Legion Of The Damned - 02 - The Final Battle (34 page)

No, Harmon decided, make that
three
more beings, since she would add her 130 pounds to the fray. She thought of Valerie and found sadness, but none of the anguish that had been there before, or the anger that had so often accompanied it. At least one battle had been won.

 

War Commander Niman Poseen-Ka sat in the semidarkened command center. It was oval in shape and could accommodate up to fifteen officers in the alcoves around the central holo tank. But they were where they should be, out leading their troopers to victory. Or so the Hudathan hoped. Although his fleet had racked up some impressive victories, the action on Jericho being an excellent example, there had been reverses as well, like the disaster at Rork’s Drift, where an entire task force had been destroyed. The Confederacy was fighting, and in many cases, fighting well. He looked u
p at the view screen. It was empty save for the distant image of a brown-blue planet and a scattering of stars.

Poseen-Ka shifted his considerable weight into a more comfortable position and stared out into the void. The Inthulu System lay helpless before him. It had taken less than five standard days to destroy its once-powerful fleet along with the weapons platforms that orbited the two populated planets. Not because of any lack of skill on the part of the defenders, or a paucity of courage, but because they had been outnumbered three to one. Still some danger remained. There was little doubt that the humans had sent message torps to their high command. That meant the odds were excellent
that a Confederacy battle group was on its way. However, intelligence had assured him that it would be more than a week before any such force arrived. At this point his flagship, the
Hand of Hudatha
, could sterilize Prospect I and II by itself should he give the orders to do so, but he hadn’t. Why?

Perhaps the five fates were angry with him. Perhaps he’d been
too
successful, too proud, and this was their way of punishing him. Or maybe they were upset with Grand Marshal Hisep Rula-Ka, who had ridden a long streak of good luck. Until a strange fate that had befallen him.

It still wasn’t clear what had happened, how Rula-Ka’s personal gig had been taken by a human destroyer, but it had, and his onetime protégé turned commanding officer was in enemy hands. Fortunately the humans didn’t realize
who
they had captured, or they would have demanded a lot more than the Inthulu System’s two inhabitable planets as ransom.

Not that such efforts would avail them much, since the Triad would expect Poseen-Ka to abandon his senior officer, assume his duties, and lay waste to the entire system by last meal the same day. And he should have done so by now.

So why hadn’t he? His excuses were feeble. Yes, Rula-Ka had been his onetime protégé, but so had many others, and the war commander knew he would sacrifice any of them in an instant. True, Rula-Ka had freed him from Worber’s World, but that had been incidental to a larger plan that met racial needs. Even the restoration of his rank and reputation had served a larger purpose, not the least of which was to create a figure on whom failure could be blamed should that become necessary. So why the hesitancy to act?

The answer was obvious. Somewhere, hidden where only he could see it, Poseen-Ka was weak. A weakness that could be seen in the fact that he had allowed himself to form a sentimental attachment to Rula-Ka. An attachment so strong that he had actually considered a trade. The out-and-out folly of it astounded him. The solution was obvious. He must ignore his emotions, order an attack, and emerge victorious. Over the humans
and
himself. Still . . . what if there was another way?

Poseen-Ka touched one of a dozen buttons recessed into the armrest of his chair. The response was nearly instantaneous. His aide, a highly decorated recon pilot named Nagwa Isaba-Ra, appeared as if by magic. He was the most efficient assistant the war commander had ever been lucky enough to have. A recessed spot threw a slash of light down across the younger officer’s face. It reflected strength and determination. “Sir? You called?”

“Yes,” Poseen-Ka replied. “I did. To what extent was the Inthulu System damaged during the last war?”

There was absolutely no reason why Isaba-Ra should have that particular piece of information at his fingertips but he did. “The Inthulu System was barely touched during the first war, sir. It was bypassed during the leap to the inner planets.”

Poseen-Ka signaled understanding, as well he could, for he had commanded the fleet his subordinate referred to. “So while the indigenous population will have
heard
about our methods, they don’t
know
about them.”

