The Blaster Squad Chronicles #1: The Blaster Squad Chronicles, #1

By Russ Crossley

This is the complete story of Blaster Squad versus the Master originally published in seven volumes.

In the 42nd Century mercenaries Blaster Squad are hired by the Chair of the 

Galactic Alliance to confront a deadly threat to galactic peace. A being calling itself the Master is scheming to conquer the galaxy to establish an empire ruled by terror and fear.

Nick Justice and his squad of mercenaries must stop the Master before this monstrous evil engulfs and destroys the Alliance forever. 

The seven books in this galaxy spanning action adventure will thrill space opera fans of all ages.

So strap on your blaster and come along for a ride you will never forget. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: 53rd Street Publishing
• Release date: Sep 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393083238

Russ Crossley

International selling author, Russ Crossley writes science fiction and fantasy, and mystery/suspense under the name R.G. Crossley. His latest science fiction satire set in the far future, Revenge of the Lushites, is a sequel to Attack of the Lushites released in 2011. The latest title in the series was released in the fall of 2013. Both titles are available in e-book and trade paperback. He has sold several short stories that have appeared in anthologies from various publishers including; WMG Publishing, Pocket Books, and St. Martins Press. He is a member of SF Canada and is past president of the Greater Vancouver Chapter of Romance Writers of America. He is also an alumni of the Oregon Coast Professional Fiction Writers Master Class taught by award winning author/editors, Kristine Katherine Rusch and Dean Wesley Smith. Feel free to contact him on Facebook, Twitter, or his website http:www.russcrossley.com.  He loves to hear from readers  

Book preview

1

Terror on the Moon

Euro Zone Experimental Weapons Facility

Area 51

Nevada Desert

North America Protectorate

4140.2.3 Galactic

---

Dr. Sal Tubruk gazed at the screen, his chocolate-colored eyes wide with awe. The flashes of red, green, and blue in the rotating mass of energy on the screen danced over his eyeballs, creating within him equal parts wonder and terror.

Sal tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. I've done it. Slick perspiration formed on his forehead and upper lip. The salty beads dripped into his eyes. He blinked and wiped the moisture away with his right hand.

Sal had helped to create a new form of energy more powerful, more deadly than any in history. And he dreaded it. He wanted to stop it. He needed to stop the madness before it started.

His mind raced with the horrors this terrible beast could do if unleashed. Should I tell anyone? Should I destroy it now?

The power level indicator on the board in front of him had redlined. He knew, once loosed on the galaxy, this energy would potentially consume planetary systems, stars and all, faster than any previously known weapon. It made the energy output generated by single stars seem like mere blips in the cosmic starscape by comparison.

For several minutes he sat paralyzed, staring at the twisting, writhing thing trying to escape the airless void of the containment chamber located on the other side of the glass wall from this monitoring room. The meter-thick treated glass was impenetrable to this death dealer. Sal's mind whirled with confusion and doubt.

No, the devil, he thought finally managing to steady his mind and focus. I've summoned the devil from the pit of hell who will destroy us all.

Suddenly sounds of explosions somewhere in the distance snapped his attention from the screen. What's that?

The sound of an explosion, followed by the floor beneath him trembling, caused his heart to skip a beat. His hands began to shake.

He considered his situation. The lab was the equivalent of ten stories underground beneath one of the most secure facilities in the Alliance. Five hundred elite Navy marines protected it with enough heavy weapons to destroy an armada. Should I run?

Before he could react, the locked door to his lab burst inward in a cloud of flame and black acrid smoke. As it blew, Sal dove to the floor and covered his head with his arms. The sound of blaster fire filled the corridor and the control room quickly filled with smoke while the metallic odor of ozone filled his nostrils and mouth. He gasped for air, coughing in the choking smoke.

And then there were the terrible but brief screams of death that sent waves of horror through him. His friends, colleagues, and the marines guarding the facility were dying.

After several minutes, the shooting stopped and the whine of weapons’ fire at last faded. The air became still and an ominous silence fell over him like a shroud of death.

Dizzy from lack of oxygen but thankful to be alive, Sal rose on shaky legs, then stumbled toward to the door to the corridor. He had to get to the surface and fresh air. Patting down his chest and arms, Sal realized he wasn't hurt.

I have to destroy everything. I shouldn’t have waited. I’m damned fool.

Hey, Doc, said a man's deep voice.

Sal froze. Taking a step backward, he waved away as much smoke with his hands as he could in order to see who had spoken.

From the haze, a tall figure emerged draped in dull purple blast armor smudged in places with black soot as if from the fire and smoke. On his head he wore a helmet with a darkened faceplate hiding his features. In gloved hands, he held a large rifle that appeared to be larger and more powerful than the ones Sal had seen the marines carrying.

Sal swallowed hard. He suspected this weapon was a plasma rifle, but they were only issued to soldiers fighting in the badlands at the edge of the galaxy, not here on Earth. The weapon not only killed, it shredded flesh and left its victims in piles organic dust. It was why they were banned from the inner worlds. It meant this man, whoever he was, had vaporized his friends, colleagues, and the marines.

The man leveled the massive gun at him.

Sal raised his hands over his head, his body trembling with fear. No. Please. I'm only a scientist.

I know, said the man, his tone bland as if he were talking about an average day at the office. You opened Pandora's box and we thank you.

