by Scott Moon
Lieutenant Randall Dogface squatted behind Kin, speaking in a stern but understated voice. “Roland, you’re relieved.”
“Thanks, Dogface.”
Randall grunted and took Kin’s position.
Kin returned to the camp hidden in a stand of trees between two hills. He didn’t like waiting to be attacked on low ground, but the Imperial scouts would see the Crater Town refugees and Earth Fleet troopers if they moved to elevated terrain.
He searched for Rickson, growing worried the longer he looked. Near the designated sleeping area, kids played kick-the-can, one of Rickson’s games, but there was no sign of the shepherd.
“Sophia, have you seen Rickson?” Kin asked. A plastic container bounced past him, followed by three screaming juveniles. He almost told them to keep their voices down but didn’t see the point. What good would it do to scare them? They were going to have plenty of hard times in the future.
“Sophia.”
“I heard you, Kin Roland. Rickson brought the children a plastic canister and told a wonderful story about a hero who goes on a quest but comes back safe. Even the older children listened. He’s such a good boy.”
“That sounds like Rickson. Storytelling is his second-best talent.”
“I suspect the first is the ability to cause you grief.”
“Like no other. If you see him, don’t let him leave until I return.”
“How would I do that, Kin?”
He looked at the delicate old woman. “Who could deny you, Sophia?”
She shrugged. “I had my way with men when I was younger, but these days, they run faster and I have such little feet.”
“Please, Sophia. Children are listening.”
She laughed. “I’ll use my charm on the young adventurer if he comes this way.”
“You ought to put him over your knee. What about Rebecca?”
Sophia pointed toward a grove.
Kin nodded respectfully and smiled before striding across the camp.
Rebecca squatted in her Mech unit, practicing arming and aiming each of her weapons. The top of the unit brushed tree branches.
“Have you seen Rickson?”
The oversized helmet turned. It contained Rebecca’s torso from the shoulders up, but troopers still referred to that part of a Mech as the helmet. “He went to find William.”
“You didn’t stop him?”
“I put him in a chokehold for a while, but Ogre kept snapping at me and I have things to do.”
Kin checked his power levels and ammunition stockpiled in the FSPAA unit’s interior vault. The bullets were laughably small until they launched at high velocity. It was good to be using modern firearms again, but he wouldn’t be able to get replacement ordinance when he ran out.
“I’m going after him. Tell Raien where I went, but not until after I leave.”
“Them.”
“What?”
“You’re going after them.”
“One thing at a time. I can’t save everyone.”
Rebecca resumed practicing her tactics. “That’s not what I heard.”
CHAPTER FOUR
KIN understood Clavender wouldn’t accompany him during his search for Rickson. She couldn’t. Her people never let her out of their sight, but he went to the grove where the Ror-Rea argued from dawn to dusk, their glistening rainbow wings darkening to battle black when tempers flared. Clavender stood among them, resisting their demands.
I can’t help her. She can’t help me. Why am I here? Another man might second guess his motives or lie to himself. Kin understood his fantasies. Not all were about Becca or saving the world. He merely wanted something good to happen. Was it too much to ask for Clavender to catch a break? An enormous weight drove down on the young woman. Not so young as that. For an immortal being, or nearly immortal, Clavender had smiled easily. She had moved through life to spread beauty and heal.
Now she was a princess, slave to duty, mired in politics.
Kin spoke to her with his eyes, sensing she enjoyed the game as far as it lasted. As he smiled and danced his gaze against hers, he thought of adventures they had together. He thought about Rickson chasing Ogre as a puppy. When she risked a long glance away from the Ror-Rea lords, he hoped desperately for her help. Finding Rickson wouldn’t be easy. Finding Orlan’s son would be impossible.
Her expression was sad. She faced the lord who accosted her.
“Yes, I can touch the wormhole, but I will not.” Clavender stood tall, chin held high. Her silk tunic barely touched her knees. A slit ran up the side. Women of the Ror-Rea wore such a garment into battle, but she carried no weapons.
