Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell

by William C. Dietz

  Maylo put her arms around her uncle’s electromechanical body and gave it a hug. “You’re right as always. Thank you.”

  The sun started to set once more, but the sky was clear, and the stars seemed unusually bright.

  Their footsteps echoed down the long, sterile corridor as Lieutenant Thinklong led Nodoubt Truespeak and his party toward the Senate chambers. A pair of heavily armed legionnaires marched behind. While there weren’t any indications that the Naa who referred to themselves as “true bloods” had infiltrated the Legion, humans had been chosen for the detail to ensure that the Chief of Chiefs wasn’t attacked by one of his own bodyguards.

  What many senators had originally regarded as a minor issue had been brought into sharp focus by Truespeak’s initial appearance and the assassination attempt that followed. That was why the newly refurbished theater was already packed to overflowing when the Naa dignitaries arrived and were shown to their seats.

  Knowing that many eyes were upon him, Truespeak resisted the temptation to fidget as President Nankool opened the meeting. “So,” Nankool continued, “having been unable to consider SR-5706 the last time it was introduced, we are slated to vote on the measure this morning. Senator Pama? Would you care to reintroduce Chief Truespeak?”

  Pama rose, made his way to the podium, and delivered an eloquent restatement of the issue before them. There was discussion, especially around the question of precedent, with Senator Obduro being the most vocal opponent. “What about worlds like Drang?” the politician demanded. “If we grant independence to Algeron, the sentients indigenous to Drang will demand sovereignty as well. There will be no end to it.”

  But the Thraki’s arguments weren’t able to gain much traction since most of those present felt that it would be a long time before the sentients on Drang developed a culture and technology that were advanced enough to qualify them for membership in the Confederacy. The discussion period came to an end, and a voice vote was called for.

  Truespeak listened to the slow monotonous tally, felt his spirits soar with each “aye,” then plummet whenever he heard someone say “nay.”

  But finally, when all the votes had been tallied, the “ayes” had it, and SR-5706 passed. Algeron was free. The reality of that was so astounding, so wonderful, that Truespeak sat speechless while all of those who supported the measure broke into spontaneous applause.

  Then, as the noise died down, President Nankool stepped up onto the platform. “Please allow me to be the first to congratulate the Naa people and welcome them as full members of the Confederacy. I imagine they will want the Legion to pay rent . . . but that’s okay so long as they pay their taxes!”

  There was an explosion of laughter, Nankool declared a thirty-minute recess, and Truespeak found himself besieged by admirers, not to mention those eager to enlist his newly acquired vote in any number of causes.

  Meanwhile, as senators and staff poured out of chambers, Senator Obduro felt a group of bodies close in around him. Admiral Chien-Chu was present, as was Triad Doma-Sa and General Bill Booly. “Excuse me, Senator,” the legionnaire said genially, “but we wondered if we could have a moment of your time.”

  Obduro glanced back and forth. It was a distinguished group, and while he liked to be part of important gatherings, there was something ominous about the manner in which the aliens hemmed him in. “Yes, well, that would be nice, but this is a short break and . . .”

  “Don’t worry,” Doma-Sa assured him, taking a firm grip on the Thraki’s right arm. “The meeting won’t take very long, and I’m sure you’ll find it to be most interesting.” Then, with the others crowded so closely around him that passersby couldn’t see what was taking place, the roly-poly politician was hustled away. Obduro tried to object, but no one was listening, and by the time it occurred to the Thraki to shout, his abductors had left the main corridor for the labyrinth of passageways beyond. “This is an outrage!” Obduro spluttered, as Doma-Sa and Booly lifted the politician off the ground and carried him forward.

  “No,” Chien-Chu corrected him, “it’s a medical facility. There’s someone here we’d like you to meet.”

  “Well, not exactly meet, because the poor bastard is asleep,” Booly put in. “But you can look at him.”

