“Bitte! Pleaaase! We will not cause any trouble! We have no home! We cannot go back. Bitte! Do not fire upon our vessel!”
Mel sat frozen, hands locked on the controls of her almost derelict Startracker, her finger millimeters from the railgun trigger. Despite the crackling distortion of the refugee ship’s clearly damaged comms array, Mel could still hear the panic in the voice of whoever was on the other side of the speaker.
Mellony Travers, Xeno, protector of the Library working class, was considering offering aid to foreign nationals.
“This… this is…” Mel choked on the word ‘Xeno.’
The Rheinland Civil War had only been going on for a matter of weeks, but hundreds of refugee ships had already begun pouring through the Hudson system. Most had at least semi-functional scanners and nav computers, and were able to make for the trade lanes after jumping into Hudson from the Hamburg jump hole. But there were others who were much less fortunate, and ended up wandering aimlessly into the Kenai Field instead…
“This is Xeno’s fighter, Cobra 3. Unknown vessel, please identify yourself,” Mel said, finally finding her voice.
But the refugee ship was not the first voice she heard over comms.
“Cobra 3, what in the F*CK are you doing!? We do not question foreigners, we ELIMINATE them!”
Of course Gavin was squad leader today. His Cobra 1 was still a few klicks away, but would be on top of them in a matter of minutes, if not seconds.
“This is das Moselle. Wir sind ein refugee ship, und we are unarmed! Wir wiederholen, wir unarmed!!”
“Mel, are you F*CKING LISTENING TO ME?!” Gavin screamed over the comm.
Mel knew that whatever choice she made next, she was truly damned.
“Moselle, this is Cobra 3. Please remove yourself from this system, or else we will be forced to fire upon your vessel. Repeat, this is Cobra 3, turn around and leave this sector or you will be fired upon.”
A new voice pierced the comms static. Mellony could swear the voice could be heard across the void of space: “Bitte, wir haben fast kein Essen mehr! Ich kann nicht nach Hause gehen!! Zuhause brennt!!”
…it was the voice of a little girl.
Mel didn’t really speak German, but she remembered a few words that her dad had taught her, and that during his casual language lessons he had reminded her that sometimes words in German and English sound almost identical. ‘Hause’ was easy: ‘House’ or probably more likely home. But ‘brennt?’ ‘Burnt?’ Wait… was that … ‘home is burning?’
Mel’s blood went cold. The next 90 seconds passed at a glacial pace as her soul left her body. There was nothing left but instinct.
“Time to f*ckin’ die, Rhein scum!” Gavin yelled as his ship careened into view.
Bright red laser cannon fire lit up the asteroid field as Cobra 1’s guns tore through the ramshackle hull of the Moselle. Bodies gushed out of the carrier and into the void of space like blood from a gaping wound as Gavin turned the ship into swiss cheese.
Everything was so brilliantly clear to Mel at that moment. There was no defending Liberty here. There was no “sticking up for the little guy” like she had been promised in the Xeno fleet. She and the rest of her newfound family were just lost puppies that had let their rage and fear turn them into ravenous wolves. The Xenos were no better than the generations of Liberty police that locked up scavs and vagrants in the Huntsville. SHE was no better.
And they were turning the ‘verse into their own personal punching bag.
“I’m so f*cking sorry, Dad,” Mel said under her breath.
Immediately launching into action, Mel powered up her tractor beam and zoomed towards the dying refugee ship. Using the moment that Gavin was blinded with bloodlust, she swooped around to the other side of the carrier and targeted the first in-tact ejection pod her scanners picked up. She activated her tractor beam, waited for the tell-tale buzzing of the beam to stop, and then targeted the next pod.
*T R A C T O R F A I L E D*
“What? No, no, no!” Mel begged. She slammed the button again.
*T R A C T O R F A I L E D*
“NO! NO!!”
*T R A C T O R F A I L E D*
*T R A C T O R F A I L E D*
*T R A C T O R F A I L E D*
“F*CK F*CK F*CK F********CK!!!” Tears started unconsciously flowing down Mel’s face.
Gavin’s voice cut through comms again: “Cobra 3, return to the Barrow NOW! Refuse a direct order and I WILL be forced to blow you outta the f*ckin’ sky.”
There was a brief pause.
“Actually,” Gavin continued. “Please refuse to comply. I’ve been ITCHIN’ to deal with you for months!”
Mel gritted her teeth, wiped her eyes, and threw her thrusters into overdrive. She hit the comm button so hard she could swear she heard her communications panel crack.
“You’ll have to catch me, coward!”
The sudden increase in Gs plastered her to her crash couch as she rocketed towards the Texas jump gate.
* * *
Mel didn’t stop until she reached Beaumont Base. Somewhere in her panicked brain she had remembered that Junkers hate Xenos more than just about anyone else she knew. Gavin stopped pursuing her sometime before she passed planet Houston, but she hadn’t really paid attention to when or where. She only briefly considered pausing once she reached the Dallis Debris Field. That was when she finally remembered that she was flying a Xeno ship with a Xeno ID.
