Clouds of Venus: Free Space trilogy, #1

By Jeff Tanyard

Dale Kinmont is a college student in post-catastrophe America. He's lucky; he lives in one of the walled cities for the nation's elite, and life is pleasant. He expects to graduate and find employment in his uncle's company.

Everything changes when he's framed for murder. He's tried, convicted, and sentenced to hard labor in the prison colony on Mercury.  

He ends up in Hesperus instead, a flying city that soars eternally through the acidic skies of Venus. His goal now is to find a way to clear his name and return to Earth before Hesperus erupts in civil war. He also must battle the harsh realities of the planet itself. Because if the Hesperans don't kill him, Venus probably will.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff Tanyard
• Release date: Sep 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386309703

Book preview

Chapter 1 – Hesperus, D.C.

The flying city of Hesperus, D.C., capital of the United States of America, soared high over the surface of Venus. It flew just above the sulfuric cloud layer, meandering in a never-ending path through poisonous air. Mark Immerson, mayor of the city, walked down 3rd Street. A few passersby greeted him. He had a smile and a nod for each of them.

Walking was a recent habit—the exercise was good, plus it put his face out there for the people. The recent spate of terrorist attacks had everyone on edge. If Mark got out among them, and looked confident doing it, then perhaps it would help ease tensions. That was the idea, anyway. In reality, he wasn't sure it had much effect. But it was still good exercise, and the weather in the enclosed environment was always perfect, so he kept at it.

He passed the headquarters of the U.S. Postal Service. It was a small, somewhat ugly building, much less grandiose than its predecessor in L'Enfant Plaza on Earth. Most days, the building was only ugly because of its architecture. Today, though, it also sported a bout of fresh graffiti, making it even less appealing. The graffiti was all political. It included the usual slogans: Free Hesperus, Earthers Out, and so on. The black hat of the Free Space Party, Dr. Aeneas, had struck again during the night.

Mark scowled at the graffiti for a moment before turning his focus back to the street. He sympathized with the Free Spacers—self-determination was a completely understandable desire—but he didn't care for their tactics. So far, they hadn't killed anyone, and for that he was grateful. Their stunts were just pranks and nuisances. He hoped they would stay that way. He feared they wouldn't.

On the other side of the street was the headquarters of the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Like the Postal Service building, it was much smaller than its predecessor on Earth. Only a small fraction of the American bureaucracy was privileged enough to work on Venus. The rest of the government was stuck on Earth in America proper, making do in the makeshift offices they had established for themselves in the nuking's chaotic aftermath.

For the special few, though, Venus was home, and the Agriculture building was a handsome structure. Mark had always liked it. He gazed at it while he walked, admiring the portico and its columns. They were metal, not concrete, but looked every bit as Greek as the Parthenon. It really was a nice bit of architectural work. The building was closed at the moment for renovations. He couldn't wait to see what the new interior looked like when it was finished.

He was still admiring it when it exploded. The building became a fireball, billowing smoke and sending bits of shrapnel flying everywhere. The blast wave knocked him off his feet. He fell to the pavement, skinning the palms of his hands and ripping tears in his pants. The street trembled from the aftershock. An alarm began to blare.

Mark blinked and coughed. The air was full of dust. A few people cried out, but their voices sounded distant, and he wondered if he had hearing damage from the blast. He pushed himself to his feet.

He had a pair of serious lacerations—one on his arm, another on his leg. Probably from shrapnel. They didn't seem too bad, so he put them out of his mind. Others might be more seriously hurt, and they would need help more than he did. He looked around, searching for anyone in distress.

The few he saw seemed to be all right. They were moving around and brushing themselves off. There were no corpses in sight. No one walked with a limp, or cradled an arm, or anything of the sort. He realized with a start that his own injuries, minor as they were, seemed to be the most serious.

He looked at the building. The roof had caved in on one side but not the other, giving it a roughly triangular profile. The columns he liked so much had twisted and warped.

Mayor Immerson?

Huh? Mark turned to see a policeman standing next to him. Speak a little louder. My ears are ringing.

Sir, we need to get you to safety.

It's a little late for that, officer. The bomb's already gone off.

Are you sure it was a bomb, sir? It could have been a gas explosion, or a boiler failure, or—

It was a bomb. Mark grimaced. It was Dr. Aeneas. Had to be. The building was closed for renovations, so no one would get hurt. No casualties—that's been Dr. Aeneas's style. It's the logical conclusion.

Maybe so, sir, but we still need to get you indoors.

He sighed. Very well. Let's go.

The officer escorted him away.

