Pioneers: Creation

Grasping at Life

Grasping at Life


present...


         Research on Ruki was as interesting as could be imagined for the single greatest killer in recorded history, and probably unrecorded as well.  First name: Ruki.  No middle name.  No last name.  Enough nicknames to write a novel, including the more popularized Dread Pirate and Angel of Death.  No parents.  No siblings.  No children.  No birth date.  No birth place.  No known race.  She just appeared one day a few hundred years back with 23 murders under her belt.  From then until a decade ago she was rumored to have made a nice habit of killing at least one person every day.  When she failed to do that, she supposedly killed at least twenty the next day.  After Orlius she seemed to slowly become less bloodthirsty, less greedy, more adventurous and, somehow, more dangerous as well.  She had been showing more cunning and less force as of late.


         Davnick studied his information thoroughly, learning everything he possibly could about the pirate.  She had hundreds of suspected contacts and, of those still alive, only a few of them seemed to keep any close relation.  At the top of the list were Kenshi Tamaki and Worrent Ployer.  She had no real hangout seeing as she was traveling constantly, only stopping to meet with someone or cause havoc.


         She was much stronger than the average person with thousands of stories to back it.  Lifted a car and chucked it into a nearby building.  Punched through three inch thick steel plating with her bare hands.  Known to survive massive plasma wounds to the body without any scarring or side effects, etc.


         Ruki was intelligent when she wanted to be as well.  She usually preferred brute force, but there had been times when odds were overwhelming and she’d come out on top.  There were many supposedly impossible heists she accomplished through sheer intellect including the famed robbery of the one and only First Bank of Midolloni - a popular bank situated next to the Midolloni Royal Palace - and the raid on Cesidile - the MMC’s largest land base - and she had avoided or countered many ambushes throughout her life including the ever scrutinized Orlius Massacre.


         She trusted pretty much no one, though the jury was still out on a few names.  She liked to play stupid and study a person silently, then judge the said person later.  To not pass judgement was to mean you were expendable.  If you were expendable you would die quickly if caught in a jam.  She was incredibly homicidal, killing almost on a whim.  Her temper was terrible, her mood known to go from happy to angry for little to no reason whatsoever.  She was written to be a known nymphomaniac and suspected kleptomaniac, but had caved in more than a few skulls when the word ‘slut’ was used in a way she disliked or someone made a bad pass on her.  She was a flamboyant bisexual and suspected pedophile and necrophile, though Davnick knew both were likely guesses made on her quirky and unpredictable personality.  Her mental status was strangely unknown, however, though most people had written her up as being a psychopath.


         Her preferred weapons and vehicles ran all over the place.  The ship she was most often seen using was the Reaper, though that was now in a heavily guarded MMC impound at their headquarters near Midolloni.  Other vehicles she owned included a small one-seater ship and a hoverbike she kept stowed within the Reaper.  Weapons were difficult to track with her.  Ruki had been witnessed using just about every gun manufactured in Midolloni regulated space within the last four and a half centuries and then some.  It was difficult to pinpoint just what she preferred, though a pair of plasma swords were most often seen gracing her hands.


         Davnick sighed heavily as he looked over Ruki’s information.  It would be hard to keep track of her according to her records, but it would still be easier than going after Tamaki.


         Kenshi Tamaki was an unknown, pure and simple.  While the computers did have all the basic information about the man, the former SEALS had few known behavioral patterns and no known contacts or hangouts.  The man was like a ghost after Orlius, only appearing every few months to escape a bounty hunter or some random group of MMCs before disappearing entirely without doing anything wrong.  He didn’t have any sort of tendencies.  Temperamental?  Suicidal?  Murderous?  Greedy?  Horny?  It was all unknown.  His past as a soldier was where all useful information came from.  Preferred heavy weapons, but proficient in all.  Above average intelligence with good knowledge in field mechanics and demolition.  Excellent piloting skills.  Basic medical skills.  Good leadership qualities.  Dangerously aggressive when provoked.


         Most of his former friends - fellow SEALS soldiers for the most part - were dead with the exception of a few names from Koskov base on Midolloni and, strangely, Terrace Burlai, all of whom were assumed to be ex-friends of the pirate.  His family was killed off before the war ended.  Tamaki’s only currently known acquaintance was Ruki and no one knew how the hell the two of them hooked up.


         Tamaki’s accomplishments, while not as extensive and amazing as Ruki’s, were outstanding in their own right.  Besides the ever famous Orlius Massacre, Tamaki was also involved in a little known battle on a fringe research station called Weywon while he was still a grunt in the MMC’s army division.  A small group of heavily armed and armored pirates took over the station, killing all but a handful of soldiers and researchers. Tamaki took command of the survivors and managed to kill off the attackers before they collected highly coded and classified information, giving him a promotion to Sergeant and a transfer to MMC headquarters in Midolloni.  Four years later he suddenly transferred to the naval division and became a SEALS.  It was an odd move considering his rank and promising future within the army, but little about Tamaki made sense.  Orlius had been his first and last battle as a SEALS and after that there were only the occasional encounters he’d had with MMC and bounty hunters.


         There wasn’t much to go with for any sort of plan.  Davnick wouldn’t be able to just search around for the two and get his job done.  He needed to find where one of them would show up sooner or later and tail them from there.


         Davnick was headed for Haqnen II.


         ‘Ployer should be able to enlighten me a little more.  Just gotta turn on the old charm and maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get on his good side,’ he thought to himself.  ‘Maybe I could even join Ruki for awhile.  I could track her easy once she shows and get some nice tail while I’m at it.’


-------------------------


         Terrace sat back in his office of the super carrier, Bema - a ship assigned to him only a few hours ago and something unheard of being given to Commanders, especially when said ships were originally headed by an Admiral - while going over all the information from the Titan.  It was really something how the whole thing had been performed.  He’d never figured Tamaki to be much of a criminal, but the man had managed to pull it off like a pro.


         ‘I guess I shouldn’t expect any less from him.  Tamaki really was pretty good with whatever he set his mind to.  And Orlius proved he was a survivor, aggressive as he is in the thick of things.’  A quick knock on the door interrupted any further reminiscing.  “Come in,” Terrace called out.  An average-looking brown-haired man in an officer’s uniform entered and saluted his superior.  Terrace couldn’t recall his name.  He was one of two aides assigned personally to him mere hours before.  “What do you have?”


         “Sir you asked for a report of any strange happenings within ten systems of the Titan...” the young Lieutenant started only to be interrupted.


         “Yes, I know.  Did you find anything?”


         “A patrol ship patrolling the Hassong system just went missing an hour ago, sir.  They missed their report.”  Terrace nodded.  It was probably nothing but a screw-up, but he wasn’t about to take chances with what was probably two of the most dangerous and resourceful people in the galaxy, if not the universe.


         “Have you checked the ship’s tracking device?”


         “Yes sir.  It didn’t show up in normal space.  We’re still going over hyperspace routes.”


         “Could be destroyed,” Terrace reminded, remembering that Kenshi had escaped the law for so long by ditching the device on his own ship.  “Send in one full SEALS team for every docking bay in the system.  They are searching for any signs of Ruki and Kenshi Tamaki so I don’t want them complaining about police work.”


         “Sir, isn’t that...” the officer tried to argue, but was interrupted once more.


         “Just get it done, Lieutenant.  We can’t take any chances right now.  I don’t want anyone being caught underestimating these two.”  The young lieutenant nodded once, obvious as it was that he disagreed with the order.  He turned and exited the room to relay the orders to the ship’s SEALS commander.


