Andromeda's War (Legion of the Damned Book 3) (17 page)

That was when Suzuki’s voice filled his helmet. “This is the captain. They have Empress Ophelia,” he said dully. “We can’t let them capture the
Victorious
. All personnel are to abandon ship. The demo charges will blow in sixty seconds.”

Avery wanted to object, to explain, but there was no time in which to do so. He turned to the pod, stepped inside, and told the royals to sit down. As Avery fell into a chair, a well-padded cage folded around him.

Controls were available at each seat. Avery flipped a transparent cover out of the way and pushed the
FIRE
button. Like the rest of the crew, he’d been forced to participate in regular abandon-ship drills, and that knowledge was about to pay off. Or so he hoped as an outer hatch opened and a powerful blast of air threw the capsule up into the sky. “Hang on!” he shouted. “We’re going to hit hard.”

And he was correct. Avery felt a brief moment of weightlessness followed by a fall and a heavy impact. His jaw hit his chest, and the unsecured AXE almost struck Ophelia’s head before bouncing off a bulkhead and hitting the deck.

The protective cage hugged Avery even more securely as the pod bounced up into the air. But the second ride was mercifully short. It ended when the capsule hit the ground and rolled for a distance before finally coming to a stop. Nicolai’s eyes looked huge and his lower lip was starting to quiver. “I want my mommy.”

That was when Avery opened his mouth to say, “She’s right here,” looked at Ophelia, and realized the truth. Suzuki was correct. The empress
had
been captured. And he was looking at Daska. The robot nodded. “The empress was outside when the attack came.”

Avery swore. Somehow, he had wound up on the surface of a hostile planet with a five-year-old boy to take care of. And that was when the future emperor began to cry.

—

The sun was high in the sky, the air was heavy with the stench of animal feces, and Admiral Dor Nola-Ba was seated inside a Paguumi hoga. The shade was welcome. His back was exposed, however—and the swill his host called “tea” made his stomach churn.

But those irritations were nothing when compared with the frustration that stemmed from Chief Imeer Oppo’s failure to move against the Human ship in a timely fashion. Nola-Ba’s battle group had become aware of the vessel shortly after it dropped hyper and approached Savas.

Nola-Ba was alarmed at first, fearing that a landing similar to his own was about to take place, but it was only a matter of minutes before the actual situation became clear. The alien ship was out of control and about to crash. So all Nola-Ba had to do was watch it hit the planet’s surface, skip like a stone on the surface of a pond, and slam into a large hill. Shortly thereafter, some survivors appeared but made no attempt to leave the wreck.

The Hudathan’s first reaction was to swoop in and take control. But then what seemed like a better plan entered his mind. What if
more
Humans were on the way? If so, the wreck could serve as bait. Then he would attack once the would-be rescuers were on the ground.

But then he had
another
even better idea. After the attack on the
Head Hunter
, Nola-Ba had sent scouts out to speak with the local nomads and, based on their reports, had a basic knowledge of local politics. It seemed that there were
three
groups of Paguumis—all descended from common ancestors hundreds of thousands of years earlier. But two of them were of primary concern. They included the northern tribe, which was responsible for the attack on his base, and the southern tribe, led by Chief Oppo.

So, given that his orders directed him to forge alliances with the indigenous peoples, Nola-Ba decided to befriend the southern Paguumis, knowing that they hated the northerners. And what better way to cement the new alliance than to give them the Human wreck? A rich source of what the locals valued above all else, and that was metal. The single caveat was that his intelligence people would be allowed to survey the ship before the locals took it apart. And if the Humans arrived, so much the better . . . While they were busy killing the natives, he would attack them!

Oppo was thrilled to receive title to the bounty that had fallen out of the sky. In fact, he had even gone so far as to sign a thousand-year peace treaty with the Hudathan Empire. A largely meaningless document, of course—but one Nola-Ba would submit as proof of his success on Savas. All of which was good except for the fact that Oppo was a very cautious creature who, rather than dash in to capture the wreck shortly after it was brought to his attention, insisted on watching it for days while gathering his forces.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity Oppo did something rather clever—and that was to send thousands of herd animals stampeding through the area where the wreck was located. The unconventional attack had the effect of neutralizing most of the Human’s defenses. Meanwhile, warriors who were mounted on the four-legged beasts had been able to get in close and finish the job.

