The Sentinel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 3)

by Walt Robillard

  A ping sounded in his pocket. He took the radio, squeezing the push to talk button on the side. “You got something for me?” His voice was like a brush fire, deep and crackling.

  “Hey, Boss. You got two people coming up the hill at you. One is a kid, but I think the other is a Templar.”

  “You could have warned me ten minutes ago.”

  “Where would be the fun in that?” the woman on the radio said cheerfully.

  Her name was Nayoree, and she was the best ranger he had on the preserve. She'd come to him a few years ago, pledging herself to help with the poachers that plagued the area. He was hesitant to take her on at first, seeing he knew everything about her, but it seemed to have worked. It appeared she still needed to sharpen up those lookout skills. Her home planet, the isolationist world of Neroba, had a reputation for two things. The first was the ability of its people to live side by side with nature rather than trying to dominate it. The second was the strength of the warrior cast it produced. They lived by a simple creed. Those who couldn’t farm, fish, or add to their culture were trained to hunt, trained for war.

  Marco continued to wait for the duo to approach him, careful to listen to the rustle of the grasses behind him. Less than nine meters now. It would happen soon, leaving him in giddy anticipation for the outcome. He'd spent months setting up for today, training a young hunter to stalk and kill prey for survival. After all the failed attempts, Marco felt that now he was being herded to an opportune spot for the kill. Rattling the grasses would startle prey to move away from the noise, scaring them into a better kill zone for the takedown. The stalk was everything. It was a test of will to hold back the violence until the absolute perfect moment, leaving the prey no escape, no hope, and only one outcome.

  The travelers made it to the top of the path, even the young enthusiastic girl taking a moment bent over her knees to catch her breath. The grizzled wood cutter walked over to the pair, depositing two mason jars at their feet. He set down a serving plate with sugar and some cut fruit between them. “Take a moment. Elevation here takes some getting used to, especially after making the trek in this heat. Although, judging by the armor, I'd say you managed to stay cool the whole time.”

  “My name is...”

  “That's not important right now,” Marco said. “Just make sure you don't move, no matter what you see. You're in the middle of a time-honored tradition that you almost spoiled by coming up here. Don't move until I say otherwise. If you spoil it, I'm going to take great pleasure in kicking you all the way down the mountain.”

  The smaller of the two flashed a confused expression to the larger. Apparently, she hadn't encountered someone who could get away with talking like that to her partner. The bright sight of dimples formed in her face as she watched for a reaction in her companion. As there was none, she took a knee beside him.

  The wood cutter went back to his task, chopping a few more logs until the grass moved again. He dropped the ax in feigned terror. Prancing away from the block, he tripped over a few split bundles, falling face first in the dirt.

  The youthful girl halted as she moved to assist, held in place by her mentor. “Remember what he said.”

  The wood cutter crawled a few meters, mewling like the experience had truly hurt him. There was a flash of movement through the grass. The ground thumped under the paws of a massive cat, the size of a rocket bike, springing from the concealing stalks. It sailed through the air as a blur of tan and gray fur, landing on the back of the broken wood cutter. In a series of snaps, the cat fought with the downed man, trying to clear his arms away from his neck. Paws, equal in size to those of a Rhusk drummer, slammed down at the shoulders, finally beating away the shielding limbs. It latched onto the man's neck with a sickening crack, shaking him about until his arms flopped. The cat tossed him on his back, biting his neck again before digging his feet into the man's abdomen, shredding clothing and bloody meat across the dusty ground.

  The child beside the soldier looked away, trying to control the sickness welling in her belly, nearly forcing her to wretch. Slowly, she inched her hand toward the pistol she was wearing on her hip.

  “No. If you pull that pistol we're both dead,” the soldier said.

  The girl grated her teeth, trying to keep her voice low. “But we have to do something.”

  “I made a mistake when we climbed up here. I was so focused on our task that I didn't notice we weren't alone.”

