Curse of the Legion

by Marshall S. Thomas

  "Stronger measures?"

  "We'll drop in the Legion and go after their military and government and religious people. Of course we'll use holo-x exclusively. We'll have zero casualties, and we'll slaughter them—just like they slaughtered our people on Fortuna."

  "So they have to meet our terms. Do you think they will? What are the terms?"

  "I don't really know if they will or not. This is the Blood Empire we're talking about. The U'tal are not really sane. They're religious fanatics, and they worship blood and death. They're cannibals. They eat their enemies, and drink blood from their skulls. They placate their mad god with human sacrifices of babies and virgins. They keep millions of slaves, torture them until they convert to the one true god, and engage in gang rape as punishment for anyone who opposes them. And their pets, those transgen apes—you've seen what they can do." Tara shuddered. I'd never seen her do that before. "Anyway, our terms—we haven't decided yet. There's been a recent development."

  "What's that?" I asked. Priestess and Millie were listening in silence, almost like statues.

  Tara smiled. It was like the smile of a saint. "You know, Wester, I've seen a lot of blood and death, and sometimes—every once in awhile—I wonder if we're doing the right thing. But then something happens that clarifies everything. It's almost as if Deadman lights it all up with his sword, for us all to see, and understand. I can't tell you how proud I am of our soldiers, Wester. All of them. Soldiers of God—that's what they are." For a moment it looked as if she was going to lose control, but then she softened, and gave us a sad little smile.

  "We flooded the planet with eyemotes, Wester, looking for those Fortuna girls who disappeared during the U'tal raid." Six of them, I recalled, missing and presumed kidnapped by the U'tal. "We used tens of thousands of eyemotes," Tara continued. "We just dropped them everywhere. They were all programmed with images of the missing girls, and if even one of them succeeded in locating any one of the targets we'd be happy." Eyemotes were pretty neat, I remembered. We had used them on Dardos. They were the size of a dustmote, undetectable, could operate on their own or under remote control, and could send and receive visual and audio.

  Tara took another sip of dox. She seemed completely content. "One of the eyemotes found one of the girls, in a—well, I guess you could call it a rape house—in an obscure suburb of the capital city. We then flooded the area with more eyemotes, and soon located two more of the missing girls in a temple complex. Both were being prepared for a religious ceremony where they were to be eaten alive by the priests. We dropped in a recon team in a Phantom. There was no time to set up the holo-x, so they went in live." She paused, savoring her dox. "Mmm! This is super."

  "Come on, Tara!" I urged. "What happened?"

  "All three girls rescued, some forty-nine locals killed or wounded, and zero recon casualties."

  "All right!"

  "The Mission Commander led the squad downside. He's one of our best. And you know him well—Dragon, your former Beta Eight."

  "Dragon!" I exclaimed. "All right!" Dragon was certainly one of our best. He was a warrior's warrior.

  "Heroes," she said. "They're all heroes. You should have seen those girls, it was so pitiful. They could hardly believe their nightmare was over. I'm so proud of our troops. That's what we do, Wester. That's what the Legion does."

  "Tenners on that," I said.

  "Of course there are still three girls we haven't located yet. That will be part of our terms—plus the surrender of the entire chain of command responsible for the Fortuna raid. Little things like that. Then we leave the bastards alone again, until their next brainstorm. I wanted to incinerate the planet but the Council thought that was too extreme."

  "Extreme? You? No!"

  "I learned it from you, Wester. The Council still doesn't get it. These Blood Empire U'tal fanatics are subhuman, brainwashed psychotics. They're not much more intelligent than their man-ape hybrid pets. They'll not stop until they're dead. And we're the ones that will have to do the killing. I'm not sure they'll accept our terms."

  "Well, here's hoping you're wrong," I said.

  ###

  The Great Rift was truly spectacular, a giant bleeding gash in the deadlands, dropping off straight down to ochre canyons with wild whitewater rivers cutting through a vast wilderness of magical gorges cut through flat-topped mesas of blue granite. We arrived there just at sunset—Veltros's star was blood red, the Rift was glowing like molten lava, and the Northmark Mountains were a pale purple in the distance. From the Silver Cloud we could see from horizon to horizon, and the Rift didn't end—it could have circled the planet for all we could tell.

