by Scott Moon
He was glad Rickson wasn’t here. The young man deserved some place better to die.
After more sleep and more nightmares, he found himself sitting on the edge of the precipice, feet dangling, teeth chewing a bitter leaf surrendering drops of moisture. Troopers called it the psycho plant because touching the leaf made men and women delirious with visions.
He sucked on the pulp and spit the stem over the side of the rocks.
He waited, feeling nothing.
Moisture trickled down the side of the spire he faced. The monolith loomed above him, mocking his death.
There has to be a lot of water up there for it to be sweating like that. Probably a cave full of moist, cold air.
He thought of the waterfalls at Maiden’s Keep and smiled at the sound of Sophia’s musical voice.
“Sophia never betrayed me. She just thought I was a fool.”
Hellsbreach silence answered his words.
I’ll climb to the base of this rock, then up the side of that one. With luck, there will be an internal chasm full of handholds. I can talk to my imaginary friends there. Maybe they’ll forgive my sins.
“What the fuck is that?” a voice said.
Kin tipped his head back to look up at the voice and nearly fell over. He thought he recognized the brute asking the question, but he’d been eating psycho root and hallucinating. Probably Admiral Westwood and a choir of Ror-Rea acrobats were up there as well.
He laughed and snorted, forced his crusted eyes to open, and wheezed a moan so pitiful he didn't recognize the sound of his own voice.
The figure towered toward the sky; long arms, long legs, and a head like an ammunition box. He was one of those men whose strength didn’t show through the gangly montage of extreme height. His legs and arms were thicker than they seemed at first glance, his hands broad enough to crush Kin’s face if they could reach across the open air between rock formations.
A second, much shorter figure appeared as the sun splashed orange and red light behind them.
A sunset was a sunset, no matter if the circle in the sky was yellow, red, or orange.
“Don’t know, Dog,” Dwarf said.
Kin knew both men. The second voice belonged to Greg “the Dwarf” Teamster. Kin hadn’t thought of the man often. They’d never been friends, not since Kin dubbed the short, musclebound thug “Dwarf.”
Names stuck to troopers like ticks. Kin was still trying to shake his unfortunate moniker, and all he’d done was betray humanity.
He croaked something that could have been a word.
“What was that?” Dog Rolston asked, his deep voice sounding dry and distant to Kin’s fading consciousness.
Kin’s chin fell to his chest. He summoned strength, though he still felt weak. He turned his half-blind eyes to the sunset-men above him on the next rock. “Who else is up there?”
Dog and Dwarf looked at each other.
Dog furrowed his brows and grunted downward. “How’d you know there were three of us?”
“Bad things always come in threes.” Kin laughed, though he couldn’t have said why. He forced his face up as the third man stepped forward.
“I know you,” Kin said, struggling to recall a name.
The third man, small like a weasel but hard as any trooper, glared.
“He’s Jojo Vontros. You wouldn’t remember him. His specialty is remaining unnoticed. But I bet he sure as hell remembers you.”
Jojo stared for a moment, then turned and walked out of sight.
“Can I have some water?” Kin asked.
Dwarf put a hand to one ear. “What was that?”
“I need water.”
“I can’t hear him, Dog.”
“He wants something to drink.”
“Well fuck me, why didn’t he say so?” Dwarf put his toes on the edge of the taller spire, opened his pants, and pissed for distance.
The stream broke apart after several meters and twinkled into mist. Dwarf laughed and jeered, but Kin wasn’t listening.
Jojo’s identity came to him all at once. He’d sent the man up for a court-martial after catching him torturing Reapers.
“Come on, Dog, give the sergeant something to drink,” Dwarf said. “Drink my piss, you bastard. Think you’re a badass? Try living on this hellhole for ten years!”
“You’re going to wish you saved that for the filter-pipes,” Dog said.
“Where’s your humanity? Roland is thirsty. Pull out that horse leg you call a cock and give him some golden friendship!”
