Legion Of The Damned - 01 - Legion of the Damned (19 page)

The hallway was a lot like the other passageways on the ship. There were the usual pictograms, including one that consisted of an oval with a delta-shaped ship passing through its center. A symbolic representation of the launch bay, no doubt, and judging from the increasing number of Hudathans dressed in flight suits, it lay just ahead.

The hallway narrowed in a manner that would force boarders to attack single file, broadened out again, and ended in front of a lock. It was open and Baldwin was waiting.

Norwood hadn’t seen him since the torture session. He looked tired, tense, but otherwise unchanged.

“Colonel Norwood.”

“Baldwin.”

Baldwin noticed the omission of his rank but chose to ignore it. “You’re looking well.”

“Thanks. I work at it. What’s going on?”

Baldwin shrugged. “It seems that the Say’lynt have some unused mental powers. They took control of a ship and refuse to release it until the Hudathans allow them to speak with a human soldier.”

Norwood raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? So where do you fit in?”

Baldwin shook his head sadly and stepped into the lock. A guard motioned for Norwood to do likewise. She obeyed. The hatch closed and another slid open.

The launch bay had been pressurized. It was a huge space, full of ships, technicians, robots, and heavy equipment. The air was warm, as if it had been in there for a while, and heavily laced with ozone, a fact that didn’t bother the Hudathans since they had an almost nonexistent sense of smell.

A guard gestured towards a heavily armored shuttle and the humans headed in that direction. Norwood was the first to speak.

“So what do phytoplankton want with a soldier? Human or otherwise.”

Baldwin frowned. “Advice seems like the best bet. The Say’lynt liked the scientists, came to rely on them, and took possession of the Hudathan ship after they were killed. The result is a trump card they don’t know how to play.”

“And you’ll help them solve the problem,” Norwood said sarcastically.

“I’ll offer some advice,” Baldwin said calmly.

“Like what? Surrender and commit suicide?”

“No,” Baldwin said stoically. “I’ll suggest that they release the ship, limit the use of their mental powers, and form an alliance with the Hudatha.”

“And if they refuse?”

Baldwin shrugged. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. War Commander Poseen-Ka had a suggestion, though.”

“Really? What was that?”

“He suggested that I shoot you as an example of what happens to those that resist Hudathan rule.” Baldwin pulled his jacket open.

Norwood looked and saw that the other officer had been entrusted with a sidearm. It was of human design. Fear rose to constrict her lungs. She forced it back down. “I see. Is that what you plan to do?”

They had reached the shuttle. Baldwin stopped and turned in her direction. He looked pained. “No, of course not. What do you take me for?”

Norwood looked him in the eye. “I take you for a man who has willingly, knowingly, participated in the mass murder of millions of human beings. What possible difference would one more make?”

Anger filled Baldwin’s eyes. “Don’t push your luck, Norwood. I could change my mind.”

A guard motioned with his blast rifle and the humans entered the shuttle.

No effort had been made to hide the conduit that ran along the bulkheads or to cushion the metal decks. The seats were of the tubular variety favored by military minds everywhere and large enough for two average-sized humans.

Norwood sat down, pulled the harness as tight as it would go, and found it was still loose.

The trip to the surface was completely uneventful. The Hudathans talked among themselves, Baldwin stared at the seat in front of him, and Norwood contemplated ways to get her hands on his gun, none of which seemed practical.

Just prior to touchdown, Norwood would have sworn that she felt something feathery touch her mind. It was a strange sensation, unlike anything she’d experienced before, and gone so quickly that she wasn’t sure it had actually happened.

The shuttle landed with a gentle thump and the entry port hissed open. Air flooded into the passenger compartment and Norwood drew it deep into her lungs. It was clean and cool. She liked it and needed no urging to release the harness and make her way outside.

The shuttle had landed on a tropical island, replete with lush foliage and a crystal-clear lagoon. Not even the lumps of heat-fused sand, the slagged dwellings, or the freshly dug graves were sufficient to ruin the beauty. It was quiet—so quiet that she could hear each wavelet lap on the immaculate beach, a sound so peaceful, so soothing, that she wanted to take a nap.

