The Mongrel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 1)

by Walt Robillard

  “As I was saying,” The newcomer began, “the tracks in the surrounding area tell the story. After the slaughter, a single man gathered up the bodies he could find and carried them here. Impressive for being alone.”

  The first monk wore a pensive look. Slow nods seemed to accompany thoughts. “Anything else?”

  “No, Inspector.”

  The title caused the marshal to hold her meal packet just at the point before being opened. While the marshals were known throughout the Frontier for their ability to enforce law and order where there was none, the inspectors from San Verone were known for their ability to suss out the truth of a situation. While they were adept in the Way like the marshals, they usually relied on training and experience over tarot cards and tea leaves.

  “Inspector?” Mara asked.

  The first monk nodded to the second, a dismissal of sorts. In the wake of the cyborg taking his leave, the inspector seemed to take on an air of authority he wasn't wearing before. The shadows cast by the lanterns now seemed deeper on him. The flicker of luminescence on the water seemed brighter in his eyes.

  “Chief Inspector, but please don't call me that. My name is Castillo. Please just call me Cas.” The monk offered, his voice measured like a negotiator trying to build rapport.

  Truveau still hovered over opening the meal packet. A chief inspector being sent out from San Verone was a big deal. Like most marshals, the revered inspectors usually traveled alone. To have one with a gauntlet of Vernai monks was unusual.

  Cas slid his hand onto the packet of the meal she was holding. He gently broke the meal open and handed her the spoon from the ration. “Eat this. You did right by Marshal Ferrand's men by loading them onto your skiff. Please, let us uncover her while you rest. I promise we will honor her.”

  She took the spoon and pushed around the ration a bit before settling on a bite. It was beef stew. The potatoes had a slight crunch in a meat-flavored sauce and a tinge of spice to go along with the piece of meat that slid past her tongue. She was famished and the rushed meal tasted amazing. It felt good to have something push the taste of Tyth dust from her teeth.

  She sat, ate, and watched the soldiers clear the scene, and secure bodies to the skiff.. The monks went to work uncovering Ferrand's body. The entire grave was carefully removed by hand. The sword was cleaned and then wrapped in one of the monks’ robes. When they got down to where her body lay, Cas stepped in front of Mara.

  She looked at him stoically, a half-eaten meal packet forgotten in her hand. Her eyes betrayed the sadness that hit with the force of a thunderclap for every stone placed on the ground. One stone caused her to take notice of Cas, who had been crying as well. “Did you know her?”

  He smiled. A memory from deep in the past had surfaced, bringing with it the light and cheerfulness one succumbs to when thinking of old friends. “We fought together on Takova. During the time when the warlord Rashkaradek was taking all of the food and medical supplies needed by the colony just outside of Kalizhad. Took some hard fighting to clear out that gang from the area.”

  Mara remembered those stories. She also remembered the name of the Vernai inspector she worked with. Suspiciously, she said, “Ferrand worked with an inspector sent by San Verone to investigate rumors of war crimes, back then. His name was Esteban.”

  “I prefer Steve,” Cas said with a wrinkle to his nose.

  Most of the soldiers and monks had a minor volcanic fit of laughter at the comment about Steve. Apparently, this was a running joke among them. Whatever the joke, it was contagious. Mara couldn't help but laugh along. Monks and marshal alike brushed away tears brought on by sadness, laughter, or both.

  “Now that I think about it, there was some hard drinking after to forget about all the hard fighting.” Steve said.

  A curt grin prefaced a memory of Seladriel's story, floating to the fore. The injuries sustained during the nine days of fighting were many. Army, lancer, Vernai, and marshal all sat together after the fight and drank away the pain while toasting fallen friends. Something like that would be a welcome distraction.

  “ I could use a drink right now,” the marshal said under her breath.

  Cas reached under his robe, into the belt. He produced a flask. “Elysian bourbon. Save some for me.” He tossed it over his shoulder to her and went back to work. “Keep your eyes on that meal and the bourbon for me. Don't look over here. Remember your sister as she was.”

  There was stillness for a time after the last stone dropped to the floor. Truveau couldn't see past Brother Berezin's back. Cas had clearly positioned him there on purpose to shield her from having to see the desiccated corpse of her friend. Cas took off his long coat and covered her. He placed the bundle containing her sword on her chest.

  The monks concentrated. The body rose through the power of the Crucible and floated to the skiff where the rest of the platoon lay. Tears continued to fall from Mara and Cas as the soldiers secured her to the deck. She thought about how well Lasher had chosen this impromptu crypt. You wouldn't notice the tears with how wet everything was. Another thought slithered into Mara's mind, and she gave it voice to break the silence.

  “You said earlier that you came to see why I would conspire with Lasher, but you haven't asked me any questions.”

