Moons

By R. E. Mason

MOONS is a tale of two worlds at cross-purposes, orbiting around a once-habitable planet. Read how two men, strangers to each other, are commissioned to find and bring their chosen heir back to claim her right to ascendency in time to stop a despot from taking control of both Moons.

MOONS is an action-packed sci-fi adventure novel, guaranteed to keep readers on the edge of their seats.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Jan 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9781662938979

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The Summons

Corvin stirred as the pitch of the airbus’ twin engines slid to a throbbing drone. He blinked groggily at the clock mounted in the cabin’s forward bulkhead and scowled.

Damn you, Lowan. What the hell’s so important you drag my ass out here at this hour?

Sir? came a voice through the cabin’s intercom.

Corvin flinched, realizing he’d spoken out loud.

Sorry. I was just wondering where we are, he said to the voice.

Sir, we have arrived at our destination and are beginning our descent. We will be on the ground in four minutes. Please sit back and secure your seat belt.

Corvin slid the shade up on the window next to his seat to be greeted by brilliant morning sunlight pouring in on him. He reflexively shielded his eyes against the blinding glare.

They were passing over a broad green meadow and coming up on a line of tree-covered hills. He frowned. This wasn’t right.

Shouldn’t we be making our approach from the south?

Sir, you will find that some things have changed here. We’re not told which approach we’ll be using until we’re almost here, the pilot said. Oh, and sir, I’ve been informed your escort is waiting for you at the pad.

Corvin was puzzled. Escort? What escort?

Sir, it’s part of the new security procedures out here. Special ops now meet everyone arriving at the Manor.

Corvin’s brow furrowed. Lowan hadn’t mentioned a word about security problems out here.

The Royal Guard had always been in charge of such matters, continually guarding the main and rear gates and all the entrances to the estate. Surveillance cameras covered the grounds, and a roving watch patrolled the fenced perimeter. The measures had always been more than adequate. What had changed?

But then, Lowan had given him no reason for the late-night summons at all. Because of the odd circumstance, Corvin suspected it had something to do with his great-uncle Anton.

But whatever the reason, his presence hadn’t been a request. It had been a summons. One he couldn’t refuse.

His last trip out here had been almost two years ago for the state funeral for Toliver, Anton’s eldest grandson and presumed heir. Since that event, Corvin had come up with one excuse or another to stay away. Now, practically hijacked, he could think of no good reason for his long absence, and he was feeling a little uneasy at the thought of facing the old man now.

The airbus glided above a stand of ancient black faba trees that ran from the main gate to the landing pad.

The engines began a throbbing vibration as they rotated from the horizontal to the vertical. With the stabilizers controlling the pitch, the bus started a slow descent, settling softly on the pad. The rear door lowered to the ground to provide a short ramp for disembarking.

Sir, you may now disembark. Please watch your step. Your escort is waiting on your right. Have a nice day.

Corvin headed for the rear door and bounded down the ramp to the pad. He paused for a long look ahead, up the grassy slope to the Manor atop the hill.

It all appeared quiet and peaceful, nothing out of the ordinary.

He made out two figures, one beneath the portico at the west end, a second at the south entrance. But sentries were always on duty at all access doors, day and night, and at that distance he couldn’t tell if they were Royal Guard or SOS.

Sir, you will step this way, came a rather surly command from someone on is right.

Two men waited at a transport parked outside the landing circle. They wore the black and gray uniforms of Special Ops. The older one—a sergeant by the insignia on his helmet—sat up on the front seat. He appeared pleasant enough. But his partner, a sour-faced junior leaning casually against the transport’s front cowling, made no effort to show the slightest respect.

Corvin assumed the younger man had issued the command, and he could not let him get away with that. He walked casually over to the transport and purposefully ignored him and addressed the sergeant.

Sergeant, would you please indulge me and climb down from your perch. I would rather not have to talk up to anyone, nor be talked down to, he said.

The younger man grunted something surly, and Corvin fixed him with a hard stare.

And as for you, lad, you will show the proper respect due to me. Stand up straight and try to look like you belong in that uniform, he snapped.

The younger man gaped with surprise at Corvin, then up at his superior, who gave him a hard look. The junior grudgingly pushed himself into a more upright attitude.

The sergeant climbed down from the seat, came around to Corvin, and stood at attention.

Sir, please accept my apology for our bad manners. We haven’t had much experience dealing with persons of your station, he said.

The apology sounded sincere enough, and Corvin graciously accepted it.

And sir, we will be glad to escort you up to the Manor, the sergeant offered.

