Starcraft: Dead Man's Gambit

[Deleted]

Dead Man’s Gambit

The smell hit him first, striking his nostrils with all the subtlety of a siege tank. It was a ghastly odor, a combination of what seemed to be sour milk and a million decaying animals. It stuck to the back of his throat and burned his nose, even through the mask he was forced to wear in the toxic air. Refuse littered the ground, loose paper dancing through the air on thermals billowing out from a thousand vents. Green gas smoked lazily from them, a pale, white substance dripping from the grates to the acid-eaten concrete below.

“Are you sure this place hasn’t been infested by Zerg?” Matthew Horner sniffed haughtily, stepping in something gooey that stuck to his thick, brown boots. Fortunately, they were used, Matt having bought them just for the occasions when he had to blend in with his friend’s clientele. Dark, billowy trousers authentically patched and stitched, along with an oil-stained shirt and light jacket tied around his waist completed the ensemble. To anyone who looked his way, he would just be another downtrodden mechanic walking around this junkyard of a planet. Now I feel like one too, he thought as he scraped the gunk off against the sidewalk.

“Not even the Zerg would want a place that smells this bad, Matt,” his companion replied jovially, smiling through a mask of his own. Dark hair framed the visor, touched with gray at the temples, a matching beard cut close to the skin. His customary attire was currently replaced by clothes similar to Matt’s, a long leather duster covering the identifying tattoo of the Heaven’s Devils. A belt covered his midline, just a hint of the pistol he kept at his side peeking through the jacket. A frown cut through the joy, wrinkles appearing around the man’s eyes and forehead. “’Sides, Deadman’s Port’s strategically useless for ‘em. Nothing to absorb into the Swarm.”

“Unless you count the locals.” Matt grinned, nodding to a gigantic human with bleached hair glaring at them from a doorway. What looked like a tattoo of a giant bird of prey was etched along the side of the bouncer’s face, lending a bestial aspect to the already dangerous persona. A large and very illegal sidearm hung from the man’s hip in warning to any who dared approach, lit neon green from the light that he stood under.

“There’s that,” Raynor returned with a small smirk on his lips, a little of his former swagger returning to his stride. Matt followed, looking up at the fantastically green sky and wondering how such a disgusting world hid such beauty. Bright stars from the garbage that littered the orbital dump tracked across the view in a celestial dance. In the distance, a battered ship lifted off and rocketed to the sky, pieces falling off as it went, only for the detritus to be seized in mid air by the patrolling trash droids.

Shaking his head at the state of affairs on this planet, Matt checked his watch. Half past ten, the old-fashioned clock read, silver hands ticking silently around the disk. The meeting they were heading to was five minutes away, but Matt was totally lost. The street they were walking down was as dirty and broken as the last one, prefabricated buildings hastily built along the sides in haphazard manners.

Stacks of cubical, compacted trash lay along one side, a man loading them onto a Vulture bike’s huge rear end. The owner sped off as they walked closer to it, turning around a corner until they could only hear the buzz of the engine. The rattle of automatic fire pierced the air, far away in the night.

“I hope you know where you’re going, Commander.” Matt tucked his sleeve over his watch quickly, looking around suspiciously. The watch meant a lot to him and he wasn’t about to let himself be mugged for it.

“Relax, kid. Tavern’s right up there. And forget all that “Commander” stuff. Just call me Jim.” Raynor pointed at a doorway on their right. “Can’t have any unwanted ears listening in on somethin’ that sounds so military. Scares folk ‘round these parts.”

“Yes, Comm- er, Jim,” Matt replied nervously, sucking in a breath of preparation before following his commander through a glass door that was covered in the same green goop that he had stepped in earlier. He’d known the other man for years and had been known to share a drink with him, but “sir” and “Commander” were the two words that came to his mind when he saw him. Not just “Jim”. Of course, his nervousness was only partially based on names.

The sound of bells clinking together lit the air as they entered, almost drowned out by the general din of the establishment. Soft music played in the background from somewhere in the ceiling, the speakers expertly hidden. A television above the bar proper was spouting Dominion rhetoric, subtitles scrolling quickly across the bottom for those who couldn’t hear it over everything else.

They took off their masks and slung them across a rack near the door, Matt secretly glad to breath in fresh air with only a hint of the outside atmosphere. However dirty the bar looked on the exterior, they had some good air recyclers.

