The Human Legion Deluxe Box Set 2

by Tim C Taylor

  The Listener Prime’s body throbbed with power. He could feel his mind stretching further in distance and in time. He began to see what had not yet transpired, and what would never come to be unless the future was nudged onto new paths.

  His comm chimed.

  The many worlds centered on the Sacred Grove imploded, all of them, shattering against the Listener Prime’s mind. He gasped, drawing the sea into his lungs, making him choke.

  It took many draughts through his gills until his mind and body cleared enough to speak.

  The Listener Prime bared his triple rows of teeth and acknowledged the call on his collar comm. “If you value your skin, this interruption had better be worthwhile. Speak!”

  “Your Eminence,” came a humble voice clipped with compression distortion – which meant this must be relayed from an FTL link. “Deep Listening Station 271 has detected a multi-layered lightspeed transmission directed at our world from a starship inbound from the outer system, having passed Perimeter Two.”

  The functionary spoke without hesitation even though fear entwined through every one of his words. He was right to fear the wrath of his master, but the Listener had been pulsing with the song of the universe. This news was neither interruption, nor coincidence, but a part of that song.

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Religious Attaché Stenoo, embedded in 3rd System Defense Division.”

  “Then, Religious Attaché Stenoo, may I convey my blessings upon you, your family, and your spawn, even though my blessing is but a speck of dust in comparison with the favor of the gods, because it is they who have chosen you to speak for them.”

  Stenoo was too stunned to reply.

  The Listener didn’t have time to wait for him. “How long before this lightspeed transmission reaches our world, and the Queen’s ears?”

  “Six hours, Your Eminence. Our translation and analysis will be available momentarily.”

  Time enough to think. What does this message contain? Is it the answer to the war in heaven? Freedom? Perhaps this was his chance to replace the Queen with her far more respectful niece.

  “Translation ready, Your Eminence.”

  “Go ahead.”

  The Listener sucked in a deep draught of warm air through gills and… and heard nothing.

  “Where is my message?” he thundered.

  “Forgive me my presumption, Your Eminence, but…” Stenoo sounded distracted. An unforgiveable insult. Who could be more important than the highest priest of them all? “I request you stand by while I acquire an information update… It’s. No! Song of the Gods! No, it can’t be!”

  “Control yourself, Stenoo, lest I withdraw your blessings and transform them into curses. Explain!”

  “It is them, Your Eminence. They have returned.”

  “Who? Speak clearly.”

  “The monsters. Those who wrought the Year of Sorrows. Voice analysis matches those from recordings made three centuries ago. They have returned to punish us again. What have we done to deserve this?” The attaché hesitated and remembered his function. “Shall I alert system defense command?”

  “Hold!”

  The song of the gods was infinite in its complexity, and could be playful in ways difficult for most mortals to distinguish from cruelty. But he was the Listener Prime. This alien visitation was a message from the gods. He calculated trajectories in his head. If the inbound ship was at Perimeter Two, it was about eight days away. Three if they pushed it. Ten if they didn’t. Not long, but time enough to prepare.

  “Negative, Stenoo. Do not fire upon this ship. The evildoers within may be godless themselves but they unwittingly serve the purpose of the gods.”

  “Acknowledged, Your Eminence. The Queen’s people will be receiving the transmission within a few hours. I doubt they will note the connection to the Year of Sorrows. Shall I provide the Queenfolk with the message earlier, and should I alert them to the presence of the monsters?”

  The Listener thought quickly. Decisions made in haste would determine the fate of his people, maybe their very existence. But in haste they must be made. “Yes,” he told Stenoo. “The priesthood is duty bound to advise and support the nobility with the Queen at their head. Our roles and titles may differ, sometimes our opinions too, but we are all servants of the people. We must share everything we know.”

  “Of course, Your Eminence.”

  “But, let us not be hasty. Our role as advisors to the nobility requires us to consider the best course of action before the Queen is aware of an issue. I shall alert the Queen to this development personally, but first, transmit your translation of the aliens’ message.”

  “Yes, Your Eminence.”

  The Listener Prime wriggled his spine ridge, throwing up a cloud of rich sand. Even in a world renowned for its technology and shipbuilding engineering, he felt an irresistible instinct to conduct important matters screened by this primitive underwater privacy shield.

  He lay back in his cloud of sand and listened to the message from the gods.

  — Chapter 05 —

  The atmosphere in CIC as Beowulf approached the Shepherd-Nurture system was tense. They had been decelerating now at a rate of 1g for the best part of two months, using the time to prepare, which principally meant thawing out the Wolves and continuing with their training, while taking advantage of the pseudo-gravity resulting from the deceleration to repair berserker bones and muscles.

  Things had progressed well enough on that front for Nhlappo to declare that she was ‘reasonably satisfied’ – something Arun couldn’t recall her ever saying when he had been trained. He knew that the Human Legion was as ready as they were ever going to be. They had worked out a number of contingencies to meet every possible situation they could think of, but Arun couldn’t escape the feeling that the universe might still have a trick or two up its sleeve.

