Moon of Odysseus by J.S. Morin

Author:J.S. Morin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-939233-81-3
Publisher: Magical Scrivener Press

The streets of the marines’ alien city were too clean to belong in a jungle. Carl had walked the streets of cities on a hundred worlds, and even most of the ones with cleaning drones couldn’t keep as tidy. No weeds poked through the stone road. Its faded yellow surface was rough, but unblemished. There was neither graffiti nor the old-Earth tangle of climbing vines along buildings’ sides. He couldn’t even find evidence of bird shit, and there hadn’t been an open-air city built that wasn’t prone to that particular blight. If he could have packaged whatever alien trick that kept the city spotless, he’d make a fortune.

But fortune wasn’t on the minds of the marine honor guard as they escorted him to the Temple of Listening—at least the names for places were easy to remember. It didn’t seem as if the marines thought a lot, period. They gave gruff responses to his questions, or told him they didn’t know, or didn’t care, or that it was none of his business. None gave any hint that they were curious about the newcomers on their world aside from the security risk they posed and the potential use Carl could be in their feud with the navy survivors. Still, he tried to engage them.

“Bet you’re curious what’s been going on back home,” Carl said to none of them in particular. He kept his voice loud enough for all eight of his escorts to hear. “I’m guessing most of you are Sol Center party members, am I right? You’ll be happy to know that Bradshaw got re-elected Prime Citizen a couple years back.” Carl wasn’t sure on that point. He remembered there being a Bradshaw, but couldn’t remember what the guy did. He had voted in precisely one election, and it had been to impress the girl he was dating at the time. She’d been a Progressive Traditionalist, and he’d voted for every name she’d gushed about.

“Earth politics is a sewer,” Messerschmidt said. “Rats climbing over each other to get the best of the droppings from above.”

“No argument here,” Carl said, finally having touched a nerve. “Personally, I don’t even vote. Politics don’t matter out in the Black Ocean, when it’s only your ship and your guns against whatever’s coming back. Eyndar don’t vote.”

“Sure they do,” Vasquez said. Carl blinked. He hadn’t picked the burly marine for being a political scholar. “Whole damn lot of those bastards do. Old pack instincts. One makes top dog, the rest fall into line. Hell, it’s the only thing that keeps them in the war.”

“Damn right,” another of the marine’s agreed, to a general chorus of assent.

“Too organized for their own good,” Carl said. “We used that against them at Karthix. They fly by the book, and we knew their book.”

“You got intel on those dogmen?” Vasquez asked. That was it, right there: genuine human curiosity.

“Naw, nothing that formal,” Carl said. He tried to slip his hands into his jacket pockets before realizing he’d left it in his assigned quarters.

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