Mr. SpecMish was sitting with his back against a wall. Deploying the full unoriginality of his order, he smoked a clay pipe. Beside him, his Muryani companion was bunched up against the same wall, looking suspiciously at a pipe of her own as if she’d never held one before.
While keeping his grin going, Fitz sighed inwardly. The man was SpecMish. They always knew everything, and that included his identity.
Fitz bowed his head and joined them. “Please, my friends call me Fitz. Do you by chance have a pipe to spare?”
“As a matter of fact,” said the SpecMish man flicking open an inflatable pipe, “thanks to my Muryani companion, I have exactly that.”
Fitz sat against the wall alongside the SpecMish man and accepted the pipe. It had a telescopic stem, inflatable insta-light bulb, and real synth-tobacco, not the cheap stuff they grew in dirt. Smoking was still a filthy habit, though.
“So.” He took a tiny draw of smoke into his mouth. “What does SpecMish want with me?”
The man considered him for a few moments before shaking his head. “Nothing. I no longer work for Special Missions.”
Liar!
“I can see on your face that you don’t believe him,” said the Muryani. “I didn’t either at first, but I now believe it’s true. At least on the surface. Probably they still have him on a very long leash, but we don’t know why.”
Either the Muryani was lying or she was an idiot. Fitz didn’t care for her race. For sure, the individuals he’d encountered had been perfectly respectable scoundrels, but always with the Muryani lurked the threat of their home empire next door. The Muryani Expansion scared the boots off him.
The wall at his back began to shake, the vibrations rapidly picking up strength and throwing him forward.
He looked up in time to see a formation of fighter craft passing overhead. He only caught a glimpse silhouetted against the red-tinted sky, but the atmospheric tail fins were distinctive. Then the banshee wail hit, confirming they were Falcons. Two centuries ago they’d been top of the range multi-environment fighters. They weren’t now, but that made little difference armed as he was with only a talking tin can and a travel pipe. He needed to close down this encounter and get to Izza and the Phantom. Fast.
“Let’s assume what you claim is true,” said Fitz. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” said the allegedly former SpecMish man as if he had all the time in the world.
The Falcons had circled around and climbed away. Now they were returning, diving onto the city at attack speed.
“In that case, I shall bid you, adieu–”
“Sit down, Captain Fitzwilliam. We won’t detain you long.” The man took another puff at his pipe but then – thank goodness – he switched it off and began packing it away. “To be honest, we don’t need you at all.” He pointed a finger at the archway. “But he does.”
Explosions rang out from the center of the city. Falcons were raking ground targets with their nose cannons, but the whoosh of short-range surface-to-air missiles meant that someone was fighting back.
Into this courtyard abandoned by the city’s inhabitants, stepped a handful of scallywags. Commerce Guild pirates by the look of them, especially the Viking with the beard. One came forward and removed his hat.
A look of proud duty about to be performed was broadcasting from a face colored in one of the darker shades of conventional humanity. Looked like a legionary who’d missed his last few appointments with the hair-clippers. In fact, it looked as if he’d been away from the Legion altogether. Why, he was even smiling! Did they really permit such liberties these days?
VETCH ARUNSEN
“Captain Fitzwilliam?” inquired Sybutu of the man in the brown jacket smoking with Bronze and Enthree.
Vetch could hear the relief in the jack sergeant’s voice and understood how much this meeting meant to him.
The man had lost a lot of friends. His purpose, his unit, and the base where he was stationed – all gone. All he’d had left to cling to was this strange assignment to pass on a coded message, and to keep safe the handful of comrades who’d left Faxian with him.
Sybutu hadn’t actually made a good job of the latter. Half his original team had been lost along the way. No wonder the legionary’s voice was trembling.
“Can’t a guy enjoy a smoke during some downtime?” said Fitzwilliam, who seemed – erroneously – to think he was lightening the mood.
Realizing he’d misjudged the situation, Fitzwilliam instead raised the shades above his eyes.
