Post by Centurion on Jun 19, 2019 12:35:12 GMT
"Guns and Ships" - Part One
Colu Sector
A reptilian looking alien named Garrod huffed in annoyance as he sat in the cramped cockpit of his smuggling vessel. He sat with one leg draped over the arm of his chair and used a sharp fingernail to pick at his equally sharp teeth. His appearance was as unkempt as his demeanor with multiple food stains on his wrinkled clothing. His only companion, another reptilian named Ran, was the pilot of their ship and his polar opposite in terms of appearance. Garrod huffed again as his fingernail dug into something fleshy.
"What is taking those das't idiots so long to get here," he sighed while flicking away a rather large remnant of his most recent meal. "We're already running behind schedule as it is."
The Green Lanterns were gone, and the Manhunters didn't have much of a presence this far out regardless of their claims to the contrary. Anyone else trying to impose order in this sector was likely either looking for a bribe or not nearly fast enough to catch them. It was smart for a smuggler to avoid any real danger. Unfortunately, that didn't mean there were no drawbacks to the job whatsoever. A lack of dependable business associates being chief among them.
"Still nothing on the…" Ran started but was cut off by a beep from his control console. "Sensors are picking up something, but it's not them. Putting it on screen now."
"What in the depths is that thing?!?" Garrod nearly fell out of his seat as he shouted.
The unidentified vessel was absolutely titanic in size and filled up the viewing screen despite still being well off in the distance. It appeared to be a perfect cube that stretched for kilometers on all sides, which would have looked somewhat ridiculous under normal circumstances. The cube looked anything but ridiculous, however, as it continued to fill up more and more of the viewing screen like an approaching dreadnaught. With no visible markings or viewports, it was difficult to even tell how well armed it might have been.
"Haven't got a clue," Ran calmly replied and looked down at his console display. "Computer can't match it to anything we got on file either." His expression slid into a frown as he continued to look over the sensor readings. "It's definitely on an intercept course though."
"Well, screw this," Garrod decided as a growing sense of dread caused his voice to tremble. "We damn sure don't get paid enough to go making first contact. Especially not with ships like that. Get us out of here, now!"
"Already on it."
Their ship had outrun numerous patrol vessels in the past. By disregarding several safety measures, it was able to reach maximum speed faster than most other vessels could ever hope to manage. That speed made up for an almost total lack of firepower. The best their ship could do was clear some debris from their path. A smuggling vessel typically wouldn't fare exceptionally well in a firefight anyway, so the tradeoff was usually more than worth it.
The monstrous cube pursuing them proved itself quite capable of keeping pace, however. It closed the gap with a startling burst of acceleration for something so massive. The closer it got, the more Garrod began to panic. He slammed his hands on the weapons controls, but the shots had absolutely no noticeable effect. Once in range, a green beam emanated from the cube and ensnared the smaller vessel, and slowly began to pull it in despite Ran's best efforts to break free.
"What are you doing?!?" Garrod demanded, his expression twisted in pure fear. He leapt out of his seat, and frantically shook Ran by the shoulders. "We can break free! We have to! Go faster!"
"I'm running the engines at maximum," Ran insisted while twisting out of the other man's grip. He struggled to keep his voice calm, but Garrod's fear was starting to get infectious. "They're already starting to overheat from the strain. If I push them any harder, they'll go critical, and we won't have to worry about what that ship will do to us. The engines blowing up will wipe us out first."
"So we just let them take us?!?"
"You have a better idea?" Ran inquired. "One that doesn't involve us being blasted into space dust?"
Garrod had no response to that and simply slid back into his seat, squirming as their ship was drawn closer and closer to an unknown fate.
Vega Sector - Knowhere Station
Peter Quill was in his element.
He busied himself behind his bar, cleaning glasses and filling orders for the random patrons that were whiling away the afternoon. He would occasionally cast a glance toward the clock, which indicated his waitress should have been here ten minutes ago, but all in all, things weren't so bad.
A Terran even gaining a foothold on Knowhere was pretty much unthinkable, but he'd managed to scrape up enough to buy the place outright a few years back and then decorate it from memories he had watching television with his mother. An homage to one of her favorites, Cheers. He kept her picture on the wall, right in the same spot where Sam Malone had Coach's.
