Slave of the Legion

by Marshall S. Thomas

  "All right, listen up," Snow Leopard said. "This is Cinta—and Gildron. They are to accompany us on the mission. Most of you remember them from Mongera. They're not formally part of the squad, but for all practical purposes they're your squadies. Get to know them. The big guy doesn't talk much. I understand he's got a good heart, but a bad temper—so don't give him any grief, Psycho."

  "Would I do that?"

  "It's your funeral. Thinker, Dragon, Priestess, we've got two new bodies. We didn't know if you'd be returning or not. We're one over strength now you're back. Three over, if we count Cinta and Gildron. Beta Thirteen—Twister, and Beta Fourteen—Speedy, these are our missing squadies, Three, Eight and Nine. You'll learn the warnames soon enough."

  They nodded at us, uneasily. Beta Thirteen, Twister, was a tall, gangling, awkward colt of a girl, with curly dark red hair and a face full of freckles. A schoolgirl, dressed in camfax. Terrific. Beta Fourteen, Speedy, was a pale, intense young trooper with dark hair and watery brown eyes. It was hard, accepting new people into the squad. It meant that the old people were gone, forever—Coolhand and Warhound and Ironman. They were tiny faces on my knuckles, and phantoms in my mind. How could we not resent replacements for our dead?

  "Hi," I said. "Welcome. It's a good squad."

  "You'll like it," Dragon said.

  "It's our home," Priestess added, "and it's good to be back."

  "All right, that's it. Get the car loaded," Snow Leopard said. The squad broke up slowly. Dragon stayed beside me.

  "Another female," he said quietly. "That makes four. Five, if you count Cinta. They may as well call this the mammary squad."

  "Come on, Dragon, you love 'em."

  "Yeah, it's the latest concept—they want us to be able to reproduce ourselves, instead of asking for replacements."

  "You'll get over it."

  "I doubt it. Let's check out these new people. Do you think that girl is brain-damaged?"

  "Merlin—come here," I said.

  "Thinker, what's the sit?" Merlin seemed completely happy. He had made his decision, just as we all had, throwing it all away for the Legion. But Merlin had thrown away a lot more than we had. He might have been a brilliant scientist, but now he was just a hired gun.

  "What's your informed scientific opinion on this new body, the male, Fourteen—what's his name—Speedy?"

  "He seems fairly stable, Thinker. Looks to be a dependable type, from what I've seen so far."

  "How about the girl?"

  "Kind of nervous. Maybe a little shaky. Sort of like I used to be."

  "Used to be?" I laughed. "All right, Merlin, used to be."

  ###

  "Just stay there, I'll be right back." Snow Leopard had to see somebody about our mission. We were at Recon Control, a squadmod just off one of the main corridors of the milbase. It was cool and clean inside. Scores of troopers sat before comscreens whispering into their mikes or silently monitoring the activity. A large wall screen showed the Legion offensive already underway, and it was sparkling with antis and tacstars. Another large screen showed the recon missions, all deep inside Omni-occupied territory.

  "Good duty here," Valkyrie said, "you don't even get your boots dirty."

  "I know this work," Merlin said. "You sip dox and offer advice to people who are dying. It's nice work if you like it." Snow Leopard was talking with an officer at the command desk, determining our fate.

  "Scope out that opmap, guys," I said. "See if you can find Corin." Corin was our jump-off point, a city that had been in the path of the Omni advance. Now it was in the path of the Legion advance, and the future did not look good for that particular city.

  "Look at all those units!" Merlin exclaimed. "Those are regiments of the Twenty-Second—look! The Tenth, the Twelfth, the Sixty-Eighth, the Fifty-First! Deadman!"

  "Corin is over there," Valkyrie pointed. "On the left, by that river." I could see it—our own regiment, the 12th, was closing on it. Antimats winked and faded on the screen.

  "Do you think we'll win?" Valkyrie asked, gazing blankly at the screens.

  "We're ready for them," Merlin said confidently. "I don't see how they can counter the new generation of weapons, weapons designed specifically to kill O's. The O's are very powerful because of their psypower. But they're slow to change. We can counter the psypower now. And look at their tactics—they don't have any! They've never had tactics! It's just individual O's, wandering around killing anything that moves."

