With the working title of “Magic of the Third Moon,” I’m almost three chapters in, with an expected completion date of late November / early December 2024. It picks up shortly after The Magus Gene: Dominion ends, and follows Mack, Frostshadow, Cajun, Himari, Lhunduin, Malmoradan, and Nimbus as they try to help one of Cajun’s old friends complete a delivery to a mysterious moon that orbits a Jovian planet in a nearby system. When they become marooned on a world where outsiders are not welcome, Mack and his friends must find a way to survive their wondrous and deadly surroundings while befriending the native inhabitants so they can find a way home.
Here’s the first chapter:
1: Old Ties
The air inside the starship was cool and dry. Reinforced lamps glowed from within their bulkhead and overhead recesses, casting light and shadow on the contents of a spacious cargo hold. Steel tread plates formed the deck’s flooring and chipped blue paint trimmed the interior. Bound to the bulkheads with bright yellow ratchet straps, scores of fifty-liter reinforced aluminum cargo boxes lined the perimeter in alternating stacks of two and three. A small, dormant crane arm curled against its operator’s compartment, and the tracks embedded throughout the hold granted the crane full access to the hold’s contents.
James Noonan sat on a folding chair near the loading door. An old hardhat angled over his brow as he dozed. From the opposite side of the deck, an industrial lift hummed as it descended, and James snorted awake. He righted his hat, rolled off the chair onto his feet, and wore a hopeful grin.
“Hey.” A man of average height, white-streaked black hair, and brown eyes stepped off the elevator and approached. Glumly, he waved.
“Hey, yourself.” James raised a brow. “Conrad, where’s the rest of the crew?”
“Delebraen Toleg’s involved himself in our business.”
James narrowed his eyes. “To what end?”
Conrad quietly cleared his throat. “He, uh…”
“He what?”
“Well, he caught wind of our trade situation with the Rhakaians.”
“Caught wind?”
“Federal trade agreements are a matter of public record, James.” Conrad plopped down on a short stack of cargo boxes. “While we were figuring out how to break it to the crew, Delebraen beat us to the punch. And they quit.”
“We’ve got other irons in the fire.” He shot Conrad a challenging glare. “Hire them back.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.” James scowled. “The space station isn’t that big.”
“It’s not a matter of tracking them down.” Conrad looked away. “They joined up with Delebraen’s company. Without a crew, he’s betting on you missing your delivery. He’s planning to leverage that to take over our contract.”
“For one last exchange?”
“I doubt he bothered to read the fine print.”
Baring his teeth, James clenched his fists and growled. “That double-dealing, backstabbing wretch…” He muttered an ancient dwarven curse under his breath. “Are you joining up with him, too?”
Conrad crossed his arms and raised a brow. “You’ve been a friend to four generations of my family. Do you really think I’m for sale?” He smiled wryly and glanced around the cargo hold. “Besides, ten percent of this ship belongs to me. Think I’m just going to throw all that away?”
James crossed the distance and rested his sturdy hand on Conrad’s shoulder. “Thank you for sticking around.” He stood level with Conrad’s chest, had broad shoulders and bright blue eyes. His full beard covered the top half of his torso; it was mostly white, with a strip of red that ran down from his chin. Tattoos of forges, anvils, gemstones, and revered ancestors covered the dwarf’s stocky forearms.
Conrad nodded and hopped off the cargo box. “Well.” He pressed his hands against the small of his back and craned around the hold. “We’ve got four thousand kilos of pure Element-79 to deliver in exchange for eighty drums of arcanothene. Tell me how we’re doing it.”
James retrieved his datapad, opened his Clan Beinn Ghorm social app, and compared the roster of local members to the registry of the space station’s docked starships. His eyes befell a vessel called Artemis, and he jammed his finger against its info card. “John LeKay flies with the captain of this ship.”
“Do you know him?”
