Sword of Minerva (The Guild Wars Book 10) by Mark Wandrey (good books to read for teens txt) 📗

making up only about 1% of all races. Most are exotics because they have biochemical processes that are completely incompatible with Humans. The Izlians are one. They live at temps around 50 Kelvin, and at a pressure that would kill Humans, not to mention their atmosphere could dissolve our bones. Others are like the Jeha, insect species whose psychologies are so inHuman we can barely work together. Wrogul are both.

“They might look like cute octopi, but their biochemistry is quite astounding, and they’re completely amoral. Any morality they have, they learned from others. All the Wrogul we know of came from the planet Azure, where a little colony lives side by side with a Human colony. Nemo left a long time ago and apparently didn’t absorb as much humanity as his siblings.”

Rick didn’t know whether he was grateful to Nemo for resurrecting him, or not. It was good to be alive, there was no doubt; however, his present situation was far from ideal. His brain wasn’t damaged, as it had been at the moment of his ‘sampling,’ but the impression Nemo had taken of Rick’s brain at the time was missing his more recent memories. Rick could feel emotions, but he still had the memory loss.

“Nemo said it might fall into place; he wouldn’t know without more experimentation. I didn’t think that was a good idea.” Rick had to agree.

So he wasn’t quite himself as he walked along the promenade, pretending to be interested in the shops. He didn’t have a Yack, so none of the advertisements could key in on him based on past purchases. Instead, he was assailed with random Tri-V projected enticements. A simple scanner could tell there was a Human under the spacesuit, so he was offered everything from cocaine grown on a Human colony, to sexual favors from a robot that was “guaranteed to provide favorable sexual organ stimulation or your credits back!”

Rick wasn’t interested in having his sexual organ stimulated by a robot, even if it was guaranteed to be favorable. He reached a glideway and took it up to the next higher level, where gravity was a third lighter. The ring was full of commercial offices and light industrial concerns. He rode a conventional elevator up one building and walked to an office entrance. As he approached, it flashed, “Available For Rent! Contact C1199-Karma Beta 2 For Details.”

“Huh,” he said and stared at the display. Behind the glowing Tri-V he could see where a name had been painted, then removed. “Winged Hussars—Personnel.” Rick ran his hands across the chipped paint. The name had been removed months ago, or longer. He’d been here only weeks previously; he’d sat in a waiting room full of prospective hires, including a pair of overly loud Oogar, and…

He cocked his head and squinted. Another alien had been there. The memory was like looking through fog. It made his tongue itch. He shook his head and turned away. There was nothing for him here. Rick headed back down to the ring where his hotel was. As he rode the glideway, he berated himself.

What did you think you would find? Even if the Hussars’ office was still there, you couldn’t just walk in. You’re here for Sato. Despite some of the things his benefactor had said, Rick couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d somehow been rescued from Nemo. He looked down at the spacesuit over his hands, turning them over, then making a fist. With a sigh, he got off the glideway back on the promenade where he’d started—where it had all seemingly started. His journey wasn’t over. Not yet, anyway.

* * *

Working out his next step proved more complicated than Sato had expected. He’d harvested nine one-million-credit chits from the lockbox off Citation, a lot more than he’d been expecting. He’d been trying to estimate how much his salary with the Hussars had been, largely without success. He knew it was less than 100,000 a year, and he’d been with the Hussars for 19 years before he’d left. He also knew all the money he’d earned had been deposited on his Yack, which was back in New Warsaw.

He’d never even considered taking the identity/account card with him. The Winged Hussars’ intelligence network, coupled with the Golden Horde’s information gathering service, was second to none. Sure, they’d completely missed the coming war against the Mercenary Guild, but so had everyone else. He knew they wouldn’t miss him spending credits from that card. So, on his own at Karma Station, with no ID and no electronic assets, his first step was obvious.

They’d been on the station for four days when Sato decided he couldn’t put it off any longer. Once he’d woken up, had a shower, and had gotten some breakfast from the room’s autochef, he found Rick in his own room of the suite. As usual, Rick was sitting in the only Human-formed chair in the room, apparently asleep or deep in thought.

“Rick?”

“Yes, sir?” Rick answered immediately.

“You don’t have to call me sir. Sato is fine.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sato sighed. “I have to go out and…do a few things. Will you be okay?”

“I’m going with you, sir.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Yes, sir, it is.” Rick stood and went to the room’s sole storage closet. From inside, he took what Sato could only describe as a classic black monk’s robe. He flipped it over his metallic shoulders, settled it into place with a silver clasp around the neck, then put the hood up. When he was done, all that could be seen of him were his armored feet and hands. The face was hidden as well, though a subdued blue glow emanated even in the dim interior hotel lights.

“Where did you get that?” Sato wondered. He hadn’t given Rick any money yet. In fact, he still only had the nine million-credit chits, which you couldn’t exactly pop into a vending machine.

“Found it lying