Curse of the Legion (8 page)

"There are still billions of slaves out there. What about them?"

"I'm not God. And neither is ConFree. The Director of ConFree and the ConFree Council are responsible to the people of ConFree—not to anyone else. We don't rule the galaxy, and we don't want to. The Director of ConFree is not the Emperor of the Galaxy. And we've never been on a crusade to end slavery, rid the galaxy of oppression or force anyone to follow our religion, adopt our system of government, or salute our flag."

"You coulda fooled me."

"Yes, Wester, we did allow our ambitions to—grow. In an insane manner, you might even say. But history is talking to us, now. Whispering in our ears. It's the voice of the dead, Wester, and we'd better listen, or we die too. ConFree is the creation of the Outworlder nation. We are responsible to the people of ConFree, and we'd better remember that. Now that the System is finished, we're going to return to our own sector, and mind our own business."

"Well, that's the first good news I've heard in a long time."

"We must learn from history, Wester. We were slaves. Then we had a vision, spiritual faith, and courage. The Outworlder race broke away from the System and challenged the Outvac frontier, risking everything for the future, then risking it all again, for liberty and independence from System tyranny and slavery. And our society worked—better than we ever dared imagine. What's next, Wester? Do you know what is next?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

"Slavery, faith, courage, liberty, wealth—and then complacency, apathy, dependence, and slavery. That's the cycle. Do you know where we are on that cycle?"

"We're in the insanity portion. You didn't mention that."

"We're in wealth. We're right where things start to change for the worse. It's a long, slow cycle—so slow that most people don't even notice it. Governments that remain unaware of history are criminally stupid, and must be overthrown. But ConFree isn't unaware. We know exactly what's going on."

The stars were coming out by then. The
Silver Cloud
was shining beautiful colored lights down into the Rift. The tourists around us were partying, getting louder. LiLo was standing a short way off, looking at us. Now what?

"What is it, LiLo?" I asked.

"Madame Priestess and Madame Millie told me to watch you, sir, and if you put your hands on Madame Tara, I have to go back and tell them."

"That's nice. You go back and tell them that I'm being a good boy, and keeping my hands to myself."

"Yes sir." She turned and headed back to the pool.

"I'm really hurt, Wester," Tara smiled. "You didn't used to have any problems with putting your hands on me."

"Well, things didn't used to be this…complex."

"That's a ten, Wester. That's a ten." She paused, staring into the distance, then resumed. "There's so much to worry about, Wester. So much. Like most revolutionary governments, ConFree started as an instrument—designed to rid us of the System, and guarantee the independence of the Crista Cluster as a galactic homeland for Outworlders and Assidics. But that task is done now. And what comes next—always? The instrument grows—and turns into an institution, living only for itself. Ultimately, it usually becomes that which it was founded to oppose. Unless we remain very vigilant, ConFree will become a slave state, just as bad as the System."

"Wasn't that what ConFree feared the Legion was becoming—when they sent those ConFree Special Mission boys to kill us on Uldo?"

"They were traitors, consorting with the System! Yes, they had reason to fear the Legion. But it was the Legion that saved ConFree, not them. It was the Lost Command, one of our most glorious moments."

"Calm down, Tara. I happen to agree with you there. All right, so we've got the wheel of history or whatever you call it—and ConFree is getting soft and fat. Using warm water, hiring servants, having babies—right?"

"We are certainly worried about that, Wester."

"And our government is also getting big and fat, and the population will soon be slaves, living off government money and losing all their freedoms."

"Not as long as I'm breathing, Wester. But those are real problems. Another big problem is the diaspora. All those Outworlders and Assidics, still living in slavery all over the galaxy, if not under the System then under all those slave states that succeeded it. What do we do about them? That's a problem."

"I thought we were going to free them."

"It's not that easy, Wester. Most of them are brainwashed. Many don't even know they're slaves. They think it's normal to have most of their earnings confiscated by the state, they think Voluntary Service is not slavery, they think it's normal for the government to decide who mates with whom to achieve a desirable ethnic mix and get rid of undesirable genes, they think the victim of a robbery is a social parasite and should be punished because he had more goods than the attacker, they think they control the government because they vote once every four or five years for approved candidates. How can you save people like that? They're not really Outworlders any more—they're sheep, they're slaves. They don't deserve our help. Why should our brave soldiers die for them? They deserve to be slaves!"

"I'm sure they're not all like that."

"No, they're not. That's the problem. There are plenty of Outworlders out there who want to escape—and join us. And we should help them. That's a problem."

"So we're still a beacon, for them."

"The light of liberty, Wester, shining through the galaxy, for all who have eyes to see and ears to hear. Yes, a beacon—that's good."

"So that's not changing."

