Andromeda's War (Legion of the Damned Book 3) (12 page)

“Thank you,” Avery replied. “I have a bag here somewhere.”

“Yes, sir,” Neely said. “It will be delivered to your cabin. See the yellow lines? For your own safety, please stay within them.”

Avery followed Neely through a lock, into a corridor, and onto a lift. It carried them up to what she said was C deck. The closest thing to a common area on the ship. Neely told him that A deck was devoted to command and control functions. Empress Ophelia and her retinue were situated on B deck, and crew quarters were on D deck. The engineering spaces occupied the levels below.

The corridor that ran the length of C deck was crowded with people. As Neely led him along, Avery saw deck officers, weapons officers, engineering officers, flight officers, supply officers, all manner of ratings, camo-clad marines, and a variety of robots all walking in both directions. Glow panels marked off regular six-foot intervals, the conduit-lined bulkheads were navy gray, and multicolored decals identified where first-aid kits, damage-control stations, escape pods, weapons blisters, node points, and access panels could be found. A constant stream of routine announcements could be heard as they walked along.

“Here we are,” Neely said as she led Avery into a side corridor. “This is officer country. You were assigned to cabin C-231.” Neely stopped in front of a hatch marked
C
-231
and waved a keycard. There was a hissing sound as the door slid open.

Avery was pleasantly surprised as he entered. The cabin was equipped with a bunk, a storage unit, and a tiny fresher with toilet. There was a fold-down desk and data terminal as well. All in a space roughly eight-feet-by-eight-feet in size. That was small, but Avery had been forced to share such spaces with other officers on troopships. After giving the keycard and a pocket com to Avery—Neely told him to report to the ship’s executive officer (XO) at 1500 hours. Then she left.

That gave Avery plenty of time to unpack, visit the officer’s mess, and explore C deck. So by the time his appointment rolled around, he knew where to go. There was a short wait in the anteroom outside the XO’s office before a laconic droid sent him in. Avery took two steps into the compartment, came to attention, and announced himself. “Major John Avery, reporting as ordered, sir!”

The man on the other side of the desk had black hair worn so short he looked bald. He had dark skin, a moon-shaped face, and a big body. Thanks to the silver oak leafs on the naval officer’s shoulders Avery knew he was a commander—a rank equivalent to a lieutenant colonel in the Legion. The XO said, “At ease,” and came forward to greet his visitor. “My name is Max Honto. Welcome aboard.”

Avery could feel the other man’s strength as they shook hands. “Thank you, sir.”

“Have a seat,” Honto said, as he sat on a corner of the desk. “As far as I know, you’re the only member of the Legion on the ship. A regular one-man army.”

Avery smiled. “I’ll try to live up to that.”

Honto smiled. “I suppose you’re curious regarding your duties.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Well, so am I,” Honto confessed. “The empress hasn’t required a military attaché up until now, so we’ll learn as we go. Please document what you’re required to do so we can create an appropriate job description.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, I guess that’s it. Her assistant will give you a call when the empress needs you. Its name is Daska. That means Earth—or so I’ve been told. Should you receive a message from Daska, I suggest that you respond promptly regardless of what you may be doing at the time.”

Was that a threat? A friendly warning? Or both? Avery scanned Honto’s face for clues and came up empty. “Yes, sir.”

A couple of minutes of small talk followed, but Avery could sense that the meeting was essentially over. So when the com set began to buzz, he took the opportunity to salute and withdraw.

Days of boredom followed. There was a flurry of activity when the ship broke orbit, and Orlo II was left behind. But there was nothing for Avery to do except eat, work out with the marines, and sleep. But finally, two days into the journey, his pocket com buzzed. Avery fumbled the device out into the open. “This is Major Avery.”

The voice on the other end of the call was clearly synthetic—but was being processed so as to sound feminine. “This is Daska. Please report to compartment B-14.”

Avery felt his heart start to race.
The empress!
The woman who wanted to kill McKee . . . And would have him shot if she knew what he really thought about her. Avery’s chest felt tight. “Thank you. I’m on my way.”

Avery heard a click and was thankful that he hadn’t been working out when the call came in. Knowing he was on call, the legionnaire had been careful to wear a freshly pressed Class B uniform when he wasn’t exercising—and that habit was about to pay off as he entered an elevator and pushed B.

