Though Stars May Fall Chapter One: An Alliance Built out of Cards
By CMK 2004
Orpheus Five Spaceport, Planet Tr'kl'thos Fifteen hours have passed
"I was told that you'd be coming along on this mission." Tim McDalen
stood at the top of the ramp leading into the Star Shard, arms crossed,
unsmiling. He was a little short of two meters tall, with a broad chest, light
brown hair, green eyes, and a dangerous look. John St-Varda had nearly met his
end at McDalen's hands a year back on Serapa. For that matter, McDalen looked
none too happy to see him. "You and Owen Custer and Samus Aran. But you most
especially. It's been a long time, John."
"Not nearly long enough, it
seems," St-Varda replied. "I take it you haven't forgotten about Serapa."
"Are you kidding?" McDalen asked coolly.
"I take it you aren't
about to trust me, shadow hunter," St-Varda said. After an uneasily silence,
St-Varda chanced another remark. "I've always said that you were the best enemy
I ever faced."
McDalen's mouth crept up into a grin. "I'll bet." He
laughed and beckoned St-Varda into the battlecruiser. Puzzled, the bounty hunter
complied, his boots echoing sharply off the metallic paneling of the Star
Shard's ramp. He followed McDalen straight into the main deck of the
battlecruiser. Voices drifted over from a large room in the side of the long
corridor and there McDalen led St.-Varda. "Word of warning to the wise, John,
Owen's in here and he's already going through his endless supply of fish tales."
They walked into what was obviously the bar of the ship: a countertop
with plenty of stools bolted into the deck, various tables with chess patterns
painted atop them, and a number of chairs. It was a surprisingly large room and
occupied by various members of the Federation military. At the center of the
room a number of people clustered together around a man with a faded leather
jacket and worn denim. In a word, it was Owen Custer - sandy hair, blue eyes,
slim but powerful, with expansive, fluid movements. The one-sided conversation
drifted over to where Tim and John chose to sit. "So the pirates sneak up on me
from behind this time, and they had twice as many as the last assault. Well,
here I am pinned down by the pirate crossfire and some hundreds of lives are
dependent on my actions. I'm nearly spent on ammo, too. So I see them coming,
and ..."
Tim McDalen produced a wicked-looking knife from somewhere and
made a stabbing motion at Owen's back. "The braggart. If he were anywhere as
good as he claims to be, the Space Pirates would've been a memory long ago, eh,
John?"
"Can't disagree with that. Still, I heard that he's pretty good."
"No argument there, he's just not as good as claims to be, though." Tim
frowned profusely at Owen's back. "I'd watch him closely if I were you, John. He
strikes me as somewhat undependable."
"... of the rocks, and luckily
some of the molten metal had cooled off on them. So I fire - bang - the bullet
ricochets around -" this was accompanied by expansive hand motions "- and goes
straight through several of the pirates. Well, I say to myself, great, eight
ball in the side socket. The pirates don't say anything, but they do retreat
awful quick. Heh, I almost feel sorry for them, having to go up against the
Greatest."
"Hmph, what arrogance, calling himself the Greatest," Tim
observed dryly.
"What's his real callsign?"
"Lightwing, I
believe. You bounty hunters and your ways of trying to sound cool." Tim made a
motion with his hand and a plebe brought a pair of drinks for the two of them.
"You, John - Ronin, what sort of name is that? An outcast, a warrior who has
been disgraced by failure. Now what do you think someone like me would think if
I heard that name?" Tim glanced over his shoulder at Owen. "He's quite effective
as a girl magnet, I'll give him that. Probably what he does best."
John
said nothing, although he disliked Tim's ideas. Apparently the man was covered
with a subtle layer of contempt for bounty hunters. He tilted his head back and
took a deep gulp of his bottle's contents, then decided that it was slightly too
strong for him. The Praetor continued as the two of them watched Owen's antics.
