Gunfire erupted from behind a narrow bulkead in the dimly lit utility corridor of an otherwise grand starship. Two things followed the shots: reactionary pulses from a disintegrator wielded by inexperienced hands and a perfect cloud cover in the middle of the corridor. One more blast suddenly exited the middle of the cloud that dropped its target cold. Smoke cleared slowly from the dank corridor. It dripped from the barrel of a sizeable firearm. Deliberately, the finger squeezing the trigger released. Aged scars decorated the relatively young hand. Cloaking the rest of the arm and body was the sleeve of a crisp, black uniform, decked with medals and ranking pins.

"He's only stunned." The voice spoke with flat surety.

"He could have killed you, Xander." The look on the commander's face spoke more disbelief than his words. Receiving the look was a man out of place. Gunslingers do not fly aboard starships. Commanding uniforms are not worn by steel-eyed cowboys. Whispers on this ship question how a Klingon and a Vulcan can produce a human looking child like Alexander Lyon.

"It hasn't happened yet, sir." Xander holstered the small cannon in its worn leather comfort. "Besides, gun or not, I knew a simple smoke cover would confuse him enough."

"Still, I won't have my number three risking his life so flippantly." The commander cast a half interested look over the still breathing body lying at their feet. "I've seen you run headlong into battle before, but he had a disintegrator." The commander kicked the weapon from the limp hand. "You don't walk away from that." Xander said nothing but merely leand back against the wall in contemplation. The commander touched his badge and called for medical assistance to this location. "So what killed your will to live, Xander?" The commander asked with a cocked smile. "Normally I'd know the records of all my XO's . . . but we're not exactly in Kansas anymore."

Xander pulled from his pocket a stick of gum and unwrapped it. "It's funny what references seem to carry across dimensions." Xander chewed thoughtfully. "But you've asked me similarly before, just after that little spat our people had a while back."

"Little spat. Ha." The commander smirked.

"I suppose it's time. Let us go to the bar, sir. This will need something liquid for bouyancy." The two headed back down the corridor towards more civlized surroundings.

Xander continued over a glowing blue drink:

"Few people knew me as Xander. My father referred to me as Alex. My mother used my full first name. She said it sounded regal, like Alexander the Great. Professionally, I was known as Zen or Zen Lion. I was a bounty hunter and one of the best in the known galaxy. Marks called me the Zen Lion not only for my last name but because I was fearless. However, to understand that I must begin even earlier.

Mind you, nobody back home knows this story, but I haven't really talked to anybody in a long time . . . and "back home" seems an impossible distance away. I was seven years old. My parents and I were travelling out from Mars Colony toward home when reavers attacked our vessel. You simply cannot understand reavers without seeing their evil, diseased faces up close. They were pirates but far more than that. Imagine every painful way you could die and in it they revelled. They took faces and eyes. They raped the nearly dead until they ceased to be nearly. Blood spatters covered them like war paint. I go into this detail to assure you that when I say I watched them murder my family before my eyes I'm not being dramatic. Once in a while, reavers would leave behind a survivor. Either the survivor kills himself or loses his mind entirely and picks up a hatchet and a bloodlust. Those are the two typical reactions: disengagement or dealing through mimicry. At the time I thought I had a third reaction. I decided that part of me broke all right, but only my fear. Fear of pain, fear of death, fear of anything left my mind and body. It would be years later before I could properly mourn my mother and father's deaths. That was when I realized I hadn't lost fear, just hope. The experience had almost permanently chilled me.

After the reavers left the ship, it drifted through space all but deserted. Young and scarred as I was, I still thought to send out a distress signal. However, I was naive enough to broadcast that the ship was attacked by reavers. Nobody answers a call from reaver attack. It was two and a half weeks I was alone, which seemed at the time interminable. I ate what I could find in the kitchen and quarters and cargo bay until I thought I would starve and slept in a tiny duct as far away from the decomposing bodies as I could reach. I never cried, only monitored the Signal and took care of myself. Water and food I rationed myself not knowing how long I would be out there in the inky black.

On what I assume was the fourth day of week three, I finally received a transmission. It was from a Browncoat outpost. I can think of only two reasons they rescued me: one, enough time had passed that any reaver would have moved on; and two, the ship may have still been worth salvaging. The Browncoats were brave but ruled by a similar survival instinct. That may be the only reason I remained with them. The logical choice would have been to join the Alliance ("Starfleet" in your parlance) and fight the resistance. I sometimes questioned it at the time, my reason for fighting alongside such outnumbered, outgunned rebels. I always said it didn't matter who I fought. They were reds and blues, ones and twos. Each side's job was to claim the flag atop the hill. I understand now that desire for freedom. For all the liberty I had aboard that ship to do as I pleased, it was really a prison tomb.

