Son of Orlan (The Chronicles of Kin Roland Book 2) (22 page)

SILENCE came with the dawn like a
warning there would never be peace again. The valley surrounding the Imperial
base was less extensive than Long Canyon, though still impressive. Once, years
ago, Kin had sat with Bear discussing how the place would support agriculture
for a small city if they could convince anyone from Crater Town to resettle
this far from the coast. Gentle hills sloped away from where armored vehicles,
walls, and observation towers now protected enemies of Earth Fleet.

Kin leaned on the railing, comfortable with the slight sway
of the structure. From a distance, the tower appeared solid and inflexible
despite stretching toward the sky.

The Imperial army presented an attitude of strength and
discipline. Nander had barely consulted Kin since their return to this base,
but Kin had eyes and ears. Nander’s son, Captain Trak, revealed more than he
realized. As a veteran of many campaigns, Kin understood the intricacies of
soldier-talk. Worries half expressed, complaints, jokes—every word pointed to
an army with normal problems and tensions. Kin wondered whether Commander
Westwood had ever suspected the Mazz were more human than they acted or
appeared.

He looked down on the precise formation of tanks, temporary tents,
and wheeled battle machines beyond the inner perimeter. Morning mist drifted
away from reaching sun beams. Disciplined troopers changed the guard, serviced
latrines, and drilled. A powerful feeling of foreboding surrounded Kin in every
direction.

Did prisoners normally stand on the balcony of the command
tower, unguarded? The door behind him was locked and guarded by Central
Security. Somewhere in the core of the structure faceless men and women
monitored secure areas by remote video feed, checked face recognition software
of soldiers passing through the recently completed gates, and watched.

They’re always watching me
.

He decided to enjoy the illusion of freedom. Until General
Nander returned from deliberations with the other Imperial generals, Kin remained
a prisoner. Well fed? Better than he’d eaten in years. Sheltered from the
elements? The bland, minimally furnished suite was a box of luxury with a view.
The valley and all the martial power of the Mazz Imperials spread around his
tower cell.

Kin gripped the rail with both hands and thought of his
friends fighting for survival. The irrational impulse to jump the rail and run
into the mountains called like the voice of God. The tower was too high, his
guards to numerous, and he had no idea where they were hiding. Negotiating with
Nander was the only way to protect them, even though he couldn’t believe the
general wanted his cooperation so badly he would make deals.

Only Captain Trak had spoken to him, which was an odd turn
of events. The guards stood back, armor securely in place, weapons ready.

Kin’s best escape route was over the side—an impossible
choice for a man without wings or a zip line. One guard walked the narrow deck
between railing and tower. The trooper couldn’t stop him from jumping. Feigning
casual interest, Kin leaned out to study the wall below the deck. With
specialized climbing gear and unlimited time, a descent might be possible.

“Dream on, Kin.”

The guard stepped closer. “Excuse me?”

Kin smiled as he shook his head and turned away from the
fully armored trooper. “I was planning to climb down the wall and escape. You
don’t mind, do you?”

An uncomfortable pause followed.

“Lieutenant Paulis in Central Security advises you not to
try.”

Kin looked at the guard.
Might as well entertain myself
.
“You know, after Hellsbreach, I went through some physical changes. Never
thought I would need the suction cups on my palms until now.”

The guard tensed. A moment passed as he communicated with
his supervisor. Kin imagined the conversation, unable to resist the urge to
smile.

The guard checked Kin’s hands brusquely.

He stepped back, speaking inside the helmet.

Another pause.

“Lieutenant Paulis says no more jokes.”

“An Imperial, a Reaper, and a Ror-Rea walk into a bar…”

The guard turned and resumed his patrol of the walkway. Less
than two minutes later, Kin saw the man as he came around again.

“How did you get stuck with this assignment?” Kin asked.

The guard seemed to ignore him, but then spoke without
actually facing Kin. “I made stupid jokes.”

Kin laughed. “Good one.”

