Lunara: The Original Trilogy

by Wyatt Davenport

  "Don’t," he said, immediately thinking of the trouble it would cause if she knew it was Alliance freedom fighters. He wouldn’t put Chloe in the way of Gwen’s wrath. "It wasn’t like that. I’ll find another way to get her help."

  "I’m not about to let anything on Mars chase you away—"

  "I said not to worry about it. It didn’t bother me."

  "I control this planet. Aethpis or Sarah McCloud won’t countermand my authority!"

  He watched as her face turned red, a sight that had been far too common over the previous two years, and which he knew to be her initial expression of rage. The rage manufactured by the grief she felt from her father’s death, the pain of helplessness at his assassination, and the hate she had for their former captain, Eamonn Dalton. It ate at everything good within her. "I said it was nothing," he said in an attempt to defuse her. "Let’s go home. I will tell you what happened."

  After a short walk and elevator ride, they were in Gwen’s apartment. Immediately upon closing the door, she said, "So what did Chloe say?"

  He didn’t reply but moved toward the couch instead.

  "Should I send a legion to her quarters tomorrow? I can have her here by noon. No doubt she is part of the Alliance."

  "No," he said finally, after picturing Chloe being dragged away. "I told you that I’ll deal with her. She is afraid. You should be more concerned with the Alliance’s terrorism against our freighters. We haven’t received a consistent supply of water from Jupiter in weeks, and I don’t need to tell you our window to Jupiter is closing."

  "You know about that?" she said, rather quickly. He couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or if she was surprised that he knew about the MSA plights.

  "I do a lot more for the MSA than you could imagine."

  Gwen nodded her head. "Of course, you are right. I took for granted your work with us," she replied. "You are a true member of the MSA."

  "Yes." His eyes were trained on her. "After what happened tonight, I am."

  "Chloe spooked you. Didn’t she?" Gwen put her arms around his body and pulled herself close to him.

  "The coldness in her tone tells me…" He pushed her away. "She truly hates what I have become and that I conquered my fears for Mars. I can control my fears for once, and she hates the idea of my strength."

  "The MSA has been a gift to both of us," she replied. "I didn’t see the old government’s flaws until I took over as supreme chancellor. We wield the opportunity to control the next development in human history. There is no greater opportunity than absolute power. We can make Mars right."

  He didn’t reply but remained quiet for a moment, thinking about what she had said…his new power. Something his old life hadn’t provided to him. At one time, he thought Mars had control over his destiny and was ruining his life. Not again. Not with the power he could wield with his mind and his body.

  "A member of the Alliance contacted me," he said, studying the intensity on her face. "He or she has told me where the asteroid belt base is located…the one used to hit our Jupiter runs. I went to Aethpis to retrieve Chloe before I told you."

  "Where is it?"

  "The coordinates are in my quarters."

  "How long have you had this information?"

  "Only a few hours. There is no reason to trust this person’s reliability as of now, but I did cross-reference the information, and the asteroid has the surface to support a base. It is large enough and stable."

  "You trust the informant? Why?"

  "No," he said. "But I don’t see a reason not to trust him or her. You should have a scout ship pass by and recon it."

  "No. I can spare ships, and we can take it by surprise. The recon will only push them to a new location."

  "And what if they aren’t there? It’s a waste to send ships to empty space."

  "The war is over and I can disguise this as a training exercise in case the Alliance escapes. We must keep the informant hidden."

  "If the information is reliable, you mean."

  "Yes. This can be the test for your informant."

  He nodded. "I’ll give Admiral Juncon the coordinates."

  "It is better for you go on the mission to this location. Take the Victory."

  He cocked one eye. "You trust me?"

  "Of course…go in my name and destroy the last remnants of the Alliance."

  No wavering or mistrust showed in his manner. "I’m honored," he said.

  Her eyes, owl-like, searched his face. "How were you contacted by this informant? We should be able to track who it is."

  "There was a terminating circuit within the datapad that was delivered to me. It is totally fried."

  "We can track the package easy enough."

  "It came from the Trivium Port Postal Center, and it’s next to impossible to sift out who dropped it. And even if we can track it, it exchanged hands two, three, four, or a dozen times."

