Son of Orlan (The Chronicles of Kin Roland Book 2) (17 page)

THE shell of the dead Imperial
remained near the wormhole beacons. Everything was as Kin remembered, with one
exception. The beacons vibrated with energy like starship thrusters tearing
across a star system. Gravel trembled across the ground a half mile from the
site. Evergreen trees trembled.

“I hope it doesn’t explode,” Kin said.

Nander didn’t laugh. He signaled his men. “This is close
enough.”

Troopers fanned out right and left, weapons ready, though
they stared at light pulsing from the sky into the cavern at the bottom of the
ravine like a glowing snake entering a wound. The combat veterans looked
defeated—like men who witnessed the scene many times and knew it meant the end.

“Why do they delve into the earth?” Kin asked.

“Perhaps that is the will of the wormhole. Perhaps the
subterranean darkness reminds them of home. No one knows.” He consulted a
display on his arm panel. The Imperial troopers pretended not to watch him,
hiding frequent glances at their leader behind weapons checks and other patrol
tasks. Nander made another of his ritualistic had gestures, nodding his head as
he did so. “The Slomn traverse the wormhole to the core of the planet. They
rally forces and launch a committed attack soon after critical mass is
achieved.”

Other Imperials prayed or meditated. Kin wasn’t sure which,
but it was the first time he’d seen the entire group participate. Something was
about to happen. He’d witnessed similar behavior from troopers about to storm
Hellsbreach.

He edged away from them, a half-formed plan to flee
whispering seductively. Nander’s helmet turned, studied him, and faced the
wormhole-event thrusting into the ravine.

Anything or nothing could be within the twisting tube of
light.

Clavender’s voice echoed in memory. “All wormholes are one,
Kin.”

Where are you Clavender?

Nander approached Kin. He opened his helmet and placed both
hands on his hips. “My men will attempt to take control of the Slomn portal. It
will be dangerous. I need your word that you will not try to escape.”

Kin stared at the Imperial general.

“It’s for the greater good.” Nander beckoned one of his men
to stand guard, but spoke to Kin. “Where is your honor? Will you require me to
waste manpower to supervise you?”

“Honor? Where was your honor when you led me into a trap?”
Kin wanted to see the Imperials work. How would they control the beacons? What
would happen if they failed? How far would Nander go to keep him prisoner?

Nander ordered his men to circle the ravine, spending little
thought on the process. The operation had the feel of a well-rehearsed drill.
Troopers began to move before he finished the words. He directed the rest of
his attention toward Kin.

He spoke in a low, serious voice. “We can stop them here, on
this planet. It is too late for our home world. Most of my race has perished.
Only the Grand Armada remains. But your people need not suffer as we have.”

“Why here?” Kin asked.

“Because it is easier to travel to Edain than away from it.
If my soldiers succeed today, the Slomn must fight us to the death. One way or
another, this is the end.”

Kin began to comprehend the stakes. He began to hope all the
suffering and loss might mean something.

“I need Clavender,” Nander said.

“She might be safer with the Reaper.” Kin doubted everything
Nander claimed. Warrior societies like the Mazz army knew nothing but conquest.
The Slomn was probably the only force strong enough to keep them in check. When
it was all said and done, the Imperials were still enemies of Earth Fleet and
the Ror-Rea.

“She is the only one who can deliver us to the final battle
and out again,” Nander said.

“You sound like the High Lords.”

Nander grunted. “Those fools think her power can defeat us.”

“Why do you want to go to the Bleeding Grounds?” The
question was a gamble. Kin didn’t know the location or significance of the
place, only that Hasic and the other High Lords had demanded Clavender take
them there and that she refused.

Nander’s response confirmed Kin’s suspicion. Wherever
Clavender’s home was, whatever it was, the Imperials and the Ror-Rea needed it.

“What do you know of the Crucible?”

“First in, last out.” It was a reckless guess. The words
felt false, but Nander’s eyes bulged in recognition and alarm. A good military
commander chose the battlefield. Some battlefields were better than others.

Nander gathered his surprise, locked it away, and stared at
Kin. “You guessed. For a moment, I thought Clavender had told you a secret
thousands of our agents died to obtain.” He laughed, making a short chopping
sound almost like a swearword. “I commend your instincts, though it might be
wiser to think before you speak. Especially with the fate of the universe at
stake.”

Kin shrugged. “It’s not my fault I’m a genius.”

Nander gave him a final look, then went to command his
troopers.

The guard motioned toward a gully with his weapon. “Take
cover.”

“You first.”

The guard stared at him.

