Andromeda's Fall (Legion of the Damned) (2 page)

Macy laughed. “So you enjoy living here?”

“Of course I do,” Rex admitted. “I have every possible convenience and don’t pay rent. That’s hard to beat.” He was about to say more when a loud thrumming noise was heard. Rex recognized the sound immediately. And it brought him to a halt. He peered up into the night sky. Why would a troop transport be hovering over the estate? Especially one without any running lights? Unless . . .

A brilliant flash lit up the night as a rocket hit the security shack next to the landing pad and blew up. Rex said, “Oh shit,” and was running toward the main house when the estate’s computer-controlled defense system came on. That included banks of lights that were aimed up into the night sky. The transport’s alloy belly was clear to see, as were the ropes that dangled below, and the figures that slid down them like beads on a string.

The staccato bark of automatic fire followed, and as Rex came to a stop, he could see muzzle flashes through the windows. Macy had caught up to him by then. She was frightened. “What’s going on?”

“Something bad,” Rex answered as he took her hand. “Come with me.”

Macy had to abandon her high heels and run barefoot in order to keep up with the officer as he led her down the brightly lit path toward the guesthouse. Muffled screams could be heard from the residence, but were cut off as more shots were fired, and flames appeared in a window.

Rex thumbed the door lock, burst into the entry hall, and went straight to his study. There was a
thump
as his fist hit the paneling, a door slid to one side, and a recess appeared. A pistol and three clips of ammunition were waiting. Rex took the weapon, the ammo, and a leather pouch. There were some old-fashioned gold coins in it. There should have been more. Would have been more if he hadn’t lost half the stash in Monte Carlo. Still, the coins made a comforting clinking sound as he dropped the purse into his jacket pocket and slid a magazine into the pistol. The slide produced a clacking sound as he pumped a round into the chamber. That was when Macy screamed.

Rex turned, saw the flat black synth, and shot it in the head. As the machine crumpled, a machine pistol skittered across the floor. But the weapon was electronically keyed to the “dead” robot and therefore useless. “Come on,” Rex said. “Those things are linked, so more will arrive soon. Can you swim?”

Macy gave a jerky nod.

“Good. ’Cause we’re going for a dip.”

Rex led the frightened woman through the house, out the back door, and toward the elaborate swimming pool beyond. It was lit from above, but some carefully aimed shots took care of that. The water was black as they jumped into it, and waves rippled out in every direction.

Rex quickly discovered that it was difficult to swim with a weapon in one hand while holding on to Macy with the other. So he let go of her as they surfaced. He said, “Follow me,” and she spluttered by way of a reply.

Rex turned and swam toward the sound of the artificial waterfall to his right. Then, as water began to pummel his head, he made a grab for Macy and towed her through the deluge.

The hidden grotto had been his grandfather’s idea. His brother and he had enjoyed the secret hideaway as children. Then, during his early teens, Rex discovered that the secret chamber was a wonderful place to take girls. There were half-submerged benches to either side plus a deep ledge in the back. It was stocked with a supply of fluffy towels and wide enough for two.

The water was warm, but the air was cool, and Macy’s skimpy cocktail dress was plastered to her body as they climbed up onto the ledge. It was dark, but Rex could hear her teeth chattering. “Get out of those wet clothes,” he ordered. “And wrap yourself in towels. We’re going to be here for a while. An hour at least.”

Sirens could be heard in the distance, but who was on the way? Firemen? Or more synths? There was no way to know, but one thing was for sure. Cyntarch Dor Carletto and Lady Carolyn were dead. That left Rex and Catherine.
Cat!
He had to warn her. But how? Lights stabbed downwards, found the bottom of the pool, and began to explore it.

IMPERIAL PLANET ESPARTO

Lady Catherine Carletto snapped her lipstick closed and studied herself in the oval-shaped mirror. She had shoulder-length blond hair, wide-set blue eyes, and a softly rounded face. Everyone agreed that she was beautiful. And that was true. In the technical sense, anyway. The problem was that she didn’t
feel
beautiful. Or anything else for that matter. No ambition. No fear. No joy. And that didn’t make sense since she had
everything
. Or that’s what the vidnets claimed. Cat made a face at herself, dropped the lipstick into a tiny clutch, and turned to go. The door to her hotel suite hurried to slide out of the way, and the private elevator surged upwards the moment she stepped on board.

