‘I’m glad that you’re pleased,’ said the voice, without any real emotion.
‘You are ready for the next part of the operation?’ Papaver asked with his eyes wide.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Remember, the safety of Captain Trenchard is paramount. He is the one that we need. The rest of the crew are expendable. If it becomes necessary, then they must be sacrificed.’
There was a longer pause.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll do my part. You can count on it...’
Papaver beamed and then the hologram blinked off.
There was an exhale of breath. It was more of a release of pressure than of relaxation.
‘… even if I have to kill every single member of this crew myself with my bare hands!’
EPILOGUE “GENESIS OF THE MORGENSTERN”
Four years ago, on Mars…
Orange dust hung in the air, illuminated by shafts of sickly purple light. The woman moved cautiously along another silent corridor in the abandoned factory. It was close, she could feel it. For such a large thing, it could certainly move silently when it wanted to.
The pistol felt comforting in her grip, the cold steel a solid reminder of her skills. She had been trained for this. All those years at the naval academy and then the hours she had spent in the private simulator on board the S.S. Bertrand had paid off. She was a highly trained, agile killer. She had never met anyone, or anything, that could better her. Not yet. Perhaps today would be the day, but she doubted it.
She passed by a room that was filled with abandoned cattle pens. Dried-up straw and dung wafted across a floor that was caked with orange dirt. This was where the poor beasts had lived out their short lives before being sent to the abattoir. Food production was what Mars was all about these days. Nowadays the cattle could graze outdoors on the newly planted fields of grass. At least they were fattened in the open before their throats were slit. The Red Planet was finally becoming green and blue. Soon there would be a great flood and then life would spread out across new continents. For now, the planet was for the most part a barren dusty ball of rock with a feeble atmosphere. Soon it would be paradise.
The assassin coughed and spat up a ball of thick brown mucus. She should be wearing her respirator mask but in combat it was a nuisance, a distraction. It just got in her way. She could do without the extra oxygen for a short time. At least the lower gravity of Mars made it easier to move around. The effort of breathing in the fine particles of dust was balanced by easier movement.
Straining to hear the slightest noise, she moved on. Her feet left clear footprints down the corridor which made her easy to track. It probably made little difference to her adversary. It could see by infra-red, radar, sonar and all manner of other technological marvels that gave it a clear advantage. All she had were her eyes, her ears and her wits.
Something scurried across the floor in front of her and she instantly levelled the pistol. The dark shape froze momentarily. It was a huge spider from the Tarantula family. Had they been brought to Mars as pets or maybe in a banana consignment, who knew? However, they had travelled here, they had escaped and prospered. They fed off the rats that had also followed the colonists and their grain supplies. The lower gravity of Mars had allowed the exoskeleton endowed creatures to grow larger than they ever could on Earth. A few short seasons and evolution had done its job. The one staring at her now was over a foot long. It gave a brief shudder and scurried off into the darkness. She let it go. It would be a waste of ammo and the shot would give away her position.
She moved further along, past the abattoir which was still stained by the blood of cattle, congealed black stains on the concrete. The huge hooks that would have held the slaughtered beasts still hung from the ceiling and rattled slightly in the hot Martian breeze. In one corner was a huge steel bath for collecting the blood and turning it into black sausage. Nothing was wasted. Food was too precious these days. Her stomach rumbled at the thought. She hadn’t eaten today. She didn’t like to eat before battle. A bacon sandwich and a strong coffee were definitely in order if she survived this test.
Something made her stop and stare, transfixed. Amongst the blood spatter on one wall was some fresh graffiti. The local kids had obviously broken in to the abandoned meat plant and they had been busy with a can of red spray paint. There was the usual juvenile mixture of names, swear words, and pictures of skulls and phalluses. One phrase though, made her stop dead and stare.
“Beware the fifty sisters!”
She had no idea what the hell it meant but it stirred something deep within her. She felt a memory; no, a lost part of herself stirring inside.