The others must have felt the same way, because the Hudatha had decided to lie down in the shuttle’s shade, and Baldwin had made a place for himself in the warm sand. It felt perfectly natural to settle down beside him, snuggle into a more comfortable position, and drift off to sleep.

The dream was flooded with light: beautiful, warm, life-giving light that streamed down from the sky to bathe her body in its yellow-orange goodness. Her body was a huge undulating mass. It covered thousands of square miles, was constantly mending itself, and was linked to the life around it.

Norwood found that her intelligence was everywhere yet nowhere at all. It felt strange because she was used to having her thoughts centered in one single place rather than dispersed over an area the size of a small country. But she liked it and found the sensation to be quite comfortable.

“So you like the Say’lynt and would like to live as we do?”

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once. It seemed to roll and reverberate through her consciousness.

“Yes, if this is how you live, I would love to be like you.”

A feeling similar to gentle laughter eddied around her.

“Dr. Valerie felt that way too. She wanted to know if we could take her in, make her part of ourselves, and leave her other body behind.”

“And could you?”

Norwood felt a deep sadness sweep over her.

“No, unfortunately not. Not even when the Hudathans came to kill her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, the Hudathans have brought us much sorrow, an emotion we’ve only rarely felt before. Still, each experience brings a lesson, and this one is no exception. Teach us that we might learn.”

Norwood remembered Baldwin and wondered if he was having the same dream. She started to speak, started to ask that very question, but the voice interrupted before she could do so.

“No, the other soldier has different dreams. Here, we will show you.”

Before Norwood could object, she became part of a nightmare.

 

Baldwin had been asleep for about thirty minutes when the hand shook his shoulder. It belonged to his aide, Lieutenant List, a darkly seen form that stood next to his cot.

Baldwin swung his still-booted feet over the side and felt them sink into the mud under his bunk. A steaming cup of hot coffee was thrust his way and he took it.

“Yeah? What the hell does he want now?”

The “he” referred to General Nathan Kopek, the Emperor’s twenty-five-year-old nephew, a major pain in the ass. List understood and responded accordingly.

“The general has a plan and would like your opinion.”

Baldwin chuckled softly. “That’ll be the day. Still, your tact is appreciated and will come in handy someday. Assuming you survive, that is.”

List smiled, nodded, and slipped out through an opening in the curtain.

Baldwin stood, sipped the cup dry, and relished the warmth that spread through his stomach. He thought about a shave, rejected the idea as a waste of time, and pushed the curtain to one side.

Mud squished under his boots as he circled some ammo cases and entered the ops center. A computer beeped softly, the radios murmured, and Staff Sergeant Maria Gomez swore as she dropped a stylus and was forced to fish it out of the goo. They had tried to keep the mud out, but found it was damned near impossible and had finally given up.

“Damn this pus ball anyway!”

Baldwin removed his combat harness from the back of a chair and buckled it on. “I’ll second that motion.”

“Oh, sorry, sir. I didn’t know you were there.”

“That’s quite all right, Sergeant. You can swear at this planet all you want. And give it a few licks for me.”

Gomez smiled. The colonel was all right, more than all right, damned good-looking. Too bad she wasn’t an officer. She’d screw his brains out.

“Would you like something to eat, sir? I’ve got some heavily modified X-rats on the stove.”

Baldwin sniffed. Gomez could make anything taste good—everyone knew that—and the smell was tempting. But Kopek would throw a fit if he took more than five or ten minutes to reach the command bunker.

“Thanks, but no thanks. The general awaits.”

Gomez wanted to say something comforting but knew that she couldn’t. That would mean lifting the veil of pretense that hung over the brigade, violating the charade in which they pretended that the general deserved his comets and was a rational being. No, that would never do, so she held her tongue.

