Special Branch: Overdue Reunions
POSTED BY: WashsYoungerSexierBr
UPDATED: Thursday, December 23, 2010 16:16
VIEWED: 23940
PAGE 3 of 8
"They can take care of themselves."
The words echoed in her head.
It wasn't simply an excuse, she meant them. The crew could handle whatever situation the squad threw at them. They didn't need her, they never did. In fact, they were probably already well aware of what was happening. They weren't stupid, she had to give them that.
But what if they were in for a surprise?
No, she told herself. Don't even think about it. You got a good thing going here.
She wished she could believe that.
Still, they'll be fine. They'll be fine
---
Two years ago, Santos:
Bullets rained down upon them from all sides. They were surrounded.
How the hell could this have happened?
Safe had taken her back to the others. Seryn and the rest of the crew had failed to depart on schedule and so they had regrouped, albeit without one of their number.
"Kyra, stay down!" Safe had ordered her. The gunfire had begun without warning, but it soon became clear that this was no lone gunmen involved. Their enemies had found them. But they weren't her enemies. This wasn't her battle. It never had been. She shouldn't have been there.
"Stay close," Safe told her. "I gave my word I'll protect you and that's exactly what i'm going to do."
She tucked her legs close to her body whilst she took shelter behind a large metal crate. The Captain stayed close by, only moving to take a shot at the enemy.
Wisp, Soul, Seryn - they were all scattered about, shouting to each other and co-ordinating their shots. She spotted Amy with Seryn, holding on tightly to a rucksack and other supplies. She was about to make a run to one of the ships.
"Gorram it," Kyra heard Safe curse as he examined a bloody graze on his shoulder. And then past him, on the road, she saw a figure in the distance. He was running at a pace coming towards them. Had she not been so desperate, she might have assumed it was her mind playing tricks on her. But it was no trick.
Bernie was running to the yard.
She started to stand, still in shock, hoping to grab his attention, but it only served to pique the interest of one of the shooters.
Safe pulled her down quickly as a bullet flew through her hair.
He was about to reprimand her when he spotted what she had.
Needy.
Then suddenly. More shots were fired and he went down.
Safe snapped his head back and looked for the shooter. But the man he sought was not in the sky, or hiding behind the wing of a ship.
Kurren the bounty hunter walked towards them with a relentless determination, the gun still smoking in his hand.
Needy had tried to run, but he'd led the hunter directly to them.
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I've been wracking my brain for a week now trying to think of some interesting way to bring Seryn back into this and can't think of it, so i'm just going to point her in the direction of trouble and any of you can make use of the character. Or she can find her own chaos - she's good at that.
Seryn waltzed along the seemingly endless concourse, eyeing the baubles and trinkets on display in the dozen or so shops in as bored a manner as she could manage, and the guns on the guards with a little more discretion.
She'd started the journey only a few days ago, soon after she'd heard of the capture. And now, assuming the mantle of some ditzy rich air head on return from spending daddys money offworld, she sauntered and idled and resisted the urge to beat one of the milling pilots over the head and steal their ship in order to get planet side.
She supposed the bits and bobs should tempt her, after two years of nothing but sand and farming moons, but it all seemed useless, and the fine fabric of the dress she wore was flimsy and would tear liuke a wet paper bag given half the chance.
Dear god, had she become practical? Maybe it was a good time for a little sillines.
Or maybe not, she had two to think for now. She'd left her boy playing playing soldiers on the deep pile rug in their family room, the long fibres a thick mohair jungle, just right for his little metal men to ambush their clockwork robot enemies in. She was a little worried that he was playing with soldiers at two and a half. From what she could glean on her trips to various towns, other peoples two year olds were just about growing out of playing with their own .. well, they never got that far, but she could guess what they meant.
But he was happy, she thought, they said good bye and hugged and she'd told him when she'd be back and he'd gabbled at her solemly then run off to make noise somewhere inconvenient.
And now she was here, waiting for her transport for Ariel, with not a clue as to how to meet up with the others, or even if they'd turn up.
Though she figured that hell would start serving sno-planets before Wisp let something like this go.
(and this post was bought to you by being up way past my bed time.)
