2017

DEDICATION

For my family.

CHAPTER ONE

JOE STORN HAD TWO serious problems. One, he lay naked on what looked and felt like a cold autopsy slab and two, he desperately needed to take a leak.

Slashes of light and crackles of weapons fire beyond the one small window he could see in the only door told him it would not be prudent to leave just yet.

He rolled off the steel table, feeling his hipbone catch in one of the troughs along the side. His knees buckled as his feet hit the floor. He grabbed at a tall cabinet. It rolled away the moment he touched it. Weak. Sick. What’s going on? Then his brain kicked in. Oh. Yeah. Freeze sleep. In Luna. He crawled after the glass and metal storage unit, needing its support to stand. Capturing it, he drew it with him to a wall he could lean on and hid behind it while the battle in the tunnel continued, then dwindled.

The door slid open a few centimeters and Storn huddled down as far as possible, watching as a tall slim figure sidled in.

Captain Storn, a youthful voice said in Loonie-accented Basic, I can see your feet behind that instrument case, but you’ll be invisible to anyone passing by in the tunnel. While he spoke, he snatched an inflatable human figure from a storage locker, laid it on the table and pulled the cord to activate it. It appeared to breathe, slight, but rhythmic rises and falls of the chest. He flipped a sheet over it and turned again to where Joe hunkered.

Stay where you are until I get back. I have to find you something to wear. I’ll be as quick as I can. With the press of a button to open the door again, he was gone.

As quick as the man could be was definitely not quick enough for Joe’s over stressed bladder. A brief study of the dimly lit room proved unhelpful. It certainly boasted nothing like a head. He’d have to leave this dig despite the battle between unknown forces out there.

He caught his reflection in the glass door of another shelf unit as he squinted in the dim light, hoping for a weapon. His gaunt face was all sharply angled cheeks and chin and nose with his frontal bone jutting above. He snatched a white sheet from a stack in the same storage closet the dummy had come from and wrapped it around himself, sarong style. Twice. Cryostasis really stole beef from a man’s body. How long had he been in freeze, anyway? And why, whenever he’d asked, had the only response been more dope dripping into his circulatory system?

He glanced at the dummy. Its chest still rose and fell. But… why have one in an autopsy suite? Practice? Practice of what? His confused mind boggled and he looked quickly away, encountering another disconcerting reflection of himself.

His shoulders and upper arms looked fleshless and his feet, jutting out below the sheet, should have belonged to a skeleton. He still needed to piss. Badly. The firing of those weapons eased off again and he staggered to the door. Even in Lunar grav, and nothing but skin and bones, he found it hard to move.

The door slid aside in total silence and he managed two unsteady paces down the vacant corridor. The warm, resilient floor underfoot felt good, but the need for the waste-station came close to being obviated when a hand gripped his arm.

Storn! Stop! He jerked himself free and spun, nearly losing his toga and his balance. I told you to stay put. It was the same guy who’d been in the autopsy room. He now carried a blue cloth bundle under one arm and a pair of gummy shoes in his hand.

You didn’t tell me the location of the nearest john.

The man, much younger and over a head taller than Joe, looked questioning. John?

I have to piss.

Understanding dawned. Oh. Why didn’t you use the lavo in the iso dig? The man turned Joe, shoved him back from where he’d come.

Over there. He gestured to a corner where all Joe saw was a panel of recessed buttons.

Joe frowned. What? You want me to take a leak on the deck?

The young guy sighed, shook his head slowly and sadly and muttered, Dirtsiders. Before Joe could return the insult with Mole, the boy thrust Joe ahead of him, nudging him into position on a pair of footprints etched into the floor. He stepped back quickly and said, Lavo.

In an instant, a semicircle of… something opaque surrounded Joe, ends abutting the corner walls, leaving him feeling as if he were enclosed in a pie slice, the arc of crust curving behind him all the way to the ceiling of the dig. On the left-hand side of the corner, a sparkling clean urinal extruded, flanked by a standard toilet and wash basin on the opposite wall. Above, he saw the glint of a chrome shower head.

He slapped the impervious wall and yelled, Jeeze! What is this?

It’s the lavo.

How do I get out?

When you’re done, just say Open."

