by Scott Moon
Jojo returned to Earth Fleet Lieutenant Leonard. “I need to know more about Droon. Now, you might convince yourself that I won’t drain your blood and run it through the recyclers. I wouldn’t begrudge a man his delusions or false hope. So whatever you believe is your business.”
Dwarf walked closer, still watching the horizon for danger even as he attended to Jojo’s project. His mood was still grim. “Keep them alive. Blood recycles best when it’s from a warm host.”
“It does not,” Jojo said, closing his eyes in irritation.
“Says Jojo the Orange Viper,” Dwarf said. “They’re going to die either way. Just humor me. This job is boring as fuck and I hate these stuck-up commando types.”
Jojo massaged his patchy scalp and turned his back on Dwarf. He stared at Leonard, then spoke.
“Let me tell you one thing, before you think that living the rest of your life on Hellsbreach is going to be miserable. There are women in the prison. Not whores. They have full rights here. The right to die if they don’t pull their weight. Thing is, some of you officers like women. So I am just saying life isn’t over for you.”
Jojo stabbed him through his right bicep, then again through the back of his right hand. “Shut up. Crying and screaming will get you killed here. Don’t forget it. Now listen, because it means your life. Where is Droon and how can I capture him?”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Boxed
DOG drank extravagantly from the Earth Fleet water rations Dwarf carried from the airship by the armload. He studied the fallen Reaper form on the top of the spire. “I have never seen one lie in one place this long.”
“Could be dead,” Dwarf said.
“No scavengers. The bloodsucking carrion know better than to approach it. The demon is alive.” Dog yawned and shook his head to clear his thoughts. Sleep had been hard to find with Earth Fleet troopers whimpering under Jojo’s continued interrogation. Worse, the Reapers had been in rare form last night. A battle like he had never seen or heard moved hour after hour, flashing plasma streams in the darkness that reminded Dog of long ago battles. The lights had been too bright to be Reaper lightning whips, and those weapons were rare. Something else was happening on Hellsbreach.
At sunrise, Dwarf spotted a wounded Reaper.
“How do we know that is Droon?” Dwarf asked. “Man, I hope it is. I think our luck is about to change.”
Dog took another swallow of water as the sun cooked his face. The only verified message he’d received from Earth Fleet was an order to locate and capture a Reaper called Droon before the Reaper could complete the Long Hunt, whatever that was. Several times a year, the radio stations that still functioned picked up a new set of orders for Droon. Most of it was prerecorded, bureaucratic nonsense like everything else received during the last days of the Hellsbreach Campaign.
Jojo claimed there had been other orders. Once, during the rare singularity of Jojo giving up and getting drunk, the intelligence agent claimed there was a First Priority Mandate of the Fleet that Kin Roland die on Hellsbreach.
What kind of sense does that make? Dog asked himself. The world was a dangerous place when the most powerful leaders in human-controlled space targeted sergeants.
“All right, let's move. Dwarf, then me, then Jojo with the restraints. We can come back for the box if everything goes according to plan.”
None of them laughed or cursed. Sand shifted under Dog’s feet as he moved from the rocks onto the red dune. The disturbing sensation of being devoured by the planet was familiar if not welcome. He felt as though he had never existed anyplace but Hellsbreach.
Dwarf held up his fist. Dog stopped. To his right, Jojo lowered himself to the ground and readied his rifle. With less armor than Dog or Dwarf, he wasn’t meant to charge into a serious fight.
Dwarf curled his fingers twice, signaling the cautious advance. Dog crawled toward him. The scene he saw was so strange that he didn’t bother to ask his friend for details.
Twitching parasites covered the Reaper. Scattered beyond Droon were oversized wolves and dead Reapers. “This is getting fucking complicated.”
“Are you sure we can do this?” Dwarf asked.
Dog chewed his lip, then nodded. His friend never asked a question like that unless they were alone. As far as the rest of Hellsbreach knew, the powerfully short trooper couldn’t feel fear or doubt. Dwarf was his best friend since basic training, even though the man was mean, foul, and ignorant.
