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

by Walt Robillard

  “For that we had the Lion Guard,” Mara offered.

  Kel threw a mock salute at Mara for her comment. “You ain't kidding. I watched some of the battle footage from Sadosia. Insane.”

  Mara returned his salute with a rude gesture. “After the fight, he took Rook Noguera to join Rook Tychon to flood the capital on Elysium so they could straighten out the thing with the Athalon, San Verone, and Parliament.”

  Kel was playing bongo drums against Fluff's chest plate, jerking his hands back every time the panther mech became annoyed by the activity, trying to snap at his hands. “What's this whole rook thing we've been hearing since we started working with the Dreadmarr?”

  Tarot looked up from cleaning her weapons close by with the Card Arkana and the other warriors they'd picked up on the Halikos moon. “Rook is a term from Old Sol that refers to a chariot. Later on it came to represent siege towers used when knights would assault a castle wall. To us, a rook is an organization of troops, all belonging to the same family.”

  “So, like a clan,” Kel offered.

  Tarot nodded. “It's more than that. Each rook takes purpose within the greater community from their totems, the symbols on their armor. Rook Nashir, carries the Zelezni Rock Spider on their gear. They're experts in technology and subversion.”

  “Slicers with guns?” Kel asked.

  “Exactly. We met Rook Subikai on the moon. The thresher shark is their symbol. They're movers, pilots. We rode their sub into the facility and no one was the wiser. Rook Tychon wears the rhinosaur.”

  “Brutes,” said one of the Nashir Dreadmarr hovering in a corner.

  “And then some. Then there's my clan, Rook Oros. The symbol is the serbegan, the great Tyth horned owl. We're the most plentiful of the rooks. We were also responsible for allowing the Fallen problem to get as big as it has. It's our burden to bear. We hunt the stars as bounty hunters, soldiers, and sometimes spies, although the Nashir are much better at the last part than we are.”

  The Nashir warrior who spoke earlier pushed on the head of a woman tied to one of the bulkheads. Her skull was covered by a black bag even though she was unconscious. Jazz had been heavily medicated after the Dreadmarr pulled her from the facility. Although they hated the Fallen, no one wanted to listen to her scream in pain for however long their flight took.

  “Who were the ones who followed Sorrin off planet?” Mara asked.

  “Rook Noguera. The Manticore. They're like special forces. Very few normal in that family.”

  Kel switched to his perplexed look. “What do you mean?”

  Lasher pulled himself away from the side conversation, leaving Mara, Kel, and Fluff to marvel at the wonders of all things Dreadmarr. He tapped Kat on the shoulder to get her attention. “Where do we stand on our little Exile problem?”

  “Getting us into the Koda lab was probably the best way we could have run that. When we were on Doseidos, I'd made contact with an AI left behind by the Veriton Host, the original members of the Exodus Fleet. They taught me how to use this body and all of its Sentinel tricks.”

  “Teacher's pet?”

  Kat laughed. “Of course. While on site, I tapped into the Panamorphic Environments they like to use so much, tracked their bio-signatures back to their medi-beds, and uploaded executioner's code to burn all aspects of their cypher architecture across their networks.”

  “Trade-2 please, Kat,” Lasher said.

  “Right. I fragged their entire body swapping network. No more jumping into clones or bots for them. The network's fried. The clones were set to self destruct, and I left behind a silent alarm should they try to use the virtual environments again. Once that was set, I searched for Kenner and found something interesting.”

  Lasher was grinning when he arrived at her conclusion before she did. “You have clone backups for Kenner and Norris, but memory code for both only leads to Kenner.”

  “Hey, it's like cheating at cards when you use the Crucible like that. So does that mean Norris is dead now, too?” Kat said more to herself than Lasher.

  “Not necessarily.” Lasher said. “He could have his cypher off the system, but I think it's safe to say that Agent Norris hasn't been calling the shots for some time. Do we call him Kenner or Norris? Will he be able to recreate the system you just burned?”

  “No.” Kat answered. “They got it from Jazz Nox over there, or should I say AI Number Ten and the Gun Wraith. Since we have her and Marco has the other one, they won't be rebooting that system anytime soon. As for what we call the Exile we've been fighting this whole time, he's an Exodus Cyborg Noble, originally tasked as the Information and Intrusion officer of the ship he crewed. His name is Vidar Anaxis, the Raven.”

