Andromeda's Fall (Legion of the Damned)
Page 1
Ace Books by William C. Dietz
GALACTIC BOUNTY
FREEHOLD
PRISON PLANET
IMPERIAL BOUNTY
ALIEN BOUNTY
MCCADE’S BOUNTY
DRIFTER
DRIFTER’S RUN
DRIFTER’S WAR
LEGION OF THE DAMNED
BODYGUARD
THE FINAL BATTLE
WHERE THE SHIPS DIE
STEELHEART
BY BLOOD ALONE
BY FORCE OF ARMS
DEATHDAY
EARTHRISE
FOR MORE THAN GLORY
FOR THOSE WHO FELL
RUNNER
LOGOS RUN
WHEN ALL SEEMS LOST
WHEN DUTY CALLS
AT EMPIRE’S EDGE
BONES OF EMPIRE
A FIGHTING CHANCE
ANDROMEDA’S FALL
Andromeda’s
Fall
* * *
A Novel of the Legion of the Damned
* * *
WILLIAM C. DIETZ
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2012 by William C. Dietz.
LEGION OF THE DAMNED is a registered trademark of William C. Dietz.
Cover illustration © Christian McGrath.
Cover background © akiyoko/Shutterstock.
Cover design by Judith Lagerman.
Text design by Laura K. Corless.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
FIRST EDITION: December 2012
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Dietz, William C.
Andromeda’s fall / William C. Dietz. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-425-25625-1 (hardcover)
eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-61350-4
I. Title.
PS3554.I388A8 2012
813'.54—dc23
2012024112
Contents
Also By
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter: 1
Chapter: 2
Chapter: 3
Chapter: 4
Chapter: 5
Chapter: 6
Chapter: 7
Chapter: 8
Chapter: 9
Chapter: 10
Chapter: 11
Chapter: 12
Chapter: 13
Chapter: 14
Chapter: 15
Chapter: 16
Chapter: 17
Chapter: 18
Epilogue
For my dearest Marjorie
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to Conlan Rios for creating Legion of the Damned the game, and to Gordon Rios for his help regarding futuristic computer technology. You guys rock!
CHAPTER: 1
* * *
Here the question arises; whether it is better to be loved than feared or feared than loved. The answer is that it would be desirable to be both but, since that is difficult, it is much safer to be feared . . .
NICCOLÒ MACHIAVELLI
The Prince
Standard year 1513
IMPERIAL PLANET EARTH
THE NORTH AMERICAN CONTINENT
Princess Ophelia Ordanus felt a fierce sense of joy as she led a squad of synths out onto the narrow footbridge that connected the palace to the royal tower. The summer residence had been built on top of a mountain in the Rockies, where, in the words of the first Emperor Ordanus, “I can see the sun rise and feel the urgency of the wind.”
And even the ruler’s critics had to admit that the soaring turrets, the carefully placed observation platforms, and the frail-looking bridges that tied everything together made for a truly remarkable structure. But in spite of the poetic words, and the almost ethereal beauty of the first emperor’s creation, the “sky castle,” as the locals referred to it, was far more than a monument to the Imperial ego. Because deep within the heart of the mountain, where it was safe from every possible threat, was the government that bound billions of people together.
And a good thing, too. For there were other spacefaring races in the galaxy, some of which would have been happy to glass Earth. The Hudathans being an excellent example. But the ridge heads aren’t going to get the chance, Ophelia thought to herself as her heels clicked on the pavers under her boots.
The sheer drop of more than five hundred feet on either side of the causeway meant the tower was an island where the monarch could retreat if necessary. Something Emperor Alfred Ordanus III did with increasing frequency. Not to escape his enemies but to avoid the pressures associated with his position and to pursue his scientific experiments.
But not for much longer, Ophelia thought grimly. While you play with your toys, our enemies gather all around. And rather than confront them, you continue to dither. That must end.
A squad of Imperial guards was stationed on the other side of the causeway, which could be blown up if necessary. They crashed to attention as the princess and her escort came to a halt in front of the security checkpoint. “I’m here to see my brother,” Ophelia said coldly. “Let us pass.”
“Of course, Highness,” the officer of the guard responded respectfully. “Is the emperor expecting you?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll have to ask you to wait for a moment while I . . .”
The sentence was punctuated by a popping sound as Ophelia shot him between the eyes. The long-barreled pistol had been there all along, hidden within a fold of her knee-length leather coat.
