“Hey, boss ... this is Red.”
Leonid checked the watch built into the left arm of his space suit. “Shoot.”
“They’re inside and headed my way.”
“That’s a roger. Shoot me the latest and bail out.”
Red touched a button. It took a fraction of a second for the accumulated data to make its way through a maze of cables, leap through the repairs, and enter the ship’s on-board computers.
“Sent.”
Leonid nodded, thankful that the star divers would have the latest data on the speed, position, and orientation of the Hudathan ships, and realized the technicians couldn’t see him.
“Thanks, Red. Now take a hike. Boss out.”
The technician chinned his mike and said, “Yes, sir,” but stayed right where he was. The Hudathans had done a pretty good job of sterilizing the asteroid’s surface but had missed a jury-rigged antenna or two. And those, plus Red’s skill, meant that the star divers could be steered for up to five or ten seconds after they were launched. The chance was too good to miss. Besides, the coffee was hot and tasted damned good. Red took another sip. He looked around. The control center was empty and would make a lonely place to die.
Seeger waited for the Hudathan patrol to pass, stepped out of his hiding place, and shot the last of them right between the shoulder blades. It wasn’t nice, it wasn’t fair, and Seeger didn’t give a shit. Vapor out-gassed and pushed the already dead alien away.
Still moving forward, the rest of the patrol remained blissfully ignorant while Seeger killed them one at a time, until their leader was the only one left. In fact, Seeger was taking aim, getting ready to fire, when the noncom turned. The cyborg would never know if it was a routine check or a sudden premonition of danger that caused the alien to turn, but the outcome was the same. The Hudathan turned, registered an expression that looked very similar to human fear, and died as Seeger burned a hole through his visor.
Seeger felt a grim sense of satisfaction. Six geeks down and a gazillion to go.
Leonid swallowed. His throat felt dry. “Cody, Hecox, Gutierrez, time’s up. Finish the weld you’re on and jump.”
The laser torches flared, then disappeared one after the other. The voice belonged to Gutierrez.
“Are you sure, boss? There’s some geeks headed this way.”
Leonid was anything but sure. He kept his voice steady nonetheless. “Yeah, I’m sure. Now, get the hell off this rig before I dock you a day’s pay.”
The toolheads laughed in spite of themselves, jumped free of the ramp, and drifted away. It was scary, but gravity would eventually prevail, and the further away the better.
Gutierrez thought of Leonid standing there, his finger poised above the big red button, and said what came to mind.
“Vaya con dios, boss. Hasta la vista. ”
Leonid heard the words, swallowed his fear, and brought his finger down. The results were instantaneous.
Energy was drawn from Spindle’s massive accumulators, channeled into the linear accelerator, and translated to forward motion. It seemed as if the ship was there one moment and gone the next. Steering jets winked red as the star diver broke free of the asteroid’s gravity and the drives kicked in.
The ramp shook with the force of the ship’s departure and Leonid braced himself against a rail. How long would the ramp continue to hang together? Leonid looked upwards and saw that the next star diver had already begun its descent.
The words arrived via the Hudathan’s implant and were said so calmly, so routinely, that it took him a moment to appreciate their full significance.
“The humans have launched a ship. Initial analysis indicates the vessel is analogous in size and shape to one of our Class IV freighters.”
A launch? Analogous to a Class IV freighter? Niber-Ba’s mind hurried to catch up. Were some humans trying to escape? Hoping to avoid his battleships? No, they were smarter than that, so ...
The spear commander stared into the holo tank, sought the new spark of light, and gave a grunt of satisfaction when he found it.
The same voice, a bit more intense now, interrupted his thoughts. “The human ship is headed for the Light of Hudatha.”
A thousand words lined up and waited to be said but not a single one passed his lips. The Light of Hudatha’s shields were down in order to allow the returning troop carriers to enter her bays. Not only that, but the battleship was extremely close to the asteroid, which left no time to maneuver. A new sun was born, lived for a few seconds, and died. Fully one third of the Dwarf’s offensive power went with it.
Niber-Ba was still struggling to understand what had happened, to accept what it meant, when the voice spoke again. It was pitched a little higher this time and barely under control.
“The humans have launched a second ship. Initial analysis indicates that it will collide with the World Taker one unit from now.”
The Dwarf resisted the temptation to hurl orders towards the World Taker, knowing the ship’s commanding officer had heard the same information he had and was doing what he could to avoid the attack. No, his task lay elsewhere.
“Target primary weapons batteries on the point of launch. Fire!”
Red waited for the Hudathans with the patience of a spider sitting on its web. Most of the corridors boasted surveillance cameras and about 70 percent of them were still operable. That allowed the technician to watch as the aliens fought their way through the halls, stumbled into a variety of booby traps, and stood outside his lock. The moment had arrived.
The remote consisted of little more than a switch and some wires that disappeared into a dark corner of the control room. He picked it up, pushed the button, and heard the distant thump of explosives.
