Though Stars May Fall - Chapter Four: Boxed In

By CMK 2004

Launch Deck, Sa'is Da'ar Spaceport
One hour has passed

"Have you ever seen such poor bastards as us?" Owen Custer complained.

John St.-Varda nodded in glum commiseration. The sun had just passed its zenith and the day was scorching hot; the concrete pavement of the launch deck only exacerbated the situation by reflecting back the heat wave. Both he and Owen were sweating on the metallic hood of the transport. While he agreed with McDalen on the need for vigilance, there was only so much that the human body could handle. For the thousandth time John found himself wondering why various other alien species hadn't been accepted into the Federation military.

"The Federation's full of racists, that's why," Samus answered from below. Belatedly John realized that he'd spoken his thought aloud. Recovering, he threw back, "I suppose it's too much to hope that you're also roasting in that suit?"

"Varia upgrade, made especially for handling superheated environments such as volcanic caves or nuclear reactors about to melt. I'm fine and comfortable; thanks for your concern, Ronin."

"Anytime," John shot back sarcastically. Come to think of it, it was actually rather surprising that neither he nor Samus had killed each other over the past two years. Certainly there was no lack of trying. "Oh, anything for some cloud cover."

Owen stood up and began to pace around on the hood of the transport. While wrecked, enough of the transport's chassis remained intact that it could still be used as an elevated firing platform. "Man, I'm so bored ... I know I should be tense and all, but honestly I've been in situations like this before. Just sit around twiddling your thumbs and doing nothing for another five standard hours."

"Oh, yeah?" Samus called up. "And when was this?"

"Eh, let's see ... about seven standard years ago, Gemini quadrant, near the Orion-Beta asteroid cluster, right before the Battle of Vorn'haust. The Federation was shipping a load of munitions somewhere. The freighters were ambushed by Space Pirates and left dead in space, but somehow intact; since I was the nearest military backup, they sent me there to guard the shipment until they could scramble a technical team and repair the freighters. Paid well, but was a waste of two standard days ... flying around a bunch of derelict freighters is no fun, and neither is this. Man, I want some action."

John scanned the hangar entrances with a wary eye. "I hope that we don't see any action. I just want to get out of here, collect my bounty, and head back to Sagittarius Station."

"Oh, yeah, your girlfriend," Owen ribbed. "I heard the Federation command sent you some mail while you were still aboard the battlecruiser. They said that Justine's gone missing and were wondering if she was with you on the battlecruiser. She really like you that much?"

"That's my business, Owen." John sighted down the barrel of his long rifle. She wasn't with him, of course, and while John was mildly concerned, he certainly wasn't alarmed. Probably some poor boy new to his job had forgotten to mark Justine as present for the day; according to Justine, such events occurred all the time. He changed subjects in an effort to divert Owen's attention. "Bounty hunting is a cutthroat business. I'm really starting to become too old for this - maybe after this mission I'll just settle down and have a family. Yeah ... start a family with Justine ... that sounds like a good plan. We sure are being paid a lot for this mission, enough for me to retire in style. Hmm ... maybe I'll start a business ... yes, Ronin's Ordnance Shed, for all your bounty hunting needs - what's so funny, Owen?"

Owen had doubled over laughing on the transport deck. "That's ... just ... too funny, John ... I can't imagine you ... having Justine as your - oof!" He glanced down to see John's fist planted firmly in his stomach. Rather weakly, he gasped out, "Sorry."

"You think that hurt?" John asked mildly, withdrawing his fist. "You ought to see the way McDalen punches - he may not look like it, but he's actually an expert in hand-to-hand combat. He has to be, in order to be a Praetor. He can lay a serious beatdown on me even when he's only half awake." John fell silent; his words had brought up certain unpleasant memories of his time in Serapa.

"Let me guess, he taught you a few tricks the hard way?" Owen teased.

"I'm still SX, mind you," John replied. "And even if he did, we're still teammates for this mission. I'm just glad Justine isn't here - this place is way too dangerous for someone like her. Since when did Noriath become infested, anyway? That doesn't make any sense at all."

