by Scott Moon
Kin hated the implications of his logic. If he had to face a new threat, he wanted it to be a known threat. What he’d found didn’t fit in that category.
He explored the edge of the device with gauntleted hands, then tried to move it. He tried to break it, realizing that he might join the dead Imperial in hell. When at last he backed away, it was clear the alien construction couldn’t be destroyed without heavy weapons.
What good would it do for Clavender to close the wormhole if the Mazz opened it again? And what if it was a trap? What if fiery death awaited her the next time she tried to touch the opening?
With few options available and the fate of William, Rickson, and the others on his mind, he left the thing he now thought of as a wormhole beacon and scouted the area. With Fleet discipline, he expanded his search in an increasing circle from the device until he located two more.
Three devices formed a triangle a thousand meters on each side. Definitely some sort of beacon or landing device. The strangest aspect of his reconnaissance was the presence of a ravine in the center. The dark pit opened like the maw of a dragon, or perhaps a gate to the underworld.
If I wasn’t trying to rescue Raien and William and Rickson and every other fool on this planet, I might be able to win the war right here. Closing the wormhole must be the key. He needed more time to sabotage the beacons. Even as he daydreamed about shutting the devices down, he doubted his theories. The symbols engraved into the metal vaguely resembled the Imperial alphabet.
Rebecca was missing in action. Clavender was occupied by the Ror-Rea High Lords. Orlan was being Orlan. And Kin had no idea what he was really dealing with. Things were much simpler before Earth Fleet and Droon fell out of the wormhole.
What he would give to be arresting a few drunks fighting over a woman or defending the town from raiders. Arguing with Laura. Dreaming of Becca. Looking for Rickson because a wolf had been seen near the sheep and the boy had gone alone to hunt it.
His life hadn’t been too bad, even with flashbacks crowding his sleep.
Kin checked his ammunition inventory and was pleased to find more remained than he feared — not as much as he would’ve liked, but a far cry from throwing rocks.
At least on Hellsbreach he had one enemy, one mission, even if he found the final decision too hard to make.
He moved out of the area after plotting the location of each device and the ravine in his FSPAA log. Eventually, he would return to Maiden’s Keep and share what he learned. Captain Raien might be able to process his recently gathered intelligence. Perhaps she knew more of the Imperials than she had shared. Officers always possessed classified information. With luck, she would understand what his discovery meant and what to do about it.
That left Kin in a predicament. Raien was beyond his reach. He doubted the Imperials would release her. For all he knew, she was dead. Either way, he still needed to find the others and take them to safety.
He made the difficult trek to Bear’s cabin, hoping Rickson might be there and that he might find a better view of the valley. Only the ghost of the mountain man remained. The front door was shut. Inside, none of his stores had been touched. Rickson would have left a memorial for his friend had he plundered the larder.
Even though Bear died far from here, devoured by Clingers.
Kin spread Bear’s maps across a table and planned his course. He placed thimbles and shot glasses to mark Imperial-held areas. A gold coin marked the point of Raien’s capture. A feather pointed the direction William the Reaper fled.
Beyond all of it was the Valley of Clingers. Kin placed a bullet to mark Orlan’s probable location. Hiking all day and avoiding Imperial patrols made his mission feel like circumventing the world, but everything was occurring close to Crater Town, well within the area he explored during the last several years.
I can do this. No one knows this place better than me.
He decided the Reaper that had been, for a short time, Commander Westwood, was closest. He would range out from Bear’s cabin, descend into the first valley, and look for signs of the strange Reaper’s path. If he were right about the creature, it was the least likely to survive Crashdown without help. Rickson could live off the land as long as he didn’t do something stupid like try to be a hero.
Kin searched for the Reaper. After descending the mountainside, he spotted it hiding near a minor waterfall. He expected the shape-changing son of Orlan to choose a poor refuge and wasn’t disappointed. The boy hid from Imperials pursuing him, but if they circled ahead, they would see him.
Kin wasn’t surprised by the boy’s unsophisticated tactics. He was surprised to see Orlan coming the other way, stalking down a trail in a bad mood.
