Homefall: Book Four of the Last Legion Series (2 page)

“Yes,” Njangu Yoshitaro said thoughtfully. “Time and past time for me to be thinking about this whole Confederation mess.”

Jasith Mellusin considered Garvin Jaansma’s skinned nose, and giggled.

“I told you that you’ve got to be born on D-Cumbre, or maybe some other world with a lot of water, before you can wave-ride.”

“Nonsense,” Garvin said, eyeing his equally battered chest. “I merely need guidance. You never told me you can fall out of a wave.”

“Because I never knew anyone who did it before,” Jasith said.

Jasith Mellusin, at twenty-three, was one of the richest women in the Cumbre system, controlling Mellusin Mining and its many ancillary corporations that her grandfather and father had built. She and Garvin had been lovers, ex-lovers, then came together again during the Musth occupation of D-Cumbre.

“I’ll just lie here and sunburn a while,” Garvin groaned, “then rise up and fight again. Hand me that glass, if you would.”

Jasith reached under the umbrella’s shade, passing the tumbler sitting atop the small portable bar to him. He gurgled down alcohol. Behind them, on the deserted beach, was Jasith’s lim. Beyond, large waves smashed down, slithered up the black sands.

“Ah. I may live.” He stretched. “You know, you’re doing an extraordinary job of making me forget that tomorrow’s a duty day.”

“My intent,” Jasith purred. “Speaking of which — ”

She broke off.

“Maybe you want to put your pants back on, and give me that towel. I hear music.”

“Naah. You’re cracking up.” But Garvin obeyed, as two figures hove down the slope toward them. One was Njangu Yoshitaro, the other Maev Stiofan, recently rescued from Larissan service, now the head of
Dant
Angara’s bodyguards.

She was turning a handle on a brightly painted box, and Yoshitaro carried a cooler in one hand, something in wrapping paper in the other.

“Ah-yut-dut-dut-dut-dut-dah-doo,” Njangu sang as they approached. “We bring gifts of great import, O fearless leader.”

“How the hell did you find us?” Garvin demanded. “Thisyere beach is private property, and we didn’t tell anyone where we were going.”

“Ah,” Yoshitaro said, looking mysterious. “Have you not learned by now I know everything?”

“Hey, Jasith,” Maev said. “This is all his idea, and I don’t have a clue what he’s got in mind.”

“As usual with these two,” Jasith said. “Pull up a towel and have a drink.”

“Did I say to stop playing?” Njangu said as he opened his cooler and took out two beers.

Maev obediently began turning the crank, and more tinny music floated out.

“What in God’s tattooed butt is that?” Garvin demanded.

“Hah,” Njangu said. “And here you claim to be a circus master.”

“Ringmaster,” Garvin corrected, looking closer at the box. “I’ll be dipped,” he said. “It’s a music box. And it’s playing, uh, the ‘Elephant Song.’ ”

“Actually, ‘March of the Elephants,’ ” Njangu said. “Maev found it in some antiquey store, which gave me the idea. Here.” He passed the parcel across.

“It’s not my birthday,” Garvin said suspiciously.

“Nope,” Njangu agreed. “Merely my sub-tile way of leading you into yet another of my brilliant schemes.”

Garvin tore paper off. Inside was a disk, and on the disk was a tiny figure of a man wearing clothing several sizes too big for him; a dancer standing on the back of a quadruped, another woman wearing tights, and in the center a man in very old-fashioned formal wear. It was made of plas, and the paint or anodizing had worn off here and there.

“I had to get the motor replaced before it’d work,” Njangu said. “Hit that button, there.”

Garvin did, and the clown in the baggy clothes pranced about, the horse ran around the ring while its rider did a handstand, the woman in tights tumbled back and forth around the ring, and the formally dressed man held out his hands here and there.

“Well, I shall be damned,” Garvin said softly. His eyes filled.

“What is it?” Jasith asked.

“It’s the center ring of a circus,” Jaansma said. “A circus from a very, very long time ago. Thank you, Njangu.”

“You see how well my plan’s working,” Yoshitaro said. “Almost got him blubbing like a babe. Softened the idiot up, I have.”

Garvin turned the device off.

“This is quite a buildup.”

“This is quite a plan,” Njangu agreed.

“First, consider what we’ve been doing wrong. Back when we were expecting trouble with ol’ Protector Redruth, we went and sent a snoopy shit out to see what was whuppin’, right? And, thanks to that late and unlamented spy, they wuz lurkin’ on us, and we got our butt buzz-sawed, right?

