by Scott Moon
Men and women, boys and girls, whatever. Kin’s head hurt and his heart felt vaporous and out of place.
PLANETARY defenses cut the first wave to pieces. Kin, the greenest noncom in the vanguard, kept his squad alive and took command of two other squads separated from their platoons. That was when he noticed the difference between the sound of mortal and venial wounds; dying soldiers cried without tears — or cursed.
“You’ve got a hole through your bicep.” Dog Rolston was seven feet tall. In his gear, he looked like a long-limbed ogre with a head too big for his body. He took hold of Kin’s arm and glared at the strike. “Your sub-armor has constricted it. You’ll need to have it examined.”
Kin nodded.
A short, thick man in a battered FSPAA unit burst forward, smoke rising from weapons, flecks of napalm glowing on metal and ceramic plates. “That fucking rocked! I was full auto with both guns when we came over the last hill,” Greg Teamster said. He was the same size as Dog in terms of overall mass, but two feet shorter.
Kin glanced at the stocky trooper. “Good for you, Dwarf.”
“Go to hell, Roland,” the man said.
Kin resisted the urge to use the nickname again. “That is ‘sir’ to you.” Battered inside his FSPAA, as was every member of the planetary assault force, Dwarf hadn’t been cut by a bullet or shrapnel. It was easy to be cocky when you had killed without taking a scratch.
The giant and the dwarf were an odd pair. Of late, here on Crashdown with the Battle of the Bleeding Grounds behind him and memories haunting his steps, Kin suffered a powerful dream of begging the two men for water on a desolate planet that could only be the Reaper home world. Flashbacks of storming Hellsbreach caused him to sweat.
He compared the troopers. Dwarf didn’t impress him.
Dog Rolston had ignored celebration and shit talking, ignored the awkward silence between Kin and Dwarf. He magnetically secured his weapons to his armor and knelt to strip usable parts and ammunition from dead friends.
Kin stared at the violation but did nothing.
He had looked the other way when Dog, Dwarf, and several others returned to a smoldering enemy bunker to scavenge for supplies and trophies as the second wave of the planetary assault troopers streaked toward the surface unopposed.
“We’ll all get the same combat ribbon,” an average-sized trooper said.
Kin studied the private, unable to remember his name.
“Call me Jojo.”
“You’re not going to resupply in the field like the others?”
“I’m more of an information guy.” His smile was more comforting than a slit throat and nearly as wide. “I’ll have a look around.”
If that one isn’t Counter Intelligence Division, he will be.
THE weight of Crashdown gravity and the peculiar post-battle breeze pulled Kin back to the present with surreal force, but not completely. He watched the memory of the man wander away, unnoticed by the other troopers, and realized Jojo was also a shadow in the persistent half-nightmare that had plagued him for years.
Dog, Dwarf, Jojo, and Hellsbreach — of the nightmares he retained after Earth VIII, this was the least violent. It was one of the few post-traumatic stress flashbacks born of imagination. It was a bad memory that didn’t feel like the past.
Earth VIII, for all the bloodshed, had been a walk in the park compared to Hellsbreach, or even Hector’s Mountain, which was on a planet named New Mediterrania. After the battle for Hector’s Mountain, veterans spread word of its beauty throughout the galaxy and called the planet by the popular name for the savage campaign.
Kin met Orlan for the first time during the mission. The large-scale hostage-rescue operation became a true hero’s story in the history books. It would have been easy with air support and an artillery barrage to soften bunkers and machine-gun nests. For all the fighting, the thing he remembered about Hector’s Mountain was the barroom brawl afterward — and only because of the pissing match between Orlan and Dog. Until that moment, Kin thought he knew who was the biggest, meanest bastard in the Fleet.
No one cared about the fight except for Dog’s friends, who argued about the winner with anyone willing or semi-willing to listen. Orlan didn’t have friends, so it was always a one-sided discussion.
Few troopers had time to keep score. Most just wanted to get laid before leaving the system. The entire division took a week of liberty in Cathy’s Town as Hector’s Mountain smoked in the background, rivers running red, forest fires clouding the atmosphere.
