by Mark Wandrey
Sword of Minerva
Book 10 of The Guild Wars
By
Mark Wandrey
PUBLISHED BY: Seventh Seal Press
Copyright © 2021 Mark Wandrey
All Rights Reserved
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For a listing of all the Four Horsemen books, go to:
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Cover Design by Brenda Mihalko
Original Art by Ricky Ryan
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License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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Here you’ll find the 1st chapter of the ongoing serial of Taiki Sato, former eccentric genius of the Winged Hussars, after he left the company. Along with resurrected merc Rick Culper, Sato has embarked on a journey to fill in the pieces of his shattered life. These events occur following A Pale Dawn and before the ending of the Guild Wars series.
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Contents
Part I
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Part II
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Part III
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
About Mark Wandrey
Excerpt from Book One of the Salvage Title Trilogy
Excerpt from Book One of the Singularity War
Excerpt from Devil Calls the Tune
Excerpt from Book One of the Mako Saga
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Part I
I dreamed a dream, and now that dream is gone from me.
Chapter One
Taiki Sato opened his eyes and blinked at the darkness. How long had they been in hyperspace? Time seemed to have no meaning for him, a common sensation since his pinplants had been modified more than a week ago. Adjusting was taking a while. Along with the modifications came a flood of memories, many of them still meaningless.
The inside of the module slowly came into focus. A tiny amount of light was always available from some of the instruments and apparatus which kept them alive. He shared a grand total of 36 cubic meters with his traveling companion. Rick Culper hadn’t moved since Sato fell asleep. Literally hadn’t moved, not so much as a millimeter. The shadow of the combat armor was only perceptible as an outline.
The slight whine and hum spoke of the life support equipment continuing their nonstop work. Of course, if they’d ceased to function while Sato dreamed, the dream would never have ended. He would have passed from dreamland to the beyond without waking. He wondered what Rick was dreaming about. He hoped it was more pleasant than his own dreams.
He found his slate by feel and brought it awake. The bright light of the thin computer was like a searchlight in the dark module. It might sound like a lot, 36 cubic meters. It had seemed like plenty when he’d conceived of his plot to leave the Winged Hussars. A Human could be comfortable in a space just 1 by 1 by 2 meters, a total of two cubic meters. Not luxuriant by any means, but comfortable. So 36 cubic meters was 16 times as much space, right?
Sato took in the sum of their living space. The Hussars’ standard Transpac container. Based on a 3.5 by 3.5 by 2.93–meter design dating back to some antiquated standard long since abandoned. A full third of it was taken up by life support, and another 10% by the combination kitchen/bathroom. This left about 20 cubic meters, with no windows or outside contact, for two people to live in for more than a week.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Sato mumbled. The container had its own power source, and it was also fully shielded so no one could tell two people and a power source were inside, even if they were right up against it with a sensor. He’d made sure of it himself when he’d designed the stealth insertion container years ago. The Hussars’ marines had probably never considered one of their own would use it to sneak out of the system.
He’d never thought he’d in essence run away from his life, either. Taiki Sato had been the chief naval architect and innovator for the Winged Hussars’ technology group, euphemistically known as the Geek Squad. It was run by Kleena, but Sato had been the pure innovative force behind all their inventions.
The only problem with working for the Hussars was, he didn’t remember how he’d gotten there. The thought had never entered his mind, until shortly after the Keesius incident. In the full light of understanding, Sato now realized he’d been the center of a good deal of trouble for the Hussars and Alexis Cromwell, their commander. Okay, so trouble might be an understatement when it concerned the Keesius.
Similar to the Egleesius-class—a relic of the 20,000-year-old war between the Dusman and the Kahraman—it even looked like the Egleesius. They’d found them in 2nd Level Hyperspace, the strange realm that could only be accessed by crashing out of 1st Level Hyperspace. From the moment Sato was first exposed to that new realm, he’d begun to feel himself change.
He hadn’t been satisfied with tinkering on the Keesius, though. He’d had to activate the ship’s computer. This had proven a catastrophic mistake. The Keesius was an ancient doomsday device, and it was targeted straight at the capital world of the Galactic Union, which just so happened to have been the First Republic capital world as well. More than a few brave men and women had died to stop it and rescue him. A short time later, a strange pinplant design had appeared in his mind.