But she pressed on. Kelvin would help her. He had to.
She didn’t have any other choice.
Before she knew it, she was picking up Beaumont Base on her scanner. Beaumont picked her up too.
“Xeno vessel, retreat or you will be fired upon.”
It was weird hearing those words come from someone else's mouth so shortly after she had said the exact same thing.
“Beaumont this is Cobr– This is Mel! Mellony Travers! For gods sakes, Beaumont, please don’t fire!”
Mel prayed that the Junkers were more merciful than Gavin had been today.
“Xeno vessel, retreat now! We will open fire.”
“Kelvin please! It’s me! It’s Mini Mel! I just want to come home! I have a civilian refugee on board. Please, Kelvin, are you listening?!”
The following pause felt like a lifetime.
Mel heard the clear sound of whooping feedback as the comms receiver was passed to another person on board the station.
“Mini Mel? You’re alive?? Is that really you? I… this is some kind of f*ckin' Xeno trick. You can’t…”
“Kelvin, it’s me I swear by the gods! Please!” Mel could feel hot tears burning her cheeks again.
“...prove it. What was your father accused of by LPI before they locked him up the second time?”
There was no way Mellony would ever forget that.
“Steal……stealing a mug of Liberty ale from an off duty officer while he was planetside on Houston…”
“Welcome back, Mini. Bay 2 is open to you.”
* * *
Mel sat on Beaumont’s hanger bay floor, staring at the open cargo door of her ship. The lone escape pod she had managed to scoop up stared back at her.
The Junker crew gave her a wide berth. Kelvin watched wearily from a distance. He had wrapped her up in a massive bear hug when she had disembarked, but she hadn’t returned it. The shock and pallor on her face was as effective at keeping people away as any porcupine quills.
“F*ck me.”
Mel shoved her palms against her knees and stood to her feet. Whoever was inside the pod was probably feeling far worse than she was. It was time to let them out.
Walking up into the cargo hold, she gently placed a hand on the pod.
“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, and hit the seal to depressurize the pod.
Mel could easily hear the sobbing voice inside over the hissing of the pod's seal depressurizing.
“Nein, nein, bitte!! Ich will nicht sterben!! Nein nein!!”
It was the little girl she’d heard over the carrier’s comms.
Mel didn’t even think, she swooped in and wrapped the child into the same embrace Kelvin had tried to give her. The girl kicked and screamed and even began to bite. Mel didn’t let go.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”
“NEIN! NEIN!! Wo ist meine Mutter!”
For the third and final time that day, Mellony let her tears flow freely.
“Daddy, nooo! You can’t go! You just got home!!” Mellony sobbed.
“I gotta, little one. Ain’t got no choice. You’ll understand once you're older,” her father said gently.
Two Liberty Police officers were at the front door of the Travers’ apartment. One was dressed in the same cop uniform blue that Mellony had seen a hundred times walking the streets of Montrose, and a thousand times on the various police serials that clogged the vid-comms. The second officer was dressed mostly in black with blue and gold trim, but that wasn’t what caught Mellony’s attention. The man had a massive scar running all the way from his left temple, down across his eye and to his chin.
“Come on, thievin’ scum! We ain’t gonna wait this patiently all day. Yer comin’ on your own, or we’re f*cking draggin’ ya!” the scarred man snapped.
“Watch the language in front’a my daughter!” her father warned the officer, then turned back to Mellony: “I’m sorry, Mini. Daddy’s gotta go. I’ll see you again one day. I promise.”
“Daddy, noo! PLEASE DON’T TAKE MY DADDY! NOT AGAIN!!”
The door slammed and her father was gone.
* * *
Mel woke up drenched in sweat, in a cot that she didn’t recognize, only to be greeted by a small face with raven black hair and piercing sapphire blue eyes.
“Wo ist meine Mutter?” The little girl from the refugee ship said it in such a flat tone that for a moment Mel assumed it was a statement, not a question.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Wo. Ist. Meine. MUTTER!?” the child had clearly stopped panicking and was now more defiant than anything.
“Look, I’m definitely not your mom.”
“Nein! WO ist meine Mutter?” the girl corrected Mel.
She couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 years old, but carried herself as if she was much older. Mel knew first hand how much trauma can age someone.
“‘Wo?’ Wait…” Mel paused for a moment to process and rub the sleep out of her eyes. She found that her eyes were way puffier than she had expected. “‘Wo’…you mean like ‘where?’”
“Ja,” the girl nodded in curt agreement. “Wo ist meine Mutter?”
Mel knew this question had been coming, but still felt woefully unprepared to answer it.
Your mom’s dead, kid, she thought.
“I…I don’t know, kid,” she said out loud.
The girl’s eyes pierced her soul like an ice field ripping through a freighter with loose plating.
“Hey, what’s your name?” Mel asked.
The girl simply turned on her heel and walked out into the bustling crowd of Junkers populating Beaumont.
