Chronicles of Kin Roland 1: Enemy of Man by Scott E Moon Read Free Book Online

ground.
    “Regardless, we should send scouts. I recommend a full company with armored Strykers and Tanks,” the woman said.
    Zelig considered the plan, viewing maps as Laura pulled Commander Westwood farther from the table, serving hi m wine and clinging to his arm.
    Kin waited and watched. He didn’t like the idea of Laura and the Commander in bed. Pillow talk could easily turn to tales of the public enemy living right here in Crater Town. But, he owed her. She didn’t know the exact nature of Kin’s crime. Though once, during the drunken afterglow of sex, he admitted he was a wanted man and joked that the price on his head would pay for a rescue mission to save the people of Crater Town.
    “I need you here, Raien, but call Orlan and brief him on your plan. He can take a squad to look for this potentiality,” Zelig said.
    “A fucking squad?” Captain Raien said.
    “A platoon then,” Zelig said.
    Raien argued with Zelig. As the senior captain, he should have quashed Raien’s insolence immediately, instead of letting her negotiate a full company of Fleet troopers. It was the right decision, but Zelig showed weakness by giving in and incompetence for not understanding the danger in the first place.
    Kin scanned the room, marking the location of each officer, guard, and Laura. He moved away from the table, thankful the officers hadn’t confronted him about dousing the lighthouse. The deliberate act of sabotage wouldn’t go unpunished, regardless of whom they thought he was.
    Leaving through a side door, he made his way down an alley no Fleet trooper would think to use. He’d willingly guide the Fleet scouting company, but not with Orlan.
    That was death.
    THE alley was on the downward slope of Meeting Hall Hill, subject to both storm runoff and sewage when the plumbing was damaged. No regular Fleet trooper would use this alley unless ordered to do so. It was dark and narrow—a perfect place to be ambushed by angry locals or rivals in the Fleet. Too late, he remembered Orlan wasn’t a normal trooper.
    Kin’s superiors had thought him clairvoyant or at least preternaturally attuned to danger, because he had saved his unit many times from ambush. He saw Orlan enter the alley a moment before Orlan saw him. The Fleet trooper had his helmet rolled back, collapsed into the thick shoulder armo r. Orlan had always been sloppy, relying on brutal athleticism and ruthlessly quick decisions.
    Orlan rushed forward, raising one hand to close his helmet and r eaching for Kin with the other.
    Kin leapt into the air without hesitation, drawin g his work knife and punching it into Orlan’s mouth before the helmet closed. The blade scraped Orlan’s teeth. Kin’s fist, gripping the knife hilt, also slammed into Orlan’s jaw with knockout force. The helmet snapped shut, nearly taking off his fingers as he pulled back his hand. The knife ripped out of his grip as he careened into Orlan and tumbled to the ground.
    Dust settled. Kin sprawled his weight, driving his chest against the helmet for maximum leverage, desperately aware he couldn’t hold the man long.
    Orlan didn’t move.
    The armor began a first-aid sequence . The FSPAA visor reverted to clear tint for identification purposes. Kin peered through and saw vents inside the helmet vacuuming blood clear of Orlan’s mouth. Fleet troopers rarely died of blood loss, because battle armor not only sealed and applied pressure to most wounds, but recycled lost blood at a decent rate.
    Kin held his breath. Pain flared in Kin’s arm as he tried to stand. He looked down and saw Orlan had managed to grab him. The mechanized gauntlet held him like a vice.
    “Fuck.” The suit would send an alarm to headquarters if it remained mot ionless for more than a minute.
    He yanked his arm free and fell against the wall of the alley. His shirt was torn and his arm throbbed. There would be a massive bruise in the shape of an assault armor hand.
    He scanned the alley. No witnesses. He knelt over