Legion of the Damned

God knows ’twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear.

But I’ve a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

Spear Commander Ikor Niber-Ba felt his heart swell with pride as the task force’s entire complement of fighters and troop carriers formed up and headed for the strangely shaped asteroid. All three of his battleships had moved in close, shortening the distance the smaller vessels had to travel, and bringing their mighty armament to bear. He could actually see the surface, mark the spots where metal and molten rock glowed cherry red, and glory in what the spear had accomplished.

They had pounded the asteroid for the better part of a Hudathan day, laying waste to every surface installation they could find, preparing the way for the final ground assault. And what an assault it would be. Every soldier not required to operate the ships would be involved.

Light reflected off fighters as they went in for one last strafing run. The troop carriers moved more slowly, dark silhouettes against the sun’s bright corona, staying in formation, mindful of their assigned landing areas. Only fifteen or twenty units of time would pass before the last of them had landed, discharged their troops, and lifted again.

The humans had been clever, very clever, but no amount of cleverness would protect them from the “Intaka,” or “blow of death.” Originally part of the lexicon that had grown up around Gunu, a highly disciplined form of personal combat, the concept of Intaka had been adopted by the Hudathan military and used to describe the use of overwhelming force.

Though favored by most of his peers, almost all of whom had grown up big and strong, Niber-Ba had a tendency to withhold the Intaka, using it only as a last resort. This stemmed from the fact that opponents had always been larger than he was, from a natural sense of thrift, and from a healthy dose of Hudathan paranoia. After all, why use more resources than necessary to overwhelm an opponent? Especially in a universe where more enemies were almost certainly waiting to attack.

But this situation was different. Niber-Ba knew that now, and knew that he should have recognized the enemy’s weakness from the start and used the strategy of Intaka to defeat them.

The knowledge of that failure, and the deaths that it had caused, had left him sleepless for three cycles running. Nothing could bring dead warriors back to life or cleanse the shame from his soul. But victory could advance his people’s cause. Yes, victory would go a long ways towards easing the pain, and victory would be his.

The electronics tech’s words were heard all over Spindle. By Captain Omar Narbakov, who was supervising the last-minute reinforcement of a weapons pit, by Leonid Chien-Chu, who was struggling to make a splice, by Legionnaire Seeger, who placed a rock in front of something he wanted to hide, and by all the others who waited by their posts, stomachs hollow with fear, palms slick with sweat. This was it, the moment they’d been dreading, when their lives would depend on skills that most of them had never tried to acquire, and on luck, which observed no loyalties and belonged as much to the enemy as to them.

The exception was Narbakov. He had dreamed of this moment as a boy, trained for it as a man, and waited these many years for it to arrive. He savored the taste of peppermint as a piece of candy dissolved in his mouth, the hiss of oxygen as it blew against the side of his face, and the hard unyielding landscape beyond his visor. The dwarf hung like a searchlight in the sky, throwing hard black shadows down across Spindle’s surface, many of which concealed his troops.

Yes, this was his moment, his Camerone, his place to die. The thought brought no fear, no dread, just a mounting sense of excitement. For a legionnaire will not die, cannot die, as long as others live to remember him.

Narbakov stood in the open, disdainful of the Hudathan fighters that crisscrossed the asteroid’s surface, and chinned more magnification into his visor.

The Hudathan troopships had started to land, dropping onto their preassigned LZs with the delicacy of bees landing on flowers, dropping their troops like so much pollen. There was no response, no defensive fire, because Narbakov wanted the Hudathans on the ground. He was tired of being pounded from space, tried of fighting the aliens on their terms, and eager to strike back.

A Hudathan tripped, lost contact with the ground, and floated away. The alien looked like a large balloon, a plaything waiting to be popped, and the image made Narbakov laugh—a sound that made its way onto the command channel and caused his subordinates to look at each other and shake their heads in amazement. The old man was terminally gung ho—everyone knew that—but the laugh was bizarre even for him. Still, if the cap could laugh at the geeks, how tough could the assholes be? They grinned, checked their weapons one last time, and waited for the order to fire.

