The Sentinel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 3)

by Walt Robillard

  A Vosi male crawled out from the technological sarcophagus, flopping onto the floor as if just summiting the tallest mountain on the planet. Long salt and pepper hair draped down to a set of shoulders covered in tattoos. A final deep breath gave him whatever he needed to roll to his feet, his first few steps clumsily unrefined. He stepped to Doctor Habizade, dwarfing the frail diminutive Zolokan by more than a meter. Where the doctor was hunched and craven, this newcomer was massively primal.

  Deep red skin heaved across a chest soaked in sweat from strain. His face was passive, betraying nothing of what hid behind the grey and black eyes. In a motion so quick those watching almost missed it, he turned the doctor's head backwards, breaking his neck in a swift, clean twist. Mara watched the light fail in his eyes as the body crumbled into a corpse.

  “Juvaducci,” he whispered.

  “Dol trianni haskera vo kiame,'” Mara said, trying to get the man's attention.

  “Ha vo Torvianni?”

  “Say vono. Do you speak the trade languages? My Torvianni is a little rusty.” Mara bowed as she spoke.

  “My trade speak is okay, enough. You've come to rescue the Lasher?”

  “We have,” Mara agreed. “But we knew that rescuing you first was the key to his freedom. Who are you?”

  “I am Vai Sul Kadi, one of four remaining Taskmasters for the Vosi Justiciare.”

  Mara's posture conveyed the awe she felt, even if it was unreadable under her helmet. “As in, one of the seven masters who helped train the Marshals Templar.”

  “Don't look so surprised. The Vosi are long lived. My powers will restore me in the moment. You are injured.”

  “I'll manage,” Mara hissed.

  Vai placed his hand against her side, noticing her wince when he touched her. He closed his eyes, remaining in place for a few heartbeats. “There. You broken rib is no broken. Be tall again. Why manage an injury when the Crucible can repair?”

  Mara rotated her arm, stretching against her injured side. “That would have taken a Templar hours to repair, if we even had one capable of doing it.”

  “More practice. More better. Now we go fix Lasher.”

  The heavy infantry mech, Lucifer, finished sealing the blast doors with a high-powered plasma torch. The metal doors cooled quickly against the frigid temperatures of the frozen sea filling the hallway beyond. “Don't you mean rescue Lasher? Also, anyone have an idea on how we're getting back to his level with this one being flooded?”

  Vai didn't seem bothered by the question. “Rescue is fixed. Also, water is no problem. If you listen, you hear the water is pumping. They were quick to patch and seal. Now we only have many bad people in front. Is easy. Juvaducci. We judge them.”

  Lucifer retracted the plasma torch back into his forearm, switching to his heavy blaster rifle. “Can we just shoot them, instead, seeing as they're cutting through the door?”

  Vai smiled. He slipped the plate carrier from one of the broken K-900s. The mechs appeared to be the same height as the Justicar, making the armor a better fit than trying to take from a human. “Shooting is judging.”

  Sparks spit from the door on the weld Lucifer had just finished. The acrid smell of ozone flitted about the room. Vai snorted, pushing it from his nostrils.

  The Cards assumed positions of cover throughout the lab, careful to set beside something that might offer some protection while close enough to something the enemy might not want to shoot. Vai simply positioned himself several meters from the door. He didn't seem to care about the sparks or that he'd be in the immediate line of fire when whatever was on the other side of the blast doors came through.

  “What's that banging noise?” Jester asked.

  “Pressurization as the structure equalizes from the force outside. They probably did a light patch to vac the water. They could be putting a larger seal outside while the security deals with the threat inside. Speaking of which, Vai, you might want to find some cover,” Marshal Truveau suggested.

  “Crucible is cover. Crucible is all.”

  “Of course it is. I have a marshal's plasma sword. You want it?” Mara asked.

  “No, thank you. Better to fight with robot sized pistol than skinny toothpick.”

