The Mongrel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 1) Read online

  A figure walked into the room, the shadow moving much further in than the actual person. After inching into the space, it shut the door, eliminating the light from the hall. Its eyes adjusted to the dark from a sliver of daylight shining through the perimeter of a board securing the window.

  A phantom screen appeared in the space. Accompanied by a slight hum, it flitted about slightly, indicating its handheld origin. Taps on a surface reported that the figure was working at something complex. Data scrolled by the screen at breakneck speed until the lancer Battle-net symbol appeared in the top right hand corner. Directories whirled by. The destination screen caused a small torrent of chatter in a robotic tone.

  The figure became deathly still. The chatter died as a mute symbol appeared for half a breath, then vanished. Heartbeats sounded like thunderclaps thrumming, one after the other. The figure strained to hear if anyone had noticed the noise. Content that the rolls of forgotten tape and their pal, the ladder, were the only audience, the figure continued.

  The lancer screen indicated that the room's occupant had just found the personal tasking screen for Commander Tyberian Hylaeus. If a security key was not entered through a codex in thirty seconds, a warning would be issued to the commander's cell-com.

  The figure produced a small rectangular block and held it closely to the mobile device. A red light on the block turned to gold. Careful individual taps created a pass code, hidden by black dots. Another thundering heartbeat in the most excruciatingly slow perception of time sounded in the figure's ears. Codex pass key accepted.

  The tasking screen gave a root menu of routines. The third one down was highlighted, blinking in and out. The RIM-VI tasking screen came into clear view, along with a view for each bot currently in service.

  The figure typed the new instructions.

  >>>Task Priority selected. Order of Priority: Protect fort-lancers-commander. Assess target location. Capture target. Lethal force only to protect fort-lancers-commander.

  >>>Re-Task. Locate-PID target / Eliminate target. All other tasking unchanged. Upload.

  >>>Upload complete.

  The room went dark. The thunder beats in the figure's ears slammed with the force of a real storm as the intruder struggled to get their heart rate down enough to hear beyond the door. One beat turned to ten, with only the emptiness of silence and the dust highlighted from the sealed, bracketed window their only companions.

  The door opened. The figure left, careful to step over the dust gathered outside the door. Silence descended over the room of trinket treasures while the footsteps faded away.

  “Commander Hylaeus.”

  “Yes, Tom.”

  “Over Watch has the skiff on sensors. The drone has it on approach back to the fort. It's skirting the ridge in an attempt to hide.”

  “Tom, I mean, Lieutenant Surran. Have Over Watch track the vehicle. If they deviate from any course other than this, please have the drone launch an ion strike to disable it.”

  The commander had a heads-up display projected into his contact lenses. He was still in the cell with Marshal Brand. In his vision, he was looking at a projection of the tactical officer.

  “Yes, sir. Orders uploaded to Over Watch.” Tom worked through several screens, his brow furrowing from some new speck of information. “The vehicle just picked up speed, sir. Looks like Marshal Truveau is in charge. She has the criminal driving and the apprentice is kneeling in the center. Is it possible that she talked sense into them?”

  “Take no chances, Lieutenant,” Hylaeus said, straining to see the incoming skiff through the shattered wall. “We have four robotic infantry modules on my transport. I am uploading the HOP codes to you now. Send them out on perimeter patrol. They are model VIs, so they shouldn't have any trouble with the terrain.”

  The hologram stretched to include the rest of the security room and the two technicians. They were furiously entering the Hastened Operations Protocols to activate the floating death sleds. A screen ghosted in front of Marshal Brand, highlighting the trajectory of the skiff. A second screen appeared above the first, showing the RIM-VIs exiting the back ramp of the marshal's assault shuttle.

  “Marshal, deploy a squad to secure the front entrance. I'll stay here in case the skiff decides to come in the back door we created.” Hylaeus gestured to Sergeant Corvin. “Give Second Squad to me, minus Tai. He and Doc can go to the infirmary and get that arm sorted. First squad should probably be on sweep to check the rest of the fort for more traps like the one that dead-lined their armor. That leaves us one squad in reserve, just in case.”