Orlan spotted the Reaper and changed his approach, using terrain to hide his movement. He unlatched his rifle from the magnetic scabbard on his back and aimed as he crept toward the cowering form.
Don’t do it. He’s your son.
Kin tried coms, but Orlan didn’t answer. “Roland to Orlan, respond.”
Nothing. Either the Imperials were blocking line-of-sight transmissions or the sergeant turned off his communications link. Kin made three more attempts, although he worried the Imperials would triangulate his position.
At the last possible moment, the Reaper twisted, saw Orlan, and shrank to the ground, cowering against the attack. Kin watched the most murderous trooper he knew move in for the kill.
CHAPTER EIGHT
KIN threw himself down the hill, barely able to keep his legs and feet under his body. His FSPAA armor crushed saplings and bushes as he blundered forward. Twice, he bounced from the side of a boulder half-buried in the steep slope.
A ledge jutted over empty air, blocking his downhill rush. He jumped. The suit computer beeped warnings until he crashed feet first on the valley floor, tumbling on impact. Rather than roll to his feet, he smashed end over end, curling into a ball as best he could. When he reached his arms forward to stop the wreck, the path of destruction made his landing seem a meteor strike.
He looked toward the Imperial positions two kilometers in the distance, unable to decide whether they detected his artless charge. Blood trickled from his nose. The armor reduced impact but didn’t eliminate damage caused by a foolish pilot.
Pause. Scan. Now go. Don’t let Orlan kill another innocent. Not his son.
The FSPAA computer beeped, listed a dozen of his recent maneuvers exceeding recommended unit tolerances, and sternly advised him to decrease stride length and cycle rate. Kin knew the warnings word for word. FSPAA units never loved him.
I’m not going to make it.
His last image of William the Reaper provided just enough hope to continue. The boy fled into a narrow crevasse, almost a cave. Orlan pushed into the small space but didn’t seem free to maneuver.
Claustrophobia wasn’t a weakness of Orlan. Only the size of his armor slowed his advance. Kin sent him into Reaper holes on Hellsbreach to check for survivors. The man cursed him but went every time. Orlan didn’t fear enclosed spaces. Orlan didn’t fear anything.
And that troubled Kin, even during the fast and hot battles when no one believed they would survive. Kin hid his fear — turned his mind away from it and did his job. On a hostile planet, running wasn’t an option, although some tried. There was only retreat, rally, and fight on. Fear meant death. Orlan enjoyed fighting amid terror and hopeless odds. He was a force of nature without concern for life.
Kin slowed his movement, searching for William and Orlan. The crevasse was empty. During Kin’s mad rush to intervene, he lost sight of them. Now they were gone — not far — but he would have to search for them.
He moved away from his route and studied the terrain. Imperials scoured the area methodically. Two companies advanced toward Maiden’s Keep. He saw them stalled on the ridge deciding which way to go. Not that it mattered. Eventually, Maiden’s Keep would be surrounded.
Let’s check how I’m doing. I’ve lost Rickson, Ogre, Raien and her troopers, Orlan, and Wil
liam.
I should have stayed on Westwood’s ship.
Kin sat. His armor, despite the computer’s protestations, wasn’t tired. It had ninety-five percent of its original charge, regardless of the punishment he inflicted during the last day. He, however, was tired. Muscle soreness and fatigue didn’t faze him, not after everything he had endured since Earth Fleet and Droon arrived. But his heart was beaten. He’d even misplaced Becca. For all he knew, she had died in a valiant last stand to buy time for the fleeing refugees of Crater Town.
And I rushed off to save a boy I don’t know from his murderous father.
Kin crouched as low as possible in the FSPAA and hurried through Crashdown evergreens, finding a trail Bear had shown him. He tried not to think about Bear. The big hermit had been a good man; rough and spiteful, but steady and loyal all his years on Crashdown.
Then the Clingers ate him. Kin left his body to be eaten by the monsters. What were friends for?
