by Scott E Moon
“I was never a prisoner of war like you, but I was wounded several times. Fleet scientists kept me in quarantine for a long time, but found nothing. They would’ve kept me locked up, once they realized I was different, but Fleet Command wanted a Hero of Man to inspire bravery and loyalty in the troops. Now they can’t get rid of me.”
“So I heard,” Kin said. He surveyed the valley below, waiting for the mist to clear. The wormhole over the coast had grown eerily calm. He found himself looking back to see if it were a trick. Clavender spoke of the wormhole as though it were a living entity. Kin rejected the idea, but it still made him nervous. She also claimed the wormhole reached every corner of the universe. Perhaps there was only one wormhole anomaly connecting all places. Kin wondered if it reached through time as well, but banished the thought. Regret hurt too much. He didn’t need hope salting his wounds.
“You were messed up when we pulled you out of the Reaper den,” Orlan said. “My lieutenant wanted to drop you back in with an incendiary grenade fixed to your helmet. I talked him out of it. You owe me for that.”
“What happened to him?” Kin asked.
“He went crazy like every survivor of Hellsbreach.”
“Except you and me,” Kin said.
Orlan laughed.
The northern valley was divided by a wide, angry, river that twisted across the open field. Fog clung to the water and low areas, but fell away from the far side of the valley. What Kin saw changed everything. He assumed Droon was circling toward Clavender, but with a sinking feeling in his gut he realized the Reaper had led them into a trap.
Orlan stopped and stared. “What’s this? You better pray to God that the Commander doesn’t find you held this back.” He crouched next to Kin.
They stretched out on their stomachs and watched thousands of humanoid forms entering the valley from the mouth of the far pass. Bear’s Reapers were real, but Kin hadn’t expected them to move with such organization and purpose. He hadn’t expected them to carry advanced weapons and wear partial armor.
“Do the Imperials impress alien races into their army?” Kin asked. These were not the wild Reapers Bear had described.
“Yeah, and it looks like they hit the jackpot.”
“I see helmets, breastplates, and greaves,” Kin said.
“They wouldn’t wear boots,” Orlan said. “That would hinder their fucking talons. Those look like rifles they’re carrying.”
“Do you remember the flaming whips?” Kin asked. “Look at the leader of that squad.”
“Yep. All squad leaders have burning whips. My God, Kin, they’re organized into squads, platoons, and companies,” Orlan said. “Just like old times.”
“They were never organized. They were a horde. The weapons they used on Hellsbreach were an innovation, but they had no command and control, no discipline. They either learned from us, or someone taught them.”
Orlan snorted.
The bottom layer of storm clouds brushed over the mountain tops in every direction. Kin spotted the wormhole through a break in the cloud cover. It seemed to have stretched across the sky. The colors were thin, almost transparent. After a few seconds gazing at the sight, his eyes ached and he fought a growing sense of vertigo.
“You have a decision to make,” Kin said. “Follow Droon or report to Commander Westwood.”
Orlan gave him a hard look and considered his decision for a minute. “I’ll send a situation report over a secure connection. Wait here. I need to move down the trail and stand up for better reception. I don’t want you wandering off and I don’t want to be seen.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Kin said.
“You should have told me you were on the Reaper’s trail. He led us into a trap.”
“I don’t think the trap is closed,” Kin said, though he wasn’t sure. The Reaper army was miles distant, but he didn’t feel safe.
Orlan returned a half hour later.
“Command and Control reports unidentified craft emerging from the wormhole in orderly formations,” Orlan said. “They are heading our direction.”
“I’ve never seen anything come through the wormhole in orderly formation,” Kin said. “Your assault didn’t take shape until well after units were inside the atmosphere and several ships never regained control.”
“Keep your eyes open. C & C says they are on the way and more are entering the atmosphere.”
Kin moved down the trail, following Droon’s nearly invisible tracks for as long as he dared. The footprints were never visible on stone or clay and he only found partial prints on grass, gravel, and tundra. He recalled his first pursuit of Droon and remembered the Reaper had done nothing to obscure his movements. That had either been intentional or he was learning. Neither theory reassured Kin. Halfway down the mountain, Kin stopped and pointed at the last position of concealment.
