by Scott Moon
Kin jerked his helmet toward her. “You can go back and do your job.”
“That’s taken care of. You need me. Admit it.”
“Damn it, Laura. Not now.”
“I may not have a sexy suit of Mech armor, but we’ve kept each other alive all these years.”
Kin faced the advancing Imperials. “What did I do to deserve this?” For a moment, it seemed the entire force would go after Captain Raien and Commander Westwood.
“Why are they hesitating?” Laura asked.
“They’re deciding which is more important, a bunch of refugees and wounded troopers, or Commander Westwood.”
Laura gazed across the meadow at the fleeing figure. “That’s not Westwood.”
Kin frowned, glad she couldn’t read his expression. The reason he knew it wasn’t the commander was Rebecca’s revelation that Orlan’s son might be a shape changer. He would have been fooled otherwise.
“How can you tell?”
Laura shrugged. “Benjamin has a heart condition. A fact he explained to me before climax. He never wanted to cum too hard.”
“Nice.”
“I’m not the one with an old girlfriend.”
“Laura, I never thought I’d see her again.”
“Don’t bother. I don’t want to know about your childish infatuations. You don’t need me anymore. She’s young, attractive.”
“The Imperials have made a decision.”
“Never mind that she’s flat chested, acts like a man, and curses worse than a sailor.”
“You’re lecturing me after you just described Commander Benjamin Westwood’s orgasm routine? Really? I ought to let the Imperials capture you. You could drive them crazy.”
Laura leaned around Kin, aimed her pistol, and fired. The bullet struck the lead Imperial in the foot as he put it down, causing him to trip and fall face first.
Kin stared at her. “Nice shot.”
“He’s getting up and the others are right behind him. Now’s a good time for your brilliant plan.”
Kin spent the peak of his career fighting Reapers, trying to understand them, trying to predict attacks and detect weaknesses. The Imperials fought as Earth Fleet troopers did, with a few differences. As fierce as the Reapers were, battling the Mazz Imperials was more dangerous. He feared disciplined troops more than he feared monsters.
The Imperial platoon regrouped and charged with precise small unit tactics. Most of their force surrounded Westwood and Raien’s team as though they were an army instead of a few individuals.
Aggressive but cautious. How can I use that to win? “I wish Orlan was here.”
“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” Laura said. “Tell me what to do, or I’m heading back to the others.”
“Go. I’ll take it from here.”
“Lean down.”
Kin bent to accept her kiss. He watched her lips touch the helmet shield and smiled. She closed her eyes as she released him, something she rarely did. She turned away and hurried up the trail.
CHAPTER SIX
WITH no better plan, Kin fired grenades, fell back, fired his rifle, fell back, and fired again.
Figure it out, Kin.
He reloaded, transferring ammunition from the protected ammo vault deep in the armor, and scanned the area. Nothing about the terrain helped him. He had the high ground, but not for long. If he remained where he was, they’d be on him soon.
Falling back, he launched another volley, dodging return fire and worrying he would be out of ammo soon.
Four Fleet troopers assigned to protect the refugees descended the trail and joined him.
“Laura sent us.”
“And you listened to her?”
“This is where the fight is,” the trooper said.
Kin grimaced and allowed the troopers to exchange fire with the Imperial platoon. During a pause, he borrowed ammunition, then fell back to the narrowest part of the trail and waited for the Fleet troopers to withdraw after a scrimmage. Retreat by the numbers. Shoot. Move. Take cover. Repeat.
Laura and the others were on their own now. Kin hoped they didn’t stumble across Droon and his Reapers. He looked to the sky, unsurprised by its emptiness. He couldn’t get lucky enough to have the Ror-Rea warriors save him again.
“I’m out of ammo,” a trooper said.
“Get out of your suit. Set it to self-destruct, then run. We’ll draw them into the explosion.” Kin expected an argument. Troopers valued armor more than their skin, and Kin wasn’t in the Fleet. He wasn’t in charge. Yet the trooper obeyed, quickly programming the FSPAA and dashing up the trail as the timer ran down.