  A few moments later Obduro found himself in a two-bed room looking at a Ramanthian. All of the medical equipment previously connected to the unconscious alien had been either removed or concealed, which made it appear as if the technical expert was asleep rather than in the grip of a coma. “He’s had a rough time of it,” Chien-Chu whispered, “so we don’t want to disturb him. He was captured in the Erini system, where a whole bunch of your people are busy converting Sheen warships for use by the Ramanthians.”

  “Yes,” Booly added sotto voce. “That was very naughty of you.”

  “Especially since you broke any number of treaties in order to do it,” Doma-Sa growled.

  “You must be joking,” Obduro said. “I don’t . . .”

  “Quiet!” Chien-Chu insisted, holding a finger to his lips. “You’ll wake him up. Come on, let’s continue our discussion in a conference room.”

  Seconds later, the befuddled politician found himself being carried down a corridor into a conference room normally reserved for use by medical staff. Everything had been set up in advance, and Obduro soon found himself sitting in a vastly oversized chair, looking up at a screen. “This is the Erini system,” Doma-Sa informed the Thraki, as the video began. “And that is an orbital repair facility, which we can only assume is owned and operated by your government.”

  The senator had never heard of Erini system or seen the enormous dock before, but felt a sudden emptiness at the pit of his stomach. Knowledgeable though he was regarding governmental affairs, the politician knew there were activities that he and his staff were ignorant of. And a good thing, too. Because while Obduro’s superiors thought it best to side with the Confederacy at the moment, he knew some of them feared the possible consequences of a Ramanthian victory, and were uneasy regarding the way the war was going. Had they taken steps to insure the Thraki people against such a possibility? Yes, Obduro feared that they had, and here was the consequence of their double-dealing.

  “Oh my,” Chien-Chu said mockingly, as the camera invaded the dock’s vast interior. “What have we here? Some of the very Sheen warships that were hijacked by the Ramanthians shortly after they destroyed the Friendship. Oh, and look at the personnel zipping all about . . . They look a lot like Ramanthians, don’t they? Or did your government get a special deal on surplus Ramanthian space armor?”

  Obduro swallowed, tried to think of something cogent to say, and swallowed again. The aliens scared him. Especially the huge Hudathan. The politician felt his bowels start to loosen. “I didn’t know anything about this . . . I swear.”

  “And we believe you,” Booly said soothingly. “Every government has a few lawbreakers to contend with. Unfortunate individuals who seek to turn a profit regardless of whom they harm. Who knows? Perhaps the individuals who set up the secret base in the Erini system and proceeded to cut a deal with the Ramanthians are common criminals.”

  Chien-Chu watched the words sink in. Obduro was no fool and was quick to recognize a lifeline when one was thrown his way. His eyes brightened, and his ears rotated toward the front of his head. “Yes! That would account for it! I will notify my government immediately.”

  “Good,” Doma-Sa growled ominously. “Because we’ll be watching. It’s our expectation that the Sheen vessels will be seized and turned over to the Confederacy, the dock will be destroyed, and every effort will be made to bring the criminals to justice.”

  “Yes,” Chien-Chu agreed. “Otherwise, it will become necessary to raise the matter with the Senate, listen to hours of testimony from our Ramanthian witness, and request sanctions against the Thraki government. All of which would be exceedingly tedious.”

  “Have no fear,” Obduro said determinedly. “I will take care of everything.”

>   “That’s what we hoped you’d say,” Booly acknowledged, “and we’re grateful. Lieutenant Thinklong will escort you back to the Senate chambers.”

  There was a short but heartfelt celebration once the Thraki was gone. “I feel pretty sure that it’s going to work,” Chien-Chu said, as the threesome prepared to leave. “We’ll have to keep an eye on them, however.”

  Booly nodded. “What about Christine Vanderveen? What happens to her?”

  “I’ll speak to Nankool,” the industrialist replied. “I don’t know that she’ll get the promotion she so richly deserves, but the Confederacy can’t afford to lose talent such as hers. The president knows that, and he’ll come around.”

