The Last Legionary Quartet

by Douglas Hill

  They were all dressed like the rifleman on Banthei, in long belted tunics of bright green, high-collared and reaching nearly to their boot tops. Four of the men also wore bulky protective helmets – and those four seemed to be of the same race. They were all unnaturally tall and thin, with a greyish cast to their skin. Their features were clustered together in the middle of their faces – small puffy mouths, narrow eyes, noses not much more than slits in the grey flesh.

  Keill smiled grimly to himself. He had seen a face like that before.

  But his outward expression did not change, nor did he move. The four men were carrying energy rifles of very advanced design, aimed unwaveringly at Keill.

  The fifth man wore a similar green tunic, but without the helmet, and with an energy handgun strapped at his waist. He was of a different race, closer to the human norm – about Keill's height, though even leaner, with grey hair clipped short and wide-set eyes that seemed to glow with a light of their own.

  The eyes of a fanatic, Keill thought – or a madman.

  And it was the fifth man who broke the silence, his cold voice coming to Keill through the air-vents in the now transparent wall.

  'The first thing you must understand, Randor.' he said, 'is that you are entirely helpless. I am required to keep you alive, but my orders say nothing about you being intact, or uninjured.'

  Keill digested the information silently. That was final confirmation that the gunman on Banthei had not been shooting to kill. It was even very likely that the man who had fired that gun into the arena was now standing before him.

  'You have already discovered the properties of your cage,' the other man was saying. 'The planet Golvic is renowned for its imaginative genius in technology. I strongly doubt if you could ever find a way through these walls. Should you do so, however, these men will be waiting.' One narrow hand gestured to the four riflemen. 'They are all excellent shots.'

  He paused, as if expecting a reply. But Keill waited, silent and watchful. The man's eyes flared brighter for an instant, and his lipless mouth twisted in what might have been a smile.

  'I am Festinn,' the man said. 'You may freely ask me questions – I wish you to have no doubts or illusions about your position.'

  'Is that,' Keill said with studied insolence, 'the standard uniform of the Deathwing these days?'

  Again the twisted grin. 'It is the uniform of the militia on Golvic. Some of the Deathwing—' he made Keill a mocking little bow—'wear it out of courtesy while we are there. As we soon will be, all of us.'

  'Where I'll no doubt meet some old friends,' Keill said sardonically.

  Festinn laughed, an ugly sound. 'You will find many surprises awaiting you, Randor. And you will have plenty of time to savour them.' The light in his eyes blazed up again. 'Because you will never leave Golvic alive.'

  ---

  The planet Golvic,Glr informed Keill, has come up on the viewscreens. I will be in a landing orbit shortly.

  'Maybe you should stay out there,' Keill replied. He did not doubt that Golvic, like most worlds, would have orbital detectors scanning the planet's territorial space.

  What use am I going to be to you,Glr asked, sitting in deep space?

  'More use than if the Golvicians spot you and blast you out of the sky,'Keill said.

  Perhaps. But you are certainly not going to free yourself without my aid.

  Keill smiled. Glr seldom missed a chance to inform him how much he needed her. 'I'm not sure I want to make a break yet. I may be able to learn more as a prisoner than as a fugitive.'

  What more is there to learn, other than the Deathwing plans to kill you?Glr said chidingly. Keill had told her, as soon as she had emerged from Overlight, about his encounter with Festinn.

  'Not yet,'Keill reassured her. 'They'll have other ideas for me, first. It'll be interesting to find out what they are.'

  Interesting?Glr's repetition of the word came as close as possible to a telepathic snort. Then while you sit there being interested, I shall land on Golvic.

  According to the ship's detectors, she informed him, much of the land surface of Golvic was bleak, rolling desert. She intended to come down at high speed, and seek a suitable hiding place among the dunes, where the ship should be able to escape discovery.

  Once I have landed,she went on, I will wait for night and make my way to wherever you are.

  Even if the ship is spotted, the Golvicians will not be looking up in the air for its occupant.