There was a small but tastefully furnished lobby on the roof—and two of the hotel’s employees were there to wish Cat a good evening as she passed through. Less fortunate people were constantly wishing her “good morning,” “good afternoon,” and “good evening.” But very few, if any, meant it. And why would they? Everything was for sale—including the most trivial of greetings. So Cat ignored them, followed a green runner out to a waiting air car, and slid into the backseat. A chime sounded as she buckled the seat belt.

Moments later, the limo was in the air and entering the flow of southbound traffic. Esparto was an Earth-normal planet known for its vast grasslands, rich deposits of rare earth minerals, and the glittering city spread out below her. The
only
city on Esparto.

There were townships of course. But laws laid down by the first families limited them to populations of no more than ten thousand people each. The idea was to contain urban sprawl and encourage decentralization. But the unintended consequence of that policy had been to create a city that occupied more than five thousand square miles of land and had a reputation for both sophistication and decadence. That was the main reason why young men and women fortunate enough to be sent on the so-called grand tour wanted to visit Elysium. And Cat was no exception.

Thanks to her family’s relationship with Emperor Ordanus, and their considerable wealth, Cat was a much-sought-after guest. It was a role she both enjoyed and despised. Because although she loved the attention, Cat knew it was undeserved and felt a sense of contempt for both herself and the people who fawned over her.

So the socialite took in the view as the car followed a stream of other aircraft south over brightly lit buildings and toward the glowing globe perched atop the one-hundred-story-tall Imperial Tower. If one looked closely, it was possible to see that the familiar outlines of Earth’s seven continents had been etched into the opaque structure. The skyscraper had been built by Emperor Alfred II to house the planetary government and to remind the local citizens of where the
real
power was.

Hundreds of people had been invited to the governor’s ball, so as the limo circled the tower, and the pilot waited for a clearance to land, Cat had an opportunity to eye the sprawling city below. Elysium’s streets were laid out grid-style. But there were so many of them that Cat wondered if anyone could come to know such a huge metroplex.

Rivers of glowing headlights flowed along the main arterials. Commercials, many of which circled entire buildings, flowed snakelike from one section of the city to the next. And blimps that looked like internally lit jellyfish drifted across the night sky, all competing for eyeballs and mindshare. It was both beautiful and horrible. Or that’s the way it seemed to Cat as the air car came in for a landing.

At least two dozen landing pads were located in the area just below the gigantic globe. And while vidnet reporters weren’t allowed on that level, their airborne cameras were. The machines jockeyed for position as Cat stepped out of the limo. She smiled as the lights hit, and paused to turn a full circle so all the fashionistas could appreciate her ten-thousand-credit evening gown. It was red, with slits up both sides, and glittered under the lights.

Then Cat took the arm of the brightly uniformed militia officer who was waiting to escort her inside. He was a lieutenant, about her age, and clearly enthralled. His carefully memorized words of introduction were lost in the roar of repellers as Cat’s limo took off. But it wasn’t important since the officer was little more than an accessory and indistinguishable from all the rest of his kind.

Together, they entered a lobby, where Cat was welcomed by some functionary or other, guided onto an elevator, and taken down to the fifth-floor ballroom. It consisted of a huge room decorated in the early Imperial style. Heroic 3-D murals covered all four walls and morphed into fresh perspectives every three minutes.

Hundreds of less important individuals were already present, and most turned to stare as her name was announced, and cameras swarmed around her. Then it was time to greet the governor and her husband. Both wore perpetual smiles, claimed to know her parents, and were clearly wary. And for good reason. Though nothing in and of herself, Cat could do them harm by dropping a few carelessly chosen words to the cameras.

After exchanging pleasantries with them, Cat allowed herself to be steered over to a reception line, where a line of lesser functionaries were waiting to greet her. It wasn’t long before their faces became a blur, their names merged into a meaningless drone, and she was grateful when the last sweaty hand had been shaken.