* * *

After a brief stop by the clinic to get his wounds dressed, Mark made his way through the corridors of City Hall to his office. He collapsed into the chair behind his desk and closed his eyes. He rubbed his temples for a moment, hoping to soothe away the stress of the day's terrorism. It didn't work. After a few minutes, he gave up and checked his email.

There were a few new messages waiting for him. Most Hesperans used net goggles for stuff like that, but he preferred the screen built into his desk. He was old-fashioned, he supposed, plus something about the goggles had always seemed fishy, as if they were less secure or something. It was a superstition, but one he couldn't shake. He only used the goggles for casual stuff, not official communications.

One message was from Hoyser, the city's foreman. He needed Mark's approval to make some maintenance-related requisition. Hoyser and his crew kept the city flying, so Mark always gave him whatever he wanted. He replied, giving him the go-ahead. Mark then sent him a second email, informing him of the bomb. There would be some cleaning up to do and some repairs to make.

Mark skimmed over a few unimportant messages, but stopped when he came to one from Nat Leland. He deleted that one without even opening it. The man was constantly badgering him for political favors, and he was sick of it. Frankly, the guy made Mark's skin crawl. He knew in the depths of his soul that Leland would blackmail him if he could, just as he was rumored to have the goods on a variety of government officials. But Mark kept his nose clean, and there was nothing to find. It was a source of pride—he had been elected mayor without having to sell out to anyone. He wondered how many previous mayors of America's capital could say that. But being a good little boy was the easy part. The tricky part was preventing anything scandalous from being manufactured. One had to take the proper precautions. He never accepted a drink from a stranger, he always recorded his conversations, and he never opened emails from Nat Leland.

Mark comforted himself with the fact that Nat Leland was millions of miles away. He wondered what sort of petty evil the man was getting up to in Scenic Ridge. Not as much as he wanted, probably, due to the presence of other powerful men keeping him in check. Thinking of his hometown sparked thoughts of his family, and Mark smiled. He was especially fond of his niece. Annora Immerson was bold and vivacious, much like her uncle. As soon as she was old enough, she had set her sights on being a space pilot. She had succeeded, becoming the youngest captain in the history of Interplanetary Freight & Transport. Mark had always been as proud of her as if she was his own daughter. Her layovers on Hesperus were rare, brief, treasured things. He couldn't wait to see her again.

He shook his head and returned his focus to his email. Annora was on Earth, and he had a job to do. He moved on to the next message.

It was from Dr. Aeneas.

His mouth became dry, and his skin grew cold and clammy. He hesitated, unsure if he should read it or not. He was still shaken up from the bomb. He knew in his gut it hadn't been intended to hurt anyone, but that didn't ease his fear all that much. Intentions or not, he could have been killed. A stray piece of shrapnel striking him in the head would have ended it all in a split second. Dr. Aeneas was trying not to hurt anyone, but he was still very dangerous, and dangerous men weren't easy to predict. Opening that email might prove catastrophic. So might not opening it.

Mark had never received a message from him before. Not directly. Seeing the unopened message in his inbox was a sort of surreal moment. Dr. Aeneas was a pseudonym, of course. No one knew who he truly was. Not that it mattered. Young or old, tall or short, handsome or ugly, he was the most wanted man in the solar system. And now he was sending emails to the government. Mark felt dirty just looking at the name on the screen, as if it somehow made him a co-conspirator.

He took a deep breath. He was the mayor of the city, and he needed to pull himself together. Dr. Aeneas was still somewhere on Hesperus, presumably—no shuttles had launched in the few minutes since the bomb went off—but Mark was confident the man wasn't in his office, and that was good enough for now. He was as safe as anyone on Venus could be. He'd find out what the good doctor wanted, and then he'd deal with it, just as he'd dealt with all the other challenges of the job. He reached forward to tap on the message.

A shuffling noise from behind caught his attention, and he twisted around in his chair to look. His body made it only halfway, and he never saw who was there. There was a bang, and then a sharp pain in his head, and his life winked out.

Chapter 2 – The Gate

On Earth, in the southeastern part of the United States of America, two young men walked down the street of a walled city.

Are you sure this is a good idea? Dale Kinmont asked his cousin.

No, Raynor Kinmont said. There was a flicker of doubt on his face, but it quickly disappeared. But Iris asked for my help, so I'm going to help. Even if it means going outside the wall.

You really should stop pining for her. You're a Kinmont. She's a Leland. It's ridiculous.

I'm not pining. And I don't care who her father is, or who's feuding with who.

