CHAPTER TWO from Enemy of Man (Chronicles of Kin Roland)
FLEET
troopers occupied the area. Dozens of squads moved along the next
street as Kin cut between several makeshift homes to avoid detention. He
could no longer see Laura but thought she was moving away from him
toward the most devastated section of Crater Town. She was doing her
job. He surveyed the town and started doing his.
The
first three houses Kin checked were damaged, but had already been
evacuated. The next three were family dwellings, and by Town Protocol,
the parents should have moved their children to fallout bunkers at the
first sign of a meteor storm. He ducked inside each and looked around.
Finding them empty, he hurried to the home of Brian Muldoch.
Kin
didn’t admire the man, because Muldoch had found religion halfway
through his mandatory ten-year enlistment as an Earth Fleet trooper and
decided he was a conscientious objector. After two years in a labor
camp, Muldoch escaped and stowed away on the Goliath. When Fleet
troopers found him, he was a dead man. The only thing that remained was
how quickly they would identify him and carry out the sentence for
deserters.
Kin
told himself to focus on his job, find critically wounded survivors,
make sure everyone in Crater Town did their part, and create a list of
structures rendered unsafe by meteor strikes. He had no business
interfering with the Fleet, especially since his status would earn him
death, preceded by torture, yet he hurried toward Muldoch’s home.
Though
the man was a deserter, much of his Fleet training remained. He
performed every task efficiently and kept his quarters squared away. He
had helped Kin fight raiders who came down from the mountains. He had
scoured the foothills to find a missing child. Kin often wondered why
Muldoch refused to fight for the Fleet. He had shown bravery many times
on Crashdown.
Several Fleet troopers surrounded Muldoch in the street near his small house. One shouted, “On your knees. Don’t move.”
“I
must report to the well to help with the bucket line. Can’t you see the
fires?” Muldoch asked, desperation in his voice. His eyes darted from
one man to the next as color left his face.
The
trooper nearest Muldoch had a new helmet, though the rest of his armor
was scarred and scorched. “Don’t move and don’t talk.” He pointed his
rifle at Muldoch’s neck where a Fleet labor camp tattoo marked him.
“This is doing the talking for you, traitor.”
Two
troopers, a corporal and a lance corporal, stood facing each other,
heads bent as they listened inside their helmets to an electronic
message Kin couldn’t hear. When they looked up, they nodded. FSPAA
helmets didn’t reveal emotion, but Kin could sense the smiles behind the
visors by the rhythm of their nods. They returned to the group.
“I have confirmation. This man is Brian Muldoch, a deserter and coward,” the corporal said.
Kin
watched New Helmet elevate his weapon a few inches and fire one round
before Muldoch could beg for mercy. Blood splattered the street and
armor of the men standing in a circle. Muldoch’s body fell forward.
Nothing above his teeth remained.
“Do you have a problem?” The corporal’s tone implied having a problem would be a problem for Kin.
“What did he do?” Kin asked.
“Deserter.”
“No trial?”
“No need.” He stepped close to Kin and looked at his neck and hands.
Kin
focused on the body of Muldoch and exhaled slowly, steadying his anger
and fear. His tattoos had been removed. The painful procedure cost a
fortune. Muldoch should’ve done the same thing. Kin clenched his fists
and hoped the troopers didn’t notice the tension coursing through his
arms, shoulders, and neck. Before Hellsbreach, Kin always maintained
control over his unit and forbade frontier justice, but he wasn’t their
sergeant and they wanted blood.
New Helmet moved closer. “Does he have a marker?”
The corporal looming over Kin hesitated. “No. I thought he would. He walks like he was Fleet.”
Kin
stared at Muldoch’s body and said nothing. These troopers were as
unprofessional and violent as any Kin had encountered, but he didn’t
confuse their sloppy gear and mob mentality for incompetence. Killers
who enjoyed killing barely needed a reason to pull the trigger.
“I asked you a question.”
