Lunara: The Original Trilogy

by Wyatt Davenport

  "And why would he risk blowing his cover to give us the location of Eamonn? That makes no sense unless he was giving us more…"

  She glanced toward him, hesitated, and then spoke. "We are also getting additional classified information."

  He curled his fingers around the armrest as a feeling of betrayal coursed through him. "Why didn’t you mention this earlier? You have to be honest with me."

  "It was the only way I could get this mission to go," she said. "The commander wasn’t about to expose one of his best operatives without getting more information. It isn’t a big deal and doesn’t change our goal in the least."

  "Sure it does," he said. "By receiving wartime classified information about supply levels, base locations, and who knows what else, you have thrust us from a simple prisoner information trade into an MSA-wide probe into stopping espionage. You know how many informants have been caught and killed."

  "The risk is the same regardless. I have no reason to believe the MSA can filter which informant has which information. If they could do that, they would have exterminated them by now. Our only way of getting Eamonn was through the man we will meet, and the Alliance needed something worthwhile to expose him."

  "Eamonn isn’t worthwhile…"

  "No. In war, only the practical is valuable. Not just a man."

  He rubbed his fingers through his hair. "This planet will be the death of me."

  "I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to make you upset."

  She was sincere, but he still didn’t like it. "You are saying that far too often lately."

  She ignored him. "We are coming up to the parking district."

  She maneuvered the hovercar over an empty landing pad on the far side of the field. The wind caused the retrorockets to fire erratically, and the dust kicked up around the vehicle, blinding them from seeing into the distance. Below them, the landing gear extended, probing back and forth, searching for solid ground. With one final jolt downward, she settled the hovercar on the dusty, crimson surface.

  "Remember what I told you about this place," Shannon said, pausing before she released the canopy hatch. "Don’t stare at anyone and keep your hood over your head outdoors. They might be uncivil, but they do have a few odd customs."

  "All right," he said, adjusting his breathing mask over his face.

  Shannon unlatched the canopy, extending the exit ladders downward. Both of them jumped onto the surface. Their feet sank slightly into the gravel.

  The cold air bit against his face, causing a shiver. Was that nerves or the cold? He would never get used to it. He swiveled his head to survey the area around them.

  Leading out of the colony, sand dunes dominated the terrain. So much so, he couldn’t see the normal volcanic chunks of rock he associated with Mars.

  The wind gusted along his back over his shoulder, flowing across dunes away from the colony. Fascinated, he studied the wind as it trickled over him, watching the finely grained dust flowing with the air current. He had been in hundreds of dust storms as a kid but this was different, almost alien. Pebbles or debris weren’t striking him constantly. Instead, the red dust floated about like a fog in his shower, soothing his skin.

  In spite of the red fog, an approaching woman became visible from behind the hovercar. "Shannon, it looks like someone has come to collect a payment." He pointed toward the woman.

  Shannon turned and walked over to meet the woman.

  He eyed them carefully. After some time, Shannon shook the woman’s hand fiercely, but Seth senses that she wasn’t happy with the way the negotiations were going. He grew weary and wished it over. Finally, Shannon reached into her breast pocket, handed over an undetermined amount of credits to the woman, and walked back to Seth.

  "That didn’t go well," Shannon replied. "I spent a quarter of my total credits. She knew I was desperate. I’m letting my emotions defeat me."

  "We landed, and our hovercar is secure. Not a bad start," Seth said, placing his hand on her shoulder. "You said the Rusty Bucket was the name of the place. Sounds like a place with drinking and gambling. Do you have your pistol?"

  "Of course," she said. "The Bucket is a terrible place in a terrible colony. Don’t let your guard down." Her face creased up with worry. "Let’s get moving before dark."

  After a kilometer walk between the dunes through a canal that flowed away from their intended direction, they reached the top of a low-angled escarpment. The wind gusted hard upward and faster than anything he had experienced. He twisted his body to cut against the gusts, trying to hold himself against the surface.