* * *
Mel sat at the steel mess hall table across from Kelvin, a steaming hot cup of Curacao tea clutched in her hands. The various Junker crew and technicians that used the mess hall were almost all out around the base, busy with their duties. There were of course a few stragglers who were trying to eavesdrop on the conversation between their boss and the strange ex-Xeno pilot, but Kelvin kept his voice down and paid them no mind.
Mel wasn’t cold, but holding the cup of tea had an oddly centering effect on her.
“Been a while since I’ve had a good cup of OS&P tea,” she said absently.
Kelvin laughed. “Well, I’m not surprised! The day that Xenos start enjoying a cup of fine brewed tea with breakfast is the day there’s no more scrap left in Texas!”
Mel looked up at her father’s old friend, and chuckled. It felt good to laugh.
“How…how’s Mom?” she asked.
“I’ll be honest, kid. I don’t go planetside much anymore, if at all. We’ve got our own little world up here. If I’m not replating and fixing leaks in Beaumont, then I’m sortin’ out disputes between Congress and the Marauders. And if I’m not sortin’ out internal Junker disputes, then I’m dealin’ with Xeno scu–” Kelvin cut himself off quickly before he finished his sentence.
“No..you’re right to call us that. We’re f*cking scum,” Mel said flatly, and then turned and spat over her shoulder for emphasis.
“Xeno scum. Noted,” Kelvin said, his eyes wide.
There was a long pause as Mel slurped her tea. Kelvin looked away from her awkwardly.
“I didn’t kill any Junke–” Mel started suddenly.
“No, no! I won’t expect–” Kelvin quickly replied, looking back up at her.
They both fell into another awkward silence.
“I…I never expected that you would. Dustin was…family. And that makes you family. You don’t f*ckin’ shoot family. I… I knew you’re heart was always here. Even if you… went astray.”
“ASTRAY!? You all sit here and do NOTHING! ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! While LPI runs roughshod over this ENTIRE system! Over people like your friend… MY FATHER!”
Mel let the venom spew. She didn’t even know herself how long she’d been holding it all in.
“I never shot a Junker, no! But there are PLENTY’A people in this system and all’a Liberty space that need to be blown outta the f*ckin’ sky! And Xenos know that far better than you do!”
“Mini…” Kelvin started.
“Don’t you ‘Mini’ me!” Mel yelled.
“...Mini…me?” she repeated what she had just said out loud to herself. Suddenly she felt that she had cut the tension in the air herself.
“No… I’m… I’m MAD,” she said, chuckling at her own accidental verbal alliteration while also still fuming at Kelvin.
“You’re the boss,” Kelvin said, raising his arms in mock defeat while looking away and grinning slightly.
“No, YOU’RE the boss!” Mel said, and then stomped away.
Once Mel was out of Kelvin’s line of sight, she heard him chuckling to himself. “No YOU’RE the boss!” she heard echo in Kelvin’s jovial mocking tone.
Mel felt herself crack a smile.
* * *
The Rheinland girl was exactly where Mel had expected. It was right where Mel would have been if their roles were reversed: on the observation deck, swinging her feet off the bridge, staring out into the Dallas Debris Field.
Mel sat down next to the girl, leaned against the safety bars, and let her feet swing as well.
“So…” Mel said, and let the unfinished thought hang in the air for a moment. The girl looked up at her, waiting for Mel to finish her sentence.
“I can’t take you to see your mom,” Mel pulled her gaze away from the vastness of space, and looked directly into the sharp blue eyes of her new charge. “But do you want to come meet my mom?”
“Y..yes,” the girl said.
“Good. We’ll head out tomorrow,” Mel nodded as if agreeing with herself, and turned back towards the massive window that dominated the south side of the observation deck.
They both sat like that for gods knew how long.
Finally the girl spoke.
“Ida,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Ida,” she repeated, pointing to herself.
Mel tried to hide the look of pleasant surprise on her face. She failed.
“Nice to meet you, Ida. I’m Mel.”
Ida stuck a small hand out towards Mel. Unsure of what else to do, Mel shook it.
Mel was so focused on packing up her Startracker to fly down to Houston that Kelvin running up towards her on the flightdeck caught her completely off guard, and she wheeled on him.
“Plantside, asshole! What? Am I a prisoner here now ‘r something?” Mel snapped.
To be fair, she was also still more than a little pissed at him for his comments the previous day.
“Whoa there, sailor! Not what I’m talkin’ about at all! You look at your ship lately?” Kelvin gestured to Cobra 3. “You’ve got laser scouring all along the port side, one of your tail fins is bent, and the other is…” Kelvin paused to make sure he was seeing correctly. “...missing?”
Mel turned to look at her ship, watching as he pointed out the various points of damage on the hull.
“And if what you’er tellin’ me about what happened when you tried to pick up more escape pods other than the kid is true, then either yer storage manifest computer tripswitch or your tractor beam itself is completely borked.”
Kelvin paused and looked the ship up and down one more time. “Maybe both honestly,” he said.
“Fine…FINE! Have it your way,” Mel threw her hands up in defeat. “You’re probably right. Ship’s seen better days, and those days were a LONG time ago.”
