Rise of a Legion

by Trey Deibel

  Malcolm, drenched in sweat, took a quick peek at the other side of the mattress; nobody was there. This was all wrong.

  Malcolm slid out of bed, and his head seemed to turn upside down. He was dizzy, and everything was blurry. Stumbling and falling, he rushed out of his bedroom and into his living room. Fire was everywhere, feeding on the furniture of the house and licking the walls like a mad dog. Smoke clouded his vision further, and he gasped for each dry, smoke-filled breath as the heat baked his dark shin. He fell again to the sounds of plasma fire outside. Victims screamed in the distance from the neighborhood outside his home’s walls. Despite his lungs screaming for him to give in to death, he managed to pull himself up. He could nearly taste the burning wood of the house on the roof of his mouth. He peeked through the window: More fire in the distance, roaring with town-destroying fury. Shadows and silhouettes of distant people ran and flailed their arms in terror as they fled from dytircs. Some fell, never to get up again. Streaks of plasma screeched through the air. Some passed in the distance, and others blasted through the walls of his home.

  Finally, he made it into the next room. The lights were off, and a fire ate at the curtain shades. In the corner, another shadow stood there, looking down.

  “She’s dead!” her distorted voice repeated over and over again.

  Stumbling around, he made it over next to the shadow. The image burned into his memory, forever scarring his existence.

  “You didn’t protect her!” the distorted voice whispered. “You let her die!”

  Screaming, Malcolm shot upright after a sudden, violent awakening. His mattress was drenched in sweat, and he was hyperventilating. Realizing it was a nightmare, Malcolm began to calm down, letting his breathing slow. After letting the darkness of the room to soak in, he forced himself up and walked to the bathroom. Bearon’s cargo ship wasn’t designed for comfort, so the bathroom was small and condensed, leaving little room to maneuver. Inside, Malcolm stared back at his reflection. Turning on the water, he scooped up the refreshing liquid and splashed his dark-skinned face. Trying to rid himself of exhaustion, he rubbed the running water over his brown eyes and down his cornrows. Drops plopped down his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

  For the next few minutes, Malcolm could only think about taking a sip of something refreshing; so, he headed to the lounge area for some ice water. Through the darkness of the lounge, he could see no farther than his hands. He refused to turn on the lights and possibly wake up people; instead, he proceeded to the Magic Meal to dispense the water into a cup.

  “Couldn’t sleep, Bozz?” Malcolm recognized Brad’s voice.

  After filling his cup, Malcolm turned to see Brad’s armored boots on top of the table in the corner. Brad was leaning back in the chair, with his helmet over his lap. With his knife, he scratched into his visor. The shadows of the room hid his facial features from Malcolm’s view.

  “Another nightmare,” Malcolm responded as he sat down across from Brad.

  “Same one?”

  “Yes, it was.” Malcolm massaged his face with his hand.

  “Wanna talk ‘bout it, Bozz?”

  “Thought you didn’t like talking much?” Malcolm said, looking up at Brad.

  “Nah. But I don’t dislike listenin’.” Brad didn’t look up from his activity.

  “I can handle it,” Malcolm responded. “What about you? What are you doing awake?”

  “Don’t sleep much no more.”

  “I didn’t know.” Malcolm sipped from his cup.

  “Ya didn’t need to.”

  Brad finally looked at Malcolm across the table. A flare from a dim kitchen light flickered and revealed Brad’s eye. Malcolm could make out a cross tattoo on Brad’s light-skinned face, with his blood-red eyes at the center, before Brad looked away. Over the next few minutes, Malcolm watched as Brad skillfully slashed away at his helmet. The knife moved in fluid strokes around the visor; it was Brad’s canvas.

  “Why are you scratching into your helmet?” Malcolm asked him.

  “Carvin’.”

  “Carving what?” Malcolm pushed, unsatisfied with the answer.

  “Ah tribute mask. My adoptive dor’o father tol’ storiez ‘bout dat shit. Kind of pissed me off actually… dat dick.” Brad retreated into his memories. He stopped speaking and went silent.

  “And what’s a tribute mask?” Malcolm pried.