Captain Izuki Nguyen of the Northwind, the one who found me and a massacred crew, turned out to be my caretaker. He recognized my calculating nature and raised me more as a live-in cadet than a stepson. That was his way of showing fatherly love. He never had children, only new recruits so he raised me the only way he knew how. We were a good match. Captain Nguyen was the first to call me Zen. As an emotionally stunted child, I took to regiment effortlessly. Physical training, hand to hand combat, military tactics, piloting, and arms, I had become a near perfect soldier by the time I was old enough to join up. My main shortfall was perhaps the same reason I trained so well. Compassion didn't come easy. I occasionally broke bones in sparring with other cadets and never mingled well off-duty. I remained on-duty as much as possible. I was a good soldier but promoted quite slowly. How could I command troops when I looked at my platoon as a magazine of rounds? Constantly I threw myself into the roughest combat and always walked away but not often without losing a pint.

Little did I know that my heart could break a second and a third time at once. I had finally landed a command, not by seeking it, but by being sought. The 7th platoon, known as The Red Dragons, was a collection of thugs, killers and brawlers . . . pansies. If I had taken a more active interest in my military career, I would have joined them as soon as I signed up. Their CO had died as well as his second in command. Knowing my reputation (I was already known as the Lion and Zen Lion among the troops by now), they looked me up and invited me to command. They didn't want anybody who would care what happened to them personally, only a cold tactician. We were a good match. We were also a short match. My second tour with the Red Dragons found us in Serenity Valley. In this pit we fought the last battle of the war of "unification". My dragons all fought well. I had never felt pride before that battle, or never recognized it before then. We received the stand-down order and it would be the first order I disobeyed. I would have had to kill my dragons anyway to stop them from fighting to the last man. I was the last man. I had picked up a wave from a dead radio operator's unit that now Commander Izuki Nguyen had literally fallen on his sword at the news of surrender. Utter defeat and losing another father stunned me two-fold. If I hadn't been captured, I would have follow suit.

That was the end of my first life. My second life followed my release from an Alliance military prison. Ironically, some Browncoats turned to crime as some chased them. I decided that after being a two, being a blue for several years I would try my hand at being a 1. I had enough of a soul left to retain contempt of the Alliance, but their money was as good as anyone else's. For that matter, everyone, the Alliance and those left on the outer rim needed someone found at some point. They turned to me, Alexander Lyon, bounty hunter. Like a companion, I was my own boss. Unlike a companion, I did the screwing. I had saved so much money from a frugal soldier's life to afford the sentimentally named Dragon sitting now in your bay. With it, I handidly earned bounties for both the Alliance and many outer rim towns. Since the end of my military, excuse me, first military career had left me so cold again, capturing bounties came as easy as I had taken to soldiering. It was quite different than fighting squads and platoons of soldiers, but I adapted. Killing wasn't always an option this time. I usually looked for the "dead or alive" notices, but those were rare. I earned a reputation amongst other bounty hunters and marks as quickly as I did with the Browncoats. A gun in my back, a gang of thugs, firefights in space, none of the worst phased me. You can see I took my share of bruises and scrapes, but pain never bothered me much. I figured I felt worse things than any physical torture. The Alliance even tried to recruit me to be an operative, but it turned out they were "believers" and I didn't believe in the right things. My only mission was to return bounties and collect. I could tell you some stories of that time, but you want to know why you find a human being before you and not some kind of Cylon or Borg. That happens to be the same story of how I ended up here.

Ian Grey was the mark. Sasha Grey was his mother. Commander Ian Reinhart Grey was his father, a victim of the same war I fought. The surviving son, at my time of meeting him, was wanted by the Alliance and a few border towns for a string of petty crimes: theft of food, theft of spacecraft, vandalism, all gang activity. As resources were scarce in border towns, youths often started gangs to secure food and medical supplies for themselves and generally cause trouble for all authority, Alliance and otherwise. Clearly Ian Grey would be a small fish to fry before I could go after the rather large targets of the Tam siblings. Not much of their story was known, but there was quite a price on their heads. I learned of them just after agreeing to catch Ian (dead or alive, nobody worries what happens to a splinter once it's pulled) otherwise I would have chased the Tams straight away. One of my few rules as a bounty hunter was to complete my current job no matter how big or small. One does not secure new work by abandoning old work.