“Exactly. So let my boys handle the repairs, and we’ll make sure ya get to Houston safe. Come on, follow me,” Kelvin waved her along to follow him as he began walking towards the other end of the flightdeck.
Mel followed cautiously, unsure of what her father’s old partner in crime had in mind. As they walked around a semi-derelict Rhino freighter, Mel saw where Kelvin was leading her, and froze in her tracks.
“Oh no…no no. F*CK no!” Mel began protesting.
There, perched in a quiet corner of the Junkers’ flightdeck was a near factory fresh LZF-6364 Patriot with crisp blue and red highlights.
“Abso-LUTE-ly not!” Mel said emphatically.
“You’re meaning to tell me you’er gonna fly to Houston, past HUNTSVILLE of all places, in a Junker craft…or worse still, a XENO fighter??” Kelvin looked at Mel incredulously.
“I…no…?” Mel said, and then looked away whistling to herself.
“That’s what I thought. Ya got heart kid, I know that. But dammit ya gotta work on your street smarts,” Kelvin laughed.
“Phfff…” Mel tried to play it off like it she didn’t care, but deep down she knew he was right.
“Fine, I take the cop cruiser, but just let the record stand that I’m not happy about it,” she said.
“Noted.”
“Alright,” Mel said and stretched her arms a bit. “Gonna grab my day kit off Cobra 3 and then find the little one.”
“The Rhienland girl? You aren’t gonna keep her here while you go planetside? No reason to bring her around a whole bunch of new people all over again after all she’s been through.”
“I am NOT letting Ida outta my sight, understood?” Mel snapped.
“You got it, boss!” Kelvin said.
Mel sighed.
“Look, I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said. “And I guess I’m still processin’ through sh*t. I keep biting at you and that’s not fair. It’s just…you got your ideals, and I got mine. So please, just don’t accuse me’a compromisin’ myself and my morals. ‘k?”
“Fair enough, Mini.”
“Alright, Cap. Gas me up, and let’s get me airborne!”
Mel and Ida stood in front of Mel’s childhood home, Ida’s left hand firmly grasping Mel’s right. Neither one of them moved. Ida didn’t know what to make of the bustling, dusty working class district of Montrose. Mel was simply frozen with the fear of confronting her mother after all these years.
And both of them were still dealing with more than a smidgen of shellshock. Holding each other’s hands felt like the best way to gain a bit of confidence when dealing with so many unfamiliar situations back to back.
“Well… I guess we knock. What d’ya think?” Mel looked down at the child holding her hand.
“Ist es sicher? Safe?” Ida asked.
“Oh yeah! For sure. This is my mom’s place. It’s where I grew up,” Mel said, pointing at the pre-fab and compacted sand-stone building in front of them.
“Mutter?”
“Yeah, my Mutter,” Mel said, pointing back at herself.
Ida nodded, and began walking towards the door, still clutching Mel’s hand.
“Oop… I guess that means we’re goin’ in.”
Mel let Ida lead her along by the hand until they reached the front door. As they got closer, a wave of memories came flooding back into Mel’s mind: childhood games of cops and xenos, hunting through the compost heap on the edge of the city for “hidden treasure,” endless nights of wondering when her father would return home. A perfect cocktail of nostalgia and skeletons in the closet.
Ida brought them so close to the front door that Mel could see the old etchings of blessing that she had helped her mother crave into the plate metal frame of the door. The odor of caked mud and welding tool grease filled her nostrils.
Completely lost in thought, Mel didn’t notice that Ida was looking up at her expectantly.
Realizing that the strange woman she now found herself with wouldn’t be knocking on the door anytime soon, Ida took the lead again and wrapped her knuckles on the metal door.
They were not greeted by Mel’s mother.
“Git off my property ya filthy vagrants!”
Mel found herself on the business end of a Detroit 7.5 las-pistol.
Instead of her mother, Mel was faced with an elderly man, a shock of white hair springing from his head with an equally white mustache to match. His forehead and eyes were framed by hard lines and his skin was cracked by the sun. In that moment Mel wondered if this was the fate that would have awaited her father if he had lived to old age. For the first time that she could remember, she wondered if her father being dead was a blessing.
“I said GIT! Or I’ll shoot ya, I swear to the gods!” the man hollered.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Calm down, old-timer!” Mel interjected. “I f*ckin’ grew up here! This is my old house, just…”
She looked down at Ida, and then back up at the man before continuing.
“...just showin’ the lil one around my old stomping grounds.”
“Yeah well, I’on’t really care,” the man said. “This is my house now, not yers! So I’ll say again: git!”
“Just one second, sir. I’m just…this used to be…” Mel searched for words, while also trying to avoid escalating the situation or getting shot. “The Travers family? They used to live here? Francine Travers? She used to live here not even that long ago. Maybe only a year or so ago?”
*zap*
In one swift motion as the man aimed his gun, and fired a warning shot into the sand at their feet, Mel took her left hand that Ida had been holding onto, wrapped it around the girl’s front and placed herself directly in the line of the man’s fire.
