Pursuit
Samus unlocks the door to the dark room, letting light from the crew deck spill over the bound pirate. They set him up in the room directly next to hers, taking the extra step to restrain him to a chair magnetically locked to the floor. His features are distinct. Pale white skin, dark hair, and bright violet eyes that glint in the dark; he's Avadush.
He peers up at her, no longer benefitting from the anonymity his helmet afforded him. His eyebrows pinch together and he angles his head downward, subconsciously trying to hide his face. Samus cuts an imposing silhouette against the doorway, armored up, suit lights aglow. As she steps inside, the door shuts behind her, dousing the room of all but those lights. Her narrow, angled visor draws unsettling impressions of a predator watching in the night.
Her tone is flat. "You boarded my ship. Damaged it. You threatened me. Stole from me. Kidnapped a member of my crew. Do you know what the punishment for piracy is in Federation space?"
"We're not in Federation space." He tries to sound tough, but his voice cracks midway through.
Those lights don't move, don't sway, don't surrender any sign of the unbidden motions of humanity behind them. As the pirate's eyes adjust, he can make out her form better, swathed in the eerie green glow. Her voice comes back stony, devoid of any empathy. "You're right. We're not. Which means what happens next… is up to me." The faint yellow lights of her arm canon rotate before her as she examines the weapon, silently implying her current considerations.
He tries to hold defiant eye contact with her, but the twitches of his expression betray him. "Fine, kill me. I don't care. My crew already thinks I'm dead. I'm not gonna prove them wrong by betraying them!"
"You think I need you to tell me where they went?"
Samus draws in, looming over him. The glow of her suit reflects off the pirate's pale skin, making the predatory shape of her helmet breach through the dark. She grabs a fistful of his hair, wrenching his head to one side.
"I just need your body."
000
Adrian finishes locking in the final couplings on the comms system. A section of panels at the captain's station light up. She crawls out from under the consoles and flicks a few switches, starting an open-channel broadcast distress signal.
They're lucky. The pirates saved dismantling the comms array for last. Didn't stop them from stripping what useful things they could find. All around the bridge, panels lie askew or completely torn off, and stray cables hang outside their housing, their connections dangling loose.
As she takes in the damage done, Adrian hangs her head in dismay. Every loose bolt, every stripped wire, she might as well have done it with her own hands. She wants to throw herself at Samus' feet and beg for forgiveness, but the captain has barely spoken a word to her since the pirates fled. Only orders.
Cold, sharp orders.
Chowa steps into the bridge. "Lieutenant, I have assessed the damage to the right thrust engine. The explosion did not breach hull integrity, and the engine should still function at reduced capacity with some minor repairs. However, we lack the parts and tools to perform a repair."
She nods without looking up. "Thank you Chowa."
The alien lingers there, unintentionally hovering over her through sheer height, waiting for a response. "… I have also double checked our remaining stock. All weapons, armor, and equipment have been taken. The fabricator remains, but our protein supply is severely diminished."
"… thank you, Chowa."
"… our medical supplies-"
Adrian bolts upright, glaring at them and gritting her teeth. "Yes! I know! They took everything! Thank you!" She subconsciously extends her back foot to make herself seem taller.
Chowa's eyes widen slightly and they tilt their head, studying her outburst. "… they left a first aid kit."
Adrian groans and moves past Chowa. She stops short and stands at attention as Samus steps onto the bridge, still armored. "What's our status?"
Chowa answers first. "Minimal supplies remaining, Captain Aran. We may render the starboard thrust engine partially functional with repairs."
Adrian is quick to add to that. "I've restored communications and activated our distress… signal…" she trails off as Samus passes her without a word. She goes up to the captain's console and flicks off the distress beacon. Adrian feels a sharp sting in her chest.
The moment Samus turns to face them, she launches into a plan of action. "We're not waiting for rescue. Cannibalize what we can from around the ship, use anything that could reasonably hold the engines together long enough to escape orbit. Take unnecessary parts from the port engine if you have to. Once that's done, we're pursuing."
Adrian balks. "We're following them? We can't possibly fight them in space without ammo or functional thrust-"
"We're not fighting them. Not ship-to-ship. We're going to follow them to their next port; we need to get there and find them before they sell too much."
"You extracted their destination from our captive, Captain Aran?" Chowa asks.
"Not directly. He has tattoos on his neck and chest of a particular style popular in criminal circles in this region of space, so we know they're local. A scan I pulled from their ship revealed a layer of iron-rich red dust on its landing gear. I also detected oxidative damage to cell membranes in his lungs, indicating regular exposure to oxygen-dense air. Finally, stealing from a high-risk target means they'll want to offload their loot as quickly as possible, choosing the closest densely populated region of space. All of this together points us toward one planet; VC-77."
Chowa listens on in amazement, wide-eyed. "How clever! Well done, Captain Aran."
"It was on the shortlist of planets in this region I'd check first, but narrowing it down keeps us from wasting time. Chowa, you're on engines. Lieutenant, gather up their dead, strip them down, and throw them out. We'll need their gear. Don't worry about our guest, Kaia's offered to keep him in line."
