"Welcome to Recon, guys," Dragon said. "We heard you were coming. We can't promise to keep you alive, but we can promise we'll do our best. And if anything happens to you, our enemies are going to regret it. We can promise that."
A banshee howl interrupted us. A short blond male with wild blue eyes and a pale, sweaty face was poised before Priestess, his gleaming black cenite arms outstretched, his mouth open in shock. He abruptly seized Priestess, snatching her right off her feet, and ran off with her into the gloom like some kind of demented, armored dwarf ogre, anxious to consume its catch in private.
"Psycho, bring that back! Aw, he gives me more trouble…" Dragon said.
"Priestess can handle him," I said. "Don't worry." Psycho had always had a crush on Priestess. His behavior was not surprising. It was obvious he had not changed at all. I looked down at the deck. Valkyrie was asleep.
"I guess she wasn't as excited to see me as I thought," I said.
"It was a rough mission," Dragon said. "We're all tired. You might want to wash that blood off." I looked down at my u-shirt. It was soaked in blood. So was Valkyrie's chestplate.
"We had wounded, but no dead," Dragon explained. "Don't worry. If we can quiet the rest of these females down, maybe we can get some sleep. We'll talk later."
***
"I'm in heaven," Psycho said with his mouth full, scooping up another slab of cherry jam for his biscuit. We were in the Spawn's Open Mess, lingering over our breakfast. The place was crowded, full of Recon troopers in camfax and Fleetcom vacheads in black. Five was gorging himself.
"They feed us good," Dragon confirmed. "We're the top of the food chain. The Spawn is a good home." He glowered over his dox. He was the type of person you'd be afraid to approach unless you knew him already. Little blue tattoos covered his ears and neck, indecipherable runes from lost worlds. His knuckles and hands were decorated with the faces of the dead—some of them well-known to me. Dragon never talked about his past, but it was always with him.
"You're gonna love it here, Thinker," Valkyrie said. "It's nuts. You'll fit in perfectly." She was absolutely lovely, totally relaxed and all cleaned up, fluffy blond hair framing her perfect face. I tried to avoid her eyes, those bewitching emerald eyes. I knew I could fall right in there with no trouble at all. She knew me better than anyone else, better even than Priestess or Moontouch. I would have to be careful, with Valkyrie.
"How about me?" Priestess asked quietly. She was also looking good, fresh and clean and glowing with beauty.
"You'll do fine, Priestess. Don't worry," Scrapper cut in. She was Valkyrie's fem lover, a survivor from Squad Gamma's catastrophe on Andrion 3. Scrapper was sitting next to Valkyrie, wearing a thin pullover that emphasized her heavy breasts. When I knew her, she did not have a Legion cross burnt onto her forehead. Valkyrie's squad was all around us and I saw they were all female, and they were all branded with that hellish cross. It was the mark of death, worn only by the craziest of Legion immortals, whose life span was normally shorter than your average mortal. Immortality and death—that was what the Legion offered.
"We'll keep you busy, Priestess," Dragon said. "You and Thinker will bring us up to full strength. We already have a medic but we can always use another. You're the backup. You'll carry a full medkit but until we need you as a medic you'll be just another trooper."
"You want to lose that hand?" There was a flurry of activity a little further down the table. One of Valkyrie's branded crazies was wielding a hot knife, threatening a young trooper from Dragon's squad who was glaring at her, the blue glow from the knife lighting up his boyish features.
"Put it away, Ragdoll," Valkyrie ordered. The girl deactivated the weapon, reluctantly.
"Greedy bitch," the male said.
"Turn that off, Flash," Dragon ordered. "There's enough food for everybody."
"…kick her butt…" somebody muttered.
I went back to my dox. It was hot and sweet—super!
"Valkyrie—what's with the cross?" Priestess asked. "Why is everyone in your squad wearing one? Is it a requirement?"
Valkyrie smiled sadly and sipped at her dox. "No, it's not a requirement. It's more of a commitment. We've turned off the future. We live for the moment. Our salary payments go to the Legion Benevolent Association. No, it's not a requirement."
"If you decide you don't like the Pits, come over to us. We'll convert you," one of Valkyrie's girls said to Priestess.
"What's the Pits?" Priestess asked.