“And people say I lack a sense of humor.” Kin slid into the
natural shelter and waited. His guard lowered his legs into the opening, but
leaned on a mound of earth at the top and kept his eyes on Nander and the
others.

“What do
you
have against the Ror-Rea?” Kin asked.

The guard remained professional.
“Nothing. It is what it is.”

KIN expected an explosion of atomic
proportions, and was disappointed. Soft thumps resonated beyond the mouth of
the gully. His guard flinched and drew back. When the light came, Kin
understood trooper’s reaction.

The explosions that destroyed the Slomn wormhole beacons
released just enough force to cause damage, but the aftereffect of the
synchronized blasts made nightmares seem pleasant. Kin’s guts churned. Pain
ripped through his skull and he couldn’t breathe. Heat washed his face,
followed by freezing cold.

In the next instant, he plummeted toward Hellsbreach, the
three layered FSPAA shield vibrating around him. He kept his arms pressed to
his sides during the dive, holding handles on his hips as terminal velocity
threatened to drag his hands beyond the shield. Nothing was visible through his
darkened faceplate but fire.

Sweat ran down his back and front, pooling in his boots and
venting steam behind his trajectory. This was the point during an assault when
a trooper was the most alone. He couldn’t see or hear his platoon. The computer
sensors offered nothing until the heat shields peeled away.

Shield two exploded and vanished. Shield three began to glow
as air brakes deployed. “Second platoon, assault formation on my mark. Three,
two, one.”

He commanded the last layer of protection to release. The
composite ceramic screen expanded, jolting Kin as speed dropped to manageable
levels. His parachute flared, guiding him the last hundred meters before
detaching.

“Touch down. First squad, take point. Second and third
squads move to flanking position,” Kin said. The rest of the platoon charged
across the broken plains of Hellsbreach with Kin in the lead.

“Sergeant Orlan, give me a Sit Rep.”

The FSPAA radio crackled as it always did after a planetary
assault. “Nothing on our right flank but Reapers. Looks like First Platoon is
taking their time.”

Kin glanced up and back as he ran. First, Third, and Fourth
Platoon soared across the landscape toward a touchdown marker three kilometers
distant. “Either they missed the beacon or we did.”

Orlan laughed. “When was the last time you missed a target?”

“Second Platoon, we have a long haul to regroup with the
company. Stay tight. Reapers don’t have ranged weapons. I want you moving shoulder
to shoulder until we see Captain Usegi and the rest of our unit.”

Kin led his platoon over the crest of a hill, crashing into
a mass of Reapers like he’d never imagined. Military Intelligence hadn’t
imagined the force either—or they really hated Kin Roland and his team.

“Shift left! Shift left. There are too many in the center!”

A wave of angry alien flesh swept Kin and his platoon from
the field. He muted his helmet communications, not wanting to hear the chaotic
screaming of his men or let them hear his terror.

Something jumped on his back, driving him face down against
the rocky soil. The blackness lasted a long time. 

He lay on the ground facing the night sky of Crashdown, ears
ringing, pulse pounding in his temples. Nander’s face appeared, looking down,
smiling. But the smile was an act. The man seemed mortally wounded.

“What happened to you?” Kin asked.

“It is nothing. The wormhole sickness has taken me. I may
survive.”

Kin wasn’t sure how that made him feel. Nander betrayed him
as thoroughly as his worst enemy. But did he want the general to suffer the
strange malady so evident in his drawn features?

He sat up, looked around, and saw his guard lying motionless
with his helmet off. Blood streamed from his eye sockets and his dead hands
gripped his own throat. Something else was wrong. Kin leaned closer, then stood
and faced the other direction. The soldier, whose name he never learned, had
broken his back during his struggle with imaginary demons.

Kin pushed memories of his own ghosts from his mind. They
were creatures he would expect to find at the bottom of an ocean—or in the void
of space.

“Your friends are looking for you. We must go,” Nander said.

“That doesn’t seem like a reason I’d want to abandon this
little piece of paradise.”

Nander motioned for a pair of troopers to guard Kin. “If you
stay, you will see them die.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“You can’t. But if you cooperate, we will leave them to
their fate. Only fools approach a destroyed wormhole nexus. If they have sense
to turn back, they’ll survive.”

“Until you ambush them.”

“You have my word, Roland. If they don’t spot us and attempt
a rescue, I will order my men to let them wander across this horrible planet.”

Kin studied Nander. Thinking of their first meeting and
everything that had happened since, he came to a conclusion.

“I don’t trust you.”

