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

by Scott Moon

  Something growled from around the corner.

  “Kin?” She touched her pistol.

  He shook his head. “Leave it in the holster. It’s Ogre.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He moved forward, keeping his hands wide for balance, stepping carefully on loose rocks. He didn’t make a move for his weapons. “Rickson, are you there?”

  The dog growled again.

  “If he’s there, why doesn’t he answer? Why doesn’t Ogre just come to us?” Laura asked.

  Because I got the boy killed just like I got Jack Tenderfoot and the others killed on Hellsbreach. Just like I got Bear killed on the edge of Long Canyon. Captain Raien. Orlan. Dog Rolston, and all the others left behind so many years ago. In the end, I’ll fail everyone I care about.

  Kin approached the corner of the rock outcropping, sidestepping wide, using every centimeter of the angle to see inside before making the turn.

  Ogre growled louder, describing pain as only a trapped animal could, then snapped his teeth at something.

  Kin paused, tensed, and relaxed in an instant. He was already moving by the time the sounds registered in his conscious mind — horrible whistling noises bursting from shadows. Dozens of banshee wails answered the call like an orchestra of death.

  Kin drew both pistols and dashed forward, firing as he picked targets. Clingers twisted into tubes and shot across the canyon floor like water snakes in a pool of blood. Several others burst from the side of the cliff, expanding like parachutes full of teeth as they descended.

  Reloading was almost impossible with a weapon in each hand. As soon as he was out of bullets, he holstered the Mazz gun and reloaded the other. The Mazz pistol was heavier and more accurate, but he trusted the Fleet version better.

  Kin moved sideways as he yelled, “Laura, stay back.” He dispatched several Clingers and saw she had the sense to shoot from a distance — taking her time, squeezing the trigger and looking through the sights. He wasn’t sure if her bullets were striking the monsters or if they would ricochet and kill him instead, but he smiled with two-thirds of his mouth. That’s Laura, always ready for a brawl.

  He laughed and put thoughts of the councilwoman-turned-gunslinger aside. He forgot about Ogre, the reason he was here. He concentrated on killing.

  When it was done, he again held both guns, smoke drifting from the barrels. Heat indicator lights warned that the weapons would malfunction if pushed harder. There was a hole in his short-term memory.

  Ogre levered himself upright and limped toward Kin, strips of fur and flesh hanging from his leg. Part of his face had been chewed and one Clinger had started to mount his back before Kin arrived and began shooting.

  “Where’s Rickson, mutt?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Battle Bitch

  DARKNESS rolled through the valley as Rebecca and the remnants of her brigade stomped forward in battered Mech armor. We haven’t been a brigade for a long time.

  “Stay low, stay alive,” Lt. Randal Dogface said.

  She heard him despite the damaged comlink and static caused by the residual effect of the Bleeding Grounds aftermath. She remembered having a full complement of mechanized warriors but thinking of lost comrades made her head spin. She had vomited twice in her helmet and thanked God for the tenth time that the vacuum still worked. The smell lingered. She ignored it.

  Thoughts of Kin overwhelmed her when time slowed. A smile curved her lips as she thought about Earth VI. That had been the only day she enjoyed wearing a dress. The memory carried her through her darkest moments, although it had been a sad time. Her dearest friend since childhood had been strong and whole.

  The man she discovered on Crashdown resembled the pre-Hellsbreach Kin Roland, but his blue eyes had become not just hard but electric with intensity and calculation. He moved more cautiously and exploded into action more quickly. His obsession with the people of Crater Town both fascinated and disturbed her. Perhaps she was jealous.

  Memories of their reunion felt like a healing bone break. Should she suffer guilt for hiding her identity? Had he resented the charade?

  She pushed the memory away, recalling her last sight of him during the Bleeding Grounds battle. He had rushed to the top of a hill and took command of Mazz soldiers, Wingers, and the remains of Captain Raien’s company. It seemed the Reapers followed him for a time. No matter how often she replayed the events in her head, she couldn’t believe it. Kin could lead anyone anywhere.

