Rogue Planet

By John Andrew Karr

The mission: make Mars inhabitable for humans with a thermonuclear reawakening. But for the adventurous remnants of the Space Consortium of America, the biggest threat isn’t from the erupting rage of the Red Planet. It’s from a treacherous blue marble called Earth . . .
 
ROGUE PLANET
 
  You’d think Captain Ry Devans was a hero when he jumpstarted the cores of Mars, giving the previously dormant planet a fresh start at harboring life. But he’s also the host of a life-saving alien microbe, and the most wanted man within thirty-three million miles—courtesy of the terrorist global juggernaut the Earth First Faction, and its sociopathic agent Paton Schiflet. They’re doing everything in their power to quash the organized inhabitation of space and keep the last humans under control.
 
 Now that the EFF has dispatched its own insanely weaponized crew, Devans and his dirty-dozen team have three options: fight, surrender, or witness the extinction of the thousands of civilians repopulating space. For Devans and outlaw partner Dr. Karen Wagner, option number one is is the only way to go—but the odds against them are astronomical.
 
Not only are moles undermining every offensive tactic, but some on MOS-1 are exhibiting dangerously psychotic mood swings. Is it just an extreme case of space crazy? Or a new microbial gift from Mars that could kill their mission before the war with EFF even begins?
 
“Interesting and intelligent.” —Dave Drake on Detonation Event

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebel Base Books
• Release date: Jan 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781635730692

John Andrew Karr

Seeking out the strange and spectacular, John Andrew Karr is a writer, IT worker and family guy residing near the southern coast of North Carolina.

Book preview

Praise for John Andrew Karr:

"Detonation Event starts with the unusual proposition that the greatest difficulty in terraforming Mars will be not geophysics, but Earth politics—rising quickly to open warfare. Interesting and intelligent."

—Dave Drake, author of Hammer’s Slammers

Mars Wars by John Andrew Karr

Detonation Event

Rogue Planet

Mars Wars: Rogue Planet

John Andrew Karr

REBEL BASE

Kensington Publishing Corp.

www.kensingtonbooks.com

Contents

Praise for John Andrew Karr:

Mars Wars by John Andrew Karr

Mars Wars: Rogue Planet

Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 1

Acknowledgments

About the Author

DETONATION EVENT

Copyright

To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

REBEL BASE BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2020 by John Andrew Karr

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fundraising, and educational or institutional use.

Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: [phone].

Rebel Base and the RB logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

First Electronic Edition: January 2020

ISBN-13: 978-1-63573- 069-2 (ebook)

ISBN-10: 1-63573- 069-4 (ebook)

First Print Edition: January 2020

ISBN-13: 978-1-63573-070-8

ISBN-10: 1-63573-070-8

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

For Connor and Sabrina, may you continue along your pathways through a fulfilling life.

Chapter 1

2235 A.D.

This ain’t your great-great-great grandaddy’s Mars.

The thought hit Ry Devans again as he glanced at the angry orb. The words looped annoyingly, the way a familiar but not necessarily welcome tune will sometimes do. Once or twice would have been okay, but a few rogue synapses weren’t letting it go. Yeah, there was some real upheaval going on, but he and his crew didn’t bug out of Mars Orbiter One on a sightseeing mission, no matter how compelling their looming destination had become. This Synch Event was to buy them the one thing they needed almost as much as air and water and food.

Devans checked the digital countdown clock on the pilot console of Planetary Shuttle Thirteen and noted the two-hour mark was closing fast. He ran another carbon feed query for the nuclear engine and got the same results as Alicia Hamilton down in the engine room. That killed a few minutes before his gaze strayed to the New Red Planet again.

This ain’t your…

Stow it, old man.

Maybe it wasn’t his most stellar idea to have Burroughs dangle the holo in the aisle between his console and that of his new co-pilot, Gwen Wagner. The gutsy young mother and astrobiologist glanced at it more than he did. And why not? They were closing fast. Done were the power and air system checks, nuclear fusion queries and carbon feeds for the engine, shield readiness, and potential flight path hazards. The results were solid. Expected and redundant.

The pissed-off planet they were racing toward was anything but.

The images were historic, but not super fresh. The artificial moon they depended on for their existence had been playing satellite footage on all the public monitors for close to a year now. You couldn’t work at any of the processing pods, walk or run the corridors of any of the twenty decks, take a break in the nature parks, work out at the gyms, or eat outside of your living quarters without seeing Mars in its new state of existence.

