Curse of the Legion (26 page)

"I hope you made the right decision, Tara," I said. "I'm sorry you have to make those kinds of choices. It must be…terrifying. The consequences are so important. For all of us."

"Thank you, Wester." She sighed again, and her face hardened. "It gets harder and harder. And it's like my heart is frozen, when I do decide what we have to do. But I never have any regrets. I do what I feel I must, for our future. For the future of the people of ConFree. That's all I can do. Right or wrong, let the Gods decide. It's the same way for us all—all of us who must make these decisions. Don't ever rise this high, Wester. It's hell."

"I don't think there's any danger of that."

###

I slept with Priestess in her little cube in Nurse's Quarters in the Body Shop. Actually we didn't get a whole lot of sleep. It had been so long! She was just like an angel—supernatural beauty and eternal love, clinging to my fevered body, her heart thumping against my chest, slim arms flung around my neck, wet kisses all over my face, silky black hair like a misty rain, tickling my cheeks.

"Miss me?" she gasped.

"Nah. Not at all."

"Liar. You were dreaming about me every moment. I know how your mind works."

"Well, I guess I did think about you sometimes. I mean…well, a lot. Or, uh, well actually I guess it was all the time. Yeah. All the time."

"Me too," she whispered. We lay there, in each other's arms, in the warm dark, completely relaxed. I don't think I'd ever been happier.

"If the war with the O's is over," Priestess asked, "what will happen to us? Will we get sent back to Providence? I was so happy there."

"It's hard to tell. Tara is still working on finding out why the O's attacked us. I'm afraid of what might happen when she finds out."

"Doesn't it ever end? Can't we ever settle down to a normal life?"

"Soldiers of the Legion don't have normal lives, you know that. We should just live for the present. That's all we can do."

"Well, somebody's got to take care of the kids. And I think it's Millie's turn now. Is she back yet?"

"The Tough Love is supposed to be orbiting Dindabai about this time. I'm not sure how long they'll be there. They're supposed to be re-organizing the Body Shop there and fixing up the last of the casualties. It might be awhile."

"Good. I mean, I love Millie, but I want you to myself for awhile. I mean, at least I'll only be sharing you with one other girl instead of two. You're really a hopeless case, you know. And so am I."

"I know," I admitted. "Sorry." What else could I say?

"Did you say Tara was sending that psycher Gravelight to Mantis to ask the Daz'ra about the O's? That should be a big waste of time."

"Why would it be a waste of time?"

"Why don't you just ask Moontouch? She's supposed to be a seer, and prophesize the future and all. And you told me yourself she knows things that nobody else does. She was a captive of the O's—and spent a long time with both the O's and the Daz'ra. If she's such a hot medium maybe she knows why the O's attacked us."

"Deadman!" I gasped. "I never thought of that!" I was stunned. Good Lord, Moontouch even predicted the war. And she led us to Mantis. Why shouldn't she have insights into the O's motivation?

"You're welcome," Priestess said. "Let me know if there's anything else I can help you with. Bet you can't make love again!"

###

"Hey sir, we've finally got some scoop on the raid on the Temple of the Sun." The young Legion trooper seemed quite excited about it. "See Captured Media Exploitation, the latest document."

"Yeah, thanks, I'm already watching it," I replied.
Hey, sir
. That was maybe a little too informal, but I was too damned busy to make an issue of it. Upon arrival in Andrion 2, I had been autoassigned to Galactic Information Andrion, charged with making sense of the current situation, and the Systie interrogation datacard that we had stolen or purchased from the SIS looked as if it was going to be quite useful in clearing up the Temple of the Sun-Fortuna mess. My d-screen showed a pale, sweating Orman, evidently naked, strapped to a metal chair facing a metal table. His face was clean shaven and he looked young, but the Ormans were immortals—unlike the billions of mortals that they ruled on behalf of the Mocains. His head was recently shaven and the blood specks showed it had not been a gentle shave. A portable brainscan was attached to his scalp. The harsh interrogation lights were focused on him and he blinked nervously in the glare. A giant Mocain clad in a silver uniform sat behind the table, leaning forward on his huge arms, almost as if anxious to consume the little Orman. I knew silver was the color of the highest command levels of the United System Alliance—or what was left of it. Another Mocain paced back and forth in the shadows behind the lights.

