Emerald

  Emerald gazed out of the cockpit of the Gamma Hound, watching the planet of Gerral slowly spin. Her nerves had calmed over the past two days, and she found herself feeling secure. The dinner with her parents had gone much better than expected, though she could tell Evan was still worried.

  Not that I blame him. Neither father nor mother will let this go quietly. But come what may…

  She pictured him once more by her side when confronting Ace and her father, causing a smile to dance on her lips.

  …I know he’ll be by my side.

  The sound of a door sliding open caught her attention. Heavy thuds of power-armored boots gave her more than enough of a heads-up as to who had entered.

  “What’s up?” she asked, as it was still a few hours before the mission was set to begin. For a moment, Evan stood there wordlessly.

  “Just checking up on you,” Evan responded from behind her.

  Emerald smiled to herself at the statement. “Worried about me?” she asked teasingly, turning to him and changing her smile to a smirk.

  “Considering I doubt your parents are done scheming, yes. I am worried,” Evan stated, a subtle frown on his lips.

  Emerald shook her head. “I’m sure they are, but fretting over it won’t help anything. We’ll finish this bounty and be out of Gerral space before the end of the week. After that, we can stay out of this place until my parents give up on trying to marry me off to that shithead.”

  Evan gave her a flat look at this response. “Despite my low opinion of them, they hardly seem like the type to just give up.”

  Emerald shrugged. “Give it a few years and Ace’s family will get tired of waiting for a wedding that will never happen. At that point, my parents will have no reason to keep bothering me.”

  Evan shook his head in disagreement. “Emerald, he spoke about ‘noble obligation’ and precursors with a religious reverence. Even if Ace’s family does give up, I have the feeling your parents won’t.”

  Emerald stepped forward and placed a paw on his arm. “Evan, I’m fine. If you’re that worried about it, we can arrange something with Uncle Oscar or even Viktor so that we can collect our earnings off-planet when we finish. Continuing to fret like this won’t help anyone. Just relax for now, okay?”

  With great reluctance, Evan finally nodded, though Emerald could tell it was more for her sake than actual agreement. It would have to do for now.

  Wanting to help him unwind, Emerald motioned him over. In a few footsteps, he now stood by her side. “You ever just stop and enjoy the moment?” she asked him as they gazed at the planet below them.

  Evan raised an eyebrow at her. “Isn’t that what movie night is for?” he asked.

  Emerald chuckled at that. “I’d hardly call you and Nia turning two-hour movies into four-hour breakdowns enjoying the moment. I was referring to just enjoying the scene and the silence.”

  “This doesn’t count as you ruining the latter part of that?” he asked, earning a painful flick on the ear from Emerald.

  So for a few minutes they enjoyed the scene and the silent comfort of each other’s presence. “You know, growing up I never imagined I’d be able to see something like this in person,” Evan commented absentmindedly as he continued to gaze at the blue ball.

  Emerald scrunched her eyebrows in confusion at the statement. She turned to look at Evan’s face. For a moment, she saw the flash of a subtle frown, one that was quickly suppressed into a neutral expression. “I wasn’t aware a trip to the exosphere was so expensive on your homeworld,” Emerald said neutrally.

  “All space travel was expensive. Unless you were in the military or born on one of the colonies,” the Thall explained, which again confused Emerald.

  “Why would space travel be cheaper on colony planets?” she pressed, taking a subtle step closer to Evan.

  “Because Mars subsidized intercolonial travel. It was one of the big reasons they sided wi—” Evan stopped mid-sentence as a look of realization dawned on his face.

  Emerald cocked her head at him, his reaction further confusing her. “Mars?” She had never heard of the planet in question, but from what Evan was talking about, it seemed to be a major player when it came to the politics of Thallis.

  But rather than elaborate, Evan almost seemed to lock up. “Evan?” she said with no small amount of concern.

  The Thall swallowed, then finally responded. “Mars wa— is a power similar to my homeworld. One which we were in constant military and economic conflict with.”

  “Why were you in conflict with them?” she asked, happily surprised Evan was finally talking about his home, even if it was in such an impersonal way.