"Yeah," Owen agreed. "This just seems to me like some experiment gone horribly wrong, or maybe some octopus wandered too close to a nuclear reactor. None of this makes any sense whatsoever." He leaned over the side of the transport hood, taking care not to scorch his skin on the metallic chassis. "What do you think, Samus?"

"What do you care what I think? Space Pirate sabotage, perhaps?" she wondered aloud.

Owen sighed. "Look, Samus, I know your great-grandmother wasn't all that keen about the Space Pirates, but it's been several standard years since they lost the Battle of Vorn'haust. The Space Pirates couldn't possibly be more than just a minor annoyance now. Think about it - they lost nearly all of their combat-worthy ships in that battle as well as their leader, that Space Dragon-thing. They certainly wouldn't be able to come this far. No, I think we can rule out the Space Pirates."

"Believe what you like," Samus called back. "And, for your information, my great-grandmother was nearly killed by the pirates."

Owen said something in reply; John tuned out the conversation between him and Samus. The legend of Samus Aran was well-known amongst the bounty hunting community. The original Samus, many standard years ago, had been the sole survivor of a Space Pirate attack on her homeworld. Raised by the Chozo, she had entered the bounty hunting profession as a lone warrior, a mysterious and deadly assassin handpicked for a dangerous infiltration into Zebes, stronghold of the Pirates. Afterwards a series of missions ensued, culminating in a return to Zebes and the destruction of the entire planet. That was arguably the greatest accomplishment of her career, single-handedly eliminating the Space Pirate threat for nearly thirty standard years. It was also the first time that the galaxy discovered that Samus was, in fact, a "she." It had been at a recognition ceremony held in the Federation Senate and beamed across the galaxy. That immortal moment in front of the civilized galaxy - Samus accepting her medal while removing her helmet at the same moment, revealing her true identity for the first time. Unfortunately, no one had actually captured the image; it was the only known occasion that Samus had emerged from her suit, so her actual appearance remained a mystery. Regardless, the media loved it, feminists had a field day, and that one event provided enough gossip to last the galaxy for a whole year. The publicity had been good to Samus - she'd run nearly four hundred missions that year at a time when most bounty hunters were fortunate to see only a tenth of that number offered to them.

But that was in the past, the legendary past of nearly a hundred years ago. Samus had continued to live her dangerous life, finally meeting her end in a battle with the reemergent Space Pirates, thirty years after the destruction of Zebes. Yet a year later, he mysteriously returned ... Samus' son, in the same armor as his mother, with the same deadly skill. In retrospect, no one had known that Samus had a son, and although a number of cracks had stepped forward and tried to claim parenthood, Samus himself never acknowledged his unknown father - in the process, of course, inadvertently fueling many shadowy stories of his past. After his death, his own son replaced him, and his son after him, twenty years ago. Except that John knew the truth - this time, Samus was again a woman. He wondered how much his information might fetch on the open market. It was a family tradition, he supposed - they were all bounty hunters, and the legend of Samus Aran lived on in its latest bearer. All of them SX, all of them mysterious, all of them characterized by the same lethal skill that had made "Samus Aran" a name whispered in fear by all wanted criminals.

Owen glanced at his chronometer. "Another four and a half standard hours until the Star Shard comes by. It's sure taking its sweet time on this one," he added sourly. "I'm sure the Federation didn't envision this sort of thing happening when the mission was made Priority One." He sighed long and loud. "So many people dead ... my reputation will be ruined."

"Your reputation?" John half-snarled. "What about their families?!" To his relief, his observation managed to shut Owen up.

After a long, uneasy silence, Samus called up, "So tell us a little more about your girlfriend, John. She's a pretty one."

"And why should I do that?"

"Because Owen is bored, I'm bored, and I'm sure you're bored also. I've been staring at the same rock for fifteen minutes now. C'mon, pass the time, will you?"

John weighed the idea for a moment in his mind before giving in. "Okay, but remember that she's my girlfriend. Justine and I met about two years ago ... a week after Wraith's death. You see, I had just gone to Jotarun ..."

