​​​

​East Fork:

A Journal of the Arts​​


As Frail As Humans
By: Michael Black

The morning sun shone through high windows, the light creating streamers through the suspended dust.  Of course, he only knew it was morning because on Serdion the sun was red in the morning, and shifted to bright yellow in the afternoon.  It was red now, and was low in the sky as shown by how dim it was in the ceiling windows.  That was the first feature he noticed, partly due to the fact that his head was tilted backwards.

            The space was large, a storeroom of some kind.  There were shelves lining the walls, food containers lining the shelves.  There were rows of kegs, crates of bottles, boxes of jars.  On one shelf he even spied a big bag of fresh linens.  This was probably the only storeroom in the back of a small bar, which meant that either the bar was not open right now, or every employee knew that he was in here.  If it was the latter, he probably wouldn’t get very far once he removed the lashings holding him to the chair he was in, unless perhaps there were only two or three employees.  If it was the former, then it wouldn’t be very long before it did open, and he had to be dealt with.

            He was lashed to a chair.  With every advancement known to man, or Serdion in this case, thugs and criminals still used leather thongs to tie the wrists of their victims.  Especially when they were trying to make a point.  Douglas figured they were probably made from the indigenous vogearin, a buffalo-like creature.  They had been a popular import to Earth, before the war, and there were multiple things you could do with them.  He had eaten a steak dinner here at the bar last night, made from vogearin meat.  Their hides were good for clothing, their hair for gloves and hats.  Their horns and bones were ground into powders and used for cosmetics or medicines.  Their tendons were even still used for primitive lashings.  Backwater thugs tended to use these and strips of the leather hide.

            Douglas only remembered bits and pieces of what had happened, but the more he woke, the more he remembered.  Fully awake, his head began to swim.  His wrists were bound together behind him, his legs each lashed to a leg of the chair.  It was inclined, so that his feet did not touch the floor, and his head looked up towards the ceiling.  His face felt puffy, and he could barely see through one eye.  From what he felt with his tongue, his lips were swollen, he was missing at least two of his teeth, and there was still blood caked on his mouth and chin.

            His ribs were beginning to hurt, his stomach, kidneys, chest.  He had been beaten pretty severely the night before, or perhaps it had been that morning.  Yes, he remembered now, he had been at the bar.  The Angler’s Rest.  He was casing the place, waiting for his contact.  Somehow someone from the Lohanan Syndicate had decided he was a nuisance, and they had taken him to the back.  A good old-fashioned shakedown had ensued.  They thought he was from a rival business, performing some type of industrial espionage.

            At a crappy bar.  In the middle of the fishing district.

            Well, they were stupid, and that was a plus.  It meant that they had no idea what his real reason was for being on Serdion.  And that, well, that was a long story.

 

He was twelve and staying over at his uncle’s house, his parents both being away.  His father, the senior Ambassador to Kalvernia, was always gone.  Douglas usually stayed with his mother in Elizabethtown, Kentucky, but occasionally she had to attend conferences that his father couldn’t make.  An able diplomat herself, she was currently at a conference in New Tokyo on Mars.  It was a meeting of the various governments of the Solar system, with trade as the main topic.  Representatives, and even regional governors, were taking part.

            Douglas never went to the conferences.  He was only twelve, after all, and would just end up getting in trouble.  So, he was playing football with his cousins.  On his birthday, his mother called him.  He rushed in from the yard and saw her on the wall phone.  “Hey mom.”  He was out of breath.

            “Hey, kiddo, I have about twenty minutes to talk.  Then I have another meeting.  What have you been doing all morning?”  She probably asked because his shirt was dirty, filthy in fact.  Her face conveyed her displeasure, but also her mirth.  She knew boys would be boys.

            Twelve year old boys always get dirty playing football.  “I was the running-back, and I got tackled a bunch, mom.  But I got three touchdowns!”  His excitement was clear.

