“After the Shepherd, we only have the Architect and the Baroness left. If we find her first, her Royal Commando would come in handy to get us off planet,” Russo noted.
“I'd prefer it if we got to the ship before we did any hard fighting.” Vidar said flatly. His cultured accent was in stark contrast to the harsh brogue being thrown about by Russo. “According to what I'm seeing here, the government center in the green zone hasn't been touched. While I find it doubtful that Norris hid a royal cyborg and her twelve man protective detail in the town hall, knowing him like I do tells us we shouldn't discount the idea.”
“Smash in the front door?”
Vidar wagged a finger waving off the idea. “No. Direct the Swarm to us. The mercs will think it's an attempt to disrupt the power generators for that section of the city and divert their forces accordingly. That will give us an opportunity to move drones in the area to confirm she's there.”
Russo brushed his hands across the legs of his pants, removing the rest of the sweet dust from them. “Where are you going, sir?”
“To greet the Shepherd when they wake him. Are you concerned for my safety?”
“Not if you bring him with you,” Russo said, pointing to something stirring in the next lab.
“It's like a parking lot up here. Why didn't someone tell me there was a convention in town?” Ares said.
Marco, Ares, and Nike stood on the bridge of the Promise, studying the flotilla of ships in the very busy orbit. Warships of every size and description floated in clusters like young adults at a festival waiting to see who was going to make the first move to dance.
Ajax appeared between them, his ghostly blue hologram pointed to a section of space represented on the main display, giving them greater detail over the view. “Insinidyne over there. Koda Research Group there. Those three clusters are mercenary companies. Mason's Marauders, Chimera Combine, and a pretty sizable group from TRACO.”
“Who do you think will step up to see who we are?” Marco questioned.
“Incoming comm from the TRACO defense ship, Regalius,” Nike said from across the bridge.
“Unidentified craft, this is Captain Folton from the Regalius. We've been tasked by the rightful government of Tythian to restrict planetary travel due to an ongoing conflict. Identify yourselves and state your intentions.”
Marco stepped forward, motioning to Nike to put him through. “Captain Folton, my name is Marshal Marco Sorrin of the Athalon. I have reliable info that the conflict you're talking about is a ruse and you do not have a legitimate claim to a security contract. You and all your other friends are hereby ordered to leave the area. You have five minutes to respond.”
Folton wore confusion on top of his incredulous stare. “Are you out of your mind?”
“No, but I just changed it. You leave now or I start blowing ships out of the sky starting with yours, Captain.”
Folton was laughing. “You have nothing on that tiny little tub that could even scratch the paint. Besides, Marco Sorrin was a legend in these parts. He'd be ancient, if he was even still alive.”
“Last chance, Captain. Leave or I make you.”
Nike cut the transmission. “Are you really going to kill all those people just to prove a point?”
“No, but they don't know that. Open me back up,” Marco requested.
Captain Folton was in the middle of a profanity laced tirade when Marco rejoined the call. “... so if you know what's good for you, you'll leave this sector at once!”
A brilliant beam lanced out from the darkness, striking the Raglius in the aft of the ship. Two of its six main thrusters sheered off, venting atmosphere through a plasma shunt that set it ablaze. In the captain's display, crew were recovering from the floor amid impact alarms and flashing lights on the bridge. Someone was trying to ask for a damage report over the klaxons.
Marco whistled, summoning the attention of anyone within the camera's view. He pointed two fingers toward his eye, then toward something on the side of both craft. The first ships jumped into the system well outside the moon's orbit. The flotilla passed behind it, emerging from the other side with twice the number it had come in with. Within seconds, jump signatures coalesced into actual vehicles as destroyers, carriers, and battleships crisscrossed the expanse.
A new voice broke into the com across an open channel. “All commands, this is Sky Commander Tyberian Hylaeus. Allow vehicles in illegal Tyth orbit two minutes to plot solutions out of the system. They may leave Hyper-Cast capable recovery vehicles to ferry any personnel off planet. When the clock runs down, destroy anything larger than a shuttle left up here.”