Thank you, Sergeant, but I will not require an escort to the house. I lived here for several years, and I know my way around.

The sergeant hesitated a moment. Regulations now required all visitors be escorted to the west wing entrance and handed over to the sentry on duty there. But this man was the Supreme’s nephew and hardly a visitor.

Sir, you may proceed at your own leisure. I will notify security at the west entrance to expect you and assist you in any way.

Corvin thanked him, nodded to his younger partner, and headed across the landing pad to an adjoining parking apron, where a gleaming black SOS personnel van and a sleek cruiser were parked. But it was the dingy, battered, orange-and-gray Whorwik jitney that gave him pause.

What the hell is that heap doing out here? he mouthed, considering it with some scorn. He winced at the thought and continued on to the ramp and up to the terrace.

As he started along the stone walkway to the West Portico, a throbbing sound rose from the landing pad. To Corvin’s dismay, the airbus that had brought him there lifted from the tarmac, hung suspended a moment, then eased forward. It passed close overhead, picking up speed as it crossed the meadow, disappearing beyond the tree-covered hills to the west.

His transportation clearly gone, Corvin wondered how he’d get back to Whorwik. He looked back down at the dingy jitney parked below and got a sinking feeling. Surely, he wasn’t expected to take that thing all the way back. Lowan wouldn’t do that to him, would he?

With a sigh, he headed for the portico, where a SOS guard met him with a smile and a casual salute.

Good morning, sir. May I see your official identification?

Offering the man his ID card, he said, I am Corvin Gimbol. I am expected.

The guard examined the card closely and, satisfied, handed it back.

Thank you, sir. I was told to direct you to the study. Do you require assistance?

Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. I know my way around here, Corvin said.

In that case, sir, have a nice day, the guard said cheerily.

Corvin entered the Manor, expecting to be met by Bossaler, but the foyer was empty. That was unlike Lowan, who generally followed protocol to the letter. With a shrug, he continued into the large reception area that extended across the width of the wing. He hesitated. Something didn’t feel right.

The heavy draperies, usually open during daylight hours and often closed against the glare of the evening sun, were drawn over the floor-to-ceiling glass panels that ran the length of the west wall, veiling the room in a shadowy gloom.

Corvin relaxed a little at finding the rest of the room about the same. The furnishings and wall hangings were as he remembered. Even more comforting were the familiar smells: the aromatic blend of spicy oils on the wood floors and paneling, and the fruity scent of polish on tables and chests. It reminded him that these had always been warm, friendly surroundings.

Beyond the reception area a wide corridor divided the length of the wing. Its walls were hung with exquisite tapestries and paintings with gilded frames, all aligned, perfectly straight.

The uniformity of the display in the corridor had always made Corvin feel as though he were in an art gallery or museum viewing some exhibition, something he had never particularly appreciated. But just now he found the precision reassuring.

As he started along the wide hallway, his boots tapped a cadence on the blue-gray slate tiles. It brought back memories of a young boy, full of energy and mischief, often running from one end of the hall to the other, raising a clatter, darting into one of the rooms to hide whenever someone raised a protest—usually the serious Lowan Bosselar.

Corvin had the urge to stomp his way down the hall once more, but his mood sobered when he came to the first room on the left. The door was closed and locked. Across the hallway he found the library and smoking rooms locked as well. Why?

Further down on the left, an ornate carved staircase led up to Anton’s second-floor suites and up to a rooftop garden and terrace.

At this time of day, he should hear the sound of housekeeping in the wing, but there was only the low hum of the air filtration system.

This place feels more like a damn mausoleum than the Manor, he muttered aloud.

At the end of the corridor, Corvin paused before entering the study. He had a little ritual to perform first, something he often did when visiting the Manor.

Making an exaggerated military-style right turn, he came to attention before an extravagant, gilded framed portrait of a regal and beautiful young woman in a lovely garden setting.

She wore a long, rose-colored tunic over white leggings, the collar and cuffs adorned with a simple embroidery of fine golden thread and filament. A mass of gleaming black hair, intertwined with white-and-rose silk cord, hung in flowing strands over her right shoulder down to her waist.

Cradled in the crook of her left arm was a short staff of black faba wood carved with a simple rope weave. An ivory head of a Staghorned Ram, the symbol of the Guier dynasty, adorned one end.

As he gazed up at the beautiful face, her large, dark, and lustrous eyes seemed to fix him with a look, both gentle and alluring, even seductive.

Corvin smiled and made a deferential bow.