Dakna-Ba swore as the explosion brought tons of rock crashing down around them. The humans had extinguished all of the habitat’s lights. Dust swirled through the beam projected by his helmet. Bodies moved, headlamps danced, and casualties were counted. The news was anything but good. Three of Dakna-Ba’s troopers had been crushed. Three added to the what? Sixteen or seventeen killed so far? It made little difference. The debris blocked the hallway and left only one direction he could go. Forward. He motioned toward the lock.
“Blow it.”
A demolitions expert hurried to obey.
Dakna-Ba looked around. Forma-Sa? Where was Forma-Sa? Then he remembered. A human had stepped out of a hidden alcove, shoved a drill bit against the noncom’s chest, and pulled the trigger. Dakna-Ba had killed the human at the same exact moment that the sudden decompression had turned Forma-Sa inside out. It would have been horrible, except that it came during a day filled with horror, and seemed ordinary by comparison.
The lock blew. Dakna-Ba felt concrete spatter against his armor. He went through the door low, his weapon spitting death, knowing the defenders had the advantage. And they did, or more accurately Red did, because the grenade blew the Hudathan’s left leg off. Death followed a fraction of a second later.
The ensuing battle was bloody but relatively short-lived, since Spinhead had orders to blow the control center the moment that Red went down. There were no survivors.
Leonid ground his teeth in frustration as the third ship dropped into place. The ramp was shaky and the Hudathans could retaliate at any moment. He had seconds, minutes at most, to launch the ship and jump clear. Star divers four, five, and six would go unused. The button made the transition from amber to red. Leonid brought his fist down. The ship sped down the ramp, fired its drives, and headed for the last of the Hudathan ships. The second star diver hit its target, blew up, and bathed Spindle in white light.
Leonid waved his fist at them. “Take that, you bastards!” It was then that the ship-mounted energy cannons turned Leonid, the ramp, and the remaining star divers into a lake of molten metal.
“Target destroyed.”
The words barely registered on Niber-Ba as he fought to save his command. There was no time to move the ship, no time to regret the decisions he’
d made, and no time to lose. A third star diver was on the way and it was aimed at him.
“Target primary, secondary, and tertiary weapons systems on the human ship. Fire!”
The primary and secondary weapons systems were computer-controlled and responded immediately. Missiles slipped out of their launch tubes, energy beams leaped through the darkness, and the Dwarf bit his lip. The ship was close and still accelerating ...
Missiles hit, exploded, and cut the star diver in two. One half tumbled off towards the sun, but the other turned end over end and headed straight for the Hudathan battleship.
A klaxon went off somewhere in the background and Niber-Ba heard himself screaming over the interface. “Raise the screens! Fire! Fire! Fire!”
But there was no time to raise the screens, and even though the main batteries continued to fire, the wreckage absorbed the additional damage and kept on coming. It hit the Hudathan ship broadside, triggered a massive explosion, and disappeared along with its target.
Captain Omar Narbakov shielded his eyes from the momentary glare. “Well, I’ll be goddamned. Three for three.” He chinned his radio.
“N-One to Boss One.”
Silence.
“Hey, Leo, it’s me, Omar. You did it, you miserable sonofabitch, you did it!”
Nothing.
Narbakov shook his head sadly and looked around. There was still some scattered fighting but the humans had won. His ragtag force of legionnaires and civilian irregulars had won on the ground, and whatever fighters and troop carriers the aliens had left would be forced to surrender. Deprived of their mother ships, they had neither the fuel nor computer capacity to travel through deep space.
Then it occurred to him. In spite of his determination to die a glorious death, he was inexplicably alive. Not only that, but his duties had prevented him from getting involved in the fighting, and he’d never been in any real danger. And now, thanks to the fact that he’d survived, there was an enormous amount of work to do. Launch message torps toward Earth, repair the habitat, tend to the wounded, the list went on and on. Shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his responsibilities, Narbakov trudged off towards his makeshift command post.
Seeger checked to make sure that his area was secure and headed for a distant spire. It looked like a finger pointing towards space. Given the length of his legs and the near absence of gravity, it was easy to cover lots of ground in a short period of time.
The signs of battle were everywhere. Sunlight winked off a half-slagged antenna, the wreckage of a Hudathan troop carrier drifted past, a blast-darkened crater marked a cyborg’s last stand, and a helmet bounced off the legionnaire’s shoulder.
But Seeger’s eyes were on the spire and the jumble of debris around its base, for that was the place where he had hidden Marie. There’d been no backup body to put her in, and no surety that the habitat would remain secure, so he’d rigged an oxygen supply, a nutrient drip, and a solar array, and left Marie where she’d be safe. Or should be anyway, barring accidents or plain bad luck.
“Marie? Can you hear me?”
Her reply was reassuringly acerbic. “Damned right I can hear you. As can anyone else within a hundred klicks!”
Seeger felt warm inside. “So who gives a shit? We kicked their butts.”
He stepped between a couple of boulders, lifted one out of the way, and remembered what it felt like to smile. She was there, all right, a head, shoulders, and torso that would have looked grotesque to anyone else, but meant everything to him.
“Hi, baby.”
“Hi, ya big lug.”
“You ready to haul ass?”
“I would be, except that I seem to have misplaced it somewhere.”
“No problem. Help will arrive soon, and we’ll submit a req for a brand-new ass.”
