Cross of the Legion

by Marshall S. Thomas

  "That thing was inside the tooth. It's lucky Customs didn't open it. Turns out it was full of plague spores—and they were live."

  I put down my dox. The Cyrillian was back on screen, sweating.

  "We started paying attention, at that point," Tara continued. "I did a psyprobe myself. He was recruited by someone on Dardos—undoubtedly a cut-out. He was given a great deal of money, a round-trip ticket, the return portion dated a week after his arrival, and was told to open the container in a public restroom in Auraga, and leave it there. Had he done so, we would have had another Legion world infected. And the courier, of course, would have died, along with everybody else."

  "I see."

  "You once asked me what I was doing on Augusta 6, Wester. I'm now going to tell you."

  "Go right ahead."

  "I was tracking a Systie agent whom the SIS employed for sensitive clandestine missions. We wanted to know what his business was on Augusta 6. When the O's invaded, of course, all that was instantly forgotten. And when the White Death appeared there, we initially thought it might have had something to do with the O's. But—until now—we had no reason to connect the System to the White Death."

  "I see."

  "I now believe it possible that Systie agent was carrying plague spores, and his mission was to infect Augusta 6. And that it was just a coincidence that the O's chose that moment to invade. This is the most despicable genocide in galactic history, Wester. It appears that someone was using the White Death as a weapon against ConFree and Omni worlds. They must have created the substance themselves, for that specific purpose. And I suspect the SIS."

  "But System worlds were also infected."

  "Yes—some of them were. The picture is not yet complete, Wester. That's why you're here. I'd like you to follow up on what we have, and track down and identify the guilty."

  "I'm not a cop."

  "You are now. I am pleased to announce your promotion to Senior Captain. It's a battlefield commission, Wester, in recognition of your work on Chudit. I'd also like to inform you that you have been transferred permanently to Galactic Information."

  "No. I don't…"

  "It will be on your terms, Wester. Whatever you want, you get. The Legion needs you, Wester. I need you. Your people need you. We need to find out who did this, and exterminate him—or them. If it's the System, there will be consequences—titanic consequences."

  "I'm not a spy."

  "You did pretty good on Chudit, Wester. You're exactly what I need."

  "You don't know it's the SIS."

  "No. That's conjecture. But, in retrospect, it's pretty odd that my target was there, on Augusta, for unknown reasons, when the White Death showed up for the first time. The Cyrillian is the key, Wester. He can lead you back to the source. We'll take whoever's there. We don't care who it is."

  "Do you really think it was the System? Would anyone—even the System—do something like this deliberately?"

  "The answer is yes, Wester. The Cyrillian proves it. Those plague spores would have wiped out Auraga."

  "Yes. I suppose so. It's hard to believe."

  "It's not hard to believe. I've been fighting evil all my life, Wester. This is evil. I think I know where this leads—but I need proof. You're going to get me that proof. If you have any doubts about this mission, I can provide you with the latest casualty lists from the White Death. Very impressive figures. I've got some vid clips, too. Would you like to see an entire elementary school overcome by the fungus just before the shipment of Xeno-A arrived? I guarantee you won't sleep for awhile after seeing that one."

  "Never mind, Tara. I accept your mission. With a few provisos. I want Dragon—and Valkyrie."

  "Done."

  "And I want Priestess."

  "Done."

  "Will my Hqs be here, on Quaba?"

  "Here, and on whatever starship you need to do the job."

  "Fine. I want Millie S-Fam assigned to Quaba—to the hospital."

  "Done."

  "I'll be asking for more, later. That's just the start."

  "That's fine, Wester. I'm going to give you a letter from the Director of Starcom, designating you as his personal representative, and instructing everyone to do whatever you want, instantly."

  "That'll be a big change."

  "Your new Starcom and Galactic Information ID is right here, Wester, along with the letter. You have unlimited funding." She slid a small envelope across the table.

  "One more thing," I said. "Assign Scrapper to me as well. She's in the SRC."

  "Done. Anything else?"

  "I want to see that Cyrillian. Now."

  "Can. He's right here on Quaba. Don't you want to see your office first?"

  "No. Take me to the Cyrillian."

