CHAPTER ONE
HEROES
weren’t sealed in space caskets and launched into the void—not while
they were still breathing. Kin shuddered. Memories came at night; they
came with regrets, fears, and nightmares only a man buried alive could
understand. Heroes destroyed the enemy. Heroes saved the day and died
before they could wear medals or explain what it was like to shed the
blood of millions.
This room is too dark.
Kin
needed to go outside and look at the sky, but the wormhole song, the
distant groaning of a universe unraveling, reminded him of
Hellsbreach—gunfire, plasma bolts, and nuclear explosions on the
horizon. Better to dream of Becca, though she was the reason he
volunteered for the campaign.
“Stop thinking of her,” Laura said.
Kin
sat up in bed, dropped his feet to the floor, and watched her drift
back to sleep. Her chest rose and fell, a silk sheet accentuating her
curves. Her eyes began to move under her eyelids.
“You
don’t even know who she is.” He ran a finger behind Laura’s ear and
down her neck until she giggled in her sleep. He smiled. “I can share
anything with you in moments like these.” He slowly pulled the sheet
lower and she didn’t stir.
Laura
would like the game—exposing her skin to the night air and staring
until she sensed his attention and awoke, but he stopped, reaching to
cup the side of her face instead. Lust didn’t mix well with the darkness
still in his mind.
“I’d fail again, given the same choice. Could you commit genocide, Laura?” he asked.
“Hmm?”
She struggled to open her eyes, it seemed, but pushed him clumsily away
with one hand as she rolled onto her stomach, twisting the sheets as
she moved.
“I still love her. You know that, right?” Kin said.
Motionless
on the bed, Laura seemed not to breathe. The wormhole that dipped into
the atmosphere quieted. Silence spread across the planet. Sea birds
called to each other and waves gently touched the beach.
Kin
pulled on his pants and gun belt, then picked up his boots and go-bag
as he crossed the room. Outside, he pressed an ampoule of caffeine
against his neck and injected it. Sleep wasn’t a friend. The
intramuscular dose was meant to be injected in the gluteus maximus,
otherwise known as the place Laura hung on for dear life when they were
together, but Kin didn’t want to ruin the feel of her hands by sticking
his ass cheek with a needle.
He
watched the sky as he did upon awakening morning, noon, or night,
hating the way the wormhole that dumped them on the uncharted planet
seemed alive and sentient. Lightning flashed through the undulating red,
orange, and purple tube of light as it climbed lazily toward the ring
of moons around the planet. The moons, by contrast, soothed his spirit
when he could stop thinking about the gaping mouth of the wormhole. They
climbed vertically from the horizon like the underside of an arch,
brilliant at night and hazy during the day.
Kin steadied his breathing, forcing his shoulders to relax as he studied the anomaly.
The Goliath came
through that hole. The enormous exploration vessel had been designed to
orbit a planet and send down shuttles, not descend to the surface. No
one planned for the uncharted wormhole to catch the ship and drop it
inside the atmosphere. Much of the ship broke apart and scattered along
the coast. The survivors existed between the sea and the impact site of
the main fuselage.
Each
year, sand covered the available salvage, making building materials
scarce. The thought of leading another scavenger mission bored Kin,
though he knew the children looked forward to crawling into holes the
adults couldn’t reach. He rubbed his neck and decided he was done with
caffeine injections for a while.
Kin
had grown more sensitive to his surroundings since the deadly campaign
on Hellsbreach. He heard Laura roll out of bed, though the heavy
curtains were drawn over the doorway and she was trying to be stealthy.
The floor creaked and Kin guessed she paused to scoop her pants and
shirt off the floor. He didn’t hear her tug zippers or take the time to
fasten buttons. Their relationship wasn’t that formal.
The
ocean breeze and crashing waves soothed his mind, but didn’t mask the
sounds Laura made. To Kin, there were simply more sounds, distinct and
easily identifiable. She would have been smarter to move when the surf
broke, but he still would have heard her. Auditory discrimination was
why he hadn’t been slaughtered by Reapers on Hellsbreach. They could
sound like men, or wolves, or stalking tigers, but beneath the obvious
sounds there was always a clicking in their throats.
Laura
moved closer to the doorway but stopped, probably listening for him. He
measured the pause and assumed she was peeking through the curtain. She
wasn’t incompetent at stealth, but he knew her game.
She
moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his trim waist and pressing
her body against his. She gripped him hard with no pretense of romance.
Perhaps she heard what he said about being in love with Becca. She
pretended she wasn’t jealous, but she was. She bit his ear. He continued
to lean on the rail, ocean breeze blowing on his face, solid wood under
his feet. She bit his neck. He smiled. The bite hurt, but he pretended
it didn’t.
“You put your pants on,” she said. “Did I tell you to get dressed and sneak out of my bed?”
“I would hate for the Fleet to send a rescue mission and find me out of uniform.”
“If
the Fleet comes to Crashdown, I’ll tell them about you,” she said. Her
lips brushed his ear as she spoke and she lingered with a kiss even as
one hand went into the front of his pants. Kin smiled and shook his head
minutely.
“Crashdown
is a good name for this place.” He thought the planet was huge and
extremely dense, because the gravity was heavy and the ocean horizon to
the west was flat as a blade.
“Do you think I’m joking?” she asked.
Kin
didn’t answer. He wished she wouldn’t try to provoke him. He had killed
for less. She enjoyed rough sex, danger, and power. Kin was bored with
two of the three. She released him, patting his ass before she walked
away. He knew she kept them all alive. She was a force of nature. He
needed to meet a nice girl, someone like Becca.
The
wormhole convulsed. Kin let go of the rail and stood straight. His hand
went to the pistol hanging on his leg. Objects burst from the hazy
opening high in the atmosphere. Most ships that crashed on this huge
planet came alone—pioneers, explorers, or pilgrims fleeing persecution.
