Legion Of The Damned - 01 - Legion of the Damned (8 page)

“Shall we find a place to sit?”

“Let’s,” Mosby agreed. “How about that side room over there?”

Chien-Chu looked in the direction of her nod. “Are you sure? The blue room gets pretty raunchy sometimes.”

Mosby smiled. “Excellent. After two years on Algeron ‘raunchy’ sounds good.”

Chien-Chu shrugged and followed her across the floor. The door was open and a servant found them seats towards the back of a p
acked room. It was dark, and that plus some carefully placed spotlights served to keep all eyes focused on the impromptu stage.

Standing towards the center of the stage, just removing the last of her clothing, was a beautiful woman. She was twenty-five or thirty, with black kinky hair and the body of an athlete, or a dancer, for there was discipline in the way that she moved. Her breasts were small and firm, her waist was narrow, and her legs were long and slender.

But there was something else, something Chien-Chu couldn’t quite put a finger on, something that disturbed him. What was it? A pallor about her face? A tremor in her hands?

Yes, in spite of her attempts to appear serene, the woman was frightened. Why?

The woman stepped into a shower stall. It gleamed under the lights. Everything, even the plumbing, was transparent, allowing the audience to see every move she made.

The woman started the water, allowed it to cascade over her head, and began a long, leisurely shower.

Water splashed against the sides of the enclosure and provided its own symphony of sounds. The woman smeared bath gel over her breasts, rubbed it to a lather, and rinsed it off.

Chien-Chu felt a familiar stirring between his legs and looked at Mosby to see her reaction. She was eating, her eyes focused on the stage, entranced by the performance.

A spot came on. A man appeared. He was grossly fat, in an obvious state of arousal, and armed with a crude-looking knife. The crowd gave a collective gasp.

Chien-Chu felt an emptiness in the pit of his stomach. Beauty and the Beast. The story was as old as mankind itself ... but science had enabled them to tell it in a brand-new way. The scenario was blindingly obvious.

No wonder the woman was afraid. For reasons known only to herself, an incurable disease, perhaps, or a desperate need for money, she had agreed to die. In ten or fifteen minutes, after the shower had been dragged out to the nth degree, the man would hack her to death with the knife.

The screams, like the blood, would be real. For an audience bored with simulated violence, the real thing would be exciting.

Then, just as she slumped to the floor, the lights would snap out. Under the cover of darkness medical technicians would rush in, recover the body, and convey it to a specially equipped surgical suite, where the woman would be snatched from the brink of death to live out the rest of her life in a cybernetic body. Nothing as grotesque as a Trooper II, perhaps, but a good deal less than what she had sold and the audience had psychically consumed.

It wasn’t murder, but whatever it was made Chien-Chu sick, and caused him to slide the food under his chair. A hand touched his shoulder. The servant was dimly seen.

“Mr. Chien-Chu? General Mosby?”

“Yes?”

“Admiral Scolari asks that you join her outside.”

Chien-Chu was eager for any sort of excuse to leave the room. He rose and headed for the door. Mosby did likewise. Admiral Scolari was waiting. The expression on her face was even more grim than usual.

“The Emperor has convened a meeting of his advisory council. Both of you are instructed to come.”

Chien-Chu raised an eyebrow. The Emperor held meetings whenever the fancy took him ... and many were a waste of time.

“What’s the meeting about?” he asked.

“The Hudatha attacked a human-colonized planet called ‘Worber’s World.’ Initial reports suggest that they eradicated the entire population. The Emperor would value your opinions.”

Radu are rather torpid and completely harmless if left alone. Once disturbed, however, they are quite vicious, and the entire nest must be destroyed.

 

 

 

 

 

Poseen-Ka selected a pair of long slender tweezers from the array of instruments laid out in front of him, reached down into the bubble-shaped terrarium, and took hold of a miniaturized bridge. Lifting the structure ever so gently, he moved it downstream.