“You must take us to the Bleeding Ground. They cannot be allowed to reach the magic, not before we take the high ground,” Hasic the First High Lord said.
“Must I?”
Each of the High Lords stood and yelled at her.
Kin approached the edge of the clearing and stood attentively. He adopted the formal posture of a petitioner. Demanding to speak with Clavender would only get him killed. Expressing his desire to converse would earn derision and verbal abuse from the lords. When in the presence of the princess, one presented the attitude of openness and nothing more. Or maybe you flirt a little, if you’re a wanted traitor to Earth Fleet not long for this world.
On the up side, the ritual required all men and women of the Ror-Rea to stand aside to allow Clavender access to her petitioners.
Slowly, the High Lords noticed him and quieted.
Hasic moved closer to Clavender, looming over her as he narrowed his eyes. “You speak to this Huumdan, even when our existence is threatened.”
Hasic’s breach of protocol was unprecedented; even Kin understood the insult. No one interfered with royalty. No one flaunted the ancient etiquette of the Ror-Rea.
“It is the way of our people. Petitioners are not turned away,” Clavender said.
Is that what I am? Kin just wanted to talk to a trusted friend. He knew she needed the interruption. Perhaps that was why he came here rather than leave to begin his search.
“Kin Roland. Are you going to follow Rickson?” she asked.
“Apparently,” Kin said, “I’m the last to know about the shepherd’s quest.”
Clavender’s eyes reflected the sky as she smiled. “Boys need to be heroes.”
Lord Hasic snorted and threw up a hand. “The fate of our people hangs in the balance. Forget tradition. Forget these people. I’ve had enough of your pets.”
Clavender’s father, on the verge of being returned his Kingship by the High Lords, stepped between Hasic and his daughter. “You go too far, Hasic.”
“The Mazz are the reason these Huumdans are in danger. Help us fight them. Help us realize vengeance!” Hasic stood face to face with Dax. “I studied in the grove of your father. He was no warrior, but he was wise. I ask you, what would he do? Would he honor tradition, or abandon our ways?”
Dax grunted, stepping forward, close to Hasic, who was a head taller than the former king. “Are you an imbecile? Would an intelligent man pose such an inane question? My father never knew war. He would tell us to make peace with the Mazz.”
Hasic smiled, revealing sharpened teeth. Kin had learned this was a custom warriors adopted after war came to the Ror-Rea. As Hasic backed away, Kin decided the High Lord wasn’t retreating. He had somehow won the argument, although Dax’s words seemed a scathing rebuke.
“Your father would never have allowed the Mazz into the Ror-Rea,” Hasic said. “Your father would have banned Clavender to the farthest reaches of space where she found the plague that is the Mazz race.”
Dax stepped back, his eyes glazing for a moment. He took another step and stumbled as though struck on the head. “She is my daughter.”
Silence held the clearing. High Lords, men and women, stared at Dax.
Hasic snorted. “By the rules of High Council, I state my first observation that Dax, son of Elo, is not fit to be king.”
Kin watched the scene i
ntently, forgetting why he had come. His initial impression of Dax had been of a ruthless warrior, a man ready to sacrifice his daughter to settle a score. Now Kin understood the depth of his predicament.
Hasic presented arguments against Dax, stripping him of dignity, attacking his character. A majority of the High Lords applauded Hasic’s logic.
Kin wanted to approach Dax and offer support, but dared not. He didn’t fully understand the culture of the Ror-Rea. The scene before him opened his eyes. Dax had surrendered his identity as well as his position of authority.
“I will not deny that Dax fought bravely against the Mazz,” Hasic said. “But if he were a true king, he would command his daughter to lead us into battle. To take the Bleeding Grounds before all is lost.”
The High Lords surrounded Clavender. Kin strode forward, hand on his holstered pistol, thinking he should have worn the FSPAA. Technology couldn’t resist so many winged warriors, but at least there would have been a hell of a show.
