The Last Legion: Book One of the Last Legion Series (4 page)

Heads were vigorously shaken.

The lookout got to her knees, coughed, and threw up. She staggered toward a toilet. The man Garvin had hit lay motionless.

“You kill him?” Petr asked, not sounding worried.

“No,” Jaansma said. “He’ll wake up in an hour, and be sick like she is, but nothing lasting.”

“Good. We don’t need any courts-martial,” Petr said. “Now, isn’t it bedtime for you folks?”

The players hurried out.

Petr pulled the dealer to his feet. “You go on sick call, and swear you slipped and fell against a hatch dog. Got it? Anything different, and there’ll be two witnesses who’ll call you liar when we get to D-Cumbre.

“And then you’d better grow eyes in the back of your head, which I understand makes a feller nervous after a while.”

“Nothin’ happened,” the dealer babbled. “It’s like you said. I swear, I swear.”

“Good. Here. Take this towel and go find a medic.”

“Not quite yet,” Garvin said. “For there’s still a lesson to be learned before we offer our final benedictions.” He spoke in measured, liturgical tones. “My man here has not yet learned how we discovered his villainy, and perhaps he could benefit from that information.”

“Don’t tell the bastard,” Kipchak said. “Then he’ll do better next time, and rook another set of fools.”

“Not to worry,” Jaansma said lightly. “For knaves such as he, there’s never a lesson to be learned until the final one.

“I first noted this man because of the sound. Sound, you say, looking puzzled. Yes, sound,” he went on pedantically, “for when a man is dealing seconds, that is dealing the second card instead of the top card of the deck, there’s a certain sinful sibilance to be sensed.” He picked up the scattered cards, reassembled them.

“Listen, and you, too, shall be enlightened. Note how I hold this deck of cards, and observe well, as I hold this top card in place with the thumb of my left hand, and flick out the second card with my index finger and thumb of my right, there’s a certain noise to be apprehended. Yes?

“Now, my second clue was that obnoxious silver ring the wastrel wears.”

He grabbed the dealer’s left hand, and pulled the ring from his finger.

“Notice, it doesn’t even fit properly, which would suggest he acquired it from some equally devious sort before we lifted. I noted he was not only turning it about his finger, but incessantly polishing it. So when he held the deck in his right hand, waving it about, like so, he could push out the top card a bit, see by its reflection if it was of interest, and then retain it by dealing seconds until he wished to possess it.

“The lookout was in on the graft certainly, and the mark I dropped might’ve been. Or maybe not,” Jaansma said indifferently.

“Maybe we ought to break this guy’s thumbs,” Njangu said.

“We
could
do that,” Jaansma said, and the dealer moaned again. “He’s truly a malicious miscreant motivated into mopery by moroseness. But it might be as devastating for me to show him something.

“Look, you. You think you’re a shark, eh? Or some other equally predatory creature. But you should learn there are always bigger sharks in any ocean.

“Observe. I take the deck, and shuffle it once. You saw, heard, nothing untoward?

“But watch. I will deal the top five cards.”

Each card snapped as it came off the deck.

“Protector … Protector … Protector … Protector … kicker. Not at all a bad hand. But I shuffle it once more. Now the top five cards are Companion … Companion … Companion … Companion and a ten. A better hand. You would be inclined to bet such a hand like that hard, wouldn’t you?

“You don’t have to answer. But here is the hand I happen to draw.” Five more cards snapped off the deck. “Nova … Nova … Nova … Nova … and how did that Alien show up once again? I thought it was in the last hand.

“You see? But of course you don’t.” Jaansma’s tone went back to normal. “He’s yours, Kipchak.”

“Go on, get!” Petr snapped, and the dealer half ran out of the compartment, clutching the blood-soaked towel.

“Gamblin’ll be the death of me,” Kipchak said. “Thanks. I owe you.”

“No problem,” Jaansma said.

“Why’d you get involved?”

“Because,” Garvin said, “of my deep abiding love for Truth, Justice, and the Confederation Way.”

Njangu snorted.

“All right,” Kipchak said. “Another question. There was a little blood got spilled tonight. Neither one of you seemed real bothered by it. That ain’t like most ‘cruits I’ve met.”

Both young men looked at Kipchak, and their expressions wore the same amount of utter innocence.

