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LUNAR: The Lost Episodes

By Jeffery Branch

Volume Thirty-five: Episode 3-4.82 "Challenge"

Rated: R

The Shroud, Dreyious Prime, 8 June 2740

Flight Control Center

    The large space, normally frenetic with activity as personnel monitored the arrival and departure of spacecraft suddenly became quiet as the grim looking Sorcerer led a three man team of his brethren inside.  The man was the sole reason for the abrupt cessation of activity.

    At over seven feet tall, Sorcerer Zulu was a gaunt, bald man of African descent with a lean and hawkish face that made him look sinister.  But it was his eyes that caught and riveted the attention of everyone around him.  Sunken into Zulu’s face, his eyes were large, bright and golden, contrasting greatly against his rich, dark skin.  Those eyes seemed to glow, lending to a uniquely menacing visage.  A visage that left anyone and everyone around him on edge and nervous.

    “At ease, people.  We are here to conduct a routine security sweep,” said Zulu in a deep, booming, Kenyan accented voice.  He then turned to the Wizards who accompanied him.  “Gentlemen, please proceed.”

    Without saying a word, the ebon garbed men, microcomps in hand fanned out to conduct their search for any sort of illegal weaponry that might have secreted in the space.  As per orders of the base commander, Sailor Quetzalcoatl, the Sorcerer detachments were not to reveal to anyone the reason for their search, partly to avoid a panic, but mostly to avoid making the enemy aware of their work.

    Lieutenant Eileen Ripley, the Flight Control commander, a look of puzzlement on her face walked up to Zulu.  “Pardon me for asking, but a security team did a sweep early this morning.  Why again so soon?”

    “New procedure, Lieutenant,” Zulu replied curtly, his face a stone mask.  He gave the woman only a cursory glance as he observed his men performing their work.  “If you have any questions, address them to Sailor Quetzalcoatl, who issued the directive.”

    Ripley, a handsome, dark haired woman, frowned.  She didn’t like being left out of the loop about procedural changes.  “I suppose the surprise factor was part of the equation too,” she said, an edge of sarcasm in her voice.

    “You could say that.”

    Twenty feet away at a maintenance station, a smallish, wiry man in a navy jumpsuit watched the RSN officer and the gaunt Sorcerer talk.  The man scowled, wishing he knew how to read lips so he could learn what the two were talking about, but he knew right away that it had to be about something important, given the number of Sorcerers poking around.

    As the wiry man continued observing, the three Wizards walked up to Zulu, having completed their task.  “All done, sir.  The space is clear.”

    Zulu nodded.  He looked around the space, his piercing, golden eyes taking in everything like he had every other space he and his team searched through over the last several hours.  He locked onto the wiry man for a second and glared at him, his expression unchanged.  “Very well.  Thank you for your cooperation, Lieutenant.  Let’s go, people.”

    Only after Zulu and his team left did the tension in the space subside and everyone could breathe.  Ripley’s assistant, a nervous looking young black man walked up to her.  “Whew.  I’m glad he’s gone.  That guy gives my goosebumps goosebumps,” he whispered to the woman.  “I’ve been around more than a few of King Endymion’s soldiers, but I’ve never seen anyone so flat out creepy as Zulu.”

    “That makes two of us, Geordi,” Ripley grumbled.  And I thought this was going to be an easy assignment.  HA!  It’s been anything but so far, she thought bitterly.  “C’mon, let’s get back to work.”

    While Ripley and Geordi returned to their stations, the wiry man, his eyes darting back and forth, left the control center.  Once outside, he walked down the hallway to the employee restroom and went inside.  After entering a stall and closing the door, he sat on the toilet, pulled a communicator from the breast pocket of his shirt and punched several buttons.

    “Groundhog, this is Flyboy.  I’m scrambled.  Come in,” he whispered.

    “I’m here, Flyboy,” came back the voice on the other end.  “What do you have to report?”

    “LISA received a ship at their private bay a few hours ago.  Looked like a mini-version of a Pleiades scout.  That spells military,” the man replied.

    “Any idea who was onboard?”

    “Nope.  Probably more spooks, maybe Delta operators.  They ran silent after clearing the asteroid field and bypassed customs after arriving.  Nobody saw ‘em debark.  Sounds like some serious top secret shit to me.  And Sorcerers are all over the place doing sweeps, like they’re looking for something.  Think that means anything?”

    “Maybe.  Thanks for the info.  Keep me appraised.  Out.”

    Putting away his communicator, the man stood and left the stall.  After washing his hands, the wiry man opened the door to leave, only to have his way blocked by Zulu who glared down at the smaller man with his smoldering gold eyes while his team of Wizards stood behind him.

