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Your name is Anthony Jones. You’re a Human free Trader. Your ship is called The Longest Night, and you have two crewmates, Tora-no, a four-armed Althani Soldier and Creeoona, a Tulmath Cyber Wizard. Three adventures lie open to you, which one will you pick, and what will happen along the way? You get to decide what happens in this story, as you pick your way through various plot twists.
Edward watched as Phobos and Deimos raced overhead, each battling for supremacy over the Martian sky. Supremacy, he laughed to himself. How could two little chunks of rock with almost no gravity vie for supremacy?
Things were different back home on Earth. Now Earth had a real moon. Edward looked off to the east and saw the twin star of the Earth-Moon system rising just to the north of one of the giant volcanoes. Edward wasn’t sure which volcano; he didn’t really even care. He just wanted to get back to that twin star on the horizon, but of course, he probably never would…not if his mission failed.
“Probably not if it succeeds either,” he said aloud. No one would be able to hear him. There was no one else out on the red sands with him, and he didn’t even have his suit radio on, so it wouldn’t have mattered if someone had been standing right next to him; they wouldn’t have heard.
Phobos and Deimos continued their race across the sky, but it wasn’t really a race. With different orbits, they weren’t running alongside each other.
Edward shook his head. There really wasn’t time for this. He had a mission to carry out, and it was a simple mission, kill the head of the Armies of Ares, Felicia Penthesilea. He was sure it was a pseudonym, but he’d never bothered to check into what her real name was, and it wouldn’t have mattered to him anyway. She was a target, not a person. And she wasn’t just any target, she was the leader of one of the most aggressive terrorist organizations the solar system had ever seen. A group that would do anything to get their Mars for Mars mantra across to anyone that was listening, but especially to those who weren’t listening.
The remainder of his mission was to take out as many of her top leaders as possible, which is what had led him to Pettit Crater on the Amazonis Planitia. Soon, within two hours, there would be a grand meeting of most of the heads of the Armies of Ares, and Edward was determined to rupture the dome and kill as many of them as he could…and hopefully not get himself killed in the process, but his death was almost a certainty. The fact that he was going to commit what was basically a terrorist act to kill terrorists didn’t strike him as odd. The Armies of Ares were an enemy of Earth, and the other planets and satellites in the Allied Planets, including Mars, and the removal of the group in any way was the first priority of the newly established government.
He checked his air, still two hours in this tank, and he still had eight more tanks in reserve, enough for two days should he need it. Deimos had now set, but he could still see Phobos heading for the horizon. Panic was gone, but there was still fear to be reckoned with. He shook his head again. What a stupid observation. He wasn’t afraid of dying; he had a mission to carry out, and if he died, it would be an honorable death, and it would assure his place in immortality.
Rovers began to appear, headed for the small dome. The time was coming. Checking the chronometer in his helmet, he saw that it was coming up on the end of the day and that damn thirty-seven extra minutes when the chronometer was useless, just stuck on the same time.
Adjusting his telescopic lenses with a click on the controls at the side of his mouth, he zoomed in on the dome, hating the bitter taste of the aluminum-gallium composite of the molar controls. Even from four miles away, the telescopic lenses were powerful enough to make out the pores on the noses of the terrorists if he wanted them to. Satisfied with just naming some of the people to himself, he watched as each vehicle headed to the dome, allowing the embedded chip in his cortex to catalog each person.
It didn’t take him long to identify the person he was looking for. She was in the twelfth crawler to come across the sandy plains. The chip in his head wasn’t even necessary. He “knew” her face.
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From the Nomadic Delirium Press Blog:
The ground has been broken, in a virtual sense, for the creation of Ephemeris 2.0. This time the game will not be a d6 game, instead it will involve all of those little dice that you gamers like to collect, and we know you do…because we do it too…
Although the general skeleton of the game will still exist, we’re looking to do a massive overhaul of the game, and we’d like to know what you the players would like to see in a new version of the game, so please drop by one of the blogs and post your comments. We’d love to hear from you.
We’re still a loooooooooooooong way off from releasing the new version, so you can still pick up any of the original game supplements at https://www.drivethrurpg.com/browse/pub/2805
Edward’s mission is simple, blow up a dome on Mars that’s full of Martian terrorists. What can go wrong? Everything! Things just keep going from bad to worse, as the Agency demands results, results he thinks he’s accomplishing…but they say he’s not…
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Crowds of people pushed around Ereven Samuelson as he left the Callisto Prime docking port. He looked at as many of them as he could, without actually looking any of them in the eye. He noticed several suspicious stares. He was, after all, leaving a low rate shuttle, even though he was wearing the long blonde ponytail of the Ganymedian aristocracy. Nor did it help that he wore the brightly colored, billowy blouse and pants worn by members of the Outerworld governments.