A bartender cleaning a glass with a rag that looked like it had seen better days looked up at them and nodded toward the curtained off room in the back. That was where the meeting would take place, according to their contact’s instructions. He made a move toward it but was stopped by a slight motion from his companion’s hand.

“Why don’t you nose around a little while I talk to our friend there? See if you can pick up anything useful about him. Sudden betrayals, dirty dealing, his reputation,” Raynor listed off quietly, leaning in to make himself heard and gripping Matt’s shoulder.

“I’ll do what I can…Jim,” Horner replied, catching himself. The Commander grinned at him and squeezed his shoulder in silent support. Raynor turned around and wandered over to the curtained room, looking all the world like a character from Old Earth’s western era. A few moments later, Matt was alone in the den of thieves and cheaters.

Modulating his face into a mask to cloak the anxiety that suddenly blossomed in his stomach, Matt slowly walked up to the bar and leaned his elbows against the surface. Flecks of colored marble were enclosed by a thin sheen of glass; the surrounding walls covered with what looked surprisingly like real wood. Dark brownish-red paneling that matched the walls edged the bar, adding a tasteful blend of respectability despite the location. Stools made of what looked like salvaged metal were at odds with the display, though the owner had seen fit to color the cushions an approximation of the other décor.

He listened to the television for a few moments, taking the sights in and affecting a suitable persona with which to blend. He stooped his back a little and cracked his neck, checking the exits and entrances nonchalantly. The feel of the cold glass on his skin relaxed him slightly, shoring up his courage enough to raise a finger to the bartender. The bald man nodded at him, still cleaning the glass as if he was trying hard to fit the stereotype.

A dark, course beard covered the bottom half of the proprietor’s face, suspicion filling his eyes as he moved. Despite the wiry facial hair, his dress was relatively neat, consisting of a velvet vest that matched his surroundings and a subdued black shirt underneath. The bartender looked almost out of place on this kind of planet. Matt idly wondered how the man kept the clothes clean in this atmosphere.

“You need somethin’, boy?” the man asked in a rumbling, ponderous voice, as if he were unused to using it. The beard quivered as he spoke, his hands still moving the cup around in a winding motion as he cleaned it. Matt smiled pleasantly and tried to imitate Raynor’s bumpkin accent rather than his own posh one.

“Just a bit a’ water, please. Don’t suppose you have anything good to eat ‘round here?” Matt replied questioningly, privately proud of himself for not stumbling over his own tongue. The bartender leaned back a bit and arched a brow, glancing over his shoulder at the lines of wine and ale against the wall.

“No food, just drink.” The man looked over at the alcohol again, as if trying to persuade Matt to buy that instead.

“Just the water, then.”

Sighing, as if the man was disappointed with the choice, he turned around entirely and stuck the cup he had been cleaning for the past few minutes under a bright, silver faucet. Clear water fell, which was another shock to Matt’s preconceptions. He had figured the best he would get would be slightly discolored liquid imitation of the drink.

“Six creds, kid,” the tender said, smoothly depositing the cup in front of Matt’s crossed arms. Horner almost gaped in disbelief, but stopped himself from looking totally a fool. He mentally controlled himself and kept a neutral voice.

“Six?”

“Water ain’t cheap. ‘Specially out here in the outlyin’ systems. You’d know that, if you were from around here,” he replied in a low voice. “You’re lucky we even accept credits here.”

Matt recovered quickly, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder at the table of disreputable looking folk playing cards behind him. He blew out a breath and reached in his pocket, pulling out six disks and laying them on the bar. The credits disappeared in an instant, tucked away somewhere in the tender’s vicinity. Horner grabbed the glass and sipped demurely, intent on enjoying the overpriced water, resting it next to his elbow when he was done. A focused feeling came over him, so he decided to cut straight to the chase in order to complete the goal the Commander had set. His act obviously wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Okay. I’m looking for some information on a man named Orlan,” Matt murmured, without any hint of the accent he had affected earlier. He laid one hand on top of the other in a calm manner. A sudden indrawn breath was evidence Orlan was a name known here.

The man replied with a small smirk, sarcasm evident in his tone. “Orlan, huh? My advice is to stay away, kid. He’s the type to tear civilized folk like you into pieces and throw away the evidence.” His eyes darted from Matt to the people at the gamblers, looking mildly annoyed as voices began to argue loud enough to overshadow the television. Once again resisting the urge to turn around, Horner continued his questioning.