“Gregor!! You want LPI on our asses again? Or worse, you want Texas citizens dead in the street?? Put that fool thing away, you hoodlum!”
Mel, Ida, and Gregor all turned to see who the voice belonged to.
Mel’s mouth hung open a little, barely able to contain her pleasant surprise.
“Miss Cassy?? Cassiopeia, is that really you?” she asked in disbelief.
“Well I’ll be a Rogue’s code of honor, if it isn’t little Mellony Travers!” Cassy said. The woman craned her neck to look over Mel’s shoulder at Gregor, who was still holding the pistol. “You can be the one to ‘git’ now, there Gregor! I’ve got some catchin’ up to do, and you’d better put that piece away ‘fore you hurt yourself!”
Gregor muttered something obscene, holstered his weapon, and slammed the front door behind himself as he went back indoors.
Once Cassy was sure that Gregor had left them alone and would not be coming back outside with a larger gun, she led Mel and Ida directly across the street to the open air flower shop that occupied the space outside of Cassy’s own home. The sight of Cassiopeia’s flower carts was yet another familiar touchstone that brought hundreds of memories crashing back to Mel. No matter how grim and dismal the Texas system became, there was always brightness and beauty at Cassy’s flower shop.
Cassy settled down on a stool behind one of the massive baskets of desert blooms she had for sale, and looked Mel up and down.
“My, my, it really has been quite some time hasn’t it Mellony!” she said.
“Please, it’s just Mel,” Mel said. “I haven’t been called by my full name in ages.”
Ida went eagerly from basket to basket, smelling fresh buds and gently touching each flowers petals in wonder as the two women caught up on old times.
“So how long ya been back? How long are ya stayin’? Is the little one your’s? Gracious me, I never expected you to be the kind to take on bein’ a mother. Who’s the father?” the older woman peppered Mel with questions.
“Whoa, whoa now, slow down, Miss Cassy! I just got back, and the kid ain’t mine, she’s just…” Mel looked around briefly until she spotted Ida, who had buried her entire face in a basket of Violet Yeenias, trying to get as full a sniff of the flowers as possible. “It’s…a long story. But no, I’m no mother. We’re just her to see my mom, actually. You know where she moved to? I never expected she’d give up that old house.”
Cassy fell gravely silent in response.
“What…? Why are you looking at me like that?” Mel asked.
“I… figured you were still mad, or there was somethin’ else that’d come between you and yer mother. And that’s why you weren’t…why you weren’t…” Cassy’s voice faltered.
“Miss Cassy….where’s my mother?”
* * *
Ida and Mel found themselves staring at a stone slab that represented the death of yet another matriarch.
Cassy had led them to the gravesite, and then left to wait on the other side of the dunes and out of sight in order to give them the space and privacy the girls needed. Mel looked down at the headstone hewn from fresh sandstone, and found that she had no more tears to give. The whirling dust of the Houston deserts bit into her cheeks as she stared at what remained of her own childhood.
Suddenly she noticed that Ida was not directly by her side.
“Ida, what are you…?” Mel began to ask, until she noticed.
Ida walked to the headstone, carrying a single Violet Yennia in her hand. Mel figured that the girl must have pilfered it while Mel was still processing the news that she herself was also now an orphan. Ida knelt down, bowed her head, and layed the desert flower down on the grave.
“Tschüss Mutter.”
Even though Ida was speaking another language, Mel understood. Ida wasn’t saying goodbye to Mel’s mother, she was saying goodbye to her own.
As Mel and Ida said their final farewells, they held each other’s hands tighter than ever until they both felt their fingers cracking.
Gavin Wralls, callsign “Gunner,” was in his dingy bunk, etching tally marks into his flight helmet. There were no lights on in his cabin, he’d always found that he saw just fine in the dark. He’d been that way for as long as he could remember. There was always a warm comfort to darkness, away from the harsh prying light of doctors’ and psychiatrists’ offices. They always had lights. Lights that were too bright.
LPI interrogation cell lights though? Those were the worst.
Gunner made a mumbling, raspy sound to no one in particular at the memory.
That’s why he was so good in a cockpit, he figured. There was darkness everywhere, only the pinpricks of stars cutting through the blackness.
He couldn’t wait to get back out into the darkness of space. Raven had told him that there might be more Rheinland refugee ships on their way through Hudson soon. Maybe even a Bretonian mining vessel or two! Police were better though. Offered more of a fight. More of a challenge.
“Yes…better,” Gunner agreed with himself.
The door to his cabin was suddenly swung wide.
“Gunner! Gunner!” Hatchling Metcalfe was eager and zealous in all the ways a Xeno should be, but he still didn’t fully understand how dangerous Gunner could be when interrupted.
“SHUT THE F*CKIN’ DOOR, YA FILTHY SH*T STAIN!” Gunner roared and hearled the knife he’d been using to mark kills towards Metcalfe.
The knife missed Metcalf by centimeters.
“I…I…I…I…” Metcalf mewled while wetting himself.
“Well?? Out with it! What was SO F*CKING important that you needed to interrupt me?”
