“What the devil are you doing in my crime scene?” hollered a voice from behind me. I didn’t need my abilities to know the woman was very upset. I didn’t blame her. I would be angry in her place. The problem was that I was busy examining the body, and I didn’t need the distraction. From what my stepfather told me, if I didn’t get this problem solved, the aborigines living in New Town would either be exiled – or worse, hunted down and killed. As much as my stepfather hated to admit it, he liked having the Stone Walkers in the city. They had proven themselves far beyond any normal trouble they caused. This case was a different matter. This was murder.

I turned my head around slowly to see a tall woman in a fashionable black business suit. The kind that screamed “moderately prosperous professional.” The semi-darkness of the streetlamp-lit alley shaded her auburn hair to a dull almost brown. Large brown eyes were practically throwing daggers at me. Her leggy stride was confident and assertive to the point of aggressiveness. From her psi-scent, I could sense the rage of intrusion and the suspicion of betrayal swirling around her. I was glad I was doing my preliminary examination of the scene and hadn’t opened up my empathic sense fully. Her anger would be like having a sudden spotlight flashed into my eyes. She was just about to walk into the invisible shield I silently raised around me before the man who brought me out into this putrid alley intervened.

“Detective, the Office of Emergency Management has been tasked by Lord Manattan to assist your unit on this case,” Major Shota said calmly, “He’s just doing what we’ve asked him to do.” Major Shota was a short man with slitted eyes, cropped black hair, and an olive complexion. He was a competent officer for the Imperial Security forces in New Town, but he demonstrated a streak of politician in him that kept me from trusting him fully. Anyone spending that much time trying to keep everyone happy wasn’t spending enough time on their duties. Shota kept his wiry body at a formal stance as he spoke with the detective from the New Town Police Department. He meant it as a sign of respect, but it was only adding to the rage within the detective. Sometimes it was very annoying being able to know what everyone around me was feeling.

“Exactly what is he supposed to be doing?” she retorted, “And what makes him more capable than the other officers and detectives I have on scene?” There was something in her psi-scent that screamed arrogance to me. Some of it may have been deserved. The New Town Police Department was considered to be the finest police service in the Empire. The downside was that they knew it, and they sometimes had trouble taking advice and help on what they considered their specialties. This detective and her cohorts had managed to screw up a major case, and they refused to believe otherwise. Typical of New Towners.

“As to what I’m doing Detective, I’m examining the body and the crime scene,” I said, and I could feel smugness and condescension rise as she heard my rural accent, “As for what makes me qualified? First, I am a Chief Warrant Officer in the Imperial Rangers with years of experience dealing with aborigines in the field. Second, I was the one who helped forge the alliance between Lord Manattan and the Stone Walkers, so I have pretty good relations with the city-dwellers. Third, I’m a pretty strong psychic, which lets me sense things that your officers can’t perceive. Lastly, because Lord Manattan ordered me to handle the situation, something you and yours have failed to do!” The last part had come out loud and slightly angry, which infuriated the detective in front of me. I took a mental step back. I had to tone down my own anger before the detective dismissed me out of hand. Many New Towners were annoyingly secure in their superiority to anyone who didn’t live in the largest city in the Empire, and those of us who lived in small cities and towns got tired of their attitude very quickly. I also knew that not everyone in the city belonged to that group, so I needed to take my own prejudices in step. The detective had every professional right to be angry with me.

“That will be enough, Chief,” Major Shota said firmly. The major belonged to Imperial Security, the parent military branch of the Rangers, and he was in my chain of command. “Finish your work here.” With no further options, I did exactly as the major directed.

The body was of a young woman, late teens to early twenties by casual observation. Her clothing was expensive and trendy. Something a wealthy young woman would wear to a club. I recognized the clothing from some of the stores my sister dragged me to the last time I was in New Town. The victim was covered with both shallow and deep jagged cuts. I wasn’t sure if the numerous lacerations killed her, but if they didn’t, the removal of her heart certainly did. That part of the act looked like a ritual of some sort, with straight, precise incisions around the girl’s chest. Definitely not the work of the goblins that infested New Town. They didn’t have the patience or technique. The variation between savage and precision ruled out elves. Their minds just didn’t work that way. That left humans and aborigines. From what I saw, the wounds were caused by bladed weapons with a rough edge. Weapons that were either slightly dull, or of a primitive manufacture. I could see how the crime scene investigators decided that this was an attack by an aborigine. There was even the psi-scent of an aborigine, which explained why even the police psychics thought the Stone Walkers were involved. Everything pointed to an aborigine, but there was something fundamentally wrong with that assumption.

First, aborigines didn’t perform ritual killings. They were a patriarchal hunter-gatherer race with a very simple set of beliefs based on ancestor worship. Their religion would have forbidden them from committing a mutilation like this. Moreover, the aborigines that lived in New Town were not a tribe, but instead belonged to a particularly notorious (amongst aborigines) religious cult known as the Stone Walkers. They were even more stringent with their beliefs than their brethren out on the plains of the Empire, especially when it came to dealing with humans. Assuming that aboriginal weapons were used and that was the reason for the aborigine psi-scent surrounding the murder scene, then the wounds looked like they were caused by the long curved knife and small tomahawk of an aborigine hunter, but the wounds were at the wrong angles and depths to be the work of an aborigine hunter. The wounds were very similar, but I hunted enough goblins and orcs with aborigines to know their technique pretty well. Whoever did this knew about aborigines, enough to fool more than casual scrutiny. As much as I hated it, there was only one good way to figure out what was happening.

Psi-scents flared around me as I dropped my mental blocks. My head wanted to explode from the sudden eruption of hundreds of new psi-scents. First, I filtered out all of the psi-scents of the living. I was looking for ghosts – psychic impressions caused by strong emotions. The victim’s ghost was loud and shot through with terror. The other ghost – it was being difficult. The overlay felt similar to an aborigine – the alien emotional makeup was unique. There was something odd about the ghost. A distortion that shouldn’t be there. I dug underneath the aborigine ghost, carefully pulling at its edges. A new psi-scent emerged from underneath the aborigine psi-scent it was wearing like a cloak. The new psi-scent was definitely human. Human, and deranged. I sensed this kind before, and I did not like it one bit. This trip had made an ugly turn.

My trip to New Town started on a supposedly innocent note. A week before, I rode into Tam Bay after doing a patrol of my family’s holdings. The Stahl family was considered one of the wealthiest in the Tam Bay sectors, and we had considerable interests in many homesteads as well as our own farms. All of this was in addition to our shipping and financial businesses. I was recently put on reserve status for the Imperial Security Ranging Patrol Force, more commonly known as the Rangers, due to a public flap I had with the Empire’s most famous soldier, Major Justice. Rather than wallow in self-pity, I asked my Aunt Beth for some work. Since she had been pestering me for years to leave the service and join the family company, she gleefully found something that was right up my alley – checking on the various holdings and making sure that everything was “paid and protected.” It was work, but it was too close to my duties as a Ranger. Just enough to let me know what my anger cost me.

“There are some reporters from New Town looking for you,” a familiar voice said from behind me as I pulled the saddle off of my horse. I felt Charles’s psi-scent the moment he walked into the stable. Charles was a star reporter in Tam Bay, which meant he had no standing amongst the elite journalists from the southern cities. Amongst natives of the northern areas of the Empire, Charles was the reporter that the public trusted. I talked to him because he had never misquoted me or used anything I told him in a way harmful to the Rangers. We weren’t friends, but we were allies, in a sense. It was Charles’s reporting of my flap with Major Justice that gave my superiors enough public support to keep me in the service instead of cashiering me outright for insubordination.

“What do they want, and how can I help you beat them out?” I asked with a mischievous grin. His laugh was confirmation enough of why he tracked me down.

“Your sister’s announced her engagement to a noble from Liberty,” Charles answered, “Plus, there are rumors that Lord Manattan is going to ask you to assist on some big case down there.” I knew I was scowling, but I didn’t care. Lord Manattan was one of six district lords in New Town, the largest city in the Empire, and its financial capital. He was also my stepfather. Lord Manattan and I were civil to each other for the sake of my mother, but my relations with that entire family were strained. The only exceptions were my stepbrother, Tim, and my sister.

“Put something down about I’m very happy for my sister, and I can’t comment on an investigation I have no knowledge of,” I replied, hefting the saddle onto its shelf.

“Very happy and no comment,” Charles murmurred as he scribbled in his notepad, “Sometimes I wonder if I’m your family’s PR guy. You seem very casual about handing me these things.”

“It’s because you do such a good job,” I retorted light-heartedly, “And we know each other too well for you to abuse my trust.” Charles nodded ominously at my comment.

Charles was right. I was flooded by reporters from New Town the moment I emerged onto the public streets of Tam Bay. Reporters loved two things: celebrity and mystery. Apparently, these two things surrounded me for the moment. Having the runner from the Rangers office with orders for me did little to quell the throng’s demand for my comments. Fortunately for me, Rangers had absolutely no tolerance for overbearing and obnoxious reporters. Not a one could get past the two Rangers standing guard as I walked into the familiar building. A quick meeting with the captain informed me that I had been reinstated to active duty on the condition of being detached to the New Town station for an assignment there. Within a week, I was on a dark street examining a body.

“The good news is that this woman wasn’t murdered by an aborigine,” I told the major and the detective, “The perp is a human.” Disbelief shot through both the major and the detective. I wasn’t surprised, and to be honest, they had every right to wonder what was going through my head. All of the professionals they had dealt with before I showed up told them that these attacks were done by aborigines. They might have accepted Dark Towers, but the idea of a human being responsible for such grisly murders was shocking beyond anything they could comprehend. Here, at least, I had the advantage over the detective and the major. Outside the cities, a person comes in contact with exactly how brutal humans could be to one another.

The major, the detective – a Vanessa Hagarty – and I – along with Prince, my dog – left the crime scene for Detective Hagarty’s precinct. I needed a better overview of the string of crimes. Plus, I needed to explain things to both the major and the detective, and the crime scene wasn’t the place for that discussion. I didn’t say anything as we drove over. Too many things were running through my mind. It was almost three in the morning, and I was physically drained. I had literally just stepped off the magtrain before being whisked away to the crime scene. Prince, the faithful dog that he was, noticed my fatigue and nuzzled up against me. I just wanted to let myself drift off to sleep, but I couldn’t. Too much had to be done in too little time.

The case room was a largish room with whiteboards and tackboards lining the walls. Photos of past victims, various reports, and handwritten notes covered the boards. The police had been trying very hard to come up with a scenario that would explain everything. The only theory they had was that the perp was an aborigine. A mug of tea was thrust into my hand as the case room rapidly filled up with about a dozen police officers and another half-dozen others affiliated with the Office of Emergency Management. I hated putting on impromptu dog-and-pony shows, but there wasn’t much choice. At least I had the dog.

“Okay folks, here is what we’re dealing with,” I began, fatigue slowing my already pronounced drawl. I wrote on the whiteboard as I spoke to help keep my thoughts in order. “The most common term is ’serial killer.’ A human with a psychopathic need to murder. Let me repeat that. Our target is a psychologically disturbed human. From the information that I gathered at the scene of the latest murder, I will give you some guesses as to whom our target is.”

“Just what makes you think you know more than we do, hick?” asked one of the police detectives. Hostility permeated his hulking frame and psi-scent. It spiked the moment I spoke. That told me the detective was one of those wonderful people who knew that anyone living beyond the walls of a proper city were uneducated imbeciles. I figured he would be the most trouble. I looked at him from across the room. He toppled over as his chair was yanked out from under him by a careful telekinetic shove.

“First, because I’m a pretty strong psychic,” I growled at the detective. The detective angrily clawed his way off the floor and took a step towards me. A throaty warning growl came from Prince. The detective stopped immediately at the sight of a snarling Imperial war dog. Prince kept the detective from advancing, but the rage inside the detective continued to build. I kept my eyes on the detective, but I raised my voice to address the entire group. “We don’t have much time before this trail goes cold, so let me make this point up front. My name is Chief Warrant Officer Stahl of the Imperial Rangers. You may refer to me as ‘Chief,’ ‘Chief Stahl,’ or even ‘Ranger Stahl,’ because I am trying to be nice. I am up here because I know a sight more than any of you about what you thought you were dealing with and what you actually are. All of you have pretty much grown up within the relative safety of the New Town walls. What you’re dealing with now is something completely new for you. Centuries of proper psychological screening and adjusting within the cities have made severe psychological problems a thing of the past for you. Until now.” I waited a moment to see if any of them would do anything. I had their somewhat reluctant attention. Professionalism was beating out prejudice for the moment. I made sure that I was following suit and keeping the annoyance out of my voice.

“The target has not been psych screened,” I said, “My guess is that the target is most likely an aristocrat male.” A hand shot up from one of the OEM agents. I pointed at him to let him ask his question.

“Couldn’t this person just be an immigrant to the city?” he asked earnestly, “I’ve heard that some of the religious groups prohibit psych screening.”

“Good question, but no,” I answered, slightly relieved that my audience was taking this seriously enough to ask intelligent questions. Except for the first detective, the group’s professionalism was taking hold. Perhaps the NTPD could back up its reputation. “The fact that he’s eluded police means he’s very familiar with the city. The familiarity that comes with living here much of your life. Plus, all immigrants to the cities are psych screened, especially the children. Even religious groups are psych screened, just more subtly. The only natives that could have been able to avoid a psych screening would be someone in the aristocracy. Further, the nature of the attacks, combined with the psych aspects point to someone within the aristocracy.”

“So what, we question every person of noble blood?” asked the police detective I had hit earlier. His rage was still there, but it was being tempered at least. “Without something to narrow our pool down, we’ll raise all sorts of problems.” The police detective was an arrogant pain, but he was very correct. Not only would the noble class as a whole protest – and they had the ability to cause a lot of problems – but we would also tip off our perp that we were on to him.

“First, we can eliminate any of the female nobility,” I answered calmly, “The wounds could have only been caused by a male. This is a male who knows a great deal about aborigines. Probably fantasizes about them. He knows enough to think like them, which is what fooled all of your other professionals and psychics. He may also be a latent psychic.” That caused a stir amongst the crowd. If I was thinking straight, I would have been more gentle with that last bit, but I was too tired and trying too hard to get the information out to the collection of officers and agents so that they could actually do something with the information. Latent psychics were scary. They had all of this power with none of the years of training and indoctrination from the Psi-Academy. I tried to settle down all of anxiety that flooded the room.

“The good news is that I did manage to get his psi-scent,” I told the assembled professionals, “When I get close to him, or something he’s left his ghost on, I can track him.” There was a marginal improvement in the general attitude. An older detective stood up and came towards me. From the deference everyone else gave the detective, I figured he was either the head of the crime task force of the chief of detectives.

“How do you intend to proceed on this Ranger Stahl?” the man asked. I was a bit taken aback. I was just supposed to help. I wasn’t expecting to become one of the lead investigators. From the emotional reaction of the police officers, they hadn’t expected it either. My mind raced for a moment as I thought what needed to be done. I had the target’s psi-scent, but it would be difficult to track unless I had a fresh site. Getting close to the target would let me catch his scent, but narrowing down the pool was going to take some investigative work.

“First, I’ll have to find an aristocrat with a known interest in aborigines,” I began, “He may not be our target, but he would know the others within his circle of enthusiasts. That would give us a pool of suspects to investigate.” The older officer nodded, somewhat satisfied by the answer.

“If that’s the case, then our first stop should be NTU’s aboriginal studies department,” Detective Hagarty said, “The professors would know who to talk to.”

“Okay, both of you rack out in the crib and get over to the university first thing in the morning,” the older officer said. I followed Detective Hagarty to a small room with several cots. Each of the cots had a small foot locker. I unzipped my vest and placed it, my pistol, and my saber into the foot locker. I lay down on the cot and passed out before my head hit the pillow.

New Town University is one of the four most prestigious schools in the Empire. It is known for its strong science and mathematics departments, as well as its law school. With nearly three centuries of tradition, the walled campus exuded an air of assumed superiority. The aboriginal studies department occupied a small corner of Fleischman Hall, NTU’S liberal arts complex. The department was headed by a Dr. Strevas. He was a nervous mouse of a man who was surprised when an NTPD detective and an Imperial Ranger came knocking at his officer at the beginning of his day.

“What do the authorities want with me?” Dr. Strevas stammered. He had only opened the door enough for his gaunt frame to slip out. He brushed back his unruly black hair as his eyes darted between Det. Hagarty and me. “I’ve already told you everything I know about who the killer might be.” I sensed a deep shame in the doctor. He felt guilty about betraying the race he had studied for probably most of his life.

“Doctor, why don’t we take this talk into your office,” Det. Hagarty suggested with a friendly warmness, “We’ve uncovered some new information, and we’d like to talk to you about it.” Strevas didn’t want to talk to us at all from his psi-scent, but he didn’t seem to be able to think of a polite way of saying no. With a reluctant shrug, the doctor opened the door all the way and led us into his office. Ghosts immediate flooded my senses from the items that were carefully strewn around the room. One in particular practically screamed at me. I fixed my gaze on an aboriginal hunting knife lying in an opened parcel. With a delicate telekinetic touch, I lifted the knife up and gently levitated it over to me. The screaming ghost on the knife was the murdered girl from last night. The body in that darkened alleyway. As the knife floated closer, I sensed the killer’s ghost just under the girl’s ghost. This wasn’t the killing weapon. This was the knife that took the girl down and severed all the necessary muscles so she couldn’t escape or even hope to stop the killer from performing his atrocities. There was recently dried blood on the obsidian blade. The killer was taunting us.

“What are you doing?” screeched the doctor as I held the knife aloft in front of me, “That’s a very delicate specimen that I just received today!” The man was purple with apoplexy. Det. Hagarty stepped between Dr. Strevas and me.

“Where did you get that knife?” she asked in a calm, almost non-confrontational tone. The doctor looked at the detective for a brief moment and visibly settled down.

“One of my most prolific amateurs,” he answered haughtily, “He routinely sends me interesting pieces. That is an aboriginal hunting knife. They use it–”

“To kill small game or bleed larger animals,” I answered, my annoyance with Dr. Strevas flowing through my voice, “This one took down a young woman last night. That’s her blood on the blade.” I watched as the academic went from purple to the palest white. His emotions were a typhoon of conflict as he tried to grapple with what I had just told him to what he thought he knew.

“How did he get that knife?” the doctor stammered, mostly to himself. I wanted to push the point, but Det. Hagarty waved me back. I had interrogated dozens upon dozens of people in my career, but it didn’t bother me to let the detective take the lead. She knew the city and its people. The doctor continued to murmur to himself as he desperately tried to avoid the conclusion that was plainly in front of him. I scanned around the room, examining each of the ghosts. Three others were from the killer, each of them bound to weapons used to incapacitate the victim. The killing blade wasn’t in the office.

“Doctor, please, tell us who sent you these items,” Det. Hagarty said.

“I don’t remember the name of the man,” the doctor said, emotionally exhausted, “He just sends me these packages with no return address. I only met him once briefly at one of Lord Manattan’s benefit. I exchanged a few words, and forgot about him. Then, the items began turning up with notes describing where they came from. The man seemed to be on some sort of self-financed safari, visiting various tribes through the southern sectors. At least, that’s what I thought.” Dr. Strevas looked longingly at the floating knife. “You’re going to have to take all of them, aren’t you?”

“They’re evidence,” Detective Hagarty said sympathetically. She had a better game face than I did. The simpering academic was annoying me. I could feel his emotions. He had no sympathy for the victims. He was only worried about his precious collection of artifacts. I wanted to grab him and scream at him to quit whining and help us find the killer before he left us another victim. “I need you to help us get a description of the man who was sending you these items. We need to find him.”

“Oh, I can’t remember him very well,” the doctor whined, “He was taller than me, but that’s not unusual. I can’t remember his face at all.” Dr. Strevas face brightened. “I do remember his ring. It was large and made of Elf Gold with a purple stone. I’ve seen it before, but I don’t remember where.” I almost dropped the knife as the doctor described the ring. I knew what it was. I didn’t know exactly who the target was, but the pool had just shrunk considerably. I hoped Det. Hagarty had a nice dress.

“Eric, please introduce me to this exquisite woman escorting you,” my mother gushed as I made my way through the receiving line. Mom was a product of her aristocratic upbringing, and my constant lack of a private life was a continuing concern of hers. She was still hoping I would marry into the nobility and cement my ties there. Although she never said it to me, I knew that my half-common heritage bothered her ingrained sensibilities. Her marriage to my father had been arranged to cement an alliance between her noble family and my father’s commercial family. There had been a fondness and a respect between them, but no real passionate love. They hid it well for outward appearences, but there was no hiding it from their empathic son. I hid my grimace as I made the introductions. Mom was about to be disappointed again.

“May I intrroduce Vanessa Hagarty, Detective in the NTPD,” I said formally, “Detective, I present the Lady Manattan. Was that correct, Mom?” The last bit came out with a hint of sarcasm, but my mother let it slide. She knew I detested formal engagements, and that I had done my level best to not only hide my loathing but to actually feign some excitement. It was the least I could do for my sister’s engagement party.

“How do you do, Detective?” my mother beamed. Her husband, Stephen gave me an inquisitive look which was returned with a slight shake of my head. Stephen just smiled and warmly welcomed Det. Hagarty. At least Stephen knew why Det. Hagarty was with me. Although I had to admit, the detective surprised me when I told her that we would be attending my sister’s engagement party. Sometimes I forget that people aren’t only their professional side. So, where I was in the formal uniform of an Imperial Ranger, Det. Hagarty was in a black sequined gown that flowed easily as the detective glided alongside me. I didn’t want to know where she kept her sidearm.

“You didn’t tell me when you asked me here that Lord Manattan was your father,” the detective whispered to me as we walked into the crowded reception room.

“Stepfather, detective,” I corrected, “He’s the one who asked me to step in on the investigation.”

“For the evening, perhaps you should call me Vanessa,” she said with a smile. There wasn’t any intimacy in the gesture, just a professional courtesy.

“Okay, Vanessa,” I said, “I’m Eric. As to our job, our target isn’t here yet. He will be by the end of the night.” I looked around the room. There were dozens of psi-scents in the room, but none so far that matched our target.

“How can you be sure?” Vanessa asked, scanning the room.

“He’s one of Lord Manattan’s Chosen,” I said quietly. Vanessa tensed. The Chosen were hand-picked men and women who were supposed to help Lord Manattan maintain a well-run district. These were to be the leaders of the community that offered advice and executed specific directives from the lord. Most of them were in his closest circles of friends.

“Are you sure?” she asked, with a hint of hope that I wasn’t. Busting a Chosen for such a heinous crime wasn’t something a police officer looked forward to doing.

“Yes,” I answered, curtly “The ring that the doctor described resembles the ring used by the Chosen. Once I meet him and get his scent, we can take him down.”

“Why didn’t you warn Lord Manattan?” Vanessa asked, clearly concerned.

“Our target’s most likely a latent psychic,” I explained, “Warning anyone might have spooked him. This is our best chance at catching the target.” Vanessa shrugged her shoulders noncommittally, but I sensed that I convinced her. I took another step when a streak came out of the corner of my eye and slammed into me.

“ERIC!” shrieked my sister as she plowed into me. Sissy was easily twenty centimeters shorter than me and maybe sixty kilos soaking wet, but she had an inexhaustible supply of energy and the kinetics of a hyper-charged gas molecule. I hugged her and kissed the top of her head as she squeezed for all she was worth. Sissy wasn’t happy if I didn’t come away from one of her hugs without sore ribs. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it down here.”

“Now why would you say that?” I asked.

“You missed both of my graduations, my coming out party,” Sissy droned, counting the events off on her fingers. I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or sarcastic. She had a bit of latent psychic in her. Not enough to manifest actual powers, but enough to shield her mind and emotions from me. She gave me a mischievous smile before I could reply. “I know, you were busy doing your Ranger thing. Duty and all that. Somehow I’m just not surprised you came in your uniform. At least your date has better sense.”

“Sissy, this is Detective Vanessa Hagarty,” I said, taking the unspoken cue, “Vanessa, my sister, the honorable Sarah Stahl, half of the guests of honor.” The two ladies warmly clasped hands and exchanged pleasantries. “And for the record, I’m wearing my best formal uniform.”

“So you two are working the aborigine case?” Sissy asked, ignoring my comment. Vanessa’s face went to a professional neutral, but her emotions were radiating with surprise. Sissy didn’t seem to notice Vanessa’s change in demeanor as she whirled on me. “You couldn’t just come to my party. You had to bring your work into this.”

“Quit the martyr act, Sissy,” I replied sternly, “I know you better than that.” She just grinned mischievously again and waved over to a group of people. A tall man stood up from the group and approached us. As he confidently strode over to us, he ran his fingers through his immaculately coiffed hair. It seemed more a dramatic move, something to impress the lesser people around him. His psi-scent reeked of calm, self-assuredness, but his green eyes were warm and pleasant. Sissy barreled into the man with even more ferocity than she had with me. Logical conclusion – this man was the fiancé.

“Kevin Murdock, Lord of Liberty Hall,” the man said, extending his hand. I gripped the hand and found a firm and controlled handshake. “I’ve been eager to meet you Eric, may I call you Eric?”

“As a brother-in-law, sure,” I answered, “Anything from your lordship persona, it’ll be Ranger Stahl.” He laughed at my small poke at the aristocratic quirk of titled personas. “This is my colleague, Detective Vanessa Hagarty.” Kevin and Vanessa continued the ritual by exchanging handshakes and greetings.

“Actually Eric, all of the Firsts have been eagerly awaiting your arrival,” Kevin said as he and Sissy led Vanessa and I back towards the group of people Kevin had been sitting with.

“The Firsts?”

“We are the Firsts,” a slim man answered as we neared, “We are nobles who are the finest talents in our respective fields. Kevin, for instance, is the best in business.” I looked askance at my sister’s fiancé. I wasn’t as involved in my family’s firm as they wanted, but I did try and keep up with current business news. Lord Liberty Hall was a rising star and accomplished beginner, but not the best. Not by a long shot. From his psi-scent he knew it too – and didn’t care. I directed my attention back to the slim man who had mentioned a couple of others in the group. “As for myself, I am Ricardo Vega, the finest swordsman in the Empire.”

His comment caught me flat. I looked up and down Vega’s wiry frame, but there were none of the accoutrements that would follow his claim. Vega was wearing a tight suit of bright blues contrasted with light grey highlights – a style favored by the younger nobility. At his left hip, he wore an impressive-looking rapier. I could feel his curiosity building as I studied him. His eyes were begging me to say what was going through my mind. After a brief moment of continued study, I couldn’t contain my curiosity any further.

“Where’s your unit pin?” I asked. “Where did you serve?”

“My what?” Vega asked, somewhat startled. It obviously wasn’t the question he was anticipating.

“Your unit pin,” I answered calmly as I felt his emotions rise, “And why are you wearing a rapier instead of a gladius?” Indignation flowed through Vega as I questioned him.

“Eric, I am one of the Firsts,” he replied as if that were an answer in and of itself. Fortunately, he elaborated before I had to ask for clarification. “Each of us has dedicated years to their art to attain perfection. I have not had time for military service.”

“Oh, I see now. You’re a fencer,” I said, “Would you be so kind as to stop referring to yourself as a swordsman? It’s insulting to those of us who actually are.” There was sharp gasps surrounding me, and I felt the shock of my statement roll through the nearby persons. Vega’s indignation bloomed into pure anger at my words. The rapier came out in a rapid flourish. Vega was good. Of that I had no doubt.

“Perhaps you’d like me to prove my swordsmanship?” he menaced. A quick jab was blocked as my saber came out of its sheath. The crowd around us backed off into a perimeter. Although duels in the middle of a function were uncommon, everyone knew the etiquette. The problem was, I didn’t want to fight Vega. He was just being stupid, not maliciously dishonorable. I didn’t want to kill him for just being stupid.

“Stop this,” I said as I deflected another lunge, “I don’t want to fight you.” A slash came to my middle section. A step back and a sweeping block stopped it. I could have just hit the arrogant twerp with a strong enough telekinetic punch to knock him out, but it just didn’t occur to me at the time. This was being made into a matter of honor, and matters of honor were handled by swords. Even amongst those of us who weren’t nobles.

“Coward,” Vega spat as he advanced for another attack. For nobles, the insult would have been enough for the duel to become serious. I was willing to let the insult slide if it meant the fight ended. Then it happened. It had been a simple block to knock away a lunging strike. Then Vega rotated the point on his sword until the tip of the rapier caught on my chest. There was a rip of fabric and I saw my service sigil torn from my uniform. His emotions told me it had been deliberate. The nature of the incident turned in an instant.

“I’m sorry, sir. I guess I’m a better swordsman than you,” Vega said with an insulting tone.

“Young man, that was a deliberate insult,” I replied, “Not to me, but to anyone who has worn my uniform. That cannot be ignored. You wanted a duel. You have it sir.” Everyone heard me issue a formal challenge. The crowd surrounding the two of us took a collective step back. Except for one man who walked forward. From his emotions, he was as furious as I was over Vega’s actions. He had good reason. He was John Tall, Lord Vallon, the commandant of Imperial Security. Needless to say, I was surprise and slightly intimidated by his presence.

“Ranger Stahl, may I ask to be your second?” Commadant Tall asked. Vanessa and Sissy joined the two of us as I began removing my red overtunic. It took me a moment to recover from the shock his request sent through me.

“My lord, it would be an honor,” I answered handing the commandant my saber. I had been put on reserve status and almost expelled from the Rangers because of a spat with the Empire’s hero. For Commandant Tall to offer to be my second meant that my sins were publicly forgiven. I was golden again. I turned to Sissy. “How important is Vega to your wedding?”

“Please don’t kill him,” Sissy said, “I’d like him to be able to walk. Beyond that, I’ll have the photographers take care of.” I nodded grimly. I could feel Vega’s confidence and glee behind me. He was very good with his rapier, and he knew it. He supposedly had most of the advantages. His rapier was a longer and faster weapon than my saber, and Vega had the speed and training to use those advantages. That said, I still had a few things in my favor. I turned to face him.

