Walking into the crowded street, he covered his face with his hood, attempting to blend into the midday crowd. After a few steps along his course, he caught wind of the distinctive bell over Lambert, Lambert, Dinglehammer’s door. Three grotesquely large men pushed their way through the narrow door frame in the kind of hurry one seldom saw when going to see an accountant. Castillo changed direction, only to be pushed into an alley by a woman that looked two parts violence, three parts sex. It would be difficult to tell which ones he’d enjoy more.
“So sorry, miss. I’d love to play, but I have matters to attend to elsewhere,” Castillo said.
“What’s your hurry? A man in clean robes over all this armor should have enough credits to show a girl a good time,” The vixen cooed.
“The robes should have given it away. I’m not looking for a good time. I’m looking for enlightenment.”
The vixen's voice went from sultry to savage. “Don’t worry, brother. Once we’re done with ya, you’ll be plenty light enough.”
Castillo centered himself in the Crucible. Drawing in the power around him, his world view expanded, bringing the obscured into sharp focus. Two other bruisers were stalking up the alley at him while the lithe female fighter kept him pinned to the wall. The hint of a stance here. A wrinkle of skin there. Somewhere in the distance was a recognizable metallic plodding that permeated through the noise of the street. Beyond, the tinkle of a little bell above a certain accounting firm. The power of the Way showed him the path to freedom from his current harassment. The monk gave a stiff side kick into a barrel that sent refuse tumbling along the sidewalk where people gave the entire scene a sneer while moving onto their own endeavors.
A pair of police robots halted at the entrance of the alley. “According to section thirty-one, paragraph four, sub section lima, one-one, you are in violation of the city’s littering statute. Declare your business or be fined in violation.”
“My name is Chief Inspector Esteban Castillo of the San Verone Monastery. These people are rogue elements of the Order sent to impede my investigation, probably by killing me. That just doesn't work for me. I'll handle these. I order you to enter Lambert, Lambert, Dinglehammer Accounting and stop the men trying to ransack the place.”
The two police security bots processed the command in a fraction of a second, turning into the crowd with their subcompact weapons at the ready.
“Are you serious? Stop those bots!” the female fighter roared.
Castillo slammed his fists into the brick wall he was pressed against. The entire facade of the building exploded with the force of a frag grenade. Bricks flashed out, slapping all three assailants into the alley. The monk dropped the outer robe, exposing exquisite armor of plates and sashes slipping into a fighting posture. He coiled his body, ready to strike like a viper. “So the plan was to toss the office, then roll me up, making it look like a mugging gone bad? Whose plan was that?”
The woman recovered first. Settling her lithe form into a stance as elegant as his own, she advanced without fear or hesitation.
“Iron Sand technique?” Castillo asked, sounding disappointed. “You’re going to fight me with Iron Sand? This is ridiculous.”
“You say that because I’m a woman?” She threw several punches, switching to low sweeps in a fury of combat that gave her comrades time to recover.
Castillo deftly evaded the attacks, “No. I say it because you’re a...” He dropped his foot straight against her knee, breaking it while severing the associated tendons.
“…Rank...”
He struck her several times in the throat and clavicle, shattering bones on his way to interrupt her next series of attacks. Grabbing her by the neck, he hoisted her off the ground into a high arc terminating in her shattering portions of the carcrete.
“…Amateur!”
“Whoah!” said a young boy filming the goings on of the street with a drone.
“Hey kid. Keep that running The show’s not over yet.”Castillo charged the two remaining faux thugs. The Crucible bent to his will, shifting the natural course of gravity to one of the alley’s walls. The two men fell into the side of the building several meters above the street. Castillo landed next to one of them, stomping his foot into the man’s chest, driving him into the room beyond. The last assailant shot to his feet trying to find his balance amid gravity’s new normal.
“You won’t live through this, Inspector.”
“Hear that?” Castillo taunted. “That’s repeated bursts of blaster fire coming from the two police mechs. If your friends aren’t completely cooked by the time I’m done with you, they should be slow enough for me to cool down from this impromptu workout.”
The thug roared as he charged. Castillo dropped his hold against gravity, tripping him in mid-run, dumping him clumsily into the street. The inspector landed with the force of an avalanche, although coming up empty for his efforts when his prey rolled away from the attack. The enemy threw off his jacket, revealing rows of tattoos layered over pocked scars. He thrust an injector into his skin, recovering some of his balance along with his calm.
“The easy path is for those who are not adherents of the Way. We trod it eternally so they may not have to face the trials we willingly undertake on their behalf,” Castillo said to the renegade monk.
“Don’t give me that cobbled together San Verone garbage. Within the shadows we need no false morality. We are masters of self when the call comes. When it’s still, we drift along the river of life without burden. Your life is a lie, monk.”
There was a flutter of speed between the two combatants tangling in a desperate gamble to see who would win the day. Feet struck shins in an attempt to off balance as fists collided with armor to crack it open. The entwined combat flourished back and forth until a single brick bounced from the scattered debris into the head of the thug. Blood gushed from his scalp as his eyes struggled for focus. A second brick struck the other side, further blasting him into a state of concussed vertigo. The wounds attempted to close above his eyes, finding renewed focus. Castillo’s only acknowledgment was to tilt his head to match his crooked smile.