For the next hour he observed the Imperial position and
soldiers intent on improving it. If Nander had his way, Kin would soon be in
command of a force larger than any he had served in.

How hard could it be?

“INTRUDERS have breached the perimeter,”
Captain Trak said to the guards that had suddenly joined Kin in his apartment
near the top of the tower. “Weapons hot. Destroy any who attempt to penetrate
this section.”

“What about the area beyond our post, the motor pool or wall
security, for example?” a guard asked.

“Save your ammunition to repel a direct assault on this
position.”

Kin stood from the bunk that served as a reading chair,
workbench, and occasionally a bed. Without making eye contact or seeking
approval of his action, he strode toward the door. Captain Trak flicked a
finger and one of the guards blocked the exit.

“Relax, Captain,” Kin said. “There’s no way to escape. If
there were, I’d be gone. Given your father’s intentions regarding my future, I
thought it might be prudent to see how this army functions.”

Nander approached without a word, paused, then motioned for
the guard to move aside.

Kin stepped into the night air. Sounds of battle came from
the east—Reapers, wolves, and Clingers filling the darkness with terror. He
sensed something above, but didn’t look up. Could Dax’s warriors be taking
advantage of yet another suicidal Reaper attack? His deception proved useless.
Hoping his guards would forget to watch the sky did not cause them blindness.

Imperial guns blasted the darkness above the base with
exploding flak. Kin crossed the fingers of his left hand and twitched each time
a winged shaped avoided an aerial burst explosion. Watching the wings slash
through smoke brought a mild case of vertigo. He couldn’t imagine how much worse
it would be to be part of the radically changing flight patterns. Wingers
fought for altitude only to wheel in tight circles and drop out of sight.

On a clear day with only the sound of burbling brooks and
song birds would have been easier to watch. He gripped the rail of the balcony,
tensed his shoulders, and reminded himself to breathe.

“Since when did the Wingers and Reapers fight on the same
side?” a guard asked.

“Don’t assume they are allies,” Trak said. “Every creature
on this planet stands against us. Yesterday they killed each other in Long
Canyon. Tonight they test our defenses. Tomorrow the will be after each other’s
throats.” He considered Kin, clearly suspicious.

Kin spread his hands. “I’m just a prisoner. What would I
know?”

Trak grunted. “You’re a prisoner either side would like to
have. Every Reaper we capture screams for Kin-rol-an-da.”

“That’s creepy,” the guard said.

“Hunting the Earth Fleet traitor is a rite of passage for
them,” Trak said.

“Lucky me,” Kin said. Sounds of battle were everywhere, but
he didn’t see casualties. The action felt like a diversion.

“Take Roland inside,” Trak said.

“Yes, sir.”

Kin hesitated, stalling for time. He couldn’t imagine a
rescue attempt would succeed against the formidable defenses. During his own raid
to liberate Captain Raien, fortifications had not been complete. Much of the
Imperial force had been in the field. Tonight was different.

“Emperor preserve us!” Trak stood motionless for a
heartbeat, then whirled and threw Kin to the ground as several Ror-Rea warriors
burst from an explosion of light near the top of the tower.

Clavender!
Kin twisted to stand.

Trak activated his helmet assembly even as he pushed Kin
down with FSPAA enhanced strength.

“Don’t shoot her!” Trak shouted. “Take her alive. Launch
nets. Bring me the Winger princess.”

Two guards joined Captain Trak and the first guard, working
to attach net launching devices to weapons. Kin stood, momentarily forgotten.
The chances of shoving them over the ledge were small. He considered it. He thought
he could run around the tower platform and wave his arms for the Ror-Rea
rescuers.

The moment passed. Shapes swooped toward the tower and
veered away. Trak and the guards remained preoccupied. Nets missed targets as
the explosions silhouetted other winged shadows executing diving attacks on
Imperial positions.

And just as he began to curse himself for his hesitation, he
saw Clavender. Briefly, she looked in his eyes.

“Get out of here!” Kin yelled.