  Cas nodded. “Despite all of the politics involved, I came here for answers. Even with many questions remaining, I have found some insights. The apprentice wanted vengeance. He got that by slaughtering the war leaders of the Hidek as well as the majority of the family. He then let himself be captured. That part is odd unless one were to believe he was looking for something at the fort and surrendering was the path of least resistance. Of course, none of that tracks unless he had a plan to escape. I also think that during his getaway, he knew you were someone he could trust. I think he liberated you and confided his plan. Judging by the carefully constructed markers, one could reason that he covered all the dead in above-ground graves, keeping them in order long enough for you to find them. How did he know that his marshal's closest friend would be sent to investigate a mass revenge killing?”

  Mara sighed. “He knew he was being considered for entry into the Lions.”

  “So they sent you to investigate. Can you confirm the state of the bodies when you found them?” Cas asked.

  The marshal brought out her cell-com and shared what she found with the inspector. Pictures, 3-D reconstructions, and video were all cross-loaded to the devices being carried by the monks.

  “Your friend Lasher killed the family responsible for his friend's murder so as to draw out a large investigation.” Cas surmised. “Judging by the report sent to us from the fort, no lancer-tech assets were reported as mission losses during the Hidek incident. Do you find that strange?”

  The marshal nodded, although she wasn't quite connecting where the monk was going with his line of reasoning.

  The monk continued. “So a lancer element and their marshal make their way to a peace summit between two conflicting tribes. They're there for security. Where was the Quick Reaction Force? Where was the drone support, if any? And why was the rest of the company of lancers called away on route clearing for a VIP that no one can confirm? Is there any part of this story that would shed light on what happened?”

  It was Truveau who said it out loud. “The back-up drives.”

  “The helmets were all out on display.” Cas said, one finger tapping his lip. “All of the communications data from the operation would be backed up on the jump drives in their helmets. Not only could we see the operation as it unfolded, we could match the Battle-net data with the data that was streamed through the fort. By combining both sets of information, we could start to come up with a picture of how this happened and possibly hunt backwards for an answer.”

  Marshal Truveau's eyes went suddenly wide. She looked down and right, trying to be careful not to let anyone notice her expression. She turned toward the river, hoping that the monks would believe her to be thinking about Cas' musings. She to
ok out the data stick that Lasher had given her, careful not to reveal it. With everything else going on, she simply hadn’t had a chance to do so up till now. She risked a quick glance before thrusting it back into her belt. A symbol of a lion with an engraving of the number 313. It was Seladriel's jump drive. In case someone had gotten to the helmets, there would still be a record of what happened. Lasher was proving to be much more than the brute that everyone thought him to be.

  Cas walked over to her. “Marshal, may I make a request?”

  She studied the man for a moment, wondering if he had caught her glancing at the drive.

  “We think we have a bearing on where the apprentice might be going. If you don't mind, I am going to take my team and go there. I would like to send Sister Leeuwen with you to return the bodies back to the fort. She has much to investigate on our behalf there. I would also like her to link up with Commander Hylaeus, as this is technically a marshal matter.”

  Mara nodded and gestured for the sister to board the skiff.

  Thirteen

  >> Power Grid Detected. Interface detected.

  “Mon cher. She is trying to interface with the core system. She is not being invasive or targeting key systems. Should I let her continue?” Baby Doll asked.

  Kel walked over to the ravaged android. He knelt and moved pieces of wispy hair that was left to its scalp. A pressed smile crossed his face. He reached to one of the wall containers in the ship's small lounge to retrieve a blanket. While the ship was primed for platoon combat operations, it had its small comforts.

  The android was set upright in one of the comfortable memory-cell chairs. While Kel considered the thing a piece of hardware, he knew that Lasher had valued it. Kel tried, in some small way, to make it comfortable. He laid the blanket across the robotic body, hoping to cover it and give the machine something. Dignity? Respect?

  “Sure, Baby Doll.” Kel said, seemingly oblivious to Baby Doll's concern. “Let her have her way. Is she looking for something specific?”

  The ship responded matter-of-factly. “Speakers.”

  Kel tilted his head in the way people do when they are interested in something. His brows raised to indicate the same. “Wonder what she has to say?”

  While he waited for anything to happen, he took stock of the room. The ship itself was one of the nicest vessels he had been on. It was meticulously maintained, but spartan in its layout. There was little in the way of comfort throughout the vehicle, leaving sitting or sleeping as the only cozy bits. The small lounge was enough for a squad at a time to utilize. It had chairs, a couch built into one of the walls, a table with holographic capability, and a small open space. Food items could be prepped at a wall station if need be.

  Like the rest of the ship, it had an antiseptic smell. It was overly clean with deck plates that gleamed from the lights above. Swirls in the floor indicated that they had been buffed recently. The irregular pattern suggested that it was cleaned by a person rather than a bot. This scared Kel a bit. He thought of the man who formerly owned the ship. Commanders of this type, who made time for the little things rather than pawn it off to an aide, were committed to task and purpose. They recognized such tasks to be important in a grander scheme. It was how he had been before he had been nicked outside Kabran City.

  “Hello?” The voice that came through the ship speakers was regal. It was the voice of a diplomat or noblewoman. It spoke of suede and a knife hiding just behind it.

  “Hello. Nice to hear you without all the crackle and circumstance. Can we get a model number on you?” Kel asked.