            His mother grinned.  She was happy that he seemed to be having a good time, even though it pained her in a way.  He was growing up without her, and she had vowed that he would have a mother to guide him.  This was his birthday.  Just this morning she had told his father that this was the last time she was going away without the child, and if he couldn’t go, then she wouldn’t.  It was too important that she be there to raise him.  In fact, she had decided that they were all going to be together after next week.  Once this conference was over, she was going to pick her son up from Earth and take the next Diplomatic Transport straight to Kalvernia, and there they would be a family.

            “That’s great, kiddo.  Hey, I’ve got something really important to tell you when I get home.  I hope you like surprises, ‘cause this is going to be a big one!”  She was excited just thinking about it, and she hoped he would be as well.

            “Or you could just tell me.”  The mischievous grin on her son’s face was infectious.  “I promise when you tell me again I’ll act surpr………”

            She suddenly saw concern on her son’s face.  The screen began to flicker, just as she was about to ask him what was wrong.  But the screen went black, and then she saw what Douglas must have seen.  Reflected in the phone’s now blank screen was a wall of flame, as high as the sixty-story hotel, and racing towards her. There was nowhere to go.

 

            When the screen went black Douglas was momentarily confused.  Had that been real?  Was there an explosion up there?  He immediately hooked into the system-wide news service, and there were red bars on the tops of every station.  Videos and still pictures of a devastating scene.  And below, on the news ticker, the name.  He turned up the volume as his cousins and uncle entered the room.

            “It appears that New Tokyo has been completely destroyed.  Reports are still sketchy, but it appears to have been a massive anti-matter explosion, possibly originating at the main power plant.  There appear to be no survivors, however, search and rescue operations are being planned.  The devastation is off the scale….”

            Douglas fell down onto his knees.  His eyes were glazed, his ears weren’t functioning.  His mother, his mother, HIS MOTHER was dead.

            That was a big surprise indeed.

 

Russel Tragan burst through the door with a package in his hand.  Douglas saw the seal on the cover, and knew that the day of reckoning had come.  It was from Harvard, and his father probably now knew his decision.

            The elder Tragan dropped the package down on Douglas’s desk.  “I just received this from my friend the dean of Harvard.  He said you haven’t responded to his letters for weeks.”  His stern visage and proud aristocratic air was mangled under the oppression of his anger.  His voice shook audibly, his hands clenched.  “Do you have any idea how many strings I had to pull to get back to Earth so I could take you to meet the Dean?  You’ve embarrassed me in front of one of my oldest friends!”

            It was now or never.  “I’m not going to Harvard, father,” said Douglas.  “I’ve been accepted into the Virginia Military Institute.  Senator Young, from Lexington, has sponsored my admission.”

            “I will not allow my money to be used to send you to some upstart military school.”

            Upstart?  VMI might not have been as old as Harvard, but it was founded in 1839.  It was turning 500 years old this November, and he would be in the 500thclass to graduate.  His father may have been proud of his Harvard lineage, but VMI’s tradition was just as important, if not more so.  Besides, he didn’t even have to spend much money going there, because it was a military school supported mostly by the government of the United States. 

            “Mom left me that money to do with as I pleased when I turned eighteen.  I can go to whatever school I want.  It’s my choice.”  Douglas stood up, his six foot frame practically even with his father’s.  “I’m going to ROTC with the Terran Navy, and I might just seek a commission.”

            “You will not!”  His face was red, a little spit flying from his lips.  “The men in our family have gone to Harvard since the 1970’s.  You will do the same.”

            Harvard.  He had the grades to get in, and even several recommendations.  His father had, in fact, traveled for a week to get back to Earth just to introduce him to the Dean, a man he had graduated with some twenty years before.  In truth, he probably should have told his father over hyperspace radio, but he hadn’t heard back from VMI until this morning.  He couldn’t let the old man know he felt a bit guilty for that.

            “Wow, Dad, fifteen generations of Tragans who were scared to death to strike out on their own and try something new.  We’ve been in space for three hundred years, and you’re the first Tragan to even leave the solar system.  How many politicians and diplomats does this stupid star system need, anyway?  I want to help people…”

            Russel’s face convulsed, his voice lowered.  “How dare you speak ill of your ancestry.  Politicians and diplomats help people every day.  I’ve negotiated treaties between sworn enemies.  I’ve helped to avert three wars since I was appointed to Kalvernia.”