Narbakov switched to freq 4. The civilians had military-style code names but rarely remembered to use them. Leonid was known as “Boss One.”

“Sorry to bother you, Leo ... but the place is crawling with geeks. I’ll be forced to open fire in a moment or two. How are things going?”

Leonid dropped the cable and looked up at the launcher. Although some quick-thinking legionnaires had prevented the Hudathans from finding out how important the linear accelerator was, they had still done their best to destroy it. Not from any particular concern about the device, but as part of their general effort to destroy everything on Spindle’s surface and prepare the way for their troops.

A battleship-mounted laser cannon had sliced through a section of gridwork, slagged the small ops center located to one side of the ramp, and severed a major cable run. Leonid had repaired the last of the cables himself, and the ops center had been bypassed, but the intermittent flash of laser torches signaled that repairs were still under way.

Leonid looked out towards the area where Narbakov should be, saw sticks of light lance downwards, then disappear as a fighter completed its run. The silence made the daggers of light seem less dangerous, like the laser shows held on Empire Day, but the civilian knew they were different. People died wherever the light touched.

The civilian began to climb. His breath came in short angry puffs. Damn. Damn. Damn. A series of explosions marched across the horizon and terminated near lock 4. Shit. Shit. Shit. The had to complete the repairs, had to launch the star divers, had to hit the battleships. He chinned a button.

Leonid ignored them, stepped onto a side platform, and eyed the star diver’s long oval shape. It was huge, almost the size of a destroyer escort, and packed with sophisticated technology. It pained him to treat the ship like this, to use it as a high-tech cannonball, but there was no other choice.

Leonid looked upwards. Five additional ships hung over his head, stacked on top of each other like bullets in a magazine, held there by a hastily built framework of steel. Would the jury-rigged conveyor mechanism feed the ships down onto the ramp quickly enough? Would the accelerator hang together long enough to fire them?

He looked down at the simplified control panel. Wires squirmed in and out of it like worms feeding on a corpse. The device had six ready lights, all of them green, and a box-shaped switch protector. Leonid flipped the cover out of the way. The button was red and pulsed to the beat of his heart.

The hatch disappeared, the twelve troopers who constituted Dagger Two of Arrow Five ran-shuffled down the ramp, while Arrow Commander Imbom Dakna-Ba felt his legs turn to jelly. He willed them to move, commanded them to do so, but they refused. His aide, a tough old veteran named Forma-Sa, was tactful.

“Is there a problem with your equipment, sir?” Dakna-Ba wanted to answer, wanted to say yes, wanted to come up with an equipment malfunction that would keep him aboard the troop carrier, but the words froze in his throat. Dagger Three made their way down the ramp, angled left, and took cover in a crater. The officer waited for the almost inevitable hail of defensive fire and was even more frightened when it didn’t come. The humans had fought like Stath Beasts up till now ... something was wrong.

Forma-Sa nodded understandingly, deactivated his implant, and placed his helmet next to the officer’s. “It’s time to disembark, sir. Make your way down the ramp or I’ll be forced to put a bullet through the back of your head.”

Dakna-Ba found himself in motion. The humans frightened him, but Dagger Commander Forma-Sa scared him even more. There were stories about the things he’d done, terrible stories, and the officer believed them. The ramp shook slightly beneath his boots.

He looked around. Now it would come, the searing light, followed by complete and total darkness. But it didn’t. What were the humans doing? Somewhere down below the level of the fear there was tranquillity, and within that tranquillity the ability to think, and the thoughts seemed to express themselves of their own volition.

The noncom nodded his satisfaction and relayed Dakna-Ba’s orders to the troops. No sooner had he done so than all hell broke loose. There was no sound in the silent world of space, but the stutter of energy beams and the subsequent radio chatter told their own story.

