Lunara: The Legacy Duology: Lunara Collection, #2

By Wyatt Davenport

In the fourth and fifth book of the Lunara series, Alexandria Smith leads a not-so normal life on Lunara colony. She is hated by many just for being the daughter of notorious war criminal Seth Smith and enigmatic war champion Chloe Jones.

She has been living with the prejudices for over twenty years and witnessing the adulation bestowed on her best friends Emily McCloud, Harry Corvo, and Adol Buckley, all of whom are children of heroes from the Great War.

When Parker McCloud offers her a spot on a highly-classified mission, she embarks on an adventure where she attempts to learn the real gift her parents have given her and gain back the honor of her family's legacy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wyatt Davenport
• Release date: Aug 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476330303

Wyatt Davenport

Wyatt Davenport was born in 1977 in Kingston, Ontario, and grew up in London, Ontario, and Atlanta, Georgia. He currently lives in Seattle with his wife Colleen and their two Siberian Huskies. An avid fan of science fiction and fantasy, Wyatt is inspired by authors like Timothy Zahn, Michael Crichton, Robert Aspirin, and J. R. R. Tolkien.

Book preview

Prologue

Alexandria Smith clutched Emily McCloud’s hand tightly as the bombs drummed down overhead, shaking the cave and raining red dust down upon them. Radella hugged them both while the boys, Harry McCloud and Adol Buckley, pulled themselves close together a few feet away. The boys put their hands over their heads to block any falling stones, and Alexandria mimicked them. She always tried to be like them. They were strong, and they knew how to fight off attacks.

Eight-year-old Emily was Alexandria’s sister. They had run around Mars for the better part of two years, escaping the targeted attacks on them. Alexandria was told she was a valuable target of the Martian Supremacy Authority, or MSA, but at less than two years old, how could she be? She was just a little girl.

Emily explained the situation to her the other day, about her special parents and the MSA’s need for her DNA, but she couldn’t understand how her parents were so special or why her blood would help anyone. Her mother didn’t do amazing things around her, and Seth Smith, the one they called her father, whom she had met only days before, hadn’t been part of her life—how could his abilities be with her? And if they were, she didn’t know how to use them. He hadn’t shown her how.

Alexandria did sense she was different. One thing odd about her life confounded her. She knew other two-year-olds, and they were dumb. Not that they could help it. They could hardly add two numbers or do their spelling. She had done her multiplication tables months ago and could read and write as well as the big boys, Harry and Adol—and they were ten. She was bigger and stronger, too. Her mother said it was her fault that Alexandria had aged quickly.

Another bomb exploded, but closer this time. The explosion shook Alexandria’s teeth, and she cried out. The dusty smell of the bombing wafted into the cave. She hated it. It meant the bad guys were close.

Alexandria, Emily whispered in her ear, do you want to play hopscotch later?

Alexandria had figured out Emily’s ploy a few weeks ago. Emily would ask her to play hopscotch when Emily sensed either of them was scared. Alexandria pushed her hand into her pocket and pulled out the polished blue stone they always used as the marker. I’m ready.

Another explosion rumbled the cave, only this one wasn’t from overhead but down the tunnel. They heard a murmur of voices in the distance.

Go, children! Radella shouted. She pulled on Alexandria and Emily and pushed them down the cave, away from the voices.

The blue stone in Alexandria’s hand knocked against the cave wall and fell to the ground. Immediately, she bent down, but she couldn’t see it.

Get moving! Emily screamed at her.

I lost the stone! she cried. She jabbed her hand to the ground but only found the cave floor. She brushed the gritty floor but found nothing. I lost it!

Emily grabbed her collar and yanked her up. We’ll get another.

I like that one. Alexandria shrugged her off and dove to the ground, whipping her hands around in a desperate attempt to find the stone.

A stronger hand pulled her this time. Alexandria, Radella barked, get up and get out of here.

But—

No! Radella pulled her to her feet and pushed her away.

Alexandria hated to leave another stone to the MSA, but she complied. She searched for the boys. They always led the way out.

Faster than the girls, Harry and Adol were already facing the voices, waiting to fight. The boys slipped their hands into their jackets, grabbed their sonic pistols, and pointed.

Don’t shoot, Radella called. Come on, boys. You must move this way.

We can hold them off, Harry said. Get the girls to safety. Alexandria can’t be captured.

You’re as important as Alexandria. Your parents would be angry if I let you die. Radella cocked her sonic rifle. I’ll take the rear. Let’s go."

Alexandria ran back. She pulled on Adol’s jacket. I need you.

Adol’s anger showed on his face. We can save you from here. I’m sick of running.

The voices echoed louder down the cave. Alexandria gasped.

Bang! Radella’s rifle smoked, and a body fell to the floor.

Alexandria screamed.

She’s in here, a voice called.

Alexandria knew they were talking about her. Harry, Adol, I need you. She pulled on both their jackets, but the boys were much stronger, being ten years older, and didn’t move. Come!

Go, boys! Radella barked again. I’ll hold them off. Alexandria needs someone to lead her through the caves.

Both boys grumbled, as protecting Alexandria was a weakness of theirs. Adol grabbed Alexandria’s hand, and they raced to the back exit of the cave. The voices and stomping boots seemed to trail them the entire journey. Radella’s rifle popped dozens of times, holding the attackers back. At one point, Radella stopped, and Alexandria didn’t see her again.

They reached the end of the cave leading to the surface of Mars. Alexandria looked into the sky; an orange glowing light glittered in the atmosphere. In awe, she couldn’t help but stare. It was so beautiful, like fireworks covering the entire sky. Then she felt a tug on her waist as Emily pulled out her breathing mask and forced it over her mouth. She drew in a deep breath. She hadn’t noticed she had been holding it.

