The Last Legion: Book One of the Last Legion Series (23 page)

“Frankly, sir?”

“I doubt if you know any other way to answer.”

“Very well, sir. I don’t care about myself. But I think it’s a bit rotten for you to do that to my women and men, who were merely following my orders.”

Williams’ ears reddened. He took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. “I asked your opinion … and I received it. What I said, stands. Let us move on to other matters. There is a special mission required of me, and of certain Strike Force personnel in two days, on C-Cumbre, which is of all-encompassing importance. It should only take a day, little more. When I return, we shall finally dispose of these hill-bandits. Every effort must be expended, and I require the utmost diligence.

“I expect my Intelligence and Reconnaissance Company to be in the forefront. You’ll be reinforced by the band and the Honor Guard — that is, the Headquarters Security Section — when they return from C-Cumbre — and you will be supported by a section of Heavy Assault Vehicles and the Mobile Scout Troop. If you need further transport,
Mil
Rao will either call for volunteers or detail additional elements.

“ Yessir,” Hedley said, saluted, and left, wondering what his line-slime would think of xylophonetinklers and brasspolishers being added to their ranks.

C-Cumbre

Winds swirled across the planet’s man-scarred surface, sent dust devils curling up into emptiness. Its dry, hot atmosphere was breathable but unpleasant, each breath tasting of invisible razor blades.

The human Planetary Headquarters was a series of cold temporary-looking buildings sealed under a low dome, as if it were precariously situated on an airless moon. Half a planet away was the Musth Center, two four-story buildings with inverted-C roofs.

Great jagged pits, inverted ziggurats, dotted the landscape, and machinery, some robot, some remote-controlled, a very little hands-on-operated, churned around the diggings.

The two fly-on-fly-off transports that’d brought the Strike Force’s Griersons and two Zhukovs hovered a dozen meters above the ground, side ramps gaping, and a stream of combat vehicles floated out, each disgorging its antenna array as it did.

Garvin and Kang were out of their stations, hanging over Ben Dill’s seat, looking through the curving windscreen at the desolation.

“I know all this digging pays the rent,” Kang said. “But does it have to be so ugly?”

“Shaddup,” Dill ordered. “Stanislaus’s working his usual magic, and I’d as rather he not ram one of these cargo pigs while he’s listening to your brillig repartee.”

The two stayed silent while Gorecki maneuvered the Grierson away from the starship to the line of ACVs parked outside Planetary Headquarters, where a guide waited. He motioned the ACV back, forth, to the side, until it was precisely aligned, then brought his forearms across his chest in a chopping motion. Obediently, Gorecki grounded the vehicle. “We’re down, Ben,” he reported.

“Power stays on,” Dill ordered. “But you can lock the controls.”

“ ’Kay.” Gorecki came back from his position in the nose. “What now?”

“Just exactly what we’re trained to do,” Ben said. “We wait.”

“You got any idea what we’re waiting for?”

“Hell no,” Dill said. “We’re mushrooms. Kept in the dark and fed only on shit.”

Caud
Williams had ordered the combat vehicles detailed for the Protector’s visitor to be at Condition Yellow — missiles, rockets, shells out of their lockers and in the launchers/guns. Garvin remembered the
Malvern
, Protector Redruth’s cold-eyed bullyboy Celidon, decided that if he were Williams, he’d have more artillery loaded and locked on Condition Red, and in the air, not sitting around waiting to be hit.

• • •

Half an E-day later the com ordered: “All personnel disembark.”

“With or without sidearms?” Garvin asked.

“With,” Dill said. “When in doubt, carry.”

Ten minutes after they’d formed up in front of the Grierson’s nose, a starship on secondary lowered out of the yellow-brown murk toward them.

“Good gods, what’s that?” Garvin asked.

“Uh … I think it’s a
Remora-
class destroyer leader,” Kang said. “It would’ve commanded a flotilla of smaller Confederation destroyers. I built a model of one when I was a kid. But the one I built didn’t have all those extra blisters and gun stations.”

“That’s what happens here on the fringes,” Dill said. “The Confederation finally grants a goodie, figures that’s enough for a generation or two, so whoever gets the goodie has to do field modification until his eyes bleed.”