  "I've never understood that."

  "Don't feel alone. I tell you, if the O's ever really get organized, we'll be in terminal trouble!"

  "Control, our mission has been compromised!" A voice crackled with static from a nearby console.

  "Red Opal, Control—please provide details." The Mission Coordinator hunched over the d-screen. He looked like a brand new recruit.

  There was silence from the console. The trooper entered some data into the system.

  "We're under attack!" The console crackled again. I could hear the shriek of tacstars in the background.

  "Red Opal, Control. Do you require extraction?" There was no response. Only silence, from Red Opal.

  "Let's go." Snow Leopard had finished his business.

  "Tenners." I wondered about Red Opal, but I knew we'd never learn the ending. We straggled out of the squadmod and into the cold, dark corridor. Our aircar was waiting, assault doors open. The whole squad was there. We climbed in, and I found a seat next to the new girl, Beta Thirteen.

  "Everything tenners?" I asked her.

  "Oh! Um, fine…" she seemed startled by my question. She was blushing, I suddenly realized, and avoiding my eyes. Great, I thought, she can't even talk. Hope she can shoot, at least. The aircar doors slammed shut and we shot forward along the shadowy earthen corridors of Uldo Milbase, emergency lights glaring from the dripping ceilings, our aircar trailing a shock wave of icy, muddy spray. Redhawk hit the sounds and the latest ionic music blasted through the car.

  "You missed those guys, Redhawk!"

  "Look at that! He's giving us the bird!"

  "All right, gang," Snow Leopard said. "We're off to the armor shop, to get Cinta and Gildron fitted for A-suits. We're all going to get our suits checked as well. If anyone has any problems with your armor, this is your last chance before we hit the death zone. Are you listening, Psycho?"

  "Yes sir! That's a tenners!"

  "What did I say?"

  "Last chance for Cinta and the monkey to get their armor fixed!"

  "Somebody tell Psycho," Snow Leopard said wearily.

  "So how did you like Hell?" I asked the new girl.

  "Oh, we didn't go there," she said. "We did the field tests on Veltros."

  "They didn't send you to Hell?" I was astounded. "But they send everyone there!"

  "Not any more," she said. "They said it was too expensive, and out-dated. Primitivist, they said."

  "Primitivist?"

  "It's a new Legion, Sir. And they had to cut down on the training cycle, because of the war."

  "The name's Thinker," I said. "Not 'sir'."

  "Yes sir. Uh…sorry."

  Primitivist! A new Legion! Unbelievable.

  "Well, how were the—ah—field tests?" I asked her.

  "Exhausting, sir. Oh! I'm sorry…Thinker. They walked us almost to death. I'm in good shape, sir. Oh! Sorry."

  "Exhausting, huh?" Exhaustion had been the least of our problems in Hell. Potentially fatal dangers, constant terror, hate and resentment, thirst and hunger had all been a lot higher on the list for us.

  "Priestess, I need some medical help." It was Psycho.

  "What is it, Five?" Priestess responded warily.

  "I get this really painful big bird whenever you get near me. I know you can help me!" Groans of disgust from the rest of the squad.

  "I'm so sick of you, Psycho!" Priestess replied.

  "This is a very real problem, Priestess—I'm not kidding!"

  "Shut your filthy mouth, you worm!" Valkyri
e snapped at him.

  "Why don't you neuter him, Priestess?" Dragon suggested. "You need any help, let me know."

  "You and which army?" Psycho shot back.

  "Shut down, Five!" Snow Leopard ordered.

  "It was a joke, guys!" Psycho objected. "It was a joke! Remember when we used to laugh? Everybody's suddenly so damned sensitive—is this a Legion squad or a garden party? Pardon me for living!"

  "Just shut down, all right?"

  "Aah, what a downer. It was a joke!"

  ###

  "Just relax. It will only take a few marks." Two young A-techs were working the suit robot, a slim young Assidic male and a pale little blonde Outworlder girl. They were fitting Tara for her A-suit, guiding her slender arms into the molds as she stood in the machine. A-suits were individually fitted, but the robot automated the entire process. The techs silently fitted the molds over Tara's arms and legs and adjusted the links.

