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

up over the unit’s tracks. Clinging to it was a tiny version of itself, identical in every way.

“You’ve budded,” Sato said.

“I have. Thank you for waiting.”

“Not a problem.” He looked at the bud. “Welcome to Azure,” he said, triggering his pinplants to send the visual color flashes, because the bud didn’t have its parent’s pinplants.

“Thank you, Taiki.”

 Sato blinked in the dim office lights. The startlingly blue waters had been so real, he could still feel them lapping up on his feet. When he looked down at his shoes, he was surprised to see them dry.

“If you would follow me, please?” A woman holding a slate gestured to them from a door on the far side of the office. Nobody else at their desks took any notice of them as they got up and walked to the indicated door. Sato had to struggle to pay attention to his footsteps as he fought off the memory and tried to center himself back in the now.

They walked down a short hallway, past several doors, to a heavy steel door that looked almost like a pressure door on a starship. The woman slipped her hand into an alcove, and the door clicked and rotated inward for her.

<Impressive security,> Rick commed.

Sato nodded. He couldn’t see enough to be sure; it could be an imbedded microchip in the woman’s hand, advanced biometrics, or she’d entered a code on a hidden keypad. There was no way to be sure. Besides, he wasn’t as interested when he saw the interior of the hangar. “Holy crap,” he said.

“Is that a Phoenix-class dropship?” Rick asked.

“Exactly,” Sato agreed.

“I thought they were out of service.”

“Not entirely,” Sato said. “They made thousands of them, so a lot of poor merc units have been using them. I think a few governments own them for military and civilian search and rescue. Obviously some were sold privately as well.”

The Phoenix was built around an aerodynamic central fuselage, not unlike old-fashioned airplanes. Instead of wings, it had four hybrid jet/rocket pods mounted two fore and two aft. These could swivel, allowing the Phoenix both VTOL and STOL capabilities. In cargo mode, it could carry enough fuel for two trips to LEO and back, though usually it was intended for single trips.

The dropships’ main design purpose was to carry Human mercs into combat, burning into an atmosphere at high speed, utilizing a novel low-powered nose energy shield in combination with FICS, fluid injective cooling, on the nose. With these working together, a Phoenix could perform a hot drop unequalled by any other dropship in the galaxy. The problem was, the systems weren’t terribly reliable, so the Phoenix had been phased out 20 years ago.

The ship was painted sky blue on its belly, and jet black on the fuselage and engine pods. The cockpit accommodated two crew, a pilot and a navigator/gunner who sat behind the pilot, above and to the left. On the nose, just under the cockpit, was painted the name “Chupacabra.”

“You like my ship?” Don Gutierrez asked as he came around the nose, patting it affectionately.

“Where did you get it?” Sato asked.

Don Gutierrez smiled hugely. “Colombia bought seven of them from Cartwright’s Cavaliers when they were retired. Four served in the military, two on border interdiction, and one as Colombia’s official government orbital shuttle.”

“They ride like a cattle car,” Sato observed. One of the results of the ship’s utility was a terrible atmospheric interface experience. The crews often joked the ship got its name from passengers never knowing if they were going down in flames.

“Yes, yes,” he said and laughed. “El Presidente’s first trip was his last. Since the military didn’t want another, and neither did border patrol, it went up for auction.” His smile doubled. “I had contacts in the Colombian procurement office, so I knew how much to bid.”

“Why did you want something like this?” Rick asked. “I hear they’re expensive to maintain.”

“It depends on how you fly it. If you stay in atmosphere, not so much. There are a lot of parts on the secondary market. Besides…” He looked at the craft with obvious affection. “I used to fly this one.”

“You were a Cavalier?” Rick asked.

Don Gutierrez nodded. “I was Major Hargrave’s personal pilot for 11 years, until I retired 25 years ago.”

“So you knew Thaddeus Cartwright.”

“Every Cavalier knew him and loved him. It broke my heart when I heard he’d been killed. Broke again when his bitch wife wrecked the Cavaliers. I never met his son, though I hear he’s a good man.”

Rick shook his head, and Sato turned to look at him in concern. <Are you okay?>

<Fine,> was the immediate reply. Then Rick spoke aloud, “I still don’t understand why you’d need one. They’re still expensive to operate, and there are a million small airfreight companies around. You’d have been better off buying a dozen turboprop transports for what this one probably costs.”

“I won’t explain the details of my business dealings to you,” the man said, his face becoming impassive. “And I’ll forgive your disrespect, considering the favor you did my granddaughter.”

“No disrespect intended,” Rick said quickly. “I was only confused.”

“Very well, please board.” A trio of men were bringing Dakkar’s tank and their bags up the rear loading ramp. The side personnel ladder was down, and they were being led toward it.

As they walked, Sato noticed some more movement by the rear cargo ramp. Parked by the huge hangar door were a dozen black SUVs, hydrogen-powered behemoths common for government officials or executives. Only, neither of those types stood nearby. Instead, the men all wore vests bulging with ammunition magazines, and one had a cartridge belt draped over his shoulders like an old army movie. The men carried various older automatic rifles. One of them, easily seven feet tall, had a laser rifle that had to have