A deluge of flying debris peppered the thug-monk like a swarm of piranha hungry for the kill. They battered him in multiple directions; the storm forcing him to cover his head from the dusty onslaught that threatened to overwhelm him. He jumped free of the projectiles for a fraction of a second, only to collide with his former comrade being Crucible thrown from the building Castillo stomped him through. The three attackers lay in a bloody heap at the monk's feet.
A single brute came from the accounting office, ducking from blaster bolts fired from the office interior. He dodged around the crowd, trying to use them as human shields against the bursts coming from the police mech’s weapon. Castillo sailed from the alley, striking the man to the side of the neck with a sharp crack. He came to a sliding halt at the camera boy’s feet.
“Hey kid, did you get all of that?” Castillo asked.
“I sure did, sir! Wow!”
“Do me a favor,? Would you be so kind to cast all of it to my cell-com?”
“No problem. Can I post it or do you need to hold on to it because it’s evidence?” the kid asked, as if he already knew the answer.
“This isn’t the CORAL. Post it wide,” Castillo said with a wink.
“Thanks!”
One of the security bots limped its way back to the chief inspector. “Chief Inspector Castillo, we regret to inform you that two of the assailants were killed in the altercation at Lambert, Lambert, and Dinglehammer. My fellow unit, ACD-1144 Sierra was also deactivated during the action.”
“My condolences. Was anyone else hurt in the action?”
“Debris injured several bystanders. I have dispatched Solvineaux rescue services, who should be here momentarily.”
“Good,” Castillo complimented. “Make sure they transport all six of them to the morgue.”
“But sir, my sensors detect that the one at your feet is not dead.�
��
“True. But he doesn’t know that, yet.”
Four
Marco stood over the upright stone, running his hand over the coarse top of its edge. Every time he’d come to visit, he found it harder to look at its face, as if in reading it, he would lose her all over again. He dropped his hand to the carved letters, fighting back the tears he knew would come. A heavy weight pressed against his leg. Nahvo had really taken those stalking lessons to heart, so much so that his Papa hadn’t noticed he’d been followed. Every time he came to this place, the lion prince would join him.
“Me and you again, eh?”
There was a flash in the Crucible. The lion projected a memory from when it was a cub. He was being roughly handled by men intent on ripping him from the corpse of his mother. His sire was pulling himself forward in an attempt to attack the poachers through the pain of his shattered body. They laughed. The raspy giggles laced with the smell of old liquor and cigarettes. The lion tried to lunge, only to be put down by a blaster bolt somewhere out of sight. The little prince didn’t know what was happening. Didn’t understand why its parents weren’t moving or what was occurring at the hands of these strange creatures. That’s when the silence broke. One man fell as more of the shooting light sticks barked out their burning death. The bolts flew away wrong, under orders from the universe to do so. The rough man set down Nahvo gently in the grass, backing away with his hands up. A creature, similarly shaped but far different in the Crucible, approached them. He had the scent of a brother lion, wrapped in fire and wrath. The other man-things died under his fire stick, tinging the air with the smell of their burnt corpses.
The air was still as the man-lion helped the cub to his parents. He sat mewling, trying to get mama or papa to move. He tried desperately for a nuzzle that wouldn’t come. Why wouldn’t they move? Their spirits were not in their bodies anymore, the shells just lay there. He couldn’t stop the mewling. The man-lion knelt next to him, protecting him during his grief. Other creatures came, looking to pick the meat from their bones. The little prince could sense lion man's duty was to protect them, standing watch until his mourning was complete. In those times, it promised waves of pain through the Crucible. The man-lion would tear apart anything that approached uninvited. After days of tears, the little lion finally slept. More man-things came to remove the parents from their places. Unlike the foul smelling ones, these were gentle, full of respect.
“This pain is yours to carry, little prince. Never forget them. Never forget yourself. They fought so you could live. Let me show you why.”
The little ball of fluff catapulted into him, nuzzling him, finding comfort in something that looked so different on the outside, but was so similar in the Crucible. Memories of adventures flooded his mind, passed to his father lion as he sat in his grief among the headstone wreathed in tall grasses.
“Thank you for that. I’ll remember you, too. I love you.”
The little prince slapped him with his tail, jaunting off to a respectable distance away. There, hidden in chaff, was the entire pride. They sat like statues in a mortuary, giving him the privacy he should be afforded while standing guard for his moment. He was part of their family. They came to pay their respects.
“See that, love? They came to see us off.” Marco reached up to his shaggy mane, brushing it away from his eyes. He discarded his clothes, along with his glasses, that stupid floppy hat and the shemagh. He set a mirror onto a nearby tree, giving him both hands to work. Huge clumps of his beard fell away, exposing his chin to the sun it hid from since she died. The hum of a razor worked around his head, sheering more of the mop free from his scalp. Running the mirror around his head, he was satisfied enough with his work to toss it on the pile.