"No—it will never change! We don't change our ideals! And the whole damned galaxy is going to know it! And when some gang of subhuman rats raids a ConFree world and slaughters our people…we're going after them, and their world is going to glow in the dark for a long, long time, and the whole damned galaxy is going to know about that as well! We don't have any choice, Wester. Not if we're going to remain true to our ideals. And when all those Outworlder slaves all over the galaxy hear about that, those who still have eyes to see and ears to hear, they're going to think,
'Got you, you bastards! Got you!'
and they'll know it's them,
their people
, striking back, just as hard as we can, at those stinking, rotten bastards!" Tara was trembling. Her eyes were wet, but I knew it wasn't from weakness.

"Go get 'em, girl," I said softly. "Go get 'em."

###

"So what did she want?" Priestess asked suspiciously. We were back in our spotless stateroom. LiLo was preparing the kids for sleep and Millie had joined us in the lounge.

"Nothing. She was just talking politics."

"Nothing?" Millie asked. "Are you sure?"

"What kind of politics?" Priestess asked.

"It was just about ConFree. The wheel of history, that kind of stuff."

"She didn't ask you to do anything?" Millie asked.

"Nope. She was just talking out loud—using me as a sounding board."

"Politics!" Priestess snarled. "She's getting her hooks into you. She's got something in mind for you."

"I really don't think so, Priestess. I think she just wanted to talk."

"You stay alert, soldier! And remember—the answer is no! We've done enough for the Legion. They've got a whole new graduating class they can use. Tell her to use them, if she wants bodies—not you!"

"I'll do that, Priestess, if she asks. But she hasn't asked."

Chapter 4
The Santos Newhuman Socialrevolutionary Diversegalitarian Democooperative

We were to learn soon enough what Tara had in mind. My orders arrived unexpectedly with the usual flurry of assignments and reassignments between courses.

ACCESS BLUE MAGSEC GI IR OUTVAC STARCOM SECRET PERS

CITE: GI QUABA 12990206

FOR: LEG BT VELTROS PERS

DATE: 328/09/43

SUBJ: REASSIGNMENT LMV 34673002 THINKER

TEXT: ORDERS: LMV 34673002 WN THINKER TO REPORT IMMED U/A TO GI QUABA PERS RE ONWARD ASSIGNMENT.

ACCESS BLUE MAGSEC GI IR OUTVAC STARCOM SECRET PERS.

I reread the document, stunned, sitting at the desk in my little cube in BT.
Bitch!
Anger and resentment surged through my veins. Calm down, Thinker, I thought. Let's just calm down. What does this mean? From Galactic Information Quaba—that's Tara, of course. Reassignment, immediate, unaccompanied, to Galactic Information Quaba. But it was for—onward assignment! Report to Personnel upon arrival for details. Deadman! It could be anywhere! It could be anything! Not a clue! Wait a mo—yes, look at the classification—ACCESS BLUE MAGSEC. What the hell—routine Legion personnel reassignments don't rate a classification like that. And SECRET PERS. PERS, fine, but why SECRET? Normal personnel assignments are unclassified and marked ROUTINE, not SECRET. Let's see, GI IR, that's Galactic Information and…Interstellar Relations. Why include Interstellar Relations? OUTVAC STARCOM, they're on everything, but why the Ministry of Interstellar Relations? What do I have to do with them?

I knew the only way I was going to find out was to follow my orders and show up at Quaba 7—unaccompanied. Priestess and Millie were going to be very unhappy about this. Just say no! Well, you can't say no to Legion orders—Tara knew exactly what she was doing.

###

I hopped a Fleetcom tacship, the
Bad Girl
, bound for Quaba with a load of Legion troopers on their way to the Asumara front. The transportation routes throughout the Crista Cluster were sparkling with artificial wormholes as the Legion prepped for war with Asumara. It sure didn't look good, I thought, lying in my wall bunk with my nose almost touching the bottom of the overhead bunk. I closed my eyes but all I could see were the tears, Priestess and Millie, hot tears running down their cheeks, unashamed, and then the kids, sensing disaster, crying as well. All I could do was hold them all tightly and fight my own tears and vow to return. We were going to war. What choice did I have, what choice did any of us have, except to fight for our own survival?

I watched from a viewport as we approached Quaba 7. Two lovely white suns burnt far away in a deep cobalt sky. The massive planet glowed a luminous ochre in the sunlight and silvery seas flashed like watery mirrors. I could clearly see the thin sheet of atmosphere against the dark sky. Another lovely world—a miracle, created by God and touched with life. It was ours, one of the leading planets of the Crista Cluster, home to Fleetcom and Galactic Information and a host of other ConFree instruments.
Instruments
, I reminded myself, not institutions. Let's keep it that way!