The final sound that registered in Sal's mind was the whine of the plasma rifle being fired in the enclosed monitoring room.

2

Pathogen Laboratory

Pioneer 3 Dome

Martian Federation

4142.6.18 Galactic

---

Nick Justice adjusted the optical scanner knob on the side of his helmet, then checked the charge on his blaster rifle. Satisfied the weapon still had a hundred percent charge—since ten minutes ago, when he checked it last—he snuck a peek around the wall his back was pressed against. He'd been slowly moving through the facility, careful to be quiet and hopefully not seen until it was too late for the target to react.

The target was now six meters from his position, its attention on the safe where Pioneer Labs stored their most dangerous pathogens. He slipped back behind the wall, out of sight until the next phase of the operation. The lab used to be sterile, but that was in the past.

Somehow the alien had opened the safe. How? Too many unanswered questions already, and the operation had just begun. He'd shelved the question for now. The more important task at hand was not to find out how, but how to stop the pirate from making off with its booty.

At least the Intel that Siren had managed to extract from the prisoner she acquired at that bar on the Ceres mining station proved accurate. They’d only had to wait for a week before the pirate showed up. Nick had been careful not to ask for details about how, exactly, she had gained the information. Deniability was modus operandi in the mercenary business. But he trusted Siren and that was enough for him.

Nick spoke softly into the mike affixed to the interior of his helmet. The helmet absorbed sound, so no one could hear his words unless they were within a meter of him; and even then it would sound more like a barely discernable whisper. Siren. Bones. Twenty?

Bones’ thick Martian accent (which sounded vaguely Russian with a touch of Italian) echoed in his head. We're in Research Botanical Garden Two-A. We'll be in position in twenty seconds.

Roger, Nick said. He paused to consider their options. The laboratory wall next to the target would collapse inward on top of the pirate when Siren activated the concussion bomb. Siren and Bones were good at many things, but setting explosives was not their specialty and it concerned him. They hadn't needed such expertise until now.

But they had no choice, they had to stop this bastard before he made off with the deadly pathogens and sold them on the black market.

There were some very nasty beings in the galaxy, which could cause havoc if they weaponized these deadly viruses. Of course, they would. In his experience, if someone had enough cash, they could pretty much make anything bad happen.

Besides, his employer wanted the pirates stopped, so Blaster Squad would make this happen. It was their job.

Glancing at the digital readout inside the faceplate, he saw twenty seconds had passed. It was time to act. His abs tightened and he made sure his grip was solid on his blaster, his right index finger on the firing stud ready to trigger the weapon.

On my mark, take down the wall. No need to acknowledge.

Nick counted to three in his head. Mark.

For a second nothing happened, then he felt the tremble through the plating underfoot coming through his gravity boots. He slowly peered around the wall to see the target had stopped working on the safe and had stood up. Its pupil-less pink eyes were alert and its pale green flesh on its wide hairless face had become taut as its angular jaw clenched. It clearly wasn't human, probably from an outer rim world Nick was unfamiliar with.

Though he'd been to most of the rim worlds and had conducted operations on many, there were a few he had never had the opportunity to visit or kick butt on.

The bad news was the pirate appeared ready for a fight. Nick's eyes widened when he finally saw the weapon the alien had attached by a strap to its body armor.

He recognized the high-range plasma rifle. He pulled back behind the wall and slowly released the breath he'd been holding.

Plasma rifles were only issued for use by the military on the rim worlds at the edge of known space. The power of a plasma beam was ten times the force of his blaster. If the alien decided to fire at the wall, both he and it would disappear as if they never existed.

Nick's mind raced, trying to think of ways a criminal might get his hands on such firepower and why his employer, Mars Prime Corporation, hadn't included this in their pre-mission briefing. He concluded with only one possibility.

This alien was part of a pirate brigade that had ambushed and bested a military vessel. That took some doing, and Prime wasn't about to let that information get out. Somehow he suspected he and the Squad were considered very expendable.

Even the most ill-equipped military ship carried enough firepower to vaporize any pirate vessel he'd ever heard of. Of course, the evidence in front of him said that was until now.

This meant, if this alien were a pirate, then the threat to the fragile Alliance was greater than ever before. It also meant the Blaster Squad could expect new contracts to come rolling in. I definitely need to hire some more help.

Right now, though, he had to finish the contract at hand in order to get paid.

Suddenly the wall behind the alien pirate exploded and it was knocked off its feet by the force of the blast and buried under the debris that rained down on it.

Nick moved quickly around the wall, his blaster leveled in front of him, aiming at the mound of debris in case the pirate was able to fire the plasma rifle. Of course, if it was able to successfully aim and fire at him, he'd be nothing but molecular mist in the next few seconds. As he rushed to get to the fallen alien, a brilliant glow coming from the debris pile forced him to pull up short and cover his eyes. Not even the face shield's auto adjusting light retardant could block out the bright light.

The air was rife with dust and the stench of ozone penetrated his nostrils and mouth. Arggg... said the familiar voice of Bones, and an Aw, shit.... that could only be Siren. They had entered the lab through the newly minted door they'd created in the shattered wall.