“Now, and ladies, I’ll expect you to plug your li’l bitty ears and not listen to what I’m saying, we’re now engaged in a certain enterprise, being sneaky once more, and what’s happening?”

“You mean those drones we’ve been losing?” Maev said. “You’re not supposed to know anything about Operation HOMEFALL.”

Njangu raised several eyelids.

“Neither are you, you common bodyguard.”

“Surely-am,” Maev said smugly. “Who do you think
Dant
Angara uses for his couriers? I got a HOMEFALL clearance about a month ago.”

“And never told me?”

“You, my dear, don’t have a need to know.”

“Zeus on a poop deck,” Njangu said. “You see, Jasith, m’dear, why you’re best staying well away from the military? Corrupts even the most loving relationship with its insistence on dirty, dark secrets.”

“I know,” Jasith agreed. “That’s why I felt so bad about not telling Garvin here about the Legion contracting to have its drones built by Mellusin Yards.”

Both men stared at each other.

“Thank any species of gods we don’t believe in there aren’t any spies about anymore,” Garvin said finally. “This goddamned society leaks like … like a noncom with bladder problems.”

“How can we have spies if we don’t even know who the frigging villains are yet?” Njangu asked reasonably, drained his beer, got another from the cooler.

“Having been thoroughly sidetracked, I might as well stay that way. Jasith, my love, my darling, my bestest friend’s delight, could I borrow a ship from you?”

“What sort?”

“Something big and clunky. Some power to it. Interstellar, of course. Doesn’t have to be too fast or maneuverable.”

“What shape are you going to bring it back in?”

“Damfino,” Njangu said. “Maybe perfect. Maybe in a collection of brown paper bags. Maybe not at all, although if that happens, you won’t be able to rack my heinie, since I plan on being aboard it.”

Jasith grinned.

“I think I’ve got what you need.

“I happen to have a certain clunker in the yards right now. Commissioned right after the war. Designed to carry and deploy, without a dock, mining machinery … I mean
big
mining machinery, like self-contained drilling units, even full mills … D- to E-Cumbre and to the outworlds for exploration. It’s huge, almost three kilometers long, and gives ugly a hard way to go. Best description I could have is it looks like the universe’s biggest nose cone, with landing-support fins that nobody built the rest of the ship for. Lotsa bulges and extrusions. Since it was to be the ultimate pig, and a good tax writeoff, we went ahead and put stardrive in it.

“You could fit a whole handful of patrol ships, plus maybe a couple-four
aksai
in it. Takes a smallish crew to run … I don’t remember just how many … and has living space that can be configured as dorms, cubicles, or even single bedrooms. It’ll sleep fifteen hundred or more … in comfort and happily, since nobody wants to be around a smelly, angry miner.

“The holds can be sectioned, and, since we sometimes tote delicate stuff around, there’s triply redundant antigrav,” she added. “I’ll lease the
Heavy Hauler VI
to the Force for, oh, ten credits a year, being the sentimental patriotic sort that I am.”

“Step one is now accomplished,” Njangu announced. “By the way, I admire the romantic names you Mellusins give your spaceships.”

“You want to tell me what some lardpig of a spaceship has got to do with a circus?” Garvin asked.

“Why, we’ll need a lardpig to haul our circus around in.”

“
Our
circus?” Garvin said.

“What a very thick young
caud
you be,
Caud
Jaansma,” Njangu said. “What do you think I’ve been hinting broadly about? And aren’t you the one who’s always been nattering on, whenever you get drunk and maudlin, about giving all this up and running away and joining the circus, like the ones your family used to run?”

“Mmmh.” Garvin considered.

“What we do,” Njangu went on, getting more enthusiastic, “is we put together a troupe … I went and looked that word up … made up of Forcemen, and then we go out, hiding in plain sight, doing a show here, a show there, and all the time we’re working our way closer to, maybe the Capella system and Centrum.

“We don’t have to be very good, just not visibly anyone interested in anything other than a quick credit.

“We’d best put in some crooked games,” he said thoughtfully. “First, nobody’d expect a Confed soldier to be crooked; second, that could be some good coinage for our retirement.

“When we get an eyeful and an earful on what’s happening out there in the great beyond, we slide on back home, report, and let
Dant
Angara figure out what to do next. But at least we get an idea of what’s out there … besides blackness and nothing.”

