Curse of the Legion (22 page)

"Yes. Millie. She's on Tough Love, a hospital ship that's accompanying our task force. Priestess is taking care of her kid, too—Andrea, my first daughter. How are you and Whit doing?"

"Oh, we're happy. No kids yet. It's kind of, well, chaotic. I'm doing my thing, she's doing hers. She's working very hard at making a success of her shipping firm. She invested in an old starship and she's running cargo between Galgos and the Crista Cluster."

"All legitimate?"

"All legitimate! She doesn't want any more trouble with the Legion. If it works out she should retire rich—and no funny business required. She's still got this thing about money."

"Well, she deserves it." Whit was one of us by now—she'd earned her place in our hearts, with blood.

###

"Attention!" Dragon's voice snapped like a whip. Nine soldiers in camfax fatigues braced for inspection. We were in some nameless, cold cube deep in the labyrinth of
Atom's
cenite intestines, and it was time for me to look over the squad. I paused before the squad's Two.

"Sir, Sweats, sir, deputy squad leader, Recon Nine-Seven!" He was young and intense, short tawny hair, alert grey eyes.

"Hello, Sweats. Good to see you again." I remembered him from Pherdos. Dragon had told me he was a first-class trooper, and a natural leader. I knew everybody in the squad had seen combat.

"Sir, thank you sir!"

Deadeye and Stormdawn were next, both doing a pretty good imitation of a Legion brace, looking perfectly comfortable in Legion camfax.

"For your Queen," I said quietly. They remained frozen at attention, still in deathpaint. I wasn't worried about them. It was our enemies who should be worried.

"Sir, Recon Five, Tourist, sir, Manlink specialist!" Curly brown hair, brown eyes, a finely chiseled face—he looked like a handsome young layabout who should have been decorating a beach somewhere. But here he was, all set to die for ConFree.

"Good to see you too, Tourist. We're going to need that Manlink."

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Sir, Recon Six, Jo-Jo, sir!" He was a giant trooper with bulging biceps and a large head seemingly carved from granite. He looked like he had stepped right out of the stone age.

"Glad you're on our side, Jo-Jo. Dragon tells me you almost beat him in arm-wrestling."

"Sir! He's going down, sir. Sooner or later." He seemed very serious about it.

"Sir, Recon Seven, Rabies, sir!" A pale, wiry dark haired trooper with wild eyes. A madman, I thought. We have lots of them in the Legion.

"Your One is seriously disabled in an attack by six O's, who are overrunning his position," I said. "He orders you to abandon him and alert the rest of your unit. What do you do?"

"I attack the O's to rescue him, and I break blackout to warn the rest of the unit." He seemed perfectly calm, and I had no doubt that was exactly what he would do.

"Good," I said.

"Sir, Recon Eight, Viper, sir!" A slender, attractive girl with short brown hair and glittering green eyes. Poisonous, I thought. Don't get too close.

"You served on Pherdos?"

"Sir. Yes, sir." Her face darkened. Pherdos—that was all the credentials she needed.

"Sir, Recon Nine, Doctor Doom, sir, medic." A handsome Assidic male, classic features, slightly slanted eyes, high cheekbones, straight black hair, a delegate from the bloody past, carrying the genes of Saka the Invincible.

"How are you, DD? I'm hoping we won't need your services."

"Sir, yes sir! Me too."

Redhawk was the last one, grinning like a fool.

"Sir, Recon Ten, Redhawk, sir. Phantom pilot."

"
The
Phantom pilot, you mean," I replied. "How's the bird, Redhawk?"

"Ready to lift, sir. Any time!"

"Good. Good. All right, troopers. You've been briefed on the mission. We're on our way to the other side of the galaxy, to rescue some female captives—Outworlders and Taka—from the O. We've got five marks to do the job, before all hell breaks loose. We're going to practice this op until we can do it in our sleep, and when we arrive there, we'll be ready. Now I know you're all volunteers but I want you to think about this. Why is the Legion doing this? Eight Outworlder captives and twenty-seven Taka, all female. All doomed—captives of the O. Well, I'll tell you why. It's because this is what the Legion does. We fight evil. That's what we do—that's all we do! And it doesn't matter how hard it is, how hopeless it is, how unlikely it is that we'll succeed. None of that matters. We fight evil, and we fight for those who stood by our side against the rest of the universe, and we rescue innocents from the gates of Hell. That's what we do, and if you ever have any doubts about your service to the people of ConFree, you remember this mission. It doesn't get any better than this. You can't die for a better cause than this. I'm proud to be serving with every one of you. Now let's get to work."