A flurry of communications officers signaled their receipt of the orders from the Sky Commander, a rank that hadn't been used since the Exodus Wars. The armada of Elysian ships reoriented themselves to take maximum advantage of gravity, position against objectives, and defensive maneuvering.
“Tyberian? How did you end up a Sky Commander?” Marco called.
“Somebody's grand baby took out a whole tribe of people responsible for killing his mom, which exposed this whole conspiracy civil war thing. The powers that be thought they needed someone roguishly handsome and intelligent to sort through this.” Hylaeus answered.
“So that guy was busy, and they asked you?” Marco asked.
Nike waved her hand to get Marco's attention, signing that they had been transferred to a secure line of their own. The Sky Commander barely waited for the audible ping letting both sides know they were in a private call.
Hylaeus nodded at the receipt of the secure line. “How long has it been? You still look like the day I almost ran across your field of fire on Nasdra Yon.”
“You did run across it. I almost shot you,” Marco confirmed.
“What's a little gunfire between friends. Still, I'm sorry about Seladriel.”
“Thank you, my friend. Where are we?”
“Heavy fighting in and around Kabran City. There was a lull, I assume, when Mara sprung Lasher, but the fighting is back on. Do you think this little stunt of yours is going to get the mercenaries to pull out?” the Sky Commander said.
“Mason and Chimera will. TRACO has a reputation that they're willing to fight for. They might stay,” Marco surmised.
“Pity. They've got the biggest presence on the ground. Speaking of which, got word from Lasher. They've managed to wring some info out of one of their prisoners. Malachi Norris, the sector commander for Triton Expeditionary, is most likely dead, as is the gangster, Stavros Kenner. It seems they had their identity, and maybe even their bodies stolen by an Exo Noble, Vidar Anaxis.”
“We know Anaxis. We pushed him and his kin out of Nasdra Yon. I killed their Guardian during that fight,” Marco said as if the matter should have been solved.
“Well, Anaxis is here on Tythian looking for some military unit. Apparently Norris separated them,” Hylaeus said.
Ajax interrupted. “A phalanx? Marshal, if he's found his phalanx, it means he'll have access to the other nobles from his ship. Singular Exodus cyborgs really aren't that dangerous because they lack the nobility present to organize them. A functioning Exodus phalanx could reorganize scattered units across the frontier back into a cohesive fighting force.”
Hylaeus, a seasoned commander with the Marshals Templar, was quick to pick up the thread. “But to what end? The Frontier isn't like the Core Worlds. All they'd have to do is shove off into the black and take any uninhabited world.”
Ares was next to offer an opinion. “Maybe we've been looking at this the wrong way. In Mara's recounting of events, when we were together on Sadosia, Anaxis-as-Kenner said he was pressed into doing all this, perhaps by Norris. The agent had his Phalanx, which he was using to leverage tech and expertise. If Anaxis found a way to remove Norris and take his place, he'd have all the resources of Triton Expeditionary to look for his people. He could send teams out to stoke the conflict to focus people's attention someplace other than his real goal.”
Ajax and Mar
co answered Ares' unspoken question in stereo. “They have the ship.”
“What kind of ship are we talking about?” Hylaeus asked.
Ares groaned. “We're going to need bigger guns.”
“So, if they have their ship, why are they still down there?” Marco asked.
This time it was Ares and Ajax who answered in unison. “The Baroness.”
“Would you stop doing that? What ship do they have?” Hylaeus barked.
Ares pushed a hologram over the coms to the commander. “The ship we're referring to is an Exodus Void Runner.”
The Sky Commander's face scrunched, like remembering a terrible smell that triggered the expression all over again. “You mean, those gargantuan colony ships with a ton of guns?”
“One and the same,” Ares said.
