The Revenant: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 2)

by Walt Robillard

“I can open it on your order, Madame,” the projection acknowledged. “But Corporal Savoya is working to countermand the explosive trap that the service bots have placed on all rigger hatches on this level.”

  “Hurry it up then!” she shouted, placing another series of shots into a blue that had made it past the no man's land the Card Arkana had established.

  The jumpsuit clad soldier was moving with considerable efficiency to off balance them with his blaster pistol. Jester had been hit once, with a bolt to the chest which he seemed to be making some lame limerick about. Merlin had been hit twice. The already damaged bot was looking worse for wear, covered in blaster burned dents along his frame. Justice and Jester were taking turns carrying him so he could shoot over their backs, only setting him down to allow him to do what he was built for, drone wrangling.

  “Madame, cutter drones two and three are out of power,” Merlin called into the net. “I can rig them to run forward and explode on the next charge. One and four still have fifty percent power. They can still be combat capable on that side. Lucifer's corpse has forty more rounds on the sub-machine blaster we took off the last crew.”

  Before she could answer, the pistolero managed a clean shot on the Dreadmarr soldier, knocking her back into the bulkhead. One of the tiny spider legged welding drones spun at the near instantaneous command from Merlin. The cutting laser beamed out, slicing the offending blue from shoulder to hip. The body fell apart, tiny particles of blood reaching between the two halves in a vain attempt by the nanites to reassemble themselves.

  “Madame?” Justice yelled, his perfect fear protocols sounding clearly through his call.

  She ignored the attempt to assess her injuries. Her armor had far more hits than Merlin's from her attempts to shield her Cards from harm. Sure, they were robots. But they were hers and she was theirs. Something in that was sacred to her. She didn't care why. “Hatch?”

  “Yes, Madame,” Justice said. “Merlin, you might want to hover over it.”

  The wounded bot didn't complain as Justice helped him over to the emergency access panel. He poised his hand over it, looking back to her to signal he was ready. The hatch opened, disgorging a lunging service bot that had been programmed to attack in the event the improvised explosive placed on the tunnel didn't blow. Merlin's hand slapped onto its head, force feeding a terminal override on the bot’s AI architecture. The skeletal prosteel frame of struts and wires shivered as though in the midst of a seizure, simultaneously being force fed a contagion of code from the expert drone wrangler. The shudder stopped, the bot’s central ocular sensor going dark before coming online again.

  “How many is that now?” Tarot asked.

  “Four of these down the hall armed with blasters to cover our six. This one makes five. Can I give it the pistol from our friend over there?”

  Tarot chucked the defecting mech the pistol. “Covering our six eh? Get those welding bots in the back to cover us. Jester and Romi around Savoya. Merlin, have two of the servitors for litter. Get Luci-Corpse up and moving to the rendezvous point. I want it ready to work when it gets there. Everyone into the chute.”

  Savoya stopped beside the soldier to put her hand on her shoulder. “Feels good to know we're almost through this.”

  “Not yet. But I know the feeling. Let's get moving.” Tarot said.

  The group traipsed into the emergency hatch, moving through the bowels of the ship like valgur rabbits in the underbrush, dreaming of what it would be like to be wolves or owls.

  Twenty-Five

  “Marshal Truveau! We have confirmation on that beacon your boy set up. Stealth drones are also giving us the green light on that hangar. The doors are open and the welcome mat is out.”

  “Time on target?” she asked Zane over the Battle-Net.

  There was no response. The engines went silent, along with the rumbling feeling of the Odin's Folly rattling under her seat. Her armor was gone, too, replaced by a set of scout armor she hadn't worn in years. Not since Sulmar. She remembered the scent of the caburro fruit. It had a smell that reminded her of oranges. The taste was like eating a creamy, citrus laden banana. She could almost feel the fur of the Kalmiscae. It looked like a cross between a Khadian red monkey and an ant eater. The diminutive little creature was pretty much the only thing in that jungle that didn't want them dead. Even the cute little frogs that used to hop about secreted a contact poison, that could paralyze in the very least or kill at the very worst. How had she gotten here?

  “Mara.”