James nodded. “Well enough to ask for his help.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Cajun jogged on the treadmill mounted to Artemis’s recreation deck. Sweat dripped from the iron beads at the ends of his braided beard. Old rock and roll standards streamed from the deck’s speakers. Placed upside down on the console, his phone buzzed.
To his left, Mack Rivera used Artemis’s cable-system workout bench to exercise his upper body. He exhaled sharply as he pushed a hundred kilograms away from his chest. Slowly, he eased the bar back down.
Himari Muto crouched in front of the snack printer as it produced a tray filled with chili-cheese fries. She eagerly retrieved it, but she made a face and marched over to Cajun. Her sign language gestures were as sharp as her sense of irritation. “It still smells like broccoli!”
“It shouldn’t,” signed Cajun, and he wiped his brow. “Deep cleaned all the reservoirs.”
His phone buzzed again.
“Smell it.” She shoved her chili-cheese fries close. Himari stood as tall as the room, had emerald eyes and auburn hair.
“Ça va!” Cajun’s mustache retreated under his prominent nose. “It’s even worse than before!”
Mack looked his way. “Tara said the scent modulator needs to be replaced.”
“That so?”
Cajun’s phone buzzed again.
“Pretty sure that’s what she said.” Mack returned to his workout.
Himari took a deep breath, held it, and placed a trio of chili-cheese fries in her mouth. Her eyes brightened as she chewed and gulped them down, and she licked her fingers. With a smile, she signed, “Well, whatever you did, it tastes a lot better than it used to.”
“Ça c’est bon.” Cajun chuckled. “Assuming we can all hold our breath long enough to finish chewing.”
She laughed, bowed politely, and exited the recreation deck.
His phone buzzed again.
Mack adjusted the cable settings, released the bar, and sat up. He toweled the sweat from the workout bench. “You planning to answer that?” He was tall and blonde, and perspiration stained his workout clothes.
The treadmill’s timer beeped, and the machine powered down. Cajun allowed the tread to carry him slowly to the edge, and he stepped off just before it came to a full stop. “Now I am.” With a smile, he walked over and picked up the phone. His good cheer drained from him. “James Noonan?”
Mack took a long pull on his canteen. “Who’s that?”
“A fellow member of Clan Beinn Ghorm.” He shook his head. “Someone I worked under a very long time ago.”
“An old boss, huh?”
“Something like that.”
Mack approached the sink and splashed water on his face. “How long ago are we talking?”
“Almost a hundred years.” Cajun sent a message back to James.
Mack twisted to regard him with a surprised look. He noted the white shocks in Cajun’s otherwise black beard. “Well, you look pretty spry.”
“You need a more informed point of view, hear?” Cajun snorted. “I’m just as haggard as any other dwarf that’s pushing a hundred and eighty.”
“I never realized dwarves were so long-lived.”
“Elves live even longer, now.” Cajun raised a brow. “Your elf chère, Lhunduin? You’re plenty lucky you grew up with him, but your descendants will be even luckier.”
Mack stared off. “I never really thought about that.” He leaned over the sink. “He’s going to watch me grow old and die. And my kids. And their kids.” His shoulders sank. “And their kids… That’s really depressing.”
Cajun clapped Mack’s back. “That’s not your burden to bear, hear? It’s his. And mine. None of us can help how we were born. My advice? Take joy in your life. Find the beauty around you whenever you can, especially in your friends.”
Mack looked his way and smiled slightly. “Thanks.”
Cajun shoved his phone into his pocket. “Need to make my way over to the SS Blue Anvil. She’s two rings down, if Sturmhardt asks.” He glanced toward the viewport as Earth drifted into view. “Take a shuttle down, hear? See some sights while you can. The Torne is gorgeous this time of year.”
“I’m not sure it’s wise for me to be anywhere in public right now.”
“What happened on Trionides wasn’t your fault, and Earth’s a lot more cosmopolitan than that. Besides, now that none of your folk are required to wear uniforms, who’s going to know you can cast spells?”
Mack shrugged noncommittally. “I’ll think about it.”
