Megalodon City Shuttle Port, Standard Year 404 after founding

  They were scheduled for takeoff within the next ten minutes. James glanced at his wrist comm. Nine minutes. He breathed a sigh of relief as he drove into the covered parking garage of the shuttle port, the deep rumble of thunder echoing overhead, and suppressed a smile. It had been worth it. He only wished that he didn’t have to leave Alanna alone, barely protected, in a Tundran prison. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt the faintest sense of impending danger, but there was nothing more he could do for Alanna. Operation Black Dragon was top secret, and a full blackout on all comms would commence from the moment he set foot on the Black Hawk and their destination became known. James had to trust Alanna, and he had to trust his people. Another clap of thunder shook the underground parking garage as he backed his car into position with only a slight squeal of tires. He got out, heading down the darkened, familiar corridor towards the elevator that would take him up above the snow, where the Black Hawk shuttle would be waiting.

  He knew the path like the back of his hand, his feet carrying him forward on autopilot. And yet. Standing alone before the elevator doors, just for a heartbeat, he paused.

  “Got stage fright?” Clara asked softly, walking towards him. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  James just barely managed not to start at the sound of her voice, his mouth tightening. “Clara.” He said quietly.

  “You ran off. After the concert. And I was so looking forward to talking to you.”

  “I didn’t run off.” James said.

  “Alanna?”

  “Yes.”

  Clara laughed, her voice sharp as glass, sounding entirely unlike her. “You fuck her tonight and fuck her planet later in the week? Way to get yourself out there, James.”

  With a slight shrug, James walked out into the light and turned towards the opened elevator doors that would take them both up to the Black Hawk shuttle. Clara followed in silence.

  ---

  The Black Hawk, Standard Year 404 after founding

  It was late and most of the crew were asleep. James had asked them to meet in his quarters. For this, even his office wasn’t private enough. The room was small, not much bigger than the prison cell. There was a bed with storage on one side and a table with two chairs against the back wall. James and Henry took the two chairs, leaving Clara to sit on the bed, legs crossed. All three could easily see the three-dimensional diagram set on the table, green, purple and blue Saraya surrounded by hundreds of battle ships and the small, roughly spherical bluish gray dot that was the Sarayan moon.

  “We can’t get the Black Hawk past their ships.” James said, stating the obvious.

  “So, it’s just the three of us.” Clara said, trying to maintain her composure and mask the tension between her and James.

  “Yes.” James agreed. “The mission objective is to plant four nuclear bombs in strategic locations around the Sarayan moon base, without the Sarayans realizing what we’ve done. We walk in, we walk out, without them ever knowing we were there.” James shifted the three dimensional diagram for a close up of the Sarayan moon base, identifying the four targets, one by one. “By our calculations, this damage will set back Sarayan ship production by over a decade. I realize it’s not an easy thing we’re being asked to do.” He paused, glancing over at both of them “This mission alone, can change the outcome of the war. The successful attack on Saraya’s moon took the coordinated efforts of the entire Tundran fleet. Dozens of ships and thousands of lives were lost. If we are successful, the three of us can accomplish as much or more over the next few days.”

  “What’s the plan?” Henry asked. His voice was firm and unwavering. Whatever doubts he voiced to James privately, were no longer on display.

  James nodded approvingly. “The plan is a twist on what we did on Avalon Station, with improvements. Our shuttle is housed entirely within a hollowed-out asteroid. We go in slow, using minimal fuel, and let the gravity of the moon pull us in.” He paused. “We’ve been in touch with Tom. He was able to get a job on the moon base. Repairmen are in demand and turnover is high. They’re not done fixing the damage we caused during our last attack, and no one likes to stay too long. Not with us still breathing down their neck. I’ve also spoken with central command and our people will make sure the Sarayans have an especially large number of ships coming in for repairs.” James smiled with some satisfaction. They were going to escalate hit and run attacks, enough to cause damage rather than destroy. The goal was to overwhelm Saraya’s repair facilities until the Sarayans were desperate for more people and far too shorthanded to ask any uncomfortable questions. “When we wander in from the cold,” he continued “Tom will be there to vouch for us.”