Nick shook his head, trying to clear his eyesight. He blinked rapidly, spots dancing before his eyes until his vision gradually cleared. Two hazy human shaped figures gradually solidified into the six-foot-nine-inch Rocky Bones, code name Bones, and his second, Sirenna Albright, code name Siren, standing beside him, though she only came halfway up Bones’ massive, muscular frame.

Bones’ wide, chiseled, normally jovial face was marred by anger and a deep scowl furrowed his brow. Siren was coughing and using her free hand to wave away the cloud of dusty debris.

Maybe we shouldn't have used so much explosive, she said, coughing the last word.

We? Really? growled Bones. His dark eyes glared at his companion.

Drop it. Siren and Bones simultaneously looked daggers at him. Priorities. We need this alien out of the rubble and turned over the authorities ASAP. Give me a hand.

Siren gazed at him, her eyes reflecting her confusion. ASAP? What's that supposed to mean? And give me a hand? I only have two, ya know, and you're not going to get one of them. She'd never managed to master human colloquialisms in all the years they'd worked together.

Nick looked to Bones for support, but his ugly face was split by a grin. Ignoring both of them, Nick moved to the pile of shattered rubble and released his grip on his blaster. It swung to his side, hanging now by the strap around his body, designed so he wouldn't drop the weapon.

Nick began by plucking the pieces of wall at the top of the pile and throwing them to his right, where they landed with a dusty smack on the cracked, red and black tile floor. Siren and Bones moved to help him. Together they soon had a new pile of rubble started. About halfway through the pile of destroyed wall and choking from the dust, Nick realized the alien wasn't here.

He dropped the piece of rubble he'd just plucked from the pile and moved to the open safe. He quickly scanned the trays holding the vials of deadly viruses, made note two were missing. He didn't know which ones they were as they were numbered, not named, but he was willing to bet they were the most deadly.

Behind him he heard Siren drop the piece of rubble she'd been holding. It landed, shattering as it did, on the floor at her booted feet. He's not here, is he? she said, her voice low and sullen.

Nick shook his head, his attention still focused on the safe. And it only gets worse.

They all knew Blaster Squad had failed. And Nick hated failing.

3

Headquarters complex

Mars Prime Corporation Dome

Martian Federation

4142.6.19 Galactic

---

The vice president of corporate security, Hasher Markum, ran two thin fingers through his steel-gray hair on his narrow head as he read Nick's report on the screen concerning the failed attempt to stop the pirate from stealing the deadly viruses from the safe in the lab in the Pioneer 3 Dome complex. Pioneer 3 was dedicated to pure scientific research and had been working on several projects under contract for Mars Prime and other corporate clients. They had been running tests on extremely virulent viruses and bacteria to develop defenses against any released into the dome cities used across the known galaxy.

The environments inside the domes were protected against common infectants and pollutants such as smoke, cold viruses, and flu's more deadly viruses by means of sophisticated air scrubbers. But air scrubbers were useless against these pathogens. Pioneer 3 claimed they were trying to improve the scrubbers to make the domes safer, thus encouraging more people to immigrate to the outer worlds.

Of course, it made Nick wonder why they stored these deadly viruses inside a domed city on Mars, but it wasn't in the contract to ask questions. His job was to complete the task laid out by the contractor and get paid so he and the squad could eat and have an operational spacecraft on which to live. Hopefully.

Seated next to Nick on a shiny, beige-colored sofa facing the desk were Siren and a fidgeting Bones. (The big man always fidgeted in meetings with clients.) Normally Nick excused Bones from meetings, but not today. Today was different. Today they, as a team, had screwed up and together they had to answer for their mistakes. He snapped a sharp elbow into the big man's side and Bones stopped moving.

The other two people in the room were Dr. Milo Lax, director of laboratory services, and senior security officer Nuz Jalbree, who had petitioned against hiring mercenaries for the job in the first place. Of course, as it turned out—at least for now—Jalbree had been right. Jalbree was sixth generation Martian and consequently his skin had a burnt orange tinge to it. Martians had been evolving as they adapted to the Martian environment over the past five hundred years. They need less oxygen and less sunlight than Earthers.

As Nick suspected, Dr. Lax confirmed the two stolen vials contained the deadliest pathogens in the inventory.

Finally Markum sighed and eased back in his executive chair. The thumb and forefinger of his left hand gripped the bridge of his nose, which he rubbed. Nick's eyes drifted in the silence to the glass wall behind Markum, which was translucent and had automatically adjusting light filters.

Nick gazed at the Martian rust-colored desert, running to the horizon where the northern plains met the curve of the base of the massive Olympus Mons volcano.

His attention was drawn back to Markum when the vice president leaned forward in his chair and his elbows hit the desktop with a loud thump. So, Mr. Justice, not only did you destroy valuable research facilities in the Pioneer 3 Dome, you and your team contaminated a sterile laboratory and destroyed an expensive botanical research garden, but you also let this person you describe as an alien pirate escape with pathogens that potentially could be weaponized and deployed in city domes across a myriad of systems from Earth to the rim worlds.

He eased back and raised his arms, locking his fingers in front of him, his elbows resting on the desk, his intense green eyes fixed on Nick's. I'm sure you understand if we don't catch these pirates before they achieve whatever their end game may be, they could end human exploration and expansion forever.

Markum's gaze traveled across the faces of the assembled participants, each in turn in the room, before once again landing on Nick. What do you have to say, Mr. Justice?

