by Scott E Moon
“What?”
“You’re such a love struck little boy. You want to see your precious Becca. What are you going to do, fuck Laura in the Commander’s quarters, Captain Raien in the cockpit of a battle tank, and your sweet Becca on the beach? I admire your ambition, Kin, but it’ll never happen. Not after I rip your dick off and shove it down your throat.”
The sound of Droon’s hunting cry rolled through the night, lasting far longer than any Reaper scream Kin had ever heard. Orlan lowered him to the ground but didn’t release his mechanized grip. He looked around, pretending bravado as he searched the darkness. The Fleet troopers set up a defensive perimeter without a word. They could’ve been machines. Orlan saw what they were doing and raised his helmet assembly. His amplified voice sounded dry.
“Tell me about this Reaper, Kin. I want to catch it before Raien does.”
“His name is Droon.”
“I don’t want to know his name!” Orlan raised a gauntleted hand to strike Kin but stopped, clenching his fist until it shook visibly. “I hate you Kin. Why are you such a devious bastard?”
“Who cares what the Reaper is called?” one of the nameless troopers asked. Orlan turned on him.
“If you know a Reaper’s name, then you’re tied to it. The beast can enter your dreams and you would have more fun castrating yourself than sleeping with those nightmares,” Orlan said.
Kin waited for Orlan to gather his wits and turn on him again. He didn’t think the sergeant was going to bring him in alive. He knew how Orlan operated. The man was calm and professional during a field battle, but when it came to murder, he needed to work himself into a frenzy. Then he went berserk. Orlan stopped talking and bent close to Kin, stooping in the armor that made him more of a giant than he already was.
“He’s sick. You could probably take him alive,” Kin said.
“Bullshit. You want to get me killed.”
Kin stared at him.
Orlan recognized the truth in Kin’s words and paused. “You’re telling the truth. I can’t believe it.”
“You won’t be able to handle me and the Reaper. You have to choose.”
“Hmm. Let me think. A million credit bounty or a vendetta against a dead man.” Orlan stood and walked to the defensive perimeter his troopers had formed. He looked back at Kin. “I’m keeping your weapons. Good luck getting back to Crater Town. You better pray that we catch this Reaper, because I’m sure he’s not done with you.”
Kin shrugged. He knew Orlan couldn’t be burdened with the pistol, sword, axe, and knives in addition to his own collection. He’d drop them once he was out of sight and Kin would find them. “Good luck.”
“You sarcastic piece of shit,” Orlan said. “Come on, men. Wedge formation, on me. Keep your eyes open and ignore your heat sensors. Reapers are hard to see that way.”
Kin waited until they were gone before he sat down to rest. The troopers were easy to hear. He marked the position where they paused. That would be where his weapons were stashed. If he was lucky, they would down other gear that he could steal as well. Soon they crashed through the night, racing toward Droon with dreams of a million credit bounty.
Becca is on Crashdown.
She had paid Orlan and a band of pirates to save his life. The joy he felt should have given him new life, but he was exhausted. The weight of holding impossible hope for so many years suddenly seemed unbearable. Becca had become a dream and he was afraid to see it realized.
He thought of what Commander Westwood would do when he walked into Crater Town, the Traitor of Hellsbreach, the Enemy of Man. Kin hoped he would be able to see Becca before they locked him in a cell. Maybe she would be allowed to visit him. He could thank her and tell her how much he loved her. He could explain why he failed. It didn’t matter if she forgave him. He wanted to see her before the Fleet abandoned Crashdown and he lost her forever.
Kin found his weapons under a heavy rock he could barely move. He really needed to obtain his own armor. It had been a long time since he felt the power of modern weapons.
The night passed quickly and he found Rickson asleep with his head on Clavender’s lap. He entered their camp and shook his head. The shepherd had selected a terrible place to stop, steep dunes flanked them and there was enough scrub brush for an enemy to creep close before being detected. He stepped out of the shadows and walked close to Clavender before she turned her head and saw him.
