The Galactic Sentinel: Ultimate Edition: 4 Books with 2000+ Pages of Highly Entertaining Sci-Fi Space Adventure

by Killian Carter

  “Give me a second,” I said, and covered the mouthpiece. “What do you say about heading into the city, Cat?”

  “Go!” he said with a single excited bark.

  Cat liked the cabin in the woods, but he was a city dog through and through.

  I uncovered the phone. “Okay, but I’ll need to swing by Grayson Tower and pick up a few things from my office on the way. It’ll take me two hours to get to the Wilder building even with my foot down. I’ll need fifty-percent for a retainer. A stack of twenties as usual. Do you agree to the terms of payment?”

  “Money isn’t an issue on this one, Miller. I’ve got eight hundred right here. I hope it’s enough.”

  I had to stop myself from balking. “It’ll do. But if I run into Lisa, I’ll bill for damages.”

  The joke didn’t get so much as a snigger.

  “Then get a move on.”

  “Hey, before you go,” I said before she could hang up. “Have you come across the name Marco Russo before?”

  The line went quiet and I thought Walsh had already cut the connection. I was about to ask if she was still there when she spoke again. “Comm’s taking a minute to load. Looks like he’s one of the Russo Three. Along with his brothers Luca and Matteo. They head up security for Frankie Denaro on Luna. Not the kind of people you’d like to mess around with. Looks like they’re based out of his Stellar Engines testing facility up there. Why do you ask? Are you in trouble?”

  “Of course not.” I put on my best lying voice. “His name popped up while I was looking into something.”

  “Fair enough.” Walsh didn’t sound convinced. “See you at six.”

  The phone clicked and I sighed again.

  After the encounter with these Russo Three characters, I wasn’t in any mood for much of anything. But I needed the money, and a curiosity I hadn’t felt in years tugged at me. Things at the Wilder building were beyond serious, and with a case that big, I could charge one hell of a premium. I wouldn’t have to work again for months. Maybe I’d take a vacation down in Bora Bora or one of the other few islands that hadn’t been completely riddled with new-age tech.

  Life was looking up for the first time in a while.

  My nose twitched at the smell of something burning.

  A smoking slice of charcoal shot out of the toaster. “Fuck.”

  I hurried back to the kitchen and opened the window before the fire alarm could go off. My stomach complained about its breakfast having been ruined. There wouldn’t be a food joint open for miles, and even if there was, I didn’t have time to stop.

  I quickly spread the last sliver of butter over the black bread, snapped it in half, and tossed half to Cat.

  He licked the butter off and looked up at me, wide-eyed.

  “Eew. Eeeeew,” he whined.

  “I know, buddy,” I said with a mouth full of ash. “There’s nothing worse than burned toast in the wee hours of a Sunday.”

  The fire alarm screamed, almost deafening me.

  I should have known better than to tempt fate.

  3

  Grayson Tower

  It looked like a storm was coming but I floored it anyway. We took the junction from fifty-two onto highway seventeen and Betty roared down the road.

  I was glad to find traffic was light on US-6. I didn’t usually travel into the city on Sundays let alone so early. The dash clock read 0517. We were making good time, so I laid off the gas a little and put the window down for Cat. We crossed the George Washington with his tongue flapping wildly. Traffic picked up downtown, but it had nothing on Monday morning rush hour. The number of air transports choking the skyways these days did little to ease congestion on New York’s roads.

  The rich flew into town in style, landing on their fancy skyway platforms, while common schmucks like me waited in line with everyone else too broke to get off the ground.

  Whoever named Grayson Tower had a wacky sense of humor, because it was many floors shorter than the buildings around it.

  The parking situation wasn’t any better than usual. The underground lot was full, and I couldn’t find anything near the office building. I pulled down a narrow side-street and tucked Betty into an alley between two dumpsters. It meant blocking a loading bay, but it was Sunday, and it wouldn’t take more than ten minutes to get my things.

  I tried to get Cat to wait, but he wasn’t having any of it.

