Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell

by William C. Dietz

  No sooner had the last of the legionnaires disappeared over the far side of the riverbed than the locals retreated into the ragged run of shade that paralleled the east side of the gully and checked their weapons. Both Guppa and Jubo were armed with single-shot trade rifles, which meant that Santana’s assault rifle would represent a major portion of the group’s firepower.

  The officer joined the Paguum in the shade, dropped into the same crouch that they favored, and felt the heat radiate up through the soles of his combat boots. The legionnaire took a sip of warm water, swirled it around his mouth, and let it trickle down the back of his throat. Then, picking a small stone off the ground in front of him, he placed it in his mouth. The pebble was warm but the saliva it produced served to cool it down. It was tempting to shed some clothing in a further attempt to cool off, but Santana knew it was the wrong thing to do. Strange though it seemed, desert travelers were supposed to wear more clothing rather than less, which acted to slow the rate at which sweat evaporated from their skin. The officer knew that was the reason why Guppa and Jubo were swathed in long-sleeved robes and wore pieces of cloth wound round their heads as well.

  So there they sat, swatting insects and waiting for time to crawl by. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Guppa stirred, scrambled up the embankment, and peered over the top. He was back thirty seconds later. The grin had a predatory quality. “It’s time for everyone to take cover. You must wait until all of them have descended into the riverbed before you open fire. If even one outcast escapes, he will bring more against us.”

  Santana expected to give the orders rather than receive them, but knew that the Paguum was correct. He nodded. “Right. I’ll take most of them down . . . You handle the strays.”

  The threesome took their places among a clutch of water-smoothed boulders just south of the crossing point. The other two checked their weapons one last time, while Santana took the opportunity to lay three grenades on the rock at his side. The officer felt the usual knot form in his stomach, noticed how dry his mouth had become, and knew it wasn’t from the heat alone. Then there was the sound of hooves and the clatter of loose equipment, followed by a sudden cascade of dirt, as the first zurna appeared dark against the searingly blue sky. The animal extended its forelegs and skidded down the steep embankment.

  The zurna’s rider was a wild-looking figure attired in dusty rags and armed with a well-worn semiautomatic carbine of uncertain manufacture. A sword and scabbard were tucked under his left leg, and a pair of muzzle-loading pistols hung along either side of the animal’s neck. Two rather lean saddlebags completed the outlaw’s kit. Those who followed looked a lot like their leader and carried a wild variety of weaponry, including everything from firearms to spears.

  River rock clattered as the lead rider proceeded to the west side of the watercourse and urged his zurna up the embankment. Santana wanted to get all of the bandits into the gully before opening fire, but Guppa was afraid that the lead rider would escape. The warrior raised his weapon and fired. The outlaw’s zurna felt the same impact that he did, screamed, and stood on its hind legs. Gravel gave way, both the zurna and its rider toppled over backward, and fell in a wild tangle of thrashing legs and jumbled equipment.

  That was when Santana threw the first of three grenades. They went off in quick succession, ripped half the outcasts apart, and wounded the rest. There was a loud bang! as one of the bandits fired his rifle and Santana felt a rock chip sting his cheek as he brought the assault weapon up into firing position. The trigger gave, the weapon started to buck, and a steady stream of steel-jacketed slugs tore at the outlaws. Riders were snatched from their saddles, animals screamed as they took hits, and Guppa uttered a long, undulating war cry.

  Then the assault rifle cycled empty, which allowed the surviving Paguum to enjoy a momentary respite as the volume of fire dropped and the legionnaire slammed a fresh magazine into his weapon.

  The much-bloodied outcasts took advantage of the pause to turn on the ambushers and charge. Santana glanced up to find that a Paguum with a lance was charging at him. The legionnaire used the barrel of his weapon to parry the razor-sharp tip and fired as the zurna galloped past.

  The officer saw the outlaw fall, heard someone shout a warning, and turned in time to confront three additional riders. One of them fired, and Jubo clutched his chest. The warrior toppled over backward as Guppa took aim and fired. There was a loud crack! and the older warrior was avenged.

