The Human Legion Deluxe Box Set 2

by Tim C Taylor

  Arun knew exactly who she had in mind.

  — Chapter 58 —

  Arun McEwan

  Conference Room, Holy Retribution

  The oval conference table slowly span about its longitudinal axis, delivering just enough micro-g to settle its delegates into their chairs, perches, or whatever suited their physiology. It was the same room where earlier that day, Aelingir had been subjected to a dressing down for his handling of unrest in Japan. The same room Arun had hung around outside, hoping to catch a little time with Springer, only for her to be snatched by the Far Reach squad.

  But the salient point he had failed to see earlier was the way Springer had been plotting with Nhlappo, Kreippil and others Arun had once called friends.

  In their previous meetings, delegates had been carefully positioned around the table to avoid an us-and-them dynamic.

  Not this time.

  Arun and Xin sat on one side, arranged in opposition against everyone. Nhlappo, Marchewka, Grace, Kreippil, Aelingir and Bloehn ranged against them, and sitting directly opposite him, Springer.

  Arun’s defocused gaze was locked upon her, seeing through her but unable to look away.

  He felt so very tired.

  Security inside and out of the room was ferociously heavy, but without Springer at his side, Arun lacked the strength to fight this coup.

  On his way here from the cell, Springer had intercepted his party and taken him to one side for a little privacy, but the moment he saw the steaming tears in her glowing eyes, he knew their time together was already over.

  “I’ll never stop loving you,” she had told him. “I’ve loved you since we met in novice school. I loved you through all those years I told myself I wanted nothing to do with you. Remember that, Arun. No matter how much you hate me, I will never stop loving you. But Earth is a mess, and it’s a combustible mess. If we aren’t careful, we will soon see civil war. The Sangurians will fight the Trogs. The Hardits will fight them both. The Littoranes and Gliesans are already bickering. Marines and Spacers of the Legion will square up to the humans of Earth in mutual recrimination and suspicion. And the New Order is a force that will rise again if we’re weak enough to allow it.”

  “I never imagined it would be easy,” Arun had snapped. “But it will be ten times easier facing it together. You and me, Springer. We’ve done so much together. Let’s do this too. As a team.”

  She had glanced inwardly then. It was a unique look she had, and it meant she was reflecting on her foresight. Her visions. That damned place where Arun could never follow her.

  “I’m not sure I trust my foresight any more. But I trust our children. They see many futures, but in the ones where the Earth and humanity prospers… you aren’t in it, Arun. If we stay together… it all crashes down in flames, and quickly. We had our time in Elstow. I hope that one day…”

  Springer’s words had tailed off, and by silent agreement they decided there was nothing left for either to say to each other.

  So now, Arun hunched in stony silence, allowing the events of his betrayal to wash over him. Those who sat on the opposing side of the table were speaking as if the vote had already taken place, and the decision made to banish the two former Legion leaders. They’d even decided upon a name for the history that they intended to write: the Judgement of Nhlappo.

  But there was one detail that itched under his skin, burning him until his focus return to the room and the one opposite him. He spoke up. “If Xin and I are banished and we both depart the Human Autonomous Region, what’s to say Xin’s fleet won’t just turn about after a few years and come straight back to play havoc?”

  “Ahh, I was wondering when we’d get to that question,” said a man now sitting in the vacant seat to Arun’s left. He wore beige fabric pants tucked into socks, and a peculiar dark jacket with a high collar trimmed with lace. Other than a rearguard of graying hair over his ears, and a fulsome mustache, the man was completely bald. Arun was sure he’d never seen this man before in his life, but this could only be Greyhart.

  “Well done on dealing with Tawfiq and her Night Hummers, by the way.”

  “And this banishment,” cried Arun. “Is that part of your plan? The Judgement of Nhlappo. The name has Greyhart written all over it.”

