The Last Legion

by Chris Bunch

  "Wait a moment," Poynton said. "There's someone Njangu should meet." A moment later the door opened, and a medium-sized man came in. He was unremarkable except for his thick chest and muscled arms, and then Njangu met his eyes, eyes that held and burned.

  "This is the Big Man," Garvin said, unnecessarily.

  Njangu extended his palm, but Jord'n Brooks nodded instead of using the standard Confederation greeting. "At the moment, I use the name Tver," Brooks said. "Although that changes. And I do not like being called the Big Man. There is no one in The Movement bigger than another."

  Njangu stared skeptically, couldn't decide if Brooks believed what he was saying.

  "It would appear," Brooks said, "you two are a positive asset to our cause."

  Garvin inclined his head in thanks.

  "My emphasis is on 'appear,'" Brooks said. "You helped us . . . but you also helped the cause of the Rentiers."

  "How do you figure?" Njangu said interestedly.

  "Certainly the Force is delighted to have these lunatics named beards out of the way. Their own killers work more subtly. And the real controllers of this system, those with real intelligence, can't be pleased with what happened, knowing every atrocity the beards committed drove more and more of our brothers and sisters into activism."

  "Your mind works in strange ways," Garvin said, a little hostility in his voice.

  "That's why I've remained alive, and why The Movement continues to grow," Brooks said calmly, stating facts, no more. "But I don't want you to be angry at what I said. Perhaps, even probably, it's not true, and you're sincere converts. As time passes, and you perform other missions for us, my words will perhaps be proven false, hateful."

  "Perhaps." He nodded, went back out.

  Poynton shrugged. "He is what he is. And we all serve him willingly."

  "Maybe so," Garvin muttered. "But I'm not sure I have to like him. I think I'm gonna go out and find some masses to lavish gratitude on me. Coming?"

  "Maybe in a bit," Njangu said. "I want to shave, wash up first. I'll meet you, where? Around midnight, somewhere around that big church?"

  "'Kay," Garvin said. "If I'm not there, I've found a better party."

  "The same goes for me." Garvin gave Njangu a thumbs-up, went out.

  "Your friend isn't afraid to speak his mind," Poynton said.

  "No," Njangu agreed. "That's why he's got me around, to keep him out of trouble."

  "Perhaps I could show you a bit of our gratitude," Poynton said. "I happen to have a bottle of a very good wine, even if it is just from D-Cumbre, in my quarters I've been saving for some sort of victory. I don't like to drink alone."

  "You have a deal, Fearless Leader and Intelligence Honcho of the Universe," Njangu said. "But give me half an hour. I still smell scared to me."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  Njangu shut the old-fashioned shower off, considered its ending dribble through the ancient, rusted head. Not much of a 'fresher, compared to the omnidirectional water cannons in the Force's barracks, nor the lavish 'freshers in some of the expensive hotels he'd blown the profits from a successful villainy in. But it was better than being pissed on by a bandit, and just a bit better than the 'fresher in the crowded apartment he'd grown up in.

  Outside the building, he heard the continuing roar of the celebration.

  He pulled the curtain aside a bit, and a hand extended a towel.

  "I'm not looking," Jo Poynton said.

  Njangu took the towel and dried himself, thoughtfully reevaluating the 'Raum intelligence chief. Just because he was terrified she'd expose him . . . although not quite this literally . . . didn't mean he couldn't, wouldn't, at least if she were interested? She certainly wasn't hard on anybody's eyes, and was an equally long way from being stupid. Very strange, he thought, knotting the towel around him and putting a smile on.

  "You're sure you're not peeking?"

  "Maybe . . . just a little."

  He stepped out of the shower. Poynton was sitting cross-legged on the wooden laundry hamper that opened on a drop from eons ago, when this building had prosperous tenants, before it'd been divided and divided again into a warren. She wore a loose, blue-velvet jumpsuit whose top wrapped around and tied at her waist. She was barefoot, and smelled of exotic fruits. Looking as she did, rather than the dedicated warrior, Njangu realized that she was probably no more than two, perhaps three years older than he was. He felt his body stir. It'd been a long time since Deira and . . . he closed his mind off, admired Poynton.