But then, in a move worthy of Nola-Ba’s race, the Humans destroyed both themselves and their ship, killing more than a hundred warriors in the process. A terrible loss to be sure . . . But one that in no way weakened Oppo’s position as chief since the attack netted more metal than his tribe knew what to do with. So what if they had to go out and gather the far-flung pieces? It was still an incredible haul.

The result was that they were drinking tea while Oppo talked nonsense, and Nola-Ba seethed with anger. Due to Oppo’s failure to act expeditiously, what could have been a significant intelligence coup had been lost. Would he be blamed for allowing that to occur? Of course he would.

That’s what the Hudathan was thinking about when Oppo said something important. Something so significant that it broke through his chain of thought. The electronic translator had a tendency to render everything in a monotone, but there was no mistaking the meaning of what was said. “So,” Oppo said, having concluded a long tirade, “we plan to execute the Humans tomorrow . . . Would you like to watch?”

Oppo’s head crest had been notched so many times that it resembled a saw blade. His skin was like old leather, a rakish-looking patch covered the hole where his left eye had been, and most of his front teeth were missing. But he was a clever old bugger and had been waiting to drop that piece of news on him! The southerners had prisoners . . . And, not content with a fortune in alien metal, Oppo was determined to squeeze even more out of his off-world allies.

“I never tire of watching Humans die,” Nola-Ba replied truthfully. “But on my world, we like to ask prisoners a few questions prior to removing their heads. I’m sure it’s the same with you and your people.”

Oppo nodded agreeably as he gummed a piece of dried fruit that his wife had presoftened for him. He was seated on a beautifully woven carpet with a large cushion to support his back. “This is so,” the chieftain said. “Unfortunately, what might otherwise be a routine matter is made more complicated by the deaths of so many warriors. Their families are very sad, but some speedy executions will serve to lift their spirits.”

Nola-Ba clenched his considerable jaw in an effort to control the anger he felt. Most, if not all of Oppo’s warriors would still be alive had the old geezer attacked right away. Now the chieftain was trying to squeeze what amounted to reparations out of Nola-Ba. And, much as he didn’t want to, the Hudathan would have to bend. Not because he believed that interrogating the Humans would produce a treasure trove of intelligence—but because he could use the resulting transcripts to paper over the loss of the Human ship.

So Nola-Ba repressed the desire to kill Oppo with his bare hands and offered him a deal instead. “There’s no way in which one can make up for the loss of a father, brother, or son. But life continues. Perhaps I could make that life a little easier.”

Oppo seemed to perk up. “Really? What does the honored emissary from the stars have in mind?”

“You have metal now,” Nola-Ba replied. “A great deal of hard metal and no efficient way to cut it.”

Though no expert on Paguumi facial expressions, Nola-Ba could tell that Oppo hadn’t considered that. And now that the idea had been planted in his head, he was worried. “How true,” the Paguumi said, as if the issue had already occurred to him. “We would welcome whatever help you could provide.”

“We have special saws,” Nola-Ba said, conveniently ignoring the fact that his troops were equipped with plasma torches as well. “Saws that can cut through the toughest metal. Could it be that the joy associated with receiving such saws would be great enough to render the executions unnecessary?”

Oppo produced a frown. “Yes,” the Paguumi chief allowed, “a thousand such saws would improve morale. There’s no doubt about it.”

“I’m sure they would,” Nola-Ba answered smoothly. “And I hope a hundred blades will suffice. That’s all we have beyond our own needs.”

Nola-Ba could tell that Oppo didn’t believe it—but knew better than to push his luck. “More tea,” the Paguumi ordered imperiously. “We must seal the agreement. A hundred saws it is.”

Nola-Ba waited for Oppo’s wife to pour, raised the bowl high, and drank the contents. For some reason, the bitter brew tasted better than it had before.

—

THE GREAT PANDU DESERT

A warrior mounted on a proud-looking zurna led the way, followed by twelve Human prisoners. One of them was Empress Ophelia Ordanus—and she was in crudely forged chains. Her right ankle was bleeding where a rusty bracelet had rubbed it raw. The trail wound its way through a scattering of boulders, up over a ridge, and onto an area of reddish hardpan. The sun was a malevolent presence in the sky—and beat down on the Humans as if determined to suck them dry of moisture.

