The Chronicles of Kin Roland: 3 Book Omnibus - The Complete Series

by Scott Moon

  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, wearing a firefighting coat, hurried from a building up the street. 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 in 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 happened?

  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 detection. 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.

  Although 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, although 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 mistake 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, although 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, although 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, Shapeshifters, 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.

  Recognition.

  Danger.

  Kin broke eye contact, although 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, m
en 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 neckline 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 snugly. 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 agricultural 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.