Nick stole a quick glance at Bones, then Siren, cleared his throat, then said, Mr. Vice President, we will find this pirate and his vessel and stop them before they reach their home base. One of my people is working on tracking them as we speak. We will—

Hold on, Mr. Vice President, interrupted Jalbree, his tone angry and his eyes flaring with contempt. These mercenaries are probably in league with the pirates—

Markum raised one hand, stopping Jalbree in mid-sentence. That's enough, Nuz, your objections have been noted and discussed at the highest levels of the company. Markum paused briefly, then added, And rejected. He swiveled his chair to face away from them toward the Martian desert, his arms now resting on the chair arms. The president is close personal friends with the chairman of the Alliance, and they both believe Mr. Justice and his squad will complete the contract.

He swiveled back to face Nick. Isn't that right, Mr. Justice?

4

GSS Hunter

High orbit around Mars

4142.6.19 Galactic

---

After the materializer beam released him, Nick felt his shoulders actually sag in relief for the first time in over a week. The stakeout had taken longer than he would have liked. Two weeks in a Mars dome was two weeks too long for a veteran spacer like him.

I must be getting old.

Back in the day, he used to be able to stake out an enemy position for a month with minimal food and water, waiting for the right moment to strike. But his aching muscles and general overall feeling of weariness told him his days of flying across the galaxy, kicking butt and taking names, had a finite shelf life.

The deck plating of the former Iosaijn warship clanged loudly in his ears as his heavy combat boots slapped the deck as he approached the weapons locker and placed his blaster rifle in the recharging cradle. He kept other weapons at hand, the blaster pistol in the holster on his hip and the long, thin blade in the inside of his boot. Sure it was tough to get to in this armored suit but the feel of the knife against his leg was reassuring.

For the tenth time since the mission went awry, he wondered if he should have fired on the alien before the wall exploded. And for the tenth time, he dismissed the idea.

His training instructor during his stint with the Alliance Marines once told him you never went into a firefight without backup unless circumstances meant you had no choice.

Since the pirate hadn't made any move to that point to escape, he correctly decided to wait until Siren and Bones were there to back up his play. The pirate had vaporized two guards before it gained access to the clean room, but that was murder and Nick wasn't a cop. Arresting aliens or humans for crimes they committed wasn't his job. Unless it was in the contract, which in this case it wasn’t, it didn't pay to work outside the box for free.

Captain? It was Gears, calling him from the bridge using the intercom.

Yeah, Gears. I'm on my way up. Give me five, will ya?

Yes, sir. Welcome back.

Nick smirked and closed the weapons locker using the keypad on the clear plasti-steel door to secure the weapons behind a code only squad members knew. He noted both Siren's and Bones’ weapons were also in their cradles.

Nick strode down the corridor to the lift. The lift doors cycled open and he stepped inside. Bridge, he said.

Aye, Captain, replied the Systems Information Network, or SIN.

I wish everyone would stop calling me captain. He grimaced. This had to be Gears doing. He loved the guy, but his wiseass jokes could be so damned annoying.

The SIN monitored and made routine repairs as needed or as scheduled to the ship so the crew didn't have to worry about maintenance issues. During a fight, SIN had been known to become overwhelmed so the crew still had to acquaint themselves with every nut, bolt, circuit, and piece of software running the old warship and its systems in case repairs were needed on the fly. Spacecraft engineering wasn't Nick's strong suit, so he depended on Gears when the ship needed repairs.

The lift doors slid shut and immediately he felt the familiar sensation of movement as the car carried him to the bridge five decks above.

The doors slid open on the command deck with its twin pilot seats in front of the forward windows overlooking the red planet, miles below them. Mars really was a beautiful planet from orbit. Not so nice on the surface, but that was true of most worlds he'd visited outside of Earth.

Hey, Justice, said Siren without looking away from the screen she was studying at the com station behind the pilot chairs.

Bones was seated at the engineering station, cleaning his pistol with a piece of orange cloth. He'd taken off his body armor and was now dressed in his favorite uniform of black jeans, military-green sleeveless tank top, and Nikes. He grinned at Nick as he approached the pilot and copilot seats where Gears was seated in the pilot's chair.

Musty Hobbs, known to the squad as Gears due to his innate abilities to fly any starship and his ability to design, repair, and operate any tech hardware even if he had never seen it before, was scanning the screen in front of him with his ocular implants that gave him far superior eyesight over others. Given he was half alien half human born on the planet Cygnus IV, his abilities weren't altogether surprising, at least not to Nick.

Nick had seen a lot of strange things during his many years spent in space. He hadn't been home in more than thirty Earth years. The important fact Nick cared about was Gears’ exceptional tech skills making him a valuable member of the squad. And he could fly any spacecraft, even ones he had never been in before. This skill alone had saved their butts more than once.

As Nick stood over him, he caught a whiff of bananas—Gears' favorite food group. He suddenly realized he was hungry and hadn't eaten anything but dry field rations over the past two weeks.

Hey, Captain, said Gears in his reedy voice.

Nick sighed inwardly. He'd given up trying to get Gears to stop calling him captain.

Nick shot a look at the engineering station where Bones chuckled to himself, his eyes focused on his pistol. You got somewhere to be, Bones?