My stepfather Stephen stepped between the two of us. He was the host of the party, so by custom, the officiator of the duel. I thought Stephen would have ordered us out, but I saw him glance at my silver sigil still lying on the tile floor. The offense to those who had served was too great, and Lord Manattan knew it. Still, he had to give us a chance to back down. “Gentlemen, I ask you, can this be satisfied no other way?”

“No, my lord,” I answered with a deadly tone coloring the words.

“No, my lord,” Vega mimicked. He was too calm. He was expecting the same duel he always fought. Vega was in for some surprises. Both of us took our stances. His was relaxed with a deadly energy hidden behind it. Mine was the one my grandfather taught me – small profile with the tip of the blade relaxed at eye level.

“Very well,” Stephen answered, “Gentlemen, you may begin at your leisure.” The room fell silent as Vega and I stared at each other. The psychological part of the duel started. Each of us waited for the other to strike, trying to find that tell that signaled the commitment to action. Here, I had the advantage. Vega could control his body, even the look in his eyes to disguise his tells. He couldn’t hide his emotions. I just waited.

Long moments continued to drag on, and I could feel the frustration and curiosity build inside Vega. He wasn’t used to dealing with someone with more patience than himself. Frustration turned to anger, and he launched an incredibly fast strike. Excellent.

The crashing sound of steel upon steel echoed through the chamber. Astonishment and discomfort flowed through Vega as I hammered his rapier with my much heavier saber. It wasn’t a simple parry. I was deliberately attacking his sword. Vega was confused by my actions and launched another lunge. Again, the saber slammed down on the thin blade.

Four more times Vega attacked. Each time, I attacked his sword. The duel was not going as Vega expected. After the fifth attack, Vega was holding his rapier a little more gingerly. A weak slash at my side was simply batted away by my gloved hand. “Come on Vega, I thought you were going to show me what a great little fencer you are.”

Vega’s rage flared through him and he drew himself into a new stance with his rapier aimed at me like a lance. I smiled as the younger man smoldered. The final part of this duel was about to start, and Vega was going to learn the difference between a fencer and a swordsman.

The rapier shot out at me with a speed I wasn’t expecting. Vega was very good. I almost didn’t block the attack. Almost. I pivoted back and twisted my saber downward to catch the rapier on the curve of my blade. My free hand grasped Vega’s forearm and yanked the young man towards me. His eyes went wide in startled terror. Hand to hand combat just wasn’t done in formal duels – by fencers. I rolled my blade up, using the curve. The point came up level with Vega’s quivering eye. It hovered there for the briefest of moments. Then, I struck. The blade came down, altered just before impact so that I struck him in his nose with the curved pommel. Blood splattered across my forearm and undertunic as Vega reeled back from the blow. Vega slammed back onto the tile floor, blood coursing out of his broken nose. He was alive, but his pretty face was marred for life. I could live with that.

One of the Firsts came running out of the crowd and cradled Vega’s head in her lap. I swallowed a laugh as she shot me a glare of pure venom. As the crowd dispersed, Sissy, Vanessa, and the commandant walked over. The commandant graciously offered me his handkerchief to clean Vega’s blood from my sword.

“Very nicely done, Chief,” Commandant Tall said, “I’m not a fan of dueling myself – bloody, messy work – but this was exactly how one should turn out.” Sissy gave the commandant an arched look as he handed me my service sigil.

“If you hate duels so much Commandant, why would you second?” Sissy asked. Both the commandant and Vanessa froze and stared at Sissy momentarily. Sissy understood some of the basics about honor, but she didn’t understand why certain matters beyond defending life and property of Imperial citizens and allies were worth risking life and limb. Matters like the honor of a service and disrespect of the uniform of the Empire were completely beyond her.

“Sissy, this is one of those things,” I told her, mussing her hair with a familial gesture. She responded with her normal glare that held no maliciousness. It was an understanding between the two of us. Her fiancé approached us with well-concealed caution. Commandant Tall made his excuses and returned to the throng of guests awaiting his attention.

“Well, that went differently than I expected,” Murdock mused as his arm possessively circled Sissy’s waist. There was an odd sense of surprise and satisfaction in Murdock’s psi-scent. He had expected Vega to make short work of me, but was glad that I didn’t kill the fop. Sissy didn’t notice the sentiment behind Murdock’s words, but Vanessa did. She hid it well, but I could tell Vanessa didn’t like Murdock.

“It’s a good thing our mentor isn’t here,” Murdock said, “Vega was one of his favorites. Actually, I’m quite surprised he isn’t here. He’s one of Lord Manattan’s Chosen.” Vanessa and I exchanged a look. Things suddenly clicked.

“Is your mentor an aborigine expert?” Vanessa asked.

“I don’t know about expert, but he’s certainly an enthusiast,” Murdock said, “He does have a fascinating collection of artifacts.”

“Name,” I demanded. Murdock looked at me in confusion. One word demands were somewhat foreign to the nobility. It tended to throw their mental processes into confusion if there weren’t flowery phrases of appreciation or respect in the request. “I need the name of your mentor.”

“Lord Chamberlain,” Murdock answered, still confused and somewhat offended by what he considered my effrontery to the traditions of polite society.

“Vanessa?”

“Already on it,” she said, and I could hear her shoes clack away as she went to find a telephone. I looked down at my sister. She had that familiar half-smile on her face. She might not understand why I do everything that I do, but she always understands that I need to do it.

“Go chase down your lead,” Sissy told me in a warm tone, “I’ll keep Kevin’s friends from giving Chamberlain advance notice. Could you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Could you at least try to make it to the church tomorrow? Say about ten o’clock?” Sissy’s voice was light and humorous, but I could see the slight pleading. She had always shown up for my events, but I had missed so many if hers. I knew it wasn’t fair, and I even felt guilty about it on occasion. I bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll do my best,” I told her. It was the best I could tell her. Her nod in response told me she knew it also.

I pulled the brim of my Stetson down and watched as the water cascaded in front of my eyes. The momentary obscuring of my vision let me focus on the faint psi-scent I was tracking. Chamberlain was in the Lord’s Park – and he knew he was being hunted. He was dangerous, as two wounded soldiers from the battle inside the apartment attested. As the rain pelted down, I wished again that we had managed to apprehend Chamberlain in his apartment. It would have made my life a lot easier.

When we left the party, Vanessa called her superior, and I retrieved Prince from the Keep’s kennel. If we were going to apprehend a dangerous suspect, I wanted my dog with me. Just the sight of a growling Prince could smooth out an unstable situation. Stephen provided us with a car and driver so we didn’t have to waste time procuring one. Vanessa handed the driver – a PFC Goku of Stephen’s security force – an address and briefed me on the police side of things.

“The chief of detectives is trying to get us a warrant,” Vanessa said as Goku sped out of the compound with the skill of a circuit driver, “He might have it when we get there, but it’s going to depend on the judge. Our probable cause is a little shaky.” Her psi-scent told me she was just as frustrated with the possibility as I was, but she didn’t know how she could legally circumvent probable cause. I did.

“Goku, you got a radio handy?” I asked our driver as he deftly weaved through the densely packed streets. Without even looking back, he handed me a handset. I clapped him on the shoulder. “Would you do me a favor and get this on OEM’s frequency?”

“This is Chief Stahl calling for Major Shota,” I called as soon as Goku gave me a thumbs up. The radio crackled for a moment and then Shota’s weary voice came on.

“What do you need Chief?” Shota asked.

“I need a platoon of Imperial Security to Lord Chamberlain’s residence in the city,” I answered as Vanessa looked at me confused. “Solid intel he’s our target.”

“Understood. Second Platoon will be waiting for you,” Shota said.

“Don’t wait for us,” I almost yelled into the handset, “Tell the lieutenant to secure Lord Chamberlain, and to do it fast. Any delay, and we’ll lose him.”

“Okay,” Shota answered, “I’m going to head down there to help coordinate.” Shota was experienced enough to know that his presence as Lord Manattan’s representative would deflect some of the problems we were about to cause. I handed back the handset and let Goku do his job. Vanessa was glowering at me with a psi-scent that was angrier than when she had first met me at the crime scene.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, “We can’t build a case if you send in the troops. They’ll compromise evidence, trample enough of his rights–”

“Detective, I’m not trying to build a case and I never was,” I interrupted, “You’ve been collecting evidence. I’ve been collecting intelligence. You’ve been trying to arrest a perp. I’m here to stop a threat and take out a target.” She collapsed back into her seat, radiating betrayal. I should have expected her reaction. At her very core, she was a police officer. At my core, I’m a soldier.

The street in front of Lord Chamberlain’s apartment complex was crammed with police cars and the armored troop carriers of Imperial Security. Uniformed police were busy evacuating the bystanders, but I couldn’t see any of the Imperial Security soldiers. As I stepped out of the car, an angry plainclothes officer and Major Shota began to approach. Goku turned and told me, “Chief, the major said he left some things for in the trunk.”

Det. Hagarty left to speak with her superior as I walked back to the open trunk. Prince followed obediently behind me. Major Harding – the head of Stephan’s security force – had thoughtfully packed my riding vest, a working shirt, Prince’s barding, and my carbine with spare magazines. Prince held still as I quickly dressed him in the steel, cotton, and nylon armor. I carefully removed my tunic, put on the work shirt, and zipped up my riding vest. I slipped the spare magazines into their holders. I slung my carbine and walked back to where Det. Hagarty was talking with the plainclothes officer and Major Shota. The two police detectives were furious while Shota was just annoyed. Det. Hagarty turned and glared at me as I approached.

“Your soldiers came crashing through the front doors, got into a firefight with Chamberlain’s bodyguards, and let him escape,” Det. Hagarty thundered.

“Where’d he go?” I asked in response, completely ignoring the venom in the woman’s voice. There were more important things to deal with.

“Into the park,” she answered, even more furious that I was ignoring her anger and her barbs. Lord’s Park was a three kilometer long by one kilometer wide tract of cultivated ground that had gardens, small forests, as well as the Lord’s Zoo and Museum. It was a parcel of nature in the urban environment. Many of the aristocracy and wealthy merchants had their homes on the streets surrounding the park. From what I could see, Chamberlain climbed out the back of the building and literally jumped into the park from three stories up. Suicidal for a normal human. Somewhat easier for a latent psychic that must have manifested some telekinesis. Tracking Lord Chamberlain in there wasn’t going to be easy. Then it became even harder as the cold rain began to pelt down on the collected police and Imperial Security.

“Major, Detective, get whatever personnel you can muster together,” I said, “I’m going to find Chamberlain’s scent.” The two detectives were about to erupt at what they believed was a casual dismissal, but the major firmly pulled them off to the side. Good thing too, because I had some major work to do. I stepped into the entrance of the park next to Lord Chamberlain’s building. Dropping my mental blocks, I quickly found that bizarre psi-scent. He did jump down from the window of his apartment with the use of telekinesis, but he wasn’t using it as he ran into a large forested area behind the building. His psi-scent became muted as it entered the forest. Chamberlain knew he was being hunted, and his latent psi-abilities were obfuscating him from psychic detection. I wasn’t sure if he was doing it deliberately or just on pure instinct.

“I’ve got his trail,” I shouted over to the assembled leadership. Shota directed a squad of Imperial Security to accompany me. Det. Hagarty and a squad’s worth of heavily-armed SWAT police officers also joined us. With Prince following at my heels, I led the combined force into the forest.

Tracking Chamberlain through the forest was difficult. His psi-scent was faint, and Chamberlain knew the terrain. On top of all that, the darkness and the rain cut down visibility and made everyone uncomfortable. After a couple hundred meters, I kneeled down to get a better fix on Chamberlain. I tipped my Stetson and let the rain water cascade down. A private moved in close as I was searching for Chamberlain, guarding me as I looked out at the forest, deciding on how to chase Chamberlain. The psi-scent suddenly picked up and the soldier next to me toppled back. I felt his psi-scent fade to a ghost as I saw the arrow sticking out of the now-dead soldier’s neck. The fletching looked similar to an aborigine’s. A second arrow whistled down at me, and then hit the ground as it was deflected by a telekinetic shield. The soldiers around me began firing wildly into the forest as they saw one of their own fall. Chamberlain’s psi-scent muted back down as the bullets whipped past me.

I held up my hand and the firing stopped. Hand signals told the soldiers to spread out and hold their positions. I stood up from my kneeled position and slung my carbine. The soldiers were confused. All tactical doctrine for being under fire was to keep low and move in cautiously. The problem was those tactics were for orcs or goblins, even some humans. Chamberlain may have been physically a human, but he was thinking and fighting like an aborigine. I needed to get in and finish this before Chamberlain picked off the soldiers with his bow. My saber was in my right hand and my pistol gripped firmly in my left. Telekinetic shield in place, I rushed into the forest.

I felt his psi-scent spike again as another arrow lanced out at me. He was up in a tree about thirty meters ahead of me. As the arrow harmlessly splintered on my invisible shield, I launched myself into the air. My first glimpse of Chamberlain was a short, lithe man completely covered in painted markings from the various aborigine tribes and wearing a rough leather belt. Chamberlain was holding a bone bow and had a long knife and tomahawk on his belt. My attack startled him, but none of it showed on his face as he quickly drew and loosed another arrow at me. I deflected the arrow with a small telekinetic shield, and then dropped my shield entirely as I landed next to him. I couldn’t sense if he had his telekinetics up, and I couldn’t risk a bio-feedback if our two shields hit each other. With latents, there was no telling who would recover first.

My saber came down in a slash at his right shoulder. It bounced off an invisible shield about twenty centimeters above his shoulder. The tip of his bow shot out at me, and I retreated a few steps back on the thick branch as I parried with a sweep of my pistol. An unexpected telekinetic punch slammed into my stomach, and I could feel myself falling as I desperately tried to breathe. Survival instinct and years of training snapped into place, and my own telekinesis began slowing my four meter fall. I brought up my pistol and rapidly fired five rounds across Chamberlain’s form. He leapt down from the tree branch as the eleven millimeter rounds buried themselves into the tree.

We faced each other on the leaf-covered dirt ground of the forest. Chamberlain dropped his bow and was now facing me with both his long knife and his tomahawk. Chamberlain’s psi-scent vanished as his latent abilities managed to slam down with an impressive mental barricade. There was a moment of silence as the two of us evaluated the other. Chamberlain launched at me using his telekinesis to hurtle himself over the short distance. I sidestepped his attack, deflecting his tomahawk with my pistol and countering with a slash of my saber. Again my saber bounced harmlessly off of Chamberlain’s invisible shield. My God, if Chamberlain had been properly trained, he would have been one of the strongest psychics in the Empire. Chamberlain whirled on me. I caught the tomahawk on my saber, but my pistol swept passed his long knife as he jinked it at the last moment. Adrenaline dulled the flash of pain as the knife raked across my thigh. It was a nasty cut, but as I fell back a few paces, it didn’t seem to have cut any muscles. It just hurt and bled.

Chamberlain danced forward with a lightning strike that was easily deflected. With the clang of our weapons, Chamberlain danced right back beyond the reach of my saber. This was pure aborigine. Bleed out a stronger opponent and wear him down with a flurry of attacks. It worked best with groups of aborigines, but it would work well enough for Chamberlain against me. As strong as Chamberlain was, I really didn’t want to risk the shock of bio-feedback. It would knock me out too long, and the chance of him escaping was far too high. For some reason, latents could recover a lot faster from the shock than trained psychics. Another two attacks were fended off, but not without a new cut along my forearm. My counters kept bouncing off the telekinetic shield that was guarding his back. I had one other card to play.

Chamberlain grinned savagely as I staggered forward. He took a single step and bounded at me with the tomahawk held high. I gave a short whistle as my stance straightened. The grin on Chamberlain’s face slipped to slight confusion – and then outright terror as Prince erupted out of the forest. Prince’s powerful jaws clamped onto Chamberlain’s leg. With Prince anchoring him to the ground, Chamberlain slammed into the dirt. To his credit, Chamberlain held onto his weapons. Chamberlain swung his tomahawk at Prince. The crude blade bit into Prince’s side, but it couldn’t get past the hardened metal plate of Prince’s barding. I grinned as Prince ignored the strike and clamped down harder, and then shook for all of his might. Chamberlain completely forgot about me as he desperately tried to escape Prince’s ferocious maw. Bless whoever trained the Imperial attack dogs. I brought my pistol up and gently squeezed the trigger. Three rounds tore through Chamberlain’s exposed torso, completely shredding his internal organs and throwing him on his back. I felt Chamberlain’s psi-scent flare with pain and shock, and then fade to an angry and bizzare ghost.

“We’re clear,” I yelled to the waiting soldiers and police officers. Armored Imperial Security soldiers circled around me within moments of me calling all clear. A medic appeared beside me and began inspecting my wounds. Adrenaline began to fade out of my system, and my body finally let me fully feel the pain of my injuries. Crushing pain flooded my mind, and then was exacerbated as the Imperial Security medic began cleaning and inspecting the wounds on my thigh and forearm. I could feel her sympathy as my face grimaced from the pain. A stretcher was unfolded, and I gratefully laid down onto the canvas. Prince happily jogged over and sat down next to me. I just scratched him on top of his head, a wordless communication of how pleased I was with the dog’s bravery.

“No one move,” came a forceful order as New Town police officers stormed into the area, “This is now a crime scene.” The speaker was the plainclothes officer that had been with Detective Hagarty earlier. I was at the point of adrenaline withdrawal and pain where getting up and forcefully or physically confronting the officer seemed like a good idea. Fortunately, the medic prevented any such foolishness by the simple application of morphine. As I succumbed to the pleasant darkness of unconsciousness, I could see Imperial Security and NTPD doing their familiar dance of authority.

For the record, I absolutely hate getting injured. Minor injuries I can handle. Years of being abused in training schools and out on the open grasslands of my home sector made it perfectly clear that minor, and not-so-minor, pain was just part of my life as an Imperial Ranger. The gashes on both my thigh and my forearm were much deeper than I thought. Both required some heavy stitching, and it was going to take at least six weeks of light duty before I would be back to my normal self.

I didn’t make it to Sissy’s wedding ceremony. I spent most of the morning recovering from having my gashes sewn up. By the middle of the day, I was feeling good enough to try and move about. Nice thing about being a telekinetic, I didn’t have to use a crutch. I was listening to a nurse berate me for being out of bed when Commandant Tall walked into my room. His face was stern, but his emotions were laughing as he surveyed the scene. Rangers do not let injuries deter us from our duty.

“Chief Warrant!” barked the commandant. Out of pure drilled-in reflex, I straightened to attention. Commandant Tall turned to the stunned nurse. “Nurse, please excuse us.” She took one look at the Commandant’s face and quickly exited the room.

“You, Chief, are out of uniform and are in dereliction of your duty,” the Commandant said in a grave voice that masked the humor dancing in his emotions. He was playing at something, but I wasn’t sure what. Chief Warrant Rangers let their commandant play out his games.

“As to the uniform issue, sir, I can honestly plead that the hospital staff destroyed what uniform I had when they were fixing me,” I explained in my most respectful tone, “As to the other matter, I can only plead ignorance as to which duty I’m in dereliction of.” The commandant circled me, taking a careful appraisal of my bandaged arms.

“Your duty to your family should be one of your highest duties,” Commandant Tall said, “Especially since you’ve already fulfilled your duties to your Emperor. James, come in please.” A short, thin man dressed in a formal suit walked into the hospital room with a new dress uniform draped over his arms. “Yes, the New Town Police were very annoyed with you. Something about ‘calling out the stormtroopers and completely ruining a crime scene.’ The police do tend to forget that we’re soldiers. We don’t usually prosecute our targets in a court of law. We prosecute our targets on the field of battle.” There was a moment of silence between us as we both pondered the familiar discrepancy. Opponents of the Empire used that far too often as a means of discrediting the Throne for being a callous dictatorship. Truth to be told, Rangers and the rest of Imperial Security were constantly reminded by our superiors to only usurp the police forces of the Empire when there was a credible threat to the Empire or its allies. Commandant Tall, Major Shota, myself, and others knew that Chamberlain threatened the presence of the Stone Walkers. Those aborigines sacrificed everything they knew to help the Empire against our enemies, the Dark Towers. If the Stone Walkers were exiled or executed in New Town – where the aborigine religious cult was first accepted – then the few other Stone Walker groups in other cities would leave and the movement would fail. This was a threat to the Empire itself, so I had no compunctions about taking direct and violent action against Chamberlain. I did wish that it hadn’t strained the already cool relations between NTPD and Imperial Security.

“Now as to your duty, your stepfather and I have made sure that you had a proper dress uniform,” Commandant Tall said, gesturing to the clothing in James’ arms, “And I am lending you the services of my personal steward to assist you. You’ve managed to miss the ceremony, but you will not miss the reception. Is that clear?”

“Yes Commandant,” I answered, snapping to full attention. I picked up the red tunic from James’ waiting arms. I immediately noticed that the four silver circles of a chief warrant were missing. I felt the emotional spike of hesitant wariness from the Commandant as he saw me notice the absent rank.

“Ah yes, that.” Commandant Tall paused for a moment. “Against our long traditions, and over my vehement protests, the Ministry of Defense has decided that it wants a formal school for the Imperial Rangers. The details are still being sorted out, but I still need to have a teaching cadre ready. I managed to fill most of the slots, but I’m short a lieutenant.” He held up his hand sharply before I could voice my refusal. “I already know your personal reservations, but I will not let you refuse this commission. First, because I need Rangers with a variety of experiences instructing our recruits. You’ve served in just about every environment we Rangers encounter. Second, you are one of the few psychics amongst our ranks. I need your unique perspective to help train the instructors and to assist the new cadets that have psychic abilities. Finally, if I’m being forced to stop centuries of tradition that has served this branch well, then I am going to make it very painful for them by appointing the one Ranger they truly despise to the training cadre.” I grimaced, but the commandant was correct in his points. I was doubtful that I was the best person to train and mold cadets into Rangers, but the commandant was confident. I nodded wordlessly to Commandant Tall. I didn’t trust my voice at that moment. My own emotions were too cyclonic for me to be anywhere near coherent. I just stood there as James helped me into my new uniform. Tall and Stephen had outdone themselves – it fit better than my old one and was more comfortable. I would never admit it to either man, but I appreciated that they really had spared no expense in the manufacture of my mess dress. Even Rangers known for their hard edges, like myself, enjoy the occasional pampering – although we would never say so and hammer down anyone that did.

Commandant Tall handed me my saber and pistol while James handed me my worn Stetson. Standing at attention, Commandant Tall attached the gold bars of a lieutenant to my epaulets. Appropriately dressed, I formed a telekinetic crutch and walked out with the two men. The nurses were none too happy about me leaving until I showed the head nurse that I wasn’t putting any more strain on my injuries. Sometimes being a psychic was useful.

The reception was being held at the New Town Museum of Art. Sissy was an art aficionado, much like our mother. The Museum was a sprawling complex of exquisite glass and stone. I knew from conversations with Sissy and my mother it was considered a jewel of architecture. In short, it was the perfect place for Sissy’s reception. As I walked into the main gallery, I could see meters and meters of satin and lace ribbons and banners. The guests were milling about with glasses of champagne and small plates of hors d’ovuers. James whispered to the doorman as we entered the gallery.

“Announcing Lord Vallon, Commandant Imperial Rangers and Lieutenant Stahl, Imperial Rangers.” Heads turned towards us, and I felt the surge of surprise that shot through the crowd. The upper strata of society were surprised that I was being rewarded for killing one of their own. The surprise melted to disdain as they collectively remembered that I also atrociously injured one of their favorite sons. As I half-hobbled into the room, Sissy emerged from the crowd with her normal burst of uncontained energy. I just smiled as she slammed into my sore body. As I stood there with Sissy, her new husband, and Commandant Tall, the disdain of the crowd became muted.

“I was worried you’d be hiding behind your injuries when I didn’t see you at the ceremony,” Sissy said with a mocking tone. I gave her a level look, to which she just laughed.

“Be fair Sissy,” I said, “These aren’t minor things. I had to spend the whole morning in the hospital before the commandant could spring me.” She gave me a mischievous smile in response. I bent down and kissed her lightly on the cheek and whispered into my sister’s ear, “I’m about to do something that’s going to upset your new husband.”

As I stood back up, I looked my new brother-in-law in the eye. My face went from smiling to slightly menacing. It was a mask that I learned from experienced Rangers. It was the do-not-even-attempt-to-screw-with-me look we used on bandits, freetowners, and adolescents. Kevin wilted quickly under my gaze. “Let me make something clear. I do not hold you personally responsible for Lord Chamberlain’s actions. That said, I have a strong suspicion that his position as patron of the Firsts shielded him.”

“We did no such–” Kevin began to protest. My glare cut him off in midsentence. I could feel Kevin’s anger turn to fear as the silence between us stretched out. I could see him brace. He really thought I was going to hit him. Too much television.

“I was talking, so you will stay quiet,” I stated, “You and the Firsts let your privilege get the better of you. You and yours lived in a sense of denial. That comes to an end now. Something is happening. Something big, and you and yours are going to help. The military will need all of the support it can get, and you will be on the forefront.” Kevin didn’t like what I was telling him, but he agreed. He knew that there was something going on – something that the Human Empire wasn’t fully aware of, but threatening its existence. He made no further protest. He just simply nodded and walked back to his new wife. Sissy just gave me a knowing nod and escorted Kevin back to where the Firsts were waiting with an anxious fear. Kevin would let them know. Commandant Tall and I knew that if the Human Empire were to survive its next challenge, the aristocrats would have to stand firmly behind the throne. Some of us just needed to push them in the right direction.

A Story Of Ranger Eric Stahl

There are some days that change a person. Then there are some days that can change the course of the Empire. Then, there are the days that do both. Mine started on what should have been a day of peace. The Empire had been basking in the glory of its triumphant Red Lake Campaign for the past ten years. The Imperial Armed Forces had taken what had been a normal border battle between Imperial Army forces and a large force of Dark Towers creaturs and had begun a five-year campaign that had ended with the Human Empire seizing the vital Red Lake. The Red Lake was the largest body of fresh water on the continent and fed three major rivers, one of which flowed into the heart of the Dark Towers’ territory. Control of the Red Lake meant control of the majority of the water ways. With the Imperial Navy’s “brown water” section as strong as it was, the Human Empire could project its force deep into the Dark Towers’ territory. It had been a costly campaign, though. Nearly four hundred thousand human and elven soldiers as well as hundreds of aborigines were killed in the brutal campaign, and several times more were injured. It was generally believed that casualties on the other side must have been severe also because no Dark Towers’ forces started up the familiar violent cycle since the establishing of the ten-kilometer perimeter around the lake. Usually, one of the Towers would have mobilized a large enough army to put constant pressure on the border. They hadn’t this time. There had only been sporadic raids along the border and into the northern territories. It was as peaceful as it had been on the continent since humanity had first encountered the Dark Towers and their minions. The Empire was pleased. Everyone knew it was going to take time to incorporate the hundreds of square kilometers that had been just added to our territory, but that was expected, and quite frankly, heavily anticipated. Over the past decade enterprising people started their way north to claim homesteads and to start up businesses near the forts and magrails that had helped push our armies forward. It would take time before all of the territory was formed into sectors. In the meantime, our new territories had been divided into four governorships. It was rough for people in those areas. I knew. I had just finished an eighteen-month stint with the third governorship that stretched the southern border of the new territory– what had been the Human Empire’s northern border just fifteen years ago.

My name is Eric Stahl, and I am a soldier in the Imperial Security Ranging Patrol Force, better known as the Imperial Rangers. Imperial Security was the branch of the military designated to handle internal threats, and the Rangers were the long range scouts for the regular garrisons. It was the Rangers that did most of the patrolling in the vast open lands between the various territorial cities, allied towns, free towns, and homesteads. Primarily, the Rangers were looking for Dark Towers’ forces that managed to open a portal within our territory and send out a mess of orcs or goblins. Once Rangers find those nasty creatures, we can call in whatever Imperial forces are around, assuming a communications airship is available, or we can deputize whatever civilian forces are available. We also round up bandits as well as ensure the free towns – those towns that refute Imperial allegiance – stay on the straight and narrow. Just because people don’t want to join the Empire doesn’t mean they can go around and cause trouble for the Empire. Rangers make sure of this. We also did small things like handle small citizen disputes, and occasionally assist local law enforcement with problems.

I was considered a pretty decent Ranger, even without the advantages that my powers gave me. Considering both the rigorous nature of a Ranger’s duties and our generally reserved attitude, it was high praise from my colleagues. It was also the reason that I had been detached from normal duty station of the Tam Bay sector on the west coast of the Imperial Peninsula and sent north to the third governorship, which the residents just called the 3G. The 3G had become a hotbed of bandits, hostile freetowns, and leftover Dark Towers’ forces. To make matters worse, the Imperial Security forces - including the Rangers – in the 3G were corrupt and adding to the horror. The violence and chaos in the 3G had deteriorated enough that the Emperor had formally directed Imperial Security to replace its current leadership with new ones and to take control of the 3G and reestablish stability. Just to back it up, the Emperor also placed an entire Imperial Army division at the disposal of Imperial Security – something rarely done, and a true indicator of how incensed the Emperor was over the situation. Rangers from all over the Empire were assembled and tasked with reforming the Rangers in the 3G into a viable and honorable force, something we hadn’t anticipated when we first arrived on station.

The first six months had become known as the “Rangers’ Civil War.” It was perhaps one of the darkest incidents in my life. I hated seeing those soldiers who wore the same famous silver star on their uniforms so disgracing our traditions, and I hated that I had to find them and kill them. The Rangers didn’t tolerate those who disgraced us, and our enemies knew it. There were several pitched battles, and we ended up seizing a lot of free towns that harbored the excommunicated Rangers. We didn’t get all of the traitors, but we forced enough of them out that the citizens of the 3G no longer cringed when they saw a Ranger riding through.

