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

by William C. Dietz

  The Arrow Commander was young, of average size, and dressed in his best uniform. It consisted of a waist-length blue jacket, leather cross straps, and white pantaloons. They were tucked into knee-high boots. A holstered sidearm and a back-sword completed the outfit. “I am Arrow Commander Ora-Sa,” the youngster said formally. “It would be my honor to escort you to the command chamber.”

  “Thank you,” Nola-Ba replied. “My sword is on the table.”

  It was called Ka-Killer. A name assigned to it during one of the ancient clan wars. The hilt was worn as befitted an heirloom blade. But the scabbard looked new, having been replaced by Nola-Ba a few years earlier.

  Ora-Sa had to carry the weapon because Nola-Ba couldn’t. Not unless the court chose to return it. Ora-Sa lifted the weapon off the table without touching the hilt. That was something only a member of the Ba clan could do. “Thank you,” he said solemnly. “Now, if you are ready, we will depart.”

  “Lead the way,” Nola-Ba said gravely. “I will follow.”

  Ora-Sa preceded Nola-Ba out into a generously sized hallway. It was, like most public thoroughfares, just wide enough for four columns of soldiers to march through. A design that harkened back to ancient times when clan wars were frequent, and the government changed hands every two or three years. A continual stream of military personnel passed them headed in the opposite direction. Nola-Ba was a very senior officer, so most of them were obliged to salute. But regardless of rank, all of them could see the sword that Ora-Sa carried cradled in his arms and knew what that meant. Did they pity him? Some did. As for the rest, well, many of them would be happy to see an admiral go down. Especially if they were members of the navy. An open slot at the top of the naval hierarchy would allow as many as half a dozen officers to climb one rung higher on the ladder of promotion.

  A pair of elite star guards crashed to attention as Nola-Ba approached, and the iron-clad wood doors opened as if by magic. The chamber beyond was large enough to hold a hundred Hudathans, but no more than a dozen were present. Three of them were members of the tribunal who would judge him. The one Nola-Ba feared the most was War Commander Ona-Ka’s uncle. His name was War Commander Ruma-Ka. He was a brutish-looking officer whose eyes lurked below a heavy supraorbital ridge.

  The other two officers included a much-decorated army officer named War Commander Duma-Da and Grand Admiral Dura-Da. He was the senior person present, a well-known naval officer, and Nola-Ba’s best hope. All wore dress uniforms complete with rows of decorations and clan crests.

  The panel was seated behind a sturdy wooden table. They watched impassively as Nola-Ba’s sword was laid out in front of them. The fact that it was there, well within reach, was symbolic of the power they had over its owner.

  A gong sounded, signaling that the court of inquiry was officially under way. In response to a gesture from Admiral Dura-Da, a military clerk stepped forward to read the charges. “During the attack on the Human world Orlo II, Admiral Dor Nola-Ba had responsibility for naval operations, and reported to War Commander Tebu Ona-Ka. Unfortunately, War Commander Ona-Ka was killed during the fighting on the planet’s surface. At that point, Admiral Nola-Ba chose to withdraw, leaving thousands of Hudathan troops stranded on the surface of Orlo II.”

  Even though he was already familiar with the charge Nola-Ba felt a sudden surge of anger. He was tempted to snatch the family blade off the table and take heads. Given the way it was written, the charge amounted to an allegation of cowardice. And it didn’t require a genius to figure out that certain highly placed individuals were trying to protect the Ka clan’s reputation. The after-action reports were clear . . . The terrible losses on the ground had been the direct result of errors made by War Commander Ona-Ka.

  But Nola-Ba’s entire life had been an exercise in discipline. So he sought to suppress the rage and focus his mind. A battle was about to take place, and it would be fought with words rather than razor-sharp steel. “The charge has been read,” Grand Admiral Dura-Da intoned. “Both the court and the defendant have had full access to all of the relevant reports. Now, before a formal judgment is reached, oral arguments will be heard. Judicial Officer Ree-Da will speak on behalf of the prosecution.”