“Once we move beyond this point, the Reaper army will spot us,” Kin said. “We are no closer to catching Droon. If we want him, we will have to go through his friends.”
“What makes you think they are working together? We saw his ship crash just after we made landfall. And he doesn’t wear armor or carry weapons,” Orlan said.
Kin didn’t answer. He wondered whether Droon understood there were Reapers on Crashdown. His dreams suggested Droon felt the burning loneliness of a sole survivor or an outcast. He replayed their last encounter and tried to remember what Droon had said—something about the Long Hunt and the ten-thousand-warrior-pack. There were a lot of Reapers in the valley below, but not ten thousand.
Of course, Reapers were bad at math. Droon might not see the difference between one-hundred and ten-thousand. Or a million.
“He is heading straight for them. What do you think that means?” Kin asked.
“Makes sense. You want my theory? Droon crash landed and started wreaking havoc like any good Reaper would. Then he saw his buddies and started for their position,” Orlan said.
“Or he saw his buddies and decided to lure us into a trap. He’ll take us close to the new Reapers. Once we’re engaged, he’ll go after Clavender.”
“I can’t believe he’s still after her, even with the venom link,” Orlan said.
“If you want to catch Droon, your best bet is to head back to base and make peace with the Shock Troopers. They can cut a single Reaper down without much trouble,” Kin said.
“I don’t want him dead. I want him alive. He’s worth a million credits alive.”
“Where are you going to put him when you bring him in?”
Orlan hesitated. “The Commander has made arrangements.”
“I bet.”
The unidentified ships began to appear, flying low over the mountains in tight formations—fighter craft, troop transports, and armored vehicle deployment ships. “Those aren’t Fleet,” Kin said.
“Imperials.” Orlan’s tone was dry. No bravado, no fear.
Kin liked him better right before an engagement.
“I’m contacting C & C. No time to duck behind cover. If they see us, they see us,” Orlan said. A moment later he advised Kin they would shelter in place until they could report the Imperial strength.
The Imperial ships landed and formed a defensive perimeter. None of the ships had been damaged or lost during the landing. They seemed unconcerned that an army of Reapers advanced from less than a mile away.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Kin asked.
“Yep. Whatever happens next will be a good indicator of how completely fucked we are,” Orlan said.
Kin waited and watched, glad to hear Orlan’s legendary profanity. The man he remembered couldn’t string two sentences together without curses tying them in place.
The Reapers stopped two-hundred meters from the Imperial line. They squatted and waited. It didn’t seem they were going to attack. When Kin and Orlan saw three Imperial troopers in lightweight, fast-moving assault armor approach the Reapers like messengers, they looked at each other.
“Are you t
hinking what I’m thinking?” Orlan asked.
Kin nodded. “Time to run. Watch for Droon and his wolves. He’s still out here and I don’t think he has forgotten either of us.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
KIN went first, moving quickly, but careful not to draw attention. Once he reached the top of the trail and left the valley, he began to run. Hand-eye-foot coordination and reflexes determined top speed. Kin smiled as he realized he was a match for Orlan in the Hero of Man, state-of-the-art FSPAA unit. They followed the trail for a mile before Kin veered through untamed wilderness to follow an overgrown path. Droon was racing them to Crater Town. Kin didn’t see evidence of the wolves passing, but knew they were with the Reaper.
“How far ahead is he?” Orlan asked. The sound of his panting over the direct radio channel improved Kin’s mood.
You’re not so tough.
“Not far. We should catch him near the defensive perimeter,” Kin said.
Orlan immediately contacted the Shock Troopers and requested assistance.
“Good call,” Kin said.
“I don’t like it. The trigger happy bastards will probably blow that thing away.”
“Like I said—good call.”
Orlan grunted something two parts profanity and one part Kin’s name.