The whine of the hovercar broke her concentration, and she looked over to see Harry and Adol at the controls. Parker had taught Harry to fly it last summer, during the time of peace on Aethpis, before Parker left for the mines. Even if hovercars were for adults, she trusted Harry and Adol at the controls. They were good at everything.

Come on. Emily pulled on her arm. We have to leave.

What about Radella?

She… Emily’s lip quivered. She’s gone.

Alexandria took her attention off the hovercar. Tears rolled down Emily’s cheeks. Grief pulled at Alexandria’s heart, and she muttered thanks to Radella for protecting them. Then she realized something terrifying—they were on their own now, all targets of the MSA.

Twenty years later…

Chapter 1

For the past two hours, Joy Hartshorne had been staring out the port window of the midclass freighter Cosmorine at the vast, desolate expanse gripping the edges of the universe and covering everywhere between. Only the warbles of flickering specks against the darkness provided sanctuary from its cold bite.

Joy loved every second of its splendor and its freedom. Mars hid behind the front of the ship, while the asteroid belt stretched in a thin ring from the bow into the horizon, millions of miles in the distance. The bluish-gray flicker of Earth owned the sky this evening.

In her case, it was always evening in her quarters. On the trip back from Saturn Station, she knew the port side of the ship would be away from the sun. She readily accepted the nonpreferred quarters in return for a small compensation. She didn’t need the fiery view of the sun blazing into her cabin. During her off time, she wanted to stare in wonder at the fabulous view of nebulas and cosmic bodies that the evening side of the ship provided.

On this day twenty years ago, an old friend had taught her to appreciate the wonders of the celestial. She knew it was today, because today was the twentieth Victory Day on Mars—the day marking the glorious Alliance’s defeat of the MSA. Probably right at this moment, Hannah Rohen, the venerable speaker of Mars, would be making her impassioned speech, while the head of representatives, Clarence McMoeran, would be waving the fans of pride, gloating over the Aethpisian Colonial Restoration Project.

In addition to Victory Day celebrations, the colony of Aethpis was showing off with a ceremony of its own. The twenty-year project to rebuild the colony would be capped with the installation of the pinnacle on top of Dalton Tower, including the corny banner-cutting and flyovers from the Asterfighters. Joy had always thought Victory Day was over-celebrated and underappreciated for its meaning.

It was obvious to everyone that Mars was still coming to grips with the Great Martian War. The people, mostly critics and wailers, said the war had set back the planet by over a century. Joy didn’t see history that way. After the war, things had turned out to be more than prosperous in terms of credits and food availability. Additionally, with the population drop of more than forty percent, workers had found plenty of work rebuilding the deep space outposts, the freighter fleet, Aethpis colony, the Phobos shipyards, and much of Zephyria and Trivium Port. Best of all, Joy hadn’t had algae paste in over twenty years. That in itself was reason to declare Mars progressive, instead of regressive, which the lamenters of the atrocities of the Great War still beat into everyone’s heads every time she turned on the news.

If they would only let the hate go.

Joy thought they should be more concerned with current Martian affairs. The Central Alliance, headed by Aethpis and dominated by Castor and Pollux representation, was no better than the old MSA rule. The new Principles of Man, used to enforce the laws over the people, seemed to be the same as the MSA doctrine, except with more tolerant verbiage. Toleration of anything other than Alliance principles was strictly prohibited—because of the fear engendered by the phantoms of the MSA.

The only change of any consequence was the doctrine allowing private companies to operate within the economy. To Joy, this meant freedom and independence. In the past, the government had controlled the entire labor force. Now, Joy had her choice of companies to work for, and if she worked hard enough, the riches were endless.

She had already saved half the money required to buy the ship she needed to start her own hauling company, and she had picked out the name of her company—Hartshorne Hauling. It rolled off her tongue and hit her ear nicely.

Her time on Saturn had taught her so much about how corporations worked. The corporations ran everything on Saturn, from the mining services to the security forces. The only government presence came from the tax service bureaucrats, and she remembered them well from her last audit. They had taken ten percent off the top for fines and miscalculations.

But that loss could be erased with this trip. Joy sat back, pressed her athletic frame into the chair, and dreamed of the better life ahead.

The need of the Martian Packing and Cargo Transportation Corporation—Cargo Corp.—to have a special, top-secret cargo delivered to the Alliance Command had spurred her return trip to Mars. Joy’s crew, headed by Captain Leer, was generally regarded as the best in the solar system at delivering precious or delicate cargo with discretion. It wasn’t too uncommon to have special or priority missions, so this mission had seemed routine until she was informed that no one, not even Captain Leer, would know what the cargo shipment would be. Not being a survivor of the MSA tyranny, Joy didn’t like government secrecy and cloaks, and this concerned her enough to question the captain.

She was used to herself not knowing, but Captain Leer always knew. This time, he didn’t. Normally, she could trust that he wouldn’t put his crew in danger. On this run, the shipper had locked up the container tighter than an airlock, and the crew’s propensity for prying was squelched rather abruptly when they heard about what happened to crewman Terrence Harding. Joy knew little of the details, but she did learn that Terrence had lost his job with Cargo Corp. and had been locked up somewhere on one of the Jovian moons. Once this was all over, Cargo Corp. would petition for his release—though the severity of his punishment indicated that the Alliance wouldn’t be in a forgiving mood about the situation.

Using her fingers, Joy brushed her chin-length brown hair back as her dark green eyes looked away from the stars, taking in her quarters that had been her home for the last four weeks. The humble room contained a single bed, a half desk with a fixed backless seat, and a shower/sink/toilet area. She could rent this place for a credit a month on Mars, but on the Cosmorine, having a private sanitation area was considered a luxury.

She deserved it. As the hauler’s loading and hitch manager, she had worked two months straight without a rest day, and when they reached Mars, Cargo Corp. would pay her a generous overtime payment and a hefty bonus. Captain Leer promised it. Her ship and company would be even closer.