‘Open’ like in ‘Open Sesame’? As he spoke, the facilities sucked back into the walls and the pie-crust curve disappeared in the same instant and he still hadn’t done what he needed to do.

Good. Ready to go? We have to be quick. Can you run in this grav?

Joe pushed aside the hand reaching for his arm and jerked away. I’m not done!

He drew in a short breath, planted his feet on those two impressions again and said, Lavo. The curved wall, the conveniences, everything returned with scarcely a whisper, like magic. Christ, he muttered, and stepped in front of the urinal, dropping his sheet. Moments later, not truly expecting the desired result, he said, Open and it did. Apart from the two footprint impressions on the floor there was no sign of the lavo’s having ever existed. How in the hell was that engineered?

The smooth-cheeked, wide-eyed boy was clearly Loonie-born. His physiognomy gave that away. Spider-skinny and incredibly tall, he shook out a pair of pajama pants and a pullover shirt similar to what he wore. He dropped the shoes before Joe and handed him the garments. Put these on. It was not a request.

Joe hauled the pants up and pulled the drawstring tight around his waist. What happens if someone uses the words ‘lavo’ and ‘open’ in the same sentence, even the same paragraph? Does it result in curved walls and all that stuff start popping up all over the place? And if someone’s inside, and someone outside says ‘open’, is everything, well, exposed?

Of course not. You have to be standing on the footprints to activate it from the outside. Now, put this on.

Joe tugged a baggy shirt over his head as the kid said, We don’t have much time, Captain. Gotta get you out of sight and out of their hands while there’s a lull in the fighting. I think they’re negotiating. It took hours for you to wake up after I cut your drip and the restraints. Can’t waste any more time. Put on your gummies.

Joe scuffed his feet into the rubbery shoes the youth held out. Pink gummy-shoes.

They ran. It took Joe a few paces to reclaim the motion he’d once been familiar with, plant foot, push off, land on other foot, plant that one, push off, ricochet from a wall with a shoulder bump at the end of a corridor to change trajectories. Not exactly as in null-G, but close enough that muscle memory kicked in.

The acrid stench of burned flesh combined with propulsion gases from particle weapons nauseated him. On and on they went through progressively narrowing tunnels where digs appeared farther and farther apart. A mostly unpopulated sub-division, awaiting tenants?

In here. The boy slid open a door and thrust Joe through, whipping it shut behind him.

Dante! Joe couldn’t contain the surprised cry as he saw one of his officers lying, looking wan, on a bed. At least he wasn’t on a metal slab with drainage troughs. Multiple tubes festooned First Lieutenant Dante Watson’s body, dripping who-knew what into him and likely also draining out other compounds. Wires led here and there, and a small white scull-cap with more leads protruding from it went to a bank of machines where screens showed active, arcane designs. Watson showed no sign of hearing. His eyes remained closed. His chest, like that of the fake person back in the autopsy room, rose and fell slowly, but regularly. The whiteness of his skin alarmed Joe. Fear and bafflement nearly overrode the joy of learning one of his crew was with him. And alive.

He took a long step closer, touched Dante’s shoulder. It felt warm, and slightly damp. What’s wrong with him? he demanded.

Quiet! whispered the youth. He slid open another door, shoving Joe through. Keep your voices low, he admonished, then exited through the door, back to Dante’s room.

Joe saw his first officer, Commander Jasmine Yamaguchi, reclining in a high-backed chair with a slanted footrest. His heart thumped hard. What was she doing here? He’d instructed her to take his shuttle, their unwanted passenger, and the rest of the crew back to Earth. Though she appeared frail and sat with her eyes closed, dark lashes not even fluttering, a faint hint of pink adorned her cheeks. The toes of one of her small feet protruded from under the edge of a lap robe. Low-volume music floated from unseen speakers.

Jasmine, he said, and when she didn’t respond, spoke a little louder. Jas?

Her eyes popped open. She jumped to her feet, staggered and caught herself on the side of her chair. Her lap robe pooled at her feet. She too, wore pale blue scrubs or pajamas, and was as bald as an egg. He rubbed a hand over his own head. As bald as him.

Joe! she exclaimed. Oh, Joe. It’s so good to see you. Are you all right? They’ve told us so little. You were gone even before I was revived and— Her normally calm face crumpled.