  She’d seen him twice after the battle; both times, there had been Mazz and Earth Fleet agents stalking him. There was something wrong with the spies, something dark and untrustworthy in the way they moved.

  “If we get out of this trap, I think it’s time to gather up your boyfriend and make a run for it,” Dogface said.

  “We need a ship first.” Rebecca looked to the next wave of shadows. “I have a bad feeling Westwood’s response will be negative.”

  Wormhole residue soaked into the ground and disappeared.

  Dogface laughed with harsh edges on the sound. “I never expected to see Westwood again when we stepped off his flagship. Thought you were lucky.”

  “I am lucky.”

  “So lucky that we won’t leave this planet alive, and if we do, it will be to face a court martial.”

  Rebecca smiled in the privacy of her Mech unit. “You’re forgetting that my luck only involves finding a good fight.” For a time, Rebecca’s peers had called her Action Becca because she always stumbled into the heaviest conflict. She quashed the name after several ranking officers courted her, expecting a different kind of action.

  “Oh fuck, here they come,” Dogface said.

  Three squads of Mazz soldiers broke around the cover of a ridge, rockets announcing their intentions. Radar locks and impact alerts blared in Rebecca’s helmet. Vapor trails lagged behind the racing missiles.

  “We expected this. It ain't over till it’s over,” Rebecca said. “Execute Red Scramble.”

  Rebecca took three Mech units forward, then broke over a rise and dropped into a riverbed while Dogface and the remaining Mechs backtracked and circled toward their predetermined rendezvous point.

  “Stay in communications range,” she said. “We can’t remain separated for long and survive.”

  “Roger that,” Dogface said. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll give Kin your love when I see him.”

  Rebecca laughed. “I’ll give him yours first.”

  “That’s my battle bitch,” he said.

  For a tense moment, Rebecca thought she heard the rumble of the remaining Mazz Wheeler. The huge war-machine was like a rolling fortress with heavy artillery, powerful energy weapons, and limitless ammunition. She knew it was on the other side of Long Canyon. That was why she had come this way. Things had been going badly for days. With her luck, she would run smack into a column of Slomn destroyers when all reports indicated they had been eliminated or banished through a wormhole by Sibil Clavender.

  Rebecca wasn’t as lucky as people claimed she was.

  “We’re coming to you now,” Dogface said. “Slight damage to my Mech and Albert’s, but no casualties.”

  “I’ll write you up for an award.” Rebecca’s words sounded distracted. She knew they did. The icons popping up on her display washed away fear of Mazz soldiers and replaced it with something akin to nausea.

  “Randal, do you have a pool started on what Westwood’s response to our inquiry will be?”

  “Yep. Five-to-one odds. I’m more of a gambler than you, Becca, so I put my money on forgiveness.”

  Ice formed in Rebecca’s gut. She couldn’t get the image of Westwood’s hard eyes out of her brain. Maybe she should’ve just screwed him like that slut Laura Keen did. Maybe she should have stayed on the ship when Westwood fled Crashdown and let Kin fend for himself.

  She muttered a curse. Some choices weren’t choices.

  Admiral Westwood’s personal guard advanced, a full company of repaired FSPAA units and two light ta
nks. By the time Rebecca was in hailing distance, Westwood’s Own had rolled back the smaller Mazz force.

  “This is Lt. Rebecca Lacroix, Mech Unit Commander: Crashdown. Identify and state your intentions.”

  “Order your men to stand down, Lacroix,” a voice replied.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Dogface said.

  “You’re on the main channel,” Rebecca warned.

  “At this point, I don’t give a fuck.”

  Westwood’s officer spoke over the communication channel. Either the link was dry, the man’s tone was arid with chronic boredom, or she was projecting her fears onto the faceless voice and stripping it of humanity. Or it was all three. “Take down the name of Lt. Randal Dogface for additional discipline,” he said.

  Dogface shifted his weight side to side. “I’m no stranger to being flogged.” Troopers surrounded him. “I will hold on to my weapons if it’s all the same to you. We were only doing our duty.”

  “You are AWOL.” Admiral Westwood’s powerful communication link cut into the conversation.

