Fated Blades (Kinsmen)

The Vandals opened fire.

Matias lunged in front of her, planting his left knee on the floor, his right foot anchored to the ground, forming two wide shields in front of him that covered him head to floor. She knelt behind him and thrust her shields above them, tilting them up.

The pellet barrage pummeled seco, ricocheting into the walls. The barrel of the sonic cannon spun, priming for the next shot.

“Through the wall, right, three small rooms,” Matias ground out. “Go straight.”

Her lungs finally opened. The air never tasted so sweet. She slashed at the right wall, carving a hole in a frenzy, and dived through it.

Behind her the cannon boomed again.

Ramona sprinted through the small room, running parallel to the hallway and toward the Vandals. Another wall blocked her way. She tore through it in a controlled blitz, crossed another room leaping over furniture, ripped into the third wall, and ducked through the opening. A larger chamber opened before her, double doors on her left. Perfect.

Another sonic boom shook the walls.

She slammed the doors open and leaped into the hallway. The fire team was on her left, one soldier’s back to her, the other facing her, as the gunner frantically tried to reposition the cannon. She cut through them like a tornado of razor-sharp blades. Three bodies fell apart, bleeding onto the floor.

Behind her Matias emerged from the doorway, his face grim. Blood dripped from his scalp, painting a crimson line on the side of his face.

She opened her mouth and realized she tasted her own blood on her tongue. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll live,” he growled and turned right.

They jogged forward. Her back hurt, every step sending a fresh wave of pain through her hips. The world was slightly fuzzy.

An ornate double door blocked their way. Matias didn’t bother slowing down. Seco flashed with crimson. He kicked, and half of the door crashed to the floor, sliced free of its mounting. Two energy rifles barked in unison. He shifted to shields and charged. She lunged through the door right behind him.

Two Vandals, one on the left, by the couch, one on the right, next to an ornamental chair. She threw her shields up, two long rectangles stretching from her head to her knees, and rushed the one on the right, ripping through the pain like it was a wall in her way.

Soldiers were trained to shoot center mass. It was a remarkably difficult habit to break, especially in the stress of combat. The soldier in front of her was no exception. He’d aimed at her chest and pulled the trigger. The energy rifle spat a burst of glowing projectiles. They sank dead center into her seco shields, harmlessly melting into the force field.

She shifted the right seco into a modified scythe and sliced him from his right shoulder diagonally down, through the clavicle and shoulder blade, through his chest, through the heart, all the way to the sixth rib on the other side.

The top half of what used to be a human slid to the floor.

She used this type of strike as psychological warfare. Cutting someone in half was unexpected and visceral, an overkill nobody could ignore. It also guaranteed instant death. The target didn’t suffer. Most of the time they died before they realized what was happening.

Ramona turned. At the other end of the room, Matias dismissed his seco sword, and the Vandal impaled on it collapsed. To her right, Senator Drewery rose slowly from behind a massive desk carved from a huge chunk of ivory.

They were in a large room. Ornate furniture occupied most of the floor, two couches and a handful of chairs resting on a black-and-gold rug. Shelves of polished black wood lined the walls, supporting an array of expensive trinkets: priceless ceramics, awards of glass and metal, congratulatory plaques, centuries-old technological artifacts, and alien insects preserved in amber and crystal. Hand-painted portraits decorated the walls between the shelves. An older couple she didn’t recognize; young Senator Drewery and his wife; older senator, his wife, and young Cassida; and finally, present-day senator, a broad-shouldered, large man with a leonine mane of silver hair contrasting with his deep tan and bold masculine features, standing next to a bookshelf filled with antique appliances from the First Wave.

This had to be Drewery’s office. The entire perimeter of the room was one giant I-love-me wall.

The senator drew himself to his full height. He walked around the desk, picked up a heavy crystal decanter, and poured a golden liquor into two glasses. She noted the slight tremor in his hand. Her demonstration had had its desired effect.

“You surprise me, Matias. I didn’t expect you until Wednesday.”

He had a good voice, a reassuring male baritone, and he spoke with the smoothness of a practiced orator.

Matias stalked around the couch. She saw his eyes, frosted over and dark, and fought an urge to step back.