“What did I tell you about sitting on the counter!”
“Sorry, Mama.” Nikko said, slipping back to his feet.
“This is what happens when there is no man about the house,” Nayoree scolded. “No offense, Papa.”
“None taken, ranger. I don't live in your house.”
“That is by choice, old man. You know you could always have a home with us. We love your company and having you is good for Nikko. You are family. You should let us repay your kindness once in a while. Instead, you force us over here with threats to sing if we don't. Then you feed us until we can't move. It's downright dreadful.”
Marco stirred one of the many dishes simmering on the stove. “Ah huh. I bet it kills you to eat Reese's cooking.”
“I thought you said it was delightful?” Reese looked hurt.
“Don't you listen to that old mop of hair. Your meals are incredible,” Nayoree cooed.
The butler seemed to cheer at the glowing review of his catering. Reese straightened his tie a bit, rolling up his sleeves as though serious business was about to happen. “Lots to celebrate tonight, Miss Nayoree. Maybe we should invite that new ranger Marco's been breaking in. You know the one.”
She scratched her shaved head, giving Reese a baleful glare that might as well come from a hungry lion.
“Or I can make enough for a hungry room of three.”
The lion prince growled.
“Four it is. Sheesh.” Reese flashed around the kitchen, preparing a host of dishes that would feed a small platoon.
Nikko made a face as if Reese had missed a shot in a murderball match. “Tough room.”
“Terrible. Would you be so kind to help me in the kitchen, Master Nikko? Leave this grumpy trio to simmer in their grumpiness.”
Nayoree took a chair in the adjoining living room where Papa had taken a seat on the floor to lean against the prince. “Seriously, old man, why not move out of this place on the other side of the mountain and come to live with Nikko and me?”
“You really want some doddering old man fussing up the place?” Marco asked. “What about that new ranger? How’re you ever going to get a man like that to come over if your kid's granddaddy is hanging around?”
“When my mother said she was to remarry, I was skeptical. Some frontier man, not of our people, had gotten one of our fiercest warriors to fall in love with him. I thought you were using some bribery, or what is that word for controlling someone by trickery?”
“Coercion.” Marco offered.
“Yes, you coercioned her.”
“Coerced,” Marco said.
“Is this a language lesson or will you let me finish?”
The lion cub huffed in what must have passed for laughter among the pride as it flipped over. The predator's bulk slid off the leather couch with a creaking noise to deposit itself onto Papa Marco's lap. Its belly up, the new king was demanding a rub. “Apparently everyone's a critic today. Continue.”
“Thank you. When I was passing the trials on Neroba, I would sneak off to the ICOM to get communications from my mother. She was so happy being here with you. This place is magical, and it is more so because of you. She loved what you built here. Her happiness carried me through the tough times of the day.”
Marco's smile seemed to carry him back from the memories of that time. “She was very proud when you were confirmed. We brought all the rangers in for a celebration so she could tell stories about Nayoree, her warrior daughter. She was beaming that night.”
“Imagine my surprise when you chartered a ship to bring her to the ceremony. My mama was able to stand next to me as I took my place among my people.” The ranger wiped the tears from her face. She clasped them together in her hands, shaking them back and forth as though doing so would conjure images of her mother in the space between them. “Even though you were not my birth father, I knew from that day, you lived to make her happy and I would treat you as family ever more.”
Marco followed suit, wiping the moisture away from his good eye. “I was proud to see you take your place. It made me happy to make her happy.”
“You see? You could have sent her alone. You could have told her no. Instead, you chose to share in her pride. That is family. You will always be family to us, Papa. And if you so choose your home will always be with us.”
“Asante sana,” Marco said, barely a whisper.
Nayoree pointed at him. “And there. She would often say she heard you practicing our language after she went to bed. She would try not to giggle at your pronunciation. All the things you would practice to say to her, you had the courage to try in the morning. I loved you all the more for that, Papa. Now that Nahvo is ready to go back to the pride, there is no reason to live all the way out here.”
A grim smile found its way through his beard. “Very kind of you, but I couldn't leave Reese.”
“Papa, he would be welcome in our home as well.”
Marco sniffed, his scruffy tangle barely hiding the emotions he was struggling with. “I loved her, ya know. She understood me. I found some measure of peace with her.”
Nayoree squeeze his free hand, offering some measure of comfort in her grip. “And stayed by her side when the Gorgon virus took her. You could have left or sent her to some hospital for her final days. You stayed with her until the end. You even brought the elders of our family here to bury her with honor, in the home you built for her here. Please, Papa. You are still very fit and strong. It would honor me to have you in my home so my son could learn the shape of such things from a man I admire.”
Marco sniffed. He was so very proud of the woman she'd become, but there was a part of him that felt guilty over her applying to be one of his rangers. “It kills me that you left Neroba after your husband died. I know you came all the way out here to take care of me after your mother passed. Nikko doesn't need this place. He deserved to grow up with his friends.”
“He deserves to grow up with his grandfather.”
