Sword of the Legion (Galaxy's Edge Book 5)

by Jason Anspach

  Owens examined the stained ceiling, still showing the wear from some contaminant leak who knows how long ago. “Picked a pretty lousy place.”

  Andien shrugged. “Our line of work doesn’t lead us to the galaxy’s nicer places.”

  With a half smile, Owens said, “Forty-eight hours ago I forward Wraith’s report. Now you’re here. Legion Commander Keller schedules a private-band meeting… I’m guessing our very first Dark Ops agent found the goods?”

  “Time will tell…”

  The conference comm light flashed, indicating that the time was now. Owens leaned forward and opened the channel, and a holographic image of Legion Commander Keller was rendered at the head of the table in a seated position.

  “Commander,” Owens said.

  “Major Owens,” Keller replied. He turned to face Andien. “Agent Broxin.”

  “Commander,” answered Andien.

  The three of them shared a history—one that dated back to the aftermath of the Battle of Kublar. The trio had worked together in forming the Victory kill team, which had become the most successful team Dark Ops had ever known. They shared information, with Andien confirming intelligence through her Nether Ops contacts—at personal risk—while Owens’s kill teams and Keller’s control over the Legion allowed Andien to strike at the bad guys even when her political handlers wanted Nether Ops to look the other way.

  And now the culmination of years of collaboration was at hand.

  “Goth Sullus,” Keller said, as if speaking the name itself was the story.

  And in a way, it was. The whispered storm at galaxy’s edge, the link that connected the failing MCR, numerous crime syndicates, and who knew what else… was named Goth Sullus. It was a name none of them had ever heard of prior to the transmission by Captain Ford—call sign Wraith, alias Aeson Keel—a scant two days prior.

  “If you’ll allow me the use of an archaic expression,” Keller continued, “Goth Sullus is our white whale. And he’s made the first move.”

  Owens shifted in his seat. This was the first he’d heard of any action. By the way Andien straightened her posture and cleared her throat, Owens imagined this was news to her as well.

  “How do you mean, Commander?” Andien asked, leaning toward the holoprojection.

  “It’s unconfirmed,” said Keller. “but with the intelligence sent in by Major Owens’s agent in the field… it’s him. That is, assuming we can still trust Captain Ford. I spent the morning reading up on ‘Captain Keel’ and the bounty hunter Wraith’s actions. Clever trick, that. Using his armor to create a secondary persona. He certainly took to heart the directives to blend in and become part of the fringe of the galaxy.”

  “Ford’s the only one who could have pulled off this job,” Owens offered. But he knew the legion commander’s observation was true, and it troubled him. Captain Ford, as Aeson Keel, had made a reputation for himself that rivaled that of the notorious Tyrus Rechs—who was, apparently, now dead.

  Andien offered her support. “There’s no disputing his effectiveness. He also disrupted multiple MCR operations and provided tips that helped the Republic clamp down on pirate activity throughout the galaxy.”

  Keller nodded. “We can discuss Captain Ford another time. I don’t disagree with either of you.”

  The room fell silent. Owens and Andien both waited for Keller to drop the bombshell they knew was coming.

  “At zero-one hundred hours, local time, Tarrago Prime and its moon were attacked. We are not receiving any communication from Fortress Omicron and suspect saboteurs may have shut down base communications. The Tarrago defense fleet is engaging with three Republic destroyers, and citizens on Tarrago Prime are transmitting grainy holocam images of what appear to be legionnaires in black-gloss armor. Not our boys. Now that all matches up exactly with the intelligence we received from Wraith, reporting what he saw on Tusca, which is now a nuclear disaster zone according to a Legion recon team.”

  “So Goth Sullus is attacking Tarrago,” Andien said.

  “The shipyards,” Owens added. “He wants to destroy them. Or…” He considered. “More likely he wants to control them.”

  “That’s my assessment as well, Major,” Keller said. “My belief is that he’s looking to build an armada that would threaten the Republic itself.” He rubbed his chin. “And if he does take Fortress Omicron, he’s more than capable of taking the shipyards. The defense fleet is ill trained and not suited for anything beyond scaring off pirates or smugglers. Omicron’s orbital defense gun is the only thing capable of defending Tarrago. Once Sullus is in control of that gun… we won’t be in a position to win it back.”

