her right and grimaces at the sight of a flashing red light, annoyed by the interruption. Hovering her hand over the console, she makes a quick flicking motion toward the viewport. The face of her team's new employer, Yria Ardonis, takes up most of the view, a frustrated and likely ever-present scowl on the older woman's face. "Miss Ardonis, we're in the Ghan system now and will be there within the standard day. Rushing me will not make my engines fire harder."
The scowl shifts, replaced by a smirk. "Don't think being courteous and professional gives you leeway to be snide with me, Aran." The familiar glower reclaims its place. "I'm contacting you because I was notified that you've entered the system. I wanted to see if the rumors were true for myself."
"What rumors?" the hunter asks, expression controlled and deadpan.
"If the famously solitary Samus Aran truly stopped working alone." Ardonis looks past Samus to an empty bridge. "I hope you aren't lying to me about having a crew."
After working this job for so long, Samus knows how to maintain professionalism while asserting respect from her contractors. She holds fast under Ardonis' scrutiny, her expression unshifting. "Rest assured, my crew is ready and capable. That is as much as you need to know about them." Her tone is firm.
Ardonis seems unsatisfied with that answer. "If I'm being honest, I was a little uneasy when I heard you had accepted the contract. If the news cycle is any indication, you've lost a bit of that professional edge you had. Is there a particular reason you attacked your last client?"
Samus squares her jaw, teeth grit. "I'm not at liberty to discuss the details of former contracts."
Ardonis' lips pucker and tighten. "Hm. Well, you may no longer be a lone wolf, but we'll see if you've graduated from being the Federation's favorite attack dog. I've transmitted your landing codes so you won't get shot out of the sky upon entry into Giran. We'll discuss more specifics about the job once you've landed and I've gotten a good look at your entire team." With that, the transmission blinks out.
Samus exhales deeply, letting her shoulders drop. "What a... dedicated client," she remarks, biting back the words she'd prefer to use. "Adam, call Adrian up to the bridge."
The lieutenant's quick response to her summon doesn't surprise her. Less than a minute passes before Adrian Vespen stands at attention on the lower platform, heels held tightly together, feet set in a perfect V. Red hair pulled back in a tight, professional bun, only a single weft escapes and floats loosely around her sharp, triangular face. Her deep blue uniform is absolutely spick and span, not a wrinkle in sight. The cyan sheen of the stripes extending from her collar down her sleeves glints in the overhead light. She gives a sharp salute. "Yes, Captain?"
Samus partially turns in her chair, looking down the shallow ramp at her subordinate. "Our employer just contacted me. She's restless. I need you to double check our ground gear. Make sure all our weapons are clean and loaded. We'll be touching down in a few hours."
"Yes Ma'am. If I may ask, did she offer any further details about the mission?"
"No, she did not."
"Hm," Adrian murmurs, eyes focused on the back of her captain's seat.
Samus turns her seat all the way around to her, wondering what's going through her head. "Speak your mind, Adrian."
"It's just... is this normal?"
"You'll need to be more specific."
"Not having all the information before going into a mission?"
"Not always, but sometimes clients prefer to keep their postings vague for the sake of discretion." She rises from her seat and approaches Adrian. "Why, are you having misgivings about this job?"
"N-no Ma'am! I'm one hundred percent on board!" The younger woman's posture goes rigid again, and she salutes her captain once more.
Samus nods, gently lowering Adrian's saluting arm as she passes her. "Good. And you don't need to salute me. This isn't the GFA." She doubles back for a moment as a thought occurs to her. "Oh, and tell Arrande to help you with the weapons check. If he gives you any guff, let me know."
"Yes, Ma'am!" Adrian's answer is loud and clear, with all the gusto of a fresh GFA trainee.
Samus sighs; while she appreciates how seriously Adrian is taking her new position, she's a little too tightly wound, even by her own standards. Perhaps she'll loosen up with time. Samus turns away and heads towards the exit of the bridge. "I'll be in my quarters."
