by Scott Moon
She refused to look back. There was plenty to worry about straight ahead. “How are you feeling, Paul?”
“Pissed off.”
“I meant your leg,” Cindy said as she studied the unlit street ahead. Grendel Station wasn’t in the best condition. Not all of the lights worked. She didn’t like so many being out in one area.
“Do you see me limping?” Paul asked.
“Nope. But I saw you twist your knee during the brawl with SALD. Didn’t think you were going to get up,” she said.
“You wound me.” Paul looked over his shoulder at the same time Kate did a double take. “I’m in the prime of youth. Virtually indestructible.”
Kate snorted.
Cindy waited until they were focused on the danger ahead before she took her turn to look back. Three figures moved in the gloom, keeping pace and not trying to hide. She couldn’t make out details, but their silent presence gave her chills.
“All right. Here it is. Kate, you will keep tabs on the three behind us.”
“Four,” Kate said.
“Watch for ambush ahead. Watch your assigned zones and call out if you see something.”
She led the way through the block where all the lights had been turned off or damaged. She concentrated on breathing and let her eyes move naturally.
“The four that were following us broke off,” Kate said.
“Okay,” Cindy said.
Time and distance passed uneventfully. On the other side of the dark area, the buildings were almost too brightly lit.
“I really thought we were going to get ambushed,” Cindy said.
“The SALDs made their point,” Paul said. “Someone else is after us.”
“Maybe.” Cindy signaled a halt, then examined several of the buildings that seemed to have been machine shops and electronic repair centers before the most of the station was put in mothballs. She wasn’t sure about the Seventh Armored-infantry Lightning Division. They’d always been rivals, but never blood enemies.
“About that feeling we’re never supposed to talk about,” Paul said.
As soon as he spoke the words, Cindy’s stomach fell into her pelvis and her throat constricted. “I’ve got it too. How bad is yours?”
He didn’t answer at first but walked faster. “Like we aren’t all going to make it out of this one alive.”
“All right, let’s double-time it,” Cindy said.
“No,” Paul said.
She was already running. Kate was right behind her, looking back frequently to monitor her assigned zone.
Which was why the young noncom didn’t see the gunman pop around the corner ahead of them. She lost the time it took to look back and then return her attention to the direction she was running after Cindy. In that moment, she was the only one of the FALDs not scrambling for cover.
The bullet took her between the eyes, jerking her head with less force than a large caliber combat round might. For three steps, she staggered forward, falling lower and lower as she went tumbling toward the old street.
“Move, Paul. Kate is down. She’s DRT,” Cindy sprinted into the shelter of a shop door and looked across the narrow street-corridor. Under other circumstances, Paul’s situation would have been funny.
He barely fit in the scant entryway as bullets ricocheted all around him.
“Did you see who it is?” Cindy didn’t need his answer but wanted confirmation. Sometimes it was necessary to ask obvious questions to stall for time to think.
“Looked like Strongarms without all their regalia,” Paul said.
“That’s not right,” she said, having seen the Strongarms moving around the edge of the impromptu battlefield.
“I saw what I saw,” Paul argued.
Cindy cursed. The Strongarms were technically out of service until a new Emperor was selected by the House of Lords. “They shouldn’t be here. But I saw the shooter stand after he took out Kate.”
“Maybe the Strongarms came to help Seccon. Maybe they’re going down to the surface and we can steal their ship,” Paul said.
“Forget about the Emperor’s Strongarms. That sniper was NGO, had to be,” she said. “They are going to flank us. Time to move.”
“No go, Cind. We’re dead if we move.”
“Okay, fine, big guy. Talk to them,” she said.
“Yeah, right. That is my strongest skill set.”
“Thunder and lightning, Paul,” Cindy said, breaking cover and sprinting across the street to contact a squad of Strongarms occupying the only real position of cover in the entire sorry event — an abandoned train tube with the door partially locked open.
Paul came after her but was pinned down behind a loading truck covered in dust.
Looking back, the distance Cindy had traversed to put herself at the mercy of an unknown squad left her breathless.
“Come inside; my men will watch the door.” The Strongarm leader was ten years older than she was but still in his prime.
“My heavy gunner is out there,” she said.
“Without a gun, it seems,” the Strongarm said. “We will protect him.”
As though to prove his words, he directed his team to fire on the enemy snipers. Cindy could not see the results through the darkness without optical enhancement, but no further attacks came from the sniper nests.
“What’s your name?”
“I am the Captain of the Strongarms,” he said. “We are suspended until a new emperor has been established. Our possession of weapons and participation in the power struggle is forbidden. With good reason. How easy would it be for us to make a new emperor?”
Cindy formed several questions, then decided not to tip her hand. “Talk. Why are you helping us?”
“We do not act in your favor. We act against the New Galactic Order because we believe they are responsible for the death of Our Emperor,” the leader said.
“You can prove this?” She acted as though she understood everything about the New Galactic Order and the mess Aefel had somehow landed them in without being here.
