by Scott Moon
He hurried back to Rickson and Clavender, signaling for them to stay low and led them within view of Crater Town. Huge swells distorted the ocean. The wormhole was almost round, like a giant parachute in the sky. He thought of Dax and his warriors trying to reach the wormhole, which led him to think of Dax’s warning. If Clavender was not controlling the wormhole, who was?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
GRAVITY pressed down. Cyclones exploded from the ground and merged with clouds that appeared in mid-air and mixed. Kin watched as one cloud stopped moving, opened, and poured what looked like black sand into the sea. The wormhole opened in five places, dumping meteors over the mountains.
“Why is this happening? Clavender is here. I’ve never seen a storm like this,” Rickson said.
Clavender shuddered. “I have.”
“What’s going to happen to us?” Rickson asked. He stared at Clavender.
“If I know Laura, she’s covering her bets,” Kin said. “She should have Westwood wrapped around her finger by now. If anyone can secure passage for thousands of shipwreck castaways, it’s Laura. But she must believe there is a chance the Fleet will abandon us, so she’s pushing Commander Westwood for the atmosphere boosting and terra-forming efforts.”
“The Goliath was a terra-former,” Rickson said.
Kin avoided looking at the boy too closely but could see concern on his face. Clavender’s eyes were dim, as though hiding, and her wings were pulled close to her body. Normally, they moved with easy grace.
“Westwood has taken everything useful from the crater for his warships,” Kin said.
“Can they use the warships to terra-form?” Rickson asked.
“Crashdown is a hundred times larger than any planet ever attempted. It can’t be done.”
“Then why are they trying?”
“They’re stalling. Every ship they convert to terra-forming means more people left behind. I’ve seen Fleet ships preparing for blast off. Westwood is in a hurry.”
“What happens to us?” Rickson asked.
Kin looked through the binoculars without answering, watching a Fleet sergeant giving orders. For a moment, the man’s voice was carried by the wind.
“Move those power coils, damn it. I said move them. Move your ass while you’re at it.” The sergeant’s helmet-amplified voice sounded distorted. Kin hated the sound because it reminded him of panic. He’d been in battles where men screamed for their lives and begged for mercy — swears, curses, and prayers on the same breath.
Battle tanks had been converted to bulldozers. They were pushing the dunes into huge berms and sinking foundations for the terra-forming machines deep into the soil. Engines growled and klaxons blared warnings as machines reversed and men ran to avoid them. The smell of diesel fumes drifted on the wind. Kin could smell the stink from his hiding place.
Rickson crawled to Kin’s side. “What are they doing now? They look like they are trying to build a wall.”
“Why would you build a wall?” Kin asked.
“For protection.”
Kin nodded.
The sight of tanks converted to bulldozers wasn’t new, but it had been a long time since Kin had seen it. He studied the mounds of dirt and marveled at how many purposes they could serve — foundations for atmosphere reclamation factories, protective barriers for the launch of ships, or makeshift walls to stand against an invading army. Commander Westwood was showing caution. Kin could feel urgency in the air. There were no slackers today. Every trooper was trying to earn a seat on the evacuation mission.
“Can they really remake the planet? You say it can’t be done, but how do you know?” Rickson asked.
Kin didn’t speak at first. The activity below reminded him of how much power a Fleet division possessed. The hopeful look in Rickson’s eyes broke Kin’s heart. The boy had lived most of his life here and the thought that it could be made a paradise must have been a dream of his since he could listen to stories of better worlds.
“Listen, Rickson, these men are desperate. Look at the way they move. Look at how they’re pushing people out of the way. They want off this planet and the only reason they want off is because something terrible is about to happen. I was in the Fleet for a long time. They’re professionals, well disciplined, and brave to a fault. But they don’t leave a place without foraging. If there wasn’t impending danger that Commander Westwood thought would destroy them, they would spend years salvaging every possible resource. Only then would they leave. Expeditions are expensive and you can’t return to the home worlds empty handed. They need millions of gallons of water for each ship. Water is recycled while in space, but you can never have too much. When I was in the Fleet, we fought wars just for water. Now think of everything else they might want from this place.”
