Legion Of The Damned - 01 - Legion of the Damned (45 page)

“Here’s the way things look. The good news is that cross-cultural, multi-location opinion research indicates that the public agrees wi
th our plan to fight the Hudathans out on the rim, and want new leadership. Once we got around the Emperor’s propaganda machine and gave the population some real news, billions of people came over to our side. The stuff from Spindle was especially effective. Citizens want military action and they want it now.”

“So what’s the bad news?” Zikos asked cautiously.

“The bad news,” Dasser answered, “is that the people don’t trust us. Crazy or not, the Emperor represents stability, and people like that, especially when compared to people like us. Here, take a look at this.” She used a light wand to highlight some statistics. “Because we’re business people and fit the common definition of ‘rich,’ they’re afraid of what we might do
after
the Emperor is deposed.”

“Which makes perfect sense,” Chien-Chu said softly.

“But it’s not fair!” Rothenberg exclaimed. “We risked everything! The Emperor closed our companies, destroyed our homes, and sentenced us to death!”

“So I’ll bite,” Zikos said grimly. “What’s the answer?”

Madam Dasser grinned. “Our communications people recommend a phased approach. They point out that a cabal made up of faceless men and women, all of whom have questionable motives, is inherently more threatening than a single person. Especially within a society where all authority has been invested in a single individual for such a long time.”

“So we should choose a front man,” Goss said thoughtfully.

“Or
woman,
” Rothenberg said stiffly.

“Exactly,” Dasser agreed. “The communications people further recommend that this person be the member of the Cabal who has the warmest personality index, the least threatening physique, and the greatest similarity to cross-cultural icons such as the Buddha, Mahatma Gandhi, the late Empress, and Santa Claus.”

Everyone in the room looked at Chien-Chu. He held a hand up in protest. “No!”

But a vote was taken and a spokesperson was chosen.

 

Sun streamed in through the pyramid’s transparent sides, warmed the Emperor’s back, and threw his shadow across his mother’s tomb. Fascinated, he raised his arms, watched his duplicate take on the shape of a cross, and made it move. He had come to talk with her, to ask her what to do, but the voices made it hard to think. They were fighting again, arguing over what he should do, but never coming to any sort of conclusion.

“He’s insane, you know.”

“And who wouldn’t be with a fruitcake like you running around inside his head?”

“Stop it! We must cooperate, work as a team, or the entire empire will be lost.”

“So?”

“So the Emperor could be killed, if he dies, we go with him.”

“Sounds good to me,” another voice said grimly. “Anything would be better than this.”

“Your Highness?”

It took the Emperor a moment to realize that this particular voice had originated from outside the confines of his own mind. He allowed his arms to fall. The voices died to a whisper.

“Yes?”

“The Legion has forced their way into the city. They will be here in an hour or two.”

The face looked familiar. The Emperor forced himself to concentrate. “Admiral Scolari! What are you doing here? I sent you to Algeron.”

Scolari forced herself to remain calm. It was as bad as she had heard ... maybe worse. “You ordered my return, Your Highness, and judging from what I’ve seen, it was an excellent idea.”

“Oh,” the Emperor said vacantly. “Of course. Sorry about that, it slipped my mind.”

“Yes, Highness,” Scolari replied dryly. “Now, with your permission, I suggest that we depart for the spaceport. Your Highness will be a great deal safer up in orbit.”

The Emperor brightened. “Up in orbit! Yes. That would be fun. Let’s go.”

Scolari felt depressed as she followed the Emperor up a flight of steps, through a blastproof door, and out into the afternoon sun. The return trip had been long and stressful. What would the Legion do while she was away? Where would the Hudathans strike next? And what awaited her on Earth? The reality was worse than anything she’d imagined.

The Emperor had slipped further into madness, the Cabal had come out into the open, Mosby was on the verge of occupying the Imperial City, and the rest of the military were sitting on their hands. Well, most were anyway. Some commanders had done what they could.

