Fires of Man

by Dan Levinson

  They passed the end of the Calchan line. Kay circled around, taking her group on another pass. Sunlight had begun to creep across the horizon now, and in the wan glow of morning, she gestured back to the others, indicating for Jensen and Zweig to move onto the offensive while Turner and Maddick took up the shields.

  As her squad began their second sweep, Kay looked for the other two bike groups on the Calchan flanks.

  Were they all still in one piece?

  Suddenly she felt an enormous weight smash against her barrier. Billows of flame roiled in the air above her. She pressed through, her squad’s shields keeping the fire and smoke at bay.

  Then another strike hit, and another.

  There was a tremendously strong psion with the Calchans.

  The intense energy continued to smash against Kay’s psionic bulwark. She forced as much power into it as she could muster. She could feel Turner and Maddick’s strength weakening in the face of that assault. If they broke she would not be able to hold the shield on her own.

  Again, that immense power hit. Kay looked for its source.

  She caught sight of a young, sandy-haired Calchan, his gaze tracking her squad as it passed, his jaw set in determination. He was barely more than a boy. In an odd way, he reminded her of Nyne.

  No, she thought, can’t think that way. The boy was trying to kill her and her squad; that was all that mattered.

  She would have to kill him first.

  38

  AARON

  Aaron stood amid the Calchan formation. He heard the rumble of motorcycles, echoing out from between bursts of rifle fire, blasts of artillery shells, and the thunder of explosions. Moments later, motorbike riders zoomed up and down the Calchan line, peppering the troops with psionic attacks.

  It was a merciless assault. The screams of the wounded and dying filled Aaron’s ears. He saw Colin, from his transport, nearly sheared in half by a disc of energy; afterward the boy collapsed, trying to hold in his guts before dying. The scent of charred flesh filled the air—a nauseating smell.

  Aaron maintained a barrier, but the stench of blood, burned hair, and flesh, compounded with the sight of gore and death, set his stomach churning violently. He tried to force down his rising gorge, but finally dropped his shield and ducked behind a carrier to vomit.

  This is war, he thought grimly, wiping spittle from his mouth.

  How could his superiors have sent him into this? How could they send anyone?

  Aaron wanted to be angry, but he knew soldiers were expected to fight and die for their country, and that was that. He wondered if any of them had enlisted willingly, or if they had been forcibly conscripted, as he had. Either way, they had to keep fighting now; if they didn’t, they would be slaughtered.

  Aaron frowned. Would his father still be proud, seeing him cowering and puking while his fellows were killed around him? Aaron hated what Calchis had done to him, hated how they’d initiated this conflict, but at the same time he knew he couldn’t stand idly by and let his countrymen die. It wasn’t their fault they were here. They had as little choice as he did.

  Just then, an explosion rocked the carrier Aaron was crouched behind. The vehicle began to topple over, but Aaron forced it back with his power. He looked up and spotted a group of motorcycle riders speeding down the left flank, their dark helmets reflecting fire from torched Calchan vehicles.

  He sent lances of crackling energy at the enemy squad. The strikes hit a barrier and detonated ineffectually. Aaron could feel the collision of powers, with a sense beyond sense. He could discern the barrier’s resistance, and knew he could break through.

  He launched another volley; the energy arced up, then descended with devastating force.

  Still the barrier held.

  Aaron could feel the power of other psions reinforcing it now. He needed only a little more strength.

  A jet of fire shot at Aaron.

  He got his own shield up at the last second, deflecting it.

  That had been close; too close. He needed to be prepared to defend himself at any moment. He continued to maintain his shield, tense, suddenly afraid. One wrong move and he could be killed. Maybe he should listen to Tiberian after all. He was no hero. Behind a shield of power, he would be safe until the battle was over.

  He was just not sure if he could live with himself afterward.

  The group of riders wheeled around for another sweep. Aaron steeled himself against the fear and let the barrier drop. He concentrated, visualizing a mighty blow that could shatter any shield.

  He poured his strength into it and let it fly.