  “What did we tell Tom about our equipment? I’m guessing not the whole truth.” Henry said with a slight wince.

  James leaned back. “Five people know about the tactical nukes. The three of us, Robert Nagar, and my father. He paused, thinking back. “My mother likely knows as well. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, we’re carrying equipment for monitoring and observation.”

  “Who loaded the nukes?” Henry asked.

  “I did.”

  “Personally?”

  “Yes.” James confirmed.

  “What about identification?” Clara asked, her voice now fully under control. “Won’t they ask for IDs when we try to walk in?”

  “Tom will give us the clearance codes. He says if you have the codes and show your ID, they often don’t bother to run a scan. They’ve gotten sloppy. But of course, there are no guarantees. If anyone wants to run a scan, we’ll need to distract them, or take them out.”

  Clara frowned. “It’s going to be the three of us, presumably unarmed, going through a security checkpoint.”

  “I know. This is a critical point in the mission, and Clara, we need your unique expertise. If there is any way to diffuse the situation, I know you’ll find it. We should have time to talk to Tom before we go in. That will be your chance to get more information. Henry and I will back you as much as we can but point of entry is your show.” He reached under the bed and pulled out three medium sized duffel bags, equipment Robert Nagar’s people had loaded onto the Black Hawk earlier, based on his requirements. “Sarayan cloth duffel bags, Sarayan clothes that should fit and be suitable for repair crew personnel, and Sarayan wrist comms with our IDs.” James paused, making sure he had everyone’s full attention. “Ask Tom all the questions you have before we head inside the base. We will maintain cover until we return to our shuttle. From the moment we step foot on that station, we are Sarayan.”

  Clara’s swallowed. “James.” She held out her hands in a gesture of peace, trying to take the sting out of her question. “I need to ask. What happens if the cop doesn’t like you? What happens if they think your face is too pretty for ship repair or my attitude rubs them the wrong way? What happens if they ask to see what’s inside the trunk? Cops follow their instincts. If anything about us seems off, they’re going to ask questions.”

  To her intense relief, James smiled. “Clara, I had the same thought, and I have a solution for you.”

  “Do you?” Henry asked, somewhat incredulously. Clara’s question had been running through his head, as well. There would be three of them, unarmed, standing in the midst of a Sarayan security checkpoint. If anything went wrong, they were all as good as dead.

  “I do.” James smiled wider. “Fireworks.” He leaned back down and pulled a large box from deeper under the bed.

  “You brilliant bastard.” Henry finally grinned back, a wave of relief washing over him. “How do we get them in?”

  “We can’t.” James said without hesitation. “We’ll need Tom to do it for us.”

  “That’s why they have to be fireworks.” Henry laughed as some of the pressure finally lifted off his chest. With James in command, there was at least a chance they could carry off this mess of a mission successfully.

  Clara leaned over and pulled a black and silver tube filled with gray powder and colored pellets, meant to explode into a shower of sparks, smoke, and fire. “It’ll set off every alarm in the vicinity.” She said, a reluctant note of admiration in her voice. “Simple remote trigger, something a talented kid could rig up?”

  “That’s the plan.” James nodded, his eyes searching hers. “We’ll need to give Tom an extra day to set it up. One more day of life support and supplies have been added to the shuttle. We can do this.”

  “And if all goes to hell, we set these off and run.” Clara nodded her approval. It could work. It was more of a chance than they had any right to expect.

  “We’ll need to convince Tom.” Henry said thoughtfully.

  “James can convince Tom.” Clara said with a soft laugh. “James can convince anyone.” She straightened up, finally focusing on the mission. It was hard not to catch the excitement in the air. Hard not to get caught up in being the best. And they were the best. “We need to get the labels off. Black and silver? And I bet our Happy New Years are in a different font. Give me these and I’ll make sure no suspicion falls on Tundra. We walk in, we walk out. As if we were never there.” She echoed James’s words.

  “How do we get out if all goes well?” Henry asked, trusting Clara to do the rest.

