Legion Of The Damned - 02 - The Final Battle

by William C. Dietz

  A lifetime of obedience urged Poseen-Ka to say yes, to grab the chance at redemption and never look back. But experience had taught him that humans were extremely hard to kill. He gestured his respect. “Your offer does me great honor. I hesitate to speak lest I shame myself and therefore you.”

  Rula-Ka wiped his mouth with the back of a gigantic fist. “Never. You had a saying when I was young. ‘Silence teaches nothing.’ Teach me that I might learn.”

  Poseen-Ka spoke carefully. “I know nothing of the fleet that you spoke of . . . but I know this: The last fleet under my command was equal, if not superior to what the humans eventually brought to bear, and it was destroyed. We lost because I was too cautious, because the human cyborgs defeated us on the ground, and because the humans came together at the critical moment. I promise to learn from my mistake . . . but what of the rest?”

  Rula-Ka hissed his approval. “An excellent analysis! Correct in every detail. Which is why we spent years developing cyborgs of our own, and are taking steps to divide the enemy into at least two warring factions. Are you finished? Excellent. Come. We have a meeting to attend.”

  The Alpha clone known as Antonio knew the Hudathans would have little or no interest in what he looked like, but couldn’t resist the temptation to check his reflection in the mirror anyway. He was well aware of the fact that his brothers were contemptuous of the carefully arranged ringlets of hair and that was a large part of the reason why he liked them. They made him different and therefore more significant. But what of the horizontal worry lines that ran the width of his forehead? Were they deeper now? More prominent? He knew they were.

  What had started as cheerful acquiescence to Pietro’s latest plan had turned into a source of unremitting worry. What if Marcus was correct? What if the Confederacy really was the lesser of the two evils? What if the Hudathans had lured them into a carefully laid trap? A somewhat unlikely possibility given the number of Hegemony ships on hand . . . but what if?

  Still, it wouldn’t do to reveal his doubts to Pietro, not with the aliens already aboard. He shook his head, saw his reflection do likewise, and turned away. Ten steps carried him through the hatch and out into a busy corridor. Crew people, all copies of ten basic tech types, saluted respectfully. Antonio nodded politely, turned down the appropriate passageway, and found his brother waiting by the main lock. He wore the usual toga, clasp, and frown. He started to say something but a light flashed green and a tone cut him off. The hatch cycled open.

  Antonio had seen holovids of course, but was psychologically unprepared for how large the Hudathans were. Large and menacing. It took an act of will to remember that the aliens were on his turf rather than the other way around. Pietro did the talking. “Welcome aboard! Please accept our apologies if we inadvertently omitted courtesies of rank or title.”

  The lead Hudathan, an imposing specimen who wore shoulder belts with a ruby red stone set where they crossed each other, spoke via the translator that rode his waist strap and fed his implant. His voice had a hissing quality. “Thank you for your concern, and please accept our apologies for failing to observe whatever protocols apply to guests. While we have killed millions of your kind we have never had a reason to learn about your culture.”

  Antonio felt his blood turn ice cold. Were the words intended as a threat? Or a simple statement of fact? Pietro opted for the second and less ominous interpretation. “Of course. I am known as Pietro and this is Antonio. Together with our brother Marcus we rule the Clone Hegemony and are known as ‘The Triad of One.’ ”

  “I am Grand Marshal Hisep Rula-Ka,” the first Hudathan said tightly. “This is Sector Marshal Poseen-Ka, his adjutant Arrow Commander Nagwa Isaba-Ra, and my adjutant, Spear Commander Pasem Dwaneka-Ba. We have a tripartite leadership council as well, which gives us something in common, and bodes well for an agreement.”

  Antonio noticed that the second Hudathan was visibly older than the first, and somewhat shrunken, as if he were recovering from an extended illness. The other two were as healthy as the first and just as intimidating.

  Happy to let Pietro take the lead, Antonio found himself paired with the alien known as Poseen-Ka and was interested to note that he wore no translator and spoke standard with a minimal accent. “I haven’t seen any human ships since the war. Is this one typical?”