  The building was fairly quiet, but we snuck in through the service entrance on the off chance Old Man Joe was up already. He was a good enough guy, but he was like a dog with a bone when you owed him rent, and arguing with my landlord wasn’t a fish I felt like frying.

  Of course, it would have been easier if I’d taken my gear to the cabin, but I went to get away from everything, and everyone, on the weekends. I’d never brought a single person to the cabin with me; I was hardly going to invite the whole world in via my comex. I didn’t like bringing work home either when I could help it. I’d fallen into that trap before and it didn’t end well. My mind wandered to the picture in my wallet, and a sharp pang stabbed my chest.

  In an effort to forget what I didn’t want to remember, and to make sure I didn’t forget what I did, I double checked the mental list I’d built on the drive down. I preferred to work with a pencil and note pad when I could get away with it, but I needed my field kit and a few other things for the Wilder building. Walsh had been light on the details. She never gave much away on calls. She knew there was a better chance of me showing up if she set her hooks right. Plus, only an idiot would share sensitive information over their comex or phone, and Walsh was no idiot.

  That’s why I liked to keep things old-school. You couldn’t hack into a notepad, a polaroid camera, or an older EDG firearm. I was here at my office to get my field kit and comex—the item I hated most; but needed all the same. I wasn’t a big fan of Madison energy discharge repeaters, even the old ones. I carried my Smith & Wesson 329PD in the woods. It had a good weight to power ratio and I took it on walks with Cat in case we ran into any large animals, not that there were many of those around anymore. But the EDG was better suited to multiple armored targets. Best to have it handy in case Marco and his boys showed their faces again. I hoped to avoid them altogether, but Marco struck me as a persistent bastard.

  I checked my watch, an old quartz Omega Speedmaster Skywalker X-33 with a titanium case and strap. It had just gone 0545, and it would take another fifteen minutes to reach the Wilder building—longer if traffic picked up. I was cutting it close.

  On our floor, the hallway was dark. I would have flipped on the lights, but Cat and I stood a better chance of not being seen if we left them off. A hint of a breeze came through tall frosted windows, carrying with it the acrid smell of the concrete jungle: car fumes, sewage, trash. People. A siren faded into the distance.

  Cat ran ahead excitedly and whined, scratching at the office door.

  “Home,” he cried, the word ending in a high-pitched whistle. “Home.”

  I found his translator annoying at first, but it grew on me after. Plus, I loved how it scared the hell out of people who’d never heard one before. It wasn’t exactly a common piece of technology. Hell, it was even the first one his vet had seen.

  When I reached the office I found a sheet of paper taped under ‘Max Miller - Private Investigator’ on the door. It was another eviction notice. I’d torn one down a few days before. Old Man Joe was starting to flex, but it was no doubt another bluff. He knew I’d eventually come up with the cash.

  I had to fight with the key to get it into the hole and then it wouldn’t turn. Old Man Joe promised he’d fix it weeks ago. Of course, I was behind on my rent again, so he hadn’t.

  I refused to use one of those fancy automated locking systems everyone else had. Sure, you could lock and unlock your door via your comex. But, all someone had to do was inject a hooker program into your central HUB, and they had access to your home, your vehicle, your bank account, your ID: everything. But that didn’t stop the
whole world from using them. People had gone tech-mad to the point where you needed tech to avoid tech, like the signal jammer at my cabin. The sacrifices people made in the name of convenience were beyond stupid. Between that and the out of controllable population growth, it was no surprise crime was on the rise. Sometimes it made me ashamed to be human. I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed myself, but I liked to think I had a bit more sense than most.

  Old Man Joe’s building didn’t have a HUB system anyway. He was too cheap to have one installed and was twice as skeptical as I was. I hadn’t always had a bad relationship with tech, but that’s another story for another day.

  Finally the key turned and the latch clicked.

  I let Cat in and flicked the light switch.

  Darkness.

