The Wild Wild Rim Worlds

Alex sat there alone in the crowded shuttle terminal, watching silhouettes of people mill about in the dim light. Everywhere Alex looked He saw camps of people huddle together as if for warmth, a light shining from within each group. The air in the terminal was stifling and the smog so thick you could cut it with the dullest of knives, warmth wasn't the problem, they huddle together for safety. There was no lack of diversity, but yet, they all looked the same, laden down with all their possessions, looking as if they haven't bathed in weeks. The terminal was no better, walls once painted in a bright and sunny yellow now looked as if they had been washed with the debris of war; graffiti was everywhere, and the stench of people permeated the air, this place was decrepit to say the least. If someone was going to be snatched off the streets, it would be in a place like this, they were right to huddle together.

He turned back to his drink, not wanting to keep his eyes on the depressing picture behind him. Looking down at his glass, he wondered about its contents, he had asked for whiskey, but whiskey, he thought, did not taste like the hellish concoction that he had been drinking. Even still, he decided, a burn is a burn. After a while, he polished off his first drink, and debated getting another, thinking better of it he decided it best to let the glass stay empty.

The figure of a small scraggly old man sat down next to him at the bar mumbling something under his breath, the bartender must have heard him or known what he wanted, because he started prepping a new drink.

The man face was tilted down at the bar, but he seemed to scan Alex out of the corner of his eye, "Ain't your first time to the Rim I take it"

"Huh?" I asked, not really registering what he said.

"The look of you, yur not one of those scared little rat folk huddled in the corners in here. That means you've been to the Rim before, ain'tcha?"

"We'll, maybe, but it would have been a good number of years ago." It wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

"Aw, but y'all know how it goes, once you go to the rim, you never really leave," He said, taking the drink the bartender handed him "Y'all may leave the the Rim, but it'll follow you. Heck y'all could go live a quiet life in the core, and eventually someone from your rim days would come knocking at your door"

"That I know all to well" Alex said, his shoulders drooping. He changed his mind, motioning to the bartender he ordered himself another glass, of... whatever it was he was drinking, and downed it much quicker than the first. He got up to leave, but the geezer caught him on the shoulder.

"Word of advice, from a man as old as I am: make yourself indispensable, be valuable to someone important. Setting out on your own will get you killed." The man let go of Alex's shoulder and turned back to his drink head hung low. As Alex walked towards the door, he wondered then why the old man was alone if he felt it was so dangerous. At that moment two men came from the shadows, and started talking to the man, voices raising quickly. Alex didn't wait to see the outcome, out here, he figured there was only to ways it would go, one dead or two. Best to leave it at that he figured.

Alex walked to the loading docks to retrieve his speeder, already fueled up by the little maintenance bots. As he walked up he head a chime from his wrist telling him he had been charged for the cost of the fuel and minor repairs.

The sound of his speeder starting drowned out the shot.
And the sound of his accelerator drowned out the yelling.

He sped off into the badlands, towards the dying purple light of the sun.




(Sorry it was a bit more grim than I meant for it to be)

The shuttle, an uninformal black Lightspeed G-3 that had probably seen better days, had been docked at the terminal for perhaps ten minutes when the landing ramp was descended. A man walked down the metal steps; he had black hair slicked back noncommittaly, wore a large grey hat that partially obscured his features, and kept his hands pocketed in the dark longcoat he was wearing.

His appearance and his clothing spoke of someone with good taste, but not ostentatiously rich. This could be a sophisticated businessman out to meet someone, or maybe even a saler. He didn't give the impression of being a man of power. Just an ordinary middle-class fop, to the eyes of anyone who might have meant troubles.

Little they knew. Little would they ever know...

"Excuse me. Mr. Moorelan?", a pilot in a no-nonsense uniform and helmet approached him.

Darius nodded and looked around. "I was expecting to see Wilbur..."

"Mr. Hoskins will be with you presently", the pilot assured. "He is sorting out some files at the custom office - but he told me to reassure you that there are no issues with the cargo."

"Ah, yes, the ails of beaurocracy... ever the unpleasant hassle. Very well. Lead the way."

It was dark.

Not the kind that was peaceful that put a babe to sleep, that offered comfort. This type of blackness, of utter despair, made a heart beat faster, made the air feel fuzzy, made lunges struggle to breathe. All words felt stiff, forced, and all body movements felt delayed, like moving in permanent slow motion. It was the kind of darkness that if one wasn’t too careful, they might get eaten alive, sucked into the terrors of the night.

Kaeda stood, trying to see anything around her, but this part of space, the Outer Rim entrance, was known for the everlasting shadow it cast upon all ships. She sighed, continuing her journey, praying to Sida that all would be okay, that she would make it out.

Her eyes felt heavy, but sleep wasn’t a commodity quickly bought these days, so instead, she pulled out a pill and swallowed without further thought. The steering wheel felt heavy under her grasp. Everything in space felt heavy your body, your thoughts, there was no escape.

