Judgment
The sand choked their lungs as their feet padded through the dirt, they had been walking for nearly sixty miles…for the past two days.
A child was riding on the back of its father, it was sleeping, tired from the tears, from the anger, from watching its mother beat for not wanting to leave their home.
A rifle-butt caught an old man in the back of the knee, he fell.
“Walk faster, old man!” the Rakin solider growled as he re-shouldered the gun and started to walk again.
A man wearing a torn sweater and hood drawn up over his face kneeled down and helped the old man up.
“Are you OK, Grandfather?” he said quietly
“Yes… thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that formality,” the old Velkin man said, he looked into the eyes of the young man who was helping him up “you…are a Rakin…” the Velkin said quietly.
“We aren’t all like him, Grandfather,” The Rakin straightened up “judgment will come to the sinners.”
“It seems God has forgotten us. Now we’re consigned to their camps. There is no judgment.”
The Rakin man lifted his head up and looked towards the metal fence they had been trudging towards, he smiled slightly.
“No Grandfather, God hasn’t forgotten us…he’s just waiting for the right moment.”
* * *
The gates rolled shut, the sound of the locks clanging resounded through the yard, echoing off the brick and mortar building that the Warden now stood.
At least the Rakin assumed the man addressing them was the Warden.
He placed his hands on the rusted metal walkway, four sets of fingers tightened on the rail.
The Warden was a Fenz and a large one at that, his uniform bulged against his muscles.
“Welcome, to paradise…this will be your new home for…oh…I don’t know, until the war’s over.”
He laughed at his own joke.
The Rakin narrowed his eyes, he knew the war had been raging for years and neither side showed signs of slowing down.
But the Rakin also knew that the war would end soon, their enemies would collapse and the fighting would come to an end.
The Warden had been speaking for a few moments, all the while he clanged his metal baton on the railing.
“You are here because you’re a liability! You have decided to turn your back on your people, you’ve decided that you’d rather ignore what society expects of you and we just don’t feel like dealing with you,” The Fenz laughed again, it was a throaty laugh that gargled in his throat.
The Rakin gritted his teeth and popped his neck.
The Warden proceeded to outline the rules of the camp; Don’t start shit. Don’t complain about shit. If you complain about shit, we’ll beat you to shit. That building there? That’s where you can take a shit. If you’re sick, we don’t give a shit. Someone dies? Toss them where you take a shit, we really don’t give a shit.
The Fenz continued, he seemed to have rehearsed this little speech.
The Rakin was smiling slightly through the whole thing; he found it immensely funny that this little man was so proud of his vulgarity.
That the Warden was so proud he didn’t care about these people.
The Rakin thought it was funny that the little man in his little uniform was proud.
So proud.
The Rakin smiled again, thinking of the satisfaction he’d gain from the little Warden’s fall.
He chuckled.
This time from the knowledge that he’d assist in that well deserved fall.
The Warden finished his little talk and waved a hand, it was their dismissal, the guards filed down into the crowd and started to shove the new arrivals towards a building where they’d be assigned uncomfortable lodgings, uncomfortable clothes and be given unappetizing food.
The Rakin considered playing along, in fact he had begun to turn and follow the line. But stopped because he saw that the old man he had spoken to earlier wasn’t following.
The old man had grounded his feet, he squared his shoulders.
He refused to walk.
A guard walked towards the elderly man, pulling out a baton.
“What seems to be the problem, old man?” the guard said, he stood menacingly close to the Velkin.
“I refuse,” he said defiantly.
The guard grinned “Refuse what?”
“This entire thing is insane. We’ve done nothing. We worship something other than you do. Nothing more.”
The guard’s lips pursed together, he raised the baton menacingly.
“We don’t care who you god is, old man, we care what side of the war you’re on. And you’re on the wrong side!” he brought the baton down in a heavy swing.
There was a resounding ‘thwack’ through the courtyard, the refugees stopped in their tracks.
The old man never flinched, the Rakin was proud of that.
The Rakin was also proud that he had covered the distance between himself and the guard in less than the time it took the guard to swing the baton.
The guard looked at the Rakin, fear in his eyes, he struggled to pull the baton from the large Rakin’s hand, he couldn’t.
The Rakin turned toward the old man “Are you unhurt, Grandfather?”
The Velkin nodded slowly “I’m fine. But I fear you’ve angered them.”