Then came the hard work of fully stabilizing the governership. The real fun of that part was meeting and establishing relationships with the various aborigine tribes. Rangers have a long history of amicable relationships with aborigines, but we had no problems with hunting down tribes that decided to raid Imperial settlements. It was the newly reestablished Rangers that began negotiations with the tribes of the 3G to enlist the aborigines’ aid to ensure the safety of Imperial citizens within the 3G. It was hard work, but the four major tribes of the 3G had finally agreed that humans in their territory were not to be raided, and that trade was allowed between the human settlers and the tribes. Some of those agreements had been cemented during a particularly nasty fight between Rangers, Imperial Security forces, the tribes, and nearly ten centuries of orcs with accompanying goblins. The Battle of Black Rocks began when an Imperial Security company had found the main stronghold of the Dark Towers within the 3G. Then, as the saying goes, the company threw a battle, and everyone came, including the aborigines, and myself. My stint finished with the 3G just about to be broken into the new Utalla and Ypres sectors. For my service, I had been awarded a silver chit (for my assistance with the negotiations with the aborigines), a gold chit (for my actions during the Battle of Black Rocks), as well as a nice promotion to Warrant Officer First-Class. I got the feeling from the governor that if I had asked for a commission, I would have been made a lieutenant on the spot and given part of the Ypres sector. I was grateful that the authorities thought highly of my work, but I wanted to return to the humid grasslands of the Tam Bay sector. Before I did that, though, I decided to do something I rarely did. I took a week of leave and went to visit my mother in New Town.

I had nothing personally against my mother, but our relationship was effectively stunted the moment I realized that her marriage to my father had been only an alliance between her aristocratic family and my father’s commercial family, and I was essentially the part of the deal that benefited my father’s family. That is not to say that she spurned me or didn’t show me affection. It was just that she just relinquished the majority of her parenting duties to my father and his family so that they could groom me to work in the family firm. After all, I was a first born. When my father was killed in an orc raid on one of our holdings, my mother promptly packed up my sister and their belongings and returned to her hometown of Liberty. I was left to my father’s family raise. I was fifteen. The family shrink said I developed abandonment issues. She wanted intensive therapy to help me deal with my rage – especially in light of my burgeoning powers. Instead, I followed the advice of my grandfather. On my eighteenth birthday, I joined Imperial Security and became a Ranger. Grandpa was right. The Rangers gave me a sense of belonging and a mature outlook on my life. My earlier resentments dissipated and I settled into the rough and tumble life of an Imperial Ranger. It annoyed my father’s family that I didn’t resign after my first hitch, but Grandpa and my Uncle Dennis laid down the law. I was allowed to be a Ranger for as long as I wanted, and my family wasn’t to bother me about it. They still did, but they were at least subtle enough that I could ignore them without being rude.

My mother had returned to her social circle in Liberty and ended up marrying the Lord of Manattan in New Town. I didn’t like Stephen much, nor his eldest son, but I could tell he was truly in love with my mother, so I did my best to maintain a civil relationship. Being a lord and a politician, Stephen recognized my gesture for what it was and returned the sentiment. His eldest son, George, on the other hand, continued acting like a spoiled aristocratic brat. Fortunately, George and his younger brother Timothy were commissioned officers with the Imperial Army and they were gone when I visited my mother. I had hoped to see my sister, but she was attending school in the capitol city of Crash.

The day started normally. I had been in New Town for a couple of days already, so there was no more standing on ceremony. By long ingrained habit, I had awoken an hour before dawn to do my daily chores. At five-thirty in the morning, the only people roaming about Manattan Keep were some of the cooks and a few of the personal servants. My mother and her husband wouldn’t be down for breakfast until eight in the morning, so activity was kept to a minimum. Some of the servants grinned with amusement as they saw me go through my morning ritual. First, of course, was PT down in the Keep’s gym. A half-hour of running on the treadmills and some weight work wasn’t as much as I normally did, but it kept me in shape while I was on leave. I spent the next hour on my weapons and gear. I cleaned the firearms, sharpened and oiled my saber, checked the action on my retractable spear, and made sure that my riding and personal gear was in order. I still had a few days left on leave, but a Ranger is always ready at a moment’s notice. It was a tradition as old as the Rangers themselves, and I had no idea that the tradition would be so important that day. As soon as I was satisfied that I had fulfilled my obligations, I cleaned myself up for the coming day. Then I went to meet with Halle.

I had no real problem with the personal assistant that my Stephen’s chief of staff assigned to me during my leave. As the stepson to one of the six district lords – one who was also making a name for himself as a firebrand for the Liberal Party in the House of Lords – I was perfectly aware of how the media and Stephen’s political opponents were watching me. Personally, I didn’t care, but part of my maintaining a civil relationship with my stepfather was not putting myself into a situation that could have problems for his political career. Stephen had never asked me to pretend to support him or his politics – which I vehemently didn’t – and in return for that consideration, I didn’t make my opposition public. I even occasionally showed up at one of the numerous little affairs that usually took up an aristocrat’s daily schedule. Which is why I had Halle to remind me of those affairs that were more important than others. I looked down at my watch. It was seven in the morning. I suddenly started feeling a little queasy, but I just chalked it up to needing something to eat. Even I sometimes forget to pay attention to the little things.

Halle had her normal strained smile on her face. She tried to mask it, but I knew she despised having to work with me. One of the advantages of having my powers was that it was almost impossible for people to hide how they felt. I am a psychic, primarily an empath. I can sense emotions. More than that, I was an empathic hunter. Once I had someone’s unique psi-scent, not only would I recognize it again instantly, but I could track the person from the “ghost” emotions that people leave trailing behind them. Amongst psychics, I am considered to be a very powerful empathic hunter, which was a problem until I learned how to control it. Most of the time, I just felt a person’s psi-scent and whatever strong emotions are running through them. Opening my empathy fully could be overpowering even in small cities like Tam Bay, much less the sprawling metropolis of New Town. Still, I enjoyed my powers, even those other powers that I didn’t use very often. They were part of what made me a successful Ranger. I don’t think Halle was told exactly what I could do, but there was something about me that she didn’t like. It’s not like I have telepathy. I couldn’t read her thoughts. I sat through her telling me Stephen and my mother’s schedule, informing me what invitations had been offered to me by individuals and organizations hoping to make inroads with Stephen, and reiterating once again how I needed to watch my decorum. At first, that last part annoyed me. After all, I had been in the military for nine years, almost all of that time as a Ranger. Rangers were expected to maintain a professional attitude no matter what. When a Ranger is dealing with feuding homesteaders, deceitful free townspeople, bandits, and aborigines, that professional attitude could be just effective as the weapons we carried. Then I came to the realization that Halle had absolutely no idea what the military demanded of its Rangers, and she wouldn’t even if I explained it to her. After that, I just ignored her and concentrated on finishing my leave without incident. It was seven forty-five when the two of us began to walk to the dining room to join Stephen and my mother for breakfast. As the two of us walked along the plush-carpeted hallway, the dizzying wave of power hit me. As I collapsed to the floor amidst Halle’s startled scream, my mind made the logical jump. Someone had just let loose some powerful magic in Manattan. Magic that powerful could only mean one thing – it had been something from the Dark Towers.

I scrambled back to my feet and ran the distance to the dining room. Stephen’s head of security was a former Praetorian and a minor psychic as well, and although we had a personal dislike, we were both professionally respectful. As I entered the room, I saw Stephen on the telephone with his head of security, Major Higgins, leaning up against a wall next to him. Higgins and I traded a look and both of us knew that the other had felt the wave. Since his powers were nowhere near my level, the wave didn’t affect him as strongly as it did with me. My mother was sitting at the table looking like nothing was wrong, but I knew that she was nervous. She knew that something was going on, but she didn’t know exactly what. Stephen glanced up at me as I came into the room. He didn’t say or show anything, but there was some measure of relief as I came into the room. I pulled Major Higgins off to the side to get whatever information I could. Something bad was happening, and I was a Ranger. I needed to be a part of the action.

“I know you felt that too,” I said, “Do the elves know what just happened?” There was a large community of elves that lived in Manattan and another in Brooklyn. Elves had been allies with the Human Empire since shortly after humanity crashed on this planet. The elves, unlike humans, could cast magic, and they had contributed heavily to our understanding in how it works. I say our, as in humanity in general. I had the principles of magic explained to me more than once in school and during training to become a Ranger. It just never made sense to me. Major Higgins looked at me and then shook his head.

“The lord is speaking with the Earl of New Town,” Higgins said, his voice still uneasy. I wish I could have known what he was feeling, but being a former Praetorian, Higgins had some strong mental defenses. “He sent two of my people down to the elven temple to see if the elves will give him a liaison. What are you going to do?”

“I am going to go get geared up,” I told him, “That was too strong of a power wave. The Army and Marines will take a while before they are ready to assist and Imperial Security only has a little over a battalion of troops in the entire city and only a company of those are on this island. They’re going to need every trained soldier that they can get their hands on.” I thought for a moment. “Is he going to call the bases?”

“That’s up to the Earl,” Higgins answered. I cursed under my breath. By long tradition, Imperial Security soldiers were under the direct command of the local aristocracy, usually the earl of the city. New Town was odd in that each of the districts had a company of Imperial Security troops assigned under each of the district lords. Although there was a big Army base in Bronx and a naval base in Brooklyn, those soldiers and marines were under direct Imperial control and couldn’t become involved unless either the earl asked for them or the Emperor directed them to become involved. It was one of those power checks that must have sounded good when the Empire was being organized, but too many of the earls thought it would make them look weak to call on imperial forces instead of relying on their own Imperial Security troops and law enforcement officers. I was a Ranger, and therefore Imperial Security, so I had no problems about becoming involved.

“Do we know where the wave originated?” I asked. I was pretty sure it was on the island, but the wave was so powerful, I couldn’t determine exactly where it could have come from. All I did know was that it had erupted somewhere in New Town, and I would have to get to where it had originated as fast as I could.

“No, but I will let you know where when we find out,” Higgins said, “Go get your gear, and tell the Keep’s armorer I said to release anything else that you need.” It was at that point that I realized the true depth of what was happening. I spent days arguing with Higgins about keeping my weapons in my room rather than the Keep’s armory. He didn’t trust me, even beyond the normal professional paranoia of a bodyguard. If he was encouraging me to take up arms, Higgins was really worried about what was happening. I wasted no time, saluted Higgins and Stephen, and raced back down to my room. I had to get ready. It was eight o’clock in the morning.

I really didn’t like wearing the body armor, but it had saved my life more than once. The main component was the flak jacket. It covered my chest and stretched down to a skirt. It was made of a lightweight, cut-resistant fabric with layers of cloth and embedded steel plates that could protect against most things that the Dark Forces or bandits could throw at me. The jacket had matching bracers and grieves, which were annoying, but would keep my limbs from being removed if I met up with a nasty orc and its battle axe. A helmet of fabric-covered steel completed my combat armor. I belted the helmet to my waist. I hated wearing the thing unless I had no other choice. Until then, the traditional black Stetson hat would stay firmly on my head. The web gear went over the combat armor with its myriad of pouches for ammunition and the various items that a soldier would need in combat. The pistol and carbine were newest Army models, specifically designed with the lessons learned in the Red Lake Campaign. The saber, on the other hand, was ancient by comparison. It had been by my side since I had first put on the silver star within a circle that proudly proclaimed me as a Ranger, and it had been by my grandfather’s side when he put on the same star and helped tame the Tam Bay sector in its infancy. I could feel a certain sense of power every time I picked up the sword, like the comforting sense that the spirits of Rangers of old were watching over me. It was a comfortable feeling. I placed the shaft of the retractable spear in its holder on my back. The regular army rifles had the spring loaded spear built into them, allowing the infantryman to keep the huge monstrosities of the Dark Towers out of lethal arm reach. Rangers carried the smaller carbine that lacked that particular feature, so we carried a retractable spear that went from a half-meter rod to a two meter pole arm with heavy brackets to keep the orcs and other things from sliding down the shaft. The point was actually one of my bayonets. They were designed to punch into a creature and stay there to keep the wound open, and were easily released. I usually had three bayonets on my person and another half dozen on my horse. I was about to head down to the stables when the phone rang on the bedside stand and Major Higgins voice filled the receiver. “It’s at the Trade Park.”

The Trade Park was an old commercial district at the south end of Manattan Island which had been rebuilt in the last ten years into a modern commercial and financial center. It held the headquarters or branches of most of the top firms in the empire, including one that belonged to my family’s firm. If the Dark Forces were attacking there, I didn’t have the time to properly saddle up my horse and ride down the island. I ran up to the roof of the Keep. As I looked to the south, I saw the three large towers of the Trade Park. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but I could feel evil emanating from the towers. Gathering my strength, I took two steps and leapt off the roof.

Telekinetic flying is difficult to the untrained. I literally have to mentally lift up my own body weight and the weight of everything that I was carrying, and then constantly keep myself propelled with a wagon wheel of telekinetic energy. To do it with any type of speed requires intensive instruction, which is why the wonderful folks at the Psi-Academy train a person so hard once the instructors know the psychic has enough telekinetic strength to do it. It had taken me weeks of work before I could fly properly. It had taken weeks longer before I could do it without having to consciously maintain every small detail. This was important, because at the moment, having to concentrate on the act of flying across the city was the least of my worries. As I streaked across the sky, I began to feel the vile psi-scent of the Dark Towers coming from the Trade Park. It was strong and powerful, more than anything that I ever felt before. I tightened my hand around the pistol grip of my carbine as the tall buildings of the Trade Park loomed in front of me. The three large towers were in a triangle phalanx at the south end of the island, each topping off at twenty stories. I heard stories that humans used to construct buildings well over a hundred stories, but on this world it was difficult enough to build to fifteen stories without the constant needs of the military driving up the price of building materials and construction equipment. Running down the east and west sides of the Trade Park were several smaller buildings that surrounded a large park. The peaceful lawns and fountains looked incongruous with the Prowler armored personnel carriers parked in front and the Imperial Security soldiers milling around.

I landed with a thump, getting several weapons trained at me from nervous soldiers. Imperial Security rarely saw any heavy action this far south, so most of the troops were rarely experienced fighting against anything more than the constant goblin infestation. This was something much worse, and they knew it – and were terrified. An officer with captain’s bars appeared from the crowd and approached me as I stood up. I saluted quickly, and read his name badge. COLBERT. “Ranger Stahl, reporting for duty, sir.”

“Where did you come from Ranger?” the Captain Colbert asked. His psi-scent told me he was confused, scared, and more than a little relieved at my arrival. “Are you from the Praetorians?”

“Not on your life, sir,” I answered firmly, “I actually like being out in the field. I’ve just got some power behind me, is all. Technically I’m on leave, but I felt the power wave from whatever has infested the Trade Park and headed down here. What do you need from me, sir?” The captain seemed satisfied with my answer, and I began to see how young he was. He was probably a few years out of one of the military academies, and he was so nervous I was surprised he wasn’t trembling. I got the distinct impression from the captain’s and his lieutenants’ emotions that Colbert was new to the company.

“All right, I’ve got my company here and the Manattan district of the New Town PD is sending its Emergency Response Team down,” the captain said. “That gives me an additional platoon’s worth of armed personnel, and you. I don’t know when any other forces will be getting here.” He didn’t look happy with his forces. Neither did I. Not looking at the massive towers. I could just imagine the havoc that could be wreaked in those monoliths. Worse, we didn’t have an exact location for the Dark Towers’ forces.

“Are the elves coming?” I asked. We would need them to destroy the portal or portals that the Dark Forces had managed to open. Plus, the elves would be able to localize where the Dark Towers had opened the portals. Captain Colbert just shrugged his shoulders. I really didn’t want to do the locating myself, but I didn’t see any other option. At least not one that didn’t involve putting the Imperial Security soldiers on the pointy end of the stick. My own distaste and discomfort paled in comparison to lives being lost needlessly. “Captain, would you excuse me for a moment? I need to find out where our enemy is.” He gave me a goggled-eye nod and I walked a few meters away from the company. I closed my eyes and let my psi-senses open up fully.

The putrid psi-scents blasted through me with almost enough force to knock me off my feet. I was used to picking up forces of at least a century’s worth of orcs, but this was much worse. The Center Building and the Kromer Building burned with the scent of thousands of orcs, goblins, and hobgoblins. It was completely beyond the scope of anything I had dealt with before. This wasn’t a raid. This was an invasion.

I tore myself away from the Center and Kromer buildings to take closer looks at the rest of the Trade Park complex. With great relief, I felt none of the unique vileness of the Dark Towers emanating from the other buildings. My task completed, I pulled back my psi-senses to their normal levels. I looked up and felt the concern coming from the Imperial Security troops around me. They looked worried, and I could feel the anxiety and fear that permeated the company. I wished that I could comfort them, but what they faced was far worse than they expected. I carefully closed down my empathic senses to a manageable level and carefully walked back to Captain Colbert. I was still a little unsteady, and I didn’t want the troops to see it. It would have gone against the Ranger tradition.

“Captain, we need the Army and the Marines,” I said. I hoped that I was still living up to the stoic Ranger tradition, and I was a little scared that the gravity of what I had felt was being conveyed by my body language and tone. “We also need the elves to get down here immediately to counteract whatever magic has been used to open the portals.”

“I’ve already spoken to my battalion commander,” Colbert answered, and I could feel the frustration that was behind his words, “He’s trying to get the other companies down here from the other districts, but so far only the Queens and Brooklyn companies have departed. The Earl has refused to ask for Imperial support, and my colonel won’t discuss it further than that. As for the elves, I just don’t know. They haven’t said anything as far as battalion knows.” He was frustrated, angry, and completely lost as to handle the situation. It was just something that no one had contemplated, and therefore, no had trained for the scenario. I couldn’t comprehend why the lords and the Earl of New Town hadn’t thrown all of their resources into the growing problem, but I had to guess that they were unaware of exactly how grievous the situation was. Shaking my head, I began to focus on what could be done at the moment.

“Captain, sir, I respectfully suggest we get NTPD down here to evacuate all of the buildings except for Center and Kromer. Our enemies are in those buildings,” I began, using the famous tone of a knowledgeable subordinate respectfully ordering his not-so-knowledgeable superior to do the right things. Thankfully, Colbert was fully receptive to this and pulled his platoon leaders and sergeants into the discussion. “We need to get a message to the elves directly. Where’s the nearest temple?”

“Tenth Street, Ranger,” one of the sergeants answered, “I can have a runner there in five minutes, sir.” The sergeant directed his comments at the captain, but it was understood who the real recipient of the comments was. Colbert may have been a shiny new captain, but his officers and noncoms were obviously experienced with how operations went. They may not have had to fight anything stronger than a bunch of goblins, but they could recognize someone who had, and they would rely on my “advice” as much as they could.

“No, ask NTPD to get me one of the temple elders,” the captain answered before I could make the same suggestion. I nodded in response, and I made a mental note to mention the captain to Stephen. This man was thinking on his feet and was willing to swallow his pride to listen to the advice of a warrant officer. It was a rare combination, especially in Imperial Security units so far from the border. Too many of those unites were used as “safe” positions for well-connected officers. “Anything else, Ranger?”

“Two actually, sir,” I answered, respectfully, “First, we need to get any and all active and inactive reserves that show up organized and ready for action. Secondly, I need to get a hold of the Ranger station in Queens. That would give us a dozen Rangers, assuming they are already not on their way down.”

“You really think that reservists will show up?” asked one of the sergeants.

“They will if the captain asks for them,” I replied. The officers paled at the suggestion. A consequence of humanity’s almost constant warring with the Dark Towers was the large numbers of people who had served their obligatory tour with the military. About twenty percent of the population was on active reserve, ready to be called up to serve if needed. Another thirty percent of the population belonged to the inactive reserve. These were men and women capable of fighting, but were not current on their training. These were to be called up only in cases of extreme need. Usually, only the Ministry of Defense could call up the reserves, but there was a legal proviso allowing commissioned and warrant officers on scene to call up the local reservists to assist in a conflict. Rangers used this frequently in the field to form posses against Dark Towers and bandits. Unfortunately, with the rigid aristocratic tradition of the Imperial Security commissioned officer corps, junior officers were reluctant to do anything so audacious that might reflect poorly on their superiors’ judgment. After all, if the colonels and generals didn’t think the reservists were needed, who was a mere captain to question their exalted decision. The problem was that the colonels and generals were having their hands tied by the Earl and the lords, and Captain Colbert needed to shake things loose, or at least, get enough troops to do his job properly. There was another thing that needed to be done, but I had said enough shocking things for the officers. I would have to wait to see if I needed to go dig up more reinforcements on my own.

As our group continued speaking, New Town police began showing up in force. Cars with emergency lights blazing encircled the front of the Trade Park as four, old Hatchet APC’s drove up to where the Imperial Security soldiers were standing. Police officers in older body armor and carrying sub-machine guns climbed out of the Hatchets and began forming up ranks with military precision. The officer in charge, Lt. Horngren, watched his police officers for a moment, and then walked over to where the Imperial Security officers and sergeants and I were standing. I knew Lt. Horngren from a reception that I had attended shortly after I arrived in New Town. He and I had quickly struck up a friendly acquaintance over a long conversation at the party, and I was glad to see him. I knew he was experienced in the kind of hard fighting I was expecting from his time in the regular Army before he had joined the police force.

“Captain, Lt. Horngren, NTPD,” he introduced himself, with a casual salute, “What do you need my people to do, sir?” It was direct, professional, and exactly what was needed.

“Ranger Stahl has localized the Dark Towers in the Center and Kromer buildings,” Colbert answered. Lt. Horngren gave me a suspicious look, so I pointed to the Psi-Academy tab on my uniform. Apparently satisfied with my unspoken explanation, Horngren turned back to Colbert, who continued without any outward acknowledgement of the exchange. “I don’t know when the rest of Imperial Security is going to arrive, but we need to get those people out of those buildings. Regular NTPD can evacuate the rest of the buildings.” Colbert was definitely following Imperial Security’s mission, but I was unsure if the forces on the ground were sufficient for what he was asking.

“Captain, I understand your sense of duty to get the civilians out of harm’s way, but there’s a ton of bad guys in those buildings,” I interjected, “If you send in the troops now, I don’t think you would be able to hold against any determined attack. It would be best if we set up a perimeter around the buildings and waited for additional forces, either from Imperial Security or from the NTPD.” Horngren and the others in our huddle seemed to agree. Colbert looked northward to the growing encampment of regular police and rescue personnel. Dozens of paramedics and fire personnel were waiting to rush wounded to the local hospitals. I could see the strained anguish in the young man’s face. He turned back to us with a look of determination.

“I will take First Platoon into the Kromer building,” he stated with a tone that brooked no argument, “Lt. Alson, you will take Third Platoon into the Center building. Both platoons will advance slowly to assist any and all civilians to evacuate the buildings. Second Platoon and the ERT will assist with getting the civilians to the emergency personnel. We will withdraw to defensive positions and hold the moment we come into contact with any heavy opposition. Ranger, how powerful are you?”

“I can be very powerful Captain,” I answered without any modesty or reserve. I didn’t like his plan, but I would be damned if I didn’t help him succeed. “What do you need me to do sir?”

“For the moment, assist with the evacuation, but I want you ready to act as cavalry,” Colbert answered, “If the fighting becomes too heavy, I expect you to assist in helping my people withdraw, either to defensive positions or completely out of the buildings.” It may have sounded good, but Colbert didn’t have a clue how best to use my powers. He didn’t wait for to hear any objections and began issuing orders to his platoons.

“Lt. Horngren, we better get this rolling,” I said, looking on as the captain formed up his platoons. I had a nasty feeling I wouldn’t be seeing the captain again.

The platoons began their assaults at eight forty-five in the morning with simultaneous charges of armed Imperial Security soldiers. The Haligan tower was being evacuated as the New Town Fire-Rescue Department moved in their armored ambulances as members of the Special Emergency Units began moving into the lobbies of the Kromer and Center buildings. Horngren and I looked at each other in stunned amazement. Both of us were pretty sure that Colbert had asked Fire-Rescue to hold off its people until Imperial Security had secured large sections of the building and could begin an orderly evacuation. Horngren charged to the fire captain on scene. Lt. Golf, commander of Second Platoon, watched in amazement as Horngren began yelling at the fire captain to pull his people out until Imperial Security cleared the building. The fire captain began yelling back at the lieutenant, and although the volume was rather impressive, they were still too far for me to make out any of the words. The emotions from both men were spiking hard with anger and righteous indignation. Both of them were still arguing when the fighting began.

There was almost simultaneous reports of contact with orcs from both First and Third platoons. First platoon reported numerous orcs on the eighth floor while Third platoon hit a force of orcs and goblins around the seventh floor. Lt. Horngren and the fire captain were still yelling at each other and Lt. Golf looked at a loss of what to do. The radioman, better known as an RTO (radio-telephone operator), of Second platoon looked at me with a pleading look. I straightened my shoulders and looked at the soldiers and police officers. It was time to go to work.

“Second Platoon, form up for entrance on the Kromer!” I bellowed, “ERT, form up for entrance on the Center. Sergeants, have your men mount bayonets! Handlers, have your animals ready for combat!” The soldiers reacted with surprising alacrity. They may have never thought they would actually be called upon to use their skills, but they were ready to do so. The police officers raggedly followed suit. ERT was used to dealing with dangerous humans. The most inhuman thing they fought was the occasional aborigine that got out of hand or goblin that had attacked a human. Fighting orcs was beyond their normal operations. I would have to lead them if the lieutenant didn’t get finished with his disagreement with the fire captain. I didn’t have to worry. Apparently, my bellowed commands were enough to end the argument.

“Thank you Ranger,” Lt. Horngren said as he walked up to me. He looked at the two platoons, “Lt. Golf, please have your men begin their assault on Kromer. My men, we will assault Center. We are going to relieve the others and help extricate the wounded. Ranger, would you please await the rest of the forces?” I hated when members of the aristocracy reverted to their overly-polite speech. It was patronizing and usually completely out of place, such as now. I also didn’t want them to go into those buildings without me. I had fought more orcs and goblins than any of the soldiers or police sweating in front of the towers.

“You are going to need me,” I told Lt. Horngren, “I can fight better than any of your people.” Horngren just shook his head. I thought Horngren was going to be a better officer, but he was reverting to that aristocratic foolish officer that I had evaded for most of my professional life. He would go charging into those buildings, his men would follow, and all of them would die because they wouldn’t know what they were going up against. Horngren turned away from me and began leading his men into the Center Building. Lt. Golf gave me a helpless, humorless smile as he walked over to his platoon and led them into the Kromer building. I began cursing under my breath as I watched the soldiers and police officers storm into the towers. I was pretty sure that I wouldn’t see any of them again unless I got into those buildings and saved them myself. Arrogant, maybe, but I knew what I was capable of handling.

“Ranger?” a gruff voice asked me from behind, “Are you handling us?” The man standing before me was about my height with dark brown hair and even darker eyes, and maybe twenty years my senior. He was dressed in a well-tailored blue suit that had been slightly torn and tattered from the evacuation of the towers.

“Evacuees are being handled by NTFD,” I said, shaking my head.

“I don’t think you understand, Ranger,” the man said, straightening up and firing off a quick salute, “Sergeant First-Class Jeffries, inactive reserve.” I gave him a closer inspection. He was older, but he was in shape. His emotions showed that he was calm and confident. He reminded me of Chief Ward, the senior warranted Ranger in Tam Bay. I guessed Jefferies had probably been a top kick before he left the service. He would definitely be an asset in getting whatever reservists showed up to help.

“Okay Sarge, what weapons do you have?” I asked, returning the salute.

“Just a sidearm sir,” Jeffries answered, “There’s a reservist armory a few blocks away. I know the guys on duty over there. Their commanding officer was a butterbar with me.” I grinned at the sergeant’s comment. For all the lofty, aristocratic notions that many of the officers in the armed forces affected, all of them had a fondness for the noncoms that helped guide them in their early years. Many forged relationships that endured far beyond their careers in the military.

“Good, as soon as we get some more here, I’ll send you to go get our weapons,” I told him, “Hopefully the earl will get the regulars in here before that.”

“Not likely, sir,” Jeffries replied, “The earl’s been in a pride fight with the Imperial Cabinet. He’s going to want his own forces to handle this without involving the regulars.” There were days I really hated the aristocratic parts of my government. I knew that the founders had a reason for setting up a nobility after the Crash, but I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. It was kind of like studying magic – I knew that it worked, but I couldn’t understand the underlying principles. “I know of some more inactives on my floor and a couple of others. Request permission to round them up?”

“Go to it, Sarge, break a few arms,” I answered. Jeffries gave me that peculiar noncom smile and left with that calm alacrity that they must teach in sergeants’ school. I listened on the radio as ERT and Second platoon made contact. The voices on the radio were confident as they made contact. Then came the panic as they realized exactly how many creatures had been ported in. Automatic weapons could scythe down orc after orc - at least as long as the magazine still held bullets. Then the full force of the Dark Towers hundred-to-one force disparity would come crashing down. Artillery, vehicle-mounted heavy weapons, grenades, specially-bred attack dogs, and the occasional psychic usually allowed Imperial forces to overcome the disparity. In the close confines of an office tower filled with civilians, the only thing that would keep the force disparity from hammering down on them would be the intensive small unit tactics training that the military rigorously enforced, including fire discipline. The Imperial Security soldiers might have had some training, but I was very certain that the ERT officers didn’t possess that kind of training. It wasn’t a slight to them, but at the end of the day, the ERT were police officers, not soldiers. It started to show as I listened to the RTOs report. The soldiers couldn’t keep up with waves of orcs and smaller goblins. How had the Dark Towers ported in so many of their forces? I was going to need more help than some reservists. I just hoped that I wouldn’t have to ask for help from the Praetorians. They had a superiority complex that made them almost impossible to work with. Powerful, yes, but I would rather work with soldiers that would listen to me rather than dismiss me because I wasn’t a part of their unit.

