Rise of a Legion

by Trey Deibel

  “So, how about we start with the pleasantries? I’m Larno, leader of the King Tribe. Well… what’s left of it anyway.” Sadness gloomed in his experienced gaze.

  “I’m James Stone, captain of the 1070 Legionnaires,” I said with a nod.

  “I’m Valiic, and she’s my cohinla, Narrisa,” Valiic gestured to himself and Narrisa.

  “Shadow-Walker’s the name, and that there is Uslar. He hates you the most,” Shadow-Walker jested.

  “Sorry to hear that,” Larno said, laughing it off.

  “Don’t answer for me, Shadow. What he means to say is, I’m just… suspicious of you.”

  “Nope, you totally hate him,” Shadow-walker quipped.

  “Shut up!”

  “Uslar. Shadow. Put a cork in it.” I looked back at Larno. “I’m sure Erryn has informed you as to what we need from you.”

  “Yes, she has.” Larno nodded.

  “And… you’re all hunky-dory with the idea of going against your own species?”

  “If you’ll allow me, I would like to put your mind at ease.”

  “The floor is yours.”

  Larno nodded and projected his voice, clearing his throat first. “Most of you are probably wondering why I would help you all… who, in a certain perspective, are my enemies. And… and the answer is simple. I no longer can look upon my people, my species, in the same light as before. I once had pride in what my tribe was and stood for, and even how our species’s ways once were. It saddens me to no longer see true dytircs. The Military Tribe has changed just about every dytirc into something else completely. And with the remaining few years I have left in this existence, I still hope I can somehow change the path my species is on. I may not see eye-to-eye politically with the ARW, but morally we’re on the same page. Because of my refusal to merge with the countless other tribes during the Great Amalgamation, my tribe suffered… many tribes suffered. Now that we have such small numbers, the Wersillian Legion just leaves us alone. And alone we live, outcast from our own and stricken with poverty. I’ll help you guys because I believe the ARW could potentially stop the dytircs in their tracks and even lead them down a different path. Today, I’m here to prove it. In order to gain access to the Grando Prison, you must first take down its shields. To do that… you need a code. And that is what I can offer you.”

  “Music to my ears.”

  “I’m not sure about this. How smart is it to trust a dytirc?” Uslar voiced his concern.

  “From here on out, Uslar, every move… every direction we choose to take is a question. There are no more assurances,” I stated.

  “Can’t we try and find another way?”

  “Uslar, we’re here for a reason. This is the best course of action,” Valiic responded.

  “Plus, I’ll keep you safe.” Shadow-Walker patted Uslar on the back and laughed. Uslar seemed unconvinced but kept quiet.

  “I’ve been at this long enough to know nobody in your position would be willing to give up that code without getting something in return.” Erryn directed her studying eyes to Larno.

  “Yes, I do need a favor,” he responded.

  “I knew there would be a catch!” Uslar shouted.

  “Shut up a second! Let’s hear him out,” I insisted.

  “One of my warriors has intelligence on the Wersillian Legion, some of which is about the Grando Military Prison. He’s been gathering it for months. But the Wersillian Legion must have caught wind of it. His warehouse was attacked and seized yesterday. I’m too old to do anything, and he’s the only other warrior left in my tribe. If you check on him for me, I’ll give you the code. Is it a deal?”

  “Of course,” Erryn answered.

  “Let’s put a pin in that decision,” I insisted. “Erryn, why don’t you and I brainstorm this out elsewhere?”

  I led Erryn out into the hallway connected to the lounge. Once out in the hall, she asked, “What?”

  “This side mission isn’t our priority. Every extra second we waste drains away the sand left in Landis’s hourglass. Why should we devote resources and time to this?”

  “You heard him. The code for the information. Simple.”

  “We may not need that code. Shadow may be able to put his niffy nerd-skills to use and hack into their computer systems to collapse those shields.

  “Or maybe he won’t. And even if he could, I could take time.”

  “Then I need to know: With all your expertise and experience, do you suggest we run with this side job?”