Kin hadn’t thought of his early career since Droon came to Crashdown. Names and faces paraded through his memory — some good, others tragic — but all of them comforting compared to where he now stood.
The destruction and carnage left in the wake of the Battle of the Bleeding Grounds couldn’t be described. Kin had seen cities leveled, planets sterilized, and space docks torn to shreds by heavy weapons. He’d witnessed the best and the worst of men during the hours following victory. And when he said “men,” he meant men and women. FSPAA armor made female violence look just like male violence. Sex didn’t matter, race didn’t matter, rank didn’t matter. Killing was killing and death was permanent. He’d learned what a person would do to stay alive during a retreat. And of course he’d seen all the nightmares of Hellsbreach. Fighting on the Bleeding Grounds caused a different damage. Reality became unsettled. The Emperor of the Mazz race was Filoussage Onderbock, first of his name. Kin remembered General Nander fondly by comparison. In death, he was more real than Onderbock.
Rebecca couldn't be found. He had the ungenerous suspicion she was avoiding him.
He sat next to Laura Keen and shared his theory concerning the Emperor’s name, then studied the profile of her face as she looked toward ships on the edge of the battlefield. They were Earth Fleet vessels, pristine and new. A trace amount of space thruster grime smeared the exterior. The engines were unlike anything he’d seen — huge, dark, and dormant. His first impression, strange as it seemed, was not of thrust but of machines that devoured energy and changed it.
“Filoussage Onderbock,” Kin said. “His parents must have wanted bullies to pound his face.”
“Is that what those fancy Earth Fleet warships are, the bullies?” Laura asked.
“Onder can’t stand against them,” Kin said, distracted. There were other forces on the Bleeding Grounds of Crashdown. From his position on the foothills, he observed the tattered remnants of the Ror-Rea and sensed Clavender was among them, although he couldn’t see her.
Across the valley from Winger survivors, Westwood’s Own entrenched the first Earth Fleet camp, almost as though the admiral wasn’t sure what kind of welcome to provide the newcomers.
The Emperor stood on a hill with chrome-plated bodyguards surrounding him as he stared at the exotic new warships of Earth. There had been no rest or liberty for his people. They had been drawn into ranks and re-equipped the moment the Battle of the Bleeding Grounds ended. What disturbed Kin were the Mazz units he didn’t recognize — non-camouflaged SKINS in solid colors and gleaming metal. Chrome was not a feature he had seen on a Mazz soldier before Onderbock.
“Look at him,” Laura said. “How many rulers in history went into exile and came back to absolute loyalty?”
“Absolute might be a rather strong term,” Kin said as he surveyed the motionless armies. Can Onderbock be the Mazz Emperor? Ten thousand years is a long time. The only reason he didn’t laugh at the idea was that he believed Clavender was nearly immortal. The Mazz were human, more or less. He struggled with the concept of a deathless Mazz Emperor. As a result, he could not trust the man.
When Clavender opened the way to the Bleeding Grounds, it materialized as an overlay of Long Canyon. Prior to the final battle, Kin spent weeks fleeing from Droon across the uneven terrain. He knew this area well. Images of his bullets striking Corporal Raif boomed through his memory unbidden. He recalled Rickson’s fear and Clavender’s tears.
He’d allowed Clingers to devour his friend Bea
r not a half day’s march from here. Good job, Kin. You’re a regular hero. Your friends don’t need enemies.
Before the battle, there’d been towering spires, gullies and sandbars, twisting scrub thickets that appeared tame from a distance, drawing unwary travelers into a deadly maze. Now the place looked like red glass with a few crater-pocked hills and ridges like busted scabs. Kin was tired of being hunted, tired of being an outlaw, tired of being a general about to be betrayed or traitor about to be hanged. Mazz soldiers had followed him and obeyed his orders. Now they watched him, ignored his plight, and refused to share information.
Emperor Filoussage Onderbock commanded the largest hill in Long Canyon, the position Kin had scouted and judged the best location to deal with the remaining threats. There were still Reapers, Wingers, and Earth Fleet facing the Mazz. Nasty local creatures had been awakened by the noise of battle.