“Let me worry about my own safety. Now, if you can’t tell me anything about him, I need to find someone who does,” Matt said with steel in his voice, pausing to take another sip of his water. He gestured back behind him with his head. “Of course, the way you keep looking over my shoulder, I’ve a feeling you already know the answer to one of those questions. What’s the name?”

The bartender looked down his nose with greed in his eyes, no doubt remembering how he’d suckered the young man into paying for the water. “That’ll cost, won’t it?”

Matt drummed on the table in frustration. He had only brought a limited number of credits with him, figuring they wouldn’t be going anywhere expensive. He contemplated for a moment, gritting his teeth. What would Raynor do in this situation? The obvious answer was to pull out the hidden pistol in his jacket and make some subtle threats, but Matt didn’t enjoy the prospect of pulling out a gun with ruthless thugs at his back. A firefight was the last thing he would want in this confined space. It had to be the money, then.

Sighing, he dug into his pockets and pulled out ten more credits, sliding them across the bar. Grinning, his potential informant swiftly swiped them up and, Matt noticed, slid the hand under the bar while wiping the table with the rag in the other. He flicked his eyes up before the man could see that he had caught on to the trick.

“Don’t know no name and it didn’t come from me. It’s the one with the pink hair you’re lookin’ for, though I’m telling you to stay away from her, too. She’s a mercenary. Vindictive one, too. Last guy who hired her tried to use her as bait. He didn’t survive long afterwards.” The smile dropped as something thumped into the wood behind Matt. “Get out of here, city boy, before someone decides to see why you’ve got all these creds. Like you’ll listen,” the owner muttered the last, glowering at the table now. Matt nodded at the bartender and took another sip of his water as the man wandered away with a shake of his head. With no one else looking at him, he decided to take a chance and look back. Matt had been scenery long enough.

From the cursory glance when he’d walked in, he knew that there had been two chairs unoccupied. One of the chairs was now filled with a form with a very unusual color drawing his attention. Neon pink hair styled loosely over to the left side of the woman’s face stuck out against the dark surroundings, a sinister orange glow staring out from her right eye. An implant, Matt registered, continuing his appraisal. Dark goggles with visors the same color as her robotic eye kept her hair up and did a good job of hiding the worst of her scarring.

She wore dark clothing like everyone else on the planet, a short jacket open in the front covered her while a bandolier of ammunition crossed her waist. Her gun was in plain sight against form-fitting pants, one hand resting casually on it as she banged on the table with the other, emphasizing whatever she was saying to her companions. A wicked grin flitted across her face as one of the others returned with a lewd comment.

Matt stood from his chair as obtrusively as he could, popping his neck as he walked over to the poker table. The nervous tightness in his stomach returned with full force as the pirates and vagabonds looked up at him with leering eyes. Pink Hair paused and stared at him, her robotic eye whirring and spinning as it focused on him. A feral smile stole upon her face, leaving Matt distinctly uncomfortable; still, he was already committed at this point.

“Deal me in.” Matt tried to keep his voice neutral as he plopped into the only empty chair at the table, beside to the woman. She glanced at him sidelong, the smile still there with the left side tilted further than normal by the scars. He studiously ignored her, focusing on the man in front of him with a day old beard and stained overalls. Several rotted teeth appeared as the man’s tongue darted out to wet dry, cracked lips from working too much in the hostile atmosphere.

“Game’s already goin’, mate,” the criminal responded in a raspy voice, pointing at the chips on the table. A single piece of paper was buried beneath the pile, curled at the edges from a puddle of what looked like the local spirits.

Matt glanced side to side exaggeratedly. “I don’t see anyone with cards in their hands. Looks to me like the perfect time for someone to step in.” He paused to raise an eyebrow. “You afraid of a little competition? I was told you fringe types loved taking risks.”

The man glared at him for a moment, looking as if he was deciding whether to throttle Matt or just pull out his sidearm and be done with it. Fortunately, Pink Hair stepped in before either of those two possibilities could play themselves out.

“Oh, behave Razz,” the woman said, drawing out the vowel in the man’s name in a purring accent. “This poor man is positively slouching under the weight of all those credits in his pockets. We should relieve him of his burden, no?”

The man named Razz continued his baleful glare, looking from Matt’s sudden supporter to Matt himself and back again. A few moments later, a vein throbbing in the man’s temple, he acquiesced. “Poker. Hold ‘em rules. Current pot’s fifty.”