  “We were fighting the enemies of Earth.” Rebecca wondered why she bothered to argue.

  “You disobeyed my orders.” Westwood steered his gleaming armor nearer.

  “At least I showed your mother a good time the before they shut down the Fleet whorehouse,” Randal said as he checked his Mech Unit weapons.

  Cold silence radiated over the tableau. Westwood’s Admiral Class FSPAA gleamed in the heavy Crashdown sun. “Make sure Lt. Randal Dogface gets extra lashes before his execution.”

  Rebecca looked across twenty meters separating her from Dogface.

  He stared back. “Here we go.”

  Rockets burst from Rebecca’s Mech unit as she accelerated toward cover, such as it was. She hadn’t planned for this, though she’d feared it.

  I’m so tired of fighting everyone.

  In all the years she’d operated Mech armor, she’d only been knocked over twice — once in training and once during the Battle of Crater Town.

  Rocks smashed her visor as she tumbled. Momentum forced the Mech unit onto its head, huge legs overbalancing and flailing forward. She rotated at the waist, heard something mechanical pop, and landed heavily on one side. Dogface jumped from a place beyond her vision, landing beside her as he strafed Westwood’s Own with heavy machine guns.

  “Get up, battle bitch!” Dogface rushed away; fighting, cursing, and rallying his squad.

  Rebecca regained her wits more slowly than she would have liked but saw he had pulled off another of his violent, rage-fueled miracles. I need to learn how to do that crazy berserker shit. She rocked the Mech several times, then thrust onto her feet.

  “Albert, Donnie, Kate, follow the units pursuing Dogface and eliminate them,” she said.

  “On it.”

  Rebecca stalked through the smoke — huge, deadly and purposeful — aware that causing the dark gray cloud to swirl would reveal her position. The span of the conflict expanded with every shot fired. Mechs were powerful weapons. Enemies tended to skirt the outer limits of effective combat range. Using their knowledge of human nature, Dogface and the others were doing their part to stretch Westwood’s Own beyond their ideal battle formation.

  Luck kissed Rebecca from time to time, she had to admit as she came upon a light tank facing the other direction. She waited until it fired, then leapt on the beast’s back with short-range cutting weapons.

  Kin would love this.

  She dismantled the war machine but spared the crew.

  Behind the next ridge, she regretted her decision because Westwood’s Own weren’t showing the same courtesy. Albert and Donnie fell out of their broken Mechs, hands up. Seconds later, they seemed to realize the futility of surrender as they pulled survival pistols and faced death at the hands of five troopers in FSPAA units.

  Rebecca had a laughably small cache of ammunition. “Fuck it. We tried to surrender.” Anger and regret followed the supersonic bullets that cut two of Westwood’s Own in half. The other three turned to fight.

  She took them head on.

  Albert was dead when it was over. She couldn’t find Donnie.

  Westwood screamed orders over the radio. “I need three heavy companies of marines on my coordinates, right now. Send Mech Units and air support.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Captain Trak

  OGRE whined and yelped as Kin used the last of his water to rinse bite and tear marks. He held the animal down, and mostly the dog remained still, only trying to bite once.

  “I know that hurts.” He cut his shirt off the jumpsuit and handed it to Laura. “Can you make that into bandages?”

  He tied the wounds as best he could, talking as he worked. “I need to check for Rickson.”

  She nodded.

  Half an hour later, he’d found no sign of the young man.

  “That’s good news, right?” Laura asked.

  Kin didn’t answer.

  She shifted her lithe frame. “If you didn’t find anything, that means he is still alive.”

  “I found something.”

  “Your I’m-a-badass suspense thing is killing me. A gentleman would offer less teeth grinding and more reassurance.”

  “We are not the only people interested in the new Earth Fleet ships.” He surveyed the area around the makeshift camp. Ogre, glassy eyed from first-aid narcotics, struggled to move. The animal was tough, but Kin had seen other survivors, both animals and humans, lose the will to live after being mauled by Clingers. He hoped the dog would make it. Thinking of better times in Crater Town, he put his hand on the animal’s neck. “I’ll be nicer to you in the future.”

