The Last Legion: Book One of the Last Legion Series (11 page)

A ’Raum shot the lock open; Brooks kicked the door open, and the three burst in, flattening against the wall on either side of the opening.

There were four people inside the office, two men, two women, and piles of credits being loaded into a counting machine, whispering out the other side neatly baled and marked.

A woman looked up, saw the guns, opened her mouth to scream.

“Don’t!” Brooks said flatly, and her mouth banged shut.

“The credits,” he said. “In those sacks. Now.”

A man looked worriedly at the men.

“We’ll do it,” he said hastily. “Just don’t get upset. No money’s worth dying for. Just let us go.”

Brooks nodded, and the four hastily dumped bills into the sacks. The other two ’Raum picked up the bags when they were full, shouldered them.

“There,” the man said. “We promise we won’t call anyone ‘til you’re well gone.”

“Yes,” a woman said. “Just let us live. We never did anything to anybody, and we won’t remember any faces.”

Brooks nodded the two ’Raum out the door, backed toward it as they went out.

“Thanks,” the other woman said. “Thanks for not killing us.”

Brooks, face blank, lifted his blaster, touched the firing stud.

• • •

“Your Brooks is quite the hot wire,” Comstock Brien observed. “Four appropriations this cycle, without any casualties. The last one netted close to a quarter million.”

“We should have had him go active years ago,” Jo Poynton agreed. “For the first time, I don’t have to worry about finding credits for my agents, or for other tasks we have. But hasn’t he about run his string in Leggett? Shouldn’t we be thinking about getting him out? Isn’t it possible our brother Brooks has even greater talents than robbery?”

“Perhaps,” Brien said.

“We are short-handed in the Planning Group after T’arg and Miram’s deaths,” she said.

“I know.”

Poynton looked intently at Brien.

“You don’t like him.”

“No,” Brien agreed. “I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“He … he burns a little too brightly for my tastes.”

“Do any of us have the luxury of tastes?” Poynton asked.

Brien gnawed at a lower lip.

“No,” he said reluctantly. “No, we don’t. And maybe we need a brighter fire, and maybe we can end this in our lifetimes.

“Maybe Brooks is someone we need.

“Bring him out of Leggett,” Brien said. “We’ll see what happens when he’s thrown into deeper water.”

“Take it, Mister Jaansma.”

“Thank you, I shall, Mister Dill.” Garvin’s smile got a little fixed as he slid into the Aerial Combat Vehicle commander’s seat. “Tell me when you’re strapped in, Mister Dill.”

“I shall, Mister Jaansma.”

The intercom crackled. “Driver to ECM … did those two get a mind-whop ray or something?”

“This is ECM. Definitely whopped.”

“Silence in the vehicle,” Garvin said, and there was. He took a deep breath. “Driver, twenty-five percent power.”

“Twenty-five percent, Vehicle Commander.”

“Take it off, Mister Gorecki.”

The Grierson came gently off the deck and drifted out of the hangar, a delicate dinosaur in ballet slippers. Garvin felt panic as his mind said,
This is for real, this isn’t the sim anymore
, and he buried the thought.

He pushed the select bar with his chin. “Control, this is Two-Alpha-Three, clearing for lift.”

“This is Control,” a voice said. “Reported traffic … two Zhukovs at east end of pad, three Cookes doing touch-and-go’s on the grassy field … clear to lift at commander’s discretion.”

“Two-Alpha-Three, lifting to one thousand, proceeding west toward Tiger Maneuver area. Be advised vehicle commander is trainee.”

“Roger that, Two-Alpha-Three. We’ll stand by with the whisk broom. Clear.”

“Take it up,” Garvin ordered. “Fifty percent power.”

“Lifting, VC,” Gorecki said, and the ground on-screen grew distant.

Jaansma touched a sensor, and a map appeared on another screen. “Do you need directions?”

“Negative,” Gorecki said. “I could do it in my sleep.”

“Negative on faking it,” Dill ordered. “Jaansma’s still learning. Fly by his instructions.”

“ ’Kay, VC … I mean, Gunner.”

“Don’t skate on me, Garvin,” Dill ordered.

“Sorry.” Jaansma studied the map. “Hold altitude, bring speed to ninety. Set course two-three-two degrees.”

“Altitude one thousand, speed accelerating to niner-zero. Now over water.”

The Grierson’s course led south-southwest, across the gulf toward the finger of land enclosing it, and the restricted training area named Tiger.