There. Much better. The new location would force him to recurve the road and bring it in from the south, but the improvement made the additional effort worthwhile. The bridge, the village, and the surrounding farmland were an idealized version of the place where he’d grown up.

He put the bubble on the worktable and sat back to examine his handiwork. Terrariums were quite popular among space-faring Hudatha. They took up very little space, formed a link with home, and gave the owner a sense of control. The latest models, like his, offered everything from computer-controlled weather to microbotic birds and animals.

He turned the bubble and admired the display from another angle. Ah, if only the real world were so malleable, so responsive to his hand. But such was not the case. Each change, each accomplishment, must be planned, implemented, and then secured. And now, with the most challenging task that he’d ever undertaken ahead of him, Poseen-Ka was filled with doubt.

He leaned back in his chair and gloried in the command center’s complete emptiness. There were no holograms to demand his attention, no superiors to flatter, and no subordinates to coddle. Just him, and an almost overwhelming angst that nothing seemed to ease.

The victory over the humans had been too easy. Even though the human traitor maintained that his kind were frequently lazy, cowardly, and slow to reach agreement, the humans should have responded by now.

How could they fail to recognize the situation for what it was? A life-and-death struggle in which no quarter would be asked or given. Yet they
had
failed to recognize the situation for what it was, and he should feel happy.

But the same attitudes and beliefs that caused his race to attack every potential threat raised doubts as well. Doubts that a war commander could ill afford to have. What if the human race was like a sleeping giant? A giant that once awakened would rise up to destroy those who had disturbed it?

The pilot was a good example. Crews were still working to repair the damage it had caused. Twelve members of the crew had been killed. What if the vast majority of humans were more like the pilot than the treacherous Baldwin? What if each one of them killed twelve Hudathans? The war to protect his race could become the war that destroyed it.

Worber’s World had been caught by surprise. The next planet would be ready. Unless Baldwin was correct and the humans decided to pull back from the rim. There were too many questions and not enough answers.

Poseen-Ka made a decision. He would talk to the female soldier. She had shown every sign of possessing some of the qualities that Baldwin lacked. By speaking with her, he would better understand the human race. A large gray finger touched a button.

 

Norwood braced herself as the door hissed open. She’d been lying on top of the ductwork for an hour and a half waiting for this moment.

Keem-So, the Hudathan assigned to guard her, stumped in and looked around. The door hissed closed.

“Hu-man?”

The standard was heavily accented but not bad for someone who’d been studying it for less than a week. The attempt to speak Norwood’s language removed Keem-So from the category of “disgusting alien thing” and made her task that much harder.

Norwood steeled herself, rolled off the ductwork, and fell feetfirst towards the deck. The garrote had been fashioned from a length of insulation-stripped wire, acquired during one of her daily walks. The noose passed over the Hudathan’s head and tightened as Norwood’s feet hit the deck and she pulled on the makeshift handles.

Her stylus provided one handle while the Hudathan equivalent of a toothbrush filled in for the other.

Being shorter than Keem-So, and with the inertia of her fall to help her, Norwood was able to pull the Hudathan back and off his feet. This seemed like a victory until the huge alien landed on her chest and drove the air from her lungs.

Now it became a competition to see who could breathe first: Keem-So, who made gargling sounds and clawed at his throat, or Norwood, who was trapped beneath a mountain of alien flesh.

But the wire was thin, and Norwood was strong, so the Hudathan was the first to pass out. His body went limp but still pinned her down.

Her head swimming, Norwood pushed the alien up and away, creating sufficient room to roll out from under. She felt a moment of remorse as Keem-So lay there, fingers trapped under the wire, blood trickling from his throat. His sphincter had loosened and the stench of alien feces filled the compartment.

Still, his death was nothing compared to the millions who had died on Worber’s World, and
would
die over coming weeks and months.