My first step was to learn about Ian Grey and that meant understanding his home life. Many bounty hunters simply sought the mark's last known location and followed from there. I understood that history explained enough of one's path in life that it would hint at one's likely future path. Ms. Grey lived in a typical border town ruled by a typical mayor and a typical sherriff. She was not typical. Most stories of youth theivery and violence trace back to either a violent home life or a sick mother. The mark in the latter case would be seeking enough money or supplies to take care of her. Ms. Grey's home indicated neither. She lived alone, but took care of herself just fine. I knew something was different the first moment I met her. I knocked on the simple wooden door to her small home in the dusty, rural town of Tosho. She answered with a look of hope that disappeared in an instant. I gathered she thought Ian could be on her doorstep any minute. He hadn't been home in months. Two things surprised me: one, I was the first bounty hunter to come knocking; and two, she didn't resist. The mark's family generally showed the coldest of shoulder to anyone seeking its poor, little delinquent. The mark was innocent. The mark didn't mean any harm. Why couldn't I leave the mark alone? Ms. Grey didn't respond in any of those ways. She was merely glad someone else cared about Ian's whereabouts regardless of the reason. She would have rather seen her only child alive in jail than dead in the street, or even worse, floating anonymously in space. As I examined his room and his belongings she made me promise one thing. "Don't let any harm come to my son. Do what you must to show him justice, but please don't hurt my boy." It was a kind of love that touched me in a place I had thought long dead. No mother wishes harm to her offspring, but Ms. Grey spoke with an understanding of what was right for the boy. You may have guessed that "justice" didn't mean anything to me. I may as well have been mining uranium. You see, hunting the runners suited me. It was legal and paid well. It saddens me to think Ms. Grey and her son have the only faces I really remember during my whole time as a bounty hunter.

So I tracked the boy. Ian Grey. His mother gave me some ideas where to look and somehow I trusted her. The first time I saw him was at the second place his mother suggested, a port known for high companion traffic. You may know "companions" perhaps by the name of "prostitute". While they fancied themselves above such monikers, the business transaction was similar enough. The difference is like a drug dealer in a back alley with a junkie compared to a pill popper at a pharmacy. In the end, they're all getting high and paying for it. Still, I respected them enough. I couldn't say I was much better. We each used our skills to get leverage over another for the purpose of monetary gain. I also respected Ian more for taking this route rather than visiting a house of ill repute. His illegally lived life paid for such services but he was charming enough to strike deals with quality companions. I didn't attempt to snatch him right away. I first found him parting ways with his rented lover in the company of his immediate gang. He was not the leader but obviously thought of highly by the others and his boss. He was allowed high class dress with gold accessories. Beneath the finery was a lithe young man, no more than twenty-one, fit from a life of running and fighting. The rest of the crew wore their bounty equally but not as nice as the ring leader. The rest didn't matter. I could have taken him just then . . . and in retrospect, I should have. The impact of meeting his mother hadn't hit me at the time. I was still following a mark, not a boy.

Four days I followed Ian Grey all the while avoiding the question in my head. Why hadn't I simply picked him up yet? Clearly he had created in his mind a father figure out of his gang's boss after the loss of his own father and reaped in the apparent benefits of dealing in stealing and selling stolen goods. I saw my own good fortune in Ian's life. Captain Nguyen found me and turned me into . . . well, something useful. I wouldn't say "man" or "person". My feelings may have been hidden but his were not real. People with mothers generally care about them. They don't treat a bunch of thugs and criminals as family. Such was my understanding. That's where it started for me, remembering my parents when they were alive. I started remembering things. My mother used to sing. She used to sing my name when she was happy, and she usually was. My father had a warm smile and rough, scarred hands. He worked hard for us and never got into trouble. Maybe that's why I broke. I started to figure it out. I lost hope and trust in anything beyond myself. I had hope in a flawed humanity that invariably led to criminal behavior; I only had trust in my own abilities to capitalize on that behavior. However, I didn't have much time to deal with those feelings. The Alliance was about to help out poor, young Ian Grey. His ringleader had been invited to join a grand heist: to steal an entry in the Allied Planets Technology Expo. It was a prototype of what you would call a "warp core". You can guess what happened.