She descends the stairs beyond the doorway into the common area. The long octagonal hallway is about thirty feet in length, with stairs leading to a wider, open sub level beneath it, which dominates almsot a third of the ship's total internal space. A door on the main floor at the end of this hall leads to the cargo bay, and an encircling walkway surrounds the hall with several steep, thin stairways tucked away in its corners, connecting the common floor to them. Seven doors on the upper walkway lead to individual crew quarters.
Most are small, utilitarian rooms made to save space, except for the room up at the center rear of the second level. Next to that room, a ladder leads up into the ceiling of the ship and the attachment dock, where Samus' gunship locks in place on the outside of the Crosshair's hull. One might assume this central room is Samus', but she heads up the left stairway and into the room in the bridge-nearest corner instead, pressing her hand against a biometric scanner to allow her entry.
A long, narrow, rectangular room, with closets, cupboards, and drawers lining the walls, Samus' personal quarter contains the essentials; a small semi-circular table built into the wall, a single chair, a twin size bed, and a compact bathroom behind a surrounding transparent panel featuring fixtures that fold out from within the wall. Samus pulls her paralyzer from her thigh holster, sets it down on the table, and stares at herself in the restroom mirror.
Her smooth, pale skin gleams in the light, the blue fabric of her under layer peeking out from beneath the collar of her old, worn jacket. She begins to unfasten and unzip her jacket, exposing the skin-hugging Zero Suit beneath. Samus' lean, athletic figure is obvious through the skintight layer. Even with her new responsibilities to her crew, she hasn't missed a day of her standard workout routine.
Ah, that reminds her. She needs to write up a routine for the whole crew. They need to be in top shape, dependable. She sits down on the side of her mattress, stripping off her boots and pants, leaving her just in her second skin. That's better; now it's just her. She's still unused to walking around in a uniform. It feels wrong to her. Just slightly too weighty, like her limbs are being pulled down every time she tries to move. She stares at the crumpled pants and hung up jacket, wondering why they feel so heavy to her.
Laying back, she tries to get what rest she can before they arrive at Giran, this time with no further distractions.
000
"Santino! You and me are double checking ground weapons, captain's orders!" Adrian calls down the stairwell to the common area.
Arrande Santino looks up from a synthesized meal with some displeasure. "I only just sat down to eat! Can it wait?"
"Now, Santino! Unless you want me to get her to tell you!"
The common area is divided into three sections. Nearest the bridge there's a general lounge area with a floor-secured sofa, chairs, and coffee table. Far against the opposite end of the common area is a securable automated door built into the wall leads to a medical bay tucked just beneath the cargo bay. Between these two points is a kitchenette with an island stretching along the starboard wall, and an alcove for a U-shaped booth seat and dining table against the port wall. Arrande Santino sits there now, having just prepared a meal for himself. It's the first he's gotten to eat for almost eight hours, given the laundry-list of ship upkeep tasks Samus had him on today.
An uneven frown forms across his face as he flings his spoon down into his sweet potatoes. It limps to the side, robbing him of the satisfaction of a visceral outburst, and he shakes his head, grabbing his tray and dashing it in the sink with a clatter. Thick wefts of wavy black hair bounce along the frame of his face as he stomps toward the stairwell. His black, chest-hugging GFA undershirt shows off an athletic, well-kept body. The handsome, caramel-toned young man holds his unflattering scowl, but makes no further sign of his displeasure.
He knows better than to question orders from Samus right now, given the thin ice he's already on. "On my way," he grumbles through a thick Spanish accent.
Just need one payout, he reminds himself. All he has to do is tough it out until the end of this mission, and then it won't matter whether she keeps him on the crew. So for now, the former soldier bites back his frustrations and relents.
