Fallen Empire: A Military Science Fiction Epic Adventure (Born of Ash Book 1)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Keira let out a breath.

  Chris turned to the woman with the children. “Ma’am, best get you and your family back inside. They won’t be troubling you again.” He waved with an armored hand at the structure. “The place is yours.”

  She did not need to be told twice. Hustling her children forward, she herded them inside, then a few moments later returned for the man, who was dazed and lying on the ground. Blood ran freely from a cut on his forehead.

  All the while, Chris watched the two militiamen, relaxed and yet, at the same time, not. Keira thought he looked like a coiled spring, just waiting for the moment of release. Lee had lowered his rifle as well.

  “What’s going on here?”

  The sergeant Keira had seen earlier approached. He was older, tall, and had an irritated air about him. Sgt. Zhang Wei was stenciled on his chest. His rifle was slung over his shoulder. Through his face shield, Keira saw he had a black mustache, and his face was a hard one and heavily lined. It was as if he had seen too much suffering in his time, which Keira supposed he had. It had given him what could only be described as a cruel expression. Any shred of humanity or feeling had long since left the man.

  “The bitch attacked me,” said the corporal, who was still on the ground. “Can you believe that, Sarge? I wasn’t doing nothin’ wrong, just following my orders, and she came out of nowhere and attacked me.”

  “Is that so?” The sergeant turned on Keira. “Care to tell me why?”

  “Sergeant.” Chris drew the sergeant’s attention. His tone was firm and unyielding. He jerked a thumb at the structure. “This building here is ours. I’m claiming it.”

  “What?” The sergeant looked sharply at Chris, clearly surprised. He gestured toward the Beast. “You have the APC. Why would you want the building? I’m sure you even have climate control in there, which would be a sight better than a vermin-ridden ruin with no power source. Why do you want it?”

  The wind gusted strongly again and with it a good amount of sand was picked up into the air. Bracing himself, the sergeant glanced at the sky behind Keira. He did not appear terribly happy with what he took in. He shifted his stance and turned briefly back toward the truck. Keira got the impression he was growing impatient and wanted to move things along. The longer they stood on the street, the closer the storm got.

  “Let’s just say it reminds me of home,” Chris said.

  “Home—right.” The sergeant scowled as he returned his attention back to Chris. He held it there a moment, then his gaze went to the woman helping the bleeding man to his feet. His eyes shifted to Corporal Lang Ho before moving on to Keira. She could sense him piecing together what had happened. His expression twisted to one of distaste as he looked back over at his corporal.

  “Get on your feet,” the sergeant snapped, irritation filling his tone.

  “Tell your boys to go elsewhere,” Chris said, drawing the sergeant’s attention again as the corporal climbed to his feet. “That way, we can avoid any more unpleasantness—the kind that will ultimately involve Command. I don’t think either of us needs that sort of headache, the questions they might ask. Don’t you agree?”

  The sergeant eyed Chris for a long moment before glancing around the street at the civilians who had been forced out. He turned to his two men and pointed at the lead vehicle parked in front of the APC. Several people were unloading crates from the back of it with urgency born of haste for the coming storm. “You two, back to the truck. You can help unload the rations before the weather fully turns on us.”

  “Unload the rations? But she attacked me,” the corporal protested. “The bitch attacked me. She should pay for that.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what she did, you dumb shit,” the sergeant snapped, his irritation seeming to increase. He pointed at Keira. “She’s a tech. We don’t mess with them. Do you know the shit storm that would fall on the captain if either of you dumbasses harmed her?”

  Neither of the two said anything.

  “Now, get going.”

  The corporal she had knocked down looked to Keira, anger, resentment, and hatred plain. It was almost as if he was making her a promise that there would be a reckoning.

  “Corporal Lang Ho, I said get your ass moving,” the sergeant ordered harshly, for he clearly saw it too. “Or I will see that you are busted back to private again with no hope of future advancement.”