Horner nodded, pulling out a fistful of chips and tossing them on top of the pile. He noticed more than a few eyes greedily watching the display. Despite the blatantly scheming expressions, the nervous energy he had felt earlier was once again dying down as something familiar distracted him, an objective in sight. If the situation took a turn for the worse, he was sure he could handle it. The Commander was counting on him, after all.

Cards suddenly flew across the table to land directly in front of each player, almost perfectly aligned and both facedown. Matt wasn’t impressed, but he raised an eyebrow and smirked at the card dealer, an even uglier man that Razz. Missing hair in many places with what was left of greased locks tumbling down to the shoulders, the dealer seemed like he was about to keel over at any minute.

When the dealing was complete, they all picked up their cards to take a look at their chances of winning the rather large pot of credits. Two Queens, he noticed. Somewhat surprised in his luck, Matt surveyed each of his opponent’s faces, looking for cracks in their facades of unconcern. Razz’ eye twitched once, a slight frown tugging on the end of his lips. A few of the others had similar tells of varying degrees of excitement. The woman next to him retained her slight smile, glancing at each player in turn with a whirr of servos adjusting. Matt couldn’t read anything from her; no hint of nervousness, no change in her facial expression. Unlike the rest, she seemed to honestly be unconcerned about her hand, more intent on the people around her than the game. Matt decided now was as good an opportunity to get some information.

“I heard you folks have had some trouble lately,” he began, staring at Razz. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Pink shoot him a wry glance. The dealer flipped three of the community cards; an Ace of Spades, an Ace of Diamonds, and a Three of Diamonds. “Something to do with some mercenaries…?”

The other man was happy to fill in the blank Matt had left, veritably spitting across the table as they all threw in another bet, no one backing down. “Mercenaries, nothin’. Them are nothin’ but a bunch of thieves and cutthroats, crueler than anyone here, I can tell you that.”

“Crueler, maybe, but more dangerous?” Pink purred from Matt’s side.

“I, uh, didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Miss Han,” Razz sputtered.

Matt smile inwardly, directing his next question to his target. “Han, huh? Reminds me of a character fro-“

“I’ve heard just about all I need about that one. My name is Han to this bunch. You, however, seem to be a little more exciting.” She grinned, a feral smile. “Call me Mira.”

“Alright, Mira,” Matt replied, his confidence swelling. “I don’t suppose you know anything about these mercenaries?”

“Why, darling, you haven’t even given me your name. Just for that, I’m going to have to ask you to win the game before I give you any of that information. Of course, should I win, I think we should sweeten the deal with more than just a few measly credits, ah?”

Matt stilled himself, suddenly wary. He was treading on treacherous ground now, especially if the bartender’s words were anything to go by. Putting on a strained smile, he replied with none of his inner nervousness in his tone.

“What did you have in mind?” She gave him another evil smile that now looked more like a Hydralisk’s deadly grin than an impish one.

“You do a job for me. Something a brash, young gentleman like yourself can no doubt handle easily,” she said, her lips moving mesmerizingly as she spoke.

“What’s the job?”

“Oh, but that would be telling, and we can’t have that. It’s all a gamble.”
Matt grimaced at the thought. Putting his life to chance wasn’t exactly his favorite pastime, especially when he was playing with a cheat. Still, Raynor made these sorts of gambles on a daily basis and seemed to turn out fine. There were two cards left. Maybe one of them held another Queen.

“Deal,” he replied, picking up his cards and looking at each player. Razz and the man with the disgusting hair were sweating as they followed the exchange, nervousness in their eyes. They both stammered out ‘fold’, laying their cards down and instantly becoming more relaxed. Matt was starting to sweat to. Pirates like these didn’t let money get away from them unless the situation was more dangerous than it was worth. The fourth card flipped into a Three of Spades.

“You seem calm, Mira,” Matt said, watching the player to his left fold, seemingly unaware of the drama at the table. The man had a good poker face. It was just the two of the, now.

“It’s just a friendly gamble. Credits are nothing when you have the skills to make more and I choose to believe I’ll win, no matter what. I don’t suppose you’ll fold and just accept my task?”

Matt managed a smile at that, wondering if she was more nervous than she seemed. He was all in, now. There was no point in folding at this juncture. The dealer nervously looked from Mira to Horner, smacking and licking his lips as if he were about to die. The other spectators were watching with apprehension, wondering who would win out of the seemingly calm individuals still left in the game. Matt saw the tender out of the corner of his eye almost leaning over the bar as he followed their little show.