  “A second, larger asteroid is pre-programmed to hit the moon once we’re back in the shuttle. Our goal is to make the shuttle look like debris flying away from the impact. The Black Hawk will remain in the vicinity, doing hit and run missions on Sarayan ships while waiting to pick us up. We have two additional ships for backup. All ships have been modified to be light on weapons with a focus on speed, including some last minute engine modifications. If we need to, the plan is to go in fast and get out even faster.” He smiled slightly, seeing the relief written plainly across Henry’s face. They would not be left on their own, not this time.

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  “Will two ships be enough of a distraction for the Black Hawk to go in safely?” Henry asked.

  James shrugged. “Nothing about this is safe. But we’ve done our best to lower the risk.”

  ---

  The next morning, Clara, Henry, and James met in the Black Hawk’s med bay. At James’s request, three sunlamps had been set up in preparation for their arrival and Henry was setting up one of the six Sarayan movies he’d managed to get his hands on prior to their departure, letting it play quietly in the background.

  “You look different.” Clara noted as James walked in.

  “Father insisted.” James said with a shrug. The features of his face had been masked with temporary prosthetics that could be dissolved once he was back on the Black Hawk. The risk of recognition in Sarayan territory was too great. He looked over at the movie Henry had brought along for the ride, watching as a woman clutched her child and begged for mercy as three government officials searched her house, one of them throwing her violently against a wall on his way past.

  “It’s a bit overplayed, if you ask me.” Henry nodded towards the screen.

  “Is this necessary?” Clara asked, ignoring the movie and looking dubiously at the sunlamp. “Alanna’s Sarayan and she hasn’t seen real sunlight in years. She’s about as pasty as she can get with her skin tone.”

  “Alanna knows how to be Sarayan, regardless of how tan she is. We can use all the help we can get.” James said with a smile to soften his words, stretching out under the sunlamp. “Everything about this mission hinges on our ability to be Sarayan. Mother would say, ‘Don’t act Sarayan. Be Sarayan.’ We wear the clothes, eat the food, think the way they think, talk the way they talk.” As he spoke, he let his voice take on the slightly slower, laid back cadence characteristic of Sarayans.

  “A true method actress, if ever there was one.” Henry said, with some respect.

  “Might have been good to have Alanna around.” Clara said. The movies were all well and good, but Alanna damn well knew how to be Sarayan. And Samantha Hawk’s information was decades out of date.

  “Alanna is known to them. She can never go back.” James said sharply.

  Standing slightly behind James, Clara raised an eyebrow in Henry’s general direction. She hadn’t suggested Alanna go back, only that her expertise would have been valuable during their preparations. Apparently, even James had limits to his objectivity. With a shrug, she fell in line, stripping down and lying under the sunlamp on his right. “Well, dear husband” she said, echoing the accent flawlessly, as James knew she could, “I’m sure you know what’s best.” Clara had learned the accent from Samantha Hawk, just as James had. When they were children playing together, it had been just one more game. Or so she had thought at the time. In retrospect, it had never been a game.

  “I always knew you had it in you to be the perfect wife, Clara.” James responded with a grin in her direction.

  Not taking the bait, Clara brought out the Sarayan wrist comm she found in her duffel bag and studied it closely. Best not to think about who it had belonged to before it was wiped and repurposed for the mission. With James involved, she knew it would be done well, with nothing left to tie her to the likely deceased original owner. Pulling up the ID retained on the device, she looked it over under the light of the sunlamp, noting once again the declaration of next of kin, her dear spouse James Townsend. “And why do we have to be married?” She asked.

  James shrugged. “When people start asking uncomfortable questions, a good backstory makes for an effective distraction. It was probably Robert’s idea.”

  “And do I have to be the third wheel?” Henry echoed from the other side, matching their Sarayan accents with equal ease.

  James smiled in satisfaction, stretching out further under the soothing warmth of the light. Henry was a man of many talents. Acting had always been one of them. He had, on one memorable occasion, seen Henry impersonate a senior officer with terrifying effectiveness. He had no doubt Henry would play the role of jilted younger brother with equal flair. “I have faith in your ability to lend depth and character to the role, Henry. You’ve always been leading man material.”

  “Damn right.” Henry nodded, stripping down to lay under the soothing warmth of the sunlamp. “This really isn’t so bad, you know. I could get used to it. You think this is what being on Saraya is like?”

