"LUNAR:  Tales From Crystal Tokyo"

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LUNAR: The Lost Episodes

By Jeffery C. Branch

Volume Thirty-two: Episode 3-4.80 "Dialogue"

Rated: R

Asteroid field near Dreyious Prime, 8 June 2740

    Amid an almost incalculable number of asteroids in a field spanning half a dozen parsecs, ranging in size from small to gigantic, a tiny, bird shaped sliver of crystal and metal alloy adroitly maneuvered its way through the perilous region of boulders that could wreck starships fifty times its size.

    On the bridge of the SLS Draco II, the air was thick with tension.  No one spoke, save for Sailor Britannica giving vectors on asteroids approaching the ship from the science station, and Sailor Ivory issuing course adjustments from the ops chair.  Meanwhile, Draco II’s helmsman, Sailor Sirius’ full attention was on getting the small scout ship through the asteroid field in one piece.  The Star Senshi’s ebony face glistened from sweat as she piloted the ship, her eyes focused tight on the main viewscreen ahead.

    I lost one ship named Draco, and that still hurts, even after four years, a scowling Sailor Sirius thought as memories of the Nebula War crept into her mind.  I’ll be damned if I lose this ship too!  That is NOT going to happen!

    “Bogey at sixty-five degrees north, Cathy.  A bloody big one, 463 meters across, 527 meters high,” said Sailor Britannica.  “And it’s headed our way.  Recommend a steep starboard vector to avoid it.”

    “Roger that, Allie,” said Sailor Ivory, quickly punching on her panel.  “Ti, alter course, forty-eight point seven three degrees to starboard.  Increase speed to full sublight.  Shit!  That fucker’s gonna come awfully damn close.”

    “Natasha, boost power to port side shields,” Sailor Magneta, the leader of Omega Force calmly ordered from the captain’s chair in the center of the bridge.  “Beth, prepare to divert energy reserves to shields if needed.”

    “Power to port shields increased, commander,” Sailor Russia, the tactical officer grunted in reply.  “Blasters on stand-by.  Just in case.”

    “Reserves on standby, captain,” Sailor Ebony, Draco II’s chief engineer replied crisply.  “Ready to switch over at your command.”

    Sailor Sirius, too involved in her duties to bother talking busily worked the helm controls and Draco II leaned into a sharp starboard turn as the huge rock spun its way.

    “Stay sharp, everyone,” said Sailor Magneta.  Ever since the ship entered the field thirty minutes ago, the Omega leader was prepared to use her magnetic powers to repel any asteroids, should the need arise.  She silently hoped that wouldn’t come to pass.  The German Senshi remembered what happened when she was in a similar position three years ago, and how she nearly died protecting her ship, and her crew from an exploding space station.  She shivered ever so briefly from the terrible memory.

    As it turned out, Sailor Magneta needn’t have worried as Draco II avoided the large rock with sixteen kilometers to spare, though still close enough to make the proximity warning alarm blare over the bridge speakers.  Sailor Magneta dragged a thumb across her throat to Sailor Russia who turned off the alarm.

    Once the ship was past the asteroid field and flew into relatively clear space, everyone loudly breathed a sigh of relief.

    “Whew!  We made it!” said a grinning Sailor Sirius.  She leaned back in her chair and pulled a gloved forearm across her sweat slickened brow.  “Oh, brother!  Talk about harrowing!”

    “I’ll second that, Tanya.  But it certainly was exciting,” Sailor Ebony quipped.  Despite her light mood, her heart was pounding in her chest.

    “I beg to differ,” Sailor Cerebra retorted from the communications console.  “Excitement of that sort I can live without.”

    “You’ll get no argument from me on that.  Good work, ladies,” said Sailor Magneta.  She only just noticed that her hands had been shaking.  “Now, to the purpose of our trip here.  Li Mei, hail the station on the special coded frequency we were given by Sailor Uranus.”

    “Acknowledged.”  Sailor Cerebra deftly worked her console.  “The line is open, captain.”

    “Thank you.  Omega One to Bond Seven, Omega One to Bond Seven, come in, please.”  Sailor Magneta frowned at using such childish sounding codenames since she had little patience for the cloak and dagger machinations of the Golden Millennium’s intelligence apparatus.

    “Bond Seven here.  Welcome to Dreyious, Omega One,” came back a twangy sounding male voice over the speaker.  “We have you in sensor range.  Approach course instructions to a LISA designated docking bay are being sent to you now via a secure channel.  Please confirm.”

    “Sailor Ivory?”

    “Instructions received, captain,” Sailor Ivory replied.  “At our present speed, we’ll reach the station in approximately fourteen minutes.”

