Grendel Uprising: The Complete Series

by Scott Moon

  He counted the vertebrae and then felt the area until he thought he had located the device. Unlike the piece of technology that Fey stole from him, this one was very small. He held his knife near the tip of the blade and began to work. Several quick movements opened the flesh and cut down to the bone at the base of his skull. Blood streamed down his fingers, running along his forearms to his elbows and dripping into a growing red pool on the ground.

  Aefel focused on a fixed spot in the distance and held his breath.

  Yanking the device out was another matter. He thought that whoever designed the device had purposely connected it to pain receptors. He yanked it free and cried out. Then he dropped the knife and fell forward onto his knees, resting his forehead on the ground as he trembled. Several moments later, he regained composure, still sobbing, and straightened. He looked between the fingertips of his right hand and saw the insubstantial device peeking out.

  Aefel placed the sliver of silicon that was half the size of his fingernail on the ground and smashed it with the hilt of his knife.

  He repeated the process for Internals located in the flesh of his forearms and shins. He wasn’t an expert in cybernetic enhancements, but he knew his inventory. If the Earth Systems Commonwealth government had somehow placed other devices inside of him, he would have no way of knowing. Despite the prevalence of cybernetic technology, he doubted the government would spend the extra money. There were a lot of soldiers in the Commonwealth military.

  He cleaned and dressed his wounds. He ate a light meal, drank a considerable amount of mead, and slept. In the morning, he would decide whether or not to remove more serious components. At complete maturity, major bones were braced and reinforced with space-age metal alloys and carbon composites. Some of these were the broken bones that Fey had seen sticking out of his flesh after his crash landing. Structural braces hurt like hell when they were destroyed, but healing wasn’t required. A support beam running along the shin prevented fractures, but wasn’t necessary for normal functioning. It was glorified armor under the skin. During his early days on Grendel, he removed one of these pieces from the shin because it was too mangled to remain poking out of the flesh. He buried it when Fey wasn’t looking and hadn’t thought about it since.

  The view was incredible when he crawled to gaze from the cave opening. He could see the Sky Clan village in all of its glory far across the valley. When living in the half-buried dwelling with its thatch roof, the place felt shabby. But from a distance, it was regal. There was a divine order to the layout of the village. It made sense for both agrarian functionality and for defense in case of raids. Snow covered rooftops and smoke emerged from chimneys and doorways at the end of each longhouse. He saw smaller buildings where animals were kept out of the elements. He felt bad for the sheep and goats, as they seemed to be left to their own survival instincts. Cows and horses had marginally better lives in the Sky Clan village than lesser livestock.

  His last thoughts before sleep were frustrated justifications for why the people of the Sky Clan village had not left. He should’ve directly warned Fey about the wrath of the Commonwealth military. There was no chance for him to make direct contact to warn them now, because to do so would expose his intentions to the Recon scouts. His only advantage was that they hadn't located him.

  His time was running out. Stealth and evasion were not his specialties. He knew how the Recon commandos operated, but that would only get him so far. The men and women hunting him were professionals and wouldn’t quit.

  He wanted to be with Fey. Maybe he could convince her to gather her siblings and leave the area entirely or convince Gunnarr and the village elders to join with another clan. After they had lost so much to retain their independence, he did not think this was an idea that would go over well. There was also a good chance it would be pointless. Every warrior on Grendel would die if they fought the Commonwealth.

  He’d seen it before. He had been the man running the auto-cannon.

  Pain throbbed in his bones. Without his Internals dripping pain medication and patented hormonal cocktails, his recovery felt like a slow death. He took a deep breath and thought of the planet, its people, and his new life. It was a strange feeling to be sick with pain and realize happiness was within his reach if he could grab it and hold on. He had found Fey only to lose her, but it seemed like he was meant to be here. It seemed like he was doing something important.