He figured the compulsory views of the hanging holo were about context. It’s always one thing to gaze from a safe distance, another to get down and dirty with it. As in, he and his crew were about to get down with the resurrection and all the chaos down there. Naturally, they had plotted a course for one of the more hellish regions to broadcast images back to mother Earth, where an entirely different upheaval had taken place. Devans could almost hear the marsquakes rumble, crash and form with a Godlike voice.

Look what you organics have wrought.

Well, it really was a group effort, Devans countered silently. Plus you almost killed my crew. Not to mention a forty-something pilot that looks an awful lot like the one occupying this seat.

Look. At. Me!

Well, yeah. There have been a few developments.

Networks of erupting volcanoes thrust through the Martian crust like a geological case of the shingles. Devans wondered if it was as painful for the planet as the shingles virus had been to humans prior to M274S34; only there was no healing slash Homo sapiens extinguishing Martian microbe solution for the resurrected planet. Entire regions shuddered, shook, spewed, heaved, gushed and flowed. Some areas were constantly in the throes, others dwindled into relative silence, and still other areas were unpredictable.

Hey, you were dead. Now you are not. You’re welcome.

A warning tone sounded, drawing his attention away from his imaginary dialog with a planet. The digital countdown clock on his console began to throb.

1:58

Less than two hours until Synch Event. It was within schedule range, but he would rather set up and wait than cut it tight. Although waiting down there was bound to come with challenges.

He spoke over his shoulder. Shannon, would you hit the buckle up sequence for the band?

You got it, Burroughs said.

No one asked for more time. He gave everyone an extra minute to brace, including the space surfer down in the sunken conference area at the tip of V-shaped vessel’s apex. Then he wrapped his scarred hand around the control stick and pushed forward and down several degrees. The shuttle responded instantly, causing the flight pit seats to add nitrous oxide as a counter measure against the additional thrust. New bright lights lit up the control panels.

Pressure warnings, Cap, Gwen said.

Just courtesy calls, Devans replied. Let me know if they go red.

Trent Wagner, young astrophysicist, let out a whoop. Strapped in with a makeshift harness, he balanced with legs bent and braced down on the conference table. The translucent panes around the entire flight pit made it appear as if he were surfing in space, and headed directly for the rapidly growing Mars, also visible on surrounding monitors around the table. Devans felt a stab of envy at the kid’s exuberance, even as a slight smile pulled at the scar that extended from his brow to his cheek.

Twenty minutes until Martian atmosphere. Shields? Gwen said.

Yes. Devans replied. Then he addressed her brother. Gotta use the monitors, kid.

PS-13 soon rocked and shuddered, heat shields fighting the entry friction. Satellite images showed the shuttle with its belly aglow, practically on fire, and one human-made moon lit up by the sun, six thousand miles in the background.

The ship had penetrated deep into the thin Martian atmosphere when Devans reversed the lion’s share of thrust. Trent was tossed headlong from the table toward the wall. The harness straps snapped out and back in conjunction with his body.

Wipe out! he yelled. He hovered for a moment, then dropped to the table with a thud.

Devans pressed a sequence of holo keys and the shields withdrew from around the flight deck. There wasn’t much to see as they descended through layers of dark ash and red dust. Had they time to see, they may have noticed tiny water droplets in the mix, some of which clung to the clear panes and traveled across before speed and friction whisked them away.

Across the aisle, Gwen Wagner turned toward Ry and nodded in appreciation. Her faux-leather sleeveless vest and pants creaked just a little as she peeled herself forward in her seat.

Didn’t know we could ignore the warnings, she said.

That’s war for ya, Devans said, unbuckling and pushing the pilot seat away with the backs of his legs. It receded along guided tracks.

Devans performed a series of squats and twists that came with a requisite number of moans and creaks. He shrugged and rolled his head, took several deep breaths, bugged his eyes and closed them a few times. Then he settled, stone still. Ready.

We’re suiting up in the landing bay, he told Gwen. What do you think about picking a good landing zone maybe a mile from the outer formations? Ham and TWags and yours truly will use the suit jets to get closer to the cauldron, but not too close.

Roger that, Cap, she said, knowing Devans didn’t have to put the order in the form of a question but appreciating it anyway. I could hover near the peak and save you guys a distance jump.

You could probably make this baby pirouette on one fin, but I don’t want to risk getting glopped up with liquid rock. He winked. If you and Shannon would do radar and geo sweeps…

Devans looked over at Navigation and Communications Officer Shannon Burroughs, who was standing at her station, peering down at the sunken conference area. She noticed him looking and made as if she were checking readings on her console. He made a sour face.

