Legion Of The Damned - 01 - Legion of the Damned (47 page)

Still, the Hudathan couldn’t help but feel optimistic, and allowed himself some additional time with the terrarium.

 

The air-conditioning whispered incessantly, the lights never blinked, and the minutes rolled off the wall clock with relentless precision. The aliens had been in orbit for some time now, gathering their forces, preparing to wipe the Legion off the face of Algeron. There had been no attempt to communicate, no offer of terms, just the steady, almost insulting infiltration of Hudathan scouts, robots, and spy-eyes.

That, plus the fact that St. James had been living in the mobile command post for weeks now, made him tired and irritable. Natasha’s presence only added to his frustration, since he would have preferred to spend his time with her rather than his work. So, while the answer was surly, the com tech got off lightly.

“What now?”

The com tech, a vet with ten years in, didn’t even flinch. “We have an anomaly, sir. A man who identified himself as ex-Sergeant Major William Booly crashed net three. We jerked his file, found he was AWOL, and asked enough questions to confirm his identity. He wants to speak with you.”

St. James frowned. “But how?”

“He dug his way down to relay station 856-K, disarmed the booby traps, and used the handset. It seems he led the patrol that buried this particular unit.”

“Tell him to shoot himself. It’ll save us the trouble.”

The com tech stood her ground. “He claims to speak for the unified tribes, sir.”

“Tribes? Unified? Since when?”

The com tech shrugged. “Beats me, sir. The sergeant major claims they came together and are willing to fight the Hudathans.”

Could it be true? It would make a tremendous difference if so. St. James felt his fatigue drop away.

“I’ll talk to him. Which channel?”

“Six, sir.”

St. James touched a button and spoke into his mike.

“Booly?”

The voice at the other end sounded as crisp and clear as if Booly were sitting by his side.

“Hello, General. Thanks for taking my call.”

“What’s this crap about unified tribes and fighting the Hudatha?”

The pit was about eight feet deep. The relay station consisted of a green box no larger than a foot locker. Hardened cables entered the unit on one side and exited on the other. Robo trenchers had laid mile after endless mile of the stuff, which meant that the Legion would have excellent communications even if every frequency on the spectrum was jammed.

Booly leaned back against the side of the pit and felt cold seep through the back of his jacket. It had taken more than eight hours to dig their way down to the relay station and another two to disarm all the booby traps. His muscles ached, his hands were blistered, and the Naa had started to stay upwind of his sweat-soaked clothes.

“It isn’t crap, sir. The Naa have an intense dislike for the Hudathans and are willing to fight.”

Excited by the prospect of reinforcements, St. James allowed himself to momentarily forget Booly’s status as a deserter.

“I’m glad to hear it. We could use some help. Tell me, Sergeant Major, how many warriors could the Naa supply?”

“Approximately 250,000, sir.”

“What about arms?”

“The usual mishmash of their own stuff combined with ours, sir.”

St. James thought out loud. “Well, we can’t arm them all, but we can sure as hell supplement what they already have. What about command? Will they take orders?”

Booly tried to ignore the fact that Hardman and Windsweet were staring down at him from the surface, that the cold had penetrated his clothing, and that his hand was shaking. The next part would be tricky, very tricky, and he would have to be careful.

“Well, sir, that depends.”

“Depends? Depends on what?”

Booly had been taking orders all his adult life and to defy an officer was extremely difficult. He swallowed hard. “It depends on who gives the orders.” It took a conscious act of will to leave “sir” off the end.

St. James felt his fingers dig into padded leather. The words were clear. The Naa would take orders, but only from Booly, and only if certain demands were met. Anger rose and threatened to spill over into his voice. He forced it down. There was too much at stake to call Booly the names he deserved. But any sympathy for Booly’s plight, any tendency to forgive what he’d done, was irrevocably erased. His voice was as cold as mountain snow.

“I see. And who would they listen to?”