I knew that two more Imperial Security companies were on their way, as well as the Rangers in Queens. Their arrival times were anywhere from thirty minutes to two hours. The bridges onto Manattan were clogged with people fleeing. New Town hadn’t seen a raid in over fifty years, much less something of this size. The population didn’t know how to handle themselves and were in panic. Complacency was always a dangerous thing in a city’s population. The reservists were all I had, and from the trickle that Jeffries was dragging in, I would be lucky to form a platoon. As soon as I had a squad, I sent them under a reservist corporal to fetch weapons and armor.

“Warrant, may I speak with you?” asked a voice from behind. From the psi-scent, it was the fire-rescue captain that Horngren had been arguing with earlier. I turned to face the officer. He had obviously come up in the ranks from the scars that covered his forearms and neck. “What are you doing?”

“What’s your problem captain?” I asked. I could tell from the emotions raging in the man that there was something substantial that was bothering him.

“I’ve got my best people in those buildings while there’s a raging firefight happening,” he told me like he would one of his subordinates, “I don’t like that one bit. I want protection for my people.” I could see his point. Even his special teams wouldn’t stand a chance against orcs. A few reservists with automatic weapons would allow the fire-rescue personnel more time to save civilians.

“Weren’t you asked to keep your people out until we could provide that protection?” I asked as I watched Jeffries distribute rifles and body armor to the waiting reservists. Most of them were scared and hesitant, but they did it just the same.

“Okay, yeah,” the fire captain answered, “There’s too many civilians in there for my department to ignore. Civilians have a nasty tendency to get into the line of fire in a fight like that, and your people can’t deal with them and the baddies. You need my people in there to help.” He had a point, and he had the Special Emergency Units that proved he wasn’t being foolish about whom he sent in to deal with the crisis. I made a quick decision.

“I’ll have my soldiers move in as soon as we’re formed up,” I told him, “We’ll see about setting up a barrier between the fighting and your people.” The fire captain thanked me and left me to handle the details. He was obviously used to having subordinates that could think and work by themselves. My initial opinion of the fire captain had changed dramatically. “Sergeant Jeffries!”

“Yes sir,” answered the sergeant from where he was holding an assault rifle for another man who was stripping out of a business suit. As soon as the reservist had hastily donned the web gear at his feet, the sergeant handed him the weapon and walked over to where I was standing. “Sorry sir, its taking a bit longer to get the troops sorted than I had expected.”

“Sergeant, we’ve got about a platoon, right?”

“About that, sir,” Jeffries answered, “Maybe a bit more.” I filled the sergeant on what the fire captain had told me and my plans. The reservist sergeant mulled it over in his head as he watched two corporals he had found get the reservists in some semblance of order. “Can’t say I like it much, but I see what you and the fire captain are talking about. I think we can get about two reinforced squads each. I’ll make sure that you and I each have an RTO and at least one SAW gunner.”

“Are we really going to need machine guns in those buildings?” I asked. I had never fought a battle in a building like those, but I had done some urban warfare work. Machine guns could make small corridors and narrow streets into death traps, but with the short confines of the office buildings, I was worried that the SAWs wouldn’t be able to keep the enemies at distance.

“I’d rather have them and not need them,” the sergeant answered, “Especially if we might have to protect working medics from waves of orcs or goblins.” It made sense, so I just nodded. Jeffries would have the squads squared away in good time. It took less than ten minutes and we had about fifty outfitted reservists ready to assault the buildings. It wasn’t much, but it was going to be the best I could get. Time was running out to get this fight under some kind of control. I had two squads under a Corporal Reeves, who seemed as if he had gotten out of the military maybe six months previously. Private Jones was my RTO, although I had a nasty feeling that he was going to have a hard time keeping up with me once we made contact with the enemy forces. Jones looked like it had been ten years or so since he had last put on his uniform. I was just going to have to make do with what I had.

“Jeffries, get your squads into Kromer,” I ordered the sergeant, “You are to protect the paramedics and help any civilians as well as provide a secure line of retreat for Imperial Security. Do not go charging off to fight the bad guys. That’s what the Imperial Security troopers are for.” The sergeant nodded and promptly wheeled to get his reservists moving. “Corporal, get these squads moving.” As Jeffries and his troops moved into Kromer, I ordered my reservists to do a simple assault entrance. It was sloppy and there had been some nasty holes in their securing of the lobby, but it reinforced my faith in the reservist system. Twenty former soldiers who last put on a uniform anywhere between six months and twenty years ago and who had never trained with each other managed to perform a cohesive maneuver with less than twenty minutes preparation. The lobby had been turned into an impromptu triage for the wounded civilians by the paramedics. Those civilians who were okay or just lightly wounded were being directed to the waiting NTPD officers. The critically injured were being carried into the armored ambulances or carried on stretchers to ambulances outside of the building.

The lobby of the Center Building was a large open-air area that took up the first three floors of the building. Four grand marble staircases led up to the third floor. Small shops and boutiques lined the walls of the lobby. Corporal Reeves already had two-man fire teams on the staircases trying to secure them. It was a smart move – those stairwells were natural bottlenecks and a defensive boon. Any bad guys that tried to assault them would find it very messy and very expensive. The rest of the reservists were broken into two-man units and placed in covered positions that would allow them to provide fire support to the stairwells or cover the paramedics. I looked over to Reeves. “You worked in this building.”

“Yes sir,” he answered flatly, observing the reservists moving into position, “I worked for the Kolson group on the fifth floor. I mapped out defensive positions the first week that I had begun working here.” I clapped the corporal on the shoulder. It was a shame that the military had let go of such a bright junior non-com, but I was glad to have him.

“Okay Corporal, carry on,” I told him, “Make sure that your fire teams on the stairs are ready to help the civilians evacuate.” I had watched as a steady trickle of people came down the stairs and through the lobby to the waiting paramedics. Reeves nodded, and I decided to let the man work the section. He didn’t need my help, and I had other things to do. “Jones! Get over here!”

“Yes Ranger?” puffed Jones as he hustled over to where I was standing. The out of shape reservist was struggling to keep up, but he was determined.

“What’s Horngren’s and Alson’s positions?” I asked. Jones looked down at a small memo pad. He may have been out of the service for a long while, but at least he remembered the important parts, like writing down all the information that I would need.

“Lt. Alson is still on the seventh floor, but I think he’s surrounded and cut off, Ranger,” Jones answered, “Lt. Horngren is on fifth and in heavy contact with the enemy.” Heavy contact meant forces at least three times stronger than his own. Horngren was about to be overrun. I looked over the reservists as they continued to move into positions under the direction of Corporal Reeves.

“Okay, go tell Reeves that I’ve got to go help them upstairs and that he is to follow the same orders that I gave Sergeant Jeffries. You’re to stay with Corporal Reeves.” Jones saluted and walked over to where Reeves was barking orders to some of the soldiers. I knew that if Alson’s and Horngren’s people were to make it out alive, I would have to directly intervene. Checking the action on my carbine, I telekinetic lifted myself up to the third floor and entered into the main hallway. The sudden appearance of a psychic in military garb was enough for most people to open a hole for me to rush into the upper levels of the Center building. The few that didn’t were pushed out of the way. I wasn’t trying to be callous, but there were soldiers’ lives at stake. The third and fourth floors were clogged with civilians trying to get out of the building. I didn’t blame them because I could clearly hear the sharp barks of submachine gun fire from above. I was wrong about those police officers. The ERT were demonstrating some heavy fire discipline from the sound of the continuous short bursts. As I left the fourth floor and entered the fifth floor, the nature of the battle became evident. The police officers had made an impromptu fortification at the top of the main emergency stairwell and had branched out to seize nearby offices. Corpses of goblins and orcs were piled where they had fallen to the gunfire from the ERT. I found Horngren taking cover behind what had been an executive’s expensive desk. He had taken an arrow to the shoulder, but he was still directing his people in the fight. I landed next to him and his RTO.

“I told you that you would need help,” I commented to Horngren as I crouched up and fired my carbine at a hobgoblin with a bow. Unlike their immature cousins, hobgoblins were smart and frighteningly accurate with ranged weaponry, such as bows and crossbows. The creature’s midsection was torn apart by the rifle caliber round and the hobgoblin crumpled to the ground. “Have you been in contact with Third Platoon?”

“I beg your pardon Ranger,” Horngren replied with an appalled tone to his voice, “I believe I ordered you—“

“I don’t have time for this Lieutenant,” I said with a snarl, “In case you haven’t figured it out, this isn’t a simple raid. There’s more orcs and goblins here than we’ve seen in a single border raid since the end of Red Lake. We need to get whatever is left of Third Platoon down here and form a strong blocker until the cavalry arrives.” I knew what I was doing amounted to insubordination, but I didn’t have time to really wonder about the consequences. If the ERT and Third Platoon didn’t link up and form a better blocking position, both of them would be wiped out. A small flurry of arrows thunked into the overturned desk. Horngren didn’t look convinced, but his RTO certainly did.

“Limited contact with Third Platoon, Ranger,” the RTO answered crisply over the echoing sounds of weapons fire and the eerie howling of the goblins, “I think Lt. Alson is dead, and the rest of them are holed up in one of the office suites on the seventh floor.” I rose up just above the desk to find an orc trying to charge. A burst to its head threw the orc to the ground. Its battleaxe fell out of its hand and cut down a goblin as the weapon slammed to the ground. Sometimes you just got lucky.

“I’m going to try and get up to Third,” I told Horngren, “When I make contact, I’ll rally them and get them down here. Have your people be ready to cover us when we return.” Horngren looked disgusted, but he nodded. I slithered out from the cover of the desk and ran crouched to the stairwell fortification. The ERT officers had used whatever materials they could find to build some firing positions for the goblins that had tried coming down the stairwell. There was something wrong with this attack. I knew that the Dark Towers forces in the building numbered well into the thousands. They should have been able to overwhelm the police officers with waves of goblins and orcs. Instead they only sent a few hundred at the ERT. I needed to get upstairs, find Third Platoon, and maybe figure out what the creatures were up to.

The massive telekinetic blast cleared the small chattering goblins from the stairwell. Goblins weren’t very sturdy creatures to begin with. Being thrown against a concrete wall sent most of them into unconsciousness and killed a few more. The few that were still awake were quickly cut down by police fire. I didn’t wait. I threw up a shield and ran up the stairs. I bypassed the sixth floor without incident, although I was seriously tempted to start my own little firefight. From what I glimpsed, it was just as well that I didn’t. There wasn’t anything that I could do on my own to stop the wholesale slaughter of civilians, not against that many opponents – but it still bothered me. The landing onto the seventh floor was being guarded by a pair of veteran orcs. They held their weapons with the easy grace of a warrior that had seen the carnage many times before. I was actually glad about that. From what humans had learned over the years, the majority of the orc forces were made up of barely trained warriors with little to no experience in fighting humans. Veterans were uncommon, and therefore, gorgeous targets. Especially when they weren’t expecting the attack.

The first the two orcs knew that they were under attack was when a burst from my carbine exploded the head of the left hand orc. Its companion wasted no time in dropping down into a crouch and looking for me. It spotted me as I was readjusting my aim. A huge knife whistled through the air at me. The blade would have done a good job of skewering my guts if I hadn’t deflected it with my bracer. I ignored the flash of pain from the knife’s impact as the orc leapt at me, its battleaxe swinging as it closed the distance between us. I slammed it to the stairs with a short telekinetic blast. Of all the things the orc had been expecting me to do, that wasn’t one of them. It tried to shake the disorientation off, but I didn’t give it the time. I just placed a single round to the bridge of its nose. As the lifeless body of the orc settled on the stairs, I rushed past. I needed to get up before the landing was reinforced. As I entered the main hallway on the seventh floor, I could hear the mix of screeching howls, bellowing yells, and automatic weapons. Third Platoon might have been surrounded and unable to extract, but they were definitely making sure that the Dark Towers paid a heavy price. Unfortunately, the Dark Towers had plenty of orcs and goblins to spend. I felt a sudden wave of nausea and was nearly eviscerated by a small group of goblins. The things weren’t more than a hundred and twenty centimeters tall, but they were strong. A telekinetic blast sent them flying from me. I only saw the arrow as it bounced off the sudden wall of psychic energy. Briefly ignoring the goblins, I placed a burst at the hobgoblin down the hall. The creature dropped, as did the orc standing behind him. Normally the danger of overpenetration was why urban Imperial Security soldiers and police forces carried submachine guns. In this mess of a melee, it was a blessing. Another wave of sickness flowed through me. Something was happening. Something that involved magic.

I kept my shield around me as I followed the sounds of the weapons fire. It was slow going, mostly because I had to stop to deal with the enormous numbers of orcs and goblins clogging the narrow hallways. I was forced to sling my carbine. Most of the fighting was pistol and saber work. The sharp edge of the saber neatly opened orc vitals while the pistol easily knocked down the goblins. It may have sounded like a backward way to fight my enemies, but there was a method to my madness. My pistol wouldn’t take down an orc in one shot, but it had no problem with punching a lethally big hole in a goblin. The saber, on the hand, could hack a big enough chunk out of an orc to lay it out with minimal effort. All that said, it was slow and bloody work – and it was using up a lot of my psychic strength. By the time I actually reached the edges of where Third Platoon had holed up, I was hurt, tired, and bleeding. Nothing immediately lethal, but with just enough pain to keep me feeling very uncomfortable.

The hallway leading into the section that Third Platoon had fortified was clogged with the bodies of fallen orcs and goblins. Hobgoblins were maybe five meters from me, firing arrows at the soldiers as fast as they could pull their bowstrings. Dozens of orcs and goblins were scrambling over the corpses of their dead in an attempt to rush the soldiers’ position. I holstered the pistol and reached into one of the pouches on my web gear. I pulled out the baseball-sized orb and pressed the heavy trigger. With an easy motion, I tossed the orb towards the hobgoblins.

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” I screamed as loudly as I could. Goblins and orcs turned at my sudden shout, and found themselves staring into the grenade’s explosion. The hallway shuddered and thundered with the deafening explosion. Hot metal fragments lanced through the air, rending the vulnerable fleshy creatures with contemptuous ease. Dust and pulverized gore filled the air and then began to settle. I could feel the human emotions at the end of the hall, but there were none of the vile psi-scents of the Dark Towers in front of me. At least, none living. I trotted through the hallway with my shield up. I didn’t want to get shot by those I came to help. Most of the soldiers were still huddled behind their fragment-laced fortifications. Using a fragmentation grenade in the close confines of a building was generally frowned on because it had the nasty tendency to cause just as many friendly casualties as enemy casualties. The soldiers in front of me were radiating relief and anger as I emerged from the smoke in the hallway. I leapt over their hasty fortifications and found myself in front of a very upset platoon sergeant.

“What was that?” he half screamed at me before he saw who I was and belated added, “Ranger.” I could see two soldiers with fragment wounds. I didn’t want to wound anyone, but I needed to clear that hallway. I was about to answer when a wave of sickness hit me strong enough to knock me off my feet. A deep thrumming began in my head, like someone was piping a kettle drum directly to the base of my skull. The platoon sergeant loomed over me with a concerned look on his face. “Ranger, are you wounded sir? I can get my medic over here.”

I motioned for him to give me a moment. The thrumming was familiar. I had felt it before, but it wasn’t in New Town. It was back in Tam Bay. My mind raced as it pushed through the haze of nausea and mental noise. The connection was made as the floor itself began rumbling. I had felt this before – right before the Dark Towers opened a portal. The thrumming that time had been like a deep sounding mosquito. This one was much, much worse. The floor shook and some tiles fell from the ceiling. “RADIO!”

The soldier holding the radio pack wasn’t Third Platoon’s RTO. He still managed the bulky device without a problem. I grabbed the heavy handset and told the soldier to open it up for a wide broadcast.

“Everyone in the Kromer and Center Buildings, evacuate immediately!” I yelled into the handset, “Get out! Get out! Save as many as you can before—“ There was a flash of light, and I felt a force pick me up and toss me through the office complex and out a window. The last thing I remember seeing was the giant white disk of energy that appeared between the Kromer and Center buildings just before the two monoliths shattered. Shattered like giant glass vases. Then the blackness took over.

I woke up to a bright light in my eye. The light was quickly removed, but the ghost of the light made it impossible for me to see what was going on. I felt many people around me, and they were all relieved and anxious at the same time. I could pick out the psi-scents of Stephen and my mother, as well as a few other familiar ones that I knew from the Keep. I was laying on something firm, but cushioned. It had to be a hospital bed, but I knew that I wasn’t in a hospital. The psi-scents around me were too different. I tried to speak, but my mouth didn’t want to work at first.

A doctor hovered over me, checking over my body. I hurt all over, but I knew I needed to sit up and move. The doctor tried to put a restraining hand on me, but a man in an Imperial Security uniform and colonel’s sigils on his epaulets stopped him. I could feel that the colonel was worried about me, but not in the same way that my mother and Stephen were worrying. He needed something from me.

“How long have I been out?” I managed to ask after a nice nurse gave me a swallow of bitter water.

“A little over two hours Ranger Stahl,” the colonel answered, “How are you feeling?” From his emotions, he wanted to know if I was still functional, or if I was going to be unable to continue. That meant that the battle was still going on. I took a mental inventory. Using delicate psychic touches, I probed my body. I was bruised, I had a small fracture in my left arm, and my powers were still recovering from the abuse they had taken. I could also feel that they had just become much stronger, but it was going to take a few long months to fully incorporate all their new strength. Just the way it worked.

“I can manage, sir,” I answered as I stood up. The doctor, the nurses, and Stephen all made to rush in to catch me. I knew that I could stand, and the look on my face must have told them as much because they stopped as quickly as they started. “What’s the situation, sir?” The colonel was skeptical, but he didn’t let any of it show on his face.

“Are you good to go, or are you just being a Ranger?” he asked with a tone that brooked no argument. He knew of our institutional tenacity and the tendency to ignore even serious wounds if it meant continuing on in our duty. Rangers Do Not Give Up.

“I am good to fight, colonel,” I answered, “Where do you need me?” He nodded to me and pulled out a map. The others in the room were shocked that the two of us just ignored their presence, but the colonel and I had better things to worry about.

“The Kromer and Center towers were destroyed when the Dark Towers used them to open a portal like no one had ever seen before,” the colonel told me, “Even the elves hadn’t seen the like before, but they have managed to shut it down – at the cost of over a hundred of their lives. The Kaligan tower was actually toppled into the harbor. Most of the other buildings were demolished by the portal opening. As it stands, we have nearly ten thousand orcs and nearly twice that number in goblins and hobgoblins semi-contained to the remains of the Trade Park. I finally have the remaining Imperial Security troops here, as well as every police officer that NTPD could spare and every reservist on the island of Manattan.”

“The Rangers?” I asked. The local Rangers would be probably where I would go.

“I have them spread out,” the colonel answered, “The reservists are enlisted heavy, and I don’t have enough officers to lead the reservist units. It’s got to the point I have cadets from the local military academies leading some of the platoons.” I must have had a shocked look on my face, because the colonel quickly assuaged my concerns. “Don’t worry Ranger, I have tried to make sure that the children have decent sergeants to keep them in check, but I’m running short of bodies. The lines have more or less stabilized, but we are taking heavy casualties. If we keep up this attrition, the orcs will break out in less than two hours’ time.”

“With all due respect, sir, but where the devil is the Army and Marines?” I almost yelled. The colonel was annoyed at my slight insubordination, but he didn’t seem to begrudge my sentiment. He didn’t answer me, but just looked over at Stephen. There was a streak of shame running through Stephen, and I didn’t like what that bode.

“The earl still refuses to allow the regular armed forces to engage,” Stephen answered, “The lords of Brooklyn, Bronx, and Queens have all more or less demanded him to release the regular forces. It has taken everything we’ve had just to get the earl to order all Imperial Security and spare police forces down here. I had to call up the reserves, and we’re fighting to get the rest of the city’s reservists here.” I thought about the problem for a brief moment. The colonel wasn’t wrong in his analysis. Imperial Security didn’t have any artillery, and very few of the vehicle-mounted heavy weapons that were needed to fight the grinding battle that was raging at the Trade Park. The police had even less in the way of heavy weapons. They were probably fighting with patrol carbines and sidearms. We needed the Army, Navy, and Marines’ full fighting force. Until the earl grew some political courage or the Emperor got off his butt and intervened, the main thing that we needed was additional troops. The colonel saw that I was working through something in my mind, and he gave me the space to finish my thoughts. I knew what needed to be done, but no one was going to like it.

“Stephen, you’re going to have to come with me,” I told him, much the same way I spoke to wayward free town residents. It was the infamous Ranger Voice – a mix of threat, command, and inspiration. It took years to perfect it, but when used properly, it could quell a riot. “Colonel, I think that I can get you some more forces, but you may not like it.”

“THIS IS RIDICULOUS!” my mother screeched over our conversation, “Dear God Eric, you just fell seven stories and somehow managed to survive the destruction of three skyscrapers where everyone else died. Now, you’re just to scamper off on some other adventure with my husband?” I could feel how close to emotionally breaking my mother was. I knew she was an inconsequential psychic, which was why it was always hard for me to read her until her emotions flared. Right now, she was an emotional pyrotechnic display. I did something that I never thought I would ever do. I slapped her.

“Get something through your head,” I said to her shocked face, “I am an Imperial Ranger. WE DO NOT GIVE UP! I will not allow any of those people out there die if I can do anything about it. I can, but I need Stephen’s help. Even if this idea doesn’t work, then I will be out there fighting. That is my duty.” She looked at me and then broke into tears.

“My God, you are so much your father’s son,” she sobbed, “I don’t think a Stahl could turn his back on his duty if Jesus Christ, himself, asked you to.” An old wound that I thought had scarred over opened back up. My mother rarely spoke of my father, but there was always such a unique tone to her voice when she did. She looked at me with a harsh look to her face. “Why do you need my husband?”

“Negotiation.”

Major Higgins had to be physically restrained when he found out that he and his people would not be accompanying Stephen and me. I didn’t blame him one bit, but the art of supplication had its rules. The supplicant didn’t bring his army into the lair of the supplicator. I was the facilitator – my presence would be necessary. Plus, I had negotiated with these folks before, sort of. My armor had been badly mangled, but the colonel managed to find some replacements. My saber had been recovered when I had been rescued, and it was a comforting weight on my left hip. The slung carbine and holstered pistol were borrowed from the Keep’s armory. Higgins had given them to me himself. Stephen was similarly equipped and armored, but I doubted he would know what to do with the sword at his side. I had seen him fence before, but there was a huge difference between fencing and sword-fighting. You’re not trying to kill someone when you’re fencing.

We left the command post and walked across Central Boulevard, the huge road that ran north to south like a spine for Manattan. I had sensed them while I was still in the command post. It was surprising that they were watching the events unfold. It was my task to get them involved. Which was going to be difficult enough.

“Just who are we negotiating with?” Stephen asked as we crossed the empty road, “The elves and the mafia are already helping us.” Somehow the idea of gangsters helping out the police and Imperial Security forces that normally persecuted the thugs was amusing, but I wasn’t surprised. The mafia had often showed up with their shooters when the city’s goblins got rambunctious. From what I had learned, there was some sort of “gentlemen’s agreement” that mafia shooters would be able to assist in the fight against the Dark Towers, and the police wouldn’t arrest any of the shooters at the scene. Afterwards, all bets were off. The problem was that the mafia shooters would not have the training to effectively fight the massive amounts of orcs and goblins at the Trade Park. I knew who would.

“We need to talk with the Stone Walkers,” I answered, and awaited the inevitable eruption.

“You’re having me talk to the RATS?!” he almost yelled, “They’re nothing more than a nuisance and petty criminals. They cause almost as much problems as the few goblin clans that infest the city.”

“Stephen, do us all a favor and shut up for a moment,” I said harshly as I whirled on him, “You arrogant aristocrat! You never once tried to talk with the aborigines in your city. Do you have any idea why a nomadic group such as the aborigines would willingly live in this stinking metropolis? They can’t hunt, and the humans here refuse to seriously trade with them. Yet they’re still here. Why?” Stephen blazed with anger at my effrontery.

“Okay, so enlighten me in your superior knowledge that you got out of some wise woman,” Stephen answered derisively. My biggest contentions with Stephen was his firm belief that those who lived in the “civilized” sectors of the Empire were far superior to the simple people who lived north of the Pearl River, and his refusal to learn any of the “common” things that people who did live north of the Pearl River learned when they were children. Part of that was the true nature of the aborigines.

The aborigines were a nonhuman nomadic race of hunter-gatherers that were sometimes allies and sometimes enemies. They stood an average of a meter and half tall, but were easily a hundred kilos of furry muscle. They had the flat face of a cat, the muscular build of a dog, and the long whip tail of a rat. They were social animals like dogs, stealthy hunters like cats, and incredible foragers like rats. They could also be the most infuriating creatures on the entire continent. Normally, the aborigines stayed out of the cities, keeping their tribes on the vast plains between human settlements. The exception to this was the Stone Walkers. They weren’t a tribe, they were a religious movement. Sometime before I was born, a prophet began preaching a more active in helping the humans remove the Dark Towers from the continent. The Prophet believed that it was the aborigines’ duty to help destroy any Dark Towers forces. Since the tribal elders refused to band together, and the humans refused to properly teach and arm the aborigines (the aborigines did have a tendency to raid human settlements if they were in the mood), the Stone Walkers came into the cities to rid them of the invariable goblin infestations. It was an odd philosophy, and I didn’t understand all of the ins-and-outs of the Stone Walkers. These days, only the outcasts and true believers left their tribes to join the Stone Walkers. The rest of the aborigine tribes shunned what they considered outlandish “cultists.” I explained all of this to Stephen, who seemed to grudgingly accept that the aborigines weren’t quite the scourge he had made them out to be.

The Stone Walker spy was caught off guard. Aborigines tended to get overconfident in their stalking abilities. They really are good, but Rangers learned a lot over their institutional life that even seasoned aborigine warriors knew better than to ambush us. The spy had been living in the city for too long. He never suspected that I was aware of his presence until I psychically reached out and snatched him. It took a moment before the aborigine was coherent enough to listen to me. “Go find your Reverend. Tell him that Lord Manattan wants to negotiate an alliance.”

“An alliance?” Stephen asked, his eyes agog at my command to the now quickly disappearing aborigine, “Just what are you getting me into?”

“I’m helping you do your duty,” I retorted shortly, “Aborigines have been fighting orcs and goblins since before humans crashed down on this world. They are vicious and ruthless warriors. They are just what we need to help not only stabilize the line, but maybe push it back. They won’t, though, do it out of the goodness of their heart, or they would have been fighting already. You are going to have to ask for their help, and maybe make some concessions in order to have them fight.” Stephen didn’t say anything after that. He just stood there and looked down the alley in a sightless stare. His emotions were swirling with confusion and anxiety. I leaned against one of the walls and waited. The aborigines would show up, but how fast would depend on the Reverend. I hadn’t met any of the Stone Walkers before, so I didn’t know when—

“You are a Ranger?” asked a voice from above, “Rangers are good. This may be good.” The Reverend was naked with the exception of a pair of dirty, tattered cotton shorts that served as a loin cloth and a dirty preacher’s collar. He was being escorted by three other aborigines who were dressed in tattered clothing. All of them crawled down from the outside of one of the buildings. They looked unarmed, but knowing aborigines, I heavily doubted that.

“Yes, I am a Ranger,” I answered, “I’ve worked with the Stone Bone and Swift Wind tribes as well as the Jagged Knife tribe. I’m here to help Lord Manattan.” I motioned to Stephen who stepped forward. “He needs your help.”

“Yes, many bad things,” the Reverend answered. Then he made the high-pitched clicking sound that I recognized as the aborigine name for the orcs. “Stone Walkers been taking care of the small ones. Many, many small ones.” The Reverend gave me a twisted grin that I had seen on other aborigines. The goblins in the city were trying to link up with the Dark Towers forces in the Trade Park. The Stone Walkers had spent the morning killing them. I returned a knowing smile.

“We need you to help us kill the big ones,” I said, “Lots and lots of big ones at the big fight.” The echoing sounds of weapons fire and howling screams added proof to my statement. “I really don’t have time to go through the normal trade talkings. What will it take for the Stone Walkers to join the battle?” The Reverend gave me another of his twisted smiles and pointed at Stephen.

“You must make nice with Stone Walkers,” the Reverend stated, “We do lots of good works here, but humans still thinks we are bad. This is not good. If you want us to fight big ones, we need guns and swords. Not sending Stone Walkers to die simply because you ask.” Stephen’s emotions erupted in indignation, so I turned to him and gave him an evil look. I knew the idea of handing weapons over to the Stone Walkers horrified him – after all, he still thought the aborigines as little more than savage rodents that were only slightly more preferable to having the goblins that infested his city. Stephen understood that wasn’t true in an intellectual sense, but his emotional responses hadn’t changed. Still, being a politician, he was able to keep his face neutral at the suggestion.

“We can give you guns and swords for the fight, but we can’t let you keep them afterwards,” I told the Reverend, “Lord Manattan can order his police and ask his residents to no longer harm you and yours, but humans will not want Stone Walkers with guns and swords.”

“I will let you keep the swords,” Stephen interjected, his voice full of his aristocratic command tone, “But I warn you, if you use those weapons against humans in any illegal act, I will confiscate all of them and I will hang the ones that attacked my subjects.” He looked the Reverend dead in the eye, which he couldn’t know was normally considered a leadership challenge amongst the aborigines. “The Stone Walkers have provided my subjects with some protection against the goblins. For that, I will give you better tools. But, the Stone Walkers have attacked and stolen from my subjects. This will stop immediately. We will work out some payment for your services so that the Stone Walkers may trade.”

