Sword of Minerva (The Guild Wars Book 10) by Mark Wandrey (great books for teens TXT) 📕

“No, she wasn’t afraid. She was…”

Dakkar trailed off, his flashing chromatophores dimming in intensity as the translator stopped. In all his years with a Wrogul, Sato had never seen one at a loss for words. Never. Dakkar flashed again.

“The young Human trusted me. She thought I was an angel.”

Oh, no, this could be bad. “You’re not an angel, Dakkar.”

“I know that.” Was it his imagination, or did the Wrogul’s translated voice contain a hint of peevishness? “But that is still what the Human child felt. The adults were more nervous, but none were scared. Why is that?”

“You already said why; they believed you were an angel. A mystical being there to help them. When you have trust, people tend to lose their fear.”

“I see,” Dakkar said. “I need to eat.” The Wrogul transitioned back to its module.

“I’ll look into getting you some fresh food,” Sato said as the alien disappeared into the darker depths of its temporary home. And I hope you don’t start down the wrong path with those thoughts. The idea of a Wrogul thinking it’s a god… He gave a little shudder as he turned the water off in the tub and headed into the hotel room.

* * * * *

Chapter Three

Rick sat on one of the hotel room’s two beds and stared at the wall. He couldn’t do anything else because his mind was reeling under a deluge of memories. The dam had broken, and all it had taken was hearing one name: Jim Cartwright. “My best friend,” Rick said, dumbfounded.

It was all playing through his mind like a high-speed movie. Meeting Jim in grade school. Jim was a pudgy, socially awkward kid, as opposed to Rick’s naturally charismatic athleticism. Yet somehow they were friends. First playing on the playground, where Rick’s intimidating presence gave Jim the space he needed to grow, then into the middle grades, where Jim’s superior intelligence and computer prowess paid Rick’s early friendship dividends through tutelage and science understanding. In short, they’d complemented each other.

They spent thousands of hours watching movies and playing computer games. They explored the streets of Carmel, Indiana together, both helping the other when they could. The relationship strained slightly as their teens began and Rick matured into a powerfully built man, while Jim’s physique deteriorated, to his extreme frustration. Rick only once suggested nanite treatment to his friend, who was quite rich compared to Rick’s lower middle-class status.

“I’ll do it myself or I won’t do it,” Jim had snapped with surprising intensity. Rick had never brought it up again.

Then the memories began to taper off as they entered high school. More and more centered around study and preparation for their VOWs, Voluntary Off World assessments, a series of grueling mental and physical tests that would assess their suitability as mercs. Jim was increasingly stressed as their PE classes became harder, while his physical prowess was essentially static.

Finally Rick heaved a huge sigh and shook his head, the suit’s motors whining with the movement. The newly recovered memories combined and replayed tiny parts over and over again. He was overcome with emotions, finally remembering his friend after so long. The laser wound to his head, which he’d suffered fighting Pushtal pirates before joining the Hussars, had taken away much of his childhood. It was shocking to get it all back.

He’d been told it could happen after his ‘resurrection,’ but to finally experience total recall? He laughed, remembering watching a movie called Total Recall with Jim. They’d spent many hours eating popcorn and drinking sodas as they watched old 20th century movies. The most intense emotion he felt was loss at not remembering such a good friend for so long.

Rick tried to think about Jim after they graduated, but it all went blurry and confusing the day of their VOWs. Even his recollection of his own VOWs tests was hit or miss, and seemed to again orbit around time shared with Jim Cartwright. His exultation at remembering his friend was tempered by the fact that so much still seemed to be missing.

“You okay?” Sato asked as he entered from the bathroom.

Rick released his helmet catch and let it rotate upward. He carefully used his metallic hand to wipe away the tears clouding his vision. The expression on Sato’s face turned into concern. Rick held his hand up and smiled. “No, I’m good. I just had a huge memory breakthrough.”

“Oh. Oh! That’s great. How much?”

“A lot,” Rick said. “Some stuff is still missing, though. When you mentioned Jim Cartwright, it caused a connection. Jim and I were best friends in school.”

“Wow, really? Then why were you with the Hussars instead of the Cavaliers?”

“I’m not sure yet. The Cavaliers almost went bust; I read about it later in the Hussars. Maybe Jim couldn’t hire me, I just don’t know.” He closed his eyes and thought for a second. Nothing. He shook his head in frustration.

“It’s fine,” Sato said. “I’m sure the rest will come to you eventually.”

Rick nodded then closed his helmet again. The room’s light, dim though it was, felt wrong on his bare eyes. The instant the helmet seated, his visual input changed from his eyes to the armor routed to his visual cortex via pinplants. Touching his bare face with the suit’s hands made him nervous as well. He looked at the hand and could see nicks in the alloy steel, sharp edges, where partially shaved metal fragments clung in places.

He put his metallic hands together and rubbed them like he was washing. They grated, and tiny metal fragments fell away.

“I can fix that,” Sato said, and he grabbed his duffle bag from where it had been dropped by the door.

Rick nodded. “I’d appreciate it.” He picked up his severed leg. “This, too?”

“Let’s see what I can do.”