“Mary on a pong-stick,” Kipchak swore. “You two could be brothers.”

• • •

“My turn,” Yoshitaro said. “Where’d you learn to spot somebody cheating like that?”

“I read about it in a book somewhere.”

“The same place you learned to deal like you did?”

“That’s right.”

“What about the fancy talking? You sound like a god-shouter, or some kind of circus hustler.”

“That’s what I am,” Garvin said. “I’ve secretly enlisted in the Confederation to bring sinners into the welcoming hand of the Lord Pigsny.”

“Never heard of him.”

“That’s why I became a missionary. Our sect isn’t doing very well.”

“Do you ever give a straight answer to anything?” Yoshitaro asked in disgust. “Like who was this Rube you were shouting to when the fighting started?”

After a moment, a low, sincere snore answered him.

• • •

Petr stopped them the next “morning.”

“Wanted to thank you two clowns,” he said. “I would’ve chased every last credit down that rathole if you hadn’t gotten interested.”

“Forget about it,” Jaansma said. “I was having trouble sleeping.”

“Yeh,” Kipchak said. “Anyway, I owe you.”

He didn’t wait for a response, but pushed away through the crowd.

“So now we’ve got a debt of honor with Scarf ace,” Garvin said. “Whoopie.”

“Don’t slam it,” Njangu said. “We might need a throat slit someday.”

• • •

The
Malvern
came out of N-space, and its nav-computer checked its position. It was on course.

A few minutes later, it shimmered and vanished on its next-to-last jump before the Cumbre system.

• • •

“ ’Kay,” Petr said. “Our destination’s D-Cumbre. It’s a Confederation World, has a Planetary Government — a governor general plus some kind of council to advise him. Probably all the crooks with old money.”

“What’s our unit?”

“It’s supposed to be about ten thousand men. Called Strike Force Swift Lance.” Petr shrugged. “Officers like flash names.

“Our
caud
’s somebody named Williams. Couldn’t find anything out about him.

“The unit’s assigned mission is keeping the peace.”

“Against who?” Njangu asked.

“It seems to be a little complicated,” Kipchak said. “D-Cumbre’s geetus is in mining another world. C-Cumbre, as I recall. The pick-swingers mostly come from a whole group of immigrants called ’Raum.” He gargled the initial consonant. “Spelled with a single mark in front, so you can tell it ain’t pronounced like real people talk.

“The ’Raum came to C-Cumbre a few hundred years ago, my man told me. Believed they oughta own the universe. Instead, they’re doon th’ mine, like they say, which is where most fanatics belong, working for the smarter crooks who got there first.

“Guess some of ‘em don’t like the swing of things, so they’re running up and down in the hills playing bandit and snipin’ anybody who doesn’t agree with ‘em.

“That’ll be one of our targets, I s’pose.”

“How do we tell them apart from the people we’re defending?” Garvin asked.

“Hopefully because they’re shooting at our young asses,” Kipchak answered. “But they’re supposed to be shorter, stockier, darker and, according to those who call themselves their betters, with all the bad habits anybody who’s unlucky enough to be dealt the bottom card has.

“Anyway, the big squeaker is the mines are worked both by men and by Musth.”

“What’re they?” Njangu asked. “I never paid much attention to aliens. Never saw one to steal something from, I guess.”

“Big tall creatures,” Garvin said. “I saw a holo on them. They look like big, skinny cats walking on two legs. Got a long neck, as I recall, and moved real fast. They looked like they could be bad news in a fight.”

“That’s them,” Petr agreed. “They’re supposed to be as touchy as a whore the night before the troops get paid. I’ve never been around ‘em, but a mate of mine has, and he said they’re real quick to get nasty.

“Anyway, that’s about all I know.”

“Can I ask you something?” Njangu said.

“I said I owe you.”

“You’ve been in the service before?”

“Yeh. I join up, get pissed off, get out, can’t stand the way civilians piddle around, join up again … guess I oughta go one or the other,” Kipchak sighed. “Tried settlin’ down once or twice, but it didn’t stick.

“Maybe this time I’ll just stay in.”

“What … I don’t know what to call it exactly, what branch do you generally serve with?” Yoshitaro asked.

“There’s only one to think about, far as I’m concerned. Intelligence an’ Recon. Snoopin’ and poopin', we call it. Prob’ly be some of my mates from other times there. I&R’s a small world, because most soldiers think we’re brain-dead and suicidal.