It was their contact, all right. Vivid lilac eyes regarded Sybutu.
Vetch shuddered. In the shadows against the courtyard wall, Fitzwilliam’s eyes glowed with their own inner light.
The man’s mutant ancestors had strutted around the early Federation as the closest thing to an aristocratic class in those far-off days.
Not anymore.
These mutants were descendants of the earliest Legion Marine heroes, but they themselves had been artificial creations. Alien xeno-engineers had made handcrafted modifications to their genetic code. Purple eyes were not the reason mutants were hated and feared. The mutie look was merely the harmless side effect of alien DNA analogs that had been gene-spliced into the selected Marines to give them inhuman powers. And all to an alien agenda. Who could tell what purpose might still be programed into those freaks? No wonder they weren’t trusted.
Those eyes… they were so richly colored! He’d never seen such powerfully mutant characteristics. Did that mean the man also possessed some of the arcane powers of those long-dead heroes?
“It’s a long way home,” Sybutu said slowly, “but I’m setting off tomorrow.”
Fitzwilliam’s face drained of blood.
“The tide is going out,” Sybutu continued. “We need to slip our moorings.”
The mutant focused on some distant point, his mind lost in memories.
They didn’t look to Vetch like they were pleasant ones.
Fitz’s eyes seemed to burn in their sockets. “Tell them to roast in hell,” he shot at Sybutu. “I’m retired.”
“But…” Sybutu’s voice stumbled. Vetch found himself actually feeling sorry for the jack. “We came cross-country all the way from Camp Faxian because Colonel Malix insisted we reach you. The colonel put his faith in you.”
“Malix?” Fitzwilliam got to his feet, laughing. “Cisco Malix. He’s a colonel now? Well, well, well. He’ll be loving that… What? What’s wrong?”
“The colonel is dead,” said Bronze. “They’re all dead. We think there are maybe four legionaries left alive on the planet.”
“Malix…? No, I don’t believe you.”
“There was a rebel strike,” Bronze explained. “The Legion base of operations was taken out with fusion bombs. We were betrayed, Fitz. Would you like to see the image captures?”
The spacer’s eyes glowed even brighter and his easy grin hardened into a snarl. “That won’t be necessary.” He paused to catch his breath. “Malix was a good man. We used to… Hell, you kids have no idea what we used to get up to.” The grin returned. “And get away with. If I ever find out who did this, or get my hands on anyone who helped to end my friend Cisco, then I swear their deaths will be long and hard to watch.”
“Then you will help us?” asked Sybutu.
Fitz regarded the legionary sergeant somberly. “No. I already told you, I’m retired. Now, off you fuck and leave me alone. I’ve got a ship full of people to keep alive.”
With that, Fitzwilliam summoned his dented old service droid and walked off, leaving Sybutu staring into space.
NEXT ISSUE: The Chase!
ISSUE 8
VETCH ARUNSEN
In a deserted courtyard on the outer limits of a city descending into hell, a heavy look passed between Vetch and Lily. Were they going to chase after Fitzwilliam? They could still bring back the man for whom they had tracked across the Great Ice Plain while being shot at, frozen, and forced to work with a party of jack-
head legionaries who’d had no idea how lost they really were. But with every moment that slipped by…
Lily and Vetch looked down at the floor simultaneously. The moment had gone.
He felt bad about Sybutu. Truly. It had all been for nothing, but Vetch had to think about what happened next. They all did.
“You completed your mission,” he offered, putting a supportive hand on Sybutu’s shoulder. “You played your part and did your best. No one could ask for more.”
“That’s the difference between us,” growled Sybutu, still staring at the empty air near the courtyard wall where Fitzwilliam’s absence almost took on a physical presence. He shrugged Vetch’s hand away. “The Legion doesn’t dish out participation trophies.”
“Give him a moment,” said Bronze. “Please.”
The ground shook with a sequence of rapid thumps. A few seconds later, the sound of explosions hit them from a few klicks away to the northwest.
