Atmosphere Meltdown: Ion Burn Series, #2

By Trigger Jones

Atmosphere Alert: Seek Pressurized Shelter Immediately

 

The worst alert to get on the back side of the Moon. When a mine accident in the crater jeopardizes Heaviside City's oxygen, Earth's Home Alliance blames it on Resistance sabotage. Joe Drive, ex-Space Force pilot, wants to ignore it all. He's done with the fight. But a determined widow demands Joe's help proving her husband was murdered to hide the truth. Joe reluctantly agrees to investigate.

 

The truth is worse than he imagined. This was no accident. The Home Alliance wants to take over the Moon, and they'll kill an entire city to do it. The streets fill with armed patrols, the Number 3 Mine goes on lockdown, and Joe and his friends are all over the holoreels as wanted terrorists. The tension on the streets has become a riot.

 

With the help of a rogue monk, a rebellious teen, a math geek and a strange child living under the kitchen sink, Joe must stop a man who would sacrifice a population as a means to an end.  Or, for every soul in Heaviside City, their next breath might be their last.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Twintree Books
• Release date: Jul 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781777133559

Book preview

Chapter 1—Atmospheric Alarm

The night was rich with the smells of lunar grit, old synthcrete and working-class humanity. Joe took in a deep breath of midnight air as he turned the corner onto Apollo Street. A burst of unfamiliar contentment flushed a smile onto his face.

He loved walking through The Shaft. He’d moved into the downrent neighborhood of Heaviside City three years ago, taken a liking to life on the back side of the Moon, and never left. He was home.

The city sighed its nighttime background hum, and nothing more. The Shaft was at peace. Moon-rock miners went to bed early, and the back-alley purveyors of empty pockets and bad dreams had long ago learned that Joe was their own personal nightmare and taken their trade elsewhere.

As he turned down an unpaved alley between two rows of low-slung, prefab mining houses he caught sight of a tall, lanky form exiting the alley on the far side. Stretched-out frame, shoulder-length hair, dark clothes, with a hands-in-pockets slouch. The kid noticed him and waved. Jeremy Worth, the seventeen-year-old from the other side of The Shaft, was out for another of his restless strolls. Joe had talked with Jeremy a couple of times, found him to be a bright and thought-heavy young man who used his nighttime walks to try and make sense of the world he found himself in.

As Joe raised his hand to wave back, a brilliant yellow flash erupted in the sky to the south, towards the mines. An ear-splitting crack seemed to echo everywhere at once. Then nothing. A smothering hand of silence clamped itself down over the city.

From far off in the distance, a gronking siren blasted through the night. It repeated, loud and insistent. Then again, joined by another, louder gronk from the center of Heaviside somewhere. By the time five gronks had sounded, a source only a few blocks away had joined the chorus.

A city-wide alarm, loud enough to wake the dead. But not a noise Joe had ever heard, or even heard of. At the far end of the alley he saw Jeremy, a puzzled and wary expression on his face, also wondering what the hell. Lights began to pop on in the apartment windows that towered above The Shaft’s alleys and streets as startled citizens pressed their faces to their windows searching for the cause of the cacophony. A few brave souls opened their reverse air vents, only to quickly slam them shut as an acrid smell invaded their pods. And just as quickly the lights disappeared as people yanked curtains closed or engaged their outside shutters.

Joe recognized the ancient, childish instinct. If they couldn’t see trouble, trouble couldn’t see them.

Joe’s link went off with another sound he’d never heard, a thin, shrieking whistle. The same noise came from Jeremy’s pocket. They both pulled out their links.

His screen was flashing bright red. Atmosphere Alert, it said. Seek Pressurized Shelter Immediately.

A jolt of panic ran through him. He saw the same fear run through Jeremy. What pressurized shelter? Heaviside had no such thing, as far as Joe knew. The Moon’s atmosphere had been rock-stable for at least fifty years.

This way! he yelled at Jeremy, and started running. The kid followed, all trace of slouch turned into the sprint of a teen athlete. Joe left the alley and turned down Apollo Street, then took the next right onto Sapper Street. His three story apartment building was fourth on the left.

The gale met him head-on, a blast of air so strong it roared through the streets, pulling a veil of dust and stinging the inside of his nostrils. He was ready, and braced, but even so, felt himself gasping for air. Behind him he heard Jeremy’s startled yelp. Then heard the boy start choking as the running footsteps of the young athlete were nearly drowned out by the howling wind.

Joe’s lungs shuddered as the inside of his throat felt needle-sharp tingles and started to turn numb. Behind him Jeremy let out a startled Hey! Joe knew the sensation but hadn’t felt it in years. His ears popped, confirming the assessment.

Atmospheric decompression.

