Cross of the Legion

by Marshall S. Thomas

  "I'm sorry," Priestess said. "I lost my temper."

  "Quite all right," the general said. "Perhaps our companion will moderate its behavior in the future. We've known it a long time and are quite fond of it. However it does sometimes tend to be overbearing. Ah, speaking of overbearing…" Tara appeared out of the crowd, heading confidently for the general, hitting him with her wide, pearly smile.

  "General! Thinker, Priestess, how are you? Hope the General has not extracted any secrets from you yet?"

  "Not yet," the general replied. "They're both quite good."

  Tara attached herself firmly to the general, latching on to one of his elbows and thrusting a breast carelessly into the crook of his arm. "Hope you survive the downfall of the System," Tara said. "You're one of the few Systies I can stomach. We're going to exterminate all the bureaucrats and lawyers, but we'll leave the soldiers alone after the fighting's over. That's a promise."

  "Is it that confident of victory, dear Tara?"

  "We are going to annihilate your empire, Stone, from the pages of galactic history. And once it falls, it's going to blow away in the wind, just like dust, and no one will miss it at all—no one! Your slaves are going to face the future as free citizens of an expanded Confederation of Free Worlds—if they want it. If they don't, we don't care. They can do as they want. But the System is coming down, like a house of cards. That's certain."

  "There's the little matter of the DefCorps standing between you and the System, dear."

  "Join us! Don't serve the past any longer!"

  "I serve my people."

  "The Mocains should abandon the System! It's hopeless. Nobody wants to serve the System any more."

  "It's our power base."

  "Get a new one! The Mocain Confederation…whatever…ditch those Ormans! Forget USICOM! The whole thing folds without Mocain resolve. Get out in front of history. Change it, before it changes you! We've always admired your people. Free the slaves, dissolve the System, get out, start something new!"

  "It makes it sound so easy."

  "We're coming, with fire and storm. We're going to extinguish the System from history, forcibly. The System is evil, and we fight evil! That's what we do. That's all we do! Millions are going to die—maybe billions! How many dead will depend on how long you continue to resist us. We're never going to stop! You can depend on that!"

  "Uhh…nice talking with you, sir," I said. Priestess and I made our escape. I don't think they even noticed.

  ***

  "That was fun," I said to Priestess, as we regrouped around a punch bowl.

  "I saw you gaping at her udders," Priestess said sullenly, filling a cup from the autopour.

  "Sorry."

  "You're Thinker," someone said, "of Recon Squad Jox, SRC, 22nd Legion." The speaker was a young Legion male I had never before seen.

  "Yes," I admitted, "but I didn't do it."

  He smiled, and stuck out a hand. "One-Six," he said. "I'm with Galactic Information." I struck his hand lightly. The mention of Galactic Information put me on guard instantly.

  "You work for Tara," I said.

  "Yes—but I didn't volunteer," he replied. I couldn't help smiling in return. "There's someone who wants to meet you," he said. "And I've been asked to take you there."

  "I just saw Tara—she's over there."

  "It's not Tara—it's…well. I'll let him tell you. You have a few fracs?"

  "I guess I could tear myself away."

  "I'll find some way of amusing myself," Priestess said. "You go ahead, Thinker. Just don't sign anything on my behalf."

  "Right. Keep your knife sheathed."

  "We'll do our best."

  ***

  "Have a seat." He was a tall, bony young Outworlder with extra-long hair that hung down in front of his face. He had to keep brushing it back out of his eyes. He was looking at me intently—a pale, stricken face, icy cold blue eyes. This fellow was far over the edge, I could tell instantly. Definitely one of Tara's employees. One-Six had delivered me here and disappeared. We were inside another secure area. I had signed my life away by then. It was a small, darkened room. The walls were covered with d-screens and mysterious instrumentation. I had no idea what it was.

  "Tara told me you'd appreciate this," he almost whispered. "I hope so. I hate people who…well, I dislike people with no imagination. I think this is marvelous! I'd stay here all day and night if I could. She's a genius. She really is." He shook his head. He looked as if he was about to collapse from sheer exhaustion.