  A column of flame descended on the riders—a raging inferno. Aaron felt the enemy’s barrier shatter. The lead rider was incinerated, and the two behind him were hurled from their bikes, their clothing alight. The last two managed to maintain their position atop their vehicles.

  Aaron struck again, engulfing the two fallen Orionans in eruptions of power. Next he lashed out at the two still on their motorcycles. Rather than attempting to block his power, the riders dodged and weaved, retreating from the Calchan line.

  At that moment Aaron heard another series of explosions.

  He turned to see a second group of riders skirting along the rear of the Calchan forces, harrying them with more psionic attacks. He could see the one who led this group was a woman by the way her jacket fit over her body. He didn’t know how he felt about hurting, much less killing, a woman. Lissy Pickens popped into his head, now joined by Mitzi Porter.

  But I can’t do nothing, he told himself. The woman was a soldier first. Even now, she and her group were killing his countrymen.

  Aaron battered at the new enemy squad, pouring in as much strength as he had before. His attack broke harmlessly against the squad’s barrier like a wave against shore.

  These riders were strong. Deadly strong.

  He launched another surge of power. Sweat rolled down his brow. He attacked again, and again. If only he could squeeze out just a bit more energy he could . . .

  He gave a start as he saw the woman point in his direction. The other riders looked at him as they drove past. Blood thundered in Aaron’s ears. He knew what was coming. Desperately, he brought up his shield.

  A blast of psionic energy smashed against his barrier. Aaron’s knees buckled under the force of it. He could detect power from three different attackers, trying to pummel him into submission. His limbs began to feel weak, sapped of vitality.

  His vision dimmed.

  Why hadn’t he listened to Tiberian?

  Am I going to die? he wondered.

  I can save you, a quiet voice replied.

  Another salvo of power hit Aaron. He collapsed into the sand, barely maintaining his shield.

  I can set you free, the voice said, more insistent this time.

  You’re a killer, Aaron thought. I would never—!

  A third series of blasts hurtled at him. Instinctively, he covered his face, knowing his barrier would not hold.

  Do you want to live? the voice demanded.

  Yes! Aaron thought. I want to live!

  His barrier crumbled.

  The world turned to white.

  39

  FINN

  Finn raced toward the outpost, Sonja in tow.

  An attack? How could this be possible?

  He made it to the top of the hill that overlooked the camp. On the far ridge lurked dark shapes, periodically illuminated by blasts from rifles or artillery or psionic power.

  Down below, it was chaos.

  Recruits ran and screamed as fire erupted among them. One of the barrack halls had been set ablaze. Finn saw bodies lying on the pavement beneath the outpost’s floodlights. He smelled the acrid scent of scorched leather.

  “Wait,” Sonja said. “We can’t. We can’t go down there.” She gripped his hand tightly. Even in the shadows Finn could see her fear.

  “We have to,” he said. He was scared too; he would be a fool not to be. “We have to help. It’s our du
ty.”

  She hesitated, then seemed to take courage from his resolve. She nodded.

  They rushed down the slope, faster than before. Something had ripped clean through the fence, so there was no need to jump it this time.

  They stumbled into the outpost, arms up to protect their eyes from the haze of heat and smoke. There was a plink-plink-plink as bullets riddled a nearby ATV. Finn brought up a barrier. He should have done that a minute ago. How stupid! If he had been standing a few feet over he would have been . . .

  He felt Sonja bring up a barrier as well. He looked back at her, trying to be reassuring. He wasn’t certain he succeeded, but she gave his hand a squeeze anyway.

  Now that he was in the thick of it, Finn realized he had no idea what to do. Wanting to help was all and good.

  But how?

  Nearby, privates dashed to and fro, scrambling for cover, ducking low, hands raised to protect their faces or guard their ears against the deafening din. Corpses—some in uniform, others in nightclothes—littered the ground: mutilated, burned, bloodied corpses. Finn tried hard not to look.

  At the front of the camp, he could just make out Sergeant Douglass and his assistant drill instructors holding together a pocket of resistance. Frightened recruits huddled behind them.