O Raynor, Raynor, wherefore art thou, Raynor? Deny thy father and refuse thy name...

Very funny, Mr. Shakespeare. Don't make me bite my thumb at you.

Dale laughed, but then grew serious. If Zack finds out—

He won't. Let me worry about Dad. You just worry about doing your share of lifting and carrying. Try not to pull a muscle or have a heart attack or something.

Heart attack? Is that a fat joke? Because it sounds like a fat joke.

Raynor glanced at him and grinned. I didn't mean it that way, but sometimes things work out for the best.

Yeah, well, I've got a secret to tell you. You were adopted. I'm Zack's true biological child.

I think you've got that backwards.

He just told you that to spare your feelings. You're the real orphan, not me.

Raynor looked thoughtful. "Well, Dad has been putting on weight lately..."

Dale gaped, and then punched him in the shoulder.

Raynor laughed and raised his hands. I surrender.

Dale shook his head and chuckled. Raynor would never make fun of his weight in front of others, but he liked to needle Dale every now and then when they were alone. It didn't bother him; it was what brothers did. Cousins by blood, they were brothers in every other way. They continued down the street towards the gate.

It was a Sunday, and the mood of the walled city of Scenic Ridge was relaxed and amiable. There were fewer pedestrians out than usual, and even fewer vehicles. Dale and Raynor received occasional greetings from passersby. They were all friendly, of course—everyone wanted to stay in the good graces of the powerful Kinmont family.

Those greetings were mostly for Raynor. Dale's cousin was taller, better looking, and the presumptive heir to the Kinmont fortune. He was the most eligible bachelor in the city. Dale, on the other hand, was just an orphan, the boy his uncle took in out of a sense of familial obligation. If Dale had been walking by himself, the reactions from the people on the street would have been very different.

The gate was now in sight. It was an arched opening in the wall secured by a heavy steel door. It was big enough to allow heavy trucks in and out, but the door was shut at the moment. The wall itself stretched menacingly into the sky, gloomy and gray, as if warning the inhabitants of Scenic Ridge of the dangers lurking outside in America's post-nuking no-man's-land.

His stomach began to turn and twist. Sure, he was a grown man, and sure, he had his big, strong, athletic cousin along to help him if things went sour, but still... he didn't belong out there, and he knew it. The wall always gave him the creeps.

He shivered. Inside the wall were twenty thousand homes, hundreds of businesses, a dozen schools, two universities, and a thousand security officers equipped with a variety of small arms, crew-served weapons, helicopters, and armored vehicles. Scenic Ridge was an oasis of wealth, beauty, and mostly law-abiding citizens.

Outside the wall, things were very different. Rape, murder, and theft were commonplace. Pollution and littering were the norm. The few legitimate businesses were built like fortresses to protect their employees from their customers. Most trade was of the black market sort. It was a land where Darwin ruled and the slow and weak were rapidly culled.

And now he was going out there.

They reached the gate and stopped at the guardhouse. There were two men on duty, and one of them stepped out.

The guard smiled and offered his hand to Raynor. Hey, Mr. Kinmont. How's it going?

Raynor took his hand. Fine, Jim. How about you? How's the family?

Fine, fine. A little stressed out, but fine. Michelle doesn't turn two until next week, but she's already started that 'terrible twos' stage. It's driving me and Kelly bonkers.

I'm sure it's tough.

So how are classes going? You graduate soon, right?

End of the month, Raynor said with a nod. Good timing, too. College was fun, but I'm ready to be done with it.

I understand. Jim turned to Dale. And how are you, Dale?

Fine, thank you. Dale shook his hand and smiled. Raynor was Mr. Kinmont, but Dale was just Dale. It didn't bother him much, though. He'd had years to get used to that sort of thing.

You've still got a year or two left, right? Jim asked.

Yep.

Well, keep those grades up and I'm sure you'll do fine.

Raynor covered his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing.

Dale couldn't see his own face, but he knew he was blushing. His grades were a sensitive subject.

So what brings you boys out here?

We want to go outside, Raynor said.

Jim glanced from one to the other. Just the two of you?

That's right.

Sorry. No can do. Your old man would kill me.

I made a promise, Jim. Raynor gave him a serious look. I told a friend I'd help her out. If Dad finds out, tell him I had to keep a promise. He'll understand.

Jim scowled. At least let me send some guys with you.

Raynor shook his head. Can't. My friend requires discretion. I can't say any more.

A knowing look dawned in Jim's eyes. Your friend is Iris Leland, isn't it?

Raynor, channeling his father's business savvy, didn't allow his face to give anything away. Like I said: I can't say.