  Beside her was her always-present pistol, an open bottle of wine, and two mismatched glasses. She poured a golden wine into each, handed Njangu one. "To victory."

  "To victory," Njangu replied, honestly.

  She picked up the bottle, went out of the 'fresher into the apartment's main room. There were still scars from Njangu's redecoration on the wall.

  "You didn't have to destroy my apparatus quite so thoroughly," she said.

  "Sorry. But I don't like being spied on."

  Poynton grimaced. "If we don't know everything, then we are vulnerable."

  Njangu didn't answer, went to the window, looked out. The streets were full of 'Raum, shouting, singing, and the intermittent, seldom-repaired street lighting was augmented with flaring torches. He heard music from two directions, wildly differing tunes.

  "This," Poynton said, coming up behind him, "is what it was like, before, during our holidays."

  "And will be again."

  "I hope so," she said, drinking. "But many of us have died."

  "People get over pain," Njangu said. "That's one of the things that lets us keep living."

  Poynton considered him thoughtfully. "That's a fairly profound observation from someone as young as you."

  Njangu lifted his glass to her, drank.

  "So," she said, coming toward him, "shall I turn my back while you get dressed, and we can go out and see what manner of amusements are to be found?"

  "If we did," Njangu said, "it would be with my 'escorts' behind me. And your bodyguards."

  "Yes," Poynton said.

  "In here, there aren't any extraneous people."

  "No."

  "I'm not particularly hungry, are you?"

  "No," she said. "Not . . . not for food."

  "And we have our wine."

  "Yes."

  Njangu reached out a finger, ran its nail from her throat down the vee of her neckline. Poynton caught her breath. "That feels very good," she said, her voice low. "Perhaps better than it should."

  "Doesn't The Movement have rules about fraternizing with low-rankers like me?"

  "Why should we?" Poynton said. "We 'Raum are sensible about things. At least about some things."

  She stretched, hands lifting over her head. She was only a few centimeters shorter than he was. Njangu came very close, and she lifted her lips, eyes closing.

  He kissed her, and her tongue came to meet his, and her arms dropped around him. Their mouths worked together, becoming more frantic, and his hand found the tie of the jumpsuit, pulled, and it fell away. Her nipples rose against his chest.

  The kiss ended, and she whispered, "It was a very long time, out in the jungle, where your own smell disgusted you, and you wouldn't want anyone to smell your stink." She untied the knot on his towel, tossed it away, let the jumpsuit slide down her long legs, and pool on the floor. Njangu picked her up, and she was very light, and carried her to the waiting bed.

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  Garvin sat, comfortably alone, back to the stone wall of the great church, watching the crowd eddy around him. He was slightly drunk, and quite content. I guess Njangu found something better to pass the time with. Wonder if Poynton . . . naw. Never the chance. She's too wound up in revolution to ever think about getting naked with anybody. Pity, because when I think about it, she's not that bad-looking. Get her to smile more often, and—

  "Mister?"

  Garvin saw a very yo
ung redhead in front of him. Her hair was cut short, and her lips, nails, earlobes and eyelids had been tinted blue. She wore a deep red, loose-fitting pair of pants, matching blouse, with cloud patterns that made her look even younger than she was.

  "Heh-lo," he said, reflexively putting on an ostentatiously lascivious grin.

  "You're one of the people who came over to us from the Force, right? That man over there said you led the raid against those bastards today."

  She pointed, and Garvin saw one of his escorts.

  I shall do something about that bigmouth, he thought.

  The girl caught his expression. "That's all right, mister. I'm with The Movement, too. I do decoy work, outside. I've brought down seven myself," she said proudly.

  Garvin covered his reaction. "So what can I do for you?"

  "I saw you, and another man from the Force yesterday, going into one of our houses."

  "Ah?"

  "He was a tall man, dark-skinned. Short hair. Good-looking."

  "Maybe I know somebody like that," Garvin said cautiously.

  "He told me his name was Njangu once?"

