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

“Sniff before you bite,” Rick said. The dog ran a few meters away and turned, growling and barking. This won’t do, he decided and deployed his non-lethal system. A bolt of electric plasma arced out, connecting Rick’s suit arm to the dog, which yowled, jerked, and fell over unconscious. “Never liked dogs much,” Rick said, and proceeded in the direction he’d been heading, jumping another pair of fences before landing in another yard and stopping.

It was like he’d been there only days ago. The swing set of his childhood still rested in the corner, paint peeled and rusting. A faded memory of his father putting it together not long before he left. The confusion that followed, and his mother struggling to pay the bills on her meager salary. It felt so familiar, yet like he was looking at a movie he’d watched long ago, though he’d been here last less than three years ago.

Rick walked to the rear door of the home he’d grown up in. The door lock looked unchanged. He gave a rueful smile. I wonder, he thought, and reached out to punch in a code. The door buzzed and swung open for him. His mother had never removed Rick’s private code. He walked inside.

Like the yard, nothing had changed, though the paint was faded, and the cabinet work more chipped and worn. His armor picked up a hint of garlic, his mother’s favorite seasoning. He checked his chronometer. It was 16:44 local time. She would be getting off work in 16 minutes, and if she still worked at the same place, she’d be home in less than an hour.

He’d intended to go to his room and wait for her to get home, but he stopped in the living room. Until now, everything was as he remembered it, especially since the breakthrough with his recollection of Jim Cartwright. All the memories were more complete, clearer, and more vivid. What wasn’t in those memories was the picture of him on the fireplace mantel.

Rick walked over slowly to get closer. It was him in his official Winged Hussars uniform, with a single stripe, when he was only a private, taken just weeks after joining. A black ribbon was wrapped around the framed picture, and a golden necklace was draped over it. He reached out and lifted the necklace. It was the Saint Christopher medal his mother had given him when he’d left home as a merc.

“So they sent it home to her,” he said. That also meant something else.

He hadn’t used the armor’s built in code-breaking ability yet. There had been no need, with someone of Sato’s ability nearby. This time he did it himself. He logged into the house’s Wi-Fi—she hadn’t changed the password. Accessing the Aethernet, he located his mom’s account via his old Yack account code, and turned the armor’s autonomous data systems loose on it. A second later, he was in his mom’s account. Scrolling back, he found the transaction, 50,000 credits paid from the Winged Hussars’ death bond on Earth.

All mercs who signed with a unit got a life insurance policy, paid for by the mercenary unit. It was Merc Guild law. The minimum for his rank was only 5,000 credits, though. The Hussars were quite generous with their benefits. All the Horsemen probably were, he guessed.

Looking through her transaction records since the money was paid, he could see she’d left it alone for quite a while. Then she began using small amounts, very frugally. She’d paid off credit debt, then the house. She purchased a new/used car. The total she’d used was less than 5,000 credits, leaving a substantial balance. There were still regular deposits from her job. Even though the money his death paid her would let her quit and live comfortably, she’d kept working.

“Yeah, that’s my mom.” He looked at the medal lying in his metallic hand. There were no tears. He couldn’t mourn for someone who hadn’t died. Who would he mourn for? Himself? He was past that point, if he’d ever reached it. His mother was well enough off, but still he felt he needed to do something.

Rick almost kept the medal, but in the end, it felt wrong. Instead, he put it on the mantel next to his picture, so she’d notice it had been moved. On top of the medal, he placed a 50,000-credit chit. Lastly, he walked to his old room and looked inside. It was as he’d suspected: unchanged. He went to the end table and opened the bottom drawer. Hidden in a flap in the top of the drawer, he recovered the only item he wanted. It was a Cartwright’s Cavaliers challenge coin, given to him by Jim when they were 11. He’d forgotten it when he left for cadre training and had always meant to retrieve it.

He’d hidden it there when Jim had given it to him, afraid if his mom found it, she’d throw it away or something. She wouldn’t have understood. It was gunmetal gray, not the kind of coin mercs gave out at a bar. This was made from a fallen CASPer, one his ancestors had piloted. It was a token of honor and respect among mercs. They’d only been kids, but it meant a lot to him. He stashed it in a compartment and turned to go.

The last thing he did was use the armor’s code-breaking ability to wipe all evidence of his visit. As he reached for the back door, he heard a car come into the driveway. Just in time, he thought as he pulled the door closed behind him.

Through the door’s small window, he watched his mother come in the front door. She looked older, and tired. “Good to see you again, mom,” he said inside the armor, then left the way he’d come. The threatened rain started to fall.

* * * * *

Chapter Six

Sato tucked into