Realms of Sci-Fi

The Rebel

The seedy bar was crowded with patrons from everywhere in the galaxy. Many of the visitors continued to wear their environmental support gear in case the atmospheric processors of the bar failed and let in the toxic air of the planet, consuming their drinks through specially designed tubes. Spacesuits and anatomy varied widely among the aliens, but one thing was common among them all; everyone was armed. The bar, known as The Rift, was a haven for black market operations, illegal weapon trades, and stim smuggling. Criminals, bounty hunters, and law enforcement frequently clashed here, so everyone came prepared for a fight certain to break out sooner or later.

On this particular night, it came in the form of a military patrol searching for one of their former members. The airlock cycled with a noisy hum prior to the hatch opening. Every conversation immediately halted, every eye looked toward the airlock, and more than a few aliens reached for their weapons as three Space Rangers walked in.

Clad in pristine armor and clear dome helmets, they were easily recognizable as the white armor had green paint across the torso and shoulders that glowed in the dim light of the bar. Additional trim of glowing green marked the gauntlets and boots of the armor. The winged emblem of Star Command was prominently displayed on their chest armor beside golden name badges. The torso section didn't extend all the way down to the waist, leaving a flexible black under suit visible across each warrior's midsection for greater maneuverability in the bulky armor.

One of the Rangers flipped open a forearm cover-plate and accessed the built in computer system to do a scan of the area before nodding the others in the direction of the back corner of the bar. In the silence, their armored boots thumped loudly against the deck plating.

Sitting with his back to the corner where he could observe the entire bar while remaining mostly unseen in the shadows, the man they'd been searching for watched the Space Rangers approach with a bored expression on his face. With large eyes and a prominent chin, Buzz Lightyear was easily recognizable by anyone who knew him, even though it had been several years since he'd left the Space Ranger Corps to pursuit his own agenda. The drink he held in one gloved hand was more to fit in among the other patrons than because he was actually interested in consuming the alien brew. He'd had it for the past hour without even tasting it.

"Buzz Lightyear?" one of the Rangers asked without really needing confirmation as Buzz was still wearing his Space Ranger armor. It wasn't as pristine as those worn by the three in front of him as it was covered in scratches, dents, and laser scorch marks. Buzz didn't answer. He looked up toward the rangers before returning his gaze to his untouched drink.

"Star Command has issued orders for your reinstatement," the first Ranger explained. "You are to report back at once."

"No," Buzz denied. He didn't look at them while he spoke, turning his glass on the table to examine the points of condensation on its exterior surface as if they held some vital clue he was searching for. "I will not."

"You swore an oath to the Space Ranger Corp," the ranger, identified as Quasar by his gold nameplate, reminded. "When Star Command gives an order, you obey."

"Rangers take orders from Star Command," Buzz said softly, still refusing to look at his former comrades. "Star Command takes orders from the Galactic Alliance. I take orders from neither. I resigned, remember?"

"Your oath of service stays in effect as long as you are alive," Quasar stated firmly, grinding his teeth slightly in the process.

"I didn't say I wouldn't serve," Buzz countered. "I only said I don't follow their orders anymore."

Buzz set down his drink with a thud on the durafoam surface of the table. His gaze shifted to the three Rangers.

"Emperor Zurg, sworn enemy of the Galactic Alliance, what has been done about him?" Buzz asked calmly.