But that is why she was here. To escape, but never forget.

She had been in this ship for almost a week, a chicken in their coop, ready to be killed. But she wasn’t going to die. She would live and answer all the questions they weren’t able to. She would live for them. The fog and murky surroundings she had been navigating for what felt like days but were only a few hours slowly evaporated, and as the curtains lifted, so did her hope.

The Outer Rim stood before her; it’s scattered planets and thousands of ships adhering to the common description. She had heard the stories, the gambling and drinking and other more mature pleasures willing victims got sucked into, engulfed in self-destruction and desire.

But she wouldn’t be here long because she, unlike many who stepped foot in the Rim, had a plan, a promise to herself and others.

Find the man she eagerly sought.
Get the answers she needed.
And take down the Core.

She might die, but death was better than guilt. Death was better than grief.

"Yes, I've been assigned to a squadron on the Outer Rim", Colonel Andrew Aliprandi was saying in his handheld communicator as he left his cabin. "One of those frontier quadrants beyond the Core... they've been having quite some troubles with outlaws, so they send us in to patrol the area and oversee to the safety." He chuckled as his interlocutor went on to express her concern in a flurry of words. "Look, it's not as exciting as it sounds, really. Hardly my first patrol in a godforsaken sector and it surely won't be the last... but alright, sure, I'll ring you when I return. Don't worry, okay? Yes, babe. Take care."

He hang down, pocketed hs communication, ran a hand through his hair and sighed. That date hadn't been a good idea. Deanna Hamilton was a gorgeous woman, and fun to hang out with, but she wanted more from their relationship than Andrew was ready to bring on table. And it seemed a constant with most of the (admittedly, few) women he had dated as of late; they all thought getting attention from an Army Colonel meant that he wanted to settle down and marry one of them. Andrew wasn't adverse to some fun with no strings attached, but he definitely wasn't planning to hasten into a wedding with someone that he just happened to have a good sexual chemistry with or that he liked hanging on to. He didn't want all the hassles of his aunt Astoria or his uncle Charles. If he'd someday have to settle down with a long-term companion, he wanted to be damn well sure it was what he and his partner wanted, without the risk of having second thoughts just as early as a few months later, or a year later. And presently, he felt he'd have second thoughts as easly as a few days later.

He had tried to get Deanna to understand, but she seemed to be reluctant to loosen her attachent and Andrew was at odds on how to keep their relationship at more arm length without hurting her feelings. Hopefully, in the time they were going to spend separated, she'd perhaps move on, meet someone else, not latch so tightly to her wide eyed dream of a future as Lady Aliprandi.

"Problems, Colonel?" Private Jetsen asked, coming up alongide him.

"Ah, nothing big." Andrew shrugged, smiling. "Just some unresolved business at home. Jetsen, you're not married, right?"

"Stars keep me", Jetsen laughed. "Why? Is your 'unresolved business' pressuring for a ring and proposal?"

"Something like that. I just don't want her to get ideas and dreams about me that don't quite... ah nevermind, women are complicated."

"You can say that. But don't worry, Colonel; there'll be more urgent things to think about when we arrive at the Rim."

Andrew laughed. "Really? It's not going to be a boring routine patrol to uphold the law and justice? What's the most exciting thing we'll have to do - oversee that some space pirate doesn't do awy with cattle? Well one look at the ol' Bessie should make even the toughest dog lower his ears" he said, referring affectionately to the Annex Exoscheletron - a slightly outdated piece of mecha, sure, but there was something to be told about old favorites - that their battallion was equipped with. "Isn't the local law upholder some general from the Academy?"

"Ol' Macarthur, yes. I've heard it's where he retired to spend his last years as a Sheriff. I didn't know him, though, he was from before my time. Have you?"

"Neither. I think I've heard something about him from my brother Arthur, though." He looked out of the window; the Rim was already in sight, and getting bigger and more concrete by the minute. "I'll be curious to meet this living legend...."

As the sun began to set on the horizon once more, Alex began to scan the surroundings ahead of him for a place to make camp. After another ten minutes, he saw out of the corer of his eye a crack in the cliff face a ways off to his left. He made for it, veering off the road, and increasing his speeder's speed as to not be seen by any onlookers. He knew they were here somewhere, but you could never be sure, he was armed, of course, but he was a pilot not a soldier, if it came to a fight on his own, he would run rather than stand and fight.

Entering the shallow cove cloven into the rocks, he slowed his speeder to a crawl, and hopped off. He carried very little, so unpacking was not an issue, he simply set down his heating element, and unrolled his sleeper mat. He didn't carry a tent, it wasn't that it took up space, (heck if anything it would probably save him space with a portable tent being able to fit in the palm of his hand) but instead, he prefered being able to look at the stars. There were so many, and the image was never the same. He hears one time, that in the ancient days of the Human race they named the patterns in the stars, he couldn't imagine doing that, traveling from planet to planet, the image always changed. Even so, he made it a point to name at least one distinct shape in the night sky before he slept for the night.