            It was Douglas’s turn to get loud.  “You spend so much time helping other planets and you couldn’t even save your own wife.  Mom died because you were ‘averting a war’ on another planet.  The Navy is on the front lines.  Peace through strength, Father.  The best way to avert a war is to make the other side afraid to attack you.  The Serdion’s certainly weren’t afraid to attack us.  How many more have to die before you start giving a crap about your own people?”

            Douglas turned his back on his father, and walked to the window, his fists balled up, his face a conflict of emotions.  “All mom ever wanted was for us to be a family.  All you want is for everyone to do what you tell them to.  I’m not one of your junior diplomats that you can boss around.  I’m your son.  I’m practically the only evidence left that someone actually loved you.”

            Tears formed in the eyes of the older man.  “Don’t you think that every day I wish I could trade places with her?  She was there because I couldn’t be.  If I had been, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.  You wouldn’t be considering joining the Navy.  You would still have your mother.”

            “Yeah, I wish you could trade places with her too.”  The words were out before he could pull them back, and in truth, he had meant them to sting.

            They did.

            Douglas tensed, knowing what was coming.

            Russel dried his eyes and straightened his back.  “If you go through with this, then you will be cut off.  I won’t have some warrior son trying to be a hero.  Get your things and leave my house.  You can come back when you’ve regained a bit of common sense.”

 

The terrain of Mars had changed drastically from the days of early colonization and research.  Full scale terraforming had changed the cold, dry planet into a living, breathing new Earth.  The Northern Ocean and the several craters turned into lakes and inland seas gave the planet enough of an Earth-like feel that Douglas barely felt out of place.  The gravity was lighter, but in all, it wasn’t bad.

            Douglas sat in the park watching the children play.  Fifteen years ago this city had been completely destroyed when a Serdionite terrorist had detonated an antimatter bomb inside the city’s power station.  The resulting firestorm had engulfed the city in flames, tearing down one of the oldest cities on Mars.  Humans had rebuilt.  As Douglas looked on, the little boys and girls were bouncing along in the light gravity playing some sport involving a ball.  The rules seemed to change at a whim, and the children were just being children having fun.

            It was a testament to the spirit of humanity, the very soil beneath their feet holding the ashes of ten million humans.  Their pioneering spirit was still alive, new sections of the city being built every year.  If that wasn’t a reminder of what he had been fighting for these past ten years, he didn’t know what was.

            Douglas’s blue-green eyes caught sight of a butterfly.  In the Mars gravity, they could grow fairly large.  It seemed to not have a care in the world, fluttering from flower to flower, staying at neither for very long.  He watched as it rested on a rather large flower, and stayed there for several minutes.  The children had moved on down to another part of the park, still playing their ball game.  The emperor’s wings flapped a few times in the slight breeze that blew through, but the small creature just sat there.

            Like Douglas himself.

            On his last mission, Douglas had infiltrated an enemy encampment on the single habitable moon of Pythiar’s fourth gas giant.  There he stole a single item, an encryption device used by the Serdion ground troops to scramble and transmit messages to their space-bound fleet.  To cover his escape, he decided to detonate a plasma grenade inside the camp’s armory, but as the explosion rocked the camp, he fell down an embankment and broke his leg.  When the rescue team found him, his broken leg was infected, he was severely dehydrated, and he was holding onto the encryption device like a lifeline.  On their way back to the carrier the enemy position was completely destroyed.

            The encryption device proved invaluable to the Allied effort against the Serdions, and actually turned the tide in the battle for the Pythiar System.        Naval Intelligence thought it fitting that Douglas deserved a promotion and a rest while they prepared the framework for his new mission.  He had been analyzing intelligence reports since he left the hospital, all the while training and rebuilding his strength.  The butterfly lowered its wings again, but this time, it took off.  It had rested long enough.

            Like Douglas himself.

 

Even with faster than light ships, it took several days, and sometimes weeks, to get between star systems.  The Terran Star Ship Endeavor was a carrier, a technological marvel.  It was really a small city in space, with four squadrons of fighters, support craft, and repair bays.  Nearly eight thousand sailors, pilots, and marines called this their home.  Douglas had the privilege to be on her for the second time.

