Son of Orlan: The Chronicles of Kin Roland, #2

By Scott Moon

Kin Roland survived the Battle of Crater Town. He managed to keep his friends alive, though most remained at his side on Crashdown when the safe course would have been to evacuate with Earth Fleet. Kin even found the girl of his dreams.

Surviving Earth Fleet justice and a Reaper vendetta was only the beginning. Now Kin has real trouble. 

With the  Grand Army of the Mazz Empire descending on the planet to destroy ancient enemies and Reapers sweeping across the landscape leaving terror and death in their wake, Kin learns the truth of his supposedly invincible enemies. The largest military expedition in history isn't that of of a conquering force. The Mazz are on the run--fleeing extinction and Kin knows desperate enemies are dangerous.

Kin will find himself in a position no one expected. He'll define humanity with his next choice, or doom them eternally.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scottmoonwriter
• Release date: Dec 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519913760

Book preview

1

ORLAN strode boldly down the corridor, not as a man, but as a titan of potential violence. Red lights flashed on the floor, reminding crewmen, troopers, and marines the ship was in trouble — in case the earsplitting klaxon wasn’t a clue. Track lights pointed toward battle stations for soldiers or safe areas for noncombatants, although the ship had yet to sustain damage. So far as Orlan knew, there wasn’t an enemy in sight.

No enemy, but plenty of impact alerts.

Orlan hated debris fields. Before long, smoke would pour from vents and wall panels, sparks would explode from damaged circuits, and gravity would fail like Commander Westwood’s common sense.

Out of my way! He shoved a marine lieutenant against the wall and stepped past, heedless when the man fell to one knee and cursed.

The officer struggled to his feet and stabbed a finger forward, losing his balance as the ship lurched. Take that man’s name.

Orlan stopped, turned, and stalked toward seven wide-eyed marines with twitching trigger fingers. He didn’t have time for this, but there were too many officers who thought they could give him orders.

I’m the Hero of Man.

The group edged back, hands reaching for sidearms. Orlan quickly assessed each by size, apparent fitness level, arrangement of weapons, and glimmers of misplaced confidence or justifiable fear in their eyes.

Take my name, Lieutenant. Take it and shove it up your ass. Orlan glared at each man in turn as the lieutenant sputtered nonsense. He pointed a thick finger at the leader. I’ll see you planet-side. He leaned forward, introducing his jaw to the officer’s face. He paused. He turned and sauntered away, listening for a challenge that never came.

Public address systems blared, Planetary assault personnel, report to the armory. The ship is entering atmosphere. Assault personnel, report to the armory for equipment and deployment orders. Welcome to Crashdown, people.

Orlan stopped. He turned in a circle as though he might see bulkheads exploding or gravity generators failing. Orion’s Gift, a Type IX battlecruiser and 4th Fleet’s Flagship, didn’t do landfall. The monster rarely came near a world unless Planetary Forces needed to get some troopers killed in an assault. The battlecruiser was strictly a space vessel. Captains liked to talk about the invulnerability of their ships, bragging they could set any craft down safely if it came to that, despite what happened to Admiral Horn when he tried.

The fool would live forever in the annals of history, even though he died in a tangle of molten steel and shattered ceramic heat shields with all hands.

Billy!

Orlan knew the boy was smart, but nothing could prepare the stowaway for what was about to happen.

Officers, troopers, and marines swarmed toward Orlan. They poured out of their holes, every half-assed one of them moving the wrong direction.

Go ahead. Run to your stations. I’ll still be first in the fight. Orlan spat over his shoulder without slowing his pace. And I’ll be saving your asses, unless you’re stupid.

He didn’t waste time with troopers or marines who picked the wrong fight and got jammed up in a suicide mission. Was it his fault boys wanted to be heroes? Overestimating their abilities; believing the boot camp propaganda; thinking they could be the Hero of Man? And girls. Don’t forget girls. Rebecca is the worst glory seeker of the lot. What had she thought to achieve by putting Kin in that coffin?

Another group streamed out of the cafeteria — yelling, asking stupid questions, begging friends for reassurance. He smashed the first man to the ground, hesitated as he stared down at the Academy-educated boy, then stepped into an alcove as the panic-parade rushed by. He wasn’t hiding. Anyone could see him. A few made eye contact as they strapped on safety equipment and hurried forward.

