16th MARCH 7081, OUTWORLD SCIENTIFIC AUTHORITY TRANSPORT VESSEL OLLY OLLY OXEN FREE

With ears and moods lifted by roughly thirty-nine cups of coffee, the team reported to the ship's bridge for briefing. "Team Leader," the ship's Tabby Cat captain greeted Jillian Toki, snapping off a salute.

"Captain Gallagher," the mutt replied, doing likewise. "I'm ready to brief my team."

Gallagher nodded, twitching his whiskers. "Go ahead. We've just reverted from drive-space, so I'm thinking arrival in fifteen. Let's make it snappy." He tapped his timepiece to emphasize that last point.

"Hard-ass," Nia complained quietly from behind Sorcha.

"Alrighty then!" Jillian declared, turning to her team and flashing her trademark matey grin about. "Who are we?"

"Sun Dogs!" Sorcha chanted. The others around her, Sylvester included, said so as well.

Jillian nodded. "Absatively. And I'm sure you all know what we're here to do. Now, my maw didn't raise her no idjits, but I think we're here to reignite a sun." She spun on her booted heel and strode toward the ship's front viewports, stopping there and glancing back. "Am I right?"

Sorcha lent her voice to a susurrus of agreement.

"Mm-hm," Jillian went on, plopping down on the arm of the helm officer's seat, knocking an open can of fizz-shake into the Rabbit officer's lap and ignoring the subsequent protest. She tapped her knees with her paws. "Everyone ready to meet her?"

"Yay!" the team chorused.

Jillian laughed and pointed a paw toward the viewport, vaguely in the direction of a tiny speck of orange that was beginning to resolve from the darkness outside.

Sorcha felt her stomach clench, trying not to think about her dreams. She could smell grass and blossom for a moment. No. No. This isn't Summerkin.

"Introducing Carolyn M6," Jillian went on. "She's a little yellow star who went dark about three million years ago. Now, the report to which I took a looky-loo says that the OSA is interested in seeing Carolyn M6's system set up for colonization. She's got four lovely little planets around her, just waiting for someone to turn the lights back on."

Sorcha watched as Carolyn M6 became a dull grey orb, its surface broken by sputtering ribbons of flame. Her spine became an ice-pop.

"Captain, we are reaching the inner edge of the safe zone around the star," the helm officer reported, dabbing intermittently at his damp spot with a clean-wipe. "Deceleration in three."

"Acknowledged," Gallagher grunted. He nodded to Jillian. "Better get your team ready."

Jillian returned the nod. She stood, eyes flicking back to Sorcha and the team, and grinned again. "Okay, droogs. Let's get suited and booted."

***

The team headed to the ship's equipment locker and set about preparing for the mission. "You know what I really love about this job?" Sylvester asked no one as he shrugged his wiry frame into an OSA protection suit. "The ergonomic yet fashionable attire we get to show off."

Sorcha grizzled as she struggled with her own weighty suit. It was not in any way ergonomic, especially for those with tall ears, and about as fashionable as a rhino's arse. Still, it was plated with a special OSA-developed alloy that, for the most part, essentially deflected heat, so it wasn't like she could be picky.

"I think I look pretty," one of the others trilled, sticking her arms out and doing a slow pirouette. A Goat, she had blond hair, short horns and an innocent face.

"Chesney, you look like a beer keg," her companion, a silver-furred Cat, yowled.

"A fashionable beer keg," Sorcha added, trying to keep the levity going. Everyone was a bit nervous, as was usual. She picked up her fishbowl helmet from the locker nearby and slipped it down over her head. Her ears came with it, the tips drooping level with her cheek fur. "Still not ergonomic, though."

The hatch to the equipment bay whirred open, and Nia entered. "Charges are stable and ready for transport," Sorcha heard her report to Jillian. "One of them was threatening to disarm, but I managed to talk it round."

"Got it," Jillian told her. "Suit up and let's go."

No! "Wait," Sorcha cried, turning to Nia. "What do you mean, threatening to disarm?"

Nia's muzzle opened slightly. "I... I was able to fix it, Sor. It just had a bit of an attitude." She smiled. "It happens."

Sorcha willed away her shock and nodded. "Great. Thanks." She turned away and got on with securing her suit. That was all she'd need, one of the charges not firing.

"HELLOOOOOOOOOO NURSE!"

Sorcha's eardrums howled as Jillian's voice came squawking over her helmet speakers. "Team Leader, do you have to do that every single time?" she asked pointedly.

"Suit channel's operative," Jillian chirped from her own suit, the tiniest hint of a giggle in her voice. "Catterick, you go prepare the dropship. O'Riordan, Goodwin, you go get the first charge. Chesney, Boland, grab your drills and report to the dropship ASAP."

Nearby, Nia, who had quickly donned her own suit, ambled over. "Let's go, Sor," the Arctic Fox said with a wave of her paw.

