by A. R. Knight
The Metal Man
A Wild Nines Story
A.R. Knight
Copyright © 2017 by Black Key Books
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Also by A.R. Knight
1. Moon Walk
2. Coffee and Crime
3. Night Raid
4. Sacrifice
5. Ruin
6. Recovery
7. The Doctor
8. New Life
9. Vengeance
10. A Wild Nine
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Also by A.R. Knight
Find More Stories
Afterword
About the Author
Also by A.R. Knight
The Mercenaries Trilogy
The Metal Man
Wild Nines
Dark Ice
One Shot
The Riven Trilogy
Riven
The Cycle
Spirit’s End
The Rakers Saga
Rakers
The Skyward Saga
The Spear
Oratus
Starshot
Mind’s Eye
Clarity’s Dawn
Creator’s End
Humanity Rising
The Last Cycle
1
Moon Walk
The man stumbled through the courtyard, veering across the wide space like an errant asteroid. Crowds parted around him, barely sparing the man a glance. He dressed like most of the others though he seemed to have forgotten it. His blazer was open, his tie a whipping missile striking his face in the wind. Bad luck that he'd chosen a recycling day, when this section pushed out its stale air for the clean stuff. The fresh oxygen would help with the hangover, though, which the man would ride out in the holding tank.
Mox nodded to the centurion beside him, eyes hidden by the helmets they both wore. Through his visor, Mox looked at the drunk and squinted. A green outline appeared around the staggering man, who was now looking around realizing his predicament. The rest of Mox's vision coated over in translucent data. The man's name was Ryder Kand, and he'd been admitted to Luna on business from Earth. His first trip, according to the logs. And a sizeable bank balance.
“Plenty of coin, first time up,” Mox said.
“Classic case of moonwalking,” Yuri replied. “It's your turn.”
“Don't remind me.”
Mox suppressed a sigh and moved towards the drunk. Two weeks of daylight, and the sunshine was being spoiled by another one of these idiots. Launching their way to Luna on their climb up the corporate ladder, getting blasted in Luna's low pressure, and giving Mox grief.
All around the drunk, people were moving towards a quartet of buildings ringing the courtyard. Luna's government center. All four corner towers connected to each other through sky bridges; arcing hallways and offices hanging in lattice shapes above the courtyard. During every brightening, as Luna called the two weeks of sun the vast city traded with the far side of the Moon, the courtyard filled with prismatic rays pouring through the glass dome.
Mox set his hand on the drunk's shoulder, catching the man staring up at the light. Ryder turned towards Mox, looked at the helmet, the body armor, the flowing red cape, and gave a slippery grin.
“Now there's what I was looking for!” Ryder announced. “A guardian angle!”
“Angel, you mean?” Mox replied. “Do you know where you are, Mr. Kand?”
Ryder furrowed his brow.
“The Moon?” Ryder said, looking around.
“You're not wrong. Have you been drinking, Mr. Kand?”
Ryder stared at Mox for a few seconds, his eyes getting larger with every tick of time's clock. His mouth worked through a variety of expressions before settling back into the grin.
“Oh yeah!” Ryder yelled, throwing his fists in the air. “It was a great party. You should've been there.”
“Sorry to have missed it. Now that your party’s over, though, it’s time to find where you’re supposed to be.”
Mox reached up to his helmet and tapped a small circle just over his ear. It activated a broadcasting mic along a secure channel, allowing any other centurions in the area to tune in.
“Ops, can you run a check on a Ryder Kane?” Mox said. “He's standing in front of me, drunk, and I need to know what he's doing here.”
“Check that,” a buzzing voice, someone at Ops, replied.
“Ops? Who's that?” Ryder said, eyes tightening for a moment before dropping back into their wide-eyed innocence. “Also, man, I'm trying to get back to my hotel. You mind showing me to the Grand Mare?”
“Yeah, let's go for a walk.”
Mox took Ryder's arm and directed him towards one of the courtyard exits, the one leading towards the mag station and, more importantly, away from most of the crowds. Sarge always pushed them to act on instinct, to trust that feeling when things weren't right, and follow it till they found the source.
“Need an extra hand?” Yuri's voice came into the helmet.
“Watch my back,” Mox replied.
“Who're you talking to?” Ryder asked.
The man's speech wasn't slurring as much, even in the couple minutes since the conversation started. Mox handled drunks by the dozen. By far the most common problem on Luna, mainly tourists. Sobering up when you've got a caped centurion in your face wasn't exactly rare, but doing it that fast . . . Again Mox heard Sarge in his head, beating in The Commandment.
“Don't worry about it,” Mox said. “What business are you in, Mr. Kand?”
“Hey, man, I'm drunk,” Ryder replied, the slur surging back. “I work with coin, you know? It's complicated.”
“I bet.”
They were nearing the exit to the courtyard, a series of escalators, half of which went down into the bulk of Luna's space. Underground and away from radiation. Caves made habitable through coins willingly spent to be free from Earth’s governance. The centurions provided protection, and The Commandment was their sword.