It is good to see you again, Great-Grandmother. You are as lovely as ever, he said softly. By any chance, do you have any idea what your brother has in store for me? I am summoned here for some reason, and I get the feeling I’m walking into something I’m not going to like. After a moment he shrugged. Well, then, looks like I’ll have to find out for myself. Wish me luck, Great-Grandmother.

The study door opened behind Corvin, and Lowan Bossaler stepped out. The two men stared at each other momentarily, as though waiting for the other to say something.

Considered a handsome man, Lowan still stood tall and erect. White-haired, lean, toned, and always impeccably dressed, he did not look like a man in his late seventies.

You’re looking fit, Lowan, Corvin said.

Unsmiling, Lowan scolded, Where have you been? Your transport landed some time ago.

Corvin made a face. Bossaler could be abrupt, particularly with him, but given the circumstances, this was a bit much. After all, this man had inconvenienced him, not the other way around. He simply couldn’t let him get away with such a show of bad manners without saying something.

It certainly warms my heart to see that your amiable charm and badmanners are about the only things that don't seem to have changed around here, Lowan, he said.

Bossaler’s expression darkened with indignation, but he said nothing.

Lowan, you know damn well I got here as fast as I could. You gave me no explanation and no choice in the matter. So why don’t you get off your high horse and quit wasting more time. Just tell me what the hell’s going on around here. This place is as quiet as a tomb and locked up tighter than a vault.

Lowan held up his hands in submission. Alright, you made your point. But if it’s possible, can you try to keep your voice down?

I will endeavor to do that, Lowan, but in exchange, please try to act more civil, Corvin said. Now, isn’t there something you should say to me?

Lowan fought back a smile. I was about to apologize for my bad manners. He bowed slightly. I apologize, and welcome home, Corvin.

Thank you, Lowan. It’s good to see you again, Corvin said sincerely. But did you have to drag me out here at that ungodly hour?

We didn’t want to broadcast your trip out here. That’s why the late-night call. Sorry to inconvenience you, but there are things that can only be discussed here, not out there, Lowan said.

Corvin’s expression registered concern. Has something happened to Anton? Is he alright?

It is he who summons you here, Corvin. But before you see him, I must warn you. You will see some disturbing changes in him since the last time. His mind is still sharp, but he’s quite frail. He doesn’t need to be upset. Please watch what you say.

Despite their petty disagreements over the years, Corvin had the deepest respect for the secretary’s loyalty and devotion to Anton. On that, they were in agreement. Both loved the old man and would do anything for him. So Corvin took what Lowan said now very seriously, knowing he wouldn’t overstate the circumstances or water down the truth.

Lowan, I don’t believe I’ve ever thanked you enough for all you’ve done for him. You have my deepest gratitude, he said warmly.

Lowan, visibly touched, gazed into Corvin’s eyes and spoke in a more somber tone. My boy, this might be the last chance the two of you will have to talk together. There are things he wishes to confide in you because, more than anyone, he trusts you. I ask you to please hear him out.

Then without another word, Lowan turned away, strode down the corridor, and disappeared up the ornate staircase.

Corvin turned back to the portrait. Grandmother, I sense we are entering troubled times and your brother won’t be here to make it right. Who is left? Who is strong enough to take up the Staff?

CHAPTER 2

The Ancient

Corvin paused just inside the study to remember. This had been his favorite retreat, a place of peace and seclusion from the demands and expectations of the privileged world on the other side of that door. Now, with all the confusion swirling around him, he could feel the quietude of this place working on him like a restful tonic once more.

He looked around at the glass and wood cases along the back and side walls, filled with exquisitely bound volumes with rich leather jackets in warm, inviting hues of brown, tan, and burgundy. Porcelain, glass, and metal figurines and vases lined the case tops, like glittering adornments on a gaudy crown.

Corvin approached the dark faba wood desk that dominated the center of the room. He lightly ran his fingers over its polished surface, feeling the wood’s black grain, recalling the hours he’d sat here studying those manuscripts and books.

Following the death of his parents, young Corvin had come to live at the Manor. His great-uncle Anton had taken him in and had introduced him to those ancient texts with their mysterious words and characters, the pictures and illustrations from another time and another world.

A low humming drew his attention to a pair of wood-panel doors set in the back wall between two cases. The doors slid open, and a rolling chair was pushed into the room by a stocky, muscular young man in the blue tunic of a medico. In the chair sat his great-uncle, Anton Guier.

Even with Lowan’s warning, Corvin could hardly refrain from displaying a look of shocked dismay at the fragile and cadaverous specter before him.