Everyone who was caught out on the street was clutching at their throats as they staggered their way to shelter.

Joe got up the stairs, through the apartment building’s front door, and through his apartment door on the left in record time. Instinctively he slapped the red button on the inside wall as he raced by. The reverse air vents in his windows slammed shut in a sequence of thunderous clunks. Both he and Jeremy were heaving for breath by the time he reached the living room, done up as a comfortable mountain cabin. He rocketed over to the crackling, river stone fireplace, flipped open the face of the old-fashioned wind up clock on the mantel and spun the hour hand three times around, stopping on the eight.

Then he grabbed Jeremy’s hand and dashed into the fire. 

A paper-thin moment of searing heat as they went through the fireplace’s trick-hologram blaze and they entered a plain, synthcrete stairwell that went both up and down. He dragged the now-dazed Jeremy down, charged through the metal door at the bottom of the stairs and into the apartment below his living quarters.

Same layout. Slightly different decor. This one resembled a cross between an Interstellar Space Force command center and an end-of-the-world bunker.

His lungs howled for oxygen. A couple of stars appeared at the edges of his vision and the tips of his fingers began to throb. Still grabbing Jeremy by the arm, he hustled over to a stack of crates in the kitchen, popped the clasps on one and threw up the lid. Inside were six masks attached to six canisters. He jammed one on his face and pressed the green button on the canister. Jeremy did the same without any prompting. Bright kid.

Blessed air flowed around his face. Joe took three large gulps, enough to banish the stars, then forced himself to slow down and breathe easy. He turned to Jeremy and waved a slow-down hand, instructing him to do the same.

We’re good, he said through the mask.

Yeah, Jeremy agreed as his natural curiosity began to replace his impending sense of doom. He figured out the clip on the side of the canister, slipped it onto the belt of his pants, and looked around. Really good. Like, for about a year.

His eyes roamed around the converted kitchen with its stacks of emergency supplies: medical and pharmaceutical kits, dehydrated and freeze-dried protein, preserved fruits and vegetables, compact thermo blankets ... and more. So. Much. Stuff. Joe knew what the boy was thinking. He could start his own colony in the tunnels of Venus with all this.

You could start your own colony with all this, Jeremy said. How can you afford this? Aren’t you, like, um ... unemployed?

I’m ex-military. I get a good pension. Joe knew it was an incomplete answer, but it was all the kid was going to get. He wasn’t about to say that he’d raided the emergency supplies and weapons rooms when he left the Interstellar Space Force.

Jeremy wandered back into the command center living room. Joe followed. The scrutiny was uncomfortable, but the kid had every right to be curious. Jeremy gazed in true geek wonderment at all the monitors, buttons, dials, disks and keyboards that shimmered in holographic splendor throughout the room.  Nearly every horizontal surface was covered with old fashioned books, made of actual paper, and notepads. Pens, pencils and markers were strewn around the room.

Jeremy picked up a small device from a sleek, chrome alcove in the wall and examined it closely. He clearly didn’t recognize it. A smile crept onto Joe’s face under his mask. Jeremy inspected the two bars of metal, folded them back and forth over the spring-loaded hinge at one end. He folded it and unfolded it, slowly at first and then faster and faster. The top, thicker arm of the device had a small slit on its lower edge that aligned with little dents on the bottom bar. Joe watched in fascination as Jeremy set the device on a countertop, stuck the little finger of his left hand between the two bars, and made to push them together. Joe felt he should probably say something. But part of him just wanted to watch. It wasn’t a lethal experiment ... but the boy didn’t know what he was playing around with and that almost never ends well.  Joe reached over to grab the stapler. Too late—Jeremy pushed the two bars closed. A yelp escaped his lips.

Outside, the gronking stopped. Both of them froze in the sudden silence. Joe felt his ears pop again. He lifted the edge of his mask and tested the air. It was still thin but becoming breathable once more.

He took off the mask and Jeremy did the same while looking around the room with a million questions in his eyes. He stared at Joe and gave the universal ‘what the heck’ gesture. Joe sighed. No one in The Shaft had ever seen the inside of his place. No one in the solar system, for that matter. But there was a first time for everything.

Guess I have some explaining to do.

Yeah. That’d be good.

Joe held up the stapler. This is a stapler. It’s used for sticking sheets of paper together.

Jeremy rolled his eyes. The message was clear. Get to the good stuff.

Outside the alarms had stopped and the screaming had begun. People were emptying onto the streets and filling the night with cries of outrage. Neither he nor Jeremy had any interest in joining them. Let’s go upstairs, Joe said. I’ll make some cocoa. We’ll talk.