He’d been on C deck. A short ride took him up a level. When the doors parted, he stepped out into an ornate lobby. A pair of synths stepped forward to check Avery’s ID and pat him down. They stepped aside as Empress Ophelia entered the reception area.

Avery was about to bow when the royal spoke. “My name is Daska,” the android said. “Please follow me.” He was looking at a body double! Still another way for Ophelia to protect herself.

Daska passed a palm over a scanner, and a hatch hissed open. Avery followed the robot into a wood-paneled corridor. The fittings were gold, or appeared to be, and his shoes sank into the thick carpet. The hatches were labeled military style, and Daska opened the door to compartment B-14 without knocking.

As Avery followed the android into the room, he was surprised by what he saw or didn’t see. There was no sign of Ophelia or the kind of furnishings one would expect an empress to have. A raised platform occupied the center of the compartment. It was roughly the size of a pool table. And there, sitting on top of it, was a make-believe battlefield, complete with two miniature armies. They were located at opposite ends of the table and separated by an artistically executed mountain range. Avery frowned. Surely the empress wasn’t going to plot strategy using toys?

He was about to ask Daska a question when a second hatch whispered open and a five- or six-year-old boy entered the compartment. He had tousled hair, inquisitive eyes, and wore a navy uniform. “This is Prince Nicolai,” Daska informed him. “You will bow when he arrives and address him as Your Highness in public. Here, however, during private sessions, you are permitted to address him by his given name. Do you have any questions?”

Avery bowed. It felt awkward. His head was spinning. The toys, the prince . . . Everything was coming together. Had he been brought aboard to play games with Nicolai? To substitute for the playmates the boy didn’t have? The answer was yes; shock soon gave way to embarrassment and anger. He wanted to leave. But what would the penalty be? Avery knew that Ophelia was capable of anything and everything, so it was important to control himself. He was groping for something to say when Nicolai intervened. “You’re a major.”

“Yes,” Avery replied awkwardly. “My name is Avery. Major John Avery.”

The boy’s eyes were big. “Should I call you sir?”

“No,” Avery replied. “First because you are a prince . . . But, since you are wearing the uniform of a navy captain, you outrank me in that respect as well.”

“Oh. Can I call you Major John?”

“Yes. And I’ll call you Nicolai.”

Avery looked up to discover that Daska had left. There were bound to be surveillance cameras, however. He wanted to look for them but was careful not to. “So you’re interested in the military.”

“I’m going to be an emperor,” Nicolai said matter-of-factly. “So I need to kill people and stuff like that.”

The boy said it so casually that it made Avery’s blood run cold. Here, right in front of him, was a megalomaniac in the making. Avery was careful to choose his words with care. “Yes, well, being part of the military involves a lot more than killing people. There’s strategy to consider . . . And logistics . . . And . . .”

Nicolai looked bored. “Can we play now?”

“Sure,” Avery replied, as Nicolai led him to the platform. The raised step that ran all the way around the display allowed the boy to access the tabletop. “I’ll be the marines,” Nicolai said brightly, “and you can be the Legion. Mommy says legionnaires are bad people.”

Avery thought it best to let the comment pass. As he examined the miniatures that were laid out on the battlefield, he realized that they were moving. Not much, just a little, as if to signal that they were in play. “Use the laser pointer,” Nicolai said. “Zap a unit in order to activate it—then zap the place where you want it to go.”

Avery picked up a laser pointer, aimed it at a three-inch-tall Trooper I, and touched a button. Then he chose a point directly behind a perfectly executed clump of trees and marked it with a blip of light. Tiny servos whined as the toy advanced. It was armed with shoulder launchers, and its head turned right and left as if scanning for danger. It was fun, and Avery was starting to get interested. He discovered that after activating a unit, he could use the laser pen to draw a winding route through a series of obstacles, and the toy would follow it.

“See?” Nicolai demanded. “It’s easy. You’re supposed to try to cross the mountains while I do the same thing. Then, if you reach the other side, you can try to capture the dome at my end of the table.
If
General Crowley lets you do that . . . Which he probably won’t.”

General Crowley?
An imaginary playmate perhaps? No, there
was
a General Crowley . . . An officer who had distinguished himself by suppressing a revolt on Mars twenty years earlier. “So General Crowley might join us?”