    “Confirmed.  Agents Marley and Broduer will be waiting for you at the dock.  See you then.  Bond Seven out.”

    After the communication ended, Sailor Magneta addressed the team.  “Like we were told at HQ by Director Jupiter, this is to be an undercover operation, so go ahead and change into your civilian clothes.  The idea will be to keep as low a profile as possible during the course of this assignment.”

    Sailor Britannica turned to sneer at Sailor Russia.  “For those of us with less than marginal comprehension skills, that means you can’t be starting brawls, savage.”

    The brawny Russian Senshi pouted, looking genuinely disappointed.  “Bah!  You stuffed shirts never allow me to have any fun!”

    For uncounted centuries, nearly every major city on Earth had a ‘red light district’, a small section of a metropolis, usually in or near the city center with bars, massage parlors, pornographic theaters, strip clubs and other less than reputable places where all manner of vices were available for the right price.  Even in the 28th century, nothing had changed.

    When man migrated into outer space and colonized hundreds of worlds, the baser appetites of the species followed close behind, from Luna to the furthest reaches of the galaxy, red light districts sprung up like weeds on planet after planet.  And when indigenous races were exposed to the noxious habits of Lunarians, they found they enjoyed the vices Homo Sapiens spent millennia indulging, perpetuating the sort of minor evils Neo-Queen Serenity the First despised but was helpless to eliminate or even control as it was all part of the human condition.

    In Capricorn City, home to over ten million people, the Asteroid Lounge was the most popular bar in its red light district, catering to all species with liquor, drugs, gambling and cheap, willing women.  After the GM took over the Shroud and cleaned out the hardcore criminal element, such as Heran and his cohorts who escaped the station before the assault, the assorted scum and lowlifes who frequented the station migrated to Prime in order to satisfy their numerous vices.

    It was about noon, and the bar was packed with patrons when the newcomer sauntered in, drawing everyone’s attention.  The newcomer was a woman, unusually tall at six feet even with a lean but attractive face that easily turned heads.  Dressed in an ankle length, black leather coat over a snug, steel gray turtleneck and skin tight, black spandex pants tucked into black, high heeled boots, the woman, sporting short, carrot red hair and red teardrop earrings, scanned the room with shining sea green eyes.  That everyone stared back didn’t bother her in the slightest.

    The woman strolled up to the bar where an Isbanni man was cleaning a beer mug.  He gave her a guarded stare.

    “Afternoon.  What can I get you?” he asked the woman in a bored growl.  The woman’s coat was open, giving him a good view of a large pair of breasts, accented to perfection by the tight sweater she wore.

    “Something cold and alcoholic, laddie,” the woman said with a prominent Irish accent.  “You got Rigellian Valley lager on tap?  The stuff tastes like boiled horse piss out of the bottle.”

    “Yep, sure do.”  Forcefully tearing his eyes away from the woman’s ample bosom, he filled a mug with an orange colored brew and placed it in front of the woman.  “You’re new here.  Got a reason for the visit?”

    “You could say that,” the woman replied after a pull from the mug.  The cold beer tasted good after her long trip.  “I’m looking for someone who’s said to be on Dreyious.  His name’s Armon Rydos.  Ever hear of him?”

    The bartender shook his head.  At a table ten feet away and behind the woman, three scruffy, muscle-laden thugs, Lunarians all, tensed up and scowled menacingly at her.  “Sorry, honey.  Can’t say I have.  Why you ask?”

    The woman took another pull of her beer.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the thugs glaring at her.  “I’m a fugitive retrieval specialist.  That’s bounty hunter if you’re not into big words.  And Rydos is on my most wanted list.  You sure you never heard of him?”

    “No idea, darlin’,” the bartender replied with a shrug.

    The woman gave him a long stare.  She felt he was telling the truth.  “Okay, laddie.  I believe you.  Guess I’ll just have to keep asking around.”

    “Maybe you shouldn’t,” came an angry growl from behind the woman.  She turned to see the three thugs on their feet and approaching her.  “Questions like those can get you in trouble.”

    When their LISA section chief dispatched Franklin Marley and Andre Brodeur, to greet Omega Force at the private landing dock, the agents were slightly nonplussed by what greeted them.

    Led by a tall, slender woman with waist long snow-white hair and hard blue eyes, she was followed out the airlock by a pair of blond twins (one with a bright blue bow in her hair), a haughty looking redhead, a petite black woman and an equally smallish Asian, finally, a hulking brunette sporting black lipstick.  Wearing nondescript civilian clothes (except the redhead who wore a stylish navy jumpsuit and matching low heeled pumps), the disguised Senshi, silent and expressionless walked up to the agents.