  "Untraceable," she said. She whipped her head to the side. "Keep me informed of the informant’s contact in real time, and don’t gallivant around without telling me your status. I don’t like it."

  He decided to ignore her angst. She had ordered him to destroy the last remnants of the Alliance, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize the opportunity. "Yes, my Chancellor."

  Chapter 5

  Effortlessly, Eamonn guided them, pulsing his stabilizing rockets, making sure he didn’t trigger the pressure sensors plated on the outside walls of Lunara colony, through the vacuum of space. His space suit fit firmly enough for him to move with precision to hangar five’s door.

  Shannon, close behind him, groaned in protest as she slowed. "You know spacewalking always makes me nauseous."

  "This is the only way we can get to the Protector," he said. "Follow the plan."

  "We should have left on the Solarspot. It would have been a lot easier than this."

  "I’m not about to trap myself for ten days with Samantha Burns on the starship," he replied, searching for the manual release valves for the hangar doors. He was so used to these doors from the other side, through the viewscreen on the bridge of the Protector.

  He would be again, shortly, if Ty did his part. Eamonn had been slightly concerned about the eagerness with which Ty had agreed to help them retake the Protector. Granted, Eamonn’s job was to deliver a secure datapad to Sarah McCloud on Mars in exchange for Ty’s assistance, but Ty was more eager than he should have been. The plan called for him to remain on Lunara after Eamonn had taken the Protector. Samantha would figure out who had stolen it right away. Eamonn had doubts that Ty had the ability to hide his involvement in the theft.

  Not that Ty was incompetent. Rather, it was the obviousness of the situation. Eamonn Dalton, the scourge of Mars, steals the flagship of the Lunaran fleet. The MSA would suspect Ty and interrogate him until he finally cracked.

  When Eamonn told him his plan, Ty was excited and reiterated that it was of the utmost importance that the datapad be delivered to Sarah McCloud, no matter the risk. Listening to him talk, Eamonn knew there was more behind Ty’s excitement than just the Alliance. There was Jan. The metalor was important to the MSA, and any strike against them was a strike for his dead wife.

  The fire in the chief’s eyes convinced Eamonn to accept the plan.

  He floated over the hangar bay. The light pull of the moon’s gravity flared his thrusters to fire automatically. He scanned the door panel. Where was the manual release?

  There, three meters down, a cylindrical handle was on the outside of the wall of the release. He thrust a short burst from his rockets and floated down to the release valve.

  Inspecting it, he couldn’t tell right away if it was a spin or a pump release. A pump release made the most sense because he didn’t have anything to brace against if he spun it.

  Sweat trickled down the small of his back.

  With his legs against Lunara’s outer walls, Eamonn pumped the release valve for what seemed a hundred times. The light above the manual override handle flashed to a confirming g
reen. He flipped up the safety glass for the release button and pressed the button.

  The hanger shook in front of him. The door began to open. Ty had been successful.

  After the door opened, Eamonn floated to the opening with Shannon closely behind.

  He grabbed the railings on the inside of the hangar and swung in. His body was pulled downward like a sack of potatoes by the artificial gravity. His grip slipped, but he held after a desperate stab. He signaled Shannon to wait until he had made his way down the access ladder. Awkwardly, trying to conform to his loose space suit, he went down, foot by foot.

  Once at the bottom, he rushed into the Protector. He grinned. The ship was the same as he had left her. The lighting was still choppy, and the handrails and walls still had streaks of grease. A real ship, he thought, unlike those neat and proper military cruisers and their molded crews. Saving Earth was what mattered to the Protector. Its duty was more important than a spotless deck plate.

  Bending slightly at the knees, he scanned the ship. There were no visible signs of activity. He grabbed a large pipe running front to back over his head. It was cold. The engine hadn’t been on in the last hour. All signs pointed to no one being on board.

  Behind him, the vibrations of Shannon’s footsteps caused him to turn as she dashed up the gangplank. She closed the ship.

  Once the seal latched, he removed his space suit and headed toward the front. Shannon trailed closely behind.