Norwood made it to her knees, sucked air into her lungs, and knew that whatever amount of time she had left could be counted in minutes, or seconds. Keem-So had been sent to fetch or check on her. His failure to return would be noticed and acted upon.

A weapon. She needed a weapon. Duck-walking her way around to the other side of the Hudathan’s body, she found his sidearm and removed it from his holster. She was barely able to get her hand around the grip. The handgun traveled about three feet and then stopped, held in place by a cable cum lanyard, useless without the power pak that it was connected to. Norwood considered trying to remove the alien’s utility belt and the power pak that was part of it, but remembered how heavy Keem-So was. So much for a weapon.

The hatch was still unlocked and opened to her touch. The corridor was empty. Good. Norwood headed for the power section. She knew very little about spaceships but figured the engineering spaces would be a good place to perform some sabotage.

Norwood straightened her clothes, held her head up high, and prepared herself to make eye contact with the first Hudathan she met. If she
looked
confident and
acted
confident, passersby would assume that she
was
confident and therefore okay.

That’s the way humans would react anyway ... but how about aliens? And blood ... what about blood? Did she have Keem-So’s blood all over her clothes?

She wanted to stop, wanted to look, but it was too late. A pair of Hudathans had turned into the corridor and were coming towards her.

Norwood smiled, remembered that it didn’t mean anything to the Hudathans, but left it in place anyway. She nodded as the aliens drew near. Neither one seemed familiar.

“Hello there ... does either one of you speak standard? No? Good. Eat shit and die.”

The Hudathans gestured politely, made hissing sounds, and continued on their way.

It worked! Norwood felt a sense of grim satisfaction.

The hallway was long, oversized by human standards, and slightly curved as it followed the contour of the ship. Norwood encoun
tered about a dozen Hudathans during the next ten minutes and bluffed them all. Or so she assumed anyway.

Internally lit pictograms appeared at regular intervals and pointed the way to various departments and sections. Keem-So had taught her what many of them meant, including the fact that the circle-within-a-triangle symbol represented the power of the sun, harnessed by a Hudathan-made mechanical structure. Or, put in human terms, a fusion-based power plant.

Norwood came to a T-shaped intersection, saw that the power-plant symbol had shifted to the right, and turned that way. She had traveled less than ten feet when Baldwin and Imbala-Sa stepped out to block her path. A pair of Hudathans grabbed her arms.

Baldwin crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Well, look who we have here. Out for a little stroll, Colonel?”

Norwood tried to free an arm and found that it was locked in place. “Traitor.”

Baldwin shook his head in mock concern. “Traitor ... hero ... words mean so little. Results are what counts.” He made a show of looking around. “What happened to Keem-So? An accident, perhaps?”

“Frax you.”

“I’d enjoy that ... but some other time. Poseen-Ka has requested the rather dubious pleasure of your company.” Baldwin gestured towards the power section. “This was stupid, you know. Your movements were reported by twelve or fifteen members of the crew. They would’ve detained you but weren’t sure of your status.”

Norwood swore silently. So much for the bluff.

Baldwin hissed at the guards. One said something into a hand-held communicator. The other turned Norwood around and pointed her in the opposite direction.

Baldwin and Imbala-Sa led the way. That was the ironic part, Norwood thought to herself. Baldwin was as much a prisoner as she was. What was wrong with him anyway? What about the court-martial? Had Baldwin been railroaded like some people said?

Norwood pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter. Nothing could justify what he’d done. Nothing.

The journey to the command center was a blur. It seemed as if seconds had passed when the hatch slid upwards and she was ushered inside. The holo tank that had dominated the center of the room during her previous visit had disappeared. In its place was an oval-shaped riser. She was told to stand on it ... as was a surprised Baldwin.

“Uh-oh,” Norwood said conversationally. “You’re in trouble again. I wonder how long they’ll fry you this time.”

Baldwin did his best to look unconcerned, but little beads of sweat had popped out all over his forehead.