Crimson Planet

By Lon Varnadore

This is not a story about science fact. This is fantastic science fiction. The old guard kind, the raypunk kind. It's one I think that should be dusted off and played with from time to time; the pulp era of science fiction, when Mars had canals, Venus held dinosaurs, and man could travel to other places in rockets or spheres coated in anti-gravity paint or even mysterious beam of energy. Where savages could hold axe and sword, fighting alongside a ray gun-toting gunfighter or Space Ranger. Won't you come along for the ride?

Tosh du'Val is a merchant looking to redeem himself with his family. Bors is the last of his tribe, a sellsword, and thief. The two are spirited away by a being known as The Master, a creature using super science. He wishes for the two to work together to find The Crimson Planet and the jewel hidden upon it. They must join forces and explore strange and alien worlds of the past and future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lon Varnadore
• Release date: Dec 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463122747

Lon Varnadore

I have been a fan of sci-fi and fantasy for years. Hard at work at the next book.

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

This is not a serious story. Not in the sense of hard science facts and what we know. This is more fantastic. Instead of reaching into the future to what could be, I have reached into the past, into the time before people knew Mars was a dry, dead world with no air—instead, it held giant four-armed monsters and savages. Where Venus was a lush jungle world under a constant barrage of rain, and the outer planets were so massive their satellites held life foreign to humans in more than one sense. And beyond that, deep in space, the bug-eyed aliens and strange creatures existed that shocked, terrified, and entertained us.

This is not a story about science fact. This is fantastic science fiction. The old guard kind, the raypunk kind. It’s one I think should be dusted off and played with from time to time—the pulp era of science fiction when Mars had canals, Venus held dinosaurs, and man could travel to other places in rockets or spheres coated in anti-gravity paint, or even mysterious beams of energy. Where savages could hold axe and sword, fighting alongside a raygun-toting gunfighter or Space Ranger.

Won’t you come along for the ride?

CHAPTER 1

The windswept, rust-tinged plains of Tharsis fell behind Tosh, formally of the House du’Vaul, as his rented saurial mount plodded along the road. The dark green of the dome-headed mount clashed with the red-orange sand of the Mars wastes that swept outward from the road on either side—dry, dreary, and deserted. The road they followed was Ancient’s Road, set down and sealed so that no sand, wind, foot, or wagon wheel could damage the dark, midnight-blue stone path winding its way from Gods’ Home to the Tharsis Crossroads, Lotus, Tharsis Prime, and eventually, End Road. This road was a merchant’s dream with its well-stocked way stations positioned every fifty leagues and no need to have them maintained, no road tax or travel tax to pay in exchange for their use. Some ancient magi-tech restocked the stations. No one in the Mercantile League dared exploit it for fear of breaking the wonderful way station and losing a place to stay. Yet Tosh feared one thing the road brought.

Bandits.

The ancient foe had harried merchants like Tosh since the invention of commerce, whether on Earth using the ancient horse and sword, bow, or firearms, or after the secrets of rocketry and space flight were gained by humans. Space pirates and banditry on other planets had become the way of life for those not rich enough to afford the Gate or the price for using the Guild to travel. Bandits were a constant harassment.

The tri-horn behind him bellowed. What is he bellowing about? Wary, Tosh turned in his saddle to look at the tri-horn pulling the bulk of his cargo in his small merchant caravan. His dome-headed mount held his belongings and a few odds and ends he might need for barter if he came across a fellow merchant . . . or the savages of the Southern Martian tribes. The packs on the tri-horn that was tethered to his mount held provisions as well as the bulk of Tosh’s trade goods for the southern villages and cities. It was a cornucopia of farming tools, machine parts, a handful of the latest entertainment cubes, and old-fashioned wooden toys. One never knows what one needs. Customers never do. The voice of his uncle and one-time head of House Du’Vaul echoed in Tosh’s mind. The rest of the bulk of the tri-horn cargo was the most precious commodity in the desert climes of Mars.

Water.

Small jugs and big clay urns ringed the mammoth beast, creating bulges of ceramics. A large tanker was also strapped to the tri-horn, trailing behind the mule-stubborn creature. The tanker also held the four guards that Tosh had paid for with the last of his coin. He had to make money on this trip, or he would be destitute and his family would disown him. Well, more like complete the disowning. Since his uncle’s death, when his father took over, Tosh wasn’t welcome. This journey was Tosh’s one and only chance to prove he could be a merchant like the rest of the men of the family. And my choices in other personal matters haven’t helped.

He looked up to see the faint light of the Daystar Jove off near the horizon. He had been to Mars many times, usually with his father. The dark red dot on the horizon was an omen, he believed. A sign that he would have success with his endeavors in Tharsis Crossroads. He tried not to look for Deimos, where one of his family’s manors stood. There would be no help if bandits attacked.

Turning, he looked upon the grim, dark-eyed men and women in piecemeal armor with a hodgepodge of weapons. They were the best Tosh could afford, from Deke, whose whole body bristled with hilts of blades, to Sophie, whose single spear was serpent-quick and twice as venomous. The leader of the four sellswords was Isa-Bal-Mu’hal, a near-human from Io, if Tosh had to guess. Isa kept himself covered in a dark cloak with hands and feet wrapped in rags to hide his scaly skin. But the large-bore long gun he doted over like a babe was intimidating and spoke more than his sibilant speech.

Then there was Zella.

Zella was from the Northern Tribes, twice as comely as any tribeswoman he’d met before. Bearing the tribal knots of a Darken Tribe, one of the more ruthless of the Northern Tribes, he knew it was money well spent with her around. She glanced at Tosh, and a shiver ran down his spine. He tried to stop his hand from running over his bearded cheeks. Though her eyes were too far apart, the gunmetal gray of her eyes still haunted him from their first meeting in Gods’ Home.

Tosh had been around many tribesmen and women from both hemispheres, yet there was something about her that was intriguing and disquieting. She’d spoken only ten words to him on the trip so far. He was sure if it wasn’t for the coin and the water he provided, she would as likely gut him and take what she wanted from his corpse as help. She had come to his bed on more than one occasion. With his treatments, Tosh had made her cry out more than once with pleasure. She was much more of an aggressor than any lover Tosh had had before. Or thought possible. She’s skilled, but I’ll be glad when we part ways. Zella and her slender sword and dagger had helped with three attacks on the journey south. I wonder how many more before we reach End Road? Or even before we reach the Crossroads?

Pushing his thoughts from maudlin and morbid things, he turned back in his saddle to watch the large peach-and-ochre domes that encased the city of the Tharsis Crossroads. Small blue minarets sprouted from the domes at pleasing angles. Supposedly to help the Caliph’s Oasis, it kept the moisture and the vegetation lush on the inside of the enormous polished central stone dome. The oasis itself was a place Tosh had been once with his father. Tosh had learned that it was best to be quiet and not present much of a target when he was younger. When he had last been to see the Caliph, his father had tried to sell the youthful Tosh for a few bars of gold. Tosh’s uncle had stepped in to forbid the sale.

Tosh chuckled to push the fear away. If this deal goes well, I might see the oasis again. And this time, it will be as a friend of the Caliph. He heard his father’s mocking laugh in the back of his head, burning his cheeks and darkening his mood again. His eyes went to the tattoo gauge on his wrist. The serpent biting its own tail. Three-fourths of it was green, meaning he had time before his next