  She turned to find Lasher, like he'd been that day, covered in mud drenched plant matter. It would take him another week to get the bulk of his gear working right after that. He was younger then. He hadn't grown in the beard or been covered in as many scars. How many lancers had he saved that day? How many of them owed him their lives?

  “I was never skilled enough at this part to make a connection like this. Was this what it was like with her? Seladriel?”

  “It was.” Lasher smiled at the mention of her name. He peered through the trees to where his mother, Seladriel Ferrand, was shooing away one of the Kalmi who always tried to steal her rations. Steal was the wrong word. The monkeys would steal. The Kalmi would offer things in trade. Seladriel didn't like them until Lasher came along. He was the one who found love with a mother who hadn't bore him, but loved him all the same. He always gave that love back, taught others why it was precious. Why it was perfect to him.

  “I need you to listen,” Lasher prompted. “The ship is a trap. Do not board the ship. Get far away. Drone fighters in close only. If they get too close to you, it will spread. Remember Striker Main. Remember all the needless death that day. Dirt side. Not up here. Down there, in the snow, is where hope lives.”

  She remembered that line. Remembered Seladriel saying it. She was wise, Mara's sister of the other blood. Hope lives on the ground. Lasher was walking away. Why was he going. He was going to fight the dragon. It was coming for them. No. That wasn't right. It was coming for the Kalmi. Favorite snack. Lancers were in the way. Fight!

  “I said it was two minutes to target. Something wrong with that fancy lid you got on, Marshal?” Zane asked.

  The rumble was back. Her Templar armor was back. And her shovel, a handle devoid of a tool that should be there, was attached to her hip. She scrolled through the subroutines in her helmet, calling up the command interrupt code to the strike force commander.

  “Captain Lorrea this is Marshal Truveau.”

  The captain came through, slightly taken aback that the marshal would be contacting her directly. She had interacted with the woman a handful of times, but in those brief encounters, Mara Truveau struck the captain as a person who very much wanted nothing to do with the pomp and circumstance of rank.

  “Go for Lorrea.”

  The next words uttered from her mouth, were those she had dreaded saying all of her career. It meant the death of the wandering lawgiver, the end of the freedom she'd known, up until she was saddled with the Devil Hunters. “I, Mara Truveau, by virtue of being the senior Marshals Templar on station, by right of the Athalon Concordance, declare myself as Force Commander for Task Force Redemption. I order you to pull all ships back to standoff distance, long range. Communicate to the target that any attempt to close distance or launch anything will be met with lethal force. How copy, over?”

  Names were forgotten in favor of call signs as the Battle-Net lit up like the race tree on a Solvineaux Gran Prix. “Sword-Com, this is Redemption Lead. Orders issued in progress. You have assets on that boat. Are we still Force-5, over?”

  “You are Force-5 to anything leaving that boat without a beacon. I say again. Force-5 protocols are in effect. Keep that thing at a distance or drop the hammer on it until it burns into that mud ball below us, how copy, over?”

  “Sword-Com this is Redemption Lead, good copy.”

  Truveau switched back to the all-comm channel for the Folly. “Attention on deck. This is Marshal Mara Truveau. I just assumed the role of Forc
e Commander for the task force. We're putting as much distance between us and that enemy boat as we can. And by we, I mean everyone but me. I'm going over to that boat even if I have to walk. You Devil Hunters are the closest thing I've ever had to a command of my own but I'm still not going to spend your lives when my name isn't on the bill. This is technically Marshal Brand's seat, I was just keeping it warm. That goes for you too L.T. Swan. You want off this ride, exit out the back with the boys that aren't mine. Everyone still here when I get to that cockpit is Pride from here on out, Lions of Athalon until your roar fails you. If that's not something you can live with, then get off my ship.”

  None of the lancers moved from their seats as she unbuckled, making her way to the cockpit. Brasson was on one of the command consoles on a gyroscopic mounted chair. The 3D printed brace around his leg was scrawled with lancer profanity side by side with symbols of esprit de corps.

  “You need help out of that chair, lancer?”

  “No ma'am. Just setting up my drone delivered death and wondering if I have time to put little manes on 'em,” he said, making a show of locking himself in the four point harness.

