Phoenix Feathers, Part II Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Joss is Boss, and all of this stuff belongs to him. But I can dream, can’t I?

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With the hiss of air escaping from its once-articulated vector jet nozzles, the Stallion set down in its designated landing zone. The ship creaked as the old vessel sagged onto the equally aged half-dozen old pylons that served as the ship’s landing platform. Just outside the cramped hanger lay Dyton city, the colony’s capital and center of business, both legitimate and illicit.

Dyton colony as a whole was known throughout the ‘Verse for its thriving underworld, which had grown even more powerful in recent years. In a place like Dyton city, the black market operated in the open, gangs vied with each other for territory, and what few Federals there were hardly dared to venture out into the smoggy streets. It was the perfect place for down-on-their-luck smugglers to move their merchandise without drawing the Alliance’s attention- if they weren’t killed in the process.

The Stallion’s main ramp extended, affording the assembled crew a view of their surroundings. Phoenix, curious, stepped timidly down the ramp, along with Nebula and Cody. They looked out at the ramshackle docking bay, frowning at the unidentifiable pieces of refuse strewn about them. Most of the light in the bay came from the dirty sky overhead, with only a single panel mounted on the wall above the rather flimsy door providing faint illumination.

It made a faint buzzing noise, then flickered off for what appeared to be the last time. Cody turned and looked back up the ramp at Monty.

“They really rolled out the welcome mat for you, Cap.”

“What did you expect, a marching band?” Koyi retorted as she entered from the direction of the bridge. “Quiet-like is how it’s done-” she caught a whiff of something unappetizing. “What is that? Kao, that’s nasty.”

Monty, his deep voice muffled by an improvised shirt filter, attempted to move things along. “Right, boys and girls, let’s get to offloading this cargo. Then we can get going. We ain’t here by choice, remember.”

A brief screech of metal from the other end of the ship made Phoenix start. He turned to see a large section of the Stallion split away from the hull and descend gently to the ground amidst the whirring of high-tension cables.

Douglas Clarke, the Stallion’s tracker, sat silently on the lip of the elevator and swung his legs over the edge. Behind him on the platform rested a curious vehicle that took Phoenix a moment to recognize. It was obviously serving the crew as a transport, but the vehicle had started its life as a hovertank.

It was probably ten or more years old, a relic from the War for Independence, and Phoenix, looking the battered craft over, did not doubt that it saw a fair amount of use back then. He knew it had to be of Browncoat manufacture, because the Alliance wasn’t much given to selling off military-grade surplus, even if it only was half-functional. The tank had probably been made by Independent Armories on Shadow, which had been at one time the key production facility of the Independence movement. He couldn’t determine the exact function it had served, though, given the extent of the tank’s conversion to peacetime purposes. The modulation of the vehicle had to have been essential to the design, given the Independents’ limited production lines, allowing the tank to fulfill a multitude of battlefield roles.

This versatility also showed itself in the skimmer’s conversion to the role of transport and cargo hauler. The crew sat slightly back from the center of the former tank’s rectangular shell, encircled by the turret mounting. The pilot’s and copilot’s chairs had been left alone, situated amidst a tangle of levers and other blocky components, while the tank commander’s chair had been replaced with a beaten-up couch that ran halfway around the back of the ring, allowing room for another few passengers. The turret itself had been removed entirely, leaving the crew compartment open to the air. Behind it, the hull curved down to meet its underside, with vents that dispelled heat from the tank’s engine and repulsors protruding slightly in ordered clusters. The front of the tank was fairly flat, with handles spaced at even intervals to help secure transported goods to the hull. Affixed to the front were two heavy-duty floodlights. The front, back, and sides of the tank had been stripped of almost all armor, allowing the vehicle more altitude, speed, and freedom of movement. It was the Stallion’s Mule.

Seeing Phoenix’s interest, Nebula smiled. “That’s our glorious steed.”