  “My father rambled ‘bout ol’ traditionz from hiz gang in da past… da mask waz one of ‘em. Said shit like… it waz supposed tah be somethin’ yah wear when yah kill your rivalz. Well… da hell I know?”

  Malcolm couldn’t keep Brad’s attention, so he stopped asking him. Boredom set in, and Malcolm reflected on his nightmare.

  “I reckon I heard some voices.” Bearon strolled into the room. “What y’all fellas doin’ awake?”

  “Sleep issues,” Malcolm answered. “You?”

  “Omelics don’t hit the hay as much as humans.” He took a seat in the only remaining chair. The dim room light cast shadows over his face, hiding most of it from Malcolm’s vision. “I supposin’ we should talk business, Malcolm?”

  “I got nothing better to do,” Malcolm answered.

  “Mighty fine. Now that our deal is certain, would you care to elaborate on Erryn Wolph?”

  “Erryn Wolph is aiding a squad of five individuals trying to travel to Delkeedo. Once she’s there, I theorize there’s a sixty-five percent chance she’ll help those individuals break out someone from the Grando. Afterwards, she’ll be their escape plan. Once we arrive on the moon, I’ll personally help you find out where Erryn will be and present you with an opportunity to capture her. Is that all clear?”

  “Clear enough. I look forward to showin’ Erryn what’s what.”

  “That bartender mentioned you carry a personal interest in Erryn. What did he mean?” Malcolm took another sip from his cup.

  Bearon pulled out a few bullets from his utility belt and stood them up on the table for Malcolm to see. Carved into them was Erryn’s name. “These bullets got Erryn’s name on ‘em.”

  “Clearly.”

  “That bitch shot down my brother in cold blood… her own father. Now it’s time for justice to be dispensed, and I’m gonna give it to her… just a matter of time.” Bearon pulled out a cigar and lit it.

  “That explains her bounty.”

  “It’s far more than a bounty to me. Posters say she’s wanted alive. I may have a second opinion on that. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

  Malcolm shook his head. “No. It would make my job easier.”

  “Much obliged.” Bearon took a smoke. “Speaking of such, what is it you got planned anyhow?”

  Malcolm had had a generous amount of time to go over everything Brad retrieved and started turning it to his advantage. Tribes, the territories, schematics on the prison; all of it.

  “First thing first, Brad found us a gem. Somehow, the Immortals discovered a frequency that, when used, can alert us to the location of Erryn Wolph’s ship once it activates its stealth drive. I’ll have Brad help you install a device in this ship that can use that frequency to do just that.”

  “Look forward to it. Where do you reckon she’ll land?”

  Malcolm pulled up a map of the area of interest from his cyberwatch. “Between the Fallen and King territories is a scrap yard. I place a sixty-one percent chance they land there… it’s hidden away, not too far from the Grando, and most importantly, they won’t have to worry about patrols. Then again, if they take a riskier approach, they may choose the open field just outside the prison. I place a twenty-four percent chance on that option. In any case, we’ll know for sure and adjust accordingly. What’s more important is that we know their targets… first they’ll raid the shield station, then the prison.”

  “Sounds to me like you got it all figured.”

  “I do need to know how you plan on smuggling us onto Delkeedo?”

  “In a cargo crate. I’ll unload y’all at a cargo yard thr
ee kilometers out yonder from the Grando. Any more questions?”

  “Don’t they check the crates?”

  “Hehehe, not at that area. Them dytircs consider the place too low-risk. Hell, it sure ain’t a pretty sight to look at. Might even consider it a graveyard with them worthless tribes. At the very least, they left quite a supply of deserted structures for us to use.”

  Malcolm zoomed closer to a structure that was still mostly intact. “Already got one picked out.”

  “Hehe, there ain’t never a dull moment in the life of a bounty hunter!” Bearon put out his cigar and smiled. “Erryn, your reckoning draws near.”

  “I, for one, can’t wait to make the legionnaires a prime example of what happens to those whom cannot be true soldiers. We are the nightmare they never dared to dream.” Malcolm smiled at his brilliance.