“No you didn’t,” Kin said. Shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t have come here at all.
The
trooper stared at him, shifting the weight of his armor from foot to
foot several times. Without the armor, he might be Kin’s size, but in
full FSPAA gear, he was a giant. “Get out of here.”
The
lance corporal, the smallest in the group, slid his hand back and forth
on the barrel of his rifle with increasing intensity, as though stoking
his courage. “Shoot him like you did that Reaper on Hellsbreach.”
New
Helmet pushed the lance corporal aside. “He never shot a Reaper. A
Reaper wouldn’t hold still like this corpse and if it did, one bullet
would only make it angry.”
“Don’t
fucking touch me, Raif.” The lance corporal started to point his rifle
at New Helmet, but lowered the weapon and backed away. Raif didn’t even
look at him. He watched Kin like a hungry wolf.
The
corporal stared at his men until Raif stopped advancing and the lance
corporal walked back toward the rest of the platoon. A moment passed
before the corporal seemed satisfied. He faced Kin, pointing his rifle
at the sky with one hand. His elbow rested on his hip to support the
weight of the weapon. “Start walking, dead man.”
Kin
walked away, stopping once he neared the crest of the hill where the
street twisted toward the center of town. He looked back. The Fleet
troopers watched him. He directed his gaze toward Muldoch’s house. Like
many homes in this part of town, it was built into the side of the hill,
jutting out ten feet. Rough-hewn beams of wood supported the metal
siding scavenged from the wreckage of the Goliath. He remembered
the day Muldoch had scrubbed the metal clean and painted it, despite
Kin’s warning that the paint would never adhere properly. Weather had
taken a toll on the surface and the green color was uneven. Mixing
touch-up paint from limited resources wasn’t an exact science, yet Kin
recognized the effort put into maintaining the home.
The
troopers continued to face him. How many were trying to decide if they
knew him, wondering if they recognized him from past campaigns or
security bulletins? The Fleet had probably buried his scandal deep,
erasing every record of their failure—of his failure. That was what Kin
hoped for. With his luck, the Fleet had his picture on every security
threat alert for the last ten years. What could he do? Flee into the
wilderness of Crashdown?
A
gust of wind from the sea blew sand, dust, and ash between them. Kin
studied the red dragon insignia on each of these troopers and committed
it to memory. He rested his hand on his pistol in the leg holster and
realized the trooper was waiting for him to draw it. Holding his gun was
a habit, unintentional, but now that the familiar grip was in his hand,
he wanted to use it.
He
never liked Muldoch and told himself they were nothing alike. Their
situations were different. Muldoch, despite the fortitude he had
displayed since the Goliath crash landed, would’ve died within
seconds of landing on Hellsbreach. Muldoch hadn’t been forced to choose
between duty and his soul.
“Pull
that pistol or go away,” the trooper said. The sound of his amplified
voice came just as the wind vanished, and Kin heard it clearly. He
released his grip and walked away. There were others like Muldoch, none
of them deserters, but men and women likely to run afoul of Fleet
justice.
Kin couldn’t protect them.
Making
his way toward the town meeting hall, Kin kept an eye on Fleet
checkpoints. The people of Crater Town fought fires and moved wounded to
the simple hospital. He slowed as he approached the town hall,
realizing he was too late.
Fleet
troopers escorted the council members, though Laura seemed to treat the
troopers as her personal escort rather than her jailers.
Please, Laura, be careful.
Love
wasn’t the perfect word to describe his feelings for Laura, but
something burned hot and miserable in his chest as he stared after her.
The Fleet was a juggernaut of violence—not an organization to be
manipulated, not even by a savant of intrigue like Laura.
Strykers
blocked the next street. The engines of the eight-wheeled, light armor
vehicles chugged. Exhaust fumes, from diesel rather than jet fuel,
mingled with the cool evening air. The archaic technology remained a
favorite among ground forces because fuel could be foraged or fabricated
when resupply wasn’t an option. Diesel, jet fuel, moonshine—it didn’t
matter. They ran on anything.