  The bridge was empty. Uneasiness gnawed at him about their situation, but what else did he expect with the hangar depressurized? There should be no one.

  He strapped himself into the command chair, and Shannon slipped by him into the pilot’s chair.

  Immediately, the old skill came back, and he started each of the launch sequences: engine warm-up, hull analysis, and fuel counts. He wiped the sweat on his brow and glanced toward the diagnostic screen. Everything was coming up green. Under his breath, he thanked Jolitt for maintaining his ship so splendidly.

  "Mr. Dalton." A voice echoed around the bridge.

  He flinched, but then his shoulders relaxed when he realized the voice was synthetic. He turned to the main viewscreen. "Samantha, long time, no see."

  "Yes, it has been. It would be wonderful of you to power down my ship."

  "And why would I do that? It is my ship."

  "Surely a joke," she said. An eerie toothless smirk followed. "Because Ty Falloom on the other end of this sonic pistol didn’t find it very humorous."

  "I doubt—"

  "Eamonn, get to Mars," Ty’s voice resounded.

  The last time Eamonn heard Ty say those words was also the last time his crew had been together. His heart sank. He couldn’t leave Ty to die, not after he had left Madelyn to die. He wouldn’t leave anyone behind again. "I’ll power down."

  "No!" Ty said. "Get to safety. My life isn’t worth yours."

  "Ty, I can’t let you die."

  "Shut up, both of you," said Samantha. "Power the engines down or—"

  Out of the corner of the viewscreen, Eamonn saw Ty’s fist streak through the air and collide against Samantha’s jaw. The snap of her head jolting backward made Eamonn cringe, and then he laughed. Two years of frustration came out. To him, and maybe only to him, it was comical.

  Shannon gasped.

  Samantha fell but quickly staggered to her feet. Noticeably, her knees wobbled beneath her weight. She raised her pistol—

  Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Blood speckled the viewscreen. Ty reeled as the shots pierced him. Samantha had emptied her entire clip into his chest and face. She had murdered him.

  Samantha swiped her hand across the screen. "Funny, huh. How about that?"

  Eamonn tightened his grip on his arm rest. Through clenched teeth, he said, "I promise you, Samantha, I’ll kill you. Not today, but on Mars. I’ll kill you on Mars."

  "That is funny," she snickered, "since you’ll never see Mars again."

  "I have my ship. Nothing will stop me now."

  Bing.

  He glanced down at the screen flashing in front of him, which read the take-off sequence as complete. "That is my signal to leave. See you on Mars, Samantha. But like your former chancellor, I guarantee you won’t see me coming." He closed the viewscreen. "Take us out of here."

  "Get those quickdrives going," Eamonn shouted from his command chair.

  "I can’t," Shannon bellowed as she read the data from the gravity scanners on the screen to her right. "The Earth is pulling us too much."

  "Why couldn’t the moon be in counter orbit?" He pressed his thumb and fingers against his forehead. "Glide away from the Earth slightly; it should get us out a little faster."

  "Already doing it," she said. "This reminds me of the time we were chasing the scout ship that was leaving Lunara."

  "Except we don’t have any friends or places to hide."

  "Where are we going when we get to Mars?"

  "I don’t know that yet," he said. "Just get us to Mars. Look out—"

  She jackknifed the Protector down, leaving the MSA shooting at nothing, leveled the ship into a corkscrewing spiral, and urged the warning chirps and the beeps away with a series of finger taps to the back of her control stick. As the MSA fighters adjusted to her new course, they were too slow to react to the sonic bullets Eamonn sprayed along their hulls, and with a brilliant blast, the MSA fighters burst into balls of flames and fizzling plasma shards.

  Only having cheered for a brief second in his mind, Eamonn looked immediately to his viewscreens and started to scan with everything the Protector had, trying to find the accompanying MSA fighters. A dozen of them showed up with varying scans. He thought back to the three fighters that they had sent to capture the Protector two years ago. Four times as many fighters showed Samantha’s frustration with him, or, perhaps, a perverse respect.

  "Veer toward the Earth," he ordered Shannon.