Fleet personnel had cleared the ground of obstructions. They hauled most of the Goliath out of the crater. Even from a distance, Kin recognized parts of the exploration vessel melded with Fleet warships. Nothing went to waste on a lost planet like Crashdown. Droon raced across the field with twenty giant, coarse-haired wolves on each flank. He howled and the wolves raced ahead, bravely engaging four Shock Troop Mechanized Soldiers that had responded to Orlan’s call. Chain guns and plasma rifles roared to life.
The wolves started to fall. A few changed course. Others fled. Bullets, plasma bolts, and rockets chased them.
Droon missed a step, confused by the ferocity of the defense. Orlan and Kin closed the distance, Orlan dashing ahead as Droon began to recover. The man had been shamming, luring Kin into false confidence. He had believed it; how could such a brute match his speed, no matter who wore better armor?
Orlan leapt on Droon’s back and bore him down. They rolled across the ground. Clingers separated from Droon to wrap Orlan’s helmet. Kin moved toward the fight, wanting to let Orlan die, but knowing he couldn’t. Droon ripped a hole in the belly of Orlan’s armor and twisted to avoid Orlan’s close battle weaponry.
Kin heard a loud snap as Orlan’s helmet cracked under the constricting pressure. He dove into the fray, ripping a Clinger from Orlan’s head. He flung it, but the creature expanded, catching the air like a parachute, only flying a few feet. It hit the ground, curled into a tube, and slithered back.
Kin fired small-arms weapons from his suit and laughed at the joy it brought him. He continued to fire after the Clinger burst apart. A good trooper would have more control, but Kin hadn’t fired a shot in anger from an FSPAA unit in a long time. It felt good.
Another clinger leapt from Droon toward Kin. He blasted it without concern for the stray bullets strafing Orlan. The backstabbing thug had it coming, and his suit would probably stop the bullets. Moments later, Droon shoved Orlan aside and charged Kin.
“Come at me!” Kin screamed. He saw the Reaper’s mistake and was glad something hadn’t changed. Reapers often overcommitted, because they had no fear and fought with rage over intellect. Kin allowed Droon to hit him, but immediately sidestepped and twisted. The Reaper flew through the air as Kin grabbed his face and slammed him on the ground. He straddled the monster and pressed the weight of the FSPAA unit down.
“Good work, Kin! Good fucking work!” Orlan ran to help. He grabbed Droon’s legs and pinned them, punching the Reaper in the groin to settle him down. “Get me a containment unit here, now!” he said over the radio.
Kin focused on holding Droon down and avoiding the monster’s snapping teeth. Becca and the other Shock Troopers arrived in force, killing the remaining wolves or driving them away. Kin shifted his weight as Droon twisted and attempted to scramble free. He grabbed the Reaper’s wrists and pinned them against the ground, something he never could have done without the FSPAA unit.
“Great work, Kin! I thought you were going to kill it for sure,” Orlan said.
“Kin-rol-an-da,” Droon rasped.
They stared into each other’s eyes. Kin could scarcely comprehend the pain and loneliness he saw. He clenched his jaw and jammed his weight down harder, remembering his moment of weakness on Hellsbreach. His mission had been to annihilate all life from the planet and eliminate the Reaper threat. But he had hesitated.
Prior to the Hellsbreach campaign, lone Reapers roved the galaxy committing a score of horrific murders. Earth Fleet broadcast scenes of carnage until everyone agreed the Reaper threat was real. But he had been the one called upon to actually commit genocide against a race that had killed fewer humans than humans had.
Kin had stood on the launch pad of the last Fleet base on Hellsbreach with the controls for a dozen World-Breaker Class Nuclear Warheads. Engineers had bored deep into the rock, placing the charges in strategic locations. If detonated in the correct order, the explosions would have ruined the planet and murdered every living creature. His wounds burned and throbbed. His heart overflowed with anger and hate for the Reapers who had slaughtered his friends and tortured him, yet he couldn’t destroy an entire world. So he detonated the warheads, but in no particular order. The Reapers were not exterminated, but their limited technology—most of it stolen—was damaged beyond repair. They died by the thousands.