  She placed her hand on my shoulder. “Yes, James. This code removes variables from play, and trust me, that’s always something to sacrifice for.”

  I reentered the lounge area with Erryn. “We accept your terms.”

  “We do?” Uslar seemed surprised.

  “Yes, and no back-mouthing.”

  “Thank you so much, James. May the gods look down on your kindness with grace,” Larno praised.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I rolled my eyes. “Larno. Send me the location of this warehouse, and I’ll take your starship to investigate. How many people can it hold?”

  “Four.”

  “Very well. Who wants to kick up their feet and stay behind?”

  “I do,” Uslar offered.

  “Not a chance, Uslar. That warrior may require medical attention, and you fit the bill.”

  “I wasn’t taught dytirc anatomy,” he reminded me.

  “I’m sure you’ll catch on quick.”

  “I should remain with the Striking Star while it’s in orbit.” Erryn left to go to the cockpit.

  “I’ll hang back and hold down the fort,” Valiic offered.

  “Very well. Everyone else, follow my steps,” I finished.

  We crammed ourselves into Larno’s vessel, which was on its last tank of fuel. Imagine the oldest and most broken down vessel on an out-of-the-way lot; well, that would be in better condition that Larno’s vessel. In fact, it was a damn miracle this dying dog of a ride even made it this far.

  We zipped out of the hangar to the coordinates Larno gave us. Within a minute, the ship arrived at the busted-up warehouse. The warehouse, which once seemed to be a beacon of its age, now resembled something that had been through many hard times. Nothing so dramatic looked to have befallen it; just decades of wear and tear. Amid the plants and vines that swallowed the fences and walls of the property was a now ruined, windowless structure that had been pounded by rainstorms and snowfalls since the fall of the countless tribes once in the area. Like a marathon runner who refused food and drink, the warehouse was a shell of its former self.

  “Land right there.” I pointed to the ridge downhill from the warehouse.

  “Landing now.” Uslar descended the ship into a small clearing in-between a forest of dead, blackened trees. On a few meters away were the front gates that led into the warehouse.

  After landing, we all stepped outside. “Moby Dick, it’s cold out here!” I shivered and rubbed my hands against my biceps. It took a moment for my body to adapt to the cold temperature before I took the lead.

  Sneaking up to the front gate, I looked through the vertical wooded slats. Rusted iron and moldy wood held the warehouse together - if you could call that mess together. It was in ruins and had all the sturdiness of a monkey holding a stack of its dung on a tightrope.

  I squeaked the gate open, and we crept onto the property. The warehouse’s spooky creaks and taps made the property feel more like a scene from a horror film. Laced with black grass patches and piles of garbage, we took our time maneuvering through the muddy field leading to the warehouse.

  “Why do I feel like some psychopath from a horror movie is going to jump out?” Shadow-Walker whispered.

  “You watch human-produced motion pictures?” I whispered back to him.

  Next to me, he peeked through the open hole. “Righto. A, ah… a guilty pleasure of mine.”

  “I didn’t know you enjoy classic cinema. You know, the good shivf before the medium turned into virtua
l reality.”

  “Guys, cut the chatter for a second. Look through here,” Uslar signaled.

  Keeping my back to the wall, I crept over to him and Narrisa at their side of the wall. He pointed through the gaping hole above him. Lifting my head, I knew exactly what he was referring to.

  “We have plasma burns inside. There was a firefight,” I whispered.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Shadow-Walker asked in a hushed tone.

  “I want coverage on both sides of the warehouse. Shadow-Walker, you trail me on the right side. Uslar, trail Narrisa on the left. Clear each room and then meet at the back of the warehouse.”

  First, Narrisa entered the warehouse through the door. Then with the other two behind me, I entered the warehouse. Once inside, we split into groups.

  The space inside was large enough to fit half a dozen fighter jets; however, much of that space was filled with trash, garbage, and debris fallen from the walls and roof; moonlight seeped through the openings.

  Hugging the wall, Shadow-Walker and I came to the first room. I signaled for him to check right. With swift maneuvering, I swept the left side. This room was a mirror of the main warehouse; trash and debris everywhere, but nothing of interest.