Kin
crept forward until he saw two troopers arguing. Wind blew dust,
obscured vision, and concealed him as he lurked in an alley near the
conversation.
“We don’t have time for this,” the larger of the two said.
Surplus
armor stamped with the standard Earth Fleet icon caught Kin’s
attention, because the external armaments were expertly placed and easy
to access in a fight, not the setup of inexperienced recruits. Elite
commandos couldn’t have done better.
Strange. Why are two badasses like you slumming in that junk?
Something
exploded. The ground rumbled under Kin’s feet. Flames thrust skyward
from a building nearby. Townspeople screamed for help, their voices
ethereal and broken in the silence following the boom. Kin wanted to
know why these troopers were in disguise. Were they saboteurs intent on
destroying Earth Fleet, or were they merely high ranking officers spying
on their troops?
“If
Imperials came through the wormhole after the battle, we’ll find them.
We have time. You’re such a pussy,” the smaller trooper said. The voice
was familiar and possibly a woman’s, but Kin immediately doubted
himself. FSPAA vocal filters were nearly gender neutral by default,
though most troopers disabled them.
“You had to go there,” the larger trooper said. “Watch and learn.”
Imperials.
Whoever they were, Kin had never heard of them. His first impression
was of a human, or at least humanoid, adversary. Until now, all enemy
races of the Fleet had been monstrous—Reapers, Soul Catchers, Shape
Shifters, and Cyborgs. War between human nations was ancient history.
Kin
followed the troopers sprinting toward the burning buildings. They
quickly outdistanced him. He’d forgotten how fast a trooper could move
in armor. By the time he caught up, both troopers emerged from a
building holding armloads of terrified children.
Cassie Davis fell at their feet, wailing for her babies.
Kin wanted to comfort her. He took a few steps forward, but stopped when the smaller trooper looked at him sharply.
Kin broke eye contact, though he couldn’t actually see the trooper’s eyes, and yelled. “Cassie! Are you okay?”
The
trooper watched him a moment longer before pushing free of the Davis
family reunion. “Get a support team here on the double! We have
collateral damage.”
Fleet
medics and firemen arrived, helping the townspeople extinguish the
flames and triage the wounded. The two mystery troopers took charge of
the chaotic scene.
Kin took the opportunity to leave.
Something
changed after the invaders rescued Cassie’s children. The routine
protocols of occupying strategic and tactical positions, detaining key
people, and requisitioning resources seemed more benevolent. Kin
witnessed Fleet troopers using war-fighting technology to rescue people.
An FSPAA unit had to burn for a long time before the person inside
became uncomfortable. Muldoch’s execution remained vivid in his mind and
he wasn’t swept away by the heroics of the Fleet.
Kin
scoured the town for people who needed help or direction. Laura was in
the hands of the Fleet. She would either betray him or not betray him,
regardless of what he did now. He faced a dangerous choice: flee the
city while he had the chance or help the innocent victims of the
invasion.
It
wasn’t a difficult decision. Who was he? What did his life matter? He
had fought for it—lied, killed, robbed people to pay for a new
identity—but was his existence worth more than Crater Town?
When
the sun came up he was exhausted, but felt good. Crater Town had been a
better home to him than he had known before or after the Fleet. He
began a final circuit of the town, drinking water from a skin and
nodding at people who seemed glad to be alive.
TIRED
men and women wandered the town square, wiping sweat and soot from
their faces with rags. Rows of Fleet troopers stood guard, seeming like
statues come to life, if only briefly. The younger Crater Town folk
played fiddles and pipes near the fountain. Celebration filled the air.
Children played as though they would never grow up while the adults
laughed and encouraged them.