A he settled in, pulling the mat into a sitting position, he began to heat up his food. He ate military rations, as they were cheaper, more obtainable, and lasted longer than anything else he would have considered. The Rations were a ancient design, their water heating chemical reaction had been used since earth was a shattered collection of nations. But still, it did the trick, and even worked better and more reliably than most other alternatives. The food itself, was... mediocre, but for a man on the run, they might as well have been homecooked meals.

He lazed there, in the shadows of the rock face as the purple light of this system's star descended beyond the horizon. He waited, patiently biding his time for the stars to come out. As the first one appeared he locked onto it, not taking his eyes off it, this would be the start of his constellation, this is how he always did it. Then, while taking passing bites of his food, he watched as more stars began to appear. In rapt attention he focused on the stars as they began to for a shape in his mind. They traced from mote of light to mote of light, like a celestial connect the dot. Then he saw it, in his mind, a shape, an animal from earth, long and fluffy, poised to strike.

"I think I'll name this one... the striking Mongoo-" BLAM the round shot straight through his food pack, narrowly missing taking off his entire wrist, and attached hand. "Shit, -And that was my last chicken alfredo pack" he said, drawing his pistol. Like the weapon that had just been fired at him Alex didn't have a blaster weapon, they may have been cheap to buy, but they were a pain in the ass to keep in good repair, instead he used a repeating pistol with an extended barrel for accuracy. He Dove behind his bike, seeking out the only cover he had in this lagoon of rocks, he didn't like it, but he had no choice.

Another shot rang out, and a sizable chunk of rock was blasted away a few feet behind him. He couldn't tell where it was coming from. He thought about making a run for it, but even if the shooter was a bad shot, he was using a sniper, and those didn't much rely on the shooter's skill anymore. The gunman's skill was definitely nil, but he wasn't about to take that chance. He scanned the rocks above him in a sweeping arc, the shooter may have been a bad shot, but they were great at concealing themselves. The next shot, as he feared, slammed into his bike, tearing off a jumble of piping on the side opposite to him. He flinched, and hoped it hadn't hit anything vital, but the shot narrowed down his search. He knew he was running out of time, most marauders didn't hunt alone, merely scouted on there own, soon enough he would have a half dozen other armed people trying to rob him, kill him, and take the last ration pack brownie bag (Those things were worth more than their weight in antimatter). But he wasn't about to stick around.

On the Third pass, he spotter the sniper, or its gun at least, the angle that it was positioned told him why none of the shots we hitting. Whoever was shooting at him, didn't want to get shot themselves. He could see nothing of the person, but the gun was shifting wildly, as if being held at an arms length. He put his pistol away and pulled out a stunner, he only had the one, but he wasn't willing to kill someone like this. He understood why they were attacking him, even if he didn't like it. These people needed to survive, just like him, and on these brutal frontier worlds, there wasn't a more reliable source of income than robbery. He set the stunner for a 5 second delay, then, waiting for the next shot to ring out, he whipped around, and lobbed the stunner. He saw it crest the ridge, and heard it land followed by an meek "Oh Fu-" that was cut off by the zapping blue explosion of the stunner.

He stood up, and checked his bike, the last shot had torn through the hydraulics for the steering system, making the thing nearly unsteerable. But, he had dealt with worse, and there wasn't a vehicle n existence that he couldn't coax to work for him. What was more worrisome, was the shot that had struck the bikes tubing, the damage was worse than he had thought from the sound. The round that hit the first time must have ben AP, not only had it torn through the tubing, but it had punched through both the fuel and cooling lines. The angle the bullet had went through meant he hadn't lost a dangerous amount of fuel, but the cooling is what scared him. He had already been hurting for it before he got to this planet, and the kind he needed hadn't been available at the terminal. He could ride, for a time, but eventually he'd be dragging his bike along behind him.

But he had to risk it, he packed up his belongings and once again mounted his bike. "No rest for the weary" he mumbled, quoting the archaic phrase. Starting the engine, his bike began to cough and sputter, but none the less, it started moving. He set off at a breakneck speed, wanting to put as much distance as he could between him, and the marauders that were now almost certainly pursuing him.

Andrew unrolled the holographic map, the neon's glow dancing upon the metallic helmets of his men. He touched a colored dot and the map zoomed to show a clearer view of the area. "Here; Ridgefall Valley, about a hundred miles ahead."

Major Sanderson whistled. "Who in their right head would build a settlement in a place called Ridgefall Valley, anyway?"

"It's the largest of a few outposts scattered in a no-man land", Andrew explained. "We'll present our battalion to Sheriff Macarthur and barrack for the night. Tomorrow, after consulting with Macarthur, we'll settle down the garrison house and transport over the Annex and all the rest of the artillery." They were all tired from the long travel, and the Colonel had instructed them to take only the essential on the twelve fighters their squad was equipped with. There'd be plenty of time to fine tune the details in the next few days.

