Samuel and Botan stepped into the dimly lit bar, the air thick with the smell of spilled liquor and cheap cigars. The creaking floorboards beneath their boots and the clinking of glasses reminded Samuel of an old Earth saloon from centuries past. Rusted metal beams lined the ceiling, and the walls were adorned with faded posters of long-forgotten fights and infamous outlaws.
As they entered, the murmur of conversations quieted. Dozens of rough-looking patrons turned their heads to size him up—mercenaries, smugglers, and traders, each one more dangerous than the last. Samuel's sharp eyes scanned the room, noting the poorly concealed weapons and calculating stares.
"Seems about right," he muttered under his breath.
Botan tilted its head and whispered in a cheerful tone, "SIR, THIS ESTABLISHMENT EXUDES A DELIGHTFULLY AUTHENTIC AURA OF DEPRAVITY."
Samuel smirked, adjusting his jacket. "Stay close, Botan."
He approached the bar, his boots thudding softly against the wooden floor. The bartender, a grizzled man with cybernetic implants around his left eye and arm, barely acknowledged Samuel's presence.
"One old Earth Scotch, neat," Samuel said, leaning on the bar.
The bartender snorted but poured the drink without a word, sliding the glass across the counter. Samuel caught it effortlessly, raising it slightly in mock appreciation.
"Thanks."
The tension in the room was palpable. Samuel could feel the eyes on him, analyzing his every move. He sipped the scotch, its fiery warmth trailing down his throat, and turned his gaze to the far corner of the room. That's when he saw her.
A young woman with striking features sat at a corner table, partially hidden in the shadows. Her black leather jacket and hardened expression matched the rough clientele, but her eyes betrayed a sharp intelligence. Harold's sister.
"Found her," Samuel muttered to Botan.
"SHOULD I INITIATE CONTACT, SIR?"
Botan's mechanical voice cut through the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses.
Samuel waved a hand subtly. "No, stay put. We'll watch first."
The two positioned themselves at a nearby table, Samuel leaning back with his drink while Botan remained upright, its glowing optics scanning the room. They tuned their attention to a heated conversation unfolding across the bar.
A young woman, dressed in an old, grease-stained factory uniform, stood her ground in front of a group of rough-looking men. A pair of worn goggles rested atop her head, the kind you'd see on a seasoned engineer. Her hands were on her hips, and her voice carried above the general noise.
"AS I SAID BEFORE," she snapped, her tone firm and laced with frustration, "I fixed most of your junked and broken cyber parts, updated your optics, and even cleaned out the old system malware. You need to pay me NOW."
One of the men, their apparent leader, lounged back in his chair with an amused smirk. He was a wiry man with cybernetic implants that seemed more functional than aesthetic, mismatched and worn down.
"Oh, missy," he drawled lazily, "didn't I give you the money already?"
The woman slammed her hand on the table, causing the group to flinch. "THAT WAS ONLY 5,000 SOLAR FEDERATION EXCHANGE! I TOLD YOU THE JOB WAS 10,000!"
The man's grin widened. "You didn't specify when the rest was due, now did ya? Maybe I'll pay you next week… or next month."
The men laughed, their mocking tones grating against the tense air. The woman's hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white. "I need that money now! You think I'll let you walk out of here without paying your debt?"
Samuel leaned slightly toward Botan, speaking in a low voice. "Looks like she's got guts, but she's in over her head."
"SIR, SHOULD WE INTERVENE?" Botan asked quietly, its cheerful tone contrasting with the tension.
Samuel took another sip of his drink, watching the scene unfold. "Not yet. Let's see how this plays out."
The woman wasn't backing down, her voice rising further. "If you don't pay up, I'll take those implants back out myself. Maybe this time, I won't be so gentle."
The leader's smirk twisted into a sneer. "You're biting off more than you can chew, girl. You sure you want to threaten me?"
He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, drawing even more eyes to the confrontation. His cronies followed suit, looming menacingly behind him.
Samuel exhaled through his nose. "And there it is. Botan, stay close. This might get messy."
"ACKNOWLEDGED, SIR."
Samuel stood up slowly, setting his glass down on the table with deliberate care. The room was tense, the other patrons watching with interest but keeping their distance. He walked toward the group, his boots heavy against the floorboards.
"That's enough," Samuel said, his voice calm but commanding.
The leader turned to him, his sneer deepening. "And who the hell are you supposed to be?"
Samuel met his glare with an even expression. "Just someone who doesn't like seeing people try to weasel out of their debts."
The woman blinked, surprised by the intervention, but she didn't lower her guard.
The leader scoffed, his hand resting on the hilt of a knife strapped to his belt. "You got no idea who you're messing with, pal. You sure you want to get involved?"
Samuel's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Oh, I'm sure."
The leader growled, pulling the knife from his belt. "Your funeral, tough guy."
Before he could take a step forward, a blur of movement zipped past Samuel. Botan, in a burst of calculated efficiency, swatted the knife cleanly out of the man's hand with a sharp metallic limb. It clattered to the floor, spinning out of reach.
"SIR, THE SITUATION HAS BEEN NEUTRALIZED." Botan's tone was cheerful, almost comically so, as if it hadn't just disarmed a man in the blink of an eye.
The leader and his men froze, their bravado faltering as they stared at the robot. Samuel cracked his knuckles. "Now, how about you pay the lady what you owe before this gets ugly?"
The leader hesitated, weighing his options. The patrons watched silently, some grinning in anticipation of a fight.
"Fine!" the man spat, digging into his pocket and pulling out a stack of credits. He slammed it on the table in front of the woman. "There's your damn money. Happy now?"
She grabbed the credits, her glare unwavering. "Delighted."