    “I’m glad you finally finished.  Patience is not a virtue of mine,” the Kenyan Sorcerer growled.  The man gulped and backed up into the bathroom as Zulu and his teammates followed him inside.  Wide eyed and nervous, the man, his back against a wall, stared at Zulu’s menacing visage.  “Who were you talking to?”

    “Talking?  What makes you think I was talking to anybody?” the man stammered.  He knew right away that he was in huge trouble.

    Zulu rolled his eyes and let out a sigh of frustration.  “I hate liars.  Even worse, I abhor spies.  You will talk to me.”

    The man let out a nervous laugh.  “Oh, yeah?  And how are you gonna do that, tough guy?”

    The Kenyan’s lips curled into a cruel, sharklike grin, and the man gasped at seeing Zulu’s eyes blaze like twin suns from mystical energies, practically blinding him.  It was all he could do to keep from screaming.

    “I have my ways, little man.”

Dreyious Prime, Pacifica City, Pacifica City Marina, 8 June 2740

    The supervisor of Pacifica City’s Marina, flanked at his desk by two stern faced officers of the city’s police department stared at Sailor Britannica, dressed in an elegant designer pants suit.  Behind her were the civilian garbed Sailor Russia and LISA Special Agent Andre Broduer.

    “This is quite an unexpected surprise, Lady Hawthorne,” said the supervisor, a smallish, lemon faced man in his early fifties with thinning black hair.  After going over the Lunarian Passport information Sailor Britannica provided him, he was startled to see her Q-rating was 10, a rating given only to royalty or the most well-connected citizens of the Golden Millennium.  “It’s not every day that someone of your stature from Earth pays us a visit.  What brings you to Dreyious Prime, madam?”

    “I’m on holiday.  My passion is yachting, and I’ve heard that the boating here, especially off the coast of Pacifica City, is excellent,” the Briton replied.  For a second, she made eye contact with the two officers standing behind the supervisors and saw right away from their expressions that they were suspicious.  “As you can see, my paperwork for renting a watercraft is properly filled out.  And money for the rental is certainly no object.”

    “And these people with you?” asked one of the officers, openly wary as he eyed the duo behind the disguised Senshi.

    “My servants, and yachtsmen,” Sailor Britannica replied casually.  Sailor Russia briefly glared daggers at the Briton.  “Is there a problem?”

    The supervisor, now a little nervous, gulped, then looked ever so slightly to his left at the officer behind him.  “Actually, it is rather unusual to receive off-worlders here so soon after the… incident on the Shroud a week ago,” the officer replied in a grunt, his eyes narrowed from wariness.

    Sailor Britannica tilted her head back and laughed.  “My good man, I could care less about the Shroud.  The RSN could’ve blown the damned place to kingdom come and it wouldn’t have mattered a whit to me.  I’m here to have fun on the seas, nothing more.”

    She paused to walk up to the officer and gave him a hard, penetrating glare.  “Not to sound heavy-handed, officer, but certain people on Luna would be extremely displeased with your management if word reached them that I was treated improperly.  Most notably, Neo-Queen Serenity.  The British Monarchy is on very good terms with her.  Do we understand each other?”

    The officer did a double take, stunned at the barely veiled threat.  He then nodded to the supervisor, albeit, reluctantly.  “Absolutely, madam.  By no means would we want to upset the apple cart, as you Lunarians would say.  We’ll process the paperwork for your rental right away.”

    Sailor Britannica grinned from satisfaction.  “I’m so glad we were able to come to a meeting of the minds.”

    Ten minutes later, the Senshi and Broduer walked down the pier to where a sea skimmer awaited them.

    “So that was what you meant by ‘the royalty card’,” Sailor Russia said to the Briton.  “That was quite a bluff, comrade.  I’m greatly impressed.”

    Sailor Britannica shot her partner the same harsh stare she gave the police officer.  “That was no bluff, you simpleton.  I AM royalty, even if it’s purely ceremonial these days.  But those clueless buffoons back there didn’t know that.”

    Broduer chuckled.  “Tres bien, mademoiselle.  Quite clever.”

    Sailor Britannica, looking as insufferably arrogant as ever, smirked.  “Of course.  My natural brilliance shone through, as usual.”

    “Bozemoi,” Sailor Russia grumbled, rolling her eyes.

Dreyious Prime, Capricorn City, Archangel Spaceport, 8 June 2740

Aboard Renegade

    As Moira ‘Scarlett’ Cassidy was wont to do when she slept, she tossed and turned in her bed from nightmares she regularly suffered from for the last seven years.