Dog shook his head. Jojo returned but refrained from addressing Kin’s thirst.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Friends Like Enemies
KIN stared at them, ignoring the taunts, thinking he would drink the piss if so much as a drop made it to his lips. He studied their gear. All three men wore partial FSPAA units, stitched together with shabby repair work.
Dog and Dwarf wore skeletons of armor, just enough to support gear and weapons without providing much protection. When Jojo returned from his brief disappearance beyond the edge of the higher ground, Kin saw he had lighter armor and part of a helmet. The top of his head was exposed, with clumps of hair growing over the rim and trailing across his goggles in long, dry bangs.
“I’m coming up there,” Kin said. Dog and Dwarf kept their hair short, barely thick enough to conceal sores and the scars of sores. Darkness surrounded the eyes of the survivors. All three of them looked accustomed to being sweaty and nauseated.
Dwarf stopped pissing mid-stream, holding his cock with both hands.
Dog crossed his arms. Jojo reached behind his back for an unseen weapon.
This will take all day, Kin thought as he looked at ledges and trails and vertical rock formations.
He descended the opposite side of his spire plateau, moving slowly, planning the best way to kill the Hellsbreach veterans if they denied him sanctuary. If they allowed him access to shelter, it would probably only be to cut his throat and defile his corpse.
That was Kin’s punishment for failure. That was what he deserved for disobeying orders, for bringing death to the people of Crashdown, for leading killers to Maiden’s Keep, for serving the Mazz Imperials, for doubting a woman who had locked him in a space casket to save him.
Kin felt the day dying around him. On Hellsbreach, the darkening dusk was more red than purple. Stars seemed farther away in the sky — angry stars that laughed at traitors and fools.
How could he have believed she’d abandoned him?
It didn’t matter. She’d accepted Earth Fleet amnesty then got herself killed in the Ror-Rea. The only person who never doubted him was Rickson, and that was because the foolish kid needed someone to idolize. When he realized what Kin was, what he had done, and what he had failed to do, he’d turn away just like the others.
The sour taste of Hellsbreach psycho weed brought bile up his throat, scratchy and dry like an insult.
I’m going to make it out of here. Find a place to heal. A place to be alone.
The descent took longer than he hoped, but he made it. Crawling over rocks at the base of the spire in darkness earned him cuts that barely bled in the arid atmosphere. He twisted his ankle and sat for the better part of an hour rotating his foot and massaging calf muscles — moving slowly, conserving energy, watching for the deadly moment when he stopped sweating.
Beyond the plateau spires, the Red Plains of Sorrow had seemed flat from above and now loomed and twisted in the night wind. Clouds burst toward the sky and blocked the stars. He counted three dust storms, but they were far away, fascinating to behold even though he knew to be caught in one was death.
It’s time to move. Kin braced his hands against his knees, then stood up. He felt better than he had in a long time. The day wasn’t without possibilities. He was curious to see what Dog and Dwarf, and even Jojo, would do when he met them. He wondered if Dwarf had any piss left. It was strange to think that he had almost been the stocky man’s friend, but a word had set them o
n the wrong path. The window of opportunity had been narrow, and though Kin couldn’t remember the details, he remembered the sound of possibility slamming shut.
Dwarf couldn’t take a joke. Kin thought back to that moment and tried to remember the scene. Dog was like he always was, standing taller than everyone, looking displeased, his lantern jaw and buzz cut hair reminding Kin of the medieval tower top. His dark eyes, shadowy features, and big fists seemed older, but not old. The man was ready for a fight. Kin could tell that by looking at him.
Of the three, Dog had chosen his fights with more care than Dwarf, but less cunning than Jojo.
When Dog Rolston fought in FSPAA armor, the differences were harder to see. Kin had always been able to identify Dog in a battle formation because the man was so tall, but also because he was never in a hurry. He had mastered the combat skill of patience-in-a-hurry.
