Homefall: Book Four of the Last Legion Series (20 page)

“Disagree, think maybe you’d just as soon somebody not grab your house or your wife or your son or daughter like Fleam saw, and they bust your ass down to streetsweeper or put you out in the forests, quote improving the parks end quote, or maybe there’s other chain gangs that have other jobs that aren’t as pretty.

“Or maybe they just take you out a few kilometers at sea, and invite you overboard for swimming lessons.”

Garvin slumped at his desk. “Man, man. And things looked so nice here.”

“Don’t they mostly everywhere?” Njangu said bitterly. “Nobody likes to look at the crapper direct and have to admit they’re living in it.

“But sort of smooth over the surface so the turds don’t float up too close, and maybe spraypaint things purple and use a deodorant …”

Yoshitaro let his voice trail off.

“So,” Garvin said, “I guess the brightest thing is we fold our tents after the show tonight. I feel like a goddamned fool, and there’s nothing but a worn patch in the greenery where we used to be, come sunrise.”

“You got a better idea?” Njangu asked. “Sure as hell there’s no way we can change this damned world. Even if I heard any whisper of anybody out there in the bushes with a gun trying to change it, we don’t have time to hang around to build some kind of revolutionary movement.

“Nope. We just vanish and hope that if there’s ever a Confederation again, there’ll be paybacks.”

“I’ve got something interesting, boss,” the electronics tech said to his superior.

“Go.”

“I was checking the monitors, to make sure we don’t have any stray electronics leakage. And I found, just before we made this last jump, a bleat.

“I checked it out, and I can’t trace it to any of our gear.”

“That’s strange.”

“Stranger,” the technician went on. “I ran a search all the way back, and found that damned bleat again, every time we made a jump after Cayle IV.

“We get it just as we jump, and also when we come out of N-space.

“I’ve spent most of two shifts trying to track it down, with zero-zed results.”

“I don’t like this,” the officer said. “I think I better make a report. And you put a bug on that frequency, and try to record the next transmission.”

• • •

“I’ve been thinking,” Maev Stiofan said.

“Yeh?” Njangu said cautiously.

“About when we get back.”

“Yeh?” Even more cautiously advanced.

“About all these screwed worlds we’ve been on … not to mention Cumbre and where we both came from. Howcum?”

“Uh … people are basically screwed-up?” Njangu offered.

“Sure … but that doesn’t explain why … well, there used to be kinds of government that seemed to work. Or, anyway, that’s what the disks say.”

“And of course, nobody’d ever lie to somebody as cute as you,” Njangu said.

“Come on!” Maev said. “They can’t lie like they were counting frigging cadence!”

“ ‘At’s true.”

“So then comes this thing called the Confederation, and everybody sort of joins up, or gets joined up, and things hammer on for a thousand years or so.”

“More like so. A lot more so, in fact.”

“Then the Confederation gets invisible, and what we get are all these goat-screwed people, running amok in all directions, nobody seeming to have much of a government that works except maybe Grimaldi, and they don’t seem to have much of anything, so that doesn’t count.”

“ ‘Kay, I’m tracking,” Njangu said. “But I don’t see your point.”

“When we get back, assuming we survive Centrum and all,” Maev said patiently, “then we grab all the guns and start trying to put things back together, right?”

“That’s our hee-roic intent.”

“Maybe somebody ought to be looking at what kind of government comes back?”

“Not us,” Njangu said hastily. “Soldiers make crappy governors. Everybody knows that.”

“But somebody’s got to start thinking about what comes next,” Maev said stubbornly. “Maybe by studying all the ways we’ve screwed ourselves might give somebody some ideas.”

“Like you?”

“Why not me?”

Njangu wanted to bleat out the reasons, then caught himself. Neither one of them had made any commitment beyond the moment, and had no claims on the other’s future.

Garvin glared at the battleship hanging not five kilometers distant on a
Jane’s
screen. He tried to ignore the data scrolling past on how modern and heavily armed and state-of-the-Confederation it had been eight years ago, the most recent edition of
Jane’s
the Legion had.