Rickson watched the Fleet troopers move. “I thought they came to help us.”
“I can’t go down there, Rickson,” Kin said. He thought of Becca but continued to talk. The words sounded as though they came from someone else. “Take Clavender to Laura. Go directly to her and no one else. If Westwood realizes what she is, he’ll take her. The Fleet won’t be gentle with her.”
“Why would they want to hurt Clavender?” Rickson asked.
“The men you see don’t want to hurt her, no more than any normal man would. But others in the Fleet will see her only as an alien. They’ll want to study her. And they might want to use her as a weapon or sell her for profit.”
“What are you going to do? You can’t stay here,” Rickson said.
Kin knew his fate if he surrendered to Commander Westwood. After he had been sentenced to death, the only people who fought for his life had been those wanting to study him and try to learn about what happened to him on Hellsbreach. Only the most high-ranking officers and scientists with special security clearance knew everything. They had debriefed him. And he gave his report like a soldier. When he had told everything, and done his absolute best to explain what had occurred on Hellsbreach, the scientists began with psychotropic drugs to learn more. He was put into sleep deprivation, light deprivation, and sound deprivation all at once and individually.
Strong men who knew how to hurt people beat him. They told him lies and called him a traitor. Then they praised him as a hero and offered rewards and bribes. He gave them the same detailed report. He held nothing back during his first interview, although he knew he was contaminated and that fact alone would probably cause him trouble. He had expected to be dissected and put back together. During his worst moments, he believed they could reduce his brain to digital information to be plugged into a computer for analysis.
Kin didn’t enjoy the memories. His entire body ached at the mere thought.
The only thing he experienced worse than the interrogation after Hellsbreach was the captivity he suffered at the hands of the Reapers. They had eaten parts of him and then regenerated his flesh by putting repulsive organisms and microorganisms into his body. They purged him with strong spirits and chemicals and dreams that were nightmares worse than he had ever known.
He didn’t want to explain this to Rickson, but the boy needed to understand humans would do anything to preserve their own welfare. He hoped he didn’t have to explain that the people of Crater Town meant nothing to the Fleet. They were outsiders, local indigenous people — merely a resource that could be used or discarded.
“What are you going to do?” Clavender asked.
“I can return to Crater Town and throw myself on the mercy of Commander Westwood or leave and wait for Droon and his pack to hunt me down,” Kin said.
“His pack?” Rickson asked.
“You don’t want to know,” Kin said. The Crashdown wolves moved like soldiers but with perfect obedience to the mission of their pack. Even with his fears of Droon and worry about being discovered by the Fleet, the thought of those cold-blooded lupine killers unnerved him. Maybe they would turn on Droon and rip him apart, but Kin doubted it.
Rickson, barely standing still, watched him
.
Clavender moved near and forced him to look at her face. “You assume that the sergeant or Laura has betrayed you, but you cannot know until we face the commander. Why risk the planet’s wrath or the Reaper’s?”
“Laura sent messages telling me that a man who knows and hates me is awake. Commander Westwood demands my return. I know she’s telling the truth because that same man, a man I fought beside on Hellsbreach, tried to capture me. He only allowed me to escape because he wanted the Reaper bounty,” Kin said.
“If what you say is true, then the reward for capturing you alive would be greater than for a Reaper,” Clavender said. Her patient but assertive reasoning reminded him of a princess or some higher spirit of this world.
Kin thought about her argument but couldn’t conceive of a reason Orlan would keep silent. Laura had promised to turn him in for the reward many times, but it had been a game between them. Now he wondered what she was thinking. When he last saw her, she’d been getting comfortable with Commander Westwood. She enjoyed politics and intrigue and probably couldn’t believe her luck at having an entire Earth Fleet division land on Crashdown. Perhaps there was a chance neither Laura nor Orlan had revealed his identity, but the consequences of being wrong were serious. And if Becca was really here, she would know him immediately.
