Storm Force: Book Three of the Last Legion Series

by Chris Bunch

  “Let me think on this,” he said. “I’ll be back to you within the day. Now, if you’ll forgive me, duty calls.”

  He smiled, and blanked the screen.

  Jasith turned to Garvin, who’d wangled a few hours away from Caud Fitzgerald.

  “We’re going to have a party.”

  “How can you tell? Angara didn’t say ‘kay.”

  “I just know. Women know these things.”

  “Why do you want to do this before Larix?” Garvin said.

  “Sometimes,” Jasith said, a touch of asperity in her voice, “you’re somewhat thicker than a brick, Gavin Jaansma. Did it ever occur to you that some people are going off to fight who won’t be able to come back to any victory ball?”

  Garvin jerked, then slowly nodded.

  “And maybe people would like something to think about when they’re out there in a ditch getting shot at,” Jasith said. “I’m going to invite every loose-moraled woman … and man … and some people even I’m not quite sure of … which, come to think about it, is just about the only kind of person I know. And I’ll make sure they know I’ll be very unhappy if they go home alone.

  “How much would you like to bet Dant Angara figured out exactly what I’m intending?”

  Garvin shook his head. “Jasith Mellusin, you’re amazing.”

  “I know that, too.”

  • • •

  “Here,” Monique Lir grunted, tossing a small box across her desk to Darod Montagna. Montagna opened the box and her eyes saucered.

  “Uh …”

  They were the rank tabs of an Alt.

  “What’re they for?”

  “So I can have somebody to drink with,” Lir growled. “Cents can’t be hanging out in the NCO club every night.”

  “But I’m only — ”

  “Twenty?” Lir said. “No shiteedah. Wars get fought by young women, in case you hadn’t noticed, or seen all of the idiots who’ve gotten themselves promoted lately.

  “By rights, you ought to leave I&R, so the rankers don’t get familiar. But there ain’t nobody left to get familiar with from the old days,” Lir said.

  “Thank you, boss.”

  “Don’t bother with gratitude. I’ll work your butt to the bone before we transship, and you’re a lot more likely to get blown off in the invasion.”

  The Force was changing, very, very rapidly. A soldier returning from hospital or leave might not recognize her old formation. Some changes were from casualties, but more were caused by the Force’s doubling in strength. Experienced officers and noncoms were promoted and transferred, some requiring a direct order from Dant Angara before they sullenly packed their traps and changed barracks to become cadre for new formations.

  Even I&R, in spite of Lir’s futile rage, had been gutted: Ton Milot and Stef Bassas, promoted Senior Twegs, moved to new line units in Second Brigade; Medic Jil Mahim, commissioned Alt, to First Brigade Medical, with a promise of civilian medical school after the war; Rad Dref, no longer just a Grierson pilot, now commissioned and an Alt in charge of a Zhukov flight.

  Some I&R people were still around: Lav Huran, Senior Tweg, now First Tweg, which meant all three command slots of I&R were women; Calafo, a Tweg and a Second Troop senior noncom; Felder, now a Tweg and given a whole section of her beloved “Rumbles” recon robots, yet another change to the I&R’s Table of Equipment; and finally Striker Fleam, who refused all promotions and, when forcibly given stripes, made sure he’d gotten in enough trouble by dawn to lose them.

  No one in I&R, consequently, had time for any private life whatsoever. Lir refused to lower I&R standards, which meant the old guard spent two-thirds of their time getting ready for the invasion, and the other two-thirds training or testing the new volunteers.

  Montagna told Lir she was looking forward to the invasion, so she could get some rest.

  “Haven’t you figured out the army yet?” Lir asked. “We do this shit deliberately, bustin’ everybody’s balls, so combat actually comes as a relief. And what the hell, young Alt, are you doing wasting time jaw-jackin’ with me? Come on, Darod. There’s work to be done!”

  Other formations were equally shredded as new recruits streamed in, and the Force grew toward its newly authorized twenty thousand strength.

  • • •

  Erik Penwyth saluted smartly.

  “You sent for me, sir?”

  “I did,” Angara said. “I’m assigning you to a very special mission.”

