Star Legion

by Tripp Ellis

  Nolan was a little disappointed that none of his friends were stepping in to mediate the situation. Where was Liam? The two of them could probably take this guy down.

  Just as the ogre was about to strike, the hatch slid open to the compartment and the Dark Lord stepped in, along with Commander Xule, the Master Chief, and a cadre of Soturi.

  The crowd parted, and the ogre quickly retreated, not wanting to draw any attention to himself.

  Nolan pulled himself from the deck and stood up. The rest of the prisoners were silent.

  "I see you have settled in,” Valdovar said. “I hope you find your new accommodations acceptable. Some of you have been here for several weeks. Some of you are new arrivals. I thought I'd take this opportunity to get better acquainted. I am Lord Valdovar, Emperor of the Imperial Realm. Though you are my prisoners, I'm willing to give you the opportunity for advancement. I reward dedication and loyalty. I need brave warriors. The galaxy is vast and there are many worlds to conquer. Swear allegiance to me, and you will have a path to freedom."

  "I'll never fight for you," one of the prisoners said, defiantly. He stood tall and proud. “I’d rather die than serve you.”

  "That is your choice," Valdovar said. "But those who do not fight will work as slaves until their dying days. Join me, and one day, you may become a citizen of the Empire, and reap all the rewards that title bestows.”

  The crowd muttered and grumbled. No one wanted to swear their allegiance to the tyrant.

  "I'm sure you all would like to see me dead," Valdovar said. "Some of you may even be foolish enough to try to kill me."

  "You’ve got that right," the defiant man said.

  Valdovar seemed amused. He drew closer, and though the man stood his ground, it was easy to see he became unsettled by the demon’s presence. A thin mist of sweat formed on his brow. He trembled slightly. His eyes were wide with fear.

  Valdovar drew his sword. The blade glimmered in the light. It was an exquisite weapon. Ornately adorned and polished to perfection. There was no telling what the tyrant was going to do next. He could have easily lopped off the man's head or thrust the sword into his belly. The air was thick with tension and anticipation. But Valdovar did none of those things. Instead, he turned the sword around and presented the hilt to the defiant man.

  Valdovar stood defenseless and outstretched his arms. "Go ahead. Kill me, if you can."

  The crowd watched intently.

  Nolan knew this was going to end badly for the man.

  The defiant one gripped the hilt and gazed at the sword with amazement. He summoned all his rage and might and reared the sword back. He thrust his full body weight forward and hacked the blade down toward Valdovar's neck. But just as Nolan had experienced back on Sargol, the defiant man couldn't complete the task. The same magical force stayed the blade.

  The man struggled against the resistance, shaking and sweating. Then he turned the blade on himself, preparing to thrust the tip into his belly.

  Valdovar unconsciously stroked a purple crystal that dangled from his neck as he watched the failure of his attacker with glee.

  A terrified look washed over the defiant man's face. He couldn't control his actions, but he knew what was coming next. He tried to fight it off, but Valdovar's power was far too great. The man jabbed the point of the blade into his abdomen and thrust it through until it punctured his internal organs and emerged through his back. He stayed on his feet for a few moments, then his knees went weak. He collapsed to the deck and rolled aside.

  Valdovar grabbed the hilt of the sword and pulled it from the man's belly. He watched as the man bled to death, a crimson pool forming on the deck around the soon-to-be corpse.

  Valdovar smiled. "Does anyone else harbor any illusions about their ability to kill me? Would anyone else rather die than serve?”

  The prisoners were silent.

  10

  "Give me 20 years of devoted service, and I will give you your freedom," Valdovar said. “Kneel and take your oath of enlistment."

  The wary eyes of the prisoners glanced around the compartment, watching for the first to kneel. After a moment, one man dropped to his knee.

  Then another.

  Then another.

  It wasn't long before the majority of prisoners had taken a knee. There were a few stragglers still standing. Nolan was among them. He felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see the imploring eyes of his neighbor.