  Evan looked at her for a moment, his muzzleless face analyzing her expression. “There isn’t a single definitive answer that I know of. Tensions with them had been high since before I was born. Growing up, I constantly heard about the different tariffs and sanctions. By the time I was in high school, Martian goods were an ultra luxury. Which was a shame.” A nostalgic look came over his face. “I remember Mom used to bring home Martian oranges from the store. They had this unique aftertaste that nothing else has ever been able to capture.”

  It was a look that Emerald had only seen on his face a few times. She enjoyed watching him think, as she could almost see the memories playing back through his violet eyes. “What started the actual conflict?” she asked.

  Evan crossed his arms and shrugged. “Who knows? All the civilians like me knew is that one night the fighting started. Then… it never stopped.”

  “So, they’re still fighting?” Emerald asked.

  Evan’s mouth opened and closed a few times as he formulated an answer. “In a sense. Though the conflict is hardly so open nowadays.”

  “What caused it to de-escalate?” Emerald asked with a frown and a tilt of her head. This is all sounding strangely familiar, but where have I heard it before? she thought to herself.

  Evan scoffed before answering her. “A common foe that neither could afford to ignore.”

  Before Emerald could press for more info, the door opened once again. This time, it was followed by the sound of two pairs of paw pads softly touching down on the metal. If one were to ask Evan, he would say it sounded similar to feety pajamas on tile.

  Emerald and Evan turned to Ratchet and Nia. “Crown just sent out a broadcast. They want all participating hunters gathered in their fighters at the gathering point within the next hour.”

  The vixen frowned, disappointed that her talk with Evan was interrupted. She let out a sigh before running a paw over her head. “Let’s go ahead and make any last-minute preparations then,” she stated with reluctance.

  Without a word, Evan chose that moment to stride past the rest of the squad.

  “In a hurry, big guy?” Ratchet asked in good humor, but Evan didn’t answer and simply kept walking until he was out of view. The fennec’s expression dampened at the cold response. “What’d I do?” he asked.

  “Give him a bit. We were discussing a heavy topic,” the fox said as she patted the small fennec on the head, heading the same direction as Evan with an expression that was more annoyed than gloomy.

  Ratchet frowned at the moody fox as she departed, then turned to Nia with a smile. “At least we’re having a good day,” he told her, psyching himself up.

  The Persian then flicked Ratchet’s ear. “We’re having a good day so far,” she corrected with a smirk, as the fennec rubbed his ear while wincing. Only for him to jolt as he was lifted off the ground by the loose fabric of his shirt. “Come on, short-stuff. Clock’s ticking.”

  Ratchet strongly considered protesting the manhandling, but thought better of it. Getting manhandled by the lazy Persian wasn’t such a bad time.

  ~Unidentified Installation ~4 days ago ~ Core World Standard Calendar

  General Noskar sat at his desk, the screen in front of him displaying common shipping routes, public flight records, private flight records, and reported undocumented flights throughout the Federation and the Empire. Next to his keypad sat a paper document marked Classified in dark red. Below that, in equally bold black ink, one could just barely make out the words Fallen Son.

  Noskar’s power-armored leg bobbed up and down beneath the desk as his eyes traced one undocumented flight that originated from the eastern fringe. Much of the line was a clearer color, indicating a presumed path, as only the dark red portions were actual reports of an undocumented craft.

  The ship had entered the galaxy around four years ago, and sightings of it reported a craftsmanship that pointed to the ship being Precursor in origin, a fact that fueled the General’s internal rage when paired with the information that the ship was retrieved by the Empire three and a half years ago.

  How much Precursor technology have those monkeys pilfered and polluted? Noskar thought to himself, the mere notion sending a jolt of rage through the aging wolf.

  His thoughts were then interrupted by a knock on the metal door to his office. The General took a moment to turn off his monitor and hide the paper document before answering the door. “Enter,” he said, pressing a button to open the door.