  Santana fired, saw one of the other riders jerk, but hang on as his zurna turned away. The remaining bandit was on him by then, swinging a long, curved sword, and clearly intent on removing the human’s head. The legionnaire fired, saw the rider fly over his head, and heard a thump as the warrior landed. Santana was still spinning, still trying to turn, when Guppa plunged a dagger into the bandit’s back.

  The human heard the clatter of falling rock and turned just in time to see a zurna disappear over the top of the western embankment. “One of them got away!” Guppa shouted, and fought his way up through a cascade of loose rock. Once he arrived on top of the bank the Paguum brought the long-barreled trade rifle up to his shoulder in one smooth motion and pulled the trigger. Santana heard a sharp crack! and saw a puff of smoke as the warrior fired. Two seconds later the legionnaire saw Guppa’s shoulders fall and knew that the outcast had escaped. The ambush had failed.

  Santana triggered his com set. “This is Bravo Six to Bravo Three Six. It didn’t work. Send someone back to pick us up and give everyone else a break. We’re going to travel all night. Over.”

  There were two clicks by way of a response, and dust rose as Guppa skidded down the embankment, picked his way across the body-strewn watercourse, and knelt next to Jubo. The prayer for the dead had a sad singsong quality.

  The legionnaire took a look around. The bottom of the gully looked like a charnel house. Blood, bodies, and loose equipment were scattered everywhere. The sole-surviving zurna bawled mournfully and nosed a corpse as if hoping to bring its owner back to life. Santana thought about the civilians who were waiting for him and swore. The desert swallowed his words and sent a gust of wind by way of a reply. It turned circles, ran out of energy, and disappeared.

  THE GREAT PANDU DESERT, PLANET SAVAS

  Warriors shaded their eyes, and zurnas stirred uneasily as engines screamed, and the Ramanthian shuttle circled the main encampment. Not because there was a need to do so but because Kuga-Ka wanted to make an impression.

  Having successfully announced its presence, the boxy aircraft swooped in over the empty area reserved for its use and hovered within a whirlwind of dust before slowly lowering itself to the ground. Although many of the Paguum had seen the shuttle before, the aircraft could still draw a crowd. That’s why the renegade allowed the dust to settle before ordering the pilot to open the rear hatch and drop the ramp. The Hudathan wanted to impress the crowd, cause a lot of talk, and start what he hoped would become a legend.

  The onlookers stared into the black rectangle, saw a glint of reflected light, and uttered a mutual gasp as something truly monstrous clanked down the incline and out into the harsh sun. The thing was huge, and judging from its metal skin, qualified as a machine rather than a flesh-and-blood being.

  But that wasn’t all. The construct carried an alien on its back, a creature so large that it looked all out of proportion to its electromechanical mount, and was even more fearsome to look upon than the hard skins. Waves of heat radiated away from the shuttle, metal pinged as it started to cool, the smell of ozone hung in the air.

  Conscious of how she was being used but powerless to stop it, Haaby scanned the surrounding encampment. The cyborg saw a crowd of aliens, the concentric rings of hogas beyond, and the rising tendrils of a thousand cook fires, and wondered where she was going. She had asked repeatedly but to no avail. Information was power, and Kuga-Ka took pride in releasing the minimum amount of both.

  There was a disturbance out beyond the edge of the crowd, and the Paguum scurr
ied to get out of the way as a black zurna forced its way through. Srebo Riff sat high on the animal’s back. The chieftain was glad he had chosen to ride rather than walk. The extra height put the Paguum on the same level as the newly arrived alien, a horrible beast that looked as if had been born in the bowels of hell. The machine on which he rode added to the overall feeling of menace.

  But so long as Omoni took counsel from aliens, he had little choice but to do likewise. Not for long, however. Once the southern tribe was defeated and the matter of water rights was settled, Riff planned to kill all the aliens and resume the eternal globe-spanning journey to which all of his kind were dedicated.

  Thus reassured, Riff offered a greeting appropriate to a warrior of middle rank, who was a member of the tribe and respected by his peers. “My name is Srebo Riff.” The words that came out of the Ramanthian-made translator sounded like gibberish, but the Paguum had learned to ignore them. “Welcome to our encampment. I hope your journey was both peaceful and prosperous.”