“I’m ready when you are,” Kin said to the other troopers. They nodded without letting the Imperials out of their sights. The vision of them staring down rifle barrels, silent and ready, inspired powerful nostalgia. These were good men.
Kin counted to ten. He waited a moment longer. If the FSPAA exploded this close, his problems would be over.
“Now! Run. Panic. Make it look real.”
The three remaining troopers fired blindly, turned, and bolted up the hill. Kin followed them, pausing once to fire down on the speeding Imperials. Moments after he ran, the FSPAA explosion rocked the trail.
The shock wave flattened him. He held his rifle close to his chest and took much of the fall on the shield of his helmet. Rolling over and looking back, he saw the Imperials regrouping and setting a perimeter. They checked each other for damage and waited for reinforcements.
Not bad. Now if I can regroup with Rebecca and the Shock Troopers, we might have a chance. He found a boulder overlooking the meadow and climbed it. Far below, Captain Raien faced the consequences of her actions.
MAYFIELD had impressed Kin during the escape into the mountains. Alert, professional, and tireless, he was the ideal soldier. Watching him go down reminded Kin of hopeless battles on Hellsbreach and the misery of seeing comrades die in a lost cause.
Johnson didn’t fall; he disappeared as three rockets struck him simultaneously. Debris clattered over a wide area. Smoke drifted away from the impact like a ghost.
“They’re going after the captain and Westwood. We can hold the rest from the high ground,” a trooper near Kin said.
Kin shook his head. He started to respond. Raien was far away and surrounded by Imperials, fresh soldiers who hadn’t been fleeing a superior force. He couldn’t help her. She made a bad decision and was about to pay for it.
Before he knew it, his feet took him dangerously close to the confrontation, down the trail he had worked so hard to climb. The closest Imperial platoon remained in a defensive perimeter, apparently confident they would overtake the Crater Town refugees soon enough. Whoever led this unit wasn’t rushing to failure. Smart commanders grew tired of ambushes. Time was firmly allied with the Imperials.
Kin observed units being freed from the action against Captain Raien. They had her surrounded, and they had who they thought was Westwood. Situation in hand, the Imperial leaders turned toward the refugees on the trail.
Kin stopped. Two of the remaining Earth Fleet troopers in his squad aimed careful shots at the enemy platoon. FSPAA weapons, when not used in rapid-fire mode, were relatively quiet. Higher rates of fire overpowered sound suppressors. He watched the two destroy the few Imperials unable to find proper cover or concealment. It was a low-intensity event compared with what had come before.
A third Earth Fleet trooper, Kin thought it was Corporal Pax, fired long sniper shots at the Imperials around Raien. He scored a few kills despite the armor of his victims. Kin watched the drama unfold, knowing his sniper couldn’t change the inevitable.
“I should be with her!” Pax grunted over the radio. A wordless sound followed the exclamation, a drawn-out groan-snarl. The corporal increased his rate of fire. As sniper attacks went, he was ripping off rounds with less and less concern for the art of long shooting.
Three Imperials rushed Captain Raien, crushing her under their combined weight as she fought
hand to hand. She kicked and punched, twisted, and head-butted, struggling against overwhelming odds.
“She’s my battle bitch.” Pax’s voice crackled over the com system. Pride colored his words, but Kin detected more. The boast trailed off as though the man would have said more.
Raien paused. Imperial troopers started to bind her with nylon cords. When the first restraint touched her wrist, she attacked like a banshee.
Nearly escaping wasn’t the same as escaping. Kin released his breath and punched his right fist into his left palm.
Commander Westwood ducked into a cluster of bushes. Kin waited for him to emerge but saw only leaves and branches thrashing. Imperials closed around the spot, proceeding cautiously.
What the hell are they doing? They have him. He waited for the Imperial troopers to dog pile Westwood.
Kin’s heart ticked off seconds that swelled into existence like air bubbles struggling toward the surface of the ocean. Imperials dragged Raien from her armor. Others closed the circle around the bushes where Westwood hid.