ORLAN dragged the survivor away
from the other Imperials as the passage shook and fire vented from fissures in
the rock. Smoke and stony grit clouded the air. Booming gunfire and soldiers
screaming through armor speakers sounded a symphony written in hell. He heard
the Slomn tearing his enemies apart in the cavern below, but didn’t care. The
Serpent-Salamander men terrified him to the core of his soul, but they weren’t
after him, not right now.

So who cares? If they want me, they can come and get me
.

Shapes flickered in the shadows just beyond his vision.
“Damn alien freaks!” He manhandled the Mazz Imperial, dragging him out of the
mouth of the cave as the confused image of a Slomn slid out of sight below.
Serpents. Salamanders. Centipedes with cobra hoods. What kind of madman built
the monsters?

Revelation flirted with Orlan. Something to do with the
creators of the Slomn. He thought he had a pretty good idea where they came from,
and he was going to make a certain someone pay.

He’d seen a squad of the things drop hundreds of legs from
the side of their snake-like bodies like braces for an anti-tank cannon. At the
time, he’d laughed as the old Earth ships rocked on their landing skids but
withstood the barrage.

And then he’d been running, outdistancing the chaos. He’d
darted up steep subterranean tunnels like a monkey-cat, until the Imperials
attacked.

Taking a page from Kin’s book, he’d led them on a merry
chase right into a Slomn patrol and nearly been crushed between the two
unstoppable forces. But it worked.

What did it matter if the Slomn destroyed his enemies? He’d
fear the Slomn when it was time. Right now, the bell tolled for the Imperials.

That’s what they get for ambushing me
.

Kin was nowhere to be seen. Probably, the Slomn got him too.
They’d kill everyone. It didn’t matter.

“I got you now.” Orlan wiggled his knife between the helmet
and neck pieces of the Imperial armor.

The man turned his head sideways and down, attempting to snap
the tip of the blade and tighten the opening against attack. Orlan pushed the
helmet straight and smiled into the man’s visor.

“You’re big for an Imperial. I think I’ll have that armor.”

“No. No. The codes will blow us up.”

“Not if you give them to me.” He leaned his weight on the
knife and felt the seal giving way. “I promise not to slit your throat.”

When Orlan finished donning the Imperial armor, he looked
down at the naked man. “Did you soil yourself? This suit smells like death.”

“You will be caught and executed.”

“Maybe. But not by you.” Orlan hurled him down the mountain
side. He watched for movement. A soldier who knew how to slow his fall might
survive. Orlan didn’t think the Imperials were very good without armor. Earth
Fleet trained each trooper for a year in unarmed combat, including Judo and
Aikido, before teaching them to use an FSPAA unit—and that was only the
beginning. Hand-to-hand combat instruction continued throughout a trooper’s
career. Imperials seemed to skip this step, not that the man had a chance
against Orlan in full gear. He couldn’t have fought back, but if he had learned
to fight, to punch and kick and throw an opponent, he might have learned how to
fall as well.

The Imperial crashed gracelessly through trees and bushes
before lying motionless at the bottom of the escarpment. In Earth Fleet
Planetary Forces boot camp, everyone had to learn primitive parachuting
techniques, including the ability to land. Orlan’s victim seemed unfamiliar
with the concept.

No parachuting skill, no fighting skill—the man was useless.

Orlan laughed, snorted, then held his breath when the
Imperial suit beeped three times and went into lock-down mode. The wind carried
a strange sound to his ears. Or maybe it was his imagination. Dead men couldn’t
laugh. Neither could they explain why Orlan’s newly acquired armor was shutting
down.

He spent several moments trying to make the unit move. He
had entered the code and equipped himself unaided. Kin would have done it
quicker, but Orlan was sure every piece fit. The only problem was that he now
seemed a captive of the armor. What would unlock the Imperial security
protocol? The armor was just a machine, and machines followed programming.
Surely the enemy recognized the need for emergency overrides.

The chest plate began to constrict. Orlan laughed nervously.
Earth Fleet armor self-destructed by leaking battery acid inside the unit. It
seemed Imperials favored constriction. He struggled to breathe, grateful he
wasn’t being melted. Burning flesh always stank.

Think, Orlan
.

One of his ribs popped. An idea occurred to him as he forced
air into his lungs, grunting against the weight wrapping his torso. “I must
fight the Slomn! Long live the Empire!”

Pressure hissed from the armor. Orlan gasped as the chest
plate relaxed and a voice spoke in a language he didn’t understand. The tone
was encouraging, but he understood not a word.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. I need all weapons on line and power
at maximum.”

His earpiece beeped once. “Are you behind enemy lines
requiring the use of Fleet speech?”

“You bet your ass, computer.”

