Andromeda's War (Legion of the Damned Book 3) (9 page)

Still, it was pleasant to walk up the path past the granary and the blacksmith shop to the barns and the stronghold beyond. It was made of stacked stone and was the place to which his ancestors could retreat when another clan attacked. He followed a walkway up the front door and pushed it open. Apparently, his father could see him because he spoke. “Admiral Nola-Ba? Can you hear me? We’re under attack!”

Nola-Ba awoke with a jerk as Captain Ana-Ka said his name again. “Admiral Nola-Ba . . . The locals are inside, repeat
inside
the ship, killing the crew.” The words were followed by the staccato rattle of gunfire and a bellow of pain. Then the intercom went dead.

Nola-Ba swore, rolled off the bunk, and was forced to confront the truth. The mistake was his. What was the saying? “To overestimate oneself is to underestimate the enemy.” The beings he had written off as primitive nomads had been watching for days. What’s more, they understood what Nola-Ba intended to do and were trying to prevent it.

So rather than attack a clearly superior force, the indigs waited for the kind of storm they not only understood but were evolved to cope with. Then, using the flying sand for cover, they’d been able to approach the destroyer unobserved. And with more than a dozen entrances to choose from, all they had to do was kill a sentry and enter the ship. It was a possibility that could have and should have been anticipated.

But the full extent of Nola-Ba’s self-recrimination would have to wait. The first order of business was to grab his weapons and join the fight. Nola-Ba’s pistol belt was hanging from a hook. After buckling it on, he turned to a locker. Ka-Killer was waiting inside. He pulled the weapon free of its sheath and opened the hatch.

That was a mistake. Nola-Ba felt a searing pain as a spear slid along his left side. The Hudathan parried the shaft with his sword and kicked the Paguumi with a huge boot. The force of the blow sent the local backpedaling into the opposite bulkhead. The warrior was a fierce-looking creature with a head crest, bladelike nose, and a black eye patch.

Nola-Ba heard a grunt of expelled air as the Paguumi hit the steel bulkhead and took the opportunity for a follow-up. Ancient steel punctured alien flesh. Nola-Ba gave Ka-Killer a twist to maximize the internal damage. Then he jerked the weapon up before pulling it free. The Paguumi clutched his abdomen and collapsed.

It had been a long time since Nola-Ba had killed anyone face-to-face, but the skills were still there—and Nola-Ba heard himself utter the traditional Hudathan war cry: “Blood!” The war cry was echoed from down the corridor, which meant that others were still in the fight.

Nola-Ba shouted,
“To me!”
And seconds later, two crew members appeared out of the gloom. One was armed with a combination fire axe/crowbar acquired from a damage-control locker—and the other was clutching one of the short, three-barreled shotguns kept in racks throughout the ship. “Follow me,” Nola-Ba said grimly. “It’s time to hunt.” The crewmen replied with growls of approval.

Having heard fighting over the intercom, Nola-Ba figured that the bridge would be a good place to go, both to engage the enemy and regain control of the ship. So he led the crewmen over to a ladder and began to climb. The rungs were slippery with blood.

As Nola-Ba arrived on the main deck, he could hear bursts of automatic fire, interspersed with the
pop, pop, pop
of single-shot weapons and warbling war cries. As Nola-Ba emerged from the alcove where the ladder terminated, he found himself behind a group of Paguumi warriors. They were facing the bridge, which remained under siege.

Nola-Ba drew his pistol and opened fire. Two warriors fell, and the rest turned. As they fired, Nola-Ba heard something buzz past his right ear. So he pulled the trigger again, heard the handgun click empty, and allowed it to fall. The crewman who had been armed with the axe was down, but the rating with the shotgun remained on his feet. They moved forward together.

A warrior came to meet him, and Nola-Ba felt the impact as the sword struck the Paguumi and sliced through his neck. There was a momentary fountain of blood as the animal’s head flew free. That was followed by a meaty
thump
when the body hit the deck.

The shotgun was firing by then, and the last warrior was torn to shreds as dozens of lead slugs tore through his flesh. He staggered, lost his balance, and fell into a pool of blood.

Nola-Ba stepped over the corpse. Half a dozen bodies representing both races were sprawled outside the control area. Consoles, screens, and the surrounding bulkheads were pockmarked with bullet holes and splashed with blood.