###

I was on my knees in the Godmod, praying quietly to the Gods of Hell. Deadman and the Cross of the Legion adorned the bulkhead. It was stark and primitive, savage idols on cold cenite, pagan Gods for soldiers without souls. One last chance, for the dead. Icy sweat trickled down my flesh. My face was battered and cut and one hand was bleeding. My fatigues were soaked in sweat and I was still breathing hard. The ES sessions were getting harder and harder, but I was getting harder too—harder and stronger and faster. It was just like being shot in the heart, every time I saw Moontouch's image. I knew it was the same for Stormdawn and Deadeye. We were all exhausted, ready to drop. But we were getting better. That's all we did. We did the snatch, again and again and again, under all possible circumstances. It was never easy. Half the time we were all killed. It was so damned realistic it was terrifying. But we did those sessions again. And again. And again. Until we got it right. Then Snow Leopard would pull something else. It was maddening. But I didn't mind. I didn't care how hard it was. It was for a good cause.

Deadman was looking down at me, and I was looking up at him. Generations of Legion soldiers had died for us. Now it was our turn. I whispered the words:

"I am a soldier of the Legion
I believe in Evil—
The survival of the strong—
And the death of the weak.
I am the Guardian
I am the sword of light
In the dark of the night.
I will deliver us from Evil.
"I accept life everlasting
And the death of my past.
I will trust no Earther worm
Nor any mortal man,
But only the Mark of the Legion.
I have burnt the Book of Laws
To serve the Deadman's Cause
As a soldier of the Legion…"

My lips were chanting the words, but my mind was busy with another prayer.
Grant me victory, Deadman! Let me liberate her, Deadman! Let me touch her again, only that, and I'll do the rest. Just get me there, that's all I need. Watch over her until I get there. That's my victory. Let me walk in that door and find her there and I'll do whatever you want, my whole immortal life.

###

"Prep for ZA. Approaching target. No reaction from hostiles." Redhawk was maddeningly calm as the Phantom slowed and floated eerily towards the series of small hills. It was early morning out there, icy stars glittering overhead in deep black velvet, one horizon just starting to turn a faint violet. Adrenalin shot through my veins. My heartbeat speeded up. Red light bathed the interior of my helmet. My faceplate was covered with calm green stat boxes. All systems were active. Just a whisper, just a faint touch on the trigger of my E, and all my enemies would be blown to smithereens. I knew all the power of the Legion was with me. I did not fear the O's, but I feared what might happen to Moontouch. Deadeye and Stormdawn were beside me in the crash seats, A&A, fully armored and clutching their E's. I stole another glance out the armored plex, but it was pretty dark.

"Prep to decar. Still no reaction." In view of the time constraints the plan had been altered. The Phantom was to drop right outside Moontouch's hut, and we'd be there in fracs. We weren't giving the O's any time at all to react. By the time they noticed us, we'd be on our way out—we hoped.

"Decar!" The Phantom's assault door snapped open and I launched myself into a whirlwind of gritty dust, hitting the ground hard but upright. I bounded towards the hut buried in the hillside, recognizable only by the pulsing red outline of the doorway on my faceplate, courtesy of Sweety. My adrenalin was aflame but I checked elapsed time, 03 fracs since decar and I was there already! That beat the hell out of our initial time of 4 marks.

"Cancel sim! Thinker, report to Snow Leopard. Squad, stand by." The scene before me vanished abruptly, leaving me half-blinded and still twitching in my A-suit in a featureless ES holo chamber, the holo sim lights fading.

"Deto!" I cursed. "What the hell!" This was to be our last test run, and we were getting really good. Damn it! I popped open the chamber door and staggered down the corridor towards Control, ripping my helmet off. I was bathed in sweat, already. Can't we at least finish the damned exercise? It was our last chance.

"Have a seat, Thinker." Snow Leopard didn't even look up from his seat before the d-screen squad console. He was reading a printout.

"Was that really necessary?" I asked, collapsing into an airchair. "Couldn't you have let us finish the exercise?"

"Yes it was and no I couldn't," Snow Leopard replied calmly. "We're running out of time, and you're going to have to brief your troops. I've just received new orders from Starcom." He put the printout aside and fixed his hot pink eyes on me. "You are not to fire unless fired upon."

"What!"

"You heard me. That's direct from Starcom. You're going to have to factor that in to your mission."

"Factor it in? If we let them fire first, we're going to be dead! Factor that!"

"Maybe. But those are the orders. It will apply to your squad, and to your Phantom. Do not fire unless fired upon."