He looked up from his reminiscing to see a raccoon and a tree walk into the bar. While anywhere else that would just be the set-up to a joke, here it was just an everyday occurrence. Knowhere wasn't like anywhere else. The station was located in a sector officially under galactic quarantine and built within the disembodied head of what had once been a planet-sized alien. There was quite literally no other place like it in the galaxy.
"Groot!" the crowd in the bar shouted in greeting. The tree creature just waved pleasantly in response, plodding along behind his smaller companion.
"Hey Groot, hey Rocket," Quill said.
"Yo Quill, two Romulan Ales." the raccoon shouted as and his friend marched to the bar. It took a bit of scrambling, but he eventually hopped up onto one of the bar stools. In truth, Rocket wasn't really a raccoon, the alien just looked enough like one – aside from the tendency to walk on two legs. He did not appreciate the comparison all the same.
"I am Groot." his arboreal partner added quickly, leaning forward and contorting his massive frame to fit inside the doorway. Groot was truly a hulking creature, easily dwarfing not only the small Rocket but also Quill, with sticks and branches sticking out every-which-way.
"Whaddaya mean, you need to go on a diet? You look fine." Rocket asked, looking up at his partner.
Groot simply patted the area where his stomach would be.
"Oh for... you're not putting on water weight. Quill, will you tell him he looks fine?"
Peter just placed a glass of a sickly green liquid in front of Groot, not wanting to get involved.
Groot's face twisted into a cheerful grin as he grabbed the glass and downed it in one shot.
"Meh," Rocket replied, waving his hand dismissively. "You're just buyin' into the mass media produced standards of beauty..." He then looked down and noticed he didn't have a drink. "Hey, what gives?"
"Groot's all paid up. You, on the other hand, have a tab I could buy all three moons of Spartax with." Quill said, before busying himself with other tasks behind the bar. "So, you're cut off."
Rocket just crossed his arms and pouted. "Fine, serves you. Me and Groot just found out about the opportunity of a lifetime, and now we ain't gonna cut you in."
"I am... Groot?"
Rocket lowered his voice into a stage whisper. "Ix-nay on the ip-shay! I'm softening him up."
Quill just sighed. "Rocket, I'm the one who taught you Pig Latin. What do you need my ship for? Don't you have your own?"
"Well, about that..."
Rocket was cut off when a young woman came scampering into the bar, moving as quickly as her tight tube dress would allow. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," she said, as she slipped behind the bar and into the back room to grab her apron. 'But you're not going to have time to lecture me."
"And why is that?" Quill asked, tapping his prized swatch to remind her time was passing.
"You'll see," she replied sweetly, before slamming the door behind her.
Quill barely had time to look up when he saw one of the station's security officers, Yondu Udonta walk into the bar like he owned it. Deep blue skin, gnarled and scarred from a lifetime of fights and hard-scrabble living, Yondu looked like a scrapper. Even his crest, a point of pride for all Alpha Centurions, was snapped off, replaced with a small, mechanical fin.
"Peter Quill!" Yondu announced, knowing he already had the man's attention. Everyone else in the bar sheepishly started to look away, pretending to busy themselves with their drinks and speaking only in hushed tones, not wanting to draw the attention of security.
"What do you want, Yondu?" Quill asked, "You're bothering the customers and killing the mood around here." He then hopped over the bar to meet the security guard in the center of the room. The two stood face to face, looking each other square in the eye for a moment.
"Seems we've got a health complaint. Word has it, you're allowing vermin to run around the place, unchecked."
"Vermin?" Quill asked, confused. "What are you talking about? Haven't seen anything in weeks."
Yondu's face, twisted into a cruel smile, teeth cracked and missing but no less predatory. "Oh, my mistake. Must've been talking about Rocket."
Rocket's anger flared. "Hey now, listen here you bird-looking klutark!" he shouted, as Groot wrapped a branch around his mouth, not only muffling most of his interjection but to keep his friend from launching himself toward security.
