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

by Walt Robillard

  “Gideon, is it? Why is it that all these other marshals were seated except for you two?” Marco glowered.

  “No warrior may hold a shield securely or level a proper defense from his back, thus, should a Templar be incapable standing in defense for the temple, neither shall he stand over its affairs at the Shielded Circle. Chronicles of the Way.”

  “You are the first marshal to quote scripture since this little quarrel began, Marshal Gideon Brand.” Marco sounded impressed until he didn’t. “Why did you allow these heathens to continue to sit at our table if you had such a firm understanding of the Law?”

  “Things have become strained during your absence, sir.” Gideon explained. “The government has burrowed deep like an infestation of maggots. While my family name holds some weight, yours is like a wrecking ball. The Crucible showed me I should bide my time, try my best to raise like-minded marshals, and wait for the wrecker to tear down the rotting walls.”

  Gideon's declaration calmed the old lion a bit, but not enough to back him away from what he'd entered the room to do. “Fair enough.”

  Marshal Vanyachenko rolled his chair forward, cautiously. “Marco, after you left we had no time to breathe. Pirate fleets from Yogana Prime swept into the system. The Cross Sabers Conflict was every bit as brutal as the Exodus Wars, except that you were gone. Force Commander Liau died at the end, leaving his son to take the pride. Our numbers were depleted and your standards for training lancers were too complex. We had to rely on the Solvineaux government to help us. There were so many people spread across frontier space, we couldn't protect them all. Bargains were made. Aleksander's son, Romulus, did what he could to preserve the Athalon. We are a stronger body today because of the deals we made.”

  Marco looked to his brothers, and in doing so, caught sight of Captain Morreau standing next to the bloody squad led by Latisha Corvin and Lieutenant Marlan. They seemed to have the same number of men they'd gone out with, even if they'd all shed their old selves during the journey. Marco locked stares with that hard crew, who'd fought building to building on almost no food or rest until the mission was complete. They'd left the walls as defenders and returned as killers, complete with a predator's glare. Strike forward. Ever onward. No excuses.

  “Is there a lion in the chamber?” he asked.

  “There is, Marshal.” Alesandra Liau stepped into the projection

  “Marshal Van is no longer fit to be on this council. Nor is he fit to wear the cord on his shoulder.”

  “Marshal, please?” Vanyachenko stammered, his hands trembling.

  “If you can stand beside Marshal Gideon and fend off a lion for a single moment, you can stay.”

  “My legs were crushed during the Sabers. I also have Benyakar's disease so cybernetics wouldn't take. Marco, this is all I have left.”

  “No. It's not.” Marco growled. “You can teach junior marshals how to control their gifts in the Crucible. You can teach battlefield history to lancers so they may learn how best to fight any enemy. You can serve as adviser to marshals spread throughout the Frontier in matters of the Law. What you can't do is fight. And since you can't be called to swing a sword, you can't hold council over those that do.”

  Marshal Van reached to his shoulder, slowly un-braiding the cords wrapped there. Tears traveled along the ancient tracks of his face, dripping off a once proud jaw. His trembling hand held out the cord, briefly holding steady until the lioness came to claim it. “I thought we were friends.”

  “A better friend wouldn't have let everything we'd work so hard to build fall into ruin.”

  The assembled chamber leveled sharp stares at the lion, who held them with contempt. Marco siezed the opportunity to continue. “Marshal Gideon, who is the woman beside you?”

  “I am Marshal Adina.”

  “And why weren't you sitting?”

  “Let the old ones sit until they become prey. If I stand, there's a better chance I'll get to the doors first, in case of a siege.”

  “To defend the chamber?” the lion scowled.

  “No, so I get more time with the enemy.”

  Marco's smile was as pronounced as his nod. Without a word, Alisandra stepped to the woman, wrapping the cord she'd taken from Marshal Van around her shoulder. The lioness was close enough to whisper, “Welcome to the pride.”

  Adina looked confused.