The Captain of the Strongarms studied her without answering.
Cindy moved to the edge of the tunnel opening and saw Paul squatted uncomfortably low, twiddling his thumbs and looking miserable. She displayed a hand signal and he replied he was pinned down. Cursing, she pointed toward better cover.
Paul responded with several hand signs that were not part of the standard military lexicon and finally peeked out.
A bullet ricocheted near his head.
“See!” he yelled.
Cindy cursed and retreated to her unhelpful benefactors. “What do you want?”
“Simple,” the captain said. “I need proof of Seccon’s guilt or innocence.”
“Not high on my list of priorities,” she said.
“When the time comes, we will help you drop to the surface,” he said.
“That would make us Absent Without Leave, which can be tried as a capital offense in a theatre of war,” she said, wishing she were hiding behind the loading truck with Paul.
“Is Grendel a theatre of war?” the captain asked, looking at the ceiling for a moment. “Hmm. How should we interpret the law during times of galactic revolution and upheaval? I see your point, sergeant. The risk is great. It is a good thing there are plenty of other people on the planet to help your lieutenant.”
Cindy was tired. She didn’t trust this man or anyone not a FALD Reaver. Kate was dead. Aefel was lost.
She balled both fists but resisted the urge to punch the captain.
“We will also descend to the surface by dropship. You are the experts in planetary assaults and fighting on the surface. We are bodyguards. We need you and you need us.”
“Well, we’re not going AWOL unless there is no other option,” Cindy said.
The captain smiled. “We will create one distraction to help you out of your current tactical problem, then you are on your own. Consider all that I have said.” Moments later, the Strongarms left out the back way.
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Cindy moved to the entrance and yelled to Paul, “They’re going to create a distraction. Be ready to get the hell out of here.”
7
AEFEL & JORGO
GRENDEL 0473829: VALLEY OF LIGHTS
MISSION CLOCK: N/A
AEFEL gathered ammunition when he could, despite the countermeasures the New Galactic Order soldiers used to protect lost gear. Each projectile was slightly different than his own, nearly impossible to use except that he had faced this problem on other worlds and always figured something out.
The Valley of Lights held dead soldiers of all shapes and sizes, new humans of the Commonwealth, and Grendel natives as well. Swords, cloaks, and food were at least as valuable for a lone survivalist.
He sat on a rock overlooking a lake, aware he was visible but certain there were no threats at the moment. Lights from the castle built from modern materials illuminated one end of the valley as though magic had found a home on Grendel. Once, he saw a pair of helicopters rise from behind the walls and run a circuit of the many meadows that had become battlefields over the last few days.
What would Fey and the others think of machines flying through the night, loud as thunder and black as storm clouds?
Wounds throbbed all over his body. Some were from battle. Others were crude surgical attempts to free himself from cybernetic “enhancements.” The longer he was without such things, the longer he resented having them in the first place. The only parts he planned to keep were the structural braces protecting bones and certain joints. When he had access to a qualified medical team, those were gone as well.
He refused to be a killing machine under the control of the Earth Systems Commonwealth or any other political entity that arose from the chaos following Dan Uburt-Wesson’s assassination.
Wounds and equipment checked, food and water consumed, he moved on to a deer trail to follow Jorgo.
It wasn’t his best plan.
Over the last few days, he had witnessed the brute survive after being separated from his clansmen despite the natural rule that no one survived alone. He understood this better than most. Continuing on like this was possible, but not if he wanted to make progress. He wanted to do more than survive and give his enemies the finger to their backs. He wanted to win.
Most of all, he wanted to save Fey.
Don’t lie, Reaver. You don’t want to save her. You want to run away with her and live happily ever after. What kind of soldier are you?
“I’m getting soft,” he said aloud.
Jorgo waited for him near a clearing with a single boulder in the center. Aefel thought it might be an electronic monitoring station disguised to fit the environment but didn’t care. Whoever controlled the modern fortress could watch him and the rest of this sorry ordeal easily enough, with or without his core internals betraying him night and day.
He moved up the trail to face his enemy.
“I should kill you, off-worlder,” Jorgo said, appearing too exhausted to attack.
Aefel kept his distance. “Do you understand what that means?”
“Your kind are abominations. Hell will claim you in the end and Valhalla will be forever denied to you,” Jorgo said. He stood, allowing his long axe to fall without letting go of the haft. Wounded and blood-spattered, he appeared confident.
“One of two things are going to happen right now,” Aefel said.
Jorgo waited.
“We kill each other or help each other.”
“Why would we help each other?” Jorgo asked.
Aefel checked his back trail to be certain none of the warrior’s clansmen were enveloping his position. The brute was smarter than he looked. More than once, the man had caught him off guard, which made him wonder how the giant fell for Seccon’s trick days ago.
“I chose to kill you rather than the rest of Sky Clan. If there were no hotjidelig-ed, this clan war would be over. I am tired of killing women and children,” Jorgo said.
“You’re good at it,” Aefel accused.