Captain Ana-Ka was lying on the floor with
two
spears protruding from his chest, and an engineering officer lay facedown on the deck. The only member of the bridge crew to survive was the navigator. He emerged from behind the holo tank holding a pistol. His voice sounded like a rock crusher in low gear. “Sorry, Admiral . . . They took us by surprise.”

And whose fault was that?
Nola-Ba asked himself. The answer was obvious. His. But, much as it troubled him to do so, he would have to blame Ana-Ka for the debacle. It was either that or accept the blame himself, and that would be pointless. Plus it was a way to get back at the Ka clan. A group of five troopers arrived, and one of them saluted. “The ship is secure, Admiral.”

“Good. How many people did we lose?”

“It’s too early to say for sure,” the noncom replied. “But I’ve seen at least twenty Hudathan bodies—not counting the ones here.”

Nola-Ba winced. More than twenty dead. He would avenge them.

There can be no doubt that the slick skins wanted north to fight south and opened the tunnel through the Towers of Algeron for that purpose.

LOOKBACK THINKSEE
A History of My People
Standard year 2727

PLANET ALGERON, CITY OF PILLARS

McKee could feel the sun on her face, smell the sweet-sour stink of the dooths around her, and hear the wild thumping of her heart. The warrior named Stinkkiller was staring at her. Had he killed Humans? Yes, if his name was any indication. People she knew? Possibly. Her hand was hidden beneath a long cloak. It was in contact with one of two concealed pistols. “There are stories about a female slick skin named Nofear Deathgiver. They say that when Fastblade Oneeye and his warriors attacked the village of Doothdown, she held them off with a handful of soldiers.”

“
And
females,” McKee said. “Their mates had gone south to take part in the Battle of Bloodyriver. They fought with knives, with axes, and with shovels.”

“I fought in the Battle of Bloodyriver,” Stinkkiller said. “Your soldiers were poorly led. We killed many slick skins that day. And your machine people, too.”

“So maybe the killing should stop. That’s why we’re here . . . To speak with Chief of Chiefs Truthsayer.”

Stinkkiller was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. “Follow me.”

McKee’s hand came off the pistol as Stinkkiller pulled his dooth around and led the procession of riders deeper into the nearly empty city. Stone pillars rose here and there, some bare, some topped with wind-ripped flags. The streets turned and twisted without any apparent rhyme or reason, and it would be easy to get lost.

McKee expected her guide to lead them to a large structure commensurate with Truthsayer’s rank and reputation. Such was not the case. When they arrived, it was at a modest, two-story structure notable only for the number of heavily armed males hanging around. The warriors watched with considerable interest as Stinkkiller pulled up in front of the building, slid to the ground, and invited McKee to do likewise. She felt lonely and frightened as her boots hit the ground. Could she count on Storytell? Maybe . . . And maybe not. Venturing into the City of Pillars without a squad of T-1s had been foolhardy. She realized that now but couldn’t back out. All she could do was look confident and hope for the best.

A group of warriors were blocking the front door—but they hurried to get out of the way as Stinkkiller approached. As McKee passed between them, she could feel their hatred. And that was to be expected in the wake of the incredible slaughter that had taken place to the north.

Hinges squealed as Stinkkiller pushed the wooden door open, and McKee followed him into a dimly lit interior. It smelled like beer, food, and dirty clothes. A circular stairway led down to a subterranean living area, which was lit with lanterns and dominated by a central fireplace. A small dooth-dung fire burned on the hearth, and the smoke rose through a funnel-shaped flue. And there, sitting on a wooden chair, was a small Naa with a hunched back. He was reading a leather-bound book and looked up as the visitors descended the stairs.

McKee assumed he was a scholar, one of Truthsayer’s advisors perhaps, until Stinkkiller made the introductions. “Chief Truthsayer . . . This is Nofear Deathgiver. She would like to speak with you on behalf of her leaders.”

Truthsayer put the book aside and stood. In marked contrast with most adult males, he stood no more than five and a half feet tall. Black markings interrupted his otherwise orange fur, and his eyes were exceptionally large. McKee saw what might have been amusement in them. “Not what you were expecting?” he inquired. “Well, the feeling is mutual.”

McKee laughed and felt herself drawn to the chief as he honored her with the forearm-to-forearm grip. “You are known to me,” he said. “Come, join me by the fire.”

So they sat by the fire while Stinkkiller, Storytell, and the others looked on. Regardless of what happened, there wouldn’t be any secrets. Stories would be told. “So,” Truthsayer began, “were you at the mesa?”

“Yes.”