  With that, both men began moving toward the truck parked just ahead of the Beast. Lang Ho glanced back at her before joining the others who were already hard at work unloading.

  It was becoming harder to see by the moment. The strength of the wind grew with every passing second and the light began to die. The storm was getting worse and was almost completely upon them. The people the militia had ejected from the buildings were moving off. Most had already disappeared. Where they had gone, she had no idea.

  “What about the rest?” Keira asked. “We can’t leave them out here. Surely we can do something for them.”

  The sergeant turned an unhappy look upon her. There was real venom in his tone when he spoke. “These are squatters. They live on the fringe of society, outside the law, and cause more trouble than they’re worth. Don’t be deceived. They are thieves, murderers, bandits, and worse. They’ve made their choice and have no claim to these buildings.”

  Keira was horrified. “But they—”

  “Shut up, Keira,” Chris growled, interrupting. “Don’t speak another word.”

  Keira gave a start. He had not spoken to her like that since she was a teen. His gaze was fixed firmly on the sergeant.

  “Are we gonna have a problem?” Chris asked the sergeant. “Now, or later?”

  “No,” the sergeant admitted after a short hesitation. “Command doesn’t need to know about what happened here. We will keep this between ourselves.”

  “And your men?” Chris asked. “What of them?”

  “I will keep them under control,” the sergeant said. “You have nothing to worry about from that quarter.”

  “Excellent,” Chris said. “Then I do believe we are done here.”

  The sergeant turned his gaze to the two-story building that had once been some type of maintenance facility or warehouse, then looked back at Chris. “The place is yours. Enjoy it.” He turned to Keira and spared her a long look. “I am going to give you some free advice. If you’re smart, you will take it. Don’t interfere with my people again. They have a job to do, just like you do. Do yours and let me do mine. Understand?”

  “We will,” Chris answered for her.

  The sergeant gave a nod, then turned away, moving back up the street after his two men.

  “That,” Chris said, stepping nearer and lowering his tone, “was stupid, just stupid. I thought I taught you better than that.”

  Chris was angry. Keira was sure of it. She knew she had scared him. Heck, she’d scared herself and had come close to closing the book on her own life. A wave of guilt washed over her. He was right. She had acted without thought.

  To her left, the woman was helping the bleeding and dazed man back inside. She closed the door behind them with a bang as the wind sucked at it.

  “I’m sorry,” Keira said to Chris. “It won’t happen again.”

  “It better not,” Chris said, “because you could have easily been shot. The militia are little better than the local thugs or gangs. They get almost no training and have even less discipline before a rifle is shoved in their hands. I know you know this.” He tapped her helmet with an armored finger. “Think before you act.”

  Feeling like she had failed, Keira turned away from him. As she did, the wind gusted powerfully, and for a moment, she could not even see the APC, which was no more than two and a half meters from her. The gust died off a few heartbeats later. She could see up and down the street again. The civilians who had been forced out onto the street were gone, vanished, as if they had never been.

  Sick to her stomach, she turned her gaze to the building the family had disappe
ared into. The sergeant had called them squatters, bandits, murderers, and thieves. They certainly had not appeared so, just more people who were doing their best to survive amidst a harsh and unforgiving world.

  Of course, she was familiar with the squatters. There were a good number of them living off the grid. In her experience, these people just wanted to be left alone.

  She sucked in a breath and let it out. In her helmet, the breath sounded overly loud. She might not be able to help the others, but perhaps she could do something here, one little kindness against so many wrongs and injustices. Keira went back to the APC, stepping past Lee. He watched her pass, his eyes wary, concerned.

  The hatch had been left open. A surprising amount of sand and dust had already blown inside. They would have a difficult time cleaning it out later. She reached in, grabbed a first aid pack that had been secured to the wall along the right side of the hatch, and returned to Chris, who had not moved. He was looking at her with an expression of deep unhappiness.