“Then we will fight,” the Reverend said with a solemnity that I had heard before. Stephen didn’t know it, but he had just become the leader of the Stone Walkers in New Town. I was going to have some fun explaining what just happened to him. That would be much later.

I wondered how it looked in the command center when the aborigines joined the battle. It had taken nearly an hour to gather the some three hundred Stone Walkers on Manattan Island and hand out weapons and ammunition to the warriors. During that time, the human line had begun crumbling on the west side. The reservists on the west corner were all inactive reservists and had begun running low on ammunition. Leading the reservists were cadets from the New Town Military Institute, and the unblooded cadets ordered a slowing of fire to conserve ammunition. It sounded good in theory, but any veteran knows that slackening in the fire would allow the Dark Forces to charge through and carry the battle to close quarters. This is considered something akin to suicide. Humans have no business going close quarters with orcs or even goblins unless there is no other option. The inactive reservists and their green officers were unprepared for the rush of orcs and were fighting a desperate fight in close quarters. The orcs were threatening to breach the line and flank the humans.

Then came three hundred screeching Stone Walkers into the fray. Humans may have no business fighting in close quarters with orcs, but aborigines excelled at it. Throw in human swords and guns and the Stone Walkers became an unleashed storm of destruction against the Dark Towers. Moreover, goblins had a unique fear of the aborigines. The goblins fighting with the orcs broke and fled as soon as they heard the unique screeching howl of the aborigine battle cry. Thus, a desperate fight just to hold the line rapidly became a rout of the Dark Towers. The Stone Walkers pushed the orcs and goblins back in a relentless torrent of gunfire and sword strokes. Behind the Stone Walkers, myself and two other Rangers managed to reform the shattered human forces. As Rangers, we knew that the Stone Walkers had bought us some time, but the aborigines would quickly push too far and hit a mass of Dark Towers that they couldn’t break. Great fighters, the aborigines were, but not so good on larger scale tactics. We needed to be ready to cover the retreat of the Stone Walkers and the rushing wave of orcs that would be chasing them.

The reservists and the cadets were terrified at the prospect of having to do battle with the orcs again. I could feel the fear amongst the soldiers, and I knew that the line would break if the orcs managed to close again to close quarters. Our only hope was that the aborigines would stand with the humans and not continue their retreat. Knowing how aborigines fought, it was a slim hope at best. They were terrifying warriors, but not very good soldiers. I could feel the anxiety of the other Rangers, but they stood solidly, shouting orders over the din of the battle. In front of us, we could see the Stone Walkers falling back, alternating between running towards our line and running back to fight with the pursuing orcs. The fear amongst the reservists began rising as the battle came closer to the line. We began bracing as the Stone Walkers crossed the fifty meter line. Then came a beautiful whistling sound.

Artillery began crashing down in front of us. As the reservist soldiers looked dumbfounded at the whistling crashes of the shells, the two Rangers and I rushed forward to guide the Stone Walkers out of danger. Human soldiers, even reservists, knew what to do when artillery began falling, but the Stone Walkers had no idea how to evade the fire pattern. I threw up the strongest telekinetic shield I could manage as the Rangers led the Stone Walkers out of the rain of shrapnel and fragments. When we crossed the defensive line, the reservists were gone. In their place were the deadly formations of Army motor rifle platoons.

The heavy machine guns and grenade launchers mounted on the Prowler APC’s began hammering away at the orcs chasing the Stone Walkers and us. The mass of running orcs quickly dissolved into something out of a charnel house as the large caliber rounds and lethal fragments easily punched through the orcs’ armor and shredded the vital flesh underneath. I heard as the same thundering sound was repeated down the line with the deeper rhythm of Rhino tanks with their autocannons. Army helicopters roared in and added to the symphony with the chattering of their chain guns and swooshing of their rockets. The howls of the Dark Towers were drowned out by the cacophony of weapons fire that only the Army and Marines could place on the battlefield. Just to prove the Empire’s new dominance on the torn urban battlefield, joining the helicopters in the air where members of the Imperial Guard of the Praetorians – led by Major Justice, himself. The man was an arrogant prick, but never once would I doubt his courage or battle skill. By himself, he was a force of destruction. With the five other Guardsmen accompanying him, they cut a wide swath of psychic devastation that the Marines charged through like a hostile beachhead. The orcs and goblins hastily tried retreating from the onslaught, only to find themselves trapped between the Army and Marines on land while the Navy’s gunboats, led by the frigate, HMS Gauntlet, tore them apart from the sea.

The Dark Towers forces tried to make a last ditch effort by digging into the jagged remains of the Trade Park Towers. Perhaps they expected the regular Imperial forces to try and dig them out like Imperial Security had when the day began. The Army and Navy quickly disabused them of that notion as artillery and naval guns began relentlessly pounding the ruins. Army helicopters and small attack planes added their fire as the soldiers picked off any bad guys that emerged.

An Army colonel with the name of Fitzgerald approached me as I watched the barrage. When the regular forces had taken over the battle, I had retired to the command center. I was tired and sore, but I needed to watch the battle end. I had been there at the beginning. I needed to be there at the end. The colonel was a big, beefy soldier dressed in urban camouflage fatigues. His face was a professional neutral, but I could sense the determination behind the soldier’s façade.

“Ranger, are you in command of those aborigines?” he asked without preamble.

“In a manner of speaking, Colonel,” I answered, “I guess the better term would be liaison.”

“Good,” the colonel answered, “I assume those rats are as good as the ones out on the plains?” From his tone and emotions, I could tell that the colonel’s use of rats had no maliciousness behind it. He was a veteran of plains fighting, and he had probably fought beside aborigines before. Amongst veterans, the term rats became more of a compliment.

“They managed to save the line,” I stated firmly, “They will fight. What do you want me to ask them to do?” There was a sudden hesitancy in the colonel. He knew what he needed to do, but it wasn’t something that he wanted to do. I had a nasty suspicion what the colonel needed the Stone Walkers to do for the Army.

“The artillery barrage will lift soon, and the troops to root out the last of the Dark Towers. I want the Stone Walkers to bird-dog for us.” It was going to be dangerous and nasty work. It was also something that the Stone Walkers would be perfect for. Yet, I couldn’t just order them to go on what would be a bloody mess. It wouldn’t be right.

“I’ll ask them.”

The Trade Park Battle was finished. I was sidelined for the last push after securing the Stone Walkers’ cooperation. The Imperial Guard’s medic was responsible for my being pulled out of the battle. She was worried about my injuries, but was more concerned with the strain I placed on my psychic powers. Pushing one’s limits was how a psychic built strength, but I pushed mine beyond any safe limits. Until I could control my new psychic strength, any use would be unpredictable, and possibly dangerous to those around me. I decided not to be professionally offended, but there was still an internal seething at not being able to accompany the rest of the Rangers as they helped assault the ruins. The artillery had killed a massive number of the enemy, but the ones that survived were dug in hard. The Stone Walkers ably helped the Army and Marines dig the orcs and goblins out of their strongpoints, suffering many casualties in the process. Elves magically scanned the ruins to make sure that all of the Dark Towers’ forces were killed. As soon as the battle itself was finished, New Town Fire Rescue began their invasion to save whomever they could and to make sure that the fires dotting the Trade Park didn’t spread to the rest of the island.

Stephen walked over to where I was watching the firefighters and paramedics work with the assistance of soldiers to save lives and contain fires. He was emotionally drained, and I could feel the contradictory swirl of happiness and grief swirl around him. I had to admit that the two emotions were playing heavily on me. He stood next to me, saying nothing for a minute. I wondered why he had come over to me. We weren’t exactly on the best of terms most of the time and there were plenty of people who needed the leadership of the Lord Manattan.

“One of the longest days in my life,” Stephen finally said, the fatigue rolling through his tone, “What about you?”

“It certainly ranked up there, milord,” I said, a bit formally. I was still uncertain of Stephen’s motives, so I was wary of him and what he wanted from me.

“Ever the Ranger,” Stephen chuckled to himself, “You know that you were the only survivor of the initial confrontation. At least on the military side.” I nodded in response. Captain Colbert and his company, Lt. Horngren and his platoon, my ad hoc platoon of reservists, and the better part of the NTFD’s rescue personnel were killed in the collapse of the towers, along with nearly five thousand civilians. The day’s total death toll hadn’t been calculated, and probably wouldn’t be known for several days. I did some quiet checking during the final push, and would soon have the unpleasant task of informing my uncle that none of his employees, save two that had been out sick, survived the attack. For all of the reputation of ruthlessness that my family’s firm had acquired over the years, there was a sense of family amongst the employees. The loss of a hundred or so of their coworkers would not be easy for the firm’s employees to bear. Still, I knew that my family would do everything in its power to help its employees handle their grief. Stephen saw that my mind was going through my own roll call of dead and gave me a moment to collect my thoughts.

“Everyone has asked if you would write your after-action report as soon as possible,” Stephen continued when he was sure that I was listening again, “Especially the Army and the new earl.” The reason that the regular Imperials had finally joined the battle was that the Emperor finally had enough of the Earl of New Town and his antics. The Emperor ordered the Praetorians to arrest the earl and raise his son to the office. The new Earl of New Town wasn’t about to make the same mistakes of his father. Within fifteen minutes of his father’s arrest, the new earl had secured the assistance of the Imperial Army, Navy, and Marines. The elder earl’s resignation had come down after the end of the battle, about the same time as the House of Lords quietly let it be known that the elder earl would not survive the impeachment hearing.

“What do they want from me?” I asked, “I’m just a Ranger with some psychic powers.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re the only one of the first responders that survived,” Stephen answered, “We need to know what mistakes were made in the beginning so we can remedy them. Plus, we want to know whom to award the posthumous medals that will be coming out of this. I’m sure you will receive some recognition for your part in this.” Stephen didn’t look smug, but there was a whiff of it in his emotions. It was part of his nature that grated on me. As the Lord Manattan, his recommendations would be taken very seriously by the Imperial Honors and Promotions Board, and he felt a small sense of satisfaction at the possible patronage he would be giving me.

“That’s up to Captain Helle to decide,” I said with a hint of ice, “The Rangers always review their own actions before forwarding it to the Board, and since she runs the Queens Station, it will be up to her to look at my actions and determine what is proper. I would prefer if you not interfere with it. Rangers have a peculiar way of looking at honors, and it would not be in my professional interest to have a lord giving me brass tacks.” The truth was, I could expect a gold chit, or exemplary service in combat award, for my actions in the Trade Park Battle. I was sure that if Stephen involved himself, it would become a Gold Star for service above and beyond the call of duty. Rangers, like other elite branches, maintained a harsher view of awards. What I did was expected of a Ranger. We always fought to protect the Empire, be it from human or inhuman forces. We did not quit, and we did not fail. Our reputation gave us an edge in the field against our enemies, but it also put a more strenuous filter on our actions. Rangers were expected to operate beyond what some would call the call of duty. We demanded it of ourselves because none of us would dare fail to live up to our professional mythos. Stephen didn’t understand any of that, but he could detect the undercurrent in my voice. Part of being a polished politician, as well as a skilled Ranger, was being able to correctly interpret the myriad of tiny verbal and nonverbal cues that a person gives off in a normal conversation.

“I understand,” he said quietly.

“No, you don’t,” I replied with a neutral tone, “Not fully at least, and I don’t think I could explain it to you well enough for you to understand. I do believe that you understand that you really shouldn’t involve yourself in the affairs of the Rangers, and for that I am very grateful.” There was a spike of anger in Stephen, but it faded quickly away.

“You still don’t like me very much?” Stephen asked. I looked at him and made a quick assessment. Stephen had acted very poorly when I first met him, partly because I wasn’t a part of his class of society, and partly because I had no intention of trying to be a part of his world. Since his marriage to my mother, I had watched his political actions as well as how he treated my mom. I didn’t agree with his politics, but I never saw him use any of the normal political dirty tricks or bombastic rhetoric that I saw out of most of the Liberal Party.

“I respect you Stephen,” I answered, “I think you’re still an overbearing, arrogant aristocrat, but I trust you to act honorably. Beyond that, I can’t give you.” Stephen seemed to accept that, but I could tell he didn’t like it very much. “Stephen, I will give you the names of a few people I think you should endorse for awards. I’m not asking you on my behalf, but because they were your subjects, and their families deserve your thanks.” I hoped what I said came out without sounding pompous or demanding. It must have, because no trace of anger or resentment passed through Stephen’s emotions. He just nodded wordlessly. An aide called out to him, and Stephen left with just a clap on my shoulder.

I watched as the rescue work continued through the night. I felt that I had a duty to watch because I couldn’t help them. My powers were sorting themselves out, which meant my telekinesis would be unreliable for the next few days. As I watched, I thought hard on what the day actually meant, both for the Empire and for myself. This wasn’t the normally sloppy kind of rear area raid that the Dark Towers used. This had been a calculated strike at an important target. The Imperial economy would take a nasty hit from the loss of the Trade Park, and subjects who had long taken their safety for granted would no longer feel safe. Imperial Security would be bolstered by regular forces until they increased their size to meet the new demand, which meant that there would be fewer soldiers defending the borders or roving the vast interior of the Empire. What it meant for the Empire was simple. There was a new leadership amongst the Dark Towers, and this one was demonstrating a scary understanding of our society.

As for myself, I had seen more death and destruction in a single day than I had seen in my entire life. I knew that there was a new threat to my Empire, and I knew that I was among the vanguard that would protect my Empire from this new threat. I became a Ranger because of the death of my father. I stayed a Ranger because I enjoyed the work and enjoyed being part of such an elite unit. As I looked beyond the day of the Trade Park Battle, I knew that my reasons for staying in the Rangers had changed. I felt the pull of duty stronger than ever before. My family would continue to subtly nag me, but I knew as I watched as rescue workers hunt frantically for survivors that the only way I would leave the Rangers would be to buried in full uniform. Then the sun dawned upon the new day.

]]> http://www.derek-ward.com/2008/09/the-trade-park-battle/feed/ 0 http://www.derek-ward.com/2008/07/the-long-ride/ http://www.derek-ward.com/2008/07/the-long-ride/#comments Mon, 07 Jul 2008 12:00:33 +0000 derek http://www.derek-ward.com/?p=27

“Warrant Officer Eric Stahl, reporting as ordered, sir,” I said as solemnly as I could muster. I was in the formal uniform of the Imperial Security Ranger Division, but I had not yet earned the coveted silver-star-within-a-circle that would make me a full member of that elite unit. For that prized bit of metal, I was required to make the “Long Ride.” If I didn’t make it, I would have to join one of the regular Imperial Security units stationed in Tam Bay, which was something that I really didn’t want to do. The Ranger captain gave me an appraising look as I stood ramrod straight. Captain Rodgers was an old Tam Bay hand, having ridden in the sector for nearly three decades. He had proved himself against almost any threat a Ranger was expected to handle, and done so with a solid record. He certainly looked the part. Captain Rodgers was easily two meters in height with a build that was solid, but not bulky. His black hair was worn long, and tied back. His dark eyes were notorious for being able to reduce even the toughest Rangers to stammering fools, or melt even the coldest lady’s heart. As I said, the captain was notorious. Right now, I was on the brink of becoming a stammering fool.

I had spent the last eighteen months of my life enduring a long string of physically and mentally demanding courses that were all needed before the Rangers would even look at me as a prospective candidate. At seventeen, with my secondary school diploma in hand, and over the objections of my father’s family, I enlisted in the Imperial Armed Forces. My father’s family ran the prosperous Arroyo Financial Group out of Tam Bay. They had expected me to go on to one of the more elite universities, and then join back up with firm. After all, I was a first-born son, and it was expected that I would work in the firm. If I truly felt I had to serve, then it should have been as a commissioned officer, not some lowly enlisted rating, or even as a warrant officer. Well, most of my family felt that way. My grandfather, who founded the firm in the early days of the Tam Bay sector, and my Uncle Dennis, who was currently the head of the firm and the family, both had decided that I had every right to serve the Empire as I saw fit. Plus, they both knew that my powers had started emerging, and none of the family really wanted to see me as a member of the Praetorians. Those elite soldiers tended to mettle where they were not wanted, and they demanded a loyalty that would trump even my loyalty to my family. The Praetorians worked directly for the Emperor, after all.

The first four weeks of my enlistment were spent at what was officially labeled as Fundamentals of Military Service, but more commonly known as “boot camp.” All enlisted, whether they were bound for the Army, Navy, Marines, or Imperial Security spent their first four weeks in boot. It was a time of testing and conditioning. Boot led into branch specific training. I had the test scores to qualify for the Rangers, but it was a matter of surviving all of the courses that I would need to go through before I could join their ranks. Unlike most of the elite units that selected their members from a pool of qualified soldiers that were already serving in line units, Rangers generally recruited their members directly. The Rangers had a unique culture within Imperial Security, and they felt it was easier to mold a new soldier with that culture rather than overcoming whatever an older soldier had already picked up during service with a line unit.

Since the Rangers belonged to Imperial Security, I spent the next four weeks at Basic Imperial Security Training. For the most part, it was a continuation of boot, but the recruits learned how Imperial Security wanted its troops to operate in the field. Imperial Security was the branch of the military detailed to handle threats within the borders of the Empire. These would include not only the Dark Towers raids, but also bandits, free town forces, and the aborigines. Weapons work, combat training, as well as learning the basic laws and some diplomacy were how I spent my days at Basic. Normally, a Ranger candidate would go from Basic Imperial Security to Advanced Infantry, but I had to attend something else before I could continue on the normal path. The military knew that I was a psychic, and they wanted to make sure that I could control my powers and use them effectively. As humans learned over the centuries, psychic powers could provide innumerable benefits when controlled or innumerable curses when not.

I was sent to the Psi-Academy to learn how to control my powers. Humanity had crashed on this planet a few hundred years ago, and it had come as a great surprise when a few of the survivors began developing psychic abilities. When humanity came in contact with the Dark Towers, and the never ending war against their malevolent forces began, psychics were desperately needed to counter the threat of magic on the battlefield. All humans in Imperial territory that had psychic powers were expected to attend the Psi-Academy and spend a two-year stint in the Praetorians. The Praetorians were a regiment dedicated to both protecting the Emperor and those close to him or her, but were also used to project the Emperor’s force, which was why they were also known as the Emperor’s Own. Two of the battalions assigned to the Praetorians were elite, but non-psychic, soldiers. The First Battalion, on the other hand, was made up exclusively of psychic soldiers. The most famous of these was the Imperial Guard, a company of elite soldiers that were supposed to be the epitome of the heroic psychic. Each soldier had a unique uniform, a codename, and expected to fight the Dark Towers wherever they poked up. I idolized them when I was a kid, but I had learned the truth as a teenager. Many of the Imperial Guard took their exalted status to such an extreme that they saw themselves as superior to all but the Emperor. I saw this demonstrated when the Imperial Guard had come to Tam Bay, my home town, to root out a plot to assassinate the Emperor. I had met Major Justice and his company at a reception. I did not enjoy the experience, and I had the distinct impression that the feeling was mutual. At the Academy, I learned how to master all of my powers so that they didn’t make me go insane. I also learned how to control my powers when they grew in strength. Unlike physical strength, which is built up over time, psychic strength built up in bursts. This new strength is usually found when a psychic is strained to the point that the mind has to “create” new strength or render itself into gray pudding. Those bursts of strength needed to be tightly controlled, and there were unique methods to keep those bursts under control. It was during this time I learned that I was what had been called an empathic hunter. Although I was a strong telekinetic, my main power involved my empathic senses. I couldn’t read minds, but my empathic senses were strong enough for me to feel the power of specific emotions – enough that I could almost make out what the person was thinking. The hunter side to my powers came from the fact that I could find a person based on his or her unique emotional makeup. Better still, I could feel the “ghosts” of emotions that a person left impressed on his or her physical surroundings. I was an emotional bloodhound, in a matter of speaking. I was surprised to find out that I had been invited to join the Imperial Guard when I graduated the Psi-Academy, but one of my instructors confided in me that empathic hunters were rare. The Imperial Guard liked to have them on hand. Since I had already declared that my path was to join the Rangers, I was allowed to decline the invitation and defer my stint with the Praetorians. After all, the Praetorians preferred having soldiers with some field experience so they didn’t have to waste the time of knocking out all the useless things that were drilled into a recruit’s skull during boot and the Academy. After graduating the Academy, I was finally able to return to the schedule of courses that I would need to complete before the Rangers would even consider me for acceptance. The next stop was to Advanced Infantry School.

Advanced Infantry School was primarily for those who expected to spend their careers in the down and dirty trade of infantry warfare. Generally that meant the mechanized infantry of the Army. I knew that wasn’t how I would be spending my military career, but I needed to get through the course to be able to attend the far more important Light Infantry School. I knew that the Rangers had asked the Army to waive the AIS prerequisite, but the Army had steadfast refused. I didn’t like it while I was at AIS, but I was thankful for it when I was accepted into Light Infantry School. Light infantry, unlike the more common mechanized or heavy infantry, were usually way out in front of regular forces to perform reconnaissance and to cause general havoc amongst our enemies. Light Infantry was an absolute prerequisite to join any elite unit in the Imperial Armed Forces. It is a demanding course designed to weed out those who wouldn’t be able to handle the stress. Most candidates have at least a couple of years’ experience in a line unit before applying. Since I had stated my intention to join the Rangers, I had to get through the infamous course without any of the normal seasoning that a soldier would get in the field. This was why the Rangers relied on AIS to break those who couldn’t handle the stress of the Rangers’ work and strengthen those who could handle the job. Just to make my work more difficult, the instructors at AIS made sure that I couldn’t use my newly-developed psychic abilities to ease my burden. It infuriated me at the time, but a chastising letter from my grandfather ceased my whining. Grandpa was good at that. He also gave me advice to surviving the ordeal. I found a small group of soldiers that took pity on me and helped me through LIS. Two of them wanted to be commandoes and the third knew me from the Psi-Academy. They understood my desire to be part of an elite unit, and so as long as I worked my rear end off, they would help with things that I didn’t understand. I thought that all of the time I had spent out in the wilderness when I was young would prepare me for LIS. All it managed was to give me a slight edge on some of the basic coursework. I managed to graduate LIS, but it was by the skin of my teeth. Still it was enough for me to continue on the path to become a Ranger, and to qualify to enter Warrant Officers Candidate School.

Warrant officers are unlike commissioned officers in the Imperial Armed Forces. Warrants are soldiers whose duties require them to have some of an officer’s authority, but not in a command structure. Rangers, for instance, were specialists in long range patrolling and protection, and were expected to settle disputes amongst Imperial subjects as well as enforce Imperial edicts in a manner that needed a commissioned officers authority. Rangers, however, cannot lead regular or even Imperial Security forces, at least not officially. It was a rare fool of a commissioned officer that didn’t listen to the “advice” that a Ranger handed out.

WOCS was more demanding than I had anticipated. The physical part of the school was nothing that I hadn’t dealt with in my other courses, but now I was working on college-level coursework on a myriad of subjects ranging from civilian and military law to the biology of the Dark Towers’ forces. Most of the subjects came easily enough, mostly thanks to the education that my family provided for me before I left to join the Rangers. The one that almost killed me was Theory of Magic. I could never get my mind wrapped around how magic and psychic powers differed, and how those differences translated into effects. Something to do with the odd energy bands that surrounded the planet and did weird things on unshielded electronics. I managed to pass, but I was left wondering if it was a mercy passing. I really didn’t care. I graduated WOCS, and that was what I really wanted. With all of the coursework finished, I was finally able to officially send in my application to the Rangers.

Unlike the normally rigid structure of the rest of the armed forces, the Rangers were kind of casual with the few of us that managed to get the prerequisites to join their branch. Unlike many of the elite forces, there is no specific course for Rangers. Instead, a prospective Ranger is sent on several patrols with different veteran Rangers. It’s during these patrols that a prospective Ranger begins learning the techniques and culture of the Imperial Security Ranging Patrols. If the veterans give the prospect good marks, the prospective Ranger is given a chance at a Long Ride. I had done exactly what my grandfather had told me to do during these early patrols. I listened and did what I was told, and most importantly, I learned what the veterans were trying to teach me. I must have done well enough, because a week after my last patrol in the Violet Sands sector, I was given an invitation to attempt a Long Ride in Tam Bay. I suspected that my family had pulled some strings to get me the invite, but I was willing to accept their assistance on this. I wanted to work the Tam Bay sector. I had grown up there, and I loved the area and the people.

Captain Rodgers leaned back in his chair. He said nothing as he continued to look over me with an almost disinterested air about him. His emotions told me that he wasn’t as bored as he looked. If anything, he was both anxious to meet me, and a little angry at my being there. This did little to settle my own nerves. After a minute or so, Captain Rodgers stood up and walked around me, still inspecting me. His anger lessened, but his anxiety hadn’t. Moreover, his curiosity had suddenly spiked. I continued to stand at attention, pretending that I couldn’t sense his emotions. Rangers have a tradition of almost nonchalance in the face of adversity, and I was doing my best to maintain that tradition, even if I hadn’t joined their vaunted ranks yet. Finally, the captain finished his inspection and sat back down at his desk.

“Your grandfather pushed pretty hard for me to ask for you to do your Long Ride here in Tam Bay,” Captain Rodgers said with a calm voice, but I felt the spike in his anger behind his words. The captain didn’t like that he had almost been forced to accept me. “Did you know that?”

“I suspected, Captain,” I answered. I would have been surprised if my family didn’t have anything to do with my invitation. The family did what was best for it, and not what the individual members wanted. Having a Ranger in Tam Bay would be good for the family. It was just happy luck that I also wanted to be posted back to my home sector, at least in the family’s view.

“Why do you want to be here?” he asked, and I could tell from his emotions that this was the question that could make or break me in his eyes. It set me to ponder my own reasons as to why I had chosen this particular path. My father and most of my relatives had been content to serve in the regular Army or Navy, but not me. Perhaps it was the stories that Grandpa told me when I was younger, but I think it had more to do with my father’s death.

“You know how my father died?” I asked, “Orc raiding party caught him coming back from one of our holdings in Blackwater Creek. I imagine that it’s part of my own desire for vengeance and part from the stories that my grandpa told me of when he was a Ranger way back when the Tam Bay sector just got started. It may have been a bad combination, but it’s what brought me here.” The captain gave me a long, almost searching look, and I could feel the swirl of emotions in his mind. He understood and condoned my want to avenge my father’s death at the hands of the Dark Towers, but he was worried that I was going to be unable to separate that need for vengeance from my duties as a Ranger. “Sir, if I may speak further?”

“Go ahead, Mr. Stahl,” the captain answered as his curiosity spiked again.

“I’ve been learning about duty and honor since I was an infant,” I said, trying to quell the captain’s fears, “They were always a big part of my family’s culture. Those virtues have been honed since I joined the military. Vengeance and family history is what may have pointed me in the Rangers’ direction, but honor and duty are what drive me to do my utmost to fulfill my obligations as a Ranger. It is a code of obligations that I chose, because I believe in it. Some of that probably had to do with my grandpa, but I made the choice to become a Ranger on my own.” I could feel the captain’s anxiety lessen as I spoke, but he was still unsure of me. Well, that’s what the Long Ride was for.

“Well Warrant Officer, its time for you to see if you can fulfill the obligations of being a member of the Imperial Ranging Patrols,” Captain Rodgers said, walking over to a map of the Tam Bay sector, “You will start out from Tam Bay and ride east towards Liberty Bell.” The city of Tam Bay was on the southwest corner of the sector, jutting out into the Emerald Sea. Liberty Bell was the southernmost city in the Tam Bay sector, riding right on the border with the Black River sector. I was tracing the southern border of the sector, which was also the safest of the routes, a good circuit for a rookie like myself. “From Liberty Bell, you will ride north to the Panck Homestead, and back west to Halston Pass. Stay away from Hellstowne.” The Panck Homestead was the largest private ranch in the sector and had enough workers that it rivaled some of the smaller allied towns. The Panck family had a long established relationship with the Rangers that allowed Rangers to use the homestead as a staging area for patrols. Halston Pass was a small allied town that had been debating becoming a territorial city since nearly the founding of the sector. It was also less than a thirty kilometers south of Hellstowne. I knew that the Captain was right for warning me to stay away from Hellstowne. It was the most notorious free town in not only the Tam Bay sector, but in this part of the Empire. Bandits were known to frequent the town to fence stolen goods, purchase supplies, and relax and carouse. Imperial Security tried several times to seize the town, but the Ministries of Intelligence and Justice kept Hellstowne open to keep their collective eyes on known threats to the Empire. So, only the most experienced Rangers were allowed to patrol near the town.

“After Halston Pass, you want me to return back to Tam Bay?” I asked, making sure that I had my orders down correctly. They sounded simple, because the Long Ride was supposed to be somewhat simple. The rough part was enduring the long patrol. The captain nodded and handed me a paper. It was an order for the drawing of a horse, supplies, weapons, and ammunition sufficient for the long patrol. With that piece of paper in hand, I was dismissed to start out my final test to become a Ranger.

The horse was an older gelding that was named Tecumseh. Rangers’ horses traditionally were named after people and tribes that were indigenous to the North American continent way back on Earth. They were supposedly called Indians, but I had never understood that. From what I remembered from my Earth History classes in secondary school, India was clear across one of the oceans from the North American continent. Still, Tecumseh was a tall and strong horse, even though he was getting close to retirement. He was part of the stable that Rangers reserved for rookies. A couple of sugar cubes and Tecumseh was very favorable to me. The saddle was one that my grandpa used. It had started out as his patrolling saddle, but it had been repaired so many times, I doubted there was any of the original leather left. Still, it was well-worn and comfortable with plenty of pouches for the various small pieces of equipment that a Ranger needed out in the field.