"Now, take Samus Aran. He's a moody, mysterious fellow. And his name - you know
what it means? It's Chozo, actually, and I believe it translates as Last
Chance." John's ears perked up; he hadn't heard that one before. "Last Chance
... you bounty hunters are full of yourselves."
"Look here, Praetor,"
John growled, "as far as I'm concerned, this is just another routine mission.
I'll be more than glad when it's over with; I work alone."
"Well, I do
hope that you change your perspective awful quick, John. To you, missions like
these are just a source of money, but to someone like me, this is a job that I
take very seriously. You wouldn't even be here if the technicians hadn't screwed
up earlier, and the last thing the Federation needs is someone on the squad who
can't follow orders." Tim stared into John's eyes. "To me, you're just a loose
gun, and I'd never trust you with anything this important, but that's not my
decision. I take orders, I don't give them. And if you really want to finish
this mission quickly, I suggest you learn to do the same. This is a team
mission."
John sighed. "So that's it - you think I don't care. But do
you think I'd have been involved on Serapa if that were the case?"
Tim
had no good reply to that. "You gave me a devil of a time back then, John," he
mentioned, and then he lifted his bottle. "A toast - may you make life equally
difficult for whatever is down on Noriath - and by that I don't mean myself." He
and John drank. Then Tim silently rose and slipped away; John did not care.
There was a heavy thud as Owen Custer fell into rather than sat down in
a nearby chair. "What's up, John, I see you've already met Sour Grapes there.
Pleased to meet you at last." They shook hands across the table and Owen tilted
his head. "John ... St.-Varda, correct? I heard you were the second best bounty
hunter in the galaxy."
John snorted, but he was already beginning to
feel a grudging like towards Owen. "Funny, I heard the same term applied to you,
Owen. Say, what's your impression of Praetor McDalen there?"
Owen
shrugged. "He might come in handy as an apprentice someday if he weren't so
stuck up." Owen winked hugely at John. "He seems to classify all bounty hunters
as riffraff and I for one am in no hurry to dispel that notion. The day we
arrive on Noriath, I plan to be dead drunk. What about you, John? I've heard
some wild stories about you."
"Well, I met the Praetor a year ago on
Serapa, and ... let's just say that our mission objectives did not exactly
coincide. He -"
"Eh? He what?" Owen leaned in, but John was no longer
listening. He stood up so abruptly that Owen nearly fell out of his chair. John
did't care; he had seen her, and he crossed the room in forceful strides.
"Justine?!" he hissed when he was in earshot, and she looked up quickly. "What
are you doing here?"
She smiled sweetly, like a cat that had just
caught a mouse. "Didn't I say that I might be coming along on this mission?"
"But -" John sputtered. "I thought - I thought you were just joking!"
His head reeled. Suddenly, the world seemed different; here was his girlfriend,
calmly discussing a potentially lethal mission as though it were an everyday
event. Behind him, Owen Custer was singing a rowdy song about a poor pilgrim who
had lost everything in a risky gamble; his voice sounded like sandpaper grazing
steel. John grabbed on to the edges of the table in an attempt to orient
himself. "Justine. This is a dangerous mission. I know for a fact that
the supply commissars are not required to attend such missions. Just what do you
think you're doing?"
"Don't treat me like a little girl," she said,
standing up. "I came to see you, really. And relax, for stars' sake! I'll only
be aboard until the battlecruiser reaches Sagittarius Station, and I want to
enjoy your company until then."
"Oh. I must be drunk," John mumbled,
"this can't be happening. Fine. Whatever you want; but I'd better not catch you
aboard after we reach Sagittarius Station!" Dimly he realized that Owen had
stopped singing. A moment later, the bounty hunter in question had appeared by
the two. Justine waved. "Hi."
"Hey there, hotrod. John, aren't you going
to introduce me?"
"Not if I can help it!" John half-exclaimed. Owen
rolled his eyes and extended a hand. "Owen Custer, bounty hunter, callsign
Lightwing but more commonly known as the Greatest. Pleased to meet you."
"Justine Lee." They shook hands, much to John's discomfort. Trying to
change the subject, he asked, "When does the cruiser launch?"
