The Revenant: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 2)

by Walt Robillard

  “Sincere apologies. Family from out of town. Surely you understand.”

  “Of course,” Brandon said, as though sincerity was his default setting. “Please direct your party to the foyer. There's a station for them to pull some of the outside, off.”

  “Greatly appreciated,” Lasher said

  An elevator from the side hall greeted them after the airwash knocked most of the muck from chassis and cloaks alike. Lasher's room had a meeting table, giving them the most space for the murder parade the Palladium hotel had cheerfully accepted. Bethayelle came running through a side door, straight into a flurry of guns pointed in her direction.

  Beth threw her hands above her head. “My bad. Should I come back?”

  “It's okay, Beth.” Lasher motioned for her to lower her arms.

  “Where is the rest of Team Baby Doll?”

  “I can't wait to hear this,” Madame Tarot said.

  “That's a good question, Beth. Tolin? Can you hear us?” Lasher said into a fritzing holo.

  “We can now. Good to see you made it out.”

  “Kat and Kel?” Lasher asked.

  Tolin's image flickered for a moment, hanging in a state of half-static, half simian until the stream corrected itself. “They went radio silent when they picked up the group coming out of the hole. Then they pushed for atmo just ahead of you being coughed out of the Sink.”

  “So they're making the delivery to the freighter.”

  Yuzheff leaned toward the holo-caster on his end, giving it a gentle tap, “Hey Lasher. Who's your new friends?”

  “Long story, Yu. Keep trying to get any kind of link with Kel. I want to know when they get into trouble.”

  “Don't you mean if?” Tolin asked.

  Lasher leaned toward the image, his eyebrow raising to show he had meant what he said.

  “Right. Okay. We'll just keep trying to get in touch with our trouble magnet,” Yuzheff stated as though it were a common occurrence.

  “I'm gearing up now. I'll let you know as soon as I'm airborne.”

  “You steal a ship?”

  “Another long story.” Lasher killed the communication, turning back to his armored guests. “Why are you here? Didn't Castillo set up a bunch of out of the way safe houses for you?”

  “All blown,” Tarot said through the filtered voice of her helmet.

  “I figured as much. I meant why are you right here, with me?”

  “Allow me, Madame. sir, my name is Morpheus. We believed it was in the best interest of the asset's safety that we sought you out for our next placement due to both the Athalon and San Verone depositing us in positions that were eventually compromised.”

  The statement was enough to spin Lasher on his heals. “Are you being tracked?”

  Morpheus rubbed his chin, a strange mannerism for a bot. “We've run multiple sensor sweeps. There is no manner of tracking on any of us or the ship.”

  “Then you are being played. Hard to tell. Might be time to call in a favor. Why trust me?”

  Tarot moved around the table to stand next to him. She was much smaller, but her armor gave the impression that she had fought in a host of battles and won all of them. “Castillo trusted you. That's good enough.”

  “I'm meeting with my friends to go rescue the two strays I have rocketing to a freighter full of trouble. If this works, your mission to protect that shadow hiding over there in the corner of the room might be over.” Lasher gestured to the woman who turned away from his attention. “This hotel is part of a network that insists it protects its patrons at all costs. This might be one of the safest places for you right now, Madame.”

  The eye slits of Tarot's helmet seemed to radiate contempt. She considered Lasher's offer. “If you're wrong, they'll get their hands on her.”

  “They won't,” Lasher said flatly. “Store her here. Leave a small detachment. If you like, have Romeo pose as one of us to sell the ruse. Either way, I have to go, but you're welcomed to stay.” Lasher ducked into the spacious bathroom, using the standing jets of water to get off the rest of the muck the air spray left behind. He came out, dressing into a set of fatigues and armor. “Decision?”

  “Seems one of the safest places in the galaxy is with you,” Tarot said. “We'll help you in your operation. My friends are the best there is.”

  “No.”

  Everyone in the room stopped to regard the red-skinned giant. Lucifer, one of the heavy infantry mechs, got sensor-eye to eye with him. “Why don't you want us?”