  A pop and a hiss followed the end of the sparks as the cutters reached the floor. The doors flew open, leaving the room’s occupants to wonder why everything was so silent. A thin framed robot shuffled its way into the room, stopping a few meters away from the stoic Justiciar. Hard light swirled around the bot coalescing into the image of Doctor Kot.

  “My apologies for not coming in person, but I have it on good authority that you are all rather dangerous. My name is Doctor Shindoa Kot, and I am a project lead here at Nelstrom labs for the Koda Corporation. Mr Haas would like to...”

  There was barely a movement from the Vosi. His hand flicked to the side, then he brought his fingers back. The wiry robot crushed inwardly in one moment, making the most sickening scream that could come from a non-life form. Then it crushed into the floor as if someone had stepped on it. He waved his hand, brushing the ruined, sparking lump to fly away into a corner of the room.

  Blaster fire erupted from the hall, flying into the lab in concentrated waves. Vai aimed the K-900’s pistol amid an avalanche of gunfire plowed aside by the Crucible. While the Vosi Justiciare were known for their signature weapon, the Gavoc Sword, they were no stranger to ranged tools. If one had to go with a heavy blaster pistol, the KX-30, sometimes called the Kick-30, was definitely the way to go. As the shooting hit a lull, Vai pulled the trigger twice, then once more. A bot fitted with a front-heavy armored chassis trailing to a thin back end slid into the room, stopping just shy of Vai's feet. The ruined mech had exposed blaster turrets ahead of other hatches that were undoubtedly carrying more than their share of munitions. A gaping hole between the seams in its plate armor still spewed a steady trail of smoke.

  “Koda Doberman assault mechs. Probably good idea I go first.” Vai offered.

  “No arguments here,” Tarot said.

  She slipped behind Vai, pushing into the hall against a hail of incoming shots. The effect of the Crucible wove the bolts around them both. “Lucifer, get up here and put that shield up!”

  Vai was quick to cut her off. “Stay behind me! I am the cover. Shoot around me!”

  The Cards hustled into step behind the man deflecting tidal waves of blaster bolts attempting to knock him down. Justice put his vortex to work, spinning a dizzying torrent of bolts past the Justicar. Any shots that were too close were put back on course by unseen forces acting on their behalf. Four K-900s and two more Dobermans were systematically taken apart by Justice, Vai and Madame Tarot. Reaching the end of the hall, the other heavy mech, Lucifer, was quick to stomp out any signs of activity in the enemy bots.

  “That was fun,” Justice commented in a way that suggested he really didn't mean it.

  Tarot called back to Mara, “Just heard from our friends. They're in place. Seems our little incursion is having the desired effect.”

  “Wait, something's going right for a change?” Jester asked.

  Vai locked a fresh magazine into his pistol. “Situation is like weather in Solerva on Khamera. Give a minute. It'll change.”

  The voluminous chamber was dark save for periodic light pings dotted around the space. A hologram of a box created in wire-framed light spun in the center of the room. Strings of text played across the empty square, finally spelling out the words, construction complete.

  Ceramaclear lids slid open with the barest fwoosh, exposing their occupants to the cool air of the chamber. The lights slowly came up when Haas entered the room. “You're late.”

  Agent Norris, rubbing the back of his neck, propped himself up on his remaining elbow to squint at his business partner. “No hello. No coffee. Just, 'you're late.'”

  Haas didn't acknowledge the comment. “I have the ultra-frames waiting for you. They're loaded up to your specifications.”

  “Aw, you shouldn't have.” />
  One of the men in the medical chambers was already out of bed, standing beside Haas. He was older than Haas would have expected a military man to be, but even in a cloned, genetically augmented body, he seemed content to remain his age. His look of mild annoyance at being here was written all over his face. “Mr. Haas, sir. My name is Major Nailor. You have an active threat trying to liberate a valuable asset and you're already on dangerous footing because the security mechanism in place to secure said asset is now rampaging around your facility. Did I get that right?”

  Haas looked to Norris for guidance.

  “Don't look at me, I ain't even out of bed yet.”

  “Coffee, Frames, direction and distance to target, now, please. In that order, if you don't mind, Mr. Haas,” Nailor said.