With orders given, Samus strides down the ramp in a rapid clip. Adrian puts her arm out to catch her as she breezes past. "Captain, may I have a word?"
Samus stops, finally looking right at Adrian. Her lit visor renders her immediate emotions nebulous and uncertain; Adrian can't discern if her captain is upset or just focused.
She waits for Chowa to leave before speaking. "I… I need to formally apologize, Captain. It was my fault they got on board."
Samus huffs and pulls away, walking through to the crew quarters. "We don't have time for this. Apologize later."
Adrian's shoulders fall, dragged under by the weight of her despondence.
000
The Crosshair drops out of FTL as it breaches the Verge Cline system. The ship shudders as the thrust engines struggle with their improvised repairs. They held together long enough to escape GB-89. All they have to do now is survive entry.
Samus grips the manual controls firmly. They fight her every step of the way. Warnings and cautions blip and flash on her console, advising her to seek repairs as soon as possible. As if she didn't know that. The incessant, unnecessary warnings feel like the phantom voice of Adam still lingering in the ship's heart.
Her grip tightens on the thrust control, pressing it further.
As the Crosshair rattles into the atmosphere, the crew shares an unspoken worry that it's going to shake apart. But the ship is tough; it withstands entry long enough for atmospheric systems to take over, bringing them into a smoother flight.
There's no flight control on VC-77, no one radios them with instructions for landing. Floating billboards in the sky project holographic advertisements for local docks and shipyards, moving into an almost-interception range of the Crosshair as it descends in a competing attempt to draw in business. Some jack into the comms system of the ship, blaring annoying jingles and false promises of their superior quality. Samus shuts off signal interception to mute the noise.
The shipside cameras show a large town beneath, nestled between clay-red mesas dotted with holes from the planet's prior mining operations. Clustered buildings, some of which were clearly intended to be temporary but became permanent fixtures, are laden with colorful sun-blocking awnings.
Samus spies a building with a circular opening on its roof. Bright lights form arrows pointing to the hole, declaring the dock's availability. She brings the ship down as gently as she can, dropping into the opening. With one final, great shudder, the Crosshair's landing gear thuds to the ground, and the engines gear down as though releasing a labored breath.
Samus pats the controls. Thank you.
"Adrian," she calls down, "You ready?"
The lieutenant glances up at her captain from her station. "Y-yes, Ma'am."
She isn't, not by a longshot. Adrian's dressed for her role; a dusty old t-shirt with the top buttons undone, dirtied up a little for effect. The bottoms off one of the pirate's suits, a little loose on her because of the size difference. And a pirate's leather gun belt, replete with their scratched and scarred sidearm. Adrian doesn't like the blaster. It's unfamiliar.
She definitely looks the part. But it's all just the trappings of a dangerous outlaw. Inside, she's never been more terrified.
Samus gets up from her seat and secures one of the pirate's helmets around her head, pulling up the hood on a ratty old poncho she hangs on to for just such occasions. She borrowed some of Arrande's pants; they're a little short for her, but baggy enough that they disguise her curves.
As long as she doesn't speak, she might pass for a tall, lean man. And therein lies the problem. VC-77 was an independent mining colony until the mines dried up. Afterward, its population leaned progressively more and more toward criminal ventures. With the crew in such a vulnerable position, she can't afford to be recognized, not by body or by voice. She can't lead this mission.
Adrian has to.
Samus' voice comes out muffled by the helmet, but still recognizable. "Remember, you're confident, not aggressive. You have to convince anyone who looks at you that you're capable enough to protect yourself, but not stand out so much that you draw unwanted attention."
Adrian feels anything but confident. She was finally getting into a groove, adapting to her role, and now this? Leading the entire crew without Samus' guidance? It's too much.
"Are we sure Chowa wouldn't be a better choice to lead this mission? They're way more intimidating."
Samus glances at Chowa; they're wearing a simple Vorminian shirt and trousers. Fortunately, they had plenty to choose from. They have a clear preference for black since it blends with their skin tone. One of the pirate's gun belts stretches to its limits around their waist, chosen because, unlike the others, this one has a knife sheath. They seem dismayed over the lieutenant's label, but don't object to it.
She shakes her head. "Even criminals won't be eager to talk to them. And I'm not sure Chowa could coax the information we need out of people if they're always on their guard around them. Besides, if you're the type of person who has a Vorminian for muscle, it should help your image."
She gives Adrian another once-over and shakes her head.
"Speaking of which, you're missing something. You look more like an engineer than a bigshot privateer. Chowa, let the dock master know the 'captain' will be along shortly. You, come with me." Samus beckons for Adrian to follow.
She brings them to Adrian's quarters and opens the door without asking. "Captain, wait a second-"
Samus ignores her and marches in, opening the hidden wall cabinets. She stops suddenly, staring at the meager collection of Adrian's uniforms and plain casual wear. "… is this all you have?"
"Yes… only what I need, Captain," Adrian answers sheepishly.
Samus regards the meager wardrobe with a cocked eyebrow. How can anyone stand to wear such utterly plain outfits, even on their off days? This closet is as stale as an academy recruit's.