The last time he’d seen his uncle, two years ago, Anton still managed to project the image of the enduring progenitor and ageless leader. But clearly, the once robust and sturdy man had finally succumbed to the years. He was truly the Ancient, as some detractors referred to him, but only behind his back.

Seeing his uncle in this state of decline momentarily unnerved Corvin, and he tried to cover his surprise with a smile as he waited for the medico to finish his duties and leave.

Finally, Corvin said, It does my heart good to see you still among the living, Uncle, barely above a whisper.

It was the same irreverent salutation he’d used for years in greeting Anton. Despite the old man’s delicate condition, Corvin saw no reason to change that now.

A warm smile blossomed on the old man’s face, and his aged eyes sparkled. No one else, particularly those closest to the line of ascent, would dare address him with such boldness and impertinence for fear of upsetting their benefactor.

But Corvin could. He could always speak his mind. Anton found his candor and unencumbered insights refreshing, the very reason he and this young man, separated by generations and circumstance, were so intimate and close.

The old man smiled warmly. And it gladdens me to still be able to give you pleasure, Cori, he said, his voice thin and reedy.

It was the response Corvin expected, and he returned the smile.

Anton’s expression sobered. But I’m sure Lowan told you that my time among the living is finally running out, he whispered.

Corvin frowned. It distresses me to hear you say that, Uncle, he said sadly.

The old man raised a dismissive hand. Not to fret, my boy. I am just glad to still be here to see you again.

Corvin’s face flushed with embarrassment. Uncle, I must apologize for being so inconsiderate, for staying away so long.

That is in no way a problem, Cori. We needn’t take up valuable time considering it further. But don’t just stand there on formality. Sit, or if you need a drink, you know where it is.

Corvin shook off the suggestion. Perhaps later, Uncle, but may I get you something?

Sadly, no. I am permitted to do little more than breathe these days, Cori. But I am forgetting my manners. Thank you for coming out here on such short notice. I trust we didn’t interrupt anything too important, Anton said, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Corvin saw the glint and shrugged. You know Lowan. He hardly bothers with such concerns.

Anton nodded in understanding. But tell me. How is life treating you? You’re looking prosperous. I hear your business is growing.

Several years ago, Corvin partnered with a friend in a small import and export business that delt with local artwork and handmade goods from the outer provinces. With the increased interest in handmade jewelry and art, the little company flourished, and it provided the partners with a comfortable living.

Business is good. We are planning to expand our product line, open several more outlets, perhaps out to Antara, Corvin said, sounding pleased.

That’s good to hear. But if you’d come to me when you were getting started, I could’ve advanced you the credits and you would be much further along by now.

You know me, Uncle. I’ve got to do it the hard way. But I am fine, truly. I even bought my own apartment in the city.

So I’ve heard, Anton said. And your, ah, private life?

It goes well enough right now, except for an untimely interruption now and then, Corvin said. He hesitated. I assume you’ve heard my marriage plans were terminated.

Anton nodded. His expression showed nothing.

It was on one day and off the next, no explanation, none that made any sense to me, Corvin said. The lady simply told me she had a change of heart, and that was that.

I did hear about that, and I’m sorry, Cori, Anton said soberly.

Corvin thought he detected something in the old man’s voice. A true condolence? He didn’t expect that.

I thank you for that, sir, he said formally. He smiled. But is there anything you don’t know, Uncle?

Anton shrugged. I try to keep up on matters that concern me, and your well-being is very important to me. I’ve tried to stay out of your way as much as possible, but I have been ready to step in, if you ever asked, if the need ever arose.

I appreciate that as well, Uncle.

After a long pause, So tell me, Cori. How was your trip out here to my mausoleum?

Given the ungodly hour, pleasant enough. I managed to catch up on a little sleep on the way out. But I’d like to know how Bossy managed to find me at that hour. To tell you the truth, that was bloody inconvenient, Corvin said.

Anton made a thin chuckle. I will tell Lowan to take your nocturnal eventualities into consideration next time.

Oh, it appears I’ve lost my ride back to Whorwik. The airbus left without me. If I’m expected to stay a while, I didn’t have time to pack anything.

You will return to Whorwik later today, Cori. I believe Lowan has made arrangements for some transportation.

Corvin’s eyes narrowed. I saw a dingy Whorwik jitney on the parking pad. Please tell me it isn’t part of his arrangements, Uncle.

The old man showed a mischievous smile. He did say he wanted to slip you back into Whorwik unnoticed. But a taxi? How delightful.

Corvin’s eyes narrowed. Why would anyone care about his comings and goings in the first place?

You will excuse me, Uncle, but perhaps I will take you up on that drink after all.

