"LUNAR: Tales From Crystal Tokyo"
LUNAR:
The Lost Episodes
By Jeffery Branch
Volume
Thirty-four: Episode 3-4.81 "Intrigue"
Rated:
R
The Shroud, Dreyious Prime, 8 June 2740
Base Commander’s Office
For Sailor Quetzalcoatl, it was a
challenge to maintain her civility as Sorcerer Viking ushered the civilian
garbed Sailor Magneta and the Shroud’s LISA section chief, Walter Brock into
her office.
Sailor Quetzalcoatl was still
nursing deep resentment over having been left out of the loop about the Dark
Kingdom’s secret weapons program Brock’s agents had uncovered, resulting in
Omega Force having come to the station to deal with the problem. Under normal
circumstances, she would never have put up with such an affront, not even from a
fellow Senshi, but the Mexican woman decided to take a coldly professional
approach with Sailor Magneta and put duty ahead of her personal feelings. At
least she would try.
“Welcome to the Shroud, Sailor
Magneta. I’m very glad to have you and your people here,” she said in a flat
tone, rising from her chair to extend a hand to Sailor Magneta.
“My pleasure,” Sailor Magneta
replied, shaking Sailor Quetzalcoatl’s hand. The German Senshi tried to read
her counterpart’s face, but saw no emotion; still, she had no doubt that the
Mexican woman was angry at having been left out in the cold.
It doesn’t take a mindreader like
Li Mei to tell I’m about as welcome here as Queen Beryl. I suppose if our
positions were reversed, I would be just as irate,
Sailor Magneta thought. “Let’s get right to business, Sailor
Quetzalcoatl. I’ve been led to understand that you’re feeling… slighted because you
hadn’t been informed about the DK’s secret weapons until just before my team
and I arrived. Am I right?”
“Slighted isn’t the word,
Sailor Magneta. I’m fucking furious!” Sailor Quetzalcoatl growled back,
eschewing any semblance of tact. “Regardless of Sailor Uranus’ dictate to
her people about secrecy, Brock should have told me about this from the onset so
I could’ve increased security and had our Sorcerer detachment on alert status
for a possible sneak attack.”
Brock shrugged.
“I’m sorry,
Sailor Q, but I was just following orders.”
“Following orders.
How trite. Captured senior Nazi officers said the same thing during the Nuremberg trials of
1946,” Sailor Quetzalcoatl retorted nastily. “And that pathetic excuse no
more absolved those Aryan monsters of blame for their crimes than your reticence
to share information with me absolves you now.”
“That will be quite enough,
Sailor Quetzalcoatl!” Sailor Magneta snapped. Her own anger skyrocketed, as
she didn’t like being reminded of the terrible atrocities her ancestors
committed over seven centuries ago. And with her mood already stormy after her
private talk with Brock, the last thing she needed was to deal with a
recalcitrant colleague.
“Like hell it is!
Do you have the slightest idea
what a horrific mistake Brock made by keeping his mouth shut?” a fully
outraged Sailor Quetzalcoatl shouted back. “If the enemy had some of those
weapons here, and decided to use them, we would’ve had an unimaginable
catastrophe because we were unprepared! His silence could’ve doomed us all!”
“You’re overexaggerating,
lady,” Brock countered. “Otherwise, this place would’ve been vaporized
right after the assault last week.”
“That’s poor logic, Brock, and
you know it,” Viking chipped in. “The fact that an attack hadn’t occurred
doesn’t mean it still can’t happen.”
“Oh, really?
And who designated
you the expert on how the enemy thinks?” Brock rumbled at the Norwegian.
Now
he was furious at being jumped on by Viking and the Mexican Senshi.
Viking stood his ground.
“It’s
called using common sense. Perhaps you should’ve considered that and shared
your information with us.”
“Shut up!
All of you! Bickering
like children isn’t getting us anywhere!” Sailor Magneta yelled, and
everyone fell silent. She then turned to glare at Sailor Quetzalcoatl who
defiantly glowered back. While the white haired Senshi didn’t like being
challenged, she was forced to concede that the Mexican woman was right about
everything she said. “You made a valid point, Sailor Quetzalcoatl, despite
the… hostile tone of your argument.”