Dax reached Clavender first. The High Lords shouted at her as though neither Dax nor Kin existed. Battle fury caused eyes to glow, movements to quicken, and drew others to the meeting ground. Winged warriors descended and surrounded the area with weapons drawn.
“Sibil Clavender, daughter of Dax, you must take us to the Bleeding Ground to avenge our ancestors,” Hasic said.
Clavender glared at him majestically, standing tall and defiant. “Tonight, when the time is right, I will reach out to the wormhole.”
Silence held the scene. The growing crowd murmured. Kin studied her, confused by her words, but sensing danger.
“Finally,” Hasic said.
“And I will close it again. This time, I will seal the spell with my blood.”
Clavender’s declaration caused Hasic to back away. A moment later, the High Lords turned on Dax.
Hasic shifted his wings like a fist fighter rolls his shoulders before a match. “Command her.”
Dax roared and lunged forward, grabbing Hasic, pinning the lord’s wings beneath strong arms as he strode forward on powerful legs. He spread his wings, gliding through the air with each stride.
Hasic resisted. They tumbled to the ground, punching, kicking, and lashing with their wings.
Kin stepped toward them, but Clavender took his arm.
“Do not interfere, Kin. Go find Rickson. I am sorry I cannot help you.”
As Kin’s battle senses came alive, he opened his awareness to details large and small, because most men focused too intently on immediate threats. Part of his mind picked targets and planned restraint methods for Hasic, while other parts noted the weather, listened to animals beyond the clearing, and counted foes and rivals.
He saw something in Clavender that alarmed him.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” he said.
“Life is foolish,” she said, peace and sadness in her eyes. “I delay the inevitable.”
If Kin were a skilled liar, he would claim to have answers and reassure her. Words failed to rise. Urgency grew as he considered her promise to seal the wormhole closed with her blood.
KIN’S first encounter with Dax had left the impression the man cared nothing for his daughter. As he walked away from the council of Ror-Rea lords, Kin remembered meeting the winged warrior. Wounded, exhausted, barely one step ahead of Droon, Kin recognized the family resemblance between Clavender and Dax, hoping he was saved. “Can you help me?”
Dax had gazed on him with curiosity. “What sort of help? Do you need dry clothing, or do you want help killing the Clingers and the beast they have captured?”
“I need help saving your daughter,” Kin said.
Dax moved closer, face to face, bending forward menacingly. His strange smile transformed into a murderous scowl. “Why should I save her, when she will not open the Ror-Rea and the sky lights? My people come. My people die to cross the Storm Lands and reach the wormhole because she protects the Mazz.”
Kin struggled to understand the accented words. His body trembled from hypothermia. He lifted his head and stared at Dax. “Fine. Let the Reaper eat her.”
Dax drew back. “Tell me.”
Kin had told the exiled king a Reaper hunted his daughter. A normal father would’ve been distraught with worry. He would have been afraid, angry, and desperate to save her.
When confronted, Dax claimed to have abandoned his kingdom to find Clavender, a fact Kin now understood and had seen demonstrated by Hasic and the other Ror-Rea lords. Kin had thought the exiled king only wanted his daughter to bend the wormhole so he could attack the Mazz. But on the verge of being reinstated as supreme ruler of the Ror-Rea, he stood with Clavender. He finally supported her decision to close the space anomaly.
Good for you, Dax.
Kin paused and looked toward the Ror-Rea gathering. Many winged warriors fought, yet there was singing, swords pounding on shields, and above it all, the multicolored tube in the sky dimmed. He listened to the voices, identifying only one. Clavender’s melody sliced through the chaos.
From a tactical perspective, closing the wormhole was a good idea. The Mazz Imperials used it to transport their massive army. Shutting it would cut them off from reinforcements. How they managed to master the space anomaly was a mystery to Kin, but they seemed intent on destroying Clavender’s people and everyone else who got in their way. At the same time, he had the distinct impression the Imperials were running scared. Something about the overkill of their methods and the nuclear blast shields bothered him.
Clavender’s voice reached a dramatic crescendo and broke.
