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

by Scott Moon

  He shut his apartment door against the guards and removed his armor unassisted, a difficult task. The SKIN was tighter and less friendly to removal than an FSPAA unit. Kin had learned to slip into the Earth Fleet gear as easily as changing his pants, the only difference being that his pants didn’t require systems checks and being loaded meant something completely different.

  The historical reference that caught his attention as soon as he gained access to Imperial archives involved weapons of mass destruction no longer available to the Imperial Fleet Grand General — Kin Roland. SLOMN topped the list.

  Serpent Long-range Organism Mazz-Force Nuclear. The phrase sounded like an Earth Fleet acronym, cumbersome as it was ominous. Apparently, there were plenty of hammer and nail thinkers in both civilizations. Crush the enemy, demand compliance of citizens. Who cared if worlds were destroyed and millions sent to early graves?

  Great. The universe had no shortage of xenophobic warmongers and they all wanted him to pull the trigger.

  The creatures burning world after world were nothing more than genetic weapons of mass destruction turned against their masters. He understood why the Slomn wanted to destroy the ships in the subterranean graveyard. They were Earth Fleet, probably the first human force the Mazz Empire encountered. The old ships were likely the first target of the genetically mutated super weapons.

  General Nander chose Kin to clean up the Imperial mess because his own people hadn’t been able to do it during eons of constant war. Once again, Kin’s marching orders ended in genocide.

  He wanted to turn the Slomn monsters loose on their masters out of pure spite. Righteous anger had never been his thing, and he marveled at the heat pumping from his chest. Embracing the sensation felt natural and he almost bowed to the force of it.

  A file caught his attention. He opened the document and spent several hours reading of another race designed to commit racial murder. Mazz agents had died and committed assassinations to obtain the information. He read descriptions of wars undocumented by historians of any race, or more accurately, of wars hidden from the public.

  The creation of Slomn weapons had been part of the ancient vendetta. He read until his eyes trembled with fatigue.

  Nander had warned him not to search too hard for answers. It was good advice.

  Captain Trak hailed him via com link. “Permission to enter.”

  “Enter.” Kin watched the tall, powerfully built man stride across the room and collapse his helmet assembly into the torso of the SKIN armor. “Where I come from, we simply knock on the door.”

  “Armor has communications systems for a reason. If you wish to change protocol, I will draft an order and see it distributed.”

  Kin stood, moving closer to his deactivated armor, although he could never get into it in time for a fight. He picked up a hand computer and held it toward Trak. “I reviewed the Slomn file.”

  Trak stared straight ahead.

  Kin waited. His aide, bodyguard, and staff officer held the position of attention like it was a weapon, or perhaps armor.

  “Have you contacted Earth Fleet?” Kin asked.

  Trak nodded. “Commander Westwood doesn’t believe the Enemy of Man could gain control of our forces. I didn’t explain or elaborate. When he was done with his tirade, I issued your demands.”

  “And?”

  “He wants proof of the existence of the Slomn race. During the conversation, he implied his warships would strike our orbital force.”

  “I haven’t had time to review the status of our fleet. Is Westwood’s threat credible?”

  Trak feigned relaxation and made eye contact. “If he could seize the advantage in space, he would.”

  “So it’s a stalemate.”

  “It is.”

  “I don’t want a stalemate. I want to put an end to these creatures you created to destroy Earth.”

  Trak stared at the wall. “I didn’t create them.”

  Kin liked the sarcasm. Orlan would have been more direct, but it was a start. If Trak didn’t show some initiative and creativity, Kin didn’t have a chance. So far, the captain followed a predetermined plan set in motion by Nander. But plans never survived first contact with the enemy. Kin needed leaders, not foolhardy drones. Despite Nander’s claim that every Imperial trooper received officer training, little evidence of independent thought existed.

  The putsch had grown out of groupthink. A large faction of Imperial traditionalists reacted to a situation violating their customs. They found Kin’s role intolerable and resorted to violence with no attempt to negotiate or consider a mutually beneficial plan.