Kin identified Dwarf in a similar manner. Not only was Dwarf’s FSPAA unit shorter than normal, it was thick. He wondered if the troopers understood that Kin had put them in some of the most critical assignments of the campaign. He relied on Dwarf to hold the corners of difficult formations, allowing Kin to spring a hinge that swung down on Reapers who never saw it coming. Dog had been difficult to manage, but Kin trusted him. They weren’t friends. They were professionals who worked together.
Kin believed Dog was smart enough to understand this and had sent the man on long-range reconnaissance patrols with little supervision when it was rumored that the man was a shameless forager and looter. He wondered if Dog remembered that kind of trust and if he might reciprocate.
They will kill you, Kin. Doesn’t matter what kind of stories you tell yourself.
Far away, beneath the storms, Reapers howled. Lightning crackled along the underside of thunderheads and climbed towers of roiling vapor into the night sky. Kin looked at his own towering promise of death and thought that the rock spires were meager things compared to the awesomeness of the weather of this planet. The storm was far away — the occasional reflections from the lightning didn’t throw too many shadows — but he understood it would be worse once he was on the side of the rocks. He could see cave entrances and predict where the best climbing trail would reach inside the spire.
Any of the shadows could be ambush points. He was surprised that Dog and his goons hadn’t come down to finish him. The long break to rehabilitate his ankle might have lured them out. He understood Dog, and the others were too smart to take the bait. The calculated risk hadn’t been much of a risk, but now he needed to move. His body’s reserves were taxed. No one would offer help after dehydration claimed him.
The pile of tangled rocks slanted up toward the sheer wall of the rock spire. He picked his way through this area, watching the shadows, looking at the lightning in the distance, and listening to the song of Reapers as they moved closer.
The monsters were running, charging, and screaming at the night and anything in it.
He found a stable position, then studied the Reapers on the distant plains for a long time. They were about three kilometers away, which didn’t give him much time at the rate the monsters were moving. It was, however, enough time for him to get out of sight. Some troopers claimed that Reapers had better eyesight than men. Kin had found mixed evidence of this fact and believed their senses were less distinct than human perception. Reapers seemed to see with their noses and hear with their eyes.
He ducked into the shadows, crossed under a stone archway, and emerged into an open area that caught a peculiar amount of moon and starlight piercing the rampaging armadas of thunderheads. He stopped. Opposite of his path, the cave opened as black as guilt. The trail went steeply up. Nothing in this passage was level. If there’d been people here, they hadn’t tampered with the rock formation. It looked natural, devoid of human presence when he knew there were at least three troopers in the area. Kin hoped there was a hidden base or at least a way station with shelter and supplies.
Several smaller ledges caught his attention. He thought he saw movement behind two of them and wondered if it could have been one of the strange avian creatures of Hellsbreach. Not much was known about the wildlife of this planet. Kin had seen it firsthand more than anyone, and he still had a lot of questions. It made sense on a planet where every living creature hid from the Reapers. Seclusion was the rule of survival here.
The shift of air in the small, dark openings could have been an animal — a desiccated mouse barely alive or perhaps some breed of venomous fox. But Kin wasn't a fool. He was moving towards Dog, Dwarf, and Jojo. They’d be on the way down, and this was a good place for an ambush. He wanted to continue and at least make it to the next opening but understood he was already caught.
He slid backward into the shadows, knowing they could see into his space better than he could see into theirs, and that he had surrendered the high ground. Surrendered was too strong of a word. He never had the high ground.
“You’re getting slow in your old age, Kin,” Dog said.
“I’m pacing myself.”
“Don't trust him,” Jojo said. “He’s sandbagging.”
It was the first time the smaller man had spoken. The sneak was always moving like a lazy shadow or cruising among his companions like a shark. They might feel safe, but Kin thought they were fools.
“He can’t sandbag when he’s dead,” Dwarf said.