            Captain Carter, the ship’s commanding officer, had requested Douglas dine with him the evening of the third day out from Phobos Station.  The Endeavour’s battle group had used the last several months to effect repairs and upgrades so they could get back in the fight.  They were on the front lines for over a year fighting in the Pythiar system until the information from the enemy encryption device was used to rout the Serdions and take back that system.  Douglas had spent six weeks on board in the ship’s sicbay before a hospital ship arrived to take him to Utopia Planitia.  Captain Carter had made frequent trips to his bed side in those weeks, especially after some of the hardest fought battles.  According to the captain, if it hadn’t been for the device, casualties would have been much higher.

            At dinner, Captain Carter outlined what they were planning now.  It was time to take the fight to the Serdions, he said.  There was a Serdionite defector that needed a way out, a ranking military official that had been feeding information to Earth forces for almost a year.  The plan had been to pick him up off-planet, then destroy his personal shuttle.  Now, though, he believed that someone was getting suspicious, and had grounded all flights from the capital city.  With his personal mode of off-planet travel gone, he needed a team to come in and get him.  It must look like he had died, or that he had gone into hiding on Serdion.  He was requesting a meeting and an extraction.  Captain Carter’s carrier would provide the escape shuttle, which was a captured Serdion cargo ship, and Douglas would have to infiltrate the city to meet the man.  His taller frame and excellent Serdion accent would allow him to blend in well.  His natural suspicion and intelligence training would allow him to find out if the defector was on the level.

            In the corridor, the captain made a final plea.  “Douglas, this Serdionite could have more intelligence than we’ve had in the past five years, and he is willing to share it.  We could end the war in a month, maybe two with what he’s got.”

            “I understand, sir.”

            Carter knew who the man was.  He must have assumed that Douglas did too, but his silence on the subject was profound.  “I don’t have to tell you that we need him alive, Lieutenant.”

            Douglas knew the stakes.  And, he had a plan.

==============================================================

It took a full two weeks to get to the Serdion system.  The plan was that the battle group would launch three squadrons of fighters and a squadron of bombers.  The cargo ship would be launched, with only a pilot and Douglas on board, and break away from the main group.  They would maneuver through the asteroid field and slip into the trading lanes while the system’s scanners were focused on the incoming warplanes.  Once the fighting started, the system’s defense forces would engage the enemy while cargo ships would be grounded, and either sent to the orbital platforms or ordered to land on the surface.  Tragan was counting on the Serdions being extremely predictable, since the entire plan hinged on that very thing.

            Just as expected, as the blocky vessel rounded the last asteroid and dropped into a line of sight with the fast approaching station, a series of chirps emanated from the control panels.  Orders were being sent to various ships on where to dock, queries were relayed requesting types of cargo.  It was a standard response.  Tragan’s ship was ordered to drop the container it was towing, and land on the planet.

            “H-comm control, this is Necca’s Triangle, we need to stay in orbit.  We cannot cut loose our container.”

            “Negative, Triangle.  You must drop your load and land on the surface.  We are transmitting a transponder code for you to follow to your destination.”

            “I don’t think you understand, Control.  I may not have enough fuel to effect an escape velocity.  I only keep a small amount….”

            “We can provide you with additional fuel if necessary.  You must land now, or we will send ships to escort you down.”

            With a resigned sigh, and a wink at his pilot, Douglas answered.  “Understood, control.  Prepare to tractor the container.  I expect to pick it back up when this is all over.”

            He actually planned on leaving the system without the container.  It would have been fine on the surface, but having it in orbit, pulled inside a cargo bay of the largest traffic control stations in the system was a bonus.  Douglas just needed to make sure his shuttle made it back to the station before the Serdions decided to get curious about the contents.  Scans were fine, as long as they didn’t open it.

            Douglas and the pilot landed on the planet without incident, and the local authorities took a cursory look over the interior of the ship.  “Just doing our job, sir.  They think we’re gonna get some kind of attack from one a you freighter guys.  They don’t listen when we tell em you guys are on the level.  Never listen.”