    The scenario was always the same.  She was an Ensign, a tactical officer aboard the destroyer SLS Ronald Reagan which was on patrol on the outskirts of the Alpha Zone when they picked up the automatic distress beacon from a disabled RSN cargo ship just inside the zone.  The ship’s captain, Sailor Libra was initially suspicious of the call for help, given the position of the vessel in one of the most perilous regions in the galaxy.  But in the end, she decided to render assistance.

    Upon arriving at the coordinates of the ship, Reagan, running on yellow alert found the vessel listing to starboard, it’s engines severely damaged and leaking plasma, its hull pockmarked from weapons fire.  Suspecting the ship had been attacked, and with the comm officer unable to hail her, Sailor Libra ordered the shields raised, just as Reagan came under fire from a Dark Kingdom cruiser that came out of FTL and launched a sneak attack that caught the Reagan off-guard.

    Reagan was battered by the larger ship’s weaponry, but the GM warship fought back with everything she had.  A lucky hit by a ghost torpedo badly damaged the invader’s engine room and the DK ship was forced to withdraw, but not before one last salvo struck the port side torpedo compartment manned by Moira and her fellow crewmembers.  The shields failed and the compartment was blown apart, twelve crewmen were sucked into space before the emergency bulkheads sealed off the compartment.

    Moira and the remainder of her team were severely injured from the blast.  In Sick Bay, Moira spent six days at death’s door in a deep coma from her injuries, but when she awakened, the true horror of what happened to her caused her to scream…

    It was at that moment that Scarlett bolted up and screamed from mortal terror.  Wide eyed and wheezing, she looked around her at the familiar surroundings of her cabin aboard Renegade.  That helped to calm her down and make her feel better.

    “Lights,” she commanded, and the cabin was lit up in soft, fluorescent lighting.  Badly shaking, Scarlett slowly held up her right hand and stared long and hard at her open palm, looking at it with the same critical eye since after the accident seven years ago.  Throwing back the covers, Scarlett, naked, then stared at her legs in the same way.

    “Shit,” she growled.

    “Boss?  You okay?” Rhett, the ship’s AI, asked.

    “Yeah, I’m fine,” she muttered, running a hand through her bright red hair.  Still shaking, she felt like getting drunk, or drugging herself into a stupor with neuro-heroin as was always the case after suffering through her nightmares, but she couldn’t.  There was work to do.  “What time is it?”

    “2045 hours.  Want me to wake the loser on the bridge?”

    Scarlett nodded as she got out of bed and stretched.  “Might as well.  We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

    Padding over to her dresser, Scarlett opened it and removed a pink lace bra and matching thong panties, followed by a pink garter belt and lace trimmed stockings.  As Scarlett donned her lingerie, she heard the AI chuckle through the speaker.

    “What’s so damn funny?”

    “You must be the only bounty hunter in the galaxy with a fetish for pink underwear,” said the AI.  “Hell, it’s a wonder you don’t put on makeup and paint your nails before you go out on a job.”

    “You know good and well why.  How many times do I have to explain it to you?” Scarlett grumbled.  “It’s my ritual.  A very important one.  The lingerie reminds me that, first and foremost, I’m a woman, despite the shitty work I do for a living... and the thing I was forced to become.”

    Rhett chuckled again.  “Are you kidding?  Honey, with those knockers you’ve got, I’m surprised you need reminders!”   

    The redhead snorted.  “Don’t exaggerate.  I’m only a D-cup.  You should see the jugs my older sister Fiona’s got.  They beat mine six ways to Sunday!”  Scarlett paused to heft her breasts in her hands and smile.  “Still, there’s nothing like a big pair of boobs to distract the bad guys!  Works every time!  How long will it take to get to that terminal Rollins mentioned?”

    “Let me check.”  After a few seconds, the AI responded.  “I just accessed the topographical database for the Cap City region.  At max speed, the trip should take no more than twenty-one minutes.”

    “Good!  That leaves plenty of time to whip up some dinner,” said Scarlett, walking to her closet for a fresh set of clothes.  “I hate working on an empty stomach.”  

The Shroud, Dreyious Prime, 8 June 2740

    In a small conference room that was adjacent to Sailor Quetzalcoatl’s office, the Flight Control technician captured in the men’s room squirmed in the presence of the Mexican Senshi, Sorcerer Viking and Sorcerer Zulu who arrested him.  The man was leery of Zulu, who glared dangerously at him.

    “All right, we’ll start with the obvious questions,” Sailor Quetzalcoatl said.  She held up the communicator the man had in his possession.  “What’s your name?  And who were you talking to in the john with this?”