“They…we…” Metcalf struggled to regain composure. “We think we know where she went.”
“Who?? Out with it, you pathetic excuse for a hatchling!”
“Mel…Alliance command thinks they know where Mel went.”
Kelvin Maddoc always felt more like himself when he had a welder and plasma cutter in his hands. Knowing Mel, he didn’t expect her and the kid to be gone for an extended amount of time. He figured Mel would try to spend the least amount of time planetside on Houston as possible. Leastwise, that’s how he would have behaved if their roles were reversed. Who knew? Maybe the kid would complicate things and they’d both get up to more mischief together than they would have individually?
Kelvin shrugged to himself, and sparked up his welder again, going over Cobra 3 in clean, buttery smooth lines. It didn’t matter to him that it was originally a Xeno ship… because it was Mel’s ship. That was the important part.
“Hey boss!” Ricky, one of the ship technicians working on the Rhino docked next to where Kelvin was working, tried to get the man’s attention.
Kelvin didn’t hear.
“HEY BOSS!” Ricky yelled louder.
Kelvin flicked off the welder.
“What is it, Ricky? Mel’s gonna be back soon, and I don’t want to leave this work unfinished. Ya gonna come over and help me, or what?” Kelvin asked, lifting his visor and looking over his shoulder and down where the technician stood below him.
“Uhhh…that’s just it boss,” Ricky said, looking up with slight concern.
“Well…?”
“You’d honestly better just follow me,” Ricky replied.
Kelvin set down his tools and welding mask in a small outcropping of Mel’s ship, and gingerly picked his way down the ladder and to the hangar bay floor.
“Follow me, boss,” Ricky waved Kelvin to follow him.
They walked out from under the Cobra 3, and began to make their way around the Rhino that Ricky had been working on towards the other end of the hangar. Kelvin heard it before he saw it.
There, on the end of the hangar, was the factory-new Liberty Patriot that he had loaned Mel not even 24 hours earlier. Only it wasn’t factory new anymore. It had been filled with puncture holes all along the aft wings and engine, and its oval faceplate struts that held the cockpit in place were almost completely peeled off and scattered all over the hangar bay floor. Only it wasn’t done being dismantled. Ida and Mel were still there, going at the damned ship like it was an asteroid with precious metals inside that needed to be extracted.
“Take THAT, aaaand THAT, aaaaaaand THAT you f*ckin’ useless piece of trash!” Mel said, her voice punctuating the air each and every time she fired the plasma bolter she was holding through a new part of the ship.
Ida, steady and solid as any of Kelvin’s shiphands, said nothing. She was too focused on her task at hand. Somehow the little girl had found a torque wrench that was half the size that she was, and was removing each and every bolt from the front of the police cruiser with a precision that Kelvin had never seen before in a child.
“What in the name of the Five Houses are you two doing?” he bellowed.
“Oh, hey boss!” Mel turned and flipped up her visor. “Just got back. What’s up?”
“Yer gonna just ‘hey boss’ me like that, as if yer not rippin’ apart the ship that I JUST let you borrow to go see yer mother?” Kelvin was incredulous.
“Oh yeah, ‘bout that. Mom’s dead,” Mel said in a flat tone. “And don’t worry, you’re the best scrapper I know. I’m sure you’ll find somethin’ to do with the rest of this piece of cop garbage.”
Mel then immediately turned back around, pulled down her welding visor, and called out to Ida on the opposite side of the ship.
“Yo, Ida! How’s it goin’ with that cockpit?”
Ida craned her neck around the ship so she could see Mel on the other side, and then gave her a crisp thumbs up.
“Excellent!” Mel said. “Alright, kid, watch yer fingers and toes! I’m gonna get back to blastin’!”
Kelvin threw up his hands in defeat.
“Fine..fine,” he said, half to himself. “Just pick up after yourselves after!” he said more loudly. Neither Mel nor Ida gave any indication that they heard him.
“But…boss…aren’t you going to stop them?” Ricky asked.
“Nah,” Kelvin said. “S’long as they aren’t takin’ out their trauma on Junker ships, I can live with it.”
Kelvin began making his way back towards the Cobra 3 to complete the repairs, but he paused right as he was about to pass Ricky.
“Bit of advice, kid,” he said with a slight grin. “Never get between a woman with a blaster and what she's tryin' to accomplish.”
* * *
Kelvin was in his office when Mel found him again later that evening. Mel wrapped on the door frame with her knuckles to announce her presence.
“Hey, kid. Ya feel better?” Kelvin asked.
Mel shrugged half-heartedly in response.
“You want some more tea?” Kelvin offered. He pointed at the steaming mug that he had on his desk.
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks for offering though,” Mel said.
Kelvin could see that she was much more subdued than she’d been the last several times that he’d seen her. The past few days must have been starting to catch up. If nothing else, the exhaustion she must have been feeling was recognizable on her face.
“Ya wanna talk ab–”
“Nope. Said I’m good,” Mel firmly cut him off.
“Got it,” Kelvin said, knowing better than to press the issue.