Meteors were more common, but during the last three days, a variety of
space junk and wreckage had splashed into the ocean and smashed against
the mountains east of Crater Town. Somewhere in the universe, an epic
battle raged and the debris drifted through the wormhole.
Pacing,
Kin watched the sky until the wormhole began to puke earnestly. Small
pops sounded in the distance, but he suspected they were explosive
thunderclaps.
Damn.
Objects
burst into the air close together, sounding like the chatter of machine
gun fire. Pop-pop-pop. Pop-pop. Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop.
That’s a planetary assault force.
Each
cluster of fast-moving smoke trails were troopers in Fleet Single
Person Assault Armor units. He had worn an FSPAA unit during his
enlistment and recognized the formation. Several larger objects
followed, flanked by more troopers in airborne assault mode.
Laura emerged from the doorway, paused to stare at the sky, and hastily buttoned up her shirt. “I’m going to the meeting hall.”
“Go to a bunker,” Kin said, but she was already running.
“Damn!”
Kin estimated a division of Fleet troopers were plummeting toward
Crater Town. He jumped off the side of the deck and ran to the
lighthouse, sprinting up the spiral staircase. When he reached the top,
he doused the light and picked up a horn.
A
large ship emerged from the mouth of the wormhole, bow elevated twenty
degrees too high and drifting sideways. The ship was still under power,
laboriously righting itself as the atmosphere burned it. Kin watched
pieces break off. He didn’t recognize the ship’s class or if it were
built for entry into the atmosphere, but it was shaped like a Fleet
vessel.
An
armada of broken ships, huge things never meant to enter the atmosphere
even if in one piece, were the last through. Kin sounded the alarm.
Horns answered from every corner of Crater Town. Men, women, and
children rushed from their homes with survival kits. He saw many running
to the well to form a bucket line and parents rushing their children to
crude fallout bunkers.
Two
companies of assault troopers splashed into the water off shore. Two
additional companies veered right while another two veered left of
Crater Town as flanking elements. Four came straight at him. The command
ship and heavy vehicles—Tanks, Strykers, and reconnaissance
vehicles—fought for altitude. They soared over the town, landing near
the Goliath half buried in the sand between the coast and mountains.
Kin
picked up binoculars from the railing and tracked the progress of each
assault force and the efforts of Crater Town’s people. About the time
young men surrendered to Fleet troopers in seven-foot-tall armor, the
space debris hit. The noise of the plummeting ship parts had been
minimal from a distance, but as they neared, they ripped through the
air, vibrating the tower where Kin stood. Troopers and townspeople ran
for shelters, threw themselves on the ground, or gaped at the
destruction. Earth exploded. Water erupted into steaming clouds of
death. Fires rampaged like demons.
Kin risked a final glance toward the wormhole before descending the tower.
That’s not a Fleet ship.
He jerked the binoculars up.
No military emblems. No weapons. And it’s shaped like a blockade runner.
He
watched the small craft drift away from the others, seeming to sneak
free of the chaos. Kin didn’t like the feeling in his gut. Dread
hollowed him out. He thought of Reapers and stolen technology.
The
faster Fleet vessels and plummeting debris posed the immediate threat.
Kin knew it. He needed to ignore the small civilian ship, but understood
Reapers hijacked anything that would take them from their home world.
The creatures didn’t build ships and were notoriously bad pilots, but
when they left Hellsbreach, they were on a mission of murder.
Kin forced his gaze toward the ships and troops already on the ground.
Don’t think of Reapers. Don’t think of Hellsbreach. Captivity. Death. I should have died. Kin steadied his breathing, unsure if it calmed him or merely suffocated his panic. Should have killed them all.
Sweat
beaded on his forehead. He waited for Fleet ships to spot the stranger
and destroy it, but nothing happened. The craft disappeared beyond the
mountain pass. He wanted to go after it, but Crater Town took priority.
He
left the tower and ran down the unpaved street twisting around
ramshackle huts near the bay. Laura hurried from a building up the
street, wearing a firefighting coat. She paused to tie up her hair, then
pulled on heavy gloves. People carrying tools rushed from their
shelters to follow her. She accosted a group of men held at gunpoint by
Fleet troopers and ordered them to follow her.
The squad leader pointed at Laura and gave an order. Get back. This is Fleet business.
Laura elevated her chin and put both hands on her hips. She said something. I’m
sleeping with Kin Roland, a murdering deserter and traitor to the
Fleet. He’ll cut your balls off if I even nod your direction. Fleet
business my ass. This is my business. These are my people. Kindly mind
your manners, you faceless killer.
The Fleet trooper spread his hands in frustration and surprise. He yelled and thrust his gauntleted finger near her face. Listen you stupid bitch. You’re lucky I don’t blow your head off.
Kin
couldn’t hear the conversation, but he could imagine it. He wasn’t
surprised when the troopers released the people of Crater Town to Laura.
The guards followed, seeming a bit dazed.
What the fuck just happen?
Don’t ask me. You’re the squad leader. Take charge.
I’ll take charge of your face with my boot. Stay sharp. Watch the work crew. I’ll watch the councilwoman.
Kin
ran up the steep hill, knowing planetary assault forces demanded
immediate compliance when they made planetfall. They were paid to shoot
people. He feared Laura would push too hard. Inflexible and harsh
standard operating procedures placed the interests of the Fleet before
the welfare of local populations. He needed to warn her about what
happened when people resisted. She won this scrimmage and freed her work
crew, but needed to consider a softer touch when dealing with officers.
Then
he realized she had a trump card. He believed he knew Laura. He
believed she had been toying with him when she said she would expose him
to the Fleet. Being wrong would cost him his life.
“You
there, halt and identify,” a Fleet trooper shouted. His amplified voice
echoed from the helmet speaker. He held a rifle and a plasma thrower,
each connected to the armor by woven metal tubes. Kin ignored the
trooper, who moved forward, weapons ready.
He
slipped around the corner and ducked through a cloud of smoke, then
circled the area until he was behind the trooper who continued in the
wrong direction.