  "Nice view?" Tara asked me. We were on Deck 3, out in the open, leaning on the railing along with a crowd of others, bathing in the view and the sunset. Priestess and Millie were all rifted out, taking a break with the kiddies at the wading pool, but I couldn't get enough of the place.

  "It's pretty amazing," I replied. The air was brisk. It was going to be a crisp, clear evening. It didn't rain much in these latitudes.

  "These little breaks are important," Tara said. "They clear the mind. I can tell you we need clear minds, for what we're discussing."

  "And what are you discussing?"

  "The future of ConFree."

  "Is this where the Council makes its decisions? On vacation boondoggles?"

  "Oh no, no decisions—just thoughts, to bring with you for when the decisions are going to be made."

  "I see. What kind of issues are you working on?"

  "There are a lot of issues. A pending war with Asumara, biogen delegates from the Hyades, oppressed Outworlders all over…plenty of individual problems. But we can't approach things piecemeal. We have to change our policies first, we have to change our attitudes, we have to adapt to a changing galaxy. If we're going to survive, and prosper, we have to learn from history. We can't just keep on doing what we've been doing. It may have worked in the past, but that doesn't mean it's going to work in the future."

  I knew Tara pretty well. She was staring off into that lovely view, but I knew she didn't see it. She wasn't talking to me, she was talking to herself—getting her thoughts straight. I knew I wouldn't have to say much—just let her talk.

  "Do you know what happens to empires, Wester?"

  "Growth, universal empire, corruption and decay, collapse. Something like that." Every ConFree school kid knew that. We made damn sure of it.

  "Exactly. Collapse. Empires collapse. It's a universal law of history. Do you think ConFree is an empire?"

  "Well, I've always thought we sure resembled one. I mean, we were grappling with the System, it was a fight to the death, and they were an empire, and we could only defeat them by being bigger and badder than they were. And now they've collapsed. So that leaves us."

  "The Empire of ConFree?"

  "Until we collapse, I suppose."

  "Well I'll tell you a secret, Wester. That's not going to happen on my watch—and ConFree isn't an empire."

  "No?"

  "No. We have no galactic territorial ambitions. As a matter of fact, we are responding to the dissolution of the System by withdrawing back to our own territory—the Outers. We have no permanent interests in the Inners, the Gulf or the Gassies. Our home is the Outvac—the Crista Cluster, Dindabai, Andrion, Veda and other Outers worlds."

  "Withdrawing! That wasn't what we were doing a few years ago. You told me yourself that we were going to land on every System world, and cleanse it of slavery. We were going to fight forever, for as long as it took to drive a cenite stake into the heart of the System, and kill off galactic slavery for all time. I accepted it, but I assumed that our leaders were all insane."

  "That's right, Wester. That was our policy. We were in a fight to the death. But that's over now. We won. Yes, the System's still alive. But they're no longer a threat. They are doomed by the forces of history. Empires collapse. They're collapsing. And we did it."

  "There are still billions of slaves out the
re. What about them?"

  "I'm not God. And neither is ConFree. The Director of ConFree and the ConFree Council are responsible to the people of ConFree—not to anyone else. We don't rule the galaxy, and we don't want to. The Director of ConFree is not the Emperor of the Galaxy. And we've never been on a crusade to end slavery, rid the galaxy of oppression or force anyone to follow our religion, adopt our system of government, or salute our flag."

  "You coulda fooled me."

  "Yes, Wester, we did allow our ambitions to—grow. In an insane manner, you might even say. But history is talking to us, now. Whispering in our ears. It's the voice of the dead, Wester, and we'd better listen, or we die too. ConFree is the creation of the Outworlder nation. We are responsible to the people of ConFree, and we'd better remember that. Now that the System is finished, we're going to return to our own sector, and mind our own business."

  "Well, that's the first good news I've heard in a long time."