"Macarthur requested an armed backup to soothe some conflicts that are ravaging this sector of the Rim. Our goal--" The Colonel was interrupted when his communicator beeped. The reconaissance unit he had sent out must have come upon something. He tapped the comm, activating the loudspeak. "Nightshade?"

"Colonel" the female voice at the other end rang metallic and impersonal. "I am presently flying over a shootout of some kind."

"How many people involved?"

"Impossible to say for certain. One had a stunner, it thew the thermal camera's readings off. Rough estimate is a set of ten, possibly a dozen."

"Roger. Keep on coordinates but don't interfere, Nightshade. We'll take over from here." Andrew pocketed the comm and signaled to his men. As one, the soldiers bolted to the controls of their fighters; a couple minutes later they were in flight, the aerial pattern as precise and flawless as that of birds of prey.

And before long they were swooping over the area of the shoot-out, their fighters black and streamlined against the night sky. Lowering his aircraft further, Major Sanderson could make out what looked like a single bike fleeting in the dark at breackneck speed. He steered his figther lower, almost on-level with the vehicle, and floated to a halt at enough distance for the driver to pull up. His gluon rifle was slung over his shoulder, but not aimed... yet.

"Special Galactic Forces! Halt!" he thundered, his hand raised to signal freeze.

The Refugee Biography

︎« ‹ • › » 1 2 3 4

Chuck Barth Static V

“

For a thousand years they slept, dreaming of a new home. For a hundred more they endured disaster after near-extinguishing disaster. For so long they thought they were alone, the last bastion of humanity. Now marks the tenth anniversary of their reunion with the rest of Earth's children, those they once thought extinct. And I am so proud of them all.

The starport's intermittent whine of high-tech engines is cut by the deafening roar of archaic rocketry, white-hot exhaust erupting from the bottom of an upright shuttle rapidly descending from orbit. It decelerates just a few hundred meters from the ground, slowing to a precision speed as it adjusts its position over the tarmac before finally lowering itself to the ground. Surely a runway would have been ideal for such a craft, which appears to generally depend upon aerodynamic lift in spite of its vertical entry.

For some time it remains idle there, several minutes passing by with little activity visible from outside. Then, all at once, dozens of passengers disembark raucously, a mixture of tourists and nomads and strangely-dressed crew all pouring out a pair of ports on either side of the shuttle. They climb down long ladders carrying duffel bags and shoulder-slung jumpsuits and various supply cases, meeting on the tarmac in a posse that seems split between revelry and farewells. Some break off from the group into the terminal, while others join the crowd as if anticipating their arrival.

One individual, floating slightly above the ground clad in a bright orange flight suit, finishes their rounds wishing various peers safe travels. Then they leave the crowd, looking with admiration at the sky above and horizon ahead before moving into the terminal, that same decrepit place the smuggler arrived in, and which the nomad had left only hours ago. They seem distracted by something for a moment, turning back to face the the passengers and the shuttle behind them.

«A Galactic Army sortie just broke into atmosphere,» a voice says to them over radio comms. «Keep an eye out for trouble. Stay safe down there.» Several members of the crowd seem to receive the same message given their alarmed glances, but they realize the danger is not nearby and return to their business bartering and exchanging supplies with some of the locals. Some of the arrangements appear to be scheduled, even the occasional reunion of old friends sparking a ripple of raised voices that soon enough quiets down.

The anthroid watches them for a few lingering moments longer before finally coming out of their apparent vigil and noticing some of the other craft resting nearby, especially the Lightspeed G-3 whose black paint and robust design stuck out despite its apparent deterioration. Exposed mostly to the dusty rustbuckets of the Rim, such a thing certainly caught the anthroid's eye. They admire it for a moment before its apparent owner begins to walk away, suddenly conscious of staring too long.

They spin back to face the terminal, finally making their way inside.

The Floatilla in orbit was sure to give the Galactic Army ships their space when they arrived, the assembly of vessels devoid of any serious armaments of their own. It was their first encounter with a fleet from the Core, and given the attitudes of the type of folks who reside on the Rim, the stories they've heard are hardly flattering. That being said, the limitations of their awareness are not lost on them.

"Archer, what are we looking at?" asks an older woman wearing an orange flight suit not unlike that of her peer below. The window of the observation deck is covered in markers and sensor data, the polarized material of the impromptu situation display deadening the low star's light. An orbital photometry feed shows the events unfolding live, a bird's-eye view of the area with additional sensor overlays filling in the blanks.

"It appears to be a firefight," the Savant responds calmly, its voice ringing out from the intercom in the room. "And it appears that the Galactic Army is intervening."

The woman checks the location's distance from the starport before voicing a notice to the groundcrew over radio comms. "I suppose your interest is in preparing for the worst?"