  “I don't know you. I don't know who she thinks she is,” Lasher said pointing to Tarot. “I know the one you're protecting all too well. Plus, we've been dealing with tech that can corrupt flesh and blood as well as machines. I can fight a human Swarmer easily. A corrupted bot, such as yourself, couldn't be ignored. I don't need anything slowing me down.”

  “So you would rather us order room service than help stop the killers trying to end her life?” Lucifer asked.

  There was a chime from the table in the center of the room. Brandon the concierge appeared apologetically as a holo in the center. “Very sorry to intrude. We have a problem. A strike team just entered the hotel and asked for you by name. When we tried to send them away, they moved past us into the elevator. They seem to have all access codes to our facility. Ziella is currently trying to dissuade them from continuing but… oh no.”

  A blast of energy shot through the young man's head, snapping it back and sending him out of the camera's field of view.

  “New plan. You. What's your name?” Lasher asked.

  “Lucifer, sir.”

  “This is Beth. She is now your responsibility. See she’s escorted out of the building. They don’t want you or her but they might not just let her go.”

  Lucifer faced Tarot for confirmation. “Of course, sir.”

  “I’m better on my own, sir. Why not let me stay?” Beth chirped.

  Lasher studied her in the Way. “Get back to the hanger and prep Kilmartin’s ship in case we need alternate modes of transportation.”

  “But, I can help,” she said, a child not used to following orders.

  “You will. I’m trusting you to get to the ship. We might need it.” Lasher addressed Madame Tarot, next. “Where’s your ship?”

  “Clutch brought it to the landing pads behind the hotel.”

  “Keep it there. We'll go to him. Are your weapons internally powered or do you need ammo?” Lasher asked.

  The whine of blasters coming to life filled the room. Charging handles were pulled, fore grips slapped, and the hum of energy shields came to life.

  “Good,” Lasher said like an approving coach of a murder ball team. “I just got a data packet from the hotel manager. She says if we can make it down four floors or up two, she can get us out.” Lasher pointed to the huddled figure wrapped in a cloak. “Is she going to be a problem?”

  “You worry about yourself,” Tarot hissed. “I'll worry about her.”

  Kilmartin opened his eyes. He must have been still wearing his helmet because the display had static flicking around it. Someone might have also strapped him to a backboard because he couldn’t move.

  “Image rendering looks a little off.”

  “It might be that he's trying to perceive at the higher resolution.”

  “Why can’t I feel my lips or my tongue?” Kilmartin asked.

  A face came into his field of view, eyes narrowing appraisingly. “I need you to tweak the algorithm so that the sensations are vivid.”

  Kilmartin wished he could move his mouth away from whatever he was tasting. “Ugh. Tastes like I licked the back end of a rhinosaur.”

  “Okay, dial that in.” The face said.

  Sensations came and went while the two men spoke to each other. It was bothering him that he couldn't move his head until a familiar face came into his field of view.

  “He doesn't look like the previous model.”

  “Ennix! Wait. What happened that I don't look like the previous model? You me
an the previous model of me or the previous model of something else? Why can't I move?” Kilmartin was bordering on hysterics with every question he didn't wait for an answer to.

  The unknown man came over him again. “Mr. Kilmartin. My name is Aryan Singh. Like you, I'm a retrieval agent working the Outer Boundary. You were badly injured on your hunt to bring in Corporal Yasmine Savoya. Mr. Ennix brought you out of the Sink while I was surveying the area.”

  “Why can't I move?” Kilmartin whispered.

  “Because I'm about to let you in on a secret. And until you see for yourself, it was best that you remain still.”

  The table he was on tilted, giving him a deeper view of the room. It was a medical station or lab. He was surrounded by soft white light and a field of medical holos floating around the room. His benefactor was ahead of him, dressed in plate armor with cyber-strand coils radiating under a poncho draped over his left shoulder. A devilish looking mask hung across his chest on hoses that disappeared into the shoulder straps of the armor.

