Making the Galaxy Great

Soon they were once more racing toward A-69 along a two-lane highway. Jason actually felt energized as he shifted into and out of the curves and felt the way his car gripped the pavement. The excitement muffled the feeling of terror.

McCauley tried to reach Michael again. On the third try, she finally succeeded. She turned on her phone speaker so Jason could hear.

“Stop calling me,” Michael whispered. “I’m hiding.”

“What?”

“I’m in one of the medical labs, under a counter.”

“Why?”

“Bunch of dudes from Washington showed up. They’ve basically occupied the base.”

“They’ve taken over A-69?”

“McCauley, did you just say A-69?”

“Sorry. It’s a Fleming thing. He’s like a virus and he’s infecting my brain.”

“I like it. And yes, they took over. They’ve got the Yrrean ambassador with them. They’re rounding up all the Haku on the base and telling them to leave because they think you were working with the Haku to sell some kind of particle beam cannon to the Russ—”

“You know I didn’t do that,” McCauley cut in hoarsely.

There was a long pause, then Michael spoke tenuously. “They . . . showed us a hologram recording. You’re talking to two Russian agents and a Haku in the woods somewhere, then something goes wrong and you . . . kill them.”

McCauley glanced at Jason with dread in her eyes. “Shit, Michael. It’s fake. It was L’harra who killed those guys. I showed up after they died. Fleming was with me. He can vouch for me.”

“I was,” said Jason, loudly enough to be sure Michael heard him.

“What about L’harra? They said you killed L’harra, too.”

Jason clenched his teeth as he recalled the trail of dead bodies they’d left in the woods, including L’harra’s.

“Long story,” said McCauley.

“So you did? You killed an Yrrean and a Haku? Shit, McCauley, that’s bad.”

“Technically, L’harra was killed by some other Yrreans,” McCauley started to explain.

“When they were trying to kill us,” Jason cut in.

“You mean the Yrreans came after you already?” Michael was so agitated he was no longer whispering. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.”

Jason waited for McCauley to mention that they’d killed two other Yrreans, too, but she was silent on that point. “Michael, I’ve been trying to send a recording of what really happened. Where’s the Colonel?”

“She’s sort of under house arrest. I’m not sure what they’re doing with her, but you definitely need to stay away. They’re looking for you.” Then suddenly, Michael’s tone changed. “Listen, I need to go.”

McCauley turned off her phone and tossed it out the window. Then she slammed her hands against the dashboard so hard Jason swerved the car. He felt like he’d just run a hundred meter dash in hiking boots; he could barely breathe and his hands felt weak on the wheel.

“Pull over!” McCauley ordered.

Jason stopped the car on a narrow gravel verge. McCauley took something that looked like an MP3 device from the small pack that she’d stuffed under the seat of the car. She hopped out and began circling the vehicle. Jason got out, too.

“What are you doing?”

“There,” said McCauley, as she reached under the rear fender on the passenger side of the car and held up a metallic object about the size of a dime.

“They put a tracker on my car?” he asked. “When they were fixing it, I guess.”

She nodded. “More than one, I’m sure.” She continued around the back of the car and arrived at the front wheel on the driver’s side. Jason saw a tiny light flash on her device. “Do you have your tire iron?” she asked him.

Jason opened the trunk and got out the tool. McCauley pointed to one of the lug nuts and told him to take it off. Inside the lug nut was another dime-sized device. “That’s two,” she said, then continued to the front of the car. Once again, her detection device lit up.

“Whoops. So much for your hood ornament,” she said as she pulled it off with a powerful tug.

Jason tried not to flinch as he watched. When he thought about the abuse his car had taken in the last few days, he wanted to cry.

“We don’t need them following us. I need time to think,” McCauley said grimly. “Because right now, it looks like we’re fucked. In the ass.”

“We just need to show them our hologram,” said Jason. “The real one.”

“And why would they believe us, Fleming? Especially when believing us would mean pissing off the Yrreans.”

“We have to try.”

“All right, then how do you propose we do that? We can’t just drive into A-69. They’d spot us a mile away and have us surrounded with troops and helicopters and who knows what else. We’d probably be headed straight for Moredale. We need to get to the Colonel. At least she’ll give us a chance.”

Jason looked away, into the woods, then up toward the night sky. “What if we don’t drive in?” he mused.

McCauley’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“What if we get a ride?”

Back in the car, he explained his plan to McCauley.

“It’s not the worst plan I’ve ever heard,” she acknowledged when he was finished. “How fast can you get us to the Oasis Mission?”

It was nearly midnight on a Saturday night, but once they got through the entertainment district around the big hotels and convention center, the streets nearer to the Mission were virtually deserted and Jason took liberties with the traffic lights. He parked the car a few blocks from the Mission, mindful that someone might still be tracking them.

“This isn’t the best neighborhood to be in after dark,” he told McCauley as they walked past boarded up windows and graffiti-decorated walls.

McCauley wasn’t impressed. “Fleming, I think we can handle it.”

But as they came round a corner, they nearly walked right into a group of men talking furtively just outside the umbrella of light from a street lamp. Immediately there were whistles. Jason put his hand on McCauley’s elbow and started to steer her around the group but one of the men stepped forward and put a hand on his chest.

“Jeee-sus!” he said. “Check out your fine lady!”

“You really don’t want—” Jason mumbled.

“Shut up, bitch! I ain’t talking —”

Before he could finish, McCauley grabbed his arm and twisted it behind him. Jason heard a sickening crack and the unfortunate young criminal squealed and dropped to his knees. One of his companions reached inside his loose-fitting trousers, but Jason had been fingering the rinjot and pulled it out and stunned him. The remaining two discreetly disappeared, a trail of obscenities trailing behind them. The one with the broken arm followed once McCauley let him go.

“You were right about the neighborhood,” said McCauley.

Two floodlights illuminated the front of the Mission, where Jason and McCauley discovered the outer doors were already locked for the evening. The bench that Prince and her owner normally occupied was empty except for several half-full water bottles. Jason found a buzzer and pressed the button. There was no answer so he buzzed again. After several minutes, and a third press of the buzzer, a tired voice came through the speaker box.

“Touch that buzzer one more time and we call the police.”

“Umm . . .” Jason began confidently, “this is Jason Fleming. I was here—”

“Son of a bitch, Fleming, it’s midnight. Couldn’t you wait and drop the food off in the morning?”

“It’s not food. I — we — need your help. Kind of an emergency.”

He could hear grousing and cursing and then the intercom went dead. About a minute later, Tina opened the door. The Yrrean was wearing what looked like men’s pajamas with a blue and white stripe pattern, and penny loafers. Tina started to wave Jason in, then noticed McCauley. “Wait. Who’s she?”

“I’ll tell you inside. Please.”

Tina hesitated, eyes darting back and forth between Jason and McCauley. Finally, the alien's shoulders sagged in an exaggerated shrug. “Probably a mistake, but come on.”