As Rocket continued a litany of swears across ten planets, Quill just nodded toward Groot.
"What's he done now?" Quill asked, sighing.
"Got a call to bring him in. Looks like he owes about 12,000 Woolong for impound fees for his ship. Overdue about eight months. Unless he can pay right now, your little buddy's getting a one-way ticket out the airlock."
Quill just spun around to Rocket and Groot and mouthed the words "Twelve thousand?"
Rocket just replied with a shrug, calm enough that Groot had removed his gag. "I was gonna pay, I just didn't wanna."
"All right, all right," he said, moving around the bar to the register, and grabbed a bunch of bills out of the till. "Twelve thousand, now be on your way."
Yondu made a point to count it all. "I'm watching you," he replied to no one in particular – but it was clear from the mood in the room everyone there took it to heart. He then turned to leave.
"Later, Papa Smurf," Rocket muttered not quietly enough.
Yondu wheeled around immediately. "Wanna repeat that, Rodent? What's a Papa Smurf?"
"How should I know, it's what Quill calls you behind your back."
Yondu looked back to Peter once again, who seemed half exasperated at Yondu and half enraged at Rocket. Before Peter could decide who to focus his attention on it was drawn towards his waitress instead.
"Get your hands off of me!" she demanded when an unusually large patron pawed at her in full view of everyone.
"Hey, Mister Security Officer," Peter snapped at Yondu. "You think you might actually try doing your job for once?"
Yondu merely chuckled in response before heading towards the exit. "It's just one man Quill. Pretty sure even you can handle that. Afraid you might break a nail or something?"
Peter opened his mouth to reply but was cut short when the waitress yelled again. Instead, he simply growled in frustration as Yondu exited the bar and then turned his attention to the matter at hand.
"I am Groot?"
"No thanks, buddy," Peter punctuated his response by cracking his knuckles. "I got this."
Spartax System – Steaming Load Tavern
The masked man barely suppressed a shutter as he entered the accurately named tavern. The door had been coated in filth, and the interior was somehow significantly worse. Calling the place a dung heap would have been an insult to piles of manure. It was hard to believe an establishment such as this could exist in Spartax territory.
Of course, a lowlife like Lobo would feel right at home here.
Despite the poor lighting, the Czarnian mercenary was easy to find. The man was a brute with an unruly mane of black hair, blood red eyes, and pale white skin. Massive arms were tucked behind his head as he leaned his chair back nearly to the tipping point while smoking an almost comically large cigar.
Lobo was the last of the Czarnians left in existence. Details on why that was the case varied wildly depending on the source. The most commonly told story was that Lobo himself had somehow succeeded in killing every other living thing on the planet for reasons known only to himself. Whether or not that much was right, he was by all accounts crass, violent, and utterly disreputable.
Perfect for the job.
If he succeeded, he'd be paid enough to stay quiet. Even if he somehow managed to fail, the Spartax Empire could easily disavow any relationship with him. No one would ever believe the Czarnian if he tried to claim he was working for them. Certainly, no one would come looking for him if he died.
"Ya gonna stare at me all damn day or come take a seat?" Lobo asked without so much as a glance backward.
Lobo raised an eyebrow when the man in the mask came into view. Clothed mostly in brown with a large trenchcoat and a mask that obscured all facial features. Definitely not the person he expected to be meeting with.
"This some kinda fraggin' joke? Who are ya supposed ta be?"
"You may call me Mr. Knife," the masked man said as he took a seat opposite the Czarnian. "I've been authorized to negotiate this transaction."
"So I don't get ta see the Big Boss Man?" Lobo asked with a hint of disappointment. "Not every day I get ta do business with royalty. I even put on my fancy clothes, just fer the occasion."
Lobo gestured down at himself. His black leather like ensemble had hardly any stains or holes in it at all. A fact Lobo seemed quite proud of.
"You'll understand if the ruler of Spartax can't allow himself to be seen in a place like this with someone of your ilk," Mr. Knife stated bluntly. "No offense, of course."
Lobo pulled the cigar out of his mouth and belched loudly in response.
"Charming," Mr. Knife muttered. "And precisely my point."