Underneath all of that, he was pure loyalty.
“I think we still go for Droon first. The parasites are moving — probably active and pissed off — but we will get fucked if this is the baddest Reaper of them all.”
“Agreed,” Dwarf said. “Pound that beast as hard as we can.”
Dog shook his head. “No. I want to go soft on this mission — try not to wake it up angry. You get the restraints on the Reaper while I deal with whatever else happens. We stay the course no matter what.”
“Roger that,” Dwarf said. “What about Jojo?”
“He’s no good for this. It is going to be messy.”
Dwarf laughed. “I like it when he pisses his pants.”
“When has he ever pissed his pants?” Dog asked without looking away from the form of the Reaper and the things that covered it.
“I like to pretend he does every time we go into battle.”
Dog snort-chuckled. The low sound of his pre-battle mirth had been legendary long before Hellsbreach. “You never piss yourself in a battle?”
“Every damn time, but I have armor to reclaim it,” Dwarf said. “Feels warm. I like it.”
“Maybe I’ll try it,” Dog said. The words, like the red sand, were familiar. For most of his adult life, this had been their ritual before a fight neither of them expected to survive. On Hellsbreach, it was a frequent occurrence.
“You should.”
“I will.”
“Go ahead and do it now.”
“Don’t rush me.”
“Come on, you big bastard, piss yourself.”
Dog laughed, but it felt forced.
“Hey,” Dwarf said.
Ice thrust through Dog’s guts. His friend had just broken the routine. This wasn’t the time for further discussion. After Dog laughed, they either moved toward danger and killed shit or killed shit and escaped danger.
“You never really piss yourself,” Dwarf said.
“Never.”
Silence.
“Just give me a second.”
Dog looked sharply at the stout trooper. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Ahhh,” Dwarf said. The communication link in the frequently repaired helmet cut out in nearly predictable patterns. “You know what? It is warm.”
“God damn it, Dwarf. Why’d you choose today to mix things up?”
Dwarf shook his head and moved toward the downed Reaper. “I don’t like the look of those parasites. And some of the wolf-things are getting up.”
Dog lunged forward as one of the parasites disconnected from the Reaper, rolled into a tube like an ugly snake, and launched itself into the air. He caught it and the two others that came right behind it. After that, it became a routine. He caught with his right hand and stuffed them into his left as fast as he could.
“Dwarf, get that Reaper chained up. Jojo, bring boxes.”
Dwarf’s laugh modulated as he engaged the lethargic Reaper. “I am pissing myself now! Holy shit-balls!”
“Move it, Jojo. I can’t keep this up much longer.” Several of the weird parasites latched on to his armor and scraped thousands of teeth against his partial faceplate and goggles. Without pause, he sprawled on the sand — no hands to slow his descent — just an intentional face plant. He used the momentum to bounce to his feet.
“Got a Reaper in chains,” Dwarf broadcast.
Dog couldn’t see him. The flat, thousand-tooth monsters were all over his armor now.
“You should practice that move and patent it,” Dwarf called
out. “They’d make you a Level Six Weapons Master and give you the Fleet comedy badge.”
“A little help would be good,” Dog said.
“Got my hands full. This Reaper is still knocked out and is twice as strong as he should be,” Dwarf said.
“Great,” Dog said. Through a gap between the creatures covering his face shield, he saw the first wolf charge at him. He lunge-kicked it hard with his right boot, then spun on his left as he re-chambered the right boot for a back kick. He caught the second wolf on its nose and broke its neck.
Things became chaotic after that. Dwarf, against the agreed-upon plan, started shooting with one hand as he held Droon’s restraints with the other. Jojo dragged two restraint containers at a time and dropped them just out of Dog’s reach.
“Nice! Thanks, you little rat bastard!” Dog knew it was a worthless thing to yell. He was moving sideways and backward and throwing himself around as parasites and wolves swarmed him. Was it reasonable that Jojo deliver what he needed exactly where he needed it?
Wasn’t, but should be.