“Identify yourself,” Kin said, under his breath.
CHAPTER TWO
FLEET
troopers occupied the area. Dozens of squads moved along the next
street as Kin cut between several makeshift homes to avoid detention. He
could no longer see Laura but thought she was moving away from him
toward the most devastated section of Crater Town. She was doing her
job. He surveyed the town and started doing his.
The
first three houses Kin checked were damaged, but had already been
evacuated. The next three were family dwellings, and by Town Protocol,
the parents should have moved their children to fallout bunkers at the
first sign of a meteor storm. He ducked inside each and looked around.
Finding them empty, he hurried to the home of Brian Muldoch.
Kin
didn’t admire the man, because Muldoch had found religion halfway
through his mandatory ten-year enlistment as an Earth Fleet trooper and
decided he was a conscientious objector. After two years in a labor
camp, Muldoch escaped and stowed away on the Goliath. When Fleet
troopers found him, he was a dead man. The only thing that remained was
how quickly they would identify him and carry out the sentence for
deserters.
Kin
told himself to focus on his job, find critically wounded survivors,
make sure everyone in Crater Town did their part, and create a list of
structures rendered unsafe by meteor strikes. He had no business
interfering with the Fleet, especially since his status would earn him
death, preceded by torture, yet he hurried toward Muldoch’s home.
Though
the man was a deserter, much of his Fleet training remained. He
performed every task efficiently and kept his quarters squared away. He
had helped Kin fight raiders who came down from the mountains. He had
scoured the foothills to find a missing child. Kin often wondered why
Muldoch refused to fight for the Fleet. He had shown bravery many times
on Crashdown.
Several Fleet troopers surrounded Muldoch in the street near his small house. One shouted, “On your knees. Don’t move.”
“I
must report to the well to help with the bucket line. Can’t you see the
fires?” Muldoch asked, desperation in his voice. His eyes darted from
one man to the next as color left his face.
The
trooper nearest Muldoch had a new helmet, though the rest of his armor
was scarred and scorched. “Don’t move and don’t talk.” He pointed his
rifle at Muldoch’s neck where a Fleet labor camp tattoo marked him.
“This is doing the talking for you, traitor.”
Two
troopers, a corporal and a lance corporal, stood facing each other,
heads bent as they listened inside their helmets to an electronic
message Kin couldn’t hear. When they looked up, they nodded. FSPAA
helmets didn’t reveal emotion, but Kin could sense the smiles behind the
visors by the rhythm of their nods. They returned to the group.
“I have confirmation. This man is Brian Muldoch, a deserter and coward,” the corporal said.
Kin
watched New Helmet elevate his weapon a few inches and fire one round
before Muldoch could beg for mercy. Blood splattered the street and
armor of the men standing in a circle. Muldoch’s body fell forward.
Nothing above his teeth remained.
“Do you have a problem?” The corporal’s tone implied having a problem would be a problem for Kin.
“What did he do?” Kin asked.
“Deserter.”
“No trial?”
“No need.” He stepped close to Kin and looked at his neck and hands.
Kin
focused on the body of Muldoch and exhaled slowly, steadying his anger
and fear. His tattoos had been removed. The painful procedure cost a
fortune. Muldoch should’ve done the same thing. Kin clenched his fists
and hoped the troopers didn’t notice the tension coursing through his
arms, shoulders, and neck. Before Hellsbreach, Kin always maintained
control over his unit and forbade frontier justice, but he wasn’t their
sergeant and they wanted blood.
New Helmet moved closer. “Does he have a marker?”
The corporal looming over Kin hesitated. “No. I thought he would. He walks like he was Fleet.”
Kin
stared at Muldoch’s body and said nothing. These troopers were as
unprofessional and violent as any Kin had encountered, but he didn’t
confuse their sloppy gear and mob mentality for incompetence. Killers
who enjoyed killing barely needed a reason to pull the trigger.
“I asked you a question.”
“No you didn’t,” Kin said. Shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t have come here at all.
The
trooper stared at him, shifting the weight of his armor from foot to
foot several times. Without the armor, he might be Kin’s size, but in
full FSPAA gear, he was a giant. “Get out of here.”
The
lance corporal, the smallest in the group, slid his hand back and forth
on the barrel of his rifle with increasing intensity, as though stoking
his courage. “Shoot him like you did that Reaper on Hellsbreach.”
New
Helmet pushed the lance corporal aside. “He never shot a Reaper. A
Reaper wouldn’t hold still like this corpse and if it did, one bullet
would only make it angry.”
“Don’t
fucking touch me, Raif.” The lance corporal started to point his rifle
at New Helmet, but lowered the weapon and backed away. Raif didn’t even
look at him. He watched Kin like a hungry wolf.
The
corporal stared at his men until Raif stopped advancing and the lance
corporal walked back toward the rest of the platoon. A moment passed
before the corporal seemed satisfied. He faced Kin, pointing his rifle
at the sky with one hand. His elbow rested on his hip to support the
weight of the weapon. “Start walking, dead man.”
Kin
walked away, stopping once he neared the crest of the hill where the
street twisted toward the center of town. He looked back. The Fleet
troopers watched him. He directed his gaze toward Muldoch’s house. Like
many homes in this part of town, it was built into the side of the hill,
jutting out ten feet. Rough-hewn beams of wood supported the metal
siding scavenged from the wreckage of the Goliath. He remembered
the day Muldoch had scrubbed the metal clean and painted it, despite
Kin’s warning that the paint would never adhere properly. Weather had
taken a toll on the surface and the green color was uneven. Mixing
touch-up paint from limited resources wasn’t an exact science, yet Kin
recognized the effort put into maintaining the home.
The
troopers continued to face him. How many were trying to decide if they
knew him, wondering if they recognized him from past campaigns or
security bulletins? The Fleet had probably buried his scandal deep,
erasing every record of their failure—of his failure. That was what Kin
hoped for. With his luck, the Fleet had his picture on every security
threat alert for the last ten years. What could he do? Flee into the
wilderness of Crashdown?