Two things happened at that moment that Matt wasn’t expecting. First, Raynor exited his meeting and appeared from the back room, drawing the eye of everyone in the establishment. A look of satisfaction was written across the man’s face, which Matt took to mean the negotiations had gone well. If nothing else, the Commander being back in the room made him feel confident, as if the luck Raynor used on a daily basis was rubbing off. Matt turned back to the table as the dealer touched the card and started to flip it over, showing all of them the last card. The Queen of Spades.

Instantly after that, the second event happened. A blossom of red appeared in the dealer’s chest, sending the man backward, the sound of breaking glass and small arms fire ripping into the din. Mira kicked out her chair and pulled her own pistol, flipping the table just as the fire raked toward her. Matt ducked behind the table with her, feeling the rush of air as spikes flew past his body.

“Friends of yours?” Mira asked, looking at him with an expression of pure anger.

“Would they be shooting at me if they were?”

“Fair enough.”

With that, Matt pulled out his own concealed pistol and took stock of the situation. Raynor was crouching behind the bar with his own pistol in his hand, looking angry at the world as he worried at a bullet hole in his new trench coat. Chips of the embossed wood flew as spikes slammed into it, the bartender nowhere to be found. Matt wondered if the man was dead. Several thunking noises rattled the table his back was toward, followed by the sound of a gun going off right beside him.

Somewhat surprised the table was holding up, he looked up to see Mira above him, firing at the attackers. Matt risked a glance around their cover, spying two CMC-clad marines with gauss rifles leveled, raking the weapons back and forth across the establishment. One went down as Mira’s spike-thrower pierced the protective plating that shielded the face. Obviously, her weapon was modded, because spike pistols wouldn’t normally penetrate marine armor. The other shifted his attention to them, forcing Mira back down.

“Fekk!”

“Nice weapon,” Matt said, blind firing his weapon around the table in the general direction of the marine he had seen.

“Compliment me after we’re through this...”

“Call me Matt,” he offered, watching as Raynor broke from cover and fired his own weapon at the remaining marine. The rifle fire stuttered to a stop, Matt and Mira taking the opportunity to combine their fire with the Commander’s. Spikes thudded into the marine’s armor, driving it back. It kept trying to raise its gauss gun, but Matt kept up a steady stream of fire into the marine’s arm. The suit couldn’t keep up against the force of the spikes impacting it, forcing the heavy armor to finally fall backward and crater the sidewalk as it did. Something sparked in the middle of the marine’s abdomen, Mira’s shots no doubt having disabled the suit.

Just like that, the battle was over. Matt realized he was breathing hard and noticed that the glass that had previously protected them from the hostile fumes outside was currently in shards all over the floor. He hurried for the masks at the door, throwing one to Raynor and Mira before donning his own. Fresh air from the rebreather flushed out the awful, polluted atmosphere.
Raynor looked at Mira and gestured at her with his head. “Who’s your new girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfri-.” Matt started, stiffening with indignation.

“I’m his wife,” Mira interrupted, threading her arm around his waist. Matt’s eyes widened at the announcement, his brain stuttering as he tried to make sense of the statement. Raynor grinned at him through the mask.

“Nice catch there, Matt. When I told you to find some information, I sure didn’t expect this.”

“I, uh, sir, uh. What?” Matt stammered, directing his last question to the woman beside him, pushing her away. She gazed at him with amusement in her eyes as she pointed at the card game.

“Why, Matthew, you won the game, of course.”

Matt’s brow furrowed. “How does that make me your hu-,” he paused, gulping, “husband?”

“You saw the paper at the bottom of the pile, did you not?” Matt nodded, his brain slowly starting to catch up to the “wife” part of her earlier statement. “That was an agreement of marriage, of course. It is the only thing I have left and around here, a man can do whatever he wishes with his ‘wife’. It is a very valuable contract.” She said the last with a sensual smirk that left Matt’s face flushed with embarrassment.

“Alright, you two, enough with your flirtin’. Who’re these jokers over here?” Raynor pointed at the two marines on the street, blood leaking onto the pavement and adding a new stain. “I don’t recognize the markings.”

“That is the mark of a local mercenary group,” Mira supplied, seemingly unruffled by Matt’s actions. “They specialize in implanting tracking chips in people’s brains. I heard they’re looking for someone around town. Maybe it’s you, Mister Raynor.”

