Grendel Uprising: The Complete Series

by Scott Moon

  12

  DUSK

  SKY CLAN VILLAGE

  GRENDEL 0473829: SURFACE, HIGHLAND VALLEY 83A2T

  MISSION CLOCK: 1:87:16:00

  Aefel and the others returned to the village to find the traveling performers had already set their carts in a circle and made camp on the commons. A valiant troop of boys and girls stood guard, while others ran to greet their mothers and siblings and grandfathers.

  “Leave your stranger alone for one more night,” Fey said. “Sleep. Things will be better in the morning.”

  Aefel held his right hand to the side of his face, trying to press back the messages that were being broadcast to him via neural pathways. No amount of closing his eyes or squeezing his hands around his head would stop the bio-HUD or the orders it screamed at him through the backup communication link.

  Seccon was here. Seccon must die.

  He watched the former Strongarm of the Emperor arrange the festivities and tune instruments, pausing more than once to look in Aefel’s direction. He didn’t understand his hesitation and decided to approach the traitor and complete the mission. Wordless doubt and nameless instinct caused him to hesitate, think, and marvel at his own inaction.

  “Aefel.” Fey’s voice was stern.

  He looked at her and saw the depth of her exhaustion. His heart went out to the young woman who had fought so bravely and lost so many of her friends on the field of battle. She needed him. Seccon probably would not flee, since he hadn’t taken the many opportunities already given to him by fate. That would be little consolation if Aefel found himself tracking the man through untamed wilderness six months from now.

  “I am coming, Fey,” he said.

  It was a good measure of his exhaustion that he was able to go to sleep. The messages he continued receive from Command were on a one-way link. He wasn’t expected to reply; he was expected to act.

  “Never stop without sitting down,” he said.

  Fey tilted her head and looked at him questioningly.

  “It is something soldiers say. I am tired, inside and out.”

  She moved close and put her arm around his waist as they walked away from Seccon’s troupe of performers. They ducked into her dwelling and collapsed on the sleeping mat.

  Fey lie naked across him and he barely touched her, or she him beyond the warm, heavy weight of her body against his. They awoke the next morning with hair and limbs and body odors tangled intimately across each other.

  “A bath,” Fey said.

  Aefel followed her to the hot springs and submitted to being scrubbed clean on the bank before easing into the warm water. Unusually large snowflakes began to fall. He thought of the high altitude insertion and how badly he had landed. In the grand scheme of things, he hadn’t been on Grendel for long.

  It felt like a lifetime. A good lifetime, despite the emotional and physical pain of the last day and a half.

  They swam to a shallow area to be alone and stretched out to watch the white and gray swirling sky above them.

  “What are you going to do with the stranger?” Fey asked.

  “I must kill him.”

  “Why?”

  “It is my mission.”

  13

  DUSK

  SKY CLAN VILLAGE

  GRENDEL 0473829: SURFACE, HIGHLAND VALLEY 83A2T

  MISSION CLOCK: 1:99:00:00

  It could have been done with more ceremony, but a good plan was a simple plan and Fey agreed to what he needed to do. She would play her part. He hoped it wouldn’t get her killed.

  There wasn’t much preparation for the end game. In contrast to the laborious pre-drop procedures when Paul had checked every section of his equipment and his fully functioning Internals had saturated him with reminders and instructions, his final approach to Seccon, the most wanted traitor in the universe, was simple and direct.

  He did little more than dress in rough clothing and belt on a sword as musicians danced from one celebration fire to the next and magicians performed miracles for the children. Striding through the village, he ignored Fey’s pleas, just as they had planned. Their time in the hot springs had not caused him to reveal every secret of his mission, but they came to an understanding. She confirmed many of his suspicions. A careful study of her eyes, and the nearly invisible freckle-like marks around them, convinced him of her heritage and what he had to do, although he had few choices.

  Without his Core Internals, he had limited access to data scans of identity markers. The distance Command Center knew far more than he did at this point and they were not sharing.

