Fated Blades (Kinsmen)

Matias tagged Rada, and the planet lit up on the display to the “southwest” of the anchor world, about midway between it and the edge of the sector.

“Us,” he said.

He tagged the other planet, a large world all the way at the upper boundary of the sector, and it flared with angry red.

“Kooy star system.”

He zoomed in on it, and the map showed a four-star cluster, with the middle star flashing red while the other three were tinted pink.

“About eighty standard years ago, a military uprising overthrew the existing monarchy and established Star Fall Republic. It’s a republic in name only. Only active-duty military or veterans are true citizens. Everyone else is part of a lesser support class with limited rights and even more limited protections. They are ruled by a military high council, and the council’s power is absolute. It’s as if a totalitarian regime and a military meritocracy had a baby and dressed it in republican clothes.”

“Charming,” she said. “Is this their elite unit?”

“In a manner of speaking. The Vandals aren’t the republic’s best fighters. They’re handpicked sociopaths, unburdened by morals and trained to obey their commanding officers without any hesitation. To be considered for this unit, one has to have a certain body count.”

“So they are killers.”

Matias leaned back, trying to push the memories aside. “They are eradicator troops. They are not deployed; they are unleashed. When you need to erase something from existence—a troublesome asteroid factory, a planetary settlement, a military unit whose commander steps out of line—the Vandals are the answer. They have no problem killing their own.”

He paused, deciding how much to tell her. Just the highlights. Yes, the highlights would do.

“There was a mining settlement on one of the moons in a planetary system on the edge of the SFR’s territory. The miners had settled there a few decades before the SFR claimed the system. The SFR gave them an ultimatum: convert or move. The miners refused to do either. The Vandals were ordered to claim the settlement by any means necessary. It was a dome colony, no defenses to speak of except the settlement police. The Vandals could have simply blown their generators with a few missiles, and the miners would’ve had to evacuate.”

“They didn’t,” Ramona said.

“No. It was judged as a good opportunity for a field exercise. Besides, the generators were in excellent condition and would have been expensive to repair or replace.”

Ramona’s gaze hardened.

“Nine thousand people,” he said. “Of those, fifteen hundred were children. Slaughtered to a soul. They had a point system. So many points for an adult, a few less for the elderly and children under twelve. Babies counted for a single point. The Vandals kept a tally by drawing numbers on their armor in blood. They had their body cameras, but blood looks impressive, and it was all for fun anyway. The SFR called it the Reclamation and Liberation of Mining Facilities on Opus VII. Their neighbors called it the Opus Massacre.”

She stared at him, horrified. The shock melted into suspicion. “Why do you know so much about this?”

Because it irreversibly altered the trajectory of his life. He owed the Vandals a blood debt he could never repay. “When I left the planet thirteen years ago, I joined a mercenary outfit. They avoided the SFR and all its troops like the plague. We were told about the Vandals’ adventures as a warning.”

Her eyes narrowed. She clearly expected more, but he wasn’t ready to reopen that wound. The less she knew about him, the better. He wasn’t in the habit of giving his enemies ammunition.

“You’re saying that this is a military operation,” she said. “The SFR wants seco tech, and they sent the Vandals to get it.”

Yes and no. “When a Vandal officer warns you that he is about to be impolite, he means comply or die. If you fail to obey his order, he will murder you, your family, your pets, your neighbors, until there is nothing left but a lake of blood. Haider is a marked man. The Davenports are living on borrowed time. Before the Vandals leave the planet, they will make that promise a reality.”

A change came over Ramona. The relaxed provincial woman with warm eyes and lazy movements evaporated, like a kan-mask melting into thin air at the end of a festival. The woman across from him now was focused, her eyes calculating, the line of her mouth hard.

Hello, Ramona. This is more like it.

“Suppose you’re right,” she said. “Does the SFR have an intelligence branch? Or a diplomatic corps?”

“Yes,” he said. “They have a diplomatic corps, intelligence bureau, public outreach bureau, and a few other agencies that deal with the outside world. They’re paranoid, and they collect every scrap of information about their neighbors, because they view everyone as a potential threat.”

Ramona drummed her fingernails on the table. “Then why would they send homicidal maniacs to negotiate the purchase of seco shield tech?”