Seated gloomily at the local bar, John stared at his drink without seeing it. It was his ... fifth, sixth? - cup and he was determined to get drunk. Wraith, dead; he still found it impossible to accept that fact. Dead! He was on Jotarun now; just two days ago, he'd visited Wraith's parents to break the bad news. Now that he thought about it, they'd taken Wraith's death much better than he had. John didn't care; all he cared about was that his best friend was now dead. "Like a ... brother ... to me ..." he murmured, speech slurred by the heavy intake of alcohol. Ironically, he'd died trying to help people, not in pursuit of a reward. John was still trying to decide whether that was a good or a terrible way for a bounty hunter to go. Not that it would help Wraith now.

Gradually he became aware that there was someone seated next to him. Hunched over the countertop, John reacted when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Whatever it was that he'd been drinking, he'd had too much of it; he was too slow by an entire second and when he finally turned to his left, he found himself staring at ... what? Blasted alcohol, his eyes were blurry. He inhaled a deep breath, closed his eyes, reopened them, and let his vision clear. Next thing he knew, he was staring into the eyes of the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life. The sight was so stunning that John was surprised into half-sobriety.

"Are you okay?" she asked, double images of her face swirling around a center point. "You look like you're going to die of alcohol poisoning."

"Wouldn't that be nice?" John murmured, reaching for a glass. "Care to join me?"

The woman shook her head slowly. "No thanks. I don't drink, I just come here for the gossip."

"More's the pity. Who are you?"

"Justine Lee. And you are?"

"John St.-Varda. Ronin among the bounty hunters."

"A bounty hunter? That is so cool. I've heard all sorts of stories about you people. What do you do for a living?" And with that question, John pushed his drink back and slowly, haltingly at first, began to talk about the bounty hunters. Their dangerous profession. Their affiliations, guilds, the secret shadow wars that they sometimes waged. Several times Justine interrupted to ask questions. Gradually John sobered up as he talked about his career. In retrospect, it was hard to tell why he opened up to Justine the way he did. He had never regretted doing so.

"What about you?" he asked. "Where do you live, what do you do?"

"I'm a quartermaster of the Federation Navy," Justine explained. "I joined a few years ago in order to see the galaxy. I live wherever the navy needs me - here, at the moment." Prompted by a few more questions, Justine leaned an elbow on the counter and related her life story. "I've lived on Morwin, in the Virgo sector, for most of my life - until a year or two ago, actually. It's an industrial planet, specializes in civilian passenger ships. My older brother was groomed to succeed my father in the family business. This, of course, left me free to do whatever, and I did - I enlisted with the navy. I've always wanted to see the galaxy. Of course, my decision was rather surprising to my family, but everyone understood. I bet that you've seen a lot more than I have, though. Have you ever been to Vys'heth ... the Rainbow Hole ... the capital ...?" And John, who had indeed been to all these places, found himself drawn more and more into the conversation.

Then came the question he dreaded. "So, what are you doing here?"

John bowed his head. "A friend of mine was killed recently," he said quietly. "I came here to give his family the news ... and ... the funeral is in a few days."

After a tense silence, Justine stood up. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have intruded -"

"No no no, it's fine, it's fine." He also stood up. "I've stayed around here too long. I should be going."

He felt her slip something into his hand. "That's my number," she said shyly, meeting his eyes after a moment's hesitation. "Call me sometime, okay?" John agreed and they parted, but not for the last time. He had talked to her again; Justine also appeared at Wraith's funeral, deeply touched by the emotionally charged procession. Afterwards, John had left to pursue a new bounty, leaving Justine behind on Jotarun. Still, despite the fact that they were often separated, sometimes by a whole galaxy-breadth - and despite a fling here or there by John - they'd kept in steady touch. As the years went by, John found himself growing closer and closer to her; perhaps he was falling in love.

"And that's the gist of it," John said in conclusion. "I owe my emotional recovery to her. Wraith's death inspired me to train at my hardest, but I couldn't have made the SX rank without Justine's support. She's the most important person in my life." He smiled wryly. "I don't know where I'd be right now if it weren't for her. Ironic, isn't it, what chance occurrences can do?"

"How touching," Samus observed with a trace of cynicism, and Owen commented, "You're too soft to be a good hunter, John."

John faked an impressive yawn. "Believe what you will." He glanced at his chronometer. "Another four standard hours and we are out of here. I want some real food on the battlecruiser, not these C-rations that they give us. That, and a beer or two. Then a bath and some sleep, preferably in that order. What about you two?"