A flash appeared. The freighter’s erratic jerk to starboard woke her out of her credit-filled trance.

That was intentional, she thought, as the ship’s course zipped back and forth, causing her to jut her hands against the walls to stabilize herself. She first thought it was due to a damaged engine, but the desperation in the turns indicated the captain might be trying to avoid something—not of a celestial nature, either.

Out the portside window, long streaks of blue zipped close to the hull. A tingle of danger rippled through Joy that she had not felt since the Great War had ended.

Someone had fired upon them.

Finally, after many narrow misses, one of the streaks succeeded in striking the ship. Out of the corner of her eye, Joy caught wisps of air passing by her window, then jagged fragments of metal floating past. To the front, the bridge area exploded. Her cabin shuddered, causing her to stumble.

The whomp-whomp of the siren resonated through the corridors. Joy drew in a quick breath. Containment breach! Not designed for galactic warfare, the plasma shielding could withstand—at the most—the occasional hovercar-sized asteroid.

Who is attacking? The explosion on the bridge had probably killed the captain. Who’s in charge now? She needed to find someone.

By the time Joy staggered out of her cabin and into the main corridor, ominous blue lights flashed, and claxons blared louder. When she gazed in the direction of the bridge, she saw her worst fear realized. The pressure door had been dropped to cut off the breach. Anyone inside had died a painful, airless death. Luckily for her, the containment breach was sealed away from the rest of the ship.

A firm hand grabbed her slender arm from behind and spun her around. Her chestnut hair whirled into her face, and she brushed it away to see who it was.

It was Josh Jacobs, a friend from her crew on Saturn Station. By crew standards, he was a grunt worker.

We have to get out of here, she said in her gruff, smoky voice.

His round face didn’t cast his normal jovial demeanor. What’s happening? Who’s doing this?

I don’t know. Captain Leer and the rest of the bridge crew are dead. We’re flying blind. We must get to the escape pods.

No, the breach is sealed!

She shook her head. The bridge is gone. The pressure door won’t hold long enough—

The attackers must be here for a reason, he said, ignoring her complaints.

Joy could sense the call to duty within him. He, having fought the MSA, wasn’t going to run just yet, but her instincts were different. She had run throughout the entire war.

Until we find out who’s doing this, he continued, we can’t abandon the ship. The package in the cargo container must be important. If we return it, a big bonus will be waiting.

A big bonus. Joy couldn’t help but be impressed with his attempt. The bonus was a transparent, yet effective, way to her heart, but she stayed true to her conscience. What do we care? We’re in charge of towing it. That was our assignment. We aren’t in a position to protect it. We’ll get paid.

If we don’t deliver it, we won’t, Josh said. Come on. Let’s get to the rear section and figure something out.

She didn’t agree with his viewpoint. The contract was clear about disaster-related problems, and the courts would award her the pay. The escape pods are closer.

Annoyingly stubborn, he again refused to let her leave with peace of mind. There are escape pods back there as well.

"You really want to know what’s happening, don’t you?"

The captain died for this cargo. The least we can do is secure it for him.

Joy gazed at him with her hardened pea-green eyes. You’ve too good a heart, Josh. You should look out for yourself. The government looks out for itself.

It’s our duty.

The rest of the crew has evacuated.

Josh rubbed his thick hands through his hair, drawing his elbows up. Then, with exasperating force, he threw his arms down, as if to convince himself this wasn’t a mistake. I hate it when you get credits in your eyes. This is about duty, honor, and most of all, dignity.

A pang of irritation rippled through Joy. It wasn’t unreasonable for her to want to get paid and survive. Why should she suffer further for the sake of rescuing governmental cargo from these pirates? And she didn’t love credits; she loved her own ship.

I need you, he said simply and started toward the rear.

Reluctantly, pulled by loyalty to her dear friend, Joy followed. She would never forgive him.

Minutes later, they arrived at their destination. Everyone had left as expected; the terminal screens flickered on their last task, chairs spun around, and the silence made the hairs on Joy’s arms stand up. Used to spending most of her work time in here, Joy knew this room to be alive and active. She muttered words of regret and disgust. Why had so few of those who had survived the initial assault jettisoned from the spacecraft? She didn’t take them for such cowards.

The Cosmorine shook again as the attack continued. Joy’s heart felt thin as she tried to convince herself that the craft would hold. She took a deep breath.

After she gained her composure, or at least some semblance of courage, she went directly to the aft viewscreen. She could hardly make out the ship types on the flickering, static-filled screen. Through it all, she identified a half dozen of them making strafing runs around the Cosmorine. The direct assault had ceased.

Josh turned toward her. Looks like they’ve had enough of shooting at us for the time being.

She leaned toward the screen, hardly believing what she saw. She looked at her friend.

Josh’s brows rose as he awaited her reply.

Maybe not, she said. They’re destroying the escape pods. It just got complicated. I hate it when it gets complicated.

What do we do now? If we’re in an escape pod…

Joy stepped aside from that disturbing thought. First, we have to secure the cargo container. Maybe we can distract them.

Josh looked at her with a sideways glare. And then do what?

Her eyes softened, trying to reassure him that she was as scared as he was. She didn’t want to hear his doubts. She hadn’t survived the Great War by doubting. We have to act fast. If we can detach the container before we’re thrown out of quickdrive, the container will continue its momentum. They won’t be able to slow it down without a starwing. It will stay close to quickdrive speed forever.

Josh’s voice rose to an alto-like pitch. Detaching a quarter-million-ton cargo container during a quickdrive would be insane—beyond measure. Also, it might kill us. Remember, you can’t collect credits when you’re dead.

We have to take a risk, Joy said, her tone sharp and firm. I want to survive, but playing it safe isn’t an option anymore. They’re butchering our friends out there, and we’re next.