"Of course, Em."

"Has Kraft been in your ear about our defenses again?"

"Naturally, but I am more concerned with the Galactic Army's conduct. Marauders are predictable, but we know very little of the Core."

Em sighs. Frost is just as big-picture as these other Savants, but she'd never demonstrated such a cynical outlook on humanity. For Kraft, that cynicism is in its nature; Archer, however, is a Savant among Savants, and for it to be so weary of the Core worried her. And on today of all days. "Sometimes I'm reminded why you exist," she laments, realizing the missed detail in her unspoken criticism. "Thanks for looking out for us, Archer. Just ... remember they're our people, too."

"Extinction is not an option, Em."

She hesitates, caught off guard by Archer's callous deflection. The Savants — aside from Frost — weren't inherently designed to be empathetic, but they had proven their capacity for tact, at the very least. "Did something happen between you and Frost?"

"She has been considering leaving the Floatilla. My ... 'staggering propensity for indecisiveness' has left her understimulated."

"I see." Archer depended upon Frost for emotional support, especially during its time aboard the Conestoga. With the threat of losing such a close friend, it was no wonder Archer was caught up in paranoia. "I'll talk to her."

"There was a time when your perspective meant more to Frost than her own. I'm not sure that she still has the same deference to you now."

"No, but I'm still her mother," Em muses, turning to leave the room.

"Goodnight, Em."

As he sped away from the spot of his little shootout, it became quickly apparent to Alex how badly his bike was fairing. He had only put four maybe five Kilometers difference in when his bike began to cough and sputter, the speed didn't drop yet, so he wasn't worried yet. Still, the smoke that began spewing from the hole in the front of his bike, didn't give him any comfort he wouldn't be able to maintain this speed much longer. He knew that the marauders, even on their cheap bikes half together by duct tape, they would catch up to him within half an hour, if he was lucky. If not and they were any closer than what he thought he'd be getting shot at before his speeder had even hit the ground.

As he feared, once his speeder started slowing down, he began to hear the hum of another speeder's engine off in the distance behind him, he was going to have to stand and fight. But quickly he realized something was off, the sound of the other speeder was getting closer, and fast. he knew that even professional bike couldn't catch him THAT quickly. Then he chanced a glance back, and the lights of a fighter craft crested the hill, like stars against the night sky. At that moment the ROAR of the fighters engine blasted his ears making him flinch

What the hell did I get myself into Alex thought amazed that any marauders would have such an expensive vehicle.

Quickly he realized his error as the vessel pulled alongside his bike matching its slowing speed. He saw the illuminated markings on its side and mentally facepalmed of course marauders wouldn't have something like that. That thought however, gave no relief to his feelings the second he saw the markings on the vessel he realized he was in for a much harsher confrontation than the marauders.

The Galactic Navy, he knew the symbol well, he had once bore it on his breast himself. It terrified him none the less. If the recognized him, and anyone worth there salt probably would, he was screwed. He thanked the universe that he had put his scarf up before he had shot off on his speeder and thanked it again for it being night time. Had he been wearing it down or maybe even if it were daylight, he would have already been found out and these next few minutes would not be pleasant at all.

A thought struck him, had that shooter been a part of the navy, if so he was already discovered and the mask wouldn't matter. But no, he was sure they were a marauder, no Galactic Forces soldier shot that badly. So why was this fighter here?

As he made eye contact with the pilot of the vessel in his dimly illuminated vessel he gave a nod and started to let up on the throttle. The craft sped forward, shifting into a landing configuration and setting down in the middle of the road a ways in front of him. A man stepped out of the craft rifle slung over his shoulder. As Alex slowed his speeder, the man raised his hand and called "Special Galactic Forces! Halt!"

Yeah cause obviously I had plans to keep going, you know slowing down and all, Alex thought snickering to himself.

But still his internal laughter did nothing to calm his nerves. What the man said did halt him in his tracks but it wasn't just because he was stopping. Anyone who was special forces knew him, and chances were whoever this was in front of him had shaken his hand before. Having done what he had done meant that he got to shake a lot of hands, and many others shook his whether he wanted to or not. The Special forces had practically swarmed him after the incident, they knew his face, and they knew it well. Even if they didn't he knew they all carried Citizen ID detectors that could pin who you were by voice alone, no need for finger printing or facial recognition.

Lets hope fame and fortune pay off when it comes getting voice changers. That had been the only reason he had gotten as far as the outer rim, his voice modulator. You could get a ways by covering your face and pretending to be scarred from the war, but the second you spoke ID detectors would pick you out, even in a crowd. It was like holding a super magnet over a haystack to find the needle. He had spent a surprisingly large amount of money to buy a top of the line voice modulator, tech was always changing the the detectors were always improving to see through new voice modulators. Even the best of the best would only hold for a year at most. The one he got came with a 8 month promise at most. He was in moth 7 now, and this wasn't a standard ID detector, special forces got the good tech.