-------------------------


         It took awhile to clean up the mess inside the cockpit of whatever patrol ship Ruki was on.  In retrospect, maybe she shouldn’t have torn open the man’s rib cage or pried the jaw off the lady.  She could honestly say she felt a little better, but she definitely needed a nice long bath.  Blood stains had a way with sticking to her hair rather annoyingly, though she was once told it brought out her eyes well.


         Ruki licked her fangs, smiling at the coppery taste as she did so.  One of the pilots had accidentally sprayed blood a bit into her face.  She managed to wipe most of it off, but a number of drops had made it over her waiting lips.


         It would be a tough couple weeks ahead.  Ruki would have to go back to Haqnen II and lay low for awhile.  She wouldn’t be able to exit her room until contact was made with Malcom lest Kenshi find her at some point.  After that she still needed to find and steal back the Reaper then get to a nice quiet place to stay out of sight for a month or two.  It was a bad time to go parading around when the MMC would be searching for their precious blueprints and Kenshi was in such a bad mood.


         ‘Oh well.  It’s been a good decade or so since I’ve had some time off.  I need to relax a little,’ she thought as she corrected her course slightly.  Once she was satisfied the patrol ship would arrive at Haqnen II as soon as possible Ruki sank back into the seat and closed her eyes, silently listening to the strange Terran music she had stuck in her mind.


-------------------------


         Haqnen II was arguably even worse in it’s nights than in it’s days.  It was true that the assorted scum of the planet could see you easily under the bright sun of daytime, but you could see your enemies just as clearly.  During night, however, next to nothing could be seen under the moonless, starry sky, including both you and the scum.  The difference was that it was easy and inexpensive for a simple mugger, rapist or murderer to buy the correct equipment to counteract the darkness and some races had such night vision naturally.  On the other hand, hover bikes, the popular form of transportation on the planet, couldn’t easily be used in their blood sport, denting, while it was night.


         Fortunately, such people were somewhat rare in the anarchistic streets of the rock world.  There was a good chance that anyone in the deadly darkness was strong and prepared enough to defend themselves against most muggers and killers, essentially warding off most of them.


         Aiston Malcom knew none of this and even if he did he wouldn’t care.  It was Yenshin’s job to deal with any threats and if he couldn’t he’d be out of the job.  The only thing Malcom was really worried about was finding the neon lights of Ployer’s Place amongst the many buildings with similar signs.  If he looked hard enough he might have seen the one or more guards standing in the shadows just inside each of the buildings, protecting their territories in the constant property war.


         Malcom walked quickly between the buildings, Yenshin following closely with a nervous look on his face and a tense hand on his plasma sword.  It didn’t take long to find the bar/restraunt/hotel/casino they were looking for.  Neither missed a step as they walked briskly into Ployer’s Place, the bouncer giving the pair a suspicious look, but leaving them alone as they passed.


         The main room was as crowded as ever, even as late as it was on the planet.  Most were probably visitors, unused to the time difference between where they were from and Haqnen II.  It was relatively quiet within the room, but the occasional shout or laugh was still raised.


         The pair made their way over to the bar, where the bartender was laughing at something said by an aging man leaning back on one of the stools.  The old man broke off from his own laughter to finish what was supposedly a funny story.


         “So I says to the guy, ‘If you want to take your turn I don’t really care, but I’ll tell you right now she’s got a twelve inch something, it’s not her shoe and she likes to use it.’  And I’m telling you, his look was just priceless.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say ‘excuse me’ and run off as fast as he did.”  The bartender’s laugh deepened and he had to support himself with one arm as he leaned over.


         “That’s a good one, boss,” he said in an attempt to regain control.


         “Yep.  That was a funny day.  Of course, she wasn’t all that happy with me.”  Aiston scrunched his face at the conversation and cleared his throat.  Both men looked at the noble, amused smiles still gracing their features.


         “Can I help you?” the aged man asked.  Malcom held himself tall and proud, adjusting his nose to look down at the man before he spoke.


         “Yes.  I am looking for a woman.  You might know of her.”


         “Ruki’s not back yet.”  Aiston nearly lost his composure at the surprise comment, but quickly recovered as the man continued.  “Are you actually meeting her here?  She didn’t leave a message to set up any rooms.”


         “Might I inquire as to who you are and how it is you know who I am looking for?” Aiston asked, anger creeping into his cultured accent.


         “Well spit on my boots and call me a buffoon if I’ve gone forgot my manners!  Charlie, I thought I told you to tell me when I did that.”


         “Your forgetting your manners, boss.”


         “Worrent Ployer’s the name, though you can just call me Ployer.  Everybody else does.”


         “‘cept your employees, boss.  We all just call ya ‘boss’.”


         “But our new friend, here, doesn’t need to know that.  I doubt he’ll ever find himself working under me when he’s so pampered under the care of Midolloni.”  Aiston silently fumed as Ployer and Charlie conversed, finding no humor in their talk or in Ployer’s apparent knowledge.  “Ah, but I’m forgetting our guest.  As per your other question, I saw you walk into the meeting room with Ruki yesterday.  Charlie and I were just going over some of the better times in our previous...‘careers’.  Care to join us?”


         “I would prefer to know when she will come back.  I must meet with her as soon as it is possible.”


         “Alas, her coming is as predictable as the weather - so long as it’s not artificial weather you’re talking about.”


         “Are you reading poetry again, boss?” The bartender tried to hold back a laugh.


         “Do not laugh at me because I am educated,” Ployer replied in a cheap voice that sounded suspiciously like Aiston’s.  Charlie couldn’t hold his laugh back this time and Malcom grit his teeth and clenched his fists.


         “If you do not mind!!!”  Both men turned toward the fuming noble, as did half the room.  “If you would give me your finest room and send somebody as soon as she arrives I will compensate you well.”


         “Sure, sure.  Talk to the man near the elevator and say my name.  He’ll give you what you need.”


         “Thank you,” Aiston said scornfully, but the owner was already starting another story.  Malcom clenched his jaw and stomped toward the elevators, a grinning Yenshin following.


-------------------------


         Quinn fell like a rock toward the large bed within Quicksilver.  She was exhausted.  The night before had only allowed her just over an hour of sleep and the excitement of the last two hours was tripling that exhaustion.


         She’d only taken a look around the cockpit and living quarters so far, but she planned on searching through the rest of the ship when she wasn’t so tired.  The engine in particular nearly had her too curious to go to bed, but she knew it wouldn’t be good tinkering with such a thing in her current state.


         The darkness of the room startled Quinn when she finally noticed.  It was pitch black.  No sign of light throughout.  She hadn’t remembered the room being quite so dark when she entered, but she figured it was another piece of good technology.  Sleep detecting lights.  A bug-free set had never been created.  It would help her get a better night’s rest. 


         Quinn shivered slightly and noticed the temperature was very low in the bedroom.  Now that was really strange.  A ship like this with all it’s advancements couldn’t keep a single room warm?  But then again, maybe Kenshi had liked it like that.  Perhaps he had enjoyed curling under heavy blankets at night.  On that thought Quinn dug her fingers into the blanket she lay on top of and tried to throw it over her body.


         She wasn’t lying on a blanket.


         Quinn sat up and looked around confusedly, but was only met by the same darkness as before.  Under her was hard ground, just as black as her surroundings.


         ‘Did I lay down on the floor?’ Quinn asked herself.  ‘I was more tired than I thought.’


         Standing up and swinging her arms around, she tried to find any sign of the bed or a wall.  She sighed with relief when her fingers brushed against cotton.  Quinn smiled to herself and stepped forward, intending to fall into the bed, but became confused when instead she ran face-first into the soft material.


         “I’m too tired for this!” she complained to the darkness.  She wasn’t expecting an answer.


         “What a tragedy,” a raspy voice whispered in front of her.  Quinn jumped back away from the ‘bed’, her heart beating ten times a second.  Before her the darkness opened to reveal the one thing she would never want to face again.