  “Do you have a problem with me offering assistance to that injured man?” Keira asked him and gestured at the door. She raised the first aid kit. “Medical assistance.”

  “No,” Chris said and his hard expression cracked slightly around the eyes. “I do not.”

  Without saying another word, she moved around him and up to the makeshift door, opened it, and stepped inside.

  Chapter Eight

  Keira carefully applied the bandage to the old man’s head, smoothing the edges down so they adhered properly. The compounds within would help speed the healing process.

  The dimly lit room had once been an office. It had since been turned into a living area and wasn’t by any measure large. It was likely why it had been chosen as a living space.

  A small portable heater sat in the center of the room. When the temperature dropped precipitously at night, it would be easier to heat a smaller room than a larger one. That feature alone made this area habitable and the larger spaces in the warehouse inhospitable at best. Though looking at the small heater, Keira knew it would still be frigid for them most nights.

  The family’s living space was cozy in its own way and had been made as comfortable as could be. A single lantern sat atop the heater. It provided the only light in the room.

  Six sleeping pallets had been laid out along the four walls. Heavy blankets lay atop each. These confirmed that nights were cold affairs. A patterned rug had been positioned in the center of the room and covered most of the tiled flooring. The rug was frayed and worn in places, to the point of being threadbare. With the dim light, it gave the room a sort of warm feeling.

  There was no furniture, other than another small table. A few packs and travel bags lay near the pallets. There were also toys scattered about the room, cars, dolls, an assortment of blocks in a corner, and a stuffed bear that was missing an eye. On the back wall were chalk drawings the children had likely drawn.

  Keira leaned back on the stool and looked at her patient, examining her work. There had not been much more for her to do other than clean and then bandage the wound.

  “How’s that?” she asked.

  “Much better,” the old man rasped as he reached up slowly and gingerly touched his bandaged forehead. “At least I’m not bleeding all over the place anymore.”

  His shirt and pants, already stained and dirty, had been made worse by blood. Lying upon one of the sleeping pallets, he appeared older and frailer than when she had seen him outside. He looked to be in his seventies or perhaps even eighties.

  Age was hard to tell with people who had grown up under the technological magnificence of the empire. Most aged more slowly due to genetic manipulation at birth and specialized medical enhancements. None of that technology existed anymore and could not be replicated. He could be much older, perhaps near two hundred and fifty standard years. Gazing at him under the dim light of the lantern, she could well believe it.

  His face was heavily lined and unshaven with several days of patchy growth. He had a tired and run-down look about him. The skin on his arms seemed translucent and hung on him a bit, appearing to sag in places, like under the arms. There were faded tattoos on his forearms and neck. These were a mix of animals, birds, and strange symbols. Keira had never seen the like.

  “I’m gonna have a bit of a headache,” he added, “but I think I will live. Hell, I’ve taken worse beatings and survived.”

  At the mention of a headache, Keira reached into the first aid kit and pulled out a sealed clear plastic bag, with six low-dose pain killers inside. The bag was labeled, Selenol 50.tlp-1. She broke the seal, took out a couple of pills, and set them on the small table next to the pallet.

  “Is this one of those ‘take two pills and call me in the morning’ deals?” the old man asked her. He managed a weak grin, filled with yellowed teeth. A low cackle escaped his lips.

  “Each one’s good for twelve hours,” Keira said, not understanding his mirth. “You took a hard blow. They will dull the pain.”

  There was a chuckle behind her, by the door. “It’s a joke and it went right over your head, butterfly.”

  Keira glanced back at Chris, who had positioned himself by the door, which rattled loudly as the wind tugged and pulled at it. The storm had arrived in force, moaning and groaning as it unleashed its fury on the outside world. At times, the entire building around them shook and vibrated.