One more week and I never would have needed it again.

"Well I just figured I would drive right trough y'all if y'all hadn't spoken up" Alex said, the modulator making him sound like a high pitched country bumpkin from the old days of earth. He chuckled at the end for good measure. "But now that y'all are here, y'all wouldn't happen to have any spare super coils on that there purty ship of y'all's now would you?"

Major Sanderson halted his vessel and lowered one of the windows, leaning out from driver's seat to observe the person they had come across. He seemed just a simple wanderer, likely another of the many who hoped to find fortune and build themselves a new life on the Rim. But you could never be sure. The Major climbed down from his aircraft and looked sternly at Alex.

"I'm here on patrol. We've noticed an unusual shootout activity in these whereabouts. You wouldn't happen to knowanything about that?" he drawled, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

A soft whooshing sound could be heard from overheard as the reconnaissance unit smoothly descended at some distance from Alex and Major Sanderson. The recon-bot had a rounded torso, tapering toward the bottom; an extensive metallic tube emerged from its midsection, connecting it to the propulsion system. Two square wings, resembling old aircrafts of bygone days, folded nearly on the back, giving it the appearance of a giant insect who had just perched to rest. The arms and "neck" were identical metallic tubes, sleek and unpainted; in place of hands, the robot had long metallic fin-like appendages that allowed for more aerodynamic flight. And perched on top of the long tubular neck, was its head; a triangular shape with rounded corners, the color a translucent red-purple behind which circuitry and wires could be glimpsed. On the front, a black screen was lit by two black-rimmed cluster of LEDs, simulating eyes - actually the robot's visual input-outpout system.

Hovering some spans above the ground level, the recon-bot - a kind that Alex was likely familiar with - regarded him cooly; when the optics fell upon his stunner, the robot fired a blue scanning beam over it, analyzing the structure. Then it - or "she", because the voice had a feminine, if robotic, accent - turned to Sanderson. "Weapon matches the energy signals detected. It fired since short."

Inside a cockpit some distance from the action a voice comes over a radio "Guild to Thumper, the port Admin just notified us of a flight entering the atmosphere. They said the IFF system is currently down so they couldn't get an ID. They'd like you to get eyes on them. Standard guild contract pay and the Admin said he'd throw in two large pizzas since it's such a unfiled request." The reply was quick "Guild tell the Admin I'll take the request. But make it three pizzas and tell him to replace that junk IFF system already. That's the fourth time in two weeks."

It wasn't long before a high-pitched whistle heralded the arrival of an new craft in the skies above the army unit. The craft was low enough to be plainly seen. While the light of day had turned into a fading twilight, the craft's smooth yet ugly design might be difficult to make out but not it's unique sound. Only one craft had ever used such an awful sounding engine. It was a surplus 'Tweety' drone.

The Tweety makes a low pass to the side of the group on the ground with it's underside, and main cameras, exposed to them before climbing to higher orbit some distance away, it's shriek becoming a faint but constant whistle.

Sylaren watches his monitor uneasily. There seems to be some kind of disturbance going on planetside, there are two fleets in orbit, one of which seems to be local military. He can't really tell much else with what little authority he has over this civilian transport's sensors. One of the crew laughs, and steps over to ruffle the Rugaaran Arboreal's head fur and ears.

"It's fine, Syl. We'll get you groundside, no sweat. Cap's gonna slip us in before anyone has the chance to make a no-fly zone official or anything. Maybe they'll do it before we can leave, though... Some of us're due for some leave time, y'know? Besides, I know Jim's a sourpuss, but what you did with the vending machine to get the nav blades working again was really somethin'..."

Sylaren finds himself leaning into the crewmember's ruffling, and nods, though his tail gives an uneasy swish. "This is... still new to me. I never so much as left my homeworld's atmosphere before... earning my last paycheck." That's not a lie. It just happens to gloss over any sort of details regarding what his work actually was.

---

Some time later, Sylaren takes the boarding ramp down from the transport. He takes a deep breath, experiencing the smells of a new world for the first time... and the little vulpinesque promptly wrinkles his nose. Is that...? *skwish* Oh, stars... what did he just step in?

Both Major Sanderson and the recon bot looked up as the drone flew overhead.

"Flying object identified--", the android began.

"Yeah I've seen that too. A 'Tweety' by the look of it." Sanderson looked from "her" to Alex, and then back in the direction the drone had disappeared off into. "Wouldn't have expected this forsaken no man land to be so crowded upon our arrival", he mused, as if talking to himself. Then he turned to the recon bot and gave a curt nodd of his head.

"The cameras were pointed in our direction."

"Yeah, we've been spotted alright. Nightshade, go see who our guests are and what's their business. I'll deal with this one" Sanderson ordered, before turning back to Alex, his arms folded and his expression carefully neutral.

