Andromeda's War (Legion of the Damned Book 3) (13 page)

Avery expected some pomp and ceremony once the shuttle put down but was unprepared for the totality of what followed. A crowd of five thousand people was waiting in the drizzle, many of whom held identical welcome signs aloft. A band played, dimly seen aerospace fighters passed overhead, and Governor Judd delivered a flowery speech. He was a portly man with a florid face and an ingratiating smile. Avery didn’t like him and could tell that Ophelia didn’t either.

But she played her part and waved to the clearly partisan crowd as she and a small retinue climbed into the bubble-topped limo that had been brought down to the planet’s surface six hours earlier. Avery was among that group and had been told that the rain-streaked duraplast could stop a .50 caliber bullet.

But that wasn’t all. The car was equipped with running boards, and two synths rode on each. There was a military escort as well, plus snipers stationed on rooftops all along the parade route. None of the buildings were more than five or six stories high, so Avery had a clear view of the marksmen and the armed air cars that kept pace with the limo.

There were discrepancies, however—differences between various elements of the militia that Avery found interesting. So, much to the annoyance of the economic advisor seated next to him, he whispered comments into a wire-thin boom mike as spectators cheered and pelted the car with identical bouquets of flowers.

Maybe it was the cloudy sky and the incessant rain, but Avery thought the city of Newport was a depressing place and was thankful when the journey ended two miles later. The governor’s mansion was a sturdy-looking affair surrounded by a blastproof perimeter wall, a water feature that could double as a partial moat, and narrow, slit-shaped windows. Were the soldiers on duty around the mansion a bit sharper than those guarding the intersections in town? Yes, Avery thought so . . . But it would make sense to put the best people at critical locations. There were other things however—things that bothered him.

At least there would be a good meal, or so Avery assumed. But first it was necessary to endure the reception, where, given his status as military attaché, Avery was expected to chat with a gaggle of officers all eager to curry favor with Ophelia’s pet major.

Finally, having survived the reception, Avery was given a chance to eat what turned out to be an excellent lunch. The only distractions were the woman on his right who wanted to know what Ophelia wore every day—and the geezer on the left who assumed the legionnaire was a criminal. “Did you murder someone?” he demanded. “And if so, why?”

Once lunch was over, one of Ophelia’s air cars plucked the party up off the roof of the mansion and flew it back to the spaceport. The empress was scheduled to attend a number of events over the coming days but preferred to spend the night aboard the
Victorious
. “So I can care for my sick son,” she told Governor Judd even though Avery knew that Nicolai was in good health.

Avery was beat by the time he returned to his quarters on the
Vic
, and about to get ready for bed when his pocket com buzzed. It was Daska . . . And she informed Avery that the empress wanted to speak with him. He was surprised, but only mildly so, and glad that he had taken the time to review his notes on the trip up into space.

A couple of synths were waiting outside the elevator. Daska watched impassively as the other robots patted Avery down. Then it led him down a corridor he hadn’t been in before to a hatch marked
B
-3
. It opened as if by magic as Daska led Avery into a beautifully furnished room. There were fresh flowers from Worber’s World, gilded mirrors, and art on all of the walls. Ophelia was seated on an off-white couch that was part of a well-conceived conversation area. She was dressed in a beautiful but modest synsilk robe and sat with her feet tucked under her. Avery bowed. Ophelia gestured to the chair across from her. “Have a seat, Major . . . Would you like a drink? I know I would.”

Avery said “Yes,” rather than risk offending her, and wound up with something called a Blue Comet. It packed a punch, and he resolved to have only one.

“So, Major,” Ophelia said, once he’d been served. “Tell me what you noticed during our visit. And Major . . .”

“Yes?”

“Don’t tell me what you think I
want
to hear. Tell me what you honestly believe.”

The whole thing was ironic. Avery was seated across from the dictator who was responsible for thousands of murders, including the deaths of Cat’s parents. A woman who would have McKee killed were she to learn of the legionnaire’s true identity. And he was going to provide Ophelia with what might or might not be valuable assistance. But what choice did he have? Other than to turn himself in. He took a sip and felt the cold liquid trickle down his throat. “I noticed two things, Highness. The first is that although they
look
new—every military vehicle I saw was at least ten years old. And some were older than that.”

