The Orphan Rebels Part Eight.
Level Seven of Open Port buzzed with even more activity than the lower levels. Medical supply vendors competed with food stalls and ration dealers, their holographic signs flashing sales and deals in multiple languages.
Brock had abandoned his fake mustache entirely, stuffing it in his pocket after the third time it fell off. Griff's was hanging by one corner, and he'd given up trying to fix it. And Leesa was bounding along, her head on a swivel looking for Goldstrike, seeming much more youthful and energetic than an old lady trader.
"Medical supplies, right there," Griff pointed to a vendor with a glowing red cross symbol.
They rushed to the counter where a four-armed Besalak was organizing inventory. "What do you need?"
"Emergency medical kits, bandages, antibiotics, anything that works on humans," Brock said quickly.
Behind them, Poop was proudly holding his chrome arms like trophies, occasionally making them wave at passersby. Servo looked mortified.
The Besalak merchant pulled out three comprehensive med kits. "Two hundred credits, or equivalent trade."
"Raw stellarite," Griff said, pulling out another vial. They were running low.
As they finished the deal, Servo's optical sensors suddenly brightened with alert. "I'm detecting active scanning frequencies," he said quietly. "Someone is analyzing our signatures."
Servo's head swiveled slightly. "Confirmed. Multiple sensor sweeps. Passive and active scanning."
"We're being tracked," Ripper added, his large frame tensing.
Brock felt that prickling sensation again. He casually glanced around the marketplace, searching for gold armor among the crowds. There - just a flash of reflection, a gleam of expensive metal ducking behind a support pillar not far down the hall.
"Grab the supplies. We need to move. Now."
They loaded the medical kits into Crusher's already-full arms and headed toward the docking bay, moving as quickly as possible without running and drawing attention.
"There!" Leesa hissed, spotting the gold-armored figure now closer, moving parallel to them through the crowd. "He's keeping pace with us."
"Enhanced tracking systems," Servo observed. "Very sophisticated. Military grade or better."
Servo and the other bots could sense Goldstrikes sensor sweeps with their own sensors. They could ‘feel’ when the bounty hunter bot scanned the crowd looking for them.
The docking bay entrance was just ahead - a wide corridor leading back toward their ship. They picked up their pace, robots' heavy footsteps echoing off the metal floor.
"Almost there," Griff said, his voice tight with nervous energy.
Then a tall figure stepped directly into the corridor ahead of them, cutting off their path to the docking bay.
Goldstrike.
Up close, he was even more imposing. Gold armor plates covered his chest, shoulders, and portions of his limbs - real reinforced combat gold, not just painted. His optical sensors glowed with an intense blue light, processing data faster than any standard robot. Enhanced weapon systems were integrated into his forearms, currently powered down but clearly visible.
"The Orphan Rebels," Goldstrike said, his voice smooth and professional. "There's quite a bounty on your heads."
The kids froze. Their robots immediately moved into protective positions, forming a barrier between the children and the bounty hunter.
Goldstrike didn't seem concerned by this. "Nothing personal, children. Just business."
"How did you find us?" Brock demanded, trying to keep his voice steady.
"The mustache falling off was amusing," Goldstrike replied. "But I had already identified you by then. Your robot companions - all have very distinctive movement patterns. Even when pretending to be controlled, you all carry yourselves differently than truly enslaved robots."
The kids felt a tinge of embarrassment for having been so confident in their disguises and their plan.
"And the raw stellarite you've been spending so carelessly? And the paint job you ordered on your ship. You gave yourselves away. Sloppy rebels." Goldstrike continued.
"We're not giving up," Leesa said, her hand moving toward her plasma pistols.
Goldstrike's weapon systems powered up with a soft hum. "I prefer not to damage valuable cargo. You're worth considerably more intact. Surrender peacefully, and I'll ensure you're treated well during transport to your trial."
"Yeah, that's not happening," Brock said.
He looked at his friends, at their robots, then back at Goldstrike. Then he made a decision.
"Run!"
Chase Through Open Port
The marketplace erupted into chaos as the Orphan Rebels scattered in different directions.