She shakes her head. "Follow me."
Samus drags Adrian in her wake over to her personal quarters, then opens her closet. She reveals several packed rows of colorful clothing, almost bursting at the edges. Adrian gawks at the collection. She didn't realize Samus was so fashion conscious. She peers through, trying to find where Samus keeps her uniform, but can't see any. Everything here besides outerwear is pretty or sheer or tight-fitting or revealing in some way. The captain doesn't lack confidence in her body, that much is certain.
The captain pulls out a long, deep grey jacket. It's almost brand new, with a wide collar and large pockets. Adrian thinks it's beautiful, but she has no business wearing something like that.
Samus suddenly yanks on its sleeve hard enough that the seams start to rip. Adrian gasps. "C-captain?! What-?!"
The lieutenant watches as Samus proceeds to ruin the jacket; tearing it in strategic points, stomping it against the dirty floor, even pricking her own fingers and leaving a bloody, smeared handprint on the waist. "There, that should do it. Here, put this on."
Adrian doesn't know how to respond. She stands there, staring at the once-lovely jacket in sheer shock.
Samus pushes it into her chest. "Now, Lieutenant."
She obeys. The length of the jacket almost comes to her knees, and it's obvious the shoulders are too wide. The ends of the sleeves dangle at Adrian's fingertips.
Samus scrutinizes the look and nods. "Hm. Right." She takes the sleeves and rolls them up Adrian's forearms. "There, almost perfect." She opens one of the cabinet doors wider, turning a long, full body mirror toward the other woman.
It… works. Adrian can't believe she's admitting that to herself, but it works. It gives the impression she took the coat from someone larger and stronger than her… the hard way.
"Mm. Just one more thing." Samus reaches behind Adrian's head and undoes her tight bun of hair, letting it fall down in wavy lengths just past her shoulders. Samus nods. "Perfect."
Adrian looks takes in the reflection. She's never liked how she looks with her hair down. It feels false. If the intent of the disguise is to make her feel like a different person, it's successful. "Captain… again, I want to-"
Samus cuts her off. "You'd better not apologize. Save it for when this is over, otherwise you're just wasting time better spent addressing the problem."
She isn't wrong, but her admonition makes Adrian flinch.
A knock at the door draws their attention. Chowa's voice comes through the other side. "Captain Aran, the dock master is growing impatient."
Samus gives Adrian one last look over. "Well 'Captain.' You'd better not keep them waiting."
000
Adrian strides forth at the head of the trio, holding a stern expression. Too stern; it's almost comical. The forced pull of her lower lip causes her frown to wrinkle her chin, her gaze is hard-browed but wide-eyed. Her expression is somewhere between having just been gravely insulted and desperately needing to go to the bathroom. Samus, from behind the lieutenant, can't see the obtuse face she's making, thus can't correct her.
The narrow, crowded streets of VC-77 cluster with people from all corners of the galaxy and beyond. Every one of them carries or holsters a visible weapon. Going without is an invitation for trouble. They mill about the long central road, cracked and overgrown with dry brush from years of neglect. Businesses advertise themselves with ancient neon signs, preferred because of the abundance of farmable neon in the system. The pungent smells of grilled local meats fill the air, scents wafted into the streets by savvy vendors using fans to appetize the passers-by.
Adrian tries to console herself, thinking there's no way they'll stand out amongst all these colorful characters. But she spots more than one set of eyes on them as they pass. Dark-eyed strangers watch them, evaluating them. Recognizing them as unrecognized.
A fight spills out of one of the local establishments and into the street. Several angry alien intonations bark over one another as their speakers preen and posture. Adrian freezes as the argument cuts into her path. The fight draws the attention of several other onlookers.
Samus glances around. This is bad; it's only a matter of time before this gets violent. If the winner of this little spat spots Adrian staring, they just might pull her into their whirlpool of pride and wrath. "Ignore it. Walk around them," she whispers under her breath.
The lieutenant nods, broken free from her trance. They pass the angry shouting match moments before someone pulls a gun and fires a single shot, followed closely by the thump of a body hitting the ground. Adrian doesn't know who won, and is too scared to look back.
At a fork in the main road, a two-story bar bearing a salacious neon caricature of a Lufenian woman draws the crew's attention. People crowd around it, under awnings and on its many outdoor patios. Samus points it out. "There. This is the kind of place where goons run their mouths."
Adrian swallows. "What do I say?"
"You don't say anything. Just stick to what I told you. Walk in, find an open table, and sit down. Don't take a seat at the bar unless there are no other options."
She walks up to the steel door embedded in the corner of the triangular building. A light strip above the door scans back and forth for a few seconds, then the door shunts open. A narrow hall extends forward to a secondary door, and a concentrated funnel of dull noise thrums through it, washing over Adrian. Overwhelming scents of liquor and smoke hit her in the face.
A gentle nudge from Samus presses her on.