Dakna-Ba felt strength seep into his legs. They were steady once more and responded when he ordered them to move. The officer activated his implant.

Crew-served automatic weapons began to fire as troopers emerged from the shadows, from craters, and from rocks to advance on their objective.

Light stuttered blue as the incoming fire intensified and tracers flickered around them. Forma-Sa watched approvingly as Dakna-Ba ran-shuffled along with the rest, shouting words of encouragement, his head swiveling right and left. The youngster would make a halfway decent officer one day if he learned quickly enough, if he managed to survive.

Dakna-Ba considered the task ahead. His orders were clear: force the air lock that intelligence had labeled as “O-12,” make his way into the heart of the human habitat, and destroy the computer located there. The computer had already played a key role in the asteroid’s defense and might otherwise continue to do so.

It was either an extremely important endeavor, entrusted to Dakna-Ba as a sign of respect, or a suicide mission assigned to him because he was the most junior officer around, and therefore expendable. Dakna-Ba wanted to believe the former but knew the latter was a good deal more likely.

A scream ripped through Dakna-Ba’s mind as a trooper started to say something and was literally cut in half. Dakna-Ba saw him off to the left, the top half of his suit spinning away while the bottom half remained where it was. Blood and entrails shot straight upwards, stabilized, and floated away.

The officer turned back, began to issue an order, and stopped when something grotesque appeared. It was taller than a Hudathan, heavier, and equipped with weapons where its arms should have been. Energy beams seemed to have little effect on the thing and tracers bounced off it. A cyborg! Intelligence had warned him that such things existed, had told him that the humans had an entire army comprised of cyborgs, but he was surprised nonetheless. Though sufficiently advanced to field cyborgs of their own, the Hudathans had a deep-seated aversion to the concept involved, and didn’t use anything more complicated than nerve-spliced artificial limbs.

The order came from Dag Forma-Sa, and Dakna-Ba obeyed. He hit hard, bounced, and nearly broke free. Light flickered, tracers sectioned the darkness, and the Hudathans started to die. The thing was hunting his troopers the way a Namba Bak hunts gorgs, probing between the rocks, driving them out into the open. Shocked by the cyborg’s apparent invulnerability, and unsure of how to deal with it, some of the troopers ran. The cyborg liked that and picked them off with the precision of a marksman at the range.

The response was spectacular. The cyborg staggered under the explosive impact of at least six shoulder-launched missiles, continued to fire even as it fell to its knees, and didn’t stop until an explosion took its head clean off.

Shaken but victorious, the Hudathans fought their way through an amalgamation of civilians and legionnaires to reach the lock. It was made of thick steel, reinforced with concrete, but yielded to some carefully placed explosives.

The violent decompression that followed came as no surprise to those within. They had expected it and were prepared to fight the aliens for every inch of the habitat’s hallway.

Red swung his boots down from the console and took a sip from the mug at his elbow. The coffee was fresh-brewed and tasted good. He had climbed into his suit as a precautionary measure, but the control area was equipped with its own lock, so it would be a while before he needed the helmet. He shook his head in dismay. The environmental display left no doubt as to the situation and the radio traffic confirmed it. The geeks were inside the habitat and headed his way. They wanted Spinhead and he couldn’t really blame them. The computer had played a key role in the asteroid’s defense and was about to defeat them. Red smiled, selected a frequency, and spoke into his mike.

Red touched a button. It took a fraction of a second for the accumulated data to make its way through a maze of cables, leap through the repairs, and enter the ship’s on-board computers.

Leonid nodded, thankful that the star divers would have the latest data on the speed, position, and orientation of the Hudathan ships, and realized the technicians couldn’t see him.

The technician chinned his mike and said, “Yes, sir,” but stayed right where he was. The Hudathans had done a pretty good job of sterilizing the asteroid’s surface but had missed a jury-rigged antenna or two. And those, plus Red’s skill, meant that the star divers could be steered for up to five or ten seconds after they were launched. The chance was too good to miss. Besides, the coffee was hot and tasted damned good. Red took another sip. He looked around. The control center was empty and would make a lonely place to die.