Anybody, anything, at anytime is worthy of suspicion and investigation.
“This your first time on Luna, Ryder?” Mox said as they stepped onto the escalator.
“Might be,” Ryder answered, clinging to the railing. “In fact, I believe it is!”
Mox took in the words. His helmet analyzed their cadence, fed them through to Ops. Liars had their tendencies, people with things to hide did too. Ryder's speech was veering around in speed, in enunciation. Drunks could do the same, but Ryder was establishing a pattern. His voice arced up towards the end of his sentences, the slur making itself known. But at the start, when Ryder was still working through what to say, that was clear and clean.
“Hey, you're going the wrong way,” said a voice to Mox, from the next escalator over, going up.
Erin. Heading to work in tower three, her space-black hair curled up into a bun with a pair of strands hanging over her face. Each of those strands pulling at Mox's eyes like the darkest opal. She knew he liked that style, knew he was patrolling today.
“Work started early,” Mox replied as Erin went by.
“Does that mean it'll end early?” Erin said.
“If I'm lucky,” Mox called after her.
Ryder skipped downed a couple steps. Mox watched the man for a moment. His feet in particular. A true moonwalker wouldn't get over three steps before falling over, but Ryder s
kipped his way down the escalator. Like the man was running.
Wait.
Mox burst forward, jumping the steps a few at a time.
“Got a runner!” Mox yelled into the helmet. “Need backup at the base of the G-tunnel.”
Ryder heard the call, picked up speed. Tossed a frantic look back at Mox. No way the man was drunk. Which made him dangerous.
Mox used his arms to propel himself down the escalator, bouncing the tips of his toes on the edges of the steps. As the crowds were all going up to the buildings, the one active escalator Mox and Ryder were using was empty. Ryder hit the hard floor, a slate gray tile made to mirror actual moon rock, and veered right. Towards a set of restrooms. Mox chased after him, talking into the helmet to track his progress. Sarge was already going to give him hell for letting Ryder out of his grip, Mox didn't want to break any other protocols.
The restrooms were spotless, cleaned by bots triggered whenever someone used the facilities. Ryder didn't try the women's area, for which Mox was briefly grateful. The men's room had a trio of stalls along a back wall facing the entry. To the right of those were three urinals, all unused. Ryder stood passed them, pressed against the side wall. Mox walked towards Ryder, his hand gripping the stunning baton attached to his waist.
“Last chance, Ryder. Cooperate, or you'll be taking a rough nap,” Mox said.
“Sorry, man. There was no other way,” Ryder replied, a vicious smile lighting his lips.
“Unfortunate,” Mox said, raising the baton.
The three stall doors slammed open. A short woman sprung out of the one to Mox's left as he turned, tackling him and pushing Mox into the sinks. One shattered, spraying water against Mox's back, soaking his cape. He tried to swing the baton at the woman, who was pinning his left arm to his side, but then Ryder was there, holding Mox's right arm against the mirror above the sinks. A pair of masked men, heads covered in shirts pulled tight with holes cut around the eyes, ran up to Mox and tugged at his helmet. Ops yelled through the ear-piece, asking for updates. Yuri's voice came through, saying he was on his way.
Not that Mox had time.
“Hang tight, buddy, this'll be over real quick,” Ryder said above the broken pipe's spraying hiss.
Mox grunted, braced his right leg, and threw back his left shoulder. The woman smashed into the mirror and let go, glass falling around. His left arm free, Mox punched the first masked man in the stomach. The guy groaned and stumbled away. The second man rocked back, giving the helmet a strong tug, and Mox felt it snap off. Felt the sudden air on his scalp, the sudden quiet as voices stopped speaking into his ear.
Then Mox's neck went numb. His arms and legs a second later. And then he was on the ground, soaking in the sink’s growing puddle. Ryder held a small sidearm, illegal on Luna. Small enough to palm.
“Can't kill you with this,” Ryder said, holding it up. “Much as I would love to. Thanks for the helmet, man.”
Mox couldn't reply as Ryder and the others left, leaving him stunned on the floor of the bathroom, wondering what just happened.
2
Coffee and Crime
Erin's wide, locked eyes told Mox all he needed to know. The bruises were dark, the cuts on his right arm from the mirror glass stinging and ugly. The slim off-duty centurion uniform, pants and shirt in a dusty red, would've done a better job covering if Mox hadn't rolled up the sleeves. Keeping them long made him feel trapped. As he took a seat across from Erin at a squat two-person table in the bustling coffee shop, Mox pushed a smile onto his face to break the tension.
“They let me off for the day,” Mox said.
“Looks like you already had a full one,” Erin replied. “Why aren't you at home?”
“And miss our meeting?”
“Meeting? Is that what we're calling it?” Erin relaxed back into the chair, wispy smoke from the coffee curling between her hair.
“Unless you want to call it a date?”
“How about we go with coffee?” Erin said, wrapping the words in sly swirls. “You want a date, I’m free tonight?”