  A paw, roughly half the length of the warrior's leg, stepped beside him. The cat was easily the size of a grav-car. Multiple beasts stalked past the duo, tracking on the small lion that was happily munching on the wood chopper's open belly. A low growl trembled the ground from the young hunter's lips. The sound was accusatory and threatening. This was his kill and he would do so again to protect his meal.

  The giant beasts lowered their stances, almost crawling toward him. They coiled their muscles to destroy the little cub intent on hording the kill. The tiny version of the vehicle sized cats hunkered down against the carcass, continuing to growl without any of the bass or bravado of an adult. The pride steadily advanced. Ten meters. Eight. They circled around him, meaning to take him from multiple angles at once. Four.

  There was a rushing sound, like the tide being drawn away before a powerful wave crushed the shore. For the first time since being told not to move, the duo looked up, drawn to the mounting power emanating from the cub. Any part of nature active on the side of the mountain quieted itself. Time seemed to slow out of deference to a reckoning of brute force driving its fangs to the top of the food chain. Today wasn't just about blood or meat. This was a coronation.

  The cub bellowed at first, a lengthy growl of a kitten who hasn't yet been taught his place in the world. The ticking grate fell off the end of its adolescent voice, straight into an adulthood it was born for. The timbre turned into a fury of thunder and echo, rattling the mountainside. The waiting soldier braced his smaller companion against the onslaught raining around them. They knew this all too well. The beast was deep into the Crucible, the fire that forged all things in the universe. Its roar was as deafening as it was ferocious. Using the power of the Crucible, the animal's war cry was storming across the peak, forcing the pride to back away from him. They struggled to keep their footing as the storm of sound dragged earthen slabs from their place by tremendous claws seeking a firm hold. Its primal serenade ended with a throaty growl, demanding everyone recognize the little king..

  All four of the lions dropped their heads as the little beast stalked forward. He was carrying the corpse by the collar of his shirt, dragging it back to them. He set it down to the front two, nudging it forward to them. The new king stepped back, allowing the lionesses to partake in what he’d done. He’d proven his worth by taking down a human, showing he could protect the mountain. In doing so, he’d claimed the pride. It was a victory on many fronts.

  The lions scattered, except for the little prince who stood defiant in front of the mountain climbers who had witnessed the event. He was huffing, catching his breath as he scented the air for additional threats. The ball of angry fur barked several times at the corpse, slapping his paw on the ground. One well placed smack batted a glob of dirt at his face. The corpse shook until he finally erupted into a full belly laugh.

  “All right, all right! Who's a good boy?” Marco said, getting to his knees so he could get a hand full of young mane under his fingers. Good natured scratching followed suit until the air was buzzing with the contented purr of the young king.

  “But you died!” the smaller visitor said.

  “Oh no, young lady. Not yet. Although I've come close once or twice. Let's just say I can't leave until I have a cub to take my place.” Marco hoisted himself back to his feet, freeing his neck from the shemagh he'd wrapped around. Underneath was a brace made of resicarbon with several metal struts on hinges right against the skin. The resicarbon was cracked from the force of the lion's bite, the only thing saving his neck being the pro-steel below.
He was quick to wrap the cloth back around his neck, checking near his spine several times before he let his hands drop.

  Marco pulled at the ruined flesh near his waist, letting out a puff of air after finally pulling a false belly free from the rags. He held it up to admire the lion's handiwork. “Fun way to train a lion, but I wouldn't recommend it for everyone. Especially Khadian lions. Something this size is dangerous enough without throwing in the ability to use the Crucible.”

  “How did you survive that?” the girl asked.

  The old man adjusted his glasses. “Well, under my now ruined shirt...”

  The little lion ignored his mock anger, kicking a tuft of dirt at him.

