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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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