Under the Light of the Earth

Chapter 3- The Route

The Aiken Drum War Centre, Apollo Palace, Wellstown, Sea of Tranquility, 1500 hours moon time, 20th of Lunar June

The moon-globe was a beautiful piece of art more than it was useful for strategy. Most ground tactics were the same whether or not you believed the world was flat or not.

The Viceroy strode under it with his friend the Prophet and the Prophet's wife while the curator of the Aiken Drum War Centre sheepishly operated the globe, turning and rotating it by means of a lever in the wall while the painted marble thing span, balanced like a beach ball on a seal's nose. The moon looked like a golf ball covered in lichen mold and paint stains. All colours seemed more muted than on earth, the vast farm and forest land was a milky pastel-like shade of green and the forests grew whiter at the poles.

Wellstown sat on the very edge of the sea itself which was an archipelago full of ring-shaped islands and mountains but it had been mostly drained of its water after the war to make more living room. There was a smaller sea northward, and beyond that, the moon's north point. Polar Secession.
No-one knew what was taking place there, except that whoever did had not agreed to the terms at the end of the Hey Diddle Diddle war.
Of course, before the war, it had been the location of the richest and deepest mineral deposits on the moon. The mine-shafts went all the way to the core. Doing that manually would take years and millions of Aldrins of money and ludicrous amounts of red tape even with the approval of the Capsidac.

'We cannot fly there." The Viceroy said.

"They shoot down any aerial craft, there's a horde of old war machines up there, we theorise. We cannot descend from space, because the sky is so thick there that it would be impossible to locate the precise area. But taking any official land or sea vehicles will possibly draw attention. Especially for me, as the leader of the nation."

"We end up there." Mitchell said.

"How?" The Viceroy chuckled. "I'm all ears, Mitch."

"We sneak our way in."

The viceroy smiled.

"It has been a good long while since I attended a secret conference. Perhaps we could smuggle in. Make the official story that I was kidnapped."

"Do you know any smugglers?" Mitchell asked.

The viceroy stopped smiling.

"I can't answer that. Besides, any whom I contact, the media could find out our connection. I need someone I've never met."

"Well that makes it a bit tricky!" Mitchell replied.

"My visions don't exactly give me names and addresses. And they're of no use to me now. I just see a worm."

They looked at each other. And then, they glanced at Morphea.

She raised her eyebrows.

"Actually, I do know someone. Thank you for asking."

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The Trojan Resort, Port Colins, Sea of Tranquility, 1530 hours moon time, 20th of Lunar June

Captain Christ-is-king had two separate streams of income that set him up very nicely, enough to afford a mansion, several boats, one shuttle, and the most expensive thing in his collection, a panel from the Apollo Lunar module, which he had polished and currently used as a bathroom mirror.
He had outbid three separate museums for it, and as he shaved, the white shaving cream smearing a stark white beard onto his black face, he bickered with his wife.

"Woman, I have not had even breakfast yet, and you are assailing me with social matters."

Captain Christ-is-king was a master of transportation. His line of Cruise ships had earned him millions.