“Know about me, do you?” he said, his gun appearing in his hand in the blink of an eye. Matt ripped his hand away and raised his own weapon. She just stood there, smirking.

“Everyone knows the famous Jim Raynor out here,” she replied, walking over to the marine they had knocked over and putting a bullet through its faceplate. Matt heard a gurgle as the man inside died. “So many people would love to get the bounty on you.” She straightened, looking at them and holstering her pistol, her tone becoming businesslike. “Fortunately, I am not such one. Matthew is my husband, and like I told him before, credits are nothing with the skills to make more. You have nothing to fear from me, James.”

Raynor stared at her for a moment longer before nodding and holstering his own pistol. Matt raised an eyebrow at the Commander, who nodded and gave him the ‘lower your weapon’ gesture. “Alright. Obviously someone knows we’re here, so we need to get out. Matt, call the Hyperion.”

“Yes, sir!” Matt replied, pulling out his communication device. He input the codes to contact their ship.

Swann’s gravelly voice issued through the speakers. “Need somethin’, Cowboy?”

“Matter of fact, we do, Swann,” Raynor replied. “Made the deal. Orlan’ll give us supplies if we help him out with a little favor.”

“Somethin’ tells me that favor’s gonna require some force. I gotta say, Cowboy, we don’t have much in the way of personnel or material. You sure we can handle the job?”

Raynor smiled at the man’s worry. “Sure do. Come pick us up. Locals are a little too feisty for my taste.”

“Haha, I bet. Deadman’s Port ain’t a place I’d pick as a vacation spot. We’ll be in system in two shakes of a tail feather.”

“Roger that, Swann,” Matt replied in Raynor’s place. “We’ll meet you at the rendezvous in an hour.”

“Copy that. Good luck down there. Hyperion out.”

“So,” Raynor said as Matt put up his communication device. “We’ve got an hour. Need to go shopping for your wedding before we leave, Matt?”

Horner looked at the Commander and snorted, shaking his head. “Let’s just get back to the ship. Mira, you’re welcome to tag along if you want, but I don’t consider this contract binding. Feel free to do what you want.”

“Oh, no, Matthew, I couldn’t just leave you like this. But I will do what I want and follow you, since you asked so nicely,” she paused, almost shyly. “You two are interesting people, after all.”

“Let’s move before more of these goons show up, then,” Raynor said, strolling down the street toward the spaceport. Matt moved to follow him, but thought back to the money scattered across the bar. He quickly gathered what he could from the game, pausing a moment to close the eyes of the dead men he had just been playing poker with. They didn’t need the money, now anyway, and he had won. He checked the bar where the tender had hidden the money, but the stash was gone and there was no body. The man must have fled when the shooting began. With credits almost overflowing from his pockets, Matt followed the two up the street, entering their conversation midway.

“…is one of the more powerful mercenary leaders around here. Orlan will always lean toward the side with the most money, so he is predictable in that, at least. I’ve worked a few jobs from him and he pays fairly and on time, which is more than I can say for some around here. I would trust him as long as you know you’re paying him the best, or are doing a job for him,” Mira was saying, strutting along the sidewalk and challenging anyone they crossed paths with, the click and whir of her mechanical eye enough to cause their attention to divert elsewhere.

Raynor nodded, sounding thoughtful. “Mercenary, indeed. I can live with that. Know any other leaders around here interested in helping fund a rebellion against Mengsk?”

“I’m sure there are one or two interested in making deals. If Matthew wishes, I will send any I come across to you.” Raynor and Mira both looked back at him, the Commander’s face filled with amusement while Mira’s held something undecipherable to Matt. He realized they were waiting for him to make a decision, so he cleared his throat and nodded.

“Yes, Mira, yes. Thank you. I-, I mean, we would be grateful for anything you could do.” Mira giggled at him, surprising him with its innocuousness.

“He’s so naïve, it’s cute,” she said to Raynor, who grinned even wider and continued on to the starport. Matt found himself smiling, too, but glared at his Commander’s back just the same.

The path they took back to the spaceport was exactly the same one they had taken to get to the bar, though Matt still felt everything looked the same. The place still smelled, there was still trash littering the ground, and the sound of small arms fire in the air didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Not the best vacation spot indeed, he thought grimly, just as Mira blew him a kiss over her shoulder. He tried not to blush, but knew it was a futile effort, despite the fact he knew she was playing him. He hoped she couldn’t see it through his mask, but the grin on her face told him otherwise. She was a dangerous woman.