Kin
walked past guards flanking each intersection—avoiding looking at them
when they turned their helmets to follow his progress. He doubted any of
these men or women could have been on Hellsbreach, but they might have
attended his court-martial. That farce had been held in the bay of a
Titan Class Battlecruiser with thousands of soldiers standing at
attention. Nine generals and three admirals had presided over the
hearing and passed judgment.
One
friendly face at his execution cried without wiping tears or moving
from her position of attention. She hadn’t dared to look directly at
Kin, because discipline demanded all eyes be directed straight ahead. He
didn’t like to think of Becca that way. He walked toward the town
meeting hall under the stare of soldiers—trained killers with the most
advanced weapons known to mankind, men he understood, men who were just
like he had been.
The
last time Kin had seen Becca before Hellsbreach, she had been running
through a wheat field with her hair down. He still saw the girl behind
her intelligent eyes, especially when she was off duty and in a playful
mood. He remembered her bright-blue dress dancing below her knees, the
neck line modest but open, nothing like the high collar of her cadet’s
uniform. Her shoulders and arms had been bare. The fabric of her dress
fit her hips and body snuggly. He thought he could wrap his hands around
her waist and touch his fingertips, but never worked up the courage to
try. He smiled, remembering her looking over her shoulder and laughing.
He wished he could chase her again and be in love.
They
had hiked all day and sprawled in a meadow overlooking a green valley
of Earth VI. Farmers worked terraced fields in small, open-topped
tractors. The crops were distributed locally, not to distant colonies or
industrial planets with barely enough plant life to photosynthesize
oxygen, much less provide their own food. Countless agriculture colonies
filled that need. Earth VI was a liberty planet, a place of rest and
revitalization for travelers. A day on an Earth Class Planet healed
humans with almost magical power.
In
his mind, Kin sat next to her. She leaned back on her elbows, wriggling
her toes in the grass. He smiled, gazing at her, speaking infrequently,
attending her every word as though it were music.
“I’ve
been thinking of my father and brothers all day, my real brothers, not
you, Kin,” Becca said. “I’m trying not to be sad. Trying so hard.”
“No one should be sad on a day like this,” Kin said. “So, I’m like a brother?”
She
leaned toward him, freeing her left arm to swat his leg. “You know
you’re beautiful, Kin. I’m going to have a long talk with the girl who
thinks she can marry you.”
Kin tied a piece of grass in a knot, staring at each twist he made. “I miss your brothers.”
He
could have avoided mandatory enlistment, but it seemed wrong to enjoy
the safety the Fleet provided without doing his part. He wasn’t from a
military family like Becca was. His father had been a smuggler and had
taught him two things when he wasn’t in boarding school; how to fight
dirty and how to survive. Good lessons for boarding school. Good lessons
for storming a hostile planet. Perhaps Becca’s father and brothers
wouldn’t have been killed by Reapers if they’d learned the same lessons.
“I
miss them so much I can barely breathe,” she said. Tears welled in her
eyes. She turned them to the horizon, fixing them on something in the
distance. “The Reapers tore them apart, Kin. I have nightmares.”
Kin held her and she leaned into him. They were silent for a long time.
“I’m going to volunteer for the Hellsbreach Campaign.” He spoke softly into her hair, but his heart raced.
“I
don’t want you to go, because no one returns from Betaoin. But I want
vengeance. You’re the only man in the Fleet who can deliver it,” Becca
said.
“I’m
just one man, but only the best are allowed to volunteer for this
mission. If the Reapers can be wiped out, we’ll do it,” Kin said.
He
didn’t want to go. He wasn’t afraid. The reality of the battle to come
was too far in the future. The danger seemed abstract. He didn’t hold
the same hate as Becca did. All men die. Some die badly. He didn’t need
vengeance, but Becca did, so he would deliver it. If he survived, she’d
be thirty by the time the Hellsbreach Campaign ended and ships traveled
back to Earth Fleet controlled space. She’d be married and barely
remember her childhood friend.