  5

  NIGHT

  SKY CLAN VILLAGE

  GRENDEL 0473829: SURFACE, HIGHLAND VALLEY 83A2T

  MISSION CLOCK: n/a – FUGITIVE

  A fire pit dominated the center of the longhouse. Smoke twisted toward the support beams in the tall ceiling and meandered out of the single chimney at the far end of the room. There were no windows, but the main door was open and allowed some fresh air to come in, cold as it was. Seccon ate his meal without looking up from the table. When he could, he watched Fey on his left and Borghild on his right. He packed a freshly baked loaf of barley bread with meat and stewed vegetables and stuck it in his mouth.

  “I didn’t want to come back to the village,” Borghild said. “I did it for you, Sangerhinde. No one changes here. Fey is an angry little cat and no one missed me when I was gone. Thom might have, but he died before you came. Take me away, Seccon. Please. How many ways must I ask?”

  Seccon continued to eat, although he was aware of how she pressed against his side with her body and held his right arm with both hands. On Seccon’s left, Fey rapped a spoon on the table. The rhythm was very quick and angry.

  “Yes, please, take her away, Sangerhinde,” Fey said. “You know that she can’t sing. And since there are so few men left around here, she’s really of no use in the village.”

  Seccon clutched the greasy bread and pulled pork sandwich, ducking and wincing as the fight began. Borghild struck first, reaching around him with a right hook to tag Fey squarely in the face. Blood flowed from the smaller woman’s nose and mouth — something that Seccon sensed more than saw. Fey scrambled over him, attacking Borghild with a vengeance as he shoved back from the table with one hand, sending a ripple of spilled drinks and scattered plates down the long table. He lost half of his sandwich and crushed the rest, grease squirting between his clenched fingers as he floundered backward and clear of the melee.

  There had been a time when he might’ve been amused by two women fighting. Nearly half of his Imperial Strongarms had been women, and they were some of his best warriors, but his fascination with the spectacle of two women grappling enthralled him more than it should. Perhaps it was a cultural prejudice he couldn’t shake. Perhaps there was something primal about seeing two women fight over him.

  They are not fighting over you. Bitter thoughts and emotional exhaustion soured his mood.

  He watched them fight, thankful to be out of the mix. Once they moved away from the table, he returned to his food, picked up what was left of the trencher that he had squeezed to death, and ate it. Sveinn brought him a tall flagon of ale, which tasted strange; never exactly the same brew twice in this place. For a moment, he thought the boy was going to throw his arm around him and sing, but moments later, the young Blood Royal was distracted by one of the women of the village and disappeared into the smoky longhall.

  Seccon wanted to leave the village. He wanted everyone to grab their kids and their animals and evacuate the area, march day and night until they were out of this upland valley. Despite the fact that the attack had not come when he thought it should have, he still believed that everyone in the village was in danger. There would be an orbital bombardment or an assault of heavily armed and armored Commonwealth soldiers, or both. The one thing he regretted more than killing Emperor Dan Uburt-Wesson was that he had been unable to learn the details of the Emperor’s orders to murder his nephew and his nieces.

  He had acted on his belief, but could never prove the crime. What he knew was that the death of the more legitimate heirs to the throne had been faked after they were spirited aw
ay to Grendel to save them from Dan Uburt-Wesson’s wrath.

  Seccon rubbed his head with slow, crushing force.

  The monarch of an interstellar commonwealth could not afford to show mercy. There were people who would agree with eliminating rivals for the throne. Seccon forced himself not to have an opinion on the matter. But what he knew was that children of the Blood Royal had survived and it was his duty to protect them.

  It was your duty to protect the Emperor or die in the attempt.

  He had not liked the man. He had done his duty for years, foiling countless assassination attempts. The moment he suspected that the Emperor had killed his sister’s children, Seccon, the best Strongarm ever to serve the Emperor, turned on his master like a venomous snake.