         There before her, in the same flannel shirt and jeans she’d last seen him in, was Kenshi Tamaki.  A good portion of the left side of his face was missing while his right arm hung from his shoulder by a mere thread and his stomach revealed a gaping, bloody hole.


         “I’m dead and you’re too tired.  Maybe you’d like to switch places.”  Quinn backed away unconsciously, making Kenshi smile.  “Where are you going?” he asked in a humored tone.


         “I...I...I...” she tried to say something, anything, but no words could properly convey her fears or ask her questions.  Instead she settled on, “K-Kenshi?”


         “You’ve been a very bad girl, Quinn.  I don’t like bad girls.”


         “I didn’t mean...”


         “Of course you did!  Don’t you dare try to make excuses to me!” he roared, forcing Quinn to fall down and curl up into a ball to try and hide from the pain she knew would come.


         “I...I just couldn’t let this ship go.  I...this is my dream.  I wanted it...needed it,” she whimpered pleadingly.


         “I want my life back.  I want revenge!  And I,” he stepped closer menacingly, “WILL,” he leaned over, “HAVE IT!!!”  Quinn shrunk back at the last words and Kenshi grabbed her by the neck with his bad arm.  He hoisted her off the ground quickly, giving her a shock of whiplash.


         No more words were said as Kenshi squeezed the life out of Quinn.  Her eyes stared pleadingly back into his own, but his jade orbs were colder than ice.  She started to grip his arm with her own small hands, but if the creature before her felt anything he didn’t show it.  Just as the last of her breath faded away, Kenshi’s lips gave a small, brutal smile.


-------------------------


         Quinn jumped up with a start, looking crazily around the dim bedroom and massaging her neck with both hands.  Her body was covered with cold sweat and her clothes stuck uncomfortably.  She breathed heavily for a moment before she realized where she was.


         ‘Dream...It was just a dream,’ she thought almost disbelievingly.  She relaxed somewhat and blinked her eyes, but in that split second of darkness she saw Kenshi’s torn face staring coldly at her and she tensed up all over again.  Tears started spilling when she truly realized she had just murdered a man for something so simple as a ship.


         “What have I done?” she sobbed, hugging herself closely.  She didn’t dare to so much as blink her eyes for the next hour.


-------------------------


         The sky was red.  Almost a blood red and turning slowly dark blue.  The heat from the sun was fading quickly, though Kenshi didn’t notice in the least.  All he could do was lay back and stare at the beautiful sky above him as he had for the past three minutes he’d been conscious.


         It had probably been a good three or four hours since he’d been knocked out and he was ready to go right back to sleep.  The thing was, everything was sore.  His shoulder and stomach were raw to the touch, though the wounds seemed to be closed up, and the left side of his face and head in general felt like sandpaper.  It hurt to do anything but stare up at the sky.


         He studied the wide expanse for minutes on end, trying his best to enjoy the beauty of a setting sun before he was forced to come back to reality.  He almost wished there would be someone there to share the moment.  Just him and a loved one staring up into the great sky above, talking about the weather or some other nonsense that really didn’t matter.  He imagined his father next to him, or Kyrie, but they were both gone - his father dead and Kyrie with some other guy back on Midolloni.  Those two names brought on a score of saddening memories and Kenshi decided reality was better than sifting through the past at the moment.


         Gingerly holding his stomach with his bad arm, Kenshi slowly sat himself up with his right and braced his feet under him.  It took him a full minute to stand up and even when he did he had to slouch down.  Checking his wounds properly for the first time, Kenshi found a dangerous amount of dried blood stuck to his skin and clothing.  Besides that, all that was left of the two holes in his body were a pair of rough red scars that would probably be gone by the next day.  His face, on the other hand, still felt badly scabbed.  He guessed his healing system had become overloaded by that point and hadn’t gotten around to forming actual skin again.


         Kenshi turned toward were he guessed the town to be.  He turned on the scouter still attached to the right side of his face to confirm his position, then sighed at the distance.


         ‘Nine kilometers to walk with three gunshot wounds during night.  I better still be armed at least,’ he thought as he felt for his two pistols.  The sonic blaster was still holstered to his back, but the AC pistol wasn’t by his side anymore.  He looked around the desert floor, hoping for any sign of the large pistol and grimaced as he saw it lying at his feet.  ‘Next time someone gets the drop on me and doesn’t kill me the sonofabitch is getting at least one shot pumped into them before I’m out.’  Bending his knees and grimacing at the unavoidable pain, Kenshi picked up the heavy pistol and holstered it before looking toward the town.


         “Having fun yet, Kenshi?” he asked himself.  “Just a game.  Just a damn game.  I’M TIRED OF THESE FUCKING GAMES!!!” he screamed to the desert world.


         Slumping his shoulders, Kenshi started to walk.  He was tired of all this.  This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, wasn’t who he was.  All the stress had made him go reeling over the years, but that’s exactly what he was trained not to do.  No more recovering from the last incident.  No more games.  It was time to move forward, get things done.  It was his turn to set the games, his turn to make the rules whether people liked it or not.


         These were tough days.  But not all that tough.  Just different from expected.  He’d just have to roll with the differences.  Terrans were the best at adaption and SEALS operatives the masters of it.  It was time to adapt.  Simple.  No problem.  Get on with life, take the next step and that was that.  He’d faced tougher.  Much tougher.


         And just like that a load seemed lifted from Kenshi’s shoulders and, despite the wounds, he stood tall below the beating sun.  Of course, the moment had just passed when a strange whistling caught the former soldier’s ears.  Looking back, only two words could describe what he saw.


         “Oh fuck,” Kenshi said seconds before the sand storm blew over him.


-------------------------


         Ruki walked out of the Haqnen II hangar with the simple hope of being able to reach Ployer’s Place without a fight for once.  Even still, she kept herself tense and ready for action.  At that moment, all she wanted was rest and relaxation without having to deal with the annoying distractions the criminal streets Haqnen II provided.


         Walking quickly and silently in the shadows, those hopes proved to be in vain when one man stepped out from behind a corner a good 20 feet in front of her, followed soon after by another man flanking behind her, both holding shotguns.  It was almost funny, really, seeing as how the men had come out so early, expecting her not to see or hear them in the darkened streets with their black jackets and padded boots.  What they apparently hadn’t noticed were Ruki’s slitted eyes or elongated ears.  She kept walking forward, playing stupid to the two fools trying to mug, kidnap, rape and/or kill her until the man in front pointed his gun and started talking, only five feet away from her.


         “Hands in the air, lady.  No sudden moves and no running.”  Ruki stopped and put her hands in the air, trying not to smile at the pair.  Apparently they still didn’t realize she could see them as bright as day.  Ruki looked down at the advancing man before her.  He looked to be a Uchlin, one of the many human races with a smaller size and slightly pointed ears.  Much of his face was hidden behind a pair of infrared goggles, but by the way his head continually moved up and down she guessed he was sizing up her own body.  Either a slaver or a rapist, but definitely a dead man.


         “We’s gonna have lotsa fun with you, girly,” the man behind her said in a guttural, deep voice.


         “Young women shouldn’t...” the front man tried to say, but at that moment he finally stepped within grabbing range and Ruki’s hand shot up with unnatural speed, taking the shotgun and twisting it out of the man’s grip then turning it to rest it’s barrel against his stomach.  The Uchlin hadn’t even formed a surprised look when his midsection was blown apart, nearly splitting him in half.  Before the thunderous gunshot even echoed back from the nearest wall Ruki spun around, cocked the large shotgun and rested it’s barrel against the temple of a large, fat slob Ruki couldn’t even begin to guess the race of.  He might have pleaded for his life or brought his own gun to bare, but a surprised look was all his face managed before he no longer had a face.


