Lunar Crisis: Age of Expansion - A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Shadow Vanguard Book 2) Read online

  Lunar Crisis

  Shadow Vanguard, Book Two

  Tom Dublin

  Michael Anderle

  Lunar Crisis (this book) is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2018 Tom Dublin, Michael Anderle & Craig Martelle

  Cover by Andrew Dobell, www.creativeedgestudios.co.uk

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First Edition, June 2018

  The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2015-2018 by Michael T. Anderle.

  Contents

  Kurthurian Gambit Universe

  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 21

  Chapter 22

  Bonus Scene

  Author Notes - Tom Dublin

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  Books by Tom Dublin

  Books by Michael Anderle

  A part of

  The Kurtherian Gambit Universe

  Written and Created

  by Michael Anderle

  Lunar Crisis Team

  JIT Beta Readers -

  From all of us, our deepest gratitude!

  James Caplan

  Micky Cocker

  John Ashmore

  Kim Boyer

  Paul Westman

  If we missed anyone, please let us know!

  To Arran and Sam, my fellow adventurers.

  — Tom

  To Family, Friends and

  Those Who Love

  To Read.

  May We All Enjoy Grace

  To Live The Life We Are

  Called.

  — Michael

  1

  Damkin Prime, City of Loturn, Back Street Slave Market

  Adina Choudhury dialed her modified Jean Dukes Special up to five, aimed the weapon at the forehead of the auctioneer in the center of the abandoned warehouse, and fired.

  The Huttut's head exploded in a mass of blood, bone fragments, and brain tissue, showering the stunned crowd with a mixture of all three.

  Panic quickly overruled any sense of satisfaction caused by the illegal sale of chained alien children and the customers ran for cover.

  "Nice shooting!" enthused Tc'aarlat through Adina's earpiece. "He won't be selling kids again any time soon. Score one for the Shadows!"

  "Thanks," replied Adina, sweeping her gun to the left and awarding the biggest-spending slave buyer a two-inch-wide hole through his chest and heart. "A little messier than I'd originally planned, but effective all the same."

  "Not as messy as this, though," promised Tc'aarlat. "See the Huttut with the green shirt running for the north-west exit?"

  "Yeah..."

  WHUMPH!

  A blueish-white beam of charged atoms screamed across the warehouse from a platform to Adina's right, slicing through the target's throat and almost decapitating him.

  The slave dealer's head wobbled at a disturbing angle for a few seconds before the heavy-set alien fell to his knees, then face-first to the floor.

  A fleeing Shrillexian caught the side of the dealer's blood-soaked cranium with his foot as he ran for the exit, severing the few remaining tendons keeping it attached to its owner's body.

  The kick caused the now-detached head to roll across the stained concrete floor and straight into an overturned bucket.

  "GOOOOAAAALLLL!" roared Tc'aarlat into his headset.

  SKAWWWWW! shrieked the raal hawk perched on his shoulder.

  "Keep your voice down!" hissed Jack Marber over the private comm channel. "And that goes for Mist as well!"

  "Yes, but did you see that!" Tc'aarlat exclaimed.

  Despite his desire to keep control of the situation, Jack smiled. "Yes, I saw that, and that's the last time I'm letting you watch my recording of the 1966 soccer World Cup final!"

  "What? Why?"

  "You may remember that England beat Germany 4-2 without resorting to kicking the opposing team's heads around."

  "You're just a sore loser!" Tc'aarlat teased.

  "Sore loser?" Jack protested, turning the dial of his own weapon from the infamous labs of Jean Dukes up to a solid six. "OK, I'll see your 'goal' and raise you this..."

  K-THUNK!

  Both Tc'aarlat and Adina peered out from their respective hiding places and watched as a single black puck about half an inch wide shot across the warehouse. It blasted through the left eye of a Skaine money-lender, exited through the back of his skull, slammed into the mouth of a furious gray alien standing behind him, shattering her teeth, and killing her instantly.

  "Bravo!" cried Tc'aarlat, setting his weapon down so he could applaud the shot. "I'm big enough to admit when I'm beaten. The last piece of chocolate cake in the ship's galley is yours."

  "Much appreciated," muttered Jack, flicking the dial of his gun up another notch and drawing a bead on the owner of the warehouse as he dashed for his reinforced office and the chance of living to sell children another day.

  But Jack wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

  "Last one to rupture a bad guy's spleen buys the coffee."

  ICS Fortitude, Bridge

  "We are ready for departure," announced Solo, the vast cargo ship's Entity Intelligence. "Please fasten your safety belts in preparation for take-off."

  Jack spun in the pilot's seat and flicked a withering glance at the digitized face of the middle-aged woman floating on the viewscreen in front of him.