After three close calls with the Imperial search parties, he paused to look across the valley. The setting sun cast an orange glow on the sides of the mountains. The wormhole loitered high in the sky. He wondered whether Clavender had closed it for good or if she had been killed by a mysterious Imperial trap. He counted the moons and sipped from a water tube inside his helmet. Answers eluded him.
Crossing the valley to reach Maiden’s Keep was now impossible. Additional companies of Imperials marshaled and set up a base camp. He would have to go around the danger. Calmed by the scenic overlook, he turned away and went in search of Orlan and William. If the boy was as resilient as Orlan claimed, there might still be hope.
THE alarm in Kin’s armor chimed. He opened his eyes, scanned the area of his hiding place without moving and turned off the persistent alert. Maybe a good trooper didn’t need technology to keep him from oversleeping, but Kin had already made too many mistakes.
Fog receded from his brain. He pushed back the nightmares of Droon, who bit him over and over as Clingers mounted themselves on legions of Reapers.
Yes, that was a nightmare, but a bit too close to reality.
He scarcely believed Droon spared him and returned Becca unharmed. The Reaper changed during the last day before Westwood fled the planet with his fleet. He promised other Reapers would take up the pursuit of Kin-rol-an-da. He also swore to hunt only Cla-ven-da. A sudden wave of fear spread through Kin.
Clavender’s warlike people surrounded her. They could protect her. Sure they could.
Kin’s unease increased.
He caught himself thinking in the Reaper language and stood, shaking off images that came with the words. He checked the FSPAA systems, ensured sufficient ammunition had been transferred to his weapons from the central vault, and moved toward a maze of chasms.
Here Orlan, Orlan, Orlan. Come out, come out, wherever you are.
He moved into the shadows, still feeling the effects of deep — if troubled — sleep. His armored boots crunched fragments of rock. He knelt and examined the floor of the narrow passage. Above him, stars glimmered in the night. In places, the walls of stone narrowed and he felt as though he were in a cave with a celestial ceiling.
One of the large chips fit neatly into the wall. Orlan had been this way and had opened fire on his shape-changing son. Kin pondered the question that had disturbed his sleep. Why didn’t William change back? Surely Orlan would scoop him up and whisk him away to safety if he recognized his son.
Shortly after Kin emerged from the narrow passage, he learned the fantasy of happily-ever-after hadn’t been realized. Gunfire boomed from the bend in the trail. Kin approached and watched as Orlan lobbed rounds at a pathetic Reaper trapped on a ledge.
The Reaper hunkered against the cliff wall as high velocity bullets struck one at a time. Orlan didn’t have the angle for a kill shot. He fired, checked for results, moved, and fired again. A good trooper conserved ammunition and Orlan was one of the best.
Kin activated his FSPAA direct radio, then spoke. “Roland to Orlan, I’m coming up behind you. Cease fire.”
“Hero of Man to the Enemy of Man, kiss my ass. I’ve got a Reaper here.”
“It’s not a Reaper.”
“The hell you say.”
Before Kin could argue, William jumped from the ledge and fled, taking advantage of Orlan’s momentary distraction. Orlan, who had seemed rooted to the ground in the heavy armor, sprinted after the Reaper. His boots churned up dirt and rocks, spitting the debris behind his sudden acceleration.
“Orlan!” Kin chased the trooper, fighting for speed. Orlan’s suit was more advanced and better maintained than Kin’s unit. Yet Kin’s FSPAA piloting skill remained superior, even after years without training and practice. Catching the filicidal trooper proved difficult. He closed the distance with effort and concentration.
Orlan looked back. “What the hell are you doing, Kin?”
Kin surged forward, straining the gears of his armor, and tackled Orlan.
Together, they slammed face first.
Kin recognized a good idea when he saw one. How had tackling Orlan — the biggest, strongest, craziest man Kin had ever met — qualified for consideration? Sleeping late: good idea. Carrying a backup weapon: good idea. Fighting Sergeant Orlan, Class III weapons master and veteran killer: not a good idea.
Advantage came with surprise. Kin pinned the man’s arms to his waist, taking his weapons out of the fight. But Orlan rolled on his back, crushing Kin beneath him.