  “Thank you, sir. Might I ask what?”

  “You’re going to help put on a party.”

  • • •

  Njangu Yoshitaro was headed for Angara’s office, carrying a fiche with the latest intelligence appreciation of Redruth’s ship positioning, when one of Angara’s aides, Ushant, stopped him.

  “Maybe you don’t want to go in for an hour or so, N’jang. The Old Man’s looking to tear some ass, and I don’t think he’s particular about whose.”

  “Why?” Njangu asked the woman. “What happened?”

  “Mil Liskeard just went in, dropped his wings on Angara’s desk, said he was quitting. Angara could put him anywhere he wanted, court-martial him if he wanted, as long as he didn’t have to kill anybody.”

  Njangu blinked. “Liskeard? Shit, he’s a tiger on skates.”

  “He was a tiger on skates,” Ushant said. “Dant talked to him for an hour, tried to get him to change his mind, finally blew up and told him to get his ass out of sight and to Maintenance Section until further notice. He said he’d decide whether he was going to court-martial Liskeard or not after the invasion, and he didn’t have time to waste now.”

  “I wonder what the hell happened?” Njangu said.

  “My, uh, monitoring of the situation wasn’t that good … I had to take another com … but when I came back Liskeard was saying something about ‘bodies, nothing but bodies.’ I dunno. I guess he just cracked.

  “Interesting thing,” Ushant said thoughtfully. “I never heard Angara call him a coward or anything.”

  “Yeh,” Njangu said. “Interesting. I’ll go grab mid-meal, try again later.”

  He went back down the corridor, wondering what had broken Liskeard, wondering if everybody had a breaking point, thought of the people he’d seen after a firefight, shaking, crying, some just staring. For some of them, something terrible had happened, the bloody death of a teammate, a close call, for others, nothing. Or nothing that anybody could understand. Some came back after a few minutes or some time in a ward, some never returned to the Force.

  Njangu hoped it’d never happen to him. He rather be dead. Or so he thought he thought.

  • • •

  “All of you are members of Tvem’s clan?” Jon Hedley asked. There were eighteen Musth in the room, all wearing fighting harnesses, standing in the inverted-V formation Musth soldiers used. The alien in the center had told Jaansma his name was Riet, and he was the most skilled flier of all of them. His accent was perfectly atrocious, but he spoke better Basic, or so he said, than the others.

  “Mossst of usss were of Tvem’sss clan,” Riet said. “But sssome of usss from other clansss heard of the losssss of Tvem, decccided we wissshed revenge. Or, perhapsss, what isss your word for an action that makesss the ichor flow fassster and everything more alive isss what we ssseek?”

  “Excitement.” Hedley almost added a few extra hisses to the ‘c.’

  “Jussst ssso. There are few sssuch eventsss happening within our sssectors. Ssso we wisssh to enlissst.”

  “And you’re also aksai-trained?”

  “All of usss. We are rated Expert or Sssenior Flier-quantified.”

  “I may kiss every flipping one of you,” Hedley said. “Hang on. Let me get ahold of somebody named Alikhan. He’s been pretty lonely lately.

  “And welcome to the Force. We’ll swear you in as soon as I can get the old man free.”

  “Ssswear?”

  • • •

  “It’s a custom, before we go handing our aksa
i promiscuous-like.”

  “Force Headquarters,” Garvin said briskly, touching the ACCEPT sensor. “This is Haut Jaansma.”

  Then he recognized Darod Montagna.

  “Good morning, sir,” she said. “This is sort of an irregular call, sir.”

  “Uh, right, Alt. By the way, congratulations on your commission. I saw it in the General Orders, never got around to calling you. Sorry, but it’s been chaos up here. You’ve got an open chit on me, anytime you want it at the O Club bar, since I don’t seem to be able to break free these days.” Garvin thought he was babbling slightly. “But how may I help you?”

  “That’s why I commed you, sir. You already have. Ever since we went to Kura, a lot of things … good things, I think … have been happening to me. And I just wanted to thank you for giving me the chance.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Garvin said.