  Lasher nodded, looking to the other end of the ship where the Nashir gathered. The plethora of Exiles in the bay pulled at his thoughts in the Crucible, leading him to a conclusion about his friend. “You were on his ship.”

  Kat traced a tick mark in the air as though he’d won a prize. “I was a security forces captain for the royal guard. When our Guardian, the Security Officer, was killed on a survey of an alien world, we touched down on Tythian. As acting Guardian, my job was to wear an infiltration skin so we could meet with the growing colony on the surface. We needed to secure raw materials to repair our damaged ship. The Raven wanted to enslave the locals and take what we wanted, but I knew we didn't have the manpower to hold an operation like that. My plan was to pay them to do it. The tech we would’ve traded was of no consequence to us, so why not? Anaxis didn't see it that way and betrayed me, leaving me to rot in the cell where you found me.”

  “I'm sorry,” Lasher said.

  “Don't be. His plan backfired. They were run off Tythian by the Marshals Templar where their ship failed, and they drifted for years until a Triton Kraken team found them. And here we are, because I wasn't smart enough to see him for what he was.”

  “A lot of that going around.” Lasher stood, attempting to walk by Kel and Fluff goofing around. A tendril wrapped gently around his leg.

  “Where are you going, friend?” the Doom Cat asked.

  “Just over there, Fluff.”

  “You need help?”

  Lasher smiled. “From you, always.”

  Kel knocked on top of Fluff's cranial armor, causing a clang. “You know, in the days leading up to your rescue, he wouldn't shut his yap about how wonderful it was going to be once we got you back. There would be murder parties, arson, oh, and don't forget the exploding clowns.”

  The panther mech hip checked him. “The clowns were your favorite part!”

  “I missed you guys.” Lasher said.

  “See? M-U-R-D-E-R clowns. Works every time.”

  “Did you blow a circuit?” Kel's question spawned another impromptu wrestling match.

  Orin took advantage of the distraction to approach the Rook Nashir troopers. “Mind if I have it out with your boy?”

  “You are the war leader here. They whisper your name through the Gauntlet with much respect. As directed by Father Lion, we are at your service,” the Nashir commander’s voice coming through the helmet speakers did nothing to draw away the deep, accented huskiness of it, reminding Lasher of Bedouin warriors near Khalizad.

  “Appreciate it.” The mongrel wrapped his fingers into the satiny deprivation hood covering the Dreadmarr's other prisoner. A gentle tug removed the garment, exposing the surprised expression of Kamden Haas. He blinked against the light of the shuttle interior.

  “You!” Haas growled.

  “Yeah, me. Why did Norris have you produce all this tech for them and what did he promise you?”

  “What does it matter? Water, please,” Haas croaked.

  A Dreadmarr produced a bottle. The CEO drank deeply, not caring about his normally immaculate appearance, spilling the contents in a dribble across his chin.

  “Answer,” Lasher demanded.

  The bottle was jerked away, leaving Haas free to glare at Lasher. “I heard that you were a brilliant conversation
alist. I see you don't disappoint. I assume you'll torture me if I don't give you the answers you want?”

  “No.”

  “Just, no? Am I to be tossed out an airlock? Fed to your pet tiger?”

  Fluff stomped on the deck. “I'm a RIM-IV, so that makes me a panther, thank you very much! One of your company's best models! How could you forget me? Have I put on weight since this all went down? Is that why he doesn't recognize me? Is it my hair?”

  “You're perfect, Fluff,” Lasher said, patting the mechanized terror.

  “I didn't have any fun while you were gone.”

  Haas wasn't having any fun, now. “How did such utter morons take over my facility and capture me?”

  “It's because you're a businessman. Rather than pay an entire security team, you went with a small crew for the occasional intuition and bots for the shooting. Bots have their place, but they're no replacement for flesh and blood troopers,” Kel countered.

  “Whose side are you on?” Fluff asked with feigned injury.

  “Awe, come on! You're not even a bot anymore, Fluff. You're the best parts of what it means to be alive. It’s like a real person grew inside your shell.”

