A red sun rose over the ocean as a soft wind blew thickening mist through the town. Faint shadows were cast upon the small outpost: huge black space ships, exotic aliens, and other things that haunted the frontier seemed to cascade over the buildings. Few dark clouds were thick enough to be seen through the thick mist. The red dirt of the planet was swept into little whirlwinds, shifting patterns on the sand dunes outside the outpost.
The few respectable citizens of Outpost 117 stayed snug in their well-guarded houses. Everyone else, space-marines, mercenaries, and treasure hunters were all down at the Frontier Inn, eating breakfast and making plans.
Between gusts of wind from the gathering storm, the noise from the Inn could be heard a half mile away. Laughing, shouting, and the occasional breaking of glass echoed through the morning mist as the patrons cheered as another day in the final frontier began.
From outside, the Frontier Inn looked like nothing more than a slightly redesigned First Generation Colony Pod. Antiqued space ships designed similar to the ships from a centuries old show called Lost in Space. The first models functioned as both ship and home for the first colony families who left Earth. The Frontier Inn definitely had the antique look. The hull had rusted over time and was a now a dark brown, and when it did rain like today, water dripped in from a dozen places in the hull.
Inside, no one seemed to care about the sun. Cups were clashed together for toasts, tapped on the table for refills, and occasionally thrown at someone's head.
It was crowded this morning, every last chair filled in the mess hall
. I bet we have enough soldiers here to start a war,
the Frontier Inn's young waitress, Mikayla, thought. She was clearing empty cups and dirty plates off a table surrounded by men who were all hooting at a story. Like most of the men in the Inn, they were dressed in the drab gray uniform common to all the UNSF soldiers.
One of them tugged on her apron, grinning.
Mikayla sighed and smiled, "Let me guess," she said, tossing back her dark locks. "Beer, beer, beer and...Oh, probably more beer?"
The soldier howled with laughter. "That's right, sweetheart!"
"Treasure Planet doesn't exist, 'ya dumb cunt." a soldier swore.
"That's your opinion on the matter," his friend, the famed ex-soldier John Cook said, lowering his voice. There was a gleam in his eye, not yet dulled by disillusioned years fruitlessly searching the galaxy. "I think it does exist. And I know how to find it..."
Mikayla paused and listened in, pretending to pick a cup up off the floor.
"You're not talking about Lieutenant Snowden and Perdita navis?" the soldier replied, skeptically. "Log's say Snowden had the map in his hands and the UNSF sent an entire battle group after him. They blew his ship to kingdom come."
"Forget the blasted Log's and what the UNSF said. They don't want anyone knowing about Treasure Planet," James spat out. "And I can tell you, I know it's real. The information comes from a source in UNSF command back on Earth."
"Ya got a ship that can outrun the UNSF, then?" the first sailor said with a leery look in his eyes.
"I do. And old scouting vessel, perfect for slipping in an out of ports unnoticed..." James began. But then he noticed Mikayla, who was pretending to wipe something from the floor with her apron. She looked up and gave him a weak smile.
She looked again at the floor and scrubbed fiercely with the edge of her apron. "Damn men, spilling their drinks," she muttered.
James relaxed. But he looked around suspiciously as if the other soldiers, the walls, or the Fleet Admiral of the UNSF himself were listening. "Let's go somewhere a bit quieter, then, shall we?"
Mikayla cursed and moved away. Usually no one cared, no one noticed if she was there or not. To the patrons of the Inn, she was just the girl who filled their glasses and brought them food. She had heard hundreds of stories and legends over the years. Each story was almost like being on an adventure.
Almost.
Still, she decided, not a bad night, considering. It could have been far worse. Stories about the mysterious Treasure Planet seemed to bring out the worst in an already bad lot of men.
And then, suddenly, the door was thrown open.
Early morning sunlight illuminated the person in the doorway. It was James Blackthorne, wet to the bone. Shaggy brown hair was plastered against his forehead, and the sunlight glinted in his eyes. Mikayla held her breath; she hadn't seen him in two years.
The door slammed shut, and the patrons all stared. Then they shrugged and returned to their breakfast.
James began to make his way through the crowd, eyes darting left and right, up and down like a crow's. He was obviously looking for someone, or something. His jaw had that determined set Mikayla used to find so attractive.
His hazel eyes lit up for a moment: he must have found what he was looking for. He bent down behind a chair, and reached for something. Mikayla stood on her tip toes to see it—it was an old army pack. Not at all worth stealing from the infamous soldier who was guarding it.
"Oh, no..." Mikayla whispered.
James bit his lip in concentration. He stretched his fingers as long and narrow as possible, discreetly trying to reach between the legs of the chair.
Without warning—and without taking the drink from his lips Captain Cook rose up, all six feet and several hundred pounds of him. His eyes were the color of a storm and they sparked with rage. He brought one of his bear-paw sized hands up. If he hit John, he'd knock her James' head right from his shoulders.
James snatched the pack and sidestepped just in time. Captain Cook's hand went right over his head...
...and hit another soldier behind him!
This other soldier wasn't as big, but he seemed just as irritable. And armed.