  Ogre flared wet nostrils and refused to look away.

  Laura came to her feet, gripping her pistol, peering into the darkness. “I feel a sneak.”

  “If it’s who I think it is, he has a good reason to be careful.” Kin put one finger to his lips and caught her attention, then moved closer to the opening of the partial cave and into the crease of a shadow. Moving heel to toe in a crouching posture, he waited for the familiar Mazz soldier to appear.

  Captain Trak crept out of the night, then looked at Laura in confusion. “Where is Kin Roland?”

  “You always forget to sweep the corners,” Kin said.

  Trak faced Kin but didn’t draw his weapon. “I’m the only friend you have in the Mazz Empire. Respect is the proper response in this situation.”

  “Not sure how much respect I can have for any Mazz soldier. Yesterday, I was leading your people to victory. Now I’m being hunted.”

  “Not by me,” Trak said.

  Kin studied the Mazz captain, needing to believe him. “How close do you think you can get to these ships before they send out a team to capture you?”

  Trak looked puzzled. “I came looking for you. And the dog. My men found your friend Rickson and took him to their quarters. I won’t be able to delay reporting we have him in custody, so if you are going to talk to him, you need to come with me.”

  “Why would you want a shepherd boy?” Kin asked.

  “My duty is to serve. After the battle ended, my Emperor decreed that all Mazz troopers are to secure the safety of the Crater Town survivors.”

  “I bet,” Kin said.

  “I will take you to the boy,” Trak said.

  “You’re damn right you will.” Laura stood with her shoulders back and one hip forward, less a stateswoman and more of a rogue than ever.

  “I can carry the dog,” Trak said.

  Kin took a position between the tall Mazz soldier and Ogre. He stared at the man, studied his features, and wondered why the officer had come without his SKIN armor. Was his equipment damaged? Or had Kin’s former second-in-command thought he would appear more trustworthy unarmed?

  Perhaps the man didn’t want his movements tracked and monitored. Kin wanted to trust him. They had fought together almost as many times as they had fought against each other. There had been bumps in their relationship,
but even the memories of Trak beating him when he had been a prisoner was a nice change of pace from the Reaper nightmares of Hellsbreach.

  He wondered if Orlan had suffered similar dreams before he died. If he had, the big sergeant had never spoken of them.

  “I’ll carry the dog,” Kin said. “You lead. We’ll follow.”

  KIN followed Captain Trak along the path, thinking of a time not long ago when Clavender had described the quest of the Ror-Rea warriors to reach the wormhole. Until that day, Kin hadn’t known her people were so numerous. The sight of winged creatures flying high in the sky remained vivid in his mind. The sunrise on Crashdown was always magnificent. Now, however, he seemed to see it for the first time. There was no disturbance of the atmosphere caused by the wormhole. It had either vanished or gone to sleep. Perhaps she had closed the portal that led to this planet.

  All wormholes are one. Clavender’s voice was music in the back of his mind.

  He rubbed his neck, then gave Laura a reassuring nod. He searched for other clues Clavender had shared. Her voice whispered in his mind. I saw you on Hellsbreach. Longing for the clear vision of her face and her healing touch, he wished she had seen him on the Reaper home world — wished she had reached out to him then and healed him of the Reaper contagion.

  He hoped nothing had happened to her since the Bleeding Grounds. She was an outcast like him. In his experience, making hard, unpopular decisions was dangerous business. The magnitude of her power could destroy worlds, cast an entire race adrift in the universe, or search for peace.

  “It looks like the Wingers are fighting over something,” Laura said.

  Kin shifted his grip on Ogre. The dog was as heavy as a grown man. “I don’t like the look of that.” The Mazz and the Ror-Rea had been enemies for eons. Clavender and her people were still licking their wounds. “I was hoping the new Earth Fleet ships would cause the Emperor and King Dax to use caution.”

  “The Mazz are irrational,” Laura said. “Cock-sure and without the imagination needed to predict their own failure.” She shrugged. “As for Dax, he’s not bad looking for a man with every muscle in his upper body leading to his wings.”