“Deal with it,
chica. I’m not
afraid to speak my mind when the need calls for it. And this situation
definitely qualified,” a stiff lipped Sailor Quetzalcoatl replied. “If you
want to report me to headquarters for insubordination, feel free. I don’t give
a shit. I only want to do my job, and Brock’s tactics prevented me from doing
so. That’s why I’m so angry!”
Mein Gott! Sailor Q reminds me of myself and how defiant I was- and sometimes still am- with authority, thought Sailor Magneta. Clearly she doesn’t take a backward step to anyone and would probably tell Serenity herself to piss off if provoked. Most admirable, I must admit.
“Very well.
Let’s all do our
jobs. While my team conducts a search of Dreyious Prime, we’ll need your
Sorcerer detachment to do a covert sweep of the facility. Taking into account
the size of this station, we can’t afford to ignore the possibility that some
of those WMD’s could well be here.”
“I agree.
I’ll organize search
teams right away,” the Mexican Senshi said. “Rest assured, Sailor Magneta,
we’ll hold up our end of the bargain. Just make damn sure you hold up yours.
I’d hate to look out my viewport a few hours from now and see a planet cracker
headed my way.”
“Don’t worry.
My people and I
will do our best to prevent that from happening,” Sailor Magneta replied
confidently. “In hindsight, perhaps the way this situation was handled in the
beginning regarding the flow of information was improperly done. I’ll discuss
that with Sailors Uranus and Jupiter when I return to headquarters to file my
mission report. Hopefully, changes can and will be made. Will that satisfy you,
Sailor Quetzalcoatl?”
Sailor Quetzalcoatl nodded, her
anger cooled. “Si. It will. If your tongue’s weary from pronouncing my
title, my name is Carmen. Sailor Magneta, I humbly apologize for acting like an
ornery bitch. Call it the burden of being a stereotypically hot blooded Latina.”
Sailor Magneta grinned, glad that
the tension was broken. She was starting to like the Mexican woman who was
refreshingly blunt. “No one’s perfect, Carmen. All right, people, let’s go
to work. Time is of the essence.”
Asteroid field near Dreyious Prime, 8 June 2740
Even though Dreyious Prime was only
slightly larger than Luna, it was basically a single large city-state boasting a
population of over four billion with its six continent-sized landmasses (called
districts) separated by roiling, emerald hued seas.
Because of the huge populace,
consisting of natives and off-worlders, law enforcement was a top priority to
the planet’s ruling council as they were intent, if not obsessed with staving
off the sort of chaos and lawlessness that was rife on the Shroud. To which end,
the Dreyious Prime Enforcement Corps, an army of 300,000 hardened, no-nonsense
police officers kept the peace on the planet with an iron fist.
Patrolling the air, ground and
seas, the DPEC was evenly divided among the planet’s districts, working with
its district magistrate to maintain law and order, often with ruthless abandon.
Crime was, for the most part, minimal, and punishment for even the most
insignificant offenses carried stiff penalties, usually five years minimum in
prison. Fear of that, and the paramilitary style police effectively kept the
populace in check.
It was for that reason which Armon
Rydos located his secret base in the deepest sector of the asteroid field,
barely a parsec away from the Shroud, hiding in plain sight.
Adopted by a kind, hardworking
couple who owned a huge farm on Arcadia Nine after his parents had been killed
in a spaceship accident, Rydos spent his childhood tilling the soil and living a
comfortable existence, but he secretly hated it. For as long as he could
remember, Rydos dreamed of vast riches while living like a king, and he knew
that he would never reach his goal by being a farmer. He vowed to do whatever it
took to escape his boring existence and achieve the good life, which he felt he
deserved.