“The Captain’s,” Cody corrected. “You give me one of those repulsor panels, plus a sheet of metal and a few tools, and I could build something with twice the speed and twice the bounce. I can’t seem to talk him into it, though.” Nebula giggled, and Phoenix nodded, mock-gravely. The three of them then moved to help move the several dozen crates onto the tank’s “hood.” Koyi grumbled, but allowed herself to be conscripted into the loading process as well.

Priscilla sidled over to Monty while the rest of the crew started hoisting crates onto the Mule. “You sure we can trust this guy, sir?”

“ ‘Course. I told you before, Vitelli and I go way back. Did a few tours together in the war. Heard he got captured at Du Khang, fightin’ like a gorramn howler monkey. Did some time, too, I heard.”

“You sure we can trust this guy, sir?” she repeated. Priscilla didn’t put as much faith in the supposedly unbreakable war-buddy bond as Monty did. Too, she had to wonder why the man had sunk to running an operation in the slums of Dyton Colony, and through what means he had managed to maintain his business over the years.

Monty sighed, then shrugged. “Can’t say, but, with him runnin’ a business halfway flourishin’ in this town, he’ll know a good offer when he hears one.”

“Not too good, I hope.” Priscilla called over to the rest of the crew, who had loaded only a few crates onto the Mule. “All right, that’ll do. Leave the rest of the crates for after we make the deal. Store ‘em out of sight- we don’t want every two-bit hoodlum this side of the Core making a run at our cargo.”

“Time to do some business,” Monty clapped his hands together in anticipation. “Shouldn’t take but an hour, allowin’ some time for delicate negotiatin’. Figure we’ll be back by midday. You kids sit tight and watch the cargo, dong ma?”

Monty hopped up onto the Mule, his first mate right behind him. He sat down in the pilot’s seat and flipped several switches in quick succession. An electric whine filled the hanger, and the Mule lifted several feet off the ground. Monty deftly steered it to the docking bay’s exit, a reinforced double door which Clarke hauled open, exposing the bay to the outside world.

Phoenix and the Stallion’s crew gazed out into the bustling and crowded avenues of Dyton city. They were berthed in a real backwater district, except Phoenix couldn’t spot much evidence of water, at least the kind that wasn’t mixed in with an equal portion of dirt. He did see dust, though. A lot of dust.

Clarke jumped onto the front of the Mule and sat down on one of the crates, his eyes alert and scanning the street for threats as Monty goosed the vehicle out of the bay, leaving Phoenix, Cody, Nebula, and Koyi standing on the Stallion’s ramp.

“Do not fear going forward, fear only standing still.” Nebula quoted the Chinese proverb.

“Unless you’re in Dyton city, in which case you’re humped.” Cody smirked.

In another minute, the Mule was out of sight of the docking bay, lost in the swirl of colors calling attention to various shops and street vendors.

“Well, I’m outta here, see you.” Koyi walked past them down the ramp.

“Wait- what?” Cody spluttered. “We’re supposed to stay with the Stallion, remember?”

“Do you really expect me to spend an hour just standing here when there are perfectly good peons to do it for me? C’mon, Neb, tell me you’re in an adventuresome mood, too.”

Nebula smiled. Cody threw her a horrified look as she moved to the open door with Koyi. “No, no, nonononono. Oh, we’re gonna get into so much trouble…” he muttered disbelievingly.

“It’s okay, Cody, we’re just going out for a little bit.” She looked a little guilty, though.

“Why don’t you get acquainted with our new crewmember? You might want to lend him some clothes, too.” Koyi’s expression wrinkled distastefully at the bloody remnants of Phoenix’s clothes. “Don’t do anything…uh…he wouldn’t do, dong ma?”

Then they were gone, picking their way carefully through the tide of people outside the bay.

Cody exhaled slowly, then looked over at Phoenix. Phoenix looked back at him, eyebrows raised. Cody wracked his brain for some sort of dialogue while Phoenix just stood there, regarding him silently. It occurred to the young mechanic that this wasn’t the least awkward moment in his memory. “Um…what’s up?”

“Not much.”

“That’s cool.” Cody could hear the coolant settling in the aft stabilizers, the silence was so deep. “So, do you want to-”

“No thank you, I like me own.”

