sharks, spies, space
4/25/20 - one of my FAVORITE writing exercises I did with my friend. we both had to write a piece utilizing the 3 nouns we chose. For this one, we chose “sharks, spies, and space.” Took about an hour, and the pacing is incredibly awkward from trying to fit in the 3 words, but had an absolute blast.
Even in the coldest reaches of the universe, Melodia does not get lonely. How could she? When each new day brings about a new planet, a new target, a new prize. They do not call her The Harmony for no reason. In the same way that those driven mad by the silence of the void swear they hear ”the harmony of the spheres,” Melodia can destroy worlds without a word.
It does not take a word to break the dark. Only a kiss.
Her newest assignment is on the planet Atalan. Specifically, the new young King. From her file, Melodia knows the civilization was built by human conquerors during The First Siege, and remains protected by its thick waters, dense gravity, and superior technology. More importantly, she knows the untimely death of King Ragnar means the newly crowned royal has found himself at the helm of the Galaxy Coalition.
This is where Melodia comes in — a timely informant during the other side’s weakest moment. Hell, she might even get a few months of a marriage by the time she’s done with him. There wasn’t much known about the new King, only that he was young and smart. A prodigy. But, Melodia says, looking at herself in the mirror and adjusting the face panels under her skin so her cheeks lifted, a young genius was still a naive one. Young kings never last long without a queen, and being the perfect wife was what Melodia was best at.
The stars truly aligned for the Antigrav Rebellion, Melodia muses as she carefully pins her hair back. A few loose tendrils of hair curls loosely at her collarbones, exposed purposefully by the space suit’s zipper. Flipping more through the file, she has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Another “stranded damsel” assignment. Jules really needs to up his storytelling or the Coalition will grow suspicious.
She flips panels open, settles herself in the cockpit of her fighter, and, once she’s pulled close enough to the planet’s gravity, cuts the engines.
The freefall is always the worst part, but Melodia had always liked the feeling of her stomach lurching, the world falling out from beneath her, the stars spinning and spinning and spinning. Atalan was a dark planet, its oceans so vast and deep it absorbed every bit of sunlight into its depths. As she hurtled towards the planet, Melodia could only see a reflection of the fighter in its placid, dark water. Burning metal. Damaged wings. Her own face that, for just a fraction, twisted with fear before she broke through the surface.
Then, light. Brilliant stretches of gold and aquamarine light, somewhere thousands of miles down, so bright they reached even the top of the seas. As Melodia sank, the light turned into lanterns turned into small flames cupped by water wisps. Serpents moved lazily above the domed palaces and cities that populated Atalan’s floors.
After they pulled her out of her fighter and into the security harbor, Melodia immediately broke into tears, filling them in with the story she had long since memorized and tweaked — of evil ambassadors, terrible Rebel forces, narrow escapes. She forced the tech in her eyes to widen and fill her lash line with tears. With the way the guards stammered and cowed when she brought up that she was Coalition Royalty, Melodia knew she had secured herself an audience with the King.
Perfect. The entrance is always half the battle with any mission; it had the most variables. Now, all she had to do was wait, seduce, destroy.
“Announcing the King’s Arrival!”
Melodia sat straight, willed the tech in her neck to turn the pale blue of the current fashion here. The doors opened, fanfare exploded, and -
In the arms of a statuesque woman, a boy in robes. A crown on his head.
The king was a child. No older than two turns around the sun.
It took one look at her, at her blue suit and the white navel outline, at the slitted gills she had installed to ensure air. Or maybe the baby just knew she was insidious from the start. Because the King, at two suns, took one look at her and said,
“Shark!”