  Additionally, a definite change in the direction of the wind caught him off guard. He shifted his feet several times to find his balance. The reason for the change was obvious. Down the escarpment, the dunes disappeared abruptly, and dominating the landscape were the all-too-familiar basalt rock chunks.

  He moved along the edge as the wind pushed against his body from both directions, and the connection between the direction change and the gusts upward became apparent. The escarpment was the meeting place for two distinct air currents: the western flow to his back and the northeastern gusts hitting the side of his face. The collision created the updraft, which was typical to Mars, given the abrupt changes of the Martian landscape.

  Suddenly, with the winds from the northeast, the gentle dusts disappeared, and the new breeze bit into his face. He pulled the hood tighter. He found that the longer he was back on Mars, the more he liked the controlled climate of Lunara. On the moon, no weather systems existed—no tectonic shifts, and definitely no wind.

  After walking down a slope into a curving chasma, the path leveled again to display the entrance to the colony. The pair of massive gates reached well above him—four times his height—with a rusted steel hue.

  And to his relief, they were open, although he also felt some dread at the prospect.

  "This way," Shannon said. She paused several meters before the gate and waited for Seth to catch up to her. "We can enter the tunnels from over there to get out of this cold. It’ll be a longer walk but a more pleasant one."

  He nodded.

  "You lead."

  Inside the burrows, Shannon observed the other patrons and decided they didn’t need their breathing masks. Seth removed his quickly and stowed it in his hip satchel.

  Though the air was musty and poorly circulated, and the lack of oxygen squeezed his lungs with each deep breath, he held back the temptation to slide his breathing mask back on. He wanted to do nothing to distinguish himself from the population. With the hood over his head and his breathing mask off, he blended in.

  After a long walk down a curved tunnel, he led Shannon down a secondary corridor marking the way to the Rusty Bucket. The tunnel was similar to the others, only smaller, and it didn’t have nearly as many people walking past him. He hurried down the winding tunnel, thinking of nothing other than reaching the Rusty Bucket. His mind raced with ideas about how to blend in and not be discovered. He had been on Lunara so long, even rudimentary Martian customs were foreign to him. He didn’t want to disappoint Shannon or cause Eamonn to suffer even more.

  Suddenly from behind, he heard shouts, and twisting around, he saw that Shannon was no longer behind him. He raced back. The shouts intensified, but with the echo, he couldn’t tell which direction they were coming from. He heard Shannon’s sharp tongue telling her attacker the uglier places she was going to stick his head. Then a plea—

  "Help."

  Farther down, behind a bracing strut, shadows thrashed back and forth. He bolted straight for it.

  He saw a large man twisting Shannon’s arm up her back. She was flinching, and trying to turn her head to see who was grabbing her. But then with the sharp point of a knife pricking at the base of her neck, she froze. The assailant pinned her hard against the wall, and she couldn’t move, nor could she breathe.

  "Give me your money," his raspy voice said.

  The stale aroma of the man’s alcohol-laden breath stopped Seth. For whatev
er reason, he didn’t understand the man’s motives. The raiders used to drink alcohol, and their memory always confused him, confusing the logical side of him.

  Shannon didn’t say anything as the pain trapped her voice. Suddenly, the man released her arm, and she heard him whimpering in pain. Finding the courage to twist her head, she peered back at him.

  Seth was over the man, twisting his arm so far behind his back his upper arm was touching his neck. The final snap of the bones in his forearm made the assailant cry out in pain. He dropped the knife with an echoing rattle to the ground.

  "Are you all right?" Seth glanced toward Shannon. She nodded as she massaged her arm, still smarting.

  "Apologize to the lady," he said. "Now."

  "Go eject yourself into space," the man snarled back and threw dirt at his face. The rusty bitterness of the dirt pushed Seth back. The man thrust his hand—carrying a second knife he had retrieved from somewhere on his body—toward him.

  Shannon tried to scream but could only whimper a sequence of inaudible grunts.

  He saw the knife coming, slid his hand forward and grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it. Shannon grimaced as she heard the man’s shoulder pop. The man screamed and dropped the second knife.