  "What?" she said. "Shouldn’t we be getting away from its gravity well?"

  "Do it!" he said, glancing at the infrared radio scan. "I—"

  He didn’t see the intruder on the bridge until the last second. A knife swung around at him, then swept past his cheek and clipped his shoulder.

  Without thinking, reflexively, he sprung from the command chair and faced his attacker.

  Jarret Jolitt stood in front of him with his body crouched and his legs apart like a tiger ready to pounce. He had a knife in one hand and had closed the other into a fist.

  Sizing him up quickly, preparing for battle, Eamonn noted the man was much larger than he and slightly overweight, but he had thick, dense muscles.

  Shannon, who was to his left, turned her head at the commotion. She gasped.

  "Shannon, stay on course," he said.

  "Surrender," Jarret said. "I don’t want to hurt you."

  "Swinging that knife at me was your way of shaking hands?"

  "You misunderstand, Dalton. You were in my chair."

  Eamonn grinned. He felt a wave of adrenaline surge through his body. "Your chair?"

  "I earned it. I should have gotten it years ago. But your Aethpisian government forced an Aethpisian into it."

  "Zephyrians were never suited for spaceflight. You guys always were better under the ground, digging up dirt, hiding yourself from Mars."

  "Is that your insult? An offhand remark about MSA deceit. The MSA people are proud," he said, jabbing the knife at Eamonn.

  Eamonn parried the blow by deflecting Jarret’s arm with his forearm.

  They squared up to each other.

  Eamonn chuckled. "Is that your best?"

  "Give up already. I want you alive, you are worth more." Jarret slashed with the knife.

  Eamonn lunged toward the hilt. He was quick enough to grab Jarret’s wrist with both hands and heave his shoulder into the man’s chest. Jarret groaned as the air exited his lungs, but unfortunately, he held the knife firmly—

  The Protector shook. The rumbling of the sh
ip was rigid but consistent enough to let Eamonn know that Shannon had reached the outer reaches of Earth’s atmosphere. The bright orange-red glow around the hull lit the viewscreen.

  Distracted by the flashing light, he didn’t see Jarret’s fist swinging toward him, slamming into the back of his neck. But he had enough leverage on his arm to fend off the weak blow.

  The ship shook again. That wasn’t natural or steady, he thought. "Shannon?"

  "Missile fire," she said. "Six MSA fighters heading toward us. Maybe more from above."

  The ship shook a third time, toppling him to the floor on top of Jarret. With fury in their eyes, they struggled for the knife. It was life and death now.

  "You feel that, Jarret?" Eamonn said. "They are shooting at you. They don’t care you are aboard."

  "Once I kill you and the Scarlet at the controls, I can convince them to stop."

  Unexpectedly, hearing Jarret call Shannon a Scarlet infuriated Eamonn. He drew his elbow up and slammed it hard against the man’s jaw. But the blow was weak without his body behind it, and Jarret shook it off in a heartbeat.

  Jarret countered by kicking his legs off the side of the hull and leveraging himself over Eamonn, toppling both men end over end along the bridge floor.

  Instinctively, Eamonn pressed himself close to Jarret, preventing him from extending his massive arms, and grabbed at his hands. A whiff of the man’s musky odor creased Eamonn’s nose. He stank. He must have been working in the back compartment during the depressurization. He could survive a decompression there.

  Both men had grasped the knife. Jarret had hold of the hilt, but Eamonn secured the man’s wrist. He wasn’t letting go for anything short of breaking the man’s wrist.

  And that was Jarret’s thought, too. He twisted Eamonn’s arm enough to force Eamonn’s wrist and thumb into an awkward, bent-back position. Eamonn groaned and let go of the man’s wrist.

  Eamonn squirmed, frantically trying to escape the impending blow from the knife.

  Jarret smiled, drew the knife back, and thrust it toward Eamonn—

  Eamonn braced for pain, but instead of the sting of a sharpened blade, his mind swirled into a vortex of white and black spots, and then a shooting pain down his leg sharpened his senses as Jarret’s weight slammed into his knee. Reflexively, he tried to reach out, but his arms were pinned against his sides.