  'I suppose that's true,'Keill said reluctantly. 'And I may well need some of your valuable aid.'

  Without any doubt,Glr said triumphantly, and withdrew her mind.

  Keill lay back on the narrow bed, smiling. Let's hope that nothing too exciting happens before she gets here, he thought idly.

  He passed the time that followed with more of the muscle-tuning exercises, alternating with periods of deep relaxation when he sought to tune his mind as fully as his body. Hours later he was still calm, relaxed and alert when he felt the heavy vibration of the ship's descent-to a planet's surface. And soon after the landing was completed, the wall of his cage shifted again into full transparency.

  Outside, as before, Festinn stood with his four riflemen. Keill began to rise from the bunk.

  'There is no need to disturb yourself.' Festinn grinned mockingly. 'A transport is waiting that will take your entire cage. You will remain within it until we reach Golv City, the capital of this world. Also, my men and I will be watching you. I expect the journey to be without incident.'

  ---

  In a short while, Keill was sitting quietly in his cage within the broad interior of a heavy transport flyer, sweeping across the strange landscape of Golvic. Festinn had not been exaggerating, Keill realised, about the level of Golvician technology. There was the cage itself, with the unique material of its walls which also contained the polarising effect that allowed transparency. There was the silent, invisible tractor beam that had efficiently plucked the cage out of the spaceship and loaded it on the flyer. And there was the appearance of the planet itself.

  As far as Keill could tell from glimpses through the transport's forward windows – for Festinn had left the cage wall transparent, to keep a watch on Keill – the capital, Golv City, must have contained most of the population of the planet. The city seemed to stretch to the far horizon – a gigantic, sprawling monster of a metropolis. The buildings were widely spaced at the fringes, especially near the spaceport, but they soon grew more dense, so that kilometre upon kilometre of Golvician architecture stretched below the flyer.

  The transport moved unhurriedly, a robot mechanism apparently guided by an invisible power beam. And the air was thronged with other traffic, flyers of every shape and size, weaving intricate patterns among the upper levels of the taller buildings. Below, a minimal amount of ground traffic moved in similarly controlled lines.

  Golvicians seem to like their roadways straight, Keill mused. And their buildings, mostly made from what looked like a metallic stone, were as orderly and disciplined. Their heights and breadths varied extensively, with vast skyscraping towers especially prominent, but always the edges were tidy, the corners square, the surfaces smooth and nearly featureless. After a while, the eye might cry out for a curve, a roundness, or any pleasing effect within the vast regimented march of architecture – made even less appealing by the chill, wintry grey of the Golvician climate.

  Keill was still studying the cityscape, interested in what it revealed of the technological Golvician mind, when Glr spoke to him.

  The ship is safely down, and I have found a place to wait until nightfall. Where are they taking you?

  'I'm not sure'Keill told her, briefly describing what had been happening.

  Wherever you are, I will find you.Glr's voice grew serious. Do nothing rash until I come.

  Right now, Keill thought sourly to himself, looking at the walls of his cage, I can't think of anything to do at all.

  ---

  The sky was beginning to darken
with approaching dusk by the time the transport swept in to land, on a broad plasticrete apron in front of an enormous building that dominated the far side of Golv City. It was many levels high but even more immense in breadth, sprouting many extensions, wings, annexes, and other additions that were all as bleakly tidy and uniform as the central structure.

  Festinn stood up as the flyer came to rest. 'This can be called the nerve centre of Golvic.' He grinned as if at some private joke. 'Some day soon, it may serve as the centre of the entire galaxy. You will find it... interesting.'

  Keill looked at him expressionlessly, but his mind was racing. What did that mean? Was this building Deathwing headquarters? Or could it be a command centre of... even greater importance?

  But there was no time to consider the mystery, for Festinn and his four men were approaching the cage, and one of the Golvicians was carrying an oddly shaped object.

  As Keill rose to his feet, Festinn's hand seemed only to twitch, and the energy pistol appeared in it.