  Ree-Da was an older officer with stooped shoulders and the manner of a clerk. He stood and shuffled forward. He read the words off a data pad without looking up. “As put forth in the final charge, and documented via a written brief, Admiral Nola-Ba failed to provide adequate support for ground troops during the battle for Orlo II. As a result of Admiral Nola-Ba’s willful negligence, more than a thousand troops were left behind when the navy was forced to withdraw.”

  There it was . . . The whitewash the Ka clan was hoping for. If they could blame Nola-Ba for the calamity on Orlo II, their honor would remain unblemished. And because the Ka clan had more political clout than the Ba clan did—there was an excellent chance that the bastards were going to get away with it. Nola-Ba felt light-headed. “In light of the charge leveled against him,” Ree-Da continued, “the chief prosecutor recommends that Admiral Nola-Ba be relieved of his command and reduced to rank of warrant officer.”

  “So noted,” Grand Admiral Dura-Da said. “Judicial Officer Duba-Sa will speak for Admiral Nola-Ba.”

  Duba-Da was young and relatively inexperienced. But he was enthusiastic and the son of a retired naval officer. So Nola-Ba hoped for the best as Duba-Da rose and stepped forward. He looked good in his uniform and spoke without referring to a data pad. “The charges against Admiral Nola-Ba are just that—charges. What the allegation neglects to mention is that Admiral Nola-Ba’s vessels were under attack by advance elements of an incoming fleet even as the battle raged on the ground. Because the admiral’s ships had to defend themselves, they weren’t free to provide the amount of support that War Commander Ona-Ka demanded. Later, as even more Human ships arrived, the admiral had no choice but to withdraw or risk the loss of his entire squadron.”

  “Thank you,” Dura-Da said. “At this time, the court will withdraw to make a final decision.”

  The members of the court rose, and so did everyone else, except for those already on their feet. The gong sounded, and that meant Nola-Ba could sit. Duba-Da came over to say some encouraging words, but Nola-Ba had seen the look on Ruma-Ka’s chiseled face and knew that the army officer was determined to bring him down. Could he face the shame of being broken to warrant officer? It was either that or commit suicide—and Ruma-Ka would like nothing more.

  Conscious of the fact that others were watching, Nola-Ba sat with his head up and his back straight while the minutes ticked away. Ten, fifteen, twenty . . . It seemed as if the wait would never end. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the court of inquiry reentered the room. Did Ruma-Ka look pleased? Or was that Nola-Ba’s imagination?

  All he could do was stand and wait as the gong sounded, and the members of court took their seats. “The court has made its finding,” Grand Admiral Dura-Da announced. “It is our judgment that the arguments put forward by the defense are largely correct. Admiral Nola-Ba’s actions were in keeping with the written as well as verbal orders given to him by War Commander Ona-Ka.”

  Nola-Ba felt a tremendous wave of relief only to have it snatched away as Dura-Da continued to speak. “However,” he said gravely, “had Admiral Nola-Ba assigned a small portion of his force to evacuate stranded troopers, it might have been possible to save hundreds if not a thousand lives. Therefore, it is the finding of this court that Admiral Nola-Ba’s rank be reduced to vice admiral—and he will be relieved of his present command. That is all.”

  Nola-Ba watched in a state of shock as the officers trooped out of the room, and the gong sounded. Did the finding represent their true opinion? Or was it the result of a compromise in which he had been punished so that the Ka clan could save face? That was the way it appeared.

  “Your sword, Admiral,” Arrow Commander Ora-Sa said as he returned the weapon. He lo
oked embarrassed.

  “Thank you,” Nola-Ba said as he took the blade. It felt heavier somehow.

  —

  ABOARD THE LIGHT CRUISER INTAKA (DEATHBLOW)

  Vice Admiral Nola-Ba was seated in one of the high-backed chairs located to either side of the cruiser’s U-shaped control room. The captain, pilot, and navigator were positioned at the bottom of the U, where they could view a mosaic of ever-morphing screens on the bulkhead opposite them.

  Nola-Ba had been a captain himself and knew what it felt like to have a senior officer present while conning a ship. So he felt some sympathy for Captain Po-Ba but not much. Anyone who couldn’t deal with that sort of situation was too weak for command.