The thought was rather abstract and Poseen-Ka took pleasure in the fact that Isaba-Ra understood what he meant. “No, sir. Most of the humans in this system have had little or no personal experience with our culture.”

“So, they would believe an offer of terms?”

The Hudathan known as Isaba-Ra felt his heart hammer against his lab-grown chest. They had warned him that this might happen, that in order to maintain his cover as a spy, the
only
spy the Hegemony had within the alien ranks, he might have to say or do something that would cost human lives. The fact that they would be
non-Hegemony
lives helped to some extent, but didn’t entirely eliminate the nausea in his stomach. “Yes, sir. Based on what I’ve read about human psychology, they would
want
to believe such an offer.”

“Exactly,” Poseen-Ka said thoughtfully. “All the humans I knew placed great store in discussion. Let’s give it a try. Contact intelligence. Tell them to dangle the possibility of a trade in front of the humans. A planet in return for our crew. Make sure they do nothing to make Rula-Ka seem special.”

Isaba-Ra signaled his understanding. “It shall be as you say, War Commander. Where should this meeting take place?”

Poseen-Ka thought for a moment. “Somewhere they will see as neutral ground. An asteroid, perhaps?”

Isaba-Ra gestured assent. “I will examine the possibilities.”

Poseen-Ka watched the youngster leave the compartment and turned to the view screen. The planet was still there, as were the stars.

 

Deep inside a blast-proof command bunker on the planet Prospect II, wall monitors flickered and radio traffic murmured in the background. The air was filter-fresh and cold enough to raise goose bumps on unprotected arms.

Admiral Maria Salgado had short black hair touched with gray, a blaster scar down the right side of her face, and a two-pack-a-day stim-stick habit. She exhaled a thin stream of smoke and touched a remote. The wall screen faded to black. She had seen the video twenty-seven times. “So, Phillip, do you believe them?”

“Hell, no,” Captain Phillip Hastings replied matter-offactly. “The geeks don’t negotiate. Never have, never will. Everyone knows that.” He was a thin man who liked to run. He felt closed in and did his best to hide it.

“Well, Governor Kogan doesn’t,” Salgado replied dryly. “She believes in the tooth fairy, pots of gold, and Lord knows what else. She’s been all over me ever since the message came in.”

Hastings shrugged. “You can’t really blame her, Admiral. Barring some sort of miracle, the geeks can finish us anytime they want. It’ll be a week or a week and a half before reinforcements arrive. She figures that even the
possibility
of a deal is better than certain death.”

Salgado sighed. “I suppose you’re right. What have we got to lose? Send for the prisoners and request my shuttle. This mission belongs to me.”

 

Isaba-Ra was cold, tired, and increasingly pissed off. He, along with a dagger of specially trained naval commandos, had been waiting in the wreckage for sixteen hours. During that time he had gone through four sets of oxygen tanks, filled his liquid waste container to capacity, taken three uneasy naps, and consumed six of the foul-tasting food wafers.

Human scouts had come, inspected the wreckage for any signs of an ambush, missed the twelve Hudathan troopers hidden deep among the twisted steel girders, and left some spy eyes to watch for them. Their failure was understandable, since the wreck was huge, and the commandos were equipped with heat cloaks and ECM gear.

Still, if the humans didn’t hurry up and get there, the spy would go crazy. Not that he was exactly sane, especially given the fact that he felt more and more Hudathan with each passing day, and had an increasing amount of difficulty remembering his past identity.

Maybe it would have been easier if he’d been a less successful Hudathan. But.Isaba-Ra was a hero, universally judged to be good at what he did, and rewarded accordingly. A helluva lot different from the man he’d been, a know-nothing intelligence tech, genetically destined for a boring life. Not so for Isaba-Ra, who might rise as high as his talent and luck would take him. Spear commander? War commander? Grand marshal? Nothing was beyond the realm of possibility. It was tempting, very tempting, and increasingly on his mind.