The recon-bot - Biomechanical Robot Inspector Designed for Galactic Exploraton and Trubleshooting, or BRIDGET units as they were known - folded out "her" squarish wings and soared higher into the sky, swiftly flying off sight into the Tweety drone's trail. Sanderson's eyes didn't follow - instead taking on Alex's appearance and accent with casual indifference.

"You've been true to your word, Mr. Hoskins."

The man sitting across Darius gave into a hearthy laughter. "When have I left you down, Moorelan? It's why we are partner in business."

Still. Darius caught the word before it left his lips and smiled thinly. "I must admit that finding a live specimen in such good conditions was.... impressive."

"You can say that. And the locals - don't get me started. Some officer from a frontier town that's in this port's jurisdiction, Macarthur his name was, gave me absolute hell over the documents. He went over the sanitaery licenses so many times it was almost as if he could smell that they had been counterfeit, and then had me sign so many permissions I can't even..."

Darius had abruplty placed down his glass and his gelid eyes had narrowed for a split instant, but Hoskins was simply too busy with his lamentations to notice. For a moment, unknowingly to him, the unfortunate Hoskins sat next to a snake about to strike. But it was over as quickly as it begun, and when Darius smiled again it was with the always charismatic bonneur.

"Ah, there's two things that law enforcers aren't known for - wits and sense of humor. What did you say his name was again?..."

"Macarthur! A total stick in the mud if I've ever seen one. I'm telling you, Moorelan, I'll be glad to leave this place - oh, by the way, need a hike on return course? We can drop you off anywhere..."

"No - please, don't trouble yourself." Darius raised a gloved hand. "I have some... unresolved business to see to." Underneath the thin moustache, his lips curved in a chuckle. "And I might visit some old friends I've not seen in a while, while I'm here..." His eye fell almost lazily on his watch. "Meanwhile, it's long past time for me to take my pills. If you'll forgive me." He drew an elaborated metal box from his breastpocket and opened it - only to drop it a split instant later as the transport slightly swerved.

Hoskins leaned foward to help him collect the pills that had spilled on the floor. "There you go-"

"No, don't trouble yourself." In a swift movement Darius grasped all the pills into his gloved hand, before restoring them in the box with a polite apology.

In that selfsame swift movement his pinky had sent one of the... pills... to roll under Hoskins's seat. But there was no way Hoskins would ever be aware of that.

Alex took a good look at Sanderson trying to gauge his importance. His rank was too high to be out here on his own, and the recon unit spoke volumes to his indispensability, not just anyone had one of those sent to watch their backs, especially not one as nice as a BRIDGET. But he couldn't let his inquisitives get the best of him here, his goal now was to get out of here as soon as possible without giving this man even the slightest hint of an idea who he was.

He quickly popped right into the friendly country boy façade maybe he could try something to get him on his way. "Why y'all saw that back there? That wasn't nothing out of the ordinary out in these parts, heck that might as well be a part of everyday life."


"Now don't you worry, I didn't do nothing to that kid back there I just lobbed a popper* at him and sent him to bed for the night."

Alex stopped for a second remembering something else.

"But, we best be getting a move on, Coyotes don't hunt alone after all, and that one's kin" Alex indicated back the direction he came "are gonna show up here any minute"

Alex was banking on this more than anything, if the marauders showed up it might give him a way out of this. He'd rather deal with them than the Galactic forces and Alex squinted at the uniform's nametag Mr. Sanderson here-

Alex froze... Sanderson... it couldn't be. Alex had shaken hands with everyone of rank in the Special Forces with one exception, there was one man in that group who had no love for Alex, and why would he? Who loves the person that steps in and steals their thunder? If this was him than, Alex couldn't afford a mistake. He might not have ever shaken the man's hand nor even met him, but if there was anyone that would know his face, even after alterations, it was Sanderson, you don't forget the face of a rival.

Alex was in the worst possible situation he could be in. But why was this man here? If the Galactic forces had sent a group this far out, then something had been put in motion. Something that caused Alex a great deal of worry.

Before he had made the conscious decision, A question slipped and absentmindedly he asked, "So what brings the Galactic Special Forces A-team this far out here?" noticing his momentary slip he put a bit of cheer back into his voice adding, "Surely it ain't for the fine cuisine"

If he hadn't found Alex out yet then the changer had worked and Sanderson had no reason to suspect him. But that didn't put him in the clear yet.

The watching Tweety drone was seemingly unconcerned with the BRIDGET unit tailing it as it circled and watched from a distance. Up close the drone had clearly seen better days, it's paint almost completely worn off, leaving a bare metal finish across much of the drone. The only identifiable mark on the drone was a stylized winged white rabbit holding a broken black rose freshly painted on the nose.

The Tweety only circled for a short time before turning back the way it had come from. After a few klicks the drone began to descend towards the ground towards what appeared to be a camp. Once closer the camp two things would be easily spotted, a drone trapeze that the Tweety promptly caught itself on, and that the main structure of the camp was in fact a partially covered dropship.