Without warning, the glass-brick wall next to her shattered into a billion lethal shards as an arm the size of a tree trunk smashed its way through. The assassin reacted instantly and leapt out of the way, up onto a stainless-steel bench, scattering rusty butcher’s knives left and right. She spun around and fired three shots straight at the creature’s chest.
The thing that walked through the broken wall was huge. Matt black rubber armour that had the appearance of car tyres covered a robotic frame that stood over eight feet from head to toe. Huge metal fists were clenched and ready to strike. A menacing metal face stared at her through glowing red, crescent-shaped receptors.
‘Thought you could sneak up on me, did you?’ the assassin called from her lofty vantage point.
With a strange sucking noise, the rubber coating on the robot’s chest spat the three rounds back out and they dropped to the floor with a metallic rattle. The chest then sealed over completely as if nothing had ever happened.
‘Fuck!’ swore the assassin. ‘He really went to town on you this time, didn’t he?’ she cried.
The robot leapt with surprising agility for its great size. The assassin only just got out of the way before the steel bench that she was standing upon was crushed flat. She grabbed onto a ceiling hook and hung there for a second, aiming this time at the thing’s head. Five more rounds bounced off the metal skull and dropped to the floor.
The robot shook with rage and let out an electronic roar of fury. Why its designers had decided to give it vocal circuits was beyond her. Perhaps they thought that it would appear more intimidating to its adversaries? Who cared? It was just another tin man with a bad temperament. It raised itself to full height, pistons popping, and then tensed its body. Hundreds of lethal spikes were slowly pushed up through the rubberised skin all over the chest, arms and legs of the robot.
‘Right…’ the assassin said to herself, as she stared at the vicious spikes with wide eyes. ‘You’re a fucking hedgehog! Time to leave.’
She turned and ran. This was not a tactical withdrawal or even a clever trick. She was simply running for her life. She dodged and wove through the room of metal benches while the robot simply tore straight through them, flinging the heavy slabs of metal across the room to smash into the concrete walls. The assassin raced through a set of double doors and slammed them shut behind her. She glanced around and found a fire point on the wall. Wrenching the fire axe from its brackets she thrust it through the door handles to hold the door shut and then turned and ran.
She needn’t have bothered. The door simply exploded behind her. The fire axe handle splintered and the blade embedded itself in the far wall. The flimsy interior door was simply no match for the hydraulic pistons and motors of the creature. It powered after the assassin, clawed feet tearing into the concrete floor.
‘More space…’ the assassin thought out loud to herself. ‘Must find more space!’
She weaved her way through corridor after corridor, the robot always close on her tail. Then she found what she was looking floor. One corridor opened out into what must have been a refectory of some kind. Metal hatches at one end gave a view through to abandoned kitchens and the room was filled with cheap plastic tables and chairs. Discarded red plastic trays were strewn about. Here and there were styrene cups, stained with long dried out coffee. The assassin skidded to a h
alt in the middle of the room, relaxed, eased her breathing and turned calmly to wait for the robot.
With a crash, the door to the refectory flew off its hinges. The robot stomped heavily into the room and came to an abrupt halt. It could see the target directly ahead but the target was not moving. This was illogical. Targets ran, they always ran. Was this a trap? The creature scanned the room with every electronic device at its disposal. There was nothing unusual. It took a cautious step forwards.
‘Come on then dick-less!’ shouted the assassin, throwing her useless pistol away across the room with a clatter. ‘What are you waiting for? Come and get me!’
The woman spread her arms out wide and motioned the robot to come closer with her fingertips. It took another tentative few steps, continually scanning the room for danger.
‘Hey dick-less! What do you call a robot that picks on defenceless women?’ she shouted provocatively and then she grinned mockingly.
The robot surged towards her suddenly and swung its spiked arm through the air like a mighty battle club. The assassin leapt through shafts of dusty air. She grabbed onto the robot’s arm, narrowly missing the multitude of spikes with her slender fingers and vaulted onto its arching back. In a lightening move she pulled her trusty Wakizashi short sword from the sheath on her back and thrust it through a small chink in the robot’s armour at the base of its skull. As the robot thrashed wildly about, the assassin ground the sword from side to side, slicing circuitry and wires, disembowelling the machine’s guts and severing its artificial spinal cord.