I don't like this.

Dad would be upset with you guys if you kept me from keeping my word.

I know. And I know you wouldn't lie about something like that. Jim sighed and looked at Dale. You watch his back out there, you understand?

Dale shrugged. I'll do my best.

Stay clear of the shanty towns. And the roads. Stick to the forest.

Okay, Dale said.

We'll be careful, Raynor said.

All right. Come on. Jim turned to the gate. There was a smaller door built next to the main one, a sort of postern meant to allow foot traffic in and out without having to open the larger gate every time. Jim unlocked it and pulled it open, giving the boys a view of what lay beyond.

There was a cleared area surrounding Scenic Ridge—a security measure to keep outsiders from scaling the wall surreptitiously—and then the forest began abruptly at the far end of it. It was dense and tangled, and had a foreboding look to it.

Thanks, Jim, Raynor said. He walked towards the opening with confident strides.

Dale swallowed hard and followed. The door clanged shut behind them. They were on their own.

Chapter 3 – Outside

Iris Leland was a young blonde woman, average in appearance but extraordinary in lineage. She was the daughter of Nathaniel Nat Leland, owner of Leland Agribusiness. Unlike her father, who was more businessman than farmer, Iris liked to play in the dirt. When Dale and Raynor found her, she was in a cleared area of the woods, clothes streaked with mud, and tending her well-hidden and very illegal garden.

Iris, Raynor called out, emerging from the woods with Dale in tow.

She raised her head and looked around. When she saw the Kinmont men, she waved them over.

Dale stepped into the garden and worked his way over to her, careful not to trample on any plants. Raynor had told him about Iris's little secret, but this was his first time seeing it. After a short slog through the mud, he reached her.

Hi, Dale, she said with a kind smile.

Hey.

Thanks for coming. She glanced at Raynor. Both of you. I know it's risky being out here, and I'm sorry to drag you into my work, but—

It's no trouble at all, Raynor said with an overeager smile.

Dale wanted to roll his eyes, but managed to restrain himself. Sure, Raynor got a little goofy around Iris, but Dale was the same way around Annora Immerson, so he couldn't really make fun without being a hypocrite. He glanced around at the items on the ground. I guess you want us to carry some of this stuff somewhere?

That's right, Iris said. I'd do it myself, but those crates are too heavy. I guess I should have smuggled a wheelbarrow out of Scenic Ridge. Then I wouldn't have to ask for help.

Raynor squatted next to a crate full of strawberries, wrapped his arms around it, and stood. He made it look easy. He gave Iris a grin. Just tell me where you want it.

Dale squatted next to a crate and lifted it. It was a struggle, and it took his legs a moment to push him to a standing position. Drops of sweat immediately popped out all over his skin. It was a little embarrassing, and he envied Raynor's physique. He swore to himself for the millionth time that he was going to get in shape some day.

Iris beamed. Thanks, guys. This way. She started towards the woods and pointed at a break in the trees. This path will take us there. It's not far.

Where are we going? Dale asked between labored breaths.

Gableville.

Dale opened his mouth to object.

Raynor gave him a look and a small shake of his head.

Dale snapped his lips shut. Only minutes ago, Jim had told them to stay away from the shanty towns. So much for that advice.

I know I shouldn't be doing this, Iris said over her shoulder as she walked. I should be studying for finals, I suppose. But I just can't watch the people out here starve and not do anything about it. I like the idea of helping them, and I've got a green thumb, so I set up the garden. I couldn't tell Dad, of course. He wouldn't have approved at all.

Understatement of the year, Dale thought.

What about your brother? Raynor asked.

Brice has been sounding more like Dad a lot lately, Iris said with a note of sadness. He doesn't listen to me like he used to. Best to leave him in the dark.

Dale shifted the crate in his arms, hoping to get a better grip. The path through the woods was little more than a deer trail, and the trees and underbrush resisted him. Branches whipped his face and arms, and thorny vines snagged his clothes and scratched his skin. A gap in the forest appeared ahead, and he soon broke into the clear. It was a dirt road, and the shanty town of Gableville could be seen in the distance. He followed Iris and Raynor down the road.

Gableville was little more than a handful of structures clumped together where dirt roads crossed. The buildings were assembled from scraps. A gaggle of dirty, laughing children ran around barefoot, flitting in and out of the spaces between the structures in the course of whatever game they were playing.

Iris led them over to an old woman with a shopping cart. The woman's wrinkled face broke into a delighted smile when she saw the crates of strawberries. She gestured for Raynor and Dale to put them