Marco moved through a series of screens, searching the planet's surface for any signs of redeployment. “Looks like Mason and Chimera companies are bugging out. TRACO's still going to be a pain in our fourth point of contact, though. Commander Hylaeus, if you would be so kind as to deploy the regiments to the planet. We need to contain the fighting. Are you still down at Striker Main?”
“I'm here with a small detachment of Lancers.”
“We're coming to pick you up,” Marco said.
Nike ended the call, sifting through screens faster than a human eye could track. “Marco, the various ships in orbit are plotting jump vectors. It's about to get less crowded up here. Also, looks like you're a popular guy, today. We have another incoming call, audio only.”
“Put it up.”
“Marshal Sorrin, good to see you made out of Elysium, alive.”
“Marshal Truveau, you're late.”
“My fault. I had them stop for ice cream.” The voice that interrupted was deep, electronic, and guttural, like a digital demon from the Twin Hells.
“Fluff! I swear to the Crucible that when this is over, we’re having a chat about your personal space issues!”
“Sorry, not sorry, Mara.”
“Is everything okay, Marshal?” Marco asked.
Something akin to a rhinosaur in a porcelain shop sounded over the speakers. Mara returned to the broadcast, more composed than she had been. “Fine. We have an overly friendly crew member who seems to have gotten it into his processors he has to be up close and personal because he lost his best friend.”
Marco was smiling. He understood the sentiment. “I take it this is the amazing Fluffang Doom-Snuggle I’ve heard so much about?”
“Glorious gods on fire! I’m famous! See that? The undead Dreadmarr super marshal knows me. Hey! That’s not fair, Mara! Can you cut the space magic and put me down?”
Mara groaned. “He’s not undead.”
Ajax tapped Marco on the shoulder. “Too bad this is only audio.”
“The real reason we’re late is that we recovered a Vosi Justiciare’ named Vai Sul Kadi. We returned him to his home on Maldinon.”
“Now there's a name,” Marco said, leaving the last of the statement to hang as he sensed something in the ether. He leaned forward, grabbing one of the handrails as buried feelings and power washed over him from through the Crucible. “Orin?”
“Hello, sir. It’s good to hear your voice again.”
Tears crawled their way down Marco’s face, gliding to points of stubble across his jaw. They hung on him like his guilt, eventually hitting the floor as contentment filled a wounded spirit. “I’m so happy to know that you’re safe.”
“You wouldn’t think that if you saw the company I keep.” Lasher said.
Laughter sounded through the speakers. It was rich and full of affection for the young mongrel whose quiet power had a way of drawing people in. Marco covered his eyes, having a hard time keeping his voice steady as he felt Seladriel’s presence close by. Orin was the stray who someone had fed, only to become a loyal companion ever after. His spirit in the Crucible was blinding to the point of breathtaking. Rage, determination, and love all wound into a single point of the fire in the Way.
“Orin...”
“I know. Thank you.” There was a sniff in the com from someone on the other side clearing their voice. “Listen, we’re on our way back to our place on Tythian to pick up a few things. Mara told us your part in this. We’ll be ready. As a side note, Vai sends his regards. He said you were the best student he ever trained.”
“He used to call me Marcosolla. Little Marco. He’s a good man.”
“So are you. We’ll call again when we’re ready to go. Marco, thank you.”
“See you on the other side, Orin.”
The com ended with Marco straightening himself back into his demeanor of mane and fangs.
“Are you well?” Ajax asked.
Marco answered the question with the smile of a man who discovered he hadn’t lost everything. For the first time in a long time, someone had given him the one thing he had always freely given to others. Hope.
Twenty-Four
Ehlaya wrapped her arms around Yuzheff as soon as he was at the bottom of the ramp. Heads pressed together with gentle nuzzling brought a smile to the weary pilot’s face. “I take it you missed me?”
“You were gone too long, this time,” she said.
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“You better.”
Kat and Kel watched the exchange with quiet amusement. “How come you don’t get all weak in the knees when I come home?” Kel asked.
