Homefall: Book Four of the Last Legion Series (21 page)

“Perhaps your shows will, indeed, build the morale of my fighters.”

“Uh, boss?”

“What’s the problem, Ben?” Garvin asked.

“Kekri and I … actually, just Kekri … we need to have a talk with you.”

“Sure,” Garvin said.

“Private? And it’ll take a while?”

“Come on in,” Garvin said, leading the two into his office. He noticed Kekri was carrying a small case.

“So what’s the problem?” he said after the door closed.

“I’m … I’m a spy!” Kekri said, and burst into tears.

• • •

“Well I shall be dipped,” Njangu said. “Full confession, she’s an agent for — ”

“Director Fan Berti, back on Tiborg,” Garvin said. “Just like you thought.”

“Hmm,” Njangu said. “I’d been thinking about her, figuring we’d have to do cleanup before … how much longer before that thing Lir and Montagna planted wreaks havoc?”

“
You’re
supposed to be the one keeping track of things like that. But I looked it up. About two E-months, which means two and a week here.”

“And she’s given us everything she’s got?”

“She’s still being debriefed. But it looks like it.”

“What was she looking for?”

“Berti didn’t tell her … he just said report anything interesting, particularly about where these people are really coming from, and what their real intentions are. Guess he didn’t trust her all the way, which is the only way to treat HUMINT.

“And there’s an interesting little side note. She was supposed to transmit this diary when her little sender got a signal saying somebody was listening.

“Also, Berti promised that she wasn’t on a one-way trip. At a suitable moment, she’d be rescued. I don’t know if Berti was stroking her or not, but she surely believed someone would be there with a rope ladder.

“I don’t like that at all,” Garvin went on. “Especially since there’s no way that I can figure out that Berti could be tracking us.”

“Damn
,” Njangu muttered. “Wheels within cartwheels. Would’ve been better if she didn’t confess, so we could grab when that transmitter went off … if it ever did. Ben Dill went and did too good a job. What the hell good’s an agent when she’s all the way out of the chill?”

“That’s another thing,” Garvin said. “He’s decided he’s in love, and really hopes that neither of us set this whole thing up as any kind of a joke.”

“Oh.”

“He said he’d be really, really, really assed if we had.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ben more than really, really, assed,” Njangu said thoughtfully.

“Me either,” Garvin said. “Maybe we ought to send Kekri’s whole file to the shredder? Especially the parts that might ah-hem have anything on your thoughts about me and Kekri.”

“I’ll shred it twice,” Njangu said. “Dill scares me snotless.

“But let’s keep that nifty little notebook/locator of hers handy. We still might need it someday.”

He sat shaking his head.

“
Damn
, but it’s sour when a plan goes just the way it’s supposed to, and you’re still sucking wind.”

“Back to our device on Tiborg,” Garvin said. “Did we screw up?”

Njangu began to say something, thought about it.

“You want a gut response … no. Goddamned politicians and their tradesy-ing power back and forth, and busting it off in people like you and me … good to see the whole damned lot of them in a thin spray on the walls.”

Garvin started to respond, but Njangu held up his hand.

“That’s the gut feeling. But now that we’re a bit away, and my head’s out of me bung … maybe. A very large maybe, starting with the position that people who kill things and break people ought to stay the hell out of politics. Plus the idiots on Tiborg went and got themselves in this shitter, and they should be the ones to dig themselves out.

“We can’t go around playing Saint John the Rescuer to everybody.”

“But isn’t that what we’re doing right now with this chasing about after the Confederation?”

“Goddamit, Garvin, don’t confuse me any more than I can already confuse myself.

“In answer to your question … if I had it to do all over again, back on Delta, I don’t think I would’ve done it. Or, rather, that I encouraged you to do it.”

“You think that way bad enough that we should think about going back when we get free of these idiots, and turn off the machine?”

“That’ll be. a good trick in itself,” Njangu said. “Naw. I don’t think so. They were all a bunch of shitheels, and deserve a little maiming around the edges.

“Not to mention they’ll sure as hell try to blow our ass up around our shoulder blades if we ever get within range of them again.