You’re welcome, Onder. Don’t mention it. I saved your army. No need to thank me.
Admiral Westwood remained in a weak tactical position near the newly arrived vessels, more of a political decision than a strategic one. The winged people of the Ror-Rea centered themselves around Clavender in the middle of the now absent wormhole nexus. Kin could hear them singing and see the slow, rhythmic dance of their wings.
Images of the final battle punched memories free of the mental cages he used to remain sane. He had thought the Ror-Rea warriors would never stop coming from the skies. Every wave of fighters seemed more glorious than the last. Had they not been fighting Mazz war machines, Earth Fleet drop-ships, Reapers in bloodlust, and the Slomn, they would have carried the day.
We began the fight united against the Slomn. Then the ancient rivalries and hatred exploded in blood and fire.
What did I do wrong?
Laura brushed past him, drawing him from his dark reverie with physical contact that was both casual and intimate. She moved so close that her hair dragged over his arm and she breathed on his neck for the briefest moment. Then she stepped away to adjust the collar of her shirt with one finger.
“Do they have factions within factions?” Laura asked. A dry breeze shifted her thick hair as she waited for him to meet her gaze.
Kin considered the duplicity of the Mazz people. There had been a putsch to block his ascension to command. Of course. Why not? He was an outsider and a notorious traitor. His initial success among them stood as a testament to General Nander’s influence. Things changed once Emperor Filoussage Onderbock, their so-called savior and messiah, returned. Nander couldn’t have seen that coming. No one had really believed a man could live for thousands of years.
“They are men and women like anyone else, sort of. I can’t say I understand them. It’s hard to believe they have a perfect devotion to their leader.” Kin took a sip of water from a container. “I need to talk to Clavender. I don’t think this new fleet came through the wormhole.”
“Is that possible?” Laura asked.
Kin shook his head as he tried to remember everything about the scene. “These ships were not here before Clavender closed the Bleeding Grounds.”
Laura pushed her hair back and sat up straighter, making the most of her figure. She gazed across the landscape, dark and grand, and looked beautiful in the wind. Kin wished Rebecca had never returned because now he was torn and confused. He couldn’t imagine that Laura didn’t feel slighted. She wouldn’t be consoled now that it seemed Rebecca was avoiding him. If he turned to her for comfort, would she be angry at being his second choice?
He laughed. Laura would make him pay, and he’d deserve it.
He looked across the hills and plains on the floor of Long Canyon, trying to spot Rebecca or Clavender and found neither. He knew where Clavender was but couldn’t see through the ritual dancing and the display of wings. Some of the wings remained battle black, which wasn’t a good sign.
Troopers deployed from the new Earth Fleet ships. A chill went up Kin’s spine. Their FSPAA units were something to behold — smooth lines and no extra bulk or weight.
Laura laughed. “You should see your expression.”
Kin forced a laugh. “I need gear, and those units look state-of-the-art.”
CHAPTER TWO
Ogre
“LET’S greet the newest Crashdown invaders,” Kin said.
Laura stood, smiled, and smoothed the front of her shirt, accentuating her flat abdominals and graceful hips. Faded and stained wool gave her a provincial style; it wasn’t something he thought about, but she looked good in the way of Crater Town hard living. She pushed back hair that had escaped a rough, self-knotted braid, and gifted him a sultry smile. With skill that made him proud, she pulled the pistol from her leg holster and peeked open the slide just enough to make sure it was loaded. Satisfied, she slid the weapon home, her eyes focused on the path ahead.
A streak of either gray or harsh blond hair caught his attention, causing him to study her a moment too long. Her dark tresses were lighter than he remembered and he thought it interesting that he hadn’t admired the quality of the lustrous feminine waves for weeks. There had been a time when he gripped it by the fistful. His rough palms could still feel it like the weight of heavy silk.
“Rickson will pout for days if he misses this,” she said.
“He was causing trouble with Ogre, last I heard.” Kin checked his weapons. During the recent fight, he scavenged a motley collection from Earth Fleet and Mazz soldiers alike.