  "We must learn from history, Wester. We were slaves. Then we had a vision, spiritual faith, and courage. The Outworlder race broke away from the System and challenged the Outvac frontier, risking everything for the future, then risking it all again, for liberty and independence from System tyranny and slavery. And our society worked—better than we ever dared imagine. What's next, Wester? Do you know what is next?"

  "Why don't you tell me?"

  "Slavery, faith, courage, liberty, wealth—and then complacency, apathy, dependence, and slavery. That's the cycle. Do you know where we are on that cycle?"

  "We're in the insanity portion. You didn't mention that."

  "We're in wealth. We're right where things start to change for the worse. It's a long, slow cycle—so slow that most people don't even notice it. Governments that remain unaware of history are criminally stupid, and must be overthrown. But ConFree isn't unaware. We know exactly what's going on."

  The stars were coming out by then. The Silver Cloud was shining beautiful colored lights down into the Rift. The tourists around us were partying, getting louder. LiLo was standing a short way off, looking at us. Now what?

  "What is it, LiLo?" I asked.

  "Madame Priestess and Madame Millie told me to watch you, sir, and if you put your hands on Madame Tara, I have to go back and tell them."

  "That's nice. You go back and tell them that I'm being a good boy, and keeping my hands to myself."

  "Yes sir." She turned and headed back to the pool.

  "I'm really hurt, Wester," Tara smiled. "You didn't used to have any problems with putting your hands on me."

  "Well, things didn't used to be this…complex."

  "That's a ten, Wester. That's a ten." She paused, staring into the distance, then resumed. "There's so much to worry about, Wester. So much. Like most revolutionary governments, ConFree started as an instrument—designed to rid us of the System, and guarantee the independence of the Crista Cluster as a galactic homeland for Outworlders and Assidics. But that task is done now. And what comes next—always? The instrument grows—and turns into an institution, living only for itself. Ultimately, it usually becomes that which it was founded to oppose. Unless we remain very vigilant, ConFree will become a slave state, just as bad as the System."

  "Wasn't that what ConFree feared the Legion was becoming—when they sent those ConFree Special Mission boys to kill us on Uldo?"

  "They were traitors, consorting with the System! Yes, they had reason to fear the Legion. But it was the Legion that saved ConFree, not them. It was the Lost Command, one of our most glorious moments."

  "Calm down, Tara. I happen to agree with you there. All right, so we've got the wheel of history or whatever you call it—and ConFree is getting soft and fat. Using warm water, hiring servants, having babies—right?"

  "We are certainly worried about that, Wester."

  "And our government is also getting big and fat, and the population will soon be slaves, living off government money and losing all their freedoms."

  "Not as long as I'm breathing, Wester. But those are real problems. Another big problem is the diaspora. All those Outworlders and Assidics, still living in slavery all over the galaxy, if not under the System then under all those slave states that succeeded it. What do we do about them? That's a problem."

  "I thought we were going to free them."

  "It's not that easy, Wester. Most of them are brainwashed. Many don't even know they're slaves. They think it's normal to have most of their earnings confiscated by the state, they think Voluntary Service is not slavery, they think it's normal for the government to decide who mates with whom to achieve a desirable ethnic mix and get rid of undesirable genes, they think the victim of a robbery is a social parasite and should be punished because he had more goods than the attacker, they think they control the government because they vote once every four or five years for approved candidates. How can you save people like that? They're not really Outworlders any more—they're sheep, they're slaves. They don't deserve our help. Why should our brave soldiers die for them? They deserve to be slaves!"

  "I'm sure they're not all like that."

  "No, they're not. That's the problem. There are plenty of Outworlders out there who want to escape—and join us. And we should help them. That's a problem."

  "So we're still a beacon, for them."

  "The light of liberty, Wester, shining through the galaxy, for all who have eyes to see and ears to hear. Yes, a beacon—that's good."

  "So that's not changing."