  “Updating now,” Indiya reported.

  The automatic data exchange Beowulf’s information systems were now accepting would be hours old rather than years, current rather than recent history. In peacetime it was a routine detail of arrival, a means to ensure navigational updates, nomenclature changes, software patches, and other minutiae didn’t diverge too much across the empire. But now? There was no way to tell which dangerous truths had been concealed and falsehoods planted, but they had little choice but to treat the update as a cautious truth. Finally, their options would narrow down to the point where an appropriate course of action would become clear.

  “Very well, Captain, time we said a proper hello,” said Arun.

  “This far out?” queried Del-Marie.

  “We’re not trying to sneak in,” Arun reminded him. “They’ll know we’re here soon enough in any case. Even if they don’t have outsystem listening posts, the hail we sent a while ago will reach their planet in a few hours. The earlier we announce ourselves properly the sooner we demonstrate that we’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “Done.” Indiya reported.

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  The messages were standard greetings Indiya had prepared and stored well in advance. The first had simply identified the ship and their port of origin. The second one, which she had just sent, expressed their peaceful intent and requested permission to approach the planet. Follow ups were likely to be more hands-on but they wouldn’t have to worry about those for a while. Beowulf was still two light hours from the system’s outer edge, which was the first point at which any communication relays were likely to be stationed, and from there it was a good six light hours farther to Shepherd-Nurture 4 itself. Even if the locals responded instantly, it would be more than fifteen hours before they heard back, and by then they ought to have a better idea of what they were dealing with.

  When it came, the response was not all that Arun had expected. He had been back at CIC for the best part of an hour when it arrived, not doing anything constructive, just hovering, much to Indiya’s obvious annoyance, waiting for the anticipated message.

&n
bsp; The message came through as image and sound. The face that greeted them featured a broad mouth and large rounded eyes. Short fur-like hair started between those eyes and ran backward to cover the crown. Twin rows of gills, that opened and closed to a rhythm all of their own, ringed the native’s neck.

  “I am Religious Attaché Stenoo, speaking on behalf of the Listener Prime of the Littorane. Your call sign identifies you as the Beowulf, out of Tranquility. Our records indicate that Tranquility is populated by Jotuns, Hardits, and Humans, and is legally owned by the Empire of the White Knights. I ask that you clarify the composition of your personnel and confirm your purpose in being here.”

  Arun played the message again.

  “Hardly the warmest of welcomes,” Del-Marie commented from beside him. Del had been brought in because of his ability to get on with people – if anyone among those Arun knew and most trusted was cut out to be a diplomat, it was Del, so Arun had decided to include him from the top.

  “Agreed.” Arun shook his head. “Why the chodding hell are they asking about our personnel?”

  They had a little time to compose a response before their silence would raise questions, and Arun intended to use every second to at least try to answer that question, feeling the reason might prove crucial.

  “I think I might have something,” Indiya said. “I’ve had to dig a little – this isn’t an event that’s immediately obvious, almost as if they’ve tried to bury it, to suppress the memory…”

  “From visitors, you mean?”

  “No, from themselves; as if this is something so dreadful that they’re trying to block it from their own histories, but it’s too recent, too horrific for that to work…”

  “Go on.”

  “They refer to the period as the Year of Sorrows, and it happened nearly three centuries ago… An entire generation of their children was wiped out, murdered…”

  “By whom?”

  “By human soldiers.” Indiya sounded as horrified as he felt.

  “Oh, crap!”

  Talk about the universe having the last laugh – so much for planning for every contingency. Thank goodness he had delayed responding. Arun thought for a moment, then said, “Request the Reserve Captain’s urgent presence at CIC.”

  Getting the Reserve Captain anywhere was no easy matter, the Jotun being less than fully mobile, but on this occasion Arun felt her physical presence was essential. Eventually they managed it, with the aid of some of the Wolves.

  After explanation and brief discussion, both Arun and the Reserve Captain recorded a response, presenting a united front.

  “I am the Reserve Captain of the Beowulf,” and, “I am Major Arun McEwan,” they said respectively – Arun carefully avoiding any reference to precisely what he was Major of.

  “As you say,” the Reserve Captain continued, “we are out of Tranquility, and our crew is predominantly human with Jotun officers.” No point in admitting that the Reserve Captain was their only Jotun officer. “Our mission is a peaceful one. We approach you as allies in these troubled times, to explore the possibility of making common cause. Might I ask why you are so curious regarding our racial makeup?”

  The question seemed a reasonable one under the circumstances, the type that might be expected if those aboard Beowulf knew nothing about the Year of Sorrows. They had decided to play innocent and not mention the atrocity, leaving the Littoranes to bring the subject up themselves if they chose to.

  Sure enough they did, in the next communication: “Humans are not welcome here. They are responsible for heinous crimes against the Littorane people. We advise you to continue through our system without stopping, or face the consequences.”

  This time they had their response ready and were able to reply immediately. “Our deepest sympathies for past tragedies,” the Reserve Captain said. “But any such crimes were not carried out by these Humans. We know nothing of such deeds and are blameless. Our intentions are entirely peaceful.”