  He felt guilt, of course he did, but it changed nothing. His current situation required him to protect the remaining Blood Royal. He could not do that if they stayed in this village. Somehow, he needed to get them to move. Waiting was driving him crazy, but there was a man he wished to contact, a traveling peddler full of secrets. The man was a native of Grendel, but was from a class of natives that had never lost their understanding of Grendel’’s true purpose. This meant he would have technology not available to most locals. He might even sympathize with Seccon’s mission.

  Seccon required resources and technology that he could not find anywhere else. There would come a point when he would be forced to leave the Sky Clan village and take Sveinn and his sisters — against their will if necessary — but he would wait a little longer. He needed to find the merchant peddler and convince him to reveal where the one hidden technological base was on this planet.

  Borghild ran from the longhouse in tears, holding her torn tunic closed with both hands.

  “Enough!” he shouted.

  Fey backed away, then reached for a knife on the table without breaking eye contact.

  “She is a good woman! You are petty, jealous, and not fit to be queen. I should leave you here with the others.” Seccon snatched the knife from her hands and tossed it aside.

  One of the older women set down her tankard of ale and spoke. “Why should we be leaving, Sangerhinde? You keep talking about the end of the world. We fought two clans to remain free. Now you want us to leave?”

  “He wasn’t wrong about the meteors,” Fey said. She spoke to the other women, but looked at Seccon.

  “He wasn’t?” the woman said. “I didn't see any fiery destruction.”

  Fey looked at Seccon with desperate intensity. He wondered if she would try to explain the red-eyed fairies she thought she saw, but realized that Aefel’s girlfriend wasn’t as brave as she pretended. She would not stand up to the rest of the Sky Clan as Borghild was forced to do on a daily basis. The fear of being thought a fool paralyzed her.

  Seccon faced the older woman across the table and noted her scarred knuckles and calloused hands. “The demons who hunt Aefel use magic. Fey thought she saw fire-eyed fairies, which is what any of you would believe them to be had you seen. But they’re not. I’’ve never seen a fairy and I don’t know or care if they are real. But I saw many demon servants that day and thought that they would send down fire from the heavens. I was wrong. But I will not remain wrong for long.”

  The older woman laughed. “Since when do demons send down fire from heaven? That sounds like the work of Thor or the Archangel Michael if you believe that sort of thing.”

  “I called them demons because I don’t know what else to call them. I know that they’re very powerful and that they will come to Sky Clan and kill everyone.”

  “So what would you have us do, Sangerhinde?” The woman cracked her knuckles and laughed, then took a large swallow of ale and stood from the table. “What do we do with a singer who doesn’t sing songs?”

  “I don’t feel like singing.”

  6

  SUNRISE

  SKY CLAN VILLAGE

  GRENDEL 0473829: SURFACE, HIGHLAND VALLEY 83A2T

  MISSION CLOCK: n/a – ROGUE OPERATOR

  Aefel sent the bullet straight across the valley, cutting the frigid air of first light and ignoring fat snowflakes as they descended on the village. He didn’t breathe. The moment stretched toward misery. He saw enemies in his peripheral vision as they silently advanced on the outbuildings nearest the untamed forest. Seeing them, he kept his focus on his point-of-aim for the brief time it took the bullet to cross a thousand meters. Keep your eye on the target, Reaver. All the way to the bull’s-eye.

  Holding steady on the weapon, even a rifle as advanced as the one Commonwealth Mission Command had given him to wipe out Sveinn and his sisters, was necessary on long-range shots. There was no reason to rush to failure. Half a second insured accuracy.

  The bell rang with the impact of the supersonic bullet. Once he had thought of these people as merely feral sub-humans without cybernetic enhancements. Now, he wished he was free of circuitry, processors, and gears that made him human and then some. Anticipation of the coming slaughter caused him to grind his teeth and hold his breath.

  Through his riflescope, he saw Seccon’s girlfriend, Borghild — he thought was her name — look up. During countless hours of surveillance, Aefel had come to believe that the blond woman was the most alert citizen of the village, despite the fact that other women treated her like a child or an idiot, or perhaps both. Borghild, the big-breasted child-idiot, was about to save the village, if she could figure out what had just happened.