  “What’s Utopion’s take on all of this?” Owens asked.

  Keller gave a brief look of contempt at the name. “The Security Council is under the impression this is a hit-and-fade by the MCR. They aren’t meeting, though I’ve been asked to stand by all the same. That the House and Senate… dislike the Legion is known. Given the information we have, what we’ve done to obtain it, and who’s involved, I’m not inclined to tell those armchair generals any more than I have to.”

  Andien nodded grimly. “The report by Captain Ford mentioned Admiral Devers attempting to make contact with Sullus. Do we know why?”

  Owens let out a grunt of a laugh. “Knowing that point SOB, I doubt it’s good.”

  “Well,” Keller said, shifting and pulling his uniform taut. “His fleet is right where it ought to be, based on comm relay reports. And though I can’t disagree with your assessment of the Republic’s favorite admiral, we don’t have time to worry much about him at the moment. Let me cut to the chase. Sullus wants the shipyards. We need to deny him that. Now, I can’t unilaterally organize a full-scale counter assault with the Legion without starting a civil war. The House and Senate have been trying for decades to assume control of the Legion, and something like that would give them precisely the pretext they need to do so. I’ll be ordered to stand down, and stand down I would. For the sake of the galaxy.”

  “But they can’t stop a kill team,” Owens offered.

  Keller smiled. “They can’t stop a kill team. But it needs to be our best.”

  “Victory is near the region, on Rawl Kima, dealing with some MCR warlord-flavor-of-the-month.” Owens consulted his datapad. “Op shouldn’t be more than forty-five minutes to completion. I can get them back in the field and on their way to Tarrago within two hours.”

  Andien shook her head. “Rawl Kima might be a problem. I read an intel report that a cease-fire and no-fly order was negotiated between the MCR government and the Illustrious’s captain. I’ll bet you your Legion crest that your team is denied exfiltration.”

  Owens stood up abruptly. “If that’s true, I need to work on some contingency plans to get them out.”

  Keller looked down at his own datapad. “It doesn’t look to me like there are any Legion resources in position to get your team off Rawl Kima. What do you have in mind?”

  Owens gave a grin. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a resource that doesn’t even show up in the battlenet. The Illustrious’s captain won’t even know his no-fly order has been disregarded until it’s too late.”

  ***

  Captain Aeson Keel looked away from the swirling layers of hyperspace to examine the message once more.

  Wraith. LS-33. Return to shell.

  P-1.

  It was a clarion call. A message that communicated volumes while saying nothing in and of itself. At least, nothing to anyone other than him. Keel had expected this transmission since the day he’d left the stolen corvette, Pride of Ankalore.

  How far would they have him go before they called him back in?

  How would he know when he’d found whatever it was that he was sent to discover?

  This call was the culmination of years of work all across galaxy’s edge. Work that had seen him become rich beyond his wildest imagination.

  Not that I’ve had any time to enjoy it, Keel mused to himself. He’d only been a galacti
c multi-millionaire for a few days.

  But it wasn’t credits that had led to him leaving his brothers on the kill team, Victory. The Republic had enemies out beyond the edge. Foes who had made the machinations of malcontents on Kublar possible. Murderers who had caused the destruction of the Chiasm. Terrorists who had nearly destroyed the House of Reason, warts and all.

  Keel was a new man, forged by the threats of the past and the promised dangers of the future. His was an identity formed thanks to a wealth of credits funneled through Dark Ops. Enough to buy a ship. Clothes. Contacts.

  Enough to disappear.

  So why come back now? Had he finally found what Dark Ops had sent him looking for?

  Even as layers of hyperspace unfolded outside of the Six’s canopy windows, possibilities swirled in Keel’s head.

  Was it Rechs? Keel had seen the infamous bounty hunter die aboard his ship in a nuclear explosion. Was that really something that would require a recall and debrief?

