Slave of the Legion

by Marshall S. Thomas

  The door slid open. Tara and Gildron stood there. Tara was grinning. She was absolutely lovely, sparkling with life, clad in Legion camfax, long auburn hair swirling around her shoulders. I put down the drink and walked over to the door and embraced her. She laughed with delight, fighting back.

  "Watch out for my ribs, Wester! They've just patched me up!"

  "Sorry!" I pulled away, and looked her over again. Pale brown skin, Assidic eyes, a white flash smile—she was an angel, walking the immortal's road.

  "Nice outfit," Tara said. I was still in the towel.

  "Oh, this old thing. Come on in. Deadman, it's good to see you, Tara! We did it, didn't we? We did it!"

  "We certainly did, Wester. The Legion got its ship. What happens now is not up to us—we've done all we can!"

  "So what's the sit? What have you been up to?" I motioned her into an airchair and settled into another one next to her. Gildron found a chair by the wall and eased his massive body into it. He was silent, looking around the cube.

  "I briefed the Commander personally on our mission," Tara said. "I told him everything—including the attack by the ConFree strike force."

  "Did you tell him what they said about ConFree's wanting the ship for the System?"

  "Word for word. He went pale, Wester. I swear to Deadman."

  "So what happens next?"

  "I sent a flash critic to Starcom Information. I told them we had captured an Omni starship, it is now in orbit around Andrion Two, and ConFree troopers had earlier attempted to seize it from the Legion to turn it over to the System. I requested immediate assistance, and I asked for my own ship back—the Maiden. They flashed back that my text was garbled and asked me to repeat—they couldn't believe it! I flashed back the same damned thing and they acknowledged. I predict it's going to get very busy here in no time at all."

  "Good. That's great! What's happening on the ship now?"

  "The Legion is swarming over it, recording everything. I warned them not to touch anything until the science brains and lab rats get here. They're going crazy!"

  "Oh, that's wonderful. Deadman! I can hardly believe this is working so well."

  "You can stop worrying, Wester. We've done our bit—I'm going to relax now."

  "That'll be the day! Where's the kid?"

  "Willard? He's asleep in my room. He's just like an angel when he's asleep."

  I leaned over close to Tara and whispered in her ear. "Where is it?"

  She pointed to the window. I touched the remote and the plex slid closed and blacked out. The overhead lights came on.

  Tara nodded at Gildron. He opened his mouth and the Star came out, flickering softly, floating up to hover just below the ceiling. I gasped in delight. We had agreed to tell nobody about the Star. We had been worried about ConFree, and we did not want the Star to go on the record.

  Tara wanted to deliver it personally to Starcom, and that sounded just fine to me. She had not even told me how she planned to smuggle it off the ship, and I had not asked. I had to admit it was a pretty good concealment. People tended to avoid Gildron anyway, and looking into his mouth was not high on anyone's list of priorities.

  "It's miraculous, Wester." She whispered right into my ear, her slim arms pulling me closer, a conspiratorial huddle in the faint glow from the Star. "It holds everything—so much knowledge! It's going to kill me, Wester—I know it is! We don't even need the ship if we've got the Star."

  "Why did they give it to us?"

  "They gave it to Gildron. I think it will allow us to leap directly into the future—if we're wise."

  "But we're not wise, are we?"

  "Then it should allow us to destroy ourselves a lot quicker than we normally would. I think it's a double-edged sword, Wester. The O's are probably laughing. The frightening thing is that I think it really is going to be up to us, to wisely harness this knowledge. Because otherwise we all die—it's already happening, Wester. Can't you see it? ConFree against the Legion—lunacy! It could be the beginning of a civil war that will make the Race Wars seem like a playschool spat."

  Her soft lips brushed against my ear and her silken hair flowed past my cheek like an airy waterfall. I was intoxicated by her presence. I turned my face towards her and looked into her eyes and it was Tara again, the girl from the past, blinking hot exotic eyes, parting her lips. I raised my hands to her face and kissed her, losing myself entirely in her. The cube spun around us slowly. She laughed and pulled away.

  "Slow down, trooper! Are you trying to get me hot? Don't forget, I'm a psycher—you know what that means."