  Douglass will know what to do, Finn thought.

  He moved swiftly, concentrating his power into his barrier. Rifle fire bounced off harmlessly.

  Douglass looked more than a little worse for wear. The grizzled sergeant’s forehead bled from a graze wound; his posture was slumped, a far cry from his usual rigid bearing. The assistant instructors with Douglass looked much the same. Between them, they maintained a large psionic shield that protected the recruits behind them—more than thirty by Finn’s estimate.

  The moment Douglass noticed Finn and Sonja, he jerked his head at the recruits behind him. “Back there,” he yelled. “Go on—!”

  He was cut off as a massive blast erupted against the barrier. Douglass grunted with exertion. Perspiration cascaded down the man’s forehead despite the early morning chill.

  “How can I help?” Finn asked.

  “The hell you say to me, boy?” Douglass asked. He almost looked like he was grinning.

  “I want to help,” Finn said.

  Douglass barked a laugh. “Least someone’s got some stones!” Then his expression turned grim. “Take ’em all to the back of the camp, out of the action. Only as many at a time as you can protect. Don’t need you or anybody else gettin’ shot up ’cause you bit off more than you can chew. Well, what’re you waitin’ for? You have your orders. Get to ’em!”

  “Yes, Drill Sergeant.” He glanced back at Sonja. She gave a curt nod.

  Finn and Sonja proceeded to the group of recruits, who were clustered together against the side of the mess hall. Early dawn light permeated the camp, and Finn could just make out faces. To his relief, he saw James and Val. He supposed he shouldn’t have been gladder to see them than any of the others, but they were his friends. He was happy they were okay. Finn also spotted Nathan, who didn’t look nearly so tough with a urine stain on his pant leg.

  And beside Nathan, hunched up in a ball, was Merry.

  Finn knelt down next to him. “Come on,” he said, “I’ll take you someplace safe.”

  Some of the recruits moaned or pulled away from Finn. He was not sure if they did not trust him, or were simply too frightened to move. All he needed was an initial group to demonstrate that he would lead them to safety. He began to help Merry to his feet.

  Merry didn’t object; if anything he seemed numb. He still clutched his Triton handheld, grasping it as if it were a lifeline. When Finn began to lead him away, a few others stood and joined them. Sonja followed at the rear, helping Finn maintained a barrier.

  They headed to the far end of the outpost where a line of garages remained untouched, blocked from incoming fire by the barracks and mess hall. They continued at the careful pace set by Finn as he supported Merry, who was barely able to walk on his own—probably more from shock than injury.

  Bullets zipped by. Eruptions boomed through the camp. Several times, Finn felt Merry flinch.

  When Finn reached the garages, he set Merry down on the far side of the structures. He didn’t want anyone to hide inside in case a mortar managed to hit. As he was about to return to the front line, Merry grabbed Finn’s sleeve.

  “I saw him die,” Merry whispered hoarsely.

  Finn froze. “Who?” he asked.

  “Doctor Gilbert,” Merry said. It came out as a whimper. “He got me out of the infirmary. He . . .” Merry sobbed.

  Finn didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

  “They started shooting at us,” Merry went on. “He got in front of me, he . . . I couldn’t do anything!” Merry clutched his bandaged eye as if trying to dam the tears. “Oh, God, I’m sorry for everything I ever did. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t want to die.”

  “You’re not going to die,” Finn said. “I have to go, but I’ll be right back.”

  Merry nodded, sniffling.

  Along with Sonja, Finn returned to Douglass. He gathered up another group of recruits and back and forth he went, back and forth, guiding the others to shelter.

  Soon, Finn heard the rumbles of engines; he looked up to see groups of riders on motorcycles circling around the outpost to engage the Calchans. Behind them, on the ridge, were more vehicles packed with Orion soldiers. Reinforcements, Finn thought. Thank God! The heavy fire began to let up.

  They would make it through this nightmare yet.