The battleship didn’t get any smaller, nor did its two sisters flanking
Big Bertha.
Garvin might have convinced himself that the circus ship was huge, but these three warships dwarfed it, twice as long and half again as fat, but lethally curved instead of just obese.

They were well and truly trapped, four jumps from Centrum by these three ships and the swarm of accompanying escorts. Alikhan had entered this system, reported no ships within range of his detectors, and that four of the system’s ten planets, as their data said, were still inhabited.

Big Bertha
had left N-space, and, seconds later, the warships had jumped it. Either the circus had gotten careless, or these warships had sensors better than anything aboard
Big Bertha
and its smaller craft.

“I have a com on the Confederation standard watch freq, sir,” the watch radio officer reported.

“Plug it through,” Liskeard ordered.

“Unknown ship, unknown ship, this is the Confederation Protectorate Battlefleet Kin. Respond immediately or be destroyed.”

“This is the Circus Ship
Big Bertha
, inbound for Desman II, purpose, entertainment.”

“This is Kin,” the response came. “Correct your records. The Desman system is now the Mohi system. You will be escorted to landing, and then you will be searched and determination will be made of your fate. Make no resistance, or — ”

Njangu finished the phrase. “Or you will be destroyed. Boss, I think we may have found the raiders.”

“Confederation Protectorate, eh?” Garvin said. “Now I
really
wish we had a diplomat on board.”

• • •

Liskeard requested an orbital approach, for economic reasons, actually to give observers a chance to see as much of Mohi II as they could. The answer came back:

“Refused. Make direct approach to spaceport. Or you will be destroyed.”

“Varied in their approach to problems, aren’t they?” Njangu asked.

“At least they don’t seem to be taking us seriously,” Garvin said. “They’ve only peeled off one battlewagon and half a dozen escorts to get us safely to ground, deadly rep-tiles that we are.”

Njangu called the watch officer over: “I want every eyeball on every scope we’ve got as we come in, to give me some idea of how deep the shit is gonna be, since we ain’t gonna get the pleasure of peering about as we low’n’slow it down.”

The news was not good — Desman II, now Mohi II, was a garrison world. Huge landing fields, most freshly built, dotted the landscape. Nearby were barracks complexes and factories.

“I suppose they’re worried about trouble,” Dill said.

“Getting into, or out of?” Boursier asked.

Dill pointed to the screen showing the enormous battleship hovering above them as they made their final approach, didn’t need to answer the question.

• • •

Lifters with chainguns in open mounts surrounded
Big Bertha
as its drive shut down, and troops doubled toward the ship, took positions around it.

“Damn, but we’re dangerous,” Ben Dill said.

“Now all we have to do is convince ‘em we’re little pink pussycats,” Monique Lir said with a tight smile. “Then, when they relax, we’ll kill ‘em all.”

• • •

Big Bertha
was searched, very efficiently, in teams of five, taking more than a ship day and a half. As before, Garvin and his officers “helped,” ensuring that no one found anything, at least anything important in the way of weaponry. These men and women of the Protectorate were realists, recognized the need for some weapons in these times, which simplified what had to be hidden.

One officer stopped, looking in some dismay at Alikhan, who was sprawled on a bulkhead, under which were some of the Legion’s crew-served heavy weapons. She fingered her blaster.

“Is that creature dangerous? Should it not be caged?”

“It is of no real danger,” Garvin said. “In so long as its handlers are careful.”

“If it were mine,” the officer said, “I would have it penned up.”

Garvin smiled, and the search went on. Alikhan glowered after the party, ears cocked in mild anger.

“Handlers indeed,” he growled to himself. “Little do these humans realize who is the handler and who the handled.”

• • •

The soldier peered around the bridge.

“Everything works,” he said.

“Of course everything works,” Froude said mildly. “If it didn’t, it would have no place.” Then what the man had said stopped him.

“When something breaks aboard one of your ships, what do you do?”

“We replace it, of course, with a new unit from the Confederation days.”

“But if you don’t have a replacement?”