"Snow Leopard." I paused, desperate for some sign of sanity. "Why would Starcom give an order like that? That's crazy!"

"I don't know why they would, Thinker. They give orders—not explanations. And we obey the orders. We don't question them. My experience is—that there are always reasons for orders like this. But it's not our business to ask."

"If Starcom wants the mission to fail, why don't they just cancel it?"

"Do you want to cancel it, Thinker? It's my understanding that Tara got you this mission over a lot of objections from Starcom. They probably wouldn't mind cancelling it."

"No. I don't want to cancel." A hot rage was rushing over me. More obstacles. Nothing but obstacles, to be overrun, to be blasted to bits.

"All right. You've got to brief your squad. First, let's revise the ops plan."

Chapter 17
Mantis

"There it is—Mantis." It was a golden pearl, glittering almost like a star, so bright, so luminous that the backdrop of milky stars just faded away before its glory. We were in the Kiss, looking right at our future.

"Deadman. Where's the star?" Dragon asked.

"Over there, left and behind us. You can't see it from your seat," Redhawk said.

I just stared at the planet. Mantis—I had never imagined it would be so beautiful. Dear holy God, it was magnificent. It was still quite distant, but as we drew nearer and nearer, I realized the planet was mostly water; and it was reflecting the sunlight, a blinding sheet of molten gold. This was Gildron's world. He had yearned to return there, after many years in the hands of the slavers, and even after having found love with Tara. He had never known where his world was, until the end, just before he gave his life, so that we might live.

We owed him, I thought. He was gone, but we owed his people—the Daz'ra. That was what Gildron said they were called—the Daz'ra. It meant 'people'. We owed them. And we were going to repay them by peppering their world with antimats. The O's had chosen Mantis as their primary galactic base, and we were going to annihilate every O starship, every O base, every O on Mantis. A lot of Daz'ra would surely die as well, in the carnage. And there was nothing at all we could do about it. I sure didn't have any solutions. This was our one chance to strike a decisive blow against the entire O fleet. And we were going to take it. I felt so sorry for the Daz'ra. What a poor way to repay them, for Gildron's selfless act.

"Any activity from the O fleet?" I asked. I had to get my mind back on the subject at hand.

"That's a twelve," Redhawk replied. "Look at them all. Fat and happy. Look at all those fighters and scouts." On the tacscreen the planet was ringed with starships, a dusty pink halo of red dots, each a ship, great motherships and battlestars, transports and carriers, cruisers and tacships and interceptors and fighters. It was a huge fleet, hardened by hundreds of years of battle, hovering over the O's new home, the planet they had chosen as the springboard for the attack on the rest of the inhabited galaxy.

"We're invisible," Redhawk added happily. "We're sliding right in, past everything they've got. Nobody can see the Kiss. We're an invisible bullet. Don't worry, Thinker, we'll get you there. The Kiss has never failed us."

As I watched that lovely planet grow larger as we approached, a lump grew in my throat and my eyes started watering. Damn it! It's obscene, what we're going to do to that world, and everyone who lives on it. Kill 'em all! That was our mission, wasn't it? That was what we did, what the Legion did. We killed, for peace. Yes—well, it was just too damned bad, wasn't it? Stop snivelling! It's kill or be killed out here. The O's have already butchered two billion humans. Now it's our turn. Two billion dead O's, that's what I wanted to see. And if a lot of innocents were to die in the crossfire, it was just too damned bad. Deadman would just have to sort them out, wouldn't he?

I tore my gaze away from Mantis, into a glorious, milky trail of diamond dust, scattered across a velvet sky. No escape. A cold thrill ran over my flesh. We were falling through the cosmos like an evil bat, headed straight as an arrow to Mantis.

"Stars," I whispered. Sweety responded immediately. The music of the stars hissed and crackled in my ears, an insane orchestra of doomed suns, erupting supernovae, howling black holes, growling red giants, shrieking white dwarves. It always calmed me down.

"Think we'll do all right?" Sweats asked me on private. I knew he was a good man, focused on the mission.

"It's going to be perfect," I replied quickly. "Kick in the doors, secure eight Outworlders and twenty-eight Taka, back in the Kiss, and we're gone. Better than sims. Nobody's going to stop us. You can bet on it." And after that, I thought, comes the holocaust—for everybody. Nobody was about to reveal to me what Fleetcom's strength was for this mission, but from what Tara had said I strongly suspected most of ConFree's galactic star fleet would be on this mission. They were coming, even now, thousands of dark, battle-scarred ships from the bloody victory at Andrion Deep, unstoppable, irresistible, full of bitter Fleetcom vacheads and fanatic Legion boots sworn to die for our people, for every woman and child in ConFree, pledged to avenge our dead, all set to burst out of stardrive at exactly zero hour, and fall on the Omni fleet like a swarm of psychotic avenging angels.

