Legion Of The Damned - 01 - Legion of the Damned by William C. Dietz

woman known as Cissy Conners, and having been found guilty of said murder, you are about to die. Do you have any final words?”

    “Yeah. Frax you.”
    “Not especially original, but heartfelt nonetheless,” the voice said calmly. “Now, you are doubtless aware that a small percentage of the criminals executed in this room are chosen for resuscitation and enlistment in the Legion. Would you like to be considered for resuscitation? Or do you choose certain death?”
    Like most of the people who found themselves in his position, Perez had considered certain death and rejected it. Somewhere, just beyond the walls of the death room, other facilities waited. Medical technology so sophisticated that it could bring all but the most massively injured back to life. And life, even half-life as a cyborg, was better than death.
    His voice came out as a croak. “I wish to be considered for resuscitation.”
    “Your choice has been noted,” the voice intoned.
    “And now, in concert with Imperial Law, you will be executed in a manner similar to the way that you killed Cissy Conners. A bullet in the arm, followed by a bullet in the shoulder, followed by a bullet in the chest. Do you have any questions?”
    Perez felt something warm dribble down the inside of surface of his leg. “No.”
    “May god have mercy on your soul.”
    Only one guard remained. He wore full body armor to protect himself against the possibility of a ricochet. He had a long-barreled .22-caliber pistol. It was equipped with a laser sight, reactive grips, and special low-velocity ammunition.
    He stepped forward, raised the pistol, and sighted down the barrel. Perez felt every muscle in his body tighten against the expected impact.
    The guard did something with his thumb and Perez saw a red dot appear on his left biceps. Seeing the dot, knowing exactly where the bullet would hit, was more than he could stand.
    “Oh god, please don’t ...
    The slug hit his arm, tore its way through, and flattened itself against the steel framework. The sound, like the pain, came a fraction of a second after the impact.
    Perez screamed, fought the restraints, and lost control of his bladder. The urine was still splattering across his feet when the second dot appeared on his shoulder.
    “No! No! N-!”
    This bullet went through, hit the far wall, and smeared itself across the harder metal.
    Perez was still in the process of absorbing the shock, and feeling the pain, when the guard corrected his aim.
    Perez saw the dot slide up across his chest, slow, then stop. He was starting to scream when the last bullet hit.
     
    Rain drummed against the limo’s roof and ran in rivulets down the windows. The palace was a smear of bright light, blocked here and there by the statues that lined the drive, and the fancifully shaped topiaries that dotted the lawns.
    The limo threw up a wave of water as it turned into the drive. Sergi Chien-Chu shook his head sadly. He felt sorry for the people at Weather Control. Someone or something had chosen the night of the Imperial ball to screw things up. Within a month, two at the most, they’d be counting icicles on an ice planet, or sorting sand on a hell world. The Emperor had very little patience with incompetence, other than his own, of course, which generally fell under the heading of “bad luck.”
    A massive portico jutted out over the drive. The rain vanished as the limo came under its protection and slowed to a stop. A footman appeared and waited for the door to open.
    “Buzz me when you’re ready to leave, sir. I’ll be in the parking lot.”
    The voice came via the car’s intercom and belonged to Chien-Chu’s chauffeur cum bodyguard, Roland Frederick. He sat twelve feet forward of the rearmost passenger seat and was invisible behind black plastic.
    Chien-Chu gathered the ridiculous toga around his rather portly body and prepared to leave the limo.
    “Don’t be silly, Frederick. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll take a cab