“So,” Mel changed the topic. “How's my ship comin’ along?”
“Good, good! Got almost all the panels welded on and I even made sure to install a new shield generator and tinkered with the specs on the ol’ girl to make sure she’s sympatico with good old Junker tech now!” Kelvin winked.
“Looks like I came to the right place then,” Mel ventured a small smile. “Just try not to make her look TOO Junker-ish, ya know what I mean?”
“No promises there. It’s…real obvious she’s a Xeno fighter right now. And if yer gonna be flyin’ ‘round Texas airspace, and ‘SPECIALLY if yer gonna be flyin’ with Junkers - the less she looks like a Xeno vessel, the better.”
“Fine, fine,” Mel sighed. “Your probably right… as USUAL.”
“Good,” Kelvin said. “Now, we’d better change the name and ID on your ship too. Ya got any ideas for names ya wanted to–”
Blaring alarm horns interrupted Kelvin as his office was suddenly bathed in crimson warning lights.
“All hands, battle stations. Battle stations. All hands to battle stations. This is not a drill,” the voice of Stephanie, the security chief of Beaumont boomed over the station’s comm system.
“Good gods, what the f*ck is it now?” Kelvin said aloud.
* * *
Mel stood on the bridge of Beaumont Base, looking up in horror at the face that was projected onto the primary observation and comms screen.
“What’s up, little bird? Ya miss me?” Gunner sneered through the screen. “What? Ya think you were going to pull a stunt like that and get away scott free? Nah nah… yer MINE!”
“You have absolutely no authority or power here, you piece of space trash!” Kelvin roared into the comms mic, projecting a level of confidence that he did not truly feel. “What on earth are you planning to accomplish here? Mellony Travers is under the protection of the Junkers and Beaumont Base.”
“Like that even f*cking matters? What, you think you scare me, old man?” Gunner retorted. “Fail to give her over to me, and I do all of the Texas system a favor and wipe Beaumont from the face of Sirius!”
“Like f*ckin’ hell!” Kelvin said.
“Prep my ship,” said Mel softly.
Kelvin took his finger off the comms button, and looked at her in disbelief.
“What? No…no no. Yer not going anywhere,” he said, gently but firmly.
“Like f*ckin’ hell!” the old man yelled over comms.
Gunner sneered in a way that signified he was relishing the exchange. The more they protested, the more damage he could inflict: physical AND psychological.
They didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes, Gunner saw the scrapped together remains of Mel’s Cobra 3 exit Beaumont’s port docking bay.
“Well well well well…if the little birdie hasn’t arrived to play,” he said over public comms.
“Oh I’m here you wall eyed bastard…and I’ve got f*ckin’ company,” Mel seethed.
Gunner grimaced as more Junker fighters poured out of the open bay doors of Beaumont. CSVs, CSFs, Collectors, Recyclers, and even two cripled Rhino freighters that looked like they were being held together by spit and prayers.
“You’ve gotta be f*cking kidding me…” he muttered to himself. “All this for some lone Xeno-deserter b*tch!?” he screamed over public comms.
“Well unlike you…this b*tch has friends,” Mel broadcasted.
“All fighters, break and engage!” Gunner roared.
The six other Xenos he had bullied/convinced/coerced into flying with him on his raid powered up their weapons and split the engage the incoming ragtag group of Junker fighters in a pincer move.
“I got ‘em, Cobra 1!” Metcalf called out as he launched himself towards one of the shambling Rhino freighters.
Purple light ripped through the hull of Metcalf’s Starflier.
“I’m burning!! I’m burning!!! AAARRRRGGKKKkk….” Melcalf’s blood curdling shrieks filled the comms as his ship was torn apart.
“F*ckin’ Junkers…” Gunner breathed.
“All Xenos, hailing all Xenos! They have experimental tech! Repeat: they have experimental tech!” he said, transmitting to all ships.
Even within the scope of Gunner’s myopic focus, he knew that he had just doomed his men.
There was part of Mel that cringed at the words coming out of her own mouth, but there was a larger, more rooted part of her that felt right dropping back into Houston slang. Surrounded by Junkers…her father’s old friends, men and women who wouldn’t turn on her simply for showing a bit of mercy to a refugee. It all gave Mel a newfound confidence. Her grip on the flight stick felt more sure, and her flightpath seemed straighter.
Besides, she had a clear target in front of her now.
“By the way, good shootin’, Ricky!” she hailed the CSV flying next to her.
“Thanks, Mel! It’s always a good day to shoot Xe–” Ricky’s radio signal was cut short.
“You…! You! YOU!!!!!” Gunner was practically feral over comms. Even his ability to swear properly had failed him.
“DIE!!” he screamed over the universal comms channel.
Red light and missile shrapnel tore through Ricky’s ship as Mel looked on in horror.
“Not again…not again…not again,” she began to say rhythmically, almost like a prayer.
“That’s what you get for taking in a deserter, you miserable excuses for Libertonians!” Gunner radioed.
Mel could feel herself yelling, but couldn’t comprehend what she herself was actually saying.
