MenoSaurus™ Planetoid Protocol Book Three: Planetoid Protocol

By S J House and Zoran Zlaticannin

As a dark army of asteroid rock-ships hurtle towards Earth, a hijacked Aero-cop car crashes in Madagascar, and a Tyrannosaurus Rex claws its way free from the wreckage. Tyrann has come to Earth in a desperate attempt to find his son Tarrock, who is searching for the Grandidierite that will take him home. Will Tyrann reach Tarrock in time before his arch-enemy the evil Terra strikes?

Rex is also under attack. Lord Gorgo has allied with the demonic Mantoids to conquer Earth, and they have recognized the danger Rex presents to their plans. Attacked from within, Rex will need all the support of his friends if he is to withstand the assaults of dark matter on his computer brain.

But Rion is hiding a secret that will challenge everything Rex believes is true. Will Rion’s shocking confession aid or destroy the young hero’s fragile psyche?            

• Language: English
• Publisher: S J HOUSE
• Release date: Feb 26, 2020

Book preview

Protocol

Chapter One

Armed and Dangerous

The rising sun shimmers a pathway across the ocean toward an island in the distance. Its rays bounce off the sea, reflecting diamond shapes.

A fast-moving object appears, traveling low, Its shadow races over the water toward land.

Sirens wail, red and blue lights flash on the roof of this Robot Cop aero-patrol car.

The pilot steadies the hydro-wheel, while a well-spoken robotic voice repeats: "Fuel low, fuel low." A red warning light blinks on the control screen.

Tyrann stares ahead, determination gleams in his lizard eyes, seeing his destination looming before him. Then he glances at the water speeding below. He growls, sensing the imminent danger.

"Pull up, pull up, repeats the voice, fuel cells flash empty.

The craft shudders violently; every molecule of its energy drains in nanoseconds.

Tyrann can now see land less than half a mile away. The aero-car senses terrain approaching.

Pull up, pull up, terrain, terrain. The cells’ fuel gauges warn: Depleted, depleted, depleted.

The engines cut out. The aero-car dips its nose; the only sound now is the whistling wind.

It barely misses a jagged cliff face while hurtling across land. Exotic birds scatter, lemurs howl in the trees, lizards scurry under rocks. Dust flies.

Eject, eject, eject, drones the voice.

Tyrann roars, crossing his forearms over his head. For one last, split-second of air, the aero-car’s controls go haywire with every alarm activated, warning voices sounding.

It skims the tops of palm trees, crashing into jungle plants at tremendous speed. Branches thwack against the windscreen ripping away the wings, tipping the flying car off-balance. It cartwheels over and over. Its nose ploughs through the dirt; the machine forward-flips triple summersaulting, slamming hard like a freight train without brakes into a boulder. This stops it faster than a block from a fullback; glass explodes, dropping onto its roof. Burning hot metal creaks and groans, distorting, ticking. The thick red dust begins to clear. The aero-cop car is totaled.

Nothing’s moving. The jungle returns to its chorus of life.

Time passes. The intense sun dials around the twisted wreckage, shadowing it from dark to light.

Night falls with stars gathering in their infinite billions. The Milky Way expands across the solar system, distant planets appear, a full moon rises. A misty green aurora dances, its ghostly ether spreading across the night sky.

Something stirs in the wreckage. There’s a moaning, which turns to a rumble, sounding like a gagged bull waiting to break from a trap.

Instantly, a twisted aero-car door blows outwards, flying across the jungle. Then a fist appears, punching through metal before a Tyrannosaur head breaks out. Changing, Tyrann roars at the top of his lungs, growling like a werewolf up toward the silvery moon.

The remains of the aero-car are shattered to pieces around his Tyrannosaur body. Finally, he swings his tail, flicking the wreckage away with contempt.

He gazes at the moon and stars, wailing. The jungle falls silent in respect for its new king.

He sniffs the cool night air, growling. Then he turns, changing direction, bashing through palm trees and anything else that dares to stand in his way.

* * *

The early morning sun glows in an orange haze above the suburban, Keystone streets. A Robot dog yaps over a white picket fence, in a quiet neighborhood, while aero-cars stream high above.

Seven marines surround a modest-looking house, using only sign language. With heads bent, they ghost past bedroom windows. Everybody waits until they’re in position. The house is now completely surrounded.

Laser guns are locked and loaded; more hand signals are given.

RainHorn approaches the front door, leaning in eagerly, listening hard, faintly making out what sounds like two men talking. There are two inside! He signals this with a victory sign to his readying marines. Standing back from the door, he only hears the hum of aero-traffic above him and the Robot dog barking behind him.