He set out to find Kin. The arrogant bastard had saved
Billy. He saved everyone. Made it look easy. Someday the man would realize how
hard it was for ordinary grunts. Orlan smashed a small tree rather than dodge
it.

Someone paralleled his movements.

“Anything you can do I can do better.” Raien’s voice sounded
strange. Her short captivity had changed her. “Imperial armor has power, but
they stink.”

“Tell me about it.” Orlan listened, glanced at the trees
above, and readied his weapons. “Is someone with you?”

“I told Tass to stay out of sight if possible. She says Kin
led his captors toward Sophia’s pass,” Raien said.

“Hmm. Not a bad place for an ambush, but there are too many.
Send the Winger to her people for help.”

“I tried.”

“And?”

Raien gave Orlan her famous “no bullshit face” as she cocked
one gauntleted hand on her hip with her rifle pointed skyward with the other.
“She pretended not to hear.”

Orlan looked into the branches and slapped his palm on the
trunk of a tree. “Tass. Get down here.”

Raien laughed. “Such a sweet talker.”

“Women.” He checked his location, staring at the map inside
his visor. The words and symbols made no sense, but the three-dimensional
topographical display seemed familiar. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll follow you.”

Orlan opened his helmet. “I don’t think we should use their
coms. I’ll give verbal commands and hand signals.”

“Commands? I am a captain, sergeant.”

“You know what I mean. Now you’re going to bust my balls?
Should have left you in that cell.”

He moved quickly, proud of his
stealth despite the speed of his advance. Kin thought he was a brute. Maybe he
was. But he knew his business.

SOPHIA’S pass quivered like a bowl
of pudding. Purple gel, glowing with power, sweat from rock and oozed across
scorched dirt. Orlan’s first step into the area shattered a glaze of melted
sand.

“Careful,” Raien said.

Orlan turned without moving his feet. When he had contorted
his waist beyond the FSPAA tolerances, he paused. “No dancing? Where’s your
sense of adventure?”

“And Orlan develops a sense of humor.” Raien faced Tass, who
stood lightly on the edge of the scene. “Remember this day. History has been
made.”

Tass shifted. “Orlan is a great warrior.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that a couple of times since we
started,” Raien said.

Orlan moved closer to the blackened ravine. “It’s good to be
appreciated. How’s your wing, Tass?”

The Ror-Rea shrugged. “I am also a great warrior. I will
continue.”

Orlan and Raien laughed. Tass smiled, flexing her wing as
she crept forward.

“The wormhole bleeds.” She jumped into the air and soared to
the edge of darkness, landing next to Orlan and looking into the gaping hole.

Orlan touched his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what the gesture
meant, but had seen Ror-Rea warriors do it often. “Do you know what happened
here?”

Tass looked toward the broken devices in the distance. “I
know this technology not well. Not Mazz. Not human. I see that it damaged the
wormhole.”

Raien gave up her over-watch position on their back trail
and joined them, though by the way she moved, the idea of crossing the smoking
terrain unnerved her. “Take pictures and measurements. The Fleet will need a
complete report.”

“You take them. I’m going after Kin.” He stomped out of the
disaster zone, his boots churning black clouds of dust that occasionally flared
to life and shot away like bullets. He thought they might follow him, but
didn’t look back to find out.

“Orlan,” Raien said as she caught up.

“What?”

“You’re not in charge.”

“Roger that.”

He led the way without looking at Sophia’s pass and the site
of the wormhole wound. Raien was right. He knew how to do his job. Intel won
battles. Or lost them, depending on who gathered it and who decided what it
meant. What Orlan understood was that he needed Kin.

Earth Fleet troopers held him in awe, even those who called
him traitor. Orlan never saw it. Kin was just a grunt like he was, yet the man
always survived. Might be good to respect a record like that.

Raien interrupted his thoughts.

“Tass, scout ahead and tell me where Nander and the
Imperials are taking Kin. Don’t be seen.”

The Ror-Rea woman flared her wings. “My wings are black for
battle. They will not see me in the night.”

“Good,” Raien said.

“I can tell you where they are heading,” Orlan said.

“Nander will probably put him in my old cell.”

Orlan laughed. “Round and round we go.”

“And where we stop, no one knows.”

They hiked in silence until Tass returned.

“Nander-the-Traitor goes to base,” she said.

“The forward base where I was held?”

“Yes.”

Raien looked at Orlan.

He popped his knuckles, enjoying the exaggerated feeling
they made through the Imperial FSPAA gauntlets.

“What’s your plan?” Raien asked.

Orlan rolled his neck from side to side, shook out his
hands, and twisted his lower back one direction in the other.

Raien stepped closer. “What is your plan?”

“Don’t know, but it involves death.”