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Two years ago, Santos:
Bullets sprayed the earth, kicking up dust.
It was a wonder any of them could see, or hear each other. But still, the crew shouted to each other from across the yard.
Some were told to make a run for a ship, to get airborne. That they could “worry about regrouping later.”
Kyra could only focus on the still body of her lover.
She’d seen him handle worse, but for a moment out there on Santos, she wondered whether he was going to get up again. Had the bullet to the head ended his life for good?
The bounty hunter had taken shelter. Even with his body armour, he wasn’t about to take needless risks, especially when there were still at least three unknown shooters firing at anything that moved.
Safe fired off a couple more shots towards the roof of the hangar.
“Gotcha you sonofabitch,” he said to himself as he reloaded his gun. He shouted towards Soul, directing his attention to a Mercer class ship. Another sniper was holed up there.
Kyra kept focussed on Bernie.
Slowly he began to get up. Bullets hit his body again, but this time they did nothing to halt his progress. He stood and started to take a brisk jog over to them, bullets embedding themselves into his chest and neck. His skin healed in front of Kyra and the captain’s eyes.
He looked over his shoulder towards Kurren - he was taking shelter behind a shed door, keeping them all in his sights.
Wisp and Soul shouted to each other, before Soul shouted the message back to Safe. “Clear. Get to a ship! Get out of here!”
Safe turned to Needy. “You two better go.”
“No,” Needy said simply. “You go. You’ve done enough, I’ll take it from here.”
“Bernie…” Kyra started to say, uncertain.
“I can take care of myself. You two should go whilst you still can,” Safe offered.
“No. You helped me. Now its time for me to return the favour,” Needy said, checking the bullets in the gun he’d salvaged. “We’ll get the next one. I’ll cover you.”
Safe was uncertain, but it was no time to argue. He nodded appreciatively and rested his hand on Needy’s shoulder. “You be safe.” And with that, he ran for one of the ships, whilst his friends fired a wall of protection around him.
---
Kyra stared at the Distributor, shaking her head.
“Damn you Payne,” she cursed to herself as she approached the access drive and punched her fingers at the keypad. “This had better be worth it.”
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Safe sat at a small wooden table in the barn’s tack room. He clean and checked each weapon from the case. Not that he needed to, Jack had taken care of that. In fact he had always been fastidious about cleaning his firearms and now was no different.
The antique Colt .45 felt comfortable in his hand, like an extension of his arm. Nowadays, lasers were the fashion and could be found relatively cheap on the black market, but Safe didn’t like the firing lag that was common on the first generation ones.
The touch pad sat off to one side. Words and numbers scrolled down its screen as it ran the search Safe had programmed in. He was checking all the hidey holes, drop-houses and aliases in his arsenal. If Needy, Seryn, soul or Wisp were still alive, he hoped they had made contact somewhere. So far it sat quiet.
Safe checked the scope on the rifle a third time, when the pad beeped.
Clayton Payne blinked ine bold green type on the screen.
Safe vaguely remembered the name. Kyra had mentioned him. Safe opened the information folder. He hadn’t rabbited like everyone else that was associated with Needy had before him, no, he had washed his hands of the affair and had cooperated with the authorities, even turning in his friends.
"Balzy move," Safe thought. "He seemed too smart to commit social suicide unless... he’s hiding something, covering tracks."
Safe pulled up Clayton's phone records and typed in the hack code Jack had supplied and silently thanking Wisp for showing him some of these 'tricks'.
"Nope, no Kyra, no Needy or Bernard, but... who’s this then?" One phone call. It stood out. No previous calls, long duration. Safe typed a second hack code. He only had two minutes with this code before the system registered the intrusion and pulsed his system, frying it. He listened intently.
Quote:
Kyra Said:
"What?" A familiar woman’s voice answered the electronic buzz.
"And a hello to you too." Clayton Payne answered on the other end.
"I told you not to call me here," she told him.
"It's important."
"It always is," she answered with a sigh.
"Well, you're going to want to hear this."
The other search for unscheduled or unusual arrivals at the docking yards temporarily forgotten, Safe listened for one minute 55 seconds before reluctantly cutting the feed.