Baldwin selected a poncho from the three or four that hung near the entrance to the bunker and pulled it over his head. He opened the door to the alcove, waited for the bunker’s computer to clear him through, and made his way up the ramp to ground level.

It was night and miserable as hell. The rain tapped against Baldwin’s head, his breath fogged the air, and his boots sank into the mire. It took a conscious effort to pull them free, step forward, and let them sink again.

A sentry started to salute, remembered that he shouldn’t, and tried to hide what he’d done.

Baldwin smiled. “Thanks, Private. The geeks have enough advantages. No point in picking targets for them.”

“Yes, sir, I mean no, sir, sorry, sir.”

“That’s all right. I hope your relief comes soon.”

The sentry was silent but felt a little warmer as the officer trudged away.

The command bunker was on the far side of the compound, intentionally separated from his in case of an attack, which meant that he had a long ways to go.

A flare soared into the air, went off with a loud pop, and bathed the fire base in a hard white glare. It was followed by the
thump-thump-thump
of a heavy machine gun and the cloth-ripping sound of lighter weapons, as the geeks probed the outer wire. Energy beams flashed, robot spots hummed into position, and a section of radio-controlled mines was detonated.

It was a harassment raid, intended to keep the humans awake and scared shitless. It was working, because morale had already started to slide and was taking efficiency along with it.

A balloon-tired APV, all rigged out for desert warfare and shipped to Agua IV by mistake, rounded the side of a sandbagged tent and lost traction. The engine raced and the tires whined. Semi-liquid crud flew in every direction.

Mud spattered across the front of Baldwin’s poncho and dripped onto his boots. He turned away, chose an alternate path, and kept on going.

The APV was a good example of how hosed things were. The indigs, a stubborn group of sentient quadrupeds, had taken exception to annexation and were fighting an effective guerrilla action against the “Imperial warmongers.”

Incensed by this obvious act of treason, the head warmonger himself had dispatched a brigade of army troops to Agua IV under the command of his favorite nephew, all the better to season the lad and prepare him for mayhem on a truly massive scale.

Never mind that the boy was fresh out of the Imperial Military Academy, arrogant as hell and addicted to Gar weed. And never mind that the supply idiots had continued to send them Class III desert gear or that the geeks outnumbered them thousands to one or that the terrain was damned near impassable. The brigade had to win or forever tarnish the empire’s nonexistent honor.

Still, as screwed up as things were, Baldwin felt sure they
could
win if he were allowed to lead his own troops. But that was impossible, since General Nathan Kopek had refused the role of figurehead and insisted on making the decisions himself, no matter how stupid, irrational, or suicidal those decisions might be.

There was a roar of sound as a black-on-black troop carrier passed overhead and dropped toward the well-defended LZ. Another followed it, and another, in a steady stream of heavily armored aircraft.

The rain forced Baldwin to blink. It ran back along his face and trickled down his neck. Something, the rain or something else, sent a shiver down his spine.

What the ... ? There was no exercise, no mission, slated for tonight. Then it came to him. Kopek! The miserable bastard was up to something!

Baldwin ran towards the command tent. The mud sucked at his boots as if trying to hold him back. He was conscious of movement around him, of heavily armed troops emerging from their underground bunkers and moving towards the LZ.

Damn! Damn! Damn! What was the silly sonofabitch up to now?

A momentary flash of light came from the direction of the command bunker and Baldwin hurried towards it. A sentry moved to block his way, saw who it was, and stepped aside.

The ramp was slick with rain, but free of mud, thanks to the efforts of the poor slobs assigned to that day’s shit detail. Baldwin palmed the door lock, was recognized by the bunker’s computer, and stepped inside.

The alcove was full of neatly arranged boots and carefully hung ponchos. Kopek might be a dope addict, but he was a tidy one, and lord help the poor slob who tracked mud into the general’s personal domain.

But Baldwin was in a hurry and seething with anger. He palmed the second door, waited for it to hiss aside, and stepped through. His boots left big muddy prints on the spotless red carpet. He took ten paces forward, put hands on hips, and looked around.