Once he jammed the fistful of clinging parasites into a box and shut the lid, things got easier. Two hands were better than one. When the two hands belonged to Corporal Dog Rolston, the fight was won.
Most of the wolves had to die because it was too hard to restrain them. The clinging monsters were meaner, but the wolves had a lot of mass and he couldn’t manhandle them even with the added strength of his patchwork armor. Dog staggered back from the fight as tired as he had been since the first wave assault on Hellsbreach.
He watched Dwarf and Jojo finish with Droon. A second later, seeing the lid bulge as though something was about to break out, he flung himself through the air and flattened his entire body over the container.
“You’re welcome!” Spreading his long arms wide, he grabbed the edges of the container and flexed with all the strength in his body. The Reaper inside had to be stronger than ten of its kind to resist after being rolled into a ball and locked in a prison box that would withstand a meteor strike. “I’ll just do everything. Come on, you jack-wagons. Didn’t you see me fighting?”
“Hole. Lee. Shit. Look at that, we got a boxed Reaper King,” Dwarf exclaimed.
Dog shifted his weight again, pressing both gauntleted hands down on the lid of the cryo-sleep shipping container. He took a moment to catch his breath. “I wasn’t sure that would work.”
When was the last time I ran out of breath? Boot camp?
Dwarf laughed. “You have giant balls, Dog. I’ve got to admit, if you had said you weren’t sure, I wouldn’t have been down with this at all.”
Dog smiled without looking at his friend. Survival endorphins flooded through his veins until he was high and drunk. He checked several display panels. The readings suggested the Reaper was alive. “What we have here, my friends, is a million credits.”
Jojo turned away and scanned the desert as he spoke. “I would feel better if I understood why the Fleet wants this particular Reaper. Something isn’t right.”
“Yah think?” Dwarf said. “I really didn’t want those parasites to touch me. Hideous little fuckers.”
Dog stepped back from the prisoner restraint container. “Tight fit for something they want alive.”
“This is a space transport, not something for the prison,” Dwarf said. “Seems to me that Jojo’s evil masters have plans to do some serious traveling with this one. Man, I like the idea of being rich. When do you think they are coming to reward us?”
Dog scanned the area for danger. Jojo’s agitation made him nervous.
“Get this box to the airship. If we are not out of here in five mikes, Solaa’s bully boys will be down our necks.” He paused, planning, trying to think like a general instead of a corporal. How can I make the most of my advantage? “Get the ship up. Start tracking those fucking wolves we drove away.”
“Are we going to box them up too?” Dwarf asked, heavy machine gun propped on his hip as he smiled around his missing front tooth.
“Maybe,” Dog said. “What do you think, Jojo?”
“Good idea if we can pull it off. They are fast.” He scanned the horizon, then spoke in his understated way. “This ship is good. But we need to find the ship.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
What Needs to be Done
KIN stayed with the Rage for two days, still thinking of the monster as the Slomn-Reaper. The Burning One, Kin-rol-an-da. It is called the Burning One! Each time he attempted to go his own way, the shapeshifter champion dragged him back to his quest. Droon, the Wingers, the Mazz, and Earth Fleet were conspicuously absent in this harsh section of Hellsbreach, although his guide and captor seemed to think they were following Rebecca.
It had an unhealthy crush on his girlfriend.
“There, Kinrolanda,” the Rage said, pointing at a hastily erected fortification manned by Wingers and Mazz soldiers in SKIN armor. They had lost a ship to the wormhole crossing and stayed near the wreckage. Three squads moved to block the approach to their position. One was a heavy weapons unit with a crew-served weapon he didn’t recognize. Captain Trak stared at Kin and the Rage through binoculars, then hurried back to one of the over-sized Executioner SKINs where a team of soldier-mechanics worked in tired desperation.
“Why haven’t you killed me, Rage?” Kin asked.
“Do not call me that.”
Kin stared. “Okay, I’ll call you Bob.”
“No. That name is too short and I can tell that you are mocking me. Anger me, and I will kill all of your people.”
