Chronicles of Kin Roland 1: Enemy of Man

by Scott E Moon

  “Laura, I need you to take a walk. Attend to that matter we discussed,” Westwood said.

  Laura nodded and left the room. A guard followed her.

  “I received a report from Doctor Gold. She claims you have no contagions that concern the Fleet, unlike your friend Clavender. She also stated that your identity plate is damaged and unable to send information to a scanner,” Westwood said.

  “I didn’t think I would need my identity plate. Crashdown is a one-way stop. No one has ever left.”

  “A good place to hide.”

  Kin searched his expression but found no hints at what he meant by the words. Someone had sent the doctor, but no one had admitted it. He divided his attention between the Commander and thoughts of Clavender. If she were considered infected with a local contagion, then it was unlikely she would be allowed to leave the planet. In a best-case scenario, she would be confined to a quarantine ship. There were always provisions for such a vessel, though they were never used. Most people who became contaminated with anything that could endanger the Fleet mission were exiled to the first rock that would sustain life. Most killed themselves before being marooned on lost planets.

  “How long have you been here, Roland?” Westwood asked.

  “Possibly ten years. The seasons are long. One Crashdown year is at least three standard years,” Kin said. “I lost track, because it seemed pointless to keep a log.”

  “Convenient,” Westwood said. “Laura tells me it has been exactly nine Fleet years. Do you believe in fate? A romantic would see significance in our arrival on the 9th anniversary of the Goliath’s wreck.”

  “Nine years, ten years, a thousand years, what does it matter?” Kin asked.

  “Do you think you will be alive in a thousand years?” Westwood asked with arched eyebrows. “If so, you could keep Sergeant Orlan company. It seems not all effects of Hellsbreach were negative. Doctors say that Sergeant Orlan exhibits virtually no signs of aging. This was not discovered until three years after his service in the Hellsbreach Campaign. Apparently, he is getting stronger and smarter as well. I read his evaluations from his early years in the Fleet. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer then, but now, he is almost capable of maintaining an intelligent conversation.”

  “What happened to Hellsbreach?” Kin asked.

  Commander Westwood studied him before answering.

  “It remains under blockade, more or less, but few ships are assigned to the detail. After a year, it was evident the Reapers were making no progress at developing space travel. In fact, it seems they are either dead or gone. The Fleet has other concerns now. From the amount of wreckage falling through the wormhole, the battle still rages.” Westwood waited for a response and seemed satisfied with Kin’s curiosity and alarm.

  “What happened?” Kin asked.

  “War. We have come in conflict with a new galactic power. They are human, or close enough. Their technology is similar to ours, different, but functionally very similar. It should be an even match.”

  “But it’s not,” Kin said.

  Westwood shook his head slightly. “No. It is not. We are getting destroyed. Some of our civilian leaders blame the incompetence of Fleet Command. But I blame it on luck. We cannot get a break. Ten thousand years of battle tactics and strategy have proved only that no battle can be taken for granted. I recently won a major victory for the Fleet, right before I was sucked through a wormhole and marooned on a planet that will someday be known as Hellsbreach II. Did you know the other side of this rock is swarming with Reapers?”

  “No,” Kin said.

  “You should lie better.”

  Kin looked at him and held his gaze. “I was told of the possibility, but couldn’t verify the report.”

  “Who told you this?” Westwood asked, suddenly very interested.

  “A hermit, right before he was eaten by Clingers.”

  “Ah, yes, the Clingers. It would be bad for us if the Reapers of this world learned to use the Clingers as armor and somehow managed to navigate the wormhole. It seems unlikely, but with our luck, I could imagine the wormhole scooping them up from the planet surface and delivering them to Earth,” Westwood said. He looked to his officers and decided they were still sufficiently occupied. “We are going to nuke the Valley of Clingers when we leave. That only leaves the Reaper you encountered and his strange proclivity for turning alien life-forms into weapons.”

  “You should nuke him too,” Kin said.

