Legion Of The Damned - 02 - The Final Battle

by William C. Dietz

  “Welcome to Naa Town, Captain! Why wear plastic when my father makes holsters from hand-tooled dooth hide? Just fifty credits.”

  “Hey, Captain . . . you hungry? My momma makes the best chow you ever had. Come and see.”

  It reminded Chrobuck of the days when she had worked the corridors on Orhab II. She laughed and summoned a grubby little female to her side. “Tell me, little one . . . where would I find the male known as Sleepshort Warmhand?”

  The cub’s face lit up, and she took Chrobuck’s hand and led her towards a hard-packed path. Some of the youngsters departed in search of other customers, but the rest tagged along, pelting each other with pebbles and laughing gaily.

  Domes crowded in around the walkway. Some were very new, having been built on the rubble of their predecessors, but none were older than the previous war, when both the fortress and the town that had formed in front of it had been obliterated by the Hudathans. Adult faces appeared every now and then, gazing over low mud walls, peering out through open shuttered windows, or looking down from flimsy makeshift ladders. None were openly hostile, but all seemed cautious, as if unsure of what her presence might portend. That, plus the fact that nearly every single male went armed, caused Chrobuck to watch her step.

  The sun had passed zenith and dropped into the western sky. Long, hard shadows reached for the east, darkened the streets between the nearly identical domes. Chrobuck lost her bearings. But the cub urged the legionnaire forward with cries of “This way, Captain!” and tugged on her fingertips. Finally, after what seemed like miles of walking, the child came to a stop, looked up, and held out her hand for payment.

  The dome looked like all the others and Chrobuck was suspicious. “How do I know this is the one?”

  The reply came from behind her. “Because Feetdance would never mislead a customer. . . would you, Feetdance?”

  The child shook her head solemnly and Chrobuck turned. This officer really was a captain and her salute was automatic. He was handsome in an exotic sort of way and Chrobuck realized that he was half-human, half-Naa, a supposed impossibility, except for the fact that he was there, watching her through half-amused eyes. “My name’s Booly and you’re Chrobuck. Welcome to Algeron, Lieutenant . . . I’m sorry about what happened on Jericho.”

  Chrobuck nodded wordlessly and felt someone tug on her trousers. She turned, paid the child what she hoped was the right amount, and watched her skip away. Booly smiled. “So tell me, was it a long walk?”

  Chrobuck shrugged. “It felt like a couple of miles.”

  Booly laughed. “It probably was . . . in spite of the fact that the most direct route is half that distance. Come on, Sleepshort isn’t here yet, but we can wait by the fire.”

  Chrobuck felt strangely awkward as she followed the other officer down a short flight of carefully excavated stairs and into a circular living area. The fire pit was raised above the floor and served as both furnace and stove. Coals glowed under a smoke-blackened pot and the smell of soup filled the air. Booly gestured Chrobuck towards a hide-covered couch and sat down beside her. “I wasn’t sure you’d come. The supply convoy would have been more comfortable and a heck of a lot faster.”

  Chrobuck smiled. “The note said I’d see the way the Naa really live, not to mention the fact that it came from my commanding officer.”

  Booly had felt fortunate to get a platoon leader with combat experience but was concerned about what effect the battle of Jericho might have had on her. Everything seemed all right, however, and he was encouraged. “Yeah, that wasn’t fair, was it? But so many legionnaires have a distorted impression of my mother’s people that I couldn’t resist the temptation to provide you with a guided tour. Plus, the more you see of the terrain the better.”

  Chrobuck was searching for an appropriate response when a Naa appeared carrying a load of what looked like carefully bound reeds. He was male, small by the standards of his race, had thick golden fur streaked with white, and spoke Naa with what Chrobuck had learned was a northern accent. “So there you are, right on time, just like the hairless ones you associate with.”

  Booly stood and Chrobuck followed his example. He cleared his throat. “Lieutenant Chrobuck, allow me to introduce Sleepshort Warmhand, a friend of my family’s.”