“Forget it,” he said. “We’ve got enough problems, and that’ll sure as hell never rebound back on us, especially now that we’ve got Kekri and her little direction finder all neutralized.”

“Thank you, ladies, for taking the time to listen to this parlari,” Njangu said. “Does everyone have a drink or an inhaler?”

Ten of the circus showgirls, carefully selected by Yoshitaro for seeming lack of moral turpitude, were gathered in one of
Big Bertha
’s rec rooms.

“Perhaps you’ve noticed that the people we’re among now are, shall we say, a little more direct than some of the other townies we’ve appeared before?”

“Damned straight,” one of the women said. “I turned my back on two of the bastards last show, and they tried to rip my gown off for a laugh! Damned glad we’re playing in the ship instead of under canvas.

“Direct hell,” she went on. “Goons and rapists, if they think they can get away with it.”

“I think the technical term is ‘barbarians,’ ” another woman said.

Njangu scratched his chin, waited until the laughter stopped.

“What we want, what Gaffer Jaansma wants,” he said, “is to play a few dates here and there in this system, then proceed on our course toward Centrum.

“The Protectorate isn’t keen on that idea.”

“Why not?” a woman asked.

“Because, I suspect, they’ve got designs on whatever remains of the Confederation themselves.”

“And we’re a threat?”

Njangu held out his hands.

“It seems so.”

“Idiots!” another woman snapped.

“Quite possibly,” Njangu said. “Which is where my proposal stands. I’m looking for volunteers who wouldn’t mind making friends with some of these Protectorate sorts.”

“You mean, officers, high-ranking types?”

“I certainly don’t think your average deck ape might be able to talk about things we might be interested in hearing.”

One of the women, a Delot Eibar, whom Njangu had pegged as somewhat quicker than others, looked at him skeptically. “You mean pillow talk.”

“Not necessarily,” Yoshitaro said carefully, feeling the tiny bit he had of what he guessed other people called “morality” squirm. “Just … talk.”

“But not
not
necessarily, either,” Eibar said.

Njangu didn’t answer.

“What other kinds of spying are you doing?”

Njangu smiled blandly.

“Oh. I get it. If one of us goes and falls in love, instead of the other way around, she won’t have any pillow talk of her own?”

“You are a clever woman,” Yoshitaro said.

“Maybe,” Eibar said. “If …
if
I go for a proposition like that, it would have to be my choice. I don’t want to get rammed into the sack with some thug who hasn’t taken a bath in a year or so.”

“Agreed,” Njangu said.

“Now, since this is way outside being ‘generally useful,’ might I ask what this bit of cherry pie will pay?”

“If any of you agree, you can double your contract price,” Njangu said.

There was a murmur from the showgirls. Njangu got up.

“Talk about it with each other. I promise no risk, and if anything seems a little shaky, we’ll have you wired, with security backing you, and we’ll break anything up that looks like it’s getting troublesome.”

“Security,” a girl murmured. “Like that Ben Dill?”

“I’m sorry,” Njangu said. “Ben’s a big man, but he’s no more than that.”

“Yeh,” Eibar said skeptically. “Yeh, sure. Not that it matters, since Kekri Katun’s got his chastity belt keys.

“At any rate,” she went on, “I think I understand what you’re looking for very, very well.”

“And
I
think,” Njangu said, “that scares me a little.”

• • •

Monique Lir swayed, looked seductive, and beckoned to the sad-faced Froude. He looked down from his perch, swayed, flailed his hands, recovered his balance.

Again, Monique beckoned, and this time, Froude saw a balance pole, which just happened to have a midget at each end. He picked it up, seemingly not noticing the little people, and stepped out onto the wire toward Lir.

He dipped, almost fell, the midgets flailed with him, and the audience bayed amusement.

Monique, as secure on her wire as if she were bolted on, looked down at the packed stands. It was what used to be called a sawdust crowd, she knew, with all the stands full and people sitting on the deck. It’d been that way for seven shows, and she didn’t like it any better now than before.