A trip to the Hussars’ pinplant expert, the Wrogul Nemo, and Sato had t
he new pinplants installed. Then the real fun had begun.
“Are you okay, sir?”
Sato looked over and saw his traveling companion was awake. He could tell from the faint blue glow coming from the suit’s visual sensors. “Fine,” Sato said. “How about you?”
“Still trying to come to grips with it all.”
“I can respect that,” Sato said. How could he not? It wasn’t everyone who got to come back from the dead, months after their death.
“I wonder what happens to me from here?”
“Well, I think that’s up to you. I brought you along for two reasons. One, to help get me out if there were any difficulties. There weren’t any. Two, I needed to get at least one of you away from Nemo.”
“What do you mean, at least one of me?”
Sato stopped short of explaining it. Now wasn’t the time. “A figure of speech.”
“Nemo brought me back from the dead,” Rick said. “That’s what you said. I was resurrected?”
“I never used that word,” Sato said quickly. But what do I really believe? Rick had been a tiny genetic sample retained by Nemo within his body, along with a map of Rick’s neural patterns. Nemo wasn’t completely responsible for bringing Rick back; credit went to the Bregalad. “Nemo’s pet plant grew you.”
“And then Nemo just turned me on? Like a copy of a program?”
Nemo had made it sound just like that. Only, if it were true, what did that say about the uniqueness of a sentient being? Were we nothing more than a collection of electrical impulses? “That’s the way Nemo described it,” Sato said.
“But is that how you feel about it?”
Rick’s voice from the suit’s voder sounded perfectly Human. Sato hadn’t met Rick before his “death” aboard ship as the former Hussars’ marine tried to intercept enemy agents. He didn’t know how Rick had sounded then. He had no doubt the voice was a perfect match. “I guess I don’t know how I feel about it. I’ve never died.” Then Sato had a thought. “Do you remember anything?”
“About dying?” Rick asked, his voice sounding almost human in the small space. Sato nodded. “No. The last thing I remember is Nemo putting me under a light anesthesia for my pinplants, then waking up in your lab.”
“Do you want to see the CASPer logs from the mission where you died?”
Rick was quiet for a long time before he answered. “No, sir. At least, not yet.”
Understandable. Rick didn’t say anything else, so Sato went to work on various pieces of equipment he’d brought along. Everything had either been stored in his modified MK7 CASPer, the one he’d used to escape—not the decoy which stayed behind.
Among the tools, parts, and other stuff necessary to live in a metal box surrounded by vacuum for seven days was also a bag full of money. That was the only outright theft he was guilty of. Each Winged Hussars warship had a lockbox in the captain’s cabin. Inside were various documents, sensitive computer documents on chip, several the Hussars’ special homing modules (tiny programs on a chip written by Ghost that allowed one to go to New Warsaw without being able to record the destination), and some cash.
The majority of transactions within the Galactic Union were accomplished via electronic transfer, either from a central bank maintained by the UCX—Union Credit Exchange—or stored on your Yack, a Universal Account Access Card. However, some businesses conducted trade with hard currency as well. It usually took one of two forms: metallic printed credits sometimes called chits, or red diamonds. As red diamonds were among the rarest of gems in the galaxy, each chit also had a small red diamond in its center, from one the size of a grain of sand for the one-credit chit, to an almost one-karat diamond in the 10-million-credit chit. Regardless, the diamond was always less valuable than the credit, for obvious reasons.
When the Crown-class cruiser Citation was effectively destroyed at the battle of Golara, its hulk had been towed back to New Warsaw as scrap. Sato had known exactly where its gutted hulk was stored, and he’d sent a bot on a reconnaissance mission. Within the hulk he’d found the captain’s lockbox, which he’d stashed in his getaway container. There would be things in the box he’d certainly need.
“Guess I might as well find out what I got myself,” he said. The box was 20 centimeters by 20 by 10. Not big, considering the importance of what it contained. Sato had never been privy to the exact contents, though he was knowledgeable of the box’s construction. After all, he’d designed the security.
He carefully took the lock apart, taking extra care to avoid the double-redundant safety micro wires woven into the case. Then he went after the other three layers of security. It was a miracle the box had survived the destruction of Citation’s CIC and captain’s cabin. If any high energy or shrapnel had penetrated the case…
After a nervous hour of work, the lid released with a click. Despite his self-assurance, he gave a little jump, then laughed at himself.