“That makes sense,” Gorecki said. “But what did they use to make the mods with? A sledgehammer? And what the hell are
those
?”

Those were four very sleek, very modern darts of patrol ships, flying close formation around the DL.

“Damfino,” Dill confessed. “That big hog’s something that looks like my grandfather commanded it, and it’s flanked with some trick stuff that looks like it came straight out of Centrum last week.”

“Son of a bitch,” Garvin remembered. “You know, we were told the
Malvern
had some real zoomie new spit-kits back in the hold when we were coming out. Wonder if
ol’
Redruth traded for ‘em with the ‘pirates,’ or — ”

“Shaddup,” Dill said. “Don’t go out of your way to get in trouble.”

The DL grounded, but the patrol craft kept orbiting. There was an emblem on the large ship’s nose Garvin couldn’t make out. The ship’s name was the
Corfe.

Their earpieces clicked, and they heard
Caud
Williams’ voice: “All Strike Force Swift Lance elements … stand by to render full honors to Alena Redruth, Protector of Larix and Kura.”

Governor General Haemer, flanked by
Caud
Williams,
Mil
Rao, and a bluster of staff officers plus a color guard and a few bandsmen, came out of the dome and went to the
Corfe.
A lock opened, a ramp slid down, and four men walked down. The Cumbre colors dipped and music played.

“Now please God, let ‘em walk on by,” Gorecki said. “I got no interest in playing pet for offworlders.”

But the officials seemed intent on trooping the line.

“Stand tall, fellers,” Dill said, and his crewmen obeyed, peripheral vision at Condition Red. Garvin especially wanted to see Alena Redruth, never having been this close to what was supposedly the last of an endangered breed, an absolute dictator. Redruth wasn’t that impressive, smallish, balding, in his late thirties, more like a minor bureaucrat than a warlord. He wore a simple dark brown tunic and pants, with a single decoration around his neck. Flanking him were two obvious bodyguards.

Garvin’s attention was jolted away by the man just behind Redruth. The man was tall, muscular, with the inadequately repaired remnants of a scar across his forehead. His expression was mixed cold amusement and mild dislike. He wore a dark green dress uniform with decorations, black knee boots and a black-leather Sam Browne belt with a dagger sheathed on one side and a pistol on the other. Garvin remembered him well, from the troop compartment of the
Malvern
, Celidon, the leader of the “pirates.”
I’m invisible
, Garvin thought as the party came abreast of the Grierson.
Of no interest. Just another ranker.

Naturally Celidon paused. “If you don’t mind,” he said to Williams, “I’d like to ask a question or two of your men here.”

“Of course not,” Williams said, a trifle nervously.

Celidon went to Dill, looked at the single row of decorations on his chest. “You’re on your … second enlistment?”

“ Yessir,” Ben said.

“Plan on making a career of the service?”

“Haven’t decided yet, sir.”

Celidon nodded, then his eyes went, like a stooping hawk, to Garvin. “You, Striker. What’s your post?”

“Gunner, sir.”

“What’s the maximum effective range of one of your Shrikes?”

“Classified, sir.”

“You can tell me, troop,” Celidon snapped. “Larix and Kura are allies of yours, and I spent a good deal of time as a Confederation officer.”

Garvin didn’t answer.

“Go ahead, Striker,”
Caud
Williams said.

“In theory, ninety kilometers once the target is thoroughly acquired,” Jaansma said by rote. “In fact, probably fifty or sixty should be the maximum allowed for, and that in extremely favorable conditions.”

“Pretty close,” Celidon said. “Try forty in combat. You fired one yet?”

“No, sir.”

“You think you could hit something under real-world conditions?”

“I know so, sir.”

Celidon smiled briefly. “May your confidence be rewarded. What about your chainguns?”

“Four thousand meters effective range, best used under visual conditions, either natural or amplified.”

“How long does it take to reload?”

“About three minutes, sir.”

“I’d guess you could do it in less,” Celidon said. “You’re a big lad. My congratulations — you appear to know your tools. Let me ask you another question, if I might. Does it worry you that your Strike Force has no interstellar capability, that no elements of the Confederation Navy are stationed in the Cumbre System?”

“No, sir, it doesn’t bother me. Things like that are
Caud
Williams’ concern, not mine.”