Ophelia frowned. “And that’s important because?”

“That’s important because your brother provided Governor Judd with ten billion credits to modernize the local militia two years ago.”

Ophelia’s eyebrows rose. “And Judd did so . . . I read the readiness reports.”

“I’m sure you did,” Avery agreed. “But if the governor had new vehicles, why use the old ones? Especially for a royal visit? It’s my guess that the new equipment was never purchased.”

A hardness Avery hadn’t seen before appeared in Ophelia’s eyes and found its way into her voice. “You’re saying that he stole the money.”

“Not all of it,” Avery replied. “That’s the second thing . . . There are
two
militias on Worber’s World. The
real
one, and the militia within the militia, which is probably comprised of paid mercenaries.”

Ophelia stared at him. “How can you tell the difference?”

“The real militia is out of shape, sloppy, and poorly armed. The mercs are in great shape, well disciplined, and armed with assault weapons so new your marines haven’t received them yet.”

Ophelia looked puzzled. “But
why
?”

“I don’t know,” Avery answered honestly. “But, if I had to guess, I’d say half of the ten billion credits is stashed on one of the rim worlds waiting for the governor to retire. As for the militia . . . They’re the ones you’d expect to restore order if the population rose up against Judd. Except that his mercs could eat them alive. Then he’ll jump on a ship and run. Or maybe I’m wrong.”

“It fits,” Ophelia said angrily. “It fits with other things I know. And now that I can tell people what to look for, they can verify your theories. Thank you, Major. Thank you very much. Why didn’t my other officers notice those things?”

“Because they don’t belong to the Legion,” Avery answered. “Most of our people know something about crime.”

When Ophelia laughed, it was surprisingly loud. Avery had a feeling that Governor Judd was going to wind up dead pretty soon. Did that bother him? Hell, no. The people of Worber’s World deserved better. Would they get it? Not while Ophelia was empress. Chances were that she would replace Judd with someone worse. He finished the drink. It had a bitter taste.

—

There was no way to ascertain whether Governor Judd had billions of credits stashed on a rim world. But it didn’t take Ophelia’s agents long to confirm that the militia’s vehicles were as old as Avery said they were. And, after a bit of digging, they learned that 80 percent of the militia’s elite Ravager battalion were not only from off-planet but were full- versus part-time soldiers.

Avery half expected Ophelia to line Governor Judd and his family up against a wall and shoot them. But she was smarter than that. The truth was that the
Victorious
and her escorts weren’t carrying enough marines to land, duke it out with the mercs, and keep the civilian population under control at the same time. So Ophelia was pleasant to Judd—and left Worber’s World just as she’d found it. But Avery figured that Judd would wake up one morning to discover that a fleet was orbiting his planet, dropships were on the way down through the atmosphere, and a team of synths were knocking on his front door.

Once in space, the sessions with Nicolai resumed. They had moved on to other games by then, and Avery enjoyed the time he spent with the boy. Would Cat and he have children? It was an intriguing question and something he hadn’t considered before.

The
Victorious
was bound for Clone World BETA-018 at that point. The mission was to let the Alpha Clones know that Ophelia hoped to continue the friendly relationship they had enjoyed with her brother. As usual, the majority of the voyage would be spent in the never-never land of hyperspace, a dimension in which enemies couldn’t even see each other, much less fight.

That’s how it was
supposed
to work, at any rate. But such journeys often involved the need to exit hyperspace at what were commonly referred to as jump points, or places where a ship’s NAVCOMP could recalculate the next leg of the journey, before plunging back into hyperspace. And for reasons too technical for Avery to comprehend, the best jump points were not only well charted but used by a wide multiplicity of sentient races. That meant it was possible for a warship to wait at such a spot and ambush vessels as they arrived.

Everyone knew that, of course, so it was SOP to down-jump with weapons systems hot and all personnel at their battle stations. That’s why Avery was strapped into a chair at the very back of the command center. He didn’t have anything to do, but Commander Honto figured he had an obligation to put the military attaché somewhere near the action or run the risk that the empress would complain.

