Cross of the Legion (12 page)

The shuttle glided over me, coming down to land, and I knew
Kiss
and
Little Miss Miss
were watching over it, invisible angels.

"Wester, Tara, what does it look like?" I had a special comchannel to Tara. She was watching the operation closely.

"It looks terrific, Tara. Deadman, it's beautiful. It's just beautiful. You're a genius!"

"What's happening?"

"Your mission has been successful, Tara. We've rescued all those who were still alive—the women and children. They had already disposed of the adult males."

"Bless you, Wester."

"No, bless you, Tara. I'm sorry about what I said…earlier. You were right—as usual. All these people owe you their lives. We could never have done it without the holos. I was hit, three…no, four times."

"You have to be strong, Wester, to triumph over evil. You have to be stronger than the evil!"

"Yes—I know."

"Omni movement, as marked!" Sweety interrupted. "I have six O's, advancing—note the zeros. Recommend airstrike."

"I'm on it."
Little Miss Miss
responded.

"Keep loading those civilians, guys," Priestess said. "No O's are getting past us."

I stood there, indestructible, immortal, waiting for the O's. I thought about when I had joined the Legion. It seemed like a million years ago. I had been a young fool, out for adventure, out to lose my past. And now I was a foot soldier for the Lord, a priest of violence, one of Deadman's Dogs, standing between our civilization and everything that would destroy it.

The Omni base erupted, a blinding flash, and a glowing fireball rose up to the dark sky. Our opstar had gone off. It was a poisonous blossom, glittering gold, spraying tracers—another Legion star, for our enemies. And as I watched it swirling madly overhead, I thought that I had never seen anything so beautiful.

***

Close to an hour later, we were still there, the shuttle was still on the ground, and I could see on my zoom that the civilians were still massed around the shuttle.

"Dragon, Thinker. What's the damned problem?"

"Stand by, Thinker." Stand by! That's all they'd been telling us. I looked back at the horizon. It was a glowing holocaust. Antimats were crackling and swirling, the very earth was shaking. The O's were getting closer, and there were more of them.

"Prep to engage O's."

"Tenners!" I had a good position by a large boulder. Any O who came within range of my E was going to die.

"Valkyrie, Thinker. What's the story on the shuttle? Why aren't they loading the civilians?"

"Don't know, Thinker," Valkyrie responded. "One won't tell us a thing. Just keep your scope on the O's!"

"We can't hold 'em off forever! They should be loading those civilians!" I raised my E and looked through the scope to the shuttle. There was a lot of movement around the ship—at last! They were moving the civilians away to one side, lining them up. It was hard to tell what was happening.

The shuttle lifted. A great dust storm and it was off, gliding gracefully away, over the civilians, up, gaining speed, turning in the sky, then darting away, heading for the vac.

I left my post, stumbling forward, staring at the shuttle as it grew smaller and smaller.

"Tara, Wester. What the hell is going on!"

"Wester…we have some problems."

"Problems! Screw your problems! Why don't you load those refugees! The O's are almost on us! We're only two squads!"

"Stand by, Wester."

"Don't tell me to stand by, God damn it! You tell me what the hell is going on!"

"We're working on resolving the problem, Wester. Please return to your position, and hold off those O's!"

One of the female teachers came running up to me, exhausted. "Make it come back!" she gasped. "Please! The children are frightened! They want to know why the ship left! Why did the ship leave? Please!" She sank to her knees, physically and emotionally exhausted.

"I'm trying to find out," I said. "It's coming back. We'll get it back! Tara! Tara, God damn you to hell, you send that shuttle back right now, and load those civilians!"

"I'm sorry, Wester."

"You're sorry! Send the ship back, Tara. Are you crazy? Is the Legion crazy? Send it back!"

"We can't do it, Wester."

"Tara, if you don't send that shuttle back here right now, I am going to hunt you down and strangle you to death with my bare hands. Do you hear me?"

"Wester. There's nothing we can do. They're all infected."

"What?"

"The White Death, Wester. The civilians are all infected. All of them. Our med crew tested them all. It was a requirement, because the plague is here. Everyone we tested is infected. They're all going to die, possibly in a matter of hours. A horrible death. And there's nothing we can do."

I was stunned and speechless.

"We can't let them on the ship, Wester. They'd infect the ship—and everyone on it. We'd carry the White Death everywhere we went. And it's pointless. They're all going to die, very soon."

"Is the ship coming back?" the teacher asked me. A tacstar erupted not far away, spraying us with earth. The teacher screamed and fell to the ground.

"O's are attacking," Scrapper reported. "Looks like a major strike; is that ship coming back or what?"

"Stay down," I told the teacher. I turned to face the O's. I raised the stock of the E to my shoulder. They were going to die—all of them. The teachers, the kids—and there was nothing at all I could do about it.