“Kin?”
“It’s me, Clavender. How long have you been here?” he asked.
“A long time. Rickson nearly gave up after we saw the Fleet troopers catch you. He wanted to help, but I convinced him there was nothing he could do. Why did they let you go?” she asked.
“There is a reward for a live Reaper,” Kin said.
Clavender shuddered. Kin sat and they watched Rickson sleep for several minutes.
“You won’t let him take me again.”
“Not while I’m alive. Can you still feel him?”
“Yes, but I am stronger here. The light of the wormhole shines down and gives me courage,” she said. “You can never know what might come through it. Do you believe in miracles?”
“Should I?”
She didn’t answer. He watched her pull her arm slowly from under Rickson and flex her fingers. She smoothed his hair.
“I can’t go into Crater Town. The Fleet has branded me a traitor and will have me executed.” Kin said the words, but knew he had to take the risk. He needed to see Becca and couldn’t think clearly.
“You could seek the Ror-Rea, but you would not be allowed to leave,” Clavender said.
Kin barely heard her, though he doubted her people would welcome him, not with what he had seen of her father. He couldn’t focus on her words, because he was still thinking of Becca. If he could get close enough to the Fleet ships, he might see which was hers. Someone could get her a message, arrange a meeting.
“Are you well?” Clavender asked.
Kin nodded, but didn’t look at her. He stared into the night without seeing anything.
“You should go back to your people. Commander Westwood will never let you go once he has you,” Kin said.
“He will,” Clavender said.
Kin looked at her sharply. “How can you be sure?”
“I do not see the future, Kin, but your Commander will find holding me dangerous.”
“Because you control the wormholes and the weather? Why have you stayed in Crater Town all these years?”
“Don’t ask questions when you know the answers. I have kept you here, safe from my people, close to the power of the wormhole, but I cannot touch it so easily now.”
“Why not?”
“I am not sure.”
“Guess.”
Clavender said nothing. In the distance, Orlan and his troopers fired rifles and plasma weapons.
Kin checked his gear, frustration mounting. He was tired of Droon, Orlan, and even Clavender. “Laura sent me a message that the Fleet was forced to turn some of their warships into terra-forming machines. If you’re not going to help us, I’ll have to beg Westwood to take everyone from Crater Town when he leaves.”
“How could machines change the planet?” Clavender asked.
“They’re probably filling shelters with oxygen for starters,” Kin said. “Ten years, and now the planet rejects us.”
Clavender shrugged. “I am not a witch or a goddess.”
“You might be,” Kin said.
“Nothing I can do now will keep the wormhole from touching the planet. When that happens, no magic of mine and no technology of yours will save us,” Clavender said.
Kin pondered her words and leaned against a rock. He thought of Sophia and Dax and all he had seen in the last few days. “I need to sleep for a few minutes.”
Clavender nodded and continued to stroke Rickson's hair. Kin closed his eyes and tried to think of Becca, praying for a sweet dream of days long past. Instead, the image of Orlan plagued him. Relaxing was impossible.<
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Kin retained his youthful appearance after his imprisonment in the space casket. For years he thought something about the voyage, as short as it had been, had kept him young. He rarely thought about it, because few mirrors existed in Crater Town. But his most recent encounter with Orlan had changed everything. The man had changed, but only in terms of physical abuse he had suffered.
Scars drew random pictures on his face, and part of his left ear was missing. His eyes revealed that he had seen many horrors, but his complexion was that of a man in his early twenties rather than a man in his mid-thirties. It was a subtle detail, but seemed important. Kin wished for the first time that he had a mirror to look at his face.
He had few things in common with Orlan. They were both trained killers and they both served on Hellsbreach, but Orlan had escaped being captured, while Kin had been subjected to torture and mutilation before they healed him with their questionable medical techniques. In that moment, he realized he had been in denial about the nature of his youth, but now understood it had something to do with Hellsbreach and the microorganisms that contaminated his blood while he endured Reaper captivity.