Everything stopped.
Kin held his breath.
A Reaper burst from the undergrowth, slashing with claws and snapping teeth, but missing. Imperials staggered back, surprised. Two of the veteran soldiers tripped and sprayed bullets at the sky.
The Reaper dashed away as rockets pursued it.
Kin waited for them to chase the Reaper-that-wasn’t-a-Reaper, but they closed around the bushes and dived in. Other Imperials formed attack squads and blasted the area around the fleeing Reaper.
Kin watched, realizing the troopers with him had ceased firing and stood in amazement.
“He doesn’t run like a Reaper,” Kin said.
The trooper next to him spoke slowly, confusion in his voice. “No, it doesn’t. Is there something wrong with it?”
“That depends how you look at it,” Kin said. “Captain Raien is captured. We can’t rescue her, not right now. I want you to set a false trail. Start the Imperials heading to Gold Village, and then to Amanda’s Gap. Check your maps. You’ll see where I mean.”
“That will buy us time,” a trooper said. “What about Commander Westwood?”
“Get it done.” Kin remained where he was. “That wasn’t Westwood.”
Corporal Pax stood from the ledge he had used to launch his sniper attack and allowed his rifle to hang at his side. He stared at Kin. “Are you going to bring her back?”
Kin didn’t answer.
An Imperial company joined the platoon waiting at the foot of the trail. He saw unit leaders conferring in a small circle. When his troopers were well on their way to setting a false trail, Kin went toward Maiden’s Keep, careful to obscure his passage. He fantasized about Becca and her Shock Troopers bursting from the trees to slaughter the Imperials.
Birds chirped around him as though war never existed.
Kin found a stream, lowered his helmet assembly, and knelt to drink. He washed his face and checked his back trail. No one seemed to be pursuing. The Imperials would find Maiden’s Keep. By then, Kin hoped to fortify the defenses, although even that was a temporary measure at best.
On impulse, he tried the Earth Fleet secure link. “Roland to Private Morris, give me a status report.”
“Morris to Roland, we’ve concealed our trail. Hope the Imperials don’t follow this way. If they do, we’re done for.”
Nice. Kin joined the ruse, anticipating a compromised communications link. “There’s nowhere to go. Let’s hope they can’t track us. Begin fortifications. I’m going to check on Captain Raien’s situation.”
“Roger that.”
Kin thought the trooper sounded relieved and wouldn’t have revealed his true intention even if he could. With deliberate slowness, he left the trail and made his way toward the meadow where Raien had been captured, but didn’t look for her. The Imperials would have taken her away by now.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DENSE trees bordered the meadow. The tangled branches and undergrowth were easy to misjudge from a high trail. Before Droon came and chased him all over Crashdown, Kin would have cursed the route as impossible, just as he thanked God for the concealment. The terrain had become merely an expected part of a bad situation. He walked as far as he could before crawling under a bush with limbs as tough as steel and thick as night. Once he forced his way through, he would be out of view of patrols — or at least out of view of the ones he knew about.
He needed to be quiet. Imperial sensors swept the area, although it seemed the main force had moved. How many times had Kin left hidden spies to observe a strategic position or search for clandestine enemies? A hundred? A thousand? Twenty feet into the underbrush, he stopped, listened, and waited.
Startling an animal would give him away as surely as stomping down the road like a raw recruit. Nothing moved. He steadied his breathing.
A bug crawled over his face shield. Moments passed until Kin understood there were no animals. On Crashdown, that was a bad sign.
I can avoid one more Imperial patrol. I’ve been doing it all day. Scoot and crawl; that’s the glamorous life of a Fleet trooper.
An odor alerted him to danger — the faint stink of smoke drifting through filters to his nostrils. Fire wasn’t on his list of things he wanted to encounter while confined in brambles. Heat might not kill him immediately. His helmet would filter smoldering particulates and draw on limited FSPAA contained oxygen reserves, but limits defined every piece of equipment, and Kin respected the raw power of nature.