Orlan yelled as they passed but didn’t join them. Is this the only Goddamn hallway on the ship? Your instructors didn’t explain about getting blown to hell when a ship goes down?

A marine sergeant, a man who thought he had a reputation because he’d been in a dozen engagements, slowed to stare at Orlan. An order crawled up his throat and parted his lips.

Orlan cocked his head sideways. What are you looking at?

The press of the crowd moved the man away. His face bobbed in the river of people, looking back, shoving crewmen ineffectually, his expression reddening with each attempt to shout down the Hero of Man.

Idiot.

When he couldn’t tolerate another second of the pathetic wannabes, he stepped into the flow of men and women. He shoved people out of the way, two or three at a time like they were children. Before long, he didn’t have to push, because humanity parted for him. He strode toward his quarters, cursing the size of the ship and the chaos that slowed him.

Billy nearly died the first time Orlan went after him. Of course, he’d likely die now, but Orlan had to do something. He had to fight. Had to explain his will, his intentions, his demands to the universe. I’m Jack Washington Orlan. You better watch your ass.

Everything came back to Hellsbreach. He spent the reward he received as the only living Hero of Man. Lesser soldiers would’ve made the money last weeks, even with drinking, whoring, and gambling. Roland would’ve retired in luxury with his sweet Becca. Course, he was floating across the void, probably frozen solid and shot through with solar radiation.

Orlan had gone straight to Tabitha. One night, that was all it took to leave him a pauper. It’d been a damn good night, no arguments there. By morning, he believed he’d slept with every female officer on Orion’s Gift except Becca.

And now I have a son.

Tabitha didn’t love him; it wasn’t in her job description. Maybe she feared him. Respect wouldn’t be too much to hope for. Women liked strong men — men that kept them safe, made them feel beautiful, put them so damn high on a pedestal that gods were jealous.

It seemed like it should be easy.

Should be, but wasn’t. Orlan had no luck with women. He always left them crying — cursing sometimes — but never happy.

He grunted as he neared his quarters, striding forcefully onward, slowing as his mind replayed memories but still stalking the corridor in a broad-shouldered attitude of strength.

Thoughts of betrayal added fifty pounds to each arm and a ton to his legs. He pushed away visions of Hellsbreach and his failure. Escaping a thousand bloodthirsty Reapers wasn’t betraying his buddies; it wasn’t anything but staying alive. Looking back, it felt like betrayal. Fuck that. I didn’t fail Billy, did I? Didn’t betray him? I found him when no one else gave a shit.

The door had exploded when he kicked it. Clouds of noxious dust and computer parts scattered the floor as he punched the Iron Death Gangster in the throat — something more like Roland would’ve done, aiming for a man’s weakness instead of overpowering him.

To hell with that.

Orlan should’ve killed the guards. If he’d known what they’d done to Billy, he wouldn’t have hesitated.

Get up, Billy. You’re coming home.

The boy stared, amazement and gratitude flooding his expression. Orlan wished he could feel the spine-tingling rush one more time — the shining gleam of hero worship in his son’s eyes.

Doubt killed the moment. He didn’t deserve such adoration. He couldn’t have fathered this beautiful child. Monsters didn’t make angels. Killers didn’t give life.

Maybe he wasn’t the kid’s father, but who else could’ve gotten a million-credit prostitute pregnant? Who besides Orlan, the baddest motherfucker to survive Hellsbreach?

You came, Billy said.

I never leave a man behind. Orlan’s stomach soured as he untangled Billy from computer cables connected to his spine. Even as he ground his teeth at the sight of his son equipped as a digital pleasure slave, he suffered images of Colossal Class Battle Tanks on Hellsbreach and his squad screaming.

Help me, Orlan!

An arm flew across the desert landscape.

Help me, Orlan! No, no, NO!

But Roland never screamed. The arrogant jerk was still fighting, trying to pull his unit together, facing Reapers who had destroyed an armored column.

Stupid.

Orlan found it easier to consider what gangsters had done to his son than remember his buddies being dragged into holes. At least he could kill the Iron Death thugs. He could kill them and any living creature in this universe that thought Orlan’s son was to be messed with.

Fuck these gangsters. Fuck the universe.

Orlan flung the boy over one shoulder and turned to leave. A dozen gangsters blocked the door. Two held military pistols. One had a shotgun. Rows of them waited behind the front line with knives and clubs, tattoos scrawling over muscle, rings and pins piercing flesh, and eyes leaking chemical stimulants.