  "Well, I hope I don't disappoint you," I said. "Tara's projects are usually…interesting. What has she done this time?" I settled into a softly yielding airchair, facing a large d-screen. He was right beside me in another chair, facing an identical screen. It was so dark it was hard to see. The screens were off. Only a few lights glowed on the console.

  "Tara says it's not her—but that's crap," he said. "It all flows from Tara. All of it." He brushed back his hair again. He was probably not even conscious of doing it.

  I was silent.

  "When astronomers first started looking into the night sky," he said, "they found they could take starlight and examine the spectrum and discover what materials the star was made of. I guess it seemed really amazing at the time. Photons, travelling through the vac for millions of years—telling you the secrets of that far-off star." He gazed blankly into the dark screen. "Yes…amazing. Well, we've carried it a little further."

  He reached out a spidery finger and touched a tab. Our screens lit up, and quickly came into focus. A green field, a grove of trees, a little silvery stream. We were looking down, from overhead. A group of boys and girls dressed in shorts and sleeveless shirts were running barefoot through the field kicking a leathery ball. The focus was perfect. The picture was perfectly soundless. We could see everything. It must have been late afternoon. The children cast long shadows.

  "I've been watching them for hours," he said, "It's as if…I don't want to miss any of it. They're having a great time. Great kids." He shook his head again.

  "So what's the score?" I asked.

  "Don't know," he whispered. He was sitting there paralyzed, his long hair covering his face completely. Where the hell does she find them, I wondered.

  The kids were taking a break, clowning around, chasing each other in circles. Some of them clustered around an older lady who was ladling a pink liquid into cups. She was also barefoot, in shorts. They all had brown skin and brown hair. The picture flickered, faded, then returned.

  "It does that every once in awhile," he said, "but it always comes back. Yes, it's amazing, what we can do, now, with photons, and quantum effects. Starlight, falling on a planet, reflecting off into space. Nothing is lost—nothing at all. Each world shines like a floodlight, and the light rolls into the vac, and it goes on forever, at the speed of light. A tiny speck of light—but all the secrets of the planet are there, everything from the dawn of time is there, every single day, and all you have to do is show up at the right place to receive whatever interests you. It's all there! History is not lost. It's rolling through the vac, right now, everything that's ever happened on every single world, galactic history, rolling through space forever. We can unlock that light now, we can manipulate it, we can break it down, we can zoom in on everything. All the secrets are right there. Every…single…world."

  "Where's this?" I pointed to the screen.

  "Don't ask where. Ask when. Two thousand, two hundred eighteen light years ago, this image started its journey. A flickering spark of light from an obscure planet, lost in the galactic void, not even visible to the human eye. But it can't hide from us. I can view the entire surface of this planet, on this particular sunny day. A fine day for a game of football! A fine day! Of course, the players are long dead—long forgotten. Except by me!"

  The kids started playing again. I leaned forward, watching the game with renewed interest. I could even see their faces!

  "Good Lord," I whispered. My skin was crawling.


  "You and I are the only witnesses—in the entire galaxy—to this football game," he continued. "I consider it a great privilege. Those kids had to wait a long, long time for somebody to appreciate their game."

  I was silent.

  "The observatory is not here," he continued. "They're just relaying the images to us. But I can control it all from here. It's a starship—the C.S. Cyclops. Even the name is secret. Don't ever repeat it."

  "So…history is not lost," I repeated. The full magnitude of this thing was beginning to dawn on me.

  "It's all out there. Everything that's ever happened. Every lost empire, every doomed world, every tragic, brilliant, fatally flawed civilization, everything humanity has ever done on a planet's surface. All our successes, all our failures, all of our genius and stupidity and atrocities—all of it. Civilizations that have vanished in the sands of time, kingdoms that have disintegrated to dust, leaving not a single document, worlds that turned to slag when their star went nova—it's all there. There's so much we cannot possibly read it all, even if we build a hundred ships like the Cyclops. Somehow…that makes it even more tragic. All the secrets of history are flashing past us, at the speed of light. But what can you do? I'm watching a football game. It's a fine game!" He shook his head again. I could only stare at those long-dead children, charging along that bright green field.