“He’s here now,” Nicolai replied. “In my head. Not the real one, a copy. Mommy gave him to me. I don’t like it when he argues with Tarch Senta.”

It sounded as if Ophelia had found a way to clone selected personalities and install them in her son’s mind. Or maybe the boy was all mixed up. Avery thought it best to play along. “Two against one . . . That’s not fair.”

Nicolai frowned. “I’m five, and you’re a grown-up. That isn’t fair, either.”

The line was perfectly delivered, and Avery couldn’t help but laugh. “Good point. Okay, let’s see who can get over the mountain range first.” The answer was Nicolai and General Crowley. While Avery was still learning how far each piece could move, and how to “fire” their weapons, his opponents took control of all three mountain passes by landing aircraft on them.

Then, as Avery began to advance, they fired salvos of heat-seeking missiles over the mountains and destroyed his cyborgs one by one. And that’s where the battle stood when Daska reappeared. “Playtime is over, Your Highness. It’s time for lunch.”

“But I don’t
want
lunch . . . We’re having fun. Aren’t we, Major John?”

“Some of us are having fun,” Avery said with a smile.

“Maybe you’ll do better next time,” Nicolai said.

“I will certainly try.”

Nicolai waved as the robot led him away. Avery was free to go.

The play sessions became part of the daily routine after that. Avery would receive a call, make his way up to B-14, and spend an hour with Nicolai. The only thing that changed was that Avery managed to cross a mountain pass on the third day, and was close to capturing a second one, when Daska entered the compartment. It wasn’t until Nicolai ran over to her that Avery realized the truth. Instead of the body double, he was looking at the empress herself! “Mommy! Major John is winning, and General Crowley is mad at him.” Having had some practice, Avery managed to bow without making a fool of himself.

Empress Ophelia ruffled her son’s hair as she looked at Avery. Her voice was identical to Daska’s. Or the other way around. “So,” she said. “I understand your brother doesn’t like me.”

The comment was like a bolt of lightning out of the blue. Avery was stunned but knew he shouldn’t be. A synth named Snarr had cautioned him about his brother’s intemperate remarks months earlier. Which meant the government knew about it. So why had his nomination been approved?

Ophelia smiled. “Never fear, Major . . . I know how brothers can be.”

That was true. The difference was that Ophelia’s brother had been murdered on her orders. Avery forced a smile. “Thank you, Highness.”

“Nicolai looks forward to the daily sessions,” Ophelia said. “But I suspect they are a trial for you.”

Avery looked at Nicolai and back to her. “I have come to look forward to the sessions, Highness.” And it was true.

Ophelia smiled knowingly. “That was well said. And I believe it. As you know, we will enter orbit around Worber’s World in a couple of days. And when we do, Nicolai will have to share you with his mother. The governor of Worber’s World claims that all is well on his planet. My intelligence people say otherwise. I would like you to accompany me. Your job will be to look and listen. Then, when our visit is over, I will ask for your impressions.”

There was only one thing Avery could say. “Yes, Highness. I would be honored.”

“Good. Come on, Nicolai. Let’s have lunch.”

—

PLANET WORBER’S WORLD

Worber’s World was an earthlike planet that had been quick to declare its fealty to Ophelia upon the death of her brother but was also experiencing some “social upheaval.” Which was a polite way of saying that a significant portion of the population didn’t care for the empress or the new 12 percent “mutual welfare and defense” tax that had been imposed on all of the colony worlds. So whom to believe? Video of huge protests captured by Ophelia’s intelligence people? Or the governor? Who claimed that the civil disobedience was limited to a few cities—and not representative of the citizenry in general.

Ophelia was understandably gun-shy in the wake of the civil war on Orlo II. And Avery assumed that his analysis would constitute but a single tile in the mosaic of intelligence reports the empress would receive from a variety of sources. In any case, it felt good to function as something more than a glorified babysitter for a change.

In his role as military attaché, Avery got to ride in Ophelia’s lavishly equipped shuttle along with her synth security detail and a handful of key advisors, all of whom treated Avery with haughty disdain. He was a commoner, after all, a mere major, and a Legion major at that. The Legion being the lowest form of military life there was where the courtiers were concerned. But Avery didn’t care. All he wanted to do was complete the assignment and return to regular duty. Somewhere near McKee if he could wrangle it.