  "Really?" he demanded. "Are you going to insist we turn off all electronic items and lift our seat trays into a locked and upright position as well?"

  "Actually, Captain Marber, that's a very good—"

  "It was a joke, Solo!" Jack exclaimed. "Please just get us in the air."

  "Not until all safety belts have been securely fastened."

  Jack closed his eyes and worked to calm his breathing. "Yes, Solo," he agreed through clenched teeth.

  Dragging his seatbelt across his chest, he slotted the metal end of the strap into its buckle, ensuring the EI was able to hear the satisfying CLICK!

  "There!" he exclaimed pointedly. "Happy?"

  "I am incapable of experiencing biological emotions such as happiness, Captain," Solo replied. "But as a close approximation, I am now suffi
ciently satisfied with your compliance with safety regulations that I am prepared to continue with our scheduled maneuver."

  Jack turned to face the ship's controls and tapped a command into the keyboard embedded in the ancient-looking racks of equipment. "I've really got to get Adina to take a close look at your core programming," he muttered.

  "You've got to get me to do what?" inquired Adina as she stepped onto the bridge.

  "Delve into the programming of Bossy Knickers up there," Jack said. "She's off on one of her smothering sessions again."

  Adina chuckled. "I actually don't mind that she goes the extra mile to look after us," she admitted. "Then again, she doesn't look like my mother."

  "I told you, that was not my decision!" Jack blustered. "Solo went into my service history without my permission."

  "Good morning, Adina," Solo interrupted. "Please would you be so kind as to secure your safety belt so that I may proceed with lift-off?"

  "Of course, Solo!" beamed Adina, slotting the buckle of her seatbelt into place. "I'm more than happy to do so."

  "Thank you, Adina." The EI smiled. "It is refreshing that at least one of the crew members understands the need to follow the former Empire’s strict safety regulations."

  "Teacher's pet!" grumbled Jack under his breath.

  "Where's Tc'aarlat?" asked Adina, gesturing to the empty copilot's seat.

  "Checking on the kids to make sure they're ready to leave," Jack replied. "He said some of them are a little nervous. The slave traders kidnapped them when they were very young, and they don't remember much if anything about the families coming to collect them when we land."

  "Understandable," agreed Adina. "They've been through a lot. Imagine watching your friends and siblings being sold off to work as unpaid servants for unscrupulous toffs or to fill the bellies of cannibalistic merchants."

  Jack shook his head slowly and stared into the distance. "It's a shitty way to live, if you can even call it living. At least some of them will make it home."

  "There'll be more out there," Adina offered. "We may have closed down the slave ring here, but whoever that Huttut was working for is bound to have other kids elsewhere. Those types don't put all their eggs in one basket."

  "Who's a bastard?" asked Tc'aarlat, entering the bridge and heading for his seat. On his leather shoulder pad, Mist was busy preening her deep-red feathers.

  Adina rolled her eyes. "Not 'bastard,' ‘basket!’"

  The Yollin shrugged, his mandibles spreading wide. "OK then, who's a basket?"

  "Snel Gardlarr, that turd-faced slave trader we just fucked up," answered Jack. "I had Solo download all the contacts and messages from his tablet and send them to Nathan. Hopefully he'll get Christina and Terry Henry to track some of those fuckers down and we'll find out just how deep the rabbit hole goes."

  Tc'aarlat sat back in his chair, confused. "Baskets? Rabbit holes? It's no wonder I can never keep up with conversations around here. You humans have weird ways of saying shit. You don’t say what you mean."

  "Well, don't try to join in then," warned Jack. "I don't want to have to follow you around apologizing every time you inform someone that 'the penis is mightier than the sword'."

  "Hey, that phrasebook had very small writing!" protested Tc'aarlat, reaching into a nearby dish of cubed meat and plucking a piece out to feed to Mist. "And I'm pretty sure they weren't real nuns either."

  The trio fell silent. For a few minutes, the only noises on the bridge were the distant hum of the ship's engines and Mist tearing into her chunk of muri.

  "Why haven't we taken off yet?" Tc'aarlat asked, looking at the avatar of Solo on the forward viewscreen. The EI was doing her very best to look aloof and avoid his gaze.

  "Seatbelt," said Adina and Jack in unison.

  "For fuck's sake!" grumbled the Yollin as he reached for his safety harness. "Are we still letting this jumped-up toaster oven push us around?"

  Jack gave him a wry smile. "Just try to remember that that 'toaster oven' can easily cut off our oxygen supply if she doesn't like what you say about her."

  "Fair point," Tc'aarlat acknowledged quietly. "Thank you for your concern, Solo," he told the EI pleasantly as he secured his harness. "I feel safer already."