  "This particular world is out in Sagitta," he said. "It's called Odura by the O's. No ConFree or Systie ship has ever been that far out in the Nulls. But you might as well fam yourself with the place. Tara is sending you there."

  ***

  "I just wanted to say goodbye—and thank you," Tara explained. She had invited Priestess and me to the Commander's Mess. It was an intimate little place, low lights and snowy white tablecloths and heavy cutlery and lovely little waitresses, serving us expertly. It reminded me of the executive dining room at the Lost Command's Hqs on Dindabai. The Legion's upper crust evidently was developing a taste for a little quiet luxury. I didn't blame them. I sure wouldn't want all that responsibility. And if I had it, I might want a chance to relax.

  "Thank us for what?" I asked. We sipped dox over dessert. There were only the three of us. It all seemed so artificial to me—something that was just flashing past my eyes before my return to the real world. I felt that Priestess and I were already on our way back to Atom's Road, falling, helpless and doomed, into a hopeless future where the sky was a mighty dark cloud of antimat debris and we would wait, as the earth shook, with little pieces of shrapnel pinging off our armor, watching the O's walk out of the cloud, glittering violet. I could almost see it as Tara replied.

  "For your cooperation. I know you sometimes question my motives, Wester. Motivation is a very complex process. But for this one, there's no mystery. This one is for God, Wester. This one is for Deadman. I prayed for you, Wester, last night, on my knees, for you and Priestess and your whole squad. I don't do that often, Wester, but I meant it sincerely. The White Death is spreading in geometric progression. All of ConFree is paralyzed, and the same is happening to the O's. Transportation and communication are grinding to a halt. The System is next. It's getting closer. They're taking extraordinary measures to avoid it, but it's probably hopeless. There's no vaccine, Wester. It eats our fungicides like candy. The death count is approaching a million in ConFree alone. Society is unraveling on infected worlds. Not even the Legion can fight this, Wester. At least not yet."

  "And you really think we're going to resolve it?" Priestess asked.

  "Chances are very low that you will succeed. The events we're talking about happened over a hundred thousand years ago. One planet—and only one planet—survived after being infected. A planet the O's called Chudit. Your mission is to find it, Wester. I've put you on it because I know you're a mad dog, once you set out to do something you regard as important. I've seen you in action, Wester. You're one scary guy. And I think you know how important this is. You've got to find Chudit, Wester. We have only a very general idea of where it was—but of the worlds that are there, the O's can't identify any as Chudit. You've got to find it! The longer it takes you, the more ConFree nationals die. Chudit holds the secret to countering the White Death. Our finest scientists are helpless, Wester. So are the O's. They would never have come to us if they could have handled it themselves." Her Assidic eyes were blazing. She was truly beautiful, but I detected a great weariness. All the weight of the galaxy was on her shoulders. I didn't envy her.

  "You make it sound as if our chances of accomplishing this are very remote," I said.

  "They are! But we've got to try! More than a hundred thousand stellar years ago, the planet Odura was the hub of a mighty human civilization that had developed into a regional center of civilization and culture in Sagitta. But it was far enough from the infection that the White Death never reached it. The O's knew a great deal about Odura, a hundred thousand years ago. They've passed on some of that knowledge to us. They've identified Odura, Wester. And we've found it. You've seen the images yourself—from over two thousand years ago. The Odurans were historians, Wester. They had temples and libraries devoted to the study of galactic history. The secret of Chudit should be there, Wester."

  "Chudit was a hundred thousand years ago, Tara. There'll be nothing left but dust."

  "Yes…I know. That's likely. All we have are images, from a few thousand years ago. Practically yesterday. And it doesn't look like there's much left on Odura from the old days. Nevertheless…we've got to try. Don't you agree?"

  "Yes. Of course."

  "Find it, Wester. Visit Odura, and find Chudit. And remember…every moment's delay costs a human life."