The weapons that I drew from the armory were brand-new Army-issue weapons. When humanity landed on this world, the settlers were armed with the latest in energy-based weapons. Unfortunately, the energies that fostered magic and psychic powers destroyed the micro-electronics that were necessary for those weapons to work. In fact, a lot of the technology that the settlers had depended on no longer worked. Fortunately, The Ship had been sufficiently shielded and had enough manufacturing facilities that the settlers had been able to produce new weapons that would survive in the planet’s environment. The settlers had turned back to the use of firearms. My long weapon was the G5C, the carbine version of the Army’s standard assault rifle, the G5. The carbine used the same roller-delayed locking action that had been standard in the Empire’s military for nearly a century and fired the newer 6 mm cartridge. The compact size of the carbine made it easier for long riding, but it had a much shorter range of only 400 meters. The carbine also lacked the integral retractable spear. So, I had less range and accuracy, as well as being unable to use my weapon in hand-to-hand combat, but the carbine was easier to handle in the saddle, and I could bring it to bear faster than the full-size rifle. My sidearm was the relatively new GP-5 10 mm semi-auto. It was bigger than most of the pistols that I had used before joining the military, but it was designed to be able to shoot reliably with little maintenance and after being used as occasionally as a blunt weapon in close-quarters combat. In addition to the firearms, I carried a retractable spear and my grandfather’s saber. These were primarily in case of close-quarters combat with Dark Towers. Orcs were much bigger and stronger than humans. Infantry rifles had spring-loaded, retractable spears built into their rifles allowing the infantry to have instant polearms to keep the nasty creatures away from the lines. Rangers and light infantry couldn’t carry the heavier rifles, so we had a lighter version of the retractable spear that started as a half-meter rod and extended to just shy of two meters in length. Topped with a bayonet, a Ranger could use it on the ground to keep an orc at distance, or as a lance while mounted.

Suitably equipped and provisioned, I led Tecumseh out of the East Gate and followed the paved road through the small suburbs that had grown outside the Tam Bay Wall. Most major cities had a city wall to protect it in case of a Dark Towers raid. For growing cities like Tam Bay, there was usually a cluster of small villages that grew up outside the defensive wall. New Town had rebuilt their wall seven times to encompass the numerous communities that sprang up just outside the wall. As I left the suburbs of Tam Bay, the paved road fell away, and the dirt trail drifted east towards Liberty Bell. Most of the Imperial territory was vast open terrain. Magrails were used to connect the territorial cities and allied towns, but beyond that were a few paved roads and the numerous dirt trails that most people used if they didn’t want to pay to take the magtrain. Free towns were only connected by the dirt trails because the Empire refused to connect any town that had refused its sovereignty to the massive magrail web. Part of my job was to keep an eye on the magrails. In addition to being vital to Imperial commerce and military movement, the magrails also had the communication and datalinks that allowed for Imperial Network access. Since the magrails had to be hardened and shielded in order for the magtrains to work, it made sense to run the sensitive telecom lines inside the magrail housings. The problem with these lifelines was that the Dark Towers and bandits like to destroy the lines to catch a magtrain. Although the magtrains tended to be decently armed, fast attacks could overwhelm their defenses.

The terrain of the Tam Bay sector was long spans of flat grasslands, sparsed with evergreen tree copses and occasional lakes. Tam Bay was in the sub-tropical belt of the planet, so the weather was usually hot and humid during the summer. I had learned to deal with the heat when I was much younger. My family did business all over the sector, and there weren’t that many towns that had the infrastructure to handle a proper power grid. Most of the small homesteads and the smaller allied towns didn’t have HVAC, so I learned quickly how to work and play in the sweltering heat of a Tam Bay summer. After a few hours, I began thanking my grandpa for showing me some of the tricks he had used as a Ranger to withstand the heat. I took a gulp from my canteen and continued to ride on the trail towards Liberty Bell.

It was the gunshot that stopped me. I was about a day and a half out of Tam Bay and had another day before I would reach Liberty Bell. Out this way were only a few homesteads. Gunfire usually did not bode well. I turned Tecumseh towards the sound of the gun shot and kicked the horse into a strong cantor. My two big concerns were either a Dark Towers raid or an aborigine raid. The aborigines were non-human sentient hunter-gatherers that populated the continent humanity had crashed upon. They looked like a bipedial mixture of dog, cat, and rat. Generally we had amicable relations with most of the tribes, but sometimes one of the tribes decided that the humans on their territory were for plundering instead of trading. In Tam Bay, we had two main tribes. The Stone Bones were usually in the north part of the sector, and they usually were peaceful. Occasionally they would raid a homestead or a trading party convoying through their territory, even though they knew that Rangers and Imperial Security would hunt down the perpetrators to obtain retribution. The best that I had heard it described, the Stone Bones thought of it as some sort of very lethal game where they could test which of their warriors was the most capable. The authorities tolerated it because primarily, everyone knew that living outside of the territorial cities and allied towns entailed a certain level of danger, and secondly, the Stone Bones were firmly allied with the Empire against the Dark Towers. In fact, it was one of the few tribes that were willing to allow its warriors to leave its territory to fight alongside Imperial soldiers. This far south, any aborigines should have been with the Swift Wind tribe, and those aborigines didn’t raid humans. There had been instances of Swift Wind warriors taking retribution against humans that had harmed the tribe or its members, but Rangers were more than willing to overlook those. The Imperial position was that its subjects had an obligation to deal fairly with the aborigines, and they failed to do so at their own risk.

The gunfire had come from an area that had two homesteads close to each other. A ripe target for a raid. As I came up to the homesteads, I saw several people outside, most of whom I already knew. One of the women was holding a shotgun skyward. It looked like the McCrorys and the Kileens were at it again. At least it looked like no one had been seriously hurt. I slowed Tecumseh from his cantor and trotted into the midst of the two families.

“Put that gun down, Missy,” I ordered, and slightly startled myself. The voice I heard coming from my mouth didn’t sound like anything I had ever used before. I had only heard come from my grandpa. I hoped my own surprise wasn’t evident and continued in that same commanding tone, “All of you back up from each other.” I dismounted as I came between the two feuding families. The McCrorys and the Kileens had set up homesteads some forty years ago. At the time, they had thought that having two homesteads close together made sense in such an untamed part of the Empire. For the most part, the two families had been close allies. I knew from my family’s dealings with them that the harmony between the two families had fallen apart a couple of years ago. The border between the two homesteads had always been the Little Black Creek. Two years ago, the Imperial Corps of Engineers had done some work to make the Black Creek more navigatable. The result was that the Little Black creek shifted its course by a couple hundred meters into the Kileens’ homestead. My grandpa had been asked to mediate the original solution, since he had been a Ranger and our family had financial dealings with both families. He had ordered the McCrorys to pay the Kileens for the land and to keep the creek as the natural border between the two families. It seemed like a happy compromise at the time. Then, came the fight over the value of the land. That was the fight that had been raging over the past two years, and it had soured the once-friendly relationship between the two families. Like everyone else in the sector, I was tired of hearing the constant accusations and bickering of the two families. I was going to solve this problem once and for all.

“Well, I heard that you were trying to make Ranger,” Bob McCrory said as I dismounted. Bob was the patriarch of the McCrorys, and he had known me for my entire life. I had played with his kids when my family came out to check on our investments in his homestead. Jill Kileen, the head of that family, joined the two of us. She had known me for just as long, and for the same reasons. Bob gave her a quick glare, but made no objections. I ignored the two elders and focused on Missy McCrory. She and I had some history, but that had been when we were both thirteen. At the moment, she was the one person with a weapon drawn. In the midst of this fight, that could quickly lead to someone getting killed.

“I’m serious Missy,” I said, placing my hand on the butt of my sidearm, “Put that gun on the ground right now.” She was shocked that I was speaking to her in such a manner, but she carefully placed the shotgun on the ground and took a step back. I turned back to the two elders, who were also shocked. They remembered me as Philip Stahl’s grandson, and they were having a hard time reconciling that with Eric Stahl, the Ranger. “You know, everyone who knows you is getting tired of this constant fighting. I don’t want to hear what started the fight today. It’s all so much manure as far as I’m concerned.”

“Now you listen to me young man—“ Jill Kileen began before I glared at her. Something in my countenance made her stop before she completed her sentence, and I felt as her righteous indignation dissipated into fear. Bob McCrory was radiating a similar fear. They were completely unsure of how to deal with me.

“Let me explain this to the two of you,” I said, carefully parsing my words, “This bickering has dragged on long enough. No one wants to do business with either of you because of the poisoned atmosphere between the two families. Everyone is waiting to see when someone gets killed. Not if, when. From what my family tells me, the Rangers that have come by haven’t wanted to get involved because they don’t want to get involved in a domestic dispute unless someone’s hurt or about to be hurt. Now me, I know better. I was here when Grandpa Stahl darn near had to beat the two of you around the head and neck to get that compromise worked out. I know how much honor and pride is all wrapped up in this because I know both of you. Stubborn pig headed fools, both of you.” I walked over to Tecumseh and began rummaging through one of the pouches.

“Why you jumped-up little tin god!” exclaimed Bobby McCrory. Bobby was Bob’s eldest son, and the family hot head. He was a few years older than me, but he had never really matured past the age of fifteen. “You think because your family owns a stake in both our homesteads, you can tell us what to do. You got no right to be poking your nose into our business.” I regarded Bobby with a casual look, but I felt jittery inside. Bobby had given me one of the worst beatings in my life, and I was still a little scared of him. Not a rational fear, but childhood fears were very rarely rational.

“Bobby, get away from me before something bad happens,” I warned him, as I felt the ancient fear being pushed down by the professionalism that I had been forging within myself. All of the pain and suffering that I had endured in the past eighteen months had given me the confidence and the surety that easily defeated the irrational fear of a person that I could recognize as a petty loser.

“Don’t go telling me what to do,” he shouted, closing the distance between us. I could feel the dread fear rising from the others. They knew Bobby was going too far, but they didn’t know how to stop him – and they were frightened that I was going to kill him. Bobby didn’t seem to notice, because he continued on. “I kicked your sorry tail once, and I can do it again.”

The telekinetic slap threw Bobby to the ground. Anger coursed through me, and I knew that I had to keep my temper in check. He looked up at me and I drank in the pure terror that was coming from him. He had never known that I was gifted and the sudden shock of it had awakened Bobby’s stunted survival instinct. Our eyes locked, and I could feel me silently asserting my dominance – and Bobby surrendering whatever hope he had of ever being stronger than me. Without another word, I shot the flare into the air. I ignored the pleading questions from the families as I waited for a response from my signal. I had a plan, and neither family was going to like it. From what I had learned from my family’s various dealings, sometimes that meant it was a good plan.

I felt the unique psi-scents of the aborigine party. They were trying to stay hidden amongst the grasslands, which meant they were nearly impossible to see. The leader of the party came out first. His hunched over posture hid his true height, but he was easily one of the larger aborigines I had ever seen. The sudden appearance of the Swift Wind party startled Bob and Jill. I had made everyone else leave without telling them what was going to happen, which made everyone nervous almost to the point of panic. I admit, I did little to assuage any of their concerns. The aborigine leader skittered over to the three of us, his whiskers twitching in curiosity.

“You new Ranger?” the aborigine asked in broken Imperial, “Smell familiar. Live in Tam Bay?” I didn’t recognize the aborigine, but most of them looked the same to me. I knew a few of them well enough to make out distinguishing characteristics, but most aborigines looked enough alike that I would have had a hard time telling one from another. Fortunately, that was before my powers developed. Now I would always recognize the aborigine in front of me from his unique psi-scent.

“I grew up in Tam Bay,” I answered, “My family has dealt with the tribes before, so we may have met. I need the leader of the Swift Wind for what is happening here.” I had learned a long time ago that aborigines understood human language much better than they could speak it, and they respected humans that spoke to them regularly rather than trying to imitate the broken pattern of normal aboriginal speech.

“I head of Swift Wind,” the aborigine said, “I surprised to see green lights. So I come.” That made a certain amount of sense. Green flares were the agreed upon signal that a Ranger needed assistance from the aborigines. Since this area of the Tam Bay sector was more or less peaceful, the appearance of green flares were surprising enough that the leader of the Swift Wind decided he needed to see for himself what the problem was. Leaders in the aborigine tribes led from the front, especially when there was something odd or possibly dangerous to the tribe.

“Thank you for coming sir,” I told the leader. He hadn’t introduced himself, and I wasn’t going to either. It was one of the quirks of the aborigine culture. “There is a land dispute between these two families. This dispute has become very nasty and neither side is following the agreement. As such, I think it would be a good idea for the Swift Wind to reclaim this land until one of the families makes you an acceptable offer for the land. Or you can keep it for your own use.” Both Bob and Jill were looking at me in wide-eyed surprise. I kept a level glare at them.

“Your two families have failed to keep any bargain that would allow the land to hold value. As such, I see land that has no value. Therefore, neither family will be paid recompense. Any further dealings with the land will be between your two families and the aborigines.”

“You do this foolishness, and both of us will cut your family’s business,” Jill said with a threatening tone. It may have been effective if I didn’t know two things. First, I could sense the horror and fear behind Jill’s words. Secondly, I knew that if the two families cut their business with mine because of my actions as an Imperial officer, my own family would do everything in their power to blacklist the families from any other financial service. My uncle had already informed me of the company position before I left for my Long Ride.

“You might want to rethink that,” was all I said before I kicked Tecumseh in the side and rode out.

Halston Pass was the last leg of my circuit. It was a small allied town that was situated on the best road through the Black River Swamp. The swamp extended from the Little Black River and encompassed several square kilometers and was in the middle of several direct routes between the various towns and cities. Halston Pass was a trade town that lived on providing services to the traders that used the pass to shorten their routes. The town had maybe a hundred or so residents and didn’t have much in the way of modern technology. The town proper was surrounded by a thick wooden palisade. A sentry on the palisade sounded for the doors to be opened as I rode up to the town.

“A new Ranger,” commented an older, heavyset man with a shiny badge on the lapel of the leather vest he was wearing. From his demeanor and confidence, I guessed that he was the town marshal. “Well, I guess you’ll have to do.” There was an odd emotion behind the marshal’s words. The closest thing I could think of was anxiety. It didn’t just come from the marshal, but from the townspeople that were joining the two of us in the town square. All of them were feeling that same emotion of deep anxiety.

“Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?” I asked, calmly. If they needed a Ranger, it couldn’t be good. Halston Pass was pretty good at defending itself from most of the threats surrounding it. The marshal led me back to the church in the center of the town. Halston Pass was a Christian town, and the large church was used by the few denominations that populated the town. It also served as the town hall and meeting center. I remembered it from the few times that my family came into town to discuss financing certain town projects. As I walked in, I noticed that the church was filled to capacity. At the pulpit was the head of the Lutherans, Minister Halloran.

“Finally, a Ranger has come to assist us,” the minister intoned, “God willing, he will be able to find the girl.” A murmur rumbled through the crowd. There was a collective feeling of relief mixed with dread amongst the people. Something bad had happened, and I was supposed to fix it.

“Would you all mind telling me what is going on?” I asked calmly.

“We got hit by bandits the day before yesterday,” the marshal answered, “Small group, nothing we couldn’t normally handle on our own. We forted up behind the wall, shot a few of them dead, and then watched as they rode off. What we didn’t know was that some of the children had been playing in the fields to our north.”

“They snatched my baby!” exclaimed a woman as she stood up from one of the pews. Her anguish flowed through her with the force of a mighty river. The others in the church felt a sorrow for the woman that I had never seen in a collective before. Usually there is a certain mood amongst a collection of people, and most of the time its neutral with streaks of joy or sadness. This was a deep sorrow, which I found to be very unsettling.

“Who hit you?” I asked with a forced calm. Because of the hard years after the crash, the protection of children was amongst our society’s highest priorities. The Dark Towers would occasionally snatch a child on a raid for reasons we still didn’t understand, but most bandits would avoid the kidnapping of children. Maybe a teenage girl would be snatched for a bandit’s unsavory pleasures, but young children were avoided because the bandits knew what would happen. The moment Imperial forces were aware of the situation, they would concentrate their available forces to find the child and the perpetrator rarely made it to court.

“Bandits,” the marshal answered, “We think it might have been the Oakes Brothers. They’ve been doing some raiding this way. Somewhere between five to fifteen bandits. Some of them are going to be wounded.” I hadn’t heard of the Oakes Brothers, but there were always new gangs of bandits forming. There were always those people who thought it was easier to steal than to work for their money. It was why there were Rangers out on the plains.

“I need something from the child,” I said to the mother, “Something she felt very close to. Marshal, while she does that, would you please show me where the girl was snatched?” There was a general feeling of relief from the population as I handed out orders. If a Ranger was going to handle the situation, then the people knew that it would be resolved. Rangers had a reputation for tenacity. The marshal guided me away from the church, out through the palisade, and to a small rise just south of the town.

The rise was barely a hill, but I could see how children would want to play on the grassy covered small hill. The grass had been churned up by running horses. There were psychic ghosts from frightened children and angered bandits. That made sense – the marshal said that the defenders had hit a few of the bandits. I didn’t see any blood in the surrounding area, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. As I circled the rise, I looked for where the bandits had fled from the attack on the Halston Pass. The hill was used by a lot of people, so I couldn’t find any definitive tracks for the bandits. There was a way for me to pick up the bandits’ trail, but I wanted to wait until the child’s mother brought me the item. Then, I was going to have to open up my psi-senses fully.

The mother handed me a well-worn, blue linen blanket. It was just the right size for a young child. As I took the blanket, I could immediately sense the girl’s ghost. This was probably the most important material object the girl had, and she had poured her emotions into it. As I focused on the blanket, I noticed a unique sense in the ghost. It was too strong for a normal girl, but not for one already demonstrating psychic powers. Most of the time, psychic powers don’t erupt until puberty, but the unique mind that can produce psychic powers can be detected early. One of those ways to detect a possible psychic early is the strength of the ghost that the child leaves. I doubted the parents even suspected that their young girl was going to erupt. I would need to talk to them about it, but that meant getting the girl back from the bandits. I looked at the townspeople surrounding me in an almost messianic fashion, with the infinite hope that I would save the child from the evil that had snatched her from their protective grasp. “I need all of you to go back to the town. I don’t want stray emotions screwing up the trails.”

“What are you talking about Ranger?” the town marshal asked with a touch of suspicion in his voice. I hadn’t confided in any of the town what I was about to do. Part of that was the general taciturn attitude that I had learned from the Rangers I had worked with before. Part of it was a natural suspicion that someone in Halston Pass knew who the bandits were, and that they would try and alert the bad guys that I was on their trail. It may have sounded paranoid, but I had heard too many tales from other Rangers and from my grandpa to have any illusions that everyone who made their home on the plains were the lilly-white, industrious people that the Imperial media portrayed.

“Marshal, you wanted my help,” I said with that same, surprising command tone, “Now let me do my job.” Rookie Ranger or not, something told the town marshal not to argue the point with me. Instead, he just strode back to the town wall with a look of righteous indignation. I really didn’t care if the marshal was upset with me or not. All I cared about was finding the child. With the hill cleared, I opened up my psi-senses fully.

The various psi-scents on the hill suddenly jumped out of the background and slammed into me with the force of a psychic hammer. I had a moment of pure sensory overload before my mind could begin sorting out the myriad of psi-scents. The girl’s psi-scent, pungent with terror, rose above the other scents. I focused on it, and I could almost “see” the trail of the girl’s ghost as it left the hill to the north. There were four other psi-scents that went with her. They were all tainted with the sadistic glee that most bandits exuded. With all five scents firmly in my mind, I could sense all of their ghosts trailing off to the north. Towards Hellstowne.

I said nothing to the townspeople as I mounted Tecumseh. There wasn’t time to answer the onslaught of questions that were percolating in the townspeoples’ minds. I had to hurry to catch up to the bandits before they reached the freetown. I couldn’t go into that town without backup. I was still too green to handle Hellstowne. Even my grandpa had warned me against going anywhere near that town unless absolutely necessary. Tecumseh seemed to understand the urgency of the danger, and he immediately began galloping with an alacrity that I had never imagined possible out of the old horse. I followed the ghosts of the five people. The grasslands of the plains blurred by as I focused on the ghosts. I could feel the ghosts beginning to dissapate into the background of the psychic world. Thank God the girl was so unique.

I followed the trail into the Black River swamp. The Black River was one of the larger rivers that ran north to south through the Imperial Penninsula. The river narrowed through the Tam Bay sector and created a large swamp of alternating grassland and muddy marshes. I smiled with a predatory grin as the trail went into the swamp. I knew the bandits weren’t going to be able to move that fast through the swamp. The muddy terrain, the brush vegetation, and the odd creature would keep the horses from being able to move at anything faster than a trot. As for myself, I had been hunting and traversing the swamp since I was six. Many of my family hunted dangerous game, and the Black River Swamp was home to many species that fit that category. Instead of just following the bandits’ trail, I headed east to a small game trail that I used for hunting. I continued on the trail for a bit before I saw something that stopped me. There were several tracks for grand deer and loco-hogs, but they were all going the wrong way. The game trail led to several small pools of good drinking water. Most of the game moved towards the water, with only a few tracks heading away from the water or going across the path. This looked like at least a small herd of grand deer and several small groups of loco-hogs. Something was ahead that frightened the animals of the swamp, and there were precious few things that could frighten a loco-hog. I dismounted from Tecumseh, drew my carbine, and crept forward on foot. I knew that Tecumseh would wait patiently for my return. Ranger horses are well-trained.

I could still sense the ghosts of the bandits and the girl off to my west. As I slinked through the undergrowth of the swamp, I felt their psi-scents grow. They had stopped, which surprised me. Bandits normally didn’t stop in the swamp. They might try to lose pursuers in the muddy stretch of land, but no one liked staying in the swamp. No one, except the crazy hunters and outdoorsmen like my family. As I approached where the bandits had stopped, I felt two other strong psi-scents. Both were radiating a maliciousness that almost made me sick. They weren’t Dark Towers, but they were just as evil – if that was even possible. I crept through the muddy ground, shielded from their view by the shadows of the mangrove trees. The six adults and one scared, little girl were in a small clearing of grassland, maybe twenty meters in diameter. I had managed to find a blind at the very edge of the clearing, maybe fifteen meters from where the bandits and their companions were meeting. Three white canvas tents were set up in a triangle around a stone-circled cook fire. The horses were all tied to a few trees closest to the campsite. The six men were sitting around the cook fire, their rifles sitting next to them. I could hear the murmur of talking, but I was too far to hear anything that could be discerned as words. The girl was bound with rope and sitting in front of the far tent. From everyone’s psi-scents, they hadn’t detected me, and they were feeling pretty secure. The bandits were far too much at ease for them to believe that they were being tailed. Their companions were similarly relaxed in the campsite.

By rights, I could have just begun shooting the bandits and whomever they were meeting. Rangers are not police officers. Rangers are soldiers tasked with peacekeeping duties. I had no legal obligation to demand the bandits’ surrender. That said, the whole situation was bothering me. Bandits normally didn’t kidnap girls that young, except as ransom. This didn’t seem like a ransom kidnapping. Plus, there were the two men that the bandits had met up with. The pervasive vileness in their psi-scent bothered me greatly. Something told me that there was more going on than I could see. I really wanted to take them alive. I was beginning to wonder if the girl had been targeted. If I could tell she was a potential psychic, then someone else definitely could. I was beginning to think that these two individuals could tell she was a psychic, or knew that she was a psychic. I watched the men for a while, looking for an opportunity.

The fading daylight vanished completely and darkness enveloped the swamp. Only the small cook fire fended off a portion of the encompassing darkness. I grinned to myself. The darkness would be my friend. I watched as the bandits placed the girl into one of the tents. Four of the bandits retired to another, and the nasties went back to the last tent. Two of the bandits sat down with their rifles across their laps. My guess is that they were the sentries. For sentries, they were pretty lax, even taking the time to light up cigarettes. There went their night vision. I wished that I had a suppressor for my carbine, but those were only issued to the commandoes. I would have to do this carefully so as not to let those bastards harm the girl.

I kept my carbine trained on the right hand sentry and slowly levitated off the ground. It took more of my psi-strength than I like to admit to do a slow float out of my firing position. Strenuous, but very stealthy. The two sentries didn’t even notice that I had come into the firelight. The iron sights of my rifle glowed with as the firelight reflected off of the white marks. The campsite shook as my carbine cracked twice. The two sentries were slumping off of their perches as my carbine turned to the tent with the bandits. The selector switch clicked and I focused on the bandits’ individual psi-scents. Bursts of fire ripped through the white canvas, splattering red blood in wide arcs. I felt two of the psi-scents fade into ghosts. The other two flared in pain, surprise, and anger. I felt the two nasties jump awake at the gunfire. Their vile psi-scents were punctuated with astonishment. They weren’t expecting anyone to have found their little campsite. I wanted to turn and confront them, but the two bandits in the tent had managed to find their weapons and began firing. I fell to the ground as pistol rounds cracked above me. I fired two more bursts into the tent before the carbine’s magazine went dry. Another psi-scent faded, but the last was spiking with incredible rage. The two nasties were coming out of their tent as I scrambled to eject the spent magazine and slap in a fresh one. I felt their surprise turn to rage as they came upon the scene.

I managed to throw up the telekinetic shield a bare moment before a rain of bullets came down on me. The two nasties were wielding sub-machine guns and were showing exactly why the weapons were nicknamed “bullet hoses.” I felt a throbbing in the base of my skull as the rounds slapped into the psychic barrier. I knew that my psi-strength would be erupting soon with new strength, but I didn’t want it to happen while I was in the firefight. Those eruptions needed careful control – not something I could guarantee while I was trading fire on two angles. The magazine slipped into the receiver, and I hit the bolt release. I felt the carbine chamber the round as I brought the weapon to bear on the last psi-scent in the tent. I squeezed the trigger and held it a little longer than I was trained – I wanted to make sure that the bandit was dead. Bullets slapped into my telekinetic shield as the two nasties began emptying their sub-machine guns at me. I rolled up into a firing crouch. I dropped the magazine out of my carbine and reached down to retrieve a fresh one when a bolt of unknown energy lanced through my shield and slammed through me. It felt as if every neuron in my body fired as once. Intense pain flashed through my body and I collapsed to the soft, muddy ground.

With great strain, I raised my head and looked up at where the two nasties had been standing. I didn’t know what they hit me with, but I knew it wasn’t natural. Magic, in the hands of humans? It seemed impossible. Only the native races of the planet were able to work magic. Humans just had psychics. Neither of the two nasties had been psychic. I would have sensed it when I came near the camp. I needed to get back on my feet, and I needed to do it quickly before the nasties finished me. It was at this time that all those months of training paid off. Honed reactions began without thought as I assessed the damage and began to move. Physically, everything was working, but my reactions were completely off. It felt like it took a second or two for my body to respond to what my brain was telling it to do. I staggered to find cover, trying to get my shield back up and wondering why I wasn’t being rained down upon with lead. I rolled behind one of the logs that the bandits had been sitting on and brought my carbine up to where the nasties had been standing. That’s when I finally noticed the camp.

All of the tents had been knocked flat. The two nasties were on the ground, dazedly trying to get to their feet. I placed bursts into both of them and watched as they slumped to the ground. I felt their psi-scents fade to ghosts. As I tried to shake off the lingering effects of whatever had hit me, I felt for the psi-scent of the girl. She was in her tent, and I could feel the pain that was coursing through her. I began cursing to myself as I stumbled over to where she was draped in the remains of her tent. Rather than struggling with the canvas to untangle her, I pulled out my work knife and cut her free. She was moaning in pain, and for good reason. It looked like she had been slammed with a giant sledge hammer. Rage filled me, and that seemed to wash away any of the lasting effects of whatever had hit me. I whistled for Tecumseh to come into the camp and quickly began to fashion a sling for the tiny girl. Even at my best speed, I was doubtful that I could do anything to save the girl. Rib cage, legs, arms, even her pelvic bone was shattered. Extensive bruising led me to believe there were extensive internal injuries. Maybe if a helicopter could reach us and airlift her to Tam Bay, assuming that I could reach one. There was one thing that I could do immediately, but I had to be very careful, or I would kill her before I could even hope to save her. Using the techniques I had learned in the Psi-Academy, I cleared my mind and used my telekinesis to carefully probe her brain. A sudden flash of intense pain coursed through her, and I knew that I had found my target – the main pain receptor of the brain. An infinitely tiny telekinetic thrust shut it down. A medical psychic would be able to repair the nerve, but it would allow me to move the girl without her body hitting the pain threshold that caused it to shut down. Tecumseh, being a Ranger horse, had come close to me when he had entered the camp, and waited patiently for me. The sling I had fashioned wasn’t perfect, but it would do the job. I reached into the saddlebag for the airship schedule. I allowed myself a string of curses. None of the vital communication links would come close enough in the small time window the girl had to get emergency care. Coming to that conclusion, I made a decision. I reholstered the carbine on the saddle. I wouldn’t need it. I faced Tecumseh, and told the horse, “Meet me back at the town.”

Gently picking up the girl with pure telekinetic power, I lifted the two of us above the trees of the Blackwater Swamp. I had to slowly build up my speed as I accelerated back to Halston Pass. I wanted to make sure that the girl was alive when I returned her to her parents. They should at least have a chance to say good-bye. In two minutes, I was at my top speed of forty kilometers per hour, which was much faster at thirty meters than at ground level. Normally, I loved to watch as the ground raced below me as I soared through the air. It had taken me weeks to be able to fly without continuously concentrating on the myriad of details necessary to maintain myself aloft. Normally, it was an amazing sensation of freedom. This time, I felt constrained, and the ground just couldn’t go fast enough. The town raced up to meet us, and I saw the red cross painted on the top of the doctor’s office. Thankful for Imperial regulations, I landed as softly as I could in front of the office and slammed the door open with a telekinetic thrust. It wasn’t my most gracious entrance, but that was far from my mind at the time. I pushed through the people in the small waiting room and into an exam room. The man in the room retreated as I came through the door and gently laid the girl on the table.

