Sword of Minerva (The Guild Wars Book 10) Mark Wandrey (e novels to read .TXT) 📖

of its six impellers, destroying it. The drone slewed violently sideways, and Rick saw its weapon spin around, searching for the attacker. Can you fly with only five? How about four? He fired again. The shot cut off two arms holding the impellers, and the drone crashed to the road.

He jogged down the side street toward the wreckage. He guessed Sato could tease some secrets from its brain. The woman was screaming and shaking her husband. “He’ll be okay,” Rick said to her. “It was a stunner.” She wasn’t listening, so he went to the downed and smoking drone. “How do I deactivate this th—”

Kaboom! The drone exploded with more force than Rick would have expected. The shock wave knocked him back a meter and blew out the windshield of the farm truck, along with every store front window for a block in both directions.

The armor’s automatic systems kept him on his feet; stabilizing blades instantly extended and dug furrows into the concrete. He steadied himself and walked to the crater in the roadbed. <Approximate yield—1kg K2>

He swept the immediate area for any signs of casualties. The closest had been the stunned man and the woman, neither of whom appeared to be wounded. The charge had to have been a self-destruct, or it would have been packed with an advanced shrapnel payload. He was pretty sure it hadn’t seen him, but its presence left only one conclusion. Someone knew they were here.

Rick walked over to check on the man. A quick scan showed his vitals were steady. The truck was the worse for wear. He dug a 100-credit chit from his trench coat pocket and sat it next to the women, who stared at it in confusion. “For the damages,” he said, then turned and quickly walked back toward the hotel.

He had to use the navigational aid to find it. He was surprised to see he’d walked four kilometers. Still close enough.

<Mr. Sato, we need to be ready to leave.>

<What’s wrong?> Sato replied immediately. Rick explained the encounter. <Oh, yeah, that’s a problem. But we can’t leave immediately.>

<We’ll just buy another vehicle,> Rick said.

<That’s not it.>

<Then what’s going on?>

<It’s easier to show you. Get back ASAP.> Sato cut the connection,

“Damn it,” Rick growled and hurried his pace.

He didn’t want to run, not when he now knew there were eyes on them. He settled for a somewhat conspicuous half-jog, which chewed up the intervening kilometers in only 15 minutes. As he turned the corner into the hotel parking area and their truck came into view, so did a line of people outside their hotel room. “You have got to be kidding me.” Rick came to a stop and gawked. At least 20 people were milling around outside their room.

He scanned the crowd and vehicles, looking for police, military, or anyone who might be armed and dangerous. To the contrary, everyone looked like locals. My God, what has Sato done this time?

Rick slowed his approach so he appeared to be walking up, and not racing into a confrontation. With his enhanced senses, he could easily hear the people’s conversations.

“I believe it’s from Saint Francis,” a man said.

“I think maybe Saint Clement, or Saint Beuno.”

“No, it’s Archangel Raphael himself!” a woman said reverently. A woman Rick recognized as the grandmother of the girl the bud had healed.

Rick gently pushed through the crowd, getting several complaints that he should wait his turn, and more than few shocked exclamations when they felt his metallic armor. As he reached the door, a young boy was being led out by a crying man and woman. Both were repeating thanks and said, “Santo del Mar.” Saint of the Sea was the translation for Rick.

“Sato,” Rick said, saying it loud enough so they’d hear him. He was still several people from the door and didn’t want to crack any ribs getting through.

Sato’s head came around the doorframe, eyes scanning the crowd. When he saw Rick, his expression turned to recognition, then chagrin. “Rick, things got out of hand.”

“No shit?” Rick said.

“Please, let him through,” Sato said in Spanish. “He is Santo del Mar’s guardaespaldas.”

Rick’s translator said the last was roughly bodyguard. He guessed he was indeed a bodyguard. The crowd parted, both at Sato’s words, and from turning to look at Rick. Some whispered to each other, and others crossed themselves and fell back as if Rick were brandishing a flaming sword.

Inside their room, a teenage boy was sitting in front of the bud’s watery home, with the Wrogul perched on the edge, two of its tentacles embedded in the boy’s head. “Sato, what the fuck?”

“The old lady with the kid came back,” Sato explained, holding his hands out for patience. “Her sister had an inoperable brain tumor. Dakkar took it out in like 10 seconds.”

“Dakkar? What?”

“Oh, that’s his name,” Sato indicated the Wrogul. “He chose a name.”

Rick wanted to know more about the name, but he wanted to know more about how the grandmother’s sister had turned into enough people for a soccer game. “Okay, and the crowd?”

Sato gave a sheepish grin. “I think they both called all their friends and relatives. The Republic doesn’t have a medical center down here; the closest is Coatzacoalcos, 350 kilometers north.”

“So you just opened Dakkar’s Wrogul Free Clinic?”

Sato looked chastened. “That wasn’t the plan. After he helped the sister, a girl with a deformed heart valve was brought in, then another girl who couldn’t hear. By the time I realized they weren’t just showing up, we had a line…” He looked confused and made a helpless gesture. “These people need help.”

“So do we,” Rick said, and sent a clipped video of his encounter with the drone through their pinplants.

“A Zuul design,” Sato said immediately. “They’re expensive.”

“Yes, and someone sent one after us.”

Sato’s eyes slid