  Brand nodded and issued the orders to Lance Sergeant D'Marco, the senior NCO in the platoon. As orders were being handed out, he sent word to Fourth Squad that they would act as QRF should the situation warrant it.

  A slight ping went off in Commander Hylaeus' earpiece. “Yes, Tom.”

  “Sir, they've maxed out the speed of the skiff and are gaining altitude. I'm not sure that they mean to stop. They might fly right over us. This makes no sense if Marshal Truveau is in charge.”

  The commander looked around the room. Two squads of some of the best fighting forces outside of the Core Worlds were in this room. The Devil Hunters were known throughout the Frontier for being the go-to force for taking on supernatural threats. And yet, despite their well-earned reputation, Marshal Ferrand's apprentice had walked through them without a scratch. Hylaeus wanted more than anything for them to avoid more combat today.

  Something felt wrong to the commander. He felt a sense of dread from somewhere close that was deeply connected to the apprentice. His actions seemed random. He was ultra-violent one minute, organized and calm the next. The sense that something was off was like an itch Hylaeus couldn't reach. He knew there was something to see in The Crucible. He just had to make sense of what it was telling him.

  “Sir!” Lieutenant Surran came back on coms. “Sending screens to you now.”

  The commander called Brand over to him and used a cell-com to project the screens to the room. The skiff was moving at an incredible speed and flying high enough to pass over the roof. As it got closer, they could see the RIM-VIs moving into a line in front of the cliff. Warnings were being issued over the loudspeakers from the bots as they hovered.

  The RIM-VI looked like someone had taken a hover tank and shrank it down to a quarter of its size. A central gun, fashioned after the Core Worlds M-1170 machine blaster, sat slightly off center to the right of the vehicle. On the left side was a folding micro-missile launcher that could field several types of warheads. Angled repulsors kept the thing afloat, allowing for sustained flight. These bots weren't fast but could give and take punishment better than many other models being fielded.

  The skirmish line of mechs didn't wait for a command or signal to open up their considerable arsenal. Machine-blaster bolts flew at the incoming ship, a swarm of angry fireflies seeking to end its approach once and for all. The sky lit up from the wave of gunfire alongside missile pods launching multiple warheads to eradicate anything the machine-blasters didn't hit.

  The skiff dodged to evade the incoming bolts. Dust and rock were kicked up as the mechs struggled to lock on to their targets. While the ship rocked from side to side, bucking up and down, the missiles tore through the distance towards it. A heartbeat before the vehicle was broken under the onslaught, the projectiles detonated in the air.

  In the background audio, Lieutenant Surran sounded off. “Abort codes accepted. Missiles down! I need to know where those crazy bots got that kill command from! Wait one. Affirmative, Over Watch. Disable its thrusters.”

  A tactical overlay came into the hologram, the feed switching to the drone that was Over Watch. The screen went to whiteout from two ion missiles dropping from the wings and rocketing toward the skiff.

  Both Marshal Truveau and Lasher could be seen in the video stream, each raising a hand. The missiles shook and then reversed direction. Machine blaster fire erupted from the RIM-VIs, seeking to intercept the traitorous pro
jectiles. The two outside bots in formation launched tracking countermeasures meant for jamming incoming missiles. The projectiles dodged and swerved away from the point defense fire and the flares. Controlled through the Way, the missiles exploded just shy of the bots, engulfing all four in the hyper-static blast. System failure warnings blared over the screens, the bots backing themselves around the fort to reset crucial systems affected from the charge.

  “Here they come!” shouted Sergeant Corvin.

  “What are they doing?” roared Brand.

  The skiff forced its way through the lancer defenses while everyone in the blown-out cell looked on in terror expecting an impact any second. Second Squad members lined up against cover from the blasted out wall as best they could.

  Corvin called over to Private Tran. “Send that thing some hate mail!”