Jorgo said nothing for several heartbeats. “I kill you, my honor is saved and I can go home.”
Aefel wondered if he had miscalculated. “Then why aren’t we fighting?”
“You know the demons and their hell-weapons. You are one of them and you will help me defeat them,” Jorgo said. “My best runners were sent to King Hurlach and the other great chieftains after we killed the first of the strangers and realized their weapons could not be of this mortal realm. My advisors warned me Hurlach is in league with the monsters, and it was my mistake to ignore his words.”
“You will never win,” Aefel said.
“With enough men, women, and swords, we cannot lose,” Jorgo said.
Aefel was about to laugh when he recognized the confidence in the giant champion’s voice. “How many warriors can the Jarls bring if they stand united?”
Wind drove a cold gray cloud through a high mountain pass, framing the scene and sending a chill up Aefel’s spine.
“We will fill this valley with strong fighters and sweep away the evil that has taken root,” Jorgo said.
“The slaughter will be like nothing your people have ever seen,” Aefel said.
“You do not know my people or the history of these mountains,” Jorgo said. “Help me fight the demons and I will allow you and Fey to survive afterward.”
“I must have sanctuary for all of Sky Clan,” Aefel said.
Jorgo nodded, then cut his hand with a knife. “We will seal the bargain in blood and you will show me what I have purchased.”
AEFEL led the way using stolen and modified gear from the NGO, SALD, and at least three mercenary groups he had encountered since leaving the people of Sky Clan in the hands of Seccon. The Earth Systems Commonwealth was falling apart, as was evidenced by the increasing number of opportunists hunting for secret bounties. Some of them had to know Sveinn was the legal heir to the Empire.
Or perhaps not. For the right price, he guessed there were men and women willing to descend to a lost planet and round up barbarian children no questions asked. What worried Aefel were the charms against Carosn technology many of the newcomers wore. Someone thought one of the banned weapons was on Grendel.
“Stop. Play dead,” Aefel said.
“I am the Champion of Hawk Clan. I don’t play dead,” Jorgo said.
“Fine, then be dead.”
Grumbling, the densely muscled giant knelt on pine needles and crawled under the branches of a tree. “I will have a nap right here.”
Aefel moved away from his skeptical ally and concealed his position from the NGO patrol sweeping the area. He turned off all electronics and let the ground turn his body cold as a stone where he lay. One of the squad leaders seemed hesitant to continue without further investigation.
“Get lost, you charnel house dog,” Aefel muttered under his breath.
Time passed and so did the patrol. Snow fell through the increasing glare of sunshine.
“When my people have magic to equal these demon-men, there will be justice,” Jorgo said, brushing away a fresh layer of snow from his tunic.
“There will be a lot of killing, but justice is harder to pin down than you realize,” Aefel said.
“Why would you want to pin it down?” Jorgo said.
Aefel moved beyond the tree line. The Grendel giant joined him and stared at the spectacle in silence. Modern lighting illuminated the castle at night.
8
SECCON'S ADVISOR
GRENDEL 0473829: FIRST BASE BUNKER
MISSION CLOCK: N/A
SECCON had never been a drinker. After he lost Casia, he took an official oath against mind-altering substances and mostly adhered to it over the years. Why cloud the mind when death came and went with impunity?
He laughed at himself as he stared at the bottom of the mead cup.
“You should not drink,” Borghild said as she paced the modern apartment below First Base.
“Are you my wife to tell me such things?” Seccon
asked.
“I do not care what you drink,” Borghild said. “I merely said the words.”
He watched her for a long time. “We need to talk.”
She snorted and turned her back to him.
With a strange sensation warming his spine, he stood and crossed the room, taking her hand and turning her to face him. “Borghild, sit with me by the window.”
“It isn’t a window. So you say. Even though I have eyes and I am not fool,” she said. “You say there is no window to make me believe in the magic of your people. But I see birds flying and clouds moving across the sky. You say pictures can move, and maybe they can, but no picture is as real as this.”
“You are right, of course,” Seccon said. “I explained the window poorly. Please sit with me. I need your help.”
She frowned. “Now you want my help? Do you need more sex?”
He pulled her to the couch and sat beside her. “You know all the clans of Grendel, large and small.”
“Because I am no longer a girl,” she replied. “Of course I know such things.”
“Could you learn the truth of a plot against one of the Jarls?” he asked.
Borghild smiled and leaned forward, interest glowing in her eyes. “I love such mystery as that. Are we going to talk about your people?”
“Yes, Borghild, my love, we are,” he said. “The nations of my people were called the Earth Systems Commonwealth.”
“What is a commonwealth?” she asked.
“A type of alliance for trade regulation and military support.”
She nodded and waved her hand for him to continue.
“I was given a mission,” he said. “This part I must not tell you because…”
“Then leave me alone. I will take another of the warm bubble baths that smell like flowers,” she said, pulling her hands from his.
Seccon studied her, seeing all of her glorious form even as he held her gaze and searched her expression for deception or ulterior motives. “What I tell you now will kill you.”