  Not only did Kuga-Ka know next to nothing about the Paguum, he had no interest in trying to learn. His reply was clumsy verging on rude. “Thank you. My name is Kuga-Ka. I’m glad to be here, wherever ‘here’ is. Are the troops ready?”

  Riff found the lack of courtesy to be annoying and changed the form of address to that used between slightly hostile strangers having no tribal connection. “Yes, the warriors are ready and waiting.”

  Oblivious to the shadings that had no equivalents in standard, and therefore unaware of the manner in which his social standing had thereby been reduced, Kuga-Ka nodded agreeably. “Good. Let’s get going.”

  Riff ’s bodyguards and members of his staff were arrayed behind him by then. The chieftain turned to a burly subchief, ordered him to handle the matter, and left, without wishing Kuga-Ka well. Still another insult had the Hudathan been knowledgeable enough to understand it.

  “Follow me,” the subchief said, and ordered his zurna to turn around.

  Now we’re getting somewhere, the renegade thought to himself, and opened the intercom. “You heard the hatchet face—follow him.”

  Haaby did as she was told. Kuga-Ka was a lot heavier than the average human, so hauling him around affected her balance and required a lot of energy. Still, the cyborg thought to herself, it feels good to have a war form again.

  Then Haaby remembered Oko and immediately felt guilty knowing that the war form actually belonged to him, and he was where she had been, floating in an uncertain darkness, cut off from the rest of the world, wondering if he was going to die. But there was nothing the cyborg could do about it, and servos whined as she followed the subchief through the crowd. They passed between dozens of dome-shaped shelters and out into the shadow cast by one of the spires guarding the Well of Zugat. Six sphere-shaped remotes floated along behind her. Each Ramanthian-made remote was equipped with a speaker, a spotlight, and a stun gun.

  The warriors waiting at the foot of the spire stood and cheered. Not for Kuga-Ka, or for Haaby, but for the subchief. He ordered his steed to stop, stood on its back, and addressed the crowd. In spite of the fact that he didn’t have a PA system to help him, the Paguum had little difficulty making himself heard. “The dawn people want our water. The humans taught them new ways to fight. Obey warrior Kuga-Ka as you would me.”

  The final admonition was met with silence as the Paguum turned their attention to Kuga-Ka, the machine he rode, and the remotes that sped out to hover above their heads. Even veteran warriors were frightened though none of them would have been willing to admit it. “All right,” Kuga-Ka said, his voice booming out through the airborne speakers, “listen up!”

  Most of the warriors turned their attention to the Hudathan, but a few continued to look up at the remotes. One took a bolt from a stun gun, convulsed, and fell. The crowd stirred uneasily and hands went to weapons. “You’re supposed to be looking at me, not the frigging remotes, or the idiot lying on the ground,” Kuga-Ka said impatiently. “He’ll be up and around in a few minutes—but his head will ache all afternoon.

  “Now, as long as we’re getting acquainted, here’s something else to consider. See the boulder over there? Watch what happens to it.”

  The orders came in over the intercom, Haaby “saw” a ready light come on as the Hudathan released control of her weapons systems, and felt a moment of temptation. If she could buck the Hudathan off her back and turn quickly enough, perhaps she could nail him. But Missy insisted that the renegade would be ready for that, especially the first time out, which meant he’d zap her. So, convinced that she didn’t have any other choice, the cyborg raised her arm. The energy cannon fired, there was a loud bang! as the superheated rock flew apart, followed by the rattle of falling debris. There was an audible gasp as the warriors saw what the T-2 could do.

  “So,” the Hudathan said meaningfully, “even though most of you are going to hate my guts by the time the sun goes down, don’t take a shot at me unless you’re in a hurry to die.

  “Now that we have the preliminaries out of the way,” Kuga-Ka said cheerfully, “it’s time to talk about the purpose of this training. Based on information gathered by your scouts, we know that the southern tribe is planning to attack you with cavalry and foot soldiers. You already know how to fight mounted warriors—so my job is to teach you infantry tactics. Or a single tactic in this case, since the enemy is on the way and we don’t have time for more. Different cultures have different names for the evolution you are about to learn. The humans call it a massed column, but my people call it the Intaka, or blow of death. The basic concept is that of overwhelming force. Now, unless some idiot has a question, we’ll get to work.”