"Bath first," Samus said. While Owen wasn't watching, John rolled his eyes and thought to himself, Women. Owen looked over the transport hood at Samus. "Getting drunk and wasted is my top priority," Owen announced. "Everything else pales in comparison - wait, say that again? Oh, yeah, that too - can't have you claim my bounty while I'm drunk."

John tugged at his collar; the day really was blazing hot. Just how close was Noriath to its parent star anyway? The sun was well past its zenith, but John was sweating profusely. It was lucky that the Star Shard was coming around the horizon in a couple of hours; John felt that he couldn't stand another day of this. But just then Tim McDalen barked out a command and John's head snapped up. The ensuing sight chilled his blood; pink gas was issuing from the north hangar entrance. John instinctively reached for his breath mask; finding that it was still secure, he rose to his knees and sighted his rifle on the hangar doors. The launch deck had become deadly quiet.

The tentacles didn't make them wait long. "Here they come!" McDalen called out; a mass of forty or more tentacles sprang out of the hangar entrance in a fearsome display of writhing flesh, each tentacle speeding with single-minded purpose towards the transports. As they did so, John suddenly came to the unpleasant conclusion that they were in a very bad position - surrounded, able to be attacked on four sides with no fifth for retreat, as well as significantly less firepower than what Colonel Johnson's ill-fated team had sported. John fired a steady stream of bullets into the tentacled mass; punctured by ordnance and laser blasts, a dozen tentacles retreated but the rest came on.

"Look out, east side too," McDalen called. "Cover your sectors!" John spared a glance eastwards and caught a glimpse of another roiling mass of tentacles advancing with the same fevered speed. There was no time to waste, though; turning his attention back to north, he fired out a pair of concussion missiles and was satisfied to see that at least some of the tentacles were blown apart by them. From the side of the transport, Samus pumped a steady stream of missiles eastward. John crouched down; a moment later, he nearly lost his footing as Owen fired off the enormous energy cannon, shooting a spray of bluish plasma that vaporized nearly every tentacle to the north. The recoil knocked both of them on their backs. Great - only two tentacles still coming on. The rest were withdrawing to nurse their wounds.

Laser fire cut down one of them; the other reached for McDalen, who sliced it apart effortlessly with his pulse blade, spraying flesh and blood in every direction. "North clear," McDalen reported crisply. "Cover east, but watch it - I see some movement west and south, also." Whether it was because the soldiers on the east were less accurate or because they lacked supporting fire, over a dozen tentacles reached their position. Four of the soldiers were dragged away, one of them screaming for his mother. John turned his firepower on the tentacles, joined by Samus and Owen; their attackers apparently decided that wisdom was the better part of valor and beat a hasty retreat, taking their victims with them. John blew apart one of the tentacles that had captured a soldier, but another one quickly swooped by and picked up the terrified victim. A moment later, they had disappeared into the grim darkness of the hangar entrance.

"Look out, they're coming from this direction!" someone shouted. John whipped around to see similar sights from the south and west entrances; masses of tentacles speeding towards them at frightening speed. No time for fear, though; John called west, fired, cursed as his ammunition ran dry, and hastily replaced his magazine. Owen again fired off the energy cannon; the recoil of the blast made John's first few shots fly wildly far from their mark. Amongst the laser blasts John could dimly make out the shapes of Samus' high velocity missiles. He fired his own concussion missiles into the mix. The tentacles beat a hasty retreat, apparently deciding that they did not like the group's firepower. On the south side, they took another soldier with them.

As quickly as it had begun, the skirmish was over and John found himself mildly surprised to still be alive. "Report in," McDalen called. "I want to know exactly how much ammunition is left. We're down to fourteen soldiers, but we can still hold this position." John and Owen glanced at each other, John nodding slowly. "Yeah ... Graylan's team had superior firepower but was unprepared," he noted, "and they were much closer to the hangar entrances. Huh. Never knew position could be this decisive in a fight."