Memory
was a cruel sorcerer. He held the vision of Becca in his mind, but the
spell was destroyed by the fires of Hellsbreach and the sounds of
gunfire and plasma bolts. He saw splashes of red, explosions of orange
and gold. He smelled smoke from the past and present.
He
fled the images in his mind and focused on what needed to be done.
Fleet troopers watched as he walked. They towered above him in their
assault armor.
Kin
examined the squad’s sergeant from a distance. There was something
about the way he moved—arrogant and cruel. He towered over the other
troopers, swaggering aggressively. They jumped when he said jump.
Kin
shortened his stride when he saw the etching on the ceramic exoskeleton
of the suit. The design differed from what he remembered, but the style
was familiar. Sergeant Orlan decorated his armor with etchings despite
regulations forbidding it. Many troopers on Hellsbreach had done the
same thing, putting notches on armor for every kill, carving pictures of
loved ones or enemies or religious symbols to match the tattoos on
their skin, or merely decorating the ceramic shell with art. Sergeant
Orlan’s talent for ornamentation was impressive, despite his large,
thick hands.
Kin
knew he should go around the man, yet he moved closer and saw a lion’s
head skillfully engraved on the breastplate. On Hellsbreach it had been a
wolf, but Kin recognized Orlan’s handiwork. It was unfair such a brute
could create something so magnificent.
Kin abruptly turned down an alley. A guard noticed him and followed.
“You there, where are you going? Why are you armed? Do you have a permit?”
Kin
faced the guard, taking another careful step into the shadow of the
building. He glanced down the street, noting Orlan still faced the other
direction. The worst danger was over, or so he thought. But then he
realized this was the same trooper who saved little Kylee and Samantha
Davis from the fire before recognizing him.
This guy is stalking me.
“I have a permit.”
The
guard accepted the paper, pretending to not recognize Kin. The
mechanized gauntlets looked too large to hold such a delicate object,
but Kin knew the assault armor was capable of both fine motor skills and
feats of incredible strength. He also understood the suits required
charging, despite the solar power they gathered to extend battery life.
In time, the fierce machines would be men and women, mere mortals
without shells of technology. Kin doubted this soldier would follow him
into an alley alone without the armor, even if he hoped to collect a
reward for capturing the Enemy of Man.
“Who
wrote this permit?” the trooper asked. The depersonalized voice sounded
neutered by the amplifier projecting it. The sound and deception it
represented bothered Kin.
“All
permits for firearms are approved or denied by the Crater Town Council.
Councilwoman Laura Keen signed that particular paper,” Kin said. Prior
to the arrival of the Fleet, Kin had been in charge of enforcing the
permit laws, but never bothered. Crater Town was a frontier settlement
on an uncharted planet. Life was dangerous. People carried weapons when
they could find or make them.
“You are Kin Roland? Security officer for Crater Town?” the trooper asked.
“I am. Is there a problem?”
“Most people with that unfortunate name changed it after Hellsbreach,” the trooper said, studying his reaction.
Kin shrugged.
“Commander Westwood wishes to know who doused the lighthouse as we approached.”
Kin nodded. “I’ll ask around.” He turned away from the trooper.
“Wait.”
Kin faced the trooper again, who seemed to be listening to a command sequence inside the helmet.
“You are to appear before Commander Westwood and the Crater Town Council in the meeting hall.”
Kin hesitated, but knew he couldn’t delay for long. “I need to check one more person, then I’ll head that way.”
The
trooper shook his head and stepped closer to Kin, towering over him.
“My orders are to bring you without delay.” Another pause. “Who are you
looking for?”
“Sibil Clavender,” Kin said.
“Who is Sibil Clavender?” the trooper asked.
Kin
pointed at the wormhole, discolored and turbulent from the disturbance
of the planetary assault. “She’s the person who soothes the spirit of
the wormhole.” Kin couldn’t hear if the soldier snorted without
activating the helmet speaker, but he probably did. Kin held the
trooper’s gaze until the helmet slowly turned toward the pulsating
wormhole.
