The Meeting

Author’s Note

This is a work of fan fiction based on the television series Chuck. All characters, settings, and concepts from the original show are the property of Warner Bros. Television and associated rights holders. No copyright infringement is intended; this story exists purely for entertainment. I also borrowed some names from several different space-themed works, like Star Wars, Star Trek etc don’t own those either.

Chapter One – The Meeting

My name’s Chuck Bartowski, maintenance engineer at Bespin Spire Station. My family died when the Trandoshians attacked our colony. I survived by sheer luck—when the bombardment hit, I happened to be in the bathroom. The enclosed space saved me, while my dad, mom, and big sister were gone in an instant.

Afterward, I was fostered by the Grimes family. Morgan Grimes had been my friend since diapers, back before we moved to the colony on Kamino. When tragedy left me alone, Morgan and his mom, Bologna, welcomed me with open arms and open hearts. Because of their love, I managed to crawl out of grief and carve out a decent, if simple, teenage life.

After I got my engineering degree Morgan and I got a job on Bespin Spire Station me as a chief maintenance Morgan as an assistant maintenance. Working on Bespin Spire teaches you two things fast.

First: never, ever make eye contact with an Ardani warrior.

The Ardani are an order that adopts orphans from across the galaxy, trains them, augments them, and turns them into the most feared enforcers alive. They’re the ones you send when the situation is beyond repair—or when you need to catch someone truly dangerous.

Second: if you do make eye contact, pray they’re having a good day.

I was having neither a good day nor good luck when I literally crashed into one. My tool kit scattered across the polished obsidian floor of Docking Bay 9, hydro-spanners and plasma welders clattering in every direction. Their metallic symphony echoed through the cavernous space as I scrambled to collect them, muttering curses about rushed schedules and understaffed engineering crews.

“Watch where you’re going, weakling.”

The voice cut through the air like a vibroblade through synth-steel— cold, precise, and sharp enough to make my spine lock straight.

I looked up and immediately regretted it. She stood there like death personified, clad in black combat armor that absorbed light except for faint blue lines glowing with energy. Reputation alone made Ardani terrifying, but seeing one up close was something else entirely—five feet nine of genetically enhanced muscle and biointegrated augmentation and weapon systems, wrapped in midnight plating that pulsed with bioluminescent patterns.

Her face was angular, sculpted, with high cheekbones and eyes sapphire blue in the station’s artificial twilight. But it wasn’t her that froze me—it was the prisoner behind her.

The creature in the containment field looked like someone had crossbred a spider with an octopus and given it anger management issues. Multiple eyes blinked in sequence as it tested the energy barrier, each probe sending ripples of blue electricity across its chitinous hide. The probing seemed purposeful, testing the force field for weaknesses.

“Nice pet,” I blurted, my survival instincts clearly on vacation, and apparently, with a mind of its own, my mouth decided today was a good day to die I continued. “Does it do tricks?”

Her head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing. “That is a Kreegan war criminal responsible for the genocide of three colonies,” she said, each word dropping like ice into water. “I am transporting it to face justice.”

I gathered another hydrospanner, trying to look casual while my heart attempted to punch through my rib cage. “Well, in that case, maybe teaching it to roll over and play dead would make the execution smoother.”

The silence that followed could have frozen hydrogen. Dock workers suddenly discovered urgent tasks elsewhere. Smart people.

“You,” she said, each syllable deliberate, “are either very brave… or suicidally stupid.”

“Given my engineering degree from Stanford Mars University, I’m leaning heavily toward stupid,” I said, clutching my scattered tools like a shield. “Chuck Bartowski, Station Maintenance. I fix things that break and occasionally break things that work. It’s a living.”

She circled me, silent, predatory — the kind of movement that made the air itself tense. Even the hum of the docking bay seemed to hush. I noticed bioports along her plating—interfaces connecting directly to her nervous system. Military-grade tech. The kind that turned lethal warriors into walking apocalypses.

“You think you’re funny, engineer?”

“I have my moments. Administrator Graham disagrees. Violently, sometimes.”

Her head tilted again. “Your administrator appears to be a wise person.”

Behind her, the Kreegan made a sound like grinding gears mixed with a dying cat. Several eyes fixed on me with hungry interest.

“Your prisoner seems to like me,” I observed. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

“Bad Kreegans eat their prey alive, starting with the extremities to keep the meat fresh longer.”

“So concerned then. Good to know.”

She stopped directly in front of me, close enough that I could see the pores on her exposed skin. The bioluminescent patterns on her armor pulsed faster, syncing with what I assumed was an elevated heart rate—anger or amusement, I couldn’t tell.

“I am Sarah of the Walker Blade Clan,” she announced.

Dockworkers flinched at the name. “I have killed more beings than you have met in your insignificant life. I have brought pirate fleets to their knees and made warlords beg for death.”

I swallowed hard, then forced a smile. “Okay… compared to that, my greatest victory is convincing a toaster not to incinerate breakfast. Clearly, I’m out of my league—but if you ever need someone to carry your baggage or clap enthusiastically after your victories, I’m your guy.”