         Ruki threw the shotgun down, wiped a few droplets of blood from her own face and continued past the cooling bodies without a glance or second thought.  There were no more distractions as she made her way to Ployer’s Place.


-------------------------


         The bar/restraunt/hotel/casino was surprisingly busy when Ruki arrived.  Men ran around the main room gathering a large range of weapons and ammo, some of them even pulling on different kinds of body armor.  Most of the men wore Ployer’s fancy suits, though she saw many didn’t.  In the center bar, directing traffic, sat Ployer, submachine gun in one hand while the other swung about wildly as the Esten shouted orders.


         Ruki stepped up to the aging man swiftly, quickly catching his attention.  He looked startled and frightened for a split second as he took note of her bloodied form, but it soon melted into a relieved smile.


         “Ruki!  Just in time.  You would not believe what is happening here,” Ployer said excitedly.


         “Is there a fire?  I told you that cook was no good.”


         “Worse.  Much worse.  One of my snitches tells me Donberry recently decided my peaceful bit of real estate is a prime business spot.  Looks like the guy’s decided to go to war over it.”


         “Really?  I’d have figured you had already ‘talked’ people out of that sort of thing.”


         “Yes, well...Donberry apparently thinks the rumors are unfounded.  Want to join us?  We’re just setting up defenses right now, but the fight will take place any time within the next couple days.”


         “Sure thing.  Just tell me when they arrive.  My room empty right now?  As you can see, I’ve had a few unpleasant run-ins in the past couple hours.”  She saw Ployer give an almost imperceptible shiver and Ruki silently sighed to herself.


         “It’s all clear.  By the way, your friend arrived a couple hours back looking for you.  Told me to tell him when you arrived.”  Ruki’s heart skipped a beat.


         “Kenshi?”


         “No.  The noble, Malcom.”


         “You seem to have a little too much information there, Ployer,” she said playfully, silently relieved Kenshi hadn’t found her already.  Ployer copied her smile.


         “Keeps me alive, madam.”  Ruki turned away and headed for the elevators.  “What about Malcom?”


         “I’ll see him later.  I wanna rest for now,” she called over her shoulder.


         “Aye aye, Cap!”  And with those words said she heard Ployer resume yelling orders.


         The elevator was open and empty as if waiting for her in all the commotion.  Ruki entered, pressed her palm against an old hand scanner and closed the doors before leaning back against the wall and allowing a saddened frown to cross her face.  The image of Ployer’s frightened face would be burned into her memory for awhile.


         The elevator opened on the top floor of the 20 story building, revealing a large, spacious room with all the luxuries a pirate could ask for.  A four post bed lay beside one wall while a U-shaped couch sat in front of a huge HV and fireplace.  A large, shaded window covered up one wall, made up of a nearly impenetrable plated glass.  A dresser stood by the bed, complete with a vanity mirror while an enormous desk made up the corner just to her left.  The center of the room was made up of an old gambling table, adjustable to play hundreds of games and surrounded by a dozen comfortably padded wooden chairs.  On the wall next to it a long bar rested, complete with stools and a wide variety of liquor as well as a nice food materializer.  As a final touch, an arty doorway in the far corner of the room led to a large bathtub/hot tub, a self-cleaning toilet and a marble sink.


         It wasn’t really like Ruki needed such a room - the last time she held a party was when she’d had a gang - but it was definitely comfortable.  And comfort was just what she needed at the moment.


         Ruki walked slowly toward the bath, prying the bloodied and torn clothes off her body as she did so.  Soon she was nude, lying in the tub and waiting for the warm water to make it’s way up her body while she cozied into a corner.  She did her best to relax into the warmth, but Ployer’s frightened face was stuck in her head, bringing her mood even lower.


         She thought of all her fellow pirates and gang members, people she called friends.  Ployer and her went way back.  He was one of her first partners, a fellow rookie who learned the ropes with her.  She’d fight for him, stand by his side through thick and through thin.  That was not shared between them, unfortunately.


         Ployer, like many others before him, thought of Ruki as an invaluable ally and a feared opponent.  Her own bloodlust had incidentally driven away anyone who could have ever been close to her instead of simply giving her momentary satisfaction and scaring away opponents.  She’d scared off friends and those who dared remain close were frightened of her wraith should they ever turn her away.  Her death would be an opening for relaxation for Ployer.


         Then along comes the little Terran who, seemingly with dumb naivete, stood up against her without fear.  Truthfully, Kenshi had been one of many who had stood bravely up against her, even when filtering out those who didn’t know her identity.  The difference between Kenshi and the rest of them, however, was that Kenshi not only survived, but also came back for more.


         The two of them had met around a dozen times and in each of those meetings Ruki never detected a trace of fear in the man.  What she had thought was innocence had, in actuality, been real bravery.  More than that, even.  Bravery was standing against fear.  Kenshi didn’t have any fear to stand against.  He never really seemed to care about death.


         It had taken nearly three years to figure the former SEALS out.  How could one guy be so different from the rest of the soldiers and pirates and bounty hunters in the universe?  How did his mind work?  The answer was so simple Ruki had laughed for days when she figured it out.


         They were the same.  Their minds worked the same exact way.  They both searched for the same things and they both looked upon the universe in the same manner.  Kenshi had no fear because that was how he was born and bred.  He had been given the same ugly view of everything around him, seeing things for what they were instead of taking it all for face value.  He saw the odds he was up against in life and learned to shake it all off and push forward, just like her.  It made him a hard man.  It made him the fighter he was.


         The problem was behind the fearlessness and aggression that was his shell Ruki had no idea who Kenshi was.  She had always prided herself in getting under his skin, but she could never get under his skull.  Every day she asked herself what she was overlooking, but that answer wasn’t so simple.  She understood by now so much of what he wanted, but she could never understand what held him back.  It was beyond her reasoning.  And it made her even more depressed because it was so obvious he hated everything she was while she all but obsessed over him.


         Ruki sighed and dunked her head under the now full tub and used her fingers to comb the blood out of her hair while thinking, ‘He hates everything I am, and yet he craves the same adventure - the same excitement - I do.  How the hell do you make a friend out of that?’


         She scrubbed the gore and dirt of the last two days off her skin and hair, finishing by washing a good amount of shampoo through her hair then climbed out of the draining bathtub.  Walking over to the dresser and throwing on a robe, one question kept her hopes up:


         ‘Why did he save my life?’


-------------------------


         Ployer looked proudly upon the defenses he had set up.  Three machine gun posts were set up inside the main room, one over the main bar and two on top of a set of overturned tables.  24 men guarded the room, three on each of the machine guns, four covering the only visible entrance with shotguns and the rest toting various assault rifles and submachine guns around the room.  The seven floors above also carried three more gun posts; two for covering the street on the third floor and one on the seventh to keep the buildings across the street - which were considerably smaller than Ployers Place - clear.  The 19th floor rested two snipers with one spotter each, who would be almost impossible to hit from their position almost directly above the street.  Two final guards stood just outside the entrance.  Guards would change every ten hours, giving a total of 70 actual defenders, if one counted Ployer and Ruki.  The sides and back would remain uncovered, but Ployer was sure Donberry wouldn’t dare to try taking out a wall and making the property vulnerable to another attack.  All in all, it would be a veritable slaughter when Donberry arrived.  If Ployer went down, he would be taking a lot of men with him.


         A scuffle at the door brought Ployer out of his thoughts and the aging Esten raised his submachine gun.  At the entrance, one of the two guards was dragging in a small, struggling man.  Frentan by the look of him - a race of people that looked remarkably Terran with a half-foot taken form their height.  The man was of average height for his race with angular features and low, brown bangs made into a clean part.  He looked to be a lady-killer, but an angry frown was marring his handsome looks at the moment.