She’d been revived? Rest easy, Jas. He caught her shoulder in one hand. It was like holding a bag of sticks. What’s going on? Didn’t you take everyone home after we landed here?

Suddenly, she slumped onto the side of the chair as if she had no strength to continue standing. The color drained from her face. Tears flooded her eyes. Her chin trembled.

"No. No one from our shuttle got home. But most of us lived because of your order that everyone who could be, including the prison-guard and that major, get suited up before entering Low Lunar Orbit.

Most of us lived?

Aye sir. Ex-except for Leon. Her voice broke. We managed to get those two prisoners, and everyone else out, then… I—I’m sorry. She covered her face with her hands. Oh, god, I’m so sorry. I failed you, failed Leon, and he was only twenty-four, she babbled. He’d have gone far, but I crashed the ship.

She wept, shoulders shaking, her entire body twisted in on itself. Joe had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. He gave her a slight shake. Commander Yamaguchi! he barked. Report!

That snapped her out of it. She jerked up, jumped to her feet again, coming to attention like a recruit.

Aye sir. Tears continued to run down her face making splashes on her pajama top. Her voice rasped as she responded. With the captain incapacitated, as second-in-command my duty was to carry out his last orders.

Incapacitated?

Aye sir. Unconscious. Because of the explosion and fire on the bridge. The ship suffered massive instrument failure. I lost control. Missed the landing lock by a few hundred meters.

Explosion? Fire on the bridge?

As if he hadn’t repeated her words, Jasmine went on with her recitation, looking not at him, but over his shoulder at the wall. The ship sideswiped an instrument dome. Ship’s mechanisms were mostly out. Spacer Atari patched through a link to the crew of a trackbus. They pulled out those they could.

Those they could? This time, he managed not to voice his repetition. Bits and pieces of memory began to filter into his drug-slowed brain. Go on, he said less harshly.

The cargo hold still maintained full pressure and oxy. I ordered the two prisoners emergency-masked for transport to the trackbus. Master Chief Leon Hendrix carried one, alive and unhurt, but too weak to walk, to the hatch of the cargo hold. I dropped down and caught her when Hendrix lowered her. The trackbus crew put her in a bubble and took her to the bus. The second one, the same, rescued alive, but badly bruised. When the prison-guard didn’t follow, Hendrix went after him. The guard, confused and disoriented, opened the hatch to the bridge and the resulting explosion blew both of them out through the forward hatch. I’d depressurized the bridge and opened it to let the trackbus team in to help with the crew.

She swallowed, her throat making a grating sound. The guard sustained a broken shoulder but—her chin puckered, then firmed—Chief Hendrix’s face-plate broke open on impact with a rock on the crust. He succumbed to pressure loss. As she finished, she courageously met his gaze, locked her shoulders back and squared her chin. Sir! she added as if expecting a dressing down.

He saw pain in her eyes, shame. With him unconscious, she had been in command. She had lost a crewman. You did what you could, Commander. Quick thinking to get the prisoners into emasks.

Her face remained frozen in a rictus of grief. He recalled no fire, no explosions. Or… did he? Flashes of memory made him blink. He gentled his voice. You brought a burning ship down safely, saving your passengers and crew. Don’t lose sight of that, Jasmine.

I did not save Leon Hendrix.

That Hendrix died following the landing does not diminish your success.

She drew a tremulous breath and struggled again to pull herself together. Captain, I did not bring the ship down safely. I crashed it.

More and more memories fought through the fog of drugs he’d been given. Yes. Now he remembered. Two patrol ships having come in faster than his braking orbit, bracketing him, retros firing in an attempt to match his velocity, orders snapping through the comm system. He’d ignored them. Jas, you did not crash the ship. We were shot down.

She again stared at that undefined point on the far wall, but her tears had stopped. Sir. Apologies for the… histrionics. The medics say sometimes excess emotionalism is a common part of revival.

That doesn’t surprise me. Now, the rest of the crew. What do you know of them?

All survived landing, suits intact, but several, yourself included, were unconscious.

Sit down, Jasmine. Please. I need to know everything you know. What caused the fire?