Bones holstered his weapon, stood, and walked to the lift doors. Ya, boss, I'm gonna check on the galley. My stomach thinks I died and didn't leave a forwarding address. Care ta join me?

I'm up for food, said Siren before Nick could reply.

Nick nodded to them as they disappeared behind the lift doors. Truthfully, he was glad they'd left him alone with Gears, given he'd promised the vice president of Prime Corporation he'd get their stolen pathogens back no matter what it took, and he needed some of his friend’s genius to get them out of this one.

Gears, did you detect the materializer beam when the alien left the lab?

Yes, sir. No problem. But I have no idea where he or she transported to.

Really? How is that possible? The sensor grid should have been able to track the transport beam to its destination as easy as a hot knife, thrown, would cut a slab of butter.

I have no idea at this point, but I speculate the vessel he transported to was shielded by some sort of dispersal field that deflected our sensor scans. And somehow their tech also deflected our sensors’ ability to track the beam from the surface.

But that's impossible.

Gears turned his attention to look at Nick, standing over him. Given enough time and money, I could develop such technology. He shrugged his narrow shoulders and turned his attention back to the screen in front of him. I did manage to detect trace elements in Mars orbit that may be from their propulsion system.

Well, that's good news.

Gears snorted. Sort of, sir. I'm fairly certain the alien vessel jumped to light speed soon after the attack on the lab and was headed out of the system. At least, as far as I can tell. He thought, but didn’t say, Jumping inside a planetary system is dangerous, so these guys live on the edge. I kinda like that about them.

Nick nodded. Not much to go on; in fact, nothing to go on. The reputation of Blaster Squad, thus their ability to get paid, had just been flushed down the gravity toilet.

Hold on...fairly certain...as far as I know? Maybe there was still hope.

But it's not all bad news, Captain.

Nick wanted to kill this guy, making his emotions ride the anti-grav roller coaster on Europa Station. Okay, so what's the good news? Gears didn't respond; instead, he stood up and started to walk to the lift. Gears! Tell me.

Gears stopped and turned to face Nick, but he avoided eye contact. You're not gonna like it.

Tell me anyway.

I managed to gain access to Pioneer Three's database and extracted the molecular information about the stolen pathogens. I've been working on a new type of molecular scanner—

So you illegally hacked a corporate database so you can track the stolen pathogens from their molecular signatures... A sense of relief swept over Nick. They still had a shot at redemption. Gears was truly the best at what he did.

It's not really that simple, said Gears immediately, bursting Nick's optimism balloon. I stole the data, therefore any action taken as result of this can be used to prosecute you, me, and the rest of the team for trading in data linked to terrorism.

Gears didn't have to say anything else. Nick knew what this meant. If the stolen data were traced back to them, they would face a death sentence. People had been executed for less.

I might be able to track the biological signature of the viruses, but it's a long shot at best after their ship left the system. But, Gears grinned, I did discover a small residue that matches their propulsion signature headed into the system, not away. It's very minor because their main propulsion is...well, its powerful. Far more than any pirate vessel we've yet encountered.

Surprisingly, that makes sense actually.

Gears looked curious. How so?

The pirate carried a high-range plasma rifle. Don't tell Bones and Siren about the rifle...at least, not yet. I'll let them know what we're up against when they need to know.

Gears whistled softly under his breath, obviously impressed. Just then the lift doors cycled open and Nick stepped into the lift car ahead of the tech genius. Shall we go to lunch?

Gears instructed the SIN to activate the autopilot before he followed Nick to the lift.

The lift doors cycled closed. As the lift began to move, Nick decided to ask Gears one more question. How were you able to detect those residues from their propulsion system?

Gears brow furrowed. It could be a number of things. A leak in their anti-matter reactor, or an echo, he paused for a second, then added, Or it could be they ejected a small vessel. A shuttle or some such small ship.

Nick chuckled. This is pure conjecture, of course, Gears, but if it was a shuttle, which way did you say it might be headed?

Gears chuckled in kind. If it were a ship, then it was headed for Earth.

Nick wasn't hungry anymore. His appetite had evaporated along with the realization that this mission had only just begun. And the stakes were now higher than ever.

5

GSS Hunter

Alliance Central Station

Orbiting Earth's moon

4142.7.7 Galactic

---

GSS Hunter to Alliance Station. Permission to enter parking orbit. Gears released the com button.

This is Alliance control. Permission granted. This was followed by the geosynchronous coordinates, which Gears keyed into the onboard navigation interface. One mistake could result in a collision and very likely atomization, either by the collision or by an Alliance warship’s weapons for violation of instructions. The navy didn’t believe in unintentional errors. They'd seen it happen several times, so Gears was very careful and checked the coordinates twice; hence the manual entry of the coordinates, which the onboard nav computer could have handled without human intervention.

Nick sat in the copilot’s seat next to Gears, gazing at the massive station growing larger with each passing second in the bridge's forward windows.

Once they reached the designated parking orbit, the stations nav computer would capture them in a stasis beam and hold the Hunter in position until they were ready to leave station orbit. The computer monitored all ships orbiting the Alliance Station in geosynchronous orbit around Earth's moon.