  A moment passed while Kin studied the captain for a sign he understood the circumstances of the Slomn creation. The man’s initial reaction led Kin to believe Nander’s son knew why the Slomn had been created by Mazz scientists, but not the reason. Captain Trak didn’t know about the arms race of their ancestors.

  Nander hadn’t shared the role Earth Fleet played on Hellsbreach long before Kin’s grandfathers were born.

  “Tell me about the Emperor,” Kin said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You serve the Mazz Empire, so there must be an Emperor.” Kin reviewed the interview with the Mazz doctor and the impression of religious devotion to a man long dead.

  Trak sat on a bench near Kin. “It is believed we will be united with His Holiness when our trials are done.”

  “You’ve never seen him.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t think he exists.”

  Trak shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Our trials will never end, so we will never be reunited. When Sibil Clavender cast us into the void, the Emperor and his fleet were lost. Knowing his bravery and vengeful nature, it was agreed he must have sought to return to Edain and destroy the Ror-Rea. We have pursued ever since.”

  Kin didn’t have time for a history lesson, although he realized every word Trak spoke was important, even if every word was a lie. In his experience, deception spoke volumes about an enemy. Among promises, declarations, and misdirection existed the reality of their weakness. At face value, the Mazz were lost children — very mean lost children.

  “These reports indicate Clavender can take control of an alternate reality where death leads to complete oblivion. Tell me, Trak, is that how your father wished to erase the Slomn mistake?”

  Trak stared, looked away, and resumed his stiff military bearing. “General Nander expressed it more eloquently, but you are correct. Whatever force takes control of the Bleeding Grounds will secure an insurmountable tactical advantage.”

  “Explain.”

  Trak struggled for words.

  “Captain Trak, occupation of the Bleeding Grounds is the master component of General Nander’s plan. Your people have fought across numerous galaxies and destroyed worlds to bring this crusade to fruition. Tell me the rest.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “No one has ever been to the Bleeding Grounds. How can I know what the place is or how to get there?”

  Kin set aside the hand computer. “Congratulations. You spent the entire legacy of your race pursuing a goal you don’t understand and have almost no chance of executing successfully.”

  Trak clenched his jaw. “I didn’t come here to be insulted.”

  “Do you serve?”

  A vein popped up in Trak’s neck. “I serve and obey.”

  “Good. Now start using your brain.” Kin walked across the room and crowded Trak’s personal space. “Regardless of how disgusted I am that the Slomn are merely an out of control weapon aimed at my home world, the fact remains we both want them stopped. When you leave my quarters, you will select ten of my best strategic and tactical thinkers. You will direct each of them to sequester themselves in their quarters and develop a plan to defeat the Slomn with or without the use of Clavender and the Bleeding Grounds. Under no circumstances are they to confer with each other or any member of the Imperial fleet until I call a me
eting.”

  “It will be done.”

  “I will have their reports in the morning.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  WESTWOOD glared at Kin through the communication screen. The man was older, eyes harder, mouth ready to insult and curse. Contrary to Earth Fleet regulations and standard operating procedures, Planetary Forces officers crowded the bridge of the flagship EF Domination. Kin recognized a few from Crashdown. Most were unknown. The only thing he could be certain about was that they all knew him.

  “Commander Westwood,” Kin said.

  “Admiral Westwood.”

  Kin paused, studied the other faces, and addressed Westwood. “Congratulations. You’ve moved up in the world.”

  Westwood snorted. Several observers aboard the Domination laughed unpleasantly. “How did you take control of the Imperial forces?”

  Kin sent a new transmission with a touch of a button. “I’m sending a list of Earth Fleet personnel known to be KIA. Most were lost during your recent evacuation. However, others have fallen since then. Captain Raien and Sergeant Orlan died during a valiant attempt to assist me.”