Sorcha spun – no mean feat in this logy thing – and followed her. "Coming."

***

Near the equipment bay, just off the hangar, was the stowage space for the most important equipment for this operation – for any Sun Dog operation, in fact – and it was equipment to be feared.

Nia produced her engineer's security pass from a pocket on her suit and ran it through one of the security lock on the hatch, Sorcha doing the same with her own special pass, and they stepped through into a bunker-like compartment containing a two-on-two stack of four gunmetal-coloured tubes. Each was equivalent in size to a short length of medium-sized piping. Sorcha put a paw to one of them, feeling the barely-perceptible vibration of the sheer tremendous power within.

Power that she had designed.

Nia pulled a handle mounted on the end of the nearest tube and it came free of its housing with a clank. Two smaller handles popped up from a panel on top, and Sorcha took one in each paw. "Careful with that," Nia chortled.

Sorcha smiled back and hefted the charge. It was fairly light, as she had intended it be, and so wasn't reliant on loaders or the like. She couldn't help but be a little awed by its mere existence despite the fact that it was her own work. Dropping it wasn't a problem either, despite Nia's warning. It would only go off when told.

Still, taking one at a time was OSA policy. Sorcha had tried time and again to convince the brass that there was no need for such a protocol, but they wouldn't have it.

Their precious cargo in paw, Sorcha and Nia headed to the launching bay. "I mean, I like Jillian," Nia was saying. "But I, uh, get the feeling she likes this job a little too much."

"Hey, I've seen her OSA profile," Sorcha said. "Apparently she got busted as a pup for blowing up her sister's Wendy house with fireworks. I mean, amongst other explosive-based offences. I think there was something in there about blasting caps and plush dolls as well."

"Mm. Oh, and I think Sylvester likes you."

"Yeah, I know," Sorcha chortled, idly hefting the charge. "He's sweet about it."

In the hangar, the team's dropship was being prepped. A standard Saiga-77 freighter by the name of Roobarb, it had been modified with extra-thick hull plating coated in the same alloy as the team's suits. Chesney and Boland were already lumbering up the ramp with their drills; they stood well back as Sorcha carried the charge on board.

She couldn't be bothered to tell them.

Jillian and Sylvester were in the Saiga's cockpit, getting the little vessel ready for departure. "And we have the bomb," Jillian chirped as Sorcha set it down and clamped it to the deck at the back of the cabin. "That's everything."

"Engines are warming up nicely," Sylvester muttered, flipping several switches on the control panel. "Flight systems all optimal. We're a go. Closing hatches."

The Roobarb rumbled as the ramp closed below. "Everyone strap in," Jillian ordered, taking the co-pilot's station. Sorcha and Nia belted themselves into the seats behind, and Chesney and Boland grabbed hold of the emergency railings at the back. Sorcha rolled her eyes as she caught the two of them eyeing the charge owlishly in the cockpit viewport's reflection.

"Captain Gallagher, we are clear for launch," Sylvester called through to the bridge. "Open outer door."

"Copy that," was Gallagher's response, and then the Saiga was moving through the outer airlock into the void. Sorcha felt the wobble as the tiny ship left the Olly Olly Oxen Free's gravity behind, and then the rush as Sylvester hit the afterburners. She gripped her restraints tightly and tried not to let all those cups of coffee make a reappearance.

"Coming up on insertion point," Sylvester reported when Carolyn M6 had completely filled the viewport. He studied his instruments and frowned. "Oh."

"What's up?" Jillian asked him.

"You know the landing area that the OSA marked out for the first trip?" Sylvester said. "It's, uh, not viable. Not for the ship, anyway, according to these readings."

"Something must've changed, then," Jillian muttered. "Okay." She unclipped and stood, looking back over the cockpit, her ears rotating. "So, uh, funny story! Who's up for putting their packs on early?"

A chorus of resentment echoed through the confined space. Sorcha contributed to it.

Five minutes later, her suit was what felt like a hundred kilos heavier, no thanks to the repulsor pack strapped to the back of it. "Just what I needed," she groused.

"Seal the cockpit, Sylvester," Jillian ordered the pilot, and she hit the release for the freighter's ramp. It whirred open, and a hot wind blew in. Sorcha began to shake. This never got any easier. She clutched the charge in her paws and held it to her chest, moving towards the open ramp.

"O'Riordan, keep hold of that charge!" Jillian told her before running to the end of the ramp and jumping off. She disappeared into the fire outside.

"Come on, Sorcha!" Nia cried, following Jillian. Chesney and Boland went out next, and Sorcha shuffled to the edge of the ramp, looking down into Carolyn M6's still-scalding fury. I wonder what I would be now, if I hadn't had those dreams? she thought morosely. A cheese maker like Padraig? A barista like Aisling? Her siblings had taken such pedestrian occupations; would she have been the same?

Well, they always did think I was a weirdo.

On that thought, she stepped over the edge of the ramp and dropped.