  “I’ll put in a word as well,” Doma-Sa put in. “If the Confederacy doesn’t want her, my government would be happy to hire her. She’s rather competent for a squat.”

  The humans grinned, and all of them went their separate ways. Booly was concerned about Maylo—and had been for days. While he felt a deep sense of loss where his unborn daughter was concerned, the emotion was muted to some extent by the fact that he had never seen or held her. But Maylo’s grief had been deeper than that. So deep that he was beginning to wonder if she would ever emerge from it.

  The guards stationed outside the general’s quarters came to attention and rendered a rifle salute as Booly approached. The legionnaire returned the courtesy, palmed the door, and stepped inside. The lights had been dimmed, soft music could be heard, and the mouthwatering smell of an oriental stir-fry wafted through the air.

  Booly followed the wonderful odor back past a nicely set table to the small and rarely used kitchenette, where his wife was busy cooking. She turned and offered her lips for a kiss. The legionnaire complied, put his arms around her waist, and pulled her close. “How did you know I was coming?”

  Maylo smiled for the first time in days. “I have spies.”

  “Lieutenant Thinklong?”

  “You’ll never get it out of me.”

  “Never?” Booly inquired lightly. “Perhaps I should interrogate you.”

  “I think that would be an excellent idea,” his wife whispered softly. “Do your worst.”

  “It could take a while,” Booly said, reaching over to turn off the stove.

  “I have all the time in the world,” Maylo responded.

  “And so do I,” Booly replied, and swept his wife off her feet.

  THE HIVE SYSTEM, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE

  The Ramanthian admiral experienced a moment of unrestrained joy as the blip that represented the Confederacy ship disappeared from the screens, and his subordinates clacked their pincers by way of applause.

  But the brief moment of jubilation was quickly followed by a sense of consternation when there was no explosion. That was when one of his officers gave voice to the suspicion that had already taken root in the back of the admiral’s mind. “It looks as though the enemy ship entered hyperspace, Excellency.”

  The admiral felt his spirits soar. Entering or exiting hyperspace in the vicinity of a planet or a sun was extremely dangerous. Although they couldn’t see into hyperspace, odds were that Lieutenant Commander Frenko had been killed while attempting to escape her pursuers. A perfectly acceptable outcome unless . . . And that was the moment when another possibility occurred to the Ramanthian, and a terrible fear gripped his mind. It was difficult to speak, but he managed to squeeze the necessary words out. “Contact the admiralty. Tell them . . .”

  But there wasn’t enough time to tell anyone anything as Frenko gathered her memories around her, the NAVCOMP brought the Flaming Bitch out of hyperspace three miles under Hive’s carefully manicured surface, and the bomb she had brought so far exploded. Frenko saw a flash of white light, felt a wave of warmth hit her, and let it carry her away. The results of the attack were far more spectacular than anything that General Booly and his staff had imagined. The underground explosion triggered a quake that destroyed the city of First Birth, including the underground cavern where tradition held that the first mother had produced the first egg, and took 1.7 million lives.

  Though more than a thousand miles away, the Queen felt a slight tremor and was demanding information even before it began to flow in. Soon, based on a report from the home fleet as well as officials located in the vicinity of First Birth, the truth became known. The planet that had felt so impregnable an hour before wasn’t, a terrible new weapon had been introduced into the war, and victory was a lot less certain.

  Such were the realities as the Minister of Civilian Affairs Suu Norr stood on the very spot where one of his mates had been executed less than one rotation before and looked up into the royal’s face. The odor produced by the eggs stored in the vault below her seemed especially strong at that moment, and the functionary felt an almost overpowering need to please the monarch in spite of what she had done to the War Norr.

  “So,” the Queen continued sternly, “the navy will pull two fleets back to reinforce security in our home system. Meanwhile, you and your department will treat the explosion as a terrible but nonetheless natural seismic event. We must avoid panic. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Majesty,” Norr replied. “Very clear.”

  “Good. Now, what progress has been made where the hypercom is concerned? It’s absolutely imperative that you recover that equipment lest it somehow fall into enemy hands.”