  Explaining that Raien and Orlan had sought to free him from Imperial captors would only weaken his credibility with Westwood and the others. If Raien or Orlan’s death disturbed the Earth Fleet admiral, he betrayed no sign of his feelings. His face tensed with impatience.

  “Have you analyzed the reports my officers sent? The information is time-sensitive.”

  “I’ve seen the reports,” Westwood said, leaning forward and ready to use his command voice.

  Kin interrupted. “The Slomn have annihilated every world in their path until Crashdown. No fleet has been able to hurt them. Your best course of action is to agree to joint operations with my superior force, or run away. I can’t promise you will survive one day of delay.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “No, Admiral, it is a warning. I won’t initiate hostilities with Earth Fleet. No matter what you think of me or my history, I bear Earth Government and the Fleet no malice. However, I can’t emphasize the severity of the Slomn threat.”

  Westwood tilted his head. Someone spoke in his earpiece. He nodded and leaned forward. “My analysts know you have detected disturbances from the wormhole. Don’t think for a moment you can use that threat to delay the inevitable.”

  “The inevitable is the destruction of Earth and every planet between Crashdown and our home world. Unless you see reason.”

  Discipline fragmented on the Domination. Kin lowered the volume of his monitor as other admirals and captains shouted. Westwood tried to ignore them, until, with a flick of his wrist, he ordered the bridge cleared of nonessential personnel.

  “Give me something, Roland.”

  “I thought you’d never ask. I have three shuttles ready to transport prisoners and bodily remains to your custody. I’d like to send an emissary capable of detailing the Slomn threat. This exchange would be conducted under the Universal Conventions of War. I expect my personnel returned at my request and not a second longer.”

  Westwood stared through the screen. He glanced at something on his desk Kin couldn’t see. When he looked up, he exhaled.

  “I am sorry about Raien. She had potential. Tell me, man to man, what we are dealing with?”

  Kin held his gaze steady. “I need an official response to my offer.”

  “Fine. Send the shuttles,” Westwood said. “Now stop playing games. How did you come to be in charge down there?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Westwood. Though you might consider how desperate the situation is that I was put in charge.”

  “The Imperials actually accept your authority?”

  “Yes. And before you get any ideas, understand my security measures are unbeatable. I’ve already taken your recon scouts. They will be returned with the others.”

  Westwood flinched.

  “Each of them admitted they were sent to assassinate me. Go easy on them. None of them deserve a court-martial. Resisting interrogation would have been pointless, since I know from their equipment what their mission was.”

  “Keep them.”

  “No, Admiral. I’ll send them back with the others. For one reason and one reason only.”

  Westwood listened, although he seemed ready to reach through the screen and strangle Kin.

  “I showed them the Slomn. You may not believe me, but their report should be convincing.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “ACKNOWLEDGE the order, Captain Trak.”

  “Lieutenant Rebecca Croix and her companions are to be located and secured without harm.”

  “Don’t fail me in this, Captain,” Kin said. He activated his helmet and spent a moment adjusting to the increased pressure and sensory displays.

  “General, I must repeat my objections to this mission,” Trak said.

  Kin turned away. “Iso, are you ready?”

  “I am, Kin-rol-an-da,” Iso said.

  His jovial imitation of Reaper speech sent a chill down Kin’s spine.

  The three cyborgs he met after being captured were named Bronk, Clash, and Harm. They approached when summoned, glaring as though Kin had challenged them to a fight. Kin pointed to the front of the formation and they lumbered toward the Imperial scouting platoon.

  “Is Susso coming or not?” Kin asked. The female shapeshifter made him nervous, but Iso promised she wouldn’t repeat her imitation of Becca.

  “I have arrived, General,” Susso said. Her tone held none of the levity of Iso’s banter. She seemed both embarrassed and resentful while in Kin’s presence and only revealed herself at the last moment. She had been blending with the Imperial troopers. Her lip curled to the left in perfect imitation of a battle-hardened soldier. Spies in the Imperial Fleet fought as hard as any grunt. There was no other way to blend.