When he turned eighteen, Rydos, a
wizard at engineering enlisted in the RSN, and suddenly, a whole new world
opened for him. Within months of having enlisted, Rydos went into space as a
recruit on a destroyer and saw the galaxy. Having rose swiftly through the
enlisted ranks as a tactical specialist, Rydos, intensely ambitious, applied for
Officer Candidate School and quickly earned his commission. Fifteen years later,
Rydos made captain and had become an expert weapons designer.
But, unknown to his superiors,
Rydos, still longing to become wealthy, secretly sold his expertise to the
highest bidder (to avoid the GM’s omnipresent computer scrutiny, Rydos
designed his weapons on paper), including agents of the Dark Kingdom, stealthily
building a huge, private cache of wealth. Rydos didn’t care who benefited from
his craft; he lusted for wealth, the fact that the weapons he designed for the
enemy might have killed the very people he took an oath to protect didn’t
matter.
A few years later, Rydos doomed
himself, after a prostitute who stumbled onto his activities ratted him out to
LISA. But the crafty Cygnian had been prepared for the worst case scenario of
capture by the authorities by secretly gathering information on all his buyers,
information he eagerly offered at his court martial in exchange for avoiding a
death sentence. Although Rydos lost his commission and spent ten years in
prison, he still had his fortune, safely hidden away in encrypted accounts.
After serving his time, the
disgraced Rydos came to the Dreyious sector seven years ago and, with the help
of a cabal of rogue DK scientists, constructed his secret space station in a
large, hollowed out asteroid and set up his arms manufacturing operation. Once
he was up and running, Rydos and his partners began designing and building state
of the art weaponry for sale to the highest bidder, especially during the Nebula
War, which only increased his already considerable wealth.
As Rydos mulled over the past,
there came a knock on the door, snapping him back to reality. “Come in,” he
said.
The door whooshed open and a tall,
blue skinned man with short blond hair and wearing a white lab coat entered the
room. Maktbahr, a former top DK weapons developer, and Rydos’ chief business
partner walked up to the desk, a look of concern on his face. “Armon, we need
to talk,” he said.
Rydos cocked an eyebrow at the man.
“About what?”
“The grunt I sent to the Shroud
yesterday to clean up the office hasn’t come back yet,” Maktbahr said.
“So what?
Maybe he decided to
stick around and tie one on,” said Rydos with a shrug. He paused to sip at his
wine. “Or maybe he went down to Cap City and got laid. Boys will be boys, Mak,
even in the 28th century.”
Maktbahr shook his head.
“Not in
this case. I gave Krill specific orders to contact me after he finished the job.
He’s my cousin, Armon, and he always does what I tell him. I think
something’s wrong.”
The Cygnian leaned back in his
chair and stroked his chin as he mulled over what he had heard. “Okay.
How was
Krill going to contact you?”
“Over a regular comm line.
He had
a special code phrase to tell me that the job was completed. I didn’t want
Krill carrying a DK communicator that could be traced back to us in case he was
captured.”
“So you can’t call him,
right?”
“Right.
We may have a problem on
our hands.”
Again, Rydos stroked his chin.
He
had known Maktbahr for sixteen years (he was the only dealer Rydos hadn’t
rolled over on after his arrest) and was well aware that the ex-DK munitions
expert wasn’t one to be paranoid or exaggerate concerns. Suddenly, Rydos felt
a measure of unease. “Perhaps. We never should’ve kept that satellite office
on the Shroud.”
“Well, it was a good idea at the
time because you didn’t want buyers compromising our security by bringing them
here,” Maktbahr argued. “Besides, how were we to know the RSN would barge in
and turn the Shroud inside out looking for Heran and Nightmare? As it is,
we’re damn lucky our secret testing sites down on Dreyious haven’t been
found. But I’m afraid that’s bound to happen sooner or later.”
“True.
What really boils my blood
is that I was lining up a big deal with Heran,” Rydos grumbled. “Damn that
self-righteous cunt Serenity for screwing this up! Do we have anyone on the
inside there?”
Maktbahr nodded.
“Uh-huh, a
maintenance tech that works in flight control. Him I can contact via scrambled
comms. And he doesn’t know who I am. Want me to call and ask if any ships of
interest had arrived?”