  “Ahem. As I was saying, under my ruined shirt is a skin tight suit with a myo-fiber weave. Tough as Hells. I then strap this fake belly to my belt filled with all sorts of tasty treats a young lion might be hungry for. He knocks me down, gets the kill, and eats. The tough part is to get him to realize the why of what he's doing. Cats in mountainous regions are usually solitary predators after they leave mom. Khadian lions are different. They assemble in prides to guard the mountain they see as home. The alpha male and his buddies act like a praetorian guard. They range away from the mountain and kill predators larger than they are, leaving the kill behind as a warning.”

  The duo stood, confident they wouldn't be eaten while the scruffy caretaker was explaining what they just saw. Reaching down for the mason jars and the plate, they studied the dark liquid inside against the light of the sun.

  “Ha! That is some of the best stuff you will drink on a hot day,” Marco insisted. “Just enough sugar to keep things going, a little caffeine for pep, and a whole lot of taste to make it worth lugging all the way up here.”

  The girl took a sip, her eyes opening as wide as possible after her first taste, “What is this? It's amazing! Do other people in the Frontier know about this?”

  “Yes, they do. It's called a half and half. Part iced tea, part lemonade, all yummy.” He took a sip of his own, sitting down across a fallen log near the chopping block. Marco was about to go for a second when the big cat nearly upended the wood, head butting him to get his attention. “You tell a kid that he's the long lost heir to a magnificent kingdom and he gets pushy!” The woodcutter handed over his mason jar, allowing the young king to lap to his hearts delight.

  “Force Commander, my name is...”

  “I know who you are, Marshal Ezekiel Brand, commander of the special action platoon, call-signed the Devil Hunters. And I know you, Bethayell. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

  “You know me?” Beth asked.

  “When you were first introduced to Marshal Brand, you saw me in the Crucible. No small feat for someone without training.”

  “You hear that? He knows me,” Beth said to Brand, wiping off the imaginary dirt from her shoulder.

  “Force Commander...”

  “Marco,” he interrupted, pulling the last bits of lion bait out of his hair. He handed the morsel to his lion friend, who happily licked it from his fingers. “I know why you're here. You came because you followed the rumors that I might be alive and that I'd be able to help if the Athalon Temple was really in trouble. While I appreciate that you think so highly of me, I'm just a broken old man trying to keep something precious from being wiped out.”

  Brand huffed, trying to keep his composure. “Sir, your knowledge of House Liau and the Exodus Fleets...”

  “…was decades ago, son,” Marco countered. “After we burned the Exos out of frontier space, I was spent. I had nothing left. I crashed my ship into this dirt ball and was fully expecting to drink myself into an early grave. That's when I came upon a bunch of poachers taking down a male lion. Just shot him with a big old slugger that was taller than they were. Did it from the hood of an armored vehicle in case the other lions got it past their manes to look for a bit of payback. That's when they found me.”

  “The poachers?” Bethayell asked.

  “No little miss, the lions. They were so attuned to the Crucible, they could hear my thoughts, and I could hear theirs. They called me a lion spirit, and asked if I had come from the crimson skies, their land of the dead, to avenge their fallen brother, the king. They were terrible and beautiful and majestic, and I loved them immediately. I hunted down those poachers and killed every one of them. You know what they said they would do with the one they killed? Use its paws to make ashtrays. I swore that day that while I drew breath, those lions would be under my protection, even if they didn't know it or need it. That's what I do now, Marshal Brand. I keep evil ashtray making mag-rats from hunting these creatures.”

  “Seladriel Ferrand was your student, wasn't she?” the marshal asked.

  Marco took off his hat, hinting with his head that the lion prince should go. The creature harrumphed and laid its head back down. “I guess when you're the king you don't have to listen to anyone! Yeah, marshal, she was mine, and yes, I know she's dead. And if there was a lick of good to come from me doing something about it I would've. But she's gone. They had the funeral out there on Elysium all proper like, while I sat here with lions and ghosts. Wasn't fair what happened to her. Wasn't fair that I never got to say goodbye.”