  He often felt abandoned on Grendel, but never so completely as during the battle of the shield wall. What surprised him was that he was happy. The Earth System Commonwealth Military intended to leave him on this primitive planet, and that was fine with him. Now he needed information. There would be no debriefing or post medical screening. He would never understand how Grendel 0473829 came to shelter the final line of the Blood Royal. He would not learn Seccon’’s motivation for killing Emperor Dan Uburt-Wesson, the last of the line after he ordered his nephew and his nieces killed, or thought he had all of them killed.

  But most of all, Aefel could never hope to know Seccon’s current intentions. Why was he here? Did he think he could kill Sveinn and the others if Aefel decided to protect them? Or was he — this was a crazy thought — here to protect the children of the Blood Royal?

  There was a way to learn the villain in this scenario. All it would require was a final cast of the dice and facing the deadly consequences.

  Aefel paused to study the festivities. According to Fey, the celebration could last for a full week. It seemed that the feasting and dancing had grown more fervent since the warriors returned on the eve of battle. He looked for Seccon and anyone who might be one of the former Strongarm’s agents.

  A song ended. Villagers clapped and cheered. A song began. Aefel searched among the dancers until he spotted his quarry. The man moved frequently, occasionally joining a dance or a song, but never straying far from Sveinn or his two younger sisters.

  Aefel wanted to get him away from Sveinn and the twins in case he was wrong about Seccon. Everything had seemed clear while he relaxed in the hot springs with Fey holding him. Seccon didn’t seem like a bad man. He seemed like a probable ally.

  Probable wasn’t good enough, not with everything that was at stake. Aefel had to know, and there was only one way he would learn the truth. He needed to complete the mission. What would happen after proof of death?

  Aefel grabbed Seccon from the middle of a dance, causing his Gren-pipe to squeal and half of the villagers to curse. The other half were very drunk and continued to prance in circles despite the disorder of the interruption.

  “Leave him alone!” Fey screamed.

  Aefel grunted and dragged the man from the village. Fey wasn’t a very good actor.

  Gunnarr ran at Aefel, then stopped when he saw the look on his face.

  Sveinn brushed past the older boy. “We were dancing, you big, stupid Vildfremmed.”

  “Later,” Aefel said. “I need to have words with Seccon.”

  The Imperial Strongarm assassin twisted his feet into place and gained his balance long enough to break free. “Then have your words, Aefel FALD.”

  Fey and the others looked at Aefel questioningly. He shook his head and grabbed Seccon roughly by the arm. The man resisted and they wrestled across the field just outside of the village.

  Aefel cursed and shot a glance at Fey, who gave him a worried look before running to the place where he had crash-landed. There was no time to wait for her, because Seccon was stronger than his age suggested, and his reputation as a skilled fighter had not been exaggerated.

  Aefel was not as large — a bit shorter and leaner — but he was experienced and well trained. Had Seccon been in his prime, the contest would have gone differently.

  “I am trying to do the right thing,” Aefel grunted into Seccon’s ear.

  The assassin pull
ed back, stared at him for what was a relatively long moment during a fight, and then tried to break free. This time, however, the contest devolved into a sparring match rather than a life and death struggle.

  Aefel began to choke him. “Now stay dead, you murderer!” He knew what it was like to lose consciousness. In training, Aefel usually forced his partners to render him unconscious rather than tap out and admit defeat. Life and death was a near thing when it came to the point of suffocation.

  He stood and looked around for Sveinn, who was glaring at him angrily.

  “If you value your sister’s life, find her and bring her back here with my things.” Aefel pointed at Sveinn as he grunted the words.

  The boy hesitated, then ran into the night.

  Gunnarr drew his sword.

  “Just wait, Gunnarr. This is old business between me and Seccon.”

  “You should have waited until after the festival,” Gunnarr said.

  “Everyone in the village would have been dead if I’d waited.”

  Fey and Sveinn arrived with the metal and ceramic box that had remained hidden since his arrival. They dragged it forward and dropped it at Aefel’s feet as messages began to roll across the inside of his vision.