He looked towards the guards, they were advancing on the trio, slowly, unsure of what to do.
The Rakin grinned “They do appear rather angry with me, don’t they?”
The Rakin popped his neck again.
He smiled broadly, he was still holding the first guard’s baton as the pathetic man tried desperately to wrench it from his grasp.
“I suppose I should stop playing the ‘good civilian’ then, Grandfather?”
The Rakin dug his fist into the first guard’s chest. He felt the ribs shatter.
Blood splashed from the man’s mouth as he skidded across the dirt and into a wall.
The Rakin turned toward the other guards, they had stopped in their tracks, fear draining them of their bravado.
The Rakin couldn’t see their faces, they were covered by visors, but he knew what fear looked like…and he loved the look of fear.
The Rakin threw back his head and bellowed. He roared to the world, to the sky and heavens, but most importantly he roared to draw the rest of the guards out of hiding.
He wanted this over quickly.
The Rakin hunched his shoulders and spread his feet, he was a brawler, he never learned to fight.
He learned to kill.
His hands burst into flames as he felt the energy course through his body, he watched what was left of the guards’ bravery melt away, they started to run in the opposite direction.
The Rakin caught up with them in a few bounds, he dragged two to the ground and snapped their necks, their bodies went limp.
The Rakin grabbed another by the ankle and dragged him closer, then he crushed his helmet.
The visor shattered and the skull fractured under the weight.
The man didn’t even scream.
Yellow blood ran over the Rakin’s fingers.
The smell was intoxicating.
The Rakin stood again, his eyes darted towards a door that had men streaming from it. They carried guns now, the Rakin smiled.
They were weak.
Bullets exploded from the guns, peppering the area where the Rakin had once been, but he was already on the move.
The Rakin sprinted parallel to the line of gun-toting guards and dodged behind a jeep.
The bullets collided with the metal, but didn’t penetrate.
The Rakin hesitated for a moment, he hated what he was about to do, he hated killing them all so quickly.
So painlessly.
He hated killing them from so far away. He relished the close kill.
The smell of fear and blood and the look of realization that crosses their face when they know they’re at their end.
His hands burned brighter, he hated letting them die so easily.
He stood into the hail of bullets and clapped his hands.
The flash of light tore into the air, shimmering and shattering the atmosphere.
It collided with the group of guards, the ones that it hit directly simply melted away. Their flesh, blood and bone incinerated.
The rest of the guards were sent skidding away from the epicenter, their blackened skin peeling and burning.
Then they Screamed.
Sand and rock crunched under his boots as the Rakin approached the remaining guards, they were writhing on the ground.
With a stomach-turning cracking sound he crushed the skull of one of the incapacitated guards under his heel, the blood seeped through the shattered helmet.
He walked over to the rest and repeated the action, smiling. He snuffed out their existences with the fall of his foot.
He enjoyed the reversal.
Irony was beautiful.
“Well, well, well…someone isn’t happy with his predicament, are they?”
The Rakin’s ears perked up. He spun around and looked towards the Warden’s office.
The Warden’s features were stone and rage flicked across his face.
The Rakin nudged the corpse of the guard nearest “He seems rather…content.”
The Warden threw himself over the railing and landed on the ground with an earth shaking crash “Let’s see how you fair against a real opponent.”
The Rakin crushed the skull of the final guard and smiled toward the Warden.
The Warden didn’t understand anything, and that amused the Rakin.
Killing him would be very, very pleasurable.
The Warden charged, pebbles and rocks scattered behind him in response to the energy he was letting off, the Warden’s two right hands exploded into flames and he growled.
The Rakin braced himself, spreading his feet out and digging his heals into the ground, he stopped the Warden’s attack by dodging out of the way and snatching his hands out of the air.
The Warden swore and arched his left hands, spinning around, striking the Rakin on the side of the head.
The Rakin scrambled back, smiling, he licked the blood from his lips and stood ready for the next pass.
* * *
The Rakin and Warden exchanged blows for what seemed like hours to the old Velkin, though he knew it was only a few moments.
The other refugees had emerged from their squalid tents and had begun to cheer the Rakin on, the fighter grinned.
“Do you hear that, heretic? They cry out for their freedom!”
The Warden swept his leg, attempting to knock the Rakin off balance, the Rakin dodged it.
With a twist the Warden was back on his feet.
