Libor: Katana Krieger #2

by Bill Robinson

  "Captain, the attached paper grants you a title that roughly translates as "soul destroyer" though Alexander insisted on putting the correct character in untranslated. The dagger itself is named after the Child who first carried one of this type, his character name does not translate as far as I know, but he would be Alexander the 13th. Only his family by blood or adoption may carry it. Alexander is a descendant, which makes you now part of his extended family, his adopted daughter of sorts. You have been made a member of the Death clan, as has your family throughout time. I know of no other human to be so honored. The final three characters give the date of the signing and Alexander's personal symbol. Tensi."

  I turn to my sister. "Kelly, will you find me my pad, please, I left it in my room?"

  She runs upstairs and returns quickly. I call up my photos and thumb through to find one of Alexander the first night. And there it is, the same dagger sitting in my living room hanging from the chest of the leader of an alien nation. I stare at it for a couple minutes.

  Carl jolts me back to reality.

  "What else is in the box?"

  I remove a sheath for the knife, made from wood that matches the hilt, and a black cloth, which I am sure I am supposed to wear diagonally across my chest. Beneath that there are twelve packages of seeds, each with a picture of a grain, fruit, or vegetable, and a snowflake printed on a piece of paper glued to the package.

  Kelly is still standing next to me.

  "Kel, would you get me a big plastic freezer bag from the kitchen?"

  She runs off and returns quickly. I put the seeds into the bag and seal it before handing it back to her.

  "Put that into the fridge, carefully please."

  She complies.

  I put the cloth in the bottom of the box, the dagger into the sheath, and then into the box as well. I close it and reset the catch.

  "I want to take a picture of the pages, can we set them down on the kitchen table?"

  "No way." My sisters answer almost in unison, their twin-ness coming out. Kelly takes the pages from Carl, and she and Kaelyn stand side by side holding the two pages together, chest high. They have their big picture taking smiles on. You'd never guess they had just graduated co- valedictorians of their high school, perfect 4.0s.

  "Okay, say cheese."

  I take a snap of the two of them with the pages, then zoom in on the pages and take a second one. Then I send both of them and mom the first picture, crop the second picture to be just the two pages, and email it to Everingham and Hilgenberg with a note that I had been given a package by Alexander which he said was seeds, and I had forgotten about. This note was in the package. I tell them I'll bring everything in once my leave is over.

  The message will have to go to the planetary Naval server, then to the comm drone at the sun, which will jump to Earth tomorrow and download. Only one message drone between Colorado and Earth per day, and it's 0800 Boulder time every day if I remember correctly. If the admirals are still on Canada 2, the server on Earth will upload the message to the next Canada drone, which will jump there and download. Easily 18 hours before they get it and maybe two and a half days before I get a reply.

  "So, your highness," Carl obviously wants to die, "anything else in your pack you forgot about?"

  I give him my best adopted daughter of the king of the death clan look.

  Mom prevents violence by serving dessert. We quickly have our mouths full of peach pie, all except dad.

  "Kat," only he calls me that, "do you think those seeds would do well here?"

  I mostly finish my bite before I answer.

  "Both Libor planets are hot and humid. We've got the humidity, but it might be a tad cold for them. I asked for them with you in mind, though. If anyone can make them grow here, it's you."

  Dad thinks and eats a couple bites of his pie. We primarily grow tea on the farm, which likes the humidity and tolerates the moderate climate. We have an excellent coffee field on leased land on the side of a local mountain called the Flatiron. We grow peppers and spices that we sell at the local farmer's markets in a couple green houses. We have a few acres of wheat, corn, and various beans and vegetables that we eat ourselves, and a small orchard of peaches, apples, oranges, and a couple kinds of nuts.

  The original Boulder had four seasons. Ours has one, it's 75 degrees, plus or minus three, about 360 days a year, with a couple hotter and a couple cooler. Lots of rain. Good farming weather for most things.

  "I should file for permission to grow them, be the first in line."

  "Yes, you should. It will probably take an extra long time to make it through the Terraforming Commission, much less the Colorado Wildlife Service." Though we have connections with the CWS.

  He nods, stands, takes my mom by the hand and leads her upstairs.

  "You kids clean up for your mother, now."

  "Yes, dad." Five of us answer in unison.

  We finish our pie, Carl and Kent have seconds, we make sure everything is spotless, then we're off to bed.

  Chapter 43

  Carl and I are up at the crack of dawn, downstairs where mom already has breakfast ready to go. We're both dressed in khaki hiking shorts and t shirts, with backpacks stuffed full of water, lunch, snacks, warm hoodies, compass, rope, multi-function tools, first aid kit, ax, nine millimeters, extra ammo, k-bars, and surface to air radios. You know, basic hiking supplies.

  Actually, Carl has his weapon in a holster on his belt, and I have my k-bar on my hip.

