The Last Legion: Book One of the Last Legion Series (36 page)

“Keep it running. Now he’s done what he was ordered to, so now he just stands there, waiting, until they shout for him to load up with the flipping gold. Like a good little rebel he jumps in the lighter and off everybody goes with Mellusin’s money. End of episode, beginning of legend. Now we’ll have Jaansma the Flipping Rebel to contend with. Right?”

“Right,” Angara agreed. “But it’ll be the end of a legend when we hang his young ass.”

“
Not
right,” Hedley said. “Run it back one more time, to when he lowers the blaster. Push in on his face. Look at that.”

“He’s scared,” Angara said. “Got a twitch. I’d twitch, too, if I were selling out everything and everybody I knew on the permanent record.”

“A flipping irregular twitch,” Hedley said. “I think there’s something sneaky going on.” He asked an increasingly irritated Angara to run the scene two more times, then got a pad and pen. “How’d you do in Basic Commo?”

“Acceptable,” Angara said. “But that was so long ago we were communicating with smoke puffs.”

“Always suspected that. One more time. Slowly.” Hedley scribbled as the scene unwound. “Now I need to use the flipping com.” He touched sensors, asked for some information, disconnected with thanks.

“Well, well,” he said. “Things are a leetle more complex than they seem. I just checked
Finf
Jaansma’s record again. Did real well in everything, which we know. Including Communications training, both programmed and conscious. That’s interesting as all hell, considering I noticed our rebel’s twitch is very flipping military. That eyelid of his is twitching in basic code: O, N, I, N, S, I, D, E, G, E, T, C, O, M, M, O.”

Angara ran the letters through his mind. “Pile it in, Hedley. Nobody’s that sneaky.”

“Yeah? How come he has time for another O, N, I, N before they hustle him off?”

“Oh shitola on a green leaf,” Angara grunted. “This does muddy things up a bit, doesn’t it?”

“Yeh,” Hedley agreed. “Do we decide to believe him? And if we do, how do we make contact with him? Come on, Messiah, gimme some flipping suggestions.”

“Don’t know,” Angara said. “I’m still stuck on the first question.”

• • •

“Njangu,”
Alt
Hedley said cautiously, “I have a proposition.”

Njangu it is now. Be very careful, little brown brother.

“Yes, sir,” Yoshitaro said, looking brightly interested.

“All this is highly classified,”
Cent
Angara said. “Please sit down.”

Please? Hoboy, this is going to be cute.

“We misjudged your friend Garvin Jaansma,” Hedley said. “We’re now operating on the basis that he’s innocent, and a very quick thinker.”

Angara explained about the holdup, which Njangu’d already heard about through the rumor mill, and Garvin’s coded blinking. Njangu almost nodded — his friend
was
thinking fast.
Probably all those goddamned ’Raum wanting to tear him a new asshole kicked his brain into high gear. He sure wouldn’t have come up with something that stinky all on his own. And he better be careful, in whatever warren they’ve got his young ass, or he’s going to start thinking he’s thinking, get cocky and get thin-sliced. Stinky shit’s my department.

“Very interesting,” Yoshitaro said when Angara’d finished. “And I’m not surprised at all. But why’re you telling me all this?”

“We want you to go in and get him out.”

“Uh …
Cent,
” Njangu said, with a twisted grin, “I’m not Stupor Soldier. No steel teeth on me, and no pocket nukes up my ass. Perhaps the word that’s gone before me’s been a little excessive.”

Angara glanced at Hedley. “Your Recon boys are as big wise-asses as their leader.”

“Hope so,” Hedley said. “Otherwise, all that training would’ve gone to waste.”

“We’d put you in with some mini-coms the Planetary Police’s P&A Section has, and a good cover.”

“Such as?”

“Such as you’re going to desert.”

“Now why would I do something like that?” Njangu said. “Jaansma might be a friend, but we ain’t banging assholes, to put it bluntly. It’d have to be better than that.”

“What about,” Angara tried, “that we think you had something to do with his desertion?”

“Not enough.”

“Even if we’re going to court-martial you?”

Njangu started to say something, then caught himself.

“Go ahead,” Hedley said.

“I better not, sir. I’ve got enough enemies.”

Angara lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t bruise easy. Keep talking.”

