by Scott Moon
“Do you know why the Slomn want to destroy Earth?”
Before Kin could answer, he heard the distinctive sound of Shock Trooper weapons in the distance. The state-of-the-art technology allowed troopers to fire chain guns and plasma rifles simultaneously — one on each shoulder.
Nander followed his gaze. A moment later, he faced Kin and answered his own question. “A people without a home world are beaten. I think Mazz and humans are the same in this regard. Loss of home eats a man’s soul. We fight and survive, but to what purpose?”
Kin refused to comment. They weren’t friends.
Nander nodded several times, then went still as stone. “When we return to base, you will be asked to join us.”
“By you?”
“If I survive.” He paused. “Consider the request seriously. Our agents understand the details of Earth politics better than most humans. Spies often have a unique perspective. No matter what you’ve lost or believe you’ve lost, think about what it will mean to yield before the Slomn.”
Kin listened to fading sounds of Shock Trooper gunfire. Rebecca was moving away.
“The Reapers have Clavender.”
Nander rubbed his forehead as though he might banish exhaustion. “We will take her back. Our 5th and 6th regiments are dedicated to the task.”
“She could heal whatever is eating you inside out,” Kin said.
“Not unless she can travel through time and save our home world.”
“Can she?”
“No.” Nander seemed to age as he exhaled. He rubbed the base of his neck. “Your friend Droon is irritated. It is a development I never considered. My soldiers are dying to defend you from the Reapers. That is why Captain Trak abuses you.”
Kin watched the general glance away. He was either lying or holding something back.
“That might explain his actions, but why do you let him do it?”
Nander shrugged. “He must accept change.”
It seemed he would say more, but he checked his monologue and stared over his shoulder. Kin followed his gaze and realized Trak watched him, visibly resentful.
“Do not antagonize him,” Nander said. “Your survival will be in his hands. I can’t promise he will follow my orders when I’m no longer in a position to monitor him. He will try, but every man has limits.”
Kin winked at Trak without allowing Nander to see the petty barb. To his surprise, Trak narrowed his eyes and seemed thoughtful before gathering two squads and issuing commands.
“Kin, I told you not to do that. He has an important mission,” Nander said as he rested a hand on Kin’s shoulder. “You want him to succeed. Trust me in this.”
Kin faced the man and retreated a half step for distance. Too far and Nander might be tempted to use one of the Imperial FSPAA weapons. Too close and the general could squash him like a bug. Kin’s position was just right. In an emergency, he might dive at Nander’s legs and trip him. His escape plan after that was a bit hazy.
“What’s the mission?”
Nander shook his head. “Maybe I’ll tell you later.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
CAPTAIN Trak returned with a motley band of fighters. Cyborgs formed the center of the formation. Human in appearance, their muscled bodies bore machine parts of uncertain purpose. Fluids pumped through tubes. Rows of small lights blinked sequentially around eyes set in square faces. Scales of armor repaired themselves with agile micro-tentacles of impressive speed and agility.
Other sections of cyborg machinery could only be interpreted as instruments of violence. Each man bore a chainsaw instead of a left hand. On close inspection, Kin saw the scales of their armored limbs were edged with moving metal teeth. He made a mental note never to wrestle one of the strangers.
One of Trak’s new group stood taller than Kin, although his exceedingly thin body gave him the appearance of a swaying sapling with a face concealed by a shadowy hood.
Two others resembled Imperial troopers in new gear. Not a scratch marred their armor and they remained apart from the rest of Trak’s men.
“You found them,” Nander said. “Excellent work. What is the status of our forward base?”
Trak’s earlier demeanor had vanished as though the worst danger was over. “The Reapers were repulsed. I have word the Fortress City is complete. Should the Slomn attack in force, we are directed and required to fall back within the walls.”
“Very good,” Nander said.
As the Imperial Mazz general attended to business, the sinewy cloaked figure moved near Kin and leaned down. It seemed he wanted to smell Kin.
Kin felt ice on his skin. He fought the urge to recoil.
Soul stealer.
Nander laughed as he slapped Kin’s shoulder. “They don’t actually take souls. It’s a foolish superstition.”
“What are they doing here?” Kin asked.
“Until very recently, they were trying to steal Clavender away from the Reaper Chief.” Nander pointed to a place near the edge of the temporary camp, spoke in the Mazz language, and waited for the alien band to obey. All but one of the false troopers moved to the spot and rested.
“This is Iso-tri-tross. One of my best agents.”
When the plain trooper spoke, his voice sounded exactly as Nander’s did. “I wish you wouldn’t tell everyone my real name.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Nander said.
“Not to you. Your end is already written. For me, there is hope,” Iso-tri-tross said. “Who are you?”
Kin raised one hand in what he hoped was a non-offensive greeting. “Kin Roland, prisoner.”
The shape changer laughed.
“What should I call you?” Kin asked.
Another laugh. “You should call me free, but alas, it is not true. Call me Iso, since the damage is done.”
“Enough,” Nander said. “Why did you fail to capture the princess?”
Iso shrugged. “The warlock threw Clingers at us. Then there was a great battle. We waited until Droon left the woman with Garjiin, but there were problems.”