OF COURSE, MR. DRIVE, everybody knows you’re Interstellar Space Force, Jeremy said, relaxing his shoulders on the back of a cushy armchair with wide wooden arms. It was upholstered in a pleasing, sage green fabric patterned with silhouettes of Rocky Mountain moose. Jeremy took in the primal pattern, grinned and settled into the chair, looking more wild and primal himself. His long legs stretched out to the matching footstool.

Cocoa steamed in two ceramic mugs next to the hologram fireplace. I didn’t know about the fighter pilot gig, but hey, that lifts. You have hawk eyes.

Everybody knows? Joe sank back into the overstuffed recliner, carefully chosen to match the rustic decor of his main floor apartment. He sipped cocoa to cover the extent of his surprise. So much for keeping a low profile.

Oh, everybody knows about that, too, Jeremy continued, blithely unaware of the effect his words were having. He sucked on the tip of his little finger so that no blood from the two tiny punctures would accidentally stain anything. You’re, hey, all private. Not like you’re on the run or anything, but low profile, just like you said. You don’t want anyone to ask questions, so, hey, nobody does. But we all know. It’s The Shaft. The kid took another drink, held out a long, slender hand and pointed down. Still doesn’t explain that.

Uh, yeah. Joe cleared his throat. They both still had the oxygen masks from his emergency supply close to hand, in case whatever had eaten the Moon’s atmosphere got hungry again. Listen, Jeremy. I guess it’s not too surprising that people around here know a bit about me. But we really have to keep this —he waved a hand at the apartment—between us. A lot of folks wouldn’t understand.

Got that right, Jeremy agreed. Joe listened for any tone of rebuke in the statement, but heard only simple admiration. This is one rocket of a crib, Mr. Drive. My own mom would begrudge you this, and she doesn’t begrudge many people anything. But she won’t hear about it from me. Nobody will. He angled his long body forward, a spark in his eyes. Now tell me about Doomsday.

Joe had to laugh. What? No, you got it all wrong. There is no Doomsday. I’m not some kind of —well, not that kind of weirdo. I just like to be prepared, is all.

Jeremy lifted his mask from the floor, the oxygen canister still attached. Sure felt like Doomsday to me, he said, and this time there was a darkness in his voice. And you were ready for it. By the way, thanks.

Joe shrugged. Yeah, no problem. I’ve been around the solar system a couple of times. You see a thing or two. And a funny thing happens when you get to know your fellow man. The more you see, the more prepared you want to get.

That got a laugh, a high and nasal thing that showed Joe the child inside the newly minted man. Jeremy stopped after a moment for some more cocoa, and the apartment was quiet. Bet it’s nuts outside, he said into the silence. Let’s check it out.

IT WAS NUTS. THE ENTIRE neighborhood was in the street, crying and complaining and comparing notes on the recent emergency. Farther away Joe could hear the murmur of similar noises rising from across the city, backdropped by everyday sirens and the bleat of emergency vehicles. The acrid smell of something burning still hung in the air. Joe and Jeremy moved towards three people huddled together at the edge of a crowd.

Joe recognized them all as locals, even though their faces were distorted by copiously running noses and their swollen, red eyes seeped with tears. Not everyone had oxygen masks and a basement bunker.

It was the Number 3 Mine! This from Guff Dowser, who lived three doors down from  Joe’s building and was addicted to the holoreels. He held his link up like a torch. They had a big blowout in the Stack, a massive flare. It burned up some of the oxygen for miles around and the regen units couldn’t keep up.

The Stacks can handle flares, said Otto Flowers, a round, balding man who Joe knew as serious and intelligent. He worked the chimney over at the Number 2 Mine. That’s what they’re built for. I don’t know, that doesn’t sound right.

Joe saw it coming and knew who would say it first.

Damn rebels. What do they think they’re playing at? Perigee Simpson, neighborhood busybody, had a quiet voice, but it carried in the sudden silence. It had to be them. Spoiling it for the rest of us!

Just about choked me out. Guff’s face was red. The Resistance says it’s all about making things better for us Lowlifes, but really? I think they got it all wrong. I’d rather work my week and live in The Shaft than not be able to breathe.

Otto countered, I’d rather get paid decently for my work. And what the Home Alliance gives us barely covers my rent. The Resistance is demanding a fair share for us Lowlifes.

Perigee jabbed a finger at him. The Home Alliance looks after us. My son works for them. You don’t know what’s going on, Otto.

You only know what you’re told, Peri. And they’re not going to tell your son, the janitor, the truth about what they’re up to.

That got the crowd muttering. Their argument was pieces of logic and fact glued together with fear, but Joe couldn’t fault them for it. The rebels were losing the information war—every bad thing in the solar system was being laid at the doorstep of the Resistance recently. Joe knew, better than most, why the Resistance was fighting the Elites who ruled the solar system. But lately, according to a rising tide of public opinion, they had been doing more harm than good.