  "Apologize," Seth said.

  "Forget about him," Shannon said, finally finding her breath. "He’s a street thug."

  "Are you going to punish me? You look like a scarlet," the man said to Shannon.

  She smirked, curling up the side of her lip. "Go back to your hole and stay there."

  She pulled back her leg, thrust it toward the man, and kicked him squarely in the midsection. The man fell against the tunnel wall, coughing as he tried to find air for his lungs.

  "You can go," Seth said. He pulled the man to his feet and pushed him along the tunnel. The man departed, wiping the dirt from his face and spitting out gravelly saliva. Shannon pulled on Seth’s arm, not wanting to wait for the man to return with company. They hastened in the opposite direction.

  Minutes later, they arrived at their destination. The bullet-holed perforations on the small door weren’t particularly inviting. Overhead, a sign read: "The Rusty Bucket—Tavern," along with a picture of a scantily clad woman.

  Shannon pushed the door, which opened with a squeak. Everyone turned their heads to see them enter. After appraising the newcomers, they all buried their heads, shrugging them off as nobodies.

  "How do we know who he is?" Seth whispered over the hard beat of the music.

  "We are to sit down, and he will find us."

  "Let’s sit there. It’s in range of both doors."

  He sat down. and Shannon took the seat on the other side of the table. He glazed through his hood toward the men and women. Everyone was a criminal of some kind, all waiting for their own criminal broker to contact them. The thought disgusted him. Or maybe it was the body odor filling the tavern, making his stomach clench. He suppressed the bile down his throat. He didn’t like these kinds of places. Too many vices were satisfied here.

  Like a frightened cat, he was nervous about getting too involved in the danger around him. He kept reminding himself that Eamonn needed his help. The same help he had needed when Gwen rescued him and Chloe from Hans Bauer. He had spent his life avoiding the hazards this colony seemed to thrive on. Now he had come willingly into the heart of all that was immoral about Mars. The illustration of everything Mars was to him. Fate had dealt him another low card. "How long are we supposed to wait?"

  "He is here. I don’t know who he is. though. He will eye us for a bit and move in." Seth’s eyes immediately darted around the room.

  "What do you want?" A voice called from behind him. A hefty woman walked up toward the table.

  Shannon nodded to the bitter-faced woman. "Ale."

  "Me, too," Seth said. The woman left.

  After a few minutes, the waitress brought the ales and clanked them down, spilling the froth over the side onto the table. Seth reached for the mug and took a mouthful. The bitterness caught him by surprise, but he forced himself to swallow it. He couldn’t show any casual observers he didn’t belong.

  "I like it," Shannon said, taking another mouthful, leaving her mug half full. "This reminds me of my early military days. We would brew our own beer in the back of the hangar."

  "Sounds like fun," he said, sipping at his ale. "But this tastes awful." His face puckered.

  She laughed and took another drink from her mug. "It was fun back then. Nothing to worry about besides maintenance checks, the occasional raid, and a lot of R and D testing."

  Distracted, they didn’t notice a man walk up to the table. He was dressed in a filthy tunic, much like the other customers, but looking at his clean-shaven face, Seth realized he should have recognized him as the informant when they entered. "May I have some of your ale?"

  Shannon replied: "Only if you wash your hands with soap."

  "Only if the soap smells like flowers."

  The pass code was valid. Seth relaxed.

  "Have a seat beside me," Shannon offered as she slid over a chair. The man sat down. "Odell Garrett, this is Seth Smith. He came with me to help out."

  "Nice to meet you," Seth said and nodded. "Did you bring the datapads?"

  "Right to business," Odell said with a smile. "The datapads are with me. Do you have the credits and the other item I requested?"

  "Yes, we have them," Shannon said. "I hope you know this is my most cherished item."

  "Don’t try to get me with guilt, lady," Odell replied. "I stuck my neck out for you. Pay up. And the credits, too."

  She pulled out her credit chips from her pocket and slid them across the table.