Goldstrike moved with calculated precision, his gold-plated legs carrying him forward in powerful strides. His enhanced sensors tracked all of them simultaneously, predicting their movements.
"Split up!" Brock shouted, but Goldstrike wasn't fooled by the tactic.
He moved to cut off their path to the docking bay, forcing them back toward the central marketplace plaza where a decorative stone fountain featured an elaborate statue of Open Port's founders.
Ripper and Crusher turned to face the bounty hunter directly. "Keep going!" Ripper commanded the kids. "We'll hold him!"
The massive robot swung a powerful fist at Goldstrike, who blocked it with his reinforced gold forearm. The impact sent a metallic clang echoing through the corridor that made nearby shoppers scatter in panic.
Crusher joined the assault, his heavy frame charging forward like a battering ram. But Goldstrike's combat systems were far more advanced than standard construction robots. He sidestepped Crusher's charge easily and delivered a devastating counter-strike that sent the robot crashing into a vendor's stall.
Servo darted in from the side, using his maintenance tools as improvised weapons, trying to find weak points in Goldstrike's joints. The bounty hunter caught him mid-strike and threw him aside, but the distraction gave Ripper another opening.
Leesa had circled around behind Goldstrike, her plasma pistols firing at his back. The shots hit true, scorching the gold plating and leaving blackened marks and weakening his shoulder armor. Goldstrike staggered slightly - the first sign of actual damage.
"His shielding has limits!" Leesa shouted. "Keep hitting him!"
But Goldstrike's systems were already adapting. His gold armor plates shifted, redirecting power to reinforce the damaged sections. He spun with surprising speed, his integrated weapons charging with an ominous hum.
"Lethal force authorized," Goldstrike announced calmly, his voice carrying none of the anger one might expect from someone taking damage. "Bounty reduced to fifty percent for damaged goods."
Griff fired his disruption beam, the wave of energy washing over Goldstrike. The bounty hunter's movements became jerky for a moment, his targeting systems flickering. But his advanced shielding compensated within seconds, filtering out Griff's frequency.
"I can't stop him!" Griff yelled. "Just slow him down!"
Station security forces arrived at the plaza's edge, weapons drawn. "Everyone freeze! Unauthorized combat is—"
Goldstrike didn't even look at them. "Commercial bounty hunting, legal under station charter section seven. Do not interfere."
The security guards hesitated.
Poop, who had been holding back, suddenly charged forward swinging his loose chrome arms like clubs. One arm connected with Goldstrike's head, the impact sending his optical sensors briefly offline.
"Four-armed robot engaged," Goldstrike reported to himself, his systems cataloging the unexpected variable.
But even with all five robots attacking, Goldstrike was systematically countering each assault. A sweeping kick sent Poop tumbling. A precisely placed strike disabled one of Servo's arms. Another devastating blow cracked Ripper's chest plating.
"We can't beat him here!" Brock shouted, seeing their robots taking more damage than they were dealing. "We need a distraction so we can get to the ship!"
His eyes fell on the ornate stone statue in the center of the fountain - easily three stories tall, depicting the station's founders in heroic poses. And at its base, water jets created an elaborate display.
Griff followed his gaze and understood immediately. He reached into his pack and pulled out their last vial of raw stellarite - the unpredictable, volatile fuel they'd been using to pay for supplies.
"Griff, that's dangerous!" Servo warned.
"I know!" Griff replied, taking aim at the statue's base.
He threw the vial with all his strength. It arced through the air, spinning end over end, and shattered against the stone foundation of the statue.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the raw stellarite ignited.
The explosion wasn't massive - not enough to bring down the statue entirely - but it was spectacular. A brilliant yellow-white flash erupted from the base, cracking the stone and sending chunks of debris flying. The fountain's water system ruptured, spraying pressurized water in all directions. The shock wave shattered nearby shop windows.
Immediately, Open Port's emergency systems activated. Klaxons blared throughout the plaza. Fire suppressant foam began pumping from ceiling vents, filling the area with thick white clouds. Automated announcements urged everyone to evacuate calmly.