Booly rewrapped his fingers around the handset. “They’ll listen to me.”

St. James tried to resist sarcasm and failed. “I’m not surprised.”

Booly heard the sarcasm and felt the pain. “Believe what you will, General, but the Legion will survive, and that’s what counts.”

“Is it?” St. James demanded. “You don’t want anything in return? A pardon? Money?”

“No. But I do want things for the Naa. Ongoing support for families who lose breadwinners. Medical attention for their wounded. And compensation for the Legion’s use of Algeron.”

St. James was surprised. The requests were moderate and obviously fair. And the guarantees he had expected were missing. Why? Then he understood. Once armed, the Naa would have the ability to demand what they wanted, and Booly knew that. St. James sighed. It was a damned good thing that most deserters were less capable than Booly.

“Agreed. Stay where you are and I’ll have a fly-form pick you up. We can’t have a deserter leading allied troops, so I’ll second you to the Naa, with the temporary rank of major. And Booly . . .”

“Sir?”

“When this is over ... you’d better make damned sure that we never run into each other.”

“Yes, sir.”

War is the remedy that our enemy has chosen; therefore, let them have as much of it as they want.

 

 

 

 

 

The Emperor’s yacht had no more than left hyperspace before it was running for its life. The whole system was swarming with Hudathan vessels, and powerful though it was, the human ship was no match for their combined strength. It wasted little time making contact.

Curious, and somewhat amused by the enemy’s electronic bleatings, War Commander Niman Poseen-Ka ordered his ships to hold their fire. They did so, but continued to move in, until the human vessel was completely englobed. It was then, as the humans nattered on about peace talks, treaties, and the possibility of bilateral trade agreements, that the Hudathan sent for Colonel Natalie Norwood. Of the humans he’d met thus far she made the most sense.

Norwood was surprised by the summons, and curious as to what was happening, since no effort had been made to keep her or the other prisoners informed. The Hudathans were getting ready for battle—that much was obvious—but she knew nothing more than that. An escort comprised of four guards marched her through the now familiar corridors and up to the command center’s airtight hatch. It disappeared into the ceiling. The Sun Guards were still mindful of what she’d done to Keem-So but made no effort to intervene.

The command center’s interior was just as she remembered it. The compartment was oval in shape, with fifteen wall niches, and a huge holo tank at its center. The device depicted a five-planet solar system and a host of tiny ships, many of which were gathered around a flashing green globe. Poseen-Ka came forward to greet her.

“Greetings, Colonel. You are looking well ... or I assume so anyway.”

It was a joke, the first one Norwood had heard Poseen-Ka tell, and she laughed politely. “Yes, thank you.”

Poseen-Ka gestured towards the long, gently curved wall screen. Admiral Paula Scolari took up a third of its surface. She continued to talk about peace in spite of the fact that the Hudathans had shown no interest in what she was saying. The Emperor stood beside her, eyes focused on something only he could see, features hanging slack.

“These individuals claim to be high-ranking members of your government. The man claims to be the Emperor, and in spite of actions to the contrary, the woman represents herself as War Commander Scolari. I assumed they came for honorable deaths, and was about to grant their wish, when they started to run. No sooner had we closed with them than they started to babble about a cessation of hostilities, something called a ‘truce,’ and trade agreements.” The Hudathan seemed truly amazed. “Tell me, Colonel. Are they really your leaders?”

Norwood looked up at the screen, remembering how millions had died, hating the people she saw with every fiber of her being.

“Yes, those are our leaders. Pathetic, aren’t they?”

“Truly,” Poseen-Ka replied, ignoring Scolari’s latest demand for a response. “What are they trying to accomplish?”

Norwood shrugged stoically. “They know nothing of you, or your people, and hope you will make peace.”

“But why should we do that?” the Hudathan inquired. “We’re winning.”

“True,” Norwood agreed sadly.

“So I should kill them?”

