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

by Scott Moon

  Rebecca dropped from her opponent as he turned to attack Dogface and the troopers. She took a deep breath, ran forward, jumped, and kicked the Mazz soldier with both feet, sending him down an embankment.

  She blacked out long enough to find herself sitting at the base of Dogface’s Mech.

  He climbed out.

  “Get in,” he said.

  “Go to hell, Dogface.”

  He grabbed her by her neck and pulled her close. “There are times when you’re a good bitch, and times when you’re a real bitch. I’m not screwing around. Get in my Mech.”

  She looked up at him, one of her eyes swollen shut.

  Westwood’s Own returned with reinforcements and a shitty attitude.

  “We have Lacroix and Dogface,” a voice said.

  Rebecca and Dogface spoke in unison. “Fuck.”

  Westwood appeared as the smoke cleared. He lowered his helmet and knelt before Rebecca. “I told you that if you left me for Kin, I’d make you pay.”

  “Shock Troopers don’t run,” Dogface said. “We’ll probably be awarded medals for jumping ship to fight a horde of Mazz and Reapers.”

  Westwood waved a hand to his troopers without diverting his gaze from Rebecca. “Get him away from me.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew how to wear an FSPAA unit,” Rebecca said. She gazed at his equipment and raised an eyebrow. “Not that you have it set up worth a shit. Might do for a parade, I guess.”

  Westwood ground his teeth, stood, and looked down on her. “I hope you retain your sense of humor at the court-martial.”

  “Shall I carry her?” a trooper asked.

  “Make her walk,” Westwood said.

  “That will slow us down. There are still Wingers and Mazz elements in the area.”

  “I gave you an order.”

  Rebecca struggled. Things became confused. Her memory had gaps associated with being struck on the head and tackled more than once.

  She staggered through the night, unable to think through pain and exhaustion. She didn’t remember when her hands had been tied, but the cords cut into her wrists.

  “Lieutenant Harris, report,” Westwood said.

  Rebecca hadn’t realized the admiral was walking behind her. “Stop looking at my ass.”

  Westwood didn’t respond.

  Rebecca couldn’t hear the internal communications of the FSPAA, but something was happening. Troopers moved to battle formation. Westwood hurried to the front.

  She didn’t know what to think of the sleek FSPAA units that met Westwood and his lieutenants but would give anything to wear the powerful-looking armor of the newcomers. Each trooper bore a blue eagle and lightning bolt emblazoned on their unit plate. None of the gear had been defaced or decorated, although it showed plenty of recent battle scars. She thought of Orlan and the amazing lion he had engraved on his FSPAA after receiving the Hero of Man award. She thought about the crude wolf carving Kin and Orlan had reportedly worn on Hellsbreach.

  These troopers followed the rules, except that they lacked respect for an admiral of the Fleet.

  “Yes, I acknowledge that you are Westwood. My orders come from Major Eagle. If you have a problem with that, talk to him.”

  “I am a Goddamn admiral! You are about to talk your way into a court-martial.”

  Rebecca winced as she smiled. Her busted lip cracked and started bleeding again. She worked her tongue over a missing tooth as she stared at the eagle emblems. Eagles for Major Eagle, how cute.

  Westwood and the stranger looked at her as she laughed, probably wondering if she’d lost her shit.

  “I’d like to meet this major,” she said.

  Westwood snorted.

  “Stand aside, Admiral. Lacroix and Dogface are coming with us.”

  Rebecca listened to them argue but watched the rest of Westwood’s Own. Something was wrong.

  What the hell is that? Her brain malfunctioned, delivering images that made no sense.

  “What the hell is that?” Westwood asked.

  “That is our third prisoner, and no concern of yours,” Eagle’s trooper said.

  Rebecca knew she should be pissing herself, but the expression on Westwood’s face fortified her courage. She glanced over her shoulder several times as troopers marched her forward.