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Wisp had been called cocky in his time, also arrogant on the odd occasion and often overconfident. It tends to happen when you get into the habit of doing something your good at over and over. You begin to think that it’s easy rather than that you’re very good. It’s why bank thieves always go for bigger and bigger targets till they get caught. Now what Wisp was good at was pulling down the pants of the Alliance and making them regret ever making him. But he’d been out of his ‘A game’ for a few years and so hadn’t been pulling any big stunts recently. But in the past few days he’d more than made up for his absence: Between impersonating a High Parliament official, Importing a large stash of weapons through restricted space, and getting the Alliance to pay for his High Speed transport across the verse… Well, He’d got a little cocky. But his next move made all his other sojourns in the land of arrogance look like a shy Shepard’s shopping list.
Upon landing in Ariel Capital City he booked a room for the week in a questionable suburb. This wasn’t the kind of place with fresh towels and room cleaning, It was the kind of place where most guests book by the hour using the name ‘Smith’ and pray their wife never finds out. Committing a felony was almost required upon booking a room so Wisp didn’t feel too bad about setting up his own little armoury in the closet. Wisp hadn’t brought his full collection of weapons as he didn’t plan on being able to carry quite as freely as he wanted. Heavy pistol, concealed back-up, concealed back-up two, his best sniper rifle, and an Alliance issue assault rifle. He was upset that he had to carry such a basic weapon as the Alliance rifle but it was essential for his plan and as modded as he dare.
His next port of call was a relatively shady warehouse which Wisp knew sold knock off cosmetics without questions asked. Now Wisp wasn’t looking for a nice gift for Vixen when he saw her at this point. Upon bringing his stash home he fell back to his knowledge of chemistry to create a very nice looking plasma burn upon the left side of his face. It was meant to look a few months old, with lots of scarring but just enough that it didn’t look too painful anymore. The disguise would probably last about a week if he didn’t get it too wet and touched it up, it would easily last the two days he needed it to. When he was ready he placed everything he wanted in the future in a package addressed to the Tranquillity for safe keeping. He left a few spare things in this room as his fall back point in case things went south and rigged a simple incendiary trap over them.
And now here he was. Standing outside Capital City Local Guard Station in Alliance undress blues. He stepped in and walked up to the Officer on duty at the desk.
“Afternoon Sir. Ive just been transferred here off medical leave to help with security over the next few days” Wisp was conscious of being very polite to the pair of blue captain squares on the Officers collar. Wisp had chosen the reasonable rank of Lieutenant for his alias. The Captain seemed late forties perhaps just into his fifties. He had the wistful look of a man who was stuck behind a desk because he refused to kiss any ass on his way up.
“Pass across your papers.” Wisp passed over the stack of very good forgeries trying to look like he didn’t know quite what he was doing. “That’s a nasty looking burn you’ve got there Lieutenant.”
“Yes sir. Faulty plasma charge in the field. I’ve been out on Medical for about 8 months. Doctors say I should be back on full duty soon. I’m just filling in here for the execution then I’m off to boot camp again”
The Captain typed Wisps details into the computer as he was listening. “I know all about plasma charge accidents. Buddy of mine lost his whole arm back in the War. Damn bureaucrats skimping on equipment.”
“Not my place to judge sir. Just happy to be back on duty”
“Bright attitude Son, right Jenkins, Leroy I’ve got your details up here. You’re in officers quarters 6F on the third floor. Sharing with three. Look’s like your
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OOC: Leeeeeeeeeroy Jenkins!!!! I almost spit out my coffee. Thanks, Wisp. ;-P
I'll post something soon!
______________________
Mantichorus: "So is there a reason they call you 'Soul'?"
Soul (after a long pause): "Yeah. Because I have one."
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Clayton told her about Vixen's execution, and that she was being used as bait. He also said that there wouldn't be just the Alliance present, but the Crimson Squad too, most of them dressed as ordinary folk.
"They won't be able to tell them apart," he had told her. He'd insisted, even after she told them that they were too smart for that.
They'd stayed hidden for this long, they wouldn't come out of the woodwork for nothing.
"Not even for one of their own?" He'd put to her.