Cody stared. “Uh, well, you want to play some Go?”

Phoenix smiled. “Go?”

“You’ve never played Go before? What planet are you from?” Cody chided. Phoenix, unamused, just looked at him.

Cody swallowed. “I’ll go get the board.”

Phoenix’s eyes followed Cody as he hurried through the hatch into the Stallion’s main corridor, and they remained there for a while, staring blankly into the darkened passageway.

***

It didn’t take long for Nebula and Koyi to get lost in the Dyton city marketplace, half jostled off the main roads by unapologetic citizens, half lured by the hundreds of exotic shops that fought to attract their attention.

Garish clothing was exhibited from inside many of the shops, ranging from ornate dresses to simple vests and heavy-duty overalls. The vendors displayed fashions that were, in Nebula’s estimation, at least a few decades behind what she had seen of Coreworldian garb over the Corvue. Strange odors assailed her, emanating from odd pet animals and odder culinary treats.

Koyi was mostly eyeballing the crowd. Most seemed uninterested in the pair, but then again, she reflected, perhaps they were just being expertly marked. Koyi wasn’t paranoid of strangers, and her slight nervousness at being on the town didn’t keep her on the Stallion, but she had brought along a little bit of cash, and she was determined to hang on to it. At least until the opportunity presented itself to spend the aforementioned cash on something that caught her fancy.

That was one thing that the Outer Planets were good for- Core planets may have the latest advancements in technology, security, and medicine, but the rugged Border moons had a rich cultural heritage. Customs that were thousands of years old survived through the work and dedication of the artisans and performers who frequented such bazaars, selling their wares.

She examined a wooden chess set at one of the outdoor booths. It was roughly crafted, with the pieces carved in the likenesses of the heroes of the Unification War. At least, Koyi supposed that that was who they were. She hadn’t seen any of the brass from either side of the conflict, and she doubted that the man selling the chess set had either.

She set the chessboard back in its place amongst the assortment of goods that was on display, watched carefully by the street vendor. The cost had not been too prohibitive- she figured that shops on this end of town had all but given up on stiffing tourists- but the item was pretty useless to her. Koyi didn’t have the patience for the game, anyway.

She didn’t know why she had even picked the board up. She wasn’t affiliated with either the Independents or the Alliance. Experience had taught Koyi that she was the only one that she could count on in a pinch, so she didn’t bother investing any of her time and her hope in the lumbering, bureaucratic deathtraps which vied with each other for the right to control everybody.

As she scanned the street for more interesting and better-made trinkets, she noticed that the crowd possessed an unusual preponderance of red in it. Making their way down the street towards her was Trouble, in the form of half a dozen men and women bedecked from head to toe in crimson clothing. They wore swords on their backs and guns on their hips, all bearing the signs of much use, and the crowd parted before them like an especially timid kind of water.

Koyi looked across the street in the other direction, where the crowd also was rippling oddly. Soon, she could make out what seemed to be an equal number of men and women dressed in blue prowling through the crowd. Tzao-Gao! A gang war.

Her mind seized up with fear, but it wasn’t the debilitating sort of panic that was spreading through the crowd, causing them to mill about. She could still think. She knew that she had a narrow window before the impending fight started, and she was resolved to use it to make sure that Nebula wasn’t caught up in the conflagration.

A small, dirty boy bumped into her as she searched the bazaar for Nebula. She felt the sensation of a hand scrabbling in one of her pockets, but it was extremely brief. Then she realized what had happened and turned, yelling in outrage. Before she could catch a second glimpse of the whelp, the pick-pocket had disappeared into the throng.

Koyi took one last look around the street for the Stallion’s pilot as street vendors hurriedly packed up their booths and wheeled them away. It was impossible to find the petite girl in the whirling mélée of colors in the marketplace. Koyi’s vision was obscured by the rush of people escaping from the battleground. Nebula was nowhere in sight.

Koyi’s hands balled into fists and she screamed several choice profanities to the dusty sky. Then she turned and barged into the nearest store, leaving Nebula alone somewhere in the street behind her as the rival gangs converged outside the battered shop’s door.

***