  What followed wasn’t especially pretty, lasted for six hours, and resulted in nearly a hundred causalities as warriors were stunned for making mistakes, dropped from heat prostration, or were injured during mock-combat sessions. But when the training day finally ended, the beginnings of a new weapon had been forged, and ex–Gunnery Sergeant Hreemo Kuga-Ka was pleased.

  THE SOUTHERN PANDU DESERT, PLANET SAVAS

  Having arrived at the crash site, Santana waited for sunset before leading the survivors out into the desert and away from the blood-splashed transport and the row of carefully marked graves next to it. The decision was based on the possibility that the Ramanthians might return to the wreckage and the fact that metal was so valuable on Savas that Old Faithful was bound to attract all sorts of looters.

  Except for the soft ghostly light provided by the thousands of stars that glittered above and the glow sticks issued to a few of the adults, it was completely dark as the Paguum led the off-worlders across the trackless desert. A zurna snorted, equipment creaked, and one of the children coughed as Santana gave thanks for the fact that he was in front of the animals rather than behind them. An unpleasant place to walk given their foul-smelling bowel movements.

  The goal, assuming it was where the Paguum named Saddo said it was, consisted of an ancient though parsimonious well. Though too small to support an encampment, or a herd of katha, the digs claimed the pito (water seep) would be sufficient to support the forty beings that Santana had responsibility for. But for how long? Kobbi was closing on Fire Base Alpha, but there was no chance of a pickup until he arrived, and all sorts of things could delay him.

  The officer’s thoughts were interrupted as Qwis appeared at his elbow. She was one of the adults authorized to carry a glow stick, and the rod lit her face from below. Though still recovering from the shock of her mother’s unexpected death, the young woman now found herself responsible for all of the civilians, including her father. In the wake of his wife’s death, the once-confident and energetic businessman had been reduced to little more than a shambling scarecrow whose eyes were eternally focused on the horizon. The combination of burdens weighed heavily on Qwis, and she looked tired. “Here,” Santana said, handing the colonist an energy bar. “It tastes like shit, but it’ll give you a boost.”

  Qwis accepted the bar, peel
ed the wrapper off, and forced a smile. “If Private Cho wasn’t back there, watching for stuff like this, there would be a trail of litter all the way back to the wreck. We told the children to put the trash in their pockets, but they have a tendency to forget things like that.”

  Santana glanced over his shoulder, but the far end of the column was lost in darkness. “We have to try—but it’s hopeless. We’re leaving tracks, not to mention enormous piles of Zurna poop, and what Guppa calls ‘fita.’ By which he means tiny clues that only a Paguum would see.”

  Qwis bit off a chunk of energy bar and nodded. “I never spent any time with the Paguum, but a skilled Jithi can track a doo bug through the jungle, so I believe it. You were right by the way . . . This thing is awful.”

  Both of them laughed and continued to walk side by side. The desert was cold at night, and the legionnaire shoved his hands down into his pockets. “How’s your father?”

  Qwis shook her head. “Not very well. Mother and he were extremely close. So much so that I always felt like an outsider.”

  “Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be,” Santana replied, and remembered what it was like to look into Christine Vanderveen’s eyes.

  “Yeah,” Qwis agreed soberly, “maybe it is. But look what happens when something goes wrong. It rips your entire world apart.”

  There had been an attraction between them, and there still was from Santana’s point of view, though not on a level with what he felt for Vanderveen. Still, what seemed like an unbridgeable social chasm existed between the diplomat and he, so why yearn for the impossible? Especially if Qwis was available. Or was she? Maybe she was trying to tell him something. That attachments were dangerous? That she wasn’t ready for an ongoing relationship? The legionnaire tried to see into her eyes but couldn’t find them in the darkness. “True,” Santana responded gravely, “but I’ll bet that your father would agree that some people are worth the risk.”