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

home.”
    “I’m sorry, sir, but madam would never forgive me.”
    “What if I order you to go?”
    “No offense, sir, but I’m a good deal more afraid of madam than I am of you.”
    Chien-Chu knew it was true, and knew something else as well: that Frederick wanted to stay and would do whatever he pleased.
    Chien-Chu touched the door release. It hissed open. “Well, suit yourself, but it’s damned silly, if you ask me.”
    The driver’s-side rearview mirror provided an excellent view of the foppish footman and the now open door. Frederick watched his boss heave himself out of the backseat, refuse a helping hand, and gather the toga into some semblance of order. Chien-Chu was a short man, and what with the gold bracelet, white robes, and leather sandals, looked the spitting image of a Roman senator.
    Frederick shook his head sympathetically. The boss hated this kind of crap and would be miserable all night. He’d welcome a ride when the ball was over and Frederick would be there to provide it.
    Chien-Chu waved toward the driver’s compartment, turned, and joined a couple dressed as twenty-second-century air dancers. It took him a moment to recognize them as Governor French and her husband, Frank.

    “Sergi! It’s good to see you! I love your costume!”
    “And I yours,” Chien-Chu replied, eyeing the governor’s next-to-nonexistent attire. She was close to fifty but very well preserved. He leered at her.
    “Why, Sergi ... you old goat! Have you met my husband, Frank?”
    “Of course,” Chien-Chu replied, exchanging nods with a handsome youth thirty years the governor’s junior. “Frank and I had drinks together during the in-system speedster races last year. A nice finish, by the way ... you nearly won.”
    This comment was sufficient to stimulate a highly technical dissertation on Frank’s loss and his prospects for the current year. A somewhat boring conversation but sufficient to carry them through the main doors, down a brightly lit hallway, to the entrance of the Imperial ballroom. Brightly uniformed marines stood along the left side of the wall, eyes front and weapons at port arms.
    During this seemingly innocuous journey, all three were aware that batteries of scanners, sensors, and detectors were probing their bodies, clothes, and accessories for any sign of weapons, explosives, or toxic chemicals. Should anything even remotely threatening be discovered, they knew that the marines had orders to fire. Which explained why there was one line of marines instead of two, why all of them wore a receiver in their left ear, and why they stood against the inside wall. Stray bullets, if any, would be directed out and away from the ballroom.
    A pair of carefully matched Trooper IIs formed the last line of defense. Like all military cyborgs, they were members of the Legion and stood like statues to either side of the ballroom doors.
    They had two missions. The first was to provide the marines with fire support in the case of a massed assault, and the second was to kill the marines if they moved more than a foot out of position.
    There was the theoretical possibility of a joint assassination attempt, of course, but, thanks to the carefully orchestrated interservice rivalries that the Emperor had worked so hard to encourage, such an alliance was extremely unlikely.
    It was, Chien-Chu thought to himself, a simultaneous measure of the Emperor’s brilliance and paranoia.
    They paused while a pair of brightly befeathered aliens preceded them into the room, then they stepped through the door. A truly resplendent majordomo lifted his staff from the highly polished floor and brought it down with a distinct thump.
    “Governor Carolyn French, of the Imperial Planet Orlo II, her husband, the Honorable Frank Jason, and the Honorable Sergi Chien-Chu, Advisor to the Throne.”
    The sound of his voice was amplified and could be heard by anyone with a pulse.
    Chien-Chu had no idea how the majordomo managed to get all the names