“Go get the doctor, her parents, and the pastor,” I told the man. He nodded and fled the room. I waited until the doctor came rushing into the room. I gave him a very quick rundown of my initial exam. He nodded as he went to the girl’s side. I could sense from his emotions that my suspicions were correct. The girl would not survive her injuries. I left the room. It was about to get very crowded in the room, and I needed to get to a phone. The Rangers would need to get to that campsite before anyone came poking around.

The last leg of my Long Ride was relatively uneventful. I had managed a dispute between two farmers and had stopped an aborigine raid of another farmer who was letting his livestock roam outside his land and onto the aborigine hunting grounds. Both times, simply having a Ranger around made both sides more willing to talk and come to an understanding. Rangers aren’t really known for their patience, but do have a nasty reputation when weapons are pulled. Supposedly, one of the Rangers’ ancestor organizations had a motto of “One Riot, One Ranger,” and the Imperial Rangers have managed to continue that tradition. I had put the last week to good use to try and figure out what had happened at the campsite, and I didn’t like the conclusions I found. Duty forced me to submit my conclusions on my patrol report, even though I was fairly certain that the captain would disqualify me from service once he read the report.

As custom dictated, I attended my Long Ride debrief in dress uniform. I stood at rigid attention as Captain Rodgers read my report. His face was impassive, and his emotions were curiously bland. I sensed an interest, a disappointment, and something akin to astonishment as the veteran Ranger read the details of my Long Ride. After he was done, he looked up at me with a level look. “Mr. Stahl, do you know how many Long Rides I have had the duty to oversee in my tenure as station commander in Tam Bay?”

“No sir,” I answered as smoothly as I could. The question caught me off-guard.

“Seventeen, including yours,” Captain Rodgers answered. The captain’s emotions became more solidified with a concern and a reproach that was worrisome to me. “And every time one of you comes back, you give me a patrol report that reads more like ‘How I Screwed Up’ then what it should be. I will be the first to admit that your patrol was a bit more eventful than most, but a patrol report is not a place for you to recite your mistakes. Patrol reports are so the intelligence people will have current information about what is going on within the Imperial borders. Debriefs are for your mistakes.”

“I wanted to be complete, captain,” I replied in my defense, “I made a critical error in assessing the danger, and a civilian was killed as a result.” It had taken some time to figure it out. The nasties had hit me with an energy weapon of unknown type that set off my entire nervous system. The obvious result would have been a pain and sensory overload that should have killed me, or at least incapacitated me. The side effect was that it also unleashed my full telekinetic power in a single uncontrolled wave. Essentially, I became a psychic explosive. I don’t know how the nasties had shielded themselves from the blast, but I suspected that whatever they had used had also protected them from being crushed by the telekinetic wave. The girl hadn’t been so lucky. From the captain’s emotions, I gathered that he disagreed with my report’s conclusions.

“You did not make a mistake, Warrant Officer,” he said in a neutral tone, “You proceeded like you should have. An unknown factor crept into the situation, and you had no chance to overcome it before the hostage was killed. Tragic, but it happens. We don’t live in a safe place. My only reprimand was that you failed to secure the campsite before leaving.” It sounded harsh, but there was a sympathetic tinge to the captain’s emotions. “That being said, it was a very human thing to want to get the girl to her parents before she passed on. It’s a decision you’ll have to make often – balancing the needs of a Ranger’s duty and the needs of human compassion.” The captain paused, and there was a sudden humor in him. “Of the seventeen that have taken their Long Ride, do you know how many are now serving Rangers?”

“No sir, and I would hate to hazard a guess.”

“Eight,” Captain Rodgers answered, “Including you.” My mind reeled at the words. It seemed almost surreal as the captain stood up from his desk to pin the silver star within a circle to my chest. I saluted, trying to keep my military formality, but from the amusement coming from the captain, I was pretty sure I had a stunned grin on my face.

“Now Ranger Stahl, we have some housekeeping items to attend to,” the captain said, slamming me back into reality, “First, I want an amended patrol report on my desk by 1800 hours today. This time, I want you to spell out exactly what you saw and what actions you took in response, and I want it in neutral terms. Recriminations for your actions are for myself, other commissioned officers, and the Chief to deal out. You’ll ruin our reputation if you put that fallacious stuff in your reports. Secondly, you’ll need to add this to your uniform.” With that, the captain tossed me a small felt-covered box. Instinctively, I caught it telekinetically and floated the box to my waiting hand. A gleaming silver bar, maybe three centimeters long by half a centimeter wide, shone up at me. The official name for the decoration was the Meritous Service Award for Non-Combat Duties, but most soldiers called it a silver chit.

“I’m not complaining, or refusing this, Captain, but what is this for?” I asked. Rather than answering me directly, the captain picked up a sheet of paper off of his desk and began reading.

“At the behest of the Duke of the Tam Bay Sector, the Earl of the territorial city of Tam Bay, the Earl of the territorial city of Liberty Bell, and assorted exalted persons residing therein,” the captain began, “And after a review of the requested actions by Ranger Captain Rodgers and Imperial Security Brigadier Noreen Calhoun, it has been determined by the Imperial Defense Ministry that Warrant Officer, Third-Class, Eric Stahl did perform his responsibilities in a manner that is consistent with the highest possible ideal of a soldier in Imperial Security. It goes on with a bunch of honorary speech, but it essentially says that the Tam Bay Sector believes your handling of the McCrory-Kileen affair was successful and smart enough that they want the Rangers to recognize it. Since I happen to know both of those families – and what had been happening between them – I agreed.” I was a little surprised to say the least. I had just completed a weeks-long patrol, shot it out with bandits and unknown forces, and my commendation was for the handling of a land dispute.

“As for the action at the campsite,” the captain said, “While you did a pretty decent job there, it has been classified while the Ministry of Intelligence and Imperial Security conduct an investigation. You are ordered not to discuss it at this time without my express approval. Is that clear, Ranger?”

“Yes captain.”

“Good,” the captain replied, very satisfied, “Now, let’s talk about your first actual patrol.”

]]> http://www.derek-ward.com/2008/07/the-long-ride/feed/ 0 http://www.derek-ward.com/2008/05/good-deeds-dont-go-unpunished/ http://www.derek-ward.com/2008/05/good-deeds-dont-go-unpunished/#comments Tue, 27 May 2008 21:30:03 +0000 derek http://www.derek-ward.com/?p=19 No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

By

Derek Ward

A Ranger’s patrol was usually boring. Most of the time, it was just riding the vast stretches of land between the cities and towns, on the watch for bandits or Dark Towers’ forces that may have infiltrated into Imperial territory. It was demanding work, and the path to becoming a Ranger was one of the toughest in the Imperial Armed Forces. Only the Imperial Commandoes and Imperial Marine Reconnaissance were more rigorous. Maintaining constant vigilance with little or no human contact for days at a time – and sometimes harsh environmental conditions - was one of those things that could make or break a Ranger candidate. Most couldn’t make it past the Long Ride – the probationary solo patrol before officially becoming a Ranger. Those that did muddle through had even rougher patrols to tackle. After all, we endured the stress of our job because we knew that we were protecting the citizens of the Empire that couldn’t do it. Fortunately, the brass in Imperial Security, the internal paramilitary force to whom the Rangers belonged, were nice enough to allow the Rangers to customize their patrolling gear to allow for maximum comfort. It was one less irritant to distract a Ranger from his duty. For me, that meant instead of the combat fatigues that most soldiers were forced to wear, I wore denim cargo pants, knee-high brown leather riding boots, a tan colored light cotton shirt, leather gloves, and the traditional black Stetson hat. My pistol was holstered on my right hip, while my saber was sheathed at my left hip, and my retractable spear was in its holder on my back. I wore a dark green riding vest – sort of a combination web gear, informal uniform, and riding protection. Sewn inside the padding were high-strength plastic plates to blunt trauma wounds from any of the various mishaps that could happen on a patrol, from falling off the horse to small arms fire. Pockets for various tools, food, and ammunition were dispersed all over the vest. Embroidered in black over my left breast was STAHL – my family name. On the right breast was the sigil of the Rangers, a five-pointed silver star within a silver circle. Above the sigil were the three circles of a warrant officer, first-class. The vest looked onerous to wear in the warm and humid grasslands of the Tam Bay sector, but it had been designed by former Rangers. It was good stuff, as we said, one of our highest praises for a piece of equipment.

I had sallied out of Tam Bay three weeks earlier. My patrol circuit went in a wide band through the middle of the sector, starting in the southwest with Tam Bay, up through Black River, arching to Liberty Bell, and then back to Tam Bay. If everything went routinely, the whole circuit took about four to six weeks. Primarily, my orders were to check the magrail and accompanying fibop lines for any signs of sabotage or disruption, ensure that the free towns in the sector were following the rules, and to investigate anything out of the ordinary. The great plume of black smoke off in the distance fell into the last category.

I could see the smoke rising up from the grassy plain for a few kilometers. It couldn’t have been anything good. There weren’t any homesteads this far out of Tam Bay, and the magrail track was a good fifteen kilometers to the west of whatever was burning off in the distance. I had been hoping for a simple patrol before I took some leave. It looked like what I wanted had been screwed over again. I had been a Ranger long enough to almost anticipate it.

“Well, Commanche,” I said to my horse, “Looks like we’ve got to work to do.” Commanche was the typical Ranger horse. Intelligent but lazy, at least until there was a fight or folks needing help. Then, the horse was one of the most fearsome creatures on this dark land. Commanche made a token protest at the reigns, and then followed my turn toward the rising plumes of smoke.

The sweet smells of the wild grasses rose up to me as Commanche trampled them, galloping towards the smoke. As we neared the source, I reached back to the saddle holster and drew my carbine. If it was orcs or goblins causing the problem, they wouldn’t be for long. That was the main purpose of Imperial Security Rangers. Kill the enemies of the Empire before they had a chance to do damage. The sight and smells of what awaited me, however, shocked me.

The smoke was rising from a burning Prowler armored personnel carrier. The ground surrounding the burning vehicle was torn up with a few smaller fires burning nearby. The smells of death, burning flesh, burning fuel and plastics contributed to the horror of the scene. Bodies of soldiers were littered around the APC. From what I could see, it looked like the soldiers had managed to dismount and fight against whatever had killed them. Not seeing any sign of the force that killed the squad, I dismounted and let Commanche munch on some grass while I investigated.

The Prowler was the newest generation of APC’s for the Imperial Army. It held a dismounted squad of twelve soldiers and two dogs, and had a crew of four – driver, turret gunner, vehicle commander, and crew chief/medic. With its 12 mm machine gun and 30 mm grenade launcher, the Prowler was rated to be able to assist its squad in fending off at least a century of orcs or a few centuries of goblins. That was what bothered me. It was routine for Imperial Army units to bolster Imperial Security when the Army units weren’t on the front lines, but generally as heavy reserves. The Tam Bay sector, which had five territorial cities, ten allied towns, four free towns, and dozens of independent homesteads, was nearly five hundred kilometers from the border between the Human Empire and the Dark Towers’ territory. Since the Red Lake Campaign added several hundred kilometers of border, orc and goblin raiding parties have been able to slip in and cause more-than-usual havoc, but primarily in the northern sectors. In fact, the raids had seemed to become smarter than the usual general havoc that had been the rule since humans and the Dark Forces first encounter each other. Any force small enough to infiltrate far enough south to reach my sector without being spotted should not have been large enough to defeat a motor rifle squad. They could have opened a portal, but even those wouldn’t have allowed a large enough number of Dark Towers’ minions through that the squad couldn’t have fended them off. Even if they caught the soldiers by surprise, they shouldn’t have been able to defeat the squad and its APC. The soldiers just had too much firepower at their disposal. As I looked over the first body, I knew that no Dark Towers’ creature had killed the soldier. The bullet wounds were evident on the body. Bullet wounds meant that bandits were responsible for the slaughter. As I crouched near the body, I scanned the area again, taking in all of the major details. I didn’t like what I saw.

What bothered me was that none of the soldiers’ weapons had been taken, nor anything out of the APC. It just looked like the bandits had come across the squad, fought it out, and then left. From the tracks around the burning APC, the bandits had horses, so the lack of scavenging made even less sense. The rest of the motor rifle platoon wouldn’t have had time to race over here before the bandits had time to loot the bodies and flee. So, the bandits were either already loaded up with booty, or they had a bigger score planned. The last part worried me the most. What could be bigger than a dozen military-grade rifles, ammo, and grenades?

I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to find the psi-tracks. Ever since humans landed on this world, individuals began developing psychic abilities. Mine had manifested when I was still a teenager. I could “smell” emotions. Moreover, I could track a person based on their emotional makeup, their unique “psi-scent.” The instructors at the Psi-Academy called me an empathic hunter. I also had a few other abilities, but I didn’t use them much. Out of the simple need to maintain my sanity, I kept the full power of my psi-senses reigned in until I needed them. A little concentration, though, and the psi-world opened up to me. My mind felt the unique scent of soldiers and some other human scents, but none that I knew. I wagered that those humans were the bandits. There was something odd about their psi-scent, but I couldn’t decipher it. It didn’t matter in the short run, thought. If I ran across the bandits again, I’d know them. Unfortunately, that was the only information that my psi-tracking gave me. No unusual emotions or alien scents. I opened my eyes and let the psi-scents fade into the background. It was time to concentrate on the physical.

The horse tracks had come from and led back off to the north, which was the rough direction of the free town of Border. Of the four free towns, Border was definitely one of the more hostile to the Empire. Since its founding after humanity crashed on this planet, the Human Empire realized two things. First, it would need to expand in order to survive. Second, not everyone was going to fit in with the Imperial government and its ideas on the proper governance of human society. So, the Throne asked its discontent and enterprising citizens to emigrate outside the walled cities and form their own communities. Those communities that wanted Imperial protection from the Dark Towers’ forces, occasional aboriginal attacks, and human bandits paid taxes and wrote out a charter that guaranteed the basic rights of all subjects. Free towns, on the other hand, paid no taxes, were given no protection, and did not have to abide by Imperial law. There were a few exceptions to the last point. The residents in a free town could not assist the enemies of the Empire or those who commit criminal offenses against Imperial subjects. If it was found that either of those rules were true, either Imperial Security or Imperial Army forces could seize any and all property within the free town and impose military tribunals against all residents. Just to keep the free towns honest, the Empire sent its Rangers through the free towns every so often. I had been to Border a couple of weeks ago, and hadn’t seen anything out of ordinary. The residents were as rude as they thought they could be with me. It would have made me angry, but my grandpa had sat me down and gave me a long talk just after I had officially became a Ranger.

“These folks have been trying to get away from Imperial influence,” my grandpa told me, “That star on your chest makes you the Empire to them, with all the problems and dangers of dealing with the Empire. Of course you being there is going to upset them. Go with a gentle hand, and you’re less likely to make them even more ornery. Just don’t be afraid to bring down the hammer if they are breaking the Free Codes.” Grandpa had been a Ranger when the Tam Bay sector was still young, and he had been with them when they seized Black River when it was discovered that those people were harboring the Yu gang. The Yu gang had been behind dozens of attacks on homesteaders and allied towns. The Rangers rode into town in the dead of night, and by dawn, had the Yu gang either dead or in custody and the town seized. It was now the northern most territorial city of the Tam Bay sector. Now, I was wondering if the same fate was awaiting Border. It certainly didn’t bother me much, but it would have to wait.

My first duty at the moment was to my fellow soldiers. Imperial Security and its Rangers are under the Ministry of Defense, not Justice. We are soldiers, which allow us a lot of leeway when dealing with folks, especially those outside of the territorial cities. We go to the same boot camps that the dead soldiers in front of me attended and take the same Oath of Service. My Ranger training allowed me to remain calm and rational, but the soldier tradition within me demanded violent retribution. It also demanded that I ensure that all respects be paid to my dead brothers and sisters in the squad.

There wasn’t a communication airship available out this far, so my only option for direct communication with my headquarters was to tap into the magrails. There was a magrail some fifteen kilometers to the west, but that would make me unable to follow the trail before it went cold. So, there was only one option left, even if it was really distasteful. I got into my saddlebags, retrieved the flare gun, and fired a single yellow flare into the air. As I waited for a response, I began the solemn task of collecting dogtags and moving the bodies for collection. Ancient military tradition said that a soldier was buried where he fell, but Imperial soldiers didn’t dare. Too many things would ignore the sacredness of a soldier’s grave to forage what they could. The truly revolting part was that I had to do it also. Ammunition, grenades, water, and most importantly scrip, had to be taken from the bodies. I was going to need all of it during my patrol. The worse was taking of little trinkets. I had some small bags – known as grave bags – for storing all the little trinkets with each dogtag, but I still felt like a grave robber. It took me the better part of two hours to prepare the sixteen human bodies and the two corpses of the squad’s dogs, but I was glad I had when the party of aboriginees showed up.

The aboriginees were a race of nonhuman hunter-gatherers that were sometimes allies and sometimes enemies. They stood an average of a meter and half tall, but were easily a hundred kilos of furry muscle. They had the flat face of a cat, the muscular build of a dog, and the long whip tail of a rat. They were social animals like dogs, stealthy hunters like cats, and incredible foragers like rats. They could also be the most infuriating creaures on the damned continent.

“Ranger call?” the leader of the party asked in broken Imperial. Like all members of the party, he was a male. The aboriginees were had a patriarchal tribal organization. Tribes controlled stretches of territories and defended them from other tribes. Humans and their towns were considered part of the territory, so the tribe decided how it would deal with the humans in their territory. The Tam Bay sector had two tribes, the Stone Bone tribe in the northwest and the Swift Wind tribe in the southeast. Stone Bones were somewhat friendly, although they didn’t have a problem with its parties raiding human towns or homesteads. Swift Winds, on the other hand, were extremely respectful of human property, as long as humans respected the tribe’s claim to the natural resources of the land. The Duke of Tam Bay had long kept that informal pact, and Rangers enforced it. My problem was that I was in Stone Bone territory, and their response was never predictable. I spent almost as much time fighting their raiding parties as I did bartering and protecting the tribe.

“Yeah, I called for you,” I answered, “I need a message taken to the nearest Imperial. And I don’t want your tribe messing with the dead here.” The leader looked bewildered at my last statement. Aboriginees believed that the dead’s possessions were meant to be spread amongst those who could lay claim. Amongst their own dead, the aborigines had a complex web of inheritance that most humans didn’t even bother to figure out. Most aboriginal customs were difficult enough to keep up with. For the dead of non-aborigines, it was finders-keepers. That was, unless you paid the aborigines not to bother your dead.

“What price?” the leader countered. His response was good in that the party wasn’t interested in fighting for claim, but the aborigines were incredible hagglers. I didn’t have time to wrangle with price. I had to get moving to track the bandits that had attacked and killed the squad. The trail was already starting to go cold, and I couldn’t afford for it to go too much colder.

“I’ve got a couple hundred scrip,” I answered, “And that’s it. Two hundred in scrip for a message delivery and to not forage the bodies.”

“Want guns. Army guns. Good for stuff,” the leader demanded, his eyes glinting with desire at the stacked rifles.

“Not a chance,” I told him, “Army guns are not for the tribes, and you know that. With the scrip, you can go down to the trading post and get guns.”

“Not as good. Not kill as many bad things,” the leader said, his sing-song tone wavering with a slight anger. It bothered me that I couldn’t tell whether the anger was real or feigned, but I never could fully read the aborigines’ emotions. I could sense their emotions and use that to find the aborigines, even when they were camoflauged. Telling exactly what the aborigines were feeling just wasn’t possible. They were just too alien.

“Yeah, well your idea of bad things sometimes include Imperial subjects and Imperial allies,” I replied, my tone sure and even, “So no, I am not going to let you have Army weapons.”

“What about pistols and swords?” the leader countered, “Would like those.” I thought about that for a moment. Giving the aborigines the lighter weapons would allow them to face off with the occasional orc or goblin raid on a more even footing, but it wouldn’t give them a real advantage against a human armed with a rifle. Plus, the human-made weapons would be a status symbol for the raiding party. It made sense.

“A sword for each member of your party and five pistols total with two spare magazines and ammunition for each,” I said, “And a hundred in scrip.” The scrip wasn’t as good as real Imperial currency, but it would let the tribe by some of the goods they had come to depend on.

“Not a lot of bullets,” the leader complained. I was pretty sure that his annoyance was feigned. Unfortunately, my annoyance was not.

“You don’t need that many,” I retorted, “Unless you’re going after humans.” The leader twitched his whiskers in righteous indignation, but he relented. I selected the pistols and magazines as the aborigines chose their own swords. I checked each of the swords to make sure that none bore family markings. It wasn’t unusual for families to pass swords down generation to generation. My own saber had once belonged to my grandfather. My father’s gladius was being carried by one of my cousins who was serving in the Marines. After turning over the pistols to the leader, I wrote out a note detailing what had happened, where to find the bodies, and what I was going to do about the situation. I handed the sealed note to the leader, who passed it to an extremely thin aborigine. The thin aborigine tore off running at a speed that was truly amazing. Aborigines could outpace a horse with ease.

I mounted up on Commanche. I took enough time to watch the aborigines put out a guard on the site, and then I turned to Border. I took a moment and inspected the trail. The bandits were on horseback, at least six different horses that I could see in the dirt, but no footprints other than those from the soldiers. The bandits had never dismounted during the fight. That bit bothered me. I couldn’t see how an Army squad that had enough time to dismount its troops wouldn’t have been able to handle a half-dozen bandits, or at least take one of them down.

The trail was torn up – the horses had been galloping away from the scene. No blood or any odd gaits on the tracks, so it didn’t look like the horses hadn’t been injured. What kind of firefight had happened?

Commanche had already figured out that we were following the trail, and he followed the scents of the bandits’ horses, letting me concentrate on the enigma. Three main questions gnawed at me. First, why would bandits take on an Army motor rifle squad? Second, how had the bandits, who at most were a dozen strong, defeated said motor rifle squad without taking any casualties? Third, why had the bandits not looted the squad of its weapons and valuables?

Bandits, as a group, were vicious cowards – bullies with guns. They tended to travel the wide open spaces between the territorial cities, allied towns, free towns, and homesteads, looking for easy pickings among the convoys or legitimate travelers. Their entire goal was rape and robbery of those weaker than them. That said, bandits avoided stronger forces, like Imperial Security forces and the Army units that patrolled the plains. Occasionally, bandits made the mistake of tangling with Imperial forces, but it was usually just long enough for them to open up a little room, flee, and hope that the Imperials wouldn’t give chase. Very rarely, bandits would form larger forces for the purpose of attacking Imperials, in hopes of gaining some large bounty – special weapons, payoffs by the Empire to friendly aborigines and free towns, etc. – but most of these were broken up before or shortly after the party did its deed. Imperial forces come down with a hard hammer on those that dare attack its subjects and property. At the moment, I was the hammer.

The town of Border was maybe twenty kilometers from the site of the attack. Like most freetowns, it had been started by homesteaders that found Imperial rule too constraining. It was primarily a farming community, but had a paved road to the allied town of Freehold for trading purposes. Maybe a hundred souls resided in the town and surrounding farms. The town itself consisted of a main strip with the general store, pub, a tinker’s shop, the local bank, and the town meeting hall. Outside of the main strip, the town had an undertaker, a couple of churches with boothills, an “industrial park” with a slaughterhouse and tanner, a small mill, and twenty meter tall water tower that doubled as the town watchtower. Border had forgone even a basic town wall, instead settling on the battlement-style of town defense. Essentially, all of the major town buildings were fortified and supplied for defense against the occasional orc, goblin, or aborigine attack. It was more cost-effective for small towns than maintaining a proper city wall, as long as the townspeople could get everyone into the “battlement buildings” quickly enough.

The bandit tracks led north towards the town, but then veered to the east about two kilometers from the outskirts of Border. I retrieved my binoculars from my saddle bag and scanned around me. There was nothing that I could see on the east, but it was obvious that Border’s residents were aware of my presence. There were three riders heading out to me. My experience told me that the riders did not bode well. I drew my carbine from its saddle holster and laid it across my saddle horn. Commanche sensed my unease and perked up with the anticipation of a fight. He was definitely a Ranger’s horse.

I recognized the leader of the party. He was the tall, olive skinned, dark-haired Mitch McCollum. Mr. McCollum was Border’s head of the town council, as well as the town’s banker. Essentially, McCollum was the leader of Border. I thought that McCollum’s position was odd, but I never said anything. It wasn’t my business until I found something that made it my business. On his right was a man that looked like an almost carbon copy of Mr. McCollum. The rider was his son, McCollum, Junior, heir-apparent to all of his father’s position and power. The third rider I didn’t know by sight. He was shorter than the other two, with pale skin and whisps of blond hair poking out from under his dark brown hat. The McCollums were dressed in standard outfits of denim pants and light colored button shirts with leather boots and gloves. Not formal, but good for riding. Both had pistols at their hips, but that was standard practice. Their companion was wearing similar clothes, but also had a long, black denim duster that draped off of him. He had a civilian’s rifle in his hands. As soon as they were close enough, I began to feel the riders’ psi-scents. The McCollums’ were familiar, but with a stronger flavor of fear than I normally sensed from them. The third rider’s psi-scent I recognized instantly. He was one of the bandits. The selector switch on my carbine went from safe to single shot. This was about to become very interesting. I tried to look relaxed, but I had only a few moments before I had to decide whether to take preemptive action or not. My instinct told me to punch the third rider out of his saddle, but my experience was demanding patience. My experience won out, but instinct was ready with the carbine.

The three riders stopped a good five meters in front of me. I could feel the tension emanating from the McCollums, but the third was overly calm. That was a judgment call, but a fairly decent one. I have found most people outside city walls got a bit nervous when my brethren or myself came calling. This unknown was being as cool as an ice cube.

“Good day Ranger Stahl,” Mr. McCollum said in a welcoming tone that belied the emotions I was sensing, “What brings you to our fine town, again?”

“An Army motor rifle squad was attacked south of here,” I said casually, “I’m tracking the perps. The tracks lead up to here.” The McCollums fidgeted in their saddles. With an attack on Imperials leading to their doorstep, the possibility of Imperials seizing the town became a very possible. Unless, of course, they satisfied me that the town had nothing to do with it and weren’t harboring the bandits. Which, with the other man escorting them, seemed highly unlikely.

“Well Ranger, I can tell you that no bandits are residing in Border,” McCollum answered, “We are a peaceful town.” He was lying, but something told me not to bluntly call him out on it. There was something else in play, and I bet it had to do with the bandit riding with the two McCollums.

“McCollum, you gave me that same speech when I rode through here two weeks ago,” I told him, “Now the fact that the tracks head east from here may mean Border has nothing to do with them.” The McCollums eased noticeable. I turned to the third rider. “Who are you?”

“You’re a rude one, Ranger,” the rider answered, with an oily slick voice, “You should be more polite out here.” I felt the icy touch of mental fingers trying to feel their way into my thoughts. My psi-scenting was a passive action. Even strong psychics wouldn’t detect me sensing their emotions. This probe was an intrusive attempt to see what I was thinking. Honed reactions flew instinctively as my mental blocks came slamming down, and I looked at him with an evil eye. His eyes were wide as he tried to overcome the sudden shock that he was facing another psychic. I had maybe a second or two of advantage before he pulled himself together.

The telekinetic blast threw him out of his saddle and landed him a good three meters from his horse. He was winded and stunned, but I never hesitated. My carbine was at my shoulder. A single round tore through his chest, and the man slumped down. I whirled onto the McCollums, keeping the carbine trained on the younger McCollum. “Using psychic powers on an Imperial officer is justification for deadly force. You two are accomplices, and as such, just as complicit.”

“NO!” screamed Junior, “He and his friends have been holding the town hostage for the last week.” He was telling me the truth. There was no deception in his psi-scent.

“Spill it,” I demanded, never lowering the carbine.

“It’s true,” McCollum Senior answered, “A few days after you rode through, these men came in. They killed John Allister, the LDS elder, and grabbed several of the young women. They have them holed up in the LDS stake house. The bandits, they’re all psychics.” That sent a shock through my system, although I didn’t let it show. Psychics were exceedingly rare, and any discovered inside Imperial or allied towns were compelled to give two years minimum service in the Imperial Praetorian Brigade. Mainly that was to both indoctrinate the psychics, and to allow the Empire to use their powers in the furtherance of the Empire. It may sound cruel, but we live in a cruel world. I hadn’t done my stint yet, but I would have to before I could leave Imperial service. I personally thought many of the Praetorians luxuriated in their status, but they were loyal. The idea that several psychics had managed to join together to commit simple banditry was beyond basic comprehension. How had so many slipped through the various nets that the Empire used to catch and indoctrinate those humans gifted with psychic powers?

“Are they related to the bandits that attacked the Imperial army squad?” I asked, my voice still in the steady demanding tone that had been a long trademark of the Rangers.

“I think so,” Junior answered, “Some of them rode off east two days ago. We don’t know what they’re doing. We didn’t know they were going to attack an Imperial force.”

“Here’s my problem,” I told them, “Your town is holding people responsible for the deaths of Imperial soldiers. Now, on that pretext alone, I could order a seizure. That said, I don’t see that you were acting in concert with these people, just victims. That said, I also have no obligations to help you. Border is a free town. You’ve refused Imperial protection. That includes me. Now, I’m going to ride east to find out what’s going on, unless you decide to come under the Imperial banner.” The quandry left both men speechless. I didn’t envy them. They had lived their lives fighting Imperial control, but now, they needed the power of the throne. I could have just gone in and fought it out with the bandits in town without demanding Border become an allied town, but Rangers have an unofficial mission to bring the free towns under the Imperial banner.

“How do we fight psychics?” demanded Junior, not completely thinking as he advanced on me. Anger was clearly coming through, mostly from frustration. I was sympathetic to Border’s plight, but I couldn’t really do anything about it.