“Your people fought bravely.”

“As did yours.”

“But we lost.”

“Yes.”

“So what is there to talk about?”

McKee shrugged. “I am not authorized to negotiate with you. Only to invite you to negotiate.”

Truthsayer frowned. “But if they sent you, they must have something in mind.”

“I hope so,” McKee replied fervently. “Lives were lost bringing this message to you.”

“Yes,” Truthsayer said sadly. “It seems that everything must be paid for with blood.”

McKee broke the ensuing silence. “So? Would you be willing to go north? To meet with General Vale?”

Truthsayer’s eyes came back to meet hers. “Your troops are camped on Fishtrap Island. Can you reach them by radio?”

McKee swallowed. She had assumed that the locals would notice the company’s presence—but it was a shock to find out that
everyone
knew where they were. “Yes, I can.”

“Good. I suggest that you order them to move. There’s an old mill just north of town. You can meet them there. I will give you my answer by tomorrow morning.”

All sorts of thoughts chased each other through McKee’s mind. Was Truthsayer trying to trick her? Trying to send the company to a place where he could attack it?

Truthsayer smiled knowingly. “No, Deathgiver . . . It isn’t a trick. Battles have consequences. Especially for those who lose. I still have a strong following. But other chiefs want what power I have left or want to punish me for our defeat. A coalition has been formed, and they know I’m here. In a day, two at most, they will arrive here. That’s why most of the city’s residents left. So I have no choice but to accompany you or to begin a journey to nowhere. Either way, it would be prudent for you to head north quickly. Do I make myself clear?”

The last was spoken not in the manner of the scholar that Truthsayer appeared to be but with the hard-edged assurance of a general. And what he said squared with what McKee had heard during the trip south. There were those who hated Truthsayer. Still, his explanation could constitute a distortion if not lie. All she could do was make a decision and hope for the best. “We’ll be there,” she said. “At the mill.”

Truthsayer looked into her eyes. “Leadership is difficult.”

“Yes, it is. But why wait? You could make the decision now.”

“The decision isn’t up to me alone,” Truthsayer answered simply. “I must consult with others.”

That made sense. McKee stood. “It was an honor to meet you.”

“The honor was mine,” Truthsayer said. “Go to the mill. Then, one way or another, it will be time to ride.”

McKee could feel the hostility around her as she left the building—and heard the warriors laugh as she struggled to climb up into the saddle. Then, with Storytell leading the way, McKee and her companions followed the winding streets back to the north gate.

During the trip, McKee contacted Larkin and ordered him to take a look at the latest satellite imagery. She figured that if Truthsayer was preparing an attack, there would be some sign of it on the aerial photos.

It took about thirty minutes to reach the old mill. It was sited next to a stream. While part of the old waterwheel was still in place, the interior of the building had been ravaged by fire. But the walls were thick enough to make the building defensible, and McKee hoped that was a sign of good faith on Truthsayer’s part.

It was starting to get dark by that time, and the group was too small to defend itself against even a dozen attackers, so McKee ordered the Naa to take their dooths inside. All the party could do was remain alert and wait for the company to show up. Were they under observation? McKee would have been willing to bet that they were.

A good hour passed before Larkin made radio contact. The satellite imagery was clean, and the company was on the way. A drone arrived ten minutes later, speared McKee with a beam of light, and proceeded to explore the ruins.

McKee felt a profound sense of relief as Larkin and lead elements of the company arrived soon thereafter. Now, come what may, she was with her command. Once the defensive perimeter was in place Larkin came looking for her. “There’s a possibility that Truthsayer will join us in the next hour or so,” McKee told him. “If he does, good. If not, we’ll head north. So feed everybody and tell them to be ready.”

There had been a time when Larkin would have said something snarky as a way to push back against authority, any authority, even hers. But responsibilities that went with his new rank had begun to change him. “We did as much maintenance as we could. Most of the T-1s are in pretty good shape. Oso’s right arm actuator is acting up though . . . I’d appreciate it if you could take a look.”

Cat Carletto had a degree in cybernetics, which meant Andromeda McKee could make repairs that most techs couldn’t. That was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing when it kept a cyborg running—and a curse when it cost her some much-needed sleep. McKee was about to agree when she heard movement behind her. She turned to find Andy standing there. “Hold that position,” the robot said. “I’ll get a two shot.”

McKee sighed. Andy would have to be dealt with. The question was
how
? The combot accompanied her as McKee and Jivani made their rounds.