  It wasn’t every day a woman saw Earth Fleet troopers in armor she’d never heard of dragging a Slomn warrior that looked like a heavyweight Reaper on an electro-chain.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ceremony and Shapeshifters

  “YOU never held a ceremony for me,” Kin said. Walking at his side, Trak could have been a machine. Not humorous to begin with, he was now devoid of emotion — unless scowling counted.

  A canyon had been cut deep into a mountain by the remaining battle wheel. A division — more Mazz soldiers than Kin believed to have survived the Battle of the Bleeding Grounds — stood in ranks on both sides of the procession. Most of them wore combat colors; the parade-stiff men and women looked dirty and tough. At the head of the impromptu boulevard was a temporary amphitheater facing the Grand Army of the Mazz Empire. Two companies of the red, black, and chrome SKIN units flanked the emperor. There were also two companies with unit colors of blue and two of green.

  “Speak only when spoken to,” Trak said.

  “You act like my mouth might get me into trouble,” Kin said, eyes on the Emperor and the small boy next to his throne. At this distance, neither looked real. Gold, silver, expensive gemstones, and fine fabrics decorated every person on the raised dais. William looked less like Orlan’s son than ever. Like most boys his age, he moved restlessly and played with a small electronic device that Kin could not see from a distance.

  Three soldiers in SKIN armor, large enough to rival Earth Fleet Mechs, strode down the lane, past Kin, and continued to the foot of the dais where they turned, stopped, and waited without moving. Every piece of the gear was black on black, dull, grim, and seemingly indestructible.

  “What are those?” Kin asked. “I’ve never seen that type of Mazz unit.”

  “Those are the three judges,” Trak said.

  “They look more like executioners.” Kin was drawn toward them even as he wanted to back away, turn, and run.

  “They are judges and executioners.” Trak stood at attention as he spoke.

  Kin felt as though the valley full of soldiers was swallowing him alive. The farther he progressed down the gravel-packed boulevard of the Grand Army, the more he was descending below his best vantage point and his chances to escape. Men and women in their armor, each with visors closed and darkened, seemed taller. He tried to control his breathing with little success. For the first time he could remember, he felt like a child surrounded by angry adults.

  Perhaps it was the realization that the entire Earth Fleet on Crashdown could not free him at this point. He had no friends in either army. At the last moment, he decided that he didn’t want to die under the judgment of a foreign power. For ten years on Crashdown, he resented that Earth Fleet, an organization he had served loyally, had sentenced him to death. There had been sleepless nights when he planned vengeance on High Command for putting him in that space casket and shooting him into the void.

  And now I wish I was still in Earth Fleet custody.

  To the uninitiated, the Mazz uniforms made it difficult to differentiate rank. The position of a dozen men and women near their Emperor suggested they were part of the Emperor's Council.

  “He has that many generals now?” Kin asked.

  Beside him, Trak walked without answering. The small gears of his new armor moved almost without sound.

  Wind rustled banners. Soldiers stood silent as machines. Kin looked up and down the line at different units. He decided there must be four high-generals, one for each collection of divisions. As far as he could tell, each were strong enough to operate with their own supply lines and missions. Prior to the arrival of the Emperor, he had only known of the regular field units in the camouflage uniforms. H
e commanded well in the final battle at the Bleeding Grounds. Many of his trusted officers were dead or missing. He saw no one who might advocate for him.

  Trak had been his best adviser and officer. Kin tried to ignore the large, scowling man.

  “I am sorry, Roland.”

  Kin looked at the Mazz captain. “You aren’t the first person to betray me.”

  Trak clenched his jaw, seemed about to say something, then stared straight ahead.

  “What’s the matter? Shapeshifter got your tongue?”

  “You understand nothing of my people.” He hesitated. “I did not agree with my father’s wishes, but I followed his orders.”

  “Then why are you sorry?” Kin asked.

  After a moment’s hesitation, the big Mazz officer glanced at him but refused to maintain eye contact as they walked. “Because without his misguided protection, you are in grave danger.”