  “That is an option, but an imprecise option. I have sent Orlan to capture the Reaper. We will put him in a quarantine vessel.”

  “Better to kill him.”

  “We are in the middle of a war, Roland. Have you been listening? This Reaper could give us an edge.”

  “Better to lose.”

  Commander Westwood fixed him with a hard stare. “Talk like that will get you executed. I plan to keep you for the same reason I plan to keep Droon. I think you and Sergeant Orlan have much in common.”

  Kin said nothing.

  “What else do you know of this planet?”

  “Are you asking if there are other forces besides the Reaper horde?” Kin asked.

  “Maybe,” Westwood said.

  “The climate around Crater Town becomes more toxic and the storms more violent the farther you travel from the coast. My most recent information is that this barrier is not indefinite. I suspect a warlike civilization exists beyond what I have explored,” Kin said.

  Westwood studied him and slowly smiled. “There may be hope for you. The satellite we launched completed one orbit before colliding with the wormhole. Transmissions confirmed other humanoids on the far side of the world. I would like to know their nature. It might be worth my friendship, which you will need sooner or later.”

  “I encountered one man, not exactly human. Warlike, unreasonable, and concerned that an enemy race he called the Mazz were massing for an attack,” Kin said.

  “There is more,” Westwood said. It wasn’t a question, but a demand for information.

  “I believe he was talking about the Imperials,” Kin said.

  Westwood steepled his fingers and stared at nothing. “We are losing the war against the Imperials. In the best-case scenario, they will impress us into their service, but thus far they have slaughtered nearly everyone who has surrendered to them. We need to leave Crashdown. I believe Clavender can help.”

  Kin shook his head. “When I first set out to find her, I believed her absence was what released the storm and caused the wormhole to act up, but now I think whatever Droon did to her caused her to lose control of the wormhole. Don’t count on her to whisk your armada to safety. She did that once, and it turned out badly.”

  “And now I am curious,” Westwood said. “Explain.”

  “She pushed an army through the wormhole,” Kin said, regretting this entire conversation.

  “You witnessed this?”

  “No, it happened long ago.”

  “You are speaking of the Imperials,” Westwood said.

  “Clavender is important to Crater Town. She uses her influence to keep things away.”

  “She will use her influence to rescue the Fleet. She will summon her people to fight for us or control the wormhole until we can escape,” Westwood said.

  “Clavender's own father couldn’t persuade her to unleash her people against the Mazz. I doubt you will have better luck.”

  “I can be persuasive,” Westwood said.

  Kin's blood ran cold. Most Fleet Commanders had god complexes. They were more powerful than kings during a mission. He didn’t know what atrocities Westwood would commit to survive, but human sacrifice and world breaking were not off the table.

  “Do you have enough ships to evacuate?” Kin asked.

  “That is classified, but since I doubt you are going to spread rumors among my troops, the answer is, probably—given the right circumstances.”

  “But you won't, because there’s an Imperial armada waiting for you in space.”<
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  “That depends where the wormhole takes it. No one can control a wormhole, Mr. Roland, but I am willing to explore the possibility. The fight will be here. I have never been defeated, not even by Imperials. Our crash-landing is a setback. A tactical pause,” Westwood said.

  “Did you hear the part of my story where the Imperials were forced to fight for thousands of years through the farthest corner of the galaxy in a constant state of war in order to return?”

  Westwood studied his hands. He looked at Kin. He leaned back in his chair. “There was a time when we believed Hellsbreach was the worst the universe had to offer.”

  They stared at each other. Neither spoke. Noise filled the room as reports came in of wormhole damage. Westwood ordered Kin to quarters. A pair of guards, without armor, escorted him. He watched Becca but she made no move to follow. His heart fell through his stomach and he wondered if she were the same person he remembered.

  “These are your quarters,” the guard said.