And so there she was, doing what she swore she wouldn't. She didn't need to risk losing her job, but she couldn't ignore what he'd told her either. As much as she wanted to. She wished she could be numb, like Bernie.
Special Branch were done, at least for the most part. Most of them were still locked up, had been for more than two years despite attempts to free them - both by diplomatic means and some, less than diplomatic.
Kyra was not a hacker, and she didn't know how to use elaborate ciphers to send messages to the resistance. But she knew what they'd be looking for - Bernie's old friends in particular.
It would have to do.
She'd gotten his photo from the records and posted it as a bulletin on the Ariel newsfeed. It should be enough to raise eyebrows, amongst Safe, Wisp and the others; at least enough to make them aware that things weren't what they seemed.
The face pictured on the screen looked different, this was how she remembered him. A lover, not a killer.
Bernard Jose Needham, it read.
In Loving Memory.
The notice identified him as "a companion born and raised on Ariel." Lies.
"He died defending the Alliance outpost on Santos." More lies.
And his funeral would be "attended by his close comrades in the Red and Blue divisions." There was some truth to that statement at least. Hopefully it would be enough to make them take notice.
"Uniform Optional" was listed in the requests section. It was hardly subtle, she had to admit.
Not to mention the fact that the memorial was set for the day of the execution, and that the service would be taken by a Shephard Milton.
But Kyra only had so much time to get the message out before she was noticed.
She only hoped that they would take note, and that it also wouldn't attract the wrong kind of attention.
She also hoped that somehow it qualified her to a good nights sleep.
She doubted it.
Even as she submitted the information for distribution and headed back to her desk, she knew that she wouldn't be able to leave it alone forever. That sooner or later, she was going to get pulled back in.
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Bernard Needham had been a good man, once upon a time. But times change.
He'd given his life for the cause, but fate was a cruel bitch. He returned from the dead only to dedicate his life to another cause, one that would slowly, but surely, erode his humanity.
---
Santos Docking Yard, Two years ago:
Safe was gone. His ship was hurtling towards the heavens, whilst those few left behind took care of the remaining snipers.
"You get to the shed," Soul told his friend. "It'll draw their fire."
Needy stared into the eyes of the experienced soldier. He knew what he had to do. But as he looked at Kyra, who looked to the both of them for instructions, her eyes wide and manic, he knew he couldn't.
For now, he had to deal with the outside threat - the snipers and the bounty hunter that had followed him back here. Needy had double-crossed him and rode his shuttle back to Santos. But the man known as Kurren had been a better hunter than even he had given him credit for.
For now, the tattooed and dreadlocked mercenary was taking cover at a metal shed. He needed to be dealt with swiftly, above all else.
Needy made his way across the yard, bullets firing at him from multiple locations whilst Soul used the bullets' trajectory to pinpoint the location of the shooters - taking them out one by one.
By the time, Needy had reached the shed, he had a dozen bullets buried in his arm, head and back. Soul had ducked and dived across the yard also to better achieve his aim of taking all of the shooters out one by one.
Neither of them had spotted what ought to have been obvious.
Kyra was prone; defenseless; and in the presence of the man that Needy had sought to kill.
Kurren was no longer by the shed. He had maneuvered his way across the yard, unseen, and now had Kyra once more in his grasp, a large knife pressed against her throat.
-----
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Safe sat at a table in a small cafe just off Ariel’s main thoroughfare, a cup of coffee steamed, untouched, before him. He replay the brief phone conversation over in his head, looking for any additional clues. Almost two minutes of conversation really wasn’t enough to get anything out of, other than Kyra was alive and going by an alias and that Clayton either found out about her or had helped set it up. Also, they knew about Vixen. Safe was worried they had said too much, not enough for his liking but enough to bring down a world of discomfort should the Alliance, or worse yet the Blue Sun, have their ears to the ground as well.
He scanned the milling crowd of people from under the brim of his hat. A newspaper seemed too clichéd, so Safe had just opted for casual people watching. Most the other patrons of the Cafe were doing just that, so he blended in, his feet crossed and propped on the small railing that served as the Cafe’s boundry. Cast-iron bordered by plastic shrubberies. Somebody’s idea of countrifying the place that fell woefully short.