  Just then Finn heard loud, whooping cries from his left. On the rise, a knot of Calchan soldiers were tromping down the hill toward the outpost. Above them, two more Calchans were waving and shouting furiously, gesturing for their comrades to come back. The larger group, caught up in the fever of battle, ignored the orders.

  Finn glanced at the huddled recruits. They shook with fear, and their eyes wide and terrified, like prey at the mercy of some vicious animal. Even Sonja was frightened.

  It was all up to him. He took a step forward.

  Sonja grabbed his arm. “Don’t,” she said. “Please.”

  “I have to,” he said. “No one’s in any condition to fight but me.”

  She looked at him, her eyes so huge and scared that she suddenly seemed a little girl. He pulled her close, pressed his mouth to hers.

  Then he turned and ran toward the Calchans.

  The enemy soldiers blasted their way through the fence. Finn could see there were three of them, all young—no older than Finn himself. When they spotted Finn heading their way, they yelled with glee.

  What was wrong with them?

  They had probably disobeyed orders, looking for glory. How could they be so stupid?

  Searing bolts, jets of fire, and lances of crackling energy shot at Finn. He summoned up his own power and put on a burst of superhuman speed, weaving past the attacks. He was outnumbered.

  The only chance he had was to end this quickly.

  Finn barreled up the slope faster than the three Calchans could react. He tackled one of them around the waist. He heard the boy’s head thwack against the hard-packed sand and felt him go limp a moment later, unconscious. Finn turned his attention to the other two, who were staring at him in shock. Clearly they had expected to walk in and slaughter a bunch of defenseless trainees.

  Finn was anything but.

  He rounded on the second Calchan, who began to reach for the rifle slung over his shoulder. Finn was on him in a second. He wrested the gun from the boy with ease, then swung the butt of the weapon like a club. Bright blood sprayed from the Calchan’s mouth and nose and he went tumbling helplessly down the slope.

  Strong arms pulled Finn into a full nelson, forcing him to drop the rifle. Hot breath lapped against his neck. “Orion fucker,” the Calchan said.

  Finn summoned more power, focusing it into raw strength. He bent forward and hurled the Calchan over his head. The sol
dier gave a cry as he hit the ground, his back arching in pain. He too began to slide down the sandy slope, but Finn grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him back up, his fist reared to strike.

  “Don’t kill me,” the Calchan begged, terror-stricken.

  Finn froze.

  Kill or be killed, Lily’s voice echoed in his mind.

  He looked at the blood on his shirt from the Calchan he had hit with the rifle, and then at the injured enemy soldier.

  He remembered Merry in that same position, remembered how his fist had shot forward and shattered half of Merry’s face. His belly twisted with guilt.

  He remembered his vow not to kill.

  His power drained out of him.

  He had made a promise to himself, and he intended to keep it. Otherwise, he would never be able to live with the guilt.

  Someone had to take this stand.

  Someone had to choose life instead of death.

  Or else the fighting, and this war, would never, ever end.

  Finn released his grip, just as the Calchan soldier raised his right hand.

  “Finn,” a voice screamed. “Finn!”

  There was a flash.

  He saw his mother’s smile.

  He saw Jeni Darby under the cherry tree.

  He saw the sapphire waters of Vyse.

  He saw a star in the palm of his hand.

  He saw Sonja’s face.

  40

  SONJA

  “Finn,” Sonja screamed. “Finn!”

  Her cries came too late.

  Light pierced his body, followed by a spurt of red.

  She watched him and the other boy fall down the slope.

  She ran to him.

  Before Finn, no one had stood up for Sonja. Not her stepfather, Jerry, who’d beaten her. Not her mother, who had never tried to protect her, only slunk off to nurse her own wounds and left her child to suffer. Not the kids in school who’d taunted her because of her red hair, or long neck, or knobby knees.

  But Finn had been different. Sonja knew he was like her, even if he hadn’t known it himself. He had been her hero that day in the mess hall. The cold stares of the other recruits had not been hard to bear after that, because he had promised he would come back.