"Tara—the O's are coming. What do you want us to do?"

"Kill O's, Wester. We're taking steps to…resolve the situation. Kiss, Miss, evac the area. Return to the Spawn."

"What?"

"Follow your orders—now! Acknowledge!"

"Tenners."

"Ten."

The Phantoms were leaving. We were alone with the civilians—and the O's. I was in shock—too stunned to realize what was happening.

"Thinker!" It was Priestess. "Look—overhead." I looked up. A thin, glowing streak was entering the atmosphere. Coming straight down, right at us.

"Antimat!" Sweety warned us. "Antimat warhead, set to detonate on impact, fracs to impact twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty…recommend evac the area immediately!"

I staggered away from my position, the O's forgotten, watching the antimat missile approach us.

"No," I whispered. "NO!" I screamed. "TARA, NO!"

"…nine…eight…seven…six…"

"NO! TARA, FOR GOD'S SAKE…"

And it all ended in a mighty, blinding flash. I screamed, hysterical and supercharged with adrenalin. I crashed through the door of the ES room and they needed four troopers in A-suits to restrain me and pump a sedative into my system. I was crying, shrieking, moaning—totally gone. I remember looking into the faceplate of one of the troopers who was restraining me—my armored fingers were twitching and I was trying to get my hands around his arm so I could break it. He looked scared. I sure don't blame him.

Chapter 6
God's Work

"I agree completely, Tara," I said. "You took the correct course of action. There was nothing else that could be done." Tara's image glowed on the d-screen in Snow Leopard's office. He sat nearby, watching me closely.

"Exposing more people pointlessly was not the solution," she continued.

"You don't have to convince me, Tara. I agree."

"The choice was threefold, Wester. Do we let them die of the disease—which is a horrible way to go—or die of the disease as a captive of the O's—which is even worse—or do we deliver a quick, clean and painless alternative?"

"I understand."

"It wasn't easy, Wester, deciding to do it. But it was the right thing to do. The right thing to do is never easy. And we couldn't very well tell them, could we, Wester? Excuse me, Miss, could you please tell the children they're all going to die in five marks? I don't think so."

"No, of course not."

"It's a shame, Wester. It's a tragedy. We came so close. Recon was wonderful. I can understand your reaction."

I was silent.

"We did the right thing, Wester. And I can promise you, we're going to beat the White Death. The Legion is putting all its resources into this problem."

"Good. Well, thank you, Tara." I cut the connection and sat there, in the quiet.

"That's what I do nowadays, Three," Snow Leopard said. "I participate in decisions like that one. I preferred leading a squad."

"I preferred the old days too. Just carrying an E. It was simple."

"Although the patient died, the Legion considers the Camelora 7 field test a total success for the Holo-X concept."

"That's nice."

"More units are to be equipped with Holo-X. As soon as the Legion can do it. Elite units at first, then they'll try it on a line outfit.""

"Wonderful."

"It certainly is a wondrous concept. You've admitted that. We've made history again, Thinker."

"I guess so. Do me a favor, One. If Tara calls back for me, tell her I'm busy, all right?"

"Sure. What shall I say you're doing?"

"Tell her I'm…cutting my toenails. Yeah."

***

"High society," Priestess said. "Check out the Greenies." We were in our blacks, in a fairly large crowd of troopers and distinguished guests, in a large hanger of the C.S.
Armageddon
. All of Recon had been ordered to attend, possibly to expose the visiting Systie dips to some real live Legion soldiers. I was not too happy about it. I had spent my short and violent career with the Legion fighting Systies, not attending receptions with them. However, we had been told it was important to make a favorable impression on the diplomats. Apparently our earlier raid on Calgoran 2 had not made a favorable impression. It had not led to war, but it certainly had not made a favorable impression. I guess it kept the Interstellar Relations people pretty busy.

"Let's just stay here against the wall," I said. "I have no desire to meet any Mocains." There were several Mocains there, along with Ormans and Outworlders. The black-clad Legion crowd was sprinkled with the System's colorful uniforms—Alliance silver, USICOM blue, USDA gold, DefCorps khaki, Starfleet whites, and a few reds and greens from STRATCOM. I had long ago been forced to memorize the colors. The Systie Outworlders all had shaved heads to proclaim their allegiance to the System and their opposition to Outworlder solidarity. I hated Mocains and had only contempt for Outworlders who would betray their own race to serve alien masters. I knew the Mocains were human stock but I always thought of them as aliens. Maybe it was that good Legion conditioning.

"Look out, Thinker—one of them is coming this way," Priestess said.

"Oh scut," I hissed through clenched teeth, looking around for an escape route. A large Mocain in khaki was heading right for us, and the only way out was to fight my way through a tightly packed group of Fleetcom vacheads in an intense discussion about something important—sex, probably.