  Behind it stood a poodle woman in a white lab coat that contrasted heavily with her curly black fur. “Vlask,” the General said in acknowledgement of the scientist.

  “Good afternoon, General. We’ve cross-referenced historical records with the Fallen Son and have come to a conclusion you may find interesting,” the poodle said, a smug expression plastered on her face.

  “Which would be?” the General prodded, in no mood for her typical exaggerated displays and revelations.

  Stepping forward, the poodle pulled out a thin rectangular object from one of the pockets on her lab coat. She then pulled it open, revealing it to be a collapsible tablet. On the screen were several side-by-side comparisons of satellite photos. On the left were some that were centuries old, depicting derelict Precursor ships, whereas on the right were pictures of the Fallen Son. The ship was about twice the size of a modern fighter, though much of its size seemed to be dedicated to large power cells encased in heavy plates. “The historical photos are of single-person cryoships that many Precursors are speculated to have arrived in. Of course, all of those in the photos were derelict. Whereas the Fallen Son was very much in operation and, more likely than not, still had its cargo.”

  Noskar’s eyes widened as he realized what she was inferring. “A living Precursor,” he concluded in awe, to which Vlask nodded. He then played back her last sentence in his head before his head whipped back to her. The poodle shuddered as the wolf’s eyes seemed to pierce her very being. “What do you mean ‘had’?” he questioned with a growl, though it wasn’t aimed at her.

  “During the ship’s trip through Empire space, another ship departed the Pollux capital. Specifically, the flagship of Crown Princess Cynthia Pollux III,” Vlask explained.

  Noskar leaned back in his chair, the abused seat squeaking in protest as the power-armored wolf’s weight pushed on the 900 lb maximum capacity. “If the Emperor is involved, there is little chance of us actually rescuing the Precursor,” the wolf tasted bile on his tongue as he made the statement.

  Vlask was of a different mind, however, and looked smug rather than distraught. “Dear General, do you truly believe that they would hold one of our uplifters in captivity? I, for one, do not. A belief which is backed up by the word of one of our recent… ‘guests,’ who up until a year and a half ago worked directly under the Princess.”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The General stood from his desk and grabbed his helmet off the rack behind him. Placing it on his head, he turned back to the poodle. “I will hear this directly from the monkey’s mouth. Come, Vlask,” he ordered as he marched past the poodle. It was an order she eagerly followed.

  Exiting the office, they entered a short hallway, which two other offices occupied—one belonging to Vlask, head of the science division, and the other to Port, the mastiff in charge of the troops—with General Noskar functioning as the head of the facility as a whole.

  “How’s the progress with turning Ghenna’s Nectar into a usable form of energy?” he asked as they walked. A few black-clad soldiers saluted the General as they passed by.

  “Tests remain promising. We’ve made two experimental fighters that run entirely on the liquid form of the flower. Compared to our current reactors, they lag behind on longevity, but in terms of raw power output, they’re unmatched. Of course, this is with the neutralized strain of Nectar. If we were to use an unmodified—” she began, but was interrupted by the General.

  “No. We will not be using unmodified strains on this base, or frankly anywhere near civilization, unless we can develop a new inoculation,” he said with a tone that brooked no argument.

  The poodle nodded and backed off instantly. “Of course, General,” she said.

  They continued down the hallway, entering the central hub where dozens of see-through chambers were installed. The occupants of each chamber varied wildly. In one, there was an eight-foot black worm whose head opened to reveal rows upon rows of serrated teeth. Another contained the corpses of a Polluxi crew, each one now sprouting numerous purple flowers. Yet another had a humanoid machine who stood stock-still in the middle of its confinement.

  As they reached the other side of the room, they entered a featureless hallway—the same one that had contained the now-dead crew. They passed most of the doors, ignoring the screams and moans. Toward the end of the hallway, they arrived at a featureless door. Walking up to it, Vlask placed her hand on the screen next to the door. A moment later, the door opened to a well-furnished room. In the corner was a small table occupied by a Polluxi of a larger build. This was the ‘guest’ in question. He was also probably the only prisoner who came here willingly, turning himself over to the Federation after witnessing what he claimed: the Empire had lost the favor of the Precursors.