Perhaps that was why Laura liked him so much. They were the same age, but she probably saw him as a boy toy and never questioned his appearance. Kin had grown stronger year after year, when age should have made him slower. And his memory was better. He healed faster.
Something happened to Orlan when he was on Hellsbreach and Kin wondered whether all survivors of the campaign had similar benefits. He knew there were few who had been on the planet that ever left it. He thought of Raif and how the man continued to fight after losing his hand.
Most Hellsbreach combatants that survived the campaign had been in space command, bombarding the planet from orbit and assuming tactical command of the men and women doing the dying. Yet, others like Kin must exist in the Fleet.
Kin relived the moment Orlan ran to the rescue ship. He hated the man for abandoning him, but suddenly felt as though his worst enemy was the only person he could identify with. He thought of Orlan's scarred face and the new scar he put on the man's mouth when he stabbed him. The vision of Orlan stared back at him, angry and amused at the same time. Kin looked into his eyes—eyes like a cloudy glass of water. He thought of Droon's mutated eyes. The Reaper and the Sergeant had too much in common.
Kin opened his eyes, aware he had been sleeping. His muscles locked him in place and all he wanted was something to drink. He saw Clavender was still awake, though she stared at the wormhole in the bright morning sun as though she were in a trance. Kin checked his weapons and his gear before waking Rickson.
“Kin? I thought you’d be in the stockade by now, or dead,” Rickson said.
Kin took a sip of water and then another. “You better eat something while you can. How much water do you have?”
Rickson held up a full skin. “I had to draw from a stream, but I think it’s clean.”
Kin nodded, but was distracted by Clavender's pale face. She seemed to be in pain and no longer as serene as when he had first found them. “Rickson, we will need to move before Droon tries to take Clavender again.”
“I am okay,” Clavender said.
“When was the last time you slept?” Kin asked. She didn't answer, but he knew she was afraid to encounter Droon in her nightmares.
They traveled toward Crater Town. When they were close, Kin retraced their trail to look for signs of pursuit and saw something that made his blood run cold—Droon moving through the foothills flanked by several Crashdown wolves. He used better tactics than Kin believed Reapers understood, and seemed to be the alpha of the Crashdown wolf pack.
“Now I’ve seen it all,” Kin said. He put binoculars to his eyes and saw Droon had taken something from Orlan's troopers as well. The Reaper wore a utility belt as a necklace. The ammunition and first-aid packs would be useless to the Reaper, but Kin thought the stim packs were dangerous. All he needed was a Reaper wearing Clinger armor, flanked by a sentient pack of killer wolves, and hyped on caffeine or amphetamine boosters.
He hurried back to Rickson and Clavender, signaling for them to stay low and led them within view of Crater Town. Huge swells distorted the ocean. The wormhole was almost round, like a giant parachute in the sky. He thought of Dax and his warriors trying to reach the wormhole, which led him to think of Dax's warning. If Clavender was not controlling the wormhole, who was?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
GRAVITY pressed down. Cyclones exploded from the ground and merged with clouds that appeared in mid-air and mixed. Kin watched as one cloud stopped moving, opened, and poured what looked like black sand into the sea. The wormhole opened in five places, dumping meteors over the mountains.
“Why is this happening? Clavender is here. I’ve never seen a storm like this,” Rickson said.
Clavender shuddered. “I have.”
“What’s going to happen to us?” Rickson asked. He stared at Clavender.
“If I know Laura, she’s covering her bets,” Kin said. “She should have Westwood wrapped around her finger by now. If anyone can secure passage for thousands of shipwreck castaways, it’s Laura. But she must believe there is a chance the Fleet will abandon us, so she’s pushing Commander Westwood for the atmosphere boosting and terra-forming efforts.”
“The Goliath was a terra-former,” Rickson said.
Kin avoided looking at the boy too closely, but could see concern on his face. Clavender’s eyes were dim, as though hiding, and her wings were pulled close to her body. Normally they moved with easy grace.