  “Except maybe keep me from getting killed,” she said.

  “Or maybe you kept me from being iced,” Garvin said, finding a grin. “Teaming works both ways, you know.”

  Darod smiled back.

  “You know, it sounds a little strange, calling you ‘sir,’ instead of Garvin or boss, since you’re out of I&R now.”

  Garvin wanted to say she could call him anything she wanted, fortunately stopped himself.

  “Things change,” he said.

  “They do, don’t they? Now, and maybe in the future. Sorry to have taken up your time, sir. But thanks again for what you’ve done.”

  “Anytime … Darod.”

  She smiled again. “One other thing … Garvin. I wasn’t that drunk.”

  And the screen blanked.

  Very irregular, Garvin thought. I probably ought to have Lir tear her off an enormous strip. And it’s probably complicating my life. So why don’t I mind at all?

  • • •

  “Jasith’s Party” went down in Cumbrian and Force history. Jasith never told anyone how much it cost, and estimates ran between a million and three million credits.

  “Only” about forty-seven hundred of the Force showed up. Others were in space, on other planets of Cumbre, or part of the Angara-mandated minimum one-quarter on duty at all times. Others were basically misanthropic or had other ideas about proper recreation. Of course, as the years passed and the tales grew bigger, almost no ex-Force person would admit to not having attended.

  Jasith emptied one of Mellusin Mining’s fields, a kilometer square. On each corner a Kelly-class destroyer sat on its rear fins. Hung between the ships’ noses, covering the field, supported by small antigrav lifters, was what appeared to be a single piece of gossamer. Actually, it was fiber filter sheets from the mines, each roll held to the next with clips.

  In the center of the field sat an aksai, a velv, and a wynt, a Grierson, and a Zhukov. Smiling soldiers offered tours of the ships to civilians. Some of their fellows sympathized with their having to work, until one striker waved a list. “Work my left nipple,” she chortled. “I’ve gotten enough boys’ numbers to get me laid until the millennium.”

  The widely respected Seya Symphony played, its music bounced to monstrous speakers ringing the area. Transports shuttled soldiers back and forth from Camp Mahan or other onplanet posts, and they streamed onto the field in full-dress uniform. Invited civilians — and sometimes it seemed Jasith, like her father, had invited the whole planet — parked their lifters and lims and, resplendent in formal dress or simply the best they owned, arrived, and were swept into the throng.

  Even Loy Kouro had been sent an invitation. He’d thought of ignoring it, realizing that would make him appear even more of an ass, and so appeared for a teeth-clenched half hour before leaving. Matin reported the event … but not on its main menu.

  There were tables filed with various foods, light drinks scattered around. No one left hungry, or quite sober.

  • • •

  Njangu Yoshitaro handed Maev Stiofan out of one door of a lift as Jon Hedley shut the drive down, hurried to open the other for Ann Heiser.

  The four stood a moment, considering the panoply.

  “ ‘There was a sound of revelry by night,’” Njangu suddenly quoted. “‘And Belgium’s Capital had gathered then/Her Beauty and her Chivalry and bright/The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men.’ ”

  The other three looked at him in surprise.

  “Didn’t know you liked Byron,” Hedley said. “Hell, I didn’t know anybody on D-Cumbre even flipping knew who the guy was.”

  “Something I read when I was a kid, about the night before some battle,” Njangu said, a bit embarrassed.

  “You have depths,” Maev said, impressed.

  “That’s me,” Njangu said cheerily. “Up to my heinie in deep things.”

  • • •

  Dant Angara danced quietly with his wife, a small, very friendly, very cheerful woman. Some people tried to approach him, were steered off by an aide, who told them, as politely but firmly as he could, the Dant was off duty that evening, and wanted to spend time with the person he got to spend the least with.

  Maev Stiofan and Njangu danced, not far from Angara.

  “Aren’t you being a little too conscientious?” Njangu complained. “I doubt if any Larissan assassins got invited to this bash.”

  “I’ve got the shift,” Maev said. “Did you forget you’re sleeping with a soldier?”

  Njangu growled, then laughed, and she grinned back at him.