Samuel took a step back, gesturing toward the door. "Now get out of here before I change my mind."
The leader growled but motioned for his men to follow. They shuffled out of the bar, their pride wounded but their lives intact.
The woman turned to Samuel, her expression softening slightly. "Thanks for stepping in. I could've handled it, but… thanks."
Samuel shrugged. "No problem. Harold wouldn't forgive me if I didn't."
Her eyes widened. "Wait… you knew Harold?"
Samuel nodded, his expression somber. "Yeah. I did. Let's talk."
Samuel and Melissa strolled along the park's winding paths, the setting sun casting an orange glow over the lush greenery. Birds chirped faintly in the distance, and a cool breeze ruffled the leaves. Botan followed silently, its mechanical frame gleaming faintly in the evening light.
Samuel glanced at the young woman walking beside him. "So, what was your name again?"
She hesitated, then replied softly, "Melissa."
He nodded. "I see. Melissa, I want to ask you some questions, and you can ask me some, too. Sound fair?"
Melissa nodded, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her worn jacket.
Samuel decided to start gently. "So, look, Melissa. I need to know—what are you doing around a place like the Market? You know it's dangerous, right? Filled with illegal trades and criminals."
Melissa stopped walking, turning to face him. Her expression hardened, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. "I'm not a kid. I know it wasn't the best choice, but… I had no other options."
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "All the money Harold sent me... it's gone. Spent by my drunk uncle. That bastard left me with nothing. No money, no future."
Samuel's chest tightened. He clenched his jaw, suppressing the wave of anger and pity that washed over him. "Poor girl…"
Melissa's gaze softened momentarily before she turned the conversation back to him. "And who are you, exactly? How do you know my brother?"
Her question was direct, her tone firm. Samuel admired the determination in her voice. She wasn't afraid to confront him.
He looked at her, his eyes heavy with the weight of memories. "Name's Samuel," he said slowly. "Captain of the Spear of Defiance. Your brother Harold… he was my second in command."
Melissa's eyes widened, and her breath caught. She stared at him, her mind racing with emotions and questions.
"You… knew Harold that well?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Samuel nodded, his expression serious. "He was one of the best soldiers I ever had the honor of working with. He wasn't just a subordinate. He was a friend."
Melissa looked down, her hands gripping the edges of her jacket tightly. "He never told me much about his work. He always said it wasn't something I needed to worry about."
Samuel sighed. "He was protecting you. That's who Harold was—always looking out for others, even when it cost him."
They walked in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared loss hanging between them. Finally, Melissa spoke again.
"I wish I could've thanked him properly… for everything."
Samuel stopped and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You still can, Melissa. You honor him by living, by finding your way forward. That's what he would've wanted."
Melissa nodded, tears glistening in her eyes.
Botan chimed in, its cheerful tone cutting through the somber moment. "SIR, PERHAPS IT WOULD BE BEST TO GUIDE MISS MELISSA TO SAFER OPPORTUNITIES INSTEAD OF THE MARKETPLACE!"
Melissa managed a small laugh, wiping her eyes. "Your robot's got a point."
Samuel smirked. "It usually does."
Melissa's gaze shifted to Botan, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Yours… is custom-made, isn't it?"
Samuel nodded, folding his arms. "Botan's a custom-made house robot I got from Rupert Robotics Co. Inc. The reason it's that capable is because I specified combat capabilities along with several hundred times the processing power of a standard home droid."
Melissa's jaw dropped. "You mean the Rupert Corps? The same company that developed the Agincourt AI systems for the military?"
Samuel chuckled. "Yep, those ones."
Melissa shook her head in amazement. "I've read about them. Their tech is leagues ahead of anything else on the market. That's… incredible." She crouched slightly, examining Botan with keen interest. "The precision of their builds is practically flawless."
Botan tilted its head, its voice cheerful. "THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLIMENT, MISS MELISSA. I STRIVE FOR PERFECTION IN ALL TASKS!"
Samuel watched as Melissa seemed to light up in conversation with Botan, her usual guarded demeanor momentarily lifted. He saw a glimpse of the person she might have been before her struggles began.
After a few moments, he broke the moment of levity. "Melissa, can I ask you something?"
She straightened, brushing her hands on her jacket. "Sure. What is it?"
Samuel's expression grew serious. "Your uncle. The one who… spent Harold's money. Is he still around?"
Melissa's face darkened, her shoulders tensing. "No. He died a few months ago. Heart failure. Not that I shed any tears over it." She looked away, her tone bitter. "He ruined everything for me and didn't even care."
Samuel stayed quiet for a moment, then placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. But you're not alone anymore."
She looked up at him, her eyes wary but hopeful. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, let me help you," Samuel said firmly. "You don't need to be fixing scrap in some black-market den to survive. Harold wouldn't have wanted this for you. You have skills, Melissa—real skills. Let's put them to good use."
Melissa hesitated, her mind racing. "Why? Why are you doing this for me? You don't even know me."
Samuel gave her a small, sincere smile. "Because Harold was my friend. And because I see someone who deserves a better chance. That's enough for me."
Tears welled up in Melissa's eyes, but she quickly wiped them away and nodded. "Alright… I'll try. But I don't even know where to start."
Samuel gestured to Botan. "We'll figure it out together. First step, getting you out of that market and into something safe. After that, we'll see where your skills can take you."
Melissa took a deep breath and gave a small, tentative smile. "Okay. Thank you, Captain Samuel."
Samuel tipped his head slightly. "Just call me Samuel. Or Sam. Captain's retired."
With that, the three of them began to walk back through the park, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting the world in warm hues as a sense of hope began to take root.