‘…scrap!’ she shouted jubilantly, answering her own question.
With a groan, the machine collapsed into an immobile heap on the floor sending up clouds of orange dust. The assassin jumped off and landed nimbly next to it and carefully re-sheathed her sword. Then she noticed some blood on the side of her hand where one of the spikes had nicked her flesh and she began to suck gently at the wound.
‘You’re hurt?’ echoed a man’s voice from across the room.
The assassin stopped licking her wounds and gave the man a disparaging glance. ‘Only my pride. It took me over ten minutes to finish this one off. You’re getting better at building these bloody things.’
The man was followed into the room by a team of technicians in bright red lab coats, led by a pretty young woman with brown hair. They proceeded to fuss over the fallen robot as if it were an injured child.
The man walked up towards the assassin. ‘I could have someone look at that for you Aska,’ he said in his thick French accent.
‘No thanks Papaver,’ she replied. ‘I’ve seen what your people do. I’d rather take care of it myself.’
The man sighed dejectedly. ‘I’m only trying to be polite Mademoiselle.’
‘Well don’t!’ said the woman. Then she threw him an angry glance and snapped, ‘…and it’s Saito to you. Miss Saito. Let’s keep this professional!’
The man raised an eyebrow and nodded towards the wreckage on the floor. ‘Then what is your “professional” opinion of the Sentinel prototype?’
Saito shrugged. ‘The weapons are fine. I like the spikes. Nice touch. Kind of reminds me of a medieval mace, simple and effective. The problem is with the brain. Robots are too logical; they don’t have human instinct or creativity. No matter how well you programme the A.I. software, it will always lack that human spark. You could almost do with a real human brain in there!’ she said and then Saito chuckled at the terrible thought.
Papaver opened his eyes wide as he thought about it. ‘Perhaps you’re right? A human brain you think?’
Saito gave Papaver a dirty look. ‘Hey, I was only joking, for god’s sake! You can’t just go stealing someone’s brain and sticking it in there.’
Papaver shrugged his shoulders. ‘Why ever not?’
Saito shook her head in despair and began to walk away. ‘You’re a sick fuck Papaver, do you know that?’
Papaver stared after her. ‘I have a present for you Miss Saito.’ He paused for effect as he watched her stomp away. ‘It’s parked outside.’
Saito turned to stare at Papaver with her hands on her hips. ‘What do you mean “parked”?’ she asked.
‘You’ll see,’ said Papaver. It’s a prototype; a gift from an old friend of mine. You said you wanted a better ship?’
‘It had better be a bloody good ship,’ she retorted and spun on her heel again, making for the exit. ‘…and you should lose the robot’s name! “Sentinel” sounds like something from a comic book. It’s fucking stupid!’
She took a few more steps. Papaver made her skin crawl. She was desperate to be away from the man. She almost made it to the door.
‘They have another mission for you Miss Saito,’ Papaver called after her. ‘The insurgent leaders have outlived their purpose. They must now be eliminated.’
Saito stopped and looked back exhaustedly. ‘Today?’
‘No,’ called Papaver. ‘There will be a battle soon. The people of Belatu-Cadros are ready to rise up against the United Worlds. It must be done under the cover of the fighting, but you mustn’t harm any United Worlds troopers. Mr. Kapol was very insistent on that point. What happens during the battle is crucial to the next stage of the Mesh.’
‘Right,’ said Saito simply. ‘Call me when you want it done. Until then, I’m going to find a snack van. I feel a full cooked breakfast and about three really, really sugary coffees coming on. I might even have some fried black pudding.’
Saito stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Papaver watched her leave; his mind was a raging turmoil of emotions. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but she could never know the truth about his feelings for her. With a deep sigh, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small tablet device. After tapping a few keys, he brought up the search results for “medieval spiked mace”. One result peaked his interest.