The officer fel
l as if poleaxed, and his men were still processing that event and trying to bring their weapons to bear when Ophelia stepped to one side. That cleared the way for the synthetics to open fire with their machine pistols. The hail of lead cut the human soldiers down in a matter of seconds. They lay in heaps.
Ophelia nodded approvingly, circled the steadily expanding puddle of blood, and made her way toward the door beyond. There was no going back. Win or lose, the dice had been thrown.
* * *
The “study,” as Emperor Alfred Ordanus referred to it, was a series of interconnected rooms that took up one floor of the royal tower. The furnishings included a stuffed velocipod from O-Chi 4, a messy lab, the daybeds that his dogs liked to nap on, alien plants, and at least a dozen androids in varying states of repair. Or what looked like androids although they were actually civforms. Meaning cybernetic vehicles intended for civilian rather that military use. Because it was Alfred’s dream to grant his subjects something close to immortality by providing them with affordable cyberbodies. The key was to take the technology that Carletto Industries had developed for military cyborgs, simplify it, and scale the production process up to keep unit costs down. Most of the development work had been carried out by Cyntarch (Count) Carletto and his staff.
But Alfred could claim credit for designing a thinner, more sensitive version of the thick MILSPEC “leather” developed for military applications. Unfortunately, there were occasional flaws in the sheets of “synthiskin” as they came off the rollers. Was that the result of a mechanical malfunction? Or a flaw in the mix of materials from which it was made? Alfred had been working on the puzzle for the last sixteen hours.
So he was anything but pleased when his Rhodesian Ridgebacks began to bark and ran skittering toward the main entrance. But since Alfred’s staff knew better than to disturb him for anything other than a true emergency, the emperor braced himself for another dose of bad news as he followed the excited dogs to the doorway. A Hudathan attack perhaps? A natural catastrophe somewhere? That was the problem with such a large empire. Something went wrong every day. A tiresome business that consumed most of his time.
And it was then, just as a steel fist punched a hole through the wooden door, that Alfred remembered something important: The officer of the guard should have called him but hadn’t. So the emperor was backing away as half a dozen powerful kicks shattered the door, and a synth entered the room.
The killing machine was humanoid in appearance, but only vaguely so, and that was intentional. The synth’s uniform had been sprayed on. Its head was made of metal, broad in front, and tapered in back where it formed a vertical ridge. Red eyes stared at Alfred from deep-set sockets, a slight bulge hinted at the possibility of a nose, and a fully articulated jaw moved as the machine spoke. The computer-generated voice was deep and resonant. “Stay where you are. Do not attempt to run.”
“Kill it,” Alfred said grimly, and pointed.
The ridgebacks, all of whom had been watching their master, growled in response. Toenails fought for purchase on stone floors as the pack attacked. The synth shot the first animal—and batted the second aside. It yowled and hit the wall hard. But the third, fourth, and fifth dogs were in the air by then, and the machine went down under their combined weight.
But the effort was to no avail as more synths entered the room and machine-gunned both the ridgebacks and the first robot. Alfred thought about running but recognized the gray-and-burgundy colors the intruders wore and knew all of the exits would be blocked.
Gun smoke hung in the still air. It shivered and parted as Ophelia stepped through the shattered door. Her long, dark hair was swept back over her shoulders, her heart-shaped face was empty of expression, and the pistol she was carrying was pointed at the floor. “What a pigsty,” the princess remarked as she stepped over a dead dog. “I’ll have to gut the place and start over.”
Alfred was more surprised than angry. He knew his sister was ambitious and ruthless. That was why he paid half a dozen people to spy on her—and even more people to spy on them. So why hadn’t he been warned?
Ophelia smiled thinly. “I know you, Alfred. I know you better than you know yourself. So it wasn’t that difficult to spot the people who were supposed to watch me. They’ll be dead before the night is over. As will you.”
Alfred felt the first stirrings of fear. He’d been careless. Stupidly so. But maybe there was a chance. “Don’t do it, Ophelia. There’s no need to. You can run the empire. I’ll focus on my work. Both of us will be happy.”
“Sorry,” Ophelia replied, “but that won’t work. I plan to rule the way you should have. Everyone who has a reason to oppose me is going to die. And that includes you. Besides, the nature of the so-called work you do runs counter to the needs of the empire. Think about it. If all of our citizens become immortal—how will that affect the economy? And how will they spend their time? Meddling in politics perhaps? And that’s just the beginning. Who knows what the rest of the trickle down would be.