The
Bad Girl
dropped gracefully from orbit, circling the planet lazily, slowly losing altitude as it slid from dayside to nightside, the leading edges of the massive white wings starting to glow pink as we entered the atmosphere, a black Legion cross displayed prominently for all to see. We weren't ashamed of our colors. Tacships could hardland downside, for maximum efficiency, and that's what we were doing.

###

"Wester! How wonderful to see you! I'm so sick of all these people! Lori, hold all calls!" Tara was looking her best, as usual, but I was determined not to let it affect me. Legion Personnel had sent me on directly to see the Deputy Minister of Galactic Information and here I was, in Tara's spacious office as she barked orders to her secretary in the outer office and came around from behind her desk to greet me in person.

"Trooper Zero, reporting as ordered, Sir," I said coldly.

"Oh, give it a rest, Wester. Let's sit over here." She hooked an arm around one of mine and guided me over to an airsofa by a wide armored window with a spectacular view of Quaba Port and the city of Forest Landing beyond it, hidden in greenery. "How are Priestess and Millie? How are the kids?"

"They're fine, Tara. And how is Willard?" Willard was Tara's adopted son. We had found him on an Omni starship, orphaned by the O's holocaust, and he had been with Tara since then.

"He wants to join the Legion, Wester."

"I thought you were going to talk him out of that."

"It's hopeless, Wester. We're all branded with the Legion cross. It's impossible to resist—it's like a curse, the curse of the Legion." She suddenly sounded very weary.

"Why didn't you tell me about this assignment when you visited us? The girls are kind of—upset," I said.

"I didn't know, Wester. I honestly didn't know. This just came up. You know I trust you. I'm meeting so many people, it's becoming increasingly hard to tell who's dependable and who isn't."

"I'm happy teaching the kids, Tara."

"I know you are, Wester, and I'm sorry. Please apologize for me to Priestess and Millie. But it can't be helped! We're going to war, Wester—we're actually already at war, and there's so much else going on as well. I need you. The Legion needs you. ConFree needs you. Your people need you!"

"What have you got?" I knew it was impossible to fight her. Just accept it.

She gave me a dazzling smile. "I knew I could depend on you, Wester! All right, here's your package." She pulled a fat datapak off a nearby table and dropped it onto my lap. "You've just been transferred to the Ministry of Galactic Information, with a rank of Commander. You've also been attached to the Ministry of Interstellar Relations, with a title of Attache. As far as anyone outside ConFree is concerned, you'll be on a diplomatic mission for the Ministry of Interstellar Relations. And if anyone asks, you're a Legion Commander on TDY to our Embassy in Santos. Your name is James Wester; I hope that's tenners with you."

Santos! I tried to gather my thoughts. The rank of Commander came just over Senior Captain and just under General, in the Legion, or Admiral, in Fleetcom. I had been a Captain before—it was quite a jump. And now I was a diplomat, working for Galactic Information, Interstellar Relations, and the Legion, as a Commander, an Attache, and probably a lot of other things.

"How long is this TDY?" I asked. First things first.

"Just as long as it takes you to compile your report, Wester. Here's what I need…"

"Why me? You've got a whole ministry of diplomats if you need info on what's going on in Santos. You've got an Embassy there. Why me?"

Tara gave me a tired smile. "Would you like some dox, or tea, Wester?"

"No thanks. Why me?"

"Look out that window, Wester." I looked. A freighter was hardlaunching off in the distance, rising soundlessly from the port, then gaining speed and hurling itself up into the atmosphere. Five Legion fighters flashed past us, rattling the armored window plex, darting into a grey sky until they were tiny dots, lost in the smoky haze.

"Our society works, Wester. It works perfectly. I can see, from up here, how perfectly it works. And this is the view you need. Yes, we have an Ambassador in Santos, and a hard-working staff. He's briefed me personally. The trouble is, when you're assigned to a foreign world, and charged with understanding it, you become very much caught up in your mission. The Ambassador knows all about Santos. He's very sympathetic and sensitive to the problems and needs of the newly independent world of Santos. As a matter of fact, when he was briefing me I had the impression that I was being briefed by the Ambassador
from
Santos, not the Ambassador
to
Santos. That's kind of an occupational hazard for our diplomats. They find themselves looking for ways that ConFree can assist the worlds to which they are assigned. But that's not our business, Wester. We represent the people of ConFree—not the people of Santos.