Josh shook his head vehemently. He put his hands to his head. Maybe we can reason with them.

Josh, look outside, she said, wondering if he remembered his hallway plea to her. Securing the cargo container is our only hope of survival. You were right to come back here. Don’t make me say it again. If the container is in quickdrive and we’re captured, it’s leverage to keep us alive.

We’re still prisoners.

With another chance to escape. The situation warrants that we make do.

Josh looked at her for a long moment. We’ll have to manually disable it from the access tunnel.

I’ll go, she replied. I’m much smaller, and I can get down the tunnels easier.

Josh shook his head. You’re also much weaker. It will take big muscles to push open the emergency hitch. I’ll do that. He looked at her with a sheepish grin. It’s about time my weight comes in useful.

I can’t let you sacrifice—

Doesn’t change the fact that I know I can do it. If you’re delayed trying to release it, we’re both dead.

Joy reached her hand up to his cheek and rubbed it softly. For the first time in years, she saw the face of a true hero. It was a manifestation of the famous statue of Parker McCloud in the Trivium Square on Mars. A valiant man she had once known was mirrored here in this man. If you don’t make it…

Don’t say it, he said. Just promise me that you won’t let credits run your life. You think you deserve riches, but you deny the life you are living.

She scowled. You don’t know the life I lead, so don’t lecture me about how I should lead my life. I’ll retire a successful cargo hauler. She waved her hands at him. Why are you saying this now?

Because I care about you.

The freighter shuddered and moaned like an injured whale.

Hold together, she said. She glanced at the viewscreen. The fighters made their way back, determined to cripple the freighter. They’re coming in fast.

Josh didn’t hesitate and jumped into the access tunnels a moment later.

Joy, still flummoxed by his insistence, sealed the tunnel behind him, waiting with nervous patters of her feet.

As she looked out the porthole toward the massive hitch line connecting the freighter to the million-ton cargo container, she had a bad feeling that she would never see Josh again. The Cosmorine was going terribly fast for disconnection, and she had no doubt the hitch line would buckle under the strain.

The whisking sound of the main doorway opening caught her ear. The door must have malfunctioned, she thought. But out of the corner of her eye, she caught the image of a man crawling toward her. She started toward him, unable to tell who it was because of the severe burns across his face. She could tell he wasn’t a part of the crew, though. Perhaps he was a civilian or government official in the passenger section of the ship.

A glint of metal flashed across her view. It came from something in the man’s hand. She ran her hand along his, and with surprising force, he pushed the metal into her palm. For some reason, he wanted her to have it.

She looked at the strip of metal the length of her thumb. It didn’t say anything intelligible except for a series of digits, X8u3I2kHB1. She flipped it over and read, AI. Could that be Alliance Intelligence?

Who are you? she asked.

He muttered his final words: Cargo code. Then, more rapidly than she expected or cared to witness, his body fell lifeless to the floor.

Joy shuddered along with the freighter. Out of the viewport to her side, jewel-colored sparks streamed from the tail wing. She gasped, thinking the entire freighter was about to explode.

I have to keep the fighters busy. She slipped the metal strip between her bra and breast for safekeeping.

At the computer again, she muttered choice words at the weapons systems, or rather, the nonexistent weapons on the now weaponless cargo ship. Still, she had to do something. She dashed over to the pod control station for the rear section. The readout said there were fifteen pods. Reaching across the control pad, she swiped the entire set of starboard-side escape pods, except for one. The starboard-side escape pods would be easiest to spot with the sun reflecting their presence. Next, she ejected all but one of the portside pods, sending them on a deep space course that would cause the fighters to chase them.

She flipped the open cabin button on the remaining pod. Come on, Josh. It will be tight, but we can make it in one pod. You just have to live. She noted, thinking it absurd, that she had left one escape pod. A part of her couldn’t bear the thought of dying alone.

Boom! With a thundering ripple, the hull shook visibly around her. Her feet slid out from under her, and she slammed against the deck, jarring her joints. A heartbeat later, she was up from her sprawled position and moving toward the escape pod’s doorway.

Another ripple of explosions shuddered along the rear compartment. Through the window, she saw the massive bulk of the freighter’s cargo container fall away. Another surge of adrenaline rushed through Joy when she realized what was happening now. The attackers were trying to stop the Cosmorine with the container still attached. She smirked. For the first time in all of this, Joy sensed a small victory for their side.

Before she could enjoy the detaching container and her victory, a jolt threw her hard to the side, as if a giant hand had grabbed her. The freighter began to spin like a top, throwing her along the floor again. She tumbled until she came to an abrupt stop against an unforgiving wall.

Her forearm hit first and snapped. The pop resounded in her ears. Pain followed next, and she cried out in agony. The next wave of pain and the realization that her arm was broken almost sent her into unconsciousness. Fortunately for Joy, her adrenaline pumped too hard for her mind to quit easily.

As she nursed her arm against her side, the ship corrected itself to level. The cargo container was gone. Gingerly, she picked herself up and moved toward the escape pod again.

Wham!

The jagged end of the hitch connector whipped on the roof of the freighter. The ceiling compressed a meter down. Joy dove to the deck and braced for the cold, harsh vacuum of space. But miraculously, the hull held its integrity.

She was alive.

She held back the tears in her eyes. Josh Jacobs, you were a brave man. She stood up for a third time, wincing from pain as the sting in her arm almost sent her back to the floor.

The ship slowed out of quickdrive. She spotted the fighters in the far distance, bullets zipping back and forth taking care of the empty escape pods. They wanted no witnesses. What could she do? Where could she go? Anywhere was better than the Cosmorine at this point—even a targeted escape pod.