"Recon!" The Mocain warrior stopped directly in front of us, his hooded eyes gleaming excitedly at our silver insignia. "It's both with Recon!" He was completely bald, like all Mocain males, and his skin was pale and faintly green. He had no eyebrows, but his forehead was covered with mysterious little tattoos. A dozen golden earrings dangled from his ears. His left chest was covered with campaign ribbons and two silver stars decorated each collar of his khaki uniform. A general! I snapped to attention, despite myself. So did Priestess.

"Sir!" I said, regretting it immediately. Well, he is a general, I thought, almost in panic.

"Congratulations on the Calgoran 2 raid," he said. "That was brilliant! How did it get through our defenses?"

"Uhh…with great difficulty, sir!"

He laughed, delighted. "Good—good! We're General Stonehammer of DEFCOM. Thanks for inviting us—an impressive ship! The Legion never ceases to amaze us. And its designation…?"

"Uh…sir! Thinker, sir!"

"Sir, Priestess, sir!

"Thinker and Priestess! Wonderful. Were we both on the Calgoran 2 raid?"

"Yes sir," I said. "We both were."

A little Orman dressed in USICOM blue bumped up against the general. "Recon troopers, sir," he informed him.

"We're way ahead of it, Shep. Say hello to Thinker and Priestess, veterans of Calgoran 2." The little Orman's eyes lit up. He had an intense expression, a hot beady gaze and lips that were locked tight. He appeared to be a short, tight, wiry little bundle of energy.

"Pleased," the Orman intoned silkily. "How did it get past our planetary defenses on Calgoran 2?"

"They're not talking, Shep," the general smiled. "Go mingle. I'll talk with Recon." The Orman gave the general a poisonous look and departed, ignoring Priestess and me.

"Ormans—they're annoying, but necessary," the general explained. "They give us good advice, we must admit. We Mocains are by nature warriors, not diplomats. We've been fighting the Legion all our life, but have always felt a strange kinship for the Legion. Has it killed any DefCorps troopers?"

"Yes sir."

"How many?"

"Too many, sir."

"Yes…yes. And I have killed a great many Legion troopers. Brave men all. It seems such a pity. If we could only join forces—what an army that would be! And what did it feel for those DefCorps troopers it killed?"

"Admiration, sir."

"Admiration. And why was that?"

"They died facing me, sir. They were brave soldiers."

"Yes. We see." The Mocain general gazed off into space, seemingly lost in thought. "And what would it take for the Legion to join forces with the DefCorps?"

"Do away with slavery," Priestess cut in sharply, "and dismantle your corrupt, totalitarian regime."

The Mocain's gaze snapped over to Priestess. Finally he nodded sadly. "We are all creatures of history," he said, "trapped by the past."

"Well well—Legion troopers." A bald Outworlder female had drifted over to our group, clad in a form-fitting powder-blue USICOM uniform. She was quite attractive, even with no hair—a shapely body, long legs and large breasts. Her nipples were clearly visible against the cloth. "Have they killed any babies today?" she asked.

"Still spreading ill-will, dear?" the general asked. "We'd prefer it if it would hold its tongue for now. These are Recon troopers—Thinker and Priestess. They are brave soldiers. And they don't want to hear its speech."

"Too bad," the girl replied, spilling part of a drink she held carelessly in one hand. "We don't always get what we want. Tell us…Legion…doesn't it feel dirty, serving as mad dog mercenaries for a genocidal, racist, totalitarian, cowardly criminal conspiracy to enslave the galaxy? How many children has it raped? Who does it pray to at night—Satan?" Drunken hatred burnt in her eyes.

Strange, I thought, gazing at her calmly. Ancient Earth's religions are long gone, but Satan, angels and demons still survive, in our minds. And the cross, of course.

"Shut down, bitch," Priestess said quietly, "or I'll cut off your disgusting fake tits and leave you bleeding right here on the deck!" Priestess's hand was grasping the hilt of her ceremonial cold knife. Her face was pale with rage.

"That's enough, Stefers!" the general said. "Conrad, escort it back to our quarters." The USICOM girl had staggered backwards in the face of Priestess's verbal attack, seemingly stunned. Another khaki uniform appeared out of nowhere and guided her away.

"Our apologies," the general said. "A little too much adult beverages, it seems."

"I'm sorry," Priestess said. "I lost my temper."

"Quite all right," the general said. "Perhaps our companion will moderate its behavior in the future. We've known it a long time and are quite fond of it. However it does sometimes tend to be overbearing. Ah, speaking of overbearing…" Tara appeared out of the crowd, heading confidently for the general, hitting him with her wide, pearly smile.