That was the point when things took a turn for the better as a group of chattering young people closed in around her. She knew many of them and was barely aware of the manner in which the disappointed lieutenant was shouldered aside by a fop decked out in a vid suit. Pictures of Cat and her friends roamed his body, and everyone laughed as the likeness of a girl with spiky pink hair slid down into his crotch.

During the next hour, Cat gossiped with her friends, took a moment to flirt with a moody sim actor, and consumed three cocktails. She was about to visit the buffet when a formally dressed hostess appeared at her side. “Lady Catherine? My name is Stevens. A man is here to see you. We told him you were busy, but he claims to have an urgent message from your uncle.”

Cat frowned. “My uncle? You’re sure?”

Stevens had closely set eyes and thin lips. “That’s what he claims,” she said noncommittally. “But I have no way to be sure.”

Since she departed Earth two months earlier, Cat’s parents had sent her messages every couple of days. Each of which had to be recorded on a chip, loaded onto a message torp, and sent through hyperspace the same way a full-sized ship would be. A very expensive process indeed. And since most of the holos were admonishments to take care of herself, or queries regarding some of her more notorious exploits, Cat had a tendency to let a few days pass before sending a reply. Or, in some cases, she ignored the missives altogether.

But Uncle Rex
never
sent messages. And being the official black sheep of the family, he was in no position to complain about public intoxication, partial nudity, or the provocative statements Cat made to the press. Was a member of the family sick or something? So, fueled by both curiosity and a rising sense of concern, Cat agreed. “Okay. Where is this guy?”

“He’s in the kitchen,” the hostess explained. “We couldn’t bring him into the ballroom because . . . Well, you’ll see.”

Cat followed Stevens through a pair of swinging doors and caught a glimpse of a busy kitchen before being led into an office labeled
FOOD SERVICE
. The man’s head was bare, his cheeks were covered with at least two days’ worth of stubble, and his clothes were filthy. And because his torso was resting on an argrav platform that floated just inches off the floor, he had to look up at her. “Good evening, miss. You look just like the pictures I seen.”

Cat glanced over her shoulder, saw that Stevens had withdrawn, and wished she hadn’t. A mistake had been made, and she’d been left with a vagrant. All she could do was play the farce through. “You have a message for me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied respectfully. “My name’s Toshy.
Sergeant
Toshy back before I lost my sticks in the battle of Ripper’s Ridge. But Major Rex don’t forget. The money comes every year. Right on the anniversary of the day I saved his life. It helps me and the missus to get through. So I owes him just like he owes me.”

Looking down at the ex-soldier made Cat feel uncomfortable, so she sat on a chair. The socialite hadn’t heard of Toshy, but Uncle Rex had told her stories about his career in the Legion, and the battle of Ripper’s Ridge. A hellish assault that left half of his battalion dead. So there was reason to hear Toshy out. “When my uncle retired, he was a colonel.”

“Really?” Toshy inquired. “I didn’t know that. Well, good on him. He was a fine officer.”

“You have a message for me,” Cat said flatly.

“Right you are,” Toshy said as he fished a chip out of his pocket. “It came yesterday. And there was a note. ‘Get this to Lady Catherine Carletto,’ it said. And don’t tell nobody.”

Cat frowned. Rather than send the chip to her hotel, Uncle Rex had chosen to entrust it to Toshy. And cautioned him to keep it secret.
Why?

“Thank you,” Cat said as she accepted the chip. “It was very kind of you to come and find me.”

“I saw you on the news,” Toshy said proudly. “They said you’d be here.”

“I’d like to give you something for your trouble,” Cat said, and opened her purse.

“No thank you,” Toshy said stiffly. “The chance to help Colonel Rex is payment enough. Give him my best.”

And with that, the ex-legionnaire used two blocks of wood to propel himself toward the open door. Moments later, Toshy was gone. He was, Cat knew, one of thousands of badly wounded veterans who had been handed a severance check and put on the street. In all likelihood, Toshy had been issued a pair of bionic legs but, lacking the means to maintain the prosthetics, had sold them to pay the rent or gambled them away. Of course, that was
his
fault, or so many people maintained, her uncle being a notable exception.