Lobo leaned forward in his chair and stared unblinkingly at Mr. Knife as he extinguished his cigar on the surface of the table between them. A moment of absolute silence passed that seemed to linger on for an eternity with Lobo never breaking his gaze. Eventually, he cracked a grin, leaned back, and lit up another cigar.
"Well I guess yer right ya bastich," he admitted. "The main man is many things, but civilized ain't one of 'em."
Mr. Knife found himself releasing a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding in. The Czarnian may have been a cretin, but was certainly not lacking the ability to be intimidating. He took a moment to steady his breathing before sliding a datapad across the table.
"Indeed, but I suppose that's exactly what makes you the most qualified person to take on this little endeavor."
Lobo hardly even glanced at the datapad as he puffed on his cigar. "Reading is fer geeks," he exhaled a plume of smoke that drifted directly towards Mr. Knife. "Sum it up nice and pretty fer me Knifey. Who's the poor bastich ya need me ta find?"
"He calls himself Star-Lord."
Rocket took the opportunity to scramble behind the bar and pour himself that Romulan Ale he had been denied. If he couldn't give that flarking Yondu a piece of his mind, then he'd damn sure get the drink he had wanted while Peter was taking care of an unruly customer.
"I. Am. Groot." his partner chastised with a shake of his twig-like finger.
"Oh whatever," Rocket said dismissively. "Once I cut him in on this deal he's gonna owe me free drinks for life. He can just consider this a down payment."
Groot seemed less than convinced but made no attempt to stop him.
"Strike one!"
Peter Quill ducked underneath a sloppily thrown punch and grinned mockingly at his would-be opponent. The alien, who from Peter's perspective vaguely resembled a bald ape, lurched off balance and nearly face planted into the countertop. This would not be a fair fight, but the drunken oaf had brought it on himself. Peter had wanted to vent some steam after dealing with Yondu, but he figured he could have a little fun while he was at it.
"Strike two!" Peter proclaimed as he sidestepped an awkward attempt at a tackle.
The oaf stumbled and lost balance again. Without a countertop to grab hold of the drunkard crashed to the floor, and nearly wiped out several nearby stools. That immediately wiped the grin from Peter's face.
"Anything you break is getting added to your tab pal," he warned.
He hopped backward when the alien grunted angrily and swiped at his legs in an attempt to drag him down to the floor.
"And that's strike three!"
Peter hoisted the drunk to a standing position, and let loose with a flurry of blows. Each one connected solidly to the midsection and the head. The barrage didn't stop until the alien was practically unconscious. Peter then dragged the hapless oaf to the exit of his fine establishment.
"You are outta here!" he announced as he unceremoniously tossed the man out the door.
He turned and gave an exaggerated bow at the smattering of applause bestowed by his patrons. None more enthusiastic than Groot who pumped a giant wooden fist in excitement.
"Thank you! Thank you! I'll be here all week folks. Don't forget to tip your server."
He glanced over at his waitress who flashed a satisfied smile before tending to another table. In the corner of his eye, he saw Rocket scramble from behind the bar and blew out an exasperated breath. One of these days, his patience with the runt was going to run out.
"Now," Peter started as he made his way over to Rocket and Groot. "I believe we had business to discuss before we were so rudely interrupted."
Vega Sector – Near Planet Zebes
The dream always went the same way.
Heavy black smoke stung her eyes and choked her lungs, but that granted her no respite from the horrors that unfolded around her. The cries for help silenced by blaster fire, the smell of burnt flesh, and the taste of her own blood in her mouth. It was a lot for anyone to process, let alone a small child.
She could practically feel the winds change direction as a dark presence loomed over her. It was as if the air itself trembled in the creature's wake. Blood lust radiated off the beast, and her vision cleared just enough to see it open its massive jaws to let out a roar.
Samus Aran awoke with a start, an alert from an incoming message blaring over her ships comm system. She pushed a damp strand of blonde hair away from her eyes as she rose from her bed. A blue jumpsuit materialized around her body, molding itself perfectly to her figure as if it were an extra layer of skin.