  Kin went inside. The room held two bunk beds and was wide enough to turn around. The place could have been a prison cell, but he felt as though he had come home. No one had stayed in the room recently. Decorations included a video screen on one wall and a rubber floor slightly darker than the paint. The wall had brackets to secure pictures or other items. Regulations prohibited unsecured items anywhere on the vessel in case the ship lost gravity or the suffered an impact. The room was too small for a man or woman in armor, but troopers went to the armory to draw gear. This was just a place to sleep. Troopers and ship crew members spent a lot of time sleeping during each voyage.

  The door opened and Orlan walked in, allowing the door to close behind him. Kin stood and backed away, not all the way to the wall, but away from the bigger man. He wanted room to maneuver.

  “I thought you were hunting Droon,” Kin said.

  Orlan swung his fist and the fight was on. From the first moment of the confrontation, Kin knew it wouldn’t be lethal. This was a brawl, nothing more. They punched and kicked. Kin tripped Orlan and executed several submission attempts. He was better than Orlan, but the man’s size and strength equaled the contest. Once they were both tired and bruised, they backed away from each other. Orlan sat on a bunk and drew a bottle of water from one of the wall compartments.

  “I’d kill you here, if there wouldn’t be an investigation,” Orlan said. “Commander Westwood knows you tried to frag me, so watch your step. One word from me and you’re dead.”

  “What do you want, Orlan?”

  “I know who you are and so do three other people. You best learn to do what you’re told,” Orlan said.

  “What do you want?” Kin asked.

  “I want to catch Droon. I lost three of my best men. Those fucking wolves are the fastest damn creatures I’ve ever fought. I’m pissed, Kin. The Commander has never given me a mission I couldn’t complete. If we’re still planet-side tomorrow, I’m going out again and you are going with me.”

  “I don’t think the Commander is going to allow that,” Kin said.

  “Why’d you try to kill me?” Orlan asked.

  “Because I owe you.”

  Orlan took another drink and stared at him. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I didn’t just leave you, I left everyone. It was every man for himself by that point.”

  “It’s never every man for himself in the Fleet. You took an oath. We depended on you,” Kin said.

  “You were a dead man.”

  “You sealed me in that casket. And what did you say about poisonous scorpions? Sounded like you wanted me dead, but Becca paid you not to kill me.”

  “I wasn’t serious about the scorpions.” He finished the water and placed the bottle back in the wall. “I talk trash, you know that. The Commander never slept with Becca. She’s not his type. She’d probably kick his ass. Becca’s a badass, Kin—Shock Trooper through and through. She was mad as hell when the pirates left with your body. I told her they wouldn’t risk hanging around and getting captured by the Fleet, but she’s like you, stubborn, stupid, and full of righteousness.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You’re the only person I know that was on Hellsbreach. We should be best friends,” Orlan said.

  Kin laughed.

  Orlan clenched his jaw. “Zelig was part of the campaign, but he never touched down. He thinks he’s my friend—always buying me drinks and telling stories. Can’t say anything when he lies. He’d put me in isolation for a year.”

  Several long moments passed. Neither of them knew what to say. Kin finally found his own bottle of water but didn’t open it. “When are we going to kill each other?”

  Orlan smiled, then shrugged. “We should have some shore time granted if we survive this planet and the armada waiting for us. I assume the Commander told you about the Imperials. He gave their Seventh Fleet a thrashing, but the Eighth and Thirteenth were bearing down on us before we crossed the wormhole. Uncharted piece of shit.”

  Kin remembered how the wormhole had appeared in the path of the Goliath. The ship captain and his navigators swore it wasn’t supposed to be there. Most of them died during the crash. The captain and many ship officers died during the first year because they wanted to explore the planet and look for other survivors.

  “If we hadn’t gone into the wormhole, we would’ve been annihilated. Our strength was depleted, half our ships lost with all hands and the rest damaged. I hate space battles. All you can do is sit in your room and wait for the crewmen and Marines to either win or lose,” Orlan said.

  “When did we start fighting in space?” Kin asked.