“What about the Musth?”

“What
about
the Musth? Sir.”

“Do they worry you?”

“No, sir. We’re at peace. Should they?”

Celidon nodded, as it satisfied. “One final question: How long have you served with the Strike Force?”

“Eight months, sir. I came out on the
Malvern.
”

Celidon jolted slightly, tried to cover. “Not familiar with that ship,” he said. “Carry on,” and started away.

The dignitaries moved on.
Caud
Williams remained next to Jaansma. “I told you once to rethink what you told me, didn’t I?” he asked.

“ Yessir,” Garvin said.

“I’m not a total oaf. I saw Celidon’s reaction just now. And I’m capable of reevaluating things when necessary. I assume you haven’t blathered your theories about the
Malvern
to everyone?”

“Nossir,” Garvin said truthfully. “You ordered me not to.”

“Good man.” Williams looked after Redruth. “Yes, some things might just be worth reconsidering. Tell your company commander I authorized you to add another slash,
Finf
Jaansma. You did well today.”

“Yessir,” Garvin said. “Thank you, sir.”

• • •

Haemer escorted the out-system visitors to C-Cumbre’s elaborate if seldom-used conference room, and aides offered refreshments. For a time, he tried light conversation, which Redruth seemed amiably willing to continue indefinitely.

Finally, the governor general couldn’t restrain himself: “Protector Redruth, what have you heard of late from the Confederation?”

Redruth smiled wryly. “Nothing. I was about to ask the same question, but you just answered it for me. Absolutely nothing. No corns, no visitors, no naval ships, no convoys, and the handful of independent merchants who’ve visited my planets also come from the fringes, and are as much in the dark as we are.

“I chanced sending a corvette with two escorts toward Centrum almost two E-months ago. They’ve vanished … or at least we’ve had no word, and they’ve not responded to any of my corns.”

Haemer and Williams looked carefully at the Protector, trying to see if he was lying, but his bland face showed nothing but mild worry and concern.

“And that, of course, is the reason for my visit.”

Haemer stiffened. “Oh?”

“I must plan my economy, my strategy, as if some sort of possibly long-lasting interregnum has occurred,” Redruth said. “I don’t know what’s happened with the Confederation … certainly there were reports of civil unrest and even systems withdrawing from its umbrella before this strange silence.

“But I’m a man of action, not thought, so my plans are simple — I stand alone, and must guarantee peace and security to my people. I’ve begun a significant shipbuilding program, and will need additional ores, which I propose to procure … purchase … from the Cumbre system.”

Haemer relaxed slightly. “Good,” he said. “Obviously, being cut off from the Confederation has done our metals trade no good whatsoever. I’m delighted you’ve decided to increase your quota, and our mining corporations should have no trouble meeting any requirements.”

“I didn’t think there would be a problem,” Redruth said. “However, I’m concerned about the Musth.”

“In what way?”

“I know well their ambitions,” Redruth said. “They aspire to control the universe, a step at a time, and I was afraid that, with their learning the Confederation no longer stands behind us, they might become, shall we say, ambitious.”

“I’ve been worried about the same thing,” Haemer said. “But as yet our relations continue cordial.”

“Perhaps,” Celidon said, “we might offer increased security to the Cumbre system, since you have no naval capabilities and we do. Perhaps we might think of stationing half a dozen of our ships on D-Cumbre. I’m sure the system’s resources would be sufficient to fund them, and the citizens would be grateful.”

Haemer’s mouth was dry. He considered his response carefully.

“Thank you for the offer,”
Caud
Williams said smoothly before Haemer spoke. “It’s magnificent seeing fellow humans jump to our aid. But your presence might well trigger the response we all fear.” There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm detectable in his speech.

“I don’t follow,” Celidon snapped, but Redruth was nodding thoughtfully.

“Just this,” Williams continued. “The Musth, as you point out, are a very ambitious species. They think their presence in the Cumbre system is justified, and would, I’m very sure, be delighted to increase it. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they would like total domination of at least this planet and its resources.

“If Larix and Kura suddenly show an increased military presence in the Cumbre system, that might serve to tip the balance, and give some of their more aggressive warlords reason to exacerbate the situation.”