  There was a small huff like one makes when an unintentional insult has been leveled. “I have no model number that I know of. Do you have one, Kel?”

  The criminal smiled. This bot had some serious programming to sound so realistic. There was something in the voice that bothered him. Something too comfortable. It was like a snake that had shed one skin and come to appreciate another. “Introductions, then. You know who I am. We christened the ship Baby Doll. So what do we call you? ”

  “I used to be called Katerina. Some of my friends would sometimes call me Kat for short. I would prefer either to Bot, Droid, or my favorite, it.”

  “Okay.” Kel had elongated the word to fill the uncomfortable space that had just entered the room. He had used all of those terms during their escape. Whoever had built this thing, its AI was remarkable in its way to communicate emotion. Usually, bots and artificial intelligence had no access to emotion. It was a tricky construct for them to process, and in the several hundred attempts to make it work, disaster usually followed. They were also typically programmed to be subservient to certain people, even out in the Frontier.

  Kel had a second to get over feeling sheepish about using those words to process other thoughts. “So where are these friends now?”

  There was a slight pause. Kel thought he heard a sigh of remorse or regret come over the speaker.

  Her velvet smooth voice dripped with remorse. “They're gone. Probably long gone. But that is a story for another time. Also, it's not very interesting.”

  “When someone says something isn't interesting, that usually piques my interest,” Kel interjected with a wry smile.

  The connected android was quick to work on his statement. “That is because you are Kel Durado, the head of the Durado Criminal Cartel. You pay attention to the smallest detail in order to exploit it. Your climb to power among the Seven Families is much more interesting than any tale I could spin.”

  Kel whirled around to regard the android, sitting motionless and silent in its chair. The look of surprise on his face was noticed by both Kat and Doll. It was hard to miss.

  “Mon cher, I did not know you were a criminal. You told me you were an entrepreneur.”

  Kel looked genuinely hurt, although if asked, he wouldn't have been able to explain why. “I'm a businessman through and through. But what does it matter? I shouldn't have to worry about explaining myself to a couple of machines.”

  There was a pause. Kel was trying to clear his head more than sound exasperated. He was talking to two machines, despite what they might say in their logic of ones and zeroes, or whatever. He started to walk back to the bridge, regardless of the fact that both entities were plugged into the ship. There was no walking away from either of them.

  “Kel.” Kat's voice was dusky, like a professional singer on some resort world after a difficult set. “I'm not judging you for your choice of careers. Let's get Orin up so I can tell you why I'm interested in what you do and why you're only half right about talking to machines.”

  “Breathe.”

  Lasher sat straight up. He scanned his surroundings, quickly connecting to the Crucible to reach out through the Way. He could sense the criminal, the broken bot, and something else. It was hazy in the Crucible. This sometimes happened when things were in a state of flux. It was typical for ideas to appear in this fashion. An idea of something could form, and then melt away when the perceptions or the emotions that fueled them took a different direction.

  He took a deep breath. He was in the medical bay of the ship Kel had stolen. The antiseptic smell of cleansers filled his nostrils. The dark deck plates were clean, along with the walls, and all storage panels set in them. He could see seams in the floor where other medical beds could be raised to take on new patients. Lasher had been placed on the bed set into one of the walls.

  He reached up with his hand. His cheek had a SLAP Patch on it. He could feel a tingling sensation as the patch worked the wound. The skin would be knitted together and covered. It might leave a scar, but the healing time would go from days to hours.

  There was a dull pain in his shoulder, ankle, and side. He knew these were injuries he would have to seek medical treatment for. For now, he would rely on the power of the Way to keep him upright. Military-grade painkillers couldn't hurt, either.

  “Good! Nice to see you creeping toward this side of a gravestone.” The accent was a trademark of a human growing up in a city
surrounded by aliens. Kel had a mastery of Trade-2 while retaining a hint of the accent that made him exotic to outsiders.

  “How long?” Lasher croaked.

  Kel was fiddling with the holographic displays above him. “You've been unconscious for a few hours. We patched up your face and placed another SLAP Patch on the wound in your side. The patches aren't enough, though. You're going to need an actual doctor before we get to the business of business.”

  Lasher nodded. “I won't die until our deal is done.”

  “You haven't introduced us, Kel.” came a sultry disembodied voice.

  Kel's mouth stifled a groan, sporting the look of a man just chastised by his wife. “That would be Baby Doll. The ship.”

  One of Lasher's eyebrows raised in questioning fashion toward his comrade. “You named the ship Baby Doll?”

  Kel took a step back apologetically. “Think of it as a sort of therapy. There was this one girl who broke my heart. Constantly with the nagging, but I couldn't get enough of her. I tried to tell her to shut her mouth once. She stabbed me with a screwdriver. Who does that?”

  Lasher's face slowly twisted into a weird grin. He was enjoying the uncomfortable explanation. This professional criminal, who had been thrown into an earthen cell to knock him down a peg before trial, had regular problems like the rest of the universe. Of course, screwdriver-stabbing girlfriends weren't a common sight, but Lasher could imagine it happening more often when being a crime lord.