  Maybe it was whatever Admiral Devers was up to with this Goth Sullus player? Or something to do with the mysterious dark legionnaires?

  Or was it him, Keel?

  Had he gone too far in… everything? There was an unspoken expectation that this job would leave his hands dirty. But had they become too filthy to clean off?

  Too much theft and smuggling. Too many contracted kills. And, yes, real legionnaires dead—not that the crop of legionnaires the Republic put out these days was anything like the Legion Keel had served in. The Legion was now overflowing with points at almost every level. The Republic’s goal of assuming control was practically a fait accompli.

  But no, this shouldn’t be about that. Keel had been careful around the kill teams. Around any leej he felt to be the real deal. He had made sure those leejes survived.

  But… who could say?

  “Do what needs doing.” That’s what Captain Owens had said to him as he prepared to depart aboard the newly acquired Indelible VI.

  “Don’t lose yourself out there.” That’s what Lieutenant Chhun had said next.

  Even then, when the trappings of a commission as a Legion captain were still fresh, Keel knew he couldn’t do both. He couldn’t do what needed doing without losing himself. He had chosen the former. And now he would accept the consequences of his actions. Dark Ops and the Legion commanders would determine whether he had fulfilled his mission. And whatever their determination was… he would live with it.

  He was already living with it. The legionnaires, basics, marines, and navy troopers he had dusted along the way… these were acceptable losses. That’s what he told himself. They had to be.

  Leenah was watching him. The pink-skinned Endurian former rebel—the genius mechanic who had spent as much time in Ravi’s old navigator chair as she’d spent in the maintenance hatches—had read the message. And now she was waiting for a response. Patiently.

  Keel took a deep breath and turned to face her. “We all have a past, right?”

  Leenah nodded. Delicately. Eager to agree, it seemed to Keel.

  He pointed at the display, letting his hand linger for a moment before speaking. “This message is the exact point where my past catches up to my present.”

  “So you were a legionnaire,” observed Leenah. “I figured as much. When you put on the armor—became Wraith—you had that… bearing, I guess. I’m not sure what else to call it.”

  Keel shifted in his chair. “Technically I’m still in the Legion.”

  Leenah’s face betrayed surprise… which soon gave way to skepticism. “I… but I’ve seen you… fight. Kill Republic legionnaires and soldiers and…” She bobbed her head, causing her pink, hair-like tendrils to sway. “I guess I’ve seen you shoot a lot of people.”

  “Nothing to be confused about,” Keel said with a slight frown. “It was them or me. Always has been.”

  “So this whole time you’ve been—what?—undercover? Working for the Republic?”

  “For the Legion.” Keel flipped a few switches above the console, readying the ship to dump out of hyperspace. “There’s a difference. At least, there used to be.”

  Leenah clenched her jaw, but didn’t pursue the issue further. Keel felt an urge to provide an explanation, but what would he say? He brushed the urge aside. For now, he needed to make contact.

  Keel looked over his shoulder, trying to read the nav display in front of Leenah, without success. “Hey, uh, do you mind telling me where we are?”

  The mechanic-turned-navigator paused, as though weighing an objection, then studied the display. “Looks like nowhere. Deep space, nowhere near… anything.”

  “Good.”

  Keel squeezed the hyperdrive’s gear control, disengaging the safety, and slowly reduced the ship’s speed. The swirling layers of space receded into the elongated lines of each individual star, and, finally, the vastness of space. Billions of distant, twinkling lights winked through the darkness, mere pinpoints visible through the ship’s canopy.

  Leenah stood. “The rest of the crew will wonder why we’ve dropped out of hyperspace. I’ll go and tell them you received an urgent message.”

  Keel grabbed Leenah by the arm as she attempted to move past his pilot’s seat. “No, hey… why don’t you sit down? You want to know what’s going on, who I am? This is your ticket.”

  Leenah considered, and for a moment it seemed that she could go either way. Stay or leave.

  “Stay,” Keel said gently. “I don’t know exactly what’s coming, but I know I want you to stay aboard.”

  “As a crewmember?”

  Keel swallowed. “Sure.”