Emotions lead to bad decisions. Kin understood this. He thought of Becca standing in her Parade Dress Uniform at his execution. He thought of how Orlan had closed the casket. He remembered the look on his face. The man had seemed satisfied and almost ready to laugh.
“We’ll need to find Laura and speak with her in private. Chances are good that as soon as we enter the town, we’ll be seized by Fleet troopers. Don’t defend me if that happens. Rickson, I want you to take Clavender to her home if possible. Just leave me to deal with the Fleet,” Kin said.
Rickson seemed relieved. He faced the town but hesitated. Kin put his hand on his shoulder, took Clavender’s hand in his other, and they walked forward. Busy, overworked Fleet personnel barely noticed Kin, but the sentries on perimeter duty responded immediately.
“You again,” said the Fleet trooper who had escorted Kin to Clavender’s home. “I spoke with Sgt. Orlan.”
Kin tensed. He didn’t like the artificial sound of the FSPAA unit’s voice box. This trooper had taken an interest in him, which was bad news. The flat, deceptive voice bothered him because he sensed unfinished business. Kin knew Orlan was his enemy but wondered how many others held vendettas against him.
“He said he remembers you,” the trooper said.
Ken feigned disinterest. “From where?”
“He said he couldn’t remember that part, but I don’t believe him. Orlan is like that. Just because he was on Hellsbreach, he thinks we should all worship him and believe his bullshit.”
“Well, I don’t remember him,” Kin said.
“You haven’t seen him. How would you know?” the trooper said.
Kin shrugged and started to walk past the sentries, but a gauntleted hand grabbed him.
“You must go to quarantine and get cleared by the doctor.”
A squad of troopers arrived. One carried a stun gun. The other three carried battle rifles at the ready. Wind gusted. Sand and dirt blasted everyone. The men with closed helmets barely seemed to notice.
Kin ducked his head against the unexpected blast and snuck a glance at Rickson and Clavender. Rickson shifted his weight and nervously adjusted his grip on the staff. Clavender looked ill.
“Where is the quarantine house? We will go straight there,” Kin said.
“You will be escorted.” Moments later, the squad took them to an escape craft transformed into a quarantine stockade. They were put inside with food and water. Forty-eight hours later, they came for Rickson. Twelve hours after that, they came for Clavender. Kin lost track of the time he spent alone, but it seemed so long that he wondered if the Fleet could have left the planet without him feeling the blastoff. He wondered if Droon had massacred them all. Reapers and wolves had to eat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE forced isolation finally broke when the Fleet doctor came. The door opened and he realized how loud the thunder was. He covered his ears and rushed to the door to see what must be battleships exploding or the heavens falling, knowing that if the guards outside thought he was trying to escape, he would be shot.
The doctor ducked in the small door and closed the hatch, dampening the sound. What Kin saw before the opening closed was a storm. Wind ripped tile shingles off a nearby home and drove sand in twisting gusts. The doctor leaned on the door for a moment and closed her eyes.
Something made the doctor risk her life to come alone. A Fleet trooper wearing armor could endure such a tempest, but as a civilian, she wouldn’t know how to pilot a suit even if one were issued to her.
“It looks like the wormhole swallowed Crater Town,” Kin said as the doctor set down a bag.
The woman unwrapped the scarf protecting her face and removed a coat of thin but durable civilian armor. Sand matted her short, gray hair despite the protection of the scarf. Her movements were not graceful, but confident, despite the long, awkward appearance of her limbs.
“Tendrils of the wormhole have been attacking the coast for two days.” She opened the bag and removed her tools, laying them neatly on a small table that folded down from the wall.
“Can a wormhole attack? That makes it sound like a living enemy,” Kin said.