  She climbed the ladder to find Lieutenant Swan punching pre-flight on the quick. Her co-pilot, Chief Warrant Officer Peng was locking in the rest of the automated sensor suites when Mara climbed up to the flight deck.

  “This bird needs to leave yesterday. If you ladies are leaving, it has to be now.”

  Peng swung a seat toward the marshal. “Got your name all over it, ma'am. Never rode with a Force Commander before. Got two older brothers in Fleet. They are going to be so jealous. Hey, Brasson. You got those guns all locked in so I can take the tough job?”

  Mara couldn't help but smile. She had never had this. She'd heard Force Commander Hylaeus talk about it. Brother Castillo had as well. This is why they did it. It was there in the cherubic smile being flashed by the chief donning her helmet. They were here for each other. Unfortunately, there was one more to consider.

  “You're in my seat, Lieutenant.”

  “Negative, Force Commander. You said it yourself, you're not going to spend something without your name being on the bill. This bird is my bill, ma'am. Passing flight was the best day of my life. The look on my man's face was everything. He'd accomplished more in his life than any two people I knew back then. He was already a legend and he was proud of me. Me. Then I lit a fire under my career to get me noticed by the marshals. He said, 'Don't worry. It's just for a hot minute. Fly it like you stole it and come back to me.' I'd never be able to face him if I leave this chair, ma'am. Worse, I don't know if I could ever look myself in the mirror again. So with all due respect, ma'am, buckle up back there and hold on. I'm driving this bird till the wings come off!”

  The engines started in a heavy thrum until the whine of the main drive inducers fired. The high pitched squeal sounded off like a pack of Razor Hawks diving for the kill.

  “Redemption Flight, this is Odin's Folly. We are carrying Sword-Com to objective Forest. We are heavy thirty-two with green and green. Request passage of lines to objective, how copy, over?”

  “Odin's Folly, this is Redemption Flight, you are clear on eight-niner mark four. Disengaging clamps. You are wings free. Good hunting, Odin!”

  The lancers in the back felt the sickly transition from the Redemption's gravity field into the empty vacuum. Four Tiger-Hawk fighters swooped in beside the assault shuttle on its rampant course to the Forest.

  Inside the cockpit, a holographic globe exhibiting the occupied battle space lit up for the newly minted Force Commander. She was studying the target ship when the fire of the Crucible began to push waves of power into her conscious mind. “Chief, do we have comms with our escort?”

  “We do, ma'am. Over to you. Call sign is Domino Down.”

  “Strangest call sign ever. Thanks chief. Domino Lead this is Sword-Com, over.”

  “Roger, Sword-Com. We have you in the bucket, swinging toward the well, how copy?”

  “Good copy. Are you getting any weird readings from that boat?”

  “You mean other than hatches popping open all over the dorsal structure, everything seems normal.”

  Mara tapped the chief. “What are those?”

  “Looks to me like something we should be shooting, ma'am. Most likely drones of some sort.”

  Mara glanced out of the viewport to see the fighters tighten up against the outside of the Folly. Within seconds, space searing bolts nearly the width of the fighters came from all directions to batter the outside of the Forest. Drones attempting to launch from magnetic accelerator catapults were destroyed in their housings. Rail gun hits shattered the heavy duradium outer plating like an angry child looking to ruin a toy that no longer held any interest. A salvo of Inferno Missiles were launched from the Redemption, borne on Condor heavy ordnance drones. The bots darted in with speed and agility, dodging the return fire coming from point defense cannons unveiled from recessed housings around the ship. The salvo got within striking distance, deploying on their own. The first three missiles were detonated by rotary blaster arrays that savaged them before they could do any damage. They came apart in flight, doing no more harm than moving through sand blown about by a strong breeze.

  The single missile to make it through struck near one of the engine compartments. The blast fritzed out all instruments, producing an energy wave that traveled out from the Forest in an ever expanding ring.

  “Shock wave inbound! Hold onto your lids!” Swan said over the comm.