  'Stay as you are,' he snapped.

  Keill relaxed, impressed in spite of himself at the other man's dangerous speed.

  'This man.' Festinn continued, indicating the soldier with the odd object, 'will enter the cage. You can of course overpower him, but it will serve no purpose. You will still be in the cage, and the man is expendable.'

  The Golvician, unaffected by this cold statement, marched towards the cage's door. It slid aside to admit him, then slid back as tightly sealed as before.

  'The object he is carrying,' Festinn said, 'is a body-shackle of Golvician design. It carries its own power source – and it is designed to tighten its clasp, if you struggle against it. Should you try to break free, Randor, at the very least it will crush your ribs. It might even kill you.'

  Keill remained silent, but smiled within himself. The unbreakable skeleton given him by the Overseers was going to prove its value yet again.

  The Golvician did his job indifferently and efficiently. The body-shackle, made from some heavy but flexible metal, fitted like a strait-jacket around Keill's upper body, clamping his arms tightly to his sides. And when the Golvician brought the two edges of its front opening together, they seemed to flow into one another, sealing the body-shackle almost seamlessly.

  'You see what care we take with you, Randor.' Festinn said mockingly. 'The Deathwing knows that you can be dangerous. And remember that I have seen you in action, on Banthei.' His eyes glowed hotly. 'Though you might not have succeeded so well, had I been in the arena with you.'

  Keill gazed coldly at him. 'Perhaps not – if you'd got me in a body-shackle first.'

  The mad eyes blazed. 'I am the Deathwing second in command, and its premier executioner! I need no advantage...' Festinn broke off, calming himself with an effort. 'But you seek to anger me, hoping that you will gain an advantage. You will not.'

  He turned to the stolid Golvician soldiers.

  'Bring him. And keep your guns on him at all times.'

  ---

  They marched into the mighty building, the soldiers fanning out behind Keill, Festinn leading the way. As they entered, Keill tested the shackle gently, with an imperceptible outward push of his arms. At once he felt its response as it tightened around him. He relaxed the pressure, and turned his attention to his surroundings.

  Within the building, they passed through a vast, high-ceilinged entrance hall, thronged with people who halted and stared as Festinn and the riflemen conducted Keill towards a broad moving ramp that led up from the entrance hall to the higher levels.

  Keill noted every detail – the many doors leading from the entrance hall, the positions of militiamen who seemed to be on guard duty, the hectic activity of the place. He glanced with interest at the Golvician civilians, tall and spindly like the rest of their race, garbed in long, flowing robes.

  Many of them, he saw, wore thin, colourless cords around their heads – possibly a badge of rank.

  Then they were on the moving ramp, ascending without haste. On a higher level they entered a corridor where the floor itself was a moving walkway. At its end stood a pair of impressive doors that led into a broad, equally impressive room.

  Keill had been in such a room before. Its walls were lined with complex banks of communicators, data storage consoles, and other high-technology equipment. And the central area was dominated by a huge, heavy table, its surface covered with vid-screens, more computer equipment, sheaves of thin plastic printouts, all the detritus of an operational command centre.

  But Keill had spared all that the briefest of glances. His attention had been fixed on the person who had been seated at the table, and who had loomed hugely to his feet as Keill and his guards entered.

  A giant figure who seemed to have been shaped almost entirely of golden metal, like a perfect sculpture of the human form carved by some forgotten master.

  But, in ugly contrast to the superb metal body, the golden giant had a face of flesh – the grey, puffy, small-featured face of a Golvician. It was made even uglier by the livid scar that puckered the grey flesh at the junction of the face and its golden metal hood.

  Festinn's cold voice held a note of savage enjoyment. 'You have met the lord Altern before, Randor, have you not?'

  Though Keill had half-expected this encounter, he felt a chill along his spine as the golden giant's small eyes fixed on him with a gaze of pure hatred.