The desolate gray surface of Earth's lone satellite was visible beyond the metallic bulk of the station and the blackness of space beyond that. The surface of Earth’s moon was dotted with round domes of the many settlements across the surface. Ever since a vein of under-surface ice had been discovered to provide fresh water over a thousand years ago, corporations and private interests had built cities to house the five million residents who found living and working off the Earth an adventure of whatever lamebrained idea they came up with.

As far as Nick was concerned, the Moon was a place to disappear when you'd worn out your welcome on Earth, or a stepping-stone to places where you could potentially make your fortune.

Some used the Moon as a stopover on the way outward to the mining operations across Earth's solar system or to the planetary systems beyond. The Moon's residents were a cross between wide-eyed dreamers and the best of the worst scum Earth was only too happy to export off planet. It made it an intriguing and colorful mix of people and aliens.

Most never left Earth’s moon, or they returned to the Earth after their funds ran out. Some moved on. Very few made their fortune. And some were returned to their loved ones in a dustbin.

And then, of course, there was the Alliance Navy. The Alliance used Earth’s Moon and this orbiting station as their main base for their operations across the Allied systems. Their command structure was based here, not Earth. Earthers preferred the illusion of peace through strength. In Nick's experience, he had only ever seen the strength side of the equation, and it wasn't usually pretty. As far as he was concerned, peace was a messy business. That's why he resigned from the AN.

The Hunter was soon in its parking orbit and Gears had shut down the engines. The pilot swiveled his chair toward Nick. Okay, Captain, we're here. Now what?

Nick pressed his thick hands on the arms of the chair and rose to his feet. You, Siren, and Bones are gonna wait here while I meet with an old friend on that station. He nodded toward the massive, sunlit, oval-shaped structure orbiting off their bow. I won't be long.

He went to the lift. The doors cycled open, but before he stepped in, Gears asked, What should we do while you're gone?

Nick stepped into the lift car. As the doors cycled shut, he said, I want you all geared up and ready for action. It's likely we're going to end up in the worst watering hole in the known universe, brimming with the most heinous and dangerous scum you guys have ever seen.

As the doors closed, Nick watched Gears’ round face drain to the color of wood ash. He smiled to himself. This is gonna be fun.

6

Tranquility Base Bar and Grill

Sea of Tranquility Dome

Earth's moon

4142.7.7 Galactic

---

After he’d finished a short meeting with his contact at navy intelligence Nick asked the team to meet him at the Tranquility Base Bar and Grill.

Gears, Bones, and Siren, met Nick at the bar entrance where they encountered the bouncer at the door. He was a four-armed Lobsan.

His slit-like eyes studied the four mercenaries as they entered from the corridor. His ruddy, wide face was covered in gray stubble, with a deep scar running from his right eyebrow across and through his mouth, then out to his left ear, which had also been cut half off. His seven-foot-tall frame appeared powerful in the formfitting leather jumpsuit that was bulging with muscle. The large blaster in the holster hanging off the right side of his narrow waist completed his advertisement not to screw with him. Of course, Nick had no intention of starting anything with the bouncer. At least not for the moment.

Fifty credits, the bouncer said in a surprisingly genteel voice in perfect Galactic English with no hint of his Lobsan origins. Each.

Nick nodded to Bones to pay the cover charge. Normally they'd haggle since this was the inflated price for the uninitiated to Mooners’ ways, but not today. Today they had business inside and Nick didn't want to waste time playing the old back-and-forth game.

Bones scowled at him but Nick only offered a tight smile in return. Bones walked up to the bouncer and placed his thick left hand on the payment scanner and paid the amount asked for. The bouncer's somber features were briefly split by a sardonic grin.

Thanks.

Bones snorted. Nice scar there, chuckles. The bouncer glared daggers at him.

They walked into the hazy interior of the bar, Nick leading the way. The bar clearly wasn't a grill more than it was a bar. A smattering of aliens and humans were scattered at the round tables across the open space. The place reeked of stale booze, cigarettes, and marijuana smoke.

Against the far wall sat the polished faux oak bar, with a mirror behind it reflecting the customers and the bartender. An opposite wall was made of glass behind which was a view of the sun-washed surface of Earth’s moon. On the gray lunar surface stood an ancient spacecraft, beside it was a stiff flagpole; the attached flag covered in red and white stripes, a field of white stars on a dark blue background in the upper left corner.

Nick had been in this bar a few times over the years and all he'd been able to get out of anyone about this spacecraft was it was some sort of shrine to a former Earth country. But someone, he couldn’t recall who, told him once that the Alliance had designated this area of Earth’s moon's surface as historic so the bar was expected to maintain the shrine.

He’d always thought this spacecraft was too fragile to have come from Earth.

The bartender was a skinny human female dressed in a loose-fitting, sleeveless, white tee shirt. Her dirty blond hair was cut military short and she had a single large gold hoop earring dangling from her left ear. Her pale green eyes watched them walking toward her. She appeared confident, yet wary, which Nick thought was wise.

Four armed mercenaries walking into a bar might sound like the beginning of a bad joke, but to experienced observers such as this woman, they appeared to be trouble. Nick was certain losing an investment to a shootout wasn't in her life plan. And it certainly wasn't in Nick's either, but how would she know that?

Nick approached the bar and leaned on his arms, looking into the bartender's eyes ensuring to maintain eye contact. Looking down or away suggested deceit and he needed her to feel at ease.

Hi, he said in as casual a tone as he could muster.