A fighter screamed by a few hundred feet overhead, launched missiles towards Mosby’s forces, and stood on its tail. Sun glinted off the plane’s canopy as it fought for altitude.

Scolari squinted upwards, searched for the plane’s insignia, and winced when a quad-launched SAM hit the aircraft and blew it up. Flaming debris tumbled through the air and fell on some government buildings. One caught fire and more sirens joined those already bleating in distress.

Damn those cyborgs anyway! The moment this was over, Scolari would track them down, kill them one by one, and start her own cyborg corps.

Two squads of heavily armed marines closed in around them as they walked towards the waiting vehicles. Scolari had considered a chopper but decided against it for security reasons. Like the fighter, a helicopte
r would have been vulnerable to all sorts of ground fire. The Emperor seemed oblivious to the danger that surrounded him.

Doors slammed and engines revved as the convoy headed out. The streets were empty. The bureaucrats had gone to ground and were hiding deep within their comfortable caves waiting for a winner to emerge. Then they would appear one by one, swear allegiance to whatever was handy, and go back to work. It made Scolari sick.

The command car bounced over something hard and the Emperor stared out the window.

 

Mosby entered the palace mounted on a Trooper II named Logan. She shifted her weight from side to side as the cyborg made his way up the steps, scanned for signs of opposition, and finding none, proceeded inside. His pods made a thumping noise as they hit the hardwood floors, and unprotected by the pads normally worn inside buildings, left dents in the wood. Bio bods, their weapons at ready, were right behind.

Mosby had expected stiff resistance, but the marine guards had deserted their posts or been ordered to withdraw. Both possibilities were fine with her. There had been more than enough killing. What she wanted was the Emperor. Not to kill him, since that might create a martyr, but to tell him it was over. Not that she was likely to get the chance. The palace seemed deserted.

The ballroom, empty of all life, passed on her left. Yellow sunlight slanted down from the high arched windows on her right.

Logan ignored the elevator and took the access stairs. Mosby ducked as the Trooper II passed through doorways. The motion involved in climbing stairs threw the officer back and forth, but the harness held her in place. A squad of bio bods followed along behind.

Logan paused in front of a fire door, checked for trip wires, and pulled it open. The second floor was just as deserted as the first. A long hallway led right and left. Impressionistic paintings, each worth a fortune, marched in both directions.

“Hold one.”

Logan held while Mosby pulled the com lead and triggered the harness release. Her combat boots thumped as they hit the floor. A sergeant approached. He wore armor taken from a dead marine and his features were invisible behind reflective plastic.

“Orders, General?”

Mosby jerked her thumb to the left. “Take your squad and search everything from here down. Logan and I will take the other half.”

Jennings had instructed the sergeant to “stay with the general at all times,” but an order is an order, and there wasn’t much he could do. The sergeant swallowed hard.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The bio bods did it by the book. One trooper to the left of the door and one to the right. None of the rooms were locked.

Mosby and Logan approached things in a different manner. She watched while he opened the doors. Room after room was empty. The Emperor’s quarters were directly ahead. Mosby felt her heart beat a little faster. The cyborg opened the double doors and stepped inside. She followed.

The room where the Emperor had met with Chien-Chu, Scolari, Worthington, and herself was exactly as it had been that night, except that the gas-fed fire had been extinguished, light streamed in through the rectangular windows, and it was otherwise empty. She felt disappointed and knew it was silly. Something whirred. Logan turned towards the sound and raised his weapons. Mosby pulled her sidearm. A section of bookcase slid aside and the Emperor stepped through. He wore a loose-fitting pajama-like outfit and looked as handsome as ever. He smiled as if encountering a general and a T
rooper II in his study was the most natural thing in the world.

“General Mosby . . . how nice of you to drop in. I see you’ve been working out. Would you like to see our gym?”