Orlan placed Billy on the floor and stepped forward. He cracked his knuckles. The thugs shifted backward.

Might as well do this now, Orlan said. He loosened his neck, tilting his head right, then left, and narrowed his gaze. Save me a trip.

Earth Fleet klaxons blasted apart Orlan’s violent memory. He bent at the waist, still walking despite the pain forcing him to squat and clench every muscle in his body. He covered his ears and exhaled, hoping to make the damn noise go away.

Stop blowing that fucking horn! He rushed past the directional cone of sound.

Orlan knew how the klaxons worked. They wouldn’t kill or maim him because that would make him a casualty and casualties lost battles. But the device made it hard to finish his personal mission. He realized he was on his knees, tears squeezing between closed eyelids. All he had to do was move the other direction and the noise would cease — an immediate reward for compliance.

But this wasn’t his first deployment. Sooner or later, there would be crewmen and troopers following the path required by standard operating procedures. That would cause the anti-deserter horn to stop. He stood, pressing against the sonic blast until people came toward him.

One laughed at his posture and red face. Orlan made a mental note of the man’s nametag, Corporal Raif, and tried not to puke. As the dedicated men and women of Orion’s Gift went to their assignments, the klaxons dropped fifty decibels until the sound was music to his ears.

Get up. Rush through these order-obeying sheep. He reached his room, slammed his palm on the reader, and rushed inside as the door slid into the wall. Billy!

Billy flung his legs out of his bunk and sat up holding a book. He was small, nothing like Orlan.

Tabitha, I wish he were my son. I wish I meant more to you.

She’d been an angel of mercy when he needed it most, and a seductress when he could forget his nightmares and push aside the guilt he felt for everything he’d done. The boy couldn’t be his, but Orlan played the game.

Why not? I’ve never been a father. Never had one either. How hard could it be?

Is the ship going to crash? Billy asked.

Ships don’t crash, boy. They blow up. Orlan checked the room, deciding Billy couldn’t remain here. He needed to get his son in a safety harness. When the ship went down, he would bounce around the room until he was dead. The image of his broken face attacked Orlan like a Reaper; relentless and terrible.

I didn’t think battlecruisers were meant to enter a planet’s atmosphere. Billy held up the book as though to support his theory.

What is that? A Fleet manual? Didn’t think so. You don’t know shit. Orlan handed Billy a jumpsuit to cover his regular clothing — clothing Orlan made by hand. He couldn’t just ask the quartermaster to outfit his fourteen-year-old stowaway son. Put this on. I’m taking you out.

You told me not to leave the room.

Like I said, you don’t know shit. This is an emergency. I can get you into the midshipman’s technical area, but you have to be quiet and stay out of the way. I’ll strap you in a chair near the wall. You’ll sit there and shut your mouth until I come for you. Orlan glanced at the novel, Last Stand in the Yano Quadrant, Book Three in the Marine Commandant Brighten Saga. He read it the first time when he was Billy’s age. The story was about as stupid as real life.

Billy retreated. Commander Westwood will put me off the ship.

Put on the jumpsuit!

Billy crossed his arms. I’ll wear it if you call me William.

Orlan snatched the boy off the ground with one hand and ripped free the shirt and pants with the other, ignoring the kicking and thrashing. Dropping his naked son felt like another sort of betrayal. Sour heat bloomed in his gut.

Get up. Do I have to dress you too?

My name is William.

Roll up the legs and sleeves. Orlan moved to the doorway and peeked out. He drew back his head, charged his pistol, and held it ready as Billy glared.

I don’t know why I have to wear this.

Because it’s mine. Anyone who sees you in the jumpsuit will think twice before locking you in the brig, where there isn’t safety gear.

The walls, floor, and ceiling began to vibrate.

Move your ass, William.

2

O RLAN has a son? Kin couldn’t believe the trooper would take responsibility for a child. The six-and-a-half foot giant never bragged or talked about conquering women as other men did. As far as Kin knew, he indulged in murder and extortion during every sack of enemy territory but didn’t tolerate rape. Sergeant Orlan personally swung the lash on troopers suspected of cheating prostitutes. For a brutally masculine man, Orlan seemed chaste in a sadistic, horrifying way.

