The Legion and the Lioness

by Robert D. Armstrong

  I wondered if I would learn this lesson the hard way.

  We’d passed dozens of people in the tunnel that stared at the wall. In almost every case, they appeared frightened by us. Neona would simply nod. “Nothing to see, citizen.”

  I was surprised that Neona wasn’t more fascinated by our arrival. Everyone else was. I would have thought something as foreign as space travelers would have been an interesting curiosity at least, but perhaps a life in her position left little room for such inquisitive wonders. But since she was straight to the point, I decided to ask the question.

  “Um, Neona, I have an inquiry, I, we’re looking for—”

  “Hey. You will be the ones answering questions first. Not us. After that, we’ll see,” she stopped, pointing at me sternly.

  “Got it. Fair enough,” I said. I saw no benefit in pressing the matter. Ahead, I could make out a large, circular hatch with a turn style locking mechanism. As we approached, a tall, husky man with an impressive handlebar mustache closed it. He wore the same uniform as Neona, but his sleeves were ripped off around the shoulders as if they couldn’t find a uniform big enough to fit him. A siren blared as a red light strobed just above the door.

  “You coming?” the large man asked Neona.

  “On the way! Come on!” Neona picked up the pace, ushering us forward. We shuffled through the hatch as the man pushed it closed. He shoved an L-shaped crank into a gear style lock that was the size of my torso, rotating it several times, sealing it shut. Steam vented from above the door.

  “Clear. Sorry, Neona, new orders from the engineer. I can only open this door every fifteen minutes now,” he said with a Scottish accent.

  “Good timing. Carry on,” she said. The husky doorman scratched his head, pulling back his black, wavy hair as he looked us over. I could tell he wanted to ask questions, yet nothing was said. I panned around as we entered the metallic bunker.

  “What is this place?” I whispered. The interior reminded me of a vault, a fallout bunker. Russian text was stenciled across the military light green walls. They appeared to be warnings of some sort. As I centered the text into view, a holographic indicator highlighted it. Xena translated it remotely to my visor.

  CHECK RADIATION LEVELS IN TWO MINUTE INTERVALS

  Pipes, hoses, and wires were tucked away on the ceiling by metal hooks every couple of meters. I peered ahead, observing an interconnected labyrinth of steel spherical halls that seemed to veer off or elbow into different directions. There appeared to be rooms every so often as well, with smaller hatches embedded in the walls.

  Suddenly, Luther’s indicator began blinking quickly inside my visor, then went offline completely. “Shit.” I met eyes with Xena. She glanced up at the ceiling. I gathered she was attempting to reestablish communication with the indicator.

  “Keep up,” Neona ordered. We followed her down the corridor for three or four minutes until finally branching into a large open area. Ten large silos, fifty meters tall were placed evenly throughout the room. A spiral stairwell wrapped around each one to the top. About halfway up, there was a network of connecting bridges to each silo with grated metal floors. Six of the silos were open with nothing inside.

  Neona noticed me staring at the open silos. “When I was little, I used to wonder how many people those things might have killed.” She raised her eyebrows as her voice echoed off the walls.

  A text flashed on my visor’s screen:

  INCOMING TRANSMISSION FROM TITAN COMMAND. STAND BY...

  We paced through the silo room, approaching another circular steel vault door. The unknown guard that accompanied us opened the hatch while Neona raised her rifle at Xena, then me. “Don’t move!” she raised her voice. I got the feeling she didn’t see us as much of a threat as her powerful voice dictated.

  “Captain, are you receiving the transmission, as well?” Xena covertly texted.

  “Yes.”

  My heart sunk as the transmission fed into view. It appeared as a tall column of text on the lower right corner of my visor.

  “This is General Corvin. I want to congratulate you on your progress. We watched in awe from the control room as you entered Earth’s atmosphere, surprised by the condition of the planet. We expected far worse. We are in shock. As I type this message, you’re descending to land and, by now, with the transmission delay, we hope you’ve made contact with the resistance.