More Vultures passed them by as they turned the last corner to the city’s port, some loaded with cubes of varying sizes of trash and some with packages that looked suspiciously like weaponry. Matt idly wondered if they could make a few contracts with some of the locals about the arms. He’d ask Mira later.

They crossed the street, walking quickly to avoid the speeding bikes, all of whom never slowed down in the slightest. Horner wouldn’t have been surprised if they didn’t care what ended up in the undercarriage as they flew through the streets. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden stiffening of Mira’s body, her face suddenly cautious as she looked to their left. He followed her gaze, feeling a pool of dread in his stomach as he noticed two marines in full armor watching the doors of the starport. They shared the same markings as the marines who had attacked them back at the bar. Raynor had noticed them too, his hand on his sidearm already.

“Damn it, they’re here, too,” the Commander muttered, turning his back to the marines to face them. “Any ideas?”

“The Hyperion’s going to be here in forty minutes. We could just wait here and see if they move on. Maybe they’re here for someone else,” Matt replied in a conspiratory whisper, the facemask muffling him somewhat.

“And if they don’t? We can’t wait around for more of them to show up; especially if they find out we dusted their buddies back at the bar.”

Mira shook her head, pointing at the marines. “It looks like a distraction has presented itself.”

Matt looked where his ‘wife’ had pointed, watching as a nervous and dirty looking man exited the spaceport. The marine’s helmets swiveled to follow, both of them moving on an intercept course. The skinny man didn’t even notice them until they were right on top of him, one of the suits grabbing him by his shirt and holding him up high. Matt heard the man squeak out the word ‘help’ as the other marine pulled out a pistol and shoved it under the man’s chin.

“We can’t let them do that,” Matt whispered fiercely as Raynor made a move to go into the spaceport. Raynor paused and looked back at him.

“Yes we can, Matt. We need to get out of here and that’s the perfect distraction. The guy’s obviously pissed off a mercenary group. We need to go while the goin’s good.”

“What happened to looking out for the little guy, Jim?” Matt replied as he placed a hand on Raynor’s shoulder, trying to guilt his friend into helping. “That’s what we’re fighting for, right?”

Mira picked that opportunity to jump in. “Matthew, James is right. You seem to be the altruistic type, but you’re going to die early if you keep it up.”

“Then I’ll die fighting for what I believe in,” Matt replied stubbornly, turning around to face the marines. He pulled out his pistol and tried to come up with a plan to help. “Come with me or not, but I’m going to help him.”

“Hell, Matt, you’re too good for your own good,” Raynor gritted out from behind him. Matt hoped he was following, but didn’t turn around to look. He made a beeline for the two marines, checking to make sure his spike thrower’s safety was off. He didn’t know what he was going to do with a nearly useless weapon, but he had to do something. One of the marines turned toward him as he moved forward, his visor open, revealing a heavily tattooed man’s face underneath.

“You want somethin’, boy?” the marine said in a gravelly voice.

“Let go of him,” Matt nodded to the guy being held aloft.

The marine grinned at him and pulled out a pistol with his free hand, pointing it at Matt. “Or what? Move along, kid. This is our business.”

Matt pulled out his pistol and quickly moved close to the marine before the criminal could react. He clambered up on the massive boot, pointing his slug thrower right in the man’s tattooed face. “Let him go. Now.”

The other marine holding the gun to the guy’s face shifted his head, servos whining. Matt didn’t take his eyes off of the marine in front of him. Sweating, the combat armored marine slowly set the skinny guy down.

“You,” Matt said, looking at the victim, “Go over there an-“

“Matt! Watch out!” Raynor yelled, interrupting him. Matt looked over to the left to see the other marine bringing his weapon up. Horner cursed, hopping off the marine he’d been threatening and backing up as the flak pistol went off. A small explosion hit him, throwing him back as the pistol’s incendiary rounds blew the hand off of the other’s CMC rig.

He slammed into the concrete and rolled, rounds whistling over his head as his cohorts joined the fray. When his roll came to a stop, he looked up to see Mira snap off a shot through the visor of the marine with the damaged arm. The suit crumpled as the wielder died, falling on its side. The other marine dropped his pistol, which was clicking dry, and shoulder charged at his ‘wife’.