The inside of the bar is utilitarian; the building is a conversion from a series of stacked temporary structures welded and bolted to each other. Steel tables and chairs are scratched and scarred from decades of use, and the most colorful presence in the establishment is the wall of various colorful bottles lining the wall behind the bar. A second-floor balcony overlooks the central floor, and the entire space expands backward from the wedge-shape of the building.
The moment the trio steps through the door, the rich noise in the bar abruptly dims down to a scant few conversations. Adrian halts, breath held, stiffly scanning the room as numerous eyes focus on her. She hears Samus whisper an instruction behind her, "Growl."
Adrian doesn't see how that could help, or how convincing such an action could be from her. She's relieved when instead a deep, throaty growl rumbles from within Chowa. Of course. That makes much more sense. It's so effective even Adrian herself clenches a little, hearing that animalistic warning come from right behind her.
The noise picks back up as the barflies go back to their own business.
Adrian hurries to one of the last remaining unclaimed tables and sits down, facing into the bar. She doesn't want her back to any of the intimidating characters here. Chowa and Samus take position behind her, staying on their feet. Chowa stands at relaxed attention while Samus picks a post to lean against. To any outsider, it makes their simulated dynamic clear.
The three of them size up the patrons. Plenty of hard-looking, tough outlaws. Lot of scars between them. In this day and age, choosing to keep a scar when they're easily treatable is a sign of pride in how they're earned. And for men and women like these, an effective way to immediately measure someone's threat level. Above-board professionals like to keep themselves scar-free for the sake of pleasant negotiations with lawful clients.
Outlaws keep theirs as declarative statements, proof of the danger they represent.
Another figure suddenly yanks out the chair opposite Adrian's, taking a seat with their head bowed low. A Haundovian with a black crest. He briefly tastes the air with his serpentine tongue before giving a polite nod to the apparent captain of the crew. "H-hi. Good salutations to you. I h-haven't seen you before."
Adrian doesn't answer right away, her heart catching in her throat as she tries to evaluate the best way to respond.
The strange Egenoid interprets her silence as unfriendliness. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I'll go."
Samus taps the back of Adrian's chair with her foot. "Wait!" Adrian interjects. The Haundovian freezes mid-rise. "… what did you want?"
"Oh! Well, I was w-wondering if you were looking to expand your c-crew," the lizard-man simpers.
Adrian peeks back at Samus at the edge of her vision, but keeps her head locked forward. No help this time, not with someone right there to hear her. C'mon, think… try to sound tough.
She artificially deepens her tone. "… why would we take you?"
He rubs his dry palms together under the table. "Y-you have a Vorminian with you."
She glances up at Chowa, then back. "Yeah, but… they're really big and strong. You're kinda-"
"I-I have other talents! I can get into spaces even Vorminians can't! I'm also a talented engineer!"
The Haundovian chatters on about all the supposed skills he has. Adrian zones out. The crew isn't going to entertain the idea of employing an outlaw, regardless of their diverse hiring practices.
A new person walks into the bar. A regular, by the way everyone else responds to him. Thick yellow-brown vest, heavy work boots, and buzzed brown hair. A deep C-shaped scar on his face stretches up to his forehead from the side of his mouth. He walks up to the bar and takes a seat, chatting up the bartender. But something about him catches Adrian's eye.
His blaster. Or more accurately, hers. She recognizes it on sight. Every scrape on its grip is a known quality, an imprint etched into memory. It hangs from a holster on his right side.
Samus notices her locked gaze and follows it, noticing the familiar weapon. Oh no. She reaches for Adrian, but the younger woman has already risen to her feet and moves outside Samus' grasp.
Ignoring the chattering Haundovian, Adrian walks over to the unfamiliar face, leaning onto the bar with one arm to get his attention. "Hey."
He glances at her and gives her an up-and-down look, cocking an eyebrow. "What?"
"Where did you get that blaster?" she asks, pointing at it.
He glances between the blaster and this demanding stranger. "Off the back of a shuttle. What's it to you?" The barkeep drops a frothy beer in front of him and he takes a drag from it.
Adrian reaches forward and grips his arm to keep him from taking another. Her tone sharpens. "No, you didn't. Where did you get it?"
The stranger doesn't appreciate the interrogation, nor the aggressive touch. "You're gonna get real familiar with it if you don't take that hand off me."
Her grip tightens, drawing a snarl from the strange man. Blinding rage subsumes Adrian to the point she isn't aware of the other patrons watching the tense exchange, waiting to see what happens next. Some get up to leave, predicting the inevitable outcome.
A creak comes from the guardrails above, followed by the weighty thump of a heavy body dropping onto the steel floors. Samus inhales sharply and instinctively slings the pirate rifle from her back to her grip. What the hell is he doing here?!
Clad in heavy-armored green plating from head to toe, with a tall, gold, reflective visor obscuring all his facial features, stands a bounty hunter whose infamy equals Samus' own.
Every movement betrays the hunter's distinctly inhuman nature. The floor shudders more than it should for someone of his size, as though the plating on his body isn't merely armor, but a casing for solid steel. Servos whir and click with every step taken, every swing of his limbs.