“Yeah, do that.
In the meantime,
we’d better go over our exit strategy, both here and dirtside. While it’s
highly doubtful anyone can find us, never mind bust in, given our defenses, it
wouldn’t hurt to be prepared,” said Rydos. “I’d rather take the
financial hit and destroy everything than have it fall into GM hands. I’ll
kill myself, and blow this rock straight to hell before I go back to prison!”
Dreyious Prime, Capricorn City, Archangel Spaceport, 8 June
2740
At the city’s major spaceport,
which accommodated scores of civilian and military vessels, no one paid any
attention to the sleek, black hued starship, which sat in a bay at the far end
of the facility.
The ship, 24 meters long and 5
meters high had forward swept wings that housed sublight impellers with a
blaster hardpoint on each tip and a single FTL engine rearward. The ship
looked fast even while standing still. On the aft section of the fuselage
between the rakish, double tail section was the ship’s name stenciled in a
stylish blood red script:
Renegade.
On the bridge of the ship, Moira
‘Scarlett’ Cassidy took off her black leather coat and draped it over the
helm chair while motioning to the squat thug from the Asteroid Lounge to sit
in a nearby chair against the bulkhead to her right. She removed the belt with
the holsters containing the huge handguns in them from her waist and placed it
on the control console in front of her. But the redhead was hardly defenseless
as she had a blaster in a shoulder holster while a knife was in a scabbard in
her right boot. The goon, eyeing Scarlett (while trying to ignore her large
breasts in the snug turtleneck she wore) was wary as he sat, and angry at
having been put in such a compromising position, by a woman no less.
“You packing enough heat,
lady?” he grumbled.
Scarlett chuckled as she sat and
crossed her long legs. “As a bounty hunter, it never hurts to have plenty of
firepower. Rhett, any messages come in while I was out?”
“Not a one, darlin’.
Guess
you’re not as popular as you used to be,” came the southern accented voice
of the ship’s AI over the speaker, sounding like Clark Gable’s character
from ‘Gone With The Wind’.
“When was I ever?” said
Scarlett with a laugh. “Could you scan my guest and make sure he’s not
carrying any unpleasant surprises?”
“Comin’ right up.”
A shaft of
reddish light descended from a globe in the ceiling above the chair the
startled thug sat in and enveloped him. Ten seconds later, the light winked
off. “He’s clean, sweetheart; of weapons anyway. I gotta say your taste in
men has sure gone down the toilet.”
“Fuck you.”
It was times like
these when Scarlett regretted giving her ship’s AI a personality, and a
smarmy one at that. She then eyed the goon. “What’s your name, laddie?”
“Darby Rollins.
I didn’t
appreciate your letting my buddies get arrested,” the thug grumbled.
“Tough.
At least they’re still
alive, Darby. I’m not above wasting dirtbags who try to kill me, but I
didn’t,” Scarlett countered harshly. “I only need one guy- you- to get
info on Rydos. The cops will let your friends out of the slammer after a week
or two. So stop bitching. It’s not manly.”
“Like I got a choice.
Why are you
after Rydos anyway?”
“Rydos designed weapons for the bad guys while pulling captain’s pay in the RSN until he was caught and sent to prison. After Rydos did his time, he disappeared, but word on the cosmic grapevine said he’s gone back into business,” Scarlett explained. “LISA’s hot to get their hands on him and find out what he’s been up to. But the spyboys are stretched thin, so they hired manhunters like me to find him. Took quite some time and more than a few called markers to track him here.”
“How much are you getting for
Rydos?” a curious Rollins asked.
Scarlett wagged an index finger and
chuckled. “Sorry, laddie. I never discuss business matters with third
parties. But, if you’ve got good info, I’ll make it worth your while.”
She removed the blaster, armed it, and pointed it as his head. “Or I’ll
aerate your skull. Your choice. So, what do you know about Rydos and his
operation?”