She slipped into the escape pod, desperately wishing her pod would be the one pod the attackers would miss. She had reason for some hope; the fighters raced to keep up with the faster-moving escape pods she had jettisoned. If the distance could be kept long enough, she would have a window to slip out of their range.

She doubted it, though. They appeared to be able to lock on the escape pods with the greatest of ease.

Joy pressed the release button, and the pod jettisoned from the Cosmorine, compressing her back into her seat. The shroud of outer space encompassed her, and the Cosmorine shrank as it got farther away. She hoped the detaching cargo container was enough to distract the enemy fighters from locking on her pod.

Lock on, she muttered, then swore viciously. Before she knew what she was even doing, she ripped the subcircuit compartment underneath the seat. The reason the attackers could home in on the escape pods seemed clear. They had the transponder codes for the rescue beacons. Joy cursed the universe, realizing that only rescue ships were supposed to have the codes. The Alliance had developed the system during the Great War, when the MSA would obliterate escape pods.

She swore viciously again, this time directing her swearing at the MSA. Twenty years later, the hate was still fresh.

Finding enough wires to yank on, she tore the better part of the subcircuit board labeled with the familiar communications symbol—a trio of arching semicircles. The light indicator for the beacon’s power faded to nothing.

She let out a long breath. She had either disabled the beacon itself or the light indicating when the beacon was enabled. It was encouraging to see that the fighters continued their way to the vicinity of the freighter while her pod streaked into the nothingness of space.

She turned the light off in the cabin and powered down the pod into hibernation mode.

Minutes felt like hours as she stared intently at the scene playing out in front of her. The Cosmorine was empty and unmoving, and her escape pod floated a couple of thousand kilometers away. The attacking fighters took up positions around the Cosmorine and not around her, and she saw no sign of the cargo container anywhere in her field of vision. She figured it must have still been hurtling along in the comfort of quickdrive. Her plan had worked.

Eventually she assured herself that the attackers were paying no attention to her pod and slumped back in her seat. She was hidden within the emptiness of space. She gulped. She was hidden from everyone.

Worst of all, her credits were streaking into the nothingness in the other direction.

Chapter 2

The Solar Fighter Tournament was the biggest tournament in the solar system. For Adol Buckley and those in the military, especially the pilots, it was bigger than the biggest tournament. His mother, famed war hero and ace pilot Shannon Buckley, had won the first competition held seventeen years ago, and there was substantial pressure on him to win the tournament. After three failures—a bad power converter, a blown-out engine, and an unfair disqualification for an illegal wing foil, which he protested to the highest competition committee on Mars—he was left without the coveted golden wings to pin on his breast. Adol’s bad luck had prevented him from being the champion for the last three seasons, and he had seen his failures documented endlessly in Mars news coverage. That was the primary reason he and Monica Gates, his copilot, had worked endless hours to perfect his fighter.

If there was any season he could win, it was this season. Lunara, his home course, was host to the tournament, and after five rounds, he was in a close second, with Saturn pilot Tom Fuller leading. Fuller was a good pilot, but not the best.

Adol’s fighter, a two-seater, followed an old Aethpisian design; it had a variable speed gauge and plenty of agility for tight corners and loops. Its single detriment was its relatively low overall top speed. His starwing was much faster, and it took some adjustment for him to temper his expectations when making the quick decisions the course mandated.

As he looked out across the course, he didn’t see how he could lose this tournament. His forte—being adept at anticipating the changing loops and turns—and his ability to shoot down the buoys in single shots, gave him confidence. Much like his mother, he had the talent of being able to be five to ten steps ahead of the course. Whether due to genetics from his mother, endless training, or both, he had learned to become more than competent in the seat of the fighter. He excelled behind the joystick. Some said he was even better than his mother had ever been. He agreed.

Course is a standard one to start, Monica Gates radioed into his headset.

She sat five feet behind him in the copilot’s seat, ready to announce any changes to the course or malfunctions within the ship during the run. Adol, sharing starwing duties with her as part of the rebuilt Protector crew, had extreme confidence in her abilities. A heady pilot, she always made the right and safe decision in the pilot’s chair. She wouldn’t impress anyone with her flying skills, but she also wouldn’t try anything dumb or embarrass herself. Parker McCloud said she reminded him of how Chloe Jones used to fly her starwing.

So he guessed he must be Seth Smith. A frightening thought.

Okay, Adol said. I want to take the Omega path.

That’s the hardest of the paths, Monica replied. We need to score a thousand points to win. Beta path is a gimme by the layout.

Omega is where I can score major points and score the highest point total for the tournament record. I can’t win and be outscored by my mother.

A win is a win, she protested.

It’s only a win if I’m the best. He didn’t see the risk as Monica would have. She would take the victory and fly home without saying a word. He wanted to be the best. He needed to be the best to shut up the critics who constantly reminded him of his mother’s lopsided victory.

Fine, Monica replied, with angst. Tower, this is Buckley and Gates. We’re ready to go. Prepare us for the Omega path.

The Omega path! the controller said with surprise.

Yes, the Omega path! Monica said, clearly annoyed with the controller.

Affirmative. Path locked in. The counter on the floating display screen flipped to sixty seconds and started downward: fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…

Adol looked out upon the course as it transformed. Taking the Omega path meant more of a risk because of the tightness of the loops around the course and the speed at which you had to mark the buoys. The designers set up a standard course so a pilot had to fly through a series of rings, or loops as the players named them, made from plasma shields. The loops had no give, and if struck solidly, they’d stall the ship completely, or if struck lightly with a glancing blow, they’d stifle the momentum of a fighter. Buoys were placed after each turn or after a series of turns, known as a complex maneuver in the rule book. The buoys needed to be fired upon by the fighter and marked as hit. There was a two-minute time limit for the entire hundred-loop course, but the scoring was mainly tabulated by how many shots were fired and how many buoys were hit.