I tried not to stare at that gigantic, blazing world as we fell towards it. All I lived for was to happen, this very day. My wife, my love, was down there, and I would be meeting her soon. I could almost taste her. It was deathly silent in the
Spawn
—only a few peeps from the instruments on the console, and the murmur of the universe in my ears. Outside, an infinity of icy stars. I knew the Gods didn't care a whit if we lived or died. We were A&A, armored and armed, but the helmets were off. Stormdawn was praying, eyes closed, lips moving soundlessly—a chant to the dead, I knew, for victory. Deadeye was sharpening a Legion cold knife that I had issued him, his face impassive. Anything that got in his way was going to die very quickly, I knew. Both Deadeye and Storm were expert marksmen with the E by now. And I knew they had no pity for their enemies.

"Now you mind your manners, Jo-Jo," Tourist said, "remember, don't fire unless they kill us first!" He gave me a wild grin.

"Can I cuss at 'em?" Jo-Jo rumbled.

"Cuss at 'em all you want, gang, but remember your orders," I said calmly. "Don't fire unless you're fired upon. Once they do fire, let loose. Until then, keep your safeties on. I'll be right up front, so I should take the first rounds if they do fire. I know I can depend upon you."
Don't fire unless fired upon!
It was lunacy. We needed all the advantage we could get, with the O's. And now this. It probably made perfect sense to the fat-assed rear echelon weenie who had thought it up. But he wasn't here.

I tried to relax, leaning back in the command chair just behind the pilot. It had been a long flight. The
Spawn
had chosen an impossible distant derelict asteroid, far outside the Mantis system, exited stardrive very briefly in its vicinity, then almost immediately ripped another hole into the vac and departed. Fleetcom calculated that the activity would not be detectable from the Mantis system because the asteroid masked the exit and entry signatures. During its brief presence in normal vac the
Spawn
had launched the
Kiss
into the dark. And here we were. Starcom was certainly going to a lot of trouble, for a mission they allegedly did not approve of. I figured there was more to it than that. Our A-suits carried the very latest equipment—full Q-link commo. I didn't care. I was getting what I needed.

"Don't be stupid, Rabies! I'm not taking that!" Viper, our hot-tempered female, seemed a bit upset.

"I just thought…" Rabies was concealing something in his palm.

"Stop thinking! You just keep it! Nothing's going to happen, do you hear me? Nothing!" Rabies did not reply. He put the item away. I knew instantly what this was. Rabies thought he wasn't going to make it. He had tried to give something to Viper, something she would pass on to his parents, or his girl, in the event of his death. And she wouldn't do it—because it was bad luck. I was enraged. Why the hell couldn't they keep their chatter on private? Stupid kids! Damn it! I didn't need this! I had enough death tattoos already; I didn't need any more. Coolhand, Warhound, Ironman, Boudicca, Sassin, Millina, Flash…their faces flickered before me. How many more, Deadman, how many more? I didn't want to get to know these kids; I didn't want to know about their fears and dreams. I wanted them to be strangers to me, serial numbers, ghosts…alive, dead, all the same. Legion ghosts, that's what I needed, a squad of ghosts.

"Right on course, gang," Redhawk grinned. "No reaction from the O's. They're asleep. Nightside coming up."

Don't fire unless fired upon, I thought. Deto! We were ready. Ready, ready, ready. We were in top form. There was nothing further to be done until the crash doors popped open. Mantis was gigantic now, one side still blinding us, as bright as a sun, the other edge plunged in an inky black. We were headed for darkside. I checked the image from the Q-link eyemote. Moontouch was still there, inside the hut, busy doing some kitchen work with that big female Daz'ra. Everyone else was asleep. My heart gave me a tug, as it always did when I saw Moontouch's sacred image. Atmospherics showed a storm front approaching the ZA. Rain—good. That was good. All was well. I was calm and serene. I closed my eyes.

"Dragon, Thinker," I said. "I'm taking five. Wake me if anything happens."

"Tenners," Dragon replied. I knew what I was doing. The squad had already heard I was a psychotic killer, they knew I'd killed an Orman in cold blood, they knew I had disobeyed orders and went on to rescue a Legion squad, and served time in a stockade for it, and now I was giving them a new story—I had icewater in my veins. I knew what they'd say.
He dozed off, man! We were on our way into the shit, entering the at, and he took a little nap on the way down!
I didn't mind. Fear and respect—that's what a mission commander needed.