Kat rolled her arms around his neck, embracing him so her cheek rubbed against his. While her bionic body had sensation receptors and all manner of next generation bioengineering, there was no substitute for skin on skin. She finished her rub with a tug on him below the belt. Kel squeaked at her grip, grimacing his face in mock horror.
“You see, lover boy, I prefer to keep you close because every time I let you out of my sight, you get shot. No more getting shot and dying.”
“That was one time,” he said apologetically.
“Ah, huh.” Kat pushed him aside, pulling him back to kiss him. She lingered in the electric moment just long enough to notice they’d been approached. “Matron Nistalla. Thank you for meeting us on our return.”
“We were excited to hear that Hal Drassa had come back to us.”
Kat remembered the term. Favored son, although the word favored was more akin to the word ‘honored.’ Lasher had become somewhat of a saint to the Tyth across the planet as rumors of his connection to the ancient beings in their legends, spread.
“Did you miss us at all?” Kel asked.
“We missed Tolin,” Nistalla said.
Matron and cyborg touched their foreheads together with their hands on each other’s neck, a familial greeting for the Numassa tribe. The two had become close since they’d arrived, Kat often spending long stretches of time around the accepting members of the Tyth. While she couldn’t connect to the land or the ‘Winds' as they called their version of the Crucible, their sense of community was addictive.
The Matron held Kat’s gaze. “We are glad you are home, Metal Sister.”
“Did Filada have her baby yet?” Kat asked.
“Soon, she wanted you to be here.”
“She honors me.”Kat said.
The tribal leader, exhibiting the trademark slim, long limbed appearance of her people, reached for Kel, pulling him into the huddle.
“Okay, we’re hugging,” Kel said.
“Is Hal Drassa here?”
Tolin walked down the ramp, briefly stopping to touch his forehead to the matron’s. The gorilla like simigon was as gentle as he was brutish. “He’s in the bay. We have people inside he needed to speak with.”
The Dreadmarr worked over the holographic terminal floating above the captive Haas. It was polyhedral, each side rotating to feature a different screen to him, while offering a view of it to anyone else around them.
Haas woke up, looking considerably more haggard than he had when he’d started the trip. He was startled to see he was still in the grip
of the Dreadmarr team that had been torturing him for what seemed like weeks, but to his dismay, had only been a few hours.
Lasher knelt down beside him. “Now that it’s just us, I want answers. If I decide to kill you, it’s over. You won’t be coming back. We’ve destroyed the cypher network and everything attached to it. Dreadmarr forces raided the Palladium network as well. That’s done. Answers, now.”
“If I tell you what you want to know, do I get to go free?” Haas implored.
“Yes.”
“And her?” Haas asked, tilting his chin toward the restrained Fallen Dreadmarr, tied to a bulkhead across the bay.
“That’s not my call,” Lasher spat. “What is Norris after on Tythian? We know it's not money, or land because he could have taken whatever you made selling the Swarm-tech to the corporations and bought himself a moon or planet or whatever.”
“The Baroness of the Phalanx. He’s been obsessed with finding her,” Haas said nervously.
Lasher's impatience seemed to drip from his demands. “Explain.”
“How much do you know about the Exodus Fleets?”
“I don’t want a history lesson, professor. I want answers. I can fill in the gaps, myself.” Lasher ignited the Plasmaxe, pulling Haas forward to his knees, execution style. “Answers, now. Short and to the point.”
“Okay, okay. He’s here for the Baroness. The leader of the Exiles we stole the tech from. We used the Swarm-tech to incite a war on Tythian, then rake in residuals from grateful corporations looking to cash in on resources from the planet. On top of that, we take a cut from the mercenary houses paid to secure it. The Elysium government also wanted to use our conflict as a powder keg to remove the Athalon from power. It was all a cover to look for the Baroness. He said if we could find her, the Frontier, and even the CORAL, would be ours for the taking.”
The Sentinel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 3) Page 29