  It was an action that reminded the General of their common origin. Both of them belonged to species uplifted by the Precursors. But where the Federation and Gerralians tended to view the Precursors with reverence, the Polluxi viewed them with almost a religious fanaticism. Eager to see what information the willing prisoner held, the General entered the holding cell.

  Evan August~ Current Day~

  From the shell of my cockpit, I observed what was possibly the largest gathering of hunters I had ever seen. There were easily over a hundred ships present. More than a few of them were Argonauts, but to my disappointment the vast majority were still Hewards. Granted, none of them were MPs or mass-production models, meaning that they were at least somewhat reliable. Frankly, I’m disappointed that these nobles cheap out on the fighters of their subordinates.

  To be fair, not all of them did. The noble trying to claim command over the whole operation supplied all of his subordinates with top-of-the-line Argonauts. The noble in question, Bernard Galvus, was the head of the Galvus family, whose fortune was tied to food dehydration.

  “Black Shadow, scans are not showing your ID present on the frequency where orders are being relayed. Lord Galvus gave strict order—” a voice suddenly interjected over my com-pad, causing me to frown.

  “Last I checked, Lord Galvus wasn’t placed in command of this mission by the Association,” I said, hoping my annoyed tone was clearly transmitted.

  “Lord Galvus is the senior noble present, in addition to being the one with the most completed missions under his belt. As Crown protocol dictates, he shall assume command. Now this is a direct order: change to the appropriate frequency,” the voice said threateningly.

  “That’s funny, because the Gamma Hounds still received their mission directly through the Bounty Hunters’ Association. Under Association bylaws, I am not required to follow the orders of any hunter or law enforcement branch unless specifically dictated to by a senior officer of the Association. Now, unless I receive an order from Emerald Strauss telling me to follow his commands, tell Galvus he can go kick rocks,” I growled back at the voice.

  A click followed by the notification of Communication Ended let me know whoever was speaking had turned off his com-pad.

  I waited a few more moments for another call, but one didn’t immediately come. So I went back to resting, waiting for Emerald’s orders. The vixen in question was currently listening to the arrogant lord’s battle plan while the rest of the squad sat in their own private channel. Well, except for me. I always kept a public communication channel open in case of emergencies.

  As I continued to wait, I couldn’t stop my mind from going back to my conversation earlier with Em. I could kick myself over how bad of a screw-up that was. I would really be panicking if I wasn’t already planning to tell her everything after this mission. I let out a sigh. I suppose that will just be a primer for now.

  Just as I started to get comfy again, a new voice came over the public channel of my com-pad.

  “We’re about to move out. I want everyone on the private line being used by the rest of the pilots. If nothing else, I want you to be able to know their plans so you can avoid getting shot by any of these incompetents,” she ordered, her tone indicating she was currently in captain mode. “But stay in our private line as well—that’s where I’ll be giving our orders and updates.”

  As she finished speaking, the fighters in Galvus’s squad began to move. Shortly thereafter, the rest of the large gathering followed suit. I, along with the rest of the Hounds, joined midway through, following Emerald’s lead.

  “Stay on the outskirts of the gathering, and don’t let yourself get boxed in. I wouldn’t put it past my parents to pay someone to try something, even on a mission like this. All of you saw how eager the nobles are to follow their own rule set rather than those of the Association,” Emerald ordered as well as warned.

  Even as Gerral shrunk and disappeared, no one made any move to surround them or box them in. In fact, when I looked closely, every single noble and their cohorts were slightly separated, largely sticking to their own groups. Examining their formations more closely, I couldn’t help but shake my head.

  Reaching down to the com-pad, I opened our private channel. “Hey Em, have you noticed their formations yet?” I asked, unable to hide the amusement in my own voice. It took a few moments before an exasperated sigh answered my question.

  “Those idiots are just sticking to their own,” she said without humor.

  “How much do you want to bet that when blasters start blazing, they bail entirely?” Ratchet chimed, his humor present, I thought with a smile.

