Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell (43 page)

Norr didn't
want
to tell her, but had very little choice. “I sent three ships. But, while the incoming vessel doesn't mount the sort of offensive weaponry one might expect, it is equipped with some very powerful shields. So powerful that my task force was unable to penetrate them. It's my hope that a stronger force will be able to get the job done.”

“What about the ship's crew?” the Queen wanted to know. “Have our forces made contact with them?”

“Yes,” the admiral answered wearily. “A human who identified herself as Lieutenant Commander Moya Frenko is in command. Our intelligence people theorize that she's a cyborg—and may be the only person on board.”

“So let me see if I understand,” the monarch said, glaring down at the officer from the summit of her gigantic body. “A fake comet, piloted by a cyborg, is on a collision course with Hive.”

Norr looked down at the floor. “Yes, Majesty, I'm afraid so.”

The Queen turned to look at her Chief of Security. “Kill this fool and send his head to the Egg Norr with my condolences. She'll be better off without him.”

Admiral Norr wanted to object, wanted to comment on how unfair his execution would be, when a bullet interrupted his thoughts. The officer dropped like a sack of rocks. A puddle of blood formed around his shoulders.

“Get him out of here,” the monarch said coldly, “and summon the rest of my staff. My eggs are at risk.”

The dimly lit two-bed room held only one patient, and he lay unconscious in an improvised sling-bed. Readouts glowed, sensors beeped softly, and the sharp smell of disinfectants hung in the air. But in spite of the fact that Fort Camerone had an excellent medical facility, and efforts were under way to expand its capabilities in order to deal with all the different physiologies represented by the Senate, it wasn't equipped to handle Ramanthians. So, even though the doctors were doing their best to treat the individual that Doma-Sa and Vanderveen had captured in the Thraki-contr
olled Erini system, there was no guarantee they would be successful. That fact remained at the forefront of President Nankool's mind as he led a small group in to peer at the prisoner, then back out to the corridor. The news that the Thrakies were providing the Ramanthians with sub rosa support had come as a shock, and he was still trying to absorb it.

“He doesn't look very good,” Booly ventured doubtfully.
“There's no certainty that he'll ever come to. And even if he does, some of the doctors believe he'll be a vegetable.”

“What if General Booly is correct?” Christine Vanderveen inquired worriedly. “Will the Senate accept the rest of the proof?”

“I don't know,” the president answered honestly. “The visuals you brought back are very convincing, but Senator Obduro could claim that they were faked. A witness would certainly help.”

“Maybe there's another way,” Sergi Chien-Chu said thoughtfully. “Rather than tackle the problem out in the open, we could meet with Obduro privately and show him video of Sheen ships being repaired in a Thraki facility. Then, if he and his superiors were led to believe that the Ramanthian would testify, there's a good chance that they would break their ties with the bugs.”

“But that would be a lie,” Vanderveen objected hotly.

“That's a strange objection coming from
you,
” Nankool replied with a frown. “First there were your activities on LaNor, and now this. While I'm grateful for what you have accomplished, your methodologies leave a great deal to be desired. In fact, some would say that this situation is of
your
making.”

Vanderveen felt blood rush to her face, knew Nankool was correct, and willed herself to disappear.

“Unusual times call for unusual strategies,” Hiween Doma-Sa rumbled in defense of his coconspirator. “But I agree with my colleague. If we could trick the fur balls into severing their relationship with the bugs, it would save a whole lot of trouble.”

“All right,” Nankool agreed reluctantly. “Let's set it up. Who's going to take the lead?”

Slowly, all heads turned toward Chien-Chu. “You're one of the sneakiest bastards I ever met,” Nankool said affectionately. “If anyone can do it, you can.”

“Thanks,” the cyborg replied dryly. “You say the nicest things.”

Moya Frenko was the
Flaming Bitch
—and the
Flaming Bitch
was her. She could “see” via her sensors and “feel” the feedback that the ship's systems sent her, but she couldn't touch. Not yet, until her hull body made contact with the surface of Hive and her pain was consumed by the ensuing explosion. That was the moment when she would be freed from the metal prison in which she rode, the incessant loneliness, and the painful memories.

The bugs were onto her now, had been ever since the scout ship had swung by, and there was no need to behave like a comet anymore. Now she was a missile, a missile on a mission, and the target was up ahead. Hive still looked small, no larger than the head of a pin, but it was growing bigger by the minute.

Three ships had been following her, firing steadily, until they had no more torpedoes left to launch and were reduced to harassing her with cannon fire. Now they had been replaced by a dozen warships, including two battlewagons, three cruisers, and a squadron of destroyers. All preparing to fire on her.

They had called upon her to stop, to surrender, to avoid certain death. But what they didn't understand was that she
wanted
death,
needed
death, and
hungered
for death. Because that was where hundreds of her shipmates we
re, still strapped into the wreckage that had been their ship, cartwheeling through space in holed fighters or orbiting an alien sun in their half-slagged space suits. They whispered into the officer's nonexistent ears, called to her in her sleep, and were out there waiting for revenge.

So the cyborg ignored the incoming calls, kept her
sensors focused on the target, and hummed to herself as the distance continued to close. Frenko didn't have any offensive weaponry other than her strange, H-shaped body, but she was equipped with the most powerful defensive shields ever mounted on a single vessel, and they were operating at full capacity when the Ramanthians opened fire.

Suddenly, the
Flaming Bitch
was at the epicenter of a barrage of incoming missiles, torpedoes, and cannon fire. The weapons converged on the shimmery energy field that surrounded the ship, created what looked like a new sun, and sent waves of violent energy expanding outward.