“A bullet through the heart tends to make most men die,” I answered calmly, “Just ask your travelling companion.” I motioned to the corpse of the bandit sprawled on the grassy ground. “Control yourself. Let’s be realistic. You can accept my help and become an allied town. Or, you can fight them on your own, retain your independence, and hope that I don’t find anything to the east that would change my opinion of your role in this situation.” The two men looked at each other silently for a long moment. I could tell from their emotions that there was something that they weren’t telling me. I wasn’t about to walk into an ambush, so I turned Commanche towards the east.

“Wait,” McCollum said, “There’s more. We’ll accept your assistance Ranger.” Junior looked and smelled outraged at his father’s decision. Senior just shot his son an authoritative look. “Please come into town with us.”

“Were the other psychics watching us out here?” I asked as they turned to return to Border.

“I doubt it,” McCollum answered, “They usually just had one of them guarding us, a couple more at the stake house to guard the women, and the other six or seven went off to the east.” That meant ten psychics were working together. What in God’s name had I stepped into? I needed to check my airship schedule and see if I could get a signal off to the Imperial authorities.

“How often do they rotate in and out?” I asked.

“They haven’t been back,” Junior answered. I began considering my options. Whatever was to the east, it was important. Important enough to take out an Army unit that may have come too close. I still had to deal with the two in Border, and I had no idea of how powerful they were. They would have to be dealt with first, before their allies came riding back in. I did have one advantage, I knew that they were psychic – and they didn’t know I was one. One of my instructors always said surprise was a weapon second only to something called a nuclear bomb.

“Tell everyone to stay clear,” I told the McCollums, “This might get messy.” They nodded and started to ride back. “Don’t try and back out of accepting my assistance, or I’ll seize this town.” Junior swallowed and Senior’s eyes narrowed, but they both nodded with solemn acceptance. It would be up to them to explain their actions to their fellow residents. My job was to rid them of a pair of bandits in town, and then take out the rest of the bandit gang.

I rode into town behind the McCollums. The main strip ran north-south, and these buildings were the main defensive buildings for Border’s defense. Running parallel to Main were Jones Street to the west and Oak to the east. Jones held the poor housing for the town and led north to the industrial area. Oak was where the wealthier citizens lived and where the churches were located. The LDS stake house was on the northern most lot on Oak.

It was in the afternoon as I walked into the bank. The residents looking to do business either scurried out of my way, or gave me the most poisonous looks I had seen in some time. I ignored them all, mostly because I didn’t blame them in the least. I had just forced them to ally with the government they had despised. It was going to take a generation, and maybe some Imperial Security forces, to keep this town under Imperial rule. Some of the residents would move on, some would stay, but they would all resent this day. All I could do was to recommend the level of Imperial involvement. If Border’s residents didn’t hinder me, or actively helped me, I was thinking of minimal involvement. Maybe some Ministry of Justice people and an Imperial Court. I put all of that to the back of my mind. It would wait until all was said and done.

“I need to get up to the roof,” I told McCollum, Senior. He looked at me and the gear that I was hefting.

“They said no one was to go on the roofs, and that they would know,” McCollum answered. Smart of them, but I never relied on just one plan.

“What about your back door?” I asked, “Can it be opened quickly?” He nodded, unsure of what I was planning. “Tell your customers to begin forting up. Everyone in either a storm cellar or in one of your defensive positions. I am going to try and save the girls, but it might get dangerous to anyone caught outside.”

“What about the girls?” asked Senior. I could feel the concern for them. McCollum may have been difficult with me, but he had a genuine concern for those that lived in Border.

“I will do everything within my power to keep them alive,” I answered, my tone conveying the pure power of a Ranger’s word, “You may not like it, but you are now under my protection, and I will stop all those who bring harm to any persons under my protection.” McCollum looked hesitantly relieved. The Rangers have a reputation, and depending on which side you’re on, it can be a comfort or a curse. Those who had cursed our name now had to deal with the comfort we bring to our allies.

McCollum led me past the teller windows, down a hall that led to a receiving and storage room. A single reinforced wood door led out of the bank and onto Oak Street. The stake house was north of the bank by about a hundred meters. I had hoped to sniper the two bandits from the bank’s roof, but now I was going to have to go for the direct assault. Speed was life in this kind of situation.

Rangers rarely wear the body armor that is issued to most military soldiers. It was just too heavy and hot for the hours of riding along patrolling an assigned circuit. Motor rifle soldiers spent a lot of their time in an air-conditioned APC, where it was much easier to handle the extra bulk. That doesn’t mean Rangers didn’t keep the body armor around for bad situations. The flak jacket (whatever flak was) was a short sleeved overcoat that draped down to below the crotch. It had steel plates sewn into layers of nylon and would protect the soldier from most things orcs and goblins could throw at the soldier, and even provided limited protection against small arms fire and shrapnel from artillery or grenades. The bracers were also nylon covered curved steel that protected my forearms. Grieves around my shins were of a similar manufacture and a steel helmet completed the basic armor. The whole thing weighed about twenty kilos and breathed okay – if you were in an air-conditioned APC for the majority of your patrol, or wearing it for a short period of time. Still, it would give me an extra advantage. My pistol was holstered on my right hip, and my sword was sheathed at my left. Swords were primarily used when ammunition had been expended and it would take too long to reload – primarily when fighting orcs or goblins, but I had used it too many times fighting bandits to forgo belting it up. My few grenades were still locked up on Commanche, but I had taken out a single distraction device, more commonly known as a “flash-bang.” It was a nice little way of knocking the bandits off-balance without having to worry about friendlies being killed. Carbine slung and flash-bang in hand, I grabbed the knob to the door.

The trick of throwing the flash-bang was giving it just enough telekinetic push. At most, I could throw the little device ten or twelve meters. I had to make it ten times that distance. Too much or too little push and the flash-bang would do little but announce a psychic’s presence. I tossed the flash-bang, throwing a small force behind it to push it along.

As soon as I pushed the flash-bang, the two bandits turned towards me. They had felt me use my telekinesis, and they now knew a psychic was in the area. That was the bad news. The worse was that one of them caught the flash-bang and wrapped it in a force cocoon. The other launched himself at me, a pistol in hand. I threw up a barrier and let the carbine drop on its sling. The sword was drawn as the bandit came rocketing into the barrier.

The feedback of his powers hitting mine stunned us for both a moment. I recovered first, thanks to long hours of training that I endured at the Imperial Psi-Academy. I didn’t have time to enjoy my small respite because the second bandit opened up with his rifle. I hastily threw up another shield, but I could feel one of the rounds slam into my flak jacket. It felt like someone had taken a hammer to my chest. It hurt badly, but I had been hurt worse, and there were lives on the line. With my sword in hand, and protected from the rifle fire by my barrier, I staggered over to the first bandit. He was still stunned from hitting my barrier, but he still managed to weakly bring his pistol up. The saber neatly removed the hand holding the pistol, and a second slash decapitated him. The rifle fire abruptly stopped as the body of the first bandit slumped over. I looked up to see what had stopped the rifle fire. The second bandit had scampered away. I guessed that seeing his comrade brutally killed took the fight out of him. Still, I had to track him and finish him. I fully opened my mind to the psi-scents – and was hit with the vile odor that came from those of the Dark Towers. I could still smell the other bandit, and I could tell he had fled east. The almost unbearable pungence emanated from the stake house. I transformed my telekinetic barrier into a battering ram and slammed the doors of the stake house open.

The horror of the scene beyond the doors was familiar, but still evoked pure terror in me. I could feel my body wanting to flee, but I couldn’t run. All godly vestiges of the church had been eradicated, and only the hastily painted runes on the walls and floor of the stake house remained. The six women were naked and bound, arranged around a large red circle painted on the floor. They were alive, but the fear coming from them was intense. It was what whoever drew all the runes and the circle wanted. He would need the womens’ fear to boost his magic power. There were some scientific explanations of how magic worked on this world, but I never understood it beyond the fact that it did work, and the Dark Towers were very good with it. Thank God the elves were better – and they were on our side, somewhat. I recognized the arrangement as one needed to open a portal. A portal this size could bring in a few hundred orcs without a problem. With trepidation, I probed the room. Although the rank stench of the Dark Towers permeated the stake house, it didn’t have the unique flavor recently used magic. My best guess was that this portal hadn’t been opened yet. Finally it was too much. I ran out of the stake house and began wretching into the manicured bushes that surrounded the once-holy building. Pain shot out from my chest, lingering fear ran through my body, and my mind was still a bit foggy from the psychic feedback of hitting another psychic’s powers. It was enough for me to want to just lie down and pass out. That would have to wait because there was more work to do.

The residents began to come onto Oak. Some shied from the body of the decapitated bandit, but most continued towards me. Questions from the residents began bombarding me, but all I could do was point them at the door to the stake house. As soon as the residents peeked in, the screams began. The scent of horror was too much for me, so I staggered back through the door to the bank. McCollum Junior looked at me in wide-eyed shock as I stumbled into the back room. I needed to clear my head of the pain from the gunfire and psychic feedback. Bad things were still afoot, and they weren’t going to wait for me to get some sleep. The Dark Towers were now involved, and that changed things dramatically. I grabbed my saddlebags and walked out to my waiting horse.

Commanche was agitated. There had been combat, and he hadn’t been involved. I had a feeling that he would have a chance. The rest of the bandits would be back, and they knew that I was in town, and ready. I just wished it was true. I had no idea how I was going to take on at least seven or eight other psychics, plus whatever Dark Towers’ forces were with them. I needed help, and more than what the citizens of Border were going to be able to give me. Junior had followed me out, and looked at me a little fearfully as I cleaned the blood and bits of gore off of my sword blade.

“I need a rider,” I told him, “I need you to get the town council to get everyone inside and ready to defend this place. Battle’s coming.”

The streets of Border were empty. Everyone and everything was locked up and secured. Residents were on rooftops and at windows, armed with a motley assortment of civilian rifles, some old military assault rifles, and a single machine gun. It didn’t seem like much, but it was all we had. We had been waiting for the past four hours, and I could tell the population was getting restless.

“Where are they?” demanded Joey Rico, the eldest son of the general store owner. We were on the roof of his father’s store, looking out to the east. I had seen some movement in the past few hours, but it was far in the distance, and I couldn’t tell if it was human. The sun was getting closer to the horizon. Dusk would be when they would attack. The dark ground and light sky provided enough cover to move a large group of bad guys.

“They’ll come when they come, son,” I answered, “Just relax and be ready. You’ve been in fights with orcs and goblins before.”

“Yeah, but what about the psychics?” he countered, the nervousness creeping into his voice.

“That’s what I’m here for,” I assured him, “Just take out any of the bad guys that you know, and if the psychics attack, just keep firing at them. They’re not Praetorians.” Joey nervously chuckled at the comment, but he tightened his grip on his rifle. Then the war horn bellowed through the night. It was starting.

Out of the horizon came the horde. It was probably at least two hundred orcs and twice as many goblins. About right for a simple portal. The orcs were formed in solid ranks of five wide, but the goblins were unorganized mass swirling around the orcs. The unorganized mob of goblins meant that there were no hobgoblin overseers keeping control over the vile things, which was both a good and bad thing. Good in that I didn’t have to deal with the devious bastards, but bad in that uncontrolled goblins had a tendency to be unpredictable. The horde was still over five kilometers off, but were steadily approaching, accompanied by the deep bass of the marching drums. Occasional blasts of war horns pierced the darkening scene as the horde came towards us. I could feel the growing anxiety and fear from the Border residents. They had seen raids before, but the horde approaching us was probably larger than any they had seen before. It was a larger force than I had seen in the Tam Bay sector in some time. After a tense hour, the horde reached two kilometers out. I opened up my psi-senses fully.

The full repugnance of the inhuman creatures slammed through me as if I had opened a tin of spoiled milk. I pushed through the initial blast of vileness, and was relieved that I didn’t sense the unique smell of a magic wielder. I could smell the psi-scent of the bandits amongst the pungance of the orcs and goblins. They were using the bandits to keep the creatures in line instead of orc mages. Psychics I could handle, but dealing with magic was tricky at best. My senses erupted as some of the residents opened fire.

“HOLD YOUR FIRE!” I yelled, thrusting my senses back to their normal level of awareness, “WAIT UNTIL THEY’RE IN RANGE!” I could hear the command being repeated by the older residents. At least some of them remembered their training from conscription. Rifles gave us a better reach, but the bad guys were nearly two thousand meters out. Only heavy precision rifles had that kind of reach, outside of vehicle-mounted weapons.

I felt the icy touch of a psychic probe around my head. Without concious thought, my mind slammed down its defensive block. It was like shining a mirror back into a spotlight. The bandit knew exactly where I was located. He launched himself into the air, rifle in hand. The bandit was a tad over fifteen hundred meters from me, well beyond the range of my carbine. He yelled down to his comrades, and I realized what he was doing. The bandit wasn’t calling me out. He was acting as a spotter for his comrades on the ground. As he hovered about eight meters off the ground, the horde reached one thousand meters.

Goblins began vanishing from sight as they plunged into the hidden pungee pits. The swirling mass of goblins began panicking as the pain-laden shrieks rose from the spike lined pits. With no hobgoblins to control their dimunitive, chaotic cousins, the goblins refused to advance any further. Goblins, by nature, needed a great deal of coercion to get them to do anything beyond what they felt like doing. I could feel the psychic energy lashing out at the goblins as the bandits tried to reform the goblins and continue the advance.

“Okay Joey, tell your dad to begin,” I ordered, keeping the disorganized horde in view. I heard Joey scamper across the wood roof of the general store and yell down to the men on Main. A few seconds later, I heard the whoosh of the frag barrel as it was hurled over me towards the horde. It amazed me that the residents of Border had built a trebouchet, much less one that could be erected in less than twenty minutes and fling small barrels out to a bit over a thousand meters.

The barrel was a small wooden keg filled with two things – a half-stick of dynamite and nearly two kilos of ten-penny nails. The school teacher, Ms. O’Hallaran, had done all the necessary mathematics so that the fuse would hit the dynamite when the charge was a good ten meters off the ground. My part in this was two-fold. First, I began firing at the floating bandit to keep him from snagging the barrel before it detonated. At a thousand meters, hitting him would be difficult with the carbine, but the bullets were meant as a distraction, not to actually knock him out of the sky. Secondly, I needed to telekinetically nudge the barrel to have it detonate where it would cause the most damage. That task was more difficult, but it was something I had practiced. Granted, that was mostly with hand grenades and similar sized objects, but the principle was the same. Range was going to be a problem. The extent of my telekenesis was about two hundred meters, and at that range the most I could muster was the strength of a strong finger tap. There is a good reason that Imperial educational system promotes strong math skills. Humans need them far too much in our world.

As the bullets began whipping around him at supersonic speeds, the floating bandit threw a psychic blast at me, hoping to trigger all of my pain receptors in my brain. Again, my mind block repelled the psychic invasion, but it needed most of my available psi-strength to defend against the powerful psi-blast. I cursed as the barrel soared out of my reach.

“You are so my new best friend,” I quietly murmurred to the floating bandit as I watched the barrel descend and detonate over a mass of goblins. We needed that barrel to hit the orcs, not the goblins, but I just didn’t have the strength to fend off the psi-blast and direct the barrel. The blast was visible in the fading light, but it was the sudden gaping hole in the mass of goblins that showed me what the lethal rain of iron had cut out of the horde.

“Joey, I can’t direct the fire,” I said as I reoriented my carbine on the floating bandit, “Tell them it’s landing about ten to fifteen meters to the left of where we need it.” As the teenager conveyed my firing instructions, I took another couple of shots at the airborne bandit. Between the psi-blast and the fact he had managed to keep himself aloft for almost ten minutes, I knew he was far stronger than most psychics. By the same token, so was I. I wanted to keep his attention on me and misjudging my exact strength – or more to point, my endurance.

The second barrel flew over me, arching towards the columns of orcs. I fired another few rounds at the floating bandit, but he just threw up a barrier to deflect the bullets. Then his comrades threw up a massive barrier over the orcs as the barrel exploded. The rain of nails fell harmlessly over the protected orcs. A few orcs on the very edge of the barrier fell to shrapnel, but not nearly enough.

As a third barrel swooshed above me, a human stepped in front of the horde and released a telekinetic blast at the ground in front of the horde. The light wood concealing the remaining pungee pits shattered. I could sense a myriad of psi-blasts, and watched as the swarm of goblins began reforming into a protective screen around the far more dangerous orcs.

Shouts of dismay and fear came from the other rooftops. The horde had shrugged off the first line of defense while only losing maybe a hundred or so goblins. Joey came up beside me. “What do we do now?”

“Tell them to keep firing, but they are going to have to shorten range and wiggle around a bit. Rapid-fire,” I answered, making sure that I kept using a calm and steady voice. I could feel that many of the defenders were close to panic, and any faltering by me would send them over the edge. The veterans were doing their best to keep their comrades calm. Only five hundred more meters, and the small arms would come into play. Time crawled onward as the trebouchet threw barrel after barrel. They were getting one off almost every minute, and managing to adjust range and direction with every load. It was an impressive display, especially for a crew that wasn’t made up of professional soldiers. The bandits managed to keep the orcs mostly covered, but goblins were being shredded left and right. Maybe another sixty or eighty fell as they marched alongside the orcs. It was taking more psychic blasts to keep the dimunitive creatures in some semblence of order.

An explosion from behind rocked the general store, almost knocking me off my feet. Fear, panic, and pain filled my psi-senses as I heard the collapse of the trebouchet. I heard Joey start screaming for his father. My mind raced. What had happened? How had they managed to destroy our artillery? I had to push the questions to the back of my mind as I watched the horde begin charging.

“HOLD THE LINE!” I yelled as some of the defenders began to go to the aid of the trebouchet crew, “PREPARE TO FIRE!” The few veterans repeated the orders. The line of rooftop defenders was mostly intact as the horde reached the eastern outskirts of Border – and within range of the rifles.

As the columns of orcs began smashing into the few homes that scattered the eastern limit of Border, the defenders opened fire. Thirty rifles and the machine gun fired almost simultaneously. The bandits had erected a barrier, but only a few rounds bounced off them. The other rounds were directed at small casks near the houses. The mines erupted, throwing out a wave of ten-penny nails and a cloud of ground glass. The sudden trap caught the bandits off-guard, but they managed to deflect most of the nails. Maybe fifty goblins, twenty orcs, and a bandit were felled by the speeding nails. The glass cloud floated around the barrier, and it was the cloud that caused the most havoc amongst the horde. As the defenders continued to fire, the ground glass began blinding exposed goblins and orcs. The goblins began to break, and I felt as though the town might actually throw back the horde. Those hopes were dashed as I watched the still-floating bandit begin to telekinetically create a small whirlwind that lifted the tiny glass particles away from the horde, raining harmlessly on the trampled ground. A raging anger swept through me. With pure instinctual rage coursing through me, the carbine was at my shoulder with the selector switch thrown. With an almost primal desire, I felt the trigger depress, sending a stream of bullets at the bandit.

I don’t know why he wasn’t aware of what I was doing. The amount of raging frustration and anger should have shone like sunlight through a telescope. His only reaction was to turn his head as the first of fifteen 6.5 mm anti-personnel bullets punched into his body, fragmenting and rending the flesh. I felt his psi-scent fade to a ghost and saw the body plummet to the ground. My rage spent, I realized that my carbine’s bolt was locked open on an empty magazine. I also saw the two bandits launch off the ground at me.

I didn’t raise a barrier, reserving my psi-strength for any mental attacks. The empty rifle was allowed the drop on its sling, as I drew my pistol. The two bandits opened fire with their rifles, sending me to the roof of the general store. I heard as their bullets riccocheted off the low wall, and sensed their rage as they rocketed up. Of the two, one had a tighter reign on his emotions. Using the two distinct psi-scents as aim points, I pointed the muzzle of the pistol at the looser bandit. They both roared over the low wall. It took them a moment to aim their weapons to where I had taken cover. I only needed a moment. I squeezed the trigger.

Two ten millimeter bullets slammed into the less-experienced bandit’s leg, nearly amputating the limb. He screamed in pain and shock and plummeted the eight meters to the hard ground. As I had expected, the bandit hadn’t used a full coverage barrier. The more experienced bandit was surprised that I managed to take out his comrade, but he recovered enough to block the bullets I fired at him. He triggered a burst at me, but I had already scampered out of the way.

I gathered my telekinesis, and formed a strong barrier. I didn’t have time to trade blows with the bandit – I needed to finish the fight quickly. The sounds of gunfire being exchanged and bellowing orcs meant the town was being swarmed by the horde. A simple running jump collided our psi-barriers, causing a massive psychic feedback eruption. The difference was I was only thrown hard onto the wood roof of the general store and slightly winded. The bandit was slammed into the ground some eight meters down without anything to soften the hard-packed dirt.

It took a good moment for me to wobble back up and look out at the battle. The last three bandits were exchanging fire with the defenders. I could see some of the defenders had already been killed. The orcs and the goblins had swarmed through the town’s streets and began to siege the defensive buildings. I heard additional gunfire coming from the opposite side of Main, but it was sporadic. The wreckage of the treboucher was gathered, and impromptu battering rams formed. I was still a bit weak from the psi-feedback, but I had to continue the fight. I had given my word to the residents of Border, and a Ranger keeps his word, at all costs.

The first problem I needed to deal with was the last three bandits. They were the most dangerous to the defenders. I replaced the magazine in my carbine and took a quick moment to gather up my last reserves of psi-strength. I leapt off the roof, using my telekinesis to slow my descent. As my boots hit the dirt, I saw a glint of steel out of the corner of my eye. I ducked reflexively and could feel the rush of wind as the battle axe passed scant centimeters above me. I swiveled to my right and triggered a burst into the orc. The bullets sent it tumbling back, but the unique staccato of a military carbine drew the attention of every creature around me. I quickly threw up a barrier around me as several orcs and goblins tried to swarm me. It wasn’t a strong barrier, but it was enough to give me about a half-meter of clear area around me. I looked down Oak Street at the remaining bandits.

The three bandits had thrown up individual barriers and were using them as cover as they exchanged gunfire with the defenders atop the bank building. The bandit nearest me was excited and anxious – and had concentrated his barrier as an umbrella towards the defenders. I crouched down, ignoring the creatures hammering at my own barrier. I had to concentrate. With some difficulty, I managed to open a five-centimeter slit in my barrier. With the sight picture almost perfect, I gently squeezed the trigger.

The bullets lanced through the bandit’s side. A surge of pain and shock bloomed from him, and then the dark absence as he dropped to the ground. Both of the remaining bandits turned almost simultaneously towards me. The one farthest from me must have been using a similar umbrella-style barrier anchored to his front, because he was quickly cut down by several shots from the bank rooftop.

A powerful telekinetic blast lifted me off of the ground and tossed me back a couple of meters. The creatures that had been around me were scattered, but getting back on their feet. I was stunned from the blast striking my barrier. My mind urged my body to get up, and fearful that it couldn’t respond fast enough. Then came two of the most beautiful sounds.

The first was a cacophony of screeching howls. The goblins and orcs all paused as the unique sound reverbated through the street. I smiled as dozens of aborigine warriors of the Stone Bone tribe began flooding the street, slaughtering the goblins and orcs with a frenzied attack. Then came the deep hammering sounds of a Rhino’s autocannon. The final bandit was cut to pieces as the heavy 20 mm rounds pentrated the bandit’s barrier with contemptuous ease. Off in the distance came the deep staccato of Army assault rifles and SAWs. My reinforcements showed in force.

I began to get to my feet. There was a battle raging, and I needed to join it. A gloved hand grabbed my shoulder and gently pushed me back to the ground. I looked to where the hand had originated, and I saw an infantry officer with the dual bars of a captain on his epaulet. “Easy there, Ranger. MEDIC!”

“I’m fine, sir,” I protested, “Just a little winded is all.” The captain kept his firm hand on my shoulder. He must have worked with Rangers before to know exactly how stubborn a group we could be.

“We’ll just let the medic decide that,” the captain replied with a humored tone, “Do we understand, Warrant?” The infantry captain had definitely worked with Rangers before, because his comment made sure that I was aware of our relative ranks. I saluted, and he began moving down the streets, calling out orders to the Imperial soldiers and Stone Bone aborigines.

The medic did a quick once-over, and the clapped me on the shoulder. I was good to go. With carbine in hand, I moved from Oak and back onto Main, where the majority of the fighting was happening. The street melee was an example of how humanity had survived its war with the Dark Towers. The some hundred and eighty orcs that had survived through the march into town had been reduced to about fifty or sixty by the Imperial forces and aborigines. The goblins had either fled or been cut down by aborigines. The small creatures had an overwhelming fear of the aborigines. The orcs were trying to find whatever cover they could find from the fusillade of small arms and vehicle-mounted heavy weapons.

A green flare streaked across the sky, and the infantry scattered. From the north and south edges of Main, Rhinos wheeled in, training their turrets on the remaining mass of orcs. The street was filled with the deep thrumming as four 20 mm autocannons began scything down the orcs. In less than a minute, the fifty or sixty orcs were dead or dying. The Battle For Border was over. It was time to count the dead, mend the injured, and hopefully rebuild the town.

I rode up to my commander’s office in Tam Bay on my new horse. Commanche had stood his ground when some goblins found the underground stables. The horse had stomped at least four into the ground before being hamstrung. Fortunately, aborigines found the stables before the goblins could kill Commanche. He was alive, but the vet said he would never be able to endure the long patrols of a Ranger and his horse. So, with regret and sadness, we put Commanche out to pasture and to stud. Rangers breed their horses carefully, and Commanche was a fine example of what a Ranger’s horse should be. So was his brother, Seminole, whom I now had assigned to me. The two had similar temperments, although Seminole was a bit more malicious.

My travelling clothes had been replaced with my formal uniform. My boots were polished and half-covered the black riding breeches. The single red stripe down the sides of the breeches denoted that I belonged to Imperial Security. A black Sam Browne belt was where I kept my holstered pistol and sheathed saber. My collarless tunic was the blood red of Imperial Security and was adorned with my medals on my left breast. The silver five-pointed star within a silver circle service sigil of the Rangers was proudly displayed on my right breast. My epaulets had the single gold diamond of a warrant officer, first-class. The shoulders were reserved for the Tam Bay’s station flash on the right and the Imperial Security crest with tabs for Light Infantry School and Psi-Academy on my left. As per tradition, Rangers eschewed the red beret of Imperial Security’s formal uniform for the black Stetson that was our service’s trademark.

My commanding officer was Captain Haskell. She was in charge of all the Rangers in the Tam Bay sector, and we had a healthy respect for her. Rangers, by long tradition, always started out as warrants, and only those with demonstrated ability received commissions. To get to captain in the Rangers was a feat few could boast. I had spent the better part of a month after the Battle For Border getting used to Seminole and helping with negotiations between the Duke of the Tam Bay sector, the residents of Border, and the Stone Bone tribe. I couldn’t follow half of the proceedings, but all of the participants felt relieved having a Ranger on hand. I had been recalled to Tam Bay itself once the charter for Border’s alliance to the Empire had been finalized.

Capt. Haskell’s office was a Spartan affair, with only a desk full of reports and a chair behind the desk. Her dark eyes gave me an odd look as I came into her office. She has an ominous darkness to her emotions. Something was bothering her, and that gave me pause. I removed my hat and braced at attention. “Reporting as ordered, ma’am.”

“Well Ranger, you’ve managed to accomplish quite a bit,” she said in a pleasant alto, “Are you sure it was simple human error that caused the destruction of the trebouchet?”

“Yes ma’am,” I answered, “The crew was working too hard to keep up with the advance of the orcs. It looks like someone lit a barrel too early and it went off when they were loading it into the sling.” Nearly a dozen people had been killed by the explosion. All told, twenty-two Border residents died to defend their town.

“Your idea to send out improved plans for trebouchets to all allied and free towns is seeing some resistance,” the captain said, “That said, Duke Enfield seems to be backing it – at least for the allied towns. I don’t think you’ll see any recognition for that suggestion, and probably for the best, considering how controversial it is becoming. I see you’ve already added your gold chit for your actions in Border to your salad bar.” I nodded in response. Properly called Distinguished Service Medals, “chits” were for exemplary – but not above and beyond – service in the commission of one’s duties. Silver were for non-combat and gold was for combat duties. “Capt. Jurgens, the commander of the task group that rode in, had recommended you for a bronze star, but…”

“We’re Rangers, ma’am,” I finished for her, “This is what we do.” As with the Praetorian Brigade, commando battalions, and marine landing forces, Rangers had higher expectations from its members. What I had done in Border was part of my listed duties, but I had not done anything above and beyond my duties. By long-standing tradition, I was only entitled to a chit, not to a smiley star. Still, as they say, it was an honor that someone nominated me for the honor. Considering the traditional rivalry between Army and Imperial Security forces, the fact that an Army officer would even consider putting my name forward for such a decoration flattered my personal honor and professionalism. “Would you please convey my appreciation to the captain of his high regard for my conduct?”

“Not necessary, Ranger,” she answered, with a humorless smile. “Rather than risk insulting the new allied town of Border by seeming to not properly reward you for your actions in defense of the town, you are hereby promoted to Chief Warrant Officer in the Imperial Security Ranger Division.” She handed me a small, black, velvet jewelry box that would hold the two gold diamonds of a Chief Warrant Officer. I was very shocked by her pronouncement and it took a great deal of difficulty for me to open it. I was very young to be a warrant first-class, mostly due to the edge my psi-abilities gave me, but chiefs were veteran Rangers who were responsible for assisting in the training and maintaining of the Rangers in the sector. Chief Ward was the chief for the Tam Bay sector, and he wasn’t likely to receive a commission. “There is a catch, unfortunately.”

“Yes ma’am?” I managed, still stunned by promotion.

“With the discovery that psychics are being recruited by the Dark Towers, the Praetorians are in need of soldiers that have experience fighting other psychics,” the captain began, “So, you’re being immediately transferred to the First Battalion of the Praetorian Brigade. I know that you’ve been delaying your stint with them, but as they say ‘no good deed goes unpunished.’”