Without powered armor, each step had become a contest — his will versus the universe. Fighting for the Mazz Empire, leading them in battle, had made his body soft compared to all the survivalist years in Crater Town before they came. He noticed Laura’s attention on something ahead and shook his head in a half successful attempt to clear his chaotic memories.
“Trak, shift your flank and keep your distance,” Kin screamed through the SKIN comlink. “Ignore the Slomn front line. They’re spent. Watch the second rank.”
Trak and his Mazz soldiers formed into fire teams with quick efficiency.
Sometimes quick was too slow.
A first sergeant disappeared in a beam of Slomn plasma that cut a wound in the foothill. Others tumbled into the air, appearing to struggle, though Kin knew they were dead. Momentum gave their arms and legs artificial motion. When they struck the ground, they rolled into balls of broken armor.
Trak’s counter attack killed three of the Slomn serpent-men, including the monster that had ambushed his team.
Not bad. That’s the best strike we’ve made in hours.
Kin moved, took control of a leaderless squad, and reunited it with a larger unit. With crisp commands, he left for another part of the battlefield as Earth Fleet and Mazz artillery batteries shifted fire toward the heart of the Slomn force.
Wingers fell from the sky.
He turned to face a horde of Reapers charging over his position, intent on some other enemy. He came to his feet without his rifle and fired his pistol until empty, grabbing a weapon lying on the dirt as though fate placed it there just for him.
He took the sword of a Ror-Rea clan leader and swung it until it broke. Fewer and fewer of the Reapers fought with lightning-charged whips that appeared to be organic rather than technological. No trooper had been able to recover one of the weapons for study on Hellsbreach. Here on Crashdown, in the place that had been Long Canyon, he wondered if he might have better luck.
“Are you okay, Kin?”
He swallowed hard and faced Laura, smiled, then shrugged. “Just trying to remember how many bullets I have.”
“Oh,” she said. “It looked like you were reliving the battle.”
Kin’s duty belt supported a Mazz pistol on his left hip and an Earth Fleet pistol on his right. The jumpsuit he had worn under his armor resembled a uniform — with a little imagination. He cut the damaged sleeves off and tied them over the laces of his boots from insteps to shins. He wasn’t sure where he found the boots but was certain they weren’t military issue.
He l
ooked at his feet. The bloodstained soles were charred around the edges, but they fit. It occurred to him that the boots must have been taken by a trooper when Captain Raien’s company looted Gold Village. And then I found them where?
“Are we going straight up there?” Laura asked.
Kin shrugged as he walked, pushing aside memories of Gold Village, battles, and self-doubt. He swaggered forward, too exhausted to imitate the formal bearing of an officer or the boot-stomping advance of a gunnery sergeant.
“I am tired of intrigue,” he said, thinking of his sudden reversal of fortune with the Mazz and how it reminded him of Dax, King of the Ror-Rea, being repeatedly deposed by his people.
Laura locked her jaw and avoided looking at him as she walked.
“I thought you would give me up to Earth Fleet when Westwood arrived with his busted armada,” he said.
“That was always my plan, once I finished committing high treason to help you escape justice.”
He didn’t quite laugh, but he felt warm inside. “I should get you flowers or something.”
“What are these new ships?” Laura asked.
Kin eyed her for a moment, then faced the Earth Fleet Armada in the distance.
The newcomers dominated the pass leading to the Bleeding Grounds, now just a regular stretch of Crashdown real estate that had occupied the wormhole nexus for a time. He negotiated the familiar and unpleasant terrain as another man might roll out of bed. Slipping through a dry gulch, he pushed through blackened nettles that tore his already battered clothing and climbed a rocky slope. The navigational acrobatics moved him over a landscape that looked simple and unassuming from a distance. He studied a chasm concealing vines and realized he could not walk straight to the Earth Fleet position.
“This way,” he said.
Laura tied her hair and followed. “You’re not going to draw one of those big pistols?”
He shrugged. “I need both hands to climb.”
“Or to swat bugs.” She knocked a mosquito the size of a bumblebee away from her face. “I hate these things.”