  Antonio knew that an honest answer could have military value but figured the Hudathan spy drones had already furnished them with the information anyway. “Yes, it’s typical of Hegemony invader-class cruisers, but not of Confederacy ships, which tend to be larger and more heavily armed. We prefer to have smaller vessels but more of them.”

  Poseen-Ka nodded the way humans do and committed everything he saw to memory. Based on what he’d learned in the past from the renegade named Baldwin, he knew that the humans saw Rula-Ka’s willingness to board one of their ships as a sign of weakness, which served to emphasize their stupidity. Who in their right mind invites a member of another clan into the ancestral fortress? No one, that’s who.

  So it was with considerable interest that Poseen-Ka observed the way in which the ship was laid out, the mostly identical crew, and the body language of those around him. A rather useful gift, courtesy of two dead humans. Baldwin and the female named Norwood.

  The briefing room was quite large but had been made smaller through the addition of movable partitions. Chairs, each specially constructed, were positioned so that each Hudathan would have a section of wall protecting his back. Poseen-Ka was impressed by his hosts’ attention to detail and raised his estimates of their intelligence. Once seated, and supplied with refreshments he had absolutely no intention of consuming, Rula-Ka got to the point.

  “Our forces attacked and destroyed the Confederacy habitat known as Battle Station Alpha XIV. This is but the first step of what will be an all-out effort to impose Hudathan control over this sector of the galaxy. The Clone Hegemony has two choices: you can stand with the Confederacy and die, or stand against them and live. Which will it be?”

  Pietro found the blunt, almost insulting language hard to bear, but managed a smile. “You get right to the point, Grand Marshal Rula-Ka . . . and I admire that. Please allow me to be equally frank. . . . While there is little doubt as to the strength of the forces under your command, the ultimate outcome of the war is still very much in question, as your presence aboard this ship proves. That means our choices are a good deal more complex than you indicated. We can side with the Confederacy, which could lead to your defeat, we could side with you, increasing the likelihood of victory, or we could sit on the sidelines and see what happens.”

  Poseen-Ka saw Rula-Ka’s eyes flash as they had a few hours earlier. “Neutrality means nothing! Your are either for or against us! There is no middle ground.”

  Antonio saw tiny beads of sweat pop out on his brother’s forehead and knew his looked the same. His stomach churned and his hands began to shake. He lowered them to his lap.

  Pietro struggled to sound casual and to fight the rising panic. “Yes, of course. But under what terms? Suppose we side with you, and emerge victorious, what then?”

  It was a key question and Poseen-Ka was curious to see how his new superior would answer. Rula-Ka leaned back and seemed to relax. “The Hegemony would be free to live life as it does now but would not be allowed to expand.”

  It was a rather obvious lie, since the entire point of the Hudathan offensive was to exterminate all sentient races, with an emphasis on humans. The female called Norwood would have laughed at such words and Poseen-Ka expected Pietro to do the same. He didn’t. Much to the Hudathan’s amazement, and subsequent contempt, the clone nodded, smiled, and accepted Rula-Ka’s offer at face value. Documents were signed within the hour. A single lie, convincingly told, had reduced the enemy by 25 percent. Victory was possible.

  15

  How laudable it is for a prince to keep his word and govern his actions by integrity rather than trickery. . . . Nonetheless we have in our times seen great things
accomplished by many princes who thought little of keeping their promises and have known the art of mystifying the minds of men.

  Niccolò Machiavelli

  The Prince

  Standard year 1513

  Clone World Alpha-001, the Clone Hegemony

  Booly awoke to the smell of a perfume so delicate it reminded him of the scent his mother wore. But there was nothing motherly about the hand that slid down across the flat plane of his stomach to touch the quickly growing member between his legs. He opened his eyes, tried to sit, and winced at the pain, which was not just in his chest where the bullet had slammed the body armor against his sternum, but in his head as well, which had bounced off the concrete. Marine Major Stephanie Warwick-Olson nuzzled his shoulder and made soothing noises. “Shame on you, Lieutenant . . . the doctor ordered bed rest.”