000
In the ship's rear, surrounded by crates magnetically secured to special pads on the floor, the sole alien member of the crew tinkers away at a tray table scattered with close quarters weapons and scouting tools. They're lithe and muscular, with hairless, smooth, pitch black skin sheening in the storage bay lights. Well over seven feet tall when standing, Chowa Wuulaka still takes up a considerable amount of space sitting down, due in part to their long neck and tail. Their face is just shy of skull-like, with narrow slits for their nose and ears, and pupils that narrow width-wise like Earthen amphibians. They wear a heavily customized uniform made to match the surplus ones bought and modified for the rest of the crew. It is odd to them, wearing clothing with human sensibilities. It feels exotic. And restrictive. Sleeves are strange.
Chowa's left ear dilates as they hear the footfalls of someone approaching. "Lieutenant Vespen," they preemptively call out without looking up from their work, "What do you require of me?" Their voice is a deep, androgynous rumble.
Adrian stops abruptly between the rows of crates, surprised at being called out like that. "How did you know it was me? Or that I was even coming to talk to you?"
"You have a unique lock-step compared to other crewmates, Lieutenant Vespen, and you walk with purpose when you have a task. It is distinct from your usual pace. And since you were approaching me, I assumed that purpose involved me." Chowa still does not look up, drawing a whetstone across a well-crafted knife. "What do you require of me?"
The lieutenant pauses, somewhat unnerved by Chowa's assessment. It feels invasive to be told something so physical about herself that she isn't aware of. "... you can just call me lieutenant. I'll know what you mean. Anyway, the Captain has ordered me and Arrande to double check ground gear before we land. I need to see your equipment."
"I have already cleaned and assessed my sidearm today, Lieutenant Vespen," they interrupt. "I am in the process of preparing my knives. I will be ready by the time we land upon Giran."
"... right." Adrian doesn't press further, wanting more than anything to be done with this conversation. She moves over to a wall mounted armory on the far side of the cargo bay and busies herself with assessing her weapon.
000
Six hours later, the Crosshair breaks atmosphere on Giran, its moon high in the sky behind them, visible even in the daylight. Samus and the ground team, comprising Adrian, Arrande, and Chowa, peer out the viewport at the scene below. The captain has been silent since the planet appeared on screen. It's unlike her to feel so skittish right before a mission... but this is her first one in command of a crew. Her stern expression does little to put the rest of the ground team at ease.
The transmission light on her communication system blinks again as they draw closer to a facility in the northern hemisphere. Samus waves her hand over it, and audio plays over the ship's intercom. "Crosshair, this is Ardonis flight control, your codes clear, proceed to bay 6."
"Affirmative," Samus replies. They descend toward a large landing area near the center of the monolithic building, though it isn't the only structure visible from the air. As they descend, they can see three extensive structures constructed of a dark metal, several hundred yards long, filled with pipes that work their way up and out of the structures. A trail of floating lights flicker on, oscillating in sequence toward their landing zone, guiding the ship along a gentle curve toward it.
They land with barely a sound, and the ground team heads toward the rear of the cargo hold. Adrian and Arrande are already in their gear, sans their helmets, which they keep at their side. Their armor is a modified surplus Federation Army standard with a brighter coat of cyan in place of Federation blue, sleek and form hugging, protective without sacrificing mobility. Chowa only wears an armored vest over their uniform, one with forest green plating that clashes with the team's otherwise unified ensemble, custom armor they altered to fit their longer torso. Samus pressed them for more protective equipment, but they insisted on keeping their gear load lightweight. The team flanks Samus, the only one wearing a uniform alone, her paralyzer strapped to her right thigh.
The cargo ramp hisses as it equalizes the pressure between the rest of the ship with the exterior atmosphere, then slowly hinges down toward the ground. As a unit, the four exit the ship, moving into the facility.
The lower levels are a series of large, connected, open air catwalks and railings, an expanse of uninviting terrain beneath them. Flickering fluorescent bulbs along the ceiling light the way, and the surrounding air is uncomfortably hot. A thick, pungent aroma permeates it like rotten eggs mixed with animal dung. As they walk, some of the wrist mounted equipment on Adrian's armor pings: a radiation warning.
