Free Project Sail by Anthony DeCosmo Page B

rare. The moon’s surface was, geologically speaking, young and full of variety, both placid and dangerous, from plains of black pitch to volcanos spewing ammonia and methane.
    As discovered years before, that diversity had given birth to microscopic life. This fueled a frenzied rush to the moon by every spacefaring power, and as man had done so often throughout history, with his colonies came war.
    Despite a smog-like haze hovering over the surface, everyone onboard the descending cargo carrier saw the telltale signs of battle to the north. Somewhere near the pole, armies fought as brilliant balls of fire and speeding rocket contrails flew back and forth amid explosive flashes.
    Fortunately, the airspace surrounding their destination appeared clear of danger. The shuttle aimed for a landing pad near a series of squat rectangular buildings that resembled an old style shopping mall but one built of concrete and without windows.
    The ship fired retrorockets and slowed as landing struts extended, leading to a vertical touchdown.
    ---
    The visitors from the Virgil —Hawthorne, Wren, and Fisk—dressed in casual clothes that fit with the crowds inside Camp Conrad, an American outpost. They left Captain Horus to unload his cargo and went searching for the two recruits scheduled to join their ranks.
    Low ceilings, spotty lighting, and a musty smell filled the outpost’s wide halls. A constant drone of chatter, shouts, laughs, and barked orders carried through the corridors.
    The trio passed long lines at food counters, window shoppers longing for the latest hostile atmosphere gear, a crowd of soldiers spilling out from a pub, and entrepreneurs selling bottled Earth air, nano-tattoos, and direct-feed pornography.
    “Is this your first time on Titan?” Fisk asked his companions as they walked.
    Wren said, “Yes, so what?”
    Hawthorne answered, “I’ve visited some of the other colonies, but not in years and never Conrad. Last I heard there were a hundred thousand Americans living here and at least that many Russians, as well as smaller colonies from the European Alliance.”
    They pushed through a crowd that gathered around a transport schedule board and then nearly collided with a technician directing a robotic cart loaded with luggage.
    Hawthorne saw a sign blocking off a dark hallway that cautioned low gravity and green atmospheric integrity warning lights marked every fifty feet, paired with open bulkheads. If one of those lights turned red, the bulkheads would close fast, splitting the slow-of-foot in two.
    Fisk’s head moved side to side as if on a swivel, either fascinated or worried by the bustling crowd.
    “I guess a lot of people live on this planet,” he said.
    Wren corrected, “It’s a moon, dumb ass.”
    Hawthorne started, “So, we’re here to pick up two crewmates?” but his eyes fell on an attractive woman outside a shop that promised duty-free booze and cigars, drawing his attention in three different directions.
    Fisk unfolded two pieces of e-paper, each resembled a computer screen although physically they were the size and thickness of a page from an old paperback book. He handed one to Hawthorne saying, “Round up Lieutenant Thomas, me and Leo will hunt down Dr. King.”
    If he had not been so distracted by the store and the woman, Commander Hawthorne might have been suspicious. Instead, he accepted the dossier after giving it only a quick glimpse.
    Fisk went on, “The garrison duty officer is expecting us and the transfer has been processed already.”
    “Sure.”
    “Meet back at the shuttle in, say, three hours?” Fisk said.
    “Make it four,” Hawthorne replied with his eyes still on the store and the woman. “I might do some shopping. Horus said our window doesn’t open for another ten hours anyway.”
    “Okay. Um, good luck, Commander.”
    That did get his attention but Fisk and Wren were already walking off at a pace that resembled a getaway.
    Hawthorne finally read the e-paper. While