  I want to personally express sympathy for the situation regarding the Russian refugees. In my mind, you all operated as ambassadors for humanity. You did what had to be done. We could hear partial onboard audio from the encounter and pieced together the rest of the scenario from Xena’s log. This situation reflects the desperation of the android war. The people of Titan support you. Colonel Drake, Xena, and Captain Belic, remember you represent the people of Titan, continue to make us proud.

  I’m updating your mission objectives:

  Investigate why Earth appears virtually untouched by the nuclear war. Our estimates on Titan show the planet wasn’t due to recover on this scale for another 80-120 years.

  Set up encrypted communications with our Earth counterparts if they exist. I’m updating the information for transmissions in your files. Corvin out. Oh, and Colonel Drake, I want to congratulate you on being the first Titan to step foot on Earth. We can only imagine how that must feel.”

  TRANSMISSION END

  I gulped, glancing at Xena. She slowly turned her head toward me. Surely at any moment, Titan would receive the delayed data about Drake’s death.

  Even though I hadn’t known Drake long, I felt a connection with him after the incident with the refugees. I had a soft spot for him deep beneath my exterior. He was insightful, courageous, maybe not the best under pressure, but he was willing.

  He deserved better than to lie in a pool of his own blood, rotting in the dirt and ice. I began to train myself to block Drake out of my mind, the thought was detrimental to the mission.

  “Hey, let’s go.” Neona nudged me firmly with her rifle’s butt interrupting my thought. We proceeded through the hatch. The next area was like the vault corridors from before, but a half-pipe.

  The other half was an open portion that gave way to another loading dock and train tracks. I imagined this was connected to the tracks we came in on originally. The area smelled musky, like an old, wet carpet.

  Despite being partially open to the elements, this area was slightly warmer. Icicles overhung the dock entrance, slowly dripping water unto the concrete floor. This created dozens of puddles throughout the dock. No sooner than I noticed the heat, a gust of cold air flooded in that quickly dissipated.

  There were several people scattered on the edge of the dock. One older man there stood out. He wore filthy navy-blue coveralls. His face was buried in his hands. He had tight, unkempt curly brown hair, with patches of gray here and there. He was mumbling something I couldn’t make out, weeping while shaking his head.

  Another group of four young adults, perhaps two sets of couples, were humming a hymn at low volume while holding hands. They had their eyes closed, and their heads were slumped slightly.

  “Neona,” I stopped in place.

  “What?” she asked, nodding forward with her head.

  “No disrespect to you. I understand our mission doesn’t align with your problems, but we’re looking for the location of android installations, possibly a main hub, can you—”

  “I thought I made myself clear earlier about questions?” she interrupted, narrowing her eyes at me.

  “I know. Yes, it’s just we’re running short on time and—”

  “Hartin, can you enlighten the prisoner here on the penalty, specifically, refusal of a Knight’s orders?” Neona glanced back at the soldier escorting us.

  “Knight?” I whispered.

  “Death,” Hartin replied. I noticed a metal emblem on Neona’s collar that I didn’t see before. It was a broadsword with lightning bolts around it. She was clearly some type of respected leader, granted
the power to execute prisoners on the spot.

  “Have I not been fair and just to you? Despite your wild claims and damaging actions?” She stabbed her index finger down the tunnel.

  “You have been fair, yes, I’m not—”

  She took a few steps back, yanking out a silver device from her belt that was shaped like a flashlight. She gripped the object with both hands as sparks emitted from the top. Suddenly, a meter-long white torch extended from the handle. The flame seemed erratic and dangerous even to the wielder.

  She twisted her hands around the handle, narrowing the torch into a thin white razor of fire. Surprisingly, the sound reminded me of a high-pressure water hose mixed with radio static.