  Aryan displayed a holo diagram of several wounds. “We'll release you momentarily. You were in critical condition after your fight with Orin Lashra.”

  “Technically, you were deceased,” Ennix added.

  “What?” Kilmartin barked the exited question.

  Aryan held up his hand to stifle anyone else interrupting him. “Listen. Mr. Ennix made an impassioned plea to help you. Rare for a combat model like him to do so. You also have information that might help me in my bond. On the merits of both those things I decided to help you. But you should know this comes at a price.”

  Kilmartin sighed in that way people do when there's no other choice. The strange thing was, except for all the auditory cues, he didn't feel like he was sighing. “Doesn't everything?”

  “Indeed,” Aryan said, pulling over a mirror in front of the table. He flipped it over, showing it to Kilmartin. Something was a bit off. Looking at himself, he felt like he was looking into a carnival mirror from back when he was a kid. It was one of his favorite times he'd spent with his family. There were no worries of the day to day, just the fun of being able to play and be a kid. But taking in his reflection, he didn't get that sense of fun. Something was off.

  “I need to move!” Kilmartin shouted.

  “Indicators suggest he's trying to reach for his head.”

  “Throat more likely, Mr. Ennix.” Aryan said, tapping his own throat. “Mr. Kilmartin, calm down! Now that we have that settled. Lasher stabbed you under the jaw and then cut out your throat. Moments later the passage you were in was flooded, which tossed your body into all sorts of things. You floated back to the entrance where Mr. Ennix was coming back online.”

  Aryan continued. “Now here is where things get strange. I have access to tech that allows me to download a brain pattern to a cypher module. Think of it like a memory chip for an ICOM. When inserted into a body with a brain that is wired to accept it, you can transfer your consciousness anywhere. However, your brain was damaged. The only reason we were able do the transfer was that the temperature of the water was very low, preserving you a bit. The bad news was, due to your injuries, we had to reconstruct some memories from stories you told Mr. Ennix. So there will be gaps.”

  “So my mind is on a chip inserted into my brain.” It was a statement Kilmartin said out loud more to hear himself say it. “You also said my body was damaged. So, what is this? Why do I look so strange?”

  “You had recovered the body of a bot when tracking Savoya. It was easier to repair than you were.”

  “I'm in a robot?” he asked, his hysterical tone returning.

  “You are. I can clone your original body, but that's going to take time you don't have. Unfortunately, this is the best I could do with the equipment I have on hand. If you agree to help me capture Lasher, and maybe even make good on your debt to Chen by taking Savoya, I can try to get you into a cloned body. If you don't, I'll shut you down until I can find an actual modded body to get you into, but you only have so much time until that's not an option.”

  “Why?” Kilmartin asked.

  Aryan gestured to the various pieces of equipment throughout the lab. “This facility is for transferring consciousness through the hyper-net to different locations. Doing what we did today was a stretch. Your chip will eventually go through a catastrophic failure, because it was never meant to interface with an artificial brain. We need to make a real cypher-cast of your mind inside human cerebral tissue on actual equipment suited for the task or the code that holds your mind together will begin to fragment. You'll die.”

  “How long do I have?”

  Aryan waved a hand toward a doctor on the other side of the room. A holographic band floated around Kilmartin's wrist, slithering across like a snake around a branch.

  Kilmartin read the information. “That's not long. How much will I owe for the clone?”

  “Judging by what Mr. Ennix has told me of your work, if you were proactive, you should be able to pay it off in ten years.”

  “Proactive, huh? Well, I guess I don't have a choice.”

  “I'm sorry.” Aryan pointed to the doctor operating the work station across the room. “Doctor, please run our friend through an initiation cycle so he doesn't fall on his face. Mr. Kilmartin, the chassis you're in has special holographic aspects to change its appearance. Right now it's generating an image taken from one of the cameras on your ship. I'll have the doctor lock that feature so this is what you'll see. Is that acceptable?”

  “None of this is acceptable but I guess I'm along for the ride.”