  "I'm so glad," said Solo, finally sending the command to take off to the necessary ship's components. "Now please sit back and enjoy the flight."

  The Yollin folded his arms. "Don't you worry about that," he responded, wiggling around to get as comfortable as possible. "I've been awake for forty-eight hours straight. Nothing's going to stop me from relaxing for the next week at the very least."

  The ICS Fortitude rose gently into the air. The run-down warehouse buildings, crumbling homes, and hideaways for people traffickers and drug addicts across Loturn City fell away, soon disappearing from view as the ship passed through the cloud layer and continued to rise into the lower atmosphere.

  "That's what I'm talking about!" Tc'aarlat sighed happily, closed his eyes, and settled down for the flight.

  Exactly six seconds later alarms shrieked from every speaker, screen, and tablet on the bridge.

  Tc'aarlat's eyes shot capital-O wide. "What the fuck?!"

  Jack spun in his chair. "Solo, report!"

  The EI's face returned to the screen. "We have incoming, Captain."

  "’Incoming?’" spat Tc'aarlat. "Incoming what? An incoming video call? Incoming mail? Is someone trying to deliver a pepperoni pizza?"

  Solo shook her head. "My apologies, Tc'aarlat. I should have been more precise. We have an incoming missile."

  "What? Who the fuck fired that at us?" Jack barked.

  "I do not currently have that information," replied Solo, "although I am scanning the schematics of the missile for clues to narrow down the identity of the aggrieved party."

  Tc'aarlat gripped the sides of his seat, silently pleased he was wearing his safety harness. "Aggrieved party? I'd say we've gone a tiny bit further than ‘aggrieved’ if these Bistok-frotters are trying to blow us out of the sky!"

  Adina unclipped her seatbelt and jumped to her feet.

  "Please return to your position and fasten your safety belt, Adina," Solo told her firmly.

  "No can do!" yelled Adina in reply as she raced for the door leading off the bridge. "Those kids back there will be terrified. They need someone with them."

  She disappeared into the dimly-lit corridor and the sound of her feet pounding on the metal floor quickly faded.

  The ship banked hard to starboard, and through the forward viewscreen Jack and Tc'aarlat saw a sleek red missile shoot past them, a thick contrail spewing from its engine.

  "I took the liberty of implementing evasive maneuvers, Captain," Solo admitted. "I trust that was not too bold a decision on my part."

  "No!" snapped Jack, flicking switches to activate the external cameras. "Keep taking liberties!"

  "Thank you for your confidence," replied Solo with a smile. "Now please remain seated. A second projectile is heading our way."

  "Then what are you waiting for?" cried Jack. "Take evasive maneuvers again!"

  "I'm afraid that is not an option this time."

  "Why the fuck not?"

  Solo's avatar sighed. "Because this second missile is enhanced with heat-seeking technology...

  "And it has just locked on."

  2

  Planet Taglen, Lymak City, Temple of Persha

  High Priest Jolio Phisk adjusted the golden robes around his shoulders, then raised both hands in the air, palms upward, as he prayed.

  Seated on scores of long wooden benches, almost two thousand pious worshippers copied their leader's posture.

  "Venerable Goddess Persha..." began Phisk, the tiny microphone clipped to his vestments causing his voice to boom from the powerful speakers placed around the lavish church. "We your loyal servants request your divine judgment for our thoughts and actions."

  On cue, the congregation's deferential voices responded aloud, "Judge us, beloved Goddes
s."

  Phisk lowered his hands and rested them on the white-marbled surface of the altar before him.

  "Goddess Persha, we thank you for laying down the three laws which govern our society and determine our behavior..."

  "We thank you," chanted the crowd in return.

  The high priest raised his eyes to the ceiling and continued.

  "You shall obey all decrees from the Goddess Persha."

  "We shall obey," intoned the congregation.

  "We shall not violate any blessed decree."

  "We shall not violate."

  "We shall condemn those who defy any blessed decree."

  "We shall condemn."

  "For it is only by obeying each and every decree shall you be judged pure enough to ascend into the company of Hann, twin sister of Persha and Goddess of Eternal Pleasure."

  "Blessed is the Goddess Hann."

  "Let us demonstrate our adoration for Persha and Hann by donating to the temple fund for the clergy's ongoing work with those less fortunate than ourselves," directed Phisk.

  As he spoke, wardens in plain white robes stepped out from behind pillars and through arched wooden doors in the temple walls. Each carried a golden tray about the size of a book.

  Each warden stood at the end of a bench and passed the tray to the person sitting next to the aisle. On cue, the first worshipper produced a plastic card from their pocket and laid it on the tray. There was a barely-audible beep as the card's data chip was read and a pre-determined monetary donation was withdrawn from the user's bank account. The tray was then passed to the next parishioner.