"Looks like minor traces of gamma radiation beneath us," she says, observing the readings.
"Yes, that would be the norium," a voice calls over the chasm of catwalks. Yria Ardonis and a well-dressed young man stand at the end of the walk, along with some security personnel. She impatiently leans back on one leg, arms crossed. "Welcome to the Ardonis Mining Company."
"Hell of a place to build an empire," Arrande quips. Samus gives him a warning glance over her shoulder, causing him to look down sheepishly.
"I'm a busy woman, so forgive me if I don't waste time with pleasantries," Yria replies in clipped tones. "My apologies for the reception, or lack thereof. We rarely welcome visitors."
"Not surprising. Hardly feels like an appropriate place for tourists," Samus states. "But thank you for coming to meet us yourself."
"Yes yes, come on. We don't need to have a conversation out here in this stink."
000
Inside the facility, Ardonis blazes ahead at an impatient clip, eyes forward, as though every moment of dealing with this debacle wastes her time. The security team and Samus' crew have to walk briskly to keep up with her pace, Ardonis' young assistant falling behind every few steps and having to dash a short distance to regain the difference.
The upper levels, unlike the catwalks below, are bustling with activity, people of various races moving in every direction. They part around Ardonis without even looking in her direction, as though she bears a repelling aura. The facility is utilitarian on this level, constructed of concrete and steel with colored lines painted along the floors and walls meant to direct staff to different parts of the facility. Yellow and black warning stripes designate dangerous work areas.
She leads her visitors past a winding corridor to a large freight elevator, the doors already open. The group piles in, and they take it higher into the building.
As the elevator rises, Ardonis taps a long fingernail on her arm. "While you're here, you'll have the run of the facility. Talk to whomever you please as long as it sorts this out. I'm doubtful anyone here knows why my transport ships are vanishing, but on the chance they do, feel free to interrogate any of my employees."
"Understood," Samus replies with a nod. Vespen gives a curious look behind her, wondering why she'd agree to such an extreme statement so readily. "However, you said you would explain the situation in detail once we arrived."
Ardonis huffs and turns to Samus, pressing her tongue against her cheek. "I suppose I did. Norium is a naturally occurring compound, unique among organic chemicals. Attempts by the Federation to synthesize it have been lucratively unsuccessful. It's rare, but large deposits cluster around volcanic fissures in highly acidic atmospheres," Ardonis explains, tapping her fingernail against the elevator railing.
Samus nods. A small amount of norium is present on both her gunship and the Crosshair; without it, complex AI systems like Adam have trouble functioning without an enormous amount of ancillary resources.
Ardonis smiles. "This planet was totally inhospitable when I bought the mining rights for it, at a bargain price, might I add. It took significant investment to terraform this hemisphere into something that wouldn't melt your skin, but the profits speak for themselves."
"Ah yes, reflected perfectly in this cutting-edge facility, with its open catwalks over rivers of burning acid," Arrande chuckles low under his breath.
Both Ardonis and Samus shoot him withering looks. "Arrande, you're pushing your luck," the bounty hunter warns. He grunts uncomfortably and faces forward, mouth tightly shut. Chowa watches the interaction with interest, keeping their thoughts silent.
Ardonis regards Samus with a degree of undisguised respect, one arched eyebrow raised high and a small smirk playing upon her lips. "I appreciate a woman who not only holds authority but knows how to wield it. I may have made the right choice hiring you after all."
"I think we're veering off topic," Samus replies evenly, eyes forward.
Ardonis' stare lingers for a moment before facing forward as well and continuing. The elevator finally reaches its destination and opens up into a much cleaner, corporate looking lobby. Ardonis again blazes ahead of the group, spearheading their way further into the building.
"The Federation military, fascist pigs though they are, is our primary customer, utilizing norium in the construction of their AI cores."