  "That could be my friend."

  "Do you know where he is? I spent a little time with him . . . before he decided to join us. It was . . . sort of nice. I wanted to know if he wanted to . . . get together again."

  "No idea where he's at," Garvin said honestly. "No idea at all."

  "Oh," the girl said disappointedly, then brightened. "Are you with anybody? My name's Limnea."

  Garvin shook his head.

  "Lonely?"

  "Not really."

  "Oh," the girl said. "'Kay, as you Force people say." She turned away. "I guess I'm the only one who doesn't like being alone."

  Garvin thought of Jasith, far distant in the Heights, looked again at the girl. It was late, and he was alone, senses alert, his mind still not believing he hadn't been killed in that brief nightmare of blood in the warehouse.

  "No," he said slowly. "No, you're not the only one." The girl turned, and he saw hope in her eyes. "So what does a stranger in the Eckmuhl do to celebrate?"

  "I'll show you," Limnea breathed. She licked her lips. "I'll show you."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  Njangu made sure Poynton was sleeping soundly, crawled over her and out of the bed. He dressed hastily, slipped out of the door, and let it close behind him. The door to his escorts' rooms was shut. He listened, heard someone snoring within.

  Sure. Why worry when your boss is making sure the subject's quite firmly in place. He went down the long, worn stairs to the street.

  It was only a few hours before dawn, and the celebration was mostly over, although he could still hear a few drunks singing loudly. For straight-laced cutters, he thought, these 'Raum sure have an open mind about unwinding.

  Two blocks away was one of the few unbroken public coms. He went for it, circling back twice. There was no tail. He fed coins in the slot, grinning at the sudden thought of a spy dooming himself by not having correct change, listened to the dull ringing.

  An alert voice came: "Sibyl Monitor."

  "Wake Hedley up," he ordered.

  The voice protested.

  "Dammit, wake him up! This is Sibyl Black."

  The voice went away. Njangu waited, back to the com. If anyone came . . . he wished he'd taken Poynton's pistol . . . and then Hedley was there.

  "Listening. Recording."

  Njangu spoke briefly, a report he'd rehearsed waiting for Poynton to fall into deep sleep. There was silence when he finished.

  "That was pretty bold work," Hedley finally said.

  "Seemed like the best plan."

  "No way you could have dropped the dime to us? You haven't checked in since you went over the wall, and we were starting to worry."

  "Goddammit, boss, you want to come in here and play boo with these bastards?"

  "Sorry," Hedley said. "Shouldn't second-guess. Is this a continuing commo point?"

  "Negative. Still looking for some kind of secure way to report regularly, and this ain't it."

  "What's going to happen next?"

  "More shootings, more bombings," Njangu said. "They're building up."

  "That doesn't take anybody on the inside to tell," Hedley said. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

  "Yeh," Njangu said. "Get that AC of Garvin's . . . Dill. And his crew, and the best Grierson the Force has got. With a couple of Zooks. When this thing breaks, we're gonna want to come home at light speed, and we may be a little hot around the edges."

  "'Kay," Hedley said. "Keep us posted."

  "What option do I have?"

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  "You know what I want you to do now?" Limnea said. She sprawled across the bed, naked. A candle burned on either side of the bed.

  "What?" Garvin said, trying not to sound exhausted. Goddamn that Njangu anyway. Just because he kept himself from getting killed by this decoy by screwing her until she was too shot to signal doesn't mean I'm up to playing Super stud. Lord, how I'd like to be doing something sensible, like sleeping.

  "Open up that drawer," Limnea said. Garvin found long scarves. "Take four of them," Limnea ordered. "Tie my hands, my ankles to the bedsteads."

  Garvin did as told, considered her pert buttocks, rearing at him, decided he might not be that tired.

  "Now I can't move," she said. "Now you can do anything you want to with me, can't you? You could whip me if you wanted to. Or . . . or hurt me."

  "I, uh, guess so. But I don't like—"

  "I like strong men," she whispered. "I like not being able to stop a man from doing whatever he wants. Lean close, and I'll tell you what I want you to do to me."