McDalen tallied the results and apparently was not pleased. "We've spent more than half of our firepower. Nobody go all shell-shocked on me, okay? Stars, what a mess." John silently agreed; there was blood and gore everywhere, the concrete seemed to be covered with the stuff. He suddenly realized that he was very, very thirsty. He reached for his water bottle, unsealed the breath mask for a moment - luckily for them the sleeping gas had disappeared with the tentacles - and drained his bottle of its contents. Resealing his mask, John glanced at Owen's energy cannon. "That was closer than I would have liked. Maybe I don't want to know, but ... where exactly did you get that from?"

Owen grinned and flipped a thumbs-up. "Class A WarTech cannon, scavenged directly off a derelict destroyer. Took me a month of repairs just to get this thing to fire. It has its own internal power supply as well as an energy dispersion fan for maximum efficiency in directional fire. Takes a couple of seconds to charge between shots, though; I have to work on perfecting that." John whistled; a Class A cannon from a Federation ship could blow holes through a meter-thick bunker wall, never mind a number of thick-skinned tentacles. John checked his own rifle; still in top condition, and his ammunition stocks were fine. He made a mental note to be more forgiving on the magazine switch in the next battle.

"Hey, Samus," Owen called. "Just how many missiles do you carry, anyway? I mean, I saw John use a couple - he probably has four of those miniaturized warheads in each clip - but you were using them like water. Just curious in a professional way."

"Right," Samus called back. "Actually, I don't have any missiles at all. My arm cannon has a special upgrade that allows it to create a missile out of energy and fire it off. As long as the missile energy tanks aren't depleted, I can fire off a missile. It's really handy when you think of it. I have about fifty tanks, each one stores enough energy for five missiles, and together they take up less space than a single missile. Very convenient. It's a Chozo technology and works in similar ways for my other weapons - super missiles, power bombs, dispersion torpedoes, whatever."

John felt his eyebrows rise; he'd never heard of anything like that before. His own weapon suddenly seemed positively obsolete in comparison. Chozo technology ... "But I thought that the Chozos were pacifists."

"They are," Samus replied. "But they adapted their technology especially for my suit." It was hard to tell for certain because the modulator distorted her voice, but John thought he heard an undertone of You idiot, can't you figure this out for yourself? "The Chozo usually leave relics in places where they've once settled," she continued. "Some of them can be really useful, too. Others ... I sell to the Federation research laboratories, since I don't need them and they can't figure out the technology. Blasted Spring Ball - there's a worthless piece of junk if I ever saw one."

"But do you carry all of your equipment on you?" Owen persisted.

"Why are you so interested?" Samus wanted to know.

John saw him shrug. "Just curious," Owen said. "When I was young I played Super Metroid and Metroid Prime. Did your great-grandmother pass the equipment down the line?"

Samus rattled off a list. "Gravity upgrade ... check. Varia suit ... check. Bombs ... check. Ordnance tanks ... check. Jump boots ... check. Grappling beam ... check. That's about it, though; all the rest - X-ray visor, beams, Screw Attack - either broke down or were simply lost. Or, in the cases of certain useless items, sold. Genuine Samus Aran suit upgrades go for a lot these days on eBay - more than I can make on almost any mission. Maybe I ought to follow John's lead and retire in style."

"I can't imagine that," Owen said, chuckling. John rolled his eyes. "You have a girlfriend?" Owen asked.

Short pause. "No. You?"

"Um, well, I'm working on it." This was accompanied by a guilty glance in John's direction. "Not a problem, though - no woman can resist the legendary Custer charm. At least, not when Custer himself has a mind to use it, which I often do. Speaking of - uh, John, not trying to be nitpicky or anything, but would you please point that rifle elsewhere? You're making me nervous."

"Good," John said. Before he could say anything else, a deep groan of strained metal interrupted him. Suddenly tense, John and Owen glanced around themselves, looking for the source of the sound. It was not repeated and Owen shrugged. "You're weighing the deck down, Ronin."

"What was that?" Tim McDalen called through the comlink. "Did you hear that?"

Owen spread his hands out. "Yes, but it's gone now. No idea what that could've been. You think maybe the deck is going to collapse?"

"Now? I doubt it." The Praetor consulted his chronometer. "Just another three hours and the Star Shard appears around the horizon. You'd think they could have at least left a few comm satellites in orbit, but nope. Navy Command is not going to like this: ninety percent casualties, including the commanding officer, against some tentacles? We'll be the laughingstock of the galaxy."