"So you informed the Chairman before launching the operation?" the Mocain asked. "We don't believe you!" The Mocain gave an impression of limitless power. He was bald—a symbol of the warrior caste—and he glared at the Orman fiercely. His pale flesh had a very faint green tinge. Several golden earrings dangled from his earlobes. The use of the term 'you' was considered rude in the System, but it was perfectly all right if a superior wished to emphasize an inferior's lowly status.

"We are being completely truthful, as it can see from the mindscan. We informed the Chairman."

"You may think you are being truthful, but it's nonsense. There is no record of such an operation!"

"We told it, it was highly compartmented, and hand delivered. We were under orders to destroy all records upon termination of the operation and we did so."

"Very convenient! You were running operations out of your hip pocket, with no accountability! Reckless operations with galactic consequences! The Chairman knows nothing of this! Who did you send your reporting to?"

"We sent it to the SIS liaison to the PolOr Council—General Loran-ko, for his eyes only."

"The General denies knowing anything about it!"

"Well, perhaps the General should be in this chair rather than us. As it can see from the brainscan…" A burst of hot blue electricity crackled over the Orman's skin as the second Mocain stepped out of the shadows wielding a shockrod. The Orman screamed, doubled over in agony, banging his face against the table. He slowly recovered, gasping and gurgling, his nose bleeding.

"You must be polite, as well as truthful. We're getting sick of you people. Even when you're telling the truth, you're lying."

"We are loyal citizens of the United System Alliance," the Orman gasped, "and have always supported and encouraged the equality of all, and proven ourselves faithful servants to our Mocain brothers. We have been with it since the days of the Mocain Supremacy. We deal only with the truth. How can it doubt us now? What have we done, to deserve this?"

"You have conspired against the state that you purport to serve. You have formed a secret conspiracy, limited to those of your own blood, and dedicated to acquiring unlimited power. You are traitors! You are vipers! You are a cancer that must be surgically removed, for our state to survive!"

"We have done none of that! Ask us! Ask us anything! It will get the truth! We know nothing of conspiracies! The Chairman himself sent us congratulations on the success of the operation!"

"What was the attack on Asumara's Temple of the Sun designed to achieve?"

"It was meant to enrage the religious fanatics of the Asumara Holy Commune, and provoke them into attacking the CrimCon. And it worked. It worked perfectly!"

"And why was that so important to your conspiracy?"

"It was not for us! We've told you, we know of no conspiracy! Galactic Resources is the instrument of the Chairman of the Council of Ministers! And TechScan Ventures was the cover for our action arm. The operation—we called it Black Shield—was devised to benefit the United System Alliance by weakening the Confederation of Free Worlds, the CrimCon, tying it down in a series of mindless regional wars in the Gulf and the Gassies. This was coordinated closely with the office of the Chairman of the Council of Ministers!"

The Mocain kept a close watch on the mindscan reader on the table. "We're not sure why they say Ormans are so intelligent," he said. "You really seem to believe this crap. So, all this correspondence was destroyed after the op?"

"Yes sir."

"Funny that General Loran-ko has no recollection of something that important. Did you personally brief him?"

"No sir."

"Well, you must have been in touch with someone at the Council of Ministers. You said the correspondence was eyes only to General Loran-ko. And hand delivered. How?"

"We…it was delivered to the SIS liaison to the General, a Cit Shana."

"A Cit Shana. Interesting. He's an Orman, isn't he?"

"An Orman? Well…yes, but—is that important? Aren't we all—"

"Is that important!" The Mocain leaped to his feet. "Yes, it's important! How damned convenient! Everybody involved in this operation seems to be an Orman! And now your Council of Ministers contact is also an Orman. What the hell are you people up to? How stupid do you think we are? No, don't answer that. We've been stupid, but that's over now. Tell me about the attack on the Temple of the Sun. Now!"