“Mira!”

She turned to look at the charging marine, too late, and was sent flying as the massive form barreled into her, her weapon skidding across the cement. Matt leapt to his feet and dove for the modded pistol, grabbing it with his left hand.

“Hey, over here!” Matt yelled, the marine turning toward him. He fired the spike-thrower, but the marine just held up a hand and blocked the shots, spikes digging deep into the metal. A deep laugh echoed through the suit’s speakers as rounds from Raynor’s pistol pinged off of the metal. Horner growled in frustration, dropping the spent pistol to the ground. He looked around, wracking his brain to come up with some kind of plan that would get them through the trouble he’d gotten them into. Mira was sprawled out against the stairs, unconscious, and Raynor was cursing as he reloaded.

Suddenly, the suit stiffened and stopped moving completely, the hand still up. Matt kept his eyes on the marine, stepping slowly to the side and looking into the faceplate. He heard muted yelling and cursing coming from the suit. Then the skinny guy who Matt had saved stepped out from behind the combat armor and nervously waved. Horner just then noticed how grubby the kid looked, in clothes that didn’t look like they’d been washed in weeks, hair sticking out in random directions with a thin sheen of grease. Patches of peach fuzz dusted the man’s cheeks.

“Hey, uh, guys, you can put your, um, weapons down now. The, uh, lockdown mechanism. I turned it off. He can’t move anymore. Hehe.”

“Well, well, good job, kid,” Raynor said with a grin, strolling up to the marine and knocking on the faceplate. A stream of curses came as the reply. “I think we’ll just leave this guy here for his buddies to pick up.” He turned toward the skinny guy, Matt walking up over to Mira to check if she was okay.

Her eyes were closed, but her pulse was steady and she didn’t appear to be injured despite being smashed into by what amounted to a bus. She was tougher than she looked. A groan came from her as he gently slapped her face, her eyes popping open in alarm. Her right eye whirred as it refocused on his face and her mouth slipped into a genuine smile.

“Worried about me, Matthew?”

Matthew coughed into his hand to hide his blush, extending his other to help her to her feet. They joined Raynor just as the crazy haired kid finished his story with a nervous intensity.

“So, I had to leave, taking the research with me. I couldn’t stand what the tech was being used for. The Dominion, well, they aren’t as benevolent as I thought they were. Smuggled myself off to here and then these guys picked me up and forced me to implant trackers into people’s brains. Couldn’t handle that either, so I tried to leave. I was hoping I could find someone to take me offworld here, but no one would help me. Uhm, so, yeah. That’s me.”

Raynor looked at the scientist for a moment, a soft look on his face. As if coming to a decision, he sighed. “Alright, kid, you can come with us. We’ll drop you off anywhere you want.”

“Thank you. Oh, uhm, you’re James Raynor, aren’t you, sir?”

Matt drew in a sharp breath, trading glances with the Commander, who looked at him and rolled his eyes.

“Yep, kid, I am. Seems like everyone knows I’m here today.”

“Oh, no, uhm, I just, uh, recognized you from the news and, uhm, I have a good memory for faces. You’re very hard to make out behind that mask, really. Anyway, I want to help. I, uh, I mean, I’d like to help you. I don’t want to run away anymore. What I did to those people, what the Dominion did. I want to put a stop to that. That’s what you’re doing, right? I could help,” the kid replied animatedly.

“You know what you’re asking, son? Life on the run, hunted and hated by everyone?”

“Uh, yes, sir, I’m pretty much that already. Right now, I mean.”

Raynor smiled. “So you are. Could be I have a place for you with my crew. Got an old lab no one’s touched since we took the ship from Mengsk. Might have something interesting for you in it.”

“I’d like that, very much, uh, sir. Thank you.”

“Alright, you’re hired, then. What’s your name?”

“Egon Stetmann, Mister Raynor, sir!”

Matt beamed at Raynor, who looked at him with a pained expression. Today had been full of gambles and he expected Raynor would be proud of him for the way he’d taken them. Hopefully the favor the Commander had promised Orlan would be worth the risk, as well. Still, his friend seemed to have an inexhaustible luck; Matt would just have to make sure it stayed that way.

“Let’s get off this rock before we pick up any other characters, Matt,” Raynor ordered, walking into the spaceport. Matt nodded and followed, glad to be done with Deadman’s Port.

“Yes, Commander.”