She shook her head in confusion. Trak’s modified rifle boomed.
A net expanded toward her. When it seemed she would be snared, she folded her
wings and dropped suddenly.

She came to save me.
Kin yanked his arm away from a
guard who seized him.

He glared at the Imperial trooper. “I could have jumped into
her arms.”

“I would have shot you both,” the guard said.

“I ordered you to take him inside. Are you deaf?” Captain
Trak strode across the narrow deck and attempted to shove Kin, but missed as
Kin sidestepped.

“Relax, Captain. The Ror-Rea are in retreat.” Kin wasn’t
sure what to think. The sight of Reapers and Ror-Rea warriors coordinating
attacks against the Imperials, for some inexplicable reason, caused him to
remember the Slomn and the terrible fire in their eyes.

“We must stand together against the serpent men,” Kin said.

Captain Trak said something.

Kin heard the words but didn’t bother to understand them.
All he thought about was Clavender and how he had betrayed her.

She risked her life.

In the distance, Droon howled.

What am I doing here?

KIN walked between two guards in
full armor. He wore form-fitting Imperial combat fatigues and tried to remember
if Earth Fleet uniforms were made to the same standards. Years of living rough on
Crashdown made appreciation for such things counterproductive.

Soldiers in the underground Mazz bunker wore the same dark
tan uniforms, each with rank insignia and embroidered symbols of valor—not
medals, but close enough. Only the men escorting Kin had armor and field
weapons. Other attendants bore sidearms and combat knives. Rows of men stood
along the walls at parade rest. The front of the room held situation tables and
important officers.

General Nander motioned for Kin’s escort to approach, then
turned his attention to a computer screen Kin lacked the angle to read.

“General,” Kin said.

Nander considered him a moment, glanced at his staff, then
turned off the monitor. “Commander Westwood has returned.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

Nander and the other imperials looked annoyed.

“Yes,” Nander said. “This time there can be no doubt. Earth
Fleet’s armada contains every ship we have faced during the previous year as
well as the newly constructed 20th Fleet. Had I the intention of fighting them,
it would be a difficult contest.”

“I wouldn’t want to be caught between Earth Fleet and the
Slomn.”

An officer snorted.

Nander ignored the interruption. “This is the reason I have
selected you as my successor.”

“It is the exact scenario we warned you about,” an old,
battle scarred soldier said. “Only a fool would put a human in charge of this
operation now.”

“Your objection has been noted, General Pouk. Do you serve?”

A moment passed. Officers and enlisted troops waited.

“I serve and obey.” The veteran saluted without breaking eye
contact. “For the Empire.”

Nander guided Kin aside. “Earth Fleet is my concern for the
present. But soon you will have to face Westwood, hopefully in negotiations.”

“I won’t fight Earth Fleet.”

Nander aged ten years. Sweat beaded on his sallow skin. For
a moment, it seemed he would send Kin away and retire to his quarters. A weaker
man would have taken a seat and called a medic.

“You obviously believe Westwood can be made to understand
the greater threat. At some point, I’ll need answers,” Kin said.

“You’ve seen the Slomn warriors. You witnessed the wormhole
beacons.”

“I know nothing about them. Where are they from? What do
they want?”

Nander shook his head. “It’s better not to search too deeply
for certain answers. You held the future of the universe in your hands at
Hellsbreach. You understand the burden. This time, you must not fail.”

“You assume I’ll take your Devil’s bargain,” Kin said.

“I can promise the safe treatment of everyone from Crater
Town and won’t interfere with Earth Fleet personnel rejoining Westwood’s
force.”

“Assuming they’re alive,” Kin said.

“Some have died in recent hostilities. Others have fallen to
Reapers. What’s done is done.”

Kin wanted to ask if Rebecca was among the fallen Earth
Fleet troopers, but dared not. Was it right for him to be concerned for her
more than the others?

He couldn’t deny his heart. Thoughts of Rebecca kept him
awake, destroyed his appetite, and had caused him to stare across the valley
from his lofty prison night after night.