  “No. They’re too worried about their standing. More likely than not, they’ll send their subordinates to deal with the pirates while remaining a safe distance back,” Nia chimed.

  I was of the same mind, though it frankly depended on which group of pirates had started this whole thing. The Gerral system wasn’t home to many, and the only bands big enough to warrant this kind of response would be the Reavers, though this big of an operation directly against the Gerral seems more like something the Outcast would pull. Though there is a third possibility.

  Putting that out of my mind for now, I joined back in the conversation. “Which would leave them open to any aces sitting back,” I responded to Nia, to which she agreed.

  “Yeah, but not every group has what we would call aces,” Ratchet countered, as one of the nobles seemed to list off course before quickly correcting after nearly crashing into one of their subordinates.

  Shaking my head in disbelief at the amateurish display, I responded to Ratchet. “With pilots like that, it doesn’t really matter what we consider aces. A backyard pilot with a blaster powered for self-defense could take out some of these nitwits.” The disdain in my voice was clear for all the other Hounds.

  The private frequency being used by the nobles lit up. “Naudius, if we weren’t halfway to our destination, I’d have left you back at Gerral,” Galvus said over the line. “Pull to the back of the formation so you don’t get anyone killed with your stupidity.”

  “My controls got locked up, Lord Galvus. A simple firmware issue…” Naudius tried to give an excuse, but was shut down by Galvus.

  “You decided to go on a life-or-death mission without updating your ship? Are you so inexperienced that you’d allow yourself to be vulnerable to a system lock?” Galvus berated.

  For once, I found myself agreeing with the noble. Those kinds of vulnerabilities could see a ship completely taken over. The initiator of a system lock may not be able to pilot a fighter remotely, but discharging its weapons was as simple as sending over the right ping.

  Once more, Naudius tried to defend himself. “Lord Galvus, the fix for this is a simple one. If we could just pause for a moment, I’d be more than happy to—”

  “I will not delay this mission to account for your incompetence. You are a danger to this operation and those around you. You are dismissed. Return to Gerral immediately!” Galvus commanded.

  A sputtering response came over the line as Naudius tumbled over his words in indignant outrage. “Lord Galvus, this is ridiculous. I respect your authority, but officially you have no right to sully my house and force me back to Gerral.”

  “You have sullied your own house. As to your other point, while I may not officially be able to send you back, I have no issues ordering my men to take out your boosters and having your subordinates tow you back home. Now tell me, which do you prefer?”

  As Galvus spoke, a number of Argonauts broke off from his squad, swiftly taking position around Naudius. There was a tense silence on the com-pad. Then, just as suddenly, Naudius and his entourage turned back toward Gerral without a word.

  There was a lull in communication after that, and we proceeded to our destination without any further interruptions. The Gamma Hounds had no issue maintaining our position toward the center edge, and thankfully there was still no sign of agents or actors working on behalf of Emerald’s parents.

  At this point, a few hours had passed since the incident, and the outer asteroid belt of the Gerral system was coming into view.

  “Keep your eyes peeled. I’m sure you all remember how our last fight in an asteroid belt went,” Emerald warned, causing my grip on the controls to tighten as I was reminded of the coming retaliation from the Reavers that we had so far avoided. “We’ll wait until we’re right next to the belt before we start sending out scans,” Emerald said.

  That order was shortly thereafter made pointless as each of the nobles began to send out scans, practically announcing our arrival with little chance of anything to show for it.

  “Idiots,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “No ships showing up yet on scanners,” someone said, announcing the obvious.

  A scoff replied to him. “Of course not. Those cowards are probably hiding deeper in the belt. Our scans may not have revealed anything, but at least it will give these lowlifes time to put up a decent fight.”

  I could feel my lower eyelid begin to twitch in anger as an order from Emerald came through. “Stop your advance, Gamma Hounds. These idiots want to announce themselves—let them deal with the consequences.”

  Following her orders, we killed our acceleration and began to float listlessly as dozens of fighters passed us up.

  “Look at the monikered team. I told you they were overhyped,” a familiar voice said.