“If I give you a good name, will you spare them?” Kin asked.
“No. But I will give them a head start.”
The shapeshifter super-weapon was huge. Kin shook his head as the magnitude of the evil creation impressed him for the tenth time. Looking at the monster gave him the impression of not only Droon, but of Orlan and Dog and Trak — and Rebecca. When it became violent, there would be few options that didn’t involve dying.
Where the hell is Droon? He looked closer at the warriors moving to the defenses. Some of them were Wingers.
“Let me see the feathers that Gobbi gave you,” the Rage said.
“I don’t think he wanted you to have them. You might not want to piss off his Reaper Queen.”
The Rage laughed and did a weird little dance. “I have seen her. She has many spines and wants to eat Droon.”
Kin shuddered.
The Rage squatted near him. “You know what that means.”
“Unfortunately, I have seen Reaper mating rituals up close,” Kin said. “Why haven’t you killed me?”
“I will kill you. The Rage will kill Kinrolanda, Kin-rol-an-da,” he said. Spikes and short tentacles writhed on his knee-length tunic. “Why now? Why first? Kinrolanda was the doom of Hellsbreach.”
Kin covered his ears, fearing they would burst. He hated the way the monster laughed. “Please.”
The Rage stopped, moved close again, and squatted so he was shorter than Kin, but not by much. “The Rage likes it when you say please.”
“I thought you didn’t like that name.”
“The Rage does not.”
“Answer my question or let me go,” Kin said.
The Rage flinched as a sniper round hit him in the shoulder. With only a slight pause, he turned, flexed his body, and belched a focused beam of energy from his maw. At first, the range seemed too great and Kin thought the fire-breathing version of this Slomn-Reaper was dangerous, but not a real threat to snipers several hundred meters away.
The slug of plasma held cohesion until it slammed into the fortified position of several surprised soldiers.
The Rage faced Kin. “I learn.” Its snarl projected far greater malice than his juvenile antics suggested only moments earlier. “What could you do with my power?”
Kin made the Rage wait for the answer. He studied the distance between his current position and the Mazz-Winger defenses. He measured the size and ferocity of the Rage.
“Answer me.”
“I wouldn’t take orders,” Kin said.
The Rage struck him hard and capered around the red sand in a tantrum of insanity — scampering back to Kin like a drunk panther to pin him against the ground with one hand, claws on each side of his throat. “Kinrolanda will kill the Omega.”
“We have a word for that in the Fleet,” Kin said.
“Tell me.”
Regretting this line of argument, Kin made him wait again. “We call it treason.”
The Rage clicked its inner throat like a Reaper laughing. Smoke poured out from the edges of his mandibles. “Kin Roland should be good at it by now.”
“You got my name right.” Using both hands on the over-sized wrist, he guided the claws away and sat up. “Where is the Omega?”
“The Rage doesn’t trust Kinrolanda.”
“Damn it, Rage. I’m tired. I’m hungry. Let’s kill each other or let me go. Tell me where the Omega is, and I will definitely have words for him.”
“You must do three things, Kinrolanda. Kill the Omega. Bring me Clavender. Find my real name.”
Kin edited the list in his head; kill the Omega, kill the Rage, find Clavender, and get his friends off of this planet. He nodded.
“I will return in one day to kill everyone unless you have met my demands.”
“No problem,” Kin said. He backed away from the Rage, then watched the monster bound up the side of a sand dune and look back.
“How about Eddie?” Kin asked.
The Rage shrieked at him, sending three lancing pellets of plasma to force him back. Then, the Slomn-Reaper disappeared into the night with only the occasional fire of his eyes to prove he had ever existed.
PART FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Mech Warrior
REBECCA stopped to catch her breath as the orange sun of Hellsbreach rose like a nuclear explosion on the horizon. The purple moon slipped downward, and for a moment, the combination turned the sky a murky brown color like dried blood. Shivering with dread, she jogged toward the tangled shelter of rocks. There was a ship hidden inside the place. Someone had spent a lot of time camouflaging the area.