  The better part of two standard months had passed since the court of inquiry and his day of shame. That had been followed by weeks of politicking as he tried to secure a command. Not an office in the basement of naval headquarters but a real command. The kind of assignment that might offer him a chance at redemption.

  And finally, after more than a month of worry, the orders came through. He was, in the stilted language of the admiralty, “. . . To take command of Battle Group 761, establish a presence on the planet Savas, and form alliances with the indigenous peoples that would prevent or hinder further colonization of said planet by Humans.”

  There was more of course. Thirty pages of it. But the essence of the situation was that the Savas system was located at a point where the Hudathan and Human empires overlapped. Eventually, it would be necessary to eradicate both the beings indigenous to Savas and the Humans—because any variable that could be controlled should be controlled. But that would have to wait for a while.

  In the meantime, there were only so many resources to work with, and there were thousands of potentially strategic planets, so it wasn’t realistic to occupy low-priority worlds like Savas. Not while the Human empire continued to flex its muscles on planets like Orlo II. So Battle Group 761 had been sent to secure Savas until such time as a Class II Occupation Task Force could be sent to “process” the planet.

  But first, Nola-Ba had to reach Savas. And that meant slipping through a screen of robotic picket ships. A network of such machines protected the Human empire and was programmed to launch message torpedoes in case of an attack. And, should such a vessel fail to report in on schedule, a navy task force would be dispatched to check on the situation.

  So Nola-Ba’s first task was to pass through the early-warning system undetected. Failure to do so would result in a swift and most likely fatal naval battle since the increasingly edgy Humans would respond to such an incursion with overwhelming force.

  The battle group’s fate was in Captain Po-Ba’s hands as he gave an order, and the Intaka began to accelerate. For Nola-Ba’s idea to work, timing would be critical. The plan was for his ships to accelerate in concert, match velocities with the long-period comet that was due to pass through the area, and hide in its tail. If the plan was successful, the Human computers would ascribe sensor anomalies to the comet’s passage.

  Would it work? Nola-Ba was gambling his life and the lives of all the people in the battle group that it would. He worked to keep his face blank and forced his body to relax while his ships slid in behind the comet and took up stations on it. The biggest threat to his plan was an old hulk called the Head Hunter. He had plans for the destroyer—but were her ancient drives up to the task? So far so good.

  It wasn’t long before the nearest picket ship showed up on the Intaka’s detectors. And if the cruiser could “see” the picket ship—then it could “see” the Hudathan vessel as well. And if the picket ship launched a message torp, Nola-Ba would know that he had failed. At that point, they could run or wait for the Humans to arrive. And running was unthinkable.

  Every minute felt like a year. Finally, after half an hour had passed, Captain Po-Ba spoke. “Since there was no launch, it seems safe to assume that the trick worked. Secure from battle stations.”

  Nola-Ba gave no outward sign of the elation he felt because to do so would be to communicate the possibility of defeat. He released the harness and stood. “Very well . . . Carry on.” And with that, he left the bridge.

  —

  Battle Group 761 had been inside Human-dominated space for the better part of a standard week when Flight Officer Homa-Sa entered the ship’s Command Center and crashed to attention. The semicircular space was large enough to accommodate six officers although only three were present. They included Nola-Ba, Captain Po-Ba, and the battle group’s Intel officer Spear Commander Aro-Sa. All sat with their backs pressed into shallow niches intended to make them feel more secure because no Hudathan would sit with his back exposed if that could be avoided. “At ease,” Nola-Ba said. “Commander Aro-Sa tells me that you had a very successful mission. What did you see?”

  “The Humans are present,” Homa-Sa said, his eyes on a point over Nola-Ba’s head. “But there is only one small settlement.”

  “The Humans call it Savas Prime,” Aro-Sa said contemptuously, as aerial photographs morphed onto the screens around them. “A sty fit for animals.”

  Nola-Ba had done battle with the “animals,” and Aro-Sa hadn’t. So as he eyed a dozen roofs and some poorly laid-out streets, he wasn’t so dismissive. Some of the Humans were worthy adversaries. “What sort of vehicles did you see?”

  “There was a single spaceship,” Homa-Sa said. “Plus a couple of air cars and some ground vehicles.”