Emotions chased each other through Mosby’s mind: the shock of his unexpected appearance, the same attraction she’d felt before, and disappointment as she realized that it wasn’t really him. Because while the clone might
look
like the Emperor, he’d led a much more sheltered life and exuded the simplicity of a child. She remembered some of the things the three of them had done together and blushed.

“Where’s the Emperor? The
real
one?”

The clone raised a carefully tended eyebrow and shrugged. “He rarely tells me anything.”

Mosby thought for a moment, then motioned with her gun. “You’re under arrest. Step into the hall.”

The clone frowned. “Why?”

“Because I’ll shoot you if you don’t.”

The clone moved towards the hall. He eyed the legionnaires. “Are you going to kill me? He threatens to kill me all the time.”

Mosby shook her head.

“No. I plan to use you. The same way he did.”

“And then?”

“And then you can do whatever you want ... except for a career in politics that is.”

“Oh,” the clone replied happily. “That sounds like fun.”

 

The Emperor’s yacht was the same size as a battleship and as heavily armed. They had just come aboard and were striding towards the operations center when the first piece of bad news arrived. It came in t
he form of a printout carried by a pimple-faced ensign. He was intercepted, cleared by a pair of marines, and allowed to catch up.

“A message from the captain, Admiral. It just came in.”

Scolari snatched the message from the youngster’s hand, glanced at the Emperor, and saw no signs of interest. She sighed. Usurping the throne and having it dumped in her lap were two different things.

Scolari read the message, then read it again. The news was anything but good. Ships had dropped hyper off Algeron. Her scouts had gone in for a closer look and run head-on into the lead elements of a Hudathan task force. One of her scouts had been destroyed. The other had launched a message torp and run for its life. There was no way to know if it had escaped or not.

Damn! The Hudathans would polish off what was left of the Legion, jump inwards, and strike for the empire’s heart. Then, rather than the massive fleet that she’d imagined, they’d find easy pickings instead.

Guards snapped to attention as they entered the ops center and the ship’s captain rose to greet them. He was a middle-aged man, tall and thin, and had the unctuous manner of an undertaker. He hurried forward.

“Your Highness! Admiral Scolari! Welcome aboard. The crew is honored by your presence. I will do everything in my power to—”

“Shut the hell up,” Scolari growled. “I haven’t got time for your ass-kissing bullshit.”

An intelligence officer inched her way forward. “Captain?”

Still smarting from Scolari’s rebuke, Captain Kresner lashed out at her. “Yes, Lieutenant? What the hell do you want?”

Her voice was hesitant. “Over there, sir, on screen two.”

Scolari looked and felt her heart jump into her throat. The shot showed the Emperor, or an exact likeness, sitting on his throne. An electronic key had been inserted towards the bottom of the frame. It said, “Live.”

Scolari’s voice cracked like a whip. “Silence! Bring the audio up!”

“And so,” the clone concluded, “I have decided to step down from my position as Emperor in favor of a transitional government led by those known as ‘The Cabal.’ The Hudathan menace must be dealt with first, but when that’s been accomplished, they have agreed to empire-wide elections. So I urged you to follow the Cabal’s lead, to support our troops and ignore those who would lead you astray. Thank you.”

“That isn’t me,” the Emperor said dully. “That’s my clone.”

“Not anymore,” Scolari answered wearily. “Perception is reality, and since your clone was a closely guarded secret, people will treat
him
as the Emperor and you as an imposter.”

The Emperor was silent for a moment. Something changed behind his eyes, as if his more rational self had momentarily gained control and was taking charge.

“Unless . . .”

Scolari felt suddenly hopeful. “Yes, Highness? Unless what?”

“Unless we find the Hudathans, make peace, and save the empire from war.”

Scolari took a deep breath. The Emperor’s plan was so outrageous that it just might work. They would approach the aliens, negotiate the best terms they could, and stay in control. Not a win, but not a loss, and a lot better than nothing. She smiled.

“An excellent plan, Your Highness. Captain ... prepare to break orbit.”

Medals are often won by people who screw things up ... then fight like hell to get out of it.