“What problems?” Nander clenched a fist.
“Teeth,” Iso said. When he smiled, it seemed the fangs of Droon’s mount reached forward.
Nander looked at the half humans, half machines across the clearing. “I suppose that is why I have three cyborgs instead of six.”
Iso examined his fingers. “Yes.”
“And two less shape changers,” Nander said.
“They were not good shifters.” Iso met Kin’s eyes. “Some of my kind begin to believe they possess the attributes of the forms they take. This causes them to get killed.”
“What happened to Droon and Clavender?” Kin asked.
Iso shrugged. “If I knew where they went, I would be following them.”
Nander moved among his men, inspecting equipment and issuing orders. In the distance, Reapers ululated. Wolves howled. Kin watched a squadron of Ror-Rea glide in silhouette across the moons of Crashdown.
“Will you accept Nander’s offer?” Iso had never taken his eyes from Kin.
“I don’t see what is in it for me,” Kin said, distracted by the distant sights and sounds.
Iso summoned another of the shape changers — a female trooper by the way she strutted.
Kin’s attention quickly returned. The approaching shape changer walked in a way Kin recognized.
“No. Don’t.” Kin stood, stumbled, and held up a hand for the armored woman to stop.
She removed her helmet and shook out long waves of hair Kin had not seen since before the Hellsbreach campaign. The color and texture wasn’t right, but the face was exactly as he knew it — scars, lips, and eyes perfectly recognizable.
Kin turned away and closed his eyes, bracing as though he were about to be struck. “Tell her to change.”
Iso hopped close to Kin and squatted to whisper in his ear. “Or what?”
Kin shoved the shape changer leader away. “Or I’ll kill all of you.” He reached for weapons that
weren’t there. “I’ll kill you all!”
William’s mother was a shape changer. Rebecca had called her a prostitute — the kind to fulfill any fantasy. Kin had never been to one of the pleasure houses, but he knew the fantasies they acted out were rarely sexual. Conversations with lost loved ones, memories of better times, manipulation of emotions — that was what the changelings did.
He wanted to see Rebecca so badly. Every time he heard the Shock Troopers fighting, he feared he would never hold her again. Their vacation after Westwood’s Retreat had been too short.
When he opened his eyes, Iso waited nearby.
“I am sorry, Kin Roland. It will not happen again.”
Kin waved angrily and strode through the camp.
Nander nodded at Captain Trak, who followed at a safe distance with two of his troopers.
Kin ignored them. He went to a spring day on Earth VI. Rebecca sat close as he wrapped his arms around her.
“I volunteered for the Hellsbreach campaign,” he said. Then he edited the conversation as he had done hundreds of times.
“Don’t go. Stay with me. Let the Fleet handle Hellsbreach.”
Tears ran down Kin’s face, slow and full of relief. “I’ll never leave you. My enlistment will be complete at the end of the month. I can find work near Headquarters until you’ve completed your obligation.”
The flickering light of Crashdown’s wormhole tainted his daydream. He closed his eyes but could feel Captain Trak and the others standing close, watching him and judging his silence. He stood and faced away from the camp.
“Have you ever lost someone important to you, Trak?”
“I have.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
IMPERIAL reinforcements arrived to escort Nander’s company. Kin stayed away from the mercenary slaves and refused to look at the woman who had so artlessly attempted to entice him. Iso walked silently at his side, apparently full of remorse for the cruel ruse.
Explosions methodically widened the mountain pass to the south. Before they finished the final cut through rock and dirt, wheeled war machines maneuvered single file past the engineering crews. In the distance, they seemed to move ponderously. Plumes of dust rose from the fifteen-meter-high wheels. Heavy tread grinded trees down like bits of pavement.
Kin could see why the Imperial forces wanted this valley. The land climbed gradually in the middle of the vast space. Once out of the foothills and away from the pass, the forest gave way to fields of grass and wildflowers. The forward base, although recently assaulted by Reapers, was stronger and better defended than Kin remembered from two prior.
“If given enough time, this base will be nearly as strong as the Fortress City,” Nander said.
“Why do you want me to join the Mazz Empire?” Kin asked.
Nander fumbled with a reply. “When we defeat the Slomn, there will be negotiations with Earth Fleet for a ceasefire. Our leaders feel it will make the process easier if a human had been crucial to the victory.”
Kin laughed so hard and so long that Nander started to fidget in annoyance.
“Your leaders came up with that?”
Nander looked uncomfortable. “I put forth the idea.”
“I have news for you, General. The Fleet wants me dead.”
“Perhaps. But when it becomes known you not only stood by us to face the Slomn, but ended the Reaper threat, attitudes may change.”
Kin decided the Imperials weren’t as similar to their Earth Fleet counterparts as he had begun to think. The Fleet wouldn’t thank him, even if he killed every last Reaper in the universe. He had failed to obey a direct order. Each life spent to take Hellsbreach and place the Worldbreaker Nukes was his fault. No matter what Nander or Westwood or Raien said, he was an outlaw. His comrades had died for nothing.
“I might help you,” Kin said. “But you have to protect some people for me.”
