Saturnius Mons Read online

  SATURNIUS MONS

  Jeremy L. Jones

  Cover Design by Nick Martin

  Edited by Madison Hansen

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names character places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events organizations or persons living or dead is purely coincidental and beyond the interest of either the author or publisher.

  Saturnius Mons

  Ruins of Empire #1

  Copyright ©2018 by Jeremy L. Jones

  ISBN 978-1-7324709-0-3

  ISBN (ePUB) 978-1-7324709-1-0

  All rights reserved. Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention, Universal Copyright Convention, and Pan-American Copyright Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without prior permission of the author.

  To Kari

  The woman whose beauty and kindness inspired Althea, whose stubborn dedication and tenacity inspired Isra, and who inspires me more every day.

  “Gods conceal from men the happiness of death so that they may endure life.”

  Lucan

  PROLOGUE

  As I write this, it is exactly ten years since the beginning of the third millennium AD. Five years ago on July 7th, 2999, I, along with millions of others around the world, watched the launch of Corporation Spaceship: Discovery. The event marked the beginning of a new age of exploration for mankind. It was a testament to the endurance of the human spirit and a symbol of our species’ thirst for knowledge. That was the rhetoric used by the leading members of the Corporation, at least.

  Unknown to the cheering crowds that witnessed the launch, Discovery was a rather ironic name for the vessel. Humankind was not exploring the unknown, but returning to a place they had been forced to abandon centuries ago. When Europeans first set sail for the New World in the eighteenth century, they had no words to describe the act of finding something that nobody knew existed. Here in the third millennium, we shall have to create a word that means ‘to discover what was previously known but since forgotten.’

  It’s hard to imagine that a space-faring civilization once thrived on Earth. Its great cities are little more than ruins, its technological advancements lost to time. Even the Ministry and the Corporation are mere shadows of the governments and corporations that once dominated the globe.

  There was a time when global civilization spread to every moon and planet in the solar system that could be made adaptable to human life. They established colonies for resource extraction and trade. Distances that seemed insurmountable became crowded thoroughfares. It was a wonder of human creation never before seen nor replicated.

  Then came the Fall of Civilization. Deprived of resources and the technical knowledge needed to maintain them, those colonies collapsed. The people, however, continued. On September 05, 3002 the first mission to Mars since the Fall found an entire society still thriving on the vast equatorial plains. The explorers that first met with this long-lost civilization described them as a society of scattered, barely civilized warlords. Some went as far as to describe them as ‘savages’. Any memory of their ancestral homeland existed only in myth and legend passed down through the generations.

  In spite of that—or because of it—they had survived. Like the Martian society, our 31st century world is a crude facsimile of an ancient golden age. What caused civilization to collapse into catastrophe only a couple centuries into the second millennium? What happened to the people left behind on those far flung worlds?

  I have dedicated my life to finding the answers to these questions and this book is my attempt to share them with the world.

  -from The Fall: The Decline and Failure of 21st Century Civilization by Martin Raffe.

  CHAPTER ONE

  It could be that civilization is an inherently destructive force. A kind of virus that consumes and destroys everything around it and, when it can no longer sustain itself, commits suicide.

  -from The Fall: The Decline and Failure of 21st Century Civilization by Martin Raffe.

  Then, Viekko was awake.

  Coming out of hibernation was like waking for the first time. No memories. No pain. No fear. Just darkness and an all-encompassing comfortable stench like that of a well-worn boot.

  The darkness turned into a blinding light and Viekko heard a computerized female voice. Some programmer somewhere probably thought that it sounded friendly and comforting. For Viekko it sounded like a woman whispering words of comfort while she looked for a good place to stick a knife.

  "Good morning. Your name is Viekko Spade. Today is April 3rd, 3010. You have been asleep for thirteen months, seven days and sixteen hours. You are aboard the Corporation Resource Transport Ship Innovation in a transfer orbit around Saturn en route to the moon, Titan.”

  Titan. The word echoed in his head like a profanity screamed in church. Memories of exactly who he was and what he was doing here were still fuzzy. They were like pictures in a stranger’s photo album. But something about Titan made his guts stir. He knew there was to be some nasty business on Titan, but he couldn’t remember why. Only the vague feeling that if there was to be any judgment on the day he died, Titan would be part of the conversation. And possibly the cause.

  The voice continued, “The other members of your party, Althea Fallon and Isra Jicarrio, are already reanimated. Althea Fallon requests that you see her in Medical Bay 25 for a post-hibernation physical exam. Some mild muscle discomfort and nausea are a normal part of reanimation."

  Whoever wrote this spiel obviously had a twisted sense of humor. It was like saying that jumping out of the airlock 'may cause a slight change in pressure'. Every muscle in his body felt like it had been tied to two horses running in opposite directions and the only thing that kept him from being sick in the hibernation pod was the fact that he couldn’t muster the strength. Also, he hadn't eaten anything for over a year.