“If that’s the spaceport under artillery bombardment,” said Lily, “then neither Fitzwilliam nor anyone else is getting off this planet.”
“Enthree,” Vetch pointed to the fluted spire that threw its shadow across the courtyard. “Climb that tower and see what’s going on. I need to know the best exit route. Go! Everyone else, weapons check. We’re about to head out.”
Vetch pulled at his beard trying to figure out which of the three surviving legionaries had enough sense between their ears to confer with.
Sybutu was clearly in shock. Bronze had always struck him as the unflappable one, but something had happened while he had been in the city with Enthree looking for Meatbolt. The man had cracked somehow. It would have to be Zavage, who was standing so close to Green Fish that they brushed arms as she finished up her weapon check.
And this bunch of shell-shock cases and lovebirds was supposed to be the most elite fighting force in the universe!
“Legionaries,” he said, nodding at Zavage and winning his attention. “Are you coming with us?”
“Chimera Company is disbanded,” stated Sybutu who had finally gotten himself out of his funk enough to look Vetch in the face. “We worked well together, but Chimera’s purpose is at an end. I wish you all safe passage back to Fort Iceni, but we’re staying. We have to try to get the message out through Legion channels now. The Legion needs to know what’s happened on Rho-Torkis.”
Green Fish gasped. Vetch looked up to see her and Zavage together like teenage sweethearts gazing into each other’s eyes. They brushed each other’s faces with their fingertips.
Luckily, before Vetch had to embarrass himself by breaking up the pair, Enthree jumped down onto the courtyard and made her report.
“Rebel ground forces are attacking in strength. One column is about to enter the city from the west, and another, supported by light tanks, is trying to seize the spaceport ahead of the… I don’t know the correct term to use. I shall call them bad legionaries. They are racing each other to gain control.”
“Let’s see if I’ve got this right. The bad legionaries – the ones we saw marching through the snow outside Iceni – are enemies of the rebels.”
“Correct. They are firing at each other. As is Lieutenant Kulm’s detachment who holds the gate for now, but surely will be overrun within minutes. Also, on the hills above the city where we made observations this morning–”
Enthree’s report was interrupted by a piercing shriek. Rockets arced over their heads, heading west. Scores of them!
“On the hills,” shouted Enthree, “the rebels have positioned an artillery battery. I don’t think they were expecting counterbattery fire, but looks like that’s what’s headed their way.”
“The main battle is to the west of us,” said Vetch. “Kulm doesn’t want us, and his fate is sealed anyway. We’ll head to the docks and commandeer a boat. If we can’t get one, we’ll find a way onto the ice and get out that way. Shame to lose the Saruswine, but they’re as dead to us as Kulm. Sure you’re not coming, Sybutu?”
The idiot shook his head.
“We’ll watch for you, but we won’t wait to die with you in the city.”
“If you change your mind,” said Enthree, “the route is clearer and the fires lighter to the north of the seaport area. Remember, the north shore. Sector 12.”
“At least come with us out of the city,” Vetch begged Sybutu. “You can do your Legion thing once you’re clear.”
“No. We’ve got this. Go, Arunsen. Don’t delay further.”
The man was a fool, and Vetch had no more time to reason with fools. It was too bad about the jacks, but he had his people to look after. And they would always come first.
Vetch marshaled his troopers and set off for the docks without looking back.
VOL ZAVAGE
When Green Fish and the other troopers left, Zavage looked to Sybutu for leadership. Instead of supplying fresh orders, Sybutu sat down with his head in his hands. Bronze was no better. A darkness had broken loose in his mind while he’d been hunting Meatbolt and then Fitzwilliam. Now that darkness was consuming him.
Intense artillery and missile exchanges were ongoing outside the city. The rebel air attack was shifting its attention, raining down cannon fire on targets of opportunity that seemed to be without any more air defenses. Screams of terrified citizens mixed with volleys of blaster fire and the moans of the wounded.