“The Crater Town folk. Yes, we have been trying to bring them into the fold for some time.”
Columns of Imperial troopers marched inside the newly finished walls of the forward base. Most had seen battle recently, but repairs had been made to infantry armor and vehicles. A score of the enormous wheeled war machines took positions around the base. A fresh army advanced through the northwest gap, widened by explosives.
Kin could barely believe the fighting power of the Imperial Grand Army.
“When the Slomn come, we will fight them to the death. Edain is the last world they will destroy. On the Ror-Rea Bleeding Ground or here, it must end.”
Nander spoke with conviction, but the sickness of the destroyed wormhole beacons hadn’t left him. His eyes sank into his head. Sweat beaded on his pale skin. He didn’t bother with the helmet anymore.
“You must answer my request,” Nander said.
“I’ll fight the Slomn. And the Reapers.” Kin still wondered at Nander’s persistence. “Do you get a recruitment bonus or something?”
Nander smirked. It was the closest sound to a laugh he had uttered for a long time. “I am required to name my successor.” He looked at Trak bringing up the rear of the formation with his bodyguards. “That is why Captain Trak hates you.”
“Since when does a captain become a general?”
Nander stopped and faced him. “For us, rank means everything and nothing.”
“No Earth Fleet general would share your opinion,” Kin said.
They began walking toward the central command tower. “What I said about your part after the victory that must come is true, but I also chose you because I believe you can lead my army to where others will fail.”
“How many divisions make up the Imperial Grand Army?”
“Forty-four.”
“Which division is yours?”
Nander laughed. This time, it was a surprisingly gentle sound. “They’re all mine.”
“You’re insane.”
“Perhaps.”
“They won’t follow me, no matter what you tell them.”
“You do not understand the Mazz.” Nander returned the salutes of men guarding the command tower. “I’m not dead yet in any case.”
An immaculately dressed contingent of troopers escorted them to the highest level of the tower, which Kin noticed was serviced by twisting stairs instead of elevators. No one spoke to him or gave him more attention than was required by duty.
“Trak is my son,” Nander said without warning, and without looking at Kin.
“This keeps getting better and better.”
“I want you to understand how serious I am. You will destroy the Slomn. Forget about Hellsbreach. Should you fail, every habitable planet from here to Earth will burn.”
KIN found himself in a comfortable cell with two guards stationed outside the door. He used the small shower, carefully observing the time limit warning. Scrubbing soap away in a desperate rush against the clock might not define luxury, yet when he was done, he struggled to remember the last time he had been so clean.
On the bunk waited gray fatigues and a shirt. He dressed, looked for his old boots, and finally slipped his feet into the pair issued by the Mazz quartermaster. He looked in the small mirror above the sink, considered shaving his unruly hair, and decided against it.
The room lacked a computer or any type of reading material. The only thing he learned of the Mazz Imperials during his wait was that they kept simple, adequate quarters. As prison cells went, his new home was comfortable.
The bunk wasn’t soft, but it was flat, unlike the ground he had been sleeping on. Unable to relax on the thin mattress and unwilling to lie on the floor, he sat and waited.
Captain Trak stepped inside when the door opened. “General Nander sends his compliments and hopes your quarters are adequate.”
“Best cell I’ve been imprisoned in so far,” Kin said as he stood to face the man.
“Indeed. The general also wishes to inform you he is occupied with administrative duties pending the final stage of his radiation sickness.”
K
in held his gaze level. “How is it that you didn’t get sick from the wormhole beacons?”
“General Nander took the assignment with the highest personal danger for himself. That is why we follow him. His bravery is legendary.”
“I bet,” Kin said. “Is it common practice for officers to allow themselves to be captured?”
A pause. Trak’s expression hardened. “He wished to know whether the intelligence gathered on you was accurate. Apparently, he decided it was.”
“Captain Trak, I don’t want this. My only concern is for the people under my protection. I am a friend of the Ror-Rea. Don’t forget it.”
Trak handed over a small computer tablet. “My father has his reasons.”
Kin held the device so he could monitor Trak while reading the screen.
Trak spoke. “The Slomn will not be beaten. Not by you or any other general.”
“Is optimism a normal trait among your ranks?”
Trak didn’t answer.
Nander’s message explained the transfer of power he intended to implement. It warned him the Ror-Rea must be brought under the control of the Mazz Empire before the Slomn attacked. He claimed the winged warriors were immune to Slomn psionic attacks but would suffer if a nuclear onslaught became a reality.
It was a short message for such an important document. The final statement commanded Kin to submit to a battery of physical tests.
He read the message silently. If ours scientist are not mistaken, your ordeal on Hellsbreach has granted you an extended lifespan. Both my friends and detractors believe this desperate measure is a temporary solution to imminent danger. But I tell you now that much of your value concerns the entire future of Mazz and Human interaction. You must survive long enough to meld our societies until they are one empire with identical laws, customs, and agendas, the note read.
Kin knew Trak watched him carefully. He doubted the man had been allowed to read the communication.
“How many Mazz have been held captive by Reapers?” Kin asked.
“Nearly a hundred.”