  Chapter 20: Bugged

  October 22, 2111 – October 23, 2111

  Malcolm Richardson

  Through the metal, Malcolm could vaguely hear the distant chatting between Bearon and an unknown individual. Pitch black darkness and the steady breathing of his fellow squad mates tapped at his nerves. He breathed in heavy breaths against the clear, hard-glass visor of his helmet. Malcolm forced his anxiety and fears back for the sake of the mission. Having on his suit of power armor added a sense of security to his psyche. But was it enough to overcome his nightmares?

  The voices grew louder as Bearon and the unknown individual approached. Malcolm could start to make out the conversation. “--the crates sent over to their buyers within the week,” the unknown voice said.

  “Mighty fine news, but if you don’t mind, I’ll give my crates one last look over. I like to triple check them, or customers may ask for my head,” Bearon tittered.

  Amused, the unknown voice said, “Of course you can. I’m about to finish my rotation right after all these crates are loaded. You can do it then.”

  “Thank you kindly,” Bearon shined.

  “This the last one?” the voice asked, next to the crate in which the hunters were hiding.

  “I do believe so.”

  Suddenly, the crate housing the hunters was lifted up and began moving horizontally off the cargo ship. Through the crack, Malcolm saw a multitude of crates stacked atop one another. He didn’t have to wait long before their crate was placed on top of two other crates toward the edge of the cargo yard.

  After about a minute, Bearon instructed over the coms, “You’re good to get stepping onward. I’ll meet you at the base of operations shortly.”

  “I understand,” Malcolm replied. He lifted the inside handle, which Bearon had installed, and gave the door a shove. It popped open. “Vaal, grab our cargo bag,” he instructed before dropping down to a second crate below them.

  Leaping again and again, Malcolm plopped into the muddy ground. Soon, Brad and Vaal were right at his sides. Ahead of them, the clearing led into the Fallen Tribe’s territory.

  “Let’s head out. Brad, take middle, and Vaal, cover six.”

  Malcolm led them past the short clearing of mud and into the dumpster of buildings. Through the sludge and puddles they trekked, heading for the King Tribe’s territory and toward a building Malcolm had already picked out. Maneuvering through the crowd of deserted, wooden structures wasn’t easy. Each step sent them sinking into the mud and puddles. The power armor’s added weight made each step even more exhausting.

  The dwarf sun was setting, the deserted buildings slowly extended their shadows. It wasn’t going to be long before the last rays of light would be taken away. Down an alley, they reached a structure that had collapsed in on itself. What a tragic place to live. Seeing this region gave Malcolm insight into his enemies, and insight he’d failed to see in the past.

  Malcolm stopped and picked up a piece of wood from a collapsed structure. The moldy wood crumbled in his hand, and the splinters fell onto a toy doll - one a dytirc child would have played with. It reminded him of his own past, of his own daughter.

  Beep. Beep.

  The sound snapped him back to reality. “Malcolm! Bearon’s ship has picked up Erryn’s ship! It just entered an orbit around the planet.”

  “Damnit! We have to hurry and get the gear set up before they land. Brad, instruct Bearon to monitor for a link between two ships. If Erryn has a source, this will give us the location of that source.”

  “On it, Bozz.” Brad got on his com.

  The hunters picked up the pace, forcing their way through the slug and mud that resisted their advance. After a few minutes of hiking, Malcolm could hear voices around a corner. They were whispering too low to make out words.

  “Brad, take that corner over there,” Malcolm said, gesturing to the opposing building.

  Suddenly, down the alley two dytirc men started walking toward them, unaware of their presence. Malcolm caught a glance of their faces. His mind raced, and he blasted back into his nightmares. Flashes, images...smoke in his lungs...he could barely breathe. Whispers, shots screeching through the house...exhaustion took over.

  “She’s dead,” a distorted voice whispered. “You let her die!”

  “Malcolm!” Vaal whispered, tugging at Malcolm’s armor, pulling him back to the present. “What’s the plan?”

  Trembling in his armor, Malcolm was at a loss for words. Fear took over, and he couldn’t keep his muscles still. Too late – the dytircs walked into view.