    “Henry Bonds, computer technician, third class,” the man replied casually.  “And, for the record, I was talking to my bookie down in Cap City.  There’s a good slate of games this weekend and I wanted to get my bets in before Saturday’s deadline.”

    “From the men’s room?” Viking asked suspiciously.

    Bonds shrugged.  “Hey, I needed privacy.  I didn’t want anyone honing in on my action.  No crime in that.”

    “As a matter of fact, there is, scum.  Gambling on designated military installations- of which the Shroud’s been since the GM took over last week- is a criminal offense,” said Zulu in a growl.  “You were acting suspicious the entire time my team and I were in Flight Control conducting our search, and you left shortly after we did.  I find it hard to believe you were in such a tearing hurry to do nothing more than gamble.”

    “Especially with a communicator retrofitted with encryption circuitry.  We had it examined and were told this is as sophisticated as they come,” Sailor Quetzalcoatl retorted.  “Hardly the sort of thing a low level tech should have in his possession.  And, please, don’t insult our intelligence by claiming not to know this thing was modified.”

    Bonds chuckled nervously. “That never occurred to me, lady.  I bought it on the black market from a guy from Sanctuary a few months ago and knew right away that it was tricked up.  But I got it for a darn good price, and I like privacy when I make calls, so it was a good deal.”

    “Still, using an encrypted communicator for something as inane as placing bets on games is extremely incongruous,” Viking countered.  “But, relaying information about ship movements to someone on the surface makes more sense.  And given your job, you’re in just the right position to gather intelligence for the enemy.”

    Zulu slammed his palms down on the table and got right into Bonds’ face.  “Talk!  Was that what you really doing?  Spying on us?”

    “No!  No!  Not at all, man!  I don’t that sort of thing!  Honest!” Bonds cried, frightened at having the African Sorcerer with the freakish eyes so close to him.  It took all his strength to keep from voiding his bladder.

    “Your actions contradict you, Mr. Bonds, as does this device,” said Sailor Quetzalcoatl, her patience with the man exhausted.  “We think you know more than you’re letting on.  I want the name of whoever you were talking to, and I want to know yesterday!”

    “I told you already!  My bookie!”

    “Traitorous filth!” Zulu roared, grabbing Bonds by his lapels and lifting out of his chair with ridiculous ease with his magic enhanced strength.  He then turned to Sailor Quetzalcoatl, his eyes blazing again like in the men’s room.  “With your permission, madam, allow me to flay this vermin’s flesh.  Slowly.  After he’s been softened up, he’ll talk!  I promise you that!”

    “Nothing would please me more, Zulu.  But we can’t wait that long to get answers out of him,” the grim faced Mexican Senshi replied.  “What about your hypnotic powers?  This miserable slime probably doesn’t have the willpower of a flea.  His mind should be putty in your hands.”

    Zulu smiled evilly as he dropped Bonds back into his chair.  “An excellent idea, commander.  I can have lots of fun with him.”

    Viking scowled.  He wasn’t at all comfortable with Zulu and his venomous tendencies.  “Fun?  I find your attitude abhorrent, Zulu.  We’re supposed to be above that sort of thing.”

    “Spare me the bleeding heart nonsense!  Or do you have a better idea, pretty boy?” the tall African snapped back.  He openly disliked Viking and had no respect for him, thinking the only reason the Norwegian was second-in-command was because of his friendship with Sailor Quetzalcoatl while Zulu, despite having over one hundred twenty years more experience in the field than Viking, had been passed over.  That slight gnawed at his pride.

    “Enough!” Sailor Quetzalcoatl snapped.  She knew all about the animosity Viking and Zulu had for each other, but was in no mood for their squabbling.  She then glared harshly at the Norwegian.  “Whatever’s necessary to get the job done, we do!  Period!  Are we clear on that, Viking?”

    “Yes, commander,” a chastened Viking replied.  “What about Brock?  Should we notify him that we have a prisoner?”

    The Mexican Senshi snorted.  “Hell no!  That son of a bitch screwed us over by concealing info about those mystery WMD’s.  This time, we’re leaving him in the dark.  Go ahead, Zulu.”

    “As you command.”  Zulu then stared menacingly at Bonds who shivered fiercely.  “Look into my eyes, scum.  One way or another, you will tell me everything you know.”

Capricorn City, Dreyious Prime, 8 June 2740

    ‘Hide in plain sight’ was Sailor Magneta’s rationale for having Sailors Ivory, Ebony and Cerebra search throughout the city, led by Agnetha Lindstrom, a willowy brunette who was Brock’s deputy section chief.  The foursome had spent the last four hours clandestinely searching for hidden weapons, but had no success.