  “Besides, T’Laan’s over there for backup,” she said. “So we can go for drinks or food anytime we want.”

  “Maybe in a while,” Njangu said. “I’m quite happy here.”

  “Then shut up and dance.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Njangu said. Maev put her head on his shoulder.

  After a while, Njangu asked, “Happy?”

  “Surely,” Maev said. “You know what I’ve been thinking, Njangu? About after the war?”

  Njangu flinched a little. “I’m superstitious about things like that.”

  “Don’t be,” Maev said. “You’re too much of an evil bastard to get killed doing something legitimate like a war with uniforms and things like that.”

  “Thanks. ‘Kay. What’ve you got in mind for … for later?”

  “I’ve never been able to figure out what makes me tick,” Maev said. “Let alone anybody else.”

  “Welcome to the crowd.”

  “I was thinking, maybe, if … sorry, that afterward I could go back to school. Study psychology or maybe sociology.”

  “Dunno if I like that,” Njangu said. “You go and get educated, you might be able to stay one step ahead of me.”

  Maev laughed, a lovely silver tinkle.

  “Darling, you are slow. I’ve always done that.”

  • • •

  “What do you think of children?” Hedley asked Ann Heiser as they put their plates down on a table and sat. A white-uniformed waiter asked what they wanted to drink, went away with the order.

  “Be more specific, Jon,” Heiser said. “As a side dish, as students, as conversational companions, as physicists?”

  “I meant, well, like having them.”

  “Oh. Now that’s an original question,” she said. “Is there any particular reason you’re wondering?”

  “Well, I … not flipping really, I just was, sort of flipping curious,” Hedley floundered.

  “I don’t consider the idea inconceivable,” Ann said.

  “That was a pretty bad joke.”

  “It was, wasn’t it?” Heiser agreed. “Since you seem to be having trouble enunciating, let me narrow the field of inquiry. You mean, having your children?”

  “Well, sort of.”

  “Sort of? Are you accepting the premise of Immaculate Conception?”

  “Ann, would you flipping stop, already? I never thought I’d be asking something like this, but, well …”

  “Yes, Jon Hedley,” Ann Heiser said, quite seriously. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask. The answer is yes.”


  • • •

  “And what does that signify?” Jasith asked Garvin as she examined the bracelet with a single charm on it.

  “That is as close as the jeweler could come to making up a little model of a Larissan spaceship,” Garvin said. “Like the one you shot down. You’ll notice there’s space for more of them.”

  “Hmm,” Jasith said. “Jasith Mellusin, Ace of the Legion. It sounds like a romance.”

  “It does,” Garvin said.

  “Why?”

  “Well, I wanted you to know how impressed I was with what you did … and, well, what you are.”

  “You may kiss me, Garvin Jaansma. I’m also impressed with you.”

  Garvin did. After quite a long time, they broke apart, in time for Garvin to see Darod Montagna dance past with a rather tall and handsome Cent he vaguely knew.

  He looked away, kissed Jasith again.

  “And aren’t you passionate,” she murmured.

  “I hope so.”

  “Well, maybe you want to dance with me, at least until the bulge in your pants goes down,” Jasith giggled.

  “That’s not likely to happen, especially the way you dance.”

  “Then we better start looking for a dark corner.”

  • • •

  “That’s quite something,” Danfin Froude said, after congratulating Heiser and Hedley. “You won’t have to change the monograms of your sheets, Ann.”

  The physicist laughed. “Men are so romantic, aren’t they, Ho?”

  “Actually,” Ho Kang said, “sometimes they are. But what’s the matter with being practical?”

  “Danfin,” Heiser said, “you better propose to her on the spot. I don’t think you’ll ever find someone better suited.”

  Kang turned a little red.

  “Actually,” Froude said, “I did have something like that in mind. But I never thought of having witnesses.”

  “Then let us get the flipping hell out of here,” Hedley said. “This appears to be contagious. Besides, I’m lusting to show off my newfound talent at tripping the fantastic light.”

  He grabbed Heiser’s hand, and they went for the dance floor.

  “Were you serious?” Ho Kang said.