“A lockbox from a ship?” Rick asked.
“Yes,” Sato said and looked inside. The half-kilo thermite charge was now disarmed, and he removed it to add to the other gear in his backpack. Despite his inside knowledge, it had been a bit of a risk. The thermite was designed to destroy the contents of the case. It would also probably have killed him in the confined space of the module. Fire in space wasn’t something to joke about.
Sato took out a small plastic container holding six computer chips. They were nondescript, but with a blue marking. Those would be the special ones designed to allow a non-Hussars’ ship to find New Warsaw. He put them in his pocket. Next were three more chips, marked 1, 2, and 3. He had no idea what they were so he put them in a pocket, too. A piece of paper floated out. He caught it and flipped it over. It was a picture of a woman, smiling, holding a young child.
He turned it back over and read the writing. “To my husband, James O’Connell, captain of EMS Citation. Congratulations on your promotion. I am so proud of you.” It was signed ‘Lea.’ An address in Ann Arbor, Michigan was listed.
He stared at it for a long moment. Had Lea gotten the message that her husband had died in the battle of Golara? The battle had only been weeks ago, what with the occupation of Earth, maybe she hadn’t heard yet? What about Captain O’Connell’s son?
“May I see that?” A metallic hand reached out, and Sato passed him the picture. “Pretty wife.”
“Yeah,” Sato agreed.
“Citation was destroyed?” Sato just nodded. “I wonder if she even knows her husband is dead?”
“Maybe we can give her some peace,” Sato said. Inside the box was one final item: a simple paper ticket, torn in half. He took both halves and placed them in a pouch before adding it to the other items in his pocket. He’d decided where to go next. He finished clearing out the box, then set it back into his gear. Then, he waited.
* * *
The cargo master looked at the container again and compared it to the manifest. Virginia Hall was one of the Winged Hussars intelligence cutters, and among the smallest ships in space capable of independent hyperspace travel. Her primary duty was gathering and moving intelligence reports from all over the Galactic Union. Alexis Cromwell was commander of the Winged Hussars, and the intelligence cutter fleet were her eyes and ears.
“Ted! Hey, Ted!” he yelled.
“What is it, sir?” His assistant handler floated over. Like many of the crew, the kid wore more than one hat. He was the assistant purser, assistant chef, and a damage control specialist.
The cargo master tapped the crate. “This one, when was it loaded?”
Ted checked his pinplants. “Shows we loaded it just before leaving New Warsaw.”
“I know that, damn kid. But we only had scheduling for four containers, and destinations for each. Our course is up to us, like always.” He tapped the container again. “This one, though, loaded at the last second with orders to just drop it off at the first port of call? Strange. Damned strange.”
“Orders are approved,” Ted said, shrugging. “Maybe it’s
full of elite ninjas or something?”
“Ninjas? For fuck’s sake, stop watching those stupid Tri-Vs.” He looked at the container one more time. Completely nondescript, just like all the modules they carried. Something about it just wasn’t right.
“What’s the holdup?” the captain called on the PA. Virginia Hall’s hold was tiny, since the cutter was mostly powerplant and reaction mass. Her main trade was information, which took no space. The hold had two other containers and a plethora of gear and supplies for their cruise. Virginia Hall would often be out for six months at a time.
“I’m just trying to figure out this drop,” the load master said to the captain.
“Figure it out? The next time I understand how Colonel Cromwell thinks things through will be the first. Drop the container off. Now.”
“Yes, sir.” He looked at Ted and sighed. “Do it.”
* * *
“What’s happening?” Rick asked.
“It sounds like the load master is confused,” Sato explained. “He should be, since I forged all the orders to get this container aboard.”
“How long did you plan this?”
“A few days,” Sato said.
“What if they don’t drop us off?”
Sato grunted and checked his pinplants. The self-contained module he’d designed and modified was capable of operating independent of an outside power source for a considerable time. It operated on a bank of high-energy capacitors, the same kind used by warships to run particle accelerators. The problem was, the life support system ran on elements that needed replenishment. If the module were in space, it could sustain the two occupants for a maximum of 96 hours.