“Very well …
sir.
That’s the flash shit they do in holos. Thrown out of the regiment in disgrace, epaulettes, whatever the hell those are, torn off in disgrace, medals thrown in the dirt, drums thumping away. Real dramatic … sir … but
giptel
-piddle as far as I’m concerned.”

Hedley grinned at a flushing Angara. “Why?”

“Because the real world … at least when it comes to crookery, isn’t all that dramatic,” Njangu said.

“You have some expertise in the area?” Angara asked.

Njangu just looked at him.

“Sorry. Go on.”

“Look at it from the ’Raum point of view. I show up with cops chasing me, hollering and screaming, and it looks flash, like I said. So the first thing they’re going to do is check me out every way they can.”

“We don’t think they have a scan.”

“I don’t give a shit about scans,” Njangu said. “I can beat them, most times.”

Hedley blinked. “How? Sorry … some other time you’ll have to show me that little trick. But go ahead. Sorry I interrupted you.”

“What I’m worried about is the records. Charge sheets, court-martial scheduling, all that sort of thing, right down to who was going to stand in for officers who were gonna be on that court-martial. Other things, like what hard evidence did you get to think I was a ’Raum convert to get this court-martial rolling?”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“Am I? Even paranoiacs got enemies, sir.”

“As long as we keep everything inside the Force, and at the highest level, we should have no trouble,” Angara argued stubbornly.

“Inside the Force, sir? Last time I was at Headquarters, I saw a dozen ’Raum clerks. Don’t try to make me believe
Caud
Williams and
Mil
Rao do their own filing.”

“Just because one of our clerks happens to come from a ’Raum background — ” Angara started.

“Means they’re the enemy. Not to mention I don’t believe somebody in II Section, some Force person, won’t tell this tippy-top secret to a buddy of his with the cops’ P&A Section. And of course I don’t believe the ’Raum just might happen to have an agent or two inside the coppery. Pretty soon, everybody’ll know good old Njangu’s out there playing games, including the ’Raum. I’ve
got
to take a one-way, chicken-shit point of view, sir. It’s my ass you’re talking about dumping in there. Let’s say that I’ve had some experience in things going wrong, and if they can go wrong, they will. And I’ll be the dead meat.”

“ ’Kay,” Hedley said. “Drop the idea. We’ll find some other way to get Jaansma into contact with II Section. But we’d like you to help us plan whatever we’re going to do, since you know him better than anybody else.”

“Not a chance,” Njangu said. “I’m the one that’s going in. But we’re going to do it my way or no way.”

• • •

Njangu stamped back into the barracks with a black look on his face, and obvious rage in his heart.

“What’s the matter?” Kipchak asked.

“Dirty sons of bitches,” Njangu snapped. “They won’t get off this shit about Garvin being a traitor, and maybe I know something and maybe this and maybe that.”

“Hey, Njangu,” Gerd said. “They don’t know any better.”

“No,” Yoshitaro said. “No, they don’t. Tell you what they’ll do … they’ll put Garvin’s face on a poster, and some Planetary oinker’ll gun him down, and then they’ll find out different and all it’ll be is ‘oh, so sorry, we made a little mistake.’ Which won’t do the late Garvin Jaansma a goddamned bit of all right. Idiots practicing to be morons, every goddamned one of them.”

“Maybe it’d do some good if I talked to Hedley,” Penwith said. “I spent time with Garvin myself.”

“You can try. But I’m through talking to butthooks with their fingers in their ears.”

“You better get some sleep and stop raving,” Kipchak said mildly. “They’ve got you on guard, third watch, tonight.”

“It never frigging rains but it pours, doesn’t it? All right. Lemme start spit-shining on the off chance I make supernumerary,” Njangu growled. “I
really
didn’t need this shit.”

• • •

Very quietly, PlanGov announced normal traffic to and from the far-distant island/city of Kerrier and three other islands had been interrupted because of “civic unrest,” to be resumed as soon as possible.

• • •

Caud
Williams had ordered Garvin Jaansma and Njangu Yoshitaro to keep a low profile. Probably no order has ever been so lavishly disobeyed: First Garvin deserted, then Njangu Yoshitaro, at least in the eyes of the Force, vastly outdid him. According to the charge sheet, Striker Yoshitaro, when detailed to guard duty, was observed to be loudly and obnoxiously drunk when his watch was called. The commander of the guard attempted to quiet him, and he knocked him unconscious, broke the
Tweg
of the guard’s left arm when he tried to quiet him, drew a pistol on other members of his guard, and told them to get inside the guardhouse or die, then locked them all in cells and hurled the key into the bay.