She swallowed visibly again, but remained on her feet. When Base Edmonton ordered us to recalibrate our orbit and make for Base Adelaide since we were off course for Earth reentry on that trajectory—her mouth twisted, went flat and thin, then she met his gaze— the captain… declined.

His brain rolled indistinct images past his consciousness. The captain, he said, his tone dry, does vaguely recall doing that. Then?

As we entered Low Lunar Orbit, a propulsion grenade from one of the cruisers flanking us tore through the hull and ruptured the main oxygen line. Fires broke out on the bridge deck. They spread rapidly. Then something exploded. Despite being fully suited, you were knocked unconscious when you were flung against an instrument panel. Others were injured.

Who? How badly?

Petty Officer Polanski—two broken arms.

Storn fought down a groan. Gregor Polanski was the ship’s medic. Two broken arms would have put him out of commission at least as far as assisting others. He focused his attention as his second-in-command continued her report.

Spacer Bear—dislocated hip. Spacer Atari—head injury. First Lieutenant Watson—head injury. Spacer Bolkiah and Ensign Chibok, no major injuries. And you already know about Leon.

And you? Injuries?

Minor strains and some bruises. Everyone was treated and pronounced healthy before entering freeze.

About that. Why did they shove all of you into cryotanks? You were supposed to return to Earth.

Her narrow chin lifted another couple of centimeters. She looked defiant. We chose to stay with our captain.

Joe could only bow his head for a moment. Then he raised his gaze to her. The prisoners we brought out of the Mars colony?

I don’t know. No one’s mentioned them. She swayed and caught the back of her chair.

Sit down, Jasmine. He eased her back onto it, settled the blanket over her lap, fully covering her feet this time. She had the most vulnerable looking feet he’d ever seen, and they were always cold. He pulled a three-wheeled stool around so he could face her. What else can you tell me?

She shook her head. Not much. I’ve been fully awake for five days but have learned nothing concrete except there was some kind of accident and we had to be brought out of freeze when the deep ice-cavern where we were hidden was breached. The Earther media heard about us. They’re crawling everywhere. They want to interview us because we survived in freeze longer than anyone. All Earth Union Ground Forces have designs on us too, and the Loonies want to keep us hidden.

Joe compressed his mouth. GF? Not Fleet? It surprised him to hear All Earth Space Fleet wasn’t hot in the hunt. What I pulled was a court-martial offence and I knew it when I did it. I felt justified and intended to prove it.

The Lunar Authority seems to agree. At least, they’re refusing to give us up.

He blinked at the term. Lunar Authority?

Luna has broken away from the All Earth Union again. Dome is demanding Luna give us up. Luna’s bargaining.

‘Dome.’ Yeah. Euphemism for the governing body of the All Earth Union.

The Loonies were always on the look-out for a trade in which they came out on top. What is it Luna wants?

No one’s told me.

Jackson, the prison guard we brought back from Mars, is a member of the Free Luna Society. Exhaustion swept over him. Joe leaned forward, put his arms on his thighs. They’re a small splinter group that never wanted Luna to join the AEU in the first place.

They were a small splinter group, Joe. Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. I’ve been scanning history vids since I woke up. From what I gather, they were merely waiting for an opportunity to break free and our arrival was their excuse. They got bigger and stronger when we brought that ship here twenty years ago. They ousted the Lunar Governor and her party long enough to get us into freeze and well hidden. But their rebellion didn’t last long and they rejoined the union a year and a half later. They got along just fine as a member until someone leaked our revival. Now, with the newsies and Dome wanting a piece of us and offering up nothing in return, Luna’s in rebellion again.

Over us? That made no sense. Then, one of her phrases poked through the fuzz in his brain. Did you say twenty years ago? What is the date?

April 4th, 2203.

He sucked in a deep breath. 2203? And we all survived?

She nodded.

That was unheard of. Two years had been the max for human bodies, and at that, there’d been a fair bit of mental deterioration, along with some physical. Twenty years! Do we have my nanobots to thank for that? He didn’t feel as if there’d been any time-lapse, either, not like when he’d slept for a night and woke up knowing he’d been asleep. Freeze time was null-time.