A
gust of wind from the sea blew sand, dust, and ash between them. Kin
studied the red dragon insignia on each of these troopers and committed
it to memory. He rested his hand on his pistol in the leg holster and
realized the trooper was waiting for him to draw it. Holding his gun was
a habit, unintentional, but now that the familiar grip was in his hand,
he wanted to use it.
He
never liked Muldoch and told himself they were nothing alike. Their
situations were different. Muldoch, despite the fortitude he had
displayed since the Goliath crash landed, would’ve died within
seconds of landing on Hellsbreach. Muldoch hadn’t been forced to choose
between duty and his soul.
“Pull
that pistol or go away,” the trooper said. The sound of his amplified
voice came just as the wind vanished, and Kin heard it clearly. He
released his grip and walked away. There were others like Muldoch, none
of them deserters, but men and women likely to run afoul of Fleet
justice.
Kin couldn’t protect them.
Making
his way toward the town meeting hall, Kin kept an eye on Fleet
checkpoints. The people of Crater Town fought fires and moved wounded to
the simple hospital. He slowed as he approached the town hall,
realizing he was too late.
Fleet
troopers escorted the council members, though Laura seemed to treat the
troopers as her personal escort rather than her jailers.
Please, Laura, be careful.
Love
wasn’t the perfect word to describe his feelings for Laura, but
something burned hot and miserable in his chest as he stared after her.
The Fleet was a juggernaut of violence—not an organization to be
manipulated, not even by a savant of intrigue like Laura.
Strykers
blocked the next street. The engines of the eight-wheeled, light armor
vehicles chugged. Exhaust fumes, from diesel rather than jet fuel,
mingled with the cool evening air. The archaic technology remained a
favorite among ground forces because fuel could be foraged or fabricated
when resupply wasn’t an option. Diesel, jet fuel, moonshine—it didn’t
matter. They ran on anything.
Kin
crept forward until he saw two troopers arguing. Wind blew dust,
obscured vision, and concealed him as he lurked in an alley near the
conversation.
“We don’t have time for this,” the larger of the two said.
Surplus
armor stamped with the standard Earth Fleet icon caught Kin’s
attention, because the external armaments were expertly placed and easy
to access in a fight, not the setup of inexperienced recruits. Elite
commandos couldn’t have done better.
Strange. Why are two badasses like you slumming in that junk?
Something
exploded. The ground rumbled under Kin’s feet. Flames thrust skyward
from a building nearby. Townspeople screamed for help, their voices
ethereal and broken in the silence following the boom. Kin wanted to
know why these troopers were in disguise. Were they saboteurs intent on
destroying Earth Fleet, or were they merely high ranking officers spying
on their troops?
“If
Imperials came through the wormhole after the battle, we’ll find them.
We have time. You’re such a pussy,” the smaller trooper said. The voice
was familiar and possibly a woman’s, but Kin immediately doubted
himself. FSPAA vocal filters were nearly gender neutral by default,
though most troopers disabled them.
“You had to go there,” the larger trooper said. “Watch and learn.”
Imperials.
Whoever they were, Kin had never heard of them. His first impression
was of a human, or at least humanoid, adversary. Until now, all enemy
races of the Fleet had been monstrous—Reapers, Soul Catchers, Shape
Shifters, and Cyborgs. War between human nations was ancient history.
Kin
followed the troopers sprinting toward the burning buildings. They
quickly outdistanced him. He’d forgotten how fast a trooper could move
in armor. By the time he caught up, both troopers emerged from a
building holding armloads of terrified children.
Cassie Davis fell at their feet, wailing for her babies.
Kin wanted to comfort her. He took a few steps forward, but stopped when the smaller trooper looked at him sharply.
Kin broke eye contact, though he couldn’t actually see the trooper’s eyes, and yelled. “Cassie! Are you okay?”
The
trooper watched him a moment longer before pushing free of the Davis
family reunion. “Get a support team here on the double! We have
collateral damage.”
Fleet
medics and firemen arrived, helping the townspeople extinguish the
flames and triage the wounded. The two mystery troopers took charge of
the chaotic scene.
Kin took the opportunity to leave.
Something
changed after the invaders rescued Cassie’s children. The routine
protocols of occupying strategic and tactical positions, detaining key
people, and requisitioning resources seemed more benevolent. Kin
witnessed Fleet troopers using war-fighting technology to rescue people.
An FSPAA unit had to burn for a long time before the person inside
became uncomfortable. Muldoch’s execution remained vivid in his mind and
he wasn’t swept away by the heroics of the Fleet.
Kin
scoured the town for people who needed help or direction. Laura was in
the hands of the Fleet. She would either betray him or not betray him,
regardless of what he did now. He faced a dangerous choice: flee the
city while he had the chance or help the innocent victims of the
invasion.
It
wasn’t a difficult decision. Who was he? What did his life matter? He
had fought for it—lied, killed, robbed people to pay for a new
identity—but was his existence worth more than Crater Town?
When
the sun came up he was exhausted, but felt good. Crater Town had been a
better home to him than he had known before or after the Fleet. He
began a final circuit of the town, drinking water from a skin and
nodding at people who seemed glad to be alive.
TIRED
men and women wandered the town square, wiping sweat and soot from
their faces with rags. Rows of Fleet troopers stood guard, seeming like
statues come to life, if only briefly. The younger Crater Town folk
played fiddles and pipes near the fountain. Celebration filled the air.
Children played as though they would never grow up while the adults
laughed and encouraged them.
Kin
walked past guards flanking each intersection—avoiding looking at them
when they turned their helmets to follow his progress. He doubted any of
these men or women could have been on Hellsbreach, but they might have
attended his court-martial. That farce had been held in the bay of a
Titan Class Battlecruiser with thousands of soldiers standing at
attention. Nine generals and three admirals had presided over the
hearing and passed judgment.