Rollins gulped nervously before he
spoke. “Rydos has a big ass space station off-world. That’s where he
builds, imports and warehouses his weapons before selling them. He’s
partnered with DK geniuses who helped him build the place, it’s got a
shuttlecraft hanger to bring in and take out cargo, and defenses that would
put Serenity’s castle to shame, including plasma cannons, torp launchers and
comm jammers with a thousand kilometer range. I work on the maintenance crew.
Pays good money. Rydos encourages loyalty, and staying quiet about what he
does out there.”
“I see.
That’s why you and your
buddies tried to rough me up earlier,” said Scarlett, stroking her chin.
“Now for the daily double: what’s the place look like, and what are the
coordinates to that station?”
Rollins, looking sheepish, squirmed
in his seat. “I don’t know.”
Scarlett glared at the thug in open
annoyance, then leaned forward and put the barrel of her weapon on Rollins’
forehead. “What the hell are you feeding me, stud? How can you know what the
place looks like on the inside but not outside? Talk!”
“Okay!
Okay! Take it easy! Rydos
is fanatical about security! Outside workers like me are knocked out with
septonodrine for the trip to and from the place!” Rollins cried frantically.
“He’s probably got phony permits out the wazoo for his space flights!
No
one has a clue as to the coordinates to the place, or how long it takes to get
there! It’s the truth, lady! Honest!”
Scarlett leaned back and paused to
think over what she had been told. But she kept her blaster trained on
Rollins. “Hmm. Sound strategy, I must say. So, where do you go for the trip
to Rydos’ hideout?”
“A suburban shuttle depot sixty
klicks north of here. Workers are ferried to the facility every three days for
their shift. Three days on, three days off. The next shuttle’s supposed to
leave tonight, 2300 hours.”
“About five hours from now.
Excellent. Nothing like good timing,” said an elated Scarlett, glancing at a
chronometer on her left wrist. “Looks like I’ll get to take the buggy out
for a spin. That’s always fun. Rhett, make sure the Rambler’s ready for
travel.”
“Roger that,” the ship’s AI
replied. “I assume short, dark and homely will be going with you.
Can you
trust this loser?”
“Sure I can.
I think Mr. Rollins
and I will get along just fine.” Scarlett put her blaster on Rollins’
forehead again and glared menacingly at him. “Otherwise, you’ll never see
another sunrise. That’s no threat, laddie, that’s a promise. Do we
understand each other?”
Rollins, staring into Scarlett’s
flinty green eyes, gulped, certain he was living on borrowed time. “Yeah.
Perfectly.”
“Good.
Put him to sleep.”
Before Rollins knew what was
happening, force field restraints snapped on, binding him by his wrists, chest
and ankles, then a thin blue shaft of light came down from a barrel on the
globe and struck him in the head, rendering him unconscious from a low level
stun beam.”
“Damn!
I love that chair!” said
Scarlett. Rising from her seat, she thumbed on her blaster’s safety and
stretched like a cat. “I’m gonna hop in the shower, then get some shuteye.
Wake me, and Mr. Rollins at 2100.”
“Understood, boss,” said Rhett.
“I won’t bother asking if you know what you’re doing, ‘cause you’ll
just lie out your pretty Irish ass as usual. Frankly, my dear, that’s gotten
pretty damn annoying.”
Scarlett laughed out loud.
“You
complain more than my mother. Don’t get your transistors in a bunch, laddie.
This’ll be a piece of cake!”
“If you say so.”
Cynicism could
clearly be heard in the AI’s voice.
Dreyious Prime, Pacifica City, Aquarius District, 8 June
2740
Of all the six districts on
Dreyious Prime, Aquarius was the most elegant, the most beautiful and the most
prosperous on the entire planet.
Home to the planet’s richest and
most influential citizens, Aquarius was a pristine community in which it was a
requirement to be wealthy in order to own a home, and Pacifica City, bordering
the west coast of the district was the gem of the sprawling district. Sporting
miles of towering, glass and steel skyscrapers, top of the line fashion houses
and boutiques, museums and five star restaurants, it was surrounded by
perfectly manicured city parks, winding out to spotless, serene suburbs with
posh private clubs. It was the sort of city fit for the cream of the
planet’s crop.