  There was a commotion somewhere off camera. From their connection during the battle, Marco knew that the lioness had brought a slew of the marshals under her command to the Shield, supported by Crimson Lancers. The lioness was quick to take control of her troops, ordering them not to fire. Dreadmarr warriors stormed into the chamber, whipping an already tense situation into a frenzy. Marco didn't wait for the questions to provide answers.

  “Marshals, may I introduce you to Kratos, leader of the Dreadmarr Rook, Tychon,” Marco announced. “That won't mean much to you, but it means everything to them. Please don't mistake them for common mercenaries. The Dreadmarr of this clan believe they are more than a match for any marshal and twice that of a lancer. Believe me when I say they're dying to prove it. Kratos and his rook are there at my direction, but that doesn't mean they won't stomp on you if you impede their mission.”

  “What business do they have here?” Alisandra asked.

  “They're like rangers on a preserve. They're here to make sure your lions have all the support they need for what comes next. That being said...”

  The grand marshal collapsed to the floor, swallowing huge gulps of air as though she would only be allowed so many. She rose to her feet, reaching to the plasma sword under her robes. The hilt barely cleared the magnalock when the bull called Kratos slammed the back of his rifle into her skull, knocking her to the floor. He dropped to a knee, aiming it at two other marshals that had yet to get up from Marco's initial assault. Confident they wouldn't move, he signaled for a small host of visor clad brutes to surround him.

  Marco continued, “Marshal Adina, would you accompany these men to Parliament to return their broken puppet? I think we're done playing with it.”

  Adina fixed her stare at Gideon, looking for confirmation while trying to hide her apprehension for the last few minutes.

  “Please do as you're told, Lioness,” Commander Liau said flatly, breaking the silence.

  “Yes, ma'am.” There was no fanfare as the Dreadmarr cuffed the fallen leader and walked her unceremoniously from the chamber with Adina leading the way.

  Marco was quick to recapture the attention of the room, “Lioness?”

  “Yes, marshal.” Alisandra responded.

  “You are to sweep the chamber. No marshal may remain other than those directed to do so by Marshal Gideon. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Marshal.”

  “Marshal Gideon, do you have Templars in mind to replace the puppets for the Grand Marshal?”

  Gideon threw his hands up, gesturing in the air, letting them slap against his legs. “I do, but it would've been easier to implement with Adina helping me. You had to go make her a lion. Now, I have to pick six experienced marshals and two juniors by myself. ”

  Marco liked this man. “Until such time as you can select more marshals for the Circle, you and the Lioness have to be our voice for the Temple. Contact Field Commander Hylaeus and order him to help you.”

  “Hylaeus is a legend. He's not going to listen to me,” Gideon said.

  “He will if the lions tell him to. You will rebuild the Shield Council but I need it done yesterday. We don't have time to wait for selection processes and all the political garbage that's littered the Athalon since I've been gone.”

  Gideon looked annoyed but resolute. “Fine. But you've been gone for over a decade. You dishing out these orders could lead us to a civil war.”

  “It's my right as the Lion Guard to dish out whatever I see fit to protect the temple. That's you, cutting the dead limbs so the tree may live. Those that would oppose your work would only do so because they're protecting the rot under the
bark. The Athalon is infected, it's your job to purge it so the temple can grow strong again. Put down anyone who gets in your way.”

  “I'm not a lion, I don't have the authority.”

  Marco nodded, “Working beside Force Commander Liau gives you the authority. It's written into the Concordance that her house is tasked with protecting the Athalon, even from itself. She legitimizes your control to establish a new council. The Dreadmarr will remain in place to help you until it's done.”

  “Great. No pressure.” Gideon huffed.

  “But how could this happen?” Prime Minister Coultier shouted over the murmuring in the room. “Why didn't we know about this, General?”