A half smiled played across her dark red lips. Hi, yourself. What ya drinking?

Nick shrugged and let an easy grin form on his lips. We'll take a bottle of bourbon for the table. He lifted his head and scanned the bar. Any tables not reserved?

This made her laugh. She reached under the bar and as she did, Nick saw Siren out of the corner of his eyes reach for the blaster in her holster.

He threw her a short scowl and she took her hand off the pistol butt. Then he smiled at the bartender, who had taken out a rag and was polishing the surface of the bar. Given the wood bar’s worn appearance—the polished surface scarred and dull in some sections—it was a pointless exercise, but she obviously needed to keep her hands busy. Must be nerves.

Nick nodded to an empty table far enough away from the other patrons to be out of earshot, at least for humans. Aliens were another story, but Nick had already decided to take a chance by coming here. The best brand, please.

She nodded and left the rag on the bar as she headed for a door behind her at the opposite end of the bar. I'll be there in a sec, she said before she disappeared behind the swinging door.

Justice, began Siren before Nick held up a hand to silence her.

'Let's sit down, then we talk."

Siren looked seriously pissed off but nodded sharply.

They gathered at the table just as the bartender arrived with four glasses and a bottle of Kentucky bourbon, which was indeed the good stuff. Bones at least looked appreciative. The bartender, whose name turned out to be Kells, held out a portable payment scanner, which Nick used to pay for the bottle taking care to add a twenty percent tip and a wide grin, followed by a wink.

Siren rolled her eyes after Kells turned and walked away. Oh, for God's sake, Justice; why don't you and her get a room and get it over with already?

Jealous? said Nick.

Hardly. Siren accepted a half glass of the amber booze and eased back against the faux oak chair.

Nick looked between Gears, whose smooth bald head was dotted with beads of perspiration and his hands, grasped tightly around an empty glass, were trembling slightly, and Bones, whose lips were curled to one side in his patented self-assured grin. Nick smirked to himself. Over-confident and nervous. What a team I have.

Bones accepted a glass of bourbon with a slight nod and took a sip, then set the glass on the table in front of him. Gears indicted he didn't wish to partake with a sharp shake of his head, his eyes on the tabletop. This was fine with Nick. He needed his pilot sharp in case they had to make a run for the outer planets.

Nick poured himself a shot of the whisky and knocked it back in one go. The burning alcohol tasted good, sliding down his throat and filling his nostrils with its smoky flavor. Damn, this is the good stuff.

You just could never anticipate how these things were going to turn out, no matter how much you planned, so he often flew by the seat of his pants. Sometimes it worked out well, other times not so much—as at Pioneer Labs.

So, tell us, Justice, why are we in this hell hole? Bones looked at his boss, all traces of amusement having left his gray eyes. The scar running down the left side of his face was white.

Well, my friends, we are here to interview local talent for a position on the squad.

Siren suddenly burst into bitter laughter. You must be kidding. We need another member like we need more holes in our socks. We just lost a major payday and our stash of available cash is down to scrapping the bottom of the containment field.

Nick nodded. Everything you say is correct. Except we have a new contract with Mars Prime.

We do? asked Gears, looking up from the table, his eye brows arched in excitement.

Yes. And for twice what we were going to get paid for the last job.

Bones took another sip from his drink as his eyes narrowed. You are so full of crap, boss. Why would they pay us twice the credits after we botched the last contract and cost them millions in repairs to the lab on Mars?

Nick shrugged. Twice the danger equals twice the money.

What the hell are you talking about? asked Siren, her tone now angry, her eyes blazing like a newborn sun.

They've hired us to follow the pirate vessel back to the badlands, retrieve the vials, and kill the pirates. While it’s not specified, Mr. Markus told me he wants us to discover the name of whoever hired the pirates to make a series of robberies across the Alliance culminating in the stealing of those deadly pathogens.

Bones lifted his glass off the table and peered into the amber-colored liquid. I guess this will be my last drink in this lifetime.

But, Captain, to expand on Siren's question, who are we supposed to meet here? Gears looked around at the smoky, stale air of the rundown bar. I mean, no one here is remotely qualified to join us.

You must mean me, said a male voice from behind them.

Nick looked around to see a young man dressed in baggy, dark green pants, combat boots, and a navy-blue sleeveless tee shirt. Nick estimated he was about six feet in height, with shoulder-length black hair, an olive-skinned complexion, and a muscular build. Nick recognized the butt of a high-end blaster hanging from the holster around his narrow hips.

He wore a confident yet slightly arrogant expression on his tanned, clean-shaven features.

And you are? asked Bones with a dismissive snort.

I'm your new recruit. Party on, man.

Siren rolled her eyes and Gears’ eyes were wide as saucers of milk for his cat.

Great. Just great, Bones crossed his arms over his wide chest and laughed grimly.

Then all hell broke loose.

7

Tranquility Base Bar and Grill

Sea of Tranquility Dome

Earth's moon

4142.7.7 Galactic

---

Nick dropped to the floor on his stomach, his hand on the butt of the blaster still in his holster as the hum of weapons’ fire filled the room. Siren hit the floor almost simultaneously, while Bones had the table on its side to act as a shield between them and the shooter. A hum of a second weapon being fired made Nick freeze. Or shooters.