  As they entered the Shepherd-Nurture system and drew closer to their destination, communication became swifter, but the delays still seemed frustratingly long to Arun.

  “… three centuries is not long enough for us to forget or forgive…”

  “… if it was three centuries ago, a different type of Human would have been responsible. They have evolved greatly since then. We are not accountable for the misdeeds of others in the past…”

  “Human is Human. The passage of time does not exonerate them.”

  Finally, they played their trump card. “Attached to this message are my biometric identifiers,” the Reserve Captain said, “which as part of the White Knight Empire you will be able to verify. I am a renowned geneticist of unblemished record. I vouch for these Humans and will not be gainsaid. These are not the same Humans that inflicted historical atrocities on your people. If you are not yet convinced of this, meet with us, see the truth with your own eyes.”

  This time the wait for a response was considerably longer than it should have been. Arun could imagine the debate: what if this is a trap? Can we trust them?

  The Reserve Captain was tiring visibly. She had been at CIC throughout and the protracted period of activity was clearly taking its toll, but she insisted on staying. Arun summoned a party of Wolves to stand by, so that she could be maneuvered back to her quarters as soon as a response arrived.

  Eventually it came. “Very well. You may establish orbit according to our instructions and await further contact.”

  Arun sighed with relief.

  “We did it,” Del-Marie said, grinning from ear to ear.

  “We did,” Arun agreed, “but this is just the beginning.”

  “Ehm, Major?” It was Matias, one of the Wolves there to escort the Reserve Captain back to her quarters, who spoke. Arun recalled him as the very first Ancient to be woken from their long sleep. “We may have a problem,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  Matias looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Those fish-faces… sorry, Littoranes, they look kind of familiar… Didn’t realize until I actually saw the message, but we’ve been here before, the Wolves I mean. They never told us which planet we were being deployed to, you see. They just thawed us out and let us loose, and well… Our officers said the fish-faces needed to be punished for some reason, they never told us what, just that the masters were pissed off with the fish people. That’s what we were for, you see. Terror. We were only following orders, but the humans that killed all the fish-face’s children… that was us.”

  ——

  The Listener Prime sat in silence for a moment, the implications of what he had just been told sending his thoughts dancing along myriad paths of possibility. “And you are certain of this?”

  “Yes, Your Eminence, there can be no doubt. The human was at the fringes, not involved in the message itself, and he only appeared for a moment in the corner of the screen, as if they were trying to keep him out of sight; but facial recognition has confirmed that this is one of the same humans that inflicted upon us the Year of Sorrows. He is a murderer, a monster, Your Eminence. And where there is one…”

  “Thank you, Religious Attaché Stenoo.” The Listener Prime cut the subordinate short. He saw an opportunity here, one that could publicly humiliate the Queen, undermining her authority for good and helping to establish proper order for his people for generations to come. He felt the weight of destiny on his shoulders and knew that this was his moment. “You will speak of this to no one, do you understand?” he said. “May your spawn wither and your clan be forever barren if you do.”

  “Yes, Your Eminence,” said a clearly flustered Stenoo, “of course. My gills will seal before I utter a word.”

  The Listener Prime cut the transmission.

  “Your Eminence, what shall we tell the Queen?” It was Keldaa, his senior assistant, who asked.

  “Tell her Majesty… Tell her that Beowulf is to be welcomed, that the technology the ship represents could prove invaluable to the Littorane people. Tell her
that a distinguished Jotun vouches for the humans on board, and say…” He allowed himself a hiss of satisfaction. “…say that there is nothing to be feared, nothing whatsoever.”

  — Chapter 06 —

  “Examples of your assault carbine would be useful,” Lady Kandalyz told the human negotiators, “but what you are asking for in return amounts to a full-blown alliance, based on the dubious legal assumption that our status as subservient races within the empire is suspended for the duration of the civil war. If we were to sign this treaty, neither party could ever disregard its terms without bringing upon our heads the retribution of the entire Trans-Species Union. You are not offering us anything like enough.”

  The Queen debated with herself whether to leave her negotiator to this dissatisfying business with the three humans, and return to the pressing matter of the industrial unrest simmering amongst the deep sea miners. Kandalyz had served as Littorane ambassador to several star systems in the White Knight Empire. She knew better than anyone how excruciatingly difficult it would be to conduct a mutual defense pact with these humans without being accused of breaking their accession treaty to that empire. And this Human Legion that came seeking pacts and treaties was increasingly looking like a tired huddle of stragglers aboard an abandoned starship.

  The arrival of these humans was looking less like a gift from the gods, and more like a trap designed by the Listener Prime to depose her and put someone more pliable on the throne.

  “The SA-71 carbine is only the start,” said Major Arun McEwan, who was proving to be the biggest disappointment of all. “Furn, please explain.”

  The tiniest of the humans got to his feet, using a stick to compensate for a missing leg. He bowed deeply.

  The Queen waved him upright, hoping he had more to offer than good manners.

  “Your Majesty, the zero-point engine is the mainstay of starships throughout the Empire.”