Read Online The Luna Deception by Felix R. Savage - Free Book Online
Authors: Felix R. Savage
Tags: Science-Fiction, Space Opera, Military, Science Fiction & Fantasy, cyberpunk, Hard Science Fiction, Exploration, Space Exploration, Galactic Empire, Space Fleet, Space Marine, Colonization, space opera science fiction thriller
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Lorna had invited him to stay over.
10:18 blinked in the corner of his eye. God! How could he have slept so long? He was going to be late for work. He pushed off from the bed and hustled into his clothes.
His movements tripped automatic sensors that opened the curtains, admitting the most realistic daylight Mendoza had seen since he left Earth. The window overlooked a grove of bamboo.
He ventured out of the room. Despite his determination not to be awed, he knew he was trespassing in a world above his pay grade. A maidbot vacuumed the oriental rug in the hall. The furniture, the skirting boards, and the banisters of the stairs were all made of woodpolished to an antique sheen. A framed chunk of concrete on the landing brought Mendoza up short. It looked like a Banksy. It was a Banksy.
A suit of armor stood in the downstairs hall, complete with sword. Mendoza nodded to it. He felt stiff and rusty, too. He tracked Lorna by the sound of his voice to a room at the end of the hall.
Morning light flooded through open bay windows. Out in the garden, a bot watered plants. Lorna sprawled in a dressing-gown on the patio, yelling at someone about software evaluation methodology. He raised his eyebrows at Mendoza and pointed indoors.
Assuming he was being dismissed, Mendoza went back in. He glanced at the brag wall over the fireplace. (A fireplace.) Where most people would have had vids of themselves, Lorna had oil paintings. There he was receiving a decoration from the unofficial king of Luna, Faisal al-Saud. There he (or a lookalike phavatar) was dancing with the idolbot Marilyn Mauss. There he was conducting, or pretending to conduct, the Luna Philharmonic … That one offended Mendoza, and he was about to turn away when another familiar face caught his eye. In a smaller picture, Lorna stood grinning with his arm around the stooped shoulders of Dr. Ulysses Seth.
Dr. Ulysses Seth.
The acting director of UNVRP Mercury, whom Lorna dismissed as a has-been with nutzoid ideas.
Funny, in this picture they looked like friends.
“Not hungry?”
Mendoza whipped guiltily around.
Lorna indicated a sideboard where breakfast was laid out. Mendoza hadn’t realized he was expected to partake. There was enough food for half a dozen.
“I have to go,” he demurred. “I overslept.” He took a piece of toast and buttered it, because it made him crazy to think of all this real food going into the recycling.
“Oh, relax,” Lorna said. “Have you seen the garden? Grab a cup of coffee and I’ll show you around.”
Mendoza requested an espresso from the robot barista squatting on the sideboard. Balancing the cup on one palm, he followed Lorna out through the bay windows.
Rustic lawn furniture dotted the patio. Overhead, the high-spec sky of the Bloomsbury dome radiated the pearly light of a summer morning. The air smelt newly washed, no doubt thanks to gardener bots watering the greenery overnight. Half of the garden was taken up by the bamboo grove Mendoza had seen from his window. They walked in among the rustling stems. Springy, sweet-smelling moss cushioned their footsteps.
“I’m pretty sure there are no eavesdropping devices out here,” Lorna said.
Mendoza laughed. “I thought you had friends in high places.” He thought again about the picture of Lorna with Dr. Ulysses Seth.
“Sure, sure. Mayor Hope’s a friend. But I don’t want everyone knowing everything.”
Mendoza sipped his coffee. It shouldn’t have been coffee they were drinking out here, it should have been buko juice or guyabano, something cool and sweet that tasted of home.
“I really have to go.”
“Of course. Of course. You can use my jitney to get to the station.”
“Thanks.” Mendoza wondered what a jitney was.
“Of course, you could always take the day off.”
“Well, we’re kind of busy at the moment.”
“Naturally. And the work of MeReMSG is important.” Lorna’s tone said the exact opposite. “But is that really what you want
10:18 blinked in the corner of his eye. God! How could he have slept so long? He was going to be late for work. He pushed off from the bed and hustled into his clothes.
His movements tripped automatic sensors that opened the curtains, admitting the most realistic daylight Mendoza had seen since he left Earth. The window overlooked a grove of bamboo.
He ventured out of the room. Despite his determination not to be awed, he knew he was trespassing in a world above his pay grade. A maidbot vacuumed the oriental rug in the hall. The furniture, the skirting boards, and the banisters of the stairs were all made of woodpolished to an antique sheen. A framed chunk of concrete on the landing brought Mendoza up short. It looked like a Banksy. It was a Banksy.
A suit of armor stood in the downstairs hall, complete with sword. Mendoza nodded to it. He felt stiff and rusty, too. He tracked Lorna by the sound of his voice to a room at the end of the hall.
Morning light flooded through open bay windows. Out in the garden, a bot watered plants. Lorna sprawled in a dressing-gown on the patio, yelling at someone about software evaluation methodology. He raised his eyebrows at Mendoza and pointed indoors.
Assuming he was being dismissed, Mendoza went back in. He glanced at the brag wall over the fireplace. (A fireplace.) Where most people would have had vids of themselves, Lorna had oil paintings. There he was receiving a decoration from the unofficial king of Luna, Faisal al-Saud. There he (or a lookalike phavatar) was dancing with the idolbot Marilyn Mauss. There he was conducting, or pretending to conduct, the Luna Philharmonic … That one offended Mendoza, and he was about to turn away when another familiar face caught his eye. In a smaller picture, Lorna stood grinning with his arm around the stooped shoulders of Dr. Ulysses Seth.
Dr. Ulysses Seth.
The acting director of UNVRP Mercury, whom Lorna dismissed as a has-been with nutzoid ideas.
Funny, in this picture they looked like friends.
“Not hungry?”
Mendoza whipped guiltily around.
Lorna indicated a sideboard where breakfast was laid out. Mendoza hadn’t realized he was expected to partake. There was enough food for half a dozen.
“I have to go,” he demurred. “I overslept.” He took a piece of toast and buttered it, because it made him crazy to think of all this real food going into the recycling.
“Oh, relax,” Lorna said. “Have you seen the garden? Grab a cup of coffee and I’ll show you around.”
Mendoza requested an espresso from the robot barista squatting on the sideboard. Balancing the cup on one palm, he followed Lorna out through the bay windows.
Rustic lawn furniture dotted the patio. Overhead, the high-spec sky of the Bloomsbury dome radiated the pearly light of a summer morning. The air smelt newly washed, no doubt thanks to gardener bots watering the greenery overnight. Half of the garden was taken up by the bamboo grove Mendoza had seen from his window. They walked in among the rustling stems. Springy, sweet-smelling moss cushioned their footsteps.
“I’m pretty sure there are no eavesdropping devices out here,” Lorna said.
Mendoza laughed. “I thought you had friends in high places.” He thought again about the picture of Lorna with Dr. Ulysses Seth.
“Sure, sure. Mayor Hope’s a friend. But I don’t want everyone knowing everything.”
Mendoza sipped his coffee. It shouldn’t have been coffee they were drinking out here, it should have been buko juice or guyabano, something cool and sweet that tasted of home.
“I really have to go.”
“Of course. Of course. You can use my jitney to get to the station.”
“Thanks.” Mendoza wondered what a jitney was.
“Of course, you could always take the day off.”
“Well, we’re kind of busy at the moment.”
“Naturally. And the work of MeReMSG is important.” Lorna’s tone said the exact opposite. “But is that really what you want
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