  "And." Odell stared her down and waited for his real prize. His hand reached out, and he waved his fingers back and forth, asking for more.

  Shannon reached into her pocket and pulled out a wristwatch. "Look after it. It still works and is made from real gold. Genuine. It’s from Earth."

  "Here is your information." He reached into his pocket and slid the datapads toward Shannon, and she stuffed them under her robe. "I’ll leave, and then you leave in a few minutes. Finish your drinks. Don’t want to be too suspicious."

  "Wait a minute," Seth said, grabbing his arm. The man winced. "How do we know you are trustworthy?"

  "I made a deal with Miss Buckley. The information is there. If it weren’t, you guys would rat me out. I know the stakes."

  He conceded the point to the man. The Aethpisians and Shannon would give away his status to the MSA if—by some accident—the information were false or lacking; his neck was on the line. Still, he could be a double agent, but Seth had no way of proving it, and there was no point in creating a scene in the tavern. He had to trust him. "Okay, go, and thanks."

  Odell stood and left.

  "What now?" Seth said, pushing himself back in his chair.

  "Wait for a moment and then out the front door," Shannon said, nodding her head toward the double doors to the front.

  After a few minutes, he packed himself into the tight-fitting double doors. Once he was on the other side, he signaled Shannon to pass through.

  He huddled underneath the tavern’s canopy, eyeing the street for any unruly or odd characters. Right away, he spotted a pair of MSA soldiers moving down the street. He shifted away from them and pulled his hood close to him. But it was too late. He was recognized, and the soldiers started across the street.

  Leave it to the MSA to ruin a perfectly pleasant walk through the most brutal colony on Mars.

  "Hello," he said as the soldiers pointed their rifles into his chest. "How may we help you?"

  "Show your ID," the soldier ordered. "Move your hands slowly."

  "What is the problem?" he said, as the door to the tavern hissed open.

  "Never mind." The soldier jabbed his rifle toward him. "Your ID?"

  Shannon walked up from behind them. "What is happening here?"

  One of the soldiers pointed his gun at Shannon and barked, "Are yo
u with him?" He moved toward her.

  "No," she said. "And I don’t appreciate having a gun pointed toward me." With her hand, she pushed the barrel away from her body.

  This was his moment. Before the MSA soldier knew what hit him, Seth pushed his arm up, grabbed the soldier’s gun, and slammed the barrel of the gun against the unsuspecting man’s face. All in the same motion, he twisted his body around and flung his fist into the second soldier’s jaw, which gave an audible crack. Both soldiers fell immediately to the ground. He pulled on Shannon’s arm. "Let’s go, trouble is coming."

  Panting as he led Shannon down the center of the street, he craned his head around to check if any trouble was following. Another soldier had arrived where the two downed soldiers were lying. He would no doubt radio a report to the main outpost in the area.

  Seth pressed his legs harder against the ground, running ahead of Shannon to scout the crossing street ahead. He peered down the way and saw a pair of soldiers angling to cut them off. "Hurry!" he yelled. He directed Shannon to the other side of the street.

  Bullets whistled over his head, causing an ever-so-slight flinch when he heard the terrified screams from the pedestrians. To his left, bullets pattered against the rocky slabs of the buildings. He had to hide.

  Searching nearby, he pulled Shannon behind a vendor’s cart that had been abandoned in the street. He groaned as Shannon toppled on top of him.

  Sucking for air, he and Shannon caught each other’s eye, each hoping that the other would come up with a plan. Neither could offer any ideas.

  Several heartbeats passed. Seth found the courage to peek over the cart and scan the street for MSA soldiers.

  "Where’s your gun?" Shannon said. "Shoot a couple of shots near them. It will push them back so we can make one final break for it."

  "I’ve a better idea." He crawled out from behind the cart and over to the other side of the street to where a merchant had been selling an assortment of pottery items. On his left, one of the soldiers moved toward Shannon. The soldier, by all indications, hadn’t seen him sneak away. But where is his friend?