But nobody was calm. Shoppers screamed and ran in all directions. Vendors abandoned their stalls. Station security teams rushed toward the explosion, followed by emergency response crews in protective gear.
Through the chaos and smoke, Goldstrike stood momentarily obscured, his sensors overwhelmed by the sudden environmental changes. The suppressant foam was interfering with his tracking systems.
"Go! Now!" Brock commanded.
They ran through the white clouds of foam, their robots limping but functional. The docking bay corridor was just ahead, and beyond it, their ship.
Behind them, they could hear Goldstrike's voice cutting through the chaos, cold and professional: "Tracking lost. Reacquiring targets."
But they were already gone, swallowed by the smoke and panic.
Race to the Ship
They burst through the docking bay entrance, gasping for breath. The suppressant foam had followed them into the corridor, creating a white haze that clung to their clothes and robot frames.
"There!" Brock pointed to their berth where the Merchant's Purse sat gleaming in its fresh light green paint, looking nothing like the battered Stellar Harvester they'd arrived in.
Alice's voice came through their comms immediately. "I saw the explosion on station monitors. What did you do?"
"Tell you later!" Griff panted. "Start the engines!"
They sprinted across the docking platform, Poop still clutching his chrome arms despite nearly dropping them twice. Behind them, they could hear shouts and running footsteps as station security tried to sort through the chaos.
The cargo ramp was already lowering as they approached. Alice had been monitoring their comms and knew they were coming in hot.
"Thirty seconds to launch clearance!" Alice called out.
"We don't have thirty seconds!" Leesa shouted back, practically diving up the ramp.
The robots thundered up behind her, their damaged frames making concerning sounds. Ripper's chest plating sparked with each step. Servo's disabled arm hung uselessly. Crusher was leaving a trail of hydraulic fluid, his arms full of the stuff they bought that he grabbed before they made their escape.
"Everyone in!" Brock yelled, being the last to board. "Alice, go!"
"Launch protocols require—"
"Go NOW!"
The cargo ramp was still closing as the ship's engines roared to life. The Merchant's Purse lifted from its berth with none of the grace it was designed for, emergency thrusters firing to get them away from the station as quickly as possible.
Through the still-closing ramp, they caught one final glimpse of the docking bay.
Goldstrike stood at the platform's edge, his gold armor gleaming under the harsh docking lights despite the scorch marks and damage from their fight. His blue optical sensors locked onto their ship, tracking its trajectory.
The ramp sealed shut, cutting off their view.
"He's not following," Alice reported from the bridge. "No ship launching from that sector."
They collapsed against the cargo bay walls, catching their breath. The supplies they'd bought were scattered everywhere from the rough takeoff - medical kits, repair equipment, and Poop's precious chrome arms rolling across the floor.
"Maybe we lost him," Griff said hopefully.
Brock shook his head, making his way toward the bridge. "He knows where we're going."
"What?" Leesa asked.
"Think about it," Brock replied. "We bought fuel specifically for reaching Gamma Station. We asked about that exact destination at the fuel depot. Goldstrike probably heard everything."
As if to confirm his words, their communication systems crackled to life with an incoming transmission. They all froze.
Goldstrike's voice filled the ship, calm and professional as ever: "This isn't over, Orphan Rebels. I always collect my bounties. Always. I'll be seeing you at Gamma Station."
The transmission ended.
Silence filled the cargo bay.
"Well," Poop said finally, examining his chrome arms, "at least we got the cool robot arms."
Despite everything, Griff started laughing. Then Leesa joined in. Even Brock couldn't help but smile.
"Poop," Griff said, wiping tears from his eyes, "you're absolutely right. Let's get those arms installed before we reach Gamma. Something tells me we're going to need every advantage we can get."
Alice set course for Gamma Station, the Merchant's Purse leaving Open Port far behind. But they all knew Goldstrike would be coming. The golden bounty hunter was now a permanent shadow hanging over their mission.
The Orphan Rebels had escaped this time. But next time, they might not be so lucky.
The End