  Greyhart wagged his finger. “You know, Mr. McEwan, I can’t possibly comment on such matters. I’ve just popped over to let you all know that if you want to go ahead with this banishment, then I can help you out.” He held out his hands in a placatory gesture. “I’m not vote influencing. The decision is entirely up to you. I’m just offering to help out with the practical details. How to make a banishment stick. A trip that’s guaranteed to be safe – well, probably – but definitely one way.”

  Greyhart flicked his gaze to the side, as if remembering painful memories. “I have a daughter myself. Dear Mary… But I’m separated from her by time. Your separation from your daughter and others, though, McEwan. And for all those who choose to follow you. That I can make a little easier to endure.”

  — Chapter 59 —

  Interim-President Tremayne

  Shuttlecraft DS-X1134

  Perseid Pioneer Fleet in Mars-orbit staging zone

  The scores of ships in their docking cradles made Springer feel sick to her core every time she saw them. Every week she made herself come up here. She detested doing so. But still she came.

  At least in recent weeks, as they awaited the final upgrades, the ships had begun to look proud to her now, despite the close guard they were kept under and the freedom denied their crews. It was those crews who had named their collection of vessels the Perseid Pioneer Fleet, and said they would seek a new existence together far beyond the boundaries of the Trans-Species Union in the Perseus Arm. And they would do so together: Arun’s followers and Xin’s.

  If only such cooperation could be relied upon without the need to travel nearly 7,000 light years away.

  “Pilot, take us in close to Lance of Freedom.”

  The other occupant of the passenger compartment put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” said Grace, “believe me, I understand your need to beat yourself up, but in a week’s time they will be gone, and we will still be here. The Settlement of Vancouver was better received than I’d dared to hope. Remember that, because the Settlement alone has justified all that we’re doing here. Don’t self-flagellate so much that you stop realizing the future is depending on you, Madam President. This is the most important campaign you will ever fight.”

  If she hadn’t felt so hollowed out by the sight of the light carrier rapidly filling the observation viewport, Springer would have laughed at the irony of taking advice from this woman of all people.

  Marchewka, Nhlappo, Aelingir, Kreippil, the military forces of Nest Hortez, and the newly reconstituted Earth Defense Force all reported to Grace Lee-McEwan. Under the Settlement of Vancouver, the President of the Human Autonomous Region was forbidden to issue direct commands to any military unit, but Grace was Chief of Staff of the Human Legion, and that meant she reported to Springer. Every serving member of every military branch was to swear a personal oath of allegiance to Springer as the embodiment of the office of President. Those in the Solar System had already done so. And when it was time to pass that office to a properly selected civilian replacement, the personnel of the Human Legion would renew that oath to its new holder, sanctifying the vow with the most binding statements appropriate to their religion and culture.

  And Springer – she shuddered at the thought – would swear fealty to the White Knight Emperor like a feudal vassal, but it would be a charade to fulfill the letter of treaty obligations signed by General Arun McEwan, and many centuries earlier by President Horden in the Vancouver Accords. The difference between the two men was that Horden was a beaten supplicant pleading for humanity’s continued existence, whereas Arun was dictating terms as victor.

  Well, Springer and the Human Legion were even stronger now and the Emperor knew it. He’d even sent a me
ssage of congratulations to the new President of the HAR.

  “We’ll need to rebuild our carrier fleet urgently,” Grace reminded her as they swept over the opening to the Lance’s main hangar. Through the hash of the force shield, Springer could make out partially disassembled X-Boats, waiting to be unlocked at the far end of the one-way journey out to the Perseus Arm.

  “Your objections are noted,” Springer told the younger woman curtly. “However, this is not transportation to a penal colony. Who knows what they will find out there? Our region of the galaxy is a vindictive and dangerous place. Why should the Perseus Arm be any different? Don’t forget that the Legion voted to banish Xin and Arun for the wider good, but all those who travel with them volunteered.”

  “True. But when you agreed to supply them so generously, President, you critically underestimated how many would volunteer to go. Nearly 23% of human personnel. It was a critical error of judgement. You can still change this.”