Maev nodded understanding, coming from another system herself. Jasith, who’d known nothing but Cumbre her entire life, shrugged.

“Interesting,” Garvin said after being silent for a while. “Very interesting.”

“You want to go for it?” Njangu asked.

“Some of it,” Garvin said, pretending utter casualness. “I’ve got a few ideas of my own, you know.”

“The last time you tried some of them, you damned near got yourself executed, remember?” Njangu said. “I’m the brains of this operation, right?”

Maev started laughing. “If that’s true, boy are you two clowns in trouble.”

“Clowns,” Garvin said, a bit dreamily. “I’ve always dreamed of having a center ring full of clowns, so many when they shivaree nobody’ll be able to make me out.

“You’ll make a good clown, Njangu.”

“Me? Uh-uh. I’m gonna be the guy who goes in front, getting the people ready.”

“Boss hostler? Dunno if you’ve got the talent,” Garvin said, mock-seriously.

“Wait a minute,” Jasith said. “You two are talking about going out, running around, and having fun.”

“Oh no,” Njangu said piously. “Lotsa big risks out there. We’re laughing, ho-ho, in the face of danger.”

“Fine,” Jasith said. “Change one. You want my ship, you’re taking me with you.”

“Huh?” Garvin said.

“You’re always the ones having adventures,” Jasith said. “No more.”

“What sort of slot would you want?” he said.

“Are you going to have dancing girls?”

“Sure,” Garvin said. “What’s a good circus without a little bit of sex around the edges. Most respectable, of course,” he added hastily.

“And with me along, it’ll be doubly so,” Jasith said firmly.

“I have learned,” Garvin said to Njangu, “never to argue with Mellusin when she gets that tone of voice to her voice.”

“’Kay,” Njangu said. “She goes. That’ll keep you straight. Plus she can run payroll and the books, being the business yoink she is.”

“And I’ll take care of you,” Maev said. “Since you said something about recruiting from the Force.”

Njangu grinned and kissed her.

“If
Dant
Angara turns you loose, why not?”

“Lions and horses and maybe even bears,” Garvin said, lost in his vision.

“Yeh,” Njangu said. “Sure. Just where on Cumbre are you gonna find any of them?”

Garvin smiled mysteriously, then came to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go tell Angara about your latest craziness.”

• • •

Dant
Grig Angara, the Legion’s Commander, stared at the small holo of the
Heavy Hauler VI
as it went through its paces — extruding ramps, opening huge ports, its decks changing — without seeing it.

“My parents took me to a circus once, when I was a kid,” he said slowly. “And the prettiest lady in the world, who wore white tights, gave me some candy that was like a pink cloud when you bit into it.”

“You see?” Garvin said to Njangu. “Everybody loves a circus. Cotton candy for all.”

Angara brought himself back.

“An interesting idea,” he mused. “Of course you’d punt out without leaving any tracks so you could be followed back to Cumbre.”

“Of course, sir.”

“And we could hold a Field Day for the Force, and you could pick any athletes you want.”

“Actually,” Njangu said, “we could do it for the whole system, since we don’t have to worry about this having any kind of security hold.”

Angara made a face. “I don’t know if I agree. I don’t like everybody knowing our business. But maybe you’re right.”

“If you want to have a mass tryout, sir,” Garvin said, “that’s fine. But our first stop … unless you order otherwise … will be at one of the circus worlds.”

“Circus worlds?” Angara said, a note of incredulity to his voice.

“Yessir. I know of three. Circus people have to have a place to get away from the flatties … the crowd. Even in olden times there were circus towns where the troupers and their animals would go in the off-season.

“That’s where they recruit people, practice new tricks, change jobs, catch up on the gossip.”

“What will that give you?”

“Animal acts,” Garvin said. “Trapeze artists. Flash.”

“How will you pay for that?” Angara asked. “It’s peacetime, and PlanGov is getting a little tight with the budget. I don’t want to have to stand up and say, ‘fine, ladies, gentlemen, we’re going to put on a show you’ll never see.’ ”

“Mellusin Mining has already agreed to fund us,” Garvin said. “Plus I&R’s got a ton of money in a discretionary fund that was given us by Mellusin back during the Musth war.”

“I am getting very fond of this idea,”
Cent
Erik Penwyth, one of Angara’s aides said. He was a member of Cumbre’s elite, the Rentiers, and ex-member of the elite I&R Company, sometimes considered the most handsome man in the Force.