"That's us," Dragon answered. "We don't have alpha designations here. They let us name ourselves. My squad is officially named the Jox, their's is the Cross. We use the unofficial names most of the time, though. We're the Armpits—Pits for short. They're the Mammaries—Mams on the net. You see, we each got to name the other."
"I liked the first names we came up with," Psycho said.
"Never mind the first names. They caused too many hard feelings."
"You made it! I can hardly believe it!" The speaker was a wild-eyed young male with a tangled mass of shoulder-length reddish hair, a pale splotchy face and a sparse, scruffy beard, approaching our table. Golden rings dangled from both ears. His fatigue shirt was open to the waist, revealing a pale, sweaty chest. "Thinker! Priestess! How the hell are ya?" It was Redhawk, Beta Ten, our lunatic aircar driver. The car was his first love. He slept with it.
He gave me a hard, sweaty embrace, and then squeezed Priestess until she squealed.
"We're fine, Redhawk," I said. "You're looking good!"
"You'll love it here, Thinker! It's really exciting! Scut, we almost didn't come back yesterday! It's like the old days, Three—like the old days with Beta! Just one long adrenalin rush. No down time! Welcome to Recon, guys! We're on point. The O's hate us!"
"Well, Priestess and I are both with…um, Pits, so I guess you'll be our driver again."
Redhawk threw his head back and laughed. "That's great! Perfect! Well, don't you worry about transport, guys, we'll give you a real smooth ride, and we'll be there when you need us. That's a promise!"
"Yes, I remember your smooth rides, Ten. I think I've still got the bruises."
"I was still learning then! I've got it down now, Three—you'll love it! Wait'll you see the new bird. She's white-hot!"
I sat down and concentrated on my dox. So—Valkyrie and her squad gave all their salaries to the Legion. Get a life! But that was it. They knew they were all going to die. And it certainly wasn't any crazier than what I had done in coming here, or what Priestess had done in following me.
"Say, Thinker," Psycho exclaimed. "Remember, I'm the Two now. When I say 'jump' you ask 'how high'? Get it?" Psycho used to take orders from me, and probably viewed with great amusement my reassignment to his squad as a common trooper.
"That'll be the day, Psycho," I replied. "By the way, when are you planning on paying back that hundred credits you owe me?"
"I owe you? What? No, no, I believe it was you who owed me a hundred credits, wasn't it?"
"No, it wasn't. It was you, Five."
"If you're talking about Beta Five, that was ancient history, Thinker. My name is Jox Two. I'm not responsible for what that fellow Beta Five did. He was an irresponsible chap, always on the run, living on the edge. I'm not surprised he owes you money. You ain't the only one! Why I recall…"
I let it fade. Squad Jox—the Armpits. Thinker and Priestess. A new life—fine. The Gods compel me to do it, I do it. But after this, Priestess and I are quitting the Legion—getting out permanently and going back to Andrion 2. A clean break was obviously the only way to do it. But meanwhile—we go with it. We ride with the Gods of War across the Outvac, under deceptor skies, clad in Legion armor, fighting for the unborn—until the Gods get off my back and let me go home. I could do it. I knew I could. I'd done it before.
"I've got a new girl friend," Redhawk whispered in my ear. "Want to meet her?"
***
"She's beautiful," I whispered. Redhawk and I were alone with her, in dim l
ight and a deep silence. I had never seen anything more lovely. She was stunning.
"She's perfect," Redhawk replied, running his hands gently over her satin skin. "She's an angel from Hell. I've fallen in love with her. I'll never love another." I could see it in his eyes as he gazed, hypnotized, at that unearthly, deadly, exquisite creature.
We were in the launch deck of the Spawn, and the object of his affection was poised above us, a great, chilling black cenite bat, with skin as smooth and featureless as a pool of velvet ink, and lines that never seemed to end, but just faded back into the body like some kind of eerie Mobius strip. I ran my fingers along the skin again. It was ice cold and seemed to move around my fingertips like liquid metal. The thing was huge, I realized. It dwarfed an aircar.
"This is our bird, Thinker. Her name is Kiss, because I kiss her awake every morning. She's magic, Thinker—evil magic. She's got everything the lab rats could cook up. Everything the Legion has is in this lovely bird. Aircars? Forget about aircars. Recon doesn't use aircars any more. This baby is so secret she doesn't even have a designation. Recon Mission Support Vehicle, they called her at one point. The Spawn has four of them—one for each Recon squad. We call them Phantoms. Kiss, Little Miss Miss, Hiss and Sis."