One
friendly face at his execution cried without wiping tears or moving
from her position of attention. She hadn’t dared to look directly at
Kin, because discipline demanded all eyes be directed straight ahead. He
didn’t like to think of Becca that way. He walked toward the town
meeting hall under the stare of soldiers—trained killers with the most
advanced weapons known to mankind, men he understood, men who were just
like he had been.
The
last time Kin had seen Becca before Hellsbreach, she had been running
through a wheat field with her hair down. He still saw the girl behind
her intelligent eyes, especially when she was off duty and in a playful
mood. He remembered her bright-blue dress dancing below her knees, the
neck line modest but open, nothing like the high collar of her cadet’s
uniform. Her shoulders and arms had been bare. The fabric of her dress
fit her hips and body snuggly. He thought he could wrap his hands around
her waist and touch his fingertips, but never worked up the courage to
try. He smiled, remembering her looking over her shoulder and laughing.
He wished he could chase her again and be in love.
They
had hiked all day and sprawled in a meadow overlooking a green valley
of Earth VI. Farmers worked terraced fields in small, open-topped
tractors. The crops were distributed locally, not to distant colonies or
industrial planets with barely enough plant life to photosynthesize
oxygen, much less provide their own food. Countless agriculture colonies
filled that need. Earth VI was a liberty planet, a place of rest and
revitalization for travelers. A day on an Earth Class Planet healed
humans with almost magical power.
In
his mind, Kin sat next to her. She leaned back on her elbows, wriggling
her toes in the grass. He smiled, gazing at her, speaking infrequently,
attending her every word as though it were music.
“I’ve
been thinking of my father and brothers all day, my real brothers, not
you, Kin,” Becca said. “I’m trying not to be sad. Trying so hard.”
“No one should be sad on a day like this,” Kin said. “So, I’m like a brother?”
She
leaned toward him, freeing her left arm to swat his leg. “You know
you’re beautiful, Kin. I’m going to have a long talk with the girl who
thinks she can marry you.”
Kin tied a piece of grass in a knot, staring at each twist he made. “I miss your brothers.”
He
could have avoided mandatory enlistment, but it seemed wrong to enjoy
the safety the Fleet provided without doing his part. He wasn’t from a
military family like Becca was. His father had been a smuggler and had
taught him two things when he wasn’t in boarding school; how to fight
dirty and how to survive. Good lessons for boarding school. Good lessons
for storming a hostile planet. Perhaps Becca’s father and brothers
wouldn’t have been killed by Reapers if they’d learned the same lessons.
“I
miss them so much I can barely breathe,” she said. Tears welled in her
eyes. She turned them to the horizon, fixing them on something in the
distance. “The Reapers tore them apart, Kin. I have nightmares.”
Kin held her and she leaned into him. They were silent for a long time.
“I’m going to volunteer for the Hellsbreach Campaign.” He spoke softly into her hair, but his heart raced.
“I
don’t want you to go, because no one returns from Betaoin. But I want
vengeance. You’re the only man in the Fleet who can deliver it,” Becca
said.
“I’m
just one man, but only the best are allowed to volunteer for this
mission. If the Reapers can be wiped out, we’ll do it,” Kin said.
He
didn’t want to go. He wasn’t afraid. The reality of the battle to come
was too far in the future. The danger seemed abstract. He didn’t hold
the same hate as Becca did. All men die. Some die badly. He didn’t need
vengeance, but Becca did, so he would deliver it. If he survived, she’d
be thirty by the time the Hellsbreach Campaign ended and ships traveled
back to Earth Fleet controlled space. She’d be married and barely
remember her childhood friend.
Memory
was a cruel sorcerer. He held the vision of Becca in his mind, but the
spell was destroyed by the fires of Hellsbreach and the sounds of
gunfire and plasma bolts. He saw splashes of red, explosions of orange
and gold. He smelled smoke from the past and present.
He
fled the images in his mind and focused on what needed to be done.
Fleet troopers watched as he walked. They towered above him in their
assault armor.
Kin
examined the squad’s sergeant from a distance. There was something
about the way he moved—arrogant and cruel. He towered over the other
troopers, swaggering aggressively. They jumped when he said jump.
Kin
shortened his stride when he saw the etching on the ceramic exoskeleton
of the suit. The design differed from what he remembered, but the style
was familiar. Sergeant Orlan decorated his armor with etchings despite
regulations forbidding it. Many troopers on Hellsbreach had done the
same thing, putting notches on armor for every kill, carving pictures of
loved ones or enemies or religious symbols to match the tattoos on
their skin, or merely decorating the ceramic shell with art. Sergeant
Orlan’s talent for ornamentation was impressive, despite his large,
thick hands.
Kin
knew he should go around the man, yet he moved closer and saw a lion’s
head skillfully engraved on the breastplate. On Hellsbreach it had been a
wolf, but Kin recognized Orlan’s handiwork. It was unfair such a brute
could create something so magnificent.
Kin abruptly turned down an alley. A guard noticed him and followed.
“You there, where are you going? Why are you armed? Do you have a permit?”
Kin
faced the guard, taking another careful step into the shadow of the
building. He glanced down the street, noting Orlan still faced the other
direction. The worst danger was over, or so he thought. But then he
realized this was the same trooper who saved little Kylee and Samantha
Davis from the fire before recognizing him.
This guy is stalking me.
“I have a permit.”
The
guard accepted the paper, pretending to not recognize Kin. The
mechanized gauntlets looked too large to hold such a delicate object,
but Kin knew the assault armor was capable of both fine motor skills and
feats of incredible strength. He also understood the suits required
charging, despite the solar power they gathered to extend battery life.
In time, the fierce machines would be men and women, mere mortals
without shells of technology. Kin doubted this soldier would follow him
into an alley alone without the armor, even if he hoped to collect a
reward for capturing the Enemy of Man.