  “Plasma blade. Knights like myself use these against the Mave in close quarters. It’s our lifeline. It’s difficult to shoot them up close. Too fast. Plasma cuts through their metallic panels like butter.” She twirled the blade in front of my face. The concept of compliance seemed attractive.

  “It looks to be, effective,” I said, leaning back.

  “As a knight, I’m sworn to uphold the law. Once uncontaminated intruders like yourselves are taken into custody, my duty is to present you to our authority before anything else. If you refuse, you must be executed,” she explained. Her tone suggested she was honoring me by laying out the rules. It seemed possible other intruders were not so lucky.

  “Do you wish to question my duty?” she asked.

  “N-no,” I said.

  “Good. On the flipside, your death would be quite clean with this weapon. You’d feel nothing. That I can assure.” She smirked.

  “I’m good for now,” I replied. She twisted the handle of the blade, retracting the plasma. Neona snapped around toward the tracks.

  “Excellent choice, Captain,” Xena said. I turned toward her as she nodded. I heard an echoing sound down the tunnel. It was similar to the rail car from earlier but much louder. Everyone on the dock turned toward it. Neona pressed her index finger inside her ear on a small black device.

  She scrunched her eyebrows together. “What? Say again?” she asked, dipping her head forward. Apparently, she was receiving some type of audio transmission.

  “We’re already headed that way, so we stay put?” She paused for a few seconds.

  “Understood.” She glanced at me.

  “It appears judgment is coming to you. Normally, we’d have to take a rail car,” Neona said casually. She walked around behind Xena and I, unbounding our shackles. “This is only temporary. Our leader prefers to see intruders unshackled initially.”

  My heart began to pound as the screeching object approached. The people on the dock began to stand, whispering to one another as it neared. Their faces appeared worried. The weeping old man backed away from the dock.

  “Judgment?” I mumbled. What if this person decided we were a detriment to their colony? I’d just blasted a hole in their tunnel, allowing those monsters a shortcut. I felt an immense pressure unlike anything else in my life. I had to convince whoever was on this train that we were an asset despite our bumpy start.

  I began to focus on the metal tube-like object coming into view. It reminded me of a subway train from the old days, large windows, white and black two-tone paint, and a bullet shaped front end. It slowly grinded to a halt before us. Inside, I could see a group of fourteen or so soldiers facing each other. They were wearing the same dark uniforms as Neona.

  The door opened as the civilians backed way. The soldiers filed out in a hurry. They formed two lines on each side of the door, like an honor guard awaiting a dignitary. They held their hands out low in front, one hand over the other.

  These men were of all ethnicities and young, but I got the feeling they were experienced warriors. Some of their faces appeared scarred or burned, some had robotic extremities, and all of them had a faraway gaze.

  They stood at attention without blinking. “Pre-sent arms!” A soldier with a missing ear yelled. Silence ensued for a few moments, followed by two of the closest soldiers igniting plasma blades like Neona’s. The others followed row after row, lighting up the somewhat shadowy dock like the middle of the day.

  The combination of swords was surprisingly loud, like standing before a giant waterfall. They dialed down the fiery torches to a thin blade as the sound decreased significantly. They pointed the blades toward one another, crossing them in front of the exit as they waited.

  “Deep breaths, Captain,” Xena said.

  I could hear boots clanking against the deck inside the train. From the back of the first rail car, I saw a large figure in a white cape marching across my view toward the train’s exit.

  Even peering past the window’s glare, I gathered his movements exuded authority, with his squared shoulders and confident stride. Something was off, though. I noticed a limp and a bit of trouble keeping a straight back, like a slight forward hunker.

  He turned the corner toward the door as the light from the crossed plasma swords obscured his face. As he neared the exit, the first row of soldiers pulled their weapons back, pointing them straight into the air in unison. As a military veteran, I noticed their timing was impeccable, like an honor guard drill team.

  As the swords retracted, a disturbing figure appeared. He wore a white, full masquerade type mask. The features on the face were very subtle, almost nonexistent and projected a sense of anonymity and vacancy. The oval eyes were the only standout, they were black as night and without pupils.

