16th MARCH 7081, DEAD STAR: CAROLYN M6

The ramp disappeared from under Sorcha's feet and she was suddenly falling, falling, falling. Her fur tingled as a hot blast from below smothered her suit. Her faceplate glowed orange, and she instinctively flinched, doing as much as she could to keep both arms wrapped around the precious cargo in her paws. Carolyn M6's surface spun in her view as she tumbled, a kaleidoscope of fire.

She squeezed her eyes shut and thought of Summerkin, of her repeated visits to the school psychiatrist, repeated visits to an actual psychiatrist, and to a hypnotist. None of them could help her; none of them could save her from her dreams. Her parents would sob as yet another expert admitted failure, and Sorcha herself had made decisions. Decisions for her future, for everyone's future.

Leading to now.

Sorcha's eyes opened as another lick of flame lit up her helmet, and Carolyn M6's craggy core looked rather close.

Too close!

She yelped and reflexively hit her repulsor pack's activation stud, and a wave of directed force fired downwards to slow her fall. She yelped again as the deceleration nearly made her muzzle shoot back into her head.

Down below, the others had already landed, and several fishbowls swivelled in her direction. One remained pointed down; that would be Jillian, checking her coordinates. Sorcha powered down her pack and fell the last couple of meters to land on her feet, the gel-filled soles of her boots stopping her ankles from shattering. Solid plasma crunched under her as she took a breath and stepped forward. The sky roiled and spat flame, and bubbling rivers of livid molten plasma oozed their way around the few places where it was safe to step. Through the flaming clouds, Sorcha could see glimpses of a deep blue nebula close by; one day, millions of years from now, this would become a binary star system.

The speakers in her helmet spat, and Jillian's voice echoed through them. "Alrighty everyone, the coordinates given for the first detonation are some five hundred metres from here, just below the surface," the mutt informed her and the others. Her helmet came up, bright eyes focusing on Sorcha. "Oh, and O'Riordan's here with the bomb. Let's face it; we couldn't do much without that. And one more thing, which I am sure you are all aware of – avoid the molten plasma. It does nothing for your complexion. But hey, you all knew that already."

"Hey, Sor," Nia squeaked as Sorcha ambled up alongside. "Great day for it, huh?"

Sorcha chortled. "Never a better one."

***

You couldn't help but give credit to whoever had developed these suits, and their efforts to make sure that the blistering howl of a near-dead star was reduced to merely stifling, Sorcha thought as she trouped through a jagged valley not three feet from a bubbling stream of liquid that would kill her if she so much as brushed it. Something from deep beneath her boots made the ground rumble.

Her speakers were picking up idle chatter from the others. Boland and Chesney were yammering on about the latest episode of some drama, and Nia was going on to her about how no Milk Maid Mary's in Sennett seemed to stock liquorice twirls. "Oh sure, they have whippy fudge and sugar licks, but guess what they're always out of?" she was saying. "Yeah, you guessed it. Now, I can believe they're out on a busy Saturday when every mother and pup on the planet is there, but later that week on a Tuesday?"

Sorcha rolled her eyes. Riloan culture often mystified her. "What can you do, Ni-ni?"

Nia snuffled. "Eh. Nothing, I suppose."

Sorcha shook her head. On Summerkin, as long as the sun was shining and the birds were singing, your day was sorted. And I'll be making sure of that.

"Can you believe Lady Carrere ordered Julio to do it?" Chesney was squawking at Boland; Sorcha tuned it out. Up ahead, Jillian was studying her info-pad. "Where to, Team Leader?" Sorcha asked her.

"Hmm," Jillian murmured. "Looks like this sector has undergone some changes. There should be an open area here, like a bowl, but I can only see part of it." She waved at a large sloping edifice of plasma that looked as if it had sprouted out of the ground. "Think this fell and blocked some of it off. We'll have to be careful going around it. There's nothing but a plasma lake on the other side."

Sorcha tried not to stare at the glowing morass off to the left. "Single file?"

Jillian nodded, her face apologetic.

Sorcha sighed and hefted the charge. "Can I go first?"

Jillian nodded again and stepped aside to let her by. Sorcha grunted as the small path, barely wide enough for her boots, wobbled slightly. It clearly wasn't stable. Liquid plasma slurped hungrily, as if begging for her to fall in, and another rumble nearly sent her sprawling into it. She collapsed on the other side, falling to her paws and letting the charge bounce ahead of her. She grizzled as a single startled exclamation from Chesney made her speakers squeal.

Nia was the next one along as Sorcha retrieved the device. "If this doesn't work out," she was gasping, "there's always the balance beam."

Sorcha snorted a laugh. "Nia, I would pay good money to see you windmilling about on one of those."

A sudden, splintering tremor made the ground heave, and the massive chunk of land that had barred most of the way topped over, smashing into the narrow path and sending most of it into the lake. Sorcha and Nia backed away as a shower of molten plasma erupted outward. Several startled exclamations sounded over the suit channel. "We're okay," Boland reported when everyone's nerves had stopped rattling.

Nia snorted as the others came clambering over the new bridge. "Just the thing to make us go, 'so what are we really doing with our lives?'" she mumbled.

Sorcha blinked. "Yeah. Yeah."

