A short story set in the Rifts RPG; my take on the post-Tolkeen efforts for a controversial hero of the Coalition.

A birch tree erupted from the ground in their midst, roots shooting out like enlivened serpents, shrouded in an explosive cloud of earth and rock. Anna skipped away, dancing clear of their grasp. Philippe and Scarlett cried out in alarm as they fought to maintain their balance. The forest around them flared into a mass of activity as trees came to life. The earth churned in great gouts as more and more roots ripped from the ground. Weapons fired in all directions. Micheline l

“Arbors are what she is calling them,” Erik explained, the flames of their communal fire illuminating his worried expression. “Apparently, she grabbed a sample from one of them just before you came out of the forest. As we ducked into the vehicles, she jumped into the Mountaineer's lab and hasn’t left since. She mentioned something about a fungal infestation, locked the lab down, and she won’t answer my calls.” Erik sat slumped against a tree stump, just outside the circle of

The alarm pinged in her ear, forcing her awake from a troubled sleep. She groaned as she rolled out of her cot, slipping her boots on and grabbing her rifle and some extra clips. Across the tent, Kennie, Piggy and Philippe all stirred from their cots and did the same. “Movement, eastern flank in sector 1,” Anna whispered over the radio. “Sector 1,” repeated Philippe. “Get to your stations,” he added as he strode out the tent. “We bother waking them up,” Micheline asked. “Leav

Duke shook her rain coat, a cloud of water jetting in all directions as she moved to step under the field tent. The large A-frame...

The first thing she realized was the pain. A blistering headache encompassed her senses, rational thought something she desperately fought for as she slipped out of her slumber. The room was brilliant, a white light that stabbed into her eyes and made her pain that much worse. She became acutely aware of her sore muscles the bruises across her body, her sore throat, the feel of the sheets across her body. Her ears rang with tinnitus, the steady high pitched tone, driving her

She caught up with Philippe, now flying in formation with him. She couldn’t see his face, but from the way he crouched down behind the windshield and the aggressive way he was pushing his hover cycle, she knew he was blazing mad. “You flying me into another ambush,” Micheline asked. He ignored her attempt at levity. “They used a localized radio scrambler. We can expect one in the convoy attack. Follow my lead once comms go dark.” Micheline clicked back an affirmative. As they

The irony had left her speechless. The mission specs had been easy enough to comprehend, a simple matter of guarding a delivery of cargo. Six-Delta would provide route clearance and flank security, while a squad from conventional ops secured the caravan. There were no specifics on the cargo, only assurances none was explosive or hazardous. A mixed bag of cybernetics parts, electronics and foodstuffs, bound for one of the frontier villages in the Sherbrooke expansion, near the

Micheline swiped the branches from her face as she pushed through the copse of trees and alders. Branches bearing fewer and fewer leaves swirled back in place as she advanced to the small ridge overlooking the commercial sector. Finding her position, she clicked her radio as couple of times, signalling her arrival to the remainder of Six-Delta. After twenty four hours of tracking, they had finally reached their goal. Philippe had allowed her to flex her tradecraft, chasing th

The drive after the interview was long and silent. She mutely watched the easy exchange between the driver and Chantal, also seated in the front of the jeep. They shared a comfortable effortlessness recounting their stories, almost playfully reminiscing on good times, glossing over or sitting in brooding silence over the bad. She felt like she had somehow intruded on an intimate moment. Worse still she learned surprisingly little from their banter, other than the numerous yea

The field camp, across the St. Lawrence River and several kilometers east, was a bustling hive of activity. There was an orderly flurry of movement, tents being struck and vehicles getting loaded. As their van finished its approach, armoured guards waved through the perimeter a series of supply trucks under command of a towering Mountaineer ATV. A pair of Northern Gun Flying Titan power armour suits lifted off and followed. The van came to a halt; rear doors swung wide open.

Micheline observed the squalid expanse of “Old Bones” as it stretched out from the St Lawrence River. The grungy stain of decrepit, billowing industrial stacks, warehouses and shipwright yards that formed the Port and Eastruins Districts ejected steam, smoke and exhaust cast a heavy veil over the region. Walls erected to separate the industrial zones from the bustle of the central Trade District and obvious newness of well-to-do residents of Northtown and New Town did little