  "Of course."

  "We can only spare you one squad—Jox. You will be Mission Commander and my direct representative. Dragon will remain squad leader but he will report to you. We can't give you the Spawn, either. There's too much for Recon to do. But we'll get you there. You'll get your Phantom, too. One squad, Wester. Make it count!"

  "If there's anything to find there, we'll find it, Tara."

  "Find Chudit! That's all I want. Find it! We'll do the rest!"

  "Your dox is getting cold, Tara. You know…I've recently decided that you're God's personal representative, at this particular moment in history. You once told me you had to be strong, to triumph over evil. You were absolutely right. I'm not going to quit trying until I'm dead, Tara. And I know it's the same with you. Don't worry about being tired. We're all tired. Isn't that right, Priestess?"

  "I'm ready to drop. But I've got to keep an eye on you, Thinker. I'll keep you alive."

  "Miss? Some more dox, please."

  Chapter 7

  Odura

  Looks pretty bleak," Dragon said. We gathered around the illuminated map table. It was glowing a faint red, displaying the latest images from our probes. Bleak was an understatement. Odura appeared to be mostly desert, wind-blown sand and faded weatherworn rocks and dried out stream beds and scruffy, sparse vegetation.

  I didn't care. I was totally consumed by the mission. Find Chudit! It was branded on my brain. I was convinced that the secret of Chudit was down there somewhere, hidden in the sands. And I was going to find it!

  We were on the Confederation tacship Die Young, and we were so far out in Sagitta by then that I no longer even felt human. I felt dead. I felt I had transcended humanity, that I had entered into some kind of special zone where my humanity was no longer a factor.

  Nobody had been this far out before, at least not on this side of the galaxy. It had been one long, scary ride, into the eye of the hole, into the land of not quite there, into the out and out to the in, riding a magical quantum antimat bullet through alternate worlds, with the pressure of the entire universe on your skin and icy cold fear in your heart and you know it is the vac, teasing you.

  I think we all felt the same. Nobody said anything, but I could tell. We had ridden that antimat bullet. We had powered our way right into this impossibly distant realm. We were delegates from Deadm
an, aliens from the dark side, totally mindless, totally merciless, and totally focused, and we had only one mission—Chudit.

  "Those city-states that were here two thousand years ago seem to be gone," Priestess said.

  "Yeah. Things have definitely gone downhill. See all those little shacks? It's like the whole society has disintegrated. Nobody's building anything anymore, except shacks." Dragon trailed a finger over the illuminated surface of the fotomap.

  "It's a natural process," Psycho said. "From order to disorder. If you stop fighting it, you lose."

  "You should know, Psycho," Tourist said. "The area around your bunk is a perfect example."

  "Shut down, Tourist. If the sight offends you, feel free to clean it up. I'm too busy to do housework."

  "No, thanks. That underwear has got things living in it. I've seen it moving."

  "This is the temple area?" I asked. The chit-chat stopped abruptly.

  "That's it," Dragon replied. "You can barely make it out." A massive, dead stone city, buried in the sands, disintegrating to dust. It was almost invisible from above. It had been a mighty fortress-city, countless generations ago. Now it was nothing.

  The rest of the squad was silent, as I leaned over the fotomap. I had slowly come to realize that they were afraid of me. Not Dragon and Psycho and Priestess and Redhawk, of course, but the others. It had come as a great surprise to me. It had evidently started when I shot that Orman during the Calgoran 2 raid. I'm not sure why it surprised me, that they were afraid of me. I had felt the same way about Boudicca—Gamma One—when she shot that priest on Coldmark with no provocation. I thought at the time that she was insane. Now, however, several long years later, I was not so sure.

  "There are whole cities buried under those sands," Redhawk said. "All over the planet. How are we going to know what to go after?"

  "We're going to need help," I said. "The locals are going to help us."

  A rust-red desert, blowing in the wind. A dead civilization. Primitives, living in crude huts. And Squad Jox, the Armpits, standing around the light table. Young troopers, anxious, serious, eager, ready for the next drop.