Arrande and Adrian bristle at her categorization of the military, though Samus remains steel faced. Knowing several of their darker secrets now, she finds it hard to voice disagreement with the sentiment.
"The Federation military isn't the only group interested in Norium," Ardonis continues. "There are several private corporations that use it as well, mostly in the fields of cybernetics and AI engineering. It is undoubtedly one of the Federation's most valuable natural resources, and we have no lack of customers. As such, it's not entirely surprising someone might feel inspired to steal it. The oddest part is telemetry from the shipment vessels that disappear never leaves orbit. I've sent out short range security craft to the points the shipping vessels vanish, but they return nothing useful. Bunch of knuckle-dragging morons..."
"So all this raises an important question; why hire bounty hunters? Why not contact the GFA?" Samus asks, already suspecting the answer she'll receive.
Ardonis stops short and glowers at Samus. "Because, my dear, taxes fund incompetence. Capital funds results." With that, she continues her walking sprint forward, dragging her entourage along in her wake.
They reach the office of, as Ardonis puts it, 'AMC's worthless security head'. However, he's not waiting at his desk. "Good morning, Ms. Ardonis," he greets her, strolling in from a nearby cubicle, a hot mug of something unidentifiable in his meaty hand. "What brings you here?" The rotund, balding man emanates a friendly, personable aura, a thick gray brush of whiskers neatly trimmed on his upper lip.
"What do you mean, what brings me here? Are you thick? The same reason I've been lighting a fire under your considerably sized ass for the past month!" She scoffs and waves her hand toward Samus and her crewmates dismissively. "I've hired these people to solve the problem I'm already paying you for!"
"Ah gee, I'm real sorry about that Ms. Ardonis, but we just don't have the equipment to un-brine this pickle," the security chief apologizes in his own strange, rustic way.
Ardonis clutches the bridge of her nose between two pinched fingers. "Harry, what have I told you about using those strange idioms around me?"
"Eh, actually Ma'am, that's a play on words. An idiom is a common phrase that isn't directly translatable from the sum of its parts, like 'piece of cake', or 'it takes two to tango'. Y'see, pickles are made with brine, and it's also a common word for a conundrum-"
"Good god damn lord I can't do this right now," she groans, wide eyed. She turns to Samus and motions to the sweet-natured imbecile before them. "He'll give you access to everything you need. I'm going to my office." With that, she finally separates herself from the group of them, again in her blitzing stride.
Samus turns and directly addresses Harry. "Alright then," Samus says, "What can you tell me about this 'pickle'?"
Harry chuckles and raises his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, alright, alright, y'gotta have a sense of humor in this business, right? We'll start with the basics, then we'll get into the finer details if yer up for it." He holds out a hand toward her. "Harry Miller, atcher service, miss."
"Samus," she returns, shaking his hand. "Lead on."
He leads them behind his fairly small desk and sits down behind a suspended screen, typing away on a manual keyboard, a rarity to see these days. "Alrighty, so the first incident occurred about a month ago. One of our shipment guys down in the loading docks was havin' a pleasant conversation with one of the transport guys as they left the facility and headed off planet. Suddenly right around the time they breach the thermosphere - that's the layer of the atmosphere where it ceases to have the properties of a continuous medium-"
"I'm aware," Samus interrupts with a patient smile, trying to keep him on track.
"Ah well ah, well that's when the line goes dead, yeah? Just poof, completely gone. We didn't think nothin' of it until it turns out that shipment didn't make it to its destination. So we rack it up to pirates or an act of god, happens from time to time. Well, then it happens again, only this time we notice it cause we increased security monitoring the weeks after. We've lost about five ships so far, and every time we send some of our flyboys out to investigate, they get nothin', nada, bupkis. And I don't just mean no sign of the ship, I mean the heat signature of the ship stops dead. There's no wreckage, no traces of tachyon radiation from a FTL drive, zip. After the third lost shipment we started sending out escort craft, but then one of 'em went out and vanished along with a shipment vessel. With the fourth disappearance, Ms. Ardonis told us to stop sendin' em because of the cost of the fighters. Only one shipment has actually made it to its destination in the last month, and that was only after it disappeared for a week and a half."