  "Put your head back a little," the blonde said. "That's it. We're almost done." Tara was encased in a massive metal cocoon. The rest of the squad stood around watching, crowded into the fitting room. It was as silent as a chapel except for a muted hum from the robot. Tara's eyes were almost closed. She was gazing vaguely into space somewhere up near the ceiling, and appeared terribly vulnerable and fragile. Perhaps it was her beauty, that awful unearthly beauty that never seemed quite real. The Assidic and the blonde were both troubled by it, I could sense. And as I watched her there was a pale light, faintly illuminating her face. She was like an angel, a captive angel trapped in some hellish instrument of degradation. I blinked my eyes, and the light was gone. Priestess watched in silent fascination beside me. I grasped her cool hand and her slender fingers locked around mine. I could see only death in our future. I wondered why Tara was with us. She might be a good psycher but from what I knew of the O's, no human could ever come close to grappling with their psypower. Tara should not be here, I thought. She's…different. We have all chosen death, but Tara should not be wasted in our hopeless cause. Holy or unholy, any way you count it, there's no reason to waste her talents here. But here she is, just as much a soldier of the Legion as any of us.

  "That's it! Your A-suit will be ready shortly. Who's next?" The robot hissed and snapped and unlinked itself, and Tara stepped out carefully, shaking her hair loose.

  "What can you do for the big guy?" Snow Leopard asked. Gildron stepped forward at a gesture from Tara. A giant, clad in the Maiden's elektra-violet tunic and an extra-large camfax cloak.

  "This is going to be quite a challenge," the Assidic said, grinning.

  "What do you think?" the little blonde asked. "He's taller than the robot!"

  "No, we can do it," the Assidic responded. "We can raise the maxes. It can be done, I remember. Get me the manual."

  "You're sure he can handle an A-suit?" Snow Leopard asked Tara.

  "No problem," Tara replied. "And he can fire an E or an SG with the best. I taught him myself."

  "He must obey orders," Snow Leopard said quietly. "The first hint of trouble and we leave him behind—remember!"

  "He'll do what you say—I've told him. There'll be no trouble!"

  Gildron got his A-suit. The techs said it was the largest suit on record. Armored and armed, he appeared truly formidable. But I had a bad feeling about the mission. We might have been A&A, but I didn't think it was going to ward off whatever was coming—not for an instant.

  Chapter 3

  Dead Kings

  "Tac mode," Snow Leopard ordered. We made the adjustment. We were all in A-suits, camfax over black armor, glowing red faceplates—an aircar full of dead soldiers, bound for the future. I checked my E—it was perfect. Our suits had all been cleared for action. We hovered in a cloud of dust at an exit port, several other aircars close beside us, the armored doors of the milbase still firmly locked, harsh lights glittering off our plex.

  "Well, this is it, Speedy," Psycho remarked cheerily, "you ready to die?"

  "Is that supposed to be funny?" Speedy replied. "It's not funny." He seemed a little tense. He was getting a first-class introduction to the Legion.

  "No worries, gang," I said quietly. It was something Coolhand would have said—but Coolhand was dead. I guess I thought somebody had to say it.

  "STAND BY FOR EXIT!" the aircar announced. Redhawk held up one hand from the driver's seat. The jets whined to full power, and a dust storm swirled outside.

  "Launch!" The massive cenite doors snapped open and we rocketed into the light, into whatever was to be. We split off from the other aircars immediately, max speed, low altitude. The sky was full of dark roiling clouds and from time to time golden sparklers lit up the morning—deceptors, falling down from orbit, covering the entire line of our attack. The landscape around us was a horror—charcoal skeleton trees, flaming earth, dirty black smoke full of sparks. The aircar's console lit up with data. The car snapped from side to side as we hurtled into the future.

  "This place is never going to catch on as a tourist spot," Dragon remarked.

  "Don't be so gloomy, Dragon," Psycho said. "We're just doing our job. Man's mission is to explore and destroy the galaxy—nuke it all, antimat every single new world until it glows in the dark, until even the bacteria die. You're a student of history, Snow Leopard—isn't that true?"