Dog looked toward one of the dark openings that was larger than the others. Dwarf leaned further into view, exposing just enough of his body to present the business end of a heavy rifle. Dog shifted his attention toward Kin.
“He has a point,” Kin said. To his surprise, Dog smiled.
“You can’t come any farther.”
Kin looked toward each man, then waited until Jojo and Dwarf left their hiding places to stand near Dog. They still had the advantage in numbers and elevation, but Kin thought he was making progress. “Is there a way station or base you’re protecting?”
The three troopers pointed weapons at the sky — casually from the hip — a feat only possible with FSPAA combat frames. Dog and Dwarf carried heavy infantry rifles. Jojo’s sniper rig lacked automatic fire capability but used precision rounds and a specialized barrel. A fraction of a second would bring any or all of the firearms down on Kin where he stood. The fingers of Dog’s gauntlet were missing; only the cage around his knuckles remained. His hands were so large that a casual observer wouldn’t notice the heavy Earth Fleet hardware backing up those face-breaking knuckles. His grip looked relaxed but solid. His eyes were the same — dark, mistrustful, but unworried.
“There’s a way station, but it’s off limits,” Dog said.
“Reapers are moving in,” Kin said.
Dog nodded. “Yep.”
Wind turned and drove the sound of the storm away as the veterans of Hellsbreach stared at each other. Silence ruled. A wave of long forgotten but familiar dread caused Kin’s legs to shake. He tried not to clench his body and hold his breath in fear. It made sense that Reapers would be more terrifying on their home world. The monsters sang a bloody chorus that had Kin counting different types of throat clicks. He looked to the rocks where he had twisted his ankle and saw several pairs of glowing eyes. Too few. There were more voices than eyes.
“Shit’s about to get real,” Dwarf said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Orange Sun
“UNIT, honor, duty,” Kin said.
Dwarf narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw.
Kin backed away, turned, and descended the trail, hanging from a ledge to drop into a pit of darkness. He knew the Reapers would move higher and jump like demons when they attacked. A mistake would cost his life, but at this point, anything he did was likely to kill him.
From the darkness, he climbed a difficult route covered with crumbling rock, finger-wide grips, and rock overhangs that forced him to move backward and horizontal in search of better seams to follow. He was too tired for this test. His forearms trembled. Fire screamed from his fingertips. O
n the first ledge, he fell asleep for several seconds, waking up when stomach spasms forced him to retch.
Doubt crept from dreams to conscious thought. Dog and the others were testing him. He wanted to believe they wouldn’t force him into the wild lands of this planet. Memories of Captain Trak, the Mazz Emperor, and Admiral Andros Cort Shield chastised him. Trust wasn’t a sound investment unless he had something his enemies needed. Once, Kin had a purpose. He’d been the law in Crater Town. For almost ten years, he explored Crashdown and kept the people safe.
None of it mattered.
The Mazz Emperor and the Earth Fleet Admiral had wanted something from him and manipulated him like a pawn on a chessboard. Get all the Reapers to Hellsbreach. Throw Kin after them. Make sure he dies.
Problem solved. Everybody wins.
He rested as long as he dared and felt for a new handhold. Dog and the others would be waiting for him. There would be less talk and more killing next time. He needed to make peace with the troopers or accept his fate.
His time on Crashdown had been full of trials, but he understood there was no comparison. No man could survive this long on Hellsbreach and remain human.
Neither dark thoughts nor dread would save him. He pushed his imagination aside and worked his way through the vertical tunnels of the spire. Armored marsupials the size of rats fled his approach. Scorpions and centipedes slithered across his face. He couldn’t brush them away without falling. Blinking rapidly, he spat, wriggled his lips, and poked an intruder away with his tongue before grunting what could have been curse words with a few well-placed consonants.
Life centered around trembling, sweating, and despairing.
When at last he emerged into a natural coliseum of stone, he crawled to a blanket of shockingly green vegetation and slept. By the time he awoke, vines tangled his arms and gently sucked moisture from his skin.