“Set it on auto,” Dill ordered. “Here’s what I want you to do when you get to Tiger. Bring this pig down to about two-hundred meters … I’ll have you on the deck next time, but I’ll give you some slop now … bring it across the beach, jump over the foothills, and straight in across the target zone. Got it?”

“I think so.”

“Not think so, dammit,” Dill said. “You have it or you don’t.”

“I have it, Skipper.”

“ ’Kay.” Dill switched channels. “Tiger Maneuver Control, Tiger Maneuver Control, this is Grierson Two-Alpha-Three, inbound your area.”

“Two-Alpha-Three,” came the response. “We have you onscreen. What’s your flavor today?”

“Set program, uh, Seven-Three-White.”

“Seven-Three-White, roger.”

“We’re making a low-level assault on a strong enemy-held base,” Dill said, switching back to the intercom, “part of a regiment-sized assault force, backed with, uh, five Zhukovs I think I remember. Enemy has strong air-to-air capability. ECM, full standby.”

Kang turned the air-conditioning up in her tiny cubicle. “ECM ready, Skipper.”

“Gunner ready,” Dill said from Garvin’s normal station. “Take it, boss.”

Again, Jaansma had a moment of fear, then a swell of confidence.

“Driver … accelerate to three-five-zero. Stand by for contact!”

Just ahead was the “enemy” coast.

Njangu Yoshitaro decided he’d had enough. Enough of every muscle screaming as it tore, enough of his lungs trying to suck wind and not having the strength, enough of Lir’s never-satisfied howls, enough of I&R, and especially enough of the frigging cliff he was only halfway up.

“I quit,” he muttered.

“No talking up there,” Lir shouted from below.

“I said I quit,” Njangu said more loudly.

“One more word, whoever’s gossiping, and he or she’s for the grease trap,” Lir shouted.

I can’t even
quit
this horseshit excuse for a life
, Yoshitaro thought, feeling very sorry for himself.

“Hey,” Angie Rada whispered. Yoshitaro crammed the side of his hand into the spider-crack, hoped his toehold was better than it felt, chanced looking across.

“Looka me,” she whispered. Angie sat on a ledge that looked to Njangu like a parade ground, almost 10cm wide. “Don’t I look cute.” She put one hand behind her head, jutted her breasts.

“Screw you,” he managed.

“You can if you ask nice,” she said. “But love stories later. Guess what I’m on?”

“I can see.”

“No you can’t,” she said smugly. “This ledge widens beyond me. It’s a frigging turnpike, and goes straight around the shoulder of this cliff to the road. C’mon up. This is the
real
way to do free-climbing.”

“What’s that going to give me?”

“All Liverlips Lir said was get to the top, right?” Rada said. “Not how, right? I&R encourages improvisation, right?”

Njangu wheezed agreement and found the strength to scrabble for a foothold to the side, and strength to lever himself up, up again, then across to Angie’s ledge.

“Follow me, like the ossifers say,” she said, and Yoshitaro obeyed, sidling along the ledge, not looking a hundred meters down to jutting crags, until it indeed became a path, winding upward.

“Aren’t you glad I think you’re sexy?” she said.

Njangu managed a nod, while panting.

“Not like Faull, old strong-and-silent low-class ’Raum,” she said. “I would’ve let him rot hanging there.” She gave him a sly look. “Or made sure Lir heard him quit.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Njangu said. “Easy way, hard way, I’m still out of this shit.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Angie said. “We’ve only got, what, another two lifetimes, then they’ll put us into a fighting team. Doncha wanna be a
real
soldier boy?”

“Whoopie.” Njangu bent double, sucked air. “I’m history, I’m gonna be a nice happy grass-trimmer and garbage-can-emptier ‘til my enlistment’s up.”

“And then what?”

“I’ll find a job somewhere.”

“Maybe working for my da,” she suggested.

“What’s he do? Probably, with my luck, guide mountain climbers.”

“Nope,” the woman said. “He’s got six department stores, so you’d best be nice to me.”

“If he’s so rich, what’re you doing in the service?”

“I thought it’d be a hoot,” she said, defiance coming into her voice, then she looked away. “And me and Da weren’t … getting along.”

“Foolish girl,” Njangu said.

“Shut up,” Rada hissed. “We’ve got to get up to the crest and look proper exhausted for Monkeytits Monique.”

“No you don’t,” a voice came. “You can stay just like you are.”