  James shook his head. “We’re not ready for Saraya. We’d burn in minutes. This radiation is a fraction of the strength of the Sarayan sun and we’ll do it an hour at a time to avoid burning.”

  Henry looked over at James sharply. It was subtle but he knew his friend well. Laying under the soothing rays of the sunlamp he wondered, if they came back alive, just what their next mission would be.

  “We have a good plan.” Clara spoke into the silence. “And really, the mission is we go in, we make some holes, put in the nukes, and leave.” She shivered. And if they did it right, no one would ever know. Captain James Hawk’s perfect record would be maintained once more. No one would die. At least… not yet.

  James shifted under his sunlamp. “Ground operations have a way of getting messy.” He said. Land bound and deep in enemy territory was the last place he wanted any of them to be.

  An hour later, Clara got up and turned off her sunlamp with a sigh of relief, enjoying the cooler air on her skin. The movie was drawing to a close. The woman’s child was long dead. The government officials were tied to chairs in a dark room with wooden walls, and the woman was taking her vengeance by pouring water over their heads.

  James looked over at the screen idly. “I think that’s intended to kill them.” He said.

  “Angerona.” Clara tried to add that special layer of dread the Sarayans always managed to infuse into the word.

  “We still have some of the filtered water containers we took from D12.” Henry spoke up. “We can start using them now.”

  James nodded in approval. “Was it a popular movie?” He asked Henry.

  “It was banned, actually. Most of the movies we have are banned. Smuggled onto Tundra by brave Sarayan dissidents fighting for freedom, and so on.” Henry looked somewhat sheepish. “Really, that’s all I could find on short notice. Movies are too high resolution for interplanetary streaming, so usually no one bothers.”

  “Why was it banned?” Clara asked, watching the movie with greater interest. One of the men finally opened his mouth, gasping for breath and choking on the water flowing over his face, guaranteeing his own death.

  “Subversion of government authority?” James guessed with a slight smile, now also looking at the screen with greater interest.

  “No one likes it when their leaders get above themselves.” Henry said, his eyes drifting sideways to look over at James.

  Clara got up and refilled her glass, enjoying the pure, sweet Tundran water while she still could. She paused for a brief moment and raised her open glass. “To the cheating round.” She said.

  “To the cheating round.” The two men echoed, raising their glasses with her.

  ---

  Sarayan space, Standard Year 404 after founding

  James walked across the Black Hawk bridge and looked out at the purple green ball that was Saraya, now noticeably larger than the surrounding stars. They were officially within enemy territory. If the Sarayans spotted their ships, they would attack immediately, with reinforcements not far behind. They had arrived.

  “The shuttle is ready, Captain.” Arthur, the Black Hawk’s pilot, gave a sharp salute, trying to keep the worry out of his eyes. He hated the captain going off on his own, deeper into enemy territory. It was their mission, given to the crew of the Black Hawk. Yet only three members of the crew were going in.

  James nodded in acknowledgement. “Arthur, you’re in charge while I’m away.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Arthur said, somewhat glumly.

  Noting the tension, James turned to the rest of the crew. “Put me through to the other ships.” He requested. Once the channel was opened, he turned slightly, looking directly into the camera. “This is Captain James Hawk of the Black Hawk. You all know why we’re here. This is no ordinary mission. This mission…” he paused “if this mission is successful, it will change our world. Three people are going to the Sarayan moon but each and every one of you is a part of this. We need you. You are our cover fire. You’re the distraction we need to make this mission possible. Your mission objective, every one of you: damage their ships and stay alive. Captain Hawk out.”

  ---

  The tiny shuttle drifting towards Saraya’s moon was specially modified for the occasion. It was housed inside an actual asteroid, roughly spherical in size and entirely generic in appearance. Their focus was shielding and speed. James had looked over the engines himself and knew that if needed, the small shuttle could outrun some of the slower Sarayan warships. Of course, to leverage that advantage, they would need to get to the shuttle. To compensate for the engines and shields, other machinery was minimal. Their life support was extended to five days, and it was a stretch that left them especially short on space. There were no weapons, other than the four tactical nukes sitting in an antigrav trunk in front of them, covered by the typical tools and spare parts one might expect a ship repair crew to carry, and the fireworks. James looked down at the toe of his insulated boot, made out of flimsy Sarayan material. It was touching the side of the trunk, with his legs folded. Space was tight.