  Hundreds of armored men snapped to attention as Kin reached the foot of a dais. Between him and the Emperor, there were the three over-sized warriors in black SKIN armor. There were also bodyguards around the Emperor and William, the son of Orlan, who sat in a small chair next to his protector. The boy looked miserable and bored, the device from earlier tucked away.

  Filoussage Onderbock appeared healthier than the last time Kin had seen him, but not by much. He was tall and lanky and almost seemed a different race from the rest of his followers. If William’s stories were true, the Emperor had existed in the sewers of the Iron Box — chained like a prisoner for several lifetimes.

  It didn’t seem plausible, even though Kin understood that most of the universe was unexplored and unexplained. He believed in Clavender’s longevity without question, but he couldn’t trust the Emperor. Something wasn’t right.

  Trak, before all this had happened, refused to speak about the Emperor and what could explain his long life. What was the basis for the collective faith of the Mazz race? They did not seem to have the imagination for fairy tales and immortality, yet they had searched for him for thousands of years, acting with fanatic zeal. It was the core element of their culture, even more important than vengeance against Clavender's people. Few of them had truly believed the Emperor would return — and why would they — but when he did, they accepted him readily.

  Kin suspected that the near immortality of the Emperor had something to do with Clavender and her wormhole manipulation. He reassured himself that anything was possible and the entire Crashdown affair wasn’t a galactic goat-fuck of lies, betrayal, and confused purposes — like every other war in history.

  Tight silence stretched over the scene. Kin stared at the Emperor, who stared back with godlike confidence. The Executioner Mechs backed up a step and crossed their arms. The honor guards stood straight, their long rifles resting on the ground and running straight up their arms past their shoulders like soldiers of ancient times had carried pikes. Everyone assigned to protect the Emperor had their visors closed and gave the impression of supreme alertness.

  Kin spoke first. “William, are you okay?”

  The boy nodded. He looked as though he might vomit but did not move from the Emperor’s side. He had survived an impossible childhood. The only person who tried to save him was his father Orlan, and while his father had bullied him, he had gone back and risked his life to fight Iron Box gangsters to take William out of slavery. The boy was a shapeshifter. With thousands of people all around, most of them Mazz but some of them humans of Earth descent, the boy was more alone than anyone. Kin looked around for Iso, another shapeshifter, but didn’t see him, which wasn't a surprise. Susso, however, watched him from the edge of the Emperor’s entourage; she probably thought Kin would kill her for the time she mocked him with an impersonation of Rebecca.

  The Emperor stood. His bodyguards took a respectful step backward, then braced themselves. The movement was so synchronized that it sounded like one thousand boots clicking into place at the same instant.

  “Kin Roland, the leaders of Earth Fleet have demanded that I surrender you to them. What do you say I should tell them?”

  Kin took a step forward, which made the guards tense and caused Trak to growl. “You already answered them when Captain Trak’s soldiers defeated the Earth Fleet commandos of Major Eagle.”

  The Emperor stared a second too long and then smiled. “Yes, it seems that my best soldiers are better than the best that Earth Fleet can place in the field.”

  Kin shrugged, intending to say something sarcastic, but Trak slapped him across the back of his head, causing him to fall to his knees. He stood, tasting blood in his mouth where he bit his tongue, feeling stunned. He staggered and saw stars that did not want to leave his vision.

  Now the Emperor moved even farther forward, this time causing real alarm among his bodyguards. Hundreds of people shifted position. Kin heard radio chatter between squad leaders. Personal security had not been his military occupational specialty, but he imagined that marksmen and hardened defensive units were being re-positioned to protect the Emperor from any possible threat. He heard Mazz units moving, their heavy boots clacking on stone and prefabricated walkways. He heard weapons bumping armor as soldiers changed positions. All the sounds were subtle, but when combined and multiplied by several thousand Mazz soldiers, the effect was a virtual cacophony of minor redeployment. The Emperor did not acknowledge it.

  He stood with only a single row of bodyguards and the judges in their black armor between his position and Kin Roland, the Enemy of Man and traitor to Earth.