    “Agents Marley and Brodeur I presume?” Sailor Magneta asked the two men in greeting.

    “Guilty as charged, Sailor Magneta.  Welcome to the Shroud,” said Marley, extending his hand to the stern looking German who shook it, followed by Brodeur.  The agents didn’t expect the most feared team of Senshi in the Golden Millennium to look so unassuming.  “Our chief is waiting to give you a full briefing on the situation.  Follow us, please.”

    “What is the situation at present?” Sailor Magneta asked the agents, getting right to business.  Walking through the station, the Senshi, looking around them saw the place was grungy and dilapidated where it wasn’t scarred from the battle a week ago.  It reminded the women, especially Sailor Sirius, the oldest member of the team, of a 20th century slum.

    “Shaky, but improving.  The Army’s still rooting out mercenaries and assorted dirtbags,” said Marley.  “Cells of DK scumsuckers have been haphazardly raising hell, trying to disrupt operations by sabotaging power and environmental centers, but the Sorcerer detachments have been making short work of them.”

    “How about enemy counterintelligence?” Sailor Britannica inquired.  She scowled at how filthy the station was.  As a former member of British royalty, it seriously offended her sensibilities, but not enough to dress down like the others.  After all, she had personal standards of elegance to maintain.  “Were they able to tap into your communications?”

    “Not so far.  We’re using multi-encrypted communications equipment with access codes that change every twelve hours,” Brodeur replied.  “But it hasn’t stopped the goons from trying.  The DK spooks are, if anything, annoyingly persistent.”

    “In other words, cat and mouse games,” said a frowning Sailor Ebony, shaking her head.  “I can’t help but admire how you LISA guys do this sort of thing, day in and day out.”

    Marley shrugged while Brodeur chuckled.  “It’s what we get paid for, mademoiselle,” said the Frenchman.

    The Omega Senshi followed Marley and Brodeur down a lighted passageway to a door with a sign on it that read ‘Information Gathering Department’.  Marley punched in a code on a keypad, opening the door, and the agents led the Senshi into a clean and spacious office with ten desks at which LISA agents sat at terminals going over the large amounts of information coming in on DK activities and all aspects of the GM’s operation on the station.  The agents, busy with their work paid little attention to the seven women as they followed Marley and Brodeur to a door at the far end of the office.  Marley knocked on it.

    “Boss?  Your guests are here,” Marley said.

    “Bring ‘em in, Frank,” called the voice.  The Senshi immediately recognized the voice as the man they heard on Draco II’s bridge after having cleared the asteroid field.

    The door whooshed open and led the Senshi into the inner office, spartan with the exception of a desk and nine chairs situated around it.  After walking inside, Sailor Magneta, the twins and Sailor Sirius stopped short and gasped in shock at the man who rose from the desk.  The man was tall and muscular with a lantern jaw and close-cropped blond hair, graying slightly at the temples.  His rugged face was all too familiar to those four Senshi because they had seen it before.

    “Fuck me,” a wide-eyed Sailor Ivory whispered.

    “Thanks for the offer.  But not while I’m on duty,” said the man with a mischievous grin.  A Texas twang was evident in his voice.  “Greetings, ladies.  I’m Bond Seven.  LISA section chief Walter Brock at your service.”

    The woman wasn’t at all surprised at seeing the trio of goons approaching her.  If anything, she hoped for such a reaction to her inquiry.  And that brought a grin to her lips.

    “Well, well.  How nice.  Are you laddies with the local welcome wagon?” she asked merrily, casually leaning back against the counter of the bar.

    “Yeah, we are,” said the man in the center.  He was shorter than the others and was brutish looking and muscular.  “We’re ready to make you feel right at home.  What’s your name, honeybunch?”

    “Cassidy.  Moira Cassidy.  But my friends call me Scarlett, for obvious reasons,” the woman replied, pointing at her fiery red hair.  Scarlett then smirked at the man.  “If you really wanna please me, stud, you’ll need a hell of a lot more than what I’m seeing below your belt.  I like my men big and beefy down in the engine room.  And you’re coming up woefully short.”

    The stocky man bared his teeth, infuriated at the insult to his manhood.  “Oh, yeah?  I’ll show you what I’ve got, bitch!”

    Scarlett chuckled as the stocky man led the charge at her.  Just when he came into range, she stood and, with blinding speed, launched a spinning kick that struck the goon on the side of his head with such force, he was sent flying a good ten feet where he crashed into an unoccupied table.  A second goon, sporting ratty brown hair swung wildly at Scarlett who dodged and rammed her left knee into his solar plexus, with a cry of pain, he dropped to one knee, leaving him open for a right cross to his jaw that flattened him.