  “And that was all?”

  “Three message torpedoes and two satellites are orbiting the planet,” Homa-Sa responded. “I left them untouched.”

  Nola-Ba could destroy the town, the torpedoes, and the satellites whenever he chose to. So he had given orders to leave them alone for the moment. “And the moon?”

  “The moon was uninhabited. I saw no signs of activity there.”

  “Good. We can use it,” Nola-Ba said.

  Po-Ba frowned. “Use the moon? For what?”

  “A moon base would enable us to respond quickly if Human ships arrive and to fire on the planet’s surface if that becomes necessary,” Nola-Ba replied. Po-Ba was a good navy officer, and as such, had a tendency to focus on his ship. He would learn.

  Nola-Ba looked at Homa-Sa. “Was your presence detected?”

  “No, Admiral. I don’t think so.”

  “Good job. Thank you. Dismissed.”

  Homa-Sa did an about-face and left the room. “He’s a good pilot,” Aro-Sa said thoughtfully. “We could use more like him.”

  “We could use more of everything,” Nola-Ba said absently. “Let’s take a look at those surface images again . . . We need to establish a base, and I don’t want to put it near that town.”

  —

  After two standard days of preparation, the invasion of Savas began. The first step was to destroy the Human message torpedoes and the satellites that were orbiting the planet. That process took all of forty-six seconds.

  Aro-Sa wanted to level Savas Prime, and that would have been easy to do, but Nola-Ba refused. Not out of a sense of compassion but because it might be instructive to interrogate the Humans before killing them.

  So instead of destroying Savas Prime, Nola-Ba elected to land a couple of thousand miles away. Not in an assault boat but aboard the elderly Head Hunter. The ancient destroyer wasn’t designed to land on planetary surfaces, so it would be a one-way trip.

  But if the plan was successful, Nola-Ba would have one of the things he needed most, and that was raw materials for the fort he had orders to build. Metal salvaged from the Head Hunter’s hull would be used to construct the base, the ship’s drives would supply the power to run it, and its weapons would keep the fort safe from harm.

  The Head Hunter’s commanding officer had been chosen because he was experienced enough to do the job but still qualified as expendable. His name was Spear Commander Ana-Ka and he had chosen to con
the ship himself. The destroyer started to shake as it entered the atmosphere. The frame groaned, welds broke, and an alarm began to moan. The sound was similar to what a dying beast might produce. Nola-Ba was of the opinion that officers should never show emotion but couldn’t blame Ana-Ka as the retros fired, and he uttered a joyous bellow. The deck tilted, the shots on the screens disappeared, and the Head Hunter hit hard. “Shut the drives down,” Ana-Ka ordered, “but leave the emergency power on.”

  Then, with the swagger typical of young officers everywhere, Ana-Ka turned to Nola-Ba. “Welcome to Savas, Admiral . . . I hope you enjoyed the ride.”

  —

  THE GREAT PANDU DESERT, PLANET SAVAS

  The sun was still in the process of parting company with the eastern horizon, the vast expanse of sky was streaked with pink light, and the air was deliciously cool. It was Pudu’s favorite time of day. And that was fitting because he was chief of the northern tribe, also called the dawn people. His was the tribe that followed their katha eternally east while the southerners traveled west. The arrangement gave the grass path time to grow tall in between visits.

  So there he was, sitting on a one-legged stool and drinking Jithi tea, when a rider approached from the south. The reddish zurna he rode galloped through the sprawl of domed tents and skidded to a stop not far from Pudu’s hoga. Guards offered salutes but made no attempt to intercept the rider.

  Even at a distance, Pudu could recognize the lanky confidence typical of his firstborn son. His name was Ro Bola, and he was brave to a fault. Would he be chief one day? Sadly, no. That honor would fall to Pudu’s number two son.

  But Bola didn’t know that and entered his father’s encampment with the swagger of the proven warrior that he was. Bola was more than six units tall. He had a bony, heat-dispersing head crest. It had been notched three times . . . And each notch symbolized a confirmed kill. His eyes were protected by semitransparent side lids designed to keep dust and sand from getting into them.