  “But what . . .”

  “Am I doing here?” Warwick-Olson finished for him. “Visiting a sick comrade. That’s what visiting hours are for, aren’t they? And you were so sound asleep it seemed cruel to wake you . . . although that’s what I decided to do. Oh my, something’s standing at attention, and a nice one it is, too. I like your fur . . . it’s soft and kind of bristly at the same time.”

  Booly felt blood rush to his face and wondered if it was all part of some erotic dream. The major began to move her hand up and down and he knew it wasn’t. “But you and I . . .”

  “Shouldn’t be in bed together?” Warwick-Olson asked softly. “Oh, but we should, especially since we want each other, and are no longer part of the same chain of command. You do want me . . . don’t you, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I mean yes, Major.”

  “Stephanie . . . please. Now, fortunately for you I am about to dispense a remedy that will improve your circulation, enhance your respiration, and ease the pain. Conventional practitioners might suggest that I wait until you are more fully recovered . . . but I subscribe to a more aggressive approach. Are you ready?”

  “No, I mean yes, I think so,” Booly said, glancing around the room. “What if someone comes in?”

  “With Sergeant Parker standing guard? Not likely.”

  Booly started to wonder what Parker would think of the closed door but all such thoughts were washed away as Stephanie sat up and allowed the covers to drop away from her body. She was extremely slender, with breasts just as he had imagined, and delicately defined ribs. She watched his reaction, smiled at the response, and moved to her hands and knees. No sooner had the sheet-and-blanket combination been pulled away from his body than she swung a leg over Booly and straddled his torso. The glimpse of the dark triangle between her legs combined with her firm yet gentle touch sent even more blood to his already engorged penis and threatened a premature ejaculation. Booly bit the inside of his lip as Stephanie bent forward and electricity jumped between their lips.

  What followed felt better than anything he had ever experienced before, including the experimental sex with his cousin and a subsequent encounter with another plebe. And if the sounds Stephanie made were any indication, she was enjoying it, too. The whole thing left him both figuratively and literally drained. They collapsed and lay in a tangle of arms and legs. “So,” Stephanie asked, “how was I?”

  Booly let his hand glide across the velvety smooth skin of her back and down along the bumps made by her vertebrae. “You were fantastic! The best senior officer I ever had sex with.”

  Stephanie laughed. “What? There were others?”

  Booly kissed her lips. “A colonel and two generals. No majors.”

  “Good,” Stephanie replied contentedly. “I’d hate to think there were any majors.”

  “Never,” Booly said, his hand sliding down between her silky-smooth legs. What happened next took longer, and involved a more detailed exploration of each other’s bodies, but was equally satisfying. When it was over Stephanie kissed him, made a trip to the bathroom, and started to get dressed. Her voice was businesslike. “Thanks, Lieutenant . . . do us both a favor and keep it to yourself. Hard though that may be.”

  “Of course,” Booly said, wincing as his headache returned. “When can I see you again?”

  Stephanie pulled uniform trousers up over long, slim legs and turned in his direction. “Whenever duty brings us together.”

  “So this is it? Slam, bang, thank you, Lieutenant?”

  “Yup, that’s about the size of it.”

  Booly felt hurt. “But why?”

  Stephanie paused, sat down on the bed, and took his hand. Her eyes were serious. “Because there’s a war on, Lieutenant. The news arrived this morning. The Hudathans attacked Worber’s World, freed their POWs, and destroyed the orbital battle station. The president is headed this way, but once he’s gone, I’ll get orders and so will you. One or both of us is likely to get killed. Besides, I’m too old for you.”

  Booly searched her face. The war was news but secondary to the thought of losing what he’d just managed to find. “There’s no way I can change your mind?”

  Stephanie released his hand. “None.”

  Booly felt helpless. He remembered the way she had treated him. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

  Stephanie smiled and tugged at her bra. “I always liked you. That was the problem.”