“Fair enough.” Marco stopped scratching the purring belly, eliciting a disappointed stare from the cub. He laughed at how silly the upside down lion looked with his lips flopping up to his face. Marco returned to rubbing, watching the predator's head dip back down to the floor. “How about this? I have some things to look into. If it all settles out, I'll try staying with you for a week. If I'm not too much in the way, maybe we make it a thing.”
Nayoree leaned her head onto his. “Thank you, Papa. You honor me. Now the things you must look into, they would not have anything to do with that Templar, would they?”
“You can bet that anywhere you find a Marshals Templar, trouble is just around the corner.”
Marshal Brand settled into the cargo netting aboard the A-LAT. Closing the ICOM, he sat back to let the cool metal soothe the burnt skin from his day in the sun. The hood had gotten irritatingly hot, so for a time, he'd removed it. He was paying for that misstep until he could get to a medic. It was easy enough to dip into the first aid pouch on his hip, but that was for emergencies. The seared skin would just have to serve as a reminder to bring a helmet next time.
“Did the Force Commander say anything about Marco telling us no?”
Brand looked across the cargo space to his deputy. Beth was learning quickly. He hadn't thought having an apprentice would be as satisfying as it had been. Lessons he'd long forgotten were surfacing for him to impart to this little scrapper. If Brand was even half as good as Seladriel had been in teaching him, Beth would become a fine marshal. Seladriel. She would’ve been able to talk the old lion into helping them. Even Mara, Marshals Templar and a lioness of the Athalon Temple, would have probably been able to coax him out of his exile.
Brand couldn’t figure why Force Commander Hylaeus and the Vernai monk sent him in place of someone else. He was a blunt instrument the Athalon sent to hunt supernatural threats. He was far from being a diplomat. “No. He hasn't responded yet.”
The crew chief for the ship walked over, signaling for the marshal to put o
n his helmet. When Brand didn't immediately comply, the chief tapped his ear, signing for the marshal to at least use the com in his ear to overcome the noise of the ship.
“What's going on, Staff Sergeant?” Brand asked.
“Sir, we have a priority signal from Echo Company, First of the Thirty-Fifth Infantry assigned to theater operations here on Sadosia, city of Dagoshu.”
“What's their status?”
“Local warlords have been strangling the region of food and medical supplies in an effort to topple the established government,” the crew chief said. “When the major corporations pulled up stakes for greener and less violent pastures, the regional leaders requested help from Elysium to keep the warlords from taking control. Force Majeure inserted to stand guard for local elections. Everything was sunshine and unicorn giggles until the money and the Elysian support ran out.”
Brand looked over to make sure his apprentice was paying attention. “What's the Thirty-Fifth doing there?”
“Supposedly to guarantee aid gets to the people.”
“And CENTCOM only sent a company? What good is that going to do in a city of how many?”
“Hundred thousand or more.” the spacer answered. “They were only supposed to be on-sight security for the distro center.”
“Twin Hells. Put it through.” Brand barked.
The center of the Aspis Light Armored Transport filled with a hologram of a tired-looking commander with soldiers passing by all around her. “Is this live? Thank you. To any friendly forces in AO Dagoshu, this is Hilary Morreau, Captain of Echo Company, First of the Thirty-Fifth Infantry Battalion. Our position is being overrun by Dono Sorkabi, one of the warlords here. He's making a dedicated play for the capital and hired several mercenary companies to do it. CENTCOM ordered us to hold in place until relief can arrive to harden our position. They'll be coming for the distribution center and with the numbers we're seeing, we don't have long. If we abandon the center, we'll be forced into the city for cover, where rival warlords will pick us apart. Morreau out.”
Brand waved to get the crew chief's attention. “Can you get me a line to the Athalon? Use this code.”
“Roger that, sir. We'll push it through the shuttle.”
Tense moments slipped by with the marshal watching Beth bounce her knee up and down. Brand knew that look on the girl by now. She sensed there was a fight to be had, which meant she wanted in. Brand remembered back to the time when he was apprenticed to his uncle. Being a Templar was a family affair for them. A younger, Deputy Brand would often get the excitement slapped out of him for his own nervous twitches. He swore that if he was ever an instructor, he'd temper his student with better teaching than that. “A marshal should remain in a state of calm, only dipping into things like adrenaline when it’s a sure bet a fight’s on.”
Beth's smile nearly stretched to both ears. “Someone just lit a fire to stoke the forge. The Crucible's heating up. You can bet there's a fight on.”
Brand cocked his head, turning an appraising gaze at the exuberant deputy marshal. “And you know that the Shield Council will let us in on it?”
Beth looked through the side screen of the craft, watching the plains vanish beneath them. She had that expression she'd been getting when he met her. Beth was strong in the Crucible and the more of the Way she learned, the stronger she became. She was seeing possible futures, a skill he didn't practice often enough. “I don't think they will but if I've said it once I've said a thousand times...”
Brand finished for her, “You're a kid, you get into everything.”
There was a ping in Brand's ear. “Grand Marshal Peletier, thank you for getting back to me so quickly.”
The woman displayed on his contact lens HUD was beyond what marshals would consider regal for a Templar. Her ornate armor shone with a high polish that would make an aspirant proud. Her hair was tied in tight braids with gold and red ribbon flecked throughout. “I am assembled with the Shield Council, Marshal Brand. What can we do for you?”