            “I know, Sergeant, you have a thankless job.  Say, I hear there’s a really good bar in this part of town.  I ain’t never been to Serdion before, but my buddy says Angler’s Rest is a pretty good spot.  I’ll be there a while, case you guys wanna come by when your shift ends.”

            “Nah, we’ll be on ‘til they give the all clear.  Dang hoo-muns pushed a squad a fighters out by the belt.  I bet they’re just testing our defenses, but what’s new huh?”

            “Well, the offer stands.  You know how to get there from here?”

            The spaceport police gave Douglas directions, he thanked them, and they walked away.  No more aware than before.

            He turned to his pilot.  “If I’m not back by noon tomorrow, local time, get permission and leave.  There’s no sense losing you and the ship if we can prevent it.”  The pilot nodded, the frown on his face evidence of his displeasure at the notion.

            It was less than a mile to the Rest, and Douglas made good time.  The General was to meet him there.  It was late in the evening at this spot on Serdion, and Douglas made good use of the shadows, just in case there was someone following him.

            The bar looked innocent enough.  Well, for a bar…..

 

“What happened to your face?”  Ever the diplomat.  His tact must have been left on the negotiating table, along with his sense of decency.  “Is that what happens when you try to play the hero?”

            It had been ten years since he had seen the man, and there was really no reason to see him now.  Douglas wanted nothing to do with his father.  Unfortunately, when a senior diplomat wanted to see a Navy “hero,” they were not denied.  The Utopia Planitia Naval Hospital on Mars was one of the best recuperative hospitals in the system, and after his bout with a broken leg and bacterial infection, he was still in pretty rough shape.  There was little to do but let the man come in.

            Russell Tragan was still the top Ambassador of Earth to Kalvernia.  At fifty three years old, he had just begun a new family.  His new wife was half his age, and had just given birth to a new Tragan son.  Perhaps the old man felt this was his way to redeem his family, a new direction so that he could forget about what had happened to his first wife, and what it did to his first son.  Douglas had been cut off from his father’s wealth, though he had his mother’s.  He had been cut off from his father’s influence, but he had his life in the Navy.  His hard work was all he needed to get ahead.

            The contempt his father held for his chosen field was widely known, even though the diplomat knew the value of a trained spy.  He simply felt they were pawns to be used on the galactic chessboard.  The thought of his son being one of those pawns?  He preferred to disown him, and pretend that he had no son named Douglas Tragan.  That man must be a distant relative.

            “Why are you here?  Come to tell me about your new wife and son?  Must be comforting to know that when you lose one family it can easily be replaced.”  The younger man had practiced what he might say to the man he had called father for so many years, but now that the moment was here, he just wanted his father to accept him, call him son.  Why, then, couldn’t he keep the bitterness out of his voice?

            “They have nothing to do with you, and I’ll thank you to keep it that way, Lieutenant.”  He rounded his son’s bed, glancing up at the charts, feigning interest.  “Speaking of losing family members, do you happen to know who ordered that surprise attack on New Tokyo so many years ago?”  He didn’t wait for an answer.  “No one did, actually, until about two months ago.  We managed to track him down, and guess what?”

            The older man slapped Douglas on his shoulder.  He was smiling, but not with joy.  “He wants to defect.  The Navy is about to be ordered to set up an extraction.”

            Douglas rolled his eyes.  “Is this your way of manipulating me into asking for the job?  You want me to go tearing across the galaxy on a revenge mission?”

            Any trace of a smile had left the man’s face.  “You don’t choose your own missions, sailor, you accept what you’re given.  You WILL take this job, and if you screw it up, everyone will assume it was because of your history.”

            “Lots of people lost family to the Serdions.  There’s hardly a person in the service that hasn’t lost someone.”  His head snapped back against the pillow.  His throat was starting to hurt, that clenching and cramping that always accompanied the urge to cry, and the refusal of that action.  “Why me?”

            “Because this is what you’ve been waiting for.  And, if it goes well, the Solar Confederacy wins the war.  If it goes badly…”

            “If it goes badly then you won’t have to worry about me ever again.  I can appreciate that.”  The lump in his throat had hardened.  The pain was helping him to focus.  “I’ll run your mission, Ambassador, and I’ll bring him back.  I’ve a few weeks of recovery yet, but afterwards, I’ll be ready.”