He recovered a black lacquered case near the base of the tree. Placing a myoprene uniform on, the lions caught sight of a segmented line tracing up his spine, ending in a set of spikes radiating into his neck just below his skull. The strange appliance disappeared under the jacket, closed up to the collar. He turned back to face the gravestone, staring into the face of his wife. She walked between the grasses, a ghostly silhouette in the Crucible. She casually pointed to the case at his feet.
“Yeah. I always forget that part.” He recovered a black sliver of metal, placing it over his left eye. It highlighted the scars running across his face, plainly visible now that it was free of the garden tangle that was his beard.
Sayora clasped her hands to her chest.
“I know you always liked the clean military look. I was lost after you passed into the Crucible. If it wasn’t for that little lion, I don’t know what I would have done.”
She placed her hands on her hips.
“Yeah, I know.”
She approached him like she had on that night long ago. He remembered her words. “My body might have fallen to the Crucible but my fire will always be with you. You mended my broken heart with your love. You brought light to me when I couldn’t find my way out of the dark. I will always be a thought away if you need me. But I need one favor from you. There will come a time when they call for you again. Don’t hide yourself away. Remind the galaxy who your are and why we venerate and fear lions.”
He bent forward when she leaned in to kiss him. He felt her warmth radiate through him as she disappeared over the grassy planes. The lions behind him bowed their heads at the fierce matron becoming one with the Crucible.
Marco walked to the other side of the mountain. The fire to burn his old clothes had been quick. He made sure to put it out once it had had turned to ash. Couldn’t risk a brush fire hurting the pride lands, especially since he wouldn't to be there to do something about it.
Rounding the bend to the ridgeline, he took a moment to marvel at the waterfall coming from the lake above him. Rivulets of water cascaded from a hundred meters up to come splashing into the pool below. This spot was a typical watering hole for the creatures on the mountain, he’d left instructions to the rangers to keep it off limits to the staff and kill any poachers here with extreme prejudice.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to come up here?”
Marco turned to regard his grandson. “You’re not supposed to be here. It’s not safe.”
“Whoah! What happened to your face?” Nikko asked.
“I had to put it in order. I have things to do and didn’t want my briar patch getting in the way.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
Marco gave him a sideways glance, eliciting a chuckle from the teen.
“Okay, so maybe it was a little rough, but it was you, Papa.”
“It was. Come here, son. I have to talk with you about some things.”
He and the boy sat across from each other on a gaggle of rocks. “I forgot that you lost your eye in the war, since you always wear your glasses. Does it still hurt?”
“Sometimes. But not in the way you might think. Nikko, I have to go away for a while.”
Nikko's expression darkened. “What? Why?”
“Well, like grandma, I had another family once. My grandson needs my help.”
“But that’s your old family. They don’t live with us. They don’t visit. Family doesn’t only go one way. That’s what Mom says.”
“Your mom’s a wise woman,” Marco agreed. “She’s right. But the reason they don’t visit much is that they do important work helping people. We still keep in touch.”
“How come I’ve never met them?”
“You did. But you were young. You might not remember.”
Nikko looked off into the water. “The tall red boy. He played ball with me in the field.”
“You do remember. Good man.”
“Can’t they just come here for you to help them?” Nikko asked
“That would certainly make things easier. I’m sorry, son. I have to go to them,” Marco apologized.
“Does Mom know?”
“Not yet. But she will.”
Nikko's voice cracked as he complained. “She said you were going
to move in. I was looking forward to having you around.”
“I know. I was too.” Marco said. The crack hadn't gone unnoticed. Manhood was coming fast for this quippy kid. Was he doing the right thing? Would all of this be worth missing Nikko growing into the man he'd become?
“Papa, why are you crying?”
“I'm sorry, Nikko. This is hard for me. I’ve been a part of your life for so long now, it’s hard for me to think of mine without you. You and your mom have been a real family to me. I love you both so much. I just didn’t think this part would be so hard.”
“Remember when I was younger, Papa. I was afraid of ghosts so you would come down from your house and sit beside my bed. You told me that no ghosts could get me because they were scared of Papa Lion. You told me it was hard for us to face our fears but we must do so. Simple men run from danger, strong men confront it. I want to be a strong man like you, Papa.”
“You honor me, Nikko. I would like to honor you, too. I’m glad you’re here. I want to give you something.”
“You have something for me?”
“Yes, but it has to be something you choose.”
Nikko kicked a stone into the pool. “Why is that?”
“You know how your mom and I sometimes talk about the Crucible?”
“Is this going to be a lesson?”
Marco laughed. He snagged a fistful of shirt, dragging his grandson into a crushing hug.
“Is the gift going to be the ability to breathe after this?”
More laughter. There were no words for how much Marco loved this kid. “Not quite. Some people can use the teachings to see past the physical world. We can change the world around us. I’m one of those people. Your grandma was too. You could be, but if I open that gift up for you, you can’t go back to the way things are now.”
Nikko looked away to the pool of water beside them. “What do I get, and what’s the cost?”
The Sentinel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 3) Page 5
