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    Deadly Enemy - Ryvenbark's Saga 1
    Deadly Enemy - Ryvenbark's Saga 1
    Deadly Enemy - Ryvenbark's Saga 1
    Ebook94 pages1 hour

    Deadly Enemy - Ryvenbark's Saga 1

    By Gray Lanter

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    About this ebook

    Major Logan Ryvenbark is no ordinary soldier of fortune. While he's tough as nails, deadly with all number of weapons and highly skilled in a number of areas of combat, he's also genetically engineered to be a super-soldier. When he and his men take on a contract from the powerful intergalactic CEO Belen Morganthal to scope out the planet Sandeling, a desolate and seemingly uninhabited wasteland of ice and snow, he's knows that it isn't going to be your average guns-for-hire gig – but what he doesn't know is just how perilous the mission is actually going to be.

    After discovering that the planet is not actually uninhabited, as previously thought, Major Ryvenbark and his mercenaries uncover even more shocking revelations as they continue to uncover the secrets of Sandeling, secrets involving invasions, betrayals, wars, massacres, genocide... and time travel.

    In Deadly Enemy, you'll be taken on a thrilling Sci-Fi journey in an exciting tale of mystery, suspense, action and technology that will make your head spin with awe. If you're into captivating and enthralling tales of adventure that take place in galaxies and solar systems that are many light years away, Deadly Enemy will not disappoint you.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGray Lanter
    Release dateMar 10, 2017
    ISBN9788826036724
    Deadly Enemy - Ryvenbark's Saga 1

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      Book preview

      Deadly Enemy - Ryvenbark's Saga 1 - Gray Lanter

      soon!

      Chapter 1

      " There is nothing more exhilarating than to be shot at without result" Winston Churchill once said.

      There is great truth in that statement, especially when considering the alternative. Flesh and blood cannot stand up to a speeding, burning piece of lead. Nor can it survive a laser frying muscle and bone with the precision of a surgical scalpel. Of course, today we have the advantage over soldiers of the past. The medical nanos jump into action, repairing blood vessels, rebuilding organs and creating new flesh to plug the bullet holes. You're as good as new if the wound is not too serious. However, when half your body is blown away, there's little even the nanos can do.

      But I've never liked using the memory drugs to erase the knowledge of battle wounds. Civilians use memory wipes to cast bad memories into oblivion, and so are able to forget a bad childhood or traumatic events. Not soldiers. You learn hard lessons in battle, and you should remember, not forget them. A few soldiers use the drugs, but I never have.

      But the nanos, as marvelously high-tech as they are, are nature's liars. I look at my body in the mirror and see no scars, no rough, ragged redness on the pale skin. Nothing to show the wounds I have received. But my mind remembers them. It's incongruous to view the skin and know it should show the ravages of battle. Some soldiers have a though emotional time with that.

      Eternally young. And eternally waiting for the next battle. Because I'm Genrich, I age very slowly. When I look at my face, my mind tells me I should look older — and wiser for that matter. I guess I might look twenty-five, maybe twenty-seven, but I have lived more years than that.

      I have chosen this profession, so I can't complain. I chose it because, thanks to a combination of genetics and other skills, I am good at it. Of course it always helps to have a cause worth fighting for. In this age of nanobites and memory drugs, what often matters most are not high-tech skills but rather, as the poet said, the small, often unremembered, acts of kindness.

      Which is why I was so proud of the Distinguished Service Medal the Deltans bestowed upon me. After the war they fought with the Critterrans, they didn’t have a lot of time for thanks, so the ceremony didn’t take long. The Deltan vice president, an older man — there is no Genrich technology on their planet — awarded me the green ribbon with the gold star. His aged hands trembled slightly as he placed the medal around my neck. He shook my hand and almost cried as he thanked me for helping to save his planet and his people. I was touched. My friends, Commander Rembrante Cleed and Lt. Jade O’Malley, also received the DSM. They’re military professionals, while I’m in a private force and usually work for cash.

      Unlike their enemies, the Deltans are a benevolent race who know and appreciate the concept of honor. Which is another reason I was so pleased with the medal. When honorable men and women present you with an award, it’s well worth keeping. As I said, it’s nice to have something worth fighting for.

      Which is why I couldn’t turn Belen down when she asked me for help.

      The mountain winds howled like a drunken banshee and plunked high-powered snow bullet into the windshield. The heat evaporated the snow, only to have a second volley slam the plastic glass. I looked out the window and wondered why Belen desired a mountain home. An ice mountain home.

      The transport hummed quietly as it rolled along in the snow. Some people are uncomfortable with driverless vehicles, but they don't cause me any anxiety. The computer handled the wet, twisting roads like a NASCAR driver. The swirling storm had stripped the leaves from most of the trees. They held up their bare snow-covered branches to the sky, as if to surrender.

      Belen and I shared a friendly yet turbulent past, and I wondered why she wanted to see me. I assumed it had something to do with my profession as a soldier-of-fortune. She did have a fortune. A considerable one. Inherited some of it, and built up the rest with talent, genius and hard work, 15-hour-a-day ambition. But she always held her cards close to her chest. She had a penchant for secrecy that annoyed me at times. But when you have built several successful corporations, you probably develop a few annoying tics along the way.

      When the car reached the house, the covered driveway zoomed out to meet us. It attached itself to the car door, so that I was protected from the snow and sleet. For a man who has dodged bullets and lasers, I found the architectural convenience a bit amusing.

      The door scanner pricked my thumb. It was painless, and cheap for that matter. It would run all the chem and bio tests, but I wouldn’t be billed. The green letters on a black background screen asked, ARE YOU:

      (1) Synthetic

      (2) An AI

      (3) Android

      (4) Nano-Mutant

      (5) Bio-Artificial

      (6) Human

      There were a few other classifications after human. Looking at the list I became slightly depressed. The last time I saw such a checklist, humans were listed fourth. The species must be dropping in prestige.

      Genrich human , I said.

      The security computer had a drab, husky voice. Name?

      Logan Ryvenbark. I’m expected.

      Your gun, sir.

      What about it?

      Would you please deposit it on the tray?

      No.

      A silence followed. Perhaps the computer was baffled.

      Then, sir, I cannot let you in , it finally said.

      Fine , I said.

      I turned around, then heard the feminine voice override.

      Open the door, Norman. Mr. Ryvenbark doesn’t even like to shower without his weapon. This one time we shall indulge him.

      The computer whined and the door clicked open. The house was a two - s tory spacious dwelling just this side of being a mansion. I walked across the palatial front room and climbed the stairs. A robot servant escorted me to a second floor office.

      Belen Morganthal rose behind the large ornate desk and walked toward me. She was tall, almost six feet, and was wearing

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