Sprawled on the rocky ground, Kin held on. The weight pressing him against the sharp soil wasn’t an issue. Armor protected him. The problem was his inability to move. He couldn’t attack. He couldn’t retreat. He couldn’t squirm from under the trooper pinning him.
Orlan lashed his head backward, striking Kin’s faceplate. Digital alerts scrolled across Kin’s visor. A sidebar graph rated the reverse head butt equivalent to a bullet strike.
Still facing the Crashdown sky, as was his victim, Orlan lifted his feet toward his head, displaying not only his surprising flexibility but that of his advanced FSPAA unit as well. He paused, reached his legs back further until his feet were near his helmet, and thrust them forward and down. The momentum pulled him into a standing position, dragging Kin up with him.
Kin tightened his grip. “Orlan, listen to me.”
Orlan flipped forward on to his back, slamming Kin with a suicide throw hard enough to rattle his teeth inside the FSPAA helmet. Jumping off the cliff had been worse, but not by much. He hadn’t felt the force of an extra three hundred pounds during that particular crash landing.
Kin hooked his legs around the trooper’s knees to prevent a repeat of the stand-and-slam tactic. “The Reaper is a shape changer, Orlan. He’s your son.”
“What?” Orlan broke the hold and scrambled to his feet.
Kin retreated, holding both hands up, palms toward the trooper, who paced and clenched his fists.
Anger and frustration trembled through Orlan’s armored gauntlets as he began to stride near Kin. “Are you drunk? Never thought you were an alcoholic, but you’ve got to be drunk or stupid. William can’t change. That’s why Tabitha abandoned him.”
“What kind of Reaper hides on a ledge? You’re calling me stupid? I saw the Reaper’s total lack of aggression from a half mile.”
Orlan grunted. He searched for the Reaper and saw nothing. “Well, he got away, thanks to you. That’s your style, Reaper lover.”
Kin lunged forward and punched Orlan’s helmet. Like a hammer on an anvil, the strike echoed through the valley.
The trooper staggered, caught his balance, and charged. Orlan drove him over the edge of the steep trail and rode him like a sled for ten meters. As they slid to a stop, Orlan rose and struck hard. Kin’s helmet monitor scrambled for a second, enhanced optics blurring, audio inputs overloading.
Kin rolled sideways, scrambling to his feet. He took the high ground and looked down on Orlan. “Are we done? I came to warn you, and I warned you. You want to kill your so
n? Go ahead. He’s probably the only person in the universe who might love you.”
He braced for an attack, but Orlan stood from his fighting stance and stared. Then he turned away.
Kin followed, wondering if he had gone too far. Orlan didn’t feel physical wounds, but the words stunned him. His scrunched shoulders and lowered head told a tale of misery. During the campaigns before Hellsbreach, Kin and Orlan had been comrades if not friends. Kin had never seen the man without a profane rejoinder.
“The Imperials were closing in on us when Westwood appeared out of nowhere and led them away.”
Orlan glanced back, then turned his attention forward as he descended the trail. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m telling you I didn’t know William was among the Crater Town refugees. He turned into Commander Westwood to distract our pursuers. When they had him cornered, he changed into Reaper form and escaped.”
Orlan led the way in silence.
A pack of Crashdown wolves howled in the distance. The nightmarish chorus ended abruptly. Kin shuddered, staring into the night and wondering if Reapers or something worse had silenced the monsters.
Orlan either didn’t hear the wolves or ignored them. He seemed to analyze Kin’s explanation before pausing to stare. “Then I caught him.”
Kin took a moment to understand Orlan’s words. “You almost caught him. You told me he was a tough kid — survived living on the street. Now all we have to do is find him and get to Maiden’s Keep.”
“You were taking the refugees to Maiden’s Keep?”
Kin thought about Laura and the others. The keep wouldn’t protect them long. “Yeah.”
“I can’t say that’s a great idea, Kin. You were always the smart one. Couldn’t you think of a better hideout? Someplace the Imperials won’t find in a day of standard patrolling.”
“Our options are limited. Crashdown is full of Reapers and Imperials. Unless we can find the Ror-Rea, I doubt there is a safe place.”