“Don’t do it, Mel.”
“Wha– Kelvin?” Mel asked, confused.
“We’ve got this covered,” Kelvin said.
Gripping the flight stick and swinging the Cobra 3 around to look back at Beaumont Base, Mel saw a hulking gray and dingy yellow mass rise up from the other side of the station. A Salvager gunboat swung around the station and made a beeline for the ragtag squadron of Xeno fighters.
It was Kelvin’s pride and joy: The Wandering Dog.
Armed to the teeth with all manner of guns and claws and missiles, the Dallas Debris Field lit up with a fireworks show of light and explosions as Kelvin’s ship and Beaumont itself trained all their guns on the attacking fighters.
“GRRAAAgggg!!!” Gunner yelled incomprehensible gibberish over comms in anger.
Mel swung her ship around towards Gunner’s Cobra 1, a smirk plastered on her face. She felt something that she hadn’t felt while flying with the Xenos for a very, very long time: bloodlust.
“Yer turn to f*ckin’ die, you pathetic worm,” she said.
Plasma and tachyon fire ripped through one Xeno craft after another, with the mini pops of Starfliers depressurizing and imploding across the viewscreen of Mel’s cockpit.
“You...you can’t...” Gunner snarled.
“Oh, but apparently I can,” Mel said.
“You’ll–” Gunner started, but Mel cut him off.
“I’ll what? I’ll ‘pay for this?’ What a f*ckin’ useless attempt at a comeback,” Mel retorted. “No, no…you’ll be the one who is going to pay for what you did to Ida’s family!”
“Who the f*ck is ‘Ida’?”
Mel responded with laserfire.
“Well, it’s been fun. I’ll see you around…Junker scum,” Gunner said.
Mel saw him swing his ship around in a tight 180 and power up thrusters.
“Kelvin! Hit his engine!” Mel radioed over friendly comms.
But it was too late. Gunner’s afterburners sparked up too fast for cruise disruptors to catch him, and within seconds he was gone…making his way back to Hudson.
Mel breathed in a deep sigh and worked to steady her trembling hands, still feeling her entire body pumping with adrenaline.
“That’s right…” Mel said to herself, no longer projecting to another over comms. “You’d better believe I’m Junker scum now!”
Gunner limped back home to Hudson, his Startracker hemorrhaging fuel. He’d tried welding together the O2 lines, but despite his best efforts, his ship was still losing oxygen as well. He didn’t feel remorse; at least not as most people would define remorse. He was angry, yes. His pride was wounded, sure. But he didn’t feel anything resembling ‘guilt.’ Mostly he was just kicking himself for letting his prey escape him. Now it would take additional time and additional resources before he finally zero that Junker b*tch.
Junker.
He looked slightly off to his left, pondering to himself. Was he actually using the word “Junker” internally to refer to Mel now? That was new.
It felt correct though. She certainly wasn’t a Xeno anymore. Her actions had made that crystal clear.
Gunner limped his ship along, through the Sitka Asteroid Field, across the trade lane, and into the Kenai Field on the other side. Before long he picked up Barrow on his shortwave scanner.
Unconsciously he breathed a sigh of relief as the rocky exterior of the base came into view. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been clenching his entire body.
“Xeno vessel, please transmit your clearance codes,” Barrow hailed him.
“This is Xeno’s Cobra 1, sending codes and transponder ID now,” Gunner answered back.
There was a slightly longer pause than usual. Brief enough that Gunner almost missed it.
“Cobra 1, you are clear to land. Please proceed to dock 2.”
“Roger that. Cobra 1 over and out,” Gunner said, and began docking procedures.
He drifted slowly as the Barrow’s tractor beam system guided him into the base and through dock 2’s open bay doors. They closed firmly behind him just in time, as his low O2 warning system had begun screaming in his ears.
But it was okay. He’d made it back in one piece. He could now focus on next steps.
He could focus on–
His mind came to a screeching halt as he saw the ship that was docked just next to the empty landing pad he was touching down on.
There sat a sleek black LG-V "Prosecutor,” bristling with guns and armorment that Gunner had never seen before.
Standing near motionless just beside the Prosecutor was the absolute last person Gunner would have wanted to see after a botched attack like this. The new Alliance Commander was a lot of things, but predictable was not one of them. There were a lot of rumors and not much of actual information to go on either. Regardless, rumors had no part in this man's rise to power - deeds did. And being one of the only people to bear an orange notch across the side of the hull was more than just a statement. Killing one of the famed and fabled genefreaks from Malta was considered impossible through conventional means.
Worst of all, there was no yelling. Nothing was being said at all. Gunner was just glared at by a pair of steel blue eyes as he climbed out and set his feet down on relatively solid ground. The opportunity to speak first was his, but it very much seemed like there was an implicit warning being issued against any potential excuses that even Gunner himself would refuse to accept. Failure at the hands of whimsical pursuits was not something the cause could abide by. Especially not if it wanted to seize the future it envisioned.
Finding Gunner's prolonged silence frustrating, the Cobra barked out just one word. "Speak."
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