“When I’m done, they’ll just cry out for the pain to stop!” he growled and lunged at the Rakin, catching him off guard, the pair stumbled to the ground.
The Rakin wrestled his way on top of the Fenz Warden, but it was all the Rakin could do to hold down two of the Warden’s top two arms.
The Warden smiled and crashed his lower-left hand into the Rakin’s stomach, a rib cracked, blood flecked the Rakin’s lips and he grimaced.
“Oh, did that hurt?!”
The Fenz smashed his lower-right fist into the Rakin’s gut, another groan escaped the fighter’s lips.
“See, that’s the great thing about my species! Most of you pricks only have two arms!”
The Fenz pummeled the Rakin’s chest and stomach, but the Rakin held fast.
“Maybe…you’re right…but I have something that you don’t…”
The Rakin reared back and then sunk his teeth into the tender flesh of the Warden’s jugular, he tore back, taking a large chunk of flesh from his opponent.
“Carnivores ancestors,” The Rakin gurgled through the blood seeping between his teeth, he was smiling.
The Fenz’s eyes went wide with fear as he struggled to stop the bleeding, the Rakin held him down, he didn’t want the Warden to think he could survive this.
He wanted to see the fear.
Gurgled curses and pleas spewed from the Warden’s bloodied mouth, he thrashed and struggled.
Then was still.
The Rakin breathed heavily for a few moments then sat back, he spit the flesh from his mouth and then spat the remaining blood into the Warden’s face.
He stood.
Then stooped again as he snapped the dead Warden’s neck.
He smiled into the vacant eyes of the once proud Fenz, the warden’s clean clothes stained with his own blood.
The Rakin stood and staggered towards the exit.
* * *
They were following him now, he smiled, the refugees were following him now.
Freed.
They chose him.
The old Velkin walked beside him. Silent.
The Rakin frowned “What troubles you, Grandfather?”
The Velkin looked at the Rakin “You…you have saved us. But at what cost?”
The Rakin thought for a moment “At the cost of their lives, Grandfather.”
The Velkin shook his head “No…You did not need to kill most of those that you had felled. You…enjoyed their deaths”
“As they would have ours, Grandfather.”
The elder was silent “What good is winning this war if we become like them?”
The Rakin thought about this as he listened the wind rush over the dirt. For a moment the barren lands he walked upon seemed to breath.
“When this war is over, there will be no need for men like me. I fight for something more. I fight for peace,” the Rakin was thoughtful “and if I am willing to die for that peace, then I must be willing to kill for that peace.”
The clouds parted as a ship descended, the Rakin smiled.
It was his ship.
The elder put his hand on the Rakin’s arm “What good is peace, if you lose your soul?”
The Rakin smiled and laid his hand on the old man’s shoulder “I will not lose my soul, Grandfather.”
He turned towards the ship and began to walk towards it, a ramp descended from the hull.
He turned and called back to the old Velkin “I cannot lost my soul, Grandfather! For I am the prophet of God!”
A Getl walked down the ramp, feathers being blown about by the ship’s thrusters, he carried a folded cape and an old, battered hat.
The Rakin stripped off the hooded shirt he wore and draped the cape around his shoulders, and slowly, almost reverently, pulled the hat over his head.
He threw his hands out, the cape flowing in the breeze created by his ship “And God will never allow his prophet’s soul to be lost!”
Roto walked up the plank to his ship, Aarbrin following behind him.
“Sir, Forem wanted me to remind you that…bringing The Harbinger into a planet’s atmosphere isn’t…well…it’s very bad for the hull, sir.”
Roto grinned “We won’t die, Aarbrin, you know that. We still have work to do. We won’t die, not yet.”
Aarbrin nodded, he knew it was pointless to argue with his captain when he was like this.
Aarbrin turned, a steady stream of refugees had started up the ramp, mostly men, but a few women as well.
“See that they are given quarters and they’re entered into the ship’s roster,” the general ordered.
Aarbrin made a note on his clipboard “The recruitment drive at the GASP camp went well I take it, sir?”
Roto nodded as he walked down the corridor.
Aarbrin looked back, the refugees who chose to stay on the planet congregated around an older Velkin man.
The bridge raised and the door began to shut.
The final thing Aarbrin saw before the door slid closed was a look of intense sorrow in the old Velkin’s face.
And Aarbrin couldn’t understand why.