Owen
consulted the chronometer on his wrist. "Right about now." Sure enough, a moment
later the deck lurched slightly before stabilizing itself and the battlecruiser
was soaring. Justine winked at John. "I made sure that your quarters are right
next to mine, John, on the dormitory deck. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have
matters that I must attend to. I'll see you later when I can." So saying, she
headed for the next door.
"Your girlfriend, huh?" Owen asked. He gave a
low whistle of appreciation. "Never seen anyone that stunning before. You're a
lucky man, John St.-Varda, to know someone like her. Say ... if you died on this
mission, would she get along with me?"
"Shut up," John growled, and Owen
grinned cheekily.
En route to Sagittarius Station Six hours have passed
John's
room, as he had very rapidly discovered, was more like a prison. It was small,
low, and depressingly uniform, everything having been layered in a dull gray
color lit by the light of an old-fashioned incandescent light bulb. The bunk
took up the entire far side of the room and was enough to accommodate his frame
with one meter to spare. He had shoved his belongings under the bunk earlier.
Luckily he hadn't drank enough to give himself a hangover. He sat up in bed as a
soft knock came on the door. "Come in!" For some reason, he was still groggy
from sleep.
Justine opened the door and slid in like a phantom, dropping
a big bag to the floor where it made a dull clunk. "Hello, John, I finally have
some time off. I came to tell you, the preliminary mission briefing is in a
couple of minutes. The captain is conducting the briefing on the bridge."
"Okay." John crawled out of his bunk - as a bounty hunter, he had
acquired the habit of always sleeping fully dressed, just in case - and peered
in the nearest mirror before realizing that there wasn't one. "Do I look
acceptable, Justine?"
She began smoothing his hair into place. "You need
to shave; did you bring a razor?"
"Oops," he mumbled, but luckily she
produced one from her bag. John visited the head and returned a few more minutes
later feeling far more human. Slipping into his boots, he straightened out his
uniform. "Better, I suppose?"
"Much. C'mon, let's go." They went out
into the hall together and John inhaled deeply. Justine pointed down the hall.
"The elevator's that way. We'll be late if we walk. For that matter, we may be
late regardless." Various Federation personnel passed in and out among the many
doors of the long corridor. Justine apparently knew a few of them. She rushed a
bit as an elevator door began to close, but then the doors slid open again and
the two of them entered into it. John skidded to a halt as the elevator began to
rise, at last realizing exactly who else was inside besides the two of them.
"You."
"We meet again, Ronin," Samus Aran stated humorlessly. Because of
the helmet, John could not read her expression. Apparently the helmet also
contained a voice modulator, because the words came out in a dull, metallic
sound that nevertheless did nothing to inhibit tone. Vaguely John was aware of
Justine at his side staring curiously into Samus' visor. In the suit, Samus was
taller than either of them. John found himself reaching for a handgun that was
not present.
They eyed each other grimly for the entire ride in the
elevator while Justine glanced uneasily back and forth. Samus' signature arm
cannon was missing. When the elevator rang, Samus stepped out without a word;
John would have followed, but Justine indicated that their destination was
further up and the elevator doors closed again. John let out his breath in a
long exhalation. "Samus ... it's been almost a year ... still brings back so
many memories, though."
"A whole year and you still haven't given up on
the chase."
"Nor do I intend to." But at that moment John thought of
something Tim McDalen said earlier: This is a team mission. The thought
made his stomach rebel against his brain. "Still ... this is a team mission,"
John said, but it came out doubtfully, as though by chanting it he could
convince himself not to kill Samus. The elevator rang again.
Justine
stepped out. "I have to get off here; this briefing is for the military only.
But I'll see you again some time later, alright?"