He strides forward, drawing the eye of both the unnamed outlaw and Adrian. Her grip loosens as she fixes in place, finally drawn out of her indignation. The bounty hunter's intent is inscrutable as he stands over the two and speaks four simple words. "… I like this bar." His voice is an inhuman hiss, scraping against the confines of an artificial voice modulator.
The young man swallows and nods. "Sorry, Weavel. Not my fault. This crazy bitch just walked up to me and-"
"Do you know why?" Weavel interrupts. "Because first, the bartender doesn't make me speak this cesspool of a language. Second, he makes neuro-stim drinks for me. And third, if people have a problem with each other in this bar, they take it outside. They don't make it everyone else's problem." He leans down, slowly panning his featureless visor between the two. "They don't ruin my peaceful drink with their stupid little issues."
Adrian has released the stranger's arm by now. She doesn't know who this Weavel is, but she's not inclined to find out. "Right. Sorry."
Weavel stares her down, making her shake. "If you're that sorry… tell your flunky they'd better point their gun elsewhere." His helmet pivots toward Samus. She has her rifle trained on Weavel, her free hand bracing the top rail.
Samus' thoughts race. He shouldn't be here. Why the hell is he?! Space Pirates don't get along with anyone but their own. Was he chased off for his failure in the Alimbic Cluster? Did he strike down on his own?
Adrian gestures to drop the blaster. Others in the room might mistake it for an order, yet Adrian's eyes are all but begging Samus not to raise the tension further. Samus hesitates, eyes trained on Weavel's arm, waiting for the smallest spark from the gauntlet-mounted energy blade she knows he has hidden away. Adrian doesn't understand the danger she's in right now. But she obeys, dropping the barrel to the ground.
"You have a brave friend," Weavel comments. "Brave or ignorant." He cocks his head at Samus. "An overhand grip to compensate for recoil… that's a rare sight. Where'd you learn that?"
Samus doesn't answer, one reflective, unblinking visor staring back at another.
Weavel scoffs, facing Adrian. "Why won't your man talk back? Brave enough to point a gun at me, but not brave enough to speak?"
Adrian shakes her head, improvising something on the spot. "Can't talk. I… cut her vocal cords for talking back to me."
Under her helmet, Samus grits her teeth. Shit.
Weavel's head gently tilts to one side in quiet contemplation. "… her? My oh my. Tall for a female."
He stares at Samus, his thoughts incomprehensible. Samus feels muscles tense. If this turns into a fight against him, she'll have to armor up. Escaping patrons will spread the word, and before the crew can even leave the bar, assuming they can, the thieves they're after will be in the wind.
Thankfully, Weavel turns his attention back to Adrian. "If you want to buy something like that pathetic little blaster, the Black Concord crew is selling their garbage out of Merrethorn's shipyard. Just brought in some shabby prize they're taking an annoying amount of pride in."
Adrian takes another glance at the gun her father gifted her, then back at Weavel. Heavily armored, enormous Weavel. She squares her jaw and nods. "Right. Thank you."
"Just get out, human girl. I'd have killed you already if it wouldn't piss off my favorite bartender," he hisses.
Adrian gets up and nods to the others. Chowa falls in line, but Samus takes her time, watching Weavel from the corner of her eye. He doesn't look away from her as they exit.
Does he know? she wonders. No… no, if he knew… he'd have killed Adrian and attacked. Samus is the last one out the door.
All the while, Weavel watches in fathomless silence.
000
Captain Poog strokes his curled moustache, clears his throat, and speaks over the gathered audience of thieves, murderers, and scoundrels. "All right, all right! Calm down, my friends, we've got plenty of stock remaining! Trust me, those of you who haven't spent your money yet will be glad you still have it for this next item!" He gestures for calm atop an empty metal shipping container.
Merrethorn's shipyard is laden with disorganized crates of varied plunder, indeterminate in both substance and origin. A cornucopia of powerful smells competes for attention, among them the oily smell of spilled fuel, metallic rust, and just a hint of ionization.
The Black Concord isn't the only vessel hawking its prizes today, but it's certainly garnering the most attention. A crowd of over twenty people gather around, ogling the big-ticket items on display; full armor suits, near-mint condition weapons, ship hardware, exploratory gadgets and gizmos. Some wait just to witness the big reveal of the tall thing they have hidden under a sheet. The ship's crew moves in and out of the Black Concord, wheeling out more common stock like food and medical supplies. The first mate sells these in bulk to a secondary line of prospective buyers near the vessel.
A member of the audience walks away with Arrande's MX280 slung over his shoulder, a satisfied smirk on his face. He's blissfully unaware of how dangerously overpowered the rifle is for his size, but all that matters is it's a big gun, and people are gonna respect him now.
Poog grins and motions to his crew for the next item up for bid. They wheel forth the sheet-covered dolly. "This is a one-of-a-kind item, ladies and gentlemen! I'm sure you all have service androids on your ships, but do you have one of these?"
His lackey yanks the sheet off, revealing their big prize item. Adam's unconscious body stands rigid, depowered and staring into the abyss. The walla of the prospective buyers grows, and one of them shoots their hand up. "Four-thousand!"