He signals again to one of his men. That signal travels around the house as all the marines nod their helmets.

Then RainHorn stands aside while two of his men break the door in with one mighty blast. The other soldiers jump through windows, breaking glass, while others kick through a back door.

The blinds are drawn with no lights on; shadows fill the house. Laser-sights slice into every nook and cranny, crossing each other in a distorted grid. The marines search from room to room, leaving nothing to chance.

RainHorn’s the last man to enter the house; his aero-boots crunch down hard on shattered panes.

Marines walk toward him shaking their heads, shrugging their Kevlar-clad shoulders.

RainHorn glares around the living room, noticing that the TV is still on. An interview is taking place on a chat show.

He sneers at the screen then glances down at a coffee table, noticing two cups. He sticks fingers into them. They’re both still warm at the same temperature.

Lieutenant! shouts a voice. Over here.

RainHorn steps across overturned furniture into a dark hallway.

He sees a marine standing at the end of it. The man nods toward what seems like a basement door.

RainHorn gives him a knowing nod in return; the marine counts down on his fingers.

When the door blasts inwards, lasers point inside, plunging down a blackened stairwell.

The men run toward the bottom, their Kevlar rubbing on walls, readying their aims.

They hear a blast of laser fire; a marine shouts.

RainHorn smiles to himself, hearing the pleasing sound.

It’s quiet for a second.

It’s clear, sir, reports a muffled voice moments later. It was only a rat.

RainHorn shakes his head, letting out a swift sigh. Okay, people, nobody’s home. Let’s move on out, quickly, now; let’s go!

RainHorn steps out the front door onto a porch, surveys up and down the street, then stares up into the busy sky of aero traffic.

Without warning, he suddenly pulls his laser gun, pointing it at the marine who shot the rat.

What the—? No, sir! exclaims the marine, dropping his weapon to show the palms of his clammy hands.

RainHorn quickly changes his aim, blasting the Robot Dog across the street with a single shot. The other marines duck down, watching the dog’s parts scatter, smoldering, across a freshly cut lawn.

Okay, says RainHorn calmly, I said, let’s move out.

* * *

Aero-cars whir across the skies. Their headlights cut through dark, slate clouds that rise high over Manhattan streets. Endless rain pours, as lightning strikes toward dirty sidewalks. Water gushes from overflowing drains.

An aero-car suddenly breaks from the traffic line, hovering down toward buildings, its wipers on full speed. It glides past apartment windows.

Alex searches for a place to land, scanning all possible options, while Travis Parker nervously sits in the passenger seat.

There, says Alex, pointing toward a space to park. He glides into the hover bay, locking the car into the dock.

Rain streams down the windscreen while both men’s distorted faces stare quietly into the distance.

What now? grumbles Travis, shrugging.

We wait, replies Alex.

Wait for what? snaps Travis.

We wait here for a few minutes, to make sure we’re not being followed, explains Alex, scratching the left side of his chest inside his jacket.

What the! cries Travis. Is that a laser gun, Alex? You’re armed!

Look, Travis, calm down okay? It’s not what you think, I found—

Not what I think!? Man, you drag me out of my home, give me a story about alien dinosaurs and God knows what, tell me my life’s in danger, that the government’s going to toast me. Now you’re armed too. I should have gone to the Robot Police. Alex, I’ve had enough of this higgery-jiggery pocus. You’re gonna get me killed carrying that thing around! Now let me out! I’ll be fine on my own!

Travis tries to force the passenger door open with his shoulder.

"Attention, attention, attention," blurts a robotic voice. Fragmented lights swirl in the torrential downpour.

Oh no, whispers Alex, staring dead ahead, with red and blue lights shining on his pale cheeks.

Travis freezes at the glass door. What do I do, man? he hisses through gritted teeth.

Say nothing, warns Alex, his face unflinching as he reaches toward his inside jacket pocket.

Attention. You cannot dock here; this is a restricted area. You must comply, move on immediately.

Sit back, relax; leave the talking to me. They can’t see our faces properly in this storm, assures Alex in a low voice. Then he mutters, Okay, okay, we’re moving. He thrusts the ignition, pulling on the Hydro-wheel.

The Robot Cops watch them move away.

Leaving, they both blow out a sigh of relief. Moments later Alex hovers over a building, landing onto a flat rooftop.

A roof now? Travis raises his brows.

This way, Travis! shouts Alex, over the thundering rain, leading him to an old apartment building’s fire escape staircase.

Travis peers down at its façade. Lightning dances on the heads of leering gargoyles. Man, this place gives me the creeps.

Over here, come on, Travis! Alex pulls hard on a door then walks inside, where the sounds of the storm are muted. He stares cautiously