Rebecca tightened a piece of the Fleet Single Person Assault Armor: Mechanized Unit, officially designated on the Table of Organization and Equipment as FSPAA: MU 291, and stepped back to appraise her work. Grease smeared her left cheek. The lean muscles of her arms and shoulders flexed as she worked the wrench.

Commander Westwood ordered Raker to take the boy to the Valley of Clingers and leave him. Orlan blames you.

He would. Kin looked at the pieces of his FSPAA unit stacked on the outdoor worktable. Did Raker do it?

Rebecca shrugged. He reported he did, but he lied. The boy probably escaped.

You think a fourteen-year-old boy outsmarted Raker and his counter-intelligence goons? Not likely.

Rebecca wiped her hands on a towel and faced him. William’s mother was a prostitute, a shapeshifter, the kind to fulfill any fantasy. Orlan spent his entire Hellsbreach reward on her. That’s why he’s broke. That’s why he wanted the bounty on your head and the capture fee for a living Reaper.

It felt more personal than that, Kin said.

When she realized the boy couldn’t shape shift, she dumped him on Orlan. Rebecca folded the towel and put it away.

I don’t see how that helps him escape.

Maybe he can change forms but didn’t want to live in a whorehouse. Rent isn’t free.

You seem to know a lot about whorehouses and illegitimate children.

Rebecca looked his way. Jerk.

I may be a jerk, but I never got a prostitute pregnant. So far as I know.

She slugged him in the shoulder. Orlan risked his life and his career to help William. Are you telling me you’ve been patronizing all of Crashdown’s finest brothels? At least when he found out about his son, he did something about it.

Like I said, that’s a beautiful story. Kin pushed aside an image of the trooper who left him for dead on Hellsbreach. Orlan knows nothing but killing. Anything else he does is only to pass the time until the next battle. It’s hard to be a father when your solution to every problem involves blowing someone’s face off.

William’s just a boy. You can’t blame him for his father. She smiled as she stowed a pair of wrenches in a toolbox. "He was reading me the Commandant Brighten Saga, but you want to hear the interesting part?"

Desperately.

Orlan stole the book from Westwood’s library and taught William to read from it. How’s that for parent of the year?

Yeah? Soon he’ll be teaching the boy to make his first kill.

Probably. You’re no different. I see how you look after Rickson and the other kids from Crater Town.

I have a lot of illegitimate children.

Rebecca slugged him again. No you don’t. She fought back a smile, biting her lip and holding her breath.

Kin held his shoulder and feigned pain. She punched him again, playfully, barely resisting when he grabbed her.

He looked into her eyes. Thoughts of Orlan’s lost son vanished.

Now, Kin. Kiss her. Tell her you love her. Do something.

He pulled her closer, nervous as he studied her face. She no longer seemed a warrior, despite her short-cropped hair and battle scars. Kin sensed emotions he barely remembered. His pulse quickened. Arousal came with such intensity that he felt as though he had never experienced it. Everything he’d done before this moment was like a story from a book, facts on a page, descriptions of history, explanations that meant nothing.

She held his gaze without moving, without the horseplay that brought them to this intimate position. Brightness filled her eyes. She didn’t blink or look away.

Kin swallowed and took a deep breath.

This is the girl I grew up with. How did she get so beautiful?

Purple light flickered across her face. Kin stiffened. After a moment, he turned his face toward the sky, still holding her.

She followed the direction of his gaze, or perhaps she had seen the anomaly first. Her arms squeezed his body, then relaxed.

Kin let her go. The wormhole is back.

Rebecca stepped away, moving closer to her Mech unit and watching the tube of light reaching toward the horizon.

Kin rubbed his face with one hand before stepping toward the table where his armor waited. I thought Clavender broke it.

The final battle between Earth Fleet, Reapers, Mazz Imperials, and the Ror-Rea had torn apart Crater Town and surrounding foothills. Clavender had called meteors from the wormhole, blasting sections of the coastal mountains to pieces. She wielded the space anomaly like a weapon, despite her protestations against war. In the end, the wormhole seemed dead. It retreated over the horizon and plunged into the ground. Kin shook his head. Something that powerful could never die.

He shivered. The wormhole would have to be alive to die.

I’ll bet you a week of vacation on Earth VI that Imperials come through it before long.

Kin checked the power level on the dormant FSPAA and turned toward her.

She swayed as she watched the sky. You’re the resident expert on the wormhole. Does it seem right to you?