  "I'd like to convert you."

  She looked into my eyes, and sighed. "I'd like that too, Wester."

  "So what's stopping you?"

  "It's impossible, Wester." She looked around, distracted. "There's too much I have to do, first. Too much!"

  "I thought you said you were going to relax now. And what about my reward? You promised!" I was shameless.

  In reply she leaned forward and kissed me again. My arms went around her. A hot wet kiss, locked together in strange perfume and dreams of what might have been. My body was reacting to her tantalizing presence. She was so yielding, so vulnerable, I wanted to pick her up and carry her right over to the bed. But I didn't—Gildron was glaring at us. He would have probably ripped my arms right out of their sockets.

  When we came up for air, she was blinking away the tears—I could hardly believe it.

  "I'm sorry, Wester—I'm sorry! I know I promised—and I keep my promises. But not now. The time is not right. I'll never forget you, Wester."

  "Are you leaving me again?"

  "No. I don't know. But I'll say goodbye this time, before I leave."

  "Who could ask for more?" I was rapidly becoming depressed again.

  "You've got things to do as well, don't you, Wester?"

  "Things to do. Yes—that I do."

  "All right. We'll see you a little later. Gildron—" she got up awkwardly, flushed and shaken. Gildron gently plucked the Star out of the air and popped it into his mouth.

  "You'll forgive me if I don't get up," I said. The towel was not going to hide my problem.

  Tara gave me a sad little smile. "I understand," she said. And they left.

  ###

  Moontouch told me later of her dream. She saw me approach from over the mountains, from the north. When she awoke, she called out the clans. I came by aircar through a misty sky over the Mountains of the Exiles, heading south into God's Garden, a fertile plain dotted with ancient flowertrees and laced with silver streams. I was headed for Deadeye. I knew exactly where Deadeye was because the Clouds were Taka auxiliaries, and Deadeye was a tribal leader. I knew Deadeye would be watching over Moontouch. I had made him promise, before I left. We were blood brothers, bound for life.

  "Sure you don't want to tell him you're coming?" the pilot asked me. He looked like a midschooler, young and innocent, smiling cheerily into the morning. Another immortal—I wondered how long he would live, and what horrors he would see.

  "No—it's a surprise. Just follow the c-cell." Deadeye had a comset; all auxiliary comsets had c-cells—just so we didn't lose any. It made our Taka units exceptionally easy to track. Deadeye was right up ahead somewhere.

  God's Garden was just as lovely as the name implied, but you had to know Andrion 2 to appreciate such beauty. Clumps of bizarre white-stalked flowertrees were scattered over rolling red hills, extensive marshes reflected weak sunlight from the lowlands, and ragged flights of air angels drifted listlessly over it all. Hazy blue mountains lined the horizon.

  "Looks like a whole gang of Scalers up ahead," the kid said.

  "Taka," I corrected.

  "Sorry." He actually blushed. 'Scaler' was a derogatory term we had come up with when taking the planet.

  I was surprised to learn it was still in use.

  I could see them on scope—hundreds of Taka, lined up abreast, almost as if for war. I wasn't worried—nobody could be closer to the Taka tha
n I.

  "Sure you want me to put you down there? They don't look too friendly."

  "I'll be all right." I could see them out the plex, a strong force of Taka warriors, Dark Clouds and Red Hands from the Clan of the Sun, stretched across a wide flowery meadow in two ranks. I was completely relaxed but I could feel a little stirring somewhere deep inside me, watching those stone-age soldiers.

  "Well, squawk if you need anything. Hope your friend is there." The aircar banked into a tight turn, losing altitude, whistling over the trees. Light rain peppered the plex.

  "He'll be there." I hadn't told anyone about Moontouch—only Tara knew. And Tara knew everything.

  We settled down in a field of knee-high flowers in a great halo of spray. I jumped out of the aircar.

  "Good luck!" A cheery smile from the kid. I waved, and the aircar shot into the sky and turned back to the north, leaving me alone in my litesuit, comtop secured to my waist. I had an E strapped to my chest, but no plans to use it.