            Russell Tragan walked towards the exit.  “Bring him back, Douglas, and you’ll be the hero you’ve always wanted to be.  If you can’t, don’t bother coming back at all.”

            He left the room, and left Douglas to his thoughts.  “Either way, father, you’ll never see me again.”

            His throat no longer hurt, but those tears never fell.

 

The General was dressed in what passed for business casual for this planet.  He didn’t fit in very well at the Rest, and he was getting some odd looks from some rough looking characters at the bar.  He was sitting by himself in a corner booth, nursing a small drink.  Douglas had taken and anti-intoxicant on his way to the bar, so he would be able to imbibe a considerable amount of alcohol before he got drunk.  He went to the bar and ordered a refill for the General and a tankard of something dark for himself.

            A pellet slipped from his sleeve into the General’s drink, unseen by anyone.  When he sat down, the General looked momentarily startled.  “If you make a scene, sir, someone will call the authorities.  We should finish these drinks and then find a place more private where we can speak.”

            Recovering himself, the old Serdion’s face took on a confused look.  “Talk?  We are supposed to be leaving.  You are supposed to be my extraction.”

            “Nobody is leaving the surface right now, sir.  Didn’t you hear?  There’s an attack out by the belt.”  Douglas drained half his mug, wiping foam from his lip.  “Drink up, and smile, cause we’re old buds.”

            The General did not look convinced, but he took the proffered drink, finishing it in one swallow.  “I took an anti-intoxicant before I came in here, son, so don’t think I’m going to start divulging state secrets while drunk.”  His evil smile, and his casual use of the word “son” infuriated Douglas to a degree he hadn’t felt before.  He had assumed this mission was going to give him conflict, but not like this.  He kept his smile plastered on his face.

            “If you hadn’t, I would likely think much less of you.  I don’t want you drunk, I want you fully functional.  It is likely that once the fighting stops and the Terran ships are run off, we’ll have only a few minutes to make good our escape.  Now, finish your drink.  We have a business transaction to begin.”

            Within moments the two were walking the streets back to the spaceport.  They both had ample false identification, and they passed easily through the limited security measures at the cargo spaceport.  The scanning systems employed by the Serdions were generally quite effective at detecting explosives, if not entirely successful at keeping out the contraband.  The guards didn’t have to worry that anything dangerous was going on.

            “Hey, heard anything about the fight?  I’d like to get back up to H-comm and get my cargo pod.  I’m due at Garrinick in about six hours.”

            The guards just shook their heads, fingers pointing to a screen.  “You ain’t leaving for a while.  That moon’s being patrolled pretty heavy.  There’s bout twelve a dem fighters still runnin round the system causin’ trouble.  Til they round em all up, you’re stuck.”

            Douglas faked a frown.  “Just my luck.  I bet them jerks up at H-comm’s goin through my stuff right now.  They probably think it’s super valuable or something.”

            The General looked nervous.  Deliberately misinterpreting his posture, Douglas put his arm around the Serdion.  “Don’t worry, guy, them hoo-muns ain’t gonna get anywhere near orbit at this place.  They’re probly trying to get some comm satellites or something.  Let’s get to the ship and you can show me what it is you’re wantin to buy.”

            Douglas waved at the security guards with a smile, and led the General to the ship, Necca’s Triangle.  “She ain’t much, but she’ll get us out of here.”  He motioned to his pilot, who moved from his seat and grabbed a chair from a side compartment.  The pilot, also a trained intelligence agent, fit the chair into marks on the floor, securing it there.

            The General once again looked nervous.  “This is supposed to be an extraction.  It looks more like an interrogation.  I won’t give you any information until we get back to your starship.”

            “Unlikely, General.  You’re going to give us everything we want to know.  I’ve already seen to it.”  It was then that the General collapsed, his legs just giving out from under him.  His face broke out into a sweat, his eyes glossing over.