  Norr had been home when the royal guards delivered the War Norr’s head to his single surviving mate. He heard the Egg Norr’s anguished cries from another room, rushed to her side, and tried to console her. Could she withstand another such loss? He wasn’t sure.

  Conscious of the fact that his life was on the line, the functionary chose his words with extreme care. “I have good news, Highness. The task force assigned to bring the equipment to Hive arrived off Savas. Loading will commence soon.”

  The Queen’s eyes were as black as space. “And the enemy? What of them?”

  “They have a battalion of troops on the surface of Savas and are marching toward our base, but the local commander remains confident that he can stop them.”

  “He’d better,” the monarch said darkly. “Keep me informed. In the meantime, do everything in your power to help the communities around First Birth. And remember, the destruction resulted from a quake, nothing more. You may withdraw.”

  “Yes, Highness,” Norr responded as he bent a knee. “It shall be as you say.”

  The Queen watched the functionary depart, felt the now-familiar pressure in her abdomen, and allowed a clutch of five hundred eggs to join those already stored below. More than a million lives have been lost—but millions were on the way.

  14

  * * *

  Finally, when all the diplomatic dra is over, someone has to go in and kill the bastards.

  —Triad Hiween Doma-Sa

  Standard year 2840

  * * *

  HAGALA NOR, PLANET SAVAS

  One of the many things that made the extinct volcano an ideal fortress was not only the deep crater located at its center, but the landing pad that had been constructed at the bottom of the cavity. It was circular in shape and bordered by stacks of cargo modules that were waiting to be loaded. Each container held part of the hypercom or a piece of auxiliary equipment associated with it.

  A space black shuttle squatted at the center of the pad as Force Commander Ignatho Dontha slip-slid onto the blast-scarred durasteel and surveyed the area. Rather than the carefully orchestrated process that he had imagined, chaos was the rule as civilians yelled orders at his troops, and they yelled back.

  Dontha produced the Ramanthian equivalent of a frown and snapped an order at the nearest noncom, who blew a shrill blast on his whistle. The gabble stopped, heads turned, and the officer spoke. “Who can tell me what is going on here?”

  After a moment of hesitation, a junior officer raised a pincer. “I guess I can, sir. We were given a list of which modules to load first, but the civilians say we should ignore it.”
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  “I see,” Dontha replied gravely. “And which civilian were you speaking with?”

  “That one,” the officer said, pointing to the ragged figure who had just exited the shuttle’s cargo compartment.

  Dontha wasn’t particularly surprised to see that the individual in question was none other than Chief Scientific Investigator Tepho. “I’ll speak with him,” the force commander said reassuringly. “Tell your troops to stand by.”

  The officer clacked a pincer respectfully before scurrying off to have a word with his subordinates. As Dontha stepped out of the shadow cast by the crater’s east wall he felt the full warmth of the sun and took pleasure in it. The scientist turned at his approach. “There you are! We’ve been looking all over for you . . . These laggards refused to obey my orders! Please set them straight.”

  Dontha fought to control his temper. “The lists that they’re using were written by you and your staff. All they’re trying to do is to make sure that the most important components are loaded first.”

  “We changed our minds,” Tepho replied imperiously. “Some of the most important items are still being packed. Besides, what difference does it make? First, second, third. It’s all the same.”

  “No,” Dontha replied patiently, “it isn’t all the same. The Legion went around the native troops put in place to block them. We estimate that they will arrive here within the next twelve hours. What if the barbarians force their way into Hagala Nor? And capture whatever happens to be sitting on the pad? Important components could be lost.”

  “And whose fault would that be?” Tepho demanded caustically. “You’re in charge of security. Stop them.”

  “I intend to,” Dontha grated, “but it makes sense to take every precaution we can. That includes sticking to the original load-out. By the way, since the pad can’t accommodate more than one shuttle at a time, speed is of the essence. I suggest that you and your staff clear the immediate area.”