There was nobody in the crowd except men and women, all in uniform. No children, no old people, no civilians at all, not even government officials, since Jagasti believed anyone connected with the Protectorate should be part of the military.

Froude overbalanced, and fell, still holding on to the balance pole. But somehow he didn’t come off the wire, but spun through a full circle, still holding the pole and little people, and was back on top again, to thundering applause. Froude looked a bit shaken — this gag, heavy on antigravity devices, even though there was a
ra’felan
catcher hanging overhead, was a little new. This was only the third time they’d done it since Froude had the idea and rehearsed it endlessly, a meter off the deck into a trampoline.

Lir wondered how they’d get through these bastards and on about their business toward Centrum. This circus stuff was interesting, but the thrill was starting to fade.

She really wanted to put her uniform back on, assemble the troops, and go out and beat the butts of some of the yoinks she’d endured over the past months.

Lir was more than willing to start with the morons below who called themselves the Protectorate.

• • •

Njangu, Dalet Eibar, and Bayanti, Jagasti’s younger brother, sat in a closed skybox, watching the caracoles of the circus below them. Bayanti, Yoshitaro was pleased to note, kept flicking looks at Eibar when he thought Njangu wasn’t looking.

“You actually have a life like this?” Bayanti asked. “Just traveling about, doing these shows?”

“It’s what we’ve chosen,” Njangu said.

“We like … excitement,” Dalet put in suggestively.

“These are dangerous times for wanderers without support,” Bayanti said.

“Which,” Dalet added, “is why we like to get along with everyone.” She smiled.

Njangu thought that was about enough, so he triggered a sensor on his belt com. It buzzed, and he answered the false summons to the bridge. He apologized to Bayanti, asked Dalet if she’d mind escorting him about and show him whatever he wanted, left.

He left it to Eibar to explain that she and Njangu weren’t companying each other, that she had no one special and, in fact, hoped she’d meet someone to show her about this fascinating system the circus had landed on.

He also made a note to adjust Dalet’s contract.

• • •

“You were a soldier, once, I think,” Phraphas Phanon asked Alikhan.

The Musth considered, decided there was no harm in speaking the truth. “I was.”

“We would like to hire you to teach us something,” Phanon said, and Thanon nodded eagerly.

“If I know something of worth, you have but to ask,” Alikhan said. “It will help pass the time. I am bored being stared at by these short-haired idiots and thought a horrible monster.”

“We want you to teach us how to use weapons.”

Alikhan’s head darted back and forth, lifted his paws in surprise.

“Why do you wish to learn such?” he asked.

“These are troubled times,” Phanon said. “We feel vulnerable, needing to be able to protect our gray friends.”

“That is not hard to understand,” Alikhan agreed. “But why have you come to me?”

“First,” Thanon said, “you are the one we have decided most clearly was, perhaps even is, a soldier, although there are those such as Mr. Yoshitaro or Mr. Dill we suspect of having once had such a trade.”

“I didn’t know that,” Alikhan said. “I thought Ben Dill was too fat to be a soldier.” He was proud of himself for making a human joke, couldn’t wait to tell this to Dill.

“You see? We are not sure.”

“The problem will be,” Alikhan said, “the actual firing of the weapons. I assume you do not mean to learn the tools I carry with me on occasion, since I have but two sets of them with me, and they would be very difficult for a human to use.

“I doubt if these Protectors would be impressed should we take some of the ship’s blasters outside and start banging away at targets.”

“We thought of that. Could you not teach us the working of these weapons, how to load, aim, fire them, and then, at a better time, perhaps we could shoot for real?”

Alikhan thought.

“Yes. Yes, I could do that. And, in return, I would ask a favor?”

“Whatever we have is yours.”

“I would like you to introduce me to one of your elephants and perhaps, if he learns I am no threat, to give me a ride?”