    The third man, clean-shaven, came at Scarlett like a maddened bull, but she dove to her left like a matador and he collided face first into the counter.  Staggered, he was left helpless for Scarlett who snap kicked him in the back of his head and he went down.  In slightly under twenty seconds, the fight was over.  The other patrons, having witnessed the brief but brutal battle with total indifference made no move to interfere, content to mind their own business.  Barroom brawls were all too commonplace in the district.

    The small, stocky goon, still on the floor, stunned and in pain from having been kicked in the head was angry at having been taken down by a woman.  He removed a long, serrated knife from out of his boot, intent on slicing Scarlett to pieces, but before he could get to his feet, Scarlett, having sauntered up to him, reached under her coat and pulled a huge, dark blue handgun from a holster on her right hip and leveled it at his head.  The thug gulped loudly and his weapon fell from stiff fingers to the floor.

    “Ever see one of these before, stud?  This is a .50 caliber Desert Eagle autoloader.  Back in the early 21st century, this was the most powerful handgun ever built,” Scarlett said.  “The slugs in this beastie can penetrate steel plate like the proverbial hot knife through butter.  And my bullets contain spent uranium, makin’ ‘em even more potent.  One shot and you’ll literally be half the man you once were.”

    The bartender, angry at the ruckus reached for the weapon he kept under the bar, but Scarlett pulled a second, identical gun from the holster on her left hip and aimed it at his head.

    “This is between A and B, pal.  C your way the fuck out of it.  Comprende?” she growled.

    The bartender gulped too, his weapon untouched.  He had never seen so huge a gun in his life.  “Yes, ma’am.”

    “Good boy.”  Scarlett returned her attention to the thug on the floor.  “Where were we?  Oh, yeah.  Your half-assed attempt to get in my pants tells me you might know something about Rydos.  Wanna talk about him?”

    “No,” the goon grumbled.

    Scarlett responded by placing the barrel of the gun on the center of the goon’s forehead and pulling back the hammer.  The sound, loud as a thunderclap in the stillness, chilled the goon to the bone.  “You sure you don’t wanna reconsider your rather obstinate position?”

    The goon nervously nodded.  It took all his willpower to keep from wetting himself.  “Uh, maybe I was a little rash.  Okay, I’ll talk.”

    “Now that’s what I wanna hear!” said a grinning Scarlett.  Holstering her guns, she clasped the goon’s arm with her right hand and, with surprising ease, hoisted him to his feet as if he were weightless, startling him.  “Methinks this is gonna be the start of a beautiful friendship!”

    It took Sailor Magneta a few moments to compose herself as she stared at Brock who glared back.  While the German Senshi didn’t believe in ghosts, the feeling she had at that moment was similar to staring at one.  Sailors Russia, Britannica and Cerebra were puzzled at the shocked expressions of their teammates.  “I apologize for asking this, but would you happen to be related to the late Commander William Brock?”

    The glare Brock gave Sailor Magneta intensified.  Then, it briefly gave way to a look of pain.  “Yes, Sailor Magneta, he was my younger brother.  But, you’re here on business.  Let’s get down to it, shall we?”

    There was a lengthy moment of uncomfortable silence before the Senshi and the agents took seats, as did Brock and his men.  “Okay, ladies, as you were briefed on Luna, the bad guys appear to have a weapons program up and running, consisting of some really nasty stuff which you’ve already been told about,” said Brock.  “We think those weapons are warehoused on Prime, and the paperwork maintained in that bunker office Frank and Andy found yesterday.  But that doesn’t rule out the possibility that there might be some unpleasant surprises secreted somewhere on this station.”

    “What about the base commander, Sailor Quetzalcoatl?  What does she think?” Sailor Magneta asked.

    Brock glanced at his men and shrugged.  “I have no idea.  She was only brought up to speed about this an hour ago,” the section chief replied.

    Sailor Magneta was stunned.  “You mean she wasn’t told initially?”

    “No.  Sailor Uranus ordered everything kept under wraps until you arrived to prevent against leaks.”

    “Bozemoi!  I can imagine she didn’t take the news you kept from her at all well,” said Sailor Russia.

    “Trust us, Sailor Russia, she didn’t,” said Brodeur with a hint of a smile.  “Sailor Q was mad enough to strangle Frank and I on the spot after we spilled the beans to her.”