  “Marines can never retire,” whispered Springer sadly, and thought of the person she cared for most in the universe who was somewhere aboard the warship they were passing over. If duty didn’t chain her to Earth, she would order the pilot to dock with the Lance immediately and leave with Arun on the Perseid Fleet when they departed in a few days. But it could never have been retirement for them. For those bred under the stewardship of the Jotuns in the Human Marine Corps, there had been no such concepts as retirement or civilians. You were a Marine for life until you were no longer useful, and then you would be spaced by your alien officers. If you survived one campaign, you would simply be put on ice until you were required for the next mission.

  And that was what she was doing to Arun, Xin, and all the others. Giving them a new mission. One that required them to cooperate, not fight each other. They would keep going as Marines until the end, whereas those left behind had to fight to become something new.

  Civilians.

  The idea made Springer’s flesh crawl.

  It wasn’t meant to be easy for her, though. It was the job of those who stayed behind to make it easy for the next generation.

  And it had been her personal task to make it easier for Arun. With a new purpose and healed body, that was preferable to fading away in a hospital bed, wasn’t it?

  She half-expected Saraswati to argue with her, but they’d said all there was to be said on the matter of Arun. He’d undergone secret medical procedures and was already in deep cryo. She could only hope and pray that Greyhart had kept his side of the bargain.

  Grace interrupted her thoughts. “I’m not asking for them to go into the dark defenseless, but you should force them to swear a binding oath of allegiance to you, and tell Greyhart to adjust the time setting so they don’t arrive in Perseus for centuries.”

  Springer didn’t disagree with Grace’s advice, but it was Greyhart she needed to convince, and he had whispered with silvered tongue into the right ears to make this Perseid Fleet a reality.

  And his parting gift was to equip the entire fleet with one-way time intercalators. They would travel back into deep history, at around the time the glaciers on Earth were retreating after the last ice age, and set a course for where the Perseus Arm would be thousands of years hence. Where it would be today.

  Then they would sleep, coasting through the void as civilizations began to rise and fall on Earth. Toward the end of their long journey, alien powers would pierce the barriers hiding their presence and reveal themselves to the humans of Earth in a rush to possess the fruits of human invention. And still the Perseid Fleet would fly cold and secret across the immense gulfs between the stars, skeleton crews awakening every century or so, just to keep the fleet in good repair before returning to cryo.

  A few days after setting off from Mars, Arun’s fleet would arrive where Greyhart wanted them. The journey would be over ten thousand years for Arun, but that was of no interest to the man from the future.

  Oh, he was an arch manipulator all right. Even now, Springer couldn’t discern the joins between Greyhart’s meddling and the free will of the other players. That business with the Karypsic disappearing, never to return. Had he planned that from the beginning?

  “Ma’am?”

  “Sorry, Grace. What were you saying?”

  “I think you should give us a chance to rebuild the Legion on our side of the galaxy, by telling Greyhart to delay their arrival. Otherwise in a few weeks, a significant part of the Legion’s naval strength is going to wake up seven thousand light years from Earth and dismiss us as an irrelevance.”

  “Let them,” Springer retorted.

  “With all due respect, it’s a mistake to have two Legions operating out of rival bases of operations thousands of light years apart. One day, both Legions will meet. It will be millennia into the future. Maybe more. But it will happen.”

  “Enough! Your opinions are already noted, Lee-McEwan. Do not repeat them.”

  “Ma’am.”

  Springer softened. Her chief of staff was supposed to be an ally, not a lackey. “I admire you enormously, Grace, but you were not there when the wars began. You and I are separating ourselves from those we love most, but we do not do so out of cruelty, and they will come to realize that. Our comrades setting off in that fleet are Marines and Spacers. They do not know how to be anything else. Better by far to send them off to their final mission with hope in their hearts and the honor of taking many of our proudest ships with them. If our distant descendants should ever encounter theirs, then the manner of the Perseid Fleet’s departure may prove crucial.”