"What does she do?" I asked quietly. Delta-shaped wings, I saw—but the shape was hard to visualize. It kept…merging.
"She does everything." Redhawk looked up at her worshipfully. "She's a long-range shuttle. She's completely cloaked. It's state of the art, Thinker. You can fly this honey over a Legion starport and warn them she's coming and nobody will spot her. I've done it! The damned thing is invisible!"
I touched her again. A cold thrill ran along my flesh. Magnificent!
"We can approach the target planet undetected, drop right into the at, and proceed to the insertion point to drop off the squad. Then I'll serve as fighter backup if necessary or cruise in the at or hide downside, waiting for evac. Then I pick up the squad and it's back to the vac. There's no need for aircars. This doll does it all. And anyone foolish enough to take her on will vanish in a haze of antimats. She's got a bad temper. You don't want to make her angry."
"So this is your new girlfriend."
"My secret lover. Don't tell Whit! I know she'd be jealous."
"How is Whit doing?"
"She's…pretty broken up about Tara. She's busier than ever, managing Tara's affairs. She refuses to believe Tara's dead." We crouched under one wing. Redhawk wasn't meeting my eyes.
"I guess it's hopeless?"
"The O's took the planet. If she's not dead, she's as good as dead. Worse, if she's still alive. You know what they do to human captives."
Yes, I knew what they did to their captives. They would drain her blood, if she was lucky. Or maybe they would eat her alive. We knew they did that as well. Millions of humans had been trapped downside on Augusta 6. They all faced the same grisly fate.
"Nobody can stop Kiss, Thinker. She'll keep us alive in the heart of Hell." He grinned up at his lover, shaking back his long, greasy hair. I raised my fingers again and touched her icy cenite skin. A new lover—for us all.
***
"Good morning, troopers!" Snow Leopard stood ramrod-straight on the briefing dais before a huge dark screen. His pale face and white-blond hair contrasted sharply with the inky black uniform. His hot pink eyes were alive, darting over us all. They called him Ops One here, but to me he would always be Beta One. Two squads were packed into the briefing room—Jox and Cross, twenty troopers, still in camfax fatigues, anxious for a glimpse of the future. Whatever it was, both squads would be involved.
The wall screen behind Snow Leopard came alight to reveal a massive planet glowing a cold silver against a black velvet background. I could see the thin film of atmosphere, faintly visible against the vac. And I thought the same thing I always thought when viewing a new planet—what a beautiful world! They were all beautiful, every one of them, even the complete hellholes. When viewed from space they were all galactic jewels, precious havens for our aggressive, expanding, land-hungry species.
"Troopers, your target is Augusta 6." A shocked silence followed. And all I could do was stare at Snow Leopard, and at that heavenly vision behind him. Everything seemed to just fade away all around me, and there was only Snow Leopard, standing before Augusta 6 like a mighty Legion God. And my skin was crawling. I knew the Gods were right there with us, right in that room. I could have stayed on Andrion 2—and look what I would have missed! Deadman was rolling his dice, and she was right there, with every beat of my heart—Tara, Tara, Tara…I knew it, I knew it! And I didn't care about the odds! Nobody but the Gods could have arranged it. I took a deep breath, and tried to concentrate on what Snow Leopard was saying.
"…at regular intervals. The Novas were technically perfect. They appear to have been set off by Legion troopers. Galactic distress Novas, from a Legion unit on Augusta 6."
The room was deathly quiet.
"The planet is totally controlled by the O's. We can't even get near the system without engaging major Omni fleet units in the vac. All downside Legion activity ceased on the day the O's took the planet—almost four stellar months ago."
"So how could a Legion unit set off a Nova?" Dragon asked quietly.
"Good question, Dragon. We don't know. You'd think anyone setting off a Nova on an Omni-controlled world would be spotted and swatted instantly. And whoever this is has set off four Novas, at four separate locations."
"As mandated in Legion regs for off-planet rescues."
"Exactly."
"It's obviously a trap," Valkyrie said. "The O's control all surviving humans there. They can make them do anything they want, with psypower. Of course it would be technically perfect. They read minds! They want to lure in a Legion rescue force, to kill us."