"General! Thinker, Priestess, how are you? Hope the General has not extracted any secrets from you yet?"

"Not yet," the general replied. "They're both quite good."

Tara attached herself firmly to the general, latching on to one of his elbows and thrusting a breast carelessly into the crook of his arm. "Hope you survive the downfall of the System," Tara said. "You're one of the few Systies I can stomach. We're going to exterminate all the bureaucrats and lawyers, but we'll leave the soldiers alone after the fighting's over. That's a promise."

"Is it that confident of victory, dear Tara?"

"We are going to annihilate your empire, Stone, from the pages of galactic history. And once it falls, it's going to blow away in the wind, just like dust, and no one will miss it at all—no one! Your slaves are going to face the future as free citizens of an expanded Confederation of Free Worlds—if they want it. If they don't, we don't care. They can do as they want. But the System is coming down, like a house of cards. That's certain."

"There's the little matter of the DefCorps standing between you and the System, dear."

"Join us! Don't serve the past any longer!"

"I serve my people."

"The Mocains should abandon the System! It's hopeless. Nobody wants to serve the System any more."

"It's our power base."

"Get a new one! The Mocain Confederation…whatever…ditch those Ormans! Forget USICOM! The whole thing folds without Mocain resolve. Get out in front of history. Change it, before it changes you! We've always admired your people. Free the slaves, dissolve the System, get out, start something new!"

"It makes it sound so easy."

"We're coming, with fire and storm. We're going to extinguish the System from history, forcibly. The System is evil, and we fight evil! That's what we do. That's all we do! Millions are going to die—maybe billions! How many dead will depend on how long you continue to resist us. We're never going to stop! You can depend on that!"

"Uhh…nice talking with you, sir," I said. Priestess and I made our escape. I don't think they even noticed.

***

"That was fun," I said to Priestess, as we regrouped around a punch bowl.

"I saw you gaping at her udders," Priestess said sullenly, filling a cup from the autopour.

"Sorry."

"You're Thinker," someone said, "of Recon Squad Jox, SRC, 22nd Legion." The speaker was a young Legion male I had never before seen.

"Yes," I admitted, "but I didn't do it."

He smiled, and stuck out a hand. "One-Six," he said. "I'm with Galactic Information." I struck his hand lightly. The mention of Galactic Information put me on guard instantly.

"You work for Tara," I said.

"Yes—but I didn't volunteer," he replied. I couldn't help smiling in return. "There's someone who wants to meet you," he said. "And I've been asked to take you there."

"I just saw Tara—she's over there."

"It's not Tara—it's…well. I'll let him tell you. You have a few fracs?"

"I guess I could tear myself away."

"I'll find some way of amusing myself," Priestess said. "You go ahead, Thinker. Just don't sign anything on my behalf."

"Right. Keep your knife sheathed."

"We'll do our best."

***

"Have a seat." He was a tall, bony young Outworlder with extra-long hair that hung down in front of his face. He had to keep brushing it back out of his eyes. He was looking at me intently—a pale, stricken face, icy cold blue eyes. This fellow was far over the edge, I could tell instantly. Definitely one of Tara's employees. One-Six had delivered me here and disappeared. We were inside another secure area. I had signed my life away by then. It was a small, darkened room. The walls were covered with d-screens and mysterious instrumentation. I had no idea what it was.

"Tara told me you'd appreciate this," he almost whispered. "I hope so. I hate people who…well, I dislike people with no imagination. I think this is marvelous! I'd stay here all day and night if I could. She's a genius. She really is." He shook his head. He looked as if he was about to collapse from sheer exhaustion.

"Well, I hope I don't disappoint you," I said. "Tara's projects are usually…interesting. What has she done this time?" I settled into a softly yielding airchair, facing a large d-screen. He was right beside me in another chair, facing an identical screen. It was so dark it was hard to see. The screens were off. Only a few lights glowed on the console.

"Tara says it's not her—but that's crap," he said. "It all flows from Tara. All of it." He brushed back his hair again. He was probably not even conscious of doing it.

I was silent.

"When astronomers first started looking into the night sky," he said, "they found they could take starlight and examine the spectrum and discover what materials the star was made of. I guess it seemed really amazing at the time. Photons, travelling through the vac for millions of years—telling you the secrets of that far-off star." He gazed blankly into the dark screen. "Yes…amazing. Well, we've carried it a little further."

He reached out a spidery finger and touched a tab. Our screens lit up, and quickly came into focus. A green field, a grove of trees, a little silvery stream. We were looking down, from overhead. A group of boys and girls dressed in shorts and sleeveless shirts were running barefoot through the field kicking a leathery ball. The focus was perfect. The picture was perfectly soundless. We could see everything. It must have been late afternoon. The children cast long shadows.