  “Shit.” Old Man Joe had upped his game. Maybe the eviction notice wasn’t a bluff after all. It wasn’t the first time he’d threatened to turn off the power, but it was the first time he’d actually done it.

  Cat sniffed the air then hustled to his corner and started licking something.

  “What is it, Cat?” I said, following. I accidentally kicked a bottle and it whirred across the hard floor and struck something with a hollow thud.

  Cat replied by licking harder. He’d obviously found something to eat.

  I sniffed too and got a subtle whiff of something sweet and tangy mixed with the office’s usual stale air. “Cleaner must have forgotten to take out the trash. Or that bastard Joe has cancelled the maintenance plan too.”

  I pulled up the blind. Since my office was in the shadow of the skyrise across the alleyway, it didn’t make that much difference.

  I caught Cat licking ketchup from a burger wrapper next to the overturned wastepaper basket. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a burger, but most mornings I couldn’t remember much of anything, and I had fallen into a habit of having fast food most days.

  I sat in my leather chair and wheeled to the cabinet. I found a bottle of cheap, no-name whiskey stashed behind the trashcan. It still had half a glass left in it. I unscrewed the top and polished it off, then opened the metal cabinet with a key I kept around my neck.

  I pulled out the dull-silver field kit case and set it on the table with a satisfying thud. I got the Madison EDG and the comex and added a notepad and pencil from the top drawer to the pile.

  I unlatched the field kit and made sure everything was there. I tested the batteries in my flashlight, polaroid, and Spectrumtech 100 headset. I hate implants, but I’d be a blind idiot not to see its usefulness in certain areas. The Spectrumtech was an old model, but it did everything I wanted and none of the things I didn’t want. It had no network chip, so no one could hack it remotely, and it could be recharged using an old plug instead of being connected to a computer.

  Satisfied everything was in order, I swapped out my holster, grabbed my utility belt from the cabinet and locked my .44 magnum away.

  I gathered everything and made my way to the door, congratulating myself on getting out in good time and without being discovered by my landlord.

  As I reached for the door handle, someone knocked.

  Cat turned and growled, the hair on his scruff standing on end.

  “Hush,” I whispered as quietly as I could without making it sound like a feeble request. I held my breath and prayed to a god I didn’t believe in that Cat didn’t bark.

  It was Old Man Joe. The nosy asshole had seen me coming in. I wondered if he had sensors or alarms installed on my office door.

  I held a finger to my lips and gestured for Cat to stand down. He growled lower, and I hoped it was low enough that Joe couldn’t hear.

  “Miller, open up! I know you’re in there. I saw your car parked in the alley on the CTV system.”

  I told Cat to be quiet again. Joe didn’t like it when I brought him into the building. He growled and tried to get by me as I opened the door a crack, forcing me to block him with one leg. Old Man Joe’s big, bald, apple-shaped head barely came to my chest, but he must have weighed what I do and then some. He dragged on a cheap cigar, filling the hallway with a rank odor. He wore a purple dressing gown and flip-flops and nothing else, I suspected. One of his chihuahuas, a tiny thing with long tan hair, growled at me from the crook of his arm. I gave Joe a wry smile, and I could have sworn one of his eyelids twitched.

  “Spying on me again—”

  He blew a puff of cigar smoke in my face, cutting me off. “My building. I’ll spy on whoever the hell I want. Especially when they don’t pay rent. You’re lucky I haven’t stuck a camera in your office. What are you up to in there this early anyway?”

  He tried to get a look into the room, but I blocked the narrow opening.

  “Just getting a head start on the week.”

  “Have you been drinking? It’s not even six o’clock in the morning.”

  I feigned innocence. “Of course I haven’t been drinking. I had a few last night, is all. Got a big job today. Means I can pay this month’s rent early along with what I still owe for last month.”

  “And don’t forget the month before that,” he croaked.

  “Of course.” I thought I’d already paid the month before, but I’d have to check my records later. I didn’t have time to get into an argument. “If you’ll get out of the way, I’ve got a scene to attend.”