  “Clear.”

  “Clear.”

  “Next room,” I commanded.

  Each step we took sent creaks through the warehouse, giving away our positions.

  A large pile of debris blocked my path. “Watch the debris,” I spoke over my shoulder to Shadow-Walker. Cautiously, I climbed over the fallen debris. Sharp, rusted nails stuck out.

  “This really is a depressing place,” Shadow-Walker said with a sigh after completing his climb over the debris.

  “Larno did say this region on Delkeedo is poverty-stricken.” I climbed over a destroyed counter. “I’d go as far as to say this place is a nightmare, and then some.”

  “Dytircs usually just throw together wood and iron… especially when they can’t afford better building materials,” Uslar whispered from across the room.

  Shadow-Walker and I came to the next room. This one was a tad more interesting than the other one. There were dytirc cooking equipment and appliances with some shelving against the wall. Not surprisingly, it was ransacked. Again, I took the left side and swept through – and again, it was the same story as the first room.

  “Clear.”

  “Clear,” Shadow-Walker confirmed.

  “That was the last room. Time to regroup,” I stated before we rejoined Narrisa and Uslar. “What did you find?” I asked them.

  “A dead body. Probably the warrior. The marking on his left arm is the same as Larno’s. I don’t need to be a field medic to tell you he was tortured and killed by plasma burns,” Uslar claimed.

  “Show me,” I instructed.

  Uslar led me into the last room. Narrisa and Shadow-Walker followed behind us. Except for a desk in the corner with an iron bucket on top and a corpse in the center, the room was empty. The body was surrounded by piles of trash bags, as if his assailants wanted to make the statement that he was nothing but garbage. Many of his fingers were missing, and his face was clearly beaten in. Around the corpse and piles of trash, a pool of burnt blood stained the floor. There were four plasma wounds, starting from his chest and going all the way down to his pelvis. One wound had burnt a hole so deep, I could see part of his heart through his rib cage. It seemed his heart was partially burnt, too.

  “Righty. We should deliver the bad news,” Shadow-Walker suggested.

  “Nope. He wasn’t killed for shivfs and giggles. I want to know why,” I stated.

  “There could be many reasons: He was a member of a rebel tribe; he’d been gathering intelligence on the dytirc military; or he could have been killed for simply resisting,” Uslar offered a few suggestions.

  “But he was clearly tortured. Why? If the intelligence he gathered was here, they would have just shot him dead. Or if any of those other reasons you assumed were correct, they would have also shot him dead. My money’s on they couldn’t find the intelligence, so they tried to beat it out of him.”

  “Then that means they may have gotten it. The plasma burns indicate they were finished with him.” Uslar pointed to the burns all over the victim’s chest.

  “I don’t deny they were finished with him. Hell, he looks worse than a bloated possum after a run-in with a truck. But here’s what’s itching at my nerves: Why would the dytircs pick this warehouse to the bone? If they’d beaten the location of the intelligence out of him, why clean this place out?” I asked.

  “Insurance?” Shadow-Walker suggested.

  “Maybe. Or they stripped the place hoping they snagged the prize they sought,” I claimed. “Uslar, did the victim die instantly after being shot?”

  Uslar bent over the body. Without moving the corpse, he checked the burns and examined the blood. “I’m afraid not. He would have suffered for a bit… maybe even minutes.”

  “That’s a solid amount of time for him to leave a clue.”

  “That’s a large assumption,” Uslar pointed out. “Actually… hold on. Look at his arm and eyes.”

  Looking down, I failed to understand what Uslar was talking about. “What about them?”

  “His gaze and arm point in the same direction. Look.” Uslar pointed at the desk.

  Shadow-Walker and I walked over to it. “Check the back side,” I told him, checking the front of it. Standing up, the top of the desk was level with my chest. I couldn’t see Shadow-Walker from the other side. “Shadow-Walker, see anything?”

  “Nota, just drawers and shelves. There’s nothing in or on them.”

  “This desk looks like it hit a growth spurt… taller than any desk I’ve ever seen,” I noticed.