Seeger waited for the Hudathan patrol to pass, stepped out of his hiding place, and shot the last of them right between the shoulder blades. It wasn’t nice, it wasn’t fair, and Seeger didn’t give a shit. Vapor out-gassed and pushed the already dead alien away.

Still moving forward, the rest of the patrol remained blissfully ignorant while Seeger killed them one at a time, until their leader was the only one left. In fact, Seeger was taking aim, getting ready to fire, when the noncom turned. The cyborg would never know if it was a routine check or a sudden premonition of danger that caused the alien to turn, but the outcome was the same. The Hudathan turned, registered an expression that looked very similar to human fear, and died as Seeger burned a hole through his visor.

Leonid was anything but sure. He kept his voice steady nonetheless. “Yeah, I’m sure. Now, get the hell off this rig before I dock you a day’s pay.”

The toolheads laughed in spite of themselves, jumped free of the ramp, and drifted away. It was scary, but gravity would eventually prevail, and the further away the better.

Energy was drawn from Spindle’s massive accumulators, channeled into the linear accelerator, and translated to forward motion. It seemed as if the ship was there one moment and gone the next. Steering jets winked red as the star diver broke free of the asteroid’s gravity and the drives kicked in.

The ramp shook with the force of the ship’s departure and Leonid braced himself against a rail. How long would the ramp continue to hang together? Leonid looked upwards and saw that the next star diver had already begun its descent.

The words arrived via the Hudathan’s implant and were said so calmly, so routinely, that it took him a moment to appreciate their full significance.

“The humans have launched a ship. Initial analysis indicates the vessel is analogous in size and shape to one of our Class IV freighters.”

A launch? Analogous to a Class IV freighter? Niber-Ba’s mind hurried to catch up. Were some humans trying to escape? Hoping to avoid his battleships? No, they were smarter than that, so ...

A thousand words lined up and waited to be said but not a single one passed his lips. The Light of Hudatha’s shields were down in order to allow the returning troop carriers to enter her bays. Not only that, but the battleship was extremely close to the asteroid, which left no time to maneuver. A new sun was born, lived for a few seconds, and died. Fully one third of the Dwarf’s offensive power went with it.

Niber-Ba was still struggling to understand what had happened, to accept what it meant, when the voice spoke again. It was pitched a little higher this time and barely under control.

“The humans have launched a second ship. Initial analysis indicates that it will collide with the World Taker one unit from now.”

The Dwarf resisted the temptation to hurl orders towards the World Taker, knowing the ship’s commanding officer had heard the same information he had and was doing what he could to avoid the attack. No, his task lay elsewhere.

Red waited for the Hudathans with the patience of a spider sitting on its web. Most of the corridors boasted surveillance cameras and about 70 percent of them were still operable. That allowed the technician to watch as the aliens fought their way through the halls, stumbled into a variety of booby traps, and stood outside his lock. The moment had arrived.

The remote consisted of little more than a switch and some wires that disappeared into a dark corner of the control room. He picked it up, pushed the button, and heard the distant thump of explosives.

Dakna-Ba swore as the explosion brought tons of rock crashing down around them. The humans had extinguished all of the habitat’s lights. Dust swirled through the beam projected by his helmet. Bodies moved, headlamps danced, and casualties were counted. The news was anything but good. Three of Dakna-Ba’s troopers had been crushed. Three added to the what? Sixteen or seventeen killed so far? It made little difference. The debris blocked the hallway and left only one direction he could go. Forward. He motioned toward the lock.

Dakna-Ba looked around. Forma-Sa? Where was Forma-Sa? Then he remembered. A human had stepped out of a hidden alcove, shoved a drill bit against the noncom’s chest, and pulled the trigger. Dakna-Ba had killed the human at the same exact moment that the sudden decompression had turned Forma-Sa inside out. It would have been horrible, except that it came during a day filled with horror, and seemed ordinary by comparison.