Norwood fought to keep her voice steady. “No. They are helpless and can do you no harm.”

“Not now,” Poseen-Ka agreed, “but what about the future? We have a saying: ‘He who spares an enemy adds to the army that will bring him down.”’

“And we have a saying,” Norwood countered. “‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”’

“Exactly,” Poseen-Ka agreed, and said something in Hudathan. A thousand beams of light converged on the Emperor’s yacht.

Norwood saw Scolari react, turn towards the Emperor, and vanish as the Hudathan beams overwhelmed the yacht’s force fields and ruptured the hull. A fireball blossomed, ran out of oxygen, and disappeared.

Poseen-Ka was impassive. “You may go.”

Norwood searched his face for some trace of humanity, realized how stupid that was, and turned away. If the guards thought the tears were strange, they didn’t say anything.

 

A detachment from the 1st REC had been assigned to support a contingent of Colonel Ed Jefferson’s 2nd REI. They were spread out along both sides of a broad U-shaped valley and heavily camouflaged. Villain could make out the vehicles, launchers, and quads, but just ba
rely. Salazar was up ahead and yelled for her to follow. She waved an acknowledgment. Both observed the strict radio silence that Colonel Ed and her staff had imposed.

The Trooper
IIs
followed a narrow path up along the side of a gently rounded hill, past some jumbled boulders, and into a small clearing. Salazar had noticed it while on patrol the previous day and decided it was ideal.

Villain searched her surroundings for signs of life. She did it partially from habit and partially for fear of being discovered. Both had logged off for maintenance.

Salazar smiled inside his mind. “Nervous?”

“Hell, yes. What if someone sees us?”

Salazar shrugged. “Then they’ll see a couple of Trooper
IIs
taking a break.”

“You think it’ll work?”

“Other borgs do it all the time.”

“But this is
me
, damn it, and I
don’t
do it all the time.”

Salazar sat down and leaned against a rock. He patted the ground beside him. She paused for a moment before accepting his invitation. Her movements were large and ponderous. Different from the girl he’d seen behind the counter. He remembered how the gun had jumped in his hand, how blood had spurted from her chest, from
his
chest, before blackness pulled him down. For the millionth time he wished he’d done something else that day, blown his brains out, anything but enter the convenience store.

Villain looked at him and ignored the threat factors that popped up in the lower right-hand corner of her vision.

“I love you.”

He’d heard the words before, but they surprised him nonetheless, as did the realization that he felt the same way. He reached out to touch her, his arm heavy with weaponry, his hand large and clumsy. Metal clanged.

“And I love you.”

“Let’s see it.”

Salazar fumbled the dream box out of a storage compartment. The device was illegal and had cost him the equivalent of three month’s pay. It wasn’t much to look at. Villain saw a black cube, some rudimentary controls, and four leads. Each lead ended in a small cup-shaped device.

“How does it work?”

Salazar demonstrated by placing one of the cup-shaped devices against the side of his brain box.

“We each place a lead here, like so, and flip the switch. It works like the training scenarios they used on us in boot camp.”

“Except we’re in control.”

“Exactly.”

“What are the other two leads for?”

“In case you want to hook four borgs together all at once.”

Villain shivered inside her mind. “Ugh.”

Salazar looked into her scanners. It was impossible, of course, but he would have sworn that he saw something more than his own reflection there.

“Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay. Here goes.”

Salazar placed one lead against his brain box and a second against hers. Magnets held them in place. He held the controls with one hand and placed the other over the switch. Servos whined as Villain placed her hand over his. He moved a huge sausage-like finger and the contacts closed.

The readouts that had become a part of Villain’s normal vision disappeared. Fog swirled but nothing else happened. Salazar was nowhere to be seen.

“Sal?”

The voice came from nearby.

“Right here. Remember, reality is what you make it, so think yourself into the picture.”

Villain tried. The fog eddied. She looked down at her Trooper II body and wondered why it was the same.