  He spoke into his hand. “Aefel 70391, Special FALD Mission, Grendel 0473829, reporting proof of death of Seccon 99991. Mark the time as, now.”

  He knelt and stared into Seccon’s open eyes. He visually scanned the freckle bar code near the base of the former Royal Strongarm’s ear.

  He waited.

  Fey and the other villagers circled him, but stayed back.

  The ruse wasn’t enough for the Mission Command. With a glance at Fey, he picked up Seccon and carried him to the shabby dwelling that had been his home since his arrival. He placed Seccon inside, checked his pulse roughly, then burnt the place to the ground as bewildered faces watched him from a distance. If the man was smart, and he surely was to be the Chief Strongarm of the Emperor, he would find his way out through the cellar.

  There was no music. The other performers were already packing their things with shaking hands and dark looks at Aefel. Some seemed ready to leave in the night despite the dangers in this wild landscape.

  Flames reached for the moon. People drifted away in horror. Gunnarr stood with his naked sword and waited for Aefel to face him. Tears ran down his face.

  “Aefel,” Fey said quietly.

  He turned and followed her gaze to the metal and ceramic ESC parcel. A small light glowed in the lock. Before he could read the message inside of his vision, the case unfolded dramatically, causing most of the remaining Sky Clan people to run back to their families.

  Aefel saw the long gun and the modern sword even before the case finished unpacking. Seconds later, there were two deadly weapons that Aefel knew better than his own conscience lying in the snow. The rifle was fully powered and the sword was sharper than anything the people of Grendel would ever know.

  Kill everyone in the village. Start with Fey, then Sveinn. You have been called as a guardian of the new order. This is a test. Begin at once.

  “Are you okay, Aefel?” Fey asked.

  “I need to leave for a while.”

  BLOOD ROYAL

  Previously in the Grendel Uprising series:

  Aefel, a talented and well-respected lieutenant in the First Armored-infantry Lighting Division, or FALD, was sent to kill the Chief Strongarm of the Emperor, Seccon, for the crimes of Treason and Regicide. During his dramatic quest for survival, he made an enemy of Jorgo, the leader of the Hawk Clan, and discovered that the Emperor’s nephew and three nieces were alive when everyone in the Earth System Commonwealth believed them murdered. Aefel located Seccon, but faked his death after deciding that the Chief Strongarm was not on Grendel to hide, but to protect the four children of Imperial lineage.

  1

  SUNRISE

  BORGHILD’S DWELLING

  GRENDEL 0473829: SURFACE, HIGHLAND VALLEY 83A2T

  MISSION CLOCK: n/a – FUGITIVE

  SECCON reviewed his situation the moment he awoke and saw the smoke-stained ceiling of Borghild’s cottage. It had been the same every morning since his faked death. The First Armored-infantry Lightning Division had sent one soldier, Aefel 70391, to hunt him down. At first, he wasn’t sure if this was a trap or an insult. When he saw that it was Aefel, things made sense. The man was a legend in the Earth Systems Commonwealth military. His exploits inspired a new generation of soldiers to identify themselves as FALD Reavers, or just Reavers for short, and to win more hopeless battles than any amount of support, luck, or technology could explain.

  The logic behind Aefel’s decision to abort his mission, fake Seccon’s death, and go AWOL might never be unraveled. He made himself a fugitive just like Seccon. Maybe not as wanted as Seccon, who had assassinated the Emperor, but likely the target of fellow Reavers who felt betrayed and humiliated by his actions at the very least. Seccon tried not to imagine about what his Strongarms thought of him since the assassination — since he had betrayed everything he had taught them and played them for fools.

  Seccon assumed that Aefel had realized Sveinn, Ari, Thrud, and Fey were part of the Blood Royal. The FALD Reaver must have guessed that the Emperor ordered their death and that an unknown coalition of very powerful and very desperate people had hidden them on Grendel. It was a theory that Seccon shared.