  Chrobuck responded with stiff, somewhat formal Naa. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Warrior Warmhand, may I assist with your burden?”

  Warmhand directed a scowl in Booly’s direction and lay the reeds on a rough-hewn table. The palms of his hands felt rough where they touched hers. “My apologies, Lieutenant . . . I had no idea that my brother’s nephew’s friend would bring such a sweet-smelling warrior companion to my humble abode. Please forgive my comment.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” Chrobuck replied lightly. “The offense was ours since we were early.”

  Warmhand aimed a significant look in Booly’s direction. “I like this one . . . you must keep her.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” Booly said dryly, “but the Legion has first call on the lieutenant’s affections. You brought the reeds?”

  Warmhand gestured towards the table. “Are they not here? Right in front of your eyes? Of course I brought them.”

  Booly smiled patiently. “Thank you. My mother will be pleased. Your name will be honored.”

  “As well it should be,” Warmhand replied, turning his back on Booly. He produced a knife and sliced a one-inch section from one of the reeds. “Reeds such as these are gathered from Great Circle Lake, two hundred miles to the west. The best ones grow furthest from the shore. To harvest them you must wade out, duck underwater, and cut them near the roots. Here, rub the end on your throat, and tell me if Windsweet will approve.”

  Chrobuck did as instructed, felt a momentary wetness where the reed touched her skin, and was enveloped by the most wonderful scent. It smelled like peaches, only different somehow, and she had no difficulty understanding why any female would want it. “It’s wonderful . . . she’ll love it.”

  “Good,” Warmhand said gruffly, wrapping the reeds in a piece of camouflaged fabric. “You must protect them from the sun or they will dry out.”

  “How much do I owe you?” Booly asked, reaching for his wallet.

  “Nothing,” Warmhand said, waving the offer away. “Give my best to your mother . . . and tell your father that his son spends too much time with off-worlders.”

  Chrobuck smiled at the only slightly more diplomatic choice of words. Booly collected the reeds, tucked them under an arm, and grinned. “You forget that my father is human, and that I too share their blood.”

  The Naa paused for a moment, looked Booly in the eye, and shook his head. “I forget nothing. This is the planet that birthed, suckled, and raised you up. Your future is here.”

  The words reminded Booly of the unresolved questions that lay ahead. Should he stay in the Legion? Or would the Hudathans settle the question by leaving him dead on a battlefield somewhere?

  The two legionnaires left shortly after that, wound their way between some domes, and emerged onto a street where a group of children stood guard over Booly’s scout car. Fifteen minutes was sufficient to carry them away from the settlement and towards the north. The newly risen sun felt warm against their cheeks as Booly accelerated along the broad, flat road, aimed the vehicle at a distant peak, and allowed his cares to slip away. He looked at Chrobuck, caught her smile, and felt glad to be alive.

  The Hudathan was huge. He grinned what seemed like a human grin and moved forward. The knife had a serrated edge and gleamed in the jungle-filtered light. Chrobuck tried to move, tried to reach for a weapon, but found her arms were made of lead. The trooper was closer now, his body blocking the trees above, as the knife went up and back. Chrobuck screamed, and woke to find herself standing upright in the back of the open scout car, with Legion-issue blankets puddled around her feet. It was night and Booly’s face was lit from below. The flashlight wavered as he stood. He looked concerned. “Are you all
right? Can I help?”

  Chrobuck shook her head and felt embarrassed as her entire body started to shake. His arms felt comforting at the same time that Chrobuck knew they shouldn’t be there and allowed them to stay. Booly spoke in her ear. “It was a dream, wasn’t it? I have them all the time. They get better, though . . . and eventually go away.”

  Chrobuck looked up and over his shoulder. The stars twinkled through the crystal-clear atmosphere. A shudder ran the length of her body. “They’re coming, aren’t they? And when they get here there will be more killing, more dying, and more dreams.”

  Booly rested his chin on the soft stubble that covered the top of her head. She smelled of leather and his mother’s perfume. “Yes, they will come and make more dreams.”

  “Then why?” Chrobuck asked. “Why bother?”