  Brad took matters into his own hands. Springing out from behind cover, he kicked up the left dytirc’s weapon and spun around, tripping the other into the mud. Stunned from the hit, the dytirc standing couldn’t react to Brad as he jabbed him to his knees. With his arms firmly wrapped around the dytirc’s neck, Brad twisted it. The dytirc’s spine cracked, and he fell to the ground. Vaal joined and stomped on the chest of the dytirc in the mud before he could scream for help. As a maelkii, Vaal had no problem letting her weight do the work. The dytirc’s ribs were crushed, and the dytirc exhaled his final breath.

  Furious, Vaal turned to Malcolm. “What happened?”

  Malcolm couldn’t look her in the eye. He knew he was supposed to be their leader, but he was scared shivfless of the dytircs. “I, um, I--”

  Brad cut Malcolm off. “Da Bozz can handle it,” he answered for Malcolm.

  “What if he can’t handle it? We’re on a dytirc moon. What happens when another comes along?” she queried, unconvinced.

  “That’z what I’m here for,” Brad said with a sharp tongue. “We ain’t here tah dick ‘round wit’ bitch-azz dytircz. Shit, we’re here tah find uz some legionnaire azz tah kick.”

  Malcolm put up his hand to instruct them to stop and listen. “It’s time to move.” Vaal wasn’t pleased; however, she held her tongue, and they continued through the rest of the Fallen Tribe’s territory before entering the King Tribe’s territory. “Malcolm,” Bearon called in, “just like you predicted… Erryn had herself a contact. Sending you the source location now.”

  “Acknowledged,” Malcolm responded. “Brad, split off and bug that location.” Brad took the next turn. Vaal followed Malcolm as they headed toward the location he had picked out.

  Vaal sighed. “Okay, I want you to be truthful with me, Malcolm. What happened back there?”

  Uncomfortable, Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he lied.

  “That’s not the truth,” she grunted.

  “It’s the closet you’ll get to it,” Malcolm retorted.

  “I’m beginning to see why I was placed on your hunter squad.”

  “Why was that?” Malcolm rolled his eyes in annoyance.

  “Because someone has to challenge your stubbornness. I mean, I thought I can be stubborn – but you, Malcolm, are in a league of your own!”

  “Keep talking, and I’m sure you’ll break me into submission soon,” Malcolm growled sarcastically. “All you’re being right now is a nuisance.”

  “Spoken just like my peers from grade school.”

  “Really... I must c
ongratulate them on being correct.”

  Vaal took offense to this, as if Malcolm had pushed just the right button. She snapped and even gave Malcolm a shove. “Oh, and I’m sure you were just Mr. Popular in school. I mean, what are you doing… why act like a walking douche?”

  Her insults didn’t faze him. Malcolm knew what he was and didn’t care what others saw. “I’m what the mission requires of me: A soldier. That’s what I’ve always been, and that’s what I always will be.” Malcolm turned to see Vaal was still hurt by his remarks. He understood he had to maintain a pleasant relationship with her to have optimal performance with the mission; so, despite not wanting to, he coughed up the words, “I apologize. I know I can be stubborn and strict, but I do what I do for the mission. Can you understand that?”

  Vaal’s shoulders lifted, and she gave a bit of a smile that read forgiveness. “I can.”

  On the next turn, the building Malcolm was looking for was in sight. It was tucked away against three other buildings, all in better shape than most of the other structures. One entrance, just the way he liked it, was hidden behind a dying shrub. The hunters ducked under the low wooden doorway and entered the trashed structure. Thin rays of light seeped through the cracks and spaces between the dark-boarded walls.

  “Let’s begin.”

  ⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕

  Vaal manned the listening station, gathering all she could from the bugs placed all around Erryn’s ship and Larno’s residence. She’d just relieved Malcolm from his shift. Throughout that day, they’d monitored their equipment, with nothing to show for it. Brad had left the building for some patrolling; he always dreaded staying in one place for extended periods of time. Malcolm had James Stone’s files out, rereading some of his missions. Bearon was working on his aim.

  “I’ve got something!” Vaal shouted in joy as she nearly jumped from her seat. “James and Erryn found intelligence on the Grando last night.”

  “Is that it?” Malcolm asked. Vaal held up her hand to shush Malcolm. Bearon and Malcolm awaited the news. “They also found… two children.” Vaal shrugged at her words, as if not fully believing she’d heard that right.