  “Now that you mention it, I can’t even see over the top.” He stood up. I barely made out his reddish brown, bald head over the top. His half-horns, or stumps, peeked centimeters above the top of the table.

  “You mentioned drawers?” I asked him.

  “Righto.”

  “Can you pull them out of the desk?”

  “I can give it a go.” He bent back over.

  Thud!

  I heard a slam as the first drawer hit the floor. Then another and another.

  “James, you won’t believe this.” His voice rang with excitement.

  On the other side of the desk, I looked at the space where the drawers had been. With the three drawers removed, the space left was large enough for a boney to fit into. Inside the space was a ladder that led below the warehouse. Darkness seeped through the rectangular hole in the floor.

  “What is it?” Uslar asked.

  “A basement!” I answered. “Narrisa, help me with this.”

  I gripped the bottom of the desk. She walked over and gripped the other side. Together we forced the desk off the floor. Nails and parts of the floor snapped up with the desk. Now the hole was twice the size, allowing enough room for Narrisa to fit through.

  “So… uh… who’s first?” Shadow-Walker grinned and eyeballed each of us.

  “I’ll take point.” I slid down the sides of the ladder.

  Inside, I couldn’t see further than half a meter, with the only light coming from the hole. It was the kind of darkness that made the scenery look like an old-fashioned photograph; everything was a shade of grey. Shuffling and creaking sounds bounced around the basement walls, as if an animal were present. I lit the brightstone light on my rifle and peered around. Storage devices lay atop a table in the back. Old communication equipment was scattered in pieces across the work bench in the middle. Next to the devices, a few plasma weapons lay gathering dust. The rest of the basement was cluttered with junk and scrap equipment. I walked across the basement as everyone slid down to join me.

  “This place looks untouched,” Uslar said, jumping with joy.

  “Uslar, Shadow-Walker, snag all the intelligence you can off those storage devices.”

  “This is awesome.” Uslar couldn’t contain his
joy. “I love secret lairs!”

  “Righty,” Shadow-Walker responded. He then froze in place. “Do you guys smell that?”

  “Nope,” I said. Narrisa and Uslar both shook their heads.

  More shuffles and creaks resonated around the basement. “I know you heard that.” Shadow-Walker sniffed the air.

  “We did. But the whole building has been making those noises.” I swept my light around the room.

  “Righto… but that smell… it smells like a boney.” He raised his scout rifle and swept it around the wall closest to the ladder. “Maybe more than one,” he whispered to himself.

  “Shadow-Walker, take a chill pill. There’s a dead boney right above us,” I said, trying to calm him down.

  “James, there isn’t rotting flesh scent mixed in with this smell.”

  He crept over to the side where he was pointing his rifle. Understanding him immediately, I pulled up my assault rifle and crept right next to him. Narrisa joined, right on our rear.

  “Uslar, stay there,” I instructed, keeping my full focus on the wall.

  We inched closer and closer to the wall. Scrap metal, loads of large equipment, and crates of supplies were pushed against the wall, hiding close to every centimeter of it. More shuffles and creaks echoed. This time, I could make out its origin. It came from right behind the crate in the corner. Suddenly, something small bolted toward the ladder, followed by another. Immediately, I recognized what it was and tackled Shadow-Walker to the ground. His rifle went off but missed. In turn, Narrisa used her shield and body to cover the ladder, stopping the beam’s ricochet from hitting the two individuals at the bottom of the ladder. Never had I seen Narrisa move like that. She pulled them both down to her side and comforted them. They were children, barely out of their toddler years.

  “James, how did you know?” Shadow-Walker asked.

  “That you would shoot? I’ve always known you have an itchy trigger finger.” I pulled him up.

  Narrisa knelt down on both knees, now only centimeters taller than the older of the two children. She leaned her shield against the wall and removed the gun from her arm. Reaching up to the back of her head, she pressed a button, releasing her helmet. She removed it, revealing her tough yellow skin and glowing orange pupils. Small spikes that resembled stiches followed her spine to the top of her head.