He proceeded to the Camp Mahan main commissary, which was just closing, broke in the back door, terrorized several civilian clerks at gunpoint, and stole the evening’s receipts. Yoshitaro ran out the front entrance of the commissary, shot out the overhead lights, commandeered a passing Military Police patrol lifter, struck one of the policemen when he attempted to reason with the berserk striker, and stole the lifter. Civilian authorities were not able to respond in time, and the Military Police lifter was abandoned outside one of the gates into the Eckmuhl.

Njangu Yoshitaro and Garvin Jaansma were placed on the Planetary Police’s Most Wanted list, and orders were given to the police and army that both were considered armed and extraordinarily dangerous, and authorization was given to shoot on sight, without warning.

• • •

“This,” Garvin explained, “is Jo Poynton. She’s the equivalent of the head of II Section for The Movement. She gave me a chance when I first decided to join the ’Raum.” He sounded impressed, and Njangu looked respectful.

“You others can leave,” Poynton said, and Njangu’s guards vanished. She took a pistol from her desk, and laid it in front of her. “You two are interesting,” she said. “Your deeds make you sound like terrible desperadoes.”

Njangu shrugged. “People got in my way.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Although I’ll admit it’s very hard for me to believe the Force would allow anyone to create as much chaos as you did to create the rationale for a false deserter. And we do appreciate the contribution to The Movement’s treasury. It came to a bit over ninety-seven thousand credits, for your information.”

Njangu smiled wryly.

“Since you arrived in the Eckmuhl four days ago,” Poynton went on, “I did some thorough checking within The Movement about you. You already know, Jaansma, how careful we are in documenting all members of the Force, requiring all brothers and sisters to report on any contact with soldiers, but perhaps that’s new to you, Yoshitaro.”

Njangu tried to ignore the constriction in his throat, remembering his “contact” with the woman named Limnea.

“The first appearance you, Yoshitaro, have in our records is when you, without any rationale, chose to help a ’Raum boy who was being bullied by some drunks. Why?”

“I’d had a bad day, and needed to relieve my tension.”

Poynton blinked. “That’s an unusual answer. At any rate, because of this uncommon event, I had you and your group followed. You, Yoshitaro, managed to elude my not-inexperienced operative. I then decided to have you, Jaansma, picked up for interrogation later that night. I sent two men after you, both skilled warriors, and one you crippled, the other was a long time recuperating and still can’t be considered fully capable of combat.”

“I’m sorry,” Garvin said, trying to sound ashamed. “I thought they were trying to rob me.”

“Then,” Poynton went on, “first one, then the other of you desert, and make your way to the Eckmuhl and want to join The Movement. Don’t either of you find those events a bit suspicious?”

“Maybe,” Njangu said. “But I think life’s a bit suspicious.”

Surprisingly, a smile came, and Poynton’s compressed lips were attractive for an instant. “I discussed my problem with the one who now leads The Movement’s Planning Group, and what should be done. On one hand, I don’t want to lose the potential of your valuable services. You’ve already given us excellent information on your unit’s codes and procedures, although the Force has already changed its signal operating procedure, so what you told us is important less in practice than in theory. Both of you will be very useful in the days to come, both training new fighters and as warriors yourself, so the first option that was suggested I found unpleasant.”

“I assume,” Njangu said, “your leader suggested shooting us.”

“Correct.”

“That
does
seem a little wasteful,” Garvin said.

Again Poynton smiled. “Sometimes I forget how grim we’ve all gotten,” she said. “I hope both of you can keep your humor alive.”

“Easy, as long as
we’re
alive,” Njangu said.

“Which brings me to the second option,” Poynton said. “Both of you are aware of the Rentiers’ own terrorists, the ones they call beards?”

Both men nodded.

“We have excellent intelligence that they are not only funded by the Rentiers and other medievalists, but that most of their operatives, at least the most effective murderers, were recruited from the ranks of the Force. Some of us think they are actually still members of the Strike Force, operating under deep cover so they can butcher with a free hand. What’s your opinion?”