  General Haverin looked dismayed. As the Minister of Intelligence for the Elysian Armed Forces Bureau, it was her job to see threats closing in on Elysium. The problem, as she saw it, was that the threat was already under their nose, a fact that had her stewing in her seat. She was waving her hands in the air over holographic interfaces only she could see, speaking in hushed tones over the sub-vocal microphone to officers in a virtual environment. Interactive cyber-lenses placed over the eyes were all too common, even in the Frontier, but it didn't stop her from looking like a crazy person. “My apologies, sir. Marco Sorrin reappearing after all this time didn't enter into anyone's mind because he should be well into his eighties or nineties by now. Video coming out of Sadosia shows a man barely into his fifties, if that. The problem we have is that after he disappeared, no one replaced his position of Lion Guard. Although second in command of House Liau, he may actually have the right to purge any and all of the Athalon Temple if he feels it's been compromised. And since there was no new Lion Guard, the old one still has his authority.”

  Coultier stroked his goatee. How had he missed this? How had his allies in the undertaking missed it? He'd been playing a dangerous game for years now that would cement his legacy as the man who finally threw off the yoke of the Temples and allowed Solvineaux to become the shining jewel of Elysium and the Frontier. He stared into the scores of faces around the room, formulating plans within plans. All wasn't lost. He still had his allies in the San Verone Monastery. He’d have to call an emergency session of Parliament to take a vote to abolish the Athlan Concordance.

  This could benefit them. With the old feral cat, whose duty to protect the temple had long since past, prowling around the clergy for souls to devour, he could paint the Templars as a dangerously unstable influence on Elysium. They could use the Force Majeure under the command of Revered Sister Naema Otobo to cordon off the Temple Complex. Parliament could vote out the Marshals, granting limited military duties to the Vernai Monks.

  “In any case, the Liau's duty as a praetorian body gives them the right to what they're doing,” the general finished.

  “Has this happened before?” asked one of the aides in the room.

  “Yes.” Haverin said. “Generations ago when the temple was first being built, records show there was a massive purge of both Templars and their leadership. The records we have access to from the time are vague, although the marshals themselves might have something more complete. In any case, the records mention an ancient influence that turned the marshals against each other, requiring an organization such as House Liau to 'cleanse' the temple. Originally, it was a single member, who wore the mantel of Lion Guard. During the Exodus Wars, Sorrin and Aleksander Liau established their organization and the Lancer Regiments. While the House is tasked with protecting the temple, the position of Lion Guard is responsible to watch the members, ensuring they uphold the Chronicles of the Way and the Law.”

  “This can be an important time for us,” Coultier said, wagging his finger as though the universe itself should pay attention. “I need everyone in top form. General Haverin, press your people for a security sweep, I need to know if there are any other intelligence risks which would put our plans in jeopardy. Mr. Loroquin, I want you to declare martial law. Lock down Solvineaux. No one gets in or out. Ms. Rovaton, have your agents in the SSIB lock down their assets regarding the undertaking and meet with our counterparts in Triton Expeditionary. I need to know which parts of our plans are at risk so we can direct forces to protect them.”

  A member of the Special Defense Protocol, the personal security for Parliament, speed walked to the Prime Minister.

  “Is there a threat, Martin?”

  The agent leaned over, whispering into Coultier's ear while the room descended into silence. The sound of people's shoes shifting on the lush carpet were loud against the backdrop of a room full of people trying to hear what was being said. Coultier's face went from concern to cold dread. His eyes shifted back and forth, as if searching the floor for an answer to a question he wasn't prepared for.

  “I had to let them through, sir. It's the law.”

  “I understand, Martin. But now I'm going to ask you to do something that might seem illegal, but based on recent events, will determine the fate of Solvineaux, possibly even Elysium, going forward. Your wife and daughter live here in the city, don't they, Martin? Can I have you take things on faith so we can keep them safe?”

  There wasn't even a hint of misgiving in the man's expression. “Of course, sir.”

  “Martin, I need you to go out there and stall the marshals. Don't let them enter this room until we're gone. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, sir. We'll make it happen,” he said. Exiting the main door to the Ministry Room, he spoke over coms to his team. “Vayan, Halsey, I need you to secure North Star and the Cabinet. I'm coming out front to deal with the marshals. Top flight, everyone!”