  "Don't be stupid," the boy, Caleb, whispered. He had short dark hair and brown eyes. He had a small frame and was maybe 17 or 18. "Live to fight another day.”

  Nolan's face tensed, wracked with inner turmoil. Like the defiant man, Nolan would rather die than serve this tyrant. But his heart yearned for revenge. He wanted nothing more than to kill Valdovar. If he was sent to work in some far off land as a slave in the mines he might never get the opportunity. But as a warrior in Valdovar's legion, perhaps there was a chance?

  Nolan reluctantly dropped to his knee. He was the last man standing.

  “You have all chosen wisely," Valdovar said. He extended his arms, holding his hands over the prisoners. He focused his energy, casting a spell over them. "You are all now bound to serve and protect me. For as long as you shall live. You will obey my every command. You will make any sacrifice. The oath is unbreakable, till death. Your allegiance will be unwavering. Swear to it."

  "I swear," the prisoners said in unison. They had no choice. The words slipped from her tongues, whether they wanted to say them or not.

  An almost imperceptible grin formed on Valdovar's lips. "You will be trained, well fed, and given better accommodations. Service has its perks. Some of you may find you even have the opportunity for advancement." Valdovar paused as he looked over his new recruits. "Welcome to the Imperial Realm."

  Nolan had a sickening feeling, like he just betrayed everything he stood for. He was going to be forced to do the same thing to other colonies that had been done to his village. Commit the same types of atrocities. He felt shame fester inside of him.

  Valdovar spun around and strutted out of the compartment.

  Commander Xule took the stage. "You will be divided into platoons and escorted to new accommodations and issued gear. Your strengths and weaknesses will be assessed, and we will determine the best use of your particular skills. If you don't have any skills, you may be discharged."

  The prisoners seemed to perk up for a moment. A discharge sounded like it could be a good thing. But that idea was quickly squelched.

  "And by discharged, I mean escorted to the airlock and spaced. We have no use for deadweight. You either provide value to the Emperor, or you don't. Is that understood?"

  "Yes, sir," they all responded in unison. They answered like robots with pre-programmed responses.

  "Master Chief, begin sorting through these rejects," the commander said.

  “Aye, sir," the master chief responded.

  The commander left the compartment.

  The master chief surveyed the new recruits. "All right, maggots. You heard the man. It’s time for you to become Imperial Soturi.”

  The recruits were marched out of the holding cell in small groups. They were led through a maze of hallways to the processing station. Nolan waited in line next to Caleb. Darvak, several places back in line, kept scowling at them. It was a disconcerting feeling. Nolan tried to ignore him, but still kept a wary eye glancing in the ogre’s direction from time to time.

  “Where are you from?" Nolan asked Caleb.

  “Sargol. Quaanvax Province.”

  “You?”

  “Sargol, Vindül Province.” Nolan said with a grim face.

  “They took us prisoner earlier this morning. Some of these prisoners have been here for a few weeks. Picked up from Nova Prime.”

  “This isn’t a goddamn social hour,” the master chief yelled. “Keep your mouths’ shut and your eyes forward.” The master chief walked the line of recruits, giving them all the evil eye.

  One
by one, the recruits entered a mysterious compartment. A few minutes later, they emerged and were then ushered into the processing station.

  "What do you think is going on in there?” Nolan whispered.

  “Some type of sorting process," Caleb said. “One of the guys from Nova Prime mentioned something about it. Rumor has it that Valdovar stole the soul of an oracle and imprisoned it. The oracle screens you and determines where you fit in best. Valdovar is also looking for benders."

  “Benders?"

  “People who have the ability to bend space time. It's how the ship can travel across the galaxy in almost a blink of an eye."

  Nolan looked perplexed. “How is that possible?”

  Caleb shrugged. "I don’t know. Some people have the gift. But I wouldn't want it. It comes with a heavy price, or so I'm told.”

  Nolan watched anxiously as the slave recruits were led one by one into the compartment. A strange glow radiated from the room, spilling into the hallway when the hatch opened. A flutter of nerves ran through Nolan's body when it was his turn. He took a deep breath and stepped through the hatch. It sealed shut behind him.