  “That was inspirational, Kel. You should put this stuff on the Hyper-Net and make the millions.” Fluff stalked about the bay. While the mech was content to joke with his friend, he was focused on their captive like an animal hunting its next meal.

  “It's because it isn't one of mine,” Haas spat out.

  Fluff slithered closer to the CEO. His tail slapped bulkheads and deck plates to show his displeasure. “Not cool, Dad.”

  The CEO stammered his response like a first time snake charmer hoping to hypnotize a cobra. “We originally designed the RIM-IV as a fast attack mech. Small, agile, and packed full of weapons to take on light robot fighting vehicles, regular bots, or troops in battle frames. It was a pretty successful line for us, especially coming off of the RIM-III Hunter Anubis model. But you, and it pains me to say this, are a work of art. Beefier combat frame, much bigger transform signature with power field coils, upgrade capable weapon housings, and your matrix. It must be at least a Sodroman personality processor or a Simicrion. Someone put considerable time and effort into you. If I had to guess, you're a one of a kind.”

  Lasher soaked in Haas' speech, not bothering to point out to anyone that for the first time since being reactivated, Fluff was at a loss for words. Haas’ observations would be a trail to follow for another time. He let out a rumbling breath akin to a growl, causing everyone gathering around the prisoner to take a step back. His expression hadn't changed, but it was pretty clear to everyone in the room that the mongrel had reached the end of his patience. He stepped forward, shrouding their prisoner back into his hood.

  “No! No! Please don't...”

  The mongrel waved for the Nashir. “If I remember correctly, the specialty of your rook is tech subversion, yes?”

  The Dreadmarr commander nodded. “Technology and subversion.”

  “Fair enough,” Lasher agreed. “Can you plug him into an ICOM and bleed him for what he's worth?”

  “Yes, through his cypher-mod.”

  “How long will that take?” Lasher asked, more harshly than he intended.

  “The Panamorphic Environments that Miss Katarina speaks, work on different time. We can simulate one hundred hours of dangerous life in under the hour.”

  “Good. Can you work with Morpheus to punish him? Pull him out every fifteen minutes and see how cooperative he is,” Lasher instructed.

  The Dreadmarr signaled his men to prepare. “This, we can do. If he dies?”

  “Keep him alive, please. If anyone's going to kill him, it needs to be me.”

  Twenty-Three

  KABRAN CITY UNDERGROUND – PLANET TYTHIAN

  The ceramaclear hood vented icy gases, exposing the reanimated corpse shrouded inside. The medical chamber was cocked at a steep enough angle that stepping out, even on unsteady legs, wouldn’t be challenging.

  A hand formed of prosteel plates and cyber-strands reached for the newly animated corpse’s hand, forcing a cup into it. “Drink this, sir. It will help get you back on your feet.”

  “Thank you, Russo,” Anaxis said. “If I’d known walking around in a skin suit, even an augmented one, would be this much trouble, I would have stayed where I was. Be that as it may, how long was I out?”

  “Thirty-six hours, sir.”

  “That’s a problem. If my trip signal woke me up in this body, then Lasher escaped and is on his way here. At least I don't have to wear Norris' face any longer. I much prefer Kenner's.”

  “Not our only problem, sir,” Russo said. “We received word from the Alchemist that someone broke down the panamorphic environment. We think it's heavily trapped, so we suspended its use. Any of us who dies on Tythian is dead for good.”

  “Do you have any good news?” Anaxis asked.

  Russo pulled over a chair, grabbing a cup of his own. His body was a cybernetic miracle, the best the forges on their ship could produce. Most of it was covered by the myoprene suit under his armor, giving him a mostly human appearance from the neck up. His uncovered, bionic hands snatched a bowl full of powdered pastries, offering one to his superior.

  Anaxis indicated a hard no to the offer. “I still can’t fathom how some of you still eat rather than just using the nutrient packs. I would think the aftermath of real food would be beneath you.”

  Russo took a moment to chew, savoring the powdered sugar. “This is a treat you can only get on Tythian. They taste amazing. I’m more than happy to produce a bit of waste for this delicious snack to run over my tongue and down my throat. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “How is it you think this is an appropriate way to talk to your commander?” Anaxis asked.