The Phantom started lurching as we entered the atmosphere. I was tired, I really did need a little rest. Just a few z's….I faded into a warm mist…touching my skin. Raining, a light rain. No—a heavy, heavy rain. A sudden Galgos tropical downpour. Tara and I sought shelter in a deserted toolshed. The dark forest around us was cringing under the watery hail, the road was a river and the torrent was battering at the metal roof. It put a warm thrill to my skin.

"Let it rain all night," I said. "I love this stuff."

"You're a hopeless romantic, Wester," Tara replied. "I've got to get back. I've got things to do." She was a lot younger then—we were both a lot younger.

"You're not going anywhere in this downpour. You could drown out there."

"Am I safer with you?" A faint smile, looking out at the rainy haze.

"Well…maybe not."

"I guess I can handle you. Did I tell you I have a black badge in contact?"

"No. You didn't."

"How're your lessons going?" she asked.

"Good. I love them. It's a total work-out. I feel really good when it's over."

"Kind of like getting beat up? Let me know if you need any tips."

"Will you stop that, Tara? Why do you always have to be one-up on everybody?"

"It's only the truth, Wester. Why did you choose contact? I thought you didn't like sports."

"I don't. Sports don't interest me. But contact does."

"Well, it could come in handy if we keep on, um, associating. I'll admit I can be a pain at times, Wester. Why do you keep hanging around me?"

"Gee, I don't know. I'm hoping you'll break down some day and show me that birthmark."

"Oh, did you believe that? You believe everything I say, don't you?"

"No. I don't. Are you coming with me to the Graduation Ball?"

"It's hard to believe you're graduating. It seems like we met just yesterday."

"That's kind of an indirect answer. I really want you to come with me, Tara."

"Do you think we look good together?"

"Yes. I do."

"Of course I'll come, Wester. I'm flattered you asked me. I'm so weird that people have actually thrown stones at me. You're not afraid to take me to the ball?"

"Well, I'll keep an eye out for stones. Look—the rain is letting up." The rain had slowed to a staccato drum-beat of heavy drops, pelting the leaves.

"I told you I'm a virgin," Tara said. "I wasn't kidding about that." Her hand found mine and squeezed. "Do you ever think about the future, Wester?"

"I try not to. I'm focused on the present."

"Do you think…we have a future? You and me, I mean."

"Well, I sure hope so." I looked into those smoky, exotic eyes. I could see nothing in there—only mystery. "I told you how I feel about you, Tara. You laughed."

"It was just a defensive mechanism, Wester. I'm sorry if I offended you. I think about the future all the time. It's a cruel future. It's a cruel galaxy. We have to tame it. ConFree has to tame it. And we all have to help."

"Do we have to do that right now?" I put my arms around her.

"I'm a woman," she said. "Kiss me."

We lost ourselves in a hot, wet kiss, until the night was spinning softly all around us. Finally a growing thunder rumbled through the forest and the trees shuddered.

"A launch," I said. "Come on." We rushed out into a dripping rain. There was a fierce glow past the trees and a piercing shriek as a shuttle rose majestically into the dark sky.

"The clouds are clearing," Tara said. She pointed skywards. As we watched, the lights began to appear, just a few at first, then more of them, burning brighter as the clouds fled. Soon the starry night sky was full of navlights all lit up like red and green stars, fleets of starships—transports and star carriers, personal yachts and Fleetcom cruisers, hurtling around Galgos 4 in orbit. Another deep roar sounded from the starport, another brilliant glow rose behind the trees.

"That's the power and glory," Tara said. "That's ConFree. It's our heritage. The Zone is the crossroads of galactic trade. Look at all those ships. Don't ever forget you're a Zonie, Wester. A hundred years from now, we'll still remember this."

"A hundred years from now, we'll be dead."

"No, we won't! I'm going to be immortal. Won't you? I'll be in the Legion. I'm going to be a citizen. Are you going to stay down here in the mud?"

"It's not so bad down here, Tara."

"I'd be so disappointed in you if you did that, Wester. So disappointed."

"Why don't you just shut down and give me another kiss?"

"Did I tell you I have a little daughter?"

"Did that happen before or after you were a virgin?"

"Wester! Why do you have to be so damned literal? She's not really my daughter. She kind of…adopted me. I mean, I adopted her. She's a little Galgie girl."