Once the Tweety had landed, a woman came down from the rear ramp of the dropship and stood near the trapeze, waving at the night sky. She knew she had a visitor, even if she couldn't see it in the dark sky.

"Ah, so they raided you?" Sanderson pulled out a datapad and started jotting down on it. He figured Colonel Aliprandi would need all intel on the place on which they were going to be stationed for patrol.

At Alex's words, he gave a dismissive shrug. "The rest of my troop is inspecting the area, so if those 'coyotes' are smart they'll try to get as farther away as their transports can carry them."

The chief reason why he failed to recognize Alex was that he took him for what he saw at face value, a simple country boy who didn't look like he could pose a threat. And so he didn't pause to inspect a face that might have otherwise struck him as oddly familiar. A mistake that might someday come back to bite him in the ass.

His eyes fell on the vehicle instead, noticing something to which he hadn't paid immediate attention. "It doesn't look like you're carrying much baggage. What were they after?" He figured it could very well be the farmer's meagre salary or some tools he had acquired in the space port - but it could also be something illegal; drugs crime rings, Sanderson knew, could reach farther than most people suspected.

When Alex inquired about their presence, the soldier shrugged arrogantly and reached into his pocket to produce a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit himself one, then handed the packet over to Alex in a mute question, drawling: "We? We're on patrol, our troop's gonna be stationed here for a while. Some local law enforcer complained about an increase in criminality, so Colonel Aliprandi was sent to make sure no one gets over the boundaries."

***

The BRIDGET unit followed the drone's descent at some distance, long airplane-like wings stretched against the darkening indigo sky. As the partially exposed dropship came in sight, the recon bot flew overhead, then started circling around the same way a shark would, looking for an identificative tag. Before it -- "she" -- could proceed with the inspection, however, a woman emerged from a hatch in the hull and waved, clearly aware of the unit's presence.

With a soft wooshing sound, the BRIDGET floated downward and hovered to a halt before the woman. The wings folded back, giving her a vaguely mantis-like appearance; the long tubular neck towered over the human woman as the two LEDs on the eyescreen flickered, taking over her appearance.

"Identification?" she said at length in that female accented, yet toneless and dispassionate robotic vice.

Alex took a cigarette from the box, placing it between his lips he lit it, taking a draw he let it out responding to the man's question

"With coyotes, I don't think they much cared what they got from me. You can sell just about anything these days for a profit. But Id say them varment were after my bike, it may be smoking right now, but earlier today it rolled out of the termin... er garage looking like the marvelous speeder it is." Alex responded, "It's top of the line you know, close to it anyway."

"Yeah I can understand the concern about more crime and such, I've been a victim of it myself" Alex realised that was kin of obvious and added, "other than today I mean."

"Busy night huh?" Alex asked. " Sending your drone out while y'all stickin' 'round with me here, y'all seem a bit short handed. That aint gonna be too much fun in a sector of this size. Can't watch everywhere."

What will he do with me? Alex thought If he chooses to arrest me there isnt much I can do but, he doesn't look too keen to do that

"Say," Alex said after the response, "y'all wouldnt be willin to give me a ride in that thing to the next town over would ya? I'm a bit... stuck and my bike is goin nowhere fast."

Alex looked sadly at his bike, as he did it crackeled and sparked setting a small fire ablaze where the shot had hit the wires of his bike. He walked over and quickly put it out.

"And those coyotes may be scared of you, but I think you underestimate there desperation, they'll see your ships as a potential score, not a threat. If I, or for that matter you stay here, were in for a fight, so better to leave sooner rather than later"

He knew it was crazy to ask this, but hey, he figured, what better way to hide from his advesaries than right under their noses?

The 'human' woman, actually identifiable as a Heseacean once closer by her rabbit like ears, begun to rummage around in the leg pockets of her orange flight suit while looking up at the BRIDGET "You new models are a freaky looking bunch. I can't say we see your kind here a lot." the woman sounded and looked downright bored with the current situation and had no measure of speed as she searched her pockets.

Finally she found what she was looking for and pulled a small set of holotags from one of her pockets. As she holds the tags up for the bot to scan the woman repeats lines she has clearly said many times before "Hasha Reshani, Ridgefall Valley Mercenary Guild. Currently contracted to one Sheriff Macarthur for assistance in the identification and...resolution of criminal elements in the territory." On the tags was the same white rabbit emblem that was painted on the Tweety's nose.

Now down at ground level, the dropship was much more visible and able to be seen underneath the camouflaged netting that kept it hidden from the air. Squat and wide with twin boom tail, the craft was easily identifiable as an rugged but ancient Roc heavy dropship. Once a common site in the outer rim used by both law enforcement and criminal hands, the type was beginning to disappear from the rim as their numbers dwindled from loss and old age.

((No worries at all! Taking care of yourself comes first. We'll be here!))