He went over to a glass case on the back wall, slid a hand along the underside of a chest-high shelf, located a button, and pushed it. The leather-bound books on the shelf just below folded in on themselves, revealing a small, well-stocked bar behind.

Corvin chose a squat, heavy glass. He scooped in some ice from a metal drawer, selected a familiar label from an array of bottles, and poured himself a full measure.

For a few moments he stared absently up at the impressive collection of gleaming metal and crystal lining the top of the case while he collected his thoughts. Then, forgetting his drink, he returned to his chair at the desk.

Uncle, what’s going on around here? I get a summons in the middle of the night, no explanation, and when I get here, I find Special Ops in charge. What happened to your personal guard, and why am I here?

Corvin, you are here because I need someone I can absolutely trust to perform a service in a matter of extreme importance relating to my pending demise. I will tell you what I can. The rest you will get from Lowan. After you hear the details, I would be greatly pleased if you accept, but I will understand if you choose otherwise.

Corvin heard something ominous in the old man’s unspecific request. Yet without knowing any of the details, he knew as well as this old man that he would do whatever was asked of him.

Uncle, you know I won’t refuse you. You need only ask, he said sincerely.

We are counting on that, my boy. Still, you need to know what is being asked of you. There is likely to be an element of danger in it. You must give it . . . He broke into a spasm of coughing.

Corvin was unsure of what to do. Clearly his uncle was exhausted and in some discomfort. He saw pain in his eyes as he labored for breath.

I will call Lowan, your medico, he said worriedly.

Anton waved a frail hand. He pointed to a carafe on a glass tray on the desk. Pour me a cup, he said in a raspy voice.

Corvin went around and poured some of an amber liquid from the carafe into a small cup. He placed it carefully in Anton’s shaking hand and waited while his uncle drank the liquid. By the time Corvin got back to his chair, the coughing had stopped.

I believe my miserable heirs are about to get their wish at last, the old man wheezed. He blotted his sweating face with the sleeve of his tunic and cleared his throat. I held out as long as I could.

Corvin had to chuckle at that.

Anton sighed. Take my advice, my boy. Don’t wait till you’re too old. You get too used to living, and, when it’s time to leave, you just don’t want to give it up.

Corvin’s expression became serious. Uncle, am I wrong, or is this about succession?

Anton nodded. It is. Lowan has been on me to take care of that little detail for some time. He thinks I may have waited too long. Smiling weakly, he said, I suspect some of my progeny will be unhappy when they find out whom I’ve chosen to succeed me.

Corvin wasn’t particularly surprised by his uncle’s comments. All three of Anton’s sons had preceded him in death. Certainly, one of them would have been chosen to take the Staff. So Anton was left to choose a successor from among his grandchildren, and he considered them all as nothing more than a bunch of freeloaders, living in grand style on his influence, wealth, and resources.

Guessing Corvin’s thoughts, Anton continued. I know I spoiled the lot of them. Few of them can stand on their own two feet. You can, and you did most of it on your own. You could’ve had anything you wanted. I even offered you a seat in the Parlay, and you turned that down.

You know what I think of politics, Uncle. Besides, my side of the family usually sits in the Assembly. The Parlay would’ve eaten me alive if I went against them. He chuckled. And you know very well I would have gone against them.

But I wanted you there, Cori, to keep an eye on things. Mostly I wanted you to have the experience, especially now.

Corvin’s face flushed. Had his uncle just hinted that he was the chosen successor? Was this the matter of extreme and grave importance that had brought him out here? If so, that would be a terrible mistake.

He rose and headed back to the bar, retrieving his glass. He took a long drink, placed the glass down, and went back and slumped into the chair at the desk.

Uncle, please tell me you are not considering me as your successor, he said in a whisper.

Anton blinked in surprise at that. No, no, Cori, not you, though I would go to my grave in peace were it you. No, my boy. Someone else has been chosen, someone even more improbable than you. He brought a feeble hand to his breast and took several shallow breaths. But your part in all of this is most indispensable, critical to the future of Seraphen. Believe that.

Sir, you are exhausted. It is time to stop and rest. Let me put your mind at ease. I vow to do what needs to be done. You can count on me, he said solemnly.

I know I can, my boy, and I will be eternally grateful, Anton whispered.

His eyes welled up with tears as he offered Corvin a cadaverous hand.

Before we part, my boy, there is something I must say to you, he said.

Corvin waited.

"Cori, I want you to know I loved my sister, your great-grandmother, very much. What transpired between her and me so long ago had to be done, for