  “A poor jest at that,” the old man said and took a pill, swallowing it. A cup with water lay on the table too, along with a bloodied towel the woman had used to initially treat the old man. When Keira had arrived, the woman had quickly disappeared with her children through a doorway that led deeper into the building. A sheet had been hung in place of the door.

  The old man took a sip from the water, set it down on the table, then eased himself back down onto the pallet and pillow.

  Lee had remained behind with the APC. He was buttoned up safely within its armored confines.

  Chris seemed to have relaxed a little. He held his rifle loosely in one hand. She suspected he was still irritated with her, though there was no outward sign of it. He wore his combat armor, just as she did her hazard suit. They would not be taking them off anytime soon.

  However, his armor had changed color from the green she had always known to a dull, almost sullen gray. The dents and scratches were still there, but it had changed nonetheless. She’d never seen it do that before. It left her wondering what else it could do.

  “A joke?” she asked, shifting on her stool. It creaked from the movement. Keira did not see the joke.

  “Yes, it was a joke,” Chris said. “Doctors used to say it back in the day, especially in the Corps … well, the field medics did anyway. Injured marines never really got to see the doctors that operated on them and most of those were machines anyway, so it didn’t matter. For the medics, I think, Cyrtonal was a cure-all, at least in their eyes.”

  “Cyrtonal?” Keira asked and gestured at the last remaining pill on the table. “This is Selenol.”

  “Yes,” Chris said. “They call it Selenol on this world, but it’s what you just gave him. Same shit, different name, and it doesn’t really help much either, at least in my experience.”

  Keira gave a nod of understanding, but still did not find it terribly funny.

  “Are you really a marine?” the old man asked. “A true, blue crayon eater?”

  “Aye,” Chris said. “And blue is the best flavor.”

  The old man was silent for a moment as he considered Chris before propping himself up on his elbows.

  “I heard marine armor is made for each individual,” the old man said. “That it won’t work unless the person it’s built for is using it. Keeps people from stealing it. Is that true?”

  “You heard right,” Chris said.

  “I’m surprised the UPG didn’t make you scrub the imperial markings from that armor, Gunny,” the old man said. “You do realize the empire is no more, right?”

  Chris shifted his stanc
e. He hesitated a moment before answering. “We can’t know that for sure. Asherho is an out-of-the-way system. We’re nowhere near the Core. Part of the empire could still be around.”

  “Do you really believe that?” the old man asked. It was clear to Keira that he did not believe it himself.

  Chris didn’t reply.

  “If the empire was still out there …” The old man cleared this throat and then took another drink of water. “If the empire was still out there, don’t you think we would have heard something, rumors at the very least, especially from the occasional ship that passes this way?”

  “What’s your name?” Chris asked, instead of responding to the question.

  “Li Sung.”

  “You are a veteran,” Chris said, “aren’t you?”

  “How can you tell?” Li Sung asked curiously.

  “The eagle tattoo on your neck. Imperial Army, if I don’t miss my mark. You were a pilot, an aviator. I recognized the symbol. I’ve seen it before. You also knew my rank.”

  The old man gave a grunt. Then a distant look came over him, as if he were reliving the past. “It seems like another lifetime.” He sucked in a breath through his yellowed teeth as he looked back up at Chris and focused upon him. “I served in the Seventy-Seventh Mobile Infantry Division. That was more than eighty years ago. I was a different person back then, fit, healthy, a bright future ahead of me. I had no clue as to what was coming—coming for us all.” His tone hardened. “Back then, I would not have let some shitty militia push me around. I would have pushed right back.”

  “No doubt,” Chris said. “What did you fly?”

  “NR-7s. It was a good bird.”

  “The Condor.” Chris raised an eyebrow. “You were a drop ship pilot. I’ve been in my fair share of those. They might be a little boxy, but they were reliable ships, and fast.”

  “Oh yeah,” Li Sung said. “I enjoyed it immensely.”

  “I can imagine. I always wondered what it was like flying those on a hot drop. In the crew bay, you can’t see shit.”