  "Our mission is to kill O's," Snow Leopard replied coldly, "and if Uldo gets in the way, it's going to perish. You know, you're absolutely right, Five. There's no way the O's are going to inherit this world. It's going to glow in the dark first." Snow Leopard's response was so unexpected it took my breath away. Psycho was a raving lunatic, and Snow Leopard was saying Psycho made perfect sense.

  "You'd be surprised," Merlin said, "how quickly a healthy planet can recover from events such as these." Merlin was an optimist at heart, unacquainted with reality.

  "Doesn't look too healthy to me," Valkyrie commented.

  "How you doing, Twister?" I was worried about the new girl.

  "Alive so far," she replied. Somebody laughed. She was all right, I decided. Not brain-damaged after all.

  Flaming clouds of greasy black smoke flashed past us. We were heading for Corin, where we would link up with the 12th before breaking off for our mission. If the 12th was unsuccessful in its advance, there would be no mission for us.

  ###

  Corin was a great city of rubble, a moonscape of burning buildings, a greasy cloud of black smoke rolling up to a dirty sky. Legion fighters and aircars shot by close overhead and deceptors crackled in the sky and frantic refugees ran like ants through the flaming streets.

  "What a mess!" We were assigned to maintain order at a refugee processing center until word came through on our mission. Thousands of desperate refugees fought their way into the center, a cavernous underground hall that had been a convention center, located under a great building that was now burning like a torch.

  "Women and children to the aircar garage," I repeated for perhaps the hundredth time. "Everyone else to the tables. Back in line, you!" We were still in armor but had our helmets off. It was hot and sweaty in the hall. The refugees punched and clawed at each other for a place in line. Scores of huge airbuses waited in the garage to ship the women and children to the starport and then up to orbit and salvation. There were no questions asked of the women and children—not one. All they had to do was show up. It didn't matter who they were; they didn't even need any ID. The Legion was going to take care of women and children, no matter what. We believed in the future, above all.

  It was not the same for the men.

  The Legion believed everyone was responsible for their actions, and I knew everyone paid for their sins. There is a time in everyone's life, the Legion believed, when you choose where you stand, and it is always a hard choice. But it was a hard life, and we were a hard people. We risked our lives for humanity, routinely. And when we needed some help in return, we were not sympathetic with those people who hesitated, for whatever reason.

  "Where is our wife?
Our children?" A young Outworlder shaking with emotion, at last at the table, faced a Legion trooper who was punching data into a comlink. The trooper was a young Assidic, jet-black hair and fierce slit eyes, clad in armor, his helmet on the floor by his feet.

  "Your ID, please. Quickly."

  "That's our ID. What has it done with our family? Why have we been split up?"

  "Where did you last see your family?" The Assidic touched the ID to the screen.

  "Over there," the man gestured toward the garage. "They went in there!"

  The trooper looked up at him. "They'll be all right. They will be evacuated to a Legion base by airbus, then launched into orbit and out of the system to a holding facility. They are official Legion evacuees. We guarantee their safety."

  "You guarantee their safety!"

  "That's right. Your family is under Legion protection. They're as safe as anyone can be, in a war zone."

  "Safe. Good. Good. Well, how about us? Do we qualify for evacuation?"

  "We need laborers. It may be dangerous, but we need manpower, very badly, right now, for the defense of Uldo. Can you assist us?"

  The young man hesitated briefly, licked his lips, then responded. "Laborers. Yes…yes, sure. We can help it. As long as our wife and children are safe."

  "Good. You qualify for evacuation. But first, you help us. Take this card to that table over there. Next!"

  "We wish to be evacuated." Fat jowls, wild eyes, a face slick with sweat. "We are a journalist. There's nothing more for us here."

  "Your ID please."

  "Do we have time? Is that truly necessary?"

  "Only if you wish to be evacuated."

  "ID. Very well, here's my ID." He handed it to the trooper, who touched it to the d-screen. The screen filled with data.

  "You don't qualify. Next!"

  "Wait! Wait! What does it mean, we don't qualify? We are a respected journalist! If we don't qualify, who does?"

  The young Assidic looked up at him briefly, then took a second look at the screen. "You're in the Black Book, Systie. You don't qualify for evac. Next!"