         “Let me go!  What the hell is your problem?!” he was yelling at the guard in a soft, though currently annoyed, voice.


         “This guy tried entering, boss.”


         “And it seems he succeeded,” Ployer responded humorlessly, giving the guard a cold glare before turning his eyes to the Frentan.  “What do you want, boy?”  The Frentan turned his head toward Ployer.


         “All I wanted was a place to stay while I was planetside.  I heard this was this place to go.  Apparently I was misinformed.”


         “I see.  Well then, I should explain.  You know of the little anarchistic wars around here?”  The kid nodded.  “The top man in this region just decided my little resort, here, is a good spot for business.  Now I’ve kept this place a sort of neutral zone and I don’t like being pushed out, so I’m defending myself.  Unfortunately this means my guards must keep wary, you understand.”


         “Sooo...can I stay?”


         “Of course!  Ployer’s Place never closes!”  His voice turned dangerous and low.  “But if I so much as suspect that you are trying anything I don’t like I will personally show you why hot pokers are a popular torture item.”  The man’s eyes widened an he nodded his head quickly.


         “Ok!  No problem!”


         “Good.  Now let me introduce myself.  Name’s Worrent Ployer, though you can just call me Ployer.  Everybody else does.


         “Davnick Cecile, though you can just call me Dav.  Most everybody else does.”


         “Pleasure.”  Ployer turned to the guard.  “You can let him go.”  The guard complied and turned to walk back to his station.  “Now, just talk to the man by the elevator and he’ll set up a room for you.”


         “Thanks.  You need any help defending this place?” Davnick asked.


         “I have the sentries covered, but once the fighting starts all help would be appreciated.  My warning still stands, however.”


         “Alright.  Just give me a knock when the shootin’ starts.”  And with that, Davnick finally turned away.  Ployer watched the man talk to the guard next to the elevator and disappear seconds later.  When he was sure the Frentan was gone, Ployer turned toward Charlie, who was manning the bar machine gun.


         “Make sure everyone keeps an eye on the kid.  I don’t feel like having any more lives lost than necessary.”


         “No problem, boss.”


         “And be subtle.  No use losing what could be a customer.”  Charlie gave wide smile.


         “Damn, boss.  You ruin all the fun.”  Ployer chuckled at this and turned toward the back rooms.


         “I need some rest.  You’re in charge until I get back.  Get someone to warn any guests who decided to stay uninvolved.”  Charlie nodded and Ployer headed for his favorite meeting room.  It would be a hard couple days, and with Ruki there to join the fight he would be seeing innards he’d hoped not to see since retirement.


-------------------------


         HVs were really a spectacular bit of technology.  Using specialized backgrounds and twin projectors, television had become holovision.  It was truly incredible watching an action, horror or any other movie with good special effects when it was all 3 dimensional.  Unfortunately, the effect was lost somewhat when the HV was as tiny as the one in Malcom’s room.


         ‘This room is as stylish as a Tymorian junkyard,’ Aiston thought to himself with a scowl.  It was a terrible room with only a small king sized bed and a 32 inch HV.  The minibar had no good wine, the shower was only large enough to fit three people and, finally, the materializer choices were terrible.  ‘Correction.  A Tymorian would be insulted if given such a room.’


         A knock at the door took his attention away from the junkyard and Aiston scowled once more.


         “Yenshin,” was all he had to say and the bodyguard leapt to his feet to answer the door.  The door opened and a short, quiet conversation was heard before the door closed again and Yenshin appeared.  He stood still, waiting for Malcom’s cue to speak for a full three minutes before the noble motioned him to start.


         “Mr. Ployer is preparing for a battle downstairs, my lord.  This building will be coming under siege within the next two days,” Yenshin said slowly and carefully, making sure to properly pronounce every word.  What Aiston knew was left unsaid was the warning to stay indoors during that time.  Yenshin knew very well that Aiston liked placing himself in danger just to show off the fact his bodyguard would never allow harm to come to him.


         “I take it Ruki has not yet arrived.”


         “No, my lord.”


         ‘Damnable pirate.  What in the hell is she doing in the meantime?’


-------------------------


         Ruki leaned back against the headboard of the bed, robe parted to reveal a glistening and slightly quivering body.  Her legs were parted to allow her hand to work, trying to release some of the tension of the past couple days.  Her tail was left wrapped tightly around her leg, never being used for these purposes after a week spent with a pair of tweezers digging out hair.  It had been way too long since she had done this last...


         Her thoughts drifted all over.  There were the few dozen men and women she’d been with in her long lifetime, trying their best to take all the pleasure they could out of her while remaining good enough to stay with her, though she strayed purposefully away from any thoughts of Donnely.  There were people she’d dreamed of as well.  The long dead actor from her youth, the beautiful young prostitute she’d once glimpsed to discover her own duel sexuality, the handsome man at the bar she always regretted not talking to, the sexy businesswoman she’d made a few deals with when she first started her life as a pirate, the mechanic from Joice who had fixed the Reaper when she had first gotten the ship from an old scrapyard, the beautiful Midollonian geisha who’d been so popular nearly a century ago, the soldier who had almost caught her so many times...  Ruki whimpered as a new wave of pleasure went over her.


         ‘Kenshi?’ she thought to herself.  ‘I’m getting off on Kenshi?’  She went with it, though - Kenshi wasn’t a bad looking guy, after all.  She imagined his lean musculature lying on top of her, caressing her.  She thought of what he looked like from the waist down and that wave came back to hit her once again.  ‘I’m pretty sure Kenshi wouldn’t be like that down there,’ she tried to rationalize to her fading mind.  ‘In fact, that’s what the man in Ally’s jar...looked...like...’


         She went over the edge then, rocking back and forth, shaking uncontrollably and whimpering every time her muscles would clench.  She didn’t really know what threw her over, the anger for Ally going behind her back or the thought that Kenshi really was like that down there, but that wasn’t really what had her concerned at the moment.


         It was a gut feeling she’d only so much as seen people feel in her long life.  It was that same pathetic feeling little schoolgirls felt when the captain of the football team passed them by.  She hated that feeling.  She knew that feeling was just a weakness begging to be used against her.  She knew he would never allow himself to be used against anyone like that and that she was just making excuses.  Still felt pathetic all the same.


         Ruki had a crush on Kenshi.


         “Well now isn’t that just fucking great,” Ruki fumed to herself.  “I just have to get at thing for Kenshi.  How magical.”  She shook her head and leaned back into the headboard, wiping one hand off while using the other to run her fingers through her hair.  ‘I guess I should have seen it coming.  I’ve always liked him - even before I met him I liked him.  Besides, he’s been the closest thing I’ve had to a friend in three years.’  She banged her head a few times into the headboard.  ‘Though he despises me.’


-------------------------


         Graveyard shifts had to be the worst shift for a security guard.  Not only did nothing ever happen, but, as movies always showed, when something did happen it happened to be bad.


         Or that’s how Jerdan Messa figured it.


         Leaning back in his chair, the young Boragarian - a race specifically bred for this rock to have plenty of muscle and fat and a short figure to keep energy - let loose a wide yawn and looked over to Olli, his partner.  “I told you we shouldn’t have borrowed the sandcrawler,” Jerdan whined.  Olli looked back in annoyance.  His partner was barely a year older, but looked like a kid with his thin face and red hair contrasting with his tanned skin while Jerdan was more of the classical black-haired, thick bodied Boragarian.


         “How many times are you going to throw that back at me?”


         “Up until we’re off the graveyard and probably even after, just as a reminder.”


         “You do know we wouldn’t have been caught if you hadn’t broken down and confessed.”


         “And who else in this God forsaken town would have done it?!