  “To think, Lady Strauss, that your lowborn hanger-on had the gall to call me a coward.” As he finished that statement, I finally placed a face to the voice. It was the chihuahua we had run into. I was tempted to respond, but other matters quickly made him a non-priority.

  The squad heading the advance had put some distance between themselves and everyone else.

  “Lord Pollem, pull back your squadron. You’ve exposed yourselves,” Galvus ordered.

  “Nothing to worry about, Lord Galvus. We’re simply fulfilling the role others are afraid to. We’ll provide a scouting m—”

  The noble was cut off as a red ball impacted his shield and exploded, with said explosion claiming all but one of his five squad mates. The Heward in question attempted to turn around, but was overwhelmed as dozens of blaster bolts quickly overwhelmed the subpar shields and turned the fighter into slag and scrap.

  Right as her IFF mark on our navigation consoles disappeared, we received the results of their last scan ping. On the opposite side of the asteroids they had just passed sat no less than three hundred pirates.

  Intermission

  The days following my capture by the Martians were ones of agony and boredom.

  The power-armored man was the last person who spoke to me, or even responded to me. A few hours after he had left me, another group arrived and cut the bench I was chained to from the craft before carrying me to a transport vehicle. The lack of wheels marked it as a Martian shuttle, likely meaning I was being flown somewhere. This ride was much more uneventful than the first. It made the ride seem to stretch on forever, and I believe it had to have been five or six hours. When we finally touched down, I was once again just lifted and brought outside, a bag placed over my head. From the smell and sounds, I could tell we were still on Earth, though likely far off the beaten path.

  The feeling of nature didn’t last long as soon as I was brought inside a facility of sterile metal, the smell oppressive and overbearing. When the bag was finally ripped off my head, they roughly threw me to the ground. A group of three power-armored men held me down so hard that I felt bruises begin to form from their grip strength. Inflexible metal gloves were clasped around my hands, preventing me from grabbing anything. Only then were the chains on my hands released, only for me to be clasped to a table that I fondly called the torture rack. Soon after, the power-armored individuals departed.

  I was left alone with my thoughts for a few minutes before individuals in white and blue hazmat suits came in carrying a tray of needles and scalpels. They proceeded to use them to draw blood and scrape a small amount of skin off my arm before departing. Afterwards, the lights were switched off and I was left alone. For hours. Then they came back and did it again. And again.

  They had established a routine that revolved around needles and masks. A heavily clad scientist or doctor—though I refrained from calling those willing to engage in such practices doctors—would walk in and stick a needle in me. Where? Anywhere from my veins to my spine. They’d collected fluid and tissue samples from every part of my body that they could siphon from.

  I had to have been there for weeks, waiting for any kind of change. Then one day, it happened. Midway through another blood draw, the power went out, surprising not only myself but the scientists in the room as well. For the first time since my internment, I heard them speak.

  “What’s going on?” a feminine voice asked, clearly shaken.

  “I don’t know, but protocol says we need to—”

  I stopped listening there as I realized the cuffs locking me on the ‘torture rack’ were suddenly slack. Still closed, but only because nothing was forcing them shut. With a light tug, my hand came free. I did the same with my other hand, only for the emergency lights to kick on, coating the room in a red haze.

  The scientists began to head toward the door in an organized manner. It was only the last scientist that turned to take one last look at me. Had anyone else had the wherewithal to check things, might have turned out differently. But they took too long.

  “He’s ou—AGHH!” The woman who spoke earlier half-exclaimed before breaking into a gurgling scream as the scalpel tore open her suit and throat.

  Without waiting, I rushed the next one. Using the syringe filled with my blood, I jammed it into their abdomen, pressing the plunger down.

  The man screamed for a moment before the purple flowers erupted from the small hole. He incoherently screamed, pulling out what he could, but it was too late.

  I looked up for the last one, but he was already down the hallway. Considering he was probably going to a secure area, perhaps going the opposite direction would lead me out.

  Taking a gamble, I sprinted toward the opposite end of the hallway.