Once the circuit was complete, McKee inspected Oso’s actuator and realized that it would have to be replaced. And, given the fact that Truthsayer could arrive at any moment, there wasn’t enough time in which to make the repair. So she waited. But thirty minutes passed without any sign that the Naa leader planned to come. Maybe she should have given him a radio. But that would enable the Naa to monitor the company’s communications.

McKee was still thinking about that when a distant boom was heard, and a column of black smoke rose over the City of Pillars. Truthsayer’s enemies were shelling the town. Preparing to invade it. That’s the way it appeared anyway, and it wouldn’t be long before they realized that the place was undefended. So what did that mean to her? Since Truthsayer’s enemies were
her
enemies, they would pursue the company and attack it. Should she run? Hell yes, she should run.

But what about the mission? What if Truthsayer had been delayed for some reason? Worse yet, what if his enemies captured him? All because she left too quickly? Thirty minutes. That was the answer. She would wait for another half an hour, and if Truthsayer hadn’t arrived by then, she would leave.

So as time passed, McKee switched back and forth between the pictures the drones sent back hoping to see the riders she was waiting for. Andy was staring at her, so she ordered it to get some pictures of a dooth’s rear end, and laughed as the robot departed. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the half hour was up. And Truthsayer was nowhere to be seen.

The shelling had stopped, and a steady stream of refugees was pouring out of the city via the north gate. They were herding animals, pushing handcarts, and carrying packs. These were the people who had stayed behind hoping that the attack would never take place. Now, as a pall of gray smoke drifted over the city, it appeared that at least part of it was on fire. So the time had come to leave. McKee knew that but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Instead, she sent Storytell out to speak with the refugees in hopes that they might know where Truthsayer was. But none of them did. By the time he returned, another fifteen minutes had elapsed, and darkness was starting to fall. So McKee summoned Larkin and gave the necessary orders. “Take the company about twenty miles north. Look for a place that we can defend and throw a high berm around it.”

“And what will
you
be doing?” he inquired pointedly. There was no “ma’am” in the sentence and never would be whenever they were alone.

“I’m going to wait a bit longer. I’ll keep the Naa warriors. You take Jivani.”

Larkin frowned. “This is bullshit . . . You know that.”

McKee grinned. “We’re legionnaires, remember?
Legio bullshit nostra.
”

Larkin laughed. Then he looked serious again. “Don’t get killed, McKee . . . Our people are counting on you, and I’m not good enough to get them back on my own.”

It was the most honest thing Larkin had ever said to her, and McKee knew it was probably true. Larkin was willing to follow orders most of the time, and to force others to do so as well, but he wasn’t very imaginative. “That isn’t true,” she lied. “But don’t worry . . . It’s hard to get rid of me.”

So Larkin took the RAVs, robots, and legionnaires north while McKee, Vella, and the Naa remained behind. And that’s where they were, waiting near the mill, when Andy appeared out of the gloom. Apparently, the robot realized that out of sight was out of mind and was determined to stay close. And that, she knew, was what any synth would do. The damned thing was a threat and one she would have to neutralize.

McKee’s thoughts were interrupted by a flurry of gunshots. Refugees scattered as a group of riders appeared. They were whipping their dooths, and the reason was obvious.
More
Naa could be seen in the distance, firing as they came.

The light was nearly gone, but McKee could see Stinkkiller in the lead with a diminutive figure on a dooth slightly behind him.
Truthsayer!
She gave orders over the radio as she waved her Naa back into the shadows. “Let the first group pass—kill the rest.”

McKee spoke to Vella over the intercom as Truthsayer and his party thundered past. “Fire a grenade followed by the fifty.”

“Roger that,” Vella replied.

McKee switched to night vision and chinned the radio to the company freq. “Get ready,” she said. “Don’t fire until Vella does.”

The oncoming warriors were so intent on catching up with the chief of chiefs that they weren’t aware of the ambush until Vella’s grenade landed immediately in front of them. There was a brilliant flash of light followed by a boom—and the shrill screams that dooths made as they went down.

The next rank of warriors was largely untouched but moving so fast they couldn’t stop. The mounts tripped over bodies and fell, throwing their riders onto the ground. That was when McKee opened fire, and her Naa companions did likewise. They were from the north and quite happy to slaughter southerners. The whole thing was over seconds later. “Cease fire!” McKee ordered. “Save your ammunition . . . We’re going to need it.”