         “Roj.  And if you hadn’t squealed we would be in the hangar touring the MMC ships while they’re here instead of watching a sandstorm.”  Jerdan glared at his partner but decided not to continue the pointless argument, easing his curiosity instead.


         “You know how much longer the storm’s supposed to last?”


         “Three more hours.  MMC are taking off as soon as it’s over.”  There was a moment of silence where the two stared at the three dozen different screens showing maps and pictures of the small city.  “I hear the MMC are here searching for a couple of big criminals,” Olli said finally.


         “Really?”


         “Yeah.  There was supposedly a big robbery yesterday and a local gunship just disappeared a few hours ago.”


         “Like a big-time criminal would ever come to this rock,” Jerdan said.


         “No kidding.”  Another silence.


         Jerdan looked around at the screens, carefully going from one to the other without enthusiasm.  Each screen showed basically the same thing: a structure of some sort barely visible behind the raging storm.  The last picture showed an outside gate, a dark boulder resting against the doorway while the wind and sand pounded against the thick metal.


         “Winds must be pretty strong out there,” Jerdan commented.


         “Hmm?” Olli grunted back, looking over to his partner.


         “The winds.  They must be strong to push that boulder to the gate.”


         “200 kph isn’t that strong, Jer.”


         “Well then where did that boulder come from, genius?”  Together they looked at the screen and together they watched the boulder reach out an arm and grab the gate, hoisting itself up two feet before reaching out the other arm and climbing another two feet.


         “Holy shit!  Someone’s out there!”


         “Call some paramedics to the south gate.  I’m going out there.” Jerdan said while standing up and opening a locker in a far corner of the surveillance room.  He quickly threw on a thick coat, heavy boots and a protective mask before running out the door.


-------------------------


         Being out in a sandstorm with only a pair of boots, jeans and a torn t-shirt to protect your body for six hours was probably not much different than rubbing your skin with sandpaper for the same six hours - it left you raw, pink and full of scratches.  Fortunately Kenshi’s face was fairly protected with the bloody flannel shirt he had taken off when the storm first swept over him.


         He’d walked slowly through nine kilometers, trying to keep from being blown over in the strong winds despite the pain of the sand and his wounds and, in some places, sand in his wounds.  It had been hard going, especially since he was almost blind with the shirt covering his vision and only the scouter to tell him where to walk.  When he reached the walls of whatever city he’d found, Kenshi had been so excited the wounds didn’t seem to exist anymore.  The pain was overcome with a new race of adrenaline and he let the wall guide him to the first gate he could find.


         Now here he was, feeling along the metallic gate for any handholds he could find and preparing himself for what could be a long climb.  He pulled himself up with one arm when he found the highest hold he could, then grimaced when he had to move his wounded arm and rest his weight on it.  He managed to keep climbing, however, and in 11 more handholds he was swinging his arm over the top and hoisting his body over the metallic gate.


         Landing hard on his feet, Kenshi fell to his hands and knees and breathed heavily as he finally felt a respite from the wind.  He could still feel sand falling onto his back, but he ignored it and tore the flannel shirt from his face.  What his eyes met was a single short and stocky figure he guessed was the form of a native Boragarian rushing up to him through the darkness of the thick sand and lack of sunlight.


         “Hey!  You alright?!” the man yelled through his mask, trying to get his voice over the wind.  Kenshi nodded, but kept his place kneeling on the ground.  “I’ve got help coming!  How long’ve you been out there?!”  Kenshi didn’t answer, deciding he liked air a little too much to give some up now.  It only took a minute for a trio of men carrying heavy gear to run up to Kenshi and throw a thick coat around his shoulders.


         Again someone asked, “You alright?!” and again Kenshi nodded.  Together, the four men led him into a long, three story sand brown building only a couple dozen meters away.  The next few minutes were blur to Kenshi with a hundred different questions about if he was injured and if he could breathe and how he even came to be outside the front gate.  As a response, Kenshi just stayed quiet and let the energized Boragarians check his scratches and gunshot wounds.  When it was all finished the three doctors stepped back as one and stared at Kenshi.


         “We can provide you with a shower and clothes for now.  Can you tell us your name?” one of the doctors, a taller Boragarian with well-groomed black hair and strong tanned features, asked.


         “Len Hower.”


         “Alright then,” the same doctor said.  “Follow me.”  With that the man helped Kenshi up and led him around a series of stone corridors and into a large shower room.  “I’ll be back with some clothes in a few minutes,” the doctor said as he turned to leave, giving Kenshi his privacy.


         The next minute was spent trying to pry the dirty and bloody jeans off his legs, his shirt already taken by the eager doctors.  The weapons were still present, somehow overlooked in all the excitement, luckily.  For another several minutes he tried to wash away the built-up sand and blood from his body.  He was about to conclude that he had the beaches of Eulaneia stuck in his ears when the door opened and the doctor stepped in and set down a towel, a pair of tan slacks and a red shirt.  He turned around to leave, but then turned back again.


         “Would you like scissors?”  Kenshi was confused for a moment before he remembered his head.  It probably had a large bald spot all along the left side.


         “Have any clippers?”


         “Sure thing.”  And the doctor disappeared again.


         Kenshi took the opportunity for privacy to turn around, dry off and change into the too-small clothes.  The doctor came back just as he threw the shirt over his head and handed Kenshi a mirror and a set of clippers.  He nodded his thanks as the doctor disappeared again then looked into the mirror.  What he saw made him wince.


         As he had guessed, the entire left side of his head was bald.  It was also a pale white, still showing the scar as clear as day.  Kenshi turned on the clippers and gave a humored grunt.


         ‘Always said I’d never shave my head bald,’ he thought.  ‘I guess it’s better than going around with half your head bald.  Can’t have Ruki or Quinn laughing at me while I’m trying to cave their heads in.’


         It took five minutes to shave all the hair off his head, taking extra time to take off everything in the back.  He thought of clipping off the stubble that had made it’s way on his face for the last week, but decided to let it grow out for the time being.  ‘Might be good to be unrecognizable.’  The doctor came back just as Kenshi finished, bringing with him a bottle of water and a bowl of soup.


         “Follow me, please,” he said before disappearing once more.  Kenshi did as instructed and followed the strange doctor, making sure to grab his weapons and scouter before walking down the stone passageways into a small space that must have been some sort of recreation room.  The doctor sat on one end of a table leaving the water and soup on the other end.  “Eat,” was all he said and Kenshi complied, not realizing until then how starving he was.  The soup and water were both downed in seconds and Kenshi leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.


         “How long were you out there?” the doctor asked.


         “10 or 11 hours,” Kenshi replied, his rasp making the doctor wince slightly.


         “You are very lucky to be alive in such a storm.  Lesser men could have easily died out there.”  Kenshi nodded, unsure of where this was going.  “My name is Dr. Uricho in case you’ve been wondering.  May I ask what you were doing in the middle of a sandstorm?”


         “Finding the nearest city.”


         “Of course,” Uricho accepted.  “Well, beside the occasional scratch or scar, you’re the healthiest person I’ve seen in years.  You may go where you wish, though I urge you not to spend any prolonged time outside.”


         “Is there a general store and hangar nearby?”  Uricho seemed somewhat surprised that his patient had actually asked him a question using more than four words, but overcame it quickly enough.


         “From what I’ve seen, you have no money on you.  What could you want in a general store then, hmm?”  Kenshi blinked, wondering again where this was going.  Uricho smiled.  “There are men here looking for a certain pair of criminals.  You might have heard of them.  Ruki and Kenshi Tamaki?”  Kenshi’s heart rate tripled and he could feel himself paling, but he kept his poker face.


         “Yes I’ve heard of them.  There are few who haven’t after all they’ve done.”  The doctor chuckled.