“Who
wrote this permit?” the trooper asked. The depersonalized voice sounded
neutered by the amplifier projecting it. The sound and deception it
represented bothered Kin.
“All
permits for firearms are approved or denied by the Crater Town Council.
Councilwoman Laura Keen signed that particular paper,” Kin said. Prior
to the arrival of the Fleet, Kin had been in charge of enforcing the
permit laws, but never bothered. Crater Town was a frontier settlement
on an uncharted planet. Life was dangerous. People carried weapons when
they could find or make them.
“You are Kin Roland? Security officer for Crater Town?” the trooper asked.
“I am. Is there a problem?”
“Most people with that unfortunate name changed it after Hellsbreach,” the trooper said, studying his reaction.
Kin shrugged.
“Commander Westwood wishes to know who doused the lighthouse as we approached.”
Kin nodded. “I’ll ask around.” He turned away from the trooper.
“Wait.”
Kin faced the trooper again, who seemed to be listening to a command sequence inside the helmet.
“You are to appear before Commander Westwood and the Crater Town Council in the meeting hall.”
Kin hesitated, but knew he couldn’t delay for long. “I need to check one more person, then I’ll head that way.”
The
trooper shook his head and stepped closer to Kin, towering over him.
“My orders are to bring you without delay.” Another pause. “Who are you
looking for?”
“Sibil Clavender,” Kin said.
“Who is Sibil Clavender?” the trooper asked.
Kin
pointed at the wormhole, discolored and turbulent from the disturbance
of the planetary assault. “She’s the person who soothes the spirit of
the wormhole.” Kin couldn’t hear if the soldier snorted without
activating the helmet speaker, but he probably did. Kin held the
trooper’s gaze until the helmet slowly turned toward the pulsating
wormhole.
The trooper faced Kin and waited for what had to be an order from Fleet Command. “You may look for her. I will escort you.”
Kin
turned, stepping through the alley to emerge on a street not much wider
than the path between buildings. He trudged up the steep dune,
navigating twists and turns, avoiding the direct route in order to
disorient his guard.
“This is the wrong way,” the trooper said. “Our drones have already mapped this area. What are you doing?”
“Making a fool of myself, apparently.”
“Don’t.”
Kin
studied the reflective visor and searched for clues in how the trooper
stood and how he chose to arrange the accessories on his armor. There
were no engravings or unit markings beyond the Earth Fleet emblem. “Do I
know you?”
Silence. They stared at each other.
“Please continue.”
Kin
waited a few moments and turned away. He walked slowly, sensing it
would annoy the trooper. This type of guard duty was a waste of time. A
good soldier would resent it.
“I thought you’d be looking for Imperials,” Kin said.
“Why would you think that?”
“I
heard some troopers talking about them.” Kin waited. He assumed
Imperials blasted this Fleet Armada through the wormhole, but had never
heard of them. Whoever they were, their presence in Earth Fleet
controlled space occurred after Hellsbreach.
The trooper didn’t respond.
Kin
led the unhelpful guard to a cottage set into the side of a dune.
Little more than the door betrayed the location of Sibil Clavender’s
home. A gaggle of hopper birds loitered near the threshold. Fur grew
around the faces and forelegs of the strange creatures. The hopper birds
also possessed strong hind legs for running and multicolored wings in
perpetual motion.
Kin
squatted, waiting until each hopper bird scrambled to him and pecked
his hands. “I am Kin Roland. I mean no harm,” he said several times,
making sure they recognized his scent and the sound of his voice.
“Why do you do that?” the trooper asked.
“They’re my friends.” Kin stood.
“They’re messenger birds.”
“They are.”
The trooper stood motionless while receiving an order Kin couldn’t hear, but could remember from a hundred missions.
Secure all forms of communication. You’re the tip of the spear, Trooper. Report success to Command and Control. Do you copy?
Roger that.
The trooper looked at Kin. “They will be confiscated.”
“Good luck.” Kin ducked inside the dwelling, leaving the Fleet trooper to chase birds around the yard.
Dimly
glowing stones illuminated the surprisingly large room. As his eyes
adjusted to muted light, he noted simple items—a pitcher on the low
table, a bowl of local fruit, and silver beads in a pattern representing
the ring of moons around the planet. Glow stones were set in the walls,
like oval windows or portals to unknown worlds.
Kin
moved to the table. He studied a book Clavender never allowed him to
open. Something like an angel graced the cover, with multicolored wings,
noble beard, and the face of a warrior king. The eyes reminded him of
Clavender.
His fingers grazed the book.
“Are
you well, Kin Roland?” Sibil Clavender emerged from the shadows in all
her alien glory. She wore a silk tunic narrowly covering her small
breasts and gathered at the waist by a decorative chain. The fine metal
made Kin think he could hook one finger under it and rip it off. Her
back, naked all the way down, gave room for white wings tipped in blue
and dusted with diamonds. The hem of the tunic reached her ankles—slit
up the sides to her hips. Her unruly hair was tied high enough to expose
her slender neck. Her eyes, blue-green like a tropical lagoon, welcomed
him.
Kin stepped away from the table and cleared his throat. “As well as might be expected.”
She
smiled, moved closer, sent his heart racing. The exotic way she walked
fascinated him. Her wings dazzled his vision. The silver beads in her
hair seemed magical.
“Have you been outside?”
She nodded, pressing against him. Kin felt the warmth of her body.
Don’t move. She’ll disappear from this dream. He held his breath. Not everything on Crashdown is dangerous. A battle scared veteran like me could be healed in this room.
“I have seen the strangers. They wear armor. Are we so dangerous?”
“I doubt they came here on purpose. Uncharted planets are always assaulted,” Kin said.
He
forced himself to think. Few people could withstand Clavender’s
presence for long without being enthralled. Crater Town people thought
of her as some kind of spirit or goddess in communion with the weather
and the wormhole. She appeared young. For all he knew she was immortal.