The trooper faced Kin and waited for what had to be an order from Fleet Command. “You may look for her. I will escort you.”
Kin
turned, stepping through the alley to emerge on a street not much wider
than the path between buildings. He trudged up the steep dune,
navigating twists and turns, avoiding the direct route in order to
disorient his guard.
“This is the wrong way,” the trooper said. “Our drones have already mapped this area. What are you doing?”
“Making a fool of myself, apparently.”
“Don’t.”
Kin
studied the reflective visor and searched for clues in how the trooper
stood and how he chose to arrange the accessories on his armor. There
were no engravings or unit markings beyond the Earth Fleet emblem. “Do I
know you?”
Silence. They stared at each other.
“Please continue.”
Kin
waited a few moments and turned away. He walked slowly, sensing it
would annoy the trooper. This type of guard duty was a waste of time. A
good soldier would resent it.
“I thought you’d be looking for Imperials,” Kin said.
“Why would you think that?”
“I
heard some troopers talking about them.” Kin waited. He assumed
Imperials blasted this Fleet Armada through the wormhole, but had never
heard of them. Whoever they were, their presence in Earth Fleet
controlled space occurred after Hellsbreach.
The trooper didn’t respond.
Kin
led the unhelpful guard to a cottage set into the side of a dune.
Little more than the door betrayed the location of Sibil Clavender’s
home. A gaggle of hopper birds loitered near the threshold. Fur grew
around the faces and forelegs of the strange creatures. The hopper birds
also possessed strong hind legs for running and multicolored wings in
perpetual motion.
Kin
squatted, waiting until each hopper bird scrambled to him and pecked
his hands. “I am Kin Roland. I mean no harm,” he said several times,
making sure they recognized his scent and the sound of his voice.
“Why do you do that?” the trooper asked.
“They’re my friends.” Kin stood.
“They’re messenger birds.”
“They are.”
The trooper stood motionless while receiving an order Kin couldn’t hear, but could remember from a hundred missions.
Secure all forms of communication. You’re the tip of the spear, Trooper. Report success to Command and Control. Do you copy?
Roger that.
The trooper looked at Kin. “They will be confiscated.”
“Good luck.” Kin ducked inside the dwelling, leaving the Fleet trooper to chase birds around the yard.
Dimly
glowing stones illuminated the surprisingly large room. As his eyes
adjusted to muted light, he noted simple items—a pitcher on the low
table, a bowl of local fruit, and silver beads in a pattern representing
the ring of moons around the planet. Glow stones were set in the walls,
like oval windows or portals to unknown worlds.
Kin
moved to the table. He studied a book Clavender never allowed him to
open. Something like an angel graced the cover, with multicolored wings,
noble beard, and the face of a warrior king. The eyes reminded him of
Clavender.
His fingers grazed the book.
“Are
you well, Kin Roland?” Sibil Clavender emerged from the shadows in all
her alien glory. She wore a silk tunic narrowly covering her small
breasts and gathered at the waist by a decorative chain. The fine metal
made Kin think he could hook one finger under it and rip it off. Her
back, naked all the way down, gave room for white wings tipped in blue
and dusted with diamonds. The hem of the tunic reached her ankles—slit
up the sides to her hips. Her unruly hair was tied high enough to expose
her slender neck. Her eyes, blue-green like a tropical lagoon, welcomed
him.
Kin stepped away from the table and cleared his throat. “As well as might be expected.”
She
smiled, moved closer, sent his heart racing. The exotic way she walked
fascinated him. Her wings dazzled his vision. The silver beads in her
hair seemed magical.
“Have you been outside?”
She nodded, pressing against him. Kin felt the warmth of her body.
Don’t move. She’ll disappear from this dream. He held his breath. Not everything on Crashdown is dangerous. A battle scared veteran like me could be healed in this room.
“I have seen the strangers. They wear armor. Are we so dangerous?”