What? Burroughs said. Don’t you have a pirate broadcast to do or something?

Devans laughed. He clapped a couple times to get the downed surfer’s attention. Let’s go, TWags.

The young man unhitched and leaped from the table to bound up the stairs. He was halted by Gwen’s boot.

What up, sis?

Don’t go crazy out there, bro. Don’t go drone surfing into some ridiculous tunnel with a bomb at the bottom like last time.

Hah, that was a one-timer, far as I’m concerned. He tugged on her leg, making her slide a little in the seat.

Stay off the volcanoes, Gwen said, punching him in the shoulder as he passed.

Trent high-fived Shannon Burroughs, their hands lingering with a touch, then followed Devans to the flight deck elevator, where they both vanished.

In the landing bay, Security Chief and Engineer Alicia Hamilton was already suited and waiting for them at the control podium.

Nice of you ladies to stop by, she said.

Yeah, yeah, Trent said, dropping to the bench and peeling off his boots and jumpsuit. He started to take off his boxer shorts.

Uh, nobody needs you to go full commando, TWags, Hamilton said.

Just seeing if you’d notice. He kept the undergarments on and reached for a space suit in his partitioned locker.

The same way a mythical goddess of the forest might notice a young sapling among towering trees, I suppose.

Gawd, that took some doing, Wagner replied. You stay up late practicing?

If you mean did I stay up late reviewing the mission…then yeah, Kelp Head.

Gwen Wagner’s voice came over the speakers to announce they were landing. They sat as the vessel slowed, then stood again after the soft bump. Tremors traveled up the landing pads and supports to shake the ship.

Hamilton checked the status of each suit, then returned to the console to decompress the landing bay. An outline of a square with rounded corners formed as the hatch receded three inches, then vanished to the side to reveal muted daylight. Dust glittered inside the first few feet of the bay, along with darker flakes of ash.

Streaming clouds of ash and dust commanded the skies and allowed only glimpses of a half-sized sun. That would have provided enough reason to pause, but the aerial tumult was merely the by-product of the real action.

They’d been to the planet far too often prior to Detonation Event to find much interest in ancient Martian deserts and wind-weary rock formations. And while they’d seen footage of the planetary resurrection, a live encounter with a roaring lava river split by a stone column came with a sense of awe far beyond anything invoked by vids from geo drones.

The river speed and depth fluctuated. Sometimes fast and steady, sometimes a series of waves would bully through to splatter the sides of the column and send huge glops over the rising banks. The bulk of it snaked for miles through the desert, vanishing into a distant basin and appearing once more as a glowing line headed for the horizon. Also new were miles-long fingers of dark lava tubes over the desert floor. In these, the surface had cooled but the lava still flowed within.

Devans whistled in admiration, though he knew this was just the precursor. He rolled a finger over his shoulder and strode onto the extending landing ramp.

His move was met by a throat-clearing objection from his security chief back at the control podium. Devans turned to see her look from him to Trent Wagner and back again. The young man also rode the steel board as it slowly descended.

You wonder where he gets it from, Hamilton said.

Hell, I got it from him, Devans returned.

One of the monitors behind her was linked to the galaxynet, now controlled by the Earth First Faction. On it, he saw a familiar face with the words MOST WANTED beneath. His temples throbbed and he gritted his teeth.

Hamilton turned to see what he was looking at, then joined him and Wagner on the ramp as it lowered, shaking with the marsquakes. The reward money’s better for you alive, but you’d be a helluva lot more compliant dead, she said, sweetly.

You got an army in that backpack? Devans said.

Took you down twice on the mats, she pointed out.

My knee is a little reluctant to greet your lovely face.

Oh? I recall eating that overhand right a couple times.

Glove versus middle-aged bone. And then I’d have to deal with Deon. Even Nuro had trouble with your hubby.

Ha, I can tap out my man! she laughed.

When he lets you, yeah.

Not truth, she said, with a laugh.

Let me know when the next match is. I’ll bring lab popcorn and that weak tea they’re passing off as beer.

Trent Wagner cut in. Oh, hey Cap. Meant to tell ya back on MOS-1… Leash and I are going to split the reward money, so we’d appreciate it if you played it nice and safe out here. Like an old man shuffling down a hallway, on his way back to his room for nap time. Nice ’n’ easy. He wobbled and leaned and moved his arms.

Devans suspected young adult dance moves, but wasn’t certain.