Zavage was used to that backdrop. What made him struggle to even think was the despair seeping out of the two humans he respected the most on this world, combined with the raw memory of the human he most wanted to be with, but who had followed her Militia comrades to the docks.
“If we reach the spaceport before it’s seized by the two fighting factions,” Zavage suggested, “maybe we can smuggle ourselves out on a civilian ship.”
It was a crazy plan, but they had to start somewhere. If he could get the others to engage their brains, he prayed they would soon realize that a far better idea was to follow Green Fish while they still could.
He got nothing for his troubles. Bronze turned away, unable to face him, and Sybutu was still lost with his face in his hands.
“Snap out of it! But hey, I get it. You, Bronze – the enigmatic Hines Zy Pel – have just come out of remission from a chronic case of survivor’s guilt. And you, Sergeant, had locked away the horror from the destruction of your home and loved ones until you completed your mission. Now that Fitzwilliam’s gone, it’s hitting you all at once and you can’t deal with it. I know you’re both hurting, but you’re legionaries. We hold the line because the Legion is the only thing between civilization and eternal darkness. Right now, holding the line means sucking up your pain and figuring a way to get out of here so we can warn sector high command. Grieve later. Act now.”
“We could ask Fitzwilliam to take us off-planet,” said Bronze, though without conviction.
“There’s got to be government buildings or corporate headquarters with system-wide comms,” said Sybutu. “Maybe interstellar comms. You got a message out of Irisur, Zavage. Maybe you can work your magic and defeat whatever’s blocking our signals on Rho-Torkis?”
Zavage raised a fist and then gave rapid hand signals. Enemy overhead. Two of them.
A pair of humans were clambering on the roof above their heads, whispering information or instructions to each other. They sounded calm and disciplined. Probably rebel scouts.
His human comrades could hear none of this, of course. Earth must have been a strange world indeed to have produced a species so deaf, half blind, and unable to smell a foe hiding two yards away. It was part of humanity’s charm: despite the many natural failings of their race, they had a remarkable knack of getting things done anyway.
Sybutu quickly signaled orders, and the three legionaries backpedaled as silently as they could, their weapons aimed high.
Zavage almost froze. The humans on the roof were firing a rapid burst of blaster fire, not into the courtyard, though, but at targets deeper into the city.
Stepping u
p the pace, Zavage was first to get far enough inside the courtyard to see up to the roof. They were rebels, all right. Cora’s World regulars.
He shot them both. They didn’t see it coming.
“They should have checked the area was safe,” Sybutu noted grimly, but the tension had left his face and Zavage could feel his friend’s spirit regain its sense of purpose. “Fitzwilliam is our contact,” he said, sounding like a Legion NCO once more. “We’ll persuade him to take us off-world.”
“The man wanted nothing to do with us,” Bronze pointed out.
“He was desperate to get back to someone,” Zavage said. “A lover, I think. I know I’ve told you a million times that I can’t read thoughts, but the man’s need was so strong that I could sense it. If we can convince the partner, then perhaps they can convince Fitzwilliam.”
“How?” Sybutu frowned at Zavage. “Are you suggesting you’ll seduce this man’s partner?”
“I am. With charm and with the promise of money. You have no idea what I’m capable of, Sergeant. And whatever Fitzwilliam once was, if he’s captaining a smuggling ship, they will always feel the lure of profit. The Legion does have funds.”
Zavage tried to look defiant. He meant every word he said. Being able to sense people’s emotions could boost his powers of persuasion to preternatural levels, but he was still hoping Sybutu would see sense and order them to the docks.
“Very well,” said Sybutu. “Your plan is a starting point. We head for the spaceport and hope we think of a better idea before we get there.”
Damn! Sybutu wasn’t supposed to buy his idea. “And the warring armies we’ll have to fight through?” Zavage queried.
“We’ll slip through in the confusion. I know you want to follow Arunsen’s troopers, but the Militia are heading back to Fort Iceni, and we already know Iceni’s comms have been suppressed.”
Chimera Company - Rho-Torkis Box Set Page 30