  “Good enough.

  Singh walked out of the lab, into a pair of troopers waiting for him. Getting a full tactical team into the hotel without anyone noticing had been an interesting study in Ziella's security measures. Sneaking these two down to the labs was more work and anything but interesting. But, the Gun Wraith had helped Triton build the network of Palladium Hotels with the science facilities beneath. He'd made sure to leave a key under the door mat for himself for times like this. The troopers were propped against the wall in full helmets with advanced skel-frames. One had his face plate open.

  “You done with your little science experiment?” the man asked.

  Singh had replaced his skull face mask. The tubes coming out of the bottom gave him the appearance of a monster from the horror-pulps that had become all the rage a few years back. “You may dispense with the sarcasm, Captain Martel. The only thing you're doing is wasting precious oxygen.”

  “Listen, vagabond. We didn't ask to be put under your command.” The last word dripped with venom.

  Singh stepped so close to him that Martel had to catch his footing. “Yet, here we are. If you like, I can remove you, placing your more cordial subordinate in charge, or you can toe the party line and do what you're told.”

  Martel attempted to raise the rifle dangling from his chest, only to have it pressed against him, aimed at his feet. The skeletal-combat frame struts whirred from the strain of trying to raise the rifle. Singh's arm didn't move, easily handling the pressure set against him.

  “Captain, let's not resort to our baser instincts. I'm not some third rate merc bent on showing you up or beating you down. By remove, I meant I can let you have a room at the hotel or send you back to your ship. I wasn't implying murder. I need your experience and expertise to help capture this man. You're corpse has no value to me. That being said, the next time you test me with your rifle, I'm going to make you watch me feed it to someone you care about.” Singh released his hold, nodding to the warrant officer walking with them. “Chief Dovai, should I trust Captain Martel will behave himself from here?”

  “I'll keep an eye on him, sir. I'd hate to have to break in a new officer at this point.”

  “Good. Captain, please fill me in on where we are in the operation.”

  Martel composed himself, defiant acceptance radiating from his posture. “Sir. We've cleared out the lobby of patrons. The concierge alerted the target but we've si
nce dealt with him. The manager was a problem. Vosi. She's got some talent with a blaster to go along with a heaping dose of Second Sight. We shot her up during our initial entry for all the good that did us. I wouldn't count her out.”

  “The search?” Singh asked.

  “Floor by floor. We're going to pinch them, sir. Team Three is moving from the roof. They've already cleared the top floor. Executive penthouses. They were both empty so they're moving to the next floor now. Teams One and Two are leapfrogging from the ground floor. They're on the second right now. Team Four is on cordon. They have the hotel locked down with drone surveillance and Falchion light infantry bots patrolling.”

  “Excellent work, Captain. Please keep me appraised.”

  “Will do, sir. Will you be joining us on any of these excursions or just sitting back to watch?” Martel slid his faceplate closed, hiding his contempt for the mercenary.

  “I'll be moving with my own crew to secure the emergency exit.”

  “We have the exits covered.” Martel interjected.

  Singh ignored the captain's statement, posing a different question instead. “I assume you're on your way to the security station?”

  “I said we have all the exits covered.” Martel's words were becoming increasingly sharp.

  “Captain, I am considerably acquainted with this hotel and its secrets. I'll contact you once you're at the security station so we can coordinate.”

  Singh turned away from them heading back to the lab.

  “Don't,” Dovai said to Martel over a private channel. “I get that this is your team but he's Dreadmarr. Best to do what he says and go home with a fat paycheck.”

  “I don't care what merc house he's from. I'm just sick of these fat cats coming out of nowhere to tell us what's what.”

  “All I'm saying, sir, Dreadmarr is not something to mess with. They're more than just mercs. When my people wanted out from under a Vosi thumb, we called them. One of them killed more Vosi Justicars in a season than we had in years of rebellion. Every time one of the reds put a bolt into one of them, the Dreadmarr got up and killed two of theirs as payback.”