The counter on the display screen continued downward: thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight…

Adol reviewed his instruments, and they checked out positive. The preflight inspection had cleared him to fly, so what happened last season wouldn’t happen again. Monica and he had combed the ship, tip to tail, four times in the last two weeks. The single thing stopping him from winning would be pilot error, and that seemed impossible. He was too good and too prepared.

Ten, nine, eight…

Cut in on the first loop with a light angle, Monica said. My sensors are reading a drift toward center for the first part of the course.

I’ll handle it, Adol said. The course was predicated on getting the correct angles to shoot the buoys with efficiency. He didn’t need her reminding him of it.

Ding!

He pushed the throttle to eighty percent and shot through the first loop, coming in on a portside angle that led him into a tight turn. The second and third loop shifted up and down respectively; he snap-rolled wing over wing and pushed his fighter down and up through the second and third loops. As he shifted his lateral movement to catch the fourth loop, he fired upon the green buoy and missed it badly.

A miss! He almost screamed in the cockpit. A complex maneuver right from the start was unprecedented, except that no one had run the Omega path since his mother. So anything could be possible.

He splashed a series of volleys toward the next three buoys. Eventually, after six total misses, he struck them all. At this rate, he wouldn’t make third place and the podium.

Settle your angles down, Monica said. You’re zinging across the course.

Adol countered by shifting the throttle down to seventy percent. He had to get a few easy ones.

Sliding across four loops, he struck their associated buoys with four direct hits. He was back in the game.

The course is shifting to a starboard heavy alignment, Monica said. The ship is fine.

Adol, confident with his recent hits and wanting desperately to catch up to the clock, surged the fighter to ninety percent speed. He rocked the fighter to the starboard side with a series of stepped loops that took him up and to the right. He connected on all ten shots.

Monica muttered satisfaction over the radio. Complex maneuver coming up. I can’t tell where they’re going to lie.

An Omega path special maneuver—perhaps Monica was right about his path selection. Adol knew there would be a few of these in his way, and with him having to reconcile his early misses, he would have his hands full. He throttled his speed down and entered the next ten moving loops, trying to anticipate what would become of them.

With an elongated barrel-roll, he skirted through the ten loops and blasted the buoy with one shot.

That was easy.

He thought too soon. A loop came out of nowhere to strike his portside wing, spinning him like a top. He blasted the emergency retrorockets and stopped the ship cold on the course.

Status! he screamed, briefly thinking of the snickering going on in the pilots’ lounge on Lunara. Not waiting for the status, which turned out to be a sharp decision, he blasted the throttle and surged to full speed toward the next loop.

Monica relayed the next status by the time he reached it. Portside turning is compromised. You’ll have to slow to make any portside turns. We’ll not make the two minutes at that rate.

Jinx, he said. Didn’t you see the last loop? Why didn’t you tell me?

I told you I couldn’t tell what the loops were changing into. Why didn’t you see it or slow down?

Never mind! He wanted to yell at her more, but if he was going to pull off the comeback, he didn’t have time to argue about the past.

The last half of the course looked to be more difficult than the first, and he was down to forty-five seconds on the clock. He would have to damn Monica’s advice and go at full throttle through the entire rest of the course, portside turning weakened or not.

As he pulled the throttle to full, he felt the push against his shoulder straps. His fighter shook fiercely with the focal point coming from the portside wing. He ignored it, along with Monica’s pleas to slow down. He wouldn’t lose because of her lackadaisical error, the failure to report an eleventh loop.

The fighter dipped, ducked, scooted, and jumped the loops with pinpoint precision, firing upon twenty buoys in a row with direct shots. He inverted the fighter to turn port side opposite the horizon. Ingenious and daring, he relied on his starboard-side engines exclusively.

His tongue pressed out of his mouth, a sourness seeping out. A wave of anticipation overcame him, and the ship angled ahead of the computers as it ran the rings in different directions. His fighter had been tamed to his mercy.

Twenty seconds and ten loops to go. Approaching the lunar section of the course, he had to contend with the moon’s surface for a picturesque finish above the Lunara Tower. He pushed his fighter beyond its safety limits, using the gravity of the moon to pull him past full speed.

Faintly, as if he wanted to hear it, he allowed Monica’s gasps to enter his mind. He fed on her anxiety. If his final maneuver scared her, it would surely please everyone across the solar system, particularly everyone in the Lunara pilots’ lounge.

Ahead of him, the loops formed a classic pattern, the same pattern his mother had run in order to claim her golden wings. He inverted his fighter in anticipation.

No, wait! He inverted back. The computer, notorious for reading the pilot’s previous habits and profile to devise a harder run, had tricked him—or had tried. It was his mother’s pattern from her championship, or rather, the opposite of it.

Specifically, it was called the Dalton run, named after the famous escape by Eamonn Dalton during the latter days of the Great War. Captain Dalton had faced an entire fleet of MSA ships and managed to cripple it and escape. It was simple in design but hard to execute. Using the original Protector, Captain Dalton had successfully laid a webbed pattern of meteor nodes and entangled the hapless MSA fleet into the center, where they met their end. The pattern’s execution had swung the tide in the war.

Knowing this to be his mother’s run and Captain Dalton’s original escape, Adol felt honored this would be his last maneuver before victory.

He jerked the control stick to the right, sending his fighter into a rolling turn downward and through the first half-dozen loops, picking off buoys as he passed them.

Though a complex maneuver having multiple buoys seemed unusual to him, he knew the Omega path didn’t coddle pilots with the predictable or necessarily stay within the rules. The ability to adjust to their surroundings was what made the best pilots in the Alliance. He wasn’t about to complain to the competition committee about his failure to adjust. It would show him as weak and inferior. Performance was the way to make a statement.