  “Because of Feetdance,” Booly answered softly, “and all those like her.”

  Chrobuck remembered two little girls, the sacrifices that their mother had made, and nodded against his chest. They would kill for Feetdance . . . so she would survive.

  The road, which overlaid an ancient trail, had been widened and graded by the Legion’s Pioneers but was still subject to washouts and landslides. It climbed and climbed and climbed some more, taking them farther and farther into territory that had once been categorized as “disputed,” and still was according to the Naa. The views were spectacular, though, so in spite of the nonstop ear-popping, gear-shifting, engine-revving climb, Chrobuck enjoyed the ride.

  It was easy to imagine what it had been like twenty or thirty years before, leading a patrol up along the constantly switchbacking trail, knowing you were under surveillance, waiting for the ambush that would almost certainly come. The steeply pitched slopes, rocky terrain, and hair-pin curves would be easy to defend and hell to conquer.

  All of which raised the question of why? It wasn’t as if the old empire needed more rocks. No, it was something more, and something less than that. The emperor had insisted that all of the sentient races within his sphere of influence acknowledge his rule. And of even more significance perhaps was the fact that the Legion and the Naa shared the same set of values. Values such as bravery, honor, and sacrifice. So, given the fact that both needed someone to fight, and took a sort of perverse pleasure in doing so, they had fought endless and mostly inconclusive duels along trails like this one.

  As if to prove her point, Booly fought the vehicle around a pothole-defended comer, pointed to a pile of carefully stacked rocks, and yelled over the noise of the heavily strained engine. “Two cyborgs and four bio bods died there. It happened four years before I was born. My grandfather, Wayfar Hardman, led the war party that killed them. Eight of his best warriors died getting the job done.”

  Chrobuck noticed the pride in his voice and wondered how it was focused. On the legionnaires? Or the Naa? It was as if her commanding officer was the embodiment of the relationship between the Legion and the Naa. Was that why she found him so interesting? Or was it something more? Not that it mattered . . . since any relationship beyond the one defined by the chain of command could cause problems. Chrobuck turned her attention towards the scenery and away from her companion. The road climbed some more, rounded a series of blind curves, and emerged into a broad U-shaped valley. Part of the land was under cultivation. The rest was dotted with shaggy dooths, their coats ragged with newly grown wool, grazing on the last of the summer grass. Booly pulled over and paused. He produced a pair of binoculars, scanned the valley, and handed them to Chrobuck. He said two words and they meant more to Chrobuck than they did to him. “My home.”

  “Home.” The word resonated as Chrobuck swept the binoculars over the meadow to the mountains beyond. A home was what she had always wanted and never had. Not on Orhab, not at boarding school, not at the academy. It was a powerful word, replete with images of security, permanence, and family. It was the essence of what non-nomadic sentients fought for, that and the freedom to be who they wanted to be, and worship whatever gods they chose. How good it would feel to utter that word! To know where home was, to be accepted there, to have a sense of place.

  The rest of the journey was made at less than ten miles per hour as newly arrived warriors spurred their mounts alongside, yelled rapid-fire insults that Chrobuck couldn’t understand. Cubs piled into the backseat, fought each other for space, and instructed Booly on how to negotiate the maze of obstacles that intentionally obstructed the road. For in spite of the fact that tribal warfare had decreased during the last twenty years or so, the embers of old rivalries burned on, and had been rekindled of late. Or so it seemed from the intelligence reports Chrobuck had read.

  A V-shaped fissure split the high rock wall that lay ahead, creating a natural choke point through which attacking troops would be forced to come, making it easy to defend. A sort of parking lot had been established just outside the entrance and was presently populated by three rather ancient Legion surplus trucks, along with a spanking-new APC, which flew a Confederacy flag from a one-whip-style antenna, and a Unified Tribes pictograph from the other. Booly saw the direction of Chrobuck’s gaze and yelled over the tumult. “It’s my father’s! He was named as ambassador to the Confederacy immediately after the first war and has held the post ever since.”