“Westwood has taken everything useful from the crater for his warships,” Kin said.
“Can they use the warships to terra-form?” Rickson asked.
“Crashdown is a hundred times larger than any planet ever attempted. It can't be done.”
“Then why are they trying?”
“They’re stalling. Every ship they convert to terra-forming means more people left behind. I’ve seen Fleet ships preparing for blast off. Westwood is in a hurry.”
“What happens to us?” Rickson asked.
Kin looked through the binoculars without answering, watching a Fleet sergeant giving orders. For a moment, the man’s voice was carried by the wind.
“Move those power coils, damn it. I said move them. Move your ass while you're at it.” The sergeant’s helmet-amplified voice sounded distorted. Kin hated the sound because it reminded him of panic. He’d been in battles where men screamed for their lives and begged for mercy—swears, curses, and prayers on the same breath.
Battle tanks had been converted to bulldozers. They were pushing the dunes into huge berms and sinking foundations for the terra-forming machines deep into the soil. Engines growled and klaxons blared warnings as machines reversed and men ran to avoid them. The smell of diesel fumes drifted on the wind. Kin could smell the stink from his hiding place.
Rickson crawled to Kin's side. “What are they doing now? They look like they are trying to build a wall.”
“Why would you build a wall?” Kin asked.
“For protection.”
Kin nodded.
The sight of tanks converted to bulldozers wasn’t new, but it had been a long time since Kin had seen it. He studied the mounds of dirt and marveled at how many purposes they could serve—foundations for atmosphere reclamation factories, protective barriers for the launch of ships, or makeshift walls to stand against an invading army. Commander Westwood was showing caution. Kin could feel urgency in the air. There were no slackers today. Every trooper was trying to earn a seat on the evacuation mission.
“Can they really remake the planet? You say it can't be done, but how do you know?” Rickson asked.
Kin didn't speak at first. The activity below reminded him of how much power a Fleet division possessed. The hopeful look in Rickson's eyes broke Kin's heart. The boy had lived most of his life here and the thought that it could be made a paradise must have been a dream of his since he could listen to stori
es of better worlds.
“Listen Rickson, these men are desperate. Look at the way they move. Look at how they're pushing people out of the way. They want off this planet and the only reason they want off is because something terrible is about to happen. I was in the Fleet for a long time. They're professionals, well-disciplined, and brave to a fault. But they don’t leave a place without foraging. If there wasn't impending danger that Commander Westwood thought would destroy them, they would spend years salvaging every possible resource. Only then would they leave. Expeditions are expensive and you can’t return to the home worlds empty handed. They need millions of gallons of water for each ship. Water is recycled while in space, but you can never have too much. When I was in the Fleet we fought wars just for water. Now think of everything else they might want from this place.”
Rickson watched the Fleet troopers move. “I thought they came to help us.”
“I can't go down there, Rickson,” Kin said. He thought of Becca, but continued to talk. The words sounded as though they came from someone else. “Take Clavender to Laura. Go directly to her and no one else. If Westwood realizes what she is, he’ll take her. The Fleet won’t be gentle with her.”
“Why would they want to hurt Clavender,” Rickson asked.
“The men you see don't want to hurt her, no more than any normal man would. But others in the Fleet will see her only as an alien. They’ll want to study her. And they might want to use her as a weapon or sell her for profit.”
“What are you going to do? You can’t stay here,” Rickson said.
Kin knew his fate if he surrendered to Commander Westwood. After he had been sentenced to death, the only people who fought for his life had been those wanting to study him and try to learn about what happened to him on Hellsbreach. Only the most high-ranking officers and scientists with special security clearance knew everything. They had debriefed him. And he gave his report like a soldier. When he had told everything, and done his absolute best to explain what had occurred on Hellsbreach, the scientists began with psychotropic drugs to learn more. He was put into sleep deprivation, light deprivation, and sound deprivation all at once and individually.