It wasn't much further to the insertion point for the first charge, and soon the team reached the ledge overlooking the small chasm where it was to go. Boland and Chesney were first over the rim, using their packs to lower themselves down into the gap to avoid a nasty fall and producing their drills, aiming them down into the ground and pounding a hole into the floor. The Sun Dog drill, namely the Omita PulseBore 400, used directed force not unlike those of the repulsor packs to operate; using anything like energy beams or explosives was a risky proposition on a surface of solid plasma.

Sorcha packed in next with the charge, and placed it firmly in the hole. Chesney and Boland used the force from their drills to pick up any large chunks that their earlier effort had thrown up, and fired them like projectiles into the hole around the charge; they turned to gravel, filling the hole and steadying the charge. She reached for the release handle on top of the cylindrical device and flipped it up to reveal the priming switch that would receive the signal for detonation. One activation code entry later and the bomb was set. A single green light notified everyone present that the charge was active.

"Great job, everyone," Jillian beamed as Sorcha and the drillers returned to the ledge. "Roobarb, do you read me?"

"Affirmative, Team Leader," Sylvester's voice replied through a wave of static. "I'm on my way. Hold on."

It was shortly after this that the Saiga-77 shuttle swooped in low, dodging geysers of flame and bobbing unsteadily in the scorching wind. "Can't hold it steady for long," Sylvester said. "I'm opening the ramp."

Sorcha, relieved to be free of carrying the charge around, was the first to engage her pack and bound like a kit onto the edge of the open ramp.

***

Back on the Olly Olly Oxen Free, the Sun Dogs hadn't been off the Roobarb for five seconds before an announcement from Captain Gallagher came over the ship's speaker system. "Attention all solar blasting personnel. Please report to the bridge, no exceptions."

"Good to see he's still a hard-ass," Nia muttered, popping her helmet off.

"Oh, look, it's Peppermint Patty," the ship's helm officer said sourly when he spotted Jillian coming onto the bridge. "Come to spill more drink in my crotch?"

Nobody paid him any attention, least of all Gallagher. The Cat flicked his ears back as the team filed in. "Alright, I'll just get to it," he told everyone. "Our sensors have picked up a nasty electrical disturbance coming from the nebula nearby. Now, we're out of its range here, but it would likely cause communication and equipment problems were you to head back out there in the dropship."

Sorcha's stomach sank. Oh, great.

Jillian nodded. "We waiting for it to abate, then?"

Gallagher nodded back. "I'm afraid so. Shouldn't be too long. Till it does, I'd say you're all off-duty. Go get a coffee or two."

Chesney and Boland grinned at each other and gripped paws.

"Cool," Jillian said perkily. "I could murder a beef bar."

Nia turned to Sorcha. "Come on, Sor. Let's go get something to eat as well."

Sorcha nodded mutely. Like she felt even remotely hungry now.

***

In the crew commons, Sorcha sat glumly at the table, sipping intermittently at a cup of barely-coffee that purported to be Arabica but tasted more like Formica. She screwed up her muzzle. It had been three hours, and it still wasn't safe to carry on with the operation. How much longer?

Something slid into the seat next to hers, and she turned to see what it was. It was Sylvester. "Hey, Sor," the Beaver grinned, his front teeth reflecting the overhead light. He held up a screen-sheet newspaper. "Latest news just beamed in." He pointed to a story on the scrolling list of items. "Check it out."

Sorcha studied the paper. "Logjam At Sedalia Station's Port Felixstowe?"

"No, in the middle column," Sylvester said.

"Ah. Sisk Group And Arup Join Bidding War For Colonial Construction Contracts?"

"Further down."

"Here: Riloan RKives Opening New Wing For Recent Dinosaur Finds?"

Sylvester snorted and grabbed the paper, pointing emphatically at another item. "Here! Sun Dogs To Receive More OSA Support!"

Sorcha giggled. "You're too easy." She took the paper and snapped back into serious mode. "Heeeeeeey, lookit! Must've been our work out at that blue sun near Ayperia. Really showed off what we can do." Like it's enough, she thought ruefully.

"Says here that the Solar Blasting Division has seen an upsurge in viability thanks to the work of one Sorcha O'Riordan," Sylvester said archly. "Says your modifications to the Ackham-Moller Solar Ignition Charge have made the process more time-efficient and cost-effective than ever before. They're down from using nearly fifty such devices to a mere four. They're looking at training more teams! This is big, Sor!"

Sorcha giggled, feeling a swell of pride despite herself.

"Your sheer insanity in actually doing this job, on the other paw," Sylvester said to her, "has no bearing on the matter."

Sorcha smiled. It was true what the paper said; her work in increasing the efficiency and yield of the charges were revolutionary. But it wasn't revolutionary enough. They only worked on dead stars, and even then, only placed at certain points; and it was Sorcha's aim to devise a system that could reactivate a star the moment it began to fade. She could picture it in her mind: an orbital setup, maybe mounted to a space station or remote platform, needing only a single projectile to restore the sun's fusion process, one that could be fired in seconds.

The Daybreak Cannon.

Every time the Sun Dogs completed an operation, Sorcha collected the blast data and applied it to the next round of charges, hoping to make them more effective. She fervently hoped that this would be the last before the Daybreak Cannon could become reality, and her dreams could evaporate forever.

She took another sip of her coffee, quietly buoyed by the news that Melon Collie were releasing a new album.