  Booly didn’t know what to say so he remained silent as she finished dressing and headed for the door. She stopped just short of it and turned around. What followed was the first and only time she ever used his first name. “Good luck, Bill. You did a helluva job the other morning. You’ll make a fine officer. Take care of yourself.”

  Booly mustered some words but the door opened and closed before he could say them. Life had given him something good and taken it away just as quickly. He swore at his luck, activated the holo set, and found some news. There was no mention of a war. The clones were sitting on it. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Booly looked for and found a uniform. It was clean and crackled as he pulled it on.

  Fifteen minutes later, with his side arm riding his hip, Booly opened the door. Sergeant Parker, the latest in the nonstop round of volunteer guards supplied by his platoon, snapped to attention. If the noncom suspected that something had taken place between Booly and Major Warwick-Olson, there was no sign of it on his cadaverous face. “Good morning, sir. It’s good to see you up and around.”

  Booly nodded. “Likewise, Sergeant. I hear there’s a war on. Let’s see if the rumors are true.”

  Marcus saw Mosby long before she reached his office. She knew about the war, her uniform attested to that, and strode down the hall like the warrior she was. The security cameras tracked her one after the other while a computer spliced the shots together.

  The clone watched the Confederacy officer approach with the usual mix of anticipation and alarm. General Marianne Mosby managed to be dangerous and alluring at the same time, qualities reminiscent of the founder, or the stories he’d heard about her, and wanted to believe. He stood as Mosby approached the door to his office. Her pace was just slow enough that the automated security system had time to scan her retinas and open the door before she ran into it. He was halfway there when she entered. “Marianne! You heard the news?”

  Mosby nodded and accepted a brotherly embrace. “Yes, I’m sorry to say that I did. There was more than enough slaughter last time.” She backed away to scan his face. “Why the news blackout? You can’t keep an interstellar war secret for very long.”

  “Nor will I try,” Marcus replied, glancing at a wall clock. “We are more disciplined in the way we distribute information, that’s all. The four o’clock news will carry a full account.”

  “And which side will the Hegemony take?” Mosby demanded, passing through his office area and into the private quarters beyond. “The Confederacy’s? Or the Hudathans’?”

  “Who’s to say?” Marcus replied evasively. “And why take sides at all?”

  “Because there will be no room for neutrality,” Mosby said sternly. “The Hudathans don’t operate that
way and neither do we.”

  They sat down at opposite ends of a white couch. Marcus knew the Confederacy was a good deal less unified than Mosby’s statement suggested but made no attempt to counter her argument. Especially in light of the fact that Hudathan part was true and accounted for the considerable misgivings he had about the secret alliance that his siblings had established with the aliens.

  Well, not exactly secret, since one of his spies had been present at their meeting. Which left Marcus in a terrible dilemma. Should he remain loyal to his brothers in spite of what they had done? Or side with the Confederacy, thereby splitting the Hegemony’s forces and reducing the impact of the secret alliance? Mosby interrupted his thoughts. “I have some news for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “The president’s ship will drop hyper tomorrow morning. He will shorten his stay because of the war but still plans to come.”

  Marcus spoke automatically. “Most of the arrangements have been made. We will welcome President Anguar as we have in the past.”

  Mosby scanned the clone’s face in an effort to discern what lay beneath the surface. She saw concern but couldn’t see further. “We both know why he’s coming. He’ll ask where you stand.”

  Marcus forced a smile. “And I’ll tell him, or at least I hope I will.”

  Mosby nodded deliberately. “Good . . . but there’s more.”

  “More?”

  “Yes, more. I want to know where you stand as far as I’m concerned.”

  Marcus felt his palms grow sweaty and his heart beat faster. “I don’t understand.”

  Mosby got up and sat down beside him. She wore the slightest hint of perfume. The uniform wasn’t sexy, or shouldn’t have been, but seemed strangely attractive. Marcus fought the desire to reach for the big metal buttons, to undo the high-collared jacket, to hold the soft warmth of her breasts.