My mom never gets a day off. Beside him, Jeremy had raised his voice. His words carried an angry heat. Six days at the mine offices just to pay our company rent and put food on the table, while my dad makes enough for clothes and the rest. She gets one day to make the meals for the week. We never have anything left over to get ahead. He glared at everyone. You call that a life? Look at North Heaviside. The mine owners have a life. Look at Earth, if you’re ever rich enough to visit Nearside. All the Elites down there live better than we do. At least the rebels are doing something about it.

He pivoted and caught Joe’s eye. I gotta go, my mom’s probably worried sick. Thanks again, Mr. Drive. And as for the other thing, don’t worry about it. He clamped his lips together to illustrate his silence, then loped down the street and around the corner.

Joe stuck around in the street long enough to gauge the temperature of the neighborhood, then went back inside. He drained the rest of his cold cocoa and stared into the dark.

Trouble had landed close to his quiet, backwater life tonight. Landed hard enough to suck the very air from his lungs. It was a mine accident, he told himself. Nothing more.

Trouble had come to Joe’s door a few months before, too. Pulled him away from his quiet life, as far away as Mars, to help one of the solar system’s richest Elites, Ella Pound, escape from the gilded cage her own father had put her in. Now she was with the Resistance, the charismatic figurehead of their own propaganda machine. The trip back into the wider world had shown Joe how far the solar system had deteriorated during his three years of isolation. On the whole, the experience left a bad taste in his mouth.

He sighed, picked up the oxygen masks and went to the fireplace to take them back downstairs. Then he turned and stashed them in a cubby near the door. Just in case.

Chapter 2—Accident or Murder?

Joe’s link buzzed in his pocket halfway through the next morning. It was a message from Jeremy, the first Joe had ever received from the boy.

Mr. Drive, can you come over? Now? Please. The urgency behind the words was clear as a bell. Joe checked his pocket for his Sneaky Pete laser pencil, hustled out the door and started walking.

The morning glittered. This side of the Moon was halfway through the two-week lunar night cycle, but the holographic panels of the Circadian Dome that arched over Heaviside City were excellent quality and you’d never know it. Sunlight and spotless blue sky bathed the streets, warming the grey synthcrete and glinting off every pane of glass. Somebody with connections had whispered into the ears of the climate controllers and ordered up bright sunshine and shirtsleeve temperatures. Joe knew it for what it was—a subtle but effective method of crowd control, meant to ease the last night’s panic—but he wasn’t above enjoying the benefits.  He rolled up the sleeves of his faux denim shirt and let the heat of the faux sun warm his forearms.

The Shaft was busy but subdued. The morning shift had long ago headed out to the three rare earth mines in Heaviside Crater, and the streets and sidewalks were filled with off-shift workers, mothers and shopkeepers. Joe looked hopefully towards Bubba’s Bakery, but no light shone out through the grimy windows. There would be no strawberry cream cheese mooncakes this morning. A wobbly, handwritten note stuck to the bakery door said, Open Later. Maybe.

As Joe strode through the streets on his way to the Worth house, he saw people gathered in tight knots of muted conversation on doorsteps and street corners. Others kept walking, but stared at their links as they went, shaking their heads.

When he turned the corner onto Apollo Street and saw several shopkeepers hanging black banners over their doorways, a dark cloud settled over his heart. He quickened his pace.

Jeremy lived with his mother and father in a prefab mining-company bungalow on a quiet block a few streets over from the main roads. As Joe got within sight, he saw a line of people dropping off cards, flowers and food to the household.

Ah, no, he murmured. When he got close he could hear the crying.

The plain box of a house, originally lunar grey, had been embellished with a small front porch, a warm cream paint job, and forest green window trim. Joe hovered on the porch, not sure how to proceed. At last he messaged Jeremy: I’m here.

Jeremy had been one of the ones crying. His cheeks were still moist when he came out of the front door and rushed towards Joe, stopping himself a foot away, uncertain. Joe reached out and gathered the boy into a strong hug. What’s happened? he asked.

M-my dad, Jeremy mumbled through sobs. Mine accident. This morning. Not the—thing last night. Mom wants to see you.

I’m so sorry, that’s terrible news. Are you sure she wants to see me? Now?

Jeremy answered by pulling back from the hug. He wiped his face with a sleeve, firmed up his shoulders and invited Joe into the house.

A knot of women had gathered around Jeremy’s mother, Angeline, in the small living room. Two men stood in the kitchen, parceling out food that had been brought from other kitchens and pouring steamy cups of mustard-greens tea. They paused as Joe and Jeremy came in. They murmured a hello to Joe and enveloped Jeremy back into their circle, making room for him