She
touched him, gripping him with both hands. His pulse raced with
something more powerful than lust or love. Clavender’s touch was like
morphine, caffeine, and a childhood memory of spring pressed into a
shiver.
“I am not so young,” she said.
Kin
blushed, which should have been impossible for a genocidal maniac. “I
worry about you. Crater Town needs you,” Kin said, shifting
uncomfortably.
She smiled dreamily and took his hand. Sensation diffused throughout his body, filling him with peace.
“I wish to see the sky. Walk with me,” she said.
“There’s a Fleet trooper in your yard chasing the hopper birds.”
She
turned her face up to him, still smiling like a satisfied lover but
also with slyness in her eyes. She led him through a narrow tunnel that
forced him to stoop as he walked. Moments later they emerged on the
opposite side of the dune, then climbed a goat trail to a place where
they watched the frustrated guard below.
Servomotors
whirred as the trooper jumped left and right, grabbing at the local
birds. Beyond that spectacle, the town spread out to the sea. Cleanup
had begun with military precision. Crater Town thrived with activity.
Clavender looked at the sky. “She wants to come home.”
Kin
looked at the wormhole and thought the space anomaly seemed masculine
rather than feminine, as though it wanted to devour Crashdown. “You
understand what that is?”
“I
understand,” Clavender said. “You do not. Perhaps it is correct to call
it a wormhole, but it did not come to this planet. It came from this
planet. There is only one.”
Kin shook his head. “There are more than a thousand charted wormholes. I’ve been through a hundred of them.”
“There is only one,” she said, still gripping his hand firmly and nestling her small body close to his.
Kin
shivered, not because her warm skin electrified his imagination, but
because the thought of a single wormhole intruding into every corner of
the universe terrified him. He pointed to it. “Look at the colors—red
and orange and purple after the lightning flashes. Other wormholes are
blue and silver, or green like your eyes.”
“Or like the reflection of the sea,” she said.
Kin
suddenly imagined every wormhole looking down at Crashdown and soaking
up color from the ocean. The thought unnerved him, because it felt
right. Was he standing in the center of the universe? If he were, who
was this young woman next to him who changed the color of the waves and
the thrashing of the sea with her moods?
CHAPTER THREE
KIN
took a knee—a soldier’s pose that came naturally. Clavender stood with
one hand on his shoulder. They watched the trooper and the town as a sea
breeze spoke softly.
“I am glad these soldiers are from your Fleet,” Clavender said.
“You might not be if you were in my position,” Kin said.
She bent and looked into his eyes.
He
waited until she smiled. Knowing she wouldn’t ask the question, he
answered. “Fleet Command gave me a mission to kill every last Reaper on
Hellsbreach.”
She touched his face. “But you could not do it.”
Kin looked away, surprised at his shame. She didn’t seem to judge him. She squatted, wrapping her arms and her wings around him.
“We are not different. I hide from my people so that I do not lead them to war and ruin,” Clavender said.
“I thought you were the last of your people. I mean, everyone assumed,” Kin said.
Clavender laughed. “Have you not seen the migrations toward the wormhole?”
“I
thought those were birds. There must be thousands,” Kin said. He
recalled the swarms of flying creatures passing far above Crater Town.
The mysterious migrations were considered good luck by everyone on
Crashdown.
“Not
birds, but foolish young men trying to prove themselves. They will
never reach it. It is too high and does not open as easily as a door,”
Clavender said.
“You should go inside. The Fleet has a bad record with aliens,” Kin said.
“An odd thing, coming from aliens,” Clavender said.
Kin laughed.
“I will stay outside. Do not worry. I have hidden from my people for a long time. I can hide from yours,” she said.
Kin nodded. They stood, holding hands for what seemed like a pleasant lifetime.
The
breeze shifted, bringing the smell of burned buildings mixed with the
salty air. It stung Kin’s eyes. Wind wouldn’t disperse the odors until
the smoldering huts cooled. Clavender probably didn’t appreciate the
odors of destroyed machines, but they painted a picture for Kin,
bringing back memories. He looked down on the Fleet trooper who gave up
on the idea of capturing the hopper birds and stood like a statue. Kin
listened for the quiet sound of gears in the assault armor.
He
descended the front of the dune. The trooper turned to face him. Kin
was glad the trooper was alert, even though they were destined to be
adversaries. Fears of interrogation and torture seemed distant, because
Clavender touched him. He laughed inwardly. He hadn’t been checking on
her, he’d been seeking comfort. The Fleet would learn his identity and
he would run, fight, or die. It was simple and unavoidable.
Kin
Roland was a common name and he had taken many steps to hide who he
was—a new identification number and plate in his arm, the meticulous and
expensive removal of tattoos, and an assignment on a terra-forming
mission that should’ve taken him to the very rim of Earth Fleet
controlled space. But he couldn’t avoid scrutiny forever.
The
false identity plate in his arm would not withstand a close, forensic
examination. Someone would remember him. Orlan certainly knew him and
this trooper that was so interested in him probably did as well. The
question was why the trooper didn’t sound the alarm.
Kin still didn’t understand how he was able to board the Goliath in
the first place. They had checked his finger prints and photograph—a
moment he had dreaded but found unavoidable. Nothing. The security
screener ran his picture and prints without finding a thing. Either the
captain of the Goliath had known who he was and didn’t care, or
the system was too big for its own good. Fleet intelligence officers,
however, wouldn’t be fooled.
The
trooper was shamming ignorance for reasons unfathomable to Kin. He
hadn’t imagined the moment this person recognized him, but couldn’t
figure why the trooper suddenly pretended ignorance.
“Let’s go to the meeting hall,” Kin said.
The trooper nodded, walking next to him.
Kin
looked for Orlan, but couldn’t find him. The sergeant was uncommonly
large, and since assault armor added a foot to a man or woman’s height,
Orlan was seven and a half feet tall when wearing his full kit. Without
armor, Orlan was thick chested, hairy, and had a face that looked as
though it had once been handsome, but had been stepped on too many
times. His eyes were watery and sickly, almost clear. Kin never trusted
Orlan’s eyes, even before the man betrayed him. If Orlan recognized
him—and he would—he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Kin.