  “You can't talk to me that way.”

  “Mr. Haas, until I'm on a beach earning twenty-six percent from what you're paying us, I will walk, talk, and shoot any way I please to accomplish what you hired us for. Let's go.”

  The team all rolled out of their medical chambers, some quiet as the grave. Others were quick to make glib comments about the temperature of the floor or how a comrade's fourth point of contact looked in a cloned body. Shuffling into their equipment, they all stopped to take a sip of coffee and a quick bite of a nu-bar prior to suiting up.

  “You sure you want in on this, boss?” Nailor asked Norris.

  “What good is sitting in an office if you can't get out and see the operation once in a while?” Norris said through a tough grind of a nu-bar between his teeth. “Besides, if anything happens to this body, it's like wrecking a car with great insurance. I'm fine and I'll just use Kam's checkbook to get a new one.”

  “All right, All right,” Nailor said, putting his hands up in a placating manner. “Mr Haas, this is Jassinia, she'll be escorting you throughout the rest of this operation.”“I don't need security.” Haas folded his arms and frowned.

  “Think of it like the insurance Malachi was just mentioning. It's better to have and not need than to need and not have.” Jassinia said.

  “Fine.”

  Jassinia was suited up in short order, already standing beside the CEO. She offered a lightweight plate carrier to him, waiting for him to do something with it. When he looked at it disdainfully, she wrapped it around him. “Sir, this is just another layer of insurance. We're sure to have this matter handled, but just in case...”

  “Your accent. I can't place it. Where are you from?”

  “Little town, just outside of Austin on a marble we used to call the Earth.”

  Haas backed away, the terror clear in his eyes. “She's an Exo?”

  Norris patted his partner on the shoulder. “Sort of. She's like our friend the Gun Wraith. Although, judging from the problems we have right now, we probably can't consider him our friend anymore.”

  “I'm not so sure about this, Mal.” Norris said, bitterly.

  Nailor pushed himself into the small gathering. “Mr. Norris, sir. We need to get on mission. Mr. Haas, blueprints of the Nelstrom show the bottommost level of the facility is the most secure with access to a private launch for you in the event you have to evacuate.”

  Haas stepped away from everyone, making pushing motions with his hands. “No third rate merc and her cheap bots are going to run me out of my own facility!”

  Nailor allowed a slight upturn to affect the corner of his mouth. As a team leader for a Triton Expeditionary Kraken team, he'd seen this kind of thing before. Big money types came in all shapes in sizes but could usually be boiled down to one of three categories. Haas was the, I built this, it's mine, type. “Mr. Haas, my associate Jassinia Nox will be more than happy to explain to you the intricacies of Dreadmarr culture, but rest assured, Madame Tarot is not a ‘third rate merc’. In the time you've had Lasher, she went to war against the Seven Seats Cartel on Tythian, reshaping the political landscape among the remaining criminals so that such landscape would prove difficult to operate for your friend, Stavros Kenner. Tarot and her bots are responsible for untold loss of life and assets to the cartel. Your security feeds also caught sight of the Marshals Templar, Mara Truveau, who is no slouch in the, 'make ’em pay,' department. And finishing things off is the Vosi they just freed. While it wasn't difficult to secure him for you, now that he's stomping about, that dynamic has shifted significantly. As far as powerful psychics go, it wouldn't surprise me if he wasn't able to kill us from anywhere in the station. So please, sir, get with the program and be safe so we can concentrate on containment vs protection. Deal?”

  “Of course. Thank you for putting it so bluntly, Major.”

  “We aim to please, sir. Jazz, let's get him to his safe room. We'll be on coms.”

  Jassinia nodded, letting her smirk disappear behind an enclosed helmet on the ultra-frame. She led Haas away to the waiting elevator on the other side of the lab.

  “He always this big of a pain?” Nailor asked.

  “Yes, Major,” Norris answeed. “When things go pear shaped, he is usually good for a tantrum or two. We good?”

  “Locked up, sir. We still holding with the plan?”