  Carl glances at my mid-calf wool sock sticking out above my ankle high hiking boot, left leg. You can clearly see the outline of one of Maddie's skeleton knives under it, my camo not up to spec ops snuff. He just shakes his head. I hope my mom didn't see it.

  Dad and Kent are already gone on the 20 mile drive to the coffee field, Julia and the kids are going over to take Kenna to a doctor visit in town, so mom will be spending the day alone with the teenagers.

  We have breakfast with her, take turns hitting the head, then Carl hustles over to the front door, holds it open for me.

  "Your majesty."

  It's a good thing I'm not carrying my jeweled dagger of death.

  There are farms to the north, south, and east of us, nothing but forest to the west for many, many miles. There aren't official paths, nothing maintained by the Wildlife Service, but there is an unofficial path with lots of forks that every kid, and many adults, in the area have kept well trodden.

  Out of deference to Carl, this may be the first time I've ever walked it with shoes on.

  It's a perfect day nonetheless, the air cleaner than anything he's probably ever breathed, a light breeze, birds keeping us company as we move at a fast pace through the trees until we come to my favorite fork in the road. We're roughly four miles north-west from the house when we make a sharp left, and the path, which had been relatively flat and mostly straight, now takes a winding course through denser trees and up the side of a significant hill.

  Two and a half miles later, we've reached a long plateau with a gorgeous fresh pond, teaming with happy fish, that is fed by a creek coming down from the mountains nearby, and in turn feeds a smaller creek that snakes through the woods below.

  All is well, except that I think both Carl and I had forgotten about his knee, and he's doing his best to hide some obvious discomfort as we reach the water.

  "Let's take a break, this is one of my favorite spots. I used to come up here and catch dinner, or race a fish down the creek, which passes Kenna's farm, seeing if I could beat it there."

  "How can you tell that the fish you start chasing all the way up here is the same fish that you are still chasing when you get to the farm? Don't they all look alike?"

  "Spoil sport."

  Took us two hours to get here, we plop down on the ground, lean our backs on a couple nicely available stones that I may or may not have moved creekside long ago.

  "Take your shoes off."

  He looks at me, but complies. I take mine off, careful of the hidden kn
ife, and slide my legs into the freezing cold water. He takes the hint and does the same. His knee, whether he'll admit it or not, can use the help.

  Eventually, I slide out of the water, making him stay frozen, grab our packs and put together lunch. He slides out and we dine on whole wheat biscuits that my mom made this morning, locally made cheese, homemade grape jam, fresh peaches, an assortment of homemade smoked nuts, and fresh brewed tea.

  "I missed a lot growing up in the city. I could really get used to all this fresh air, fresh food, no hustle and bustle."

  "You could, for about a month, then you'd have to go kill something."

  "Thank you, Captain Soul Destroyer of the Death Clan."

  I hit him, not so gently, on the arm.

  "I moved away. I spend 99 percent of my time now in filtered air inside enclosed ships and stations, eating dehydrated food. I know who I am. I miss all of it, but I could never live this life. Even as a kid, I needed adventure, I was always out exploring when I was supposed to be home doing my chores."

  We stop talking and play for a while, then police our area and head for home. His knee makes it down the hill before it is acting up again, but I pretend not to notice. When he's ready to tell me about it, he'll tell me.

  The final four miles are flat, makes the walking easier, and I pretend to need to stop and pee a couple times when I don't really. Don't think he notices. It's still been the best day I've had in forever, the kind of day most people just dream of having.

  And then my butt ruins it all by sounding battlestations.

  I put my arm out, stopping Carl in his tracks.

  "Did you hear that?"

  "Hear what?"

  "If you keep talking, you can't listen. Didn't they teach you that in Ranger school?"

  He listens with me now. I know what it is, it's Oscar, in pain.

  We're a half mile from the house on the path, Carl makes an arm motion which I somehow understand. We get off the path, into the cover of the woods, and move as quickly as we can toward the sound, which seems to be off the path toward home.

  We're 100 yards from the end of the trees when we find him, bleeding from the left hind leg.

  "I'm no vet," I say in a tense whisper, "but he's been shot. How'd we not hear that?"

  "Suppressor. Professionals."

  Oscar stops whining and quietly licks my hand, I pull the first aid kit out of my pack.

  Carl whispers as he heads toward the house. "I'll scout, you help."

  I spray the wound with a mist designed to stop bleeding, mostly crazy glue like we used on Odoms, then stick Oscar with a morphine jab, only letting about half of it feed in before I pull it out.

  "Stay, boy, I'll be back. I need to go kill something."

  Oscar seems to understand, he gives me a little growl.

  I catch Carl surveilling mom and dad's. He points across the way to a jeep parked off the driveway in the trees, badly hidden.

  "Three or four inside, I would guess. One somewhere over in those trees standing watch."

  "You go find him then join me inside, I've snuck into this place enough times without being seen, I'll start with the upstairs and meet you in the kitchen."

  "Copy that. Give me a three minute head start."