Laura, Rickson, and even Orlan’s son needed him. He cursed
himself for not trying to escape when Clavender and the others had come for
him. What was he doing with this enigmatic Imperial general who wanted to
burden him with power and responsibility?

“General Nander,” Kin said. “I need to know where my friends
are. Give me a squad of troopers to look for them, and I’ll consider your
proposition. Call it a test run.”

“You think I am making a proposition? If I name you my
successor, you will serve the Empire or you will die.”

“We all die sooner or later.”

Nander grimaced. “Of this, I am aware.” He coughed and it
sounded like his death sentence. “I’m sick, Roland. Time is short. Your
proposal, though intriguing, is impossible. I will learn the status of your
Crater Town people and your Earth Fleet girlfriend. You will have a detailed
report, but you will not leave my protection while I live.”

“What happened to Orlan and the others?” Kin waited for a
lie.

“They are dead.”

Words continued to reach Kin’s ears, but he ignored them.
Orlan couldn’t die. How could he die? Kin had tried to kill him and failed. The
man survived Hellsbreach and Reaper captivity. He was too stubborn to die.

“Why didn’t you choose Orlan? Why me?”

Nander looked toward the
waiting officers and the strategy tables, then coughed again. “Don’t ask
foolish questions. It does not become a high commander. Orlan was a dangerous
fighter, but I doubt he could lead a company, much less the Grand Army. The
Slomn will destroy your home world when they are done with us. Show some
gratitude for the opportunity I am giving you.”

IMPERIAL FSPAA armor contained
interesting features. The clarity of the communication system startled Kin at
first. The concise speech of Mazz soldiers resonated in his hearing as though
they stood near him despite the actual distance involved. There was no
background hum at all. No clicks. No loss of reception. No annoying feedback.

His command unit accessed every unit in the Imperial force.
He flicked his eyes to the menu screen inside his helmet as Captain Trak had
taught him. With surprising ease, he muted unnecessary transmissions and
listened to men and women guarding his area.

Voices as clear as his own thoughts filled the visor
display. He noticed alert symbols of multiple units. With a glance he saw brief
situation reports that could be expanded for additional information. He
couldn’t discern delay, distortion, or interference in the signals.

“Some features are the same,” Captain Trak said. “We walk
and run just like you do. Pay attention to range notifications. You’ll see our
weapons are superior in this and many other parameters.”

“How do I reload?”

Trak laughed. “All the ammunition carried in your armor’s
vault loads itself through the belt feed as needed. Every grunt in the Empire
wonders why your Fleet hasn’t figured this out. Our method is more efficient.”

Kin knew it was. He wondered how Earth Fleet had survived
this long against such a numerically superior enemy with better weapons.

“You are the first human to operate an Imperial command
unit. And we call them SKINS, not FSPAA.”

“What does the term stand for?”

“Nothing. We wear armor as though it were skin.”

The unit felt like a second skin. He didn’t get the
impression of weight as he did in an Earth Fleet unit. Power output and
hydraulic-assist mechanisms were precisely optimized. As Trak stood with arms
crossed watching Kin’s every move, Kin put the SKIN through several close
combat drills.

“Smooth,” he said.

“I’m glad you approve,” Trak said. “SKINS also have better
radiation shielding than Earth Fleet junk.”

Kin checked the rifle, sidearms, and energy weapons. All
would function if he had ammunition and power cells for the short-range laser.
“What about plasma launchers?”

“Orlan took a SKIN, did you know that. How do you think he
figured out the activation code?”

“Orlan wasn’t as dumb as he acted.” Kin lowered the helmet
assembly. “Tell me about Imperial plasma launchers.”

“We don’t use them. Plasma attacks incite the Slomn.”

“Who cares? They’re already trying to kill us.”

“Trust me on this. If your Earth Fleet friends use plasma
projectors against the Slomn, they’ll regret it.”

“Captain Trak,” a trooper said as he rushed onto the
training field.