  Bethayell took his hand, standing quietly beside him. Marco squeezed it, allowing his tears to drop through his tangled beard onto the ever thirsty mountain. He was grateful that she was there to comfort him, not trying to sway him to whatever the marshal was after.

  “Marshal Brand, you need a real Marshals Templar. Not some washed up old man whose greatest accomplishment in life now is getting out of bed in the morning. Be the man you thought I was. Teach your deputy here how to do the same, except the girl version. No judgment.”

  “Girl version,” Beth repeated.

  “Good. Good. Leave me here with my cats and my regrets. Don't look to what I would have done. Do amazing things because they're what you would do. Live today...”

  “So you may be proud tomorrow. That was the inscription on her sword.” Brand whispered.

  Marco sighed, “This here lion, he lost mom and pop to those poachers. They came looking for a royal cub and tried to kidnap my little friend. Some cartel in the Frontier had a boss who wanted an exotic pet. They killed the lord and lady of the pride to get him. I stopped the poachers and brought him back, only the other lions wanted nothing to do with him on account of me being the one that rescued him. So I trained him and as he got older, we hunted poachers together. Then I taught him how to protect the mountain. Then the pride. And now he'll have to learn what it means to lead them without me. Because when I'm gone, they'll have to rely on each other. Seladriel trained many of you. And now that she's gone, you'll have to learn to do the same. I'm sorry that you lost her, Marshal, but I can't help you.”

  With a groan, Marco stood up and disappeared into the tall grasses with his friend, the lion king.

  Two

  The cat snuggled itself onto the couch, looking around until the furniture stopped creaking under its weight. Satisfied it would last another afternoon, it nuzzled its head into its favorite blanket.

  “Ya know, pretty soon you're going to be too big to get in here. Am I going to have to build you a couch outside?” Marco asked.

  The little prince didn't answer. The lione just flitted his eyes from side to side under a set of bouncing brows that seemed unconcerned with whatever the ancient human was talking about.

  Maro had buried the domed burrow he called home into the plains at the base of the mountain. Although underground, it was spacious, giving him freedom to stretch his legs from room to room while not having to worry about hitting his skull on the roof. He leaned over a table with an assortment of clutter he moved out of the way to give his elbows room. Marco needed the structure more for his support as he knelt than for the open air junk drawer it had become. Needing a minute for the burrow's cool air run over his skin, he chose the floor since the giant hairball had taken residence on the couch. This was as good a place as any. />
  “Long day at the office, sir?” A man that looked every bit the cultured servant from the Core Worlds sauntered his way into the kitchen, leaning on the counter beside the ragged wood cutter.

  “Hey Reese. Yeah. Did Captain Obvious over there tell you that he made the take down today and claimed the pride?”

  “That's wonderful!”

  “Yeah. Dad would have been proud.” Marco said, throwing a heavy pat to the lion king's shoulder.

  “You're going to have to widen that door for when he gets bigger.” Reese observed.

  “Nah. I think this might be the last we see of him down here. He'll probably take the den with the pride. Next thing you know he'll be up to his mane in lady lions. He won't have time for us.” Marco had a difficult time hiding the forlorn expression he wore or the sadness in his voice.

  “You raised that cub, sir. I'm sure he'll always have time for you. Ah! Nayoree! What a pleasant surprise! Master Nikko. Great to see you, fine sir!”

  The boy hopped onto the counter, giving Reese a high five worthy of the best sports team in the CORAL. “I heard Nahvo made the take down today, Papa. You okay?”

  “I filmed it on my camera for you. Multiple angles. It was really something.” Marco said.

  “You were supposed to let one of the rangers take that hit, Papa,” Nayoree said from the entrance.

  Marco turned to see a lithe figure wrapped in recon armor set her helmet over on a hook. She placed her back against the wall, thumbing a switch at her belt. The struts set along her limbs locked in place while her armor split apart, allowing her to exit the entire contraption. A quick kick leveled into one of the knee joints secured the rail, stopping it from quivering. She took off the myoprene jacket, placing it under the helmet.