Uh huh. You teach him this? Devans said, back at Hamilton.

Do I look white to you?

Ouch, Devans said. That’s uncalled for, Senator.

What you get for violating Ramp Descent rules, she replied.

Devans winked.

Don’t look at me either, Gwen Wagner said, over the comm link from the flight pit. "Big Sis can fly shuttles and dance."

Maybe it’s on your mom then, Devans said, and a crack of a smile crossed his scarred face at the thought of Doctor Karen Wagner registering his little dig.

Somebody’s in trouble now, Hamilton crooned.

Yeah, bruh, Trent said.

A crimson haze filled their face shields. White columns of CO2 drifted by, which told Devans the shuttle stabilizers were having to put some effort into it. The ramp halted and his bent legs absorbed the easy impact. Face shield readings showed a line bar with small but noticeable spikes that corresponded to the tremors working their way through the soles of his space boots.

He left the ramp and strode several paces away from the towering ship. Ignoring the lava river and tubes, he watched the desert’s gravel-sized stones dance. Red sand shifted and spilled. Dust rose and was carried away on new winds that whooshed through his suit mics, accompanying the rumble and distant blasts.

We won’t be pitching a tent here, space kiddies, Devans said.

Hamilton had a holo projector strapped over her shoulder, and Trent Wagner held a camera and tripod. All three of them had space atomizer pistols holstered at their sides.

They eyed the weathered backbone of the mountain range. Devans pointed beyond the closer rock formations to the peaks north of center.

That’s us, he said.

Streams of blue appeared as Wagner and Hamilton initiated the ion jets of their backpacks, then flew off.

Devans watched them, then pressed two buttons on his chest and felt the surge build in his backpack. He goosed the release of the twin ion jets and launched into the thin Martian atmosphere that maybe someday could be termed ‘air.’ He flew at speed, higher and higher, toward the others. Now that he was at elevation, more was revealed.

A lot more.

Behold, Phlegra Montes.

Eight-hundred and seventy miles of time-worn mountain peaks, rock formations, channels and basins, pockmarked by the odd crater and gashed with valleys purportedly carved by glaciers eons ago. All of it silent and stoic for untold millennia.

That was the old range.

Now a battalion of volcanoes spewed magma and ash and vapors like Roman gods at a purge party. The region alternated between bright and brighter. Blasts and rumbles and rock crashes came like artillery barrages.

The peaks had been fairly modest in elevation prior to Detonation Event. But what had measured seven thousand feet a year and a half ago now breached ten thousand. And since the area was a volatile son of a hairy Martian spider now, it was either going to grow some more, or come slamming down in the one third Earth gravity. Or whatever factor gravity here had increased to.

Once the Red Planet.

Now the Livid Planet.

Rage on, Devans thought.

He joined Hamilton and Wagner at a lifeless mountain top, noting the proximity to their targeted volcanic cauldron. They had a perfect view of the lava lake, and the geysers that shot skyward and fell like toppled columns at a temple for Hades. Marsquakes joined in to create waves that crested the lake edges and flowed down the sides of the mountain.

This it, CapD? Trent Wagner said, gesturing to the steep mountain top.

Devans glanced at Hamilton. Leash?

She pursed her lips, tapped at her arm computer for some readings. It’s got tremors, but I don’t think the whole rock’ll come down in the next twenty minutes. We could use a ledge though.

For what? Devans said.

In case someone’s jets get tired, Hamilton said. Like our boy’s here at Tunnel Two, remember?

Devans checked his arm computer’s countdown clock. Twenty-eight minutes until Synch Event. We have time to clear a ledge. As for Tunnel Two, the kid had stressed those jets with speed and distance. What are the odds ours just quit out?

How fun is it if they do? Hamilton said.

I got it! Trent said, spatz pistol already drawn from its holster.

Nothing major, hot shot, Devans said, eyeing the peak and then the neighboring cauldron. We don’t need the entire top lopped off. Just a little slice ’n’ dice.

Hamilton and Devans hovered behind Trent as he started. Bright yellow tendrils streaked from the muzzle of the mining gun and plunged into the top of the mountain. The ultra-vibrating beams got busy releasing atoms from their molecular bonds.

The cluster beam was bright enough to see in daylight, even when the ash clouds streaming overhead twisted away like loosed ribbons and the sun shone directly upon it. From a distance, it appeared to form a single beam, but up close individual rippling strands could be discerned. They hummed a distinctive, low-key song of gentle destruction. So far, no material had withstood it in low or zero atmospheric pressure situations.