            “What have you done to me?  You can’t do this to me.”  Douglas and the pilot strapped him into the chair and set a recording device in front of him.  “You were supposed to get me out of here……”

            The pellet that Douglas had slipped into the Serdion’s drink was working full on now.  The effects would last for at least a few hours, during which time the General would divulge every bit of war planning and strategy that he knew of.  Douglas wouldn’t even need to take him back. Which was good, because he planned on putting a knife to the devil’s throat.  “Keep him conscious and hydrated, and keep him talking.  I’m going back to the bar.  Have our escape ready to go when I get back.”

            The pilot nodded.  They had at least four hours before they could leave, and he intended to use them.

 

They had jumped him as soon as he entered the bar.  Apparently they had been watching him come down the street, and because of the clothing of the General, these thugs had thought he was a rival businessman, and that they were scoping out the bar for their syndicate.  Douglas was fully awake and aware now, and his hands were throbbing, the skin on his pinkies being scraped off as he pulled them through the lashings.  Finally, his hands were free, and soon his ankles would join them.  It was painstaking work to get out of the bonds, but finally he was standing at the door, listening.

            The plan was to leave the General on the freighter, while their other contact on Serdion Prime flew them out in an older, less flashy cargo ship.  The freighter would take off on auto-pilot, faltering as its thrusters misfired, and crashing into the capital.  The authorities would find the remains of the general, or at least what was left of them, along with DNA fragments from two Terrans.  They would take it as a sign that the enemy had failed, and that their secrets were still safe.

            Captain Carter did not know of this plan, because Douglas had not shared it with him.  The intelligence department of the Navy let their operatives plan their own missions sometimes, and Douglas had requested to plan this one.  If it failed, it would be his hide.  A summary dismissal if not imprisonment.  If they wanted to go the full monty, they could have him tried for treason and hang him.  If Douglas did not make it back to the ship in the next half hour, the operation could fall apart.

            If he didn’t make it to the ship in time, he would be left behind.  His hands were twitching, his muscles at the ready.  He had to get out of here now.

            There was a loud murmur, indicating a closed door on the bar proper.  Douglas estimated that it was around thirty feet away, a five second run if he timed it correctly.  There was a shuffle in the hallway, and it was headed in the direction of the storeroom.  There was a lock on the door, and while he could have broken it, it would likely attract attention from the hallway.  There was a good chance of escape, if he was careful.  The shuffle stopped outside of the storeroom, and a set of antique keys jangled.

            Douglas gripped the longest of the thongs in both of his hands, ready to spring.  He was tight against the wall, waiting for the door to shut again.

            The light came on, and the eyes of the barkeep fastened quickly on the empty chair.  Douglas closed the distance between them in one step, the thong slipping easily around the throat, immediately choking off the man’s breath.  He tightened the thong, using one strong hand to hold the strap tight, while the other pulled the Serdion’s gun from his belt.  It was a cheap Yanderin lazer pistol, with a cracked grip and half-empty charge.  It would have to do.

            The Serdion’s hands were clawing at his throat, his feet trying to maneuver around the room.  Douglas kept him as still as possible, while he denied him breath.  His face turned red, then purple, while blood trickled from his neck from the frantic nails finding purchase only on the soft flesh.  The thong continued to dig into the bartender’s throat until Douglas heard a satisfying crunch, knowing he had crushed the man’s windpipe.  Serdions were just as frail as humans, and an unconscious Serdion just as heavy.  Douglas quickly tied the man’s wrists, then shoved him beneath a bin of dirty towels.  He would be found eventually, dead or alive.

            He moved quickly, knowing the time restraints he was under.  His pilot had orders to leave, and to continue with the plan, if Douglas did not return.  Making certain that the lazer was ready to fire, he opened the door that led to the barroom.  The more people that saw him, the better.  His first shot put a smoking hole through thug that had broken his nose the night before, and the second shot shortened his partner by about half a leg.  They had not been prepared for that, and, judging by the lack of other armed guards, still had no idea who it was they had beaten.  Douglas grabbed the stunned man by the cuff of his shirt.

            “Remember……me!”  The bar patrons were stunned as they watched him set the lazer to its lowest setting and burn the Terran Cross into the half-legged Serdion’s forehead.  Douglas left the bar with no one following him.