Kin observed the length and diameter of the anomaly. He studied the surface and the opening, which wasn’t pointed at Crater Town.

That’s new.

It seems passive. That’s normally a good sign. I need to talk to Clavender.

Good luck.

Kin laughed without humor. Thanks. I’ll need it. He looked at his feet, gathering his thoughts.

What are you thinking, Kin?

He looked up, forced himself to stare at the thing that had hung ominously above Crater Town for so long. The wormhole has always been aimed at Crater Town. I wish I knew what has changed its course.

You’re the expert. Rebecca sauntered away from her worktable to pick something off the ground. She stood casually as she stared down the trail. We have company. I’ll bet you a case of whiskey he’s coming to ask about the Valley of Clingers.

What is it with you and betting? Is that all you learned from the Shock Troopers?

I understand why you’re afraid to gamble. You already owe me dinner, a new lens for my helmet visor, and two days of menial labor. But you’re kind of a bad sport. And you never pay up.

Like I said, what is all this betting? And why do I always lose?

Rebecca smiled mischievously, raising her eyebrows.

If Raker took Orlan’s son to the Valley of Clingers, he’s dead. You understand that, right?

Rebecca shrugged. I don’t think he does.

Orlan strode up the hill, stern faced, but without the hateful stare Kin expected. He seemed distracted. Once, before he was close enough for conversation, he stared across the foothills. After several moments, he approached.

Is your armor charged?

Kin glanced at his gear. It could use another hour in the sun, unless you have a new battery for me.

Orlan nodded. I heard you’ve been to the Valley of Clingers.

Orlan, Kin said. No one survives that place.

Orlan clenched his jaw.

Kin braced for an attack, spreading his feet wider and adjusting his balance. He took a cleansing breath through his nose and released it through his mouth. He watched Orlan’s every move, no matter how subtle. The man radiated danger and raw strength. His tall, broad-shouldered frame carried muscle normally hidden by armor.

Orlan lowered his chin, staring hard, eyes fading as humanity gave way to the need for violence. But then he grunted. That’s what I heard, but I’m still going. William’s tougher than he looks. Reads too much. He’s built like his mother. But he’s smart. When I found him, he was living on the street, and that means he’s a survivor.

That’s different.

Everything is different. One minute you’re a hero. The next minute you’re broke with a whining brat who doesn’t know his place.

Relax.

Piss off. Maybe I don’t want your help.

Then why’d you come?

You don’t understand.

Kin found no help in Rebecca, who waited near a pistol on the workbench. He shook his head when she was watching and Orlan wasn’t.

I didn’t realize William meant so much to you.

Orlan’s stare emphasized the momentary silence. I see Becca’s been telling stories again. He faced Rebecca. Don’t think I won’t punch your pretty face.

Oh, how sweet. You called me pretty. She picked up the gun and held it by her leg.

Orlan smirked.

Kin wanted to tell the trooper to leave, just for the look he gave Rebecca. After a moment of hesitation, Kin imagined a child lost in the Valley of Clingers. The image refused to stop bleeding.

All right, Orlan. But here’s the problem. If the Clingers got him, there won’t be much evidence.

Silence. Orlan glared at Rebecca instead of facing Kin and the truth. The words he had for Kin were heavy with history and suspicion. How soon can you be ready?

Kin reviewed his repairs and the amount of ammunition Captain Raien allowed him to keep. Meet me at the town square. I’ll be waiting.

I’ll be there first.

Kin shrugged. Then make yourself useful and help Laura with the salvage effort.

Orlan walked away without snapping a rejoinder.

Orlan.

The Hero of Man stopped and turned his head, barely looking over his shoulder or changing his posture.

We’ll be seeking confirmation of his death. Kin held the grip of his pistol in the holster. He stared at the profile of the trooper’s rough face. Not a chance to save him. You better get your mind around it. The valley is a dangerous place.

Orlan abandoned the conversation, focusing his attention forward as he walked away. Fuck you, Roland. I don’t need your help.

Kin gathered his gear and strapped himself into the battered FSPAA unit. He waited near the well the rest of the afternoon, helping Laura, Rickson, and the refugees retrieve the bucket and attach new cables.

Orlan never showed.

3

MAZZ IMPERIAL warships landed hours after the survivors and the Crater Town refugees relocated to the foothills near Sophia’s Pass. Commander Westwood’s