Ian's gang had a job in this heist and that was to secure the device at the only stop the ship carrying it would make, the base on Titan. It would have to refuel at least once before making it to the expo at New London. Once they performed their duties, the ones who ordered this caper would know how to make the money with it. My focus was Ian. This had to be the time to take him in. He could actually get himself shot or spaced on this one. It would take at least two ships to pull this one off. They would arrive in their own ship then leave in the one holding the device while one of their crew followed in the original ship. After scrapping the idea of tangling with two ships at the same time with Ian's life on the line and who knows what other players that may appear, I decided it had to be at the station itself. Considering the cowardly nature of Ian and his fellow thugs, I figured a good old fashioned showdown would be enough to either scare Ian into submission or force him to run with the booty, which would suit me perfectly. I waited by the docking bay early and hidden with a useful piece of information in the back of my mind. Jorash, the "boss", was not without a simple wit. My well hid taps on the gang's comm equipment and their clothing let me know that they planned to bring the experiment from the Alliance craft on to their own ship and fly as if it were still being kept on the original ship. Casually milling about with the other arrivals in the bay I watched Ian and his crew slip aboard the Alliance vessel. This was the gang's strength, surprise attack against unsuspecting non combatants. I casually waited near the ship's hatch propped against a pylon. It occurred to me that an open fight would flush out any surprise guests to the party as well.

Soon enough, the group made its exit, prize in tow (the device that generated the warp removed from the large power source). From where I was positioned, they didn't see me. I could almost hear their hearts leap in unison when I whistled from behind. The scene that followed was well organized chaos. Jorash was quick to rely on his sidearm as was the rest of his crew. Fortunately, Ian carried the device and was making for their ship as fast as Jorash ordered him to do so. Heads were already turning and passers-by already taking to flight. After following these five for so long, every move seemed scripted. Jorash drew first and fired followed not by Ian this time, since he was on the run, but by the other three thugs left. Minimizing civilian casualty was instinct from my military training, so disarming was paramount. I was the faster draw. My real opponents turned out to be the gang's heretofore unknown shadows, the eyes and ears and trigger fingers of the criminally insane Russian Adelai Niska. These three henchmen proved to be somewhat more difficult to dispatch after Ian's cohorts. I left Jorash and his crew alive with bruised gun hands. I was forced to take out Niska's men. They were not cowards. Niska would surely kill them slower than I would for failure to complete the job. Fortunately, no innocents were injured, at least not by any gunfire. I did kick a young woman out of a lethal crossfire. Security wasn't sure who to shoot. Still, bounty hunters were recognizeable figures. I quickly let them know who was who on the ground and let them cuff and bag while I went after Ian. Only two steps away from the hatch to his ship were left between his escape and me.

He woke up shackled in the prisoner hold area of my Dragon with two light fighter ships of Niska's following us and several Alliance vessels following them. We didn't have long to talk. I had already installed the warp device to my power core in case I needed a last choice getaway. Ian's face on my monitor was mostly disappointed. He should have been frightened, either of me or Niska or a future prison sentence. I gave surface explanations at first. Giving himself up to the Alliance would keep him safe from Niska. In fact, it was his only choice. I wasn't going to take him in myself. He didn't understand why, nor really care. He didn't say anything. I told him that Jorash was obviously not his father and only used him as a means to more money and power. I followed them for long enough to recognize that much. Why else would he have Ian carry out the loot? Jorash knew security could show up, and if that happened, Niska would have no problem severing their deal. Ian was a human shield. I said his mother wanted to see him safe, see justice served in his life, but also safe. He listened. I let him know the rest of his life would be hard, but there was honor left to restore. I only just started believing in things like honor and justice recently myself. I said his mother inspired those feelings. He started to remember her. He said his clothes never smelled like horses and dirt after she washed them. She used to tell him stories of his father and how they met. I said he was making her worry all over again for the return of a loved one. He didn't have a choice to return or not, but he agreed anyway. I told him to contact her. Given the choice, he would have run again, but he seemed resigned when I punched in the commands to send his escape pod in a wide arc around the several ships still chasing and firing, back to Titan.

To keep Ian safe in his pod, I couldn't send the warp device with him. I wasn't sure how the ships behind me would react, so I kept it on board. It was the first time since the war I actively disobeyed the Alliance. They had been simple customers until then. I hadn't planned on using it until I discovered a large Alliance cruiser ahead of me. They were serious and ready to do harm if I wasn't willing to cooperate. Those long . . . quite long lost feelings of honor and justice swelled in me. The Alliance would not have the tool to spread exponentially further into space. Niska may have ended up with the device, too, for all I knew in this mess. Once I saw Ian's pod was a safe distance away, I turned to the device. I entered what I thought coordinates in space far away from there and hit what looked like the get-me-out-of-here button. Frozen to my seat, I could only watch a wash of white light blaze over my ship. It lasted only a few seconds. When it was over, the large Alliance vessel was replaced with a quite different looking ship, but one just as large with a round, disc shaped area, flanked by two glowing blue (what I assumed were) engines. You remember the rest.