         “Do not worry, Kenshi.  As far as I’m concerned, you were never here.”  Kenshi blinked in surprise.  “11 years ago, Ruki murdered a friend of my nephew’s in front of his eyes.  He became so frightened that he quit his “job” of the time.  A month later his...‘coworkers’ were killed off in a deal gone bad.  My nephew would be dead if he hadn’t quit and I would have lost the last of my family.  This is my repayment to Ruki.”


         ‘Never knew much good could come out of killing for the hell of it,’ Kenshi thought, unable to speak through his surprise.


         “The MMC will hear no description of you from me.  What you do with that is up to you.  I will do no other favors.”


         “Thank you.”


         “Forget about it.  Just give Ruki my thanks.”  It took all of a half second for Kenshi to decide he would never do that.


         ‘Her ego is big enough without having someone thank her for her killing,’ Kenshi thought to himself while nodding outwardly in acceptance.


         “There is a store across the street.  The hangar is a small walk, but you can find it just down the street to the left.”  Kenshi nodded once and sat up to leave.  “We left a coat and mask for you near the exit.  It would be wise to wear both while outside.”  Kenshi nodded his thanks and goodbye then turned to walk out the door.


         As promised, a long, thick, dark grey coat was waiting on chair near the exit with a large gas mask resting on top of it.  He threw both on and made sure to have most of his skin covered before walking back into the sandstorm.


         Kenshi ran quickly across the street, not wanting to be out in the storm any longer than necessary after his recent and extensive brush.  He almost knocked the door off it’s hinges when he entered the store, earning a startled look from a large bald man sitting behind a counter.


         “Can I help you?” the Boragarian asked, but Kenshi just shook his head and started walking around the small store.


         Despite it’s size, the place actually had just about every basic thing a person could ask for in a store and then some.  Tools, clothes, food, hunting gear, weapons, vanity equipment, clocks, containers and all sorts of strange devices hung from shelves, walls and the ceiling.  It was about at that point Kenshi remembered what Uricho said.


         ‘I don’t have any money,’ he thought as he fingered a price tag.  ‘I don’t have any money, I need a ship and I need the equipment to disguise myself better.’  He fingered his AC pistol sadly.  ‘The long, slow decent into corruption.’  He’d been forced to steal his fair share the last three years, what with his limited supply of money, but he’d never gone so far as armed robbery.  Kenshi walked around the room, grabbing a crowbar, hunting knife, taser and a package of black hair dye before walking to the clerk.


         “That’s it, then?” the man asked automatically as he rang up each of the items and put them into a bag.  “That’ll be $78.80.”  Kenshi pulled out the AC pistol.  “Shit!  Take it!  It’s yours!” the Boragarian said quickly while handing the bag to Kenshi.  He jumped back and raised his arms into the air when Kenshi grabbed the plastic handles of the bag, the short man already sweating profusely and trembling heavily.


         ‘And I wonder how no one’s ever managed to catch Ruki,’ Kenshi thought as he turned away from the cowardly clerk and exited back into the sandstorm.  When the door closed behind him Kenshi took up his run once again, heading for the inner parts of the city where the hangar supposedly resided.


         The large structure was closer than he would have thought and, with only a minute of running, Kenshi found himself opening a door into the only docking bay.  Once inside, Kenshi stopped in his tracks, surprise and nervousness crossing his masked face.  While the inside did have a few ships, as could be expected, what was surprising was the 16 CTG-45 IIs docked around the area while a number of men and women decked out in combat gear - minus body armor - walked around the hangar.


         Kenshi’s left hand clenched and unclenched by his side.


         ‘Shit.’


-------------------------


         Trying to sleep when every hour or so you’d wake up with sweaty sheets and the fading memory of the man you had killed less than a day ago killing you in one brutal fashion or another was a taxing thing and Quinn had learned quickly that it was probably in her best interest to try forgetting about Kenshi before making another attempt.  To accomplish this, she started doing what she had dreamed of since first boarding the Quicksilver: exploring.


         The trip to the engine room had proved less exciting than she had thought, the engine being completely covered by a huge shell, but the area downstairs had been pleasantly surprising.  The holograms were nothing short of incredible, providing some of the most advanced technology Quinn had seen and some she hadn’t seen.  It had been fun watching what the computers could summon up.  For hours she changed the setting and brought out all different creatures and objects to play around with.


         Dragons and soldiers fought each other on a set of skyscrapers.  Men and women danced while fighters engaged in a terrific dogfight above.  Samurai and knights performed sword fights inside an ancient arena.  MMC SEALS and Kerosian Shock Troopers exchanged plasma on an apocalyptic battlefield of corpses while capital ships tried to shoot each other down far above.


         The last one brought uncomfortable thoughts to Quinn and she decided to head back to the upper level and watch the HV for awhile.  As she relaxed on the couch minutes later with a salad and drink, Quinn turned the HV on and switched to the nearest news channel.


         “...eaking news.  A patrol ship in the Hassong system recently disappeared.  MMC officials suspect Ruki and Kenshi Tamaki, two of the most wanted criminals in Midolloni regulated space, to be responsible for the attack.  Both are said to be armed and extremely dangerous and, if seen, should be avoided at all costs.”


         Quinn turned the HV off and threw away her food.  She suddenly wasn’t so hungry any longer.  She needed to bury herself in Quicksilver.  Unfortunately, most of the technology was shielded from interference.  She would need to dock the ship somewhere if she wanted to safely examine anything.  Heading to the cockpit and navigation panel, Quinn scanned around her current position for any good place to dock Quicksilver.  She was still in Boragar’s space, right in the center of the Hassong system.


         It only took a moment to find White Sun, a small space station at the edges of Vin system and next to Hassong.  Quinn took one more look around the navigational panel only to find Boragar as the only other good docking option - a place she wouldn’t go back to if her life depended on it.  With a destination in mind, Quinn plotted her course and took off.


-------------------------


         Kenshi paused for a moment as he decided his next course of action.  Uricho had warned him that MMC were here, but he wouldn’t have thought anyone would have gone so far on what couldn’t have been more than a hunch.  CTG-45 IIs meant SEALS.  More than likely they had heard about the patrol ship and suspected Ruki and himself.  They hadn’t really been that far away from the Titan when it had come around.


         ‘Guess it’s what you get for finding the nearest lowly populated system and making the jump right after a huge heist.  Too stupid.’


         Calming himself, Kenshi started forward - they weren’t looking for a guy wearing the clothes of a native Boragarian, after all, and his entire head was covered by the mask Uricho had given him.  Convinced there was almost no chance he’d be recognized, Kenshi’s shoulders almost sagged with relief.


         With a more in-depth scan of the room Kenshi noticed that most of the SEALS were near one side of the hangar, apparently showing off equipment to a large crowd of Boragarians.  The rest seemed to be preparing for take-off.


         Smiling to himself, Kenshi walked silently toward a more abandoned corner of the room, taking out the crowbar as he did so.  Despite the security measures taken to protect ships from intruders, it was actually pretty simple to steal one.  Basically, the correct keycode just sent a tiny surge of electricity up into the ship to open the outer hatch.  Of course, there were a dozen different wires to choose from that the surge went through, but Kenshi had been taught to do things like this when he was 15.


         Crowbar in hand he walked to the nearest fighter and slammed the straight side into the keycode panel.  With a single tug on the bar the panel popped off, revealing a bundle of red wires underneath, a few of them loose from being torn from the panel.  He reached into his bag and pulled out the knife and taser while hooking the crowbar onto his coat, cutting off the plastic protecting the taser with the knife.  Throwing the plastic and knife back into the bag, Kenshi didn’t hear the approaching SEALS until it was too late.