    “This metropolis hardly qualifies as a pristine environment,” said Sailor Cerebra in a disdainful tone as she walked alongside Sailor Ebony, her lover.  “Is the city always like this, Agent Lindstrom?”

    “Not really.  But we are in the bad part of town,” said the LISA agent in a lilting Swedish accent.  “And call me Aggie.  The walls in this neighborhood have ears like Vulcans.  And neither Senshi or LISA agents are particularly welcome here.”

    “Gotcha, Aggie,” said Sailor Ivory.  “Something just occurred to me.  Does LISA have any intel on any black market weapon traffickers that might be hiding in this region?”

    “I’m surprised, Sailor Ivory,” said Sailor Ebony.

    “Why?  Because I came up with such an intriguing question?”

    “No.  That you expertly constructed an entire sentence without using any swear words.”

    Sailor Ivory, annoyed, glared lasers at her sister.  “Fuck you, bitch.  And the horse your smelly cunt rode in on.  Happy now?”

    The Senshi of Darkness smiled.  “Ecstatic.  Seriously, Aggie, that is a good question.  Is it possible?”

    “Could be.  We’ve heard rumors about a bigwig trafficker said to be in this system,” Aggie replied.  “I don’t know how solid that info is, it’s more scuttlebutt than anything else, but the name we’ve heard is Rydos.”

    That caused Sailor Cerebra to cock an eyebrow from curiosity.  “Rydos.  Interesting.  Would this person’s first name happen to be Armon?”

    “I think so.  Why do you ask?”

    “Seventeen years ago, a Cygnian RSN captain named Armon Rydos was drummed out of the service and sent to prison for secretly trafficking arms,” the Chinese Senshi explained.  “After serving ten years in prison, he disappeared.  This could be nothing more than a freak coincidence, but if the Rydos you mentioned was the former disgraced RSN officer, he might well be our objective, given his past history.”

    “Hmm.  You could be onto something, Sailor C,” Sailor Ivory said.  “What do you think, Aggie?”

    “It makes sense.  Now that I recall the case, LISA’s been after Rydos for quite some time now.  He’s rumored to have sold arms to the enemy during the Nebula War,” said Aggie.  “But no one’s been able to find him.  We’ve even hired bounty hunters on the sly to search for him.  Prime would be a perfect place to hide if he’s here.”

    “How do we find out for sure?” Sailor Ebony asked.

    In response, Aggie stopped and pointed at a bar across the street called ‘The Asteroid Lounge’.  “It’s the most popular dive in town.  Lots of unsavory types hang out there, most of whom have tongues that can be easily loosened with liberal amounts of alcohol when they’re not beating each other’s brains out.”

    Sailor Ivory chuckled.  “A pity Sailor Russia’s not here.  That sounds like her kind of hangout.  C’mon.”

    The quartet crossed the street and entered the bar which was packed solid with patrons, most notably, two dozen burly, hardfaced men whose eyes were focused tight on the four women, and the expressions they all wore were of open suspicion.

    “Uh, did we come at a bad time?” Sailor Ebony asked Aggie in a whisper.  “The natives look a tad restless.”

    “Restless, my pretty pink ass.  This bunch looks downright fucking hostile,” Sailor Ivory quipped.

    Aggie frowned.  She didn’t like the situation one bit.  “I agree.  Something must’ve happened in here earlier.  Something bad.  The tension’s thick enough to cut with a laser scalpel.”

    “How do you wish to proceed?” Sailor Cerebra asked.  Even though the Chinese Senshi wasn’t concentrating on her telepathic abilities, the emanations of hostility she felt from the crowd concerned her.

    “We go ahead and ask about Rydos.  But be ready to act in case things go south,” the LISA agent replied.

    The three disguised Senshi quickly glanced at each other, ready to go into action if need be.  “We’re ready,” said Sailor Ivory, speaking for the trio.  “Let’s do it.”

    With Aggie in the lead, the four women walked up to the bar.  The bartender, a scowling Isbanni man, regarded them with a sneer.  “What can I get you, ladies?”

    “Information.  If you have it,” said Aggie in a casual tone.  “My friends and I are looking for a gent by the name of Armon Rydos.  Ever hear of him?”

    “Shit!  Him again!” the bartender growled.  “That clown’s already caused me plenty of trouble!  And I don’t even know who he is!  I’ve had enough!  Boys!”

    Before Aggie or the Senshi could react, the large group of thugs who had been scowling at the women produced a wide variety of exotic and lethal-looking weaponry and quickly surrounded them.

To be continued...

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