• • •

Njangu sent out agents, some openly to what remained of the planet’s libraries, some more covertly. A bit at a time, cautiously, skeptically, he was building a history of this Protectorate. All data were, of course, categorized in the aeons-old classification:

Muldoon leapt out from his perch on an elephant stand toward the waiting lion, who boomed a roar at him. The leopard tucked, and the lion caught him on his paws, bounced him to a tiger, who risleyed him on to the next, waiting cat, almost throwing him into Sir Douglas, who cracked his whip menacingly, then back to the lion and to rest.

The crowd was silent in awe for an instant, then boomed approval.

Muldoon yawned complacently at the recognition, licked his paw.

“Very damned good,” Garvin said. “I like the way that everybody’s looking at everybody else’s act — ”

“You mean stealing,” Sir Douglas grinned.

“I never use words like that. Congratulations. You make it look dangerous.”

“Around me, there is never danger,” Sir Douglas said loftily. Garvin grinned, went back to Ring #1 as the cats were cleared out of the center cage.

“I’ll not tell the gaffer your fingers were crossed when you said that about no danger,” Darod Montagna said.

“I thank you,” Sir Douglas said.

• • •

“Maev, if you’ll take the door,” Njangu said.

She nodded and, pistol half-hidden, stepped out of the small conference room, buried in the middle of
Big Bertha’
s command module.

Inside were the ranking members of the Legion, plus Doctors Froude and Ristori.

“What we’re going to get here,” Garvin said, “is a short history lesson on who these Protectorate sorts seem to be, which may help us figure out what to do next.

“Since Dr. Froude is probably the best of us at syncretic thinking, I’ve asked him to do the lecture, which is based on almost all of Froude’s, Njangu’s, and his staffs digging and delving. Doctor?”

Froude leaned back in his chair and started talking.

About twenty E-years earlier, the Confederation had begun hiring entire population groups, those considered warrior-types, for security, and keeping them as integral units, rather than relying on the more conventional military like the Navy or the Legions.

No one in the audience had heard of this practice having been done before, nor did anyone have any idea why something this primitive and dangerous was begun.

“I wish,” Garvin said, “that we had a few of the old soldiers with us. Maybe
Caud
Williams or Rao knew of such units, and why the Confederation chose such a step.”

“I’ll make a guess,” Yoshitaro said. “They got paid in loot and worked cheaper.”

There was a murmur of laughter.

“I wasn’t being funny,” Njangu said, and the laughter stopped.

“Monique,” Garvin went on, “you’re the closest thing to an old soldier around. Did you ever hear of anything like this?”

“No,” Monique said, then stopped, thinking. “Wait a sec. Before I joined up, when I was an opera dancer, somebody said something once about being damned glad that the local soldiers were regulars, since she was getting tired of chasing off shag artists.

“I don’t remember her saying any more.”

“Interesting,” Froude said, and went on.

“These people now calling themselves the Protectorate had been moved closer and closer to Centrum, evidently as problems on the homeworld worsened.

“Then the Confederation fell out of contact with everyone, including these charmers.

“The father of these three brothers who now are running things got the interesting idea that he was strong enough to take Capella and Centrum and then dictate what should come next.

“The Confederation should dissolve Parliament after ‘electing’ a strong leader to put things back together, allowing no systems to declare independence, and to destroy any worlds attacking Confederation members.

“He seems to have been a very cautious man, for his first steps were away from Centrum, taking control of other systems like Sabyn, turning systems like Mais into puppets, and so on. We are sure they control at least twenty systems now, maybe more.

“The way the Protectorate operates is to skim only the cream from these systems, leaving enough for the worlds to keep functioning, not hurting them badly enough to tempt them to revolt, and, evidently, instantly coming down with an iron heel on anyone who dissents. I’ve heard of at least two worlds that didn’t listen to reason and got the nuclear treatment.

“I haven’t been able to find out just how long Jagasti’s father thought it would be before the Protectorate was ready to make a hard move on Centrum, although I did get a couple of hints that recon units were sent out, never to return. They were probably destroyed by whatever war fleets the Confederation still has operational, backed by the mechanical security devices around Centrum.”

“Things were going well,” he continued. “And then the old man had the lack of grace to die. A surfeit of eels or some such. I couldn’t tell, through the holos’ purple hosannas at the funeral.