  The Taka approached from across the meadow out of a scraggly tree line in a misty rain. A long line faced me abreast in perfect order. They were walking, carrying little shields of exoseg hide, stabbing spears and tridents. Hundreds of them, dressed in savage finery, painted for war. As they walked, their shields swayed from side to side in perfect rhythm, flashing all together, and then I heard them, chanting to strange gods in unison, the voice of the clans.

  They stopped, as one. An icy crack rippled across the meadow—spears banging against shields, all at once. Again, again, again—crack, crack, crack—and it was like hundreds of E's firing at once.

  A terrifying, banshee howl arose from their ranks—the dogs of war, baying to the Gods of Hell. It put a chill to my spine. They charged forward suddenly and my heart leaped, but they stopped just as suddenly, slamming the spears to the shields—Bang! Bang! Bang! Two parallel ranks of warriors, front and rear. The rear rank broke through the front, howling, chanting, charging at breakneck pace, coming right at me. They, too, stopped suddenly, banging their shields.

  They sang, a stirring savage chant, and I knew it was about brave warriors and lovely virgins and lost loves and vanished empires and doomed causes and soldiers dying young. Then they screamed, enraged, and danced forward, banging their weapons again, a horrific racket. They stopped. Bang! Bang! Bang! Forward, howling their war cries. Another stop. Bang! Bang! Bang! A second song, a rush of sweet melody; it could have been a church choir. It was about a boy, sacrificing himself for his people.

  The rain stopped. A single warrior broke free from the ranks, naked to the waist except for a necklace of exoseg teeth, long tangled dark hair decorated with flowers, a tough black shield of exoseg chitin, a short stabbing spear balanced on his shoulder. He approached, walking directly towards me, confidently, and each time his feet struck the ground his warriors banged their shields. It was Deadeye Flowers, Standfast, Waterwalker, He Who Defies the Gods—my blood brother. And the earth shook as he approached, like a God.

  His warriors howled, shrieking, foaming at the mouth, the ranks wavering, every single soldier eager to break into a wild charge and annihilate the enemy.

  It was so beautiful I could only stand there, enchanted, and I knew I would never forget this moment with my alien brothers on Andrion 2.

  Deadeye stood before me, his boyish face totally serious. He held out his spear for me. I reached out and grasped it, then released my grip. Deadeye had offered me his life and loyalty, and I had accepted. His warriors erupted, a savage cheer. We embraced like brothers.

  "Deadeye!" I said in Taka. "You are a King!"

  "Welcome, Slayer," he responded. "I am only a slave—but I guard a Princess, and a boy who will be King." He grinned, overjoyed to see me. "Your slave Moontouch, my Princess, commands me to bring you to her."

  "How did you know I was coming, Deadeye? How did Moontouch know? I told no one."

  "She speaks with the Gods of the Past, Slayer. She knew you would come today. She knows everything! Her power grows—you are her only weakness. You must be strong, Slayer. Do not let her take your soul!"

  "She already has it, Deadeye. I rent it out weekly, to the highest bidder. She's got it this week."

  "Do not joke about the Gods, Slayer. In the end the Gods will be laughing, and you will be crying."

  "I don't doubt it. Where is Moontouch?"

  ###

  Moontouch ruled from the dead city of Stonehall. It rose on six thickly forested hills in the heart of God's Garden, a short walk from where Deadeye met me with his warriors. It had been Southmark's pride, a great metropolis of wide canals and magnificent stone temples and massive, brutal fortress walls, a hundred generations in the past.

  Now it was rubble. We approached it along a wide, dry gully that had once been a grand canal. It was lined with time-ravaged stone statues, soldiers of the Golden Sword. Battalions of ghost soldiers, still guarding that ghost canal, and every soldier was missing his head. The Horde had been here uncounted ages ago, and brought down Southmark in oceans of blood, and plunged the entire world into savagery, for the rest of time.

  Moontouch inherited it all—an empire of the mind.