The two trainees froze, turned slowly. Just ahead of them on the path stood
Dec
Monique Lir.

“How’d you — ” Angie managed.

“Beat you? Because I’m strong, clean-living and your friggin’ god,” Lir growled. “Now, double-time right on up to the top.”

Before they reached the crest all the aches came back in waves to Njangu. The other three recruits were waiting, grateful for any respite from Lir’s sadism.

“You were correct, Recruit Rada,” said Lir, who didn’t appear to even be slightly out of breath. “I
didn’t
say how you were to get to the top of this, and I&R does encourage creative thought. I’m actually proud of you two.”

“Uh-oh,” Yoshitaro said under his breath.

“So proud, I’m going to let you be an example to the rest of us. I want you to go back down the cliff, while the rest of us stroll leisurely to the bottom and take a long break. Go back down … straight back down. Is it clear?”

“Yes,
Dec
,” the two chorused.

“Bad harmony,” Lir said. “Drop down and do me some press-ups. Maybe twenty-five or so.”

She waited until they finished.

“Now, let’s see some nice technique in descending,” she ordered. “No slips, deaths, or even screams. You first, Rada.”

Angie gave Lir a hate-filled look, slid cautiously backward over the edge. Lir peered over.

“Do try not to fall,” she advised. “Now you, Yoshitaro.”

Njangu obeyed.

“Oh, by the way,” the
dec
asked. “Did I understand you have something you want to tell me?”

Njangu was about to bellow his resignation, and then suddenly everything was funny. He’d broken through some kind of inner barrier, and from now on, it might not be easy, but he’d do it. Hell, he felt good. He could duckwalk down the cliff if Lir wanted him to. Yoshitaro laughed.

Lir looked at him closely.

“That’s all?”

Njangu nodded.

“Then get your ass down this cliff. It’s a long run home, and I want to be back before retreat.”

• • •

The Grierson grounded at the same instant as the other Aerial Combat Vehicle and the two Zhukovs to make the points of a perfect square.

A moment later a courier boat settled in the middle of the formation. Its nose was the dark blue/white of the Confederation, with a ring of stars behind it. Below the pilot’s cabin window on either side was the green/white/brown flag of Cumbre.

The Combat Vehicle’s ramps dropped, and their crews formed up in front of their craft. All wore dress uniforms.

The lock of the courier ship opened, a gangway slid down, and Governor General Wilth Haemer strode out, flanked by
Caud
Williams and a polish of aides.

“Couldn’t you have left a big booger on the pointy end, dammit?” Garvin whispered out of the side of his mouth. “We didn’t have to look
this
sharp.”

“Quiet, Gunner,” Dill said. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jaansma said. “You weren’t the one who got told by His Holiness if he saw me ever ever again I was for the high jump.”

“Don’t worry,” Kang said. “He isn’t interested in reviewing us. Too windy, too cold.”

It was that on Dharma’s high plateau, wet mist blowing past the ghostly trees. Haemer and the others walked quickly, trying not to look like they were hurrying, to the formation of Musth waiting outside their headquarters, a series of high-ceilinged, polygonal buildings seemingly made of clear glass broken with onyx paneling.

The Musth were in a formation humans found strange. A dozen, probably underlings, formed a wide, shallow vee, and two others stood in the mouth of the vee, one behind the other. One Garvin guessed was the Musth’s commander in the Cumbre system, Aesc.

Jaansma shut the governor general out of his mind and stared at the Musth. He’d only seen the aliens in holos, and found them mildly awesome. They were big, almost three meters, with long, sinuous necks. They were fur-covered, their only clothing a wide belt with crisscrossed straps to a neck-ring and a pouch in front like an oversize Scottish sporran. On either side were sheathed weapons. Garvin craned for a look, but all he could determine was that one was an incredibly long-barreled pistol-looking object, the other was an unprepossessing box with a strap on it.

Their fur was color-banded, coarse, light to reddish brown, going to black on their paws and tail; with a solid patch from throat to stomach that was anything from yellowish orange to rich orange.

Their lower legs were big, almost like a kangaroo’s, but intended for upright walking; their front arms were smaller, ending in double-thumbed paws with retracted claws that would work well in a knife fight. They had short tails for balance.

The Musth ceremonials evidently didn’t require rigidity like Man’s, Garvin noted, seeing their heads dart about, peering here and there.

Dill’s Grierson had been chosen with three other combat vehicles as honor guard for the governor general’s monthly visit to the Musth base on Dharma’s Highlands.