  “Then we’re ready,” Kin said. He watched Susso, wondering what her true form looked like. For an irresistible moment, he imagined her as Rebecca, then Laura, then Captain Raien.

  He thrust away the image and waited for his mind to attempt the irrational visualization again, wondering which of the women would rise to the surface. Thoughts of Laura and Rebecca swirled. He mourned Raien without words.

  Guilt plagued him when he had no time for private struggles.

  Captain Trak finished issuing orders to one of his runners, and turned to approach Kin. With leisurely, confident strides, he came forward. “If you won’t change your mind, at least allow me to lead the scouts. I know the terrain better than most, and you need me.”

  “I need you to keep tabs on my generals.”

  “A useless exercise. And foolish. How long before they give me new orders?”

  “That would be treason.”

  “Depends on the orders. Does Earth Fleet lack bureaucracy? If your mission is as important as you say, you need me at your side.”

  “Are you going to punch me in the face?” Kin hadn’t forgotten the brutal treatment Trak gave him before Nander put a stop to it. Since the general’s death, Trak had been reliable and even risked his life to assure Kin’s ascendancy, but Kin had his doubts.

  Trak grimaced. The expression almost looked like contrition.

  “I need you, Captain Trak. Take charge of the scouts and insure they understand my orders regarding Earth Fleet personnel on Edain and Crater Town refugees.”

  “Yes, General.”

  “Let’s find Dax and the Reaper King.”

  DROON leaned forward from where he sat astride Garjiin and patted the creature’s neck. “Not Garjiin’s fault. The winged king took Cla-ven-da from Droon. Not Garjiin’s fault.”

  Across the river, Dax and his warriors sat cross-legged in a circle with Clavender sleeping in the center. She had not spoken since the failed attempt to rescue Kin-rol-an-da from the Mazz. Droon felt her pain. Every attempt she made to control the wormhole taxed her strength. She wasn’t wounded during the assault, but Dax had carried her to safety as Mazz guns cut the air and
slew many Ror-Rea warriors.

  Droon didn’t want to remember. Many of his Kindred had died.

  More of the Wingers came through the mountains each day. At the beginning of the war, Dax and his Ror-Rea fighters had been the smallest force on the field. Men and women alike fought with reckless courage Droon respected, even though it made him uneasy. Standing against the Mazz was good. Droon exalted to see it. Standing fearlessly against Droon’s Kindred was not good. His consolation was that the Wingers fell victim to fear when they met Reapers face to face. Charging into battle was different from having your face eaten as you were dragged into a warren.

  Droon needed the Wingers to fight the Mazz. The almost-humans hunted his Kindred without mercy. They stole what belonged to Droon. They enslaved the Kindred.

  Mazz. Droon’s mount shifted under him. Kin-rol-an-da is not for the Mazz.

  Once, during the Long Hunt, Droon captured Kin-rol-an-da and Cla-ven-da. Now the Mazz had the man and the Ror-Rea had the woman.

  Garjiin shifted, snorted, then snarled long and low.

  Droon returned his attention to the river and saw Dax glide across the water. He landed near Droon and the restless Reapers who guarded him.

  “What do you want, Dax King?” Droon asked.

  “Victory.”

  The Ror-Rea leader always answered with victory. But there would be more. The winged ones talked almost as much as the humans.

  “Warriors have returned from the next valley. They report a Mazz scouting force with strangers among them,” Dax said.

  “What kind of strangers?” Droon asked. He clicked his teeth as he watched Dax.

  “Cyborgs.”

  Droon snarled. Machine men had tried to take Cla-ven-da. He thought he killed them. “How many?”

  “Three cyborgs and a platoon of Mazz troopers. It is a small force. My warriors want to attack. I thought your kindred might need a meal.”

  “Yes. A meal.” Droon looked across the river at Cla-ven-da. Is she dreaming? Does she see beyond to the place that bleeds? “I will go with my warriors and kill the intruders.”