  "Let's go." She got up. I picked up the envelope.

  ***

  I watched the Cyrillian for some time through the one-way viewport, gathering my thoughts. He was alone, strapped to a chair in a little interrogation room, sweating profusely under hot lights, his ebony skin gleaming, his head dangling wearily.

  Yes, I'd need Dragon, and Valkyrie. Dragon was the ultimate weapon, merciless and deadly, and Valkyrie was a psychotic, willing to hurl herself into Hell for the Legion—or maybe just for herself. And I wasn't leaving Priestess behind. Also, I knew Valkyrie would not come without Scrapper. Priestess and Scrapper—yes, they'd both add a touch of sanity to our efforts.

  I punched the door open and slid in behind the table, facing the Cyrillian. He barely looked up. I was just another black uniform to torment him.

  "How you doing?" I asked cheerfully.

  "Not so good," he croaked, stealing a glance at me through bloodshot eyes.

  "Yeah. I understand the guys are more than a little upset with you."

  "I gathered that."

  "You know why?"

  "Something to do with my delivery." He showed me sharpened fangs. The Cyrillians always sharpened their teeth.

  "That's it. Did you know what you were delivering?"

  "I didn't ask. For fifty thousand credits and a round- trip ticket, I don't ask."

  "Didn't the guys tell you?"

  "No."

  I laughed. "You'll like this. It was White Death spores. Live White Death spores. If you had opened it, you would have killed everyone on the planet. Including yourself. Funny, huh?"

  He was silent at first. When he spoke, it was a whisper. "Oh scut."

  "Yep. Plague spores. So you can see why my buddies are upset."

  "Oh scut. That son of a bitch."

  "You know what they're planning to do with you? They're going to skin you alive. That's done by removing the top layer of your skin with a laser, leaving you with no skin and one bleeding, oozing open wound, all over your body. It's horrible. But that's not all—then they'll cut off your arms. That's really annoying. You can't even scratch your nose. You see, you were about to commit genocide. ConFree doesn't let people get away with that. Your punishment is going to be broadcast to the entire galaxy."

  "I didn't know! Oh scut."

  "You didn't know? What did you think it was?"

  "I thought it was just a delivery—some kind of drug, some kind of illegal substance. I'm a dependable courier. I don't peek. I thought it strange when he said to open it at the delivery site, but who am I to argue? For fifty T, I'll open it. Oh scut."

  "What's your name, sub?"

  "Theoford Van…oh, hell. Street name is Link."

  "All right, Link. Here's the story. There's one way, and only one way, for you to avoid getting skinned alive and having your arms chopped off. I've got this little problem. I'm supposed to find out who's behind this business. And I will. I personally don't care if you live or die, but I know you're just a patsy. I wouldn't mind letting you go, later, if you can lead me to the people on the other end of that package you almost delivered. We plan on killing them all, after torturing them for ten or twenty years. You can join them, or join me. You've got about ten fracs to decide."
/>   "Sign me up, man! I want them bastards as bad as you do. They were using me like a dispo!"

  "Good. If I decide for any reason that you're not being totally cooperative, you die instantly. Understood?"

  "Gotcha!"

  "That's 'Gotcha, sir'."

  "Yes sir! I'm looking forward to working with you, sir!" He gave me a wicked smile, again revealing his sharpened fangs.

  "I'll bet."

  ***

  "Mis-tah Mah-lu! Good to see you, man!" Link hesitated briefly before the booth. It was a darkened cafe, quite busy. Most of the tables and booths were taken. We had a good view from a probe that was about the size of a dust mote, floating above Link's head.

  "Have a seat, Link. What do you want?" Mr. Malu was by himself in the booth, sipping dox. He looked like a fairly typical Dardan—tall, lanky, a bony face, thinning hair. He was dressed in a dark business suit with a neck-high collar. There was a large goon with a vac gun sitting alone at a table nearby, pondering a handscreen. Valkyrie and Scrapper were at one of the tables, holding hands, posing as fem tourists. They had no trouble playing that role. They were wired, backup for our probes. Dragon and I were outside in our rented aircar, parked in the vicinity with the plex darkened, watching the action on our d-screens. Priestess was roaming around through the tourist market located along the sidewalks, keeping the car in sight. Greenside was a major tourist attraction and we were ostensibly there as tourists, sampling the spicy night life and unusual attractions.