“You operate by yourself or with a small team, so any ambush you end up in’s your own fault, instead of stumbling along with a turd of hurtles like a common footso’jer does, or zooming into a hot landing zone with every other squid in a Strike Force.

“Still not a bad way to get killed, though. If I had a brain, I’d prob’ly go for Supply or Cooking.

“Appears Ma Kipchak raised herself a rock-solid fool.”

• • •

“Say, Njangu?”

Yoshitaro looked up from the disk he was reading. It was Maev.

“Ye-up?”

“I’ve got a problem with my bunk chain,” she said. “Damned thing’s got a kink, and I keep hitting it with my head. Could you see if you could yank it out or something?”

“Sure.” Njangu slid out of his bunk and followed the small redhead.

Petr and Garvin sat cross-legged on Kipchak’s bunk, a small magnetic chessboard between them. Njangu grinned as he went by.

“Hmm,” Garvin said. “White Queen takes Black Rook, I suspect.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Kipchak demanded. “Your queen’s not even close to my castle.”

“Never mind, never mind.”

• • •

Something woke Njangu. It took a minute for him to realize where he was. Maev was lying on the inside of the bunk, half-smiling in her dream. Her hand was between Yoshitaro’s thighs. Her hair was very dark in the ready lights.

Neither of them had bothered with the third-meal, and had eventually fallen asleep from pure exhaustion.

Njangu felt himself stir, ran a finger down her sleek side, and caressed her thighs. Without waking, she lifted her leg, half rolled onto her back.

The loudspeaker blared: “
All hands
…
all hands
…
report to your Emergency Positions.
”

Njangu was out of the bunk, grabbing for his clothes.

Maev blinked sleepily. “What’s going on?”

“Hell if I know. But we better get back with the others.”

She dressed hastily.

• • •

“All hands … all hands. Stand by to be boarded. Warning. Do not make any attempt to resist. I say again, do not make any attempt to resist.”

“You got any idea what’s going on?” Yoshitaro asked.

Garvin shook his head.

“We’re still in stardrive, aren’t we?”

“Yeh.”

“How could anybody … another ship … get this close to us?” Yoshitaro wondered. Jaansma shook his head again.

“They could if they had a tracker waiting for us in N-space,” Kipchak said grimly. “Or if they had our plot.”

“What does that mean?” Njangu asked.

“It means it ain’t gonna be good,” Kipchak said. “Especially with that bit about not resisting.”

The
Malvern
shuddered. “Somebody comin’ alongside,” Kipchak said. “Not a bad trick in N-space. Damned near impossible unless you’ve got somebody on the bridge cooperating.”

“What’s this about no resistance?” Jaansma said. “Pirates?”

“Shee-yit,” Petr said. “There ain’t no such thing as pirates.”

“Then why’d they tell us not to resist? We … the Confederation isn’t at war with anybody, is it?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Then what — ”

“Shut up. If I knew something, I’d tell you.” Kipchak snapped.

They waited for almost an hour. Normal lighting came on, and the ready lights dimmed.

“All military trainees,
” the speaker said.
“Stand by for assembly. Secure all possessions and obey the orders of the men who will enter your compartments. You have nothing to fear if you obey absolutely.

“Any resistance will be met with the most extreme measures.”

The troop bay was loud with questions and no answers.

Sudden silence, as the hatches at the far end of the bay slammed open. Two men entered the compartment. They wore spacesuits with open faceplates and held heavy blasters at port arms. They moved to either side of the door, froze.

A third man entered. He was tall, clean-shaven and white-blond. Like the others, he wore a dark spacesuit with no emblems, and had removed his helmet. There was a blaster holstered at his side.

“All right.” The voice boomed, and Garvin jumped until he realized the man had a portable loudspeaker mounted on his suit. “This ship has been seized by lawful authority. All of you men and women are to consider yourselves prisoners. At the proper time you will be given an opportunity to redeem yourselves.

“Do not make any attempt at resistance, or you will be shot. You will not be harmed if you cooperate, and in fact could be richly rewarded in the future.

“Just remember — do what you’re told, when you’re told to do it, and you’ll be all right.

“Disobey and die. Now, stand by for further instructions.”

The blond disappeared.