"There is a high probability that you are correct, Val. As a matter of fact, the Spawn believes chances are eight in ten that this is an Omni deception op. In which case we could, of course, ignore the Nova. Shall we do so?"
Silence, from both squads. Ignore a Nova? No—the Legion doesn't do that. We don't ignore Novas from Legion troopers trapped in enemy territory.
"I take it we're not going to ignore the Nova," Snow Leopard continued. "Now let me tell you a few other things that may affect our planning. There are some rather unusual events occurring on Augusta 6. Events we don't understand. For starters, major Omni fleet units were diverted from other sectors to orbit Augusta 6—about two months after the O's captured the place. Our probes also detected abnormally high shuttle traffic between downside and orbit. Then—recently—the traffic ceased. There's hardly any shuttle activity now, and many of the O ships have departed. Our probes don't survive long, so they can't clarify the sit. But Starcom very much wants an explanation."
Another long silence. There was not even enough data to prompt a question.
"We think these events may have something to do with the Novas. Maybe the O's have got more important things to do than hunt down some Legion survivors. Starcom mentioned that as a possibility."
Snow Leopard stood there, head back, looking us over. "The primary mission is to rescue the Legion unit on Augusta 6. A secondary mission is to report on the stratsit on Augusta 6. The secondary mission is important, but is not to interfere with the first. Squads Jox and Cross are to do covert insertions to the target area, activate rescue bursts if necessary, and stand by for further Novas. Both Phantoms are to stand by to respond to any O reaction and extract all troopers when necessary. Planning brief begins immediately. Squad Ones and Twos, in the capcom. The rest of you, see the ship for data on the target."
Chapter 3
Angels of the Lord
We approached Augusta 6 like space junk, cruising silently along with an asteroid cloud that was passing near the system. We were surely invisible to any sensors, but it never hurts to have a backup. Even if the O's were somehow able to get a reading on us, our two ships would appear to be just a couple of metallic rocks, hur
tling along in formation with the rest of the debris. It was a slow way to travel, but we didn't mind—the Spawn had gotten us close enough.
"Man, this is like a vacation cruise!" Psycho exclaimed, leaning back in his padded seat, propping his armored boots up against the back of the seat in front of him. We were in A-suits, helmets off, relaxing in our seats, quite comfortable, catching up on our sleep, sipping dox, gazing vacantly at d-screens. It was silent and dark, soft indirect lighting faintly illuminating the cabin. It was moderately roomy, two rows of six seats each divided by an aisle that was a few steps below seating level. The seats were great—comfy enough to stretch out our armored legs and drift away. It was total luxury, for the Legion. Priestess climbed down to the aisle and headed for the spotless toilets in the rear. The Legion was certainly pampering us.
"Oh, miss," Psycho said, "could I have another cup of dox, please?" Priestess said something rude and continued down the aisle.
"Stewardesses are a bit hostile," Psycho remarked. "Otherwise, I can't complain."
"What do you think, Three?" Dragon asked. "It's not like the old days, is it? I'm not sure all this luxury is such a good idea. In an aircar, you knew you were headed for trouble. Here, who knows? We could be going on vacation."
"It's certainly a big change," I admitted. "I'm hoping the most significant change is that nobody's going to be shooting at us when we approach the target."
"They haven't seen us yet, Thinker. Not while we're in the Kiss."
"We're invisible, gang," Redhawk added from the cockpit. "No worries. We'll be pulling away from the asteroid cloud soon, for the run to the planet. There's plenty of Omni traffic in orbit, but they won't see us. Don't worry—we're invisible!"
Invisible, I thought—fine. But once the Kiss drops us off on the surface we won't be invisible any more. The odds will be even then, just like in the old days. We'll all be specks of cenite metal in the mud, dodging tacstars. I looked around at our squad. Dragon and Psycho—I knew them well. Both were dependable and fearless. Dragon was the perfect leader. We were in good hands. And Redhawk was the best driver we'd ever had. Priestess would risk certain death to aid her comrades. I'd seen it. But the others were unknown to me. Dragon said they'd all been tested in combat. I was uneasy. I had known everyone in Beta, but Beta was no more. Our regiment, the 12th, had been annihilated by the O's on Uldo.
Cross of the Legion Page 5