  Aefel sent another bullet to the rescue, cutting the leather rope that suspended the fire bell from the porch rafter of the mead hall. Several other women in the village square looked around. Borghild was the first to act. She ran to her dwelling and emerged with Seccon in tow.

  The regicidal enigma looked straight up in a classic posture of defeat and frustration, then dropped his gaze, shoulders slumping as he took a grim step toward Gunnarr’s dwelling. The elders of the village rarely left the young man’s longhall these days. They could order another evacuation. More likely, they would mock the assassin.

  Aefel shifted the powerful optics of his riflescope toward the commandos as they advanced on the village, then held a position several hundred meters outside of the village perimeter. The captain of the company conferred with his second-in-command. Orders were relayed and the entire force hunkered down in a containment formation.

  Aefel swore. He couldn’t see the infrared lasers that the men were using to direct incoming artillery, but he knew they existed. Time was short. As soon as the word was given to execute the bombardment, Sky Clan village would have minutes remaining before total annihilation. He wanted to start shooting, start killing these bastards with their strange markings in place of unit insignia, but a surprise sniper attack could do little but move forward their timeline. If they advanced instead of waiting on artillery, he would kill as many as he could before their counter snipers engaged him. In the meantime, he would put his faith in his aim and his silencer.

  Aefel swept his vision over the rest of the village, finding Gunnarr staring at Seccon with cold resentment, clearly upset that the man had made him the fool during the earlier false alarm. One of the older women tried to shove Seccon backward and found herself sitting in the dirt, probably uncertain of how she had been thrown there, since Seccon barely moved his arm to execute the move.

  Other women waved disgusted hands at the former Chief Strongarm of Emperor Dan Uburt-Wesson and went back to their chores.

  Aefel aimed, then fired three shots in rapid succession, blowing a jug of milk from a woman’s arm, a wool brush from another’s hand, and throwing up dirt near Gunnarr and Fey. He prayed this didn’t set the Commonwealth soldiers in action.

  The sight of Fey burned Aefel’s chest and watered his eyes, but he focused on his job. Counter snipers sent bullets into his hiding place a fraction of a second after he moved. He wondered if they had enough orbital artillery for a lonely FALD Reaver with a conscience, then ignored the probability of his death.

  There was nothing
left to do but move and move fast.

  Beyond the atmosphere of Grendel, warships catapulted inert payloads of captured meteoroids. The push wasn’t hard. Kinetic bombardment relied on precision aiming.

  Gravity did the rest.

  Sky Clan village was reduced to a smoking crater while he was too busy to watch the destruction. Several times, he tried to observe the process of fleeing villagers and nearly paid for it by getting caught. The Commonwealth commandos were after him now, coming hard and fast with little concern for stealth.

  Come and get me, you SLRDs.

  The new, much more aggressive tactics made escape and evasion easier. He wondered if they were allowing him to get away. Two hours after the village disappeared, he watched the valley from a new hiding place with only a little fear that his pursuers might stumble across him. He selected the location because wolves prowled the region. If soldiers came this direction, they would have to kill the aggressive animals and that would give Aefel plenty of warning.

  Squatting in the shadows of an evergreen tree and sipping from a skin of watered-down ale, he catalogued the damage. The stout mead hall was now a thirty-foot crater, black as dried blood in the moonlight and filling with snowmelt. He wondered what strangers would think when they stumbled upon this place and found vegetation growing over the blasted holes and ruined building foundations. The sound of a wounded goat reached Aefel’s hiding place. He wanted desperately to sneak into the wasteland and put it out of its misery.

  There were fewer bodies strewn along the trail than he feared there would be. From this distance, he could see women and girls with shattered legs and broken backs. They had crawled away from the bombardment. Others seemed to have suffered shrapnel wounds before fleeing into the woods to bleed to death. There was an old man spread eagle near the opening of the mountain pass where the villagers had fled. Aefel studied the body for a long time with his scope.