Poog's smile widens and he shakes his head. "No no, my friends. This is no simple service android. I've verified its manufacturing tag myself; this is a genuine Vernon Haught original!" That gets people talking. Poog strides back and forth before his audience, pressing the pitch. "An internal visual scanning array with thermal and infrared, frequency transponder management system, mobile transmission antenna, personal G-stabilizer, biometric mirroring, and a half-ton lift capacity! It's good for medical, clerical, security, just about any job you can upload a custom module for!"
Someone in the audience waves their hand above their head. "Does it have junk?!"
Poog has to take a second to consider his answer. Crude as it is to admit, that is one of the primary, if most tacit, selling points of most advanced androids. Unfortunately, that's the one feature this one's creator skimped on. How to spin this? Poog holds up his hands and grimaces. "No, but all the better! There won't be anything to distract it from its duties aboard your ship! Imagine a vessel where you only have to worry about piloting and your next meal! That's the future I'm offering!"
Another hand in the crowd shoots up. "Has it been memory wiped?"
"Not yet, but we'll provide that service as part of purchase! Now I'm doing you all a favor here, parting with something this valuable instead of keeping it all to myself. But I'm not about to rake you over the coals. So why don't we start at… half a million?"
The audience's excitement dies down.
Poog scans the crowd, then smiles and waves his hands in a kidding motion. "Aw, just teasing the thrust a bit. A quarter million!"
Hands shoot up as people in the audience vie to have their bids heard.
Poog grins wider, pointing to specific customers and repeating their bid, proclaiming the highest offer. He briefly glances over his shoulder at one of his crewmen, currently working a tungsten bore into the lock mechanism of the red mystery crate. "Zanza? How's it coming? We need to know what's in that crate before the android sells, or I'm gonna lose half this crowd!"
"I'm working on it. Damn thing is tough."
Poog turns his attention back to the audience, putting on his sales face. "Yes, I hear two-seventy! Anyone want to push that up to three-hundred?"
A stern voice cuts over the crowd. "How about zero?"
A missile flies over the audience and strikes the back of the Black Concord. Several members of the audience scramble into the dark shadows of the shipyard. More join them once they spot the source of the attack.
Samus somersaults down from atop the shipyard's main tower, fully armored and radiating a level of menace none of these bottom-feeding goons could muster on a good day. She points her cannon at Captain Poog.
Poog grits his teeth and glares at the screwup on his crew responsible for setting the engine charge. "Should be good, eh? Did you use gunpowder instead of plastique?!" He raises a single hand and every member of his crew trains a weapon on the intruder, then he calls out to the scattered outlaws still in the shipyard. "Gentlemen, please! Regardless of reputation, Samus is but one woman! If we all-"
Samus doesn't entertain his charisma a second longer. She releases a charged shot into him, knocking him off his makeshift podium. He hits the ground on his back, gasping for breath.
"This man has stolen from me!" she declares for all to hear. "If you aid him, you'll get no mercy." She spots the man who bought Arrande's rifle. He clutches it to his chest, wide-eyed. "And if you purchased something from him, I suggest you drop it and walk away. Or I'll have to come looking for it."
The terrified customer throws the MX280 at the hunter's feet and dashes away as fast as his feet will carry him.
Behind the crate, Captain Poog's crew pulls him to his feet, wheezing and coughing from the charge blast. That felt like a Breyan bronco kicking him in the chest! "Fucking kill her, please!"
The crew hesitates. "But… but you said she'd kill us if we fought her! Captain, let's cut our losses and run!"
He takes a quick stock of what they've sold so far. Basic supplies, a few weapons… but not the android. He glances at the red crate. Its lid is finally open. He could finally know what it is, what it's worth. The shadows within call to him like a siren, begging him to unlock the infinite possibility in those dark depths.
More than that, he can't afford to let Samus strike his reputation like this. Not on their turf. He won't tolerate it! Wealth, prestige, infamy. He's earned it, damn it! And this is just an opportunity to earn more.
"I said kill her! We're going to be the crew that takes down Samus Aran!"
Samus subtly shakes her head. She's heard that before.
Samus dashes forward as the desperate pirates draw arms on her and open fire. She boosts from side-to-side, dipping in and out of Morph Ball form as she closes the distance. A few of their shots meet their mark, but they're a long way from victory.
A pirate rushes out of the Black Concord and levels a high-powered rifle at the scuffle, scoping in on Samus. They bide their time, watching as she dips and dives between shots, claiming targets one after the other. All they need is for her to hold still for a second and then…
A low, throaty growl sends a shiver up the pirate's spine. They rigidly glance over their shoulder at a looming shadow clinging to the side of the ship, and a set of predatory amber eyes narrowing on them. Chowa descends on the shooter, cutting short their scream of terror.
Amidst the chaos, Captain Poog takes cover behind a stack of steel barrels, hysterical desperation clouding his normally calm, strategic mind. Everything he's worked toward is unraveling, all because of that woman. Peeking over the barrels, he watches Samus dismantle his crew.