  He glared at me and turned to leave.

  At least I’d avoided being read the riot act about his kids.

  But he turned back to the door, blocking my way again. “Do you have kids, Miller?”

  “You know I don’t have kids, Joe,” I said, trying not to lose my patience or grind my teeth.

  “Exactly,” he all but yelled. “Because if you did have kids, you’d know how much money they cost. They eat every scrap of food before it hits the cupboard shelves. They need new clothes every other week. They need new supplies for school all the time. And they always want the latest damn comex on the market. And that’s before I get to my ex-wives bleeding me dry with child support and health care.”

  Joe was a stupid little human spreading stupid little copies of himself around the planet like a disease. That’s what I wanted to say. “I understand, Joe.”

  “I’m an old man, Miller, and I’ve got bills to pay too,” he said as if I cared. “I can’t get a job at my age, especially with all you healthy young people running around, cheating at the game with your damn implants.”

  There was no point in telling him that I didn’t have any implants. “Yes, Joe.”

  “I’d end up on the streets, which is exactly where you’ll end up if you don’t get me my fucking money!”

  The last statement caught me off guard and caused me to trip over my tongue. It wasn’t the first time Joe had lost his temper with me. In fact, I don’t think we’d ever shared a civil discussion. But it was the first time in the seven years I’d known him that I heard him swear. I’d clearly pissed him off, or something else was eating away at him, but I didn’t have time for that. I’d have to ask Walsh for a bigger down payment.

  “Like I said, Joe, I’ll have what I owe you by the end of the day.”

  “You better. I already called security to take your stuff away in the morning. If you cough up the dough, I’ll call them off.” His tone couldn’t have made it clearer that he didn’t believe me.

  His Chihuahua snarled and bared its tiny teeth at me. “That’s right, Picasso. You tell him.”

  Cat slinked out between my legs. I caught the back of his collar just as he launched, and he lurched back in mid-air. The last thing I needed was for my German shepherd to maul my landlord’s sorry excuse for a dog when he was in the middle of tearing me a new one.

  “Rat! Rat! Rat!” Cat barked. “Rat! Rat!”

  Joe’s eyes went so wide, for a second, I swear he looked like Picasso. He’d had it in for Cat ever since the first time he tried to tear the chihuahua’s throat out.

  “What did I tell you about bringing that mutt in here?”

 
“The lease agreement doesn’t say anything about animals.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the lease agreement. I said I don’t want that dog in my building. Get him out of here. And get me my rent. This is your last chance. Screw it up and you’re gone. For real this time.”

  “Of course, Joe…”

  He waddled away muttering curses punctuated by Picasso’s high-pitched yelping.

  “Come on, Cat.”

  Cat looked forlorn—he missed out on a free meal. “There wasn’t much meat on him anyway…or much of anything for that matter. When Walsh pays the retainer, I’ll get you a leg of lamb from O’Sullivan’s. I promise.”

  That seemed to appease him.

  We made our way back to the car double time.

  Something fluttered under a windshield wiper.

  A parking ticket.

  It was quickly turning into a disaster of a weekend, and I had no desire to make it worse by getting to the Wilder building after forensics did…or worse…bumping into Lisa. I’d be lucky to receive a single penny from the NYCPD if that happened.

  I climbed into Betty and fired up her engine. I dug out the sterling silver hip flask in my glovebox and took a swig as I pulled out of the alley.

  4

  Wilder Building

  Betty skidded to a stop in a no-parking zone a few feet from the police barriers. I was on precinct time. They could deal with the tickets.

  The Challenger’s engine hammered and clunked as it spluttered to a stop of its own accord. The racket drew looks from a few early birds on their way to work. The old girl could tear up any road, but it killed her to sit idle for too long.

  Beyond the red and white barriers, two police ground cars lit up the entrance to the Wilder building. I couldn’t see any other cars belonging to the city, but Quincey and her crew would likely use the building’s skyway landing platform. All the nice buildings had one, and everything the Wilders had was nice.