He might have said more, but again the groan of tearing metal interrupted him and this time it was clearly audible to all. It lasted for a few seconds before dying down. "Where did that come from?" McDalen demanded. He made a quick round inspection but ended up shaking his head in confusion. "Strange. Keep your eyes peeled and weapons ready. Something tells me that those tentacles might not be done with us yet."

"Good!" Owen called back, rubbing his hands in anticipation. "It's better than being bored to death here."

No one replied. John concentrated his vision on the north hangar entrance, watching for any sign of movement. There was a tangible tension in the air now, something absent only moments earlier. Dimly John was aware that the soldiers were deadly silent. There! Was that movement? John shook his head clear; no, it was only his eyes playing tricks on him, as eyes were wont to do after being fixed on the same spot for too long. Just to be certain, John switched his vision over to thermal imaging. Still no luck - the deck was hot enough to obscure any images of tentacles. Foiled, John returned his sight to visual. No movement; well, his eyes were creating images, then.

Something's wrong, he thought to himself. None of the hangar entrances showed any movement at all. Yet, he could have sworn that their unseen adversaries were plotting something. It felt like the calm before a storm; when the storm broke, they would end up in the middle of it. Stop it, he reprimanded himself sternly. No use wearing out your vigilance so quickly. But the nagging feeling of disquietude remained. John nervously checked his rifle again.

For the third time the small squad heard the screech of metal on metal; John jumped, at the same time berating himself for doing so. This time the creaks were longer and more pronounced; John looked around himself, trying to locate the sources of the sound, before realizing that they were being emitted almost directly underneath him. Underneath? Then that would mean ... instinctively his eyes were drawn towards the sheath of the launch tube, directly between the two transports. With an earsplitting screech, the tube's concrete cover was forced back. An enormous mass of tentacles poured out, bent on destruction. John had no time to shout a warning before he was hit and knocked off the transport hood.

Caught completely by surprise, the soldiers had no chance. Owen Custer dove, skinning his knees, but evading the nearest tentacles while keeping the rest at arm's length with his weapon. John rolled upright, surprised to find that he was still holding his rifle, and ran. He was dimly aware of Tim McDalen shouting orders mixed with curses. The other soldiers were less fortunate. John caught a glimpse of various tentacles dragging the remaining soldiers back into the launch tube. He fired steadily, but there were far too many tentacles for him to handle by himself. Then Tim McDalen hacked his way through a mass of the squirming tendrils and reached his side, dragging a stunned Owen Custer after him. "Get down! Now!" He and Owen both dove to the ground, John following suit a moment later. From the corner of his eye John caught sight of the transports, now totally wrecked. Then a brilliant flash blinded him and he buried his face into the concrete.

The explosion rocked him with a hot wind that seemed to seep through his armor. Several seconds passed before he could move; when he did, he rolled upright. The transports were gone, replaced by masses of blood and filthy, dismembered flesh. The tentacles had vanished, too, doubtlessly disappearing back into the launch tube with their prey. Standing in the center of the carnage was Samus Aran, kicking a severed tentacle to the side. Too stunned to process the information - that battle had gone by in a blur - John managed to gasp out, "Wha ...?"

"Power Bomb," Tim McDalen explained. "Unfortunately, it must have wiped out the transports along with the tentacles." He glanced around the entire launch deck, noting the pools of blood and flesh. Slowly the Praetor shook his head, perhaps willing himself to disbelieve what he was seeing. "Just the four of us left," Tim said slowly. "And all because I assumed that the tentacles couldn't bore through the launch column."

"They didn't," Samus informed him, slowly walking up to the trio. Owen was seated on the concrete, tending to his scraped knees. "Whatever these tentacles are, some higher intelligence must control them. The column ceiling opened by itself - they must have deciphered the controls in the tower. These things are smart, and they're hunting us. It looks like game over."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Owen asked.

The others already knew. "The Star Shard appears over the horizon in two hours," Tim said heavily. "But the transports are gone. We cannot communicate with the battlecruiser anymore, and the backup crews have no orders to help us unless specifically called. The four of us are stuck on this forsaken planet."