His foreman, a hulking man more than a foot taller than Samus, charges at her, arms outstretched to grapple her. She smoothly grips his wrist in one hand and pulls his momentum past her, depositing him on the ground with little effort, and follows with a charged blast into his chest.
Poog grits his teeth and tries to think. They can win this, they can win this! He just needs to figure out how! He scans the battlefield, searching for an opportunity.
And there she is. The small woman, the liability. Samus' second-in-command, the red-head. She peeks over the scattered crates, trying to approach the table of weapons arranged for auction. And she doesn't have a weapon. Poog smirks to himself, creeping through cover toward her.
Adrian can see her rifle from here. Samus' plan was simple; while she soaks up the pirates' attention, Chowa sneaks into their ship and cleans out their backup, and Adrian sneaks up to the auction site to activate Adam and get him out of here. But a clawing need splits her focus. Her rifle is right there, and she'd be much more comfortable with that than the unfamiliar pirate pistol at her side. She can barely stand to hold the damn thing, it's so beat up and neglected.
She darts between crates and barrels, closing the distance. Almost there… almost…
The two-note metal clack of a blaster racking behind her makes every muscle in her body twitch. The low hiss of the pirate captain's voice locks her feet in place. "Don't move."
She should have had her blaster out, not that it would have stopped him from getting the drop on her. Her eyes dart down to her holster, silently measuring out how fast she'll need to be to get it out. Her mind races as she raises her shaking arms in surrender.
If he wanted her dead, she'd be dead. She realizes he plans to use her as a hostage.
Adrian listens for movement from him. The moment he takes a step, she spins around, trying to sweep the barrel with her arm while pulling her pistol. It's a move she's practiced a hundred times, but that familiarity works against her. Compared to the blaster she's used to, the thicker grip and forward-set of the trigger causes her to fumble it in a loose grasp.
Poog adjust swiftly, checking her hand with the butt of his blaster and knocking the pistol from it. It misfires as her finger grazes the trigger, the shot uselessly flying off target. He bashes her in the face with the butt for good measure, sending her tumbling through the crates.
Adrian's senses swim in a sea of red iron as blood runs from her broken nose. Her disoriented vision focuses on a nearby rifle, dropped by a pirate. She heaves herself onto her stomach and crawls forward, reaching for the weapon, inches from wrapping her hand around the lifeline…
The pirate captain shatters any hope she has as he fires, blasting her outstretched right hand to pieces.
Adrian screams in agony, curling up on herself and rolling on her back as she experiences the most intense pain of her life. The guttural wail pierces the air over the blaster fire, making Samus' heart drop. She turns just in time to see Poog re-rack his blaster and point it down at her writhing lieutenant.
"Enough!" he hoarsely shouts over the din. The frantic battle suddenly calms, bending to his presence. His erratic breathing and manic, wide eyes tell Samus just how close to the precipice he is right now. His coiffed hairdo is askew, and his moustache frays at the ends. Every façade of calm charm has drained from him, leaving only a man willing to do something dramatic to regain control.
Samus lowers her arm cannon. "Hang on-"
"No!" he spits. "You are going to listen to me!" He switches to a one-handed grip, extending the blaster toward her subordinate. The tremors of his hand magnify the unsteady tremble of the barrel. The few remaining pirates watch on in silent apprehension as their captain comes unglued.
"Alright! I'm listening. I'm listening," Samus says, making calming motions. She assesses the distance between her and Adrian. If she can get between them before he fires, she can absorb the shot with her suit. It'd hurt like a bitch, but she could take it. But she's too far away.
"You… you're going to drop that armor! And then you're going to surrender! You hear me?!" The barrel shakes with every emphasized syllable.
She nods and takes a slow step toward him. "Alright. And you'll let her go-"
"NO!" he bellows, spittle flying from his mouth. "You move one step closer and I'll pull the trigger! You don't get to make any demands! You're going to do what I say! Do it now!"
Adrian cranes her gaze toward her captain, maintaining a white-knuckled grip on her bleeding stump of a wrist. Crimson stains her grey coat, dousing it black, corrupting it. She's made herself a liability again. If the blood loss doesn't kill her, the shame will.
It gets harder and harder to focus. Is she going to die here? Arrande isn't here to take the blow for her this time. She should have had the damn pistol in her hand. She should have practiced with it, familiarized herself with it.
Her eyes clench tight, and blood seeps through the gaps between her clenched teeth. She should have been more aware of her surroundings. She should have stopped the pirates from boarding.
The line between pain and fury blurs as her heart pounds in her ears. She should have been better. She should have never accepted this role if she wasn't ready for it. She should have been ready for it.
She should have adapted.
Adrian hears the telltale sound of Samus' armor dematerializing. Her eyes shoot open, glaring at the pirate captain, watching the barrel slowly raise toward her captain. Adrenaline spikes.
His stance is too wide. Adrian kicks out, knocking Poog's foot out from under him. She ignores the pain that shoots up her arm as she uses her injured limb to push off the ground, and yanks the blaster from his grip with her blood-drenched hand.