  Chrobuck nodded, grabbed her bag away from a curious cub, and followed the crowd towards the V-shaped passageway. While still some distance away, she noticed that the dooth droppings became thicker and thicker as they approached the opening, and that the Naa had solved this problem by supplementing a series of naturally placed stepping-stones with ones of their own. This allowed the dooths to pass back and forth between the valley and the village while their owners stayed four to five feet above the never-ending muck. Curiously enough, the smell that nearly gagged Chrobuck left the normally sensitive Naa completely unfazed. Had they grown used to it? Did they like it? There was no way to know.

  Once they passed through the fissure, another, smaller valley was revealed. There was no sign of the adobe domes that Chrobuck had expected. In fact there was nothing much to see beyond some corrals, what appeared to be a ceremonial fire pit, and countless carefully maintained holes. Holes from which more Naa poured, laughing and shouting, grabbing Booly and lifting him up into the air. Cries of “Neverstop Cragclimber” reverberated between canyon walls and it took Chrobuck a moment to realize that Booly had a Naa name in addition to a human one, and had left it behind. A wise decision, knowing the bigots at the academy.

  The noise dropped off as a Naa female emerged from one of the holes, followed quickly by a human male. The female was beautiful, with short, downy fur; charcoal gray eyes; and full, almost sensual lips. Her love was obvious as she wrapped the younger Booly in a warm embrace and kissed his cheek. Then, as the female released the young officer, his father stepped forward, greeted him with the adult hand-to-forearm grip, and smiled. His eyes were sky blue and twinkled with affection. “Welcome home, son, it’s good to see you.”

  Having greeted their son, they turned to his guest and Chrobuck found herself embracing Windsweet, and the smell of her perfume. She offered the bundle of reeds. The syntax was formal but appropriate to the situation. “Greetings, honored Mother, your son obtained these from a distant land, and brings them for your enjoyment.”

  The moment seemed to stretch, to elongate, as they looked into each other’s eyes. The intensity of the gray eyes was startling, and Chrobuck felt as if everything she had ever felt, thought or experienced had been laid bare for the other female to access, evaluate, and pass judgment on. But if such was the case, there was no denying the warmth of Windsweet’s response, or the unexpected meaning of her words. “So, precious one, the seasons have passed, and you arrived as the Wula sticks said you would. Welcome home.”

  26

  We were together since the war began. He was my servant—and the better man.

  Rudyard Kipling

  Epitaphs of the War

  Standard year circa 1916

 
With the Hudathan Fleet, off the Planet Zynig-47, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings

  The sun shone from a clear blue sky, the air smelled of decaying flesh, and the Hudathans didn’t even notice. Shards of multicolored glass crunched under Sector Marshal Poseen-Ka’s boots as he strode through the ruins of the Confederate city. The glass, and the city itself, had been extruded by an obscure race called N’awatha, who took the physical form of tentacle-headed worms, and had committed mass suicide soon after the Hudathan fleet dropped in-system. All of which had been part of a dramatic, but ineffectual attempt to convince the invaders that the entire race was dead, when the truth was that millions of well-fed larvae waited just below the planet’s surface, and had genetically transmitted memories of everything their parents had known. Not that the officer cared, since he had other, more pressing problems on his mind.

  The present situation had arisen when a Hudathan emissary had overtaken the fast-moving fleet, demanded that it assume an orbit around the sun, and ordered Poseen-Ka to land on Zynig-47 for what he referred to as “personal consultations.” All at the expense of the Hudathan people, who had every right to expect that the fleet would follow up behind its hard-won advantage and deliver the intaka, or “blow of death” to the planet Algeron. But no, some jumped-up, half-brained nitwit who happened to be related to a member of the new Triad had decided that he knew better and brought everything to a halt.

  Suddenly, approximately two land units in front of him, a multicolored glass high-rise, its carefully placed worm ramps visible through a nearly transparent exterior, cracked, shattered, and collapsed in an avalanche of glass. The noise was deafening. Poseen-Ka frowned and Nagwa Isaba-Ra appeared by his side. “Sir?”

  “Who fired on that structure?”