Two men began to walk towards him as soon as he cleared the passport check. Ereven looked for a place to go, but the crowds were oppressively stifling, and he had to follow the mob wherever it led him. The two men in plain grey tight jumpsuits aggressively pushed their way through the crowds towards him, stopping right in front of him.
Ereven stopped, while the crowd parted around the massive men, with a number of grumbles and inappropriate comments about Ereven’s and the men’s lineage being made by the angry mob.
“Excuse me, sir, might we have a word with you?” one of the gray suited men asked.
Ereven glanced at him, again trying not to meet his eyes. He was a burly man, just the type Ereven knew would be looking for him. The other man was even larger.
“I don’t think so,” Ereven mumbled.
The two men looked at each other in obvious surprise. “It will only take a minute,” the smaller of the two behemoths said.
Just then a space opened in the surging current of the crowd, and Ereven darted into it, glancing back to make sure the others weren’t following. They weren’t. They were just standing there with dumb expressions on their faces. Ereven had no idea who they might have been, but he knew it was best to not take any chances. The governor’s men could be anywhere.
He glanced down at his clothes and realized how much he stood out. If he didn’t want them finding him, he’d have to change, and soon.
He stopped into the first clothing store he saw and picked out a dull gray suit, the type that was typical of the working class on the satellites.
The clerk eyed him suspiciously as Ereven set the clothes on the counter. “In some kind of trouble?”
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Richard paced the room from one side to the other, 15 steps each direction. He’d counted it the first three times he’d paced it out, and now he had to make sure it was the same 15 steps each time he did it. They would be arriving at Foster’s Planet by noon ship time tomorrow, and Richard really wanted to watch the approach, but the viewing room was out of the question, almost everyone on the ship, other than the crew obviously, would be there wanting to see the spectacle. That was just too much for him.
With a sigh, Richard walked over to the monitor on the wall, 15 steps, and punched in the codes to get the display to come up on the monitor. The scene in the viewing room would be the actual approach. His monitor would only show him a camera eye’s view of the approach. Not quite the same thing, but he figured it would have to do.
“Computer,” he called out, “How far are we from Foster’s Planet?”
The computer responded, “Rounded or exact kilometers?”
It seemed like the computer had learned that Richard didn’t like the rounded numbers, because it had given him rounded numbers the first few times he’d asked it questions. That might be ok for most, but Richard needed exact numbers, and he’d informed the computer of this.
“Exact please,” he answered.
“We are currently 1,683,477,864 kilometers distance from Foster’s Planet, although this number has of course changed in the time it’s taken to report this. Do you require an updated distance?”
“Not necessary,” Richard answered as his brain started to take the number apart.
Divisible by 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, and 9, he thought. The fact that it was divisible by so many of the single integers pleased a part of his brain, but another part was frustrated like always. Just once he’d like to be able to look at a number and not feel the need to take it apart. It was a great trick when he’d learned it in pre-algebra all those years ago, but his brain had latched onto it and had never let it go.
He shook his head. He’d tried to stop himself so many times in the past, but he could never get his brain to not do it. Why worry about it now?
He took the time to examine the approaching pinpoint of light that was Foster’s Planet. There were no real details to see, although that would change quickly. He’d seen numerous images of Foster’s Planet. He knew it looked quite a bit like Earth, although Foster’s Planet had 10% more land mass than Earth, and a gravity that was 97% of Earth. Most people probably wouldn’t know the difference, but Richard figured that he probably would.
Most important to him was the fact that there were only 174,873 people on the planet. That would be a nice change from the billions on Earth. Only divisible by 3, he thought with a sigh.
For a moment, he thought about resuming his pacing, but he was tired, and even if sleep would be difficult, he knew he had to try.
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Captain Rick Jamieson and the crew of the SFS Lincoln had been stuck in the Kuiper Belt for nearly nine months now, monitoring cometary fragments for possible threats to the colonies further into the solar system, and looking for any potential rebel activity that might rise up at the edge of the solar system.
So far, they had found no cometary fragments that posed a risk to anything aside from possibly another cometary fragment, and they hadn’t seen any signs of rebel activity, or any activity of any kind. In fact, they hadn’t even seen another ship since they’d arrived in the Kuiper Belt, but at least they hadn’t ended up in the Oort Cloud like they originally thought they were going to.
Still, to say that morale was low onboard the Lincoln would be an understatement. They’d basically been banished for failing a mission that was pretty much doomed to failure before they’d even set out on it. Three enlisted personnel and one officer were now in the brig for mutinous activities, and Captain Jamieson was sure there’d be more to follow. Hell, he’d felt like mutinying a few times himself. This was an unjust punishment for something that wasn’t their fault, but that was part of the military life. Trying not to sigh, he realized that he had more than two years left before this rotation was up. When it was up, he seriously thought about retiring, or at least leaving the service.
“Nothing on scans,” Lt. Andrew Jenkins said from the helm. It was the hourly report that he was required to give. He didn’t sound enthused to be giving the report, and Captain Jamieson certainly wasn’t enthused to be receiving it.