  The heavy shuttle was rattled by the immense energy dump put forth by the Inferno. The fighter escort disappeared in the maelstrom, not trusting that the lighter frames would stand up against a detonation of that magnitude. When the shaking stopped, Mara could see the sections of the Forest on fire, trailing drive gasses into open space. When massive hatches opened to vent the fire to vacuum, they puffed out, making it easy to see personnel in blue jumpsuits jettisoned out into space.

  “We got a runner!” called Peng over the radio.

  The ship dislodged a rectangular shuttle from one of the hangar bays. It slipped out into the black, turning toward the planet below. In making its run for the surface, it would have to pass by one of the two frigates poised between the Forest and Doseidos.

  “Sword-Com, this is Redemption Lead. We have a shuttle with life signs aboard. We've tried to hail them but no response. An automated message coming from it is repeating that it's a lifeboat with no combatants aboard. Orders, over?”

  “This is Sword-Com. Disable and detain in orbit. Prime a flight of drones to sweep the boat. Do not approach. Sword-Com out.”

  The fighter escort reappeared, swooping in to direct blaster fire into the engine housings. The lights of the main drives went dark under the onslaught of the fighter wing. They swarmed the other way, recovering their position around the Folly.

  As one of the frigates used its tractor beam to take control of the smoking lifeboat, another section of the Forest detached from the ventral side. It was sleek, a part of the hull that became a secondary ship slightly larger than the incoming assault shuttle. It almost resembled an elongated trapezoid that ejected two slender wings on the back side. The ship jumped into a drive speed on par with the Tiger-Hawks. It flew by the Folly, dodging several attempts to knock holes into it by the fighters. The intruder ship slipped through the perimeter on a direct course with Battle Betty.

  Heavy blaster batteries played a symphony of targeted fire like an orchestra on opening night. Epic and dazzling unless you were the intruder, which was being scorched into oblivion. The ship's final bow of the performance came in the form of a rail gun battery pummeling it until it came apart.

  Marshal Truveau watched the glowing holographic globe that represented the battle, although she didn't see any of it. She was looking through the Way, powered by the Crucible. Infinite possibilities swirled in her vision, giving her glimpses of the triumphs that might overcome the tragedies in the battle, or worse, should the op
posite be true.

  “Redemption Lead this is Sword-Com. Drag in both frigates. Let Betty sing her solo.”

  There was quiet from the other end of the comm. After a moment, Captain Lorrea responded. “I can do that once, Sword-Com. Then Betty has to recharge the main defense battery. If there's something else coming, we'll be floating out here with only our gun boats to protect us.”

  “This is Sword-Com, if you don't, the pieces of that ship will infect yours and you'll have bigger problems on your hands than what ifs. Do it now, over.”

  “Roger out.”

  Massive outer doors at the bow of the battleship cracked open, sliding on heavy rails toward the stern. Energized particles floated in front of what seemed a tremendous gun aperture. There was a flash preceding a massive discharge of power streaking from Battle Betty. It engulfed and then incinerated the shattered intruder in an apocalyptic particle beam that burned it into no more than ash floating on solar winds. The remainder of the energy wave struck the opposite side of the Inferno hit, dead-lining another engine on the Forest. The force of wave blew holes through multiple decks, annihilating entire batches of stabilizers. Venting gasses pushed the freighter into a slow spin, causing it to list along its y-axis.

  “Sword-com this is Redemption Lead. Need you to pull back so we can give that thing the funeral it deserves, over.”

  “Negative, Redemption Lead. We're going to do a sweep of the boat for my asset. Sword-Com out.”

  “Marshal, I mean, Force Commander. I'm getting a tight beam signal back to my board with your name all over it. Put it up?” Chief Peng said.

  “Send it to me.”

  “Mara, it's Orin. Sorry I couldn't pull off the Crucible mind-call trick again. I was a little busy.” Lasher scanned the deck, knee deep in the bodies of blue-jumpsuited crew strewn about the hangar. Fluff walked over casually, trying to dislodge a particularly gnarled piece of flesh from his finger.

  “Do not board this vessel,” Lasher said sternly. “All of our assets are pulled out. They'll meet us on the ground. We're going to scuttle the ship on Doseidos in the arctic region of the planet. Everyone still on this thing is infected with Swarm-Tech like Savoya was.”