  The Black Hawk got them as close as it could but it was going to be nearly two days of drifting before they reached the moon. Henry and Clara were quiet. They had all watched the Sarayan movies until they could recite every word in their sleep. They had gone over their equipment until putting on and removing their Sarayan vacuum rated space suits was second nature, gotten used to the light cotton garments, played with every ship repair tool until it felt like their own. They were ready. “We’re ready.” James said out loud.

  Clara shifted, kicking the antigrav trunk with her flimsy Sarayan boot in frustration and annoyance.

  “This equipment is crap.” She said. “And the water.” She glared at the sealed container, practically vibrating with fury. “It’s putrid, James. Absolutely putrid. How can anyone live like this?” To her credit, she said it with a Sarayan accent.

  “Saraya is the cradle of civilization in our solar system.” James said dutifully.

  “Those Tundran scum need to be put down.” Henry nodded in agreement.

  “Let’s see you drink the water then.” Clara said sharply.

  Henry looked at his enclosed container. “I will.” He said. “Later.”

  Clara sighed in resignation. There were no windows inside the shuttle, only the hard metal substructure that would (hopefully) remain intact even if the engines reached their maximum speed. If the worst were to happen, the rough stone skin of the asteroid surrounding their shuttle may fall apart, leaving them visible and exposed. She tapped her foot against the antigrav trunk. Three hours down, twenty or so more to go.

  “You ever think about the people who made those movies?” Henry asked into the silence.

  “What about them?” Clara responded.

  “Supposedly, the Sarayan president is wildly popular, right? Madam President Lorelai Achly.” Henry tried to infuse the name with that unique combination of awe and fear that Sarayans seemed to manage so effortlessly.

  “Did Alanna mention her?” Clara asked curiously.

  “No, never.” James said.

  “What do you think of her?” Henry asked James.

  James considered the toe of his boot, pressed against the antigrav trunk in the center of their shuttle. While it wasn’t actually possible to straighten out both feet within their cramped quarters, he found he could just about manage one foot at a time. “Very charming. Stone cold psycho.” He said succinctly.

  “She’s very beautiful.” Henry agreed, thinking of some of the footage he had seen. It wasn’t just her appearance, it was the easy grace with which she moved, the way she spoke. Hypnotizing, like a snake right before she eats her food.

  “And how would you describe your dad?” Clara asked James, blue eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter.

  James opened his mouth, paused. “Ah. Well, not beautiful.”

  “And not stone cold.” Clara relented.

  “Why do they keep voting her in?” Henry asked. “They do vote, don’t they?”

  “I think they do.” James nodded.

  “Then why?” Henry kicked out at James, flimsy boot hitting against flimsy boot. “You do know, don’t you? I’m sure Robert Nagar put it in a nice little report somewhere.”

  “I think…” James paused. “Lorelai Achly knows how to tell a good story. And people like the stories she tells. Saraya is the heart of civilization amongst savages. Their way of life is superior. Their rule is a gift, not a burden. The world is black and white, and Saraya is on the side of all that is righteous and good while Tundra stands against them.” He shrugged. “Their entire society is built around these stories. You can believe them and odds are, you’ll stay safe. Or you can question them and put yourself and your family and friends in danger. Believing is easy.”

  “So it’s not just about telling a good story.” Henry said with a wry smile. “It’s about taking out anyone who wants to tell a different one.”

  “Yes, that helps.” James agreed.

  “Do you think she believes it?” Henry asked. “Does she believe her own stories?”

  James shook his head. “Power.” He said shortly. “It’s all about power.”

  They all stared at the antigrav trunk in front of them, filled with death.

  But not everyone believes the stories, Clara thought. Tom didn’t. Alanna didn’t, either. How many innocent people’s deaths lay inside that trunk? She listened to the quiet buzz of oxygen being pumped into the small space and remained silent. Five standard days of life support. The mission was everything. Nothing else mattered. Stories were important. Stories were what they all needed, so they could live with themselves afterwards.