Cajun chuckled. “Sounds like you already gave it all the thought you’re willing to give it.” He squeezed Mack’s shoulder. “I’ll see you for chow.” He exited the recreation deck.
♦ ♦ ♦
Cajun passed by star-filled viewports on his way to the boarding tube. He descended, unhurried, and stood upon the steel ledge that surrounded the SS Blue Anvil’s airlock embarking hatch. With a deep sigh, he reached down and gave the handwheel a tug. The light turned green, and he climbed down inside.
“John!” James met Cajun with a hopeful smile as he opened the second hatch and led him down to the embarking deck. “It’s been a long time!” They embraced, and Cajun took a step back. He casually saluted, but James grabbed his hand and shook his head. “I didn’t ask you here as your former boss. I asked you here as someone who was once my friend.”
“Got a weight of regret for what I said to you.”
“No need. Passion fuels the forge fires of youth.” James smiled warmly. “How else do we grow wise? Besides, I saw you’re flying with an elf now, so something I said must’ve stuck.”
“Most of what you said did that.”
James took a deep breath. “I need your help.” He led Cajun to the cargo lift, and they descended to the starship’s vaulted hold. He crossed the deck to a nearby cargo box and patted its code-locked lid. “Someone poached my crew and salted my good name. It’ll clear up on its own, most likely, but not in time to complete this delivery. I need an operator to work the crane, a supervisor, and four longshoremen.”
“What’s the timing, destination, and pay?”
“Timing is as immediate as you can manage. Destination is the third moon of a red Jovian called Hester’s Pearl in the Sygnion System. It’s three weeks to the transit gate, thirty hours through the Dwimmer, and two days to the delivery site. Start to finish, about seven weeks, Galactic Standard. We’re paying thirty thousand for skilled labor and twenty thousand for unskilled.”
“Bankbits galactic?”
James nodded.
Cajun whistled. “What’s in those crates?”
“One of life’s many mysteries.”
“You won’t tell me?”
James shook his head. “You’re better off not knowing. What’s inside of them does funny things to people. Especially us dwarves.”
Cajun chortled. “Well, I’d work the crane for thirty thousand.”
“I’d welcome you.”
“It’s tempting.” Cajun took a deep breath. “But I better not. Got plenty of friends on this station, hear? Give me a few hours to send six of them your way.”
James gripped Cajun’s shoulder and nodded. “I owe you one.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Cajun crossed into the mess hall. Mack and Himari looked his way. Next to Mack and across from Himari sat Lhunduin Athren-Kevuli, a handsome elf with tawny skin, dark brown eyes, and close-cropped black hair.
“Sorry I’m late,” grumbled Cajun. He glanced at the galley. “Sturmhardt, you need any help in there?”
“Nein, but thank you for asking. It is nearly ready.”
Amaya Nikuya, a woman with waist-length raven hair and dark brown eyes, sat across from Mack and swiveled to regard Cajun. “You look bummed. You never look bummed.”
He plopped down at the end of the bench, leaving a sizable gap between him and Himari. “I’m stumped. Not used to being stumped, is all.”
From the mess hall’s threshold, Nimbus Athren-Kevuli chimed, “Unless I am incorrect, the last time that happened was with me, John LeKay.” She crossed the mess deck and sat down next to her adoptive brother, Lhunduin. “Where is Malmoradan Taig?”
“A magistrate agreed to hear his petition to overturn his exile,” signed Himari. “He’ll join us as soon as he can.”
Nimbus signed, “Thank you, Himari Muto,” and she faced Cajun. “What is the nature of your quandary, John LeKay?”
“An old chère needs my help, but I don’t know how to help him.”
“Is that the guy who texted you on the rec deck?” asked Mack.
Cajun nodded.
Nimbus scooted along the bench to sit across from him. “Explain.”