 

“I know I’m cutting it close, Ghota, just get us out of here.”  Douglas looked around the newly acquired cargo vessel.  “Does this thing even fly?”

            “Watch it, buck-o.  This is my baby.”  The plump  criminal had been promised amnesty after this, his riskiest operation.  He had run guns for resistance fighters on the surface, he had ferried low-level defectors to neutral planets, and had even outrun a Terran destroyer, but pulling two assassins out of enemy territory while the target was still being killed was a new one even for him.  The ship rose into the air, and the three men watched as the freighter Necca’s Triangle made her quick exit, then her fantastic swan dive into the capital city.  An entire block of buildings were demolished.

            “I suppose we have what we came for, Hunt?”  The pilot held up his hand, containing a small flash drive.

            “He talked for almost five hours straight.  We have more information than we can possibly use.”  He tossed the card to Douglas.  “And just how did you get the crap beat out of you again?”

            The wounded man simply smiled.  “It was worth it.”  Turning to the new pilot, Ghota, he said, “Can you get us within ten miles of H-comm Control?  I need to send a message to someone.”

            Perplexed, Ghota just nodded.  “Yeah, but why take the risk?  I’m retiring next week.”

            “Trust me, old man, it’s a message all Serdion is going to want to hear.”

 

Douglas was sitting on the park bench, watching the butterflies.  They were small here, not at all like their Martian cousins.  They still fluttered from flower to flower, seemingly without a care in the world.  Douglas felt better today, and he had decided that a vacation was in his best interests.  Besides, he had told Intel that he wasn’t coming back for at least a month.  His debriefing had been tortuous, and his bosses were still a little sore at not having the general in their possession.

            Fortunately, the intelligence that was recorded on the flash drive, in addition to secret documents found in the general’s uniform, were enough to launch a counter offensive straight into the heart of Serdion territory.  They were suing for peace, after all these years.

            Douglas felt at peace for the first time in many years.  His mother’s killer was dead, at his own hand.  They say that revenge is never as satisfying as it promises to be, but Douglas Tragan was sleeping like a baby.  He had not only taken out his mother’s killer, but had left a message with the Serdions that they couldn’t ignore.

 

“So, what is this message you want to send?”

            Douglas pulled an encoded transmitter from an empty spot in the heel of his left boot.  He tapped a series of commands into the control panel and then pushed “send.”

            “Just watch.  Remember that cargo container we had to drop off before we landed?  I watched them tow it into a large cargo bay near the center of the station.”

            Before their eyes they watched as the station blew in half.  The flash nearly blinded them as the window polarization routine failed to kick in on the old ship.  The gun-runner beat a hasty retreat, dodging into the asteroid belt.  “What the hell was that?”

            “A two megaton nuclear warhead.  The station might even crash land on the planet.”

            Douglas simply turned from the sight, finding a bench to lie down on.  His part of the mission was over.  It was up to the others to get him and the information home.

            The other two men just stared at him, barely conceiving the sight they had just witnessed.  The immediate death toll would be in the hundreds of thousands, for the population of H-comm Control was nearly half a million.  It seemed not to bother Douglas one bit.

            “That was for New Tokyo.”

            “Nice statement.  I think they’ll understand.”

 

Douglas heard the sound of crunching grass behind him.  Without turning he knew it was his father.

            “I did what you asked.”

            “You did more than I asked.”

            Douglas had not brought the general back to Terran authorities.  His father had not wanted him to, regardless of what he had said.  The matter of New Tokyo and his wife’s death had been a weight around the Ambassador’s neck for twenty years, a demon that was not exorcised.  Now, with the weight gone, the guilt he felt was beginning to diminish.

            Douglas stood, his tall frame now inches over his father’s.  “I loved her, dad.  I don’t know how I’ve gotten along this far without her.”

            Russell Tragan pulled his son into his arms, embracing him for the first time in years.  “I loved her too, son.  It’s over now.  It’s over.”

            Douglas’s throat hurt again, but this time he decided not to stop the flow of tears.  He cried, burying his face in his father’s shoulder.  It felt good to get it out.

            All around him, the butterflies fluttered, without a care in the world.