  The compartment was dim. In the center, an octahedron the size of a soccer ball was suspended above a pedestal. It radiated with energy. A blue glow pulsed slightly, illuminating the bulkheads. Nolan heard a whispered voice as he entered. But he wasn't entirely sure if someone had spoken to him, or if was all in his imagination. There wasn't anyone else in the room besides the glowing geometric shape. The voice seemed to swirl around the compartment, but it also seemed to emanate from the octahedron. Could this glowing shape be the stolen oracle’s spirit? Forced, like every other entity aboard the ship, to do Valdovar's bidding?

  "Come closer," the voice said.

  Nolan stepped cautiously toward the geometric shape. There were vague indications of a face formed by the glowing energy contained within the octahedron. But it could have just been Nolan's imagination. It was like looking at a cloud and seeing shapes.

  "Who are you?" Nolan asked. "What are you?"

  "I am Oberon. What I am is none of your concern." He had the voice of an affable old man who was trying to sound intimidating. He did a pretty good job of it.

  "Is it true what they say about you?"

  "My purpose is not to answer your questions."

  "What is your purpose?" Nolan asked.

  "I screen all of the emperor’s subjects. I make sure no one poses a threat."

  "How can anyone pose a threat to him? We are now all bound by his magic."

  "You're a fool if you think I would tell you Valdovar's weaknesses."

  "So he does have weaknesses?"

  The spirit grumbled. "I will be the one to ask the questions." There was no telling how long the spirit had been stuck within the shape, forced to evaluate new recruits. It was clear that the process had grown quite tedious over the years.

  "Go ahead. Ask away,” Nolan said, almost taunting the spirit.

  "I do not need to ask questions with words,” Oberon said, boasting. “I can sense the very nature of your being.”

  "And what do you sense?" Nolan was curious. But his tone continued to be challenging.

  Oberon said nothing.

  Nolan felt an odd sensation. The hairs on the back of his neck stood tall. It was like the room was positively charged. Something was happening, but he wasn't sure what.

  "Interesting," the voice said.

  "What?"

  "Nothing. You are perfectly unremarkable. You pose no threat to the Emperor. You are not the one he seeks."

  "Who does he seek?"

  “Infantry,” Oberon said, ignoring him. “You will serve in an infantry position. That is where your skills will be of the best use.”

  Nolan started to protest.

  “This boring conversation has dragged on for far too long. I know all that I need to know. Run along, and send in the next recruit."

  Nolan frowned and gave the spirit a dirty look. Nolan turned to leave, but before he reached the hatch he glanced back over his shoulder at the spirit. "So there is someone that can harm Valdovar?"

  “Of course not,” Oberon said, as if the question were preposterous. “But one can never be too careful."

  Nolan grinned. "You are not a very good liar."

  The spirit balked and grumbled.

  Nolan surveyed the glowing shape of energy. "You are a prisoner just like the rest of us, aren’t you?"

  "I most certainly am not. I am free to roam the galaxy as I please. I'm free of corporeal form and all of its hindrances."

  "It looks like you're stuck in a box to me."

  The spirit grumbled again, "Begone. I have many more recruits to assess."

  Nolan chuckled. He had never met a grumpy spirit before, but there was a first time for everything. "You don't get out of this compartment much, do you?"

  "Out!” Oberon demanded.

  "How long have you been here?"

  "Since before you were even a thought."

  "Not before the fall of the Tryvek Dynasty?"

  "I take it back. You are a threat… It seems you could pester anyone to death. Even the dead."

  11

  In the processing station, the recruits were issued uniforms, screened for diseases, and inoculated. The ship's doctor gave each recruit a thorough evaluation. Recruits with serious illnesses or abnormalities were precluded from service. They were taken away by the guards, and Nolan could only assume the worst.

  From there, the slave recruits were escorted to their birthing quarters. There were rows and rows of tiny racks, barely large enough to accommodate a grown man. They were each assigned a locker for personal items and a rack. They hot bunked with two other people, rotating shifts. Eight hours on duty, eight hours off duty, and eight hours for rack time. But the recruits would almost never see a full eight hours of sleep.