"Yes sir. We used four Legion aircars and two squads of biogens, clad in Legion armor. They trashed the place, which was an important sacred site. They killed a lot of locals and then took off. It was a complete success. The locals were enraged. An Asumara raiding party then attacked a Legion outpost—Fortuna—and slaughtered the inhabitants. The Legion then attacked Asumara, declared war and sacked the place. All of the Gulf and Gassies worlds were outraged and turned against the CrimCon. It was a perfect covert action operation that weakened the System's primary enemy, the Criminal Conspiracy. We hid our tracks well, dismantling all the biogens and destroying their parts. Yes, we did it and we're proud of it! It was done at the behest of the Council of Ministers."

"And who was the genius who thought this one up? And don't tell me it was General Loran-ko!"

"Cit Zharzha Guinn is the Chief of Galactic Resources, and approved the plan."

"Funny how we can't find him any more. Where is he?"

"We don't know."

"And this fellow Shana. He's gone too. They kind of left you to clean up after them, didn't they?"

"We are a loyal citizen of the United System Alliance, and we deny being a part of any conspiracy."

"This wonderfully successful operation you described. Were they planning any kind of follow-up? Any other big plans?"

"We were told that Black Shield was only a test run for a more important operation that was awaiting the success of Black Shield."

"And what do you know about that operation?"

"Only what we've told it, sir."

"Isn't that wild, sir?" The young Legion officer was looking over my shoulder, watching the d-screen. "The whole Fortuna thing was the result of a Systie deception operation. That is scary. Do you think the Ormans did it on their own, without notifying the Chairman?"

"Not for a moment," I said. "They certainly did it on behalf of the System, but now the System is having second thoughts. And, since they're purging the Ormans, they want to brand this a rogue Orman operation, just in case we find out about it. But I don't think we're going to fall for that."

"They've been manipulating us…and everyone else."

"The moral of the story is never trust a Systie and never trust an Orman."

"I'll remember that, sir."

###

"Glowpetal tea, my King," Moontouch whispered, handing me a little stone cup, "flavored with my tears. Drink deeply of our love." I took a sip. It was warm and light and fragrant. We were in one of my favorite places, high atop the Queen's Palace in Stonehall, on the terrace, under a brightly colored suntent that was creaking in a faint breeze. It was lightly raining—a grey mist, filtering gently down to patter onto the tent and the flagstones of the terrace. It put a warm glow to my flesh. Moontouch dropped another sliver of silk into the flickering brazier. It caught fire and the odor of burning silk and musky incense tickled my nostrils. Moontouch was on her knees, surrounded by golden pillows, and I was propped up on one elbow, lazily watching her feed the silk into the fire.

"The Gods would not reveal if I would see you again, my love," Moontouch whispered. "Sometimes the Gods are cruel, and cover the future with a misty cloud. I wrote my sorrows on these prayer slips, and my promises, should the Gods of the Dead return you to me. Now my dreams are fulfilled. You have returned, and I send my pledges to Heaven. I am a willing slave to the House of the Dead, which protects my people and yours. The children of the Golden March and the sons of the Legion are one, united by adversity and loyalty. Your people have died for ours, and our people have died for yours. Our enemies flee in terror. Our bold standards fly over Stonehall, once again. Our oldest prophecies are fulfilled. I bless you, my King."

I could see the glimmer of tears in her eyes. She was right. The ancient battle flags of the Taka people fluttered over the huge main gate of Stonehall, and just below the flags was the rotting head of an Omni, besieged by a swarm of little carnivorous birds. I took another sip of tea. The misty rain was comforting, and I wondered if I could live this instant forever, by Moontouch's side, on a cool wet morning.

"Moontouch, the Undead do not speak, but they communicate with their minds. They are very powerful, as you know, and can make you do things that you do not wish to do. Were you able to…understand them? Were you able to communicate with them, when you were a prisoner?"

"We can not speak with them, Slayer, but they can speak to us, through their will. It is impossible to resist them. They speak, we obey. They rule their enemies with terror. There can be no resistance."

"And the Daz'ra? Do they rule the Daz'ra with terror?"

"No, my King. They do not rule the Daz'ra. They treat the Daz'ra with kindness, and respect."

"Why is that, Moontouch?"

"It is because the Daz'ra treat the Undead with kindness and respect as well."