Kin had never heard her voice crack. He held his breath and waited for something terrible. She resumed her song wearily, like someone who expects failure. Like someone who has lost blood.
The Ror-Rea council promised to be a disaster of epic proportions. The sooner he rounded up Rickson and the others, the sooner he could help Clavender. If Hasic kept antagonizing her, Kin would convince Raien to place her in protective custody.
He checked his gear several times as he moved. The battered FSPAA offered speed to a diligent and attentive operator. Skill, athleticism, and coordination mattered. He made good time, reaching the end of the foothills and the first mountain pass in less than an hour. Although he was no longer part of Earth Fleet, he followed trooper protocol, stopping to set up an observation post and scan for danger.
He crawled to the summit of a hill and looked back. In the distance, he saw the Imperial headquarters nearing completion. The Mazz erected the fortress city with the speed of a field base. Walls bristled with heavy weapons. Scaffoldings inside the perimeter grew around observation towers fifty meters tall.
Artillery, rocket, and machine gun arrays pointed across the landscape and toward the sky. Kin doubted Earth Fleet would be mounting a counterattack from space any time soon. The Mazz Imperials were ready if the Fleet did make a planetary assault.
Kin understood discipline and had used it to survive Hellsbreach and other campaigns. In his experience, some military units were more steadfast than others. However, none of the Imperial troopers wavered from strict operating procedures. The Imperial Mazz army reminded him of elite Earth Fleet divisions.
Kin didn’t like the idea of full-scale war between Earth forces and the Mazz.
Rebecca’s Shock Troopers were part of an elite division. He paused to scan the area and thought about her as his eyes slid over familiar landscape. It was good to have her back, yet they hadn’t talked about anything important. Not the death of her father and brothers at the hands of Reapers or his decision to join the Hellsbreach campaign. They had barely discussed her attempt to save him from execution or even Orlan’s part in the half-successful plot.
Kin was alive. He could have done without the blackness of the space casket or memories of Rebecca standing formally during his trial. Tears had streamed over her cheeks, but she never broke rank, never stood at anything less than attention.
For a long time, he thought she condemned him as the others had, b
elieving he spared the Reapers on Hellsbreach as part of some unfathomable treason against the Fleet. For years, Kin wandered between resentment of her judgment and the desire to find her and explain. He dreamed of her night after night — sometimes in fantasy, sometimes in nightmare — but he spent his time with Laura and other women.
What was I supposed to do? I was never going to see her again.
Kin scouted several areas where Rickson allowed sheep to graze before Commander Westwood’s armada smashed into the planet and brought Droon through the wormhole. The young shepherd maintained huts stashed with basic supplies and sticks carved to resemble Fleet weapons. All but one remained untouched. Looking back the way he had come and connecting the route with the hut, Kin estimated Rickson’s probable direction of travel.
The foolish kid and his dog would get into all kinds of trouble. With Kin’s luck, Rickson would unearth yet another hostile race, extra wormholes, and a score of Kin’s former girlfriends to bring back to Rebecca.
Not so many. How many lovers should a man have during nine years on a lost planet? Kin found himself losing an irrational battle with his conscience. He had slaughtered millions of aliens and more than his share of humans during his service to the Fleet. Did he need to punish himself for being a man with a man’s needs?
Of course, there was Captain Raien. She had steered clear of him for Rebecca’s sake — or because she was busy trying to keep her troopers alive. Sooner or later, she’d grow bored and make an advance. Kin might be able to resist. Either way, Rebecca wouldn’t like it. She already glared at Laura and most of the other Crashdown women.
Kin observed the carcass of a large animal. He knelt to examine bite marks and paw prints. It looked like the work of wolves, but he thought Clingers had been this way as well.
Goddamn it, Rickson. Why’d you run off now?
Droon had emboldened the Crashdown wolves and the Clingers. Kin wondered if he should introduce the Reaper to Dax and the winged warriors. That would get them fired up for battle. Maybe they’d push the Mazz Imperials back where they came from and Earth Fleet could mount a rescue operation.