“Then we rely on other, redundant systems, and hope there are still sealed units in the warehouses back at our base to install when we return.”

“But you cannot fix what is broken?”

The soldier looked as if he thought he’d said too much, clamped his lips shut, went on.

• • •

Muldoon lay, very much at ease, in his cage, purring loudly.

The search team nervously admired his sleekness, passed on.

Muldoon stared after them, still purring. His claws were working rhythmically in and out of the matting on his cage’s floor.

• • •

“We have found your ship to be free of forbidden materials and contraband,” the young officer welcomed. “Remain in your ship until you are advised what stages we intend next for you.”

• • •

A half day later, the summons came: The commander of this circus ship, together with his high-ranking officers, and representatives of this so-called circus, were to present themselves to the
Kuril’
s presence on the next E-day. Transport would be provided.

• • •

Garvin picked his team carefully: he and Njangu of course; Alikhan, who could wear his combat harness carrying a Musth devourer-weapon and wasp grenades that wouldn’t be recognized for what they were; Dr. Froude in his clown suit; Sir Douglas and a completely tame and unchained cheetah; Monique Lir; and Ben Dill for his ostentatious muscles and the hope he wouldn’t have to use them.

Kekri Katun pouted to Ben that she hadn’t been chosen. “I would’ve thought Garvin would have taken at least one of the showgirls to, well, show off. And I certainly do that well, and tumble, and things like that.”

“Probably exactly why he didn’t pick you,” Ben said. “Supposing this
Kuril
took a fancy to you?”

“Oh. I guess …” Kekri’s voice trailed off. “Then what about Monique Lir? She’s awful pretty.”

Ben thought of explaining just how lethal a package Monique was, thought better of it.

“Dunno,” he said. “Which is why I ain’t the gaffer.”

He still was having trouble calling Garvin anything other than “boss” at best and “
giptel
-brained asshole” or “my rotten-crotch former gunner” at worst.

• • •

Froude looked about as the troupe shambled up the steps between rows of soldiers at rigid attention, blasters at the salute. Behind them were the military lifters that had brought them into this city from
Big Bertha.

“I suppose this says everything about the Protectorate,” he whispered to Njangu.

“Maybe. But think good thoughts.”

The enormous building, stone, columned, in the style of an ancient temple, had been, according to an only half-obliterated sign:
THE EISBERG CENTER OF MODERN ART
.

“Wonder what they did with the paintings?” Ben Dill said.

“Probably used ‘em for bumfodder,” Monique replied.

The officer leading them into the
Kuril’
s presence turned back and scowled. Evidently the troupe was not showing sufficient respect.

• • •

At least, Njangu thought,
Kuril
Jagasti looked like a proper dictator, just as Garvin looked the proper leader. After the late, unmourned Protector of Larix/Kura, Alena Redruth, who had resembled a medium-level bureaucrat rather than a ruler, he was ready for a goon who looked his part.

Jagasti was tall, lean, with a scarred neck and a beaked nose, his graying hair worn straight and long. He had the hard, predator’s stare of an Earth eagle Njangu had seen in a holo. Or else he badly needed vision correction.

His throne was in the biggest room in the former museum, and was skillfully made of polished steel, weld beads deliberately not ground down, and dark leathers.

His entourage dripped weaponry from many eras, from contemporary blasters to ugly-looking fighting knives and close-combat tools.

Jagasti took his time looking over the troupe, then, without greeting them, asked their business. He looked puzzled at the reply.

“Entertainment? I am not sure I know what that is, other than seeing the destruction of a foe, the pain of an enemy, the delight in hearing his cities burn, his starships explode, his women scream, his warriors moan.”

Garvin nodded to Sir Douglas, who tossed a ball to his cheetah. Froude instantly started contesting the cat for the ball, mimicking the cheetah’s motions.

Jagasti watched, stony-faced.

Garvin motioned to Ben Dill, who took a stance, and Monique Lir struck off from him, spun high in the air in a triple somersault, landed on her feet.

“Ah,” Jagasti grunted. “You mean tricks.”