The man was one of Nander’s bodyguards. He moved close to
Kin, but spoke to Trak. “Directive 999 is in effect.”

“You heard him, Snake Eaters. Take positions,” Trak yelled.

Kin found himself surrounded by Trak’s men. They crowded
close, forming a wall around Kin as they shoved him forward.

“What’s happening?”

Trak scanned the camp section by section. “General Nander
has died. You may be in danger.”

“Nander left this part out of his explanations.”

“You will refer to him as General Nander. He was a great
man.”

The words sounded spontaneous and genuine to Kin, but he
sensed apprehension in Trak’s voice. The captain wasn’t part of Kin’s close
escort.  Rather, he coordinated his men and scanned the area ahead, around, and
behind.

“What’s going on?” Kin asked.

“It’s the putsch General Nander warned me about. Not many
people are excited about their new General.”

A squad of troopers, so strange that Kin stumbled, blocked
the path. Four Imperial troopers, the lowest ranking a major, aimed weapons and
shouted in Mazz. Kin scrambled up from one knee. His escorts lifted him and
propelled him onward. Trak and the forward element opened fire at the same time
the squad of officers unleashed a volley of bullets.

Trak charged into them, closing the distance until he
pressed the muzzle of his heavy rifle against a colonel’s helmet and blew it
apart. Return fire sliced through Trak’s arm. Other rounds ricocheted from
Kin’s bodyguards.

“You better be all General Nander promised,” one of his
guards said right before he went down.

“Keep moving.” Captain Trak didn’t yell. His voice resonated
with authority, urgency, and resolve. “To the Command Bunker.”

Trak summoned reinforcements that fell into formation.
Fighting escalated. An armored vehicle blocked the way. Trak and the others
hesitated, losing momentum. No one wasted ammunition on the light tank.

Kin searched for an alternate route, but saw small battles
in every direction.

“I need armored support now!” Trak turned in a circle, not
realizing a Light Armored Vehicle had anticipated his request. By the time he
faced the putsch tank, the LAV was ramming the large vehicle, moving it just
enough to open a gap between road barriers.

“They know where we’re heading,” Kin said.

“Can’t be helped. Once we make the Command Bunker, your
ascendancy becomes official. There will be challenges, but no more direct
combat.”

“He knew this would happen,” Kin said as they moved closer
to the bunker.

“He did,” Trak said, pain evident in his voice.

“Then why risk it with the Slomn so near?”

A pause. “Necessity,” Trak said. “And a chance to purge bad
blood.”

Kin didn’t like the sound of that.

Trak led them across the final approach to the Command Bunker,
down the gradual slope leading to entrance tucked into the ground, and burst
inside shouting a password. Guards jostled Kin into the dimly lighted area and
surrounded him, facing outward in every direction.

Observing the backs of Imperial troopers dedicated to
protecting him and enforcing his authority gave Kin pause. None of this seemed
real. Everything that happened since he witnessed Earth Fleet and Droon’s ship
from Laura’s deck seemed to have occurred during an intense but vaguely
remembered dream. Life rushed toward destiny. His greatest struggles and
triumphs during nine years on Crashdown appeared mundane and small in his
memory.

But it wasn’t. Life was good in Crater Town. Laura took
care of me, despite how I treated her
. He thought of passionate nights and
even more passionate arguments. Rickson growing up. Repairs on the docks after
the first terrible storm they experienced. Muldoch’s death. Droon’s relentless
pursuit.

“Master Sergeant,” Trak said. “Equip General Roland’s SKIN
for combat.”

“What about security clearances?”

Trak answered without hesitation, barely looking at the
Master Sergeant. A lot was happening. Captain Trak earned his pay as he
directed multiple units on successive tasks. “Full clearance, per General
Nander’s last request.”

“Welcome to hell, General,” the Master Sergeant said as he
accessed Kin’s armor with a handheld computer.

“Sounds ominous, Master Sergeant.”

The man grunted and completed his work.