"Why you?" she continued. "Because I need a fresh, unbiased view. Santos is inhabited by millions of Outworlders. Under the System, they were out of power. Under the new Santos regime, the Santos Socialrevolutionary Diversegalitarian Democooperative, they're even further out of power. The new outfit is run by a gang of Ormans who are turning it over to the Green Corps. The Green Corps are transgens who were introduced to Santos about a hundred years ago. They have roughly half human and half pig genes. The original idea was to create and exploit a non-human species for hard labor, primarily for agricultural work. They found it easier to do if you could control the creatures better and that was best done with human genes. They created the creatures with that in mind, using human genes to get bipedalism and limited intelligence, and they turned the transgens into extreme workaholics. It was a typical values-neutral System idea that worked for awhile—but now we're left with the result. The transgens—they insist on being called Newhumans now—have outbred everybody but they're no longer working, and it's a real mess. Your mission is not to solve the mess, but to visit Santos, observe the situation, and produce a written report on what, if anything, we can do about the Outworlders. They've asked for our assistance."

"I don't know a damned thing about Santos, Tara."

"Good! That's what I want. All you need to know for now is in that datapak. In there is the name of a representative of the Outworlder Cultural Alliance on Santos—it's a mostly social group. See him. Talk with him. I know him personally, and trust him, just like I trust you. His name is Len Kaspar. Doctor Len Kaspar—he's a medical doctor. I also list some leading Santos Ormans and transgens you should see—government officials. The Embassy will make those appointments for you, but don't tell them about the contact with Kaspar. You report directly to me, not to anyone else."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just ask your diplomats to do this?"

"We've been through a lot, Wester." She paused, and looked me over slowly. "I know exactly how your mind works. You're a realist. I'll believe you. I'll believe the product. That's the difference. You won't be gone long, Wester. It's an extremely important mission. Give me the facts. All I want is the truth. That's what we do in Galactic Information. Make conclusions if you want, but think hard about what you put in that report. Santos may be supporting Asumara in the coming unpleasantness. The Outworlder minority may be facing extermination. Or they may not. We don't know. That's why we need your input. Millions of lives may depend on the decisions we make after reading your document. Report back to me personally when you're through."

I stood up. "All right, Tara. I'll do that."

She stood up too, and traced an invisible Legion cross over my face. "Go with God, Wester. May Deadman bless you."

###

When I disembarked from the shuttle at Santos Starport I thought I had walked into a full-scale riot. The terminal building was overrun by a wild mob of transgens, thousands of them, all shrieking and squealing frantically, pushing and shoving desperately, all going in different directions, forcing their way through bodily, using their luggage like battering rams, males and females, all large and formidable and angry, one group attacking several transgen police clad in leather armor, the police striking back violently with long wooden staffs, whacking heads and shoulders, lashing out at men, women and children heedlessly. A howl arose from the crowd.

"I say! Cease and desist, you fools!"

"Pigs! How dare you strike at your own kind!"

"Back, I say! We'll teach you to be so rash!"

"Make way, make way! This is our terminal! The people rule here! Out, you mental midgets!"

I was amazed at the size of most of these transgens. They were huge, fat, barrel-chested creatures, with squinty little swine eyes and noses that looked very piglike and stunted hairy pig ears and rolls of fat around their necks but with large, ponderous, powerful arms, and faces that appeared more human than pig. They wore brightly colored, almost clownish clothing. My first emotion upon seeing them in the flesh was pity. I felt so sorry for them. What a tragedy, to be not quite human and not quite pig.

"Commander Wester? Is it you?" A young Outworlder in civvies stood before me, smiling.

"That's me," I replied above the roar from the crowd. I was wearing some ill-fitting civvies as well. A Legion uniform would not be welcome in Santos.

"Welcome to Santos! My name's Davilla, I'm from the Embassy. Follow me, I'll get you through Customs and out of this madhouse."

"Thanks! I was just about to get back on the shuttle."

"Don't feel bad, we all have the same reaction on arriving here. We meet all ConFree officials personally." He whacked a huge transgen on the back of the neck with a knuckleshocker and the creature slowly moved out of our way, not even glancing back.

"You been here long?" I asked.

"Four months."

"Is the starport always like this? What's happening? Are those the Green Corps?"

"Nothing. Yes, it's always like this. Nobody can depart or arrive, without all their relatives showing up. We don't call them the Green Corps anymore. The approved term is Newhumans."

"I don't see anyone but transgens. Where's everybody else?"

"Hiding. I'll give you the details later." We reached customs. Despite the mob, nobody else was in line there. Davilla plopped down my diplomatic passport on the counter and a large, fat transgen clerk in a tight khaki shirt looked it over curiously.

"What's it like working here?" I asked Davilla.

"It's like being assigned to a comic book," he said, apparently unconcerned about the clerk overhearing him.

"Welcome to Santos!" The clerk gave me a toothy grin, baring yellow fangs. "We will secure your passport until your departure, to ensure it is not lost."

"No you don't!" Davilla broke in. "That's a ConFree diplomatic passport, and Mr. Wester is on an important diplomatic mission and he must retain possession of his passport!"