  There was a hiss of rushing air and a drop in pressure that made his ears pop. A small door opened near his feet to a white, glowing beyond. A harness that held him down released and he started to float in a box a little bigger than a coffin.

  “The Corporation welcomes you as a guest aboard Innovation. Please notify any crew member if there is anything we can do to make your visit more productive. Be careful as extended hibernation may have prolonged effects. Thank you and have a pleasant day.”

  The last of his memories assembled themselves in his brain and the phrase ‘have a pleasant day’ seemed like the punchline of a sick joke. He was Viekko Spade, wild man of the Martian steppes. A kind of human ruin from a society caught in the rising tide of civilization. He was here as part of the Human Reconnection Project, a small team of explorers whose aim it was to protect and preserve extra-terrestrial societies and cultures.

  But, really, if there was a society left on Titan, he was going to destroy it. Not by choice, but it was inevitable. Civilization was about to descend on Titan and civilization has the same effect on a native culture as a wildfire has on an ancient forest.

  But that was his job and it was time he got to it.

  The hibernation chamber aboard Innovation was little more than two filing cabinets set across from one another. One for personal effects and one for humans.

  He pulled himself out of his pod and hung there for a moment hoping the spinning in his head would calm down. Around him, others floated out of their own little holes. Scientists, engineers, and those with no skill except the ability to hold a gun all milled together in this little room. Some looked green and bent over double as they got violently ill inside a black plastic bag. Others didn’t seem affe
cted at all.

  Trying to keep a low profile, Viekko pushed his way to the other side of the room and found the locker with his own personal effects. He pressed his thumb to a black pad near the locker number. The bolts slid aside and the steel-colored door swung open. He retrieved the few clothes he brought from Earth: a white khaki suit and a wide-brimmed hat with a black stripe. They seemed archaic and frivolous in a spaceship of simple white plastic and Spartan accommodations. Still, the jacket had its uses. For example, it provided a convenient hiding place that the overworked Corporate dock security wasn’t as likely to check. Keeping an eye on those around him, he pulled out the suit jacket and started rummaging through the pockets.

  If one were to distill all the pleasures of the world and make them into a drug, they would be left with a dose of triple-T. If someone wanted to destroy that world, they would make sure every single person had a dose. It was a drug that made everything feel so good and its victim feel so sharp and alive that the un-enhanced life wasn’t worth living anymore.

  He plucked a little blue glass container from his pocket. It was shaped like a pill and about as large as the tip of his little finger. The blue gas that swirled inside was so reactive that it had to be contained in glass as it would melt most conventional polymers. Then he placed it between his molars and bit down. There was a sharp sting of glass against his gums. He breathed the gas it released. It tasted like burned plastic and sugar and burned his lungs.

  As quick as the flick of a light switch, his world was clear. He tasted the blood from where the shards made tiny cuts in his mouth. He could smell the chemicals they pumped into the ship’s air supply to combat the effects of zero gravity on the human body. The hair on his arms stood up at the chill in the air. He felt fear, trepidation, and excitement.

  He felt alive.

  Next to his suit, there was the standard light blue cotton pants and shirt that was the unofficial uniform of Corporation vessels. He pulled it out of the locker and started to squeeze into it. Whoever was in charge of making these things obviously never planned on a man of Viekko’s size. It wasn’t just that he was tall, but he was tall and broad. Men had a tendency to call him ‘sir’ when he was in earshot. Probably to make up for the things whispered about him when he wasn’t.

  Then there was his hair. Martian warriors traditionally let their hair grow their entire life and braided it into a queue. It was a symbol of respect and masculinity on his home world but here, in zero gravity and unbraided, it was a giant, irritating cloud of hair.

  He pulled it back and braided it as well as he could while floating in the hibernation chamber. He briefly considered asking someone to help but the only people on this ship who could braid hair were probably women and they would do it wrong. They’d make him look like a girl. His queue might be a mess, but at least he’d have his dignity.

  Dressed and put together, he floated out of the hibernation chamber hatch. The corridors outside were already crammed with people flying toward some important thing or another. Luckily, med bay 25 wasn’t far nor terribly hard to find. Viekko knocked on the outside of the hatch a couple of times. He wasn’t sure why; it just seemed like a polite thing to do before he went in.

  What Viekko saw inside was the most fantastic torture chamber ever dreamed up even by the most diseased mind. Its primary feature was five slabs that hovered in the center of the room, each fitted with a set of straps. Some might say that they were there to keep patients secure in zero gravity and Viekko was sure that was true. However, above the slabs there was a jumble of steel and plastic all set on metal arms and flexible hoses so the medic could select something horrible for every hole the gods drilled into him. Those that wouldn’t fill a hole could put a new one in. The sight of the apparatus probably gave more than a few people a powerful urge to make for the nearest exit if not for the straps.

  Althea Fallon was waiting for him. She floated near one of the corners touching icons on a hologram projected in front of her. She wore the same blue jumpsuit Viekko did, although she filled it out much better. Of course, Althea would look good in a tarp. She had the kind of fiery too-red hair and piercing green eyes that was only achievable through genetic modification. Floating there, she looked like a kind of angel sent to redeem humanity. Or possibly damn it.