He nailed the first eight buoys with nine shots. With the complexity of this run and the successive hits, he had no doubt in his mind that he was ahead of Fuller in points now. He had to avoid mistakes on the last two loops to complete his triumph.

He noted five seconds on the clock. The final two loops below him were on an impossible angle to stop and jet through without running to zero.

A solution popped into his mind. On purpose, he dragged his tail through the next loop. Using the plasma shield surrounding the loop to slow him down, he twisted the ship toward the final loops.

When he saw the final loop dead ahead—there for him to take—a ripple of anticipation trickled across his skin. In a moment that felt like hours, he slid his finger to his acceleration control, pressed it, and accelerated to full speed.

He got through the loops in a half second, barrel-rolling his fighter at the end to pick up the last two buoys with a single shot. He crossed the finish line with 0.34 seconds remaining on the clock.

Instantly his score, twenty-five hundred out of three thousand points, flashed across the screen, and a whirl of fireworks whizzed from Lunara, filling the area with bright colors from all spectrums of the rainbow.

To Adol, it felt only natural that he had won—he knew he would. Trumping his mother’s score by over a thousand points, he had claimed victory as the single greatest solar fighter pilot in history. It all seemed foretold in his mind. He had no reason to cheer. He felt only vindication.

But it didn’t stop Monica from bellowing into his ear. You did it! You did it! What a comeback!

"We both did it, he found himself saying. It was inevitable."

You’re the best ever, she replied. You finally claimed victory.

Finally. That word stuck in his mind. The media would carry that as its headline on the news wire. Finally wasn’t a word he liked to hear about his piloting skills.

He had always been the best. It was time to change those headlines.

Set a course for Earth, he said.

Why? Monica asked apprehensively.

It’s time for us to celebrate with a flying lotus.

Oh boy, she said, but she didn’t argue.

Chapter 3

Alexandria Smith, daughter of notorious war criminal Seth Smith, and feared war champion Chloe Smith, looked over the invoice scrolling across her datapad and inferred from its content that its origin was Mercury. She double-checked the flight records, recalled the ship ID from the computer, and cross-referenced them with the invoice. Everything checked out. This was the shipment of xenon from Mercury that Chief McCloud had been waiting for.

Move that cargo into Storage Tank Six, she called to her deck crew.

They looked at her, unresponsive to her request.

Don’t make me come over there and pump it myself. I’ll take the commission on it.

With the fear of losing credits, the crew moved a little faster around the deck. As the daughter of Seth Smith, Alexandria experienced prejudice against her at every turn, just as every other child of the MSA had for the last twenty years.

Alexandria had grown to expect it. Her father had done horrible things to the people of Mars. It wasn’t as if she could say anything to make it go away, and it wasn’t something the people of Mars wanted to hear, anyway. The seeds of hate, planted by the Great War and watered by ignorance and fear, weren’t going to be destroyed by the daughter of the most hated man on Mars.

She did her job as cargo operations manager and tugboat commanding officer.

To her left, Zach Reeves, a soldier from the Martian Command and strikingly handsome, eyed her from the main doorway of the hangar. With cropped brown hair and green eyes, he had a subtle demeanor about him, giving her confidence that she could handle the deck crew. He didn’t allow his prejudices, if he had any, to undermine his duty, which was to make sure she had the power to enforce Lunara regulations. That was the job of every security member assigned to their respective decks, and she sensed that Parker had assigned Zach to her deck because of his unrelenting dedication to duty. It seemed that her deck had most, if not all, of the trouble on Lunara, but Zach had shown an astounding resilience to the resentment she fostered within the colony.

Zach, she called, how is your day going?

Good, ma’am, he said with his usual subdued tone. We’ve had a lot of activity on the other decks with the lockdown. Haven’t seen any angry pilots here, though.

Surprising, especially around here. Let’s keep it that way.

He smirked. Yes, ma’am.

Ms. Smith…Ms. Smith, operations assistant Trevor Hemming yelled as he ran up to her. Younger and sometimes overzealous, but reliable, he did not seem intimidated by Alexandria. He had been on Lunara his whole life.

He arrived, out of breath and unable to speak.

Slow down. Alexandria purposely gazed her big brown eyes into his to calm his eagerness. What is it?

It’s Brannon again, he said. He’s trying to leave during the lockdown.

That bastard, she said, not holding her tongue.

Hemming looked at her with surprise.

Jinx, Zach! You had to say it!

Sorry, ma’am. Zach waved at her.

Don’t sorry me. She smirked. Issues had to happen, or it wouldn’t be my deck.

He nodded. I understand.

She turned to Hemming. Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle Brannon.

During the war, Captain Walt Brannon had served as an Aethpisian freighter pilot and enjoyed nothing more than annoying her. But this time was different. Parker McCloud called for a lockdown because of Adol’s flying lotus stunt over Earth, and if she allowed any of her ships to undock, she would be suspended and perhaps fired. She knew Parker already wondered if she was right for this position, not based on her performance, but rather on the insubordination she garnered from the deckhands. She wasn’t about to let Brannon ruin the only good thing in her life.

Leaving Hemming behind, she hurried over to the controller terminal and grabbed the microphone from the main controller, who wasn’t surprised to see her. She hesitated before pressing the button on the mike. Feeling a tingle along her chest, she reached for the ring looped around her necklace chain. It was her mother’s ring, given by her father, and it had a habit of drawing her attention when she needed to control her temper or comfort her worried mind. It was her only cherished relic of her mother and a compass pointing to the direction that her mother wanted her to take.

She took a deep breath, compressing her slender cheeks, and brushed her straight brown hair from her ears. Captain Brannon, this is Deck Commander Alexandria Smith on the deck. You’ll power down your engines and report to the freighter lounge. Lunara is on lockdown.

Smith. Why don’t you eject yourself out an airlock?

After you.

