Episode 107, Fireworks
20 Sep 2024Ryuko Ntsikana
Episode 107, Fireworks
HIP 96456 system
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On the midlevel mess deck, only a handful of crew members were present during the mid-shift. Jabir sat hunched over a table, absently picking at his food, while Lianna set down a decanter, sipping from a cup overflowing with locally grown fruit juice. Across from her, Tzafrir paid no mind to her error as he sampled each item on his plate, appreciating the flavor and texture crafted by the carrier’s android master chef. Zaria, content with a steaming mug of coffee, scanned her personal data tablet, absorbing the latest updates from Ryuko. Tara, seated beside her, had no need for such a device, the full report had already been downloaded and processed in her neurological matrix.
“Not to complain, but what are we doing here?” Jabir’s voice broke the silence, frustration lacing his words. “We’ve been stagnant for almost two weeks.”
Zaria didn’t look up, her tone calm and measured. “I know you were taught that patience is part of the lesson, Jabir. Whether it takes a minute or a year, you do what you must.”
Lianna wiped the spilled juice from the table, lowering her cup to a more manageable level. “I think it’s all quite exciting, really. Becoming a ghost, in memory—sounds like something out of a bedtime story parents tell their kids to keep them in line.”
Jabir snorted, shaking his head. “It’s a waste of time. We should be dismantling whatever’s left in the next system over, not waiting around for someone chasing a memory.”
Tzafrir didn’t pause from his meal, his focus steady as ever. “It’s more than a memory, Mr. al-Habib.”
He set his utensils down, finally looking up to meet Jabir’s gaze. “It’s a memorial to a person who changed not just your mentor’s life, but the fate of an entire sector. This isn’t about revenge or chasing ghosts. It’s about honoring a legacy—burning the ship at sea, launching sky lanterns, lighting fireworks into the night. Every culture has its rites, its way of saying goodbye.”
Jabir’s jaw tightened, his frustration still simmering. “But why here? Why now? We’ve got enemies regrouping in the neighboring systems. We could be making a difference instead of sitting here doing nothing.”
Tzafrir’s eyes held a quiet intensity as he leaned back in his chair. “Because it matters, Jabir. Sometimes, the biggest impact you can make isn’t on the battlefield, but in the stories that outlive you. This is one of those moments.”
Lianna’s eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. “So, what you’re saying is... we’re lighting fireworks with Ryuko?”
Tzafrir chuckled softly. “In a manner of speaking, yes. We’re showing them that even in the darkest reaches, a light can burn bright enough to be remembered.”
Lianna’s gaze shifted between them, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “This ‘memorial’ isn’t just for the one Ryuko knew him, is it? It’s for everyone watching.”
Zaria finally looked up from her tablet, a rare smile tugging at her lips. “Exactly, Lianna. It’s a message, a reminder: some legacies can’t be erased.”
Jabir sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I still think it’s a lot of fuss over nothing. If Ryuko bought it I would raise a toast to him, but I wouldn’t stop what I was doing.”
Tzafrir smiled softly at Jabir. “That’s because you have never lost your family and found another, with someone who was worthy to step in and be the parent you lost.”
Jabir raised his hands and his voice, exasperated. “The Kumo Crew killed his parents so why aren’t we going after them instead? Half of the bubble would sing praises.”
Tzafrir shook his head. “Because the older pirate and mentor of Ryuko was prior Kumo Crew. He left them after the massacre and bonded together like skilled people, such as himself, along with taking in survivors who could be trained, like Ryuko. They fought against Delaine’s mercenaries, but not against the Crew themselves. Remember Jabir, aside from the lies holovids like to portray, there is honor.”
Tara leaned forward on the table, looking at Jabir with a soft expression. “It’s the same honor that lights the fire to launch those proverbial fireworks… in memory.”
Jabir sighed again, the fight slowly draining from his posture. “I suppose I can wait.”
Tzafrir raised his glass, his gaze sweeping over each of them. “To waiting, then. And to honor those who can no longer speak for themselves.”
They clinked their glasses, the sound echoing softly in the quiet mess deck—a small, resolute gesture in the vast, uncaring dark.
Commander Kael Draven, of the Prime Spade faction, was used to such scenes, having worked his way up through various faction fleets over a two-decade career. The positioning of the bodies and the looks of surprise, frozen on their faces by the moon’s lack of atmosphere, told him that whoever had orchestrated this knew exactly what they were doing. Everyone outside an armored environmental suit had been physically removed, likely by someone equipped with a melee damage suit modification. Security personnel, in contrast, had been taken out with plasma bursts or rapid ballistic hits to the center mass of their armor.
“This scene mirrors the one at the agricultural facility, except there they used a kinematic ballistic SMG instead of a Manticore Oppressor automatic plasma rifle.”
“Both are light, easy to maneuver with, and effective up close.”
Draven’s lieutenant looked down at the security guard in front of them. “Do you still believe the industrial facility was hit by the same person? There, the attacker used an L6 rocket launcher—neither light, silent nor stealthy like these other operations.”
Draven turned, surveying the wider scene, the methodical way the technicians had been dispatched. “I do. All the technicians were dealt with in the same manner. It’s their preferred method—and what I can use to track them.”
His lieutenant smiled, pulling out his data tablet from a pouch on the side of his suit. “Not many stop by our little corner in the middle of nowhere. It shouldn’t be hard to track down someone wearing a modified suit with the wide range of weaponry they have been using out here.”