  “Right after Hellsbreach, when the Imperials came. Occasionally, our brilliant commanders used Planetary Forces to board an enemy ship, but mostly the Marines do that. They have the gear and the training. Dangerous business. I never wanted any part of it.”

  “But you did it,” Kin said.

  Orlan nodded. “Twice. The first time we established a coupling tube and swarmed in. Most of the Imperials were already dead, but it’s a hair raising experience. You’d love it. The second time they shot us across the gap between ships, in our planetary assault armor, knowing that if we missed we’d float away and die of starvation and insanity.”

  “Sounds familiar. A bit like being shot into space inside of a funeral casket,” Kin said.

  Orlan laughed. “You did that, didn’t you? But you weren’t in danger. Becca had already paid the pirates and equipped your casket with insulation and breathable air. Wait until you have to board an enemy ship. Then you can tell me which is worse.”

  He stood and went to the door. “I need some rest before my next round with the Reaper. If the Commander lets me take you, I’ll make sure you have a good suit, so long as you promise not to kill me when we’re outside. That’s all I came to say.”

  Kin watched him leave. He tried to open the door but it was locked.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CREW doors, three inches thick, held him captive. Kin lacked a cutting torch, explosive charge, or miracle password to escape. What he had was time. He tried to sleep though quarantine. When the door opened, he wouldn’t get a chance to rest for days.

  He turned around to discover Orlan had left something—pictures of Zosia Milton and Jack Tenderfoot.

  Boot Camp. Advanced Infantry School. A few from the front line, posed with weapons up and helmets down. Happy times, though it hadn’t seemed that way.

  The images were not temporary copies made to be easily recycled, but studio prints. Someone had spent money on them. Kin had never bothered with mementos.

  But Orlan had.

  You’re still a homicidal maniac. A back stabbing thug.

  The door opened. Becca entered. She was taller than he remembered, but not by much. He assumed his memories had reduced her height to match his image of her as a girl. It seemed unlikely being a Shock Trooper had actually made her taller. Her hair was short. Her uniform was neat and she was as fit as
any solider Kin had ever met, though not so muscular as Captain Raien.

  “Do you want out of here?” Becca asked.

  “Where are we going?” Kin asked. He saw Raien and her bodyguards waiting in the hall.

  “Captain Raien wants to talk with you and then we’re going for a walk,” Becca said. She moved aside and the captain walked into the small room.

  Raien closed the door, leaving the two guards and Becca in the hallway. She stepped near him, hips touching his, hands on his body, her chest an inch away because she leaned back slightly to look at him. She held each his eyes.

  Kin didn’t speak.

  She looked at his face, his neck, and his shoulders. She touched the side of his face with one hand and rested her other on his oblique muscles.

  She sighed. “There is no time now, and I’m afraid that once you make peace with your girlfriend you won’t have time for me at all.”

  “Please,” Kin said. He liked Raien, but his heart ached for the woman waiting in the hall. Other men would know what to say to a jealous lover. Kin searched for words and found none.

  She kissed him on the lips but didn’t linger. “I’m better than she is, just so you know.”

  “Says who?”

  She shrugged and backed away, starting a tour of the small room. “No one says anything. I just know I’m better. You can tell by the eyes. She doesn’t know anything about men except how to be one. Her Shock Trooper brothers trust her absolutely. She has bled for them and they’d die for her.”

  “What do you want, Raien?”

  “She’s pretty,” Raien said. She considered the water dispenser but let her hand fall without opening it.

  “What do you want?”

  She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. For a trained killer, she had the vixen act down perfectly. “I want to make her uncomfortable. We don’t actually have time to get it on, but it must feel like forever for her. Or maybe we could play a little? No. I am not that cruel. I don’t start things I can’t finish.”

  Kin wanted out of the game. He waited in silence. She opened the door, simultaneously assuming the aura of a captain again. “You should have come straight to me once you found the Reaper. The Commander was not pleased. And you should have waited for a Fleet unit before pursuing it. You owe me, Kin Roland, and I will collect.”