  "What do you want?" Link repeated, sliding into the booth opposite Malu. "Well to start with I'd like a blue stunner. Is that any way to greet an old friend and business colleague? What do you want?"

  "Look, Link…" Malu grimaced. "I got a business to run here, and I'm kinda busy. I don't have anything for you today. So if you've got something for me, let's hear it."

  "Oh. Aw right. Sure. We'll dispense with the foreplay. Mistuh Mah-lu, I came here to ask you…ain't you surprised to see me?"

  Malu just looked at him. "Should I be?"

  "You're not even a little surprised?"

  "Well…maybe a little. I figured with 50 thou you'd be making a new life somewhere and we wouldn't see you again. But here you are. Whoopee. Now, like I said before, what do you want?"

  Link grinned hugely, and took a little envelope out of a shirt pocket and placed it on the table. "Remember that last delivery I made?"

  "Yes, I remember."

  "Do you know what it was?"

  "What it was? No, I don't know what it was. Do you?"

  "Yeah!" Link grinned again. "Guess what? I didn't deliver it."

  "You didn't."

  "Tha's right."

  "I see. So you've come here to give me back the fifty thousand."

  "Oh no—not at all!"

  Now Malu was grinning. It was a scary grin. "This is getting really interesting. Please go on."

  "Actually, I've come here to get more money."

  "More! How do you plan on doing that?"

  "Well, I'm going to pass you this envelope, and you're going to pass it to whoever paid you to send me to Auraga with that delivery. There's a note in there. You can read it if you like. It tells them that I know what is in the tooth, and if they don't give me a million credits I'm going to blab. Oh, and—one more thing—if anything unpleasant happens to me—like death, or disappearance—the authorities on Auraga are going to inherit the tooth, and all the details." Link slid the envelope across the table to Malu. Malu didn't open it. He contemplated Link for a few moments, then spoke.

  "I'm going to give you some free advice, Link. Just because I like you so much. I'd advise you to take this envelope back, take whatever's left of that 50 grand, and disappear, before I tell them you didn't make the delivery. Or before I decide to kill you myself. That's really good advice. If I pass on this envelope, you're a dead man. I won't have to do a thing. I know these people. They've got no sense of humor."

  "The note tells them how to reach me, if they don't want to involve you. I won't be hiding. I'm confident they'll pay. And if you do anything drastic to me, they'll be very upset with you. Believe me—you don't know what was in that tooth."

  "It's your funeral. Stay away from my place, all right? I just had new carpeting put in. Bloodstains are hell on the carpets."

  Link left the cafe with no incidents. The dust mote stayed, hovering over Malu. We relaxed, just a smidgeon.

  "If they're smart," I said to Dragon, "they'll do nothing. The less they do, the less we learn."

  "They'll act. I think they'll act. They've got to. They don't know if he's told anyone or not. It could be he's telling the truth—they don't know. From their point of view, it would make sense to snatch him, find out the truth, then terminate him."

  "But that makes them vulnerable."

  "It's their planet. They'll be confident."

  "I don't know."

  "Well, we'll see. We'll see what Malu does."

  ***

  The first thing Malu did upon returning to his office was to make a starlink call. The dust mote gave us everything. The Legion had given us the latest in surveillance gear. It was a one-way conversation, of course, but we got the number and that was all we needed. By then, Dragon and I were back in our hotel room. Priestess was babysitting Link in his suite, several floors down. Valkyrie and Scrapper were in the lobby, watching.

  "This is S.C. Malu of Intersys Enterprises, of Dardos," Malu said. "We're calling for Cit K. Fresco of Fresco Shipping. Please inform Cit Fresco that the delivery to Auraga was never made. The courier is holding on to the goods, and wants more compensation. It's given us a letter of explanation for Cit Fresco. We'll hold onto it until we hear from it. This courier is not dependable to say the least and we'd like to apologize for that. We will certainly refund Cit Fresco's payment in full. Please let us know how it would like to handle this. We're very disturbed about this. It's the first time this courier has failed to complete a delivery. Needless to say, we'll not be dealing with that one again. Apologies and regards. S.C. Malu. Our thanks."