  “Who do you think helped you get into that lofty chair, O wise one?” Russo countered.

  “Fair point.”

  Russo licked the finger pads of his bionic digits, removing the delicate sugar from between the groves. “In any case, when you cycled up, we activated the local control units just in case Lasher had slipped his leash. We have each psychic plugged into five dedicated tactical AIs, allowing us local control over the swarm tech. First, second, and third Commando is already dirt side. Let the mongrel bring his friends here. We have the swarm tech, a small legion of cyborgs, and soon we’ll have our ship back, which means we’ll have everything we need to dust off this rock or stay to punish anyone who gets in our way.”

  “Damn, Russo. I thought I was the cold one.”

  The combat cyborg continued to lick his fingers. “Which is why you keep me around. To keep your hands clean. Otherwise Her Highness never would have handed you that chair.”

  “And have you had any luck locating her?”

  The question seemed harder to chew than the treats he'd been consuming. “No. We were out there for a long time. Norris had plenty of time to hide you anywhere. It just so happened that he stumbled upon our broken guardian in that ruined little fort. He originally tapped into it to spy on the unit occupying the place until he realized who she was. Then he stole the location of our potential jump points, which pretty much scrambled her brains a bit.”

  Vidar Anaxis stretched to his full height, testing the viability of his new body. While both Norris’ and Kenner’s bodies were slightly different, they had been engineered according to Anaxis’ specifications. A few more moments and it would fit like an old glove. “And if I had put a slug through her skull we'd still be asleep, waiting for you to come back for us.”

  “The look on my face when you found us first. It was quite the day.” He took the time to pluck another pastry, not bothering to wait until he was done swallowing to talk. “Since I'm not a fan of nostalgia, let me tell you about your kit. Crisis combat form. Fully robotic chassis surrounded by genetically augmented flesh. Our special nanites are running through the organics, repairing it should you get a boo boo or you want to try that other thin
g. Full combat package got installed along with cyber-wire brain implants so you should be a match for most threats out there. Just in case, we brought this bad boy out of storage.”

  Vidar turned to regard a towering mech behind him. “Nicely done. I haven't worn that in some time.”

  “Some things never go out of fashion,” Russo offered. “The old AI is up and running, so if you have to go anywhere out of the compound, take it with you. Now's not the time to take chances.”

  “It's also not the time to have a two and a quarter meter tall, autonomous armor system shouting, 'here's your enemy,’” Anaxis observed.

  Russo held a hand in a placating gesture. “It doesn't shout as much as it gestures. We've upgraded it with all the latest tech we've been running. The Architect has been really innovating these last few years. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised with how easily you'll reduce your enemies to dust.”

  Vidar finished getting dressed, topping off his elegant slacks and shirt with an armored chest rig and weapons. He touched a lavish wrist watch, launching a holographic projection of a man in military fatigues with a shaved head over a close cropped beard. “Navigator, this is Guardian. How goes the search for Her Highness?”

  The hologram faced the projector with a disinterested expression. “We are close, Vidar. The human's files were very well protected. Second Commando is moving to the next target site now. We believe it's the Shepherd.”

  “With the Shepherd in play, we could increase our search a thousand fold. Keep me apprised of the situation.” Vidar said.

  “Of course.” The holo projection winked out.

  “Norris, breaking up the Phalanx to hide us around the city was juvenile and tiresome.”

  Russo worked at a tiresome crumb stuck in a finger seam. “His abduction of the nobility was a dangerous plan. You trading our tech for their safety worked in his favor except he didn't plan for the Gun Wraith connecting all of you in the environment. Then it was only a matter of time until you fragged him.”

  “Indeed. Being the Raven was all the more rewarding for the guile it offered. Being both the Raven and the Guardian meant I had the cunning to construct the plan and the authority to execute it. Felt good to trap that fop in a prison of his own mind.” Vidar motioned over a table in the lab, bringing up holo screens depicting action happening across Kabran City. His augmented mind soaked in the scenes, devouring them for every scrap of information he could glean within their glowing borders. Once reunited, their conquest of a sector of space to call their own would be assured. It would be sweeter if they covered that space in the blood of their enemies, like Russo's powdered sugar.