“I love you, Seeg.”
“Yeah, I love you too. Come on, let’s get the hell outta here.”
And with that the cyborg freed Marie from the jury-rigged life support systems, tucked her under his right arm, and stepped out into the sunlight. It felt good to be alive.
15
Legio patria nostra, or “The Legion Is Our Country.”
Motto of the French Foreign Legion Standard year (approximate) 1835 This motto was established after the Legion was “ceded” to the Spanish government as an act of political convenience. Forced to take part in a Spanish civil war, the Legion fought bravely, often without pay, rations, or uniforms. Of the 4,000 Legionnaires who took part, roughly 500 survived. Almost totally decimated, the Legion was reinvented on December 16, 1835.
Planet Algeron, the Human Empire
General Ian St. James knew what the orders were long before they appeared on the screen. It was a moment he had dreaded, and put off as long as he dared, knowing he’d be forced to make a terrible decision. He touched a key. Words flooded the screen.
IMPNAVCOM/EARTH
Date: 6/26/2846 Standard
From: Admiral Paula Scolari IMPNAV
Authorization Code: IMPERSEC/6786-HK-8648
To: General Ian St. James IMPLEG
The Navy, Marine Corps, and Legion have been placed under a single command subject to my orders. (Ref. Imperial Decree HM-6791 dated 6/25/2846 Standard.)
You are hereby directed to withdraw all forces from Algeron, and having done so, to redeploy them according to subsequent orders.
All military weapons, supplies, equipment, fortifications, and emplacements are to be destroyed prior to withdrawal.
Transports sufficient to your needs will arrive on 6/30/2846 Standard.
Any deviation from these orders will be dealt with in the most severe possible way.
St. James read the last paragraph again. He’d never seen anything like it. Rather than assume the blind obedience that human military tradition called for, Scolari had threatened him. A fact that could mean nothing or a great deal.
Where was Marianne in all this? Why did the orders originate from Scolari rather than her? There were a lot of potential answers and none of them pleasant.
St. James frowned, sent the orders to his printer, and waited for six sets of hard copy to whir out.
Then, with the frown firmly in place, and his eyes on the floor, he left his quarters for the situation room. It was located a hundred feet down the main corridor and was guarded by a Trooper II. The cyborg crashed to attention as St. James entered.
The situation room was huge, large enough to house a hundred people if necessary, and very spartan. The walls were opaque at the moment, but had the capacity to transform themselves into a multiplicity of screens, all of which were linked to a powerful battle computer located twelve stories underground.
His staff rose as the door hissed closed. They stood around a circular table made of native hardwood, cut from the forests that bordered the Towers of Algeron and handcrafted by members of the Legion’s Pioneers. The wood came in a variety of hues, including red, brown, and a light, almost blond color, that had been worked into the table mosaic style to form a star.
St. James forced a smile. “Take your seats. You’ll be glad you did.”
So saying, the officer walked the circumference of the table and handed hard copy to each member of his staff.
There was Colonel Alice Goodwin, commanding officer of the 1st Foreign Infantry Regiment, or 1st RE. Forty-five or so, she had a badly scarred face and a determined mouth. She, and the legionnaires under her command, had responsibility for the Legion’s administrative affairs.
Goodwin had been a line officer once, and a damned good one, having earned the sobriquet “Crazy Alice” when she attacked an enemy machine-gun nest single-handed. The resulting wounds had taken her out of the field but not out of the Legion. St. James could count on her anytime and anyplace.
There was the dark and volatile Colonel Pierre Legaux. He commanded the 1st Foreign Cavalry Regiment, or 1st REC, 90 percent of which were cyborgs. Light gleamed off the officer’s metal parts and caused St. James to wonder if the rumors were t
rue.
The Legion had a long-standing rule that bodies more than 51 percent artificial were classified as cyborgs ... and cyborgs were not qualified for command. So how did Legaux, who looked like he was at least 70 percent artificial, manage to retain bio-bod status? There were plenty of theories, most of which centered around corrupt medical personnel, but no one knew for sure. Except Legaux, that is, and he wasn’t talking. But one thing was for sure: the cyborgs had a profound trust for their commanding officer and would follow him through the gates of hell. Yes, Legaux was an asset.
If Legaux was an asset, then the next officer, Lieutenant Colonel Andre Vial, was a question mark. Though possessed of a good record, and competent enough, there was something about the man that St. James didn’t trust. Was it the slick ingratiating personality? The preening good looks? The innuendos aimed at his peers? Whatever it was annoyed St. James and caused him to wonder about the officer’s loyalty. But as luck would have it, Vial commanded Algeron’s contingent of the 5th Foreign Infantry Regiment, or 5th REI, most of which was spread out across a dozen rim worlds. He’d have a role in what came next but a small one.
Then came Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Jozan, a tiny little thing with black hair, snub nose, and a perpetual twinkle in her eye. She loved practical jokes, and was forever playing them on her superiors and subordinates alike, a habit that did nothing to lessen everyone’s affection for her. But she was tough, and commanded the 13th Demi-Brigade de Legion Étrangère, or 13th DBLE, with an iron hand, which accounted for the nickname “Iron Jenny.”
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