Medieval Spiked Mace – Morning Star or “Morgenstern” (German)…
He smiled to himself and put the device back into his pocket. There would be plenty of fresh brains available after the battle for Belatu-Cadros. Many troopers would die. Perhaps one of their brains would give some tactical experience to the battle robot? Turning abruptly, he addressed an olive-skinned scientist who was overseeing the retrieval of the defunct Sentinel unit.
‘Farouk my friend. Do you happen to know where the nearest naval morgue is?’
THE END.
Josiah Trenchard will return in the “Space Navy Series - Books Three & Four” compilation…
Captain Josiah Trenchard has become known as the “Fixer” because of his growing notoriety for solving the Space Navy’s most difficult, and dangerous problems. After insurgent terrorists attack the headquarters of the mighty Papaver Corporation, Trenchard’s ship, the “Might of Fortitude”, is sent on a mission to police the planet where the deadly gas used in the attack is produced. Meanwhile, one of his crewmembers who was injured in a previous encounter with the Morgenstern battle robot, is experiencing terrifying waking nightmares. To put a cap on Trenchard’s day, he is forced to realise that there may very well be a traitor amongst his crew.
On their return, the crew of the Might of Fortitude are then sent on a desperate rescue mission. All communication has been lost with the scientific research vessel S.S. Seishi. Proteus Pharmaceuticals’ boss, Akihito Nakamura, is desperately concerned for his son who is aboard, inspecting the science vessel. Nakamura makes a personal plea to Admiral Fife that Captain Trenchard should be sent on the rescue mission. What lies in wait for the troopers of the Might of Fortitude this time? What terrors shuffle in the darkness, snarling and clawing and lusting after human flesh? What is the terrible truth behind the miracle drug Ōnamuji?
If you have enjoyed this book, please leave a review on Amazon. Thank you. Honour, strength and unity!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jonathon Fletcher is the author of the Space Navy military science fiction series. He is also a professional model maker and prop builder with ten years
of experience in the animation industry. He designs his own book covers utilizing photographs of the models that he builds. He was born and brought up near Stockport, England. After studying Art & Design at school, he went on to complete a Foundation course in Art and then three years as a film student in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. He graduated after making a short science fiction film entitled “Unity”. After graduating, he then became a prop maker, set builder and art director working at Cosgrove Hall Films and then Hot Animation studios. He worked on several shows including “Brambly Hedge”, “Lavender Castle”, “Rocky and the Dodos” and the first fourteen series of “Bob the Builder”. He is now a gardener, working in the beautiful county of Northumberland.
OTHER WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Space Navy series, in chronological order:
1) Josiah Trenchard and the Might of Fortitude
2) Josiah Trenchard and the Morgenstern
3) Josiah Trenchard and the Berserkergang
4) Josiah Trenchard and the Onamuji Zombies
5) Josiah Trenchard - Belatu-Cadros
6) Unity - Warrior of the Space Navy
7) Josiah Trenchard - Arkhangelsk
8) Josiah Trenchard and the Ghosts of Christmas Future
9) Josiah Trenchard – Prototype
10) Josiah Trenchard – Wargame (coming soon)
11) Josiah Trenchard – Roh Tang (coming soon)
12) Unity – Protomorph (coming soon)
Twitter: @JonGardener
YouTube: Evilgenius1972
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/JonGardener
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/unitynovels
Web Site: https://sites.google.com/site/unitynovels/home
Facebook: jonathonfletcher.336
E-mail: [email protected]
GLOSSARY
Alpha Mike Foxtrot: A fond farewell to an enemy; Adios Mother Fucker!
Atmosphere Processor: A huge factory that pumps gas into the atmosphere of a planet to correct the balance and make the air breathable. They are manufactured by the Papaver Corporation.
The Space Navy Series Books One & Two: Including the Kindle novellas Josiah Trenchard and the Might of Fortitude & Josiah Trenchard and the Morgenstern Page 22