  "Aye."

  I take my pack off, extract the radio, turn it on and enter 7111. The display shows the word EMERGENCY. It's calling now, calling with all its electronic might. Help is out there somewhere, the County Sheriff and the Colorado Militia will both pick up the signal. Ten minutes if we're luckier than I ever am, an hour if we're not. We're not waiting to find out.

  Carl saw what I was doing and slipped away, his k-bar in his hand. No holster for my sidearm, so I stick it in my pants behind my back. Take my shoes and socks off, putting Maddie's knife in it's makeshift scabbard into my pocket. I make sure the radio is still on, then stick it in a branch of the nearest tree.

  I don't wait the three minutes, instead I move immediately and quietly toward the back of the house, then slip into the perpetually empty horse pen, and move along the fence. There's always a fifty gallon drum out here, water for the non-existent horses. Lay a piece of wood across it, climb on top, jump and grab the decorative beam extending from the roof and pull yourself up. Done it a million times, never felt the need so much as right now.

  My practiced feet make no more sound than usual padding across the tile roof above the front porch and over to the bathroom window. The screen is still loose, thanks to dad not having repaired it in all these years, I remove it quietly and lift myself down onto the linoleum floor.

  I go to the door and put my ear against it, listen, hear nothing. As quietly as a young woman well practiced at sneaking in after a night out with friends, I open the bathroom door and peek into the hall. My sisters' room is next to the stairs, and the door is open.

  The bathroom door opens soundlessly at my touch, far enough for me to escape into the hall, and I get the five steps to just outside their door with only one minor squeak from the flooring. My k-bar goes into my hand and I put one eye and a lot of hair around the edge of the door.

  One human, large, his back to me. My sister, on the floor, looking up at him, terrified. Then Kaelyn sees me, relaxes, winks. Idiot. Or should I just say teenager? Then she smiles at the guy.

  "You know, I could make this easy for both of us." She puts the forefinger of her right hand at the base of her neck, then slides it down to the buttons on the front of her blouse. She's seen way too much TV, I'm going to have to have a talk with mom.

  The potential rapist takes one step toward her in the time it takes me to take the three I need to get to him, put my hand over his mouth from behind, and drive my k-bar through his worthless heart.

  I drop his body to the floor, blood everywhere, and Kaelyn, who one second ago was playing with a professional killer like he was a boyfriend, screams. Loudly. And won't stop.

  "Branch!" A heavy voice from downstairs. "Shut her the frak up!" She doesn't and I can't make her, no matter what hand signs I use.

  I hear footsteps on the stairs as I move to the door, putting my knife back in its scabbard and extracting my sidearm from my pants, but before I can move there's an explosion of wood and glass, I assume a Marine just executed my front door.

  I rush into the hall, another large man on the stairs, twisted now, looking down at the incoming threat. I raise my weapon shoulder high in both hands and put two bullets into his head from behind, my mom's favorite family photos suddenly covered in red.

  A Soul Destroyer probably only shoots eyes to eyes, but none of them has a sister.

  He falls down the stairs and I follow, two steps at a time, my feet not caring as they slide through the splattered blood and brains. Another human is standing in my living room, a shocked look on his face, two rounds from Carl's nine millimeter in his heart. Then his eyes go blank and he falls, face down. No way he's getting up.

  I spin to the left, and standing in my kitchen next to my mom and Kelly is six foot two of alien menace, Life Clan. It only takes a left hand to make the sign for Death Clan, and I give it to it, then start running toward it. Why I didn't just shoot, I can't explain.

  It bolts out the back door, racing across the dirt field toward the forest. I'm after it as fast as I can move, taking a couple poorly aimed long distance shots. It hits the tree line while I'm still in the horse pen, but I know those woods like the bottom of my feet.

  It's easy to follow, even though it runs among the trees and constantly changes direction. Those feet leave foot long imprints pointing the way. It's fast, though, maybe too fast, until I have a flash of insight. It's headed to the clearing across from the Adamson's.

  Now I can move in a straight line, I might be slower, but I no longer have to track or dodge. It's only a half mile away. We both rocket from among the trees at the same instant, 50 feet apart, and I let two more rounds go, to no effect.

  Then I see its target, a frakkin' football class boat, smaller four it size, coated in
the organic titanium alloy that would have made it invisible to the old radars the militia use. We're both running toward it, but I'm closer.

  I get to the boat, stand in front of the hatch, turn and raise my weapon at the running Libor, but fool that I am, I forgot to check inside. Something flies into me from behind, my weapon knocked from my hands, falling to the ground, and me after it.

  The something is another Life Clan, strong, like a sea of furry snakes wrapping around me and squeezing. The first Libor only feet away, I grab the k-bar from its scabbard and plunge it into the thing's head, and again, and again. It manages to pin my arms to the ground over my head, buzzing at me, my hands done, the knife dropping to the grass, but then it waivers, loses grip pressure, and collapses on top of me.