Avery had experienced dozens of jumps during his career and knew they could go wrong. So the possibility of an accidental death was enough to keep him from feeling bored. The command center was located forward of the bridge and half a level down. The semicircular space was organized around a large holo tank. It was dark and would remain so until the
Vic
reentered normal space. Then it would come back to life and provide the crew with information about who or what might be in the neighborhood.

Avery yawned as the ship’s NAVCOMP began the countdown. “Three, two, one . . . Reentry is complete.” The shift to normal space triggered the usual moment of nausea, the holo tank lit up, and a host of alarms went off. Avery sat up straight as the NAVCOMP launched into its report. “There are three, make that
four
ships located within twenty thousand miles of the jump point. All of them are a 98.4 percent match to known Hudathan profiles. Tracking, tracking, tracking . . . Sensors have detected
twelve
enemy torpedoes, estimated time to impact one minute thirty-seconds. Fighters launched. Shields up. Electronic countermeasures on.”

Captain Suzuki sounded calm. “Inform our escorts . . . We will engage. Kill those torpedoes and launch ship-to-ship missiles using standard threat protocols. What are we up against?”

“The ridgeheads have a Ka-Class battleship,” the ops officer said tightly. “Plus a cruiser and two tin cans.”

“We’re outgunned then,” Suzuki said clinically. “Prepare to . . .” He never got to finish his sentence. The Hudathan battleship fired a salvo of energy bolts from its projectors and the
Victorious
shuddered as they struck. Now a new and even more strident voice was added to the existing chorus of alarms.

“The ship’s energy shields are down,” the NAVCOMP announced. “We can reload the accumulators, but it will take thirteen minutes and seven seconds, assuming the ship sustains no further damage.”

The hull shook as two torpedoes struck and exploded. At that point, even a cavalry officer could tell that the
Victorious
was in trouble. “We can’t duke it out with a battleship,” Captain Suzuki said. “We’ll have to jump. Inform our escorts. Tell them to hold until the empress is in hyperspace. Then they can pull out.”

There it was. Brave men and women were going to die to buy time for a mass murderer. It made Avery sick, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“What about our fighters?” the operations officer asked hopefully. “Can we retrieve them first?”

“No,” Suzuki said woodenly. “We don’t have enough time. Tell the pilots to contact our escorts. Maybe they can help.”

Avery felt an emptiness where his stomach should have been. What would that be like? he wondered. To launch your fighter, defend your ship, and be left behind? Aerospace fighters weren’t equipped with hyperdrives. So, unless an escort managed to take them aboard, the pilots would be killed by the Hudathans or die of asphyxiation when they ran out of oxygen.

Avery clutched the armrests on his chair as the NAVCOMP began the countdown, and the holo tank went dark. That should have been the end of the danger but wasn’t. Avery listened as the chief engineering officer spoke from her control room deep inside the ship. “This is Collins. We took a serious hit, sir . . . The hyperdrive’s cooling system was damaged, and it’s running hot. I recommend that you down-jump ASAP.”

“Roger that,” Suzuki replied. “Give me some options.”

“The next down jump would place the ship in the Altari system,” the NAVCOMP responded.

“Who owns it?”

“Both the Human
and
the Hudathan empires lay claim to the system’s only inhabitable planet,” the computer answered. “It’s called Savas.”

“Settlements?”

“One Human colony.”

“Okay,” Suzuki said. “Savas it is. Execute.”

“Sixteen minutes and counting,” the NAVCOMP responded calmly.

Avery thought about Ophelia, Nicolai, and the rest of the crew. So long as the ship’s hyperdrive continued to function, they would be safe. And if it didn’t? Then all of them would be adrift in a dimension from which none of them could escape. Eventually, after a few months, they would fight each other for food. Would Ophelia’s synths win that battle on her behalf? Perhaps. But even if they did, she would still starve to death. And that would be a good thing. Unfortunately, Nicolai would die as well. Because Avery liked the little boy even if he was a monster in the making.