“He needs a crew, but not one person I talked to on this entire space station will work for him. A spiteful elf by the name of Delebraen Toleg did a proper job of poisoning the labor pool against him.” He shook his head. “What sticks in my craw is that I said some awful things to him the last time we parted ways. Things I regret. Things I’d take back if I could. It rankles me to let him down again.”
“What does he desire to accomplish?” Nimbus’s amber eyes met Cajun’s gaze. Her skin was a shade darker than Lhunduin’s, and her full, tightly curled hair faded from black to golden brown at the ends.
“It’s a cargo exchange.” He shared the details. “Seven weeks, there and back.”
Sturmhardt exited the galley and served plates full of sausage, pickles, and freshly baked bread. “Everyone else is on the planet’s surface, helping to manage the emigration of Taranis Arms’ displaced workforce. With the newly inaugurated President of the United Planets making this a part of his media junket, Andry expects it will take at least six more weeks.” She looked at Cajun with an expectant smile. “At least. It will probably take longer than six weeks.”
He tilted his head. “What are you implying?”
She glanced around the table and toward the passageway; her lengthy, platinum blonde braid swung across her back. Her blue eyes caught the overhead light. “As Artemis’s acting captain, I cannot take part, but the rest of you can.”
“He’s only paying for six. One of us would have to stay behind, hear?”
“I find it doubtful your friend would turn away an extra hand, or that six would not share their wages with a seventh.”
Cajun snorted. “Reckon you’d be right. In truth, the thought crossed my mind, but it’s salty work. I’d feel bad even asking.”
Sturmhardt set her plate down and sat between Cajun and Himari. “You will feel worse if you let down your friend again.”
Cajun sank deeper against the table. His eyes were barely visible amidst his rolling eyebrows and the hillocks of his beard. “What do you say, mes amis? Interested in burning two months of your lives to salve an old dwarf’s conscience?” He chuckled dryly. “No?”
Lhunduin skewered a sausage with his fork. “I’ve never heard of Hester’s Pearl. Where is the Sygnion System relative to Earth?” He bit down and closed his eyes as he chewed. He nodded appreciatively at Sturmhardt, set down his fork, and signed, “Perfect!”
She smiled slightly and nodded back.
“Trails Sol System,” answered Cajun, “almost directly, by about thirty-eight hundred light years.”
Amaya’s fingers danced across her datapad. “Not much in the Planetary Index about Hester’s Pearl, and almost nothing about her moons. The Galactic Nations’ Economic Council marked the few trade agreements that exist as ‘culturally unsafe,’ but I can’t find that term anywhere in their official classifications. What do you think that means?”
“My dear Frostshadow, I do not know.”
“Hey, I’m not Frostshadow anymore,” scolded Amaya. “BEAM is gone, and so is that callsign.”
“My apologies.”
“Accepted.” She smiled slightly and gestured toward him.
Cajun sat up and cleared his throat. “My dear Amaya, I do not know.”
Himari pondered. “Maybe the natives are primitive by galactic standards. Maybe the Galactic Nations is trying to limit cultural contamination.”
Nimbus brightened. “Yet, the Galactic Nations allows such risk to continue, Himari Muto. The natives of the third moon must possess a natural resource that is highly coveted by the forces of galactic industry.” She turned her attention to Cajun. “I am curious about what that might be; curious enough to accompany you on your journey, John LeKay.”
Lhunduin raised his brow. “Me too.” He stood up and stole a tender kiss on Himari’s cheek. “Feel like exploring the passageways of another starship with me?”
“Yes, very much.” She sighed dreamily, gazed at him, and nodded. “Plus, it beats waiting around for all the space traffic to clear out.”
“I’m game,” added Amaya. She looked hopefully at Mack.
He took a deep breath. “I should ask Malmoradan what he wants to do first, since he’s oath-bound to me.”
Himari smiled wryly. “My dad takes his oaths seriously. Where you want to go is where he wants to go.”
“I’ll see Earth one day, I guess.” Mack cut off a piece of sausage and bit down. “Sure, count me in too.”