  Norris put on his helmet, linking with the battle-frame's neuro-ware. The cybernetics linked him directly with the suit’s operations, allowing him to react to his environment seconds faster than someone just strapped into it. “Plan is, put a hurt on this Black Tasker unit, smack down the Dreadmarr and the marshal, secure the assets. Back in time to watch the game.”

  “You think it's going to be that easy?” Vivian said, strapping in the last of her frame. The short, muscular woman always wore a predatory smile, regardless of the situation.

  “Never easy, Viv, but we always come out on top. All right, let's get moving. If Lasher pops the seal and gets loose, we're done for.” Norris noted.

  “Come on, Chief. He can't be worse than the Ramgeist we faced on Sayda Veridian,” Major Nailor chided.

  “Major, Lasher's the reason we get hazard pay.”

  Twenty

  “Just who the Hells does he think he is? This is my facility. You can't just go ordering someone about on their own property. And why aren't you saying anything?” Haas said, finishing his tirade to step out of the elevator.

  “I speak when I have something to say, sir.” Jazz answered.

  “Isn't that how everyone does it?”

  “Of course. But if I have something to say, you had better be ready to run.” Jazz gestured from the elevator toward the secured office. A squad of special security agents reinforced with two Dobermans were waiting for them to enter. The burly quadrupedal bots shifted out of the way, allowing the CEO to fume into his office.

  “Captain, this is Jazz.” He said her name like foul tasting medicine forced on him. “She's running the show.”

  Jazz waited for the hatch to close behind him. “Captain?”

  “Keebora, ma'am.” The way his head moved and the massive talons on his hands gave him away as the more predatory species of the Zolokan people.

  “Captain, Keebora, just call me Jazz. I have a feeling that someone's going to make a play for our boss. How's your team looking to make sure that doesn't happen?”

  “We got one rookie. The rest of us served together on Priskar.”

  “That was a brutal campaign,” Jazz said. “This could be just as bad. You up for it?”

  “Ma'am, Jazz, we know the job. Not our first fist fight. We'll keep him in good order. Just out of curiosity, you part of that special detail we've been hearing about?”“I'm just the trigger tapper they put in front of your boss, Captain. Let's all just keep our heads on a swivel and we'll make it through.”

  “No worries, Jazz.”

  Jazz absconded a marker from the reception desk outside the secured office. Without looking, the marker fluttered across the pauldron on the ultra-frame, bobbing along with the skritchety scratch of the felt tip painting the smooth surface.

  “I used to hate that sound in school!” one of the security team croaked.


  “Who you kidding, Catch, you never went to school! You still can't read!”

  “I don't need to read, I can just look at the pictures.”

  Above his snicker, Keebora's eyes rested on the image taking shape on Jazz's shoulder. “That's a Dreadmarr logo, isn't it?”

  “The Owl eyed skull. That would be us.”

  “I thought they called it the Dread Wing.”

  It was Jazz's turn to huff. “Only if you're from the right family, Captain. Best to get the squad set up. Position one of those Dobermans at the lift, just off the center line with the doors. The other in the room with Mr. Haas.”

  “Ma'am?” the one called Catch called for her attention. “Doors ain't opening.”

  Jazz hurried to the panel, watching him touch in the code on the plate. It turned green like it should without the obligatory whoosh of the hatch style door slipping into the wall. She closed her fist, protruding a spike from the top of her gauntlet, ramming it into the plate. When nothing happened, she removed the interface spike with a thwipping snap, sinking it back into the armor. “We've been sliced. Captain, I need this door open.”

  “Bring those Dobermans over here.” Keebora slipped his hand into a plate, pulling a hook and line from the front of the mech. Catch followed suit, doing the same. They latched the hooks into the seam of the hatch, backing away once they were set.

  “CC-8616 and 8694, pull!” Keebora yelled.

  The two Dobermans pulled the slack out of the lines with a vibrant twang. They scurried backwards; the cords straining against heavy security doors that were doing their jobs exceptionally well at the moment. The polished slate floors cracked under the strain of the heavy bots' relentless tug, kicking up fragments.