  Malu sighed, and disconnected the starlink. We were already tracing the call. We had the data before the message even arrived at the destination. Fresco Shipping was located on Santos, a System world. We had no doubt it, too, was a cutout—but we knew we were getting closer. We sent the data back to Starcom, and settled back to await the arrival of any visitors to Link's suite.

  ***

  "Come on, man, it's been almost two weeks—I'm dyin'!" Link was insistent.

  "No, you're not dying. That's the point," Dragon replied. "You're not dying because we're careful."

  "But this ain't no way to live! No nookie for two weeks. Man!" Dragon and I were visiting Link's suite. We figured we could get away with that, once in awhile, because Link was a stim dealer. It said something about a world where a visit to a drug dealer was a good cover for your clandestine activities.

  "Man, you fellows ain't thinkin' straight! If anybody's watchin' this place, they ain't gonna see no nookie walkin' in the door. Now that ain't natural. That's weird. If it was just me and 50 T, there'd be a parade of chicks, day and night. They'll know something's up! They'll know it's somebody besides me calling the shots!"

  "I hate to say it, but he's got a point," I said to Dragon.

  "Hmm. Yeah. Maybe. All right, Link—one girl. She'll stay the night. But we call her. And you keep your mouth shut!"

  "Yes sir!" He showed us his best grin. "I'd like something pale and hot."

  ***

  We watched the girl show up at Priestess's room through another dust mote. She was incredibly beautiful, a sweet young thing with flawless skin, silky black shoulder-length hair, and long slender limbs.

  "ID card," Priestess said as the door slid shut. Priestess examined the girl's card with an expression of distaste. "Cit Nimalee. It should be in midschool. What is it doing in this business?"

  "We don't have any parents," she replied softly. "If we try to leave, the gentlemen will beat us
. We owe them a lot of money."

  "Right. Stand there and don't move." Priestess ran a modified body scan over the girl's body, her clothing, her purse, and her shoes. We watched. We weren't voyeurs, but we had to watch. The girl was so pretty it wasn't natural. She worried me. Priestess had called her from one of the escort agencies, chosen at random. I was worried anyway. Priestess went into the bathroom and used the tacnet.

  "She's clean," Priestess said. "No weapons, nothing unusual."

  "Good," Dragon said. "Direct her to Link's room. Thanks, Priestess."

  Priestess gave Nimalee a hundred C, and Link's room number. "We owe this fellow," she said. "Stay with it all night. Do what it wants. It'll pay another hundred in the morning if it's happy."

  "Yes ma'am."

  "And go back to school if it gets a chance."

  "Yes ma'am."

  ***

  "This is disgusting," I said, turning away from the d- screen. "I'm not watching this any more. What's the point?" Link was making up for lost time, pounding his way into the girl like some kind of runaway pile driver. She was whimpering with every stroke.

  "All right," said Dragon. "We'll just check it every once in awhile. I guess we can't watch all night."

  "Good. I'm getting some dox."

  We settled down. It was going to be a long night.

  ***

  I fell asleep. That's the story. I had the watch, sitting by the d-screen with my dox, but I was not too anxious to watch the proceedings, and I nodded off. My fault.

  Something must have prodded my subconsciousness, for in the dead of night I awoke—just a few fracs too late. A glance at the screen showed me Link was alone in the bed—and something was wrong—very wrong.

  "Dragon! Alert!" I staggered to my feet. At that very moment, Scrapper called on the tacnet.

  "Thinker, the girl is in the hall, heading for the elevator. What the hell, over?" Thank the dead for Scrapper!

  "Stop her, Scrapper!" Dragon and I were out the door. Link's suite was located two floors below ours. We rocketed down the stairwell and arrived in fracs. The door snapped open. Link lay on the bed, face purple, glazed eyes open and focused on nothing. A little black instrument with tentacles and suckers was affixed to one temple. A dispo power syringe lay on the carpet. His frozen hands were grasping at the air.