Isaba-Ra heard three clicks over the speakers inside his helmet. The humans were coming! He answered with two clicks, the signal to feed looped video to the spy eyes, and prepare for action. Quickly, and with a minimum of fuss, the commandos took their assigned positions. There was no gravity to speak of so it was important to move with great care. Then, with everyone in place, the second, more important wait began.

 

Admiral Salgado hadn’t worn battle armor in a long time. She had nearly forgotten how confining it could be, how certain odors built up over time, and how vulnerable she felt, knowing that the only thing between her and hard vacuum was what amounted to six layers of bonded fabric. Sure it was tough, sure it was strong, but there were plenty of weapons capable of punching holes through it. The officer pushed the thought away, wished she could light a stim stick, and checked to see how the rest of her party was doing. They were in the final stages of boarding the shuttle.

The
Victory’s
launch bay was a cavernous space that dated back to the bad old days when the emperor and his advisers had favored size over nearly everything else. The
Victory
, which normally served as a training vessel, along with a handful of smaller ships, were all that remained of the small but potent planetary defense force she had commanded. A combination of sorrow, bitterness, and guilt nearly overwhelmed Salgado as she boarded the shuttle, signaled for the deck crew to remove the roll-around stairs, and took a seat on the starboard bulkhead.

The Hudathans sat across from her. They were huge hulking figures who gazed impassively through their face plates and seemed anything but cowed. Salgado wondered what they were thinking, especially the oldest of the four, who claimed to be a noncom, but received a lot more deference than the rank called for. Was he an officer, perhaps? Claiming a lower rank in an effort to mislead his captors? That might account for the rather unusual willingness to negotiate, something she had made clear to Governor Kogan, who had acknowledged the possibility, and made it equally clear she didn’
t give a damn what rank the prisoners were, as long as the negotiations were successful.

Salgado sighed. As presently constituted, the deal wasn’t much of a deal. They had a promise and nothing more. There were no precedents to follow, no bilateral guarantees, and no one to act as a witness if the Hudathans broke their word. The only comfort the officer had was the knowledge that her advance team had planted an extremely powerful command-triggered mine aboard the wreck, which she could detonate at the first sign of treachery. She wanted to live, but had already lost nearly everyone she cared about, and was quite willing to trade her life for the enemy’s.

It took less than an hour to make the trip to the slowly drifting wreck. Salgado fought the temptation to think about how many valiant men and women had died aboard the onetime cruiser, and how many
would
die during the days, weeks, and months ahead. The pilot interrupted her thoughts. “I have visual contact
with the wreck, Admiral. Visual, electronic, and IR scans confirm six, repeat six, suits of armor, all radiating within normal parameters.”

Salgado, a damned good rocket jockey in her younger days, wished she were in the cockpit, seeing the wreck with her own eyes, but knew that would undermine the pilot’s confidence. “And the spy eyes?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, ma’am. The negotiating team and that’s all.”

“Very well, then, close on the wreck, but keep your finger on the trigger. The numbers match . . . but the possibility of an ambush continues to exist.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am. Closing now.”

By prior agreement the shuttle fired its retros while still a long ways off, slowed, matched the wreck’s rate of drift, and assumed a position one mile out. A Hudathan vessel of similar size and capability could be seen in the corresponding slot two miles away. The pilot announced their arrival. “We are in position, Admiral. All sensor readings normal.”

Admiral Salgado looked around the already depressurized cargo compartment and grinned through her face plate. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, time to de-ass the shuttle, and see what the geeks have to say.”

The cargo door slid open and the Hudathan prisoners were ushered out into the void. They were closely followed by the guards and negotiating team. All of them fired their suit jets and moved away in a sloppy sort of formation. It took them less than five minutes to cross the intervening space and land on the wreck.

Salgado was interested to note that although three of the aliens had no difficulty landing on the wreck, the oldest, and the one she suspected of being an officer, misjudged the situation, and would have overshot the target entirely if his guards had failed to intervene. A problem the human understood, since she didn’t get much suit time, either, and could easily make a fool of herself. It might be meaningful, or it might not, but one thing was for sure: if she bought the farm, the geek sonofabitch was going with her.