  Fear was my first emotion, followed by a sense of allure. Clearly, there were symbolic ingredients in its menacing, yet bizarre design. I’d never seen anything like it.

  He briefly glanced left and right at his subordinates before exiting, snapping his head around like a bird. As he departed the train, it was clear he wasn’t just wearing a mask, but rather a functional helmet. It formed around the skull with no protrusions. The closer I examined, I could make out two razor thin vertical slits on each corner where the mouth might be.

  He was extremely broad and tall, with a cuirass and white armor that covered him completely. It reminded me of a medieval knight’s armor, but not as cumbersome. The cape puffed up slightly around his shoulder armor, creating a waved, bulky look that increased his stature even more.

  He pulled his thick, armored greaves tight around the wrists as he stepped forward, his head swiveling about the dock.

  I got the sense he was aware of our presence, but he made little effort to acknowledge us directly. Instead, he focused on the civilians scattered around the dock and his soldiers.

  Neona walked out to greet him, but his long, confident strides made short work of her approach. He stood within a few dozen centimeters of Neona, towering over her. I noticed he had the same broadsword insignia on his collar as her, his was red in color and slightly larger.

  Peeking around Xena, I could see he had some type of mechanized apparatus under his helmet. I observed metallic parts shifting as he turned his head slightly, simulating the muscles in the neck. I could also see a small white light blinking within the machinery.

  I began to wonder if it was even a man. It was difficult not to stare. To be honest, it was terrifying that he, or it, was making the decisions.

  “Engineer, you grace us with your presence.” Neona slumped her head. Her voice echoed down the tunnel as she spoke with a throaty confidence.

  “What is this talk of, prisoners?” he asked. His voice was altered. It was extremely deep, as if he was speaking from the depths of a cave mixed with an electronic raspy tone. He coughed twice, turning his head away from Neona. I noticed wisps of condensation exhale from the vents at his mouth.

  “Three total, but one of them was killed by the Mave,” she replied. He glanced at the ground and paused.

  “Bring them to me,” he ordered. Neona nodded us over. Xena stepped out in front of me as we approached. The Engineer tilted his bizarre helm at us, keeping his body profile.

  He stood up tall when he saw Xena, tilting his head downward to get
a better look. He flipped his cape around his shoulder and crossed his long powerful armored arms.

  I walked out from behind Xena as we began to approach two abreast. His head snapped toward me instantly as he turned his body facing us.

  His shoulders dropped as his neck stretched forward. He began teetering forward like he was walking a tight wire. He stumbled a bit before straightening up.

  “Sire?” Neona asked, staring up at him with a concerned look on her face. He covered his eyes with his hands for a moment, then removed them. “I’m fine,” he snapped.

  Xena and I stopped in front of him. He placed his hands on his hips, looking us over. As his cape fanned out, I noticed a sword on his belt like Neona’s.

  Dammit. This wasn’t good.

  She stood by his side, looking up at him. “These are the prisoners that survived, sire. They destroyed a portion of our tunnel. I have cleanup crews headed there now. The shorter one here seems to be in charge, she—”

  “Take off your helmet!” he interrupted, roaring as he stabbed his finger at me. I gulped. He sounded far more sinister up close, the electronic throaty voice sent shivers down my spine.

  “Of course.” I removed my helm and held it in front of me. Maybe he felt disrespected because the red tint on my visor obscured my face slightly. “I apologize about the damage to your passage, it was an accident, and we—”

  Neona slapped me across the face, putting her weight behind it. “You only speak when asked a question!” The impact pushed me back a step. She narrowed her eyes at me. “Silence!”

  As I regained my composure, their leader lunged forward, stopping half an arm’s length away. He leaned closer, within several centimeters of me. His black, vacant eyes were like gazing into an abyss. It appeared he was short of breath as rapid warm puffs of air heated my face. He looked toward me without a word.