“I mean tricks such as the galaxy has never seen before,” Garvin said. “With real Earth horses, elephants, fearsome beasts, strange aliens, men and women flying high above your head, games of chance and skill, clowns to make you helpless with — ”

“Enough!” Jagasti snapped. “I am not a prospective purchaser of your circus.”

Njangu was thinking that Jagasti might be the very model of a major waste-layer, but his navigation bridge might not be in that close a communication with his stardrive.

A man, heavily bearded, stepped out of the throng.

“I am hardly superstitious, as you know,
Kuril
,” he said. “Might not the arrival of these strangers be a sign, be something we can use to send around to our various troop encampments to lift their morale?”

“Their morale will be raised sufficiently by the sight of my brother lying dead in the dust,” Jagasti said, but he didn’t sound that certain.

“A better idea,” another warrior said, a man in his forties, hard body just starting to paunch out. “We should take what we will from these people, for surely they are not strong.

“Their men could become laborers, their beasts either slaughtered if they prove dangerous or caged for our education, and their women …” He let his voice trail off, staring at Lir.

“That could be an option,” Jagasti agreed.

Garvin held back anger. “I would think that anyone who claims to be the Protectorate of the Confederation would welcome innocent wanderers, especially those who have vowed, as we have, to do all in our power to bring the return of order and law.”

“The Confederation will return,” Jagasti agreed, “as my late father swore.”

Interestingly, at the mention of Jagasti’s father, everyone in the room bowed their heads for an instant. Garvin hastily followed suit, as did the others, except for Alikhan, who kept cold, reddening eyes locked on Jagasti.

“It will return,” Jagasti repeated. “On my terms. My brother and I have sworn the same oath as my father, and were it not for certain … unforeseen developments of late, we would surely be making plans for our conquest of Centrum.”

Garvin glanced about to see if anyone preened at the word “brother,” saw a thin, intense man, about ten years younger than Jagasti, purse his lips and nod hurriedly. Garvin noticed the man’s eyes remained on his brother, his expression unreadable.

Njangu noted the look as well, filed it as possibly interesting.

“Of course this will happen,” the heavyset man said. “No one doubts that, just as we don’t doubt your traitor of a brother will be destroyed soon enough.

“But that doesn’t answer the question of these intruders. We … all of us … believe that from power all else falls.

“I, for instance, am interested in this woman trickster. She, no doubt, with her muscles, could provide me with interesting evenings, and I don’t doubt there are others like her in this so-called circus.”

He smiled unpleasantly, started toward Monique Lir.

Garvin stepped between them, and there was a blaster in the man’s hand.

“Move aside,” the man ordered.

Garvin looked at the throne.

“Do you allow this mistreatment to your guests, Jagasti?”

“I have not yet determined if you are my guests,” Jagasti answered. “Or my prisoners. But I would suggest you obey Toba. He has a very short temper, and has killed more than his share.”

Garvin hesitated, then obeyed.

“My sympathies, sir,” he murmured.

Toba, grinning, came forward, reached out with his free hand to tweak one of Lir’s nipples.

Flat-footed, Lir kicked, and the pistol spun up and out of Toba’s grip. Before he could react, Lir’s foot was back on the ground, and she spun, back-kicked with her other foot into Toba’s face. He screeched in agony, staggered back, fell.

Lir was back in a stance as Toba sat up. He lifted a hand to his mouth, saw the gouting blood, spat teeth, sighed, and fell back, unconscious.

Alikhan’s paw was on a wasp-grenade, ready to claw it into life and pitch it into Jagasti’s lap, where the insectlike killers would come alive and deal the man a terrible death. Dill stepped wide, to give himself fighting room.

Njangu decided there didn’t seem to be any other options other than running, wasn’t up for it, and got ready to die.

To everyone in the troupe’s surprise, Jagasti, after recovering from his astonishment, roared in laughter.

“Good! That was very good! Toba has always thought he could do anything he wished. I now rename him Gummy, and welcome you strangers as guests, for there is clearly more to you than is visible, and I suspect at least some of you of being warriors, not merely the despised servants we batten on.