Fleet Command and Control had immediately placed him in the stockade, not believing for a second that his failure had been unintentional. They had already minted the Hero of Man medal for him and planned to name a battlecruiser in his honor. Instead of weeks of celebrations, they spent weeks of orbital bombardment, pounding the surface relentlessly. In time, other threats drew the Fleet away from Hellsbreach. The planet appeared lifeless, but the orbital nukes could not penetrate the surface deep enough to break the planet open. That had been Kin’s job and he had failed to perform it.
Droon’s eyes searched right and left. They were deep yellow orbs, multilayered and full of more emotion than seemed possible. The Reaper spoke in his language, rambling, pleading, and lamenting.
“What’s he saying?” Orlan asked.
“He saw his people but was afraid to go to them because they were strange. He says his race never changes, so the new Reapers must not be his kind, but monsters,” Kin said.
“It sounded like he said something about your girlfriend Clavender,” Orlan said. He twisted one of Droon’s legs into a submissive angle, lost hold of the other leg and put his knee on it to maintain control. Droon snapped his teeth, but missed.
“He thinks Clavender can send his people home,” Kin said.
“Tell him that his home is a radioactive wasteland.”
“He already knows,” Kin said. He hadn’t lied to Orlan, but hadn’t offered a full translation either. Droon believed his home was Crashdown, that his people were near and that he must be released to lead them.
A feeling akin to what he felt during the last moments on Hellsbreach assailed him. He was making a mistake, but didn’t know what it was yet.
“Kin-rol-an-da,” Droon wailed. “The wolves are dead!” He mourned with human intensity for the monsters that had become his pack.
That’s new.
“Droon,” Kin said. Both Orlan and Droon looked at him.
“Kin,” Droon said. “You are a bad man.”
“Droon, I would feel sorry for you if you didn’t want to eat my friends,” Kin said. He looked at Orlan. “Where is that transport? If it’s not here in five seconds, I’m going to kill this monster.”
“You’ll be next, Kin, I promise you,” Orlan said.
“We can’t put him in the same ship with the people of Crater Town. He can’t be contained. He’ll break through to the
ir quarters and slaughter every man, woman, and child.”
“You should’ve thought about that on Hellsbreach. We wouldn’t have this problem if you had done your duty.” Orlan freed his right hand and armed the pistol mounted in the armor between his elbow and wrist. He didn’t point it at Kin’s head, but was ready to.
“That won’t penetrate my helmet,” Kin said.
Orlan smiled. His helmet had been destroyed by the clinger and his sweaty face was visible. “I know how to kill a man in an FSPAA unit, never doubt it. I almost started to like you today, but I have debts and I need a million credits. No one will question the death of a traitor, not out here on the field of battle.”
An armored Stryker sped toward them. The rest of Orlan’s troopers filed out. They were fast, professional, and brutal. The first two pushed Kin away and guarded him with plasma rifles. The rest clubbed Droon with stun sticks and tangled him in nets. Droon was taken alive, barely.
Kin watched them take the Reaper straight to the transport ship that would be its prison. The rest of the Fleet forces were mobilizing. Men and women rushed into ships with cargo as ship crewmen prepared for liftoff. Claxons sounded wherever a ship was ready. He saw the people of Crater Town approaching the transport ship with all their worldly possessions. They stared in horror when they realized the Reaper was being taken to the same ship.
Laura broke from the others and marched toward Commander Westwood where he surveyed the recent battle with several of his captains and lieutenants. A gust of wind ripped at her cloak, pressing it tightly to her body on one side and flapping dangerously on the other. Kin walked toward them. Orlan’s guard sneered at him, but didn’t interfere.
“Commander Westwood, what is the meaning of this?” Laura asked. She screamed to be heard in the gusting wind and shielded her eyes with one hand.
“The transport ship has sufficient security to confine one heavily sedated humanoid. Each section between the Reaper’s cell and your living quarters will be without atmosphere, and the last time I checked, Reapers could not operate space suits,” Westwood said.
“You son-of-a-bitch. We will not be sacrificed for the sake of your mission. I demand you kill the Reaper before liftoff. We will require proof the monster is dead and not a threat. Then you can store it wherever you like.”