  Garvin did, and she whispered. He blinked, a bit shocked. "You're sure?"

  "Oh yes, oh yes," she breathed. "Please? Now, oh please do it to me now!"

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  As far as Njangu could tell, Poynton hadn't moved since he left, curled on her side. He slid out of his clothes, and started to climb over her.

  She stirred. "Where were you?" she said, voice sleep-sodden.

  "I had to use the facilities."

  "Mmmh." She rolled onto her back, and slid the blanket away.

  "As long as we're both awake," she said, lifting her legs around his waist and pulling him down toward her warmth. "Tomorrow the war begins again."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  The last two beards were shot down by police, trying to rob a delivery truck, two days later.

  Chapter 33

  Poynton was right—the war did go on. Nastily, messily, fought in alleys and at night or on sun-drenched streets, beaches and around calm lagoons.

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  "Victory is just within our grasp," Caud Williams said to the assembled journalists. "There will be no more than a few short months of turmoil, lessening as time passes, and if all of us pull together, from Rentier to 'Raum, Cumbre will have the peace it deserves." The media reps cheered him, the cheering led by Loy Kouro of Matin.

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  Three more islands were privately conceded to be under the control of the 'Raum, and a security hold placed on all media regarding the loss.

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  Njangu and Garvin were detailed for special assignments by Jord'n Brooks, training recruits in weapons-handling and tactics. They were always accompanied by their escorts, and never left the Eckmuhl.

  Twice, Jo Poynton asked Njangu if he wished to spend the night with her.

  Otherwise, there seemed to be no change in their relationship. When they were alone, Njangu asked as many questions as he dared—and Poynton seemed happy to repeat the legends of Brooks, his invulnerability, and his rapid rise to head The Movement.

  Neither Yoshitaro nor Jaansma were able to break free to m
ake contact with the Force.

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  A meteorite shot over Dharma Island, lighting the night sky brighter than all three moons at full and disappeared toward the unpopulated, heavily jungled island of Mullion to the west. Many Cumbrians took it as a sign of change, although no one could agree on what the change would be. The 'Raum quickly decided it was a sign from the One who created them, and their day was close at hand.

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  "Sir!" Now-Finf Hank Faull snapped a salute.

  "Pull up a pew," Hedley said. "I got a request this morning, for anybody in the company who's got any experience with the 'Raum. It'll mean transfer to II Section, a one-grade promo to dec, and maybe a chance to strike for tweg. Warmer, better fed, and a damned sight safer'n running patrols with us. In case you didn't notice, we aren't exactly getting IA flipping skinny these days, not from prisoners nor from just listening about."

  "No thanks, sir."

  "You didn't even have to think about it?" Hedley asked.

  "Nossir."

  "None of my business, but why not?"

  "I'm not a windy-ear," Faull said, a bit of anger in his voice.

  "Which means you won't spy on the people you used to be with?"

  "Nossir. Not a chance, sir."

  "Spying blows goats, eh? But it's 'kay to shoot?"

  Faull didn't answer.

  "Won't argue," Hedley said. "Hell, if I were you, I might do the same flipping thing. No hard feelings?"

  "No hard feelings, sir."

  "Then get the hell out and do something useful."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  "I won't lie to you, sir," Cent Angara said. "We were just damned lucky." Caud Williams and Mil Rao scowled at the holo, an overhead shot of a crashed spaceship half-buried in jungle. "We just happened to have an EW ship airborne, slaved to a Zhukov flight, waiting for possible ground targets when that 'meteor' entered atmosphere. One of the techs on the Grierson scanned the meteor, found it was a starship, checked with Cumbre Control and found nothing was inbound. The Grierson Commander challenged it, and the ship commenced evasive action."

  "He alerted the Zhukovs, and their flight commander . . . Golan Flight, one Haut Chaka . . . decided to treat the ship as hostile, and ordered a Shadow launch. They got a strike, and Golan Flight tracked the intruder until it crashed. Again, luck was on our side, and the ship didn't burn, although all three of its crewmen were killed."