Two Cosmic Hours Before Mission Launch
Ralph pulled out a transparent card and handed it to Arthur.
"Take this. I've assigned an assistant to you this time—he's got plenty of experience. You two should work well together. And one more thing—we won't acknowledge this operation, and we've never met. Now go! Encia's called you several times already!"
"An assistant?" Arthur asked.
"That's right," Ralph nodded. "Remember: in and out fast. Your only mission is to get that item."
"Even so, do you really need to send someone to spy on me?" Arthur frowned, picking up the card and waving it at Ralph.
"Don't put it that way. This guy's familiar with the item, and he's good in a fight."
"Couldn't you just give me a photo?"
"That's why I showed you the hand-drawn sketch," Ralph shook his head, then shrugged. "Like I said, it emits a strange, powerful energy field. We still don't know what triggers it, but every time we try to take a photo or scan it, the equipment malfunctions. This assistant manages the item directly—no one knows it better than him. He'll confirm it for you once you find it."
"I hope that's true..."
"Go on—call Encia back!"
After stepping off the vehicle, Arthur walked a short distance to the entrance of the Convenient Way, then hurried to the landing pads. Aurelia handled a huge volume of takeoffs and landings, and all entry/exit points were underground; for first-time visitors, finding a specific landing pad was no easy feat.
To fix this, the Landing Pad Administration issued a dedicated card after each ship's parking assignment—holding it up would display the ship's exact location.
"This number looks really far back..."
Arthur waved the transparent card around, searching for the ship Ralph had arranged. There was no helping it—the landing pads here were massive, and no one bothered memorizing which number corresponded to which level.
He finally spotted it in the distance, parked in what appeared to be a VIP section. Those two really knew how to pull rank. But getting there required a complicated transfer, so he figured walking would be faster. He headed straight for the pedestrian corridor behind the landing pads.
Ninety-nine out of a hundred people walking this route were ship enthusiasts. No one chose this path voluntarily—it meant climbing up and down endless stairs, when they could just take the Convenient Way above.
The corridor's huge glass windows offered a close-up view of the entire landing pad, with all kinds of ships gliding past. There were no fancy shops like upstairs, but it was a feast for the eyes.
Arthur walked for over a dozen cosmic minutes, following the card's directions until he reached the assigned landing pad. He took an elevator down, and found a few staff members gathered around a quiet ship, loading crates of supplies onto it.
In front of the crates stood a tall middle-aged man with a slicked-back hairstyle. He had sharp eyes, and his sideburns hid the well-defined muscles of his jaw. Based on Arthur's knowledge of Ralph, this was almost certainly the "assistant" he'd mentioned—exactly the type of man Ralph would pick.
Whether it was intuition or just a gut feeling, Arthur had felt uneasy from the start. If this weren't a mission, he would've avoided the man entirely.
"I'd rather work with a brainless Terraxian than this guy..."
Arthur muttered to himself, but there was nothing he could do. The man was already here, and Ralph usually acted logically.
"You must be Arthur," the man turned around, a sneer playing on his lips. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and held out a hand. "Zack. I'll be your assistant this time."
Arthur sized him up, then shook his hand politely.
"Are we all set?"
Zack nodded. "Just this last crate of weapons—everything else is on board." As he spoke, he noticed Arthur staring at his hand holding the pipe—It was trembling slightly. His already sagging cheeks darkened further.
"Zack, you..."
Before Arthur could finish, Zack flicked the cigarette away in a flash, drew the gun at his waist, and pressed the barrel to Arthur's forehead. The whole move took less than a second.
"How's this for 'all set'?"
Arthur's gaze moved from the barrel to Zack's face—sharp and intense, like a blade. If Zack hadn't been Ralph's assistant, he would've been on the ground already.
Arthur grabbed the barrel, yanking it out of Zack's hand and aiming it back at him. "Not bad," he said, flipping the safety on with his thumb. "Next time—don't point an unlatched gun at me. That's a hell of a provocation."
The two stared each other down for a few seconds. Arthur gave Zack a disdainful look, stuffed the gun back into his chest, and turned to board the ship to check the supplies Ralph had prepared.
"Pfft," Zack spat on the ground, clearly annoyed.