"What did the crew of that transport have to say?"
"That's the spooky part. We haven't heard nothin' from 'em since they left Giran. Asked the customer if they talked to 'em and they said the haulers didn't seem outta sorts at all, so they didn't call anything in. That's the last anyone's heard from 'em."
Samus hovers over Harry's shoulder and peers at the screen. "So, what do you think is going on?" she inquires.
"Well, ah, I'm not, ah, well ah, to be honest, ma'am, I don't have the faintest inkling."
She purses her lips, pensive.
"Captain, if I may?" Arrande speaks up. Samus inhales slowly and turns to him. At least this time, he asked permission to speak. She motions to him with an open palm, her expression hard. "So... when I served on the Izanagi-" he notices her gaze sharpen at the name of the familiar frigate, a subtle, directed threat to him, "-we ran into some pirates who used an asteroid belt to hide a shipyard chop shop. What they'd do is send out small, fast craft with heavy guns, disable the engines of passing shipment freighters, then tow them into a hollowed out asteroid where they'd take the ship apart piece by piece in the vacuum of space, selling the cargo and the parts through black market ties."
Harry adds to that thought. "We actually considered the idea there were pirates, like I said, but we didn't see any engine signatures suggesting other ships had been by."
Arrande shakes his head, smiling and extending his hand forward in explanation. "But a small enough single person craft would leave such a minor engine signature that it would dissipate long before any investigation could reach the point of disappearance. A comm jamming signal in the right spot followed up with a swift ambush, there's no way a shipping vessel would be maneuverable enough to escape the jammed area before being disabled." He looks to Samus. "What do you think?"
Samus narrows her eyes. She hates to admit it, but Arrande's suggestion is sound. "Well, it seems like a plausible enough explanation."
"Then we should follow up on it?"
Samus stares at him. He internally quakes, unable to read the thoughts behind her eyes. "You're right," she acknowledges. "It's a good place to start. Anything else, Harry?"
"Ah, no, that about covers it. I'll send over our telemetry if you've got a transmission code for me," he offers. Samus looks at Adrian and gestures to the security chief with her head. The lieutenant quickly sends over their contact information with a flick of the console on her wrist.
"Thank you. We'll be in touch." Samus draws herself up and strides to the exit. The others follow.
Chowa speaks for the first time since exiting the ship. "Crewman Santino, now that we are not in the presence of our client, I am curious. Why did you not allow Captain Samus to speak for the team uninterrupted? It was my understanding that our role in such cases is merely to provide an image of professionalism and strength, not interact with our client."
Arrande shoots the alien a loaded glance, implying they should shut up. They don't pick up on it. "You lucked the hell out," Adrian mutters to him.
"You're absolutely right, Chowa," Samus answers. "Arrande should have remembered that. And his suggestion is valid, lieutenant, but you're right too. He is lucky." She glances over her shoulder at him. "If not for that smart save, running your mouth in front of our employer would have earned you your one strike, Arrande. Don't test my patience again."
He nods, the smile playing on his face slipping away as she rebukes him. "Understood Sa- Captain."
Samus doesn't bother correcting him again. "Let's get going, then. We have a lead to follow."
"Yes, Captain," the three say in unison. The ground team returns the way they came, tracing their steps back to the Crosshair.
00000
Chapter Notes
From here on, I would like to pose questions to my readers about each chapter. This feedback will help me grow my writing style, so I appreciate any and all comments you might have!
If you have a moment, please consider answering any or all of these questions for me in a comment!
1. Did the beginning grab you and make you want to know more?
2. Do you think this is a story you will continue to read?
3. How do you feel about the tense/perspective? (first-person omniscient, present tense.)