  The trooper brought up a large gun. With a flick of the wrist, a bipod dropped into place from the weapon's underside. The private slammed the legs onto the blown-out section of the wall, making for a steady shooting platform. He reached under the CR-750 and pulled a chain of linked rounds from the drum. One of the few sluggers being used by anyone, the CR-750 was a high velocity slug thrower that fielded varying types of ammunition. The weapon saw heavy use among special lancer units for those times when a blaster just wouldn't do.

  “Lucas!” Tran yelled over his shoulder. “Feed me some shield cutters and a pack of reds.”

  A thick trooper dropped down a shoulder pack. “Coming up!” shouted Lucas. He drew another drum from the bag and ripped ammo from it. Kneeling in place, he linked the new belt into the old one. “Splitters in the front, SLAP in the back. Hit it!”

  The gun roared as the barrel rent the air around it. Snap-cracks and muzzle-flashes preceded a swarm of rounds on their way to the target. Shield splitter ammo ripped into the front array of the skiff. The riders on the deck of the ship ducked away from the torrent of thunder tearing apart their protection.

  In the blink of an eye, the drum of shield splitters was spent. The gun hungrily chewed into the ammo, ever hungry for more. Next course was the sabot light armor piercing rounds. The ship approached the fort like it was racing Death herself, making the SLAP rounds considerably more effective in the decreasing range.

  The new rounds slammed home and took flight, changing the gun's tone slightly. The marshal at the front of the ship moved to just behind the shield emitters. She posed like she were braced against something pushing her, with her arm and fist acting as a shield. The apprentice stood and made a cupping motion out to the side with his arms.

  As the new rounds sped to their target, they were guided to the sides of the ship by Marshal Truveau's command of the Way. Lasher corralled the incoming fire, using the power of the Crucible to form a slalom for the shots to be redirected.

  Tran put five hundred rounds ahead of Second Squad noticing the damage he was doing. Corvin bellowed into the squad-com for cease fire. The young private looked confused when Lucas, his assistant gunner, broke the link to comply with Corvin's command.

  The rounds all found a new target courtesy of the Way. The Over Watch drone ripped apart, its power cells igniting from the onslaught of the armor-shredding projectiles. The machine detonated in an immense fireball that caused everyone to turn their attention from the incoming ship.

  The skiff thundered by overhead through the dying glare of the explosion. Not once did the craft slow or stop. It passed the fort and throttled out over the steppes.

  Six

  Commander Hylaeus stepped through the door into the cell. He pulled down the face wrap that was part of his cloak, displaying a look of amused concern. “I'm surprised your men down the hall haven't gotten back in their armor. The air is so thick.”

  Marshal Brand and the lancers who were not broken saluted their commander.

  “As you were. Marshal, I'm sorry I didn't get here fast enough.”

  Brand's eyes gave away much of what he was thinking. This was not a man used to failing. He had a reputation for grinding his way through to victory on any mission he was given. The commander could see that he was taking the loss very personally.

  The disappointment was thick enough to push through his rebreather. “It was my fault, sir. We should have had guards on him within the room. I just thought it safer to have the room empty of those that could be convinced to help him.”

  “There is enough blame to go around. No need to shoulder it all yourself.” Hylaeus was very good at this part. The part where a promising officer had to be steadied after his confidence had been shaken. The lancers that were present also needed the encouragement. “LaGarron is being looked after in the infirmary. Tai is going to be fine. We have a perimeter up. There's a tech out in that hall resetting First Squad's armor. You'll be back in the fight and hunting the target in no time.”

  Brand drew in a deep breath, its sound made eerie in the electronic flutter of his mask. “For the meantime, we have other problems. Truveau seems to have thrown in with them. I presume Lasher or the criminal might have said something to make her stand down. She came here to confront him. What could he have told her to change her mind?”