A tiny figure floated in front of her as she made her way to the door. It had a transparent greenish blue membrane surrounding internal red nuclei, and a pair of tiny fangs protruding from the underside. The baby Metroid cooed at her, somehow conveying concern despite being unable to speak any language that Samus could decipher. Sometimes it still amazed her how docile the creature was compared to others of the same species.
"Just a dream," she insisted. "I'll be fine."
The baby lingered for another moment before reluctantly moving aside. Samus gave it a tender look and then stepped through the door. It took her only a few seconds to reach the bridge. The dropship was built for utility, not luxury.
"The location of the Treasure Ship has finally been discovered," the voice on the other side of the comm stated. It was electronically distorted to disguise the identity of the speaker, but Samus already knew precisely who it was.
Doing business with a Daemonite was typically a horrible idea, but Samus and Voodoo had a professional understanding if nothing else. As long as their interests stayed aligned, there was little risk of betrayal. A small risk was still a risk though, so Samus would never wholly trust her associate.
That said if this was anyone else, and she'd have disconnected on the spot. The Great Tamaranean Treasure Ship was a story that had been sold to losers and space cherries since the fall of the planet almost 20 years ago. Samus was above such ghost-chasing and assumed her associate was as well.
"By Space Pirates, I take it," Samus determined.
"Not exactly…" the distorted voice replied.
This was rapidly becoming a waste of her time. Samus reached out, prepared to disconnect.
"Listen," Voodoo lowered her voice to a near whisper, cutting her off. "I know this crew. They're more fortune hunters than actual pirates. Don't take them lightly, but you don't need to treat them like you would your typical bounties."
The sudden shift in the tone of the conversation actually surprised Samus a great deal. It wasn't like Voodoo to be sentimental. The Daemonite would frequently tease, provoke, even flirt, but this was something different entirely. If it was some sort of con, then Samus couldn't see the angle that was being worked. It would have been in Voodoo's best interest to keep that last bit of information to herself to guarantee the bounty hunters services rather than risk otherwise by telling the truth.
"Assuming I take this job, I won't make any promises," Samus replied. "It's all going to depend on what happens when I get there. Where is the Treasure Ship?"
"I wasn't able to get the exact coordinates myself," Voodoo admitted. “But I managed to slip a tracking device on board of the vessel that will be en route. It’s called the Benatar. Transmitting the data to you now.”
A somewhat unusual name for a vessel, but Samus could hardly concern herself with something that trivial. Her first instinct had been to decline the job, but even she couldn't make ends meet only hunting Space Pirates. Taking on other bounties was occasionally necessary although they were rarely as lucrative.
"And the crew?" Samus asked.
"A small crew of three."
"Seems inadequate for a job of this size," Samus remarked.
"Maybe, maybe not. It's not like there's a full list of the number of valuables on board. Which is where you come in. I'd like some assurance things don't fall off the ledger. I'm sure they plan to keep it all for themselves. A fortune can last a lot longer when it only needs to be split in three ways. But of course, if someone happened to scare them off once they'd gotten there..."
"It would last even longer when it doesn't need to be divided at all." There was a pause on the other end as Samus' remark struck true. She was no fool. "Relax," Samus told her contact. "I don't care what you do with it. It's not like the Tamaraneans are going to need it back."
Accounts of the fall of planet Tamaran varied wildly, but all painted a bleak picture of the event. The consensus was that it had been a massacre, not a battle. There was no telling how many Tamaraneans had actually survived the assault, but a sudden surge in the slave trade seemed to indicate the fate that had befallen most if not all of them.
"Right…" Voodoo finally responded. "Well moving on then. There's no telling what kind of defenses the Treasure Ship might possess. I'd say your best bet is to allow them to secure the vessel and then intercept them on their way back."
Samus bristled slightly at the notion that she of all people would need any sort of guidance but managed to keep her voice steady and calm as she replied. "I'll take that under advisement."
"Relax," Voodoo offered back, a teasing note somehow managing to slip through the vocal distortion effect. Payback for the remark a moment earlier it seemed. "I know you'll handle the situation as you see fit."
"Always have to get the last word in," Samus stated.
"Wouldn't be as much fun to talk to you otherwise." With that, Voodoo terminated the connection.