And
he thought James was the one who had just hit him! How Mikayla had no idea. James' head wasn't even as big as Captain James curled fist.
The soldier drew a sword and lunged for James.
James scooted backward, moving out of the way of the deadly blade. His second attacker kept going, stumbling into the table where Captain Cook had been sitting. The aging table broke under his weight, and drinks, coins, and knives flew into the air. The soldiers around table leapt up, drawing their swords and pistols.
It never did take much to start a brawl out in the frontier.
The Frontier Inn erupted with the sounds of punches, groans, screams, yells and hollers, the clash of swords, and the snap of bones being broken. All this, in addition to the sound of crashing thunder and the leaking ceiling that began to pour down.
James was caught in the middle of it. And to make matters worse, Captain Cook was still after him.
The huge soldier drew his sword and swung it at James. James leapt up onto a chair behind him, the blade cutting through the air where he had just stood.
"Cutting it a bit close there, aren't we?" James said. He jumped off the chair and kicked at one of its legs, causing the chair to flip up into the air and into his hands.
Captain Cook attacked again, but James used the chair as a shield, blocking every blow. Bits of wood flew off the chair whenever the blade struck.
Another soldier dove for James—or perhaps someone behind him, it was hard to tell at this point. James leaned out of the way, narrowly avoiding he collision, and his attacker toppled into the giant Captain Cook.
With the infamous ex-soldier now otherwise engaged, James hoisted the pack onto his shoulders, turned around and smirked at the scene behind him. What was—for drunken soldiers—a fairly quiet night of drinking had turned into a violent and bloody brawl.
Then a bottle smashed against the timber above his head. Captain Cook had somehow gotten behind him. He was surprisingly quiet, and nimble, for such a large man. James swung around and began to back away.
"You'll be giving me my pack now, kid," the Captain said in a deadly voice. The unsaid threat in his voice was as clear as day.
"Um..." James looked around, but he was now surrounded by the brawl, and blocked from the door.
"Now," Captain Cook repeated.
"Captain..." James began, hoping something would come to him. Before he could think of a way to escape, Captain Cook lunged forward.
Mikayla grabbed James by the collar and yanked him out of the way. It happened so quickly that Captain Cook kept running and crashed right into a group of a half-dozen soldier who were fighting each other along the wall. The pissed-drunk soldiers all turned to the not-so-gentle giant and jumped on him.
Mikayla kept a firm grip on James' collar as she pulled him through the crowd, steering clear of the brawling soldiers. And James kept a very firm grip on the pack. Captain Cook's pack.
After a few close calls, Mikayla and James stumbled out the back door and into the stormy morning.
It was raining much harder now, and the wind had picked up to typhoon speeds. James and Mikayla huddled in the alley behind the Inn, and the slight overhang wasn't keeping them very dry.
James turned to thank the girl who had saved him. "Mikayla?" he asked when he got a good look at her.
Mikayla threw him up against the side of the Frontier Inn. "How dare you start a fight in my mother's Inn?" she placed her hands on her shapely hips and her brown eyes flashed. "What are you even doing here? I remember you saying something about leaving and never coming back?"
"Well, you see—" James began.
Mikayla shoved him against the wall and stepped back.
James brushed himself off, straightening the wrinkles in his coat. "There's no need to be rude, Micky," he said. "I didn't come here looking to start a fight. I just needed the map."
He waved the pack up stole in Mikayla's face. She batted his hand away.
"Captain Cook can't help bragging about it, but he doesn't trust anyone, so it never leaves his sight." James lifted his head up and started to walk away.
Mikayla grabbed his arm and threw him against the wall again. "Do you have any idea who you've taken that pack from?" she asked.
"Considering I just mention him, by name, yes," Jack said, wrestling free of Mikayla's grip.
"That was Captain Cook, you fucking moron," Mikayla hissed, smacking James upside the head.
James shrugged uncaring.
"You're as good as dead, stealing from him." Mikayla said, rolling her eyes when James didn't so much as blink. He'd never cared about the consequences, why would he start now?
"Look, I'm sorry about the Inn, I am," James apologized, digging through the pack. "But, the map in this pack—and what it will lead me too— is all I care about. Do you have any idea how long I've been searching for this? I spent months as a stowaway, risking my life every day, just to hear a
rumor
about who had the Snowden map."
"And it's all about what James wants, right?" Mikayla said sarcastically.
"What is that supposed to mean, Micky?" James asked, frustrated. He dug deeper into the pack, pulling out what might have been old underwear. He shivered and tossed them away.
"Mikayla, by the way," Mikayla said. James did not look up. "I haven't answered to Micky in years. It's just Mikayla now."
"Okay, Micky," James grunted, not really paying attention. The map had to be in the pack somewhere. He threw out something that looked like a cooked rat.
"Look, sorry I went wild on you," Mikayla said sincerely. "It's just; I didn't ever expect to see you again. And when I do, it's because you're starting a brawl in my mom's Inn. She's going to be in a frightful state now, spending the next week fixing up the place. Repairing the chairs and table that you helped destroy..."
There was a small thump as something James tossed hit Mikayla square in the forehead. She caught it as it fell. It was small case of credit chips.