Trent Wagner worked the beams up and down and back and forth. Sections of rock separated and vanished from sight. Some slid away as rock sheets, some were completely atomized.

Huh! Spatz isn’t going as deep as it did before Detonation Event, Wagner said.

Wavering more too, Hamilton said.

The atmosphere is thickening up, Wagner replied. From an astrophysicist point of view.

That’s a factor from a weapons point of view, Devans said, checking the time on his arm computer. Let’s get this going. Our delivery is about to knock on their door.

Trent Wagner kept the beam cluster moving.

Devans got a sense of being watched. TWags was focused on his task, so that meant…

Alicia Hamilton’s ebony eyes were fixed in his direction, while the massive lava cauldron and erupting volcanoes reflected on her face shield. He raised his brows as best he could, given the scar. It was meant to shoo her off. But her own brow furrowed as she scrutinized him further.

Devans turned to Wagner’s vibrating laser beams, but addressed his security chief. Gotta bug in the back of your suit, Ham? Maybe our young astrophysicist here can figure a way to dig it out.

TWags is busy, Ry Devans, but points for ornery and mildly amusing.

Mediocre, but it served.

You guys know I can hear you, right? TWags said, working the gun back and forth.

You’re doing great, space kid.

I’m a twentysomething now, old man!

Yeah, you’re ancient, Devans said. Keep slicing.

Hamilton kept watching Devans.

If you’re waiting for a sandwich or something… he said.

They’d been on maybe a hundred missions as crew mates. She knew him better than any other woman, and they’d never been romantically involved.

He war-faced her, then winked.

The intermittent sunlight and lava glow warmed her lovely dusky face into a neutral expression, but he could tell she wasn’t convinced. To prove it, she uttered a heart-warming question. Think you can cork your crazy until we get back to the MOS? Last time we nearly got flushed.

Devans angled his forearm. The ion jets synched to his arm computer pushed him around in a single, tight circle. You into revisionist history like the EFF? Did I sit on the red button or something? Detonation Event came early from SCONA. Hardly the fault of your average ordinary space jock.

Right, but that microbe you picked up spiked your crazy reserves.

Oh, you mean the Martian bug that helped save the human species? That bug?

She cracked a half smile. Yeah, the Mrydev1. Doc Wagner needs to run more tests on you. You get to a weird place in a hurry at times now. No patience.

He frowned. That’s a luxury for peacetime, and we have neither.

She swallowed and looked away. He knew she wasn’t afraid for herself, but unlike his estranged son back on Earth, Cal the EFF Enabler, Alicia’s family were on MOS-1. He silently cursed himself for a frigging idiot.

But hey! he said, trying to get her attention again. The scar that split his brow and ran down his cheek drew tight as he grinned. You may have a micron of a point. I’ll buy you a bottle of the finest lab manufactured red wine if I misbehave. How’s that?

Reassurance fail.

Life’s hard out in the cosmos, spacewoman.

The winds brought him closer and then away from Hamilton, but not before she slugged his shoulder. Trent Wagner atomized a hunk of the rocky peak. The beam hummed the distinct sound of spatz lasers. Tools for mining before. Now they had dual use as weapons.

Plowshares to swords, Devans thought, grimly.

The humming stopped as the beams vanished.

The kid turned and waved them down.

Done!

Wagner and Hamilton landed on the new mountain ledge and cut their jets, their free arms going out for balance. Devans joined them and walked back and forth a few paces. The tremors made him work for his balance. He did feel a pound or two heavier here on the Martian surface since Detonation Event.

He had an impulse to grab Trent Wagner’s spatz pistol in one hand and draw his own with the other, then fly around the volcanoes and carve their spines at double power, roaring and laughing as the geologic giants heaved their glowing guts out.

Ry …? Alicia Hamilton said, as she set up the holo projector.

He blinked out of it. Took a breath.

All good, Ham, he lied. All good.

Mmm hmm. My readings are showing your BP up high. Need you to chill like a space diamond. We don’t need fierce for the folks back home.

That’s exactly what they need.

Not in this broadcast. We want to be matter-of-fact for ten minutes, right? Your plan. Grab their attention with your outlawed face and the surrounding volcanic activity, keep their attention from wandering.

Right, yeah.

Maybe something a little less violent to center on would help, like the surprisingly muscular winds that buffeted them as they hung around this nameless mountain peak. Last time he was here, Mars could barely puff up a dust storm of the finest particulate. Not so now. These bad boys kept a wavering but constant hiss through the suit’s microphones.