  Springer stared in cold silence upon Arun’s ship for long minutes before ordering Grace to join her in sealing her pressure suit, and then evacuating the air from the passenger compartment.

  With helmets kissing together, they talked privately through the vibrations of the faceplates.

  “Arun led us to freedom from alien tyranny,” she told Grace. “With your mother’s help,” she added tactfully. “But we have a more dangerous foe to face than Tawfiq and the White Knight Emperor. Long ago, Indiya spoke of space-time being edited by the Amilxi ship, Bonaventure. It’s a future that has not yet happened. Some of those people about to leave in the fleet will return in our past. Greyhart has made all this possible because he has a purpose for them. I don’t know what that means. I don’t know a damned thing, Lee-McEwan, but I must assume we are facing hostile interference. We must prepare for time war.”

  “I agree, Madam President. It won’t be easy. So far, we’ve played around the edges with what Greyhart has decided to allow us. The potential for time war… it scares the crap out of me.”

  “And so it should. But we have to try, and here’s where I want you to start. Greyhart’s people are from the future, and if they’re operating in our present, it’s a safe bet that they’re doing so in our past too. Find them.”

  Grace considered for a moment. “Elstow?”

  “My thinking too. Greyhart told us the Hummers wouldn’t see us arrive there because so much disruption had already occurred in that location. I looked for signs when I was there in Celtic times and found nothing. Investigate every rumor, legend and coincidence about that place. Listen for the silences where history falls silent. Look for absences and gaps in the historical record throughout the Earth, but most of all, Elstow. I will find your secrets, Greyhart. And you will pay for making me push Arun away again. I’m coming for you.”

  — Chapter 60 —

  Imperial Pleasure Grounds

  White Knight Homeworld

  “Die, McEwan!”

  The Emperor drove his thumbs deeper into his arch-enemy’s throat. Only a faint rattle escaped the vile human’s windpipe, but the pleading look from his bulging eyes was sweet, eloquent submission.

  The creature’s desperate entreaties entered the Emperor’s mind across a telepathic link.

  He pulped its head and watched the rest of its body slump into the thick umber clouds covering the valley floor. In his hands, he still held the bloody p
lating that had forced a convincingly human form upon the Kurlei slave’s head.

  Its torso still looked human but wasn’t even convincingly male. And real humans were not telepathic.

  His imperial gaze took in the litter of corpses strewn over the ground. The flekk clouds obscured the details, aiding the work of the mutation engineers, surgeons, and prosthetic artists. The fourteen ruined corpses all resembled Arun McEwan, but the real one had escaped him forever.

  Worse still, the Human Legion had also evaded his claws. They had deployed hidden assets against the Hardits at Earth. Far from destroying themselves in the battle, they had emerged stronger than ever.

  But humans were short-lived creatures who lived for the moment.

  He had time.

  And so, it seemed, did the humans.

  The secret to time, hidden under his nose all the while.

  But he knew it was there now.

  And he would possess its power for himself.

  “Remove these corpses,” he ordered the underlings waiting nearby. “Prepare a fresh batch for tomorrow.”

  “Your Elevance, we have real human prisoners now. Would it please you to enjoy their deaths tomorrow?”

  “Humans? Why was I not informed? Summon the heads of the experimental mutation clans. There are powerful secrets locked inside that vermin species. I will plunder their DNA until I possess them.”

  The Emperor howled in victory at the scattered bodies of these faked enemies. “You haven’t escaped me yet, McEwan,” he cried. “When I learn your human secrets, I shall reach into your past. And there I shall watch you die.”

  — Chapter 61 —

  3 years later…

  also

  12,000 years later…

  Arun McEwan

  Lance of Freedom

  Zhooge System in the Perseus Arm

  Hot water saturated Arun’s hair and sluiced away the dried-on cryo fluids. He marveled at the complex patterns made by the streams of soapy water running down his body. Drips cascaded from his knees and onto his feet.