“I doubt they came here on purpose. Uncharted planets are always assaulted,” Kin said.
He
forced himself to think. Few people could withstand Clavender’s
presence for long without being enthralled. Crater Town people thought
of her as some kind of spirit or goddess in communion with the weather
and the wormhole. She appeared young. For all he knew she was immortal.
She
touched him, gripping him with both hands. His pulse raced with
something more powerful than lust or love. Clavender’s touch was like
morphine, caffeine, and a childhood memory of spring pressed into a
shiver.
“I am not so young,” she said.
Kin
blushed, which should have been impossible for a genocidal maniac. “I
worry about you. Crater Town needs you,” Kin said, shifting
uncomfortably.
She smiled dreamily and took his hand. Sensation diffused throughout his body, filling him with peace.
“I wish to see the sky. Walk with me,” she said.
“There’s a Fleet trooper in your yard chasing the hopper birds.”
She
turned her face up to him, still smiling like a satisfied lover but
also with slyness in her eyes. She led him through a narrow tunnel that
forced him to stoop as he walked. Moments later they emerged on the
opposite side of the dune, then climbed a goat trail to a place where
they watched the frustrated guard below.
Servomotors
whirred as the trooper jumped left and right, grabbing at the local
birds. Beyond that spectacle, the town spread out to the sea. Cleanup
had begun with military precision. Crater Town thrived with activity.
Clavender looked at the sky. “She wants to come home.”
Kin
looked at the wormhole and thought the space anomaly seemed masculine
rather than feminine, as though it wanted to devour Crashdown. “You
understand what that is?”
“I
understand,” Clavender said. “You do not. Perhaps it is correct to call
it a wormhole, but it did not come to this planet. It came from this
planet. There is only one.”
Kin shook his head. “There are more than a thousand charted wormholes. I’ve been through a hundred of them.”
“There is only one,” she said, still gripping his hand firmly and nestling her small body close to his.
Kin
shivered, not because her warm skin electrified his imagination, but
because the thought of a single wormhole intruding into every corner of
the universe terrified him. He pointed to it. “Look at the colors—red
and orange and purple after the lightning flashes. Other wormholes are
blue and silver, or green like your eyes.”
“Or like the reflection of the sea,” she said.
Kin
suddenly imagined every wormhole looking down at Crashdown and soaking
up color from the ocean. The thought unnerved him, because it felt
right. Was he standing in the center of the universe? If he were, who
was this young woman next to him who changed the color of the waves and
the thrashing of the sea with her moods?
Lost Hero
Changed
by captivity and torture, hunted by the Reapers of Hellsbreach and
wanted by Earth Fleet, Kin Roland hides on a lost planet near an
unstable wormhole.
When a distant space battle propels a
ravaged Earth Fleet Armada through the same wormhole, a Reaper follows,
hunting for the man who burned his home world. Kin fights to save a
mysterious native of Crashdown from the Reaper and learns there are
worse things in the galaxy than the nightmare hunting him. The end is
coming and he is about to pay for a sin that will change the galaxy
forever.
Books
Enemy
of Man: Book One in the Chronicles of Kin Roland was written for fans
of military science fiction and science fiction adventure. Readers who
enjoyed Starship Troopers or Space Marines will appreciate this genre
variation. Powered armor only gets a soldier so far. Battlefield
experience, guts, and loyal friends make Armageddon fun.
Movies
If you love movies like Aliens,
Predator, The Chronicles of Riddick, or Serenity, then you might find
the heroes and creatures in Enemy of Man dangerous, determined, and
ready to risk it all. It’s all about action and suspense, with a dash of
romance—or perhaps flash romance.
From the Author
Thanks for your interest in my novel, Enemy of Man. I hope you chose to read the book and enjoy every page.
If you have already read Enemy of Man, how was it? Reviews are appreciated!
Have a great day and be safe.
Genre – Science Fiction
Rating – R