He was admiring one particular woman, finely dressed, as she went through the motions of shopping. The funny thing was, she never looked at the items she picked up, seemingly at random, for more than a few seconds. Her eyes scanned the crowd, like Safe was doing.
There was something familiar about her. As Safe struggled to make the connection, his cortex pad buzzed.
Bernard Jose Needham,
In Loving Memory.
A companion born and raised on Ariel, he died defending the Alliance outpost on Santos.
His funeral will be attended by his close comrades in the Red and Blue divisions.
Uniform Optional.
His search program had caught Bernard’s reference and had alerted him to this obituary. Someone was sending a message. His eyes flew up and locked with those of the woman across the courtyard.
Those eyes! Seryn??
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Santos, Two Years Ago.
After the chaos of what had come before - the loud rumble of ships taking off; the gunfire around them; the crew barking orders at each other - what followed was accompanied by relative silence, as if death was in the air. With the last of the snipers apparently lying in a slump somewhere and the majority of the crew now in seperate ships scattered to all corners of the sky, it seemed as though the four souls that remained were the only ones still alive on this rock. But they hadn't taken into account the one that watched them from afar.
Soul trained his weapon on his target, the bounty hunter that now had Kyra as a hostage, but he dared not fire. He couldn't risk the killer slicing the girl's throat. Needy meanwhile watched with a blank stare, as if willing the man to die by thought alone.
"You double-crossed me," the hunter called out to Needy, spitting on Kyra's cheek like a rabid dog. "I don't 'preciate that much. And its gonna cost ya."
"You do anything to her and you'll get nothing, you hear me Kurren?" Needy shouted back.
The hunter had a name, although how Needy knew it was anybody's guess. One might assume that Kurren had introduced himself after Kyra and Safe had left his ship, but judging by the look on the hunter's face, he was as surprised to hear it as the rest of them.
As for the outsider approaching them from a distance, these facts meant nothing. What mattered was the woman's life.
"You're in no position to make demands," Kurren told Needy, before throwing a rucksack towards them - the bag landing a few steps from Needy's feet.
The outsider couldn't make out what the hunter told them next, but he saw Needy reach into the bag and pull out a medi-roll (containing a series of syringes and vials) as well as a Special Unit suppression mask.
The bounty hunter still wanted Needy. Only now, he knew he couldn't trust him. The only way he could bring him in is if he was sleeping. If the syringes didn't work on his body, the gas surely would.
But Clayton Payne couldn't wait that long. He didn't know what type of man the hunter was, but he couldn't trust he was a man of morals, not when an innocent life hung in the balance.
Payne picked up a wrench and approached with care, occasionally hiding behind mules and large storage crates. He faltered, mere feet away from the bounty hunter. He couldn't risk his attack resulting in Kyra being harmed.
But then he saw an opening. As Needy donned the mask, Kurren loosened his grip of Kyra's neck ever so slightly.
Payne seized the opportunity, stepped out and swung the wrench at Kurren's head, catching the man's arm with his left hand, and pulling it away from Kyra.
Kurren collapsed to the ground, Kyra still wrapped in his embrace, but safe.
---
"It was all for you," Clayton thought to himself. He'd hunted down Needy, to save her.
He'd heard what had happened to the companion and had pieced it together before any of his friends had realised anything was wrong.
Payne had come for her. And how had she repaid him?
He'd tried to explain it to her. Whilst Needy spoke with his friend - the man they called Soul - Clayton had told her what he knew. To warn her. But she didn't want to hear it. She refused to believe it. And when the Crimson Squad returned to secure their investments, all they'd find left for them was him. One measly reporter, left on his own. Abandoned.
The Squad saved his life - they patched him up after the bullet meant for the fugitives hit him instead. And Kyra, she trusted her lover above everything else, even when it meant leaving her friend there in the dust. She might have felt she owed Needy after what she'd put him through. But in truth she owed it to herself to get out whilst she still could.
As for Clayton Payne, his allegiances were to the Crimson Squad now. They'd saved his life, and they'd offered him what he'd so
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