“This isn’t the most direct path to the meeting hall,” the trooper said.
“Did your computer tell you that?” Kin asked.
“The computer is correct. Don’t you know your town?”
Kin
shrugged. “I know this place like the back of my hand. I also know that
if I walk down Main Street, people will see me and want to talk. It’ll
take three days to get to the meeting hall.” Kin was impressed with his
own bullshit. He picked his course to avoid Orlan, who would be shaking
down Crater Town citizens like the thug he was.
Hellsbreach
memories, ever present, rose to the surface. He took a deep breath,
held it, then exhaled slowly. The urge to close his eyes was strong,
almost as strong as the desire to return to his bed and sleep the day
away. He never yielded to the post-traumatic stress and the melancholy
that came with it.
Anxiety
could give way to manic euphoria, much as it had when he realized he
survived the first Reaper attack, but he didn’t know whether other
veterans felt the same. He embraced the supercharged good feelings as
often as he could, aware that he had probably lost his mind more than
once. He scanned his environment and remained ready for anything, though
the cinematic big screen in his head played continually.
Kin
heard his younger voice screaming at his platoon as Reapers charged
across sand and rocks. Sergeant Kin Roland, Class IV Weapons Master and
unit commander, gathered his men and retreated behind a smoking row of
Colossal Class Battle Tanks. The Fleet’s war machines leveled two cities
before the Reaper ambush annihilated them.
Kin glanced at the unit motto stenciled on the side of an armor panel. Unstoppable HOE.
Unstoppable Hell on Earth. Tanker humor.
“First and Third squads, choose your targets. Fire at will.”
How do animals without heavy weapons destroy a CCBT column?
Burns
tattooed broken hatches. Metal rods jutted from multiple barrels of
each tank. Segmented wheel treads stretched across the ground—dead
metallic snakes—sad, lost, and betrayed.
“Second and Fourth squads, hold right and left flanks.”
Hundreds
of deadly humanoids charged Kin’s unit, armed with fists of lightning
that they could throw a hundred meters and swords wreathed in fire. He
had never seen Reapers like this. They reminded him of shock troops,
aggressive and well-armed. Their leader carried a whip that cut burning
arcs in the air, splashing acid in all directions. Weapons were a new
development for Reapers but their fearsome ingenuity unnerved Kin.
The Reapers roared, voices full of clicks and scraping sounds.
“Double perimeter,” he ordered.
His
best troopers moved to fire large caliber rifles and plasma guns, using
the damaged tanks as cover. Some climbed on the twisted metal turrets
for better advantage. They opened fire. Scores of enemies went down. Few
stayed down.
“Fall back,” Kin ordered.
The
outer line of soldiers ran for cover while the second team opened fire
to protect them as they hustled toward new positions. Kin’s unit was
being pushed back as far as they could go without fleeing into the
desert. No cover or concealment existed beyond the Tanks. The Reapers
would drive them beyond any source of water or refuge. One step into the
sandy waste was a death sentence.
His
unit fired weapons, but started edging back. They were good soldiers,
but every one of them had seen how the Reapers fought. They didn’t kill
in battle. That came afterward, when there was time for torture. The
beasts liked to eat living meat.
“Stand fast! Hold your ground!” he yelled, when his men looked like they were about to break. “Hand to hand. Weapons up.”
Kin
led the way with a sharp bayonet. He fired, charging into the wave of
Reapers, never pausing to reload. The fight was close, bloody work, and
he received more injuries through his armor than he could count. The
rifle was torn from his hands. Without hesitation, he drew his sword—a
weapon his superiors didn’t approve of—and thrust it through the mouth
of a Reaper.
One
of the psychotic beasts fell away from his attack after losing its
hands. Another lost its head. The third refused to die even though the
sword ran through its body. When he couldn’t free the blade, he
abandoned it, hacking with the axe he pulled from the back of his armor.
He didn’t see his unit through the enemies surrounding him, but had
little time to search for them with Reapers slashing with claws and
flaming weapons.
Just keep killing. Take care of business. Regroup later. But Kin knew there would be no time to regroup. Too many. I’m sorry, Becca, there are too many.
Mental
images tormented him. He couldn’t understand the visions he saw, but
felt each thought as a physical pressure in his brain. When he could no
longer lift the axe or remain standing, he fell to his knees. Reapers
pounced on him. He suddenly understood why he couldn’t see his unit.
They had fled—every one of them.
Lost Hero
Changed
by captivity and torture, hunted by the Reapers of Hellsbreach and
wanted by Earth Fleet, Kin Roland hides on a lost planet near an
unstable wormhole.
When a distant space battle propels a
ravaged Earth Fleet Armada through the same wormhole, a Reaper follows,
hunting for the man who burned his home world. Kin fights to save a
mysterious native of Crashdown from the Reaper and learns there are
worse things in the galaxy than the nightmare hunting him. The end is
coming and he is about to pay for a sin that will change the galaxy
forever.
Books
Enemy
of Man: Book One in the Chronicles of Kin Roland was written for fans
of military science fiction and science fiction adventure. Readers who
enjoyed Starship Troopers or Space Marines will appreciate this genre
variation. Powered armor only gets a soldier so far. Battlefield
experience, guts, and loyal friends make Armageddon fun.
Movies
If
you love movies like Aliens, Predator, The Chronicles of Riddick, or
Serenity, then you might find the heroes and creatures in Enemy of Man
dangerous, determined, and ready to risk it all. It’s all about action
and suspense, with a dash of romance—or perhaps flash romance.
From the Author
Thanks for your interest in my novel, Enemy of Man. I hope you chose to read the book and enjoy every page.
If you have already read Enemy of Man, how was it? Reviews are appreciated!
Have a great day and be safe.
Genre – Science Fiction
Rating – R