"I’ll be jinxed if I’m going to let you stop me and make me late on a delivery."

The hairs on Alexandria’s neck stood on end. She expected a confrontation with Brannon, but she never felt comfortable when one occurred. Move one millimeter away from Lunara, and I’ll attach tow cables to your hull. That’ll make you plenty late.

You wouldn’t. I have clearance from the tower.

Your clearance was given before the lockdown. All clearance has been canceled.

One ship leaving won’t hurt Lunara.

Captain Brannon, I’ll not argue regulations with you. I’ve the legal right to retract your ship. Power down or suffer the consequences.

She could see his ship through the docking bay window. It was a medium-sized freighter that made deliveries mainly to Ares Station. His ship gave no indication of being powered down; it appeared to actually be starting to stabilize for debarking.

She clenched her teeth. Peterson, activate the tow cables and ready them for fire.

Already done, ma’am, the woman to her right said.

What do you think? Alexandria said to the woman.

He won’t do it, Peterson replied. He hates you and the MSA, but he loves his ship more. The regs are clear.

Alexandria ignored the casual reference to hating the former MSA. She wasn’t a former MSA. Not only that, her mother had saved Mars. Still, it didn’t overshadow what her father had done.

Brannon was another in a long line of tests for her. Everyone wanted her to react harshly, badly, and embarrassingly so they could point their finger and say, See, she’s just like her father, but she would never allow them to feel they were right.

I bet he leaves, Alexandria said. I think his shipment is perishable.

A perishable good coming from Lunara, Peterson replied.

Alexandria wasn’t surprised. The newly transferred controller didn’t know about Lunara’s manufacturing sector. Under Parker McCloud, it had expanded to include much of the greenhouse technology developed by the MSA. Read up on the colony. Lunara isn’t just a vanguard for Earth’s protection anymore. We have expanded our usefulness…or at least, we’re trying to.

Yes, ma’am.

Alexandria pulled the mike back to her mouth: Captain Brannon, what is your decision?

Shut up, Smith, he replied. I’m not listening to some MSA flunky.

I wasn’t in the MSA! She tightened her jaw as she gazed at Brannon’s ship pulling away from the docking bay. Have it your way!

About time, Brannon said.

Alexandria flicked her finger at Peterson. With a lurch, Brannon’s freighter came to a dead stop. The screech of the tow cables digging into the hull of the freighter unnerved those on the docking bay, except for Alexandria, who had no remorse for Captain Brannon. He had tested her and failed.

Peterson looked to her for guidance. Aside from plenty of paperwork, they both knew the ramifications of a tow cable hold on a ship. One, it made Lunara look bad to the other freighter captains who wanted to do business on Lunara; and two, it would bring plenty of notice from the Martian courts and media.

She groaned. Parker McCloud had one more excuse to take her off this assignment. Have Brannon in my office as soon as he debarks. Maybe I can reason with him. After a long pause, she added, And have Zach on standby.

Chapter 4

It was, Harry Corvo thought, the same Lunara colony it had been when he left it one year ago. And he wasn’t surprised in the least. Since the meteor cluster disappeared and the Great War ended, Lunara had turned into an unimportant trading port.

For the last year, his mission to Neptune had rejuvenated his spirit in the solar system. The peacefulness of hanging in orbit around the aqua-blue planet of Neptune had made him think a lot about his life and about the politics involved in it. The Neptune mission freed him of the bureaucratic whims of the Alliance Command and the incessant pestering of his superior officer and guardian, Parker McCloud. He loved Parker for rescuing him and Emily—his sister—from the MSA. Nevertheless, they didn’t see eye-to-eye on any issues, especially Harry’s propensity for leading missions of his own accord. He didn’t care to hear the alternative ideas of the Alliance bureaucrats that his guardian preached to him at every chance. He already knew he was serving the Central Alliance and didn’t need to be reminded of it. Sometimes, when circumstances warranted it, he had to make decisions that Parker and the Alliance wouldn’t care to see, particularly those involving highly public newscasts of a freighter that was destroyed as it flew too close to Venus, sucking it into the sulfuric atmosphere. To him, the issue was clear: either save the people aboard the ship or save the ship’s cargo.

The ship, with its million tons of metalor, seemed to be the choice he should have made. With the shortage of metalor on Mars, every ounce had become precious, and his decision to save the people and let the million tons seep into the surface of Venus had been a poor choice in the eyes of the Alliance.

The Alliance didn’t respond well, either, and forever would reference it as the Venus incident. So shortly after Harry’s mistake, Parker—urged by the Alliance—sent him to Neptune on a survey mission. The Alliance wanted to discharge him from service, but the newscast of his heroic rescue was too public, and with him being related to Parker McCloud, the savior of everything on Mars, Harry had even less chance of being discharged. In the end, his career wasn’t railroaded into oblivion, just railroaded to the outer solar system.

He could’ve quit. The Alliance, and even Parker—whom he hated for doing it—gave him that option, but he rebuffed them. When he saw how the Alliance operated and how metalor drove them, Harry decided to ride the mistake out and become a voice of reason. Someone had to protect the people from the politicians and the military might and their obsession with metalor.

Walking along the main promenade of Lunara on his way to his sister’s quarters, Harry let out a long sigh. Despite his career problems and his annoyance with the Alliance, he found dealing with them infinitely more palatable than facing what lay before him. His relationship with his sister had been tenuous, and he didn’t want his return to Lunara to become another argument about Martian politics or how he was disrespecting Parker every chance he had. He didn’t agree with a lot of what Parker had to say, but that didn’t make Harry wrong. His sister could never understand it.

Hopeful, he arrived at her quarters and knocked on the door. Perhaps there was a new, more mature Emily McCloud, and not the same one who had yelled at him when he left for Neptune.

The door snapped open, and his sister stood in front of him with her long,