More than a day had passed since the attack on the wreck. After being cooped up inside the hot, muggy ship all day, Ophelia and Nicolai had gone out for a stroll. Daska and two additional synths had been along for protection. It was dark, but the moonlight offered enough light to see by, and the air was delightfully cool. So Ophelia allowed her son to play hide-and-seek with Daska.

After an hour or so, she ordered the synth to take her son into the ship and put him to bed. The cross-country hike was slated to begin first thing in the morning, and it was important for Nicolai to be rested. He complained but was led away. That was the last time she’d seen him. Had he been killed inside the ship? Yes. Were it otherwise, Nicolai would be among the prisoners. Tears cut tracks through the dust on her cheeks and evaporated within seconds.

Twenty minutes after Nicolai left, Ophelia heard what sounded like thunder and began to make her way back to the ship. But it wasn’t thunder. A fact that soon became clear as the marines fired flares from the top of the hill, and Ophelia saw that a large number of animals were running toward her. Animals that were urged on by riders who cracked whips and shouted words she couldn’t understand.

The ship was still too far away to reach in time, so the synths boosted Ophelia up onto a large rock and turned to confront the bawling horde. The robots fired their machine pistols, and Ophelia heard grunts of pain. But the small-caliber bullets had very little stopping power, and the tidal wave rolled over the machines and kept on going.

At that point it was up to the marines and sailors to stop the stampede, and they tried. Ophelia saw muzzle flashes and heard the stutter of automatic weapons as sentries attempted to cope with the unexpected threat. That was when the energy cannon on top of the wreck began to fire. Ophelia saw blips of coherent energy stutter out only to be absorbed by the seething herd of animals around her. How many died? Hundreds—maybe more.

There was an urge to run but no place to go. Ophelia had never felt so helpless before. Normally, she was in charge. That’s what Ophelia was thinking about when the ship exploded. She was outside of the blast zone, but the flash of light took her night vision, and a shock wave blew her off the rock. She hit hard and rolled to her feet. The moon had set, but fiery pieces of wreckage were still twirling down out of the night sky.

While lots of indigs had been killed, others were mounted on the herd animals. One of them spotted her, stood, and jumped from back to back. It was a display of athleticism unlike anything Ophelia had seen before. She turned and began to run as a secondary explosion lit up the night. Ophelia hadn’t traveled more than twenty feet when the warrior took a dive off one of the rampaging beasts and drove her to the ground. She struggled but to no avail. The Paguumi jerked the Human to her feet, tied her wrists, and led her away.

The rest of the night was spent in a ravine where a small fire provided what little warmth there was—and three guards kept a close eye on Ophelia and two other prisoners. More captives trickled in until there were twelve in all. That was when a blacksmith arrived to fit them with leg irons and chains. The fact that such things existed said something about the locals and their culture.

By the time the sun rose over the eastern horizon, the column was under way. Chains rattled, and when somebody tripped, all of the prisoners were whipped. Time lost all meaning as the sun arced across the achingly blue sky, and the shadows cast by the rock formations grew longer. Then, as the Humans rounded a low-lying hill, Ophelia spotted what looked like an inflatable hab up ahead. A mirage? Probably. That’s what she assumed until they were about a hundred feet away.

That was when the entrance irised open, and a Hudathan emerged. Ophelia knew he was a Hudathan because she’d seen pictures of them. And he was
huge
. But for some reason, the alien’s skin was white instead of gray. A reaction to the heat? Yes. But details like that didn’t matter. What
did
matter was that the Hudathans had a presence on Savas and were on friendly terms with locals. That came as a shock.

The Hudathan was equipped with a translator. It was set to let him talk with the locals, so Ophelia couldn’t understand a word of what was said. The alien’s hand gestures were eloquent enough, however. Based on his instructions, the locals herded the prisoners into the shade provided by a cluster of jagged rocks. Then they were given bowls of brackish water and allowed to drink as much as they wanted. After some gulps, Ophelia swished the liquid around the inside of her parched mouth before letting it trickle down her throat. Had wine tasted so good? If so, she couldn’t remember it.