  "No—it will never change! We don't change our ideals! And the whole damned galaxy is going to know it! And when some gang of subhuman rats raids a ConFree world and slaughters our people…we're going after them, and their world is going to glow in the dark for a long, long time, and the whole damned galaxy is going to know about that as well! We don't have any choice, Wester. Not if we're going to remain true to our ideals. And when all those Outworlder slaves all over the galaxy hear about that, those who still have eyes to see and ears to hear, they're going to think, 'Got you, you bastards! Got you!' and they'll know it's them, their people, striking back, just as hard as we can, at those stinking, rotten bastards!" Tara was trembling. Her eyes were wet, but I knew it wasn't from weakness.

  "Go get 'em, girl," I said softly. "Go get 'em."

  ###

  "So what did she want?" Priestess asked suspiciously. We were back in our spotless stateroom. LiLo was preparing the kids for sleep and Millie had joined us in the lounge.

  "Nothing. She was just talking politics."

  "Nothing?" Millie asked. "Are you sure?"

  "What kind of politics?" Priestess asked.

  "It was just about ConFree. The wheel of history, that kind of stuff."

  "She didn't ask you to do anything?" Millie asked.

  "Nope. She was just talking out loud—using me as a sounding board."

  "Politics!" Priestess snarled. "She's getting her hooks into you. She's got something in mind for you."

  "I really don't think so, Priestess. I think she just wanted to talk."

  "You stay alert, soldier! And remember—the answer is no! We've done enough for the Legion. They've got a whole new graduating class they can use. Tell her to use them, if she wants bodies—not you!"

  "I'll do that, Priestess, if she asks. But she hasn't asked."

  Chapter 4

  The Santos Newhuman Socialrevolutionary Diversegalitarian Democooperative

  We were to learn soon enough what Tara had in mind. My orders arrived unexpectedly with the usual flurry of assignments and reassignments between courses.

  ACCESS BLUE MAGSEC GI IR OUTVAC STARCOM SECRET PERS

  CITE: GI QUABA 12990206

  FOR: LEG BT VELTROS PERS

  DATE: 328/09/43

  SUBJ: REASSIGNMENT LMV 34673002 THINKER

  TEXT: ORDERS: LMV 34673002 WN THINKER TO REPORT IMMED U/A TO GI QUABA PERS RE ONWARD ASSIGNMENT.

  ACCESS BLUE MAGSEC GI IR OUTVAC STARCOM SECRET PERS.

  I reread the document, s
tunned, sitting at the desk in my little cube in BT. Bitch! Anger and resentment surged through my veins. Calm down, Thinker, I thought. Let's just calm down. What does this mean? From Galactic Information Quaba—that's Tara, of course. Reassignment, immediate, unaccompanied, to Galactic Information Quaba. But it was for—onward assignment! Report to Personnel upon arrival for details. Deadman! It could be anywhere! It could be anything! Not a clue! Wait a mo—yes, look at the classification—ACCESS BLUE MAGSEC. What the hell—routine Legion personnel reassignments don't rate a classification like that. And SECRET PERS. PERS, fine, but why SECRET? Normal personnel assignments are unclassified and marked ROUTINE, not SECRET. Let's see, GI IR, that's Galactic Information and…Interstellar Relations. Why include Interstellar Relations? OUTVAC STARCOM, they're on everything, but why the Ministry of Interstellar Relations? What do I have to do with them?

  I knew the only way I was going to find out was to follow my orders and show up at Quaba 7—unaccompanied. Priestess and Millie were going to be very unhappy about this. Just say no! Well, you can't say no to Legion orders—Tara knew exactly what she was doing.

  ###

  I hopped a Fleetcom tacship, the Bad Girl, bound for Quaba with a load of Legion troopers on their way to the Asumara front. The transportation routes throughout the Crista Cluster were sparkling with artificial wormholes as the Legion prepped for war with Asumara. It sure didn't look good, I thought, lying in my wall bunk with my nose almost touching the bottom of the overhead bunk. I closed my eyes but all I could see were the tears, Priestess and Millie, hot tears running down their cheeks, unashamed, and then the kids, sensing disaster, crying as well. All I could do was hold them all tightly and fight my own tears and vow to return. We were going to war. What choice did I have, what choice did any of us have, except to fight for our own survival?