“Did you get the ALLCOM message from the security company here on Sadosia?” Marshal Brand asked.
“Yes, Marshal.”
“Do we have support elements en route to reinforce Morreau's position?”
“We do not.” Peletair said with an air of finality. “One company of infantry should be sufficient to hold the distribution center for the next few cycles. We've sent word to the planet that the center is under Elysian protection. That and the company will be more than enough to secure the compound until a support element can be sent. As this is a matter for Parliament and not for the Marshals Templar, consider the matter closed.”
“But Ma'am, they'll get stomped on by the...”
Peletier whirled on him through the interface. “Marshal Brand, Sadosia did not request Athalaon aid. This affair was worked out through CENTCOM and Parliament to secure a foothold for a Force Majeure base in the region. Let them handle it.”
The transmission cut off, leaving the deck of the ship eerily empty. Marshal Brand stared at the rivets in the floor where the Grand Marshal stood before the Shield Council only moments before. “What do you see, Deputy?”
She was smiling. Her face was aglow with the power of the Crucible. One of the most dangerous places in the Frontier forged this child, unlocking abilities she was dead set on using to help people. “I didn't see the transmission, Marshal, but if I had to guess, you heard the Grand Marshal get all authority figure on you without waiting for your reply?”
“She did, indeed.” Brand confirmed.
“So you didn't agree, and if truth be told, she probably wasn't watching the feed to see if you got the full message.”
Brand was smiling despite himself, “Staff Sergeant, can you ask the pilot if she'd mind a bit of a detour?”
“Will it be dangerous?” The crew chief said asked.
“We'll be flying into an entire city on the brink of civil war to aid a company who'll probably die in the fighting over the next few hours unless we help.”
“Oh. So you mean it's Tuesday. I won't have to ask, Marshal. We're Task Force Five. We live for detours.”
Brand reached under his seat, pulling out the black case strapped beneath. Opening it, he freed the sword, taking a moment to run his eyes over the scabbard to the etched prayers that only appeared with certain tricks of light.“You ready for this?” he asked his deputy.
“I was thinking more along the lines of if they’re ready for you!”
Marco sat on the broken couch in the center of his living room. He thought the reinforcements he’d put in would be enough for the growing cub. Everything went to Hells as soon as the not-so-little creature decided to bounce from the furniture after the meal Reese had made for him. He'd most likely fix it in the morning. It wasn't all that bad, laying at a slight angle. Silly cat was so attuned to the Crucible he probably already knew he wouldn't mind the repair.
“Father Lion.”
It was a whisper in the back of his mind. An old name only used in certain company. They knew him well. If they put the words out into the ether, he would hear them. He had been a marshal once. Certain connections forged in the Crucible were forever.
Marco ran his thumb across the wood of the table in the center of the room. One of the legs broke, leaving it in similar fashion to the couch. The tabletop was facing him, which was good, because he didn't feel much like sitting up right now. “I’m here.”
A woman in a military styled, full faced helmet appeared over the table. It was old armor, back from a time when the universe was fit to tear itself apart. Her voice was sophisticated, with an accent that one would expect from the best schools in the CORAL. “We've intercepted a transmission from Dagoshu, on the other side of Sadosia.”
“So?”
“A security company is in peril of being overrun. The marshal, Brand, is going to aid them.”
“Idiot,” Marco hissed. “Parliament won't send anyone to help them. He'll be walking into a meat grinder.”
“Just thought you should know, sir.”
“Thank you, Hera.”
The transmission cut out, leaving him in the dark again. He reached behind his head to a picture of his wife on the end table. Sayora. She was the embodiment of what a life could be in the Frontier. She'd rescued him from the worst of himself, much like the lions, even when he didn't know he needed it. She always trusted him to return when he had to go out for supplies, not once thinking it was something unbecoming. Sayora loved him so much that on his last trip, she didn't even tell him she was sick. He’d found out the truth after a slip, when he'd dipped into the power of the Crucible. Marco had told her his own truth then, whisking her away on one final marvelous journey at the end. When he sat here in the dark, he could almost feel her breathing, like a half remembered-dream at the edge of sleep. “Hera?”
The image of the masked soldier appeared.
“Any news on the boy?”
“We have several teams looking, Father Lion. Rumor has it, Koda Corporation has him. We're digging into that now.”
“Good,” Marco agreed. “Leads out of San Verone?”
The woman's helmet remained static, an indication of an icon more than an actual person, although Marco knew better. “Our man inside is pushing for a connection. He feels strongly that it's the Revered Sister driving this. The Supreme Grand Master of the temple might also be involved but the investigation suggests he's a pawn.”
Marco nodded. despite never showing his own face during these calls. The system was programmed to send a virtual image of him in a helmet. He realized the missing table leg might be aiming it to the floor, making the facial tracking software wonky or shorting it out completely. “And what of Parliament?”
“Our agents inside think it's the Agenda moving things on that end, sir.”
“Thank you, Hera.” Marco said.
“Sir, will there be anything else?”
The Sentinel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 3) Page 3