Sailor Britannica, having grown up
in the lap of luxury and privilege in Buckingham Palace, felt right at home in
Pacifica City. From the moment she, Sailor Russia and Andre Broduer arrived to
conduct their search, the British Senshi fell immediately in love with the
district and the city. Sailor Russia on the other hand was considerably less
than impressed as she preferred being among the common man and had no love for
uppercrust societies and the snobbish people who inhabited them, like her
haughty, nose-in-the-air teammate.
“Ahhh!
What a wonderful city!”
said Sailor Britannica, looking about her from the passenger seat of the
hovercar the trio rode in. “It reminds me of home, of the elegant and
stately surroundings of my native Great Britain, and my former life of lavish
royalty.”
Broduer, in the driver’s seat,
cocked an eyebrow. “Pardon my curiosity, mademoiselle, did you say
royalty?”
Sailor Britannica nodded.
“Before
I became a Senshi, I was the Princess of Coventry two centuries ago. In fact,
because of my lineage, I was in line to become Queen of England.”
Hearing that, Sailor Russia paused
from checking her microcomp which was scanning the area for irregularities
like underground bunkers to cock an eyebrow from curiosity. “Really?
I was
not aware of that, comrade. Why then did you join the Senshi? Given your
demeanor, I would have thought this sort of occupation was beneath you.”
“At the time, it was.
Blame
family pride for who I am today,” the Briton replied in a surprisingly
somber tone. “My younger sister, Diana, was an annoyingly idealistic twit
who hated the trappings of royalty. So, to spite our parents, she passed
the Test and went to
Tsukino- behind their backs I might add- and passed, becoming the first Sailor
Britannica. Unfortunately, her career as a Senshi was painfully brief as she
was killed only two years after graduation when she gave her life to save the
crew of her starship after it had been crippled during the Second Lunar-Nega War.”
Sailor Britannica paused as tears
filled her eyes and throat tightened from memories of her sister. She fought
back the urge to cry, as she hated showing weakness in front of others. “Diana and I never saw eye to eye on anything, least of all her decision to
become a Senshi. But her noble sacrifice motivated me to follow in her
footsteps, thus defying my parents like she had done. After graduating, I
insisted upon assuming Diana’s title. I believe that was the first, and
only, time Neo-Queen Serenity permitted that. And, so, here I am, every bit as
much the idealistic twit as Diana was.”
“There’s nothing wrong with
idealism, Sailor Britannica,” said Broduer. “After all, we have the same
goal, wanting to live in a peaceful universe. That is what we’re fighting
for. That is what idealism is about.”
“Da.
Well said, comrade Broduer,”
said Sailor Russia.
“Twits.
I’m surrounded by
twits,” said Sailor Britannica, trying to keep from smiling and failing
miserably. “Any readings, Sailor Russia?”
The brawny Russian Senshi shook her
head. “None. Agent Broduer, we have covered two hundred kilometers so far
and found nothing. Is it possible a hidden bunker could be someplace else,
say, off-shore?”
“In the harbor?
That’s a
possibility,” the LISA agent replied. “Now that I think about it, planet
crackers are often tested deep underwater because the pressures are the
closest approximation to outer space. Maybe our bad boys are hiding out under
the ocean.”
“How can we find out for sure?”
Sailor Britannica wanted to know.
“We could rent a sea-skimmer and
look around. But it won’t be easy. Permits
for ocean vessels are damn hard to come by. Worse, that would attract the
attention of the cops, something we don’t want, given our orders to keep a
low profile, and they put the 20th century Gestapo to shame with their police
state tactics. They’re bound to get mighty suspicious about off-worlders
wanting to hit the high seas.”
Hearing that, the British Senshi
stroked her chin, and then she grinned wickedly. “Hmm, I might just be able
to get us around that obstacle.”
“How, comrade?” Sailor Russia asked.
Sailor Britannica’s grin widened. “By playing the royalty card.”
To be continued...