  “Captain Trak, your father was a good and loyal servant of the Empire. I understand that he did what was necessary to protect the Grand Army and to defeat the Slomn monsters that mutated beyond anyone's control. Everyone respects your father and his record as a leader. I spoke with your superiors and also with those who work for you. If you have something to say on the matter of Kin Roland, then you may speak now.”

  “Emperor,” Trak said as he bowed his head. “I wish to kneel but feel I should not in the presence of a dangerous rival to the Empire such as Kin Roland.”

  “Does this mean we’re not friends?” Kin asked.

  Captain Trak shifted but did not look at him. He raised his gaze to the Emperor, who waved a hand for him to remain standing.

  “Kin Roland was my father's prisoner, and I guarded him. I am sure he would have escaped if we allowed it. I know that he cared only for his own people, but when faced with the threat of the serpent men, he answered the call of my father. Kin Roland led us to many victories and fought bravely. He has committed crimes against Earth Fleet, but I say let Earth Fleet address those crimes if they can. I cannot call him an enemy of the Mazz.”

  “You advocate for Kin Roland?” the Emperor asked.

  Trak hesitated for only a second. “Yes, I do.”

  Kin couldn't believe it.

  The Emperor returned to his throne, lowering himself into a sitting position as his generals and upper-level advisers moved to one side and argued in low voices. He moved with the grace of an actor portraying a hero. At the same time, there was fire and death in his eyes. He was a man who would not hesitate to kill for his people.

  Kin stood and waited in a stance that roughly approximated parade rest. He'd never been skilled at holding the position of attention for long periods of time. Captain Trak faced him and opened his helmet visor.

  “I do not know what will happen,” he said.

  Exhaustion bloomed in Kin’s core and spread outward. He wondered where Laura, Rickson, and the others were now. He wished he could see Rebecca safe. There were so many people lost during the last few weeks on Crashdown that he didn’t dare consider them all. His wounds, old and new, ached. He was hungry and thirsty. Emotionally, he didn't know how much more he could endure, so he stood rigid and tried to imagine something he could say that would not get him killed.

  Captain Trak looked toward the Emperor.

  Keeping his voice low, he tried to aim the words at Trak. “Do you think it's a good ide
a for the entire Grand Army of the Mazz to be assembled like this?” Kin asked.

  “No, it is not a good idea for us to remain here. But Earth Fleet has a monster on their hands that makes your friend Droon look not so dangerous,” Trak said.

  Before Kin asked for clarification, there was a sudden flurry of motion, and a contingent of the Emperor's personal bodyguard took Kin through the ranks and into what seemed to be a fallout bunker. Time passed. Eventually, the Emperor entered the room with several bodyguards who closed the door and stood back to witness the conversation without comment.

  “I have sent out the call for the rest of my followers,” the Emperor said.

  Something about the inflection of the words drew Kin’s attention. He focused on the meaning and looked for something hidden.

  “Earth Fleet has done the same. According to my sources, they have sent emissaries to all the independent worlds calling for a summit meeting to address future threats in the galaxy,” the Emperor said.

  “For someone who just arrived from obscurity, you have a lot of sources,” Kin said.

  Silence.

  Kin felt the weight of Crashdown.

  “Be careful what kind of accusations you make.”

  “I meant it in the best possible way.” Kin checked the position of the Imperial bodyguards. To his great disappointment, the odds of escape hovered somewhere around ten thousand to one.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Burning One

  DROON needed the man’s fear more than his flesh and blood. He would take both. Wounds needed to be healed. The strangers that Kin-rol-an-da had led for a time against his own people were poor meals, too stupid to be afraid and often too exhausted to dream. This Mazz was different. He had potential. “Run from me!”

  The Mazz soldier broke. First came a sound from low in his throat like a tortured creature. Droon clicked the many segments in his throat and made what Kin-rol-an-da would call an evil smile. Droon felt the movements of his mouth and the glow of his eyes but did not see them. Imagination was a powerful thing that some of his victims possessed and others feared more than they feared Droon.