  As she sat back down, the comm chimed. Keel nodded for her to answer it. She missed what he meant entirely, sitting still in her chair with a confused look.

  Ravi would have brought up the comm.

  “Never mind. I’ll get it.” Keel reached forward and switched the comm to audio only. “This is the freighter Frisky Landshark.” He gave a slight grin. He’d wanted to use that false registry for ages, but Ravi had always nixed it. “Go for—“

  The cabin lights dimmed, and a projected holodisplay splashed before Keel. The larger-than-life image of his old Dark Ops team leader, Ellek Owens, appeared before him. Keel’s eyes darted down to verify that he had indeed selected audio only.

  He had.

  “Go for Captain Keel,” he said, a wry tone of exasperation in his voice. “And be thankful you didn’t catch me in the shower.”

  “Yeah, we can force your visuals. Badass, huh, Captain Ford?” Owens said, his voice booming over the comms. He looked the same, thick beard, muscles. If he’d developed crow’s-feet, his perpetually worn shades covered the evidence. “Got your message and decided the time has come to bring you back in. Trouble’s here.”

  03

  Keel leaned back in the pilot’s seat, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Bring me in how?”

  Owens worked over a piece of gum before saying, “Assigning you to an op. Well, two of them, technically. If you’re feeling rusty, don’t worry. All you have to do is pick up Chhun’s kill team and fly them to a target.”

  “I didn’t let myself get rusty,” Keel said, giving Leenah a sidelong glance.

  “Relax. Giving you a hard time. I’ve read the reports filed by all the people you’ve”—Owens made air quotes with his fingers—“done business with. Trust me, I know you’re still capable of some KTF.”

  Keel swallowed, wondering how often those reports included his treatment of the new class of legionnaires. Moral questions long buried were scratching their way to the surface of his conscience like undead monsters. Would it all be seen as ‘whatever is necessary’? Had he made the right decisions? These were the issues that deep down, he had hoped he would never have to deal with. His role in Dark Ops had been dangerous enough. Throw in working out on the edge as a smuggler and bounty hunter, and Keel had been banking on getting killed before he ever had to sort all this out. But no matter how hard the other guys tried… they never seemed
able to snuff him out.

  Owens looked over at Leenah in the navigator’s chair. “Who’s the Endurian?”

  “I’m Leenah,” the princess said.

  There was a certain impetuousness in her voice that led Keel to believe that, deep down, perhaps she truly did identify as a princess. He made a mental note to keep using the titles. “Her Majesty is a member of my crew. Mechanic.”

  Leenah blushed, her pink skin growing scarlet at her cheeks.

  The Dark Ops commander surveyed her, then gave a fractional, approving nod. “Right. Endurian princesses.” He gave a two-finger wave. “Hey, Leenah.”

  Leenah gave an awkward, half-wave of her own. “Hi.”

  Owens returned his attention to Keel. “I’m beaming jump coordinates. Victory Squad will be awaiting extraction from a Naseen light freighter. Expect the situation to be hot. And no more shooting leejes. You’re back in.”

  Keel shut his eyes, seeking to temporarily black out the universe. “What comes after I make the pickup?”

  “After that,” Owens said, a grim smile on his face, “you’re headed to Tarrago Prime. More details once Victory is on board.”

  “This about what I reported? About Devers?”

  From the corner of his eye, Keel saw Leenah react to the word “reported.” She hadn’t expected him to have been actively reporting to the Legion all this time. His mind drifted for a moment. He wanted to stand up and soliloquize about the Legion, the Republic, liberty. To just… explain. For his own benefit as much as hers. To remind Owens that he’d been a true legionnaire. A son of freedom in a galaxy diseased beyond repair.

  And when he saw them, he wanted to tell Chhun and the kill team the same.

  Owens’s reply came before the rushing patterns of Keel’s thoughts could form into articulated ideas. “Is this about your report?” Owens repeated. “Yes and no. You found the big bad wolf, I’m sure of that. This Sullus guy is exactly who Andien was hunting. We just didn’t have a name until you provided it. We believe he’s leading some sort of evolved rendition of the MCR.”