Damn it, there isn't enough cover. We're too far in the open. But no time for crying, that comes later.

He frantically scanned the area around them but didn't see Gears or the new kid. He did see piles of ash that had to be other patrons of the bar who hadn't reacted fast enough when the first shots were fired. Looking behind him, he saw two other customers, one male Etes and a human female, her beauty long ago eroded by drink, cowering behind overturned tables, each holding very old low-power blasters. From the fear on their faces and the trembling, they weren't going to be much use in a fight.

He snuck a look around the edge of the overturned table to see two aliens wearing breather helmets hefting high-end plasma rifles identical to the one he'd seen on Mars. His eyes narrowed. And the aliens were of the same race as the thief at the lab.

He managed to extract his pistol and his grip tightened around the butt, his index finger hovering over the firing stud. They're not getting away this time.

The bouncer's been vaporized, whispered Siren. She also had her blaster out and appeared ready to take the fight to these intruders.

Nick locked eyes with Bones, who wore a deep scowl on his flushed features. Nick knew this made him the perfect one to lead the charge. Nick nodded as Bones slipped the long knife out of the sheath on his belt. Nick peeked around the edge of the table just as Bones made his move.

His eyes flitted to Bones, who grinned sardonically, then leapt to his feet and rushed the startled aliens. Before they could react, Bones had the knife blade through the faceplate of one of the alien's helmets, then stuck in the throat. The other alien had brought his rifle to bear on the fast approaching man but didn't fire immediately.

And before it could, the alien was suddenly bathed in a golden glow, most likely from a blaster. The alien's blast armor evidently didn't deflect blasters set on stun because its grip gave way on the plasma rifle in its gloved hands and it dropped to the floor, landing in a heap of twisted arms and legs.

Breathing hard, Nick stood, his blaster still aimed at the two fallen aliens. The smell of ozone mingled with the odor of cooked meat to fill his nostrils and mouth. The smell was horrendous but it was something he'd experienced many times before so it didn't particularly bother him.

The knife buried to the hilt in the green-skinned alien's throat killed the alien pirate quickly, as evidenced by the pool of dark green blood surrounding the head like a halo. The other alien was still breathing, its chest moving up and down. He could see its eyes were closed behind the faceplate. Given he didn't recognize this species, there was no way to tell how long it'd be out.

I got 'em, said Gears, who appeared from Nick's left with his blaster pistol out and aimed in the direction of the fallen alien pirates. Nick nodded at the grinning, obviously proud tech genius.

Nasty bastards, said the kid, who stood up from behind the bar.

Siren rushed up to the two fallen aliens and grabbed the dropped plasma rifles next to the bodies. She set them on a table that hadn't been turned on its side, far enough away that if the unconscious one woke up it wouldn't reach it without being dropped again.

Now that the shooting was over, the surviving customers bolted for the exit without saying a word. Bones glanced at Gears, who smirked. Not exactly a grateful bunch, are they? Bones said, chuckling grimly.

Where were you when the shooting started? Nick asked the kid, who had holstered his blaster and had poured himself a drink.

I dove for cover, like everyone else. I just happened to land behind the bar. And good thing, too, I might add.

Why might that be? asked Siren, who had turned to gaze upon the kid, her almond-shaped yellow eyes looking daggers at the younger man.

The kid raised the drink he'd poured and downed it in one swallow, then reached down and pulled the bartender into view. The skinny bartender was dead, her face replaced by a swath of seared and blacked flesh. Nick had seen many plasma burns in his days with the marines and these were typical of a glancing shot. If she had been hit dead center, she would have been vaporized like the bouncer.

Because this little miss had the drop on you when those two, he tipped his head in the direction of the aliens, came in firing. If I hadn't tackled her, none of you would be standing upright right now. He grunted. It just so happens, though, she makes a perfect shield for incoming plasma rifle fire.

Nick chuckled grimly. He holstered his weapon while Bones went to rip a cord from the wall, plugged into the ancient jukebox in the corner. He then yanked the cord form the old fashioned music box with a resounding snap. Then he used the cord to secure the pirate who'd survived the firefight, tying its arms behind its back. It didn't take long for Bones to have the alien hog-tied as if he were a prize bull.

I guess the kid passed the membership exam.

Hold on, boss, said Siren. How do we know the kid isn't in league with this scum?

The kid snorted and reached down below the bar. Siren drew her pistol before Nick could stop her. The kid came up with a plasma rifle and tossed it on the floor, landing at Nick's feet with a clatter. The energy housing attached to the underside of the barrel had been broken and the fluid had leaked out. It would have evaporated on contact with the bar’s stale air. The rifle was scrap now.

Siren and Nick exchanged looks of surprise and she quickly holstered her pistol.

All I know is, this isn't mine, the kid said with a wink at Siren, whose cheeks flushed the color of a red apple.

8

GSS Hunter

Alliance Station

Orbiting Earth's moon

4142.7.8 Galactic

---

In the ship’s galley kitchen, Nick poured himself a coffee from the pot on the counter next to the large refrigerator that was recessed in the wall, then took a seat at the square faux pine dining table across from the kid. Siren slouched beside the young man on an armless wooden chair, fidgeting as usual, playing with the salt and pepper shakers. Nick hoped she didn't break them because it was Gears turn to cook so they'd need those to make whatever concoction he came