    “Can’t say I blame her for being pissed, but I was following direct orders from Sailor Uranus.  She’s been obsessed about security at LISA ever since she relieved Sailor Venus after the Christmas Eve debacle three years ago,” said Brock.  There was an edge to his voice when he said that.  “Her official edict, all but written in stone, was for agents on top secret assignments to report only to their section chiefs, and they, straight to her, bypassing everyone in the chain of command short of the Queen herself.  That’s ruffled plenty of feathers, especially among Senshi in command positions, i.e. ship drivers and base commanders.”

    “I see.  I’ll want to speak to Sailor Quetzalcoatl as soon as we’re done here.  All things considered, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to smooth whatever hurt feelings she might have,” Sailor Magneta said.  “Chances are, we’ll probably need her help.  That mystery cache of weapons must be found and destroyed before they can be moved, or worse, used.”

    “I agree.  We should start searching right away,” said Brock.

    Sailor Magneta nodded.  But something was nagging at her regarding Brock.  Something she needed to talk to him about.  Preferably alone.  “Sailor Britannica, prep the team for the operation on Prime.  We go dirtside after I’ve spoken with Sailor Q.”

    The Briton came smartly to attention, clicked her heels and saluted her superior.  “Right away, captain!”

    “Andy, Frank, go with the ladies.  Brief them on what to expect on the planet,” said Brock to his men.

    “You got it, boss,” said Marley.  Then the agents and Senshi left.  Brock rose from his chair and motioned to the door.  “I’ll take you to Sailor Q’s office, ma’am.”

    “A moment, please, Mr. Brock.  I’d like to talk to you about your brother.  Er, if you don’t mind.”

    Brock paused.  Once again, a look of anger, then sadness crossed his face before it hardened.  “I figured you would.  Okay, talk,” he said gruffly.

    “I’m so very sorry about your brother’s death.  The way he died was most horrible.  I saw the aftermath,” said a sorrowful Sailor Magneta.  “I attended his funeral a week later, I saw his family, and his parents, but I didn’t see you.  Might I ask why?”

    “Duty.  Unfortunately.  I was on an undercover assignment on Tycho 3 at the time.  The nature of the job kept me out of contact with home, I didn’t even know Will had been killed until I my mission ended six weeks later.  Will and I were very close, Sailor Magneta, and his death is a very painful subject with me.  Is there a reason you dredged this up?”

    Sailor Magneta nodded, her face lined from guilt.  “Yes.  The ball that night was a trap to lure a  Doppelganger so it could be captured and studied to learn its weaknesses.  Unfortunately, a mole in LISA tipped off the DK to our plans, and a near disaster resulted.  I was the one who suggested to Neo-Queen Serenity that she go through with the ball, despite the potential danger.  You see, I am, in a way, responsible for your brother’s death.”

    Brock, his face stony, was silent for several moments before he spoke.  “I know all about the incident.  I read the classified report you filed under the Lunar Freedom of Information Act after I returned home.  Early on, I lost track of how many times I cursed you for Will’s death.  In fact, I was so pissed, and hated you so much, I seriously thought about looking you up so I could throw my career away by punching your lights out.”

    “Given the circumstances, I gladly would’ve allowed you to indulge your impulse,” said a dour Sailor Magneta.  “However, you never did.  What changed your mind?”

    “Well, after I calmed down and thought things through, I realized that you couldn’t have anticipated the bad guys turning the tables like they did,” said Brock.  “Will died doing his job.  He loved being a soldier, and the RSN was his whole life, just as LISA is mine.  He knew the risks from the day he enlisted; yet he served the Queen with unwavering honor.  That helped to lessen the pain of his loss.  Still, forgiving you for his death wasn’t easy.”

    Brock paused, and he stared hard at the Senshi, his eyes flinty.  “When I was told you were coming here, I was none too happy about it.  However, I’m a professional and will offer you every courtesy while you’re here.  Sailor Magneta, I can never forget the part you inadvertently played in my brother’s death.  Nothing personal, but the sooner we finish this mission, and you get the hell out of my sight, the better I’ll feel.”

    Sailor Magneta, feeling chastened, nodded.  She remembered Valeris and how her grief over losing a loved one during that same catastrophe twisted her soul and eventually led her to betray the GM.  “I understand, sir.  I don’t expect you to like me, and I won’t force you to even try.  But I hope we can work together to achieve our common goal.”

    “I’m sure we can.  Now that I’ve unloaded my angst, let’s go see Sailor Q.  We’ve got placating to do before we start searching for those WMD’s.”

    The Senshi of Magnetism rose from her seat.  She was eager to bury her emotions in work.  “Quite right, Mr. Brock.  Lead the way.”

To be continued...

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