“But enough of that . . . It’s time to say good-bye, dear brother. Too bad you won’t be able to attend your funeral. I plan to cry. Take him.”
Alfred turned and tried to run. But the synths were fast and were on him in seconds. “Be careful,” Ophelia cautioned. “Try not to leave any marks.”
“Please,” Alfred said pitifully as the androids half carried, half dragged him toward a pair of double doors that opened out onto an observation platform. “Don’t do this.”
“It’s too late to stop,” Ophelia answered. “Even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. Teams of synths have been sent out to kill your supporters and their relatives as well. Because they might oppose me. And I have no intention of dying early—or ever for that matter. Thanks to Cyntarch Carletto and you, my civforms are ready and waiting.”
Alfred felt a blast of cold mountain air as the doors were thrown open and he was wrestled out onto the large balcony beyond. The synths were going to throw him off. He knew that now. And then what? A claim of suicide? Probably. All of that raced through the emperor’s mind as he was hoisted up onto the railing. He could see the lights that were Denver, a couple of early stars, and the glow of a heliostat rising in the east. Then there were no more thoughts. Just the sound of someone screaming as he fell into the abyss below.
ORCAS ISLAND
THE NORTH AMERICAN CONTINENT
The Casino Pacifica was located on Orcas Island in the San Juans. The climate-controlled location was said to be beautiful year-round although Colonel Rex Carletto had a tendency to sleep during the day and hadn’t toured the island since his boyhood. He liked the casino because that was where he had won more than 150,000 credits before going up to Vancouver and losing it there. Now he was back at the Pacifica, where he hoped to win again. Then I’ll stop, he promised himself, even though he knew he couldn’t. How much had he lost over the years? Five million? At least that.
But that’s in the past, Rex assured himself, as the limo came to a stop under a huge portico. This time it will be different. A bellbot was there to open the door as the ground car came to a stop. “Do you have any luggage, sir?”
Rex didn’t but tipped the android anyway, knowing the money would be split between the casino’s human employees.
A red carpet led Rex to the front door, where a man in a tux stood waiting. Thanks to the video captured by the bellbot and relayed to the casino’s computer, the host knew the guest’s name. “Good evening, Colonel Carletto, and welcome back.”
“It’s a pleasure to be back,” Rex replied.
“Michelle will get you situated,” the host said as a lithesome brunette stepped forward. “Good luck.”
The hostess was wearing a low-cut black evening gown, and Rex smiled appreciatively. “Thank you.”
Rex allowed Michelle to lead him back past the holo slots and the poker tables to the room where the roulette wheels
were. The odds were overwhelmingly in favor of the house, but there was something about the excitement of roulette that he couldn’t shake. An all-or-nothing thrill that was reminiscent of combat and the moments when all of his senses were fully awakened.
So Rex allowed Michelle to find him a seat at the table, gave her a chip card that had all of that month’s income on it, and felt the usual twinge of guilt. He hadn’t done anything to earn the money other than be the second son to Cyntarch Alfred Carletto II, who, having passed control of Carletto Industries to his eldest son, Dor, had seen fit to gift Rex with a large inheritance and a monthly income. The inheritance was long gone, but the payments from the family business were sufficient to keep the retired officer from becoming an embarrassment, and to feed his addiction.
Rex’s thoughts were interrupted as Michelle returned with stacks of yellow chips on a silver tray and gave him a receipt. There were other guests to greet, many of whom were better-heeled than Colonel Rex Carletto, but she was happy to spend time with someone who had links to the royal family. The next couple of hours were pleasant if not especially satisfying. Rex won, but lost as well, so he was only slightly ahead when a well-dressed blonde took the seat to his right.
She was probably in her forties but looked considerably younger thanks to some well-executed biosculpting. And since Rex enjoyed women almost as much as he enjoyed gambling, he was happy to reduce the size of his bets in order to focus his attention on her. She was not only attractive but quite witty, and openly curious about the Carletto family.
So when Rex offered to give her a nighttime tour of the Carletto estate near Seattle, she agreed. Her name was Macy Evers. And thanks to a hefty divorce settlement, she was wealthy enough to have her own air car, which made short work of the trip from Orcas to Seattle.
Knowing Colonel Rex as they did, none of the family’s retainers thought it strange when he requested permission to land someone else’s car on the family’s pad, then helped a woman to the ground and led her away. She would, they knew, finish the evening as so many others had—in Colonel Rex’s bed.