  Althea saw Viekko climb through the hatch and hit a switch on a device attached to her arm that made the projection disappear.

  “Viekko,” said Althea, smiling at him, “How are you feeling?”

  In his youth, Viekko heard stories about women so beautiful that armies would fight and die in their name. Any man fighting for Althea would never see battle; she had a smile that would make a convert of anyone.

  “Good,” said Viekko, “Under the circumstances.”

  “Any discomfort? Muscle aches, joint pain, nausea, that sort of thing?” said Althea, floating closer.

  “No more than usual.”

  “Lay down,” said Althea, patting one of the slabs. “Let’s have a look.”

  ‘Lay down’ was an interesting term for what he had to do. He twisted and arranged his body roughly parallel to the slab. Althea pressed a few more buttons on the metal cuff attached to her arm. Stiff straps unrolled from the side of the slab, around Viekko’s body, and bound him to the metal surface and a hologram of Viekko’s body materialized above him.

  “How’s things on Earth?” asked Viekko.

  Althea touched the air near the hologram and the projection’s skin and muscle disappeared revealing Viekko’s inner workings.

  “We’re not on Earth,” said Althea her voice all-business. “You’ve got mild muscle atrophy. But your cardiovascular system looks good. Blood pressure normal. Heart is strong.”

  “You seein’ anyone?”

  Althea floated over Viekko. Her red hair radiated around her face like a halo. She produced a small light from her pocket and waved it over Viekko’s eyes. “Reflexes normal. Pupil dilation is a little slow.”

  “You didn’t answer the question,” mumbled Viekko squinting into the light.

  She turned off the light and turned her attention back to the hologram. “That’s because it’s none of your business. Take a deep breath please.”

  Viekko did. “How ‘bout the medical consortium? Ain’t they any closer to reinstatin’ you as a doctor?”

  “Another deep breath please.”

  It wasn’t that Viekko wanted to be with Althea again. Well…he did. He’d chop off his queue at the base of his neck for another roll in the hay with Althea Fallon. But that wasn’t what he was after now. Viekko found that, when he woke up on the ass-end of the solar system, it was best to focus on the constants of life. Establish a kind of psychic link to those things that proved he was still in the same world that he left when he entered hibernation.

  He’d always have his white wide-brimmed hat and khaki suit.

  He’d always wear the queue of a Martian warrior.

  And Althea Fallon would always treat him like a memory she’d rather forget.

  There was a sharp jab in the base of his neck. “Ow!” said Viekko pressing against the restraints, “Ya see, that’s your problem. Bedside manner. I’ll bet if you were a little

  nicer—”

  Althea pulled something away from his neck. “My mistake. I assumed a tough man such as yourself could handle a simple blood test.”

  Viekko tried to relax. The good news was that triple-T was hard to detect unless the medic was a good one. Something about the blood brain barrier…he didn’t know. But it was always possible. It hadn’t happened yet, but it was possible.

  Althea floated up to look at the results on a computer screen. “Viekko, are you sure that you are feeling quite all right?”

  The problem was Althea was one of the best medics in the Universe despite being banished to the ass-end of it.

  Viekko nearly strained a facial muscle trying to look innocent, “Whatcha mean?”

  “It’s just t
hat…well it’s probably nothing, but your plasma endorphins are quite low.”

  Viekko shrugged as much as the restraints would allow, “It’s hibernation. Does all sorts of sarmagchin baas to my innards.”

  Althea floated to another computer terminal. “Low endorphins can be indicative of several problems, but nothing life threatening. It’s worth watching in case it materializes into something more severe. Would you take off your shirt please?”

  The restraints released and Viekko floated off the slab. “Always tryin’ to get me naked.”

  “Without the sexual innuendo, if you please?”

  Viekko grumbled as he pulled the shirt over his head. “I seem to remember a woman with a sense of humor.”

  Althea opened a compartment and pulled out something that looked like two irregular slabs of metal held together by wires and pocked with lights, ports, and small displays. To say it looked complicated would be to say that the sun looked big. Some engineer had obviously worked out some childhood issues on this piece of equipment.

  “You wouldn’t believe the amount of data the Corporation demands from crews about to do missions on the surface of a planet. Especially crews they are not keen on having in the first place. If my sense of humor is lacking, it is because we’re on a schedule and there’s no time slot marked out with your particular brand of … let’s call it charm.”

  “And just what is that thing?” accused Viekko pointing to the device in Althea’s hand.

  Althea floated forward. “The RX5 Field Medical Regulator. Something I helped develop before…” she sighed as her voice trailed off. Then she continued, “It will let me monitor your vitals during the mission. Come here and turn around please.”

  Viekko maneuvered along the wall until he was about a meter away from Althea. As soon as he spun around, she clamped the device on his shoulder. The thing tightened and felt like it was digging into his flesh. He winced as it whirred, whined, and finally settled into place.