“Could make that work,” Mox said. “You got a place in mind?”
“I picked the coffee.”
“There's only one cafe in your building.”
“Complaining already?”
“Fine,” Mox held his hands up. “I’ll comm you once I find somewhere.”
A rolling bot paused by the table, a tray on a ball kept stable by amounts of math Mox didn't want to contemplate. On the tray, beneath one mug, a blue circle lit up. Mox grabbed the coffee and the bot zipped away. Mox held the brew to his nose and inhaled the scent. The shots Ops had given him to knock out the stunning effects hours before Mox would naturally recover played with his senses, dulled the scent of roasted, bitter beans.
“So I've been avoiding it, but my break's almost up . . . ?” Erin said, moving her eyes across Mox's scraps.
“I was jumped in a bathroom,” Mox said. “It wasn't a fair fight.”
“Attack a centurion? Who would do that?”
“Someone with a death wish,” Mox said. “They'll be found.”
“And when they are, will you go?”
Mox nodded.
“Of course,” Erin said, and Mox picked up the subtle edge. Tensed. Then Erin shook her head, stared out the window. “How many times have we sat here, Mox?”
“Lost count.”
“Eight,” Erin said. “Eight times since you asked me to share a drink with you. Every time since then I've been trying to find a key into your world, into what makes you move.”
“At dinner, I'll tell you.”
Erin took a long drink from her coffee, then stood up.
“I think I've figured it out,” Erin said, then softened, her eyes crinkling. “But I can't wait to hear it from your lips. Tonight, then,”
Mox raised his own mug in goodbye. Turned to his comm and skimmed Luna's nearby restaurants. His usual haunts would not make it; too many centurions, too little luster for a woman like Erin. Luster. Mox shook his head. He didn't know what food she liked, what style. These short coffee chats skimming the surface, each one digging just a little deeper into their lives. Tonight, though, tonight would be different.
3
Night Raid
Ops found them, the bastards. Clustered beneath an old mineral school, an art enclave where Luna's wandering souls could learn to forge, twist, and bend moon rock into sculptures. It was a religious experience, a chance to grow closer to floating rock millions now called home.
“Figures,” Mox said over the comm to Yuri. “They traced the helmet?”
“The idiots carried it all the way back before cracking it,” Yuri replied. “Only reason it took this long was we had to confirm the trace was accurate. They'll load up in thirty. Sarge wants know if you're in.”
Yuri could have said no pressure. Mox had the day to recover, to let the fast-acting gels seal his cuts overnight. Could wish Yuri good luck, go out with Erin, and wake up tomorrow knowing justice had been done.
“I’m going,” Mox said. “Don't start without me.”
“That's on you.” Yuri said, clicking off the conversation.
Mox shot a one-liner to Erin, asking to push the date till tomorrow. That they'd found the punks who'd jumped him. Then Mox slipped on his gear, his arms aching as they fit into the tight plates. Tied on the red cape required when patrolling in public. It could get caught on anything, but Sarge bet big on the cape's mental effects. That swirling bright red drove criminals to hand themselves over. And Sarge wasn't wrong. Luna had its share of crime, more with all the fighting on Mars bringing agitators Luna's way. Mox's cape and the threat of deportation ended most confrontations before they started.
Centurion headquarters for Mox's quadrant wasn't far from the plaza he'd been at earlier, a rounded building in a cluster of stores known as Apollo's Market. Evening wasn't the quietest time, and Mox saw plenty of people doing what he should have been: strolling under the blue-bright glow of Eart
h, wrapped in a shared experience. Instead he went through the squared double doors, thick slabs that acted as metal detectors and ID scanners, alerting posted centurions just who was coming into the station.
The briefing room was all black, nothing on the walls or floor. Walking into it felt like stepping into starless space. In the light from the hallway, Mox made out Yuri, Sarge, and a pair of other centurions. A small crew for a raid.
“Shut it,” Sarge said, gesturing towards the door.
When Mox clicked it closed, dousing every light in the room, the world changed. Sarge, his hands moving through the air, pulled up and around them the mineral school. They were floating above the school, looking on a virtual image. Sarge brought them down, marking the two potential entrances for the two teams. Yuri and Mox from the back, Sarge and the two others from the front. Sarge swiped his hand and the outer image flew away, replaced by an interior map. Hallways and wide rooms for classes. The school split into four sections, with a central hall linking all four rooms. Dead in the middle was a spiraling staircase made out of, what else, moon rock.
“There's nothing upstairs but an observatory. The school's owner says it's for reaching your center,” Sarge deadpanned. “What we want is underneath.”
Sarge swiped again. The basement was a single large chamber, outlined in red.
“As you can see, we haven't collected data on this room in a while. We're getting a sixty percent chance of changes here,” Sarge said. “Outside inspections haven't spotted any likely exits, but that doesn't mean they don't exist. The stairs is the only choke point.”
“Alive, sir?” Yuri asked.