He tried to discern other warning signs, but only the smell remained. He didn’t see smoke or hear crackling flames. There were no animals fleeing. Whatever it was, it had been extinguished.
I hope.
He moved to the edge of the thicket and prepared to stand, stopping for no logical reason. Something wasn’t right. He trusted intuition but never worshipped it like some veterans. Observation and analysis — that was the way to avoid a trap. Yet the siren in his soul punished his senses. It wasn’t fear. That might come later. That might come when death zoomed toward him like a bullet. The emotion he felt left no room for fear or bravery. Alarm dominated his nameless thoughts — silent, vague, all-consuming dread.
Back up. He edged away from the clearing, chose a new route, and proceeded cautiously.
The body he discovered could have been a robot. Intense heat had melted ceramic and steel, vaporized the flesh from inside the helmet, and damaged plates. Short of a nuclear detonation, Kin tried to imagine what kind of weapon caused such destruction. He crawled closer, picking his way around smoldering patches of stone. For several moments, he pondered the identity of the fallen trooper and decided it must have been an Imperial.
Few Earth Fleet troopers remained on Crashdown, and Kin thought he knew approximately where they were. That alone indicated this soldier had been one of the invaders. The armor, although distorted, seemed Imperial. The identity wouldn’t have concerned him, except for what he found just beyond the dead man.
A beacon he doubted was of Earth Fleet design had been screwed into the earth. He couldn’t know how deep it penetrated but wouldn’t be surprised if it reached bedrock. The surface of the device spread over six meters of the clearing and was perhaps fifty centimeters thick. Sections interlocked. Indecipherable symbols ran along the border. Someone had folded it down for better concealment once installed.
Kin rose to a squatting position as he scanned the area for danger. Signs of fighting marked the forest — branches blown from trees, pieces of armor, liquid fire eating into the trunk of a Crashdown oak. There was only one body. He returned to it but didn’t touch the heap of metal and ceramic parts. Dreading what he would learn, he scanned the debris.
Radioactive. Had someone used a nuclear warhead? Surely he would have seen the mushroom cloud of a battlefield nuke. As he reviewed his memory of recent battles, he stalked the clearing searching for clues, saving the burning tree for last.
In time, the Crashdown oak would go up like a to
rch, but tough bark and green wood resisted the incendiary assault. Kin leaned close, documenting the scene with his FSPAA cameras. The glowing liquid was thick, reminding him of napalm. He stared at it for a long time, thinking it clotted like blood, although the FSPAA sensors detected radioactive qualities and nothing organic.
Kin had been around. He’d fought every creature in the galaxy and mastered their weapons. Nothing fit the details of this scene. One thing was certain. The device screwed into the ground had a purpose. On close inspection, he noticed a translucent panel in the center reflecting the wormhole in the sky. He looked up, then back at the device, and admitted the anomaly above didn’t match the swirling colors in the glass. Whatever caused the undulating rivers of light in the device was contained under the protective casing.
Imperials. Clavender used the wormhole against the Imperial army many times. If her tale was to be believed, she cast them across the galaxy to prevent war between them and her people. She claimed an unknown force was interfering with her control of the space anomaly. Without understanding how her power worked, Kin took her at her word. It seemed logical that the Imperials developed their own mechanism to influence the wormhole. Earth Fleet had never been able to move one and barely understood how to chart their destination points. The Imperials had been fighting through the galaxy for thousands of years. They were motivated by fanaticism Kin couldn’t comprehend. Imperial scientists probably tortured secrets from every advanced civilization they conquered and knew things humans only wondered about.
Kin exhaled. For several moments, he stared at the clearing without thinking. Revelation ignored him.
Thoughts of the incinerated Imperial coalesced into a warning but retreated and reformed into nameless emotions belonging to the house of dread. He didn’t understand how or why the trooper died here. Kin’s instinct suggested the man had been trying to stop the placement of the wormhole beacon.
It didn’t make sense.
No Earth Fleet weapon had killed the man, and if he killed himself placing the device, the device should be damaged as well. Reapers didn’t have nuclear weapons. Neither did the Ror-Rea.