The lock blew. Dakna-Ba felt concrete spatter against his armor. He went through the door low, his weapon spitting death, knowing the defenders had the advantage. And they did, or more accurately Red did, because the grenade blew the Hudathan’s left leg off. Death followed a fraction of a second later.

The ensuing battle was bloody but relatively short-lived, since Spinhead had orders to blow the control center the moment that Red went down. There were no survivors.

Leonid ground his teeth in frustration as the third ship dropped into place. The ramp was shaky and the Hudathans could retaliate at any moment. He had seconds, minutes at most, to launch the ship and jump clear. Star divers four, five, and six would go unused. The button made the transition from amber to red. Leonid brought his fist down. The ship sped down the ramp, fired its drives, and headed for the last of the Hudathan ships. The second star diver hit its target, blew up, and bathed Spindle in white light.

Leonid waved his fist at them. “Take that, you bastards!” It was then that the ship-mounted energy cannons turned Leonid, the ramp, and the remaining star divers into a lake of molten metal.

The words barely registered on Niber-Ba as he fought to save his command. There was no time to move the ship, no time to regret the decisions he’d made, and no time to lose. A third star diver was on the way and it was aimed at him.

The primary and secondary weapons systems were computer-controlled and responded immediately. Missiles slipped out of their launch tubes, energy beams leaped through the darkness, and the Dwarf bit his lip. The ship was close and still accelerating ...

Missiles hit, exploded, and cut the star diver in two. One half tumbled off towards the sun, but the other turned end over end and headed straight for the Hudathan battleship.

A klaxon went off somewhere in the background and Niber-Ba heard himself screaming over the interface. “Raise the screens! Fire! Fire! Fire!”

But there was no time to raise the screens, and even though the main batteries continued to fire, the wreckage absorbed the additional damage and kept on coming. It hit the Hudathan ship broadside, triggered a massive explosion, and disappeared along with its target.

Captain Omar Narbakov shielded his eyes from the momentary glare. “Well, I’ll be goddamned. Three for three.” He chinned his radio.

Narbakov shook his head sadly and looked around. There was still some scattered fighting but the humans had won. His ragtag force of legionnaires and civilian irregulars had won on the ground, and whatever fighters and troop carriers the aliens had left would be forced to surrender. Deprived of their mother ships, they had neither the fuel nor computer capacity to travel through deep space.

Then it occurred to him. In spite of his determination to die a glorious death, he was inexplicably alive. Not only that, but his duties had prevented him from getting involved in the fighting, and he’d never been in any real danger. And now, thanks to the fact that he’d survived, there was an enormous amount of work to do. Launch message torps toward Earth, repair the habitat, tend to the wounded, the list went on and on. Shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his responsibilities, Narbakov trudged off towards his makeshift command post.

Seeger checked to make sure that his area was secure and headed for a distant spire. It looked like a finger pointing towards space. Given the length of his legs and the near absence of gravity, it was easy to cover lots of ground in a short period of time.

The signs of battle were everywhere. Sunlight winked off a half-slagged antenna, the wreckage of a Hudathan troop carrier drifted past, a blast-darkened crater marked a cyborg’s last stand, and a helmet bounced off the legionnaire’s shoulder.

But Seeger’s eyes were on the spire and the jumble of debris around its base, for that was the place where he had hidden Marie. There’d been no backup body to put her in, and no surety that the habitat would remain secure, so he’d rigged an oxygen supply, a nutrient drip, and a solar array, and left Marie where she’d be safe. Or should be anyway, barring accidents or plain bad luck.

He stepped between a couple of boulders, lifted one out of the way, and remembered what it felt like to smile. She was there, all right, a head, shoulders, and torso that would have looked grotesque to anyone else, but meant everything to him.

And with that the cyborg freed Marie from the jury-rigged life support systems, tucked her under his right arm, and stepped out into the sunlight. It felt good to be alive.