"Sure. I'll be waiting
at the bar once we finish. Love you, Justine." They exchanged a quick kiss. John
waved as the elevator doors closed again and the elevator rose for the final leg
of the trip upwards. It was a short ride; he stepped out onto the bridge of the
ship and glanced around. It was an enormous room, considerably less lit than the
bright corridors deeper in the ship, and filled to the brim with a variety of
consoles, buttons, and flashing machinery. The bridge itself was separated into
two levels, with the upper level accessed by various ramps and consisting of a
number of catwalks along the bulkheads of the room. A large glass viewscreen
took up much of the front of the bridge. The captain and most of the men were
already assembled there on makeshift seating; John thought he saw Owen Custer
next to Tim McDalen in the front. He chose a seat near the sides and slid into
it.
A variety of Federation personnel were present. From the uniforms
and insignia, John saw that several of them were highly decorated veterans,
apparently hard as steel. All present carried the look of experience gained
solely through surviving various battles. The commissar wasn't kidding,
he thought to himself, this mission truly is priority one. There were no
alien species amongst the military personnel; the Federation was uncomfortable
with the idea of aliens amongst its military, though occasionally it employed
them as bounty hunters. Blasted racists.
Samus appeared through another
door and quietly slid into a seat. John glanced at her and noted that she
returned his look; a moment later, the captain cleared his throat. "Attention,
please." The quiet murmuring amongst the personnel instantly subsided. "Thank
you. Now, as you all know, the technical crew sent to Noriath mysteriously
disappeared some time ago. Military scouts from Sagittarius Station were sent to
raise the Herald's Path and were unsuccessful. Now, watch; these images
arrived recently from the station." The captain palmed a control and a hologram
was layered over the big glass viewport of the bridge. It coalesced into near
opaquity and the captain continued as the image focused. It was a top-down shot
of Sa'is Da'ar and it clearly showed the city's main spaceports, large concrete
structures open to the air. "These are orbital images taken from a
reconnaissance ship. The landing site of the Herald's Path has been
highlighted. Now, if I zoom in ..." here he hit another button, "... you will
all notice something very strange."
John saw it immediately, even before
the captain mentioned it. "That, gentlemen, is the ship in question. And as you
can all see, it has been overgrown by some strange sort of plant. As has the
entire city, for that matter." The image zoomed out and John saw that, indeed,
the entire city looked as if it had been overrun by some sort of plant
infestation. The captain continued, "The images that you see here are actually
generated by computer; when the scout ships arrived, there was a thick fog over
Sa'is Da'ar and they had to scan the surface via penetrating waveforms. One of
the ships performed spectroscopy analysis on the fog and the result surprised
everyone; it is actually a blanket of sleeping gas, a form to which humans show
particular vulnerability. Therefore, the mission objectives have changed.
"Federation command has split this mission into multiple parts. You will
be fully briefed at Sagittarius Station; for now, I am authorized only to say
that the station has very little information to give you beyond what we have
here. There are analysts currently examining the situation. The Federation
prefers not to send in a full-scale invasion force to Noriath, which is why it
is relying on you. Are there any questions?"
"About the plants, sir,"
Tim McDalen said. "What exactly are they?"
The captain shook his head.
"Unknown at the moment. Sagittarius Station may know, but if so, I haven't been
told. Any other questions?"
"Yes." This one came from a Federation
commando. "Captain, were any hostile landings detected across the planet? Or any
Space Pirate activity?"
"Sagittarius Station is currently investigating
that possibility, which is so far negative. They have a battlecruiser stationed
above Noriath with two fighter complements. But no unusual activity was detected
at all before Sa'is Da'ar went offline. Are there any other questions?"
There were none. The Federation personnel filed away in ones and twos,
muttering to themselves or each other, but all in low breaths. Tim bent deep in
discussion with some of his fellow officers. From his seat, John sighed,
slightly exasperated. So, this was a case of an agricultural planet producing a
fertilizer that had exceeded all expectations. What sort of idiots had made this
a priority one mission? And to think that he had been worried half to death
about Justine. What a waste of his time - almost. John caught up to Samus before
she could slip away. "Samus." She turned around and crossed her arms.
"Just know that I have my sights on you, Samus. When this mission is
over, I will kill you."
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