She didn’t look at him. “It feels like an attack. What it is cannot be known with our current data.”
She arranged scalpels from smallest to largest. Kin suspected the examination wouldn’t be routine. Without a word, she cleaned his right forearm with antiseptic, picked up a blade, and began poking the muscle delicately. Something struck the quarantine pod, shaking it violently.
The doctor swayed on her feet but didn’t let go of his wrist. She frowned as she poised the blade in the air. “I don’t have time for this. She never gives me enough time.”
“Shouldn’t you introduce yourself or at least explain what you are doing?” Kin asked. “I’m a dangerous man, after all. Imprisoned and treated like a criminal.”
“You will be executed as a criminal if you don’t hold still,” she said. “I’m going to upgrade your identification plate. Commander Westwood will be suspicious of the incision and will confront you about it. He will appear angry but will accept your explanation of a recent injury at the hands of the Reaper.”
She stared at the Reaper injury and swallowed. Black corruption caused the wound to bulge, but Kin felt no pain and the stink had diminished.
Kin’s mind raced. Commander Westwood must know who he was and was allowing his identity to be concealed. But who was the woman the doctor referred to? Could it be Becca or was it Captain Raien? What would Commander Westwood say when Orlan started making accusations?
“Did Rebecca send you?” Kin asked.
“Be quiet,” the doctor said. She cut into his arm without anesthetic and removed a computer plate the size of a fingernail. She smiled without much humor and said, “Look, I have cut out your life. Unfortunately, this old model I am putting in will malfunction. It will need to be replaced. In the future, it will appear as though today was your birthday.”
“The one you are holding has been altered by the best identity thieves in three quadrants,” Kin said.
“That might be sufficient to fool a corporate inspector, who does not really care what is on it, but it will not pass Fleet inspection. I believe you understand this.”
“I need to know who sent you if I’m to be interrogated. I wouldn’t want to expose my benefactor inadvertently,” Kin said.
The door of the quarantine pod opened as the doctor finished packing her tools. A Fleet trooper looked inside and beckoned Kin with gauntleted hand. He was too big to come in and grab Kin, but it seemed he wanted to. Kin made eye contact with the doctor. She stood passively and revealed nothing. He went outside.
�
�Come with me,” the trooper said, the same trooper who had escorted him to Clavender’s home and met him on the perimeter when he returned to Crater Town. Kin stepped into the storm. He could barely breathe because of the wind pushing against his face. He shielded his eyes and turned away from the gale. The trooper took him by the arm.
“I don’t want you to blow away.” The voice was mechanical.
“What’s your name, trooper?” Kin asked. No response. “Are you a man or a woman? I can’t tell. Your voice amplifier is dry.”
“This way. Best if we hurry. I’m required to deliver you to Commander Westwood. Flying debris and meteors will smash you if you linger.”
“What about the doctor?” Kin asked.
“She will shelter in place until a Stryker can come for her.”
“She didn’t come in a Stryker,” Kin said. The trooper didn’t look at him. Twice he was nearly blown away, but the trooper pulled him close and sheltered him against the wind. Something large struck the trooper’s armor and bounced off. Kin admired the trooper’s solid stance.
“Do I need to carry you?” the trooper asked.
Kin ducked his head and pressed into the wind, pushing toward the town meeting hall. The trooper steered him in another direction.
“We’re going to the Flagship. Native structures are no longer safe. The storm and the wormhole have destroyed much of the town. The Reaper and other creatures have been seen moving through the streets. If you run from me, you’ll die.”
Kin allowed himself to be led to the Flagship, which had been moved to the edge of town. Other Fleet vessels were lined up in precise military formation. They had been hastily repaired and Kin saw several Strykers returning from the foothills towing fuel containers to a refinery building that used to be an armored vehicle transport craft. Preparations for liftoff had been made. Two-thirds of the Fleet vessels that had survived the landing were visible in the distance, abandoned and stripped of useful parts.