  She met us on the crumbling marble steps of a great mountain of stone, covered with mighty trees. She was just as I remembered her, slim and lovely, the Queen of the Dead, long silky black hair and tanned satin skin, dressed in a black robe. Her dark eyes were blazing. She was glowing like a nova, triumphant. And she was holding a child in her arms, a male child, over a year old, a beautiful child with his mother's eyes and nose and mouth, and my fair skin, and fine long light hair that was all mine, and limbs that promised he would be tall and strong. He was surely the most lovely child I had ever seen in my short immortal life, and I knew he would become a prince, and lead his people against their foes, whoever they might be.

  He held his mother tightly, and looked right into my soul. And Moontouch looked somewhere past me, into the sky, imperial and distant. She was flanked by her personal guard, Dark Cloud warriors who had pledged her their lives.

  I hit the release on the autorecovery of my E and held the weapon out with both hands. The spears and tridents snapped back nervously and the slingshots whirled like a swarm of angry bees—one false move and I would perish in a bloody pincushion of spears and a hail of rocks.

  Moontouch reached out one finger, and gently touched the cold black barrel of my E. I went down on one knee. The Taka warriors broke into a fierce chant. I had offered her my life and loyalty, and she had accepted. I was hers—and she was mine.

  "I knew you would come," she said. Only that. I did not answer. I was thanking the Gods. The chances of my ever returning to Andrion 2 had been about a billion to one. But I had done it, myself. Me and the Gods.

  ###

  I knew I would probably have only a few days with her, and with my only son. I treasured every moment—I was sure my orders would come through, all too soon. Orders to take me far, far away, forever and ever.

  We lounged in a great silken tent set up in the ruins of Stonehall, full of incense and perfume. Soft breezes flowed through the tent to soothe our burning flesh. It had been so long since I had seen Moontouch. She had always been my hallucination—a fever dream in a hot night.

  She served me warm goldpetal tea in a tiny cup, and presented me with a magnificent cloak of treesilk that she had knit for me, a little each night, while I was away. She sang sweet sad songs for me about her loneliness, songs she had composed in spidery Taka runes on little rolls of silk, during those long nights I was gone. And after every song she would burn the words in the incense pots, and vow to be sad no more, and the tent would fill with the scent of burning silk, and I would kiss her tender lips and lose myself in her yielding flesh, skin of satin talc, a soft rush of fine hair, and animal eyes burning, sharp white teeth sinking right into my neck. I didn't care about tomorrow—today was quite enough.

  Our son was lovely as a morning star, so beautiful he looked like a little girl, and M
oontouch would not cut his hair. "He is my king," she said, "my little king, and Southmark's future. He is the Golden Sword, returned. He is the sunrise of our race." She had named him Stormdawn, for Taka legend told of a King who would reclaim Southmark's heritage in a battle fought in a storm, at dawn.

  He played with us in that magical tent, and slept with us at night. It was like paradise to me, after Katag and Uldo, after the march and the Mound and the Ship. And it seemed to me that this was what life should be—just to be with those you loved, to have a peaceful life with your family. It was an alien concept. But I knew that billions of people in ConFree, on Legion worlds, lived lives like that, lives free of fear. And I knew it was only because of the Legion that they could. It all came down to justice—our obsession. That's all the Legion was about—simple justice. Justice, and death.

  I would wake in the night in a hot sweat, dreaming of Beta Nine. My message to Beta remained unanswered, and there was no news from Uldo. The galaxy was at war and there would be no announcements about Uldo until the situation was clear. I suppose I was secretly relieved that I did not know the truth. The faces of the dead were etched onto my knuckles, and I did not want to add Priestess to my collection. She stayed with me every moment—a phantom.

  She was my fate, my future, my heart. If she was gone I would die inside and live on, a dead immortal. There were plenty of them, in the Legion—people with miniature faces all over their hands and fingers and the cross of the Legion burnt onto their foreheads. I prayed Priestess was alive—I prayed to Moontouch's strange Gods, and I asked her to pray too, for my lost comrades. We lit incense and candles for prehistoric Gods.

  Gildron joined us, and he brought Willard, and Willard played with Stormdawn in our tent. Deadeye took charge of Gildron, and the Taka swarmed around him—never had they seen such a mighty warrior. They tested him with their best, and he swept them aside like annoying insects, snapping their spears with his bare hands. In no time at all, his fan club was larger than my own.