“Thank you, lieutenant,” he said automatically.
“Surprise, surprise,” his first officer, Elena Castillo said.
Captain Jamieson shot her a freezing glare.
“Apologies, sir,” she said, but he knew she didn’t really mean it. She was just as frustrated as he was, but she needed to remember that neither of them could show that frustration. Morale didn’t need to drop any lower than it already was, or they’d be mopping blood up off of the decks.
“We’ll be back where we belong soon,” he said, even though he wasn’t really sure if he believed it. No, truth be told, he didn’t believe it at all.
His first officer didn’t answer him. A wise choice, he thought.
“I’m going to go put our next report together. I’ll be in my quarters should you need me.”
He could see in her expression that she was thinking the same thing he was, it’ll be yet another very short report, since there was really nothing to report, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to need to call him for anything.
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The day he surrendered to Captain Bryan Howard was supposed to be the best day of young Robert Jenkins’ life, and maybe it was, but something never felt quite right to him.
The young Captain, who had also once been a member of the Rose Clan, had taken him back to a mobile unit, and Robert couldn’t believe everything he saw. Wherever he looked, there were soldiers, and these weren’t like the gang members he was used to seeing; these people were heavily armed. Robert had seen a few military style weapons in the Wastelands, but nothing like what these people were carrying, and even though he got a few weird looks, everyone was nice to him once Captain Howard explained his situation.
“Go ahead,” Captain Howard had said, pointing at what he had called a tub that was now filled with steaming water and bubbles. Robert didn’t understand.
“You’ve never had a bath, have you?” the Captain asked.
“I’ve heard of them,” Robert said, “But, I’ve never seen anything like this…what am I supposed to do?”
“You take your clothes off, and you get in and soak. There’s more soap there and a wash cloth. You clean yourself, and then you get out and dry off, and there’s some clean clothes over there that you can put on.”
The idea of a clean body and clean clothes was odd to him. He’d taken numerous showers, but most of them had been very cold, so he’d gotten out as fast as he could, and he’d often washed his clothes in a sink before, but Robert could actually smell a fragrance coming from the clothes that were sitting next to the toilet.
“You can stay in as long as you want,” the Captain said with a smile.
Robert suddenly felt his stomach turn and he started to tremble. “Where will you be?” he cautiously asked.
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Robert Jenkins cowered in the corner of the disheveled building, sweat pouring from every pore. His grungy clothes were even dirtier than normal as he desperately tried to catch his breath. The patrol had almost caught him, and he knew what would happen. If he was lucky, a life in a Rocky Mountain States of America prison, but if the patrol had been too busy, or didn’t feel like following the “rules,” he’d be just another dead kid from the Wastelands left on the side of a street in Campo, Colorado.
The Rocky Mountain States were supposed to be so great, at least that’s what he’d heard, but what he had seen so far in Campo, abandoned buildings, dust, and high winds, reminded him a lot of Boise City in what used to be Oklahoma, but that had been long before Robert had been born. Now Boise City was just a series of ruins run by various gangs. His, the Rose Clan, had sent him to Colorado. He was supposed to make his way to Springfield, where he was supposed to steal some resources. That had been the plan, anyway. That had been when there were four of them. Jackson got fried in an electric fence while crossing the border. Evans was shot dead by some random hunter who thought he was a dear, or some shit like that. And Billings got hit by a truck just outside of Campo. They hadn’t seen any traffic since they’d entered Colorado, so Billings had thought it would be safe to walk down the middle of what had been Highway 287…maybe it was still called that in Colorado. In what used to be Oklahoma, it was just called The Road, a place where the gangs could try to take out the occasional truck going between the Rocky Mountain States and Texas, and those were few and far between.
Billings had been walking down the middle of the Highway when the truck came out of nowhere and took him out at 200 miles per hour. Now Robert was left alone to complete a mission that would probably require at least two of them, but if he returned to the Rose Clan empty handed, Jim Bob, the head of his clan would probably have him killed.
“Talk about lose-lose,” he mumbled to himself, and then quickly put his hand over his mouth as he heard a noise outside the “door.” The boarded over relic of a door had offered no resistance to his entering, and he’d hoped that he’d put everything back into place so that no one would notice that there might be someone inside.
But now the movement had stopped right outside of the door. Robert thought he could hear breathing, but maybe it was just his own.
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From the Nomadic Delirium Press Blog:
For one day only, you can pick up One More Good Trade for just $1.50 at https://www.drivethrufiction.com/product/365386
Your name is Anthony Jones. You’re a Human free Trader. Your ship is called The Longest Night, and you have two crewmates, Tora-no, a four-armed Althani Soldier and Creeoona, a Tulmath Cyber Wizard. Three adventures lie open to you, which one will you pick, and what will happen along the way? You get to decide what happens in this story, as you pick your way through various plot twists.
SF Author J Alan Erwine's Blog 