With the conversation finished, the Baby Metroid resurfaced, floating out into the command pod.
"Looks like we've got a job." Samus said in greeting, "Feel like a road trip?"
Aboard the Benatar
The Benatar was formerly a Ravager ship that Peter Quill gained possession of much to the everlasting chagrin of one Yondu Udonta. It was large enough to house Rocket and Groot's much smaller vessel, but still fast enough to outrun most trouble. If running wasn't a viable option, the Benatar had enough of an armament to dissuade any would-be attackers. In the Vega Sector, it was usually best to avoid a fight when possible, however, so Peter set the transponder to a common Space Pirate identification tag. It was standard practice for anyone that traveled through the sector looking to be left alone.
It had been a surprisingly short journey to their destination. After a quick series of jumps through the Stargate system Rocket proclaimed they had arrived. To Peter and Groot, it appeared to be an unoccupied sector of space that seemed wholly unremarkable at first glance.
"This better not be another wild goose chase," Peter warned. "Otherwise I'm gonna have to sell your ship to cover what I paid out to Yondu."
"Yeah, yeah," Rocket waved one hand dismissively while using the other to input a series of search parameters into the ship sensors.
"I mean it Rocket," Peter insisted. "Your tab is one thing, but I can't just brush off a twelve thousand Woolong loss. Not if I want to keep my business running."
Rocket remained totally unconcerned. "Relax Quill. This is a sure thing."
"You said that the last time," Peter sighed. "And the time before that." Several other times as well, but Peter felt as though he got his point across.
"Yeah well, even Voodoo said it was legit this time," Rocket revealed.
Peter immediately perked up at the mention of Voodoo. His entire demeanor changed in an instant. A smitten grin appeared on his face as he leaned in closer to Rocket.
"Oh yeah?" he asked. "And how is that lovely lady doing? Did she ask about me?"
"I am Groot?" the Flora Colossi eagerly inquired as well.
Rocket crinkled his nose in mild disgust as he shook his head. "I really dunno what the two of you see in her."
Before either, Peter or Groot could respond, the sensors flared to life. Peter looked over the readings and immediately set a course. Their target was surrounded by debris that should have made it nearly impossible to detect. Whatever parameters Rocket had set allowed the scanners to sift through the mess to find the prize within.
"Well I'll be damned Captain Ahab," he breathed as the Treasure Ship appeared on the view screen. "You actually found the Great White Whale."
"Told ya so," Rocket gloated triumphantly.
The ship shone a brilliant white against the backdrop of outer space. It was something of an optical illusion created by the viewscreen, which enhanced any ambient light source in the vicinity to display an image. Without that effect, it was practically impossible to establish visual contact with anything in the black depths of the void. Everyone on board was aware of that fact, but at the moment, they were too mesmerized to care.
"Let's go get rich," Peter declared.
Garrod had no idea how much time had passed when he regained consciousness. His throat was dry, and he felt numb and groggy. He couldn't remember anything after his smuggling vessel was drawn into that damn monster cube. He tried to look around to get a glimpse of his surroundings and maybe even spot Ran, but his body ultimately refused to respond.
"We are the Borg."
The voice was strong and distinct, yet there seemed to be individual voices in there as well. As if millions of people were speaking simultaneously. The effect was overwhelming, and it was loud. So loud that Garrod couldn't even tell if it was coming from all around him, or from inside his own mind.
"You will be assimilated."
A drill came into focus above Garrod's right eye. Once again, he tried to move, but his body remained unresponsive. He couldn't even blink.
"Resistance is futile."
Couldn't even scream.
"Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own."
The drill completely filled the field of vision in his right eye, but oddly there was no pain when it finally sunk in. From the peripheral vision of his left eye, he saw a very familiar arm extracted as though it were nothing more than a defective part to be discarded and replaced.
"Your life as it has been is over."
The numbness spread from his body and seeped into his mind. His very sense of self ebbed away into nothingness.
"From this time forward, you will service the Collective."
The very last thing he could perceive was his own voice joining in unison with all of the others.
"And through the Collective carry out the will of Brainiac."