He stood and paced around the small dig. The unseen woman—maybe nothing more than a voice—who’d first spoken to him early after he’d come out had wished him Happy St. Patrick’s Day, and now he’d missed April Fool’s Day, which, he recalled, was always a huge Loonie celebration, for obvious reasons.

How many of us came through?

Yamaguchi slid forward and crossed her ankles. All of us. Watson is the last to be revived. He—

I saw him in the other room. He doesn’t look so good.

He looks like everyone else does first day out of freeze. The others are all in varying degrees of recovery, in different places hidden in digs off deep tunnels. Since I regained consciousness, I’ve asked to have each crew member placed near me while they come out of it. Waking alone in unfamiliar surroundings is disconcerting.

No kidding! Who’s in charge? he asked Jasmine.

Of us? The LA, at least for now. Jerry said we’re in secure, hidden areas and no one’s going to find us, not even Dome’s troops trying to fight their way into every tunnel and dig. So far, the Loonies are holding them off.

Jerry?

The medic who got you out of the iso unit where you were stashed.

Iso unit? What your pal Jerry calls an ‘iso unit’ contained what looked and felt to me like an autopsy table. Somehow, I think isolation was not the intention of whoever put me there.

Jasmine’s eyes widened. Oh!

Joe walked a few steps again before returning to the stool. Twenty years! He couldn’t stop marveling over that. No wonder he had so little strength. I guess they expected me to die, or possibly intended to make sure I did, so they could autopsy my corpse and see why I was still alive after so long. They kept drugging me each time I came to. What was that all about?

I don’t know, Joe! Her voice quavered with distress. Jerry only learned a couple of days ago where the Government Goons had you hidden after they snatched you from the cryo lab. The Loonies had to get you to the lab and revive you when your tank was nearly swamped. Since you’d paid the FLS to hide you, that contract stands by current Lunar law according to the LA—which is what the Free Luna Society morphed into when they cut loose from the AEU. We’re why they’ve declared independence again and are fighting to kick All Earth government forces out of Luna.

Joe murmured, Again?

I told you a few minutes ago. But don’t worry. Short term memory loss is normal, though you’ve been out of freeze the longest.

The AEU—or at least the Union’s the governing body—is after us, not the All Earth Space Fleet?

Right. Dome claimed they’d been protecting Luna by sending out two vessels from Fleet to bring down a rogue ship—us. Luna argued that firing on a ship in Low Lunar Orbit—under Lunar landing control, and in which two Lunar citizens were passengers, was an act of aggression against a legal and equal participant in the AEU.

Two Loonies? Joe sighed. When would he stop repeating things Jasmine said? Was this all part of the recovery process?

The prison guard and that medical officer—Major Teng—who hitched a ride just before we took off from Mars. Do you remember that?

Joe wrinkled his brow. Yes. Well, sort of. He did recall some major trying to pull rank despite a ship’s captain requiring total obedience from everyone else aboard. Major Teng had demanded passage to Earth. Joe had no intention of taking his shuttle to Earth and tried to dissuade him. Rather than delay or draw attention to his plans, he’d shrugged and said, Welcome aboard, when the doctor insisted. He’d figured the man could demand another ride from Luna to Earth—just not with him at the helm.

Luna sought relief from the AEU Dispute Regulators, Jasmine went on. They refused to hold hearings any time sooner than the following year’s council sessions—eleven months in the future at that time. Before the day was out, Luna declared independence, as was their right under the terms of membership in the union. Megs Huron, the chairman of the Free Luna Society became the president of the Lunar Authority. She smiled. Ms. Huron still is. Dr. Lalli says it’ll take more than an election to roust her off her throne. Apparently, she’s called the ‘Iron Lady’ after some historical figure, and for good reason.

Dr. Lalli. Was hers the voice that had wished him Happy St. Patrick’s Day? Or had that been President Huron? Mentally, he scoffed at himself. Probably neither. More likely some AI programmed not to answer any of his questions. In twenty years, even Artificial Intelligence must have come a long way.

Joe tried to sort out what he was hearing as well as what he was remembering. He’d failed to pick up a load of prison-guards scheduled to return to Earth for their three months’ furlough. Instead, he took off with his regular crew bound for Luna. With him, he carried two living specimens and a prison-guard to bear witness to the fact the Mars Prison Colony Plan was an abject failure at