  Coultier didn't waste any time, “We need to move. If we're confronted by the Lions telling us that they have everything under control, or that they know of the undertaking, we're finished. We move to the secured bunker and convene a virtual session of Parliament.”

  The two agents left in the room detailed their actions over whisper mics attached to their gear. Sub-machine blasters tumbled from jackets, their stocks snapping in place on the frantic rise to shoulders. A command code muttered over an unseen interface produced a panel in the wall. The female agent kept her blaster at the ready, reaching out with her non-firing hand to the pro-steel surface which identified her as an “authorized operative.” Hatches posing as normal walls whooshed to the side as a blast door beyond it broke open vertically.

  “Whoah!” she shouted. Blaster fire danced and skipped into the hall, the flashes exposing something moving within. The agent dropped to her knees, never letting off the trigger. “Command override, November Sierra Juliet One One Seven Sakkano! Close blast doors on exit forty-seven-two oh-one!”

  The agent behind her fired over her head, continuing the rain of bolts into the hall as she reloaded. The hatches slammed shut again, allowing the agent a moment to kick the wall panel back into place. “We're not going that way. Navigator Lead, exit forty-seven two oh-one is compromised, need alternate exit for North Star.” She screwed up her face, trying to listen to garbled radio traffic amid the prayers and demands of the chamber's occupants. “Roger that. Everyone to the middle of the room. No time to be polite. Huddle up all intimate like.”

  “What was in the hall, Agent Vayan?” Coultier asked.

  “Sir, I've fought all over the frontier and I've never seen a set of armor take a pounding like that!” she said through gritted teeth.

  Outside, blaster fire and men screaming were barely audible, a testament to the soundproofing that kept the secrets of the Solvineaux-based government from escaping. Muffled sounds of fighting mixed with gasps from the embattled cabinet members clinging to each other, as angry clacking noises echoed off the plaster walls. A heavy thunk preceded a tick of motion, startling them as the surface under their feet sunk almost half a meter. They dropped away, the section of the floor becoming an elevator. The platform plummeted several levels, ending in a chamber with the seal of the Elysian government emblazoned on the marble landing.

  Two agents seated at a desk rose, placing their sub-machin
e blasters into the same configuration as those on the lift. One of them tossed each a set of heavy body armor they quickly donned while they pulled the politicians from the platform.

  “Let's go, people!” Vayan shouted.

  “Good work, Agent Vayan,” Prime Minister Coultier said, patting her on the freshly fashioned armor.

  The cabinet flowed over to a set of blast doors, waiting for them to open. Gasses hissed from the seams, finally venting in full as the doors flew apart. Standing in the spacious entrance to the secured bunker was a man in red robes over gray armor. His golden framed hood flowing into sheaves of cloth hinted at a set of heavily armored gauntlets beyond. “Ministers, please make your way inside so we may secure the doors.”

  “About time something went right,” Coultier said, reaching for the man's hand. “Did Revered Sister Otobo send you? Did she have some foresight on today's events?

  “Prime Minister!” Ms. Rovaton shouted. “That man is with the marshals!”

  Fifteen

  The prime minister tried to free his grip from the monk, who'd locked him in place with the most secure handshake he'd ever come across. His hand wasn't being crushed, but neither could he remove it.

  “I demand you let him go this instant!” Ms. Rovaton shouted. The portly woman moved surprisingly fast, pulling a concealed blaster pistol from an ankle holster.

  “Melody Rovaton, director of the Strategic Security and Intelligence Bureau. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam. I have no intention of harming the prime minister. If you would be so kind as to lower your blaster, we can settle our affairs like civilized adults.”

  Her pistol never faltered, even when the monk released his hold on Coultier. “If I'm not mistaken, Chief Inspector Esteban Castillo, both my section and the monks at San Verone have been hunting you for months. You standing here unimpeded makes you the most dangerous man in the room. My pistol stays where it is.”

  “Suit yourself, madam, but I'm not the most dangerous man in the room,” Castillo said, a hint of a smile crawling across his face.