As the disgraced captain Poog hits the ground, the entire world shakes around him. He regains his faculties just in time to see Adrian's wrathful expression as the prone, bloodied woman points the shaking barrel in his face with one hand. "Wait-"
In her mind, she can see Arrande, back on the mat, pointing his finger at her. Bang.
The report of the blaster echoes over the shipyard, silencing any further dissent from the remaining pirates.
Adrian heaves. Her body is fraught with a thousand different pains at once. The fire of the phantom nerves from her destroyed hand, the sharp ache of her teeth, clenched so tight she thinks she might have cracked them. The strain of her fingers, sprained from the recoil of the powerful blaster throwing itself from her hand. She collapses on her back, staring up into the dust-swirled sky as darkness slowly subsumes her.
000
"If any of you move, I will kill you."
Samus' glare travels over the remaining pirates. Of the Black Concord's original crew, only five of twenty-three remain. Those still living stand in a row facing her, hands above their heads. Not one looks willing to defy her.
Chowa moves behind them, loading up the pirate vessel with what remains of the stolen goods from the Crosshair. Using the Black Concord to transport everything will be easier than doing it on foot.
Adam walks out from within the ship, up to Samus' side. "She's stable. I've dressed her wound, and the transfusion was successful, but we need to get the lieutenant to the med bay soon. They don't have one on their ship."
Samus nods. She initially found Adam's idea of harvesting blood from the dead pirates to be ghoulish, but none of the living matched Adrian's blood type. Ironically, it was the late Captain Poog's contribution that stabilized her. If not for the medical equipment being immediately available and Adam's android intelligence, Adrian may have died here.
Samus is thankful for Adrian's survival. But she counts that as one victory among several in the face of a significant loss. Her eyes travel to the security crate, unlatched and open. The Norium is gone. The surviving pirates claim the same story; they didn't get around to selling it.
She silently muses over the possibilities. In the chaos of the firefight, someone could have snatched it and snuck off with it. But the fact that it's all gone makes that idea ring false to her. Someone desperate to get away wouldn't dawdle long enough to pick up each bit, and probably would have dropped some in their getaway. Yet not a piece remains.
Someone on the crew might have found a way into the crate and stashed it away somewhere. She could investigate the Black Concord tip to stern, or take the time to interrogate the survivors. But there's a chance she's already killed whoever was responsible, and she doesn't have a lot of time to linger on VC-77.
As though to answer that thought, she hears movement behind her.
Several dozen armed outlaws from across the galaxy materialize from behind the scattered stock of the shipyard. And just as she feared, Weavel leads the mob. Her face twists in disgust behind her visor.
As Weavel comes to a stop about fifty yards away from her, the rest of the entourage trailing him stops as well. "You know, I had a funny feeling about you in the bar. The way you were looking at me, I figured it was just my reputation making some rookie shake in their boots."
Samus doesn't respond. Even if he knows it's her now, she doesn't want to deal with the mental residue of conversing with this scum-sucking Pirate bastard.
His arm blade sparks into existence, a glowing, curved talon of energy. He rakes it over one of the toppled crates, drawing sparks. "It's honestly disgusting that someone as strong as you would stoop to disguising yourself. You could have walked in here and just taken what you wanted. But here you are, slinking around in a false face like a rat." He tilts his head. "Makes me wonder why you'd bother."
Samus levels her cannon at him. In response, over two-dozen blasters point back at her. Behind her, the surviving pirates take advantage of the distraction to run out of the line of fire. Chowa crouches on the loading ramp, eyes narrowed, their weapon of choice now clasped in their hand. Adam picks a pistol off the ground, checks its charge, and readies it.
Weavel takes a wide, low stance, blade cocked back to strike. Samus can hear the twist of his voice; if he had lips, she knows he'd be smirking. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this, arrogant bitch."
But before another fight can break loose, a massive shadow falls over the dockyard, swallowing it in darkness. Samus sees its source first. Part of her doesn't believe it's real, it's too convenient. Once the gathered outlaws understand what looms above them, the smartest ones turn tail, scrambling for the exit.
A voice booms over a loudspeaker. "Attention! This is an open warning to all scumbags and assholes on the ground! This is Commander Higgs of the GFS Olympia! We are responding to a distress call in this sector. I would strongly suggest you do not interfere with our investigation, but please, oh please, I invite you to try!" The double-barrels of one of its belly-mounted cannons points directly down at Weavel, the intent clear.
Weavel's visor tilts from the light cruiser above down to Samus. She smirks, wishing he had a face she could see right now. He isn't stupid. He won't pick a fight with a Federation cruiser. A messy, digital growl emanates from the Pirate hunter and he sheathes his arm blade, stalking away from her toward the exit. "You lucked out this time, girlie. But I know you have a weakness now. And when you least expect it, I'll be there to take advantage of it."
Anthony's voice continues as the mob disperses. "And if you wanna complain about military overreach in non-Fed space, feel free to bring it to the Federation council. I'm sure they'd love to hear from you."
00000
Questions:
1. Weavel probably isn't going to show up in the story again. Is his inclusion fun, or does it feel like it hurts the flow of the arc?
2. Does Adrian's turnabout attack stretch the reader's disbelief too much?