  "This is your new home, ladies." The master chief said. "One of the perks of advancing through the ranks is better accommodations. So, if you don’t like these quarters, work your ass off, maybe you'll get promoted?”

  The accommodations were far better than the holding cell, but nothing to write home about.

  “I'm going to turn you over to Gunnery Sergeant Nyvor. Your ass belongs to him during your training phase. After which you will be assigned to a combat platoon. Most of you will die. But, then again, maybe that's something to look forward to.”

  The master chief stepped aside and let Nyvor take over. The gunnery sergeant had a permanent scowl on his face. He was tall and thick with muscle. His uniform fit him like a glove. He had narrow brown eyes and a square jaw, and looked like he could take down a vygar with his bare hands.

  “Ah-ten-shun!” Nyvor shouted.

  The recruits snapped into formation at the end of there bunks. It was somewhat of a lackluster effort, and Nyvor wasn't pleased.

  “You will respond to all commands quickly and efficiently. If I catch any of you scumbags dragging ass like that again, you'll spend a day in the pain chamber. Is that understood?”

  There was a less than adequate response. “Yes, sir.”

  "I didn't hear you!”

  “Yes, sir!” the recruits shouted with more enthusiasm.

  Nyvor still wasn’t satisfied. “I've got a mind to send you all to the pain chamber just for good measure. Let's try that one more time. Do you all want to go to the pain chamber?"

  “No, sir!” they shouted at the top of their lungs.

  Nolan didn't know what the pain chamber was, and he certainly didn't want to find out.

  “You're all a bunch of losers,” Nyvor shouted in a scratchy voice. All he did was yell at people, and it had made his vocal cords rough and nodular. “You wouldn't be here otherwise. Over the next several weeks, I'm going to turn you into war ready Soturi of the Star Legion. You will become dedicated, disciplined, and deadly. You will forget what it feels like to lose, because all we do is win.”

  Nolan had no desire to fight in the Emperor’s ser
vice. None of the recruits did. But as the master chief had said, death was the only other option.

  Nyvor’s narrow eyes surveyed the slave recruits, burning into them like lasers as he strolled up and down the row. “Now, I realize that most of you lack the proper motivation. And you may be wondering how can a group of prisoners ever become an effective fighting force? The answer is simple. You have no choice. Failure to perform will be punished. Insubordination will be punished. I’m not going to make you drop and do push-ups. I'm not going to make you run around the ship. I'm not going to PT you until you puke your guts out. Instead, you will be sent to the pain chamber. Believe me, once you've experienced it, you’ll never want to go back.”

  Some of the recruits had doubts. It sounded like a bunch of hyperbole. How bad could the pain chamber be?

  "Imagine the worst pain you've ever felt in your life, now multiply that by 10,” Nyvor said. “Imagine deep pain through your entire body. All of your joints and muscles. Flesh feeling as if it were being burned from the bone. A throbbing headache that feels like your skull is going to explode. The pain chamber will probe your fears and weaknesses and exploit them.”

  Nolan definitely didn't want any part of that.

  “The only plus side about the pain chamber is that if you can survive it, it will prepare you to deal with battle wounds.”

  Most of the recruits were getting the picture by now. But some still didn't believe the full magnitude of it.

  “You're not going to get months of formal training. No one cares enough about you. It's going to be trial by fire. And I can tell you from experience you are going to get all the shit details. You'll be the first ones into battle. So, if I were you, I would soak up as much information as possible from the limited amount of training that you will receive. It may mean the difference between life and death in the field." Nyvor paused a moment and gave a last look over the new recruits. “Make your way to the chow hall and fill up. You’re going to need all the fuel you can get during training.”

  Nolan hadn’t eaten yet today, but food was the last thing on his mind. The day's events had been so gut wrenching he didn't even know if he could get a bite down. He figured he might as well try. There was no telling when he would get the next meal.