Certain that no single vessel could possibly withstand such an attack, the Ramanthian in charge of the attack group was already starting to compose a glowing report when the
Flaming Bitch
shot out of the blazing confluence of energy and continued her journey toward Hive.

The admiral stared up at the screens arrayed above him in disbelief, made a grinding noise with his beak, and ordered his ships to give chase.

Meanwhile, Frenko “felt” what equated to pain, ran a systems check, and immediately identified the problem. The shields overlapped each other like scales on a reptile. One of them had given way under the force of the barrage, an energy bolt had slipped through the resulting gap, and the port in-system drive had suffered a direct hit. The system was already in the process of repairing itself, but the damage had been done, and with her speed reduced by 50 percent, the
Bitch
would be even more vulnerable.

Frenko considered her options as she shut the power plant down, and was just about to conclude that she didn't have any when a really strange possibility entered her mind. She didn't have lips anymore, but if she had, they would have curved upward.

The onboard NAVCOMP didn't like Frenko's plan and refused to implement it. But the naval officer had the necessary
override code, the computer was forced to comply, and the
Flaming Bitch
simply disappeared.

The snow had stopped some twelve hours earlier, thereby giving birth to an uninterrupted series of bright, sunny, and all-too-brief days. Wonderful interludes during which the sky was clear, the air was crisp, and billions of ice crystals sparkled like diamonds. Perfect weather for some sort of outing, or so it seemed to Chien-Chu, who went in search of his niece. But after calling her quarters and asking around, it soon became clear that Maylo had not only left the fort but failed to notify her bodyguards.

Though not overly fearful for his niece's safety, the industrialist was concerned and decided to track her down. While not a
real
admiral, not in his mind at least, Chien-Chu was entitled to wear the uniform, which meant he could requisition all manner of things, including staff cars.

The noncom in charge of the motor pool was surprised when the cyborg appeared, requested a vehicle, and got behind the wheel himself. Would he wreck it? Probably, the sergeant decided, but that was General Booly's problem.

Chien-Chu had a pretty good idea of where Maylo was, or thought that he did, and followed the main road down through Naa Town to the point where it intersected with the main north–south thoroughfare.

Waves of slush flew up and away from the oversized tires as the industrialist turned south. The vehicle rocked from side to side as it negotiated a series of potholes before gaining the better surface that lay beyond.

The top of the obelisk appeared first, soon followed by a clear view of the entire monument, as the vehicle rounded a low hill and started down a slight incline toward the
cemetery below. Chien-Chu saw no sign of another vehicle, and was about to conclude that he'd been wrong, when he spotted what looked like a dot south of the main cemetery.

The cyborg pulled into the parking lot, got out, and followed the only tracks there were. He wasn't dressed for the conditions, but didn't need to be, and barely noticed the snow that found its way into his shoes and clung to his pant legs.

Maylo heard movement, felt a tiny stab of fear, and turned to find that her uncle had approached her from behind. “I thought I'd find you here,” Chien-Chu commented. “Are you all right?”

Maylo forced a smile. “Yes, of course. Bill is extremely busy, and I didn't want to bother him.”

“I doubt that he would consider it to be a bother,” her uncle replied. “And it's dangerous to leave the fort without your bodyguards. What if you were taken hostage? Or killed? Promise you won't do this again.”

“I promise,” Maylo said contritely. “I know my daughter isn't here, not really, but I miss her.”

“Yes,” Chien-Chu said gently as he looked down on the tiny mound. “I know exactly how you feel. As you know, my son Leonid died fighting the Hudathans on a planetoid called Spindle. Later, when the war was over, I went there to find some closure. It didn't help.”

“No,” Maylo said sadly, “I don't suppose it did.”

“And nothing will ever fill the hole he left inside me,” Chien-Chu said. “But I learned to accept it, to go on with my life, and create happiness around the emptiness. You're young, Maylo. There will be other children. As many as you and Bill want. So let go of this hole in the ground and keep your daughter where she belongs. In your heart.”

Maylo put her arms around her uncle's electromechanical body and gave it a hug. “You're right as always. Thank you.”

The sun started to set once more, but the sky was clear, and the stars seemed unusually bright.

 

Their footsteps echoed down the long, sterile corridor as Lieutenant Thinklong led Nodoubt Truespeak and his party toward the Senate chambers. A pair of heavily armed legionnaires marched behind. While there weren't any indications that the Naa who referred to themselves as “true bloods” had infiltrated the Legion, humans had been chosen for the detail to ensure that the Chief of Chiefs wasn't attacked by one of his own bodyguards.

What many senators had originally regarded as a minor issue had been brought into sharp focus by Truespeak's initial appearance and the assassination attempt that followed. That was why the newly refurbished theater was already packed to overflowing when the Naa dignitaries arrived and were shown to their seats.

Knowing that many eyes were upon him, Truespeak resisted the temptation to fidget as President Nankool opened the meeting. “So,” Nankool continued, “having been unable to consider SR-5706 the last time it was introduc
ed, we are slated to vote on the measure this morning. Senator Pama? Would you care to reintroduce Chief Truespeak?”

Pama rose, made his way to the podium, and delivered an eloquent restatement of the issue before them. There was discussion, especially around the question of precedent, with Senator Obduro being the most vocal opponent. “What about worlds like Drang?” the politician demanded. “If we grant independence to Algeron, the sentients indigenous to Drang will demand sovereignty as well. There will be no end to it.”

But the Thraki's arguments weren't able to gain much traction since most of those present felt that it would be a long time before the sentients on Drang developed a culture and technology that were advanced enough to qualify them for membership in the Confederacy. The discussion period came to an end, and a voice vote was called for.