         “What in the...”  Kenshi turned around to see a Yatari, complete with brown fur and cat-like eyes, standing only a few feet behind him, an eagle, trident, gun and anchor showing his career proudly from a patch on his arm.  “Get away from there!” he said while drawing his pistol.  Kenshi silently complied, stepping away from the ship while his hand subtly rested on the crowbar.  “What the hell did you think you were doing?” the Yatari asked, stepping forward a few steps to examine the broken panel.  “Don’t like MMC too much?”


         “No.”  Kenshi replied, unhooking the crowbar.  “I just like their ships.”  And with that Kenshi launched forward and slammed the crowbar into the unprepared SEALS’ stomach, making sure to hold most of his strength in check so as not to kill the man.  The Yatari keeled forward, coughing and gagging as he tried to get air back into his lungs while Kenshi raised the crowbar once more and brought it back down on his head, knocking the man out.


         Kenshi went back to the broken panel, fingering a few loose wires.  He heard the sandstorm grow louder for a second before becoming muffled once again, signaling someone had just entered the building.


         “Some Terran bastard just robbed my store!” Kenshi heard, recognizing the deep voice of the store clerk.


         “Terran?”  Another man asked, likely the team’s leader.  “What did he look like?”


         “He wore a sandmask and a long grey coat.  I didn’t see his face, but the guy was huge!”


         “Think it might be Tamaki, boss?” another SEALS asked.


         “Might be,” the first voice responded.  “What did he hold you up with?”


         “I’m not familiar with weapon names.  It was big pistol, though,” the clerk replied.


         “Did it look like this?” there was a long pause.


         “That’s it!  He used that to rob me!”


         “That’s Tamaki’s weapon of choice.”


         “Chief, wasn’t there a big guy in a long grey coat walking through here just a minute ago?” a new person asked.


         “I didn’t see him.  Anyone else get a view?”


         “I saw him too,” a quieter voice said.


         “Everyone spread out.  You people stay here.  Jekkins.  Hojer.  Make sure Tamaki doesn’t try and take ‘em hostage,” the leader, a Chief Petty Officer of some sort apparently, ordered.


         “Were’s Dere?” someone suddenly asked.  There was a moment of silence.


         “Don’t worry about Dere.”  The Chief said.  “Just make sure Tamaki doesn’t get out.  Move.”  A number of footsteps followed this order and Kenshi sped up his work.  Bringing the taser up to the four wires he had bundled together, he let loose a quick shock, effectively opening the hatch while shorting out the entire panel.


         “I’ve got him!  Put your hands on your head, Tamaki!” someone called out, but Kenshi ignored him and ran into the ship.  “He’s jacking a ship!” the man yelled before firing a shot.  Kenshi ducked behind the hatch, the plasma bolt coming within inches of his shoulder.  He quickly closed the hatch, effectively cutting himself off from the outside world.


         ‘It’ll only take them a moment to launch their ships and cut me down,’ Kenshi thought while running to the cockpit.  ‘I have to take those ships out and get out of here.’  He threw himself into the piloting seat, thanking God some SEALS had been foolish enough to leave the cockpit open, and powered the ship up.  It only took a few seconds for the fighter to hover ten feet in the air with it’s blasters locked onto the nearest fighter.


         ‘Never thought I’d be taking down an MMC ship,’ Kenshi thought as he fired a quick burst, sending an explosion through the craft and toppling it over.  Turning his newest ship in midair, he held the firing button down, crippling the other 14 fighters as well as the few dozen civilian ships in the area.


         When he finally released the trigger, the inside of the hangar looked like a junkyard on fire.  Soldiers and Boragarians ran around pulling wounded away and trying to protect themselves from the heat of the flames.


         Taking one final look around, Kenshi found the most secluded corner in the hangar and fired a pair of missiles, blowing a large hole in the roof barely big enough for the large fighter to fit through.  Kenshi accelerated the ship and flew through into the sandstorm, blinding both his view screen and equipment instantly.  Nevertheless, he kept the ship on an upward path, flying above the sandstorm within seconds and continuing on into space.  There, Kenshi relaxed himself and tried to make himself comfortable while he plotted his next course.


         He needed to find Ruki first and foremost, but without the tracker Ally had given him it could take months.  That left finding Quinn first.


         Quinn probably had just headed to the nearest hangar she could find outside of Boragar - nobody liked sticking close to their first kill.  She’d likely want to get a good look at the ‘Quicksilver’, as she had called it, and get in touch with the MMC and since Kenshi was supposed to be dead heading to some hangar hundreds of thousands of kilometers away would be perfect for her - far enough not to worry about the dead guy, close enough to do what needed to be done.  A quick search through the navigational panel narrowed down White Sun, a fairly popular space station, as the best guess.


         After Quinn, Kenshi would find Ruki, get the Titan’s data and leave as quick as he could.  He’d capture the pirate again once he was sure the data was safe and sound and the guy who wanted it in the first place was behind bars or under a grave.  From there the hunt for Ruki would begin anew, the difference being all advantages pointing toward him and the need for her life gone.  That all depended on Quinn docking in White Sun and Ruki still having the transmitter on her, of course.


         And then, with Ruki finally gone, the damnable traitor who started this entire mess would face off against the frustrations of a very pissed Kenshi who had absolutely nothing to lose.


         ‘I should have found out about that from the start.  Shouldn’t have just let my anger make me assume it was Ruki.’ he thought.  He planned on spending time in the ship’s computer library, looking up what he needed while he awaited his arrival to White Sun.  After that, the traitor would be dead or in jail, one way or another.  It didn’t matter to Kenshi anymore.


         With the coordinates and path in place, Kenshi fingered the crowbar once more and stood up from the chair.  The ship would have the usual transmitter in place and Kenshi didn’t need the MMC on his ass at the moment.  Swinging the curved edge of the crowbar down, he caught the crease in the side of the control panel and tugged hard at the bar.  The siding popped off, bending the crowbar slightly before it did, and clattered loudly on the ground.  Kenshi took the knife next and ducked under the panel.  He searched through the wires and chips for a few minutes trying to find the correct bundle of wires.  It wasn’t long before he had the correct set of red wires in hand and, carefully positioning the knife, he cut slow and shallow into the plastic beneath an almost invisible transmitter to avoid touching the metal of the wire thereby preventing the ship from locking down.  Despite seeming like hours, Kenshi had the tiny red chip in his hand within seconds.  He set it on the floor of the cockpit, took out his AC pistol and with a loud gunshot and a thin bolt of plasma the tracker was blown to fumes.  As a final touch Kenshi lifted the siding back up and kicked it firmly back into place, protecting the wiring from further interference.


         Kenshi sat back into his chair with a deep sigh.  It was a little funny, really.  The universe was tossing around his name once again as he performed another crime of the century when all he meant to do was catch Ruki.  He was once again inside A CTG-45 II with barely a hint of where the pirate would be next.  Really, it was like starting over again.


         There were changes this time, however.  Now Kenshi was stronger and faster.  He had one hell of a powerful pistol as well as access to even more advanced equipment if and when he found Quinn.  And, most importantly, Kenshi was no longer fighting to get his life back.  He was no longer reeling from the last blow and trying to set himself into a comfortable position.  He was at his best when everything was set aside and now there was nothing to stand between him and what needed to be done.  He had no future right now, nothing to look forward to and only four things to strive for - four people.


         Things were different.  The game had changed on the Titan.  The past was still running to catch up, true, but the future was a blank slate as far as the eye could see.  He could play by different rules now.  Hell, if he was careful he could make up the rules.  No matter what happened  he was his own man from now on, his fate no longer tied to the MMC or Earth.


         Kenshi felt the muscles of his hands clench and unclench, working the joints of his fingers.  ‘No more grasping for a life long over.’