He holstered the gun, glared at Arthur's retreating back, pulled another pipe from his pocket, and took a deep drag. Once the ground crew gave him the all-clear, he boarded the ship—carrying his anger and impatience with him—and closed the ramp.
Zack glanced at Arthur bustling around the cargo hold, then went straight to the pilot's seat and fired up the engines. He didn't notice Arthur glancing back at him. Normally, you'd check supplies and finalize the plan before takeoff, but Zack didn't seem to care at all.
Arthur sighed, forcing down his irritation. "Hey, Zack. I need you over here. Let's get this done quick so we can both take a proper break."
Even though Zack looked reluctant, Arthur held back his rising temper. He pulled down the cabin's display screen and went over the mission plan with Zack. Luckily, Zack cooperated—otherwise, Arthur would've kicked him off the ship.
"If their turret positions haven't changed, sneaking through those ruins is our best bet..."
Saya was a moon-sized satellite orbiting the gas giant Putota, with a orbital period of roughly 728 days. But Putota—hundreds of times larger than Saya—was a gas giant; its atmospheric interactions produced high-energy plasma and electromagnetic waves, which were disastrous for Saya. Intense electromagnetic bursts could easily fry electronic equipment.
That's why Saya's first line of defense—its satellites—would switch from surveillance to a radiation net upon receiving ground signals, blocking the destructive electromagnetic waves. But that radiation net was like an invisible wall of fire—high-energy radiation could incinerate anything that passed through.
"Fifteen kilometers between here and there—isn't that too far?" Zack pointed at the distance between the ruins and the base.
"There's no cover nearby. Unless you want to charge in?"
Arthur furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure if Zack understood the situation—this was a stealth mission, not a frontal assault. He shot Zack a look.
"Aoshato Airport has dozens of ground radars, with barely any gaps in their coverage," he explained. "The closer we get to the center, the higher the detection rate. If we dive in at a 15-degree angle relative to Saya's orbit, we'll practically slip past them. If we land here, I estimate we'll have a 5 to 6 second window. They won't detect us, and we'll land safely."
"Five to six seconds?" Zack's eyes widened, smoke curling past his face. "Come on—after accounting for deceleration, that's just gambling! And those orbital satellites can switch to surveillance mode in an instant!"
"That's why Ralph gave us this," Arthur held up his tablet, pulling up the inventory list and highlighting a bold line.
"EMP grenades?"
"Yep. You read that right."
"Aren't we just telling the enemy we're here? We'll all get killed!"
"No," Arthur gave Zack a disdainful look—he was too tired to mock him. "Ralph didn't give us these for no reason. Our intel's solid: Salome's satellites have an 80% interception rate, but Putota's electromagnetic activity is erratic—it frequently damages the satellites. We're just using that weakness to our advantage."
Arthur pulled down a panel in the cabin. Where there should've been padding, there were rows of dense metal rings.
"Looks like that old fox made some modifications. This is probably part of the equipment package he prepared. Now, all I need you to do is wait for Putota's next electromagnetic burst, then deploy the EMPs. We'll fake a surge caused by the burst."
"Ha! Now that's a thrilling mission—blow through defenses fast, land fast?" Zack pulled another cigarette from his pocket with a slightly trembling hand and lit it smoothly.
"It's the only way to breach Aoshato Airport," Arthur said. "But there's a risk: we had to remove the shield generator to install the electromagnetic insulator. If we run into enemy weapons or their radiation shield, we're done for. So we need to move fast!"
"Fine, whatever you say," Zack turned back to the pilot's seat and buckled his seatbelt. He waited for Arthur for a moment, then glanced over. "Aren't you coming back?"
"I'm checking if that old fox left us any other useful gear," Arthur replied. He noticed Zack rubbing his neck irritably, rolling his head from side to side. Arthur took a deep breath, his voice laced with resignation. "Are you tired? Want me to take over?"
"Not yet—just a stiff neck," Zack rested his hand on the throttle and looked over. "Come on! Get back here. It'll take at least two days to get there—you'll have plenty of time to check supplies then!"
Arthur tossed the tablet aside and walked back to the co-pilot's seat, defeated.
"Let's go," he said, his gaze drifting to Zack.
Arthur was used to finalizing the plan, checking supplies, and only then taking off. Now, he felt nothing but frustration—simulating the mission a dozen times in his head was better than scrambling on-site.