  The commander looked to the blade still buried in the rock. It was ornate. Made of a special alloy, Templar Swords were nearly indestructible. The blade had an old prayer engraved into it:

  “Through fire, we are broken down, through hammering, we are forged. Through tempering, we form strength. The Crucible is all.”

  The floor had melted when the energized blade plunged into it. The top layers of stone had liquefied, turning to glass when it cooled. The blade would have to be energized again to retrieve it.

  Brand's question hung unanswered, but he continued his report. “We also lost a bit of gear that was hooked to the skiff. Most of the assault packs for Second Squad were strapped to the rails. Some of the contents taken was extra water, rations, and field gear. Unfortunately, there were some weapons and extra ammo inside some of them.”

  The commander had his arms folded across his chest, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. He was absently rubbing the glass around the blade with the toe of his boot. Unlike the rest of the dust strewn, grainy floor, the glass was smooth to the touch. Almost slippery.

  “What kind of weapons?” A chime went off, letting Hylaeus know that Tom was trying to reach him. “Send it.”

  Lieutenant Surran sounded like a child who had failed his chores for the day. “Sir, we did a back trace on the kill command that was fed to the VIs. Someone or something got into the Battle-net. I'm scrubbing my codex now and re-keying it just to be safe.” Tom was obviously multitasking, conveying orders to his two technicians. “Corporal, scrub this and enter the new data-set.”

  “How did something like this happen?” Hylaeus asked.

  Tom's voice was still small. “We're working against something that has master level slicer skills. Finding your way to the Battle-net isn't hard. Slicing through our encryption so that it works is on a level that is beyond anything I've seen.”

  The commander waved his hand, bringing him face to face with Tom's holo. “Keep tabs on the system. Is there a way to increase the security level?”

  “I can, but it will increase the difficulty for the lancers in the field when they want to cross talk with non-dedicated systems.”

  “Tom, I don't speak Tech. I barely speak Trade-1.”

  The beleaguered LT focused his full attention on the holo-cam. “Sorry about that, sir. The lancers will have to use an RTO to punch in the codes to talk between their systems and ours.”

  “Make it work, Tom. I'm going to coordinate with the squads here to plot our next moves. Keep me apprised of anything you find.” Commander Hylaeus addressed the Second Squad's leader, Sergeant Corvin. “You good?”

  “We are, sir. Doc, get Tai to medical.”

  The medic grabbed the massive trooper. “Up ya go, hero.”

  “Hey, I was courageous in the face of overwhelming odds.”

  �
��We saw. He only slapped you around a little. I'm sure the platoon can be bribed to tell it just the way you like when you're out. Hey, Tran, what's the going rate for story improvement?”

  “It was two, right?” Tran turned to his assistant gunner while holding up his hand with two fingers extended.

  “For Tai, definitely two,” Lucas agreed.

  Tai raised his head as though he were above the jesting. “You know what they say about payback.”

  “Yeah, two drinks is the going rate,” replied Frazer.

  “Minimum,” added Williams.

  The doc ushered Tai out. The massive trooper kept looking over his shoulder at the First Squad lancers still framing the door. “Who asked you, First Squad?”

  Everyone in the cell was chuckling.

  Commander Hylaeus cherished the grin he had on his face and the warmth in his belly. He didn't get to interact with Athlan lancer regiments much anymore. It felt good to be among them again. He placed a hand on Marshal Brand's shoulder. “Get them on task, Marshal.”

  “Right away, sir. Lance Sergeant D'Marco. First Squad on sweep and clear of the fort. Second Squad remain with Commander Hylaeus. Third Squad, perimeter patrol.”

  “You heard the man!” barked D'Marco.

  The commander addressed the squad assigned to him. “Take five and get yourselves together. Cross-load any gear you might need. Beg and borrow from the garrison armory if you have to.”

  The men moved from the ruined halls to their assigned tasks. Hylaeus turned his attention to a shivering icon playing across his cell-com. He tapped it with the enthusiasm of a lamb awaiting slaughter. “Sister Na'Eema. How wonderful to see you.”