  He had more proof than Aefel could dream of finding.

  He had burnt more bridges.

  In the grand scheme of things, his position was orders of magnitude more impossible than Aefel’s failed mission.

  With a nearly priceless coin held securely in his right hand, Seccon rolled onto his side and gazed at Borghild’s body. She was young and well endowed — a sight for any man to appreciate, especially a widower like Seccon who spent thirty years married to a woman with a chest as flat as a sword thrust. Casia 70004 had been as trim as any modern athlete; her flat yet dynamic abdominal wall had been the core of her explosive physical presence and championship athletic skill.

  Aggressive, passionate, and fiercely political, she had been the prime example of a new human. Her tough, business-like manner made romantic encounters hard and fast — like a Crossfit event rather than an ultra-marathon. Their lovemaking had always felt satisfyingly like lust, even near the final days when the political universe spiraled toward interstellar oblivion. That did not mean a man quit liking the feel of a heavy breast in his palm just because his wife was a diminutive athlete. He had never actually been with anyone else to learn the difference, but what did that matter?

  He opened his hand and looked at the coin without really seeing it; his mind was on the women in his life — an infinitely more personal subject than the talisman of a possible rebellion. He had known only Casia before coming here, and she would have cursed him for avoiding the truth of the coin. She would have raged at the inscription on the forged alloy disc. She had been, after all, in possession of the most advanced cybernetic enhancement available to military or civilian operators. She had been human and then some, contrary to the commanding words on the coin.

  By contrast, Borghild was all natural, completely organic, the descendant of paid role players who had gone feral on Grendel generations ago. Full breasts, sturdy thighs, and a heart full of nature and love — she didn’t even know what an internal cybernetic modification was.

  Tears filled the corners of his eyes as he thought about Casia 70004. My fierce, perfect spy, he thought. Do you see the fields of purple lavender now, my love? His adventurous, proud, and violently loyal wife talked about flowers in her sleep. Her first battle had soaked a beautiful spring landscape in blood and she frequently sought virgin meadows without realizing what she was doing. Once, he asked her why they spent most of their liberty time wandering remote, picturesque places.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she had said. “No one is listening to us here. Watch the flowers. If they move, someone is trying to sneak up on us.”
>
  Seccon hadn’t broached the issue again. She had, however, continued to talk of purple lavender in her sleep. He sighed and trembled at the memory, holding tears inside where they belonged.

  Borghild saw his distress and hurried to him, the sudden movement making alarming changes to her breasts and tangles of golden, waist-length hair as she rolled to face him. On impulse, he thrust one hand between her legs as she came near and she playfully closed her ample thighs on his hand. Hot and delicious, Borghild was no replacement for Casia. She never would be, but she was loving and passionate, and Seccon felt something entirely different for her than he did for his wife, God rest her soul.

  “Oh, my little killing,” she said.

  Seccon shook his head. “That word means something else in my language. Try kitten.” He smiled as she said the word and frowned.

  “I think ki-t-t-en is a silly word.”

  “Kitten,” Seccon said.

  “Kil-it-ing.” She followed the attempt with a triumphant smile, then kissed him. “I will go outside. When I come back, I will tell you how the beautiful sun hangs in the sky and birds sing me pretty songs like the Gren-pipe you used to play for me.”

  He smiled at the sound of her words and watched her shrug into what was either a long shirt or a very functional tunic.

  She tucked a belt around her slim waist, then tied back her hair a moment later.

  “Always in such a hurry,” he said.

  She smiled and left the hut.

  He wondered what a scan of her genetic markers would reveal, but put the thought out of his mind. Sveinn and his sisters were already caught in a political machine that would grind them to rotten meat chunks. Why had he come here knowing what the consequences must be?

  It is more than simple genetics.

  “Humans sit Humanum,” he read from the palm-sized coin token. Humans must be human. His wife would have learned who made the coin and to whom the watchwords belonged. Seccon never appreciated espionage until she was taken from him. He had assumed it would be easy to find the secret society on this simple world.