The growl that emerged from her throat bypassed my ears and went straight to the primitive part of my brain that understood predators. Her hand moved to her hip, where a weapon hummed to life, energy coursing through living metal.

“One day, little engineer, you will learn respect. But right now I need to take care of my prisoner. The force field has only half an hour left.” She paused. “Or perhaps I could leave it here with you, test how good your engineering degree really is. Either way, you will learn what happens to those who mock the Walker Blade.”

I raised my hands in mock surrender, a nervous smile tugging at my lips. “Fair warning—I once spent three hours trying to fix a toaster, and it still only makes bread warm. So if you’re expecting miracles, lower the bar. But hey, if surviving this earns me a second conversation with you, I’ll happily embarrass myself in front of any force field you throw my way.”

As soon as I finished saying that, the force field flickered and a tentacle arm shot in the Ardani warrior direction. She deflected it while I dove in the direction of the force field panel with a tool in hand. I gave it a jolt and it electrocuted the Kreegan who retracted it’s limbs and feinted.

I ran to the toolbox box, pick-up a plasma welder and an energy cell did a quick fix and the force field came back to life. Seconds after the Kreegan war criminal was waking up.

For a fraction of a second, I thought I saw something flicker across her features—surprise, amusement, or maybe just my imagination searching for sympathy in a face built for war.

She straightened, armor pulsing faintly, then turned on her heel. Without another word, she vanished into the corridor with her prisoner — leaving the air colder than before. The Kreegan’s eyes stayed locked on me until they vanished around a corner, which was somehow more unsettling than the entire conversation.

“You realize she’s killed people for less than that.”

I turned to find Morgan emerging from behind a cargo container, pale and sweating despite the station’s regulated temperature.

“Less than what?” I asked.

“Less than breathing in her general direction,” Morgan said. “Man, that’s Sarah. The Sarah of Walker Blade. The only human active in Ardani ranks. She single-handedly cleared out the Vogon Syndicate stronghold on Eadu Station—walked in alone, walked out covered in blood that wasn’t hers.”

I whistled low. “That’s… impressive. Honestly, my greatest solo victory was convincing a coffee machine to give me the right drink. Morgan, I know I was out of line, but somehow I felt like she’s alone. Like she needed a little human interaction. Call me crazy, but it felt like a connection I can’t explain.”

Morgan stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “She doesn’t do humor. She does violence. Professionally. Extensively. You’re lucky she didn’t turn you into a modern art installation right here on the dock.”

I shrugged, gathering the last of my tools. “She seemed like there’s a real person buried beneath that lethal, ‘I’ll end your existence slowly’ exterior.”

“You’re insane.” Morgan shook his head and walked away. “Completely, utterly insane.”

As I headed back to the engineering section, I couldn’t shake the image of those blue eyes from my mind. There had been something there, beneath all that engineered lethality and practiced intimidation. Something almost… curious. The next few hours passed in a blur of routine maintenance and system diagnostics.

I tightened coolant valves, recalibrated plasma conduits, and argued with a stubborn diagnostic console that insisted the oxygen scrubbers were “within acceptable parameters” even though the smell of burnt ozone suggested otherwise. My hands moved automatically, but my thoughts kept circling back to her—Sarah of the Walker Blade Clan.

Every time I tried to focus on a circuit board, I saw those faintly glowing eyes. Every time I adjusted a pressure seal, I heard her voice, cold and precise, telling me I was either brave or stupid.

Spoiler alert: the jury’s still out.

Morgan dropped by the engineering bay later, carrying two cups of synth-coffee. He shoved one into my hand without asking. “You’re still alive,” he said flatly.

“Thanks for noticing,” I replied, sipping the bitter sludge. “I’ve decided she’s not entirely made of steel and murder. There’s something else there.”

Morgan stared at me like I’d just confessed to dating a black hole. “Chuck, she’s Ardani. They don’t do ‘something else.’ They do intimidation, violence, and occasionally genocide prevention. That’s

it.”

“Maybe,” I said, fiddling with a hydrospanner. “But I swear, for half a second, she looked at me like… like she was curious. Like she wanted to understand why an idiot engineer would joke about toast in the face of death.”

Morgan groaned. “You’re going to get yourself killed chasing that look. And when you do, I’m not writing the eulogy. I’ll just say: ‘Here lies Chuck Bartowski. He thought sarcasm was a survival skill.'”

I grinned despite myself. “It kind of is.”

The station’s intercom crackled then, interrupting our banter. A clipped, official voice announced: “Attention all personnel. Ardani security detail moving through Section Twelve. Clear all corridors immediately.”

Morgan paled again. “That’s her.”

I felt my pulse quicken. Section Twelve was two decks below engineering. Close. Too close.

I set down my tools, staring at the humming conduits around me. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I wanted to see her again. Not the armor, not the reputation—the person. The one who, for a heartbeat, had seemed almost human.

Morgan caught the look on my face and shook his head violently. “Don’t even think about it.” But I was already thinking about it.