The new winds of Mars.

Helena of Bay Control had warned them not only of all the volcanism and marsquakes, but the added factor of the winds as they flew PS-13 out of Columbus Bay, Meridian One, MOS-1. Fres normally would have been with her to see them off, but he’d been murdered so he wouldn’t be making it for an eternity or so.

Fres, my spaceman, you’d crush on these new Martian breezes.

Truth, the winds of substance were new to Mars 2.0, by-products of the two thermonuclear bombs the Space Consortium of America had set off in the belly of the dead beast for Detonation Event. The hot churning cores created not just a magnetosphere to deflect solar winds and perhaps retain a burgeoning atmosphere, but started volcanism and tectonic activity on a scale that amazed scientists who still had the guts to remark upon it. Which was not many. But those on MOS-1 were convinced the molecules released were no longer free to escape into space due to the resurrected magnetosphere, so air currents had grown in strength.

Devans wasn’t so sure increased winds were a great thing, as he bent his legs to maintain balance. But at least they weren’t overwhelming.

Yet.

Life is risk, spaceman! Fres had said it often enough to pluck at Devans’ nerves, and now he wished he could hear it every damn day. You want a boring ass day and then fall asleep on your couch every night?

Nah, but we’re deep in the crapper now, space pal.

The makeshift observation ledge trembled beneath Devans’ boots. A steady rumble came through the suit’s speakers and reverberated throughout his rib cage as Devans gazed across the chasm to the cauldron of roiling lava and its spurting fountains of red and orange. It seemed only a stone’s throw away, but was far enough to not spit lava up at them.

The erupting volcanoes beyond it formed a geologic battalion that ran to the horizon. They spewed bright lava and belched ash and gasses and torrents of blue-white something high into the thin atmosphere. It was truly amazing stuff, but Devans kept returning to a single overriding thought.

Time.

We need more time.

Hamilton and Wagner bantered as they fought the tremors and set up the tripod camera and hologram feed. They could have been prepping for a documentary instead of a psyops mission. Feeling a bit self-conscious, Devans moved into position in front of them. He was only partially successful in distracting himself with the cauldron and lava rivers that hugged the feet of the rock formations far below.

Over here, Sweetness, Hamilton said, clapping her gloved hands.

Devans turned to the camera. Finger joints cracked as he clenched his hands.

I gotta be real, CapD, the camera doesn’t love that look, TWags said, shifting his lean frame behind the camera to peer at the hologram of Devans’ upper body, and the livid cauldron and line of volcanoes beyond his shoulder.

Hamilton held her gloved hands up into a director’s rectangle. Hate to agree with kid, but can you dial back on the frown a bit?

This isn’t a cover shoot for Spaceman Quarterly, you know, Devans said.

Alicia Hamilton snorted. Maybe not, but my girls practically fan themselves whenever you drop by or we see you at the gym.

Devans grunted. Kids like dinosaurs.

Trent laughed. Don’t tell my mom that Devorah and Nelida are crushing on her crush.

Don’t tell my mom, either, Gwen Wagner said, over the comm link. Are you guys okay out there, by the way?

All green, Sis.

Stellar, she replied. Synch Event is almost here.

Trent tried to steady the camera’s tripod and keep it trained on the face of the ‘resistance’ while also dealing with feedback from angry volcanoes. His youthful brow tightened and he pointed to the quivering image of the holo. He and Hamilton silently agreed to something. Wagner grabbed the camera from the tripod, engaged his ion boot jets and took the video while levitating several inches from the quaking shelf. The hologram steadied, though not perfectly.

Devans checked the timer on his arm computer. The first phase should be done now. Shannon, what’s the word from MOS-1?

Nothing so far, Ry.

Hmm.

Shannon knew his disapproval response. She waited for the follow up.

Can you scare up a link with Shakuri?

He checked in a few minutes ago and says everything’s fine on their end. Said to let you know we get Best Picture based on setting alone. He grooves on the volcanic stuff.

That’s fine but I’d still like to speak with him.

We’re getting close, you know.

Yep.

Okay, he’s going through the verification maze…and is…linked. Go ahead, everyone.

Greetings, PS-13 captain and crew, Shakuri said.

Daniel, Devans said.

Looking good, Ry. Don’t get cooked down there. Nobody wants to serve roasted Devans in the cafeteria.

There’s a little too much suggestion in your tone, Devans said. What’s the hitchhiker status?

He glanced at his arm computer for the count down.