  Altern. Leader of the Deathwing. The One.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  For a prolonged moment, Keill and The One stood in silence, their gazes locked. Keill was remembering how he had last seen his enemy – when he had discovered that The One's golden body was not permanently united with his flesh, as a cyborg's body would be. It was an exo-skeleton, a covering of high-technology armour linked by servo-mechanisms to The One's real body. On their previous encounter Keill had wrecked the metal body, and had seen The One as he truly was.

  Whatever mutating effect the planet Golvic had had on its human population – and Keill had no doubt that it was one of the Altered Worlds – it had wreaked terrible havoc on the being who was The One. His face and head were normal, for a Golvician, but his true body was horribly misshapen, tiny and twisted, with spindly withered arms and useless legs that were little more than tentacles. Without the golden armour he was nearly helpless, barely able to wriggle along the ground.

  Now he had been supplied, by Golvician technology, with a new metal body. Once again he was a golden giant, as fearsome as before, and perhaps for Keill even more dangerous.

  The One broke the silence, still without taking his hate-filled gaze from Keill.

  'Festinn, you have done exceedingly well.' The voice was hollow and flat, lacking all life and resonance, as Keill remembered it. 'You shall be rewarded.'

  'My thanks, lord.' Festinn's cold tones were tinged with respect.

  'But I am preoccupied with many matters,' The One went on, 'and have no time for Randor now.

  Take him to the guardroom, until I summon you.'

  'As you wish, lord.'

  The One resumed his seat at the table, still with his eyes fixed on Keill.

  'You are a fool, legionary,' the hollow voice said. 'You have been fortunate in the past, and have cost me many good men. But you have been opposing something of whose power you have not the'

  slightest conception. And your time of good fortune is at an end.'

  Keill remained silent, and his gaze remained steady – but he smiled slightly, derisively.

  The One's puffy lips tightened, and one golden hand unconsciously reached up to touch the scar at the edge of his face. The small eyes shifted towards Festinn.

  'Take him away,' The One ordered. 'And, Festinn – watch him!'

  ---

  The guardroom lay deep in the bowels of one of the building's distant wings. Again Keill moved under the guns of the Golvician escort, with Festinn preceding, through a series of broad corridors. The passageways were as straight as the roads of Golv City, and their floors were
all moving walkways as before, divided in two, to carry people in opposite directions.

  Keill stood impassively throughout their progress, but his mind was busily memorising their route through the labyrinth of the vast structure, noticing that the corridors were almost deserted as they moved farther from the great hall.

  And his body was occupied too – exerting unseen pressure against the body-shackle. By the time they had reached the guardroom, the shackle was painfully tight.

  The room was bare, windowless and bleak, but it did not seem to have the special features of the cage on the spaceship. As if to underline its lower level of security, Festinn ordered Keill to stretch out on the floor, and positioned the guards within the room, spread out against the walls several paces from Keill, their rifles ready.

  Then Festinn left the room, with a final reminder to-the guards of the need for total watchfulness.

  Keill was glad to see him go, knowing how much more dangerous he was than any Golvician soldier. No one became the Deathwing's principal assassin, he knew, without prodigious skills – and an equal capacity for evil.

  Ignoring the silent guards, Keill turned his attention back to the body-shackle.

  By then the shackle felt like an oversized vice, cramping and squeezing his flesh painfully. But Keill blocked the pain from his mind, and continued to exert pressure. The process was so gradual that the watchful guards could have seen no movement. Yet steadily, the shackle's painful grip was tightening.

  I'll put you into overdrive, Keill told it grimly, and see which of us breaks down first.

  Time drifted past. All of Keill's steely concentration was turned inwards, to control his movements, to resist the increasing pain of the shackle's constriction. Within a short while he could feel a patch of heat against his upper back, and guessed with satisfaction that the shackle's inner power source was heating up with the strain. Soon it grew red-hot, adding that pain to the growing torment of the constriction.

  But it was only his flesh that was being hurt. His bones, he knew, could withstand more force than the shackle could exert. He continued his outward push, as imperceptibly as before. And the shackle continued to compress him more and more tightly.