"Let us see his hands." The Arcangels forced Dragon's head to the floor while wrenching his manacled hands around for the visitor to see. He nodded, apparently satisfied, and the biogens let Dragon's head come up again.
"These are soldiers of the Legion, General," the man in white said quietly. "Look carefully at the girl's breasts. See those faint scars? That's xmax. And the male—he's been through a lot. Had death faces on his knuckles. They've been lasered off."
"Soldiers of the Legion!" The Mocain general was stunned.
"But how did they get here?" The Orman spoke for the first time. He sounded genuinely shocked.
"Are we still having communication problems?" the man in white asked.
"Yes sir," the general replied. "It's getting worse!"
"And those VS—and the Mocain female—still loose?"
"Yes sir. We're closing on them!"
"General. I am not impressed with this demonstration of the efficiency of my personal security forces. These two are professional killers—and they almost made it into my personal quarters."
"Sir! We'll take down…"
"General. We are now under attack by a highly skilled and exceptionally formidable Legion raiding party. They are inside the base. I want a full scale red alert, now. Operational and strategic alerts as well. Seal all doors and hatches. No further movement. I'm going to flood the airspace to X levels, now, as soon as you're out. Your mission is to track down the rest of these assassins and kill them. I want immediate reports of anything unusual."
"Sir!" the general charged out the door. The man in white continued contemplating Dragon and Priestess. The Orman was silent. The Arcwhites and Arcangels were silent. The shockrods continued to buzz faintly.
"Remarkable," the man in white said, touching his lips with one finger. "They must be getting desperate. To have come all this way…Recon. Yes, probably Recon. It must be me. They're here to kill me."
"But how did they get here?" the Orman repeated. The man in white glared at him.
"You're the advisor. You tell me."
"Shouldn't we question them?"
"No. It'll get nothing from these two. Nothing we don't know already. Captain!"
"Sir!" One of the Arcangels snapped to attention.
"Flood the airlevels to X."
"Sir!"
"And as for these two…bring the male to the contact arena. I want to watch him die. And the girl…bring her to the rec bed." He moved over to Priestess and thrust his face within mils of hers. "We're going to rape you thoroughly, subgirl, and then strangle you, when we're finished. We'll record it all—and send it to the Director of ConFree—so he can see how we treat his emissaries." He showed his teeth, a chill, evil leer. Priestess continued staring straight ahead, consumed with hatred.
***
Scrapper and I strolled up to the service entrance to X-levels, taking our time. A pair of Arcangels lounged at the outer gate. One took off at a fast trot, almost running, comset in hand, hot to go somewhere, shouting back at the other. What a break! A young Mocain male in DefCorps khaki left his post by the inner door and approached the remaining Arcangel by the outer gate. They were quite busy with their comsets, ignoring our approach.
"What's happening?" the Mocain asked the Arcangel.
"An attempt to force access to X. Somebody crashed an E-van through the supply gate. Sounds like a big fight—several intruders!"
"What? Well, what happened?"
"Intruders detained. No further info. Gee-girl is checking. The set is still acting up."
Only two of them! We could see the inner door, a double airlock just a short distance away. No one else was around!
"Excuse us. We have a work order…" I began. The biogen held up one hand, cutting me off, straining to hear something on her comset. We must have looked pretty authentic, a couple of sweaty subs dressed in shoddy work clothes, me with the tool pouch over one shoulder, Scrapper with the battered comset.
"Try to get Admin if Security doesn't work," the Mocain said. "You'd think there'd be new orders."
"We've already tried that!"
I nodded to Scrapper—we'd never get a better chance than this! We each had a shockrod. I lunged at the biogen, blasting her before she could react. Scrapper zapped the Mocain at the same instant. They collapsed, power surging over their skins. I knew we would have to kill the biogen. I whipped the angel wire around her neck before she could recover, and twisted. She came alive, snapping her limbs spastically. Scrapper zapped her again as I twisted the wire further. White blood popped out of her nose and mouth. Her eyes bulged horribly, an awful death rattle, the blood squirting out from her neck. One final shudder—life functions terminated. We wouldn't have to worry about the Mocain. He was down and out, still smoking.
We pounced on the inner door. At that instant a piercing alarm shrieked, and a metallic voice boomed out at ear-shattering volume: "RED ALERT! RED ALERT! Full combat alert! Seal all doors and hatches! Seal all compartments! Seal all levels! This is no drill! Hostile intruders have penetrated the base! Warning—Legion raiders have penetrated the base! Report all suspicious activity! Alert! The Legion raiders are in disguise and heavily armed!…" The sirens continued hooting. We could barely hear Snow Leopard, shouting in our ears.
"Get that door open, Thinker! Snap the lever!" We knew exactly how to do it. The airlocked double personnel doors slid open with a sigh and a cold wet blast of air rushed over us from inside—a great roaring, drowning out the red alert siren. What the…there it was, the airspace! A gleaming cenite catwalk bridge stretched over a sheer drop to another cenite door on the other side, firmly closed. That was the final airlock door to X. Once past that door we'd be in KCA's private domain. But an ocean was falling, a titanic waterfall crashing down from above, bursting off the bridge, thundering down with terrible force to a foaming, angry sea below.
"Damn! They're flooding the airspace!" I shouted. KCA was a raving, psychotic lunatic, but he wasn't a paranoid. If people really are trying to kill you, you're not paranoid, no matter what measures you take, no matter how extreme they are. We knew exactly how this particular security measure worked. The airspace would be flooded, cutting off X level from the rest of the base.
Scrapper nodded and shouted something back. The roar from the torrent was so fierce I could not hear her. I went charging over the bridge and a falling ocean battered me down instantly, my face striking the cenite floorgrill. I struggled to my hands and knees—I had bounced right off the guardrail grill. Had it not been there, I'd have been swept off to my death in the watery chaos below. I crawled forward, gasping for air as tons of icy water crashed down all around me. My hand closed around the control lever to one side of the inner door. Scrapper appeared beside me, also crawling, the water battering at her. I pulled the lever. Nothing. Nothing!
"Use the combo, Thinker! It's sealed from inside!" I could barely hear One, even though he was shouting right in my ears. I stole a quick glimpse upwards. The ocean was falling on us, rushing in from secret vents high above, in huge white foamy rivers, icy cold, smashing at the cenite bridge and us with incredible force. Would the bridge hold? Yes, yes, surely they would have tested it!
One, two, three, four—my fingers shook and the pad was slippery—was that it? I yanked at the lever again. Nothing!
"It's rising!" Scrapper screamed right in my ear, her tawny hair flattened against her scalp, gasping, water gushing around her face. I chanced a glance below. A boiling white ocean was rising up the air space. It would reach us soon. It was designed to deter intruders—and it was working just as advertised.
"Help me!" I shouted. Scrapper and I both strained at the lever. It should have opened easily—but it didn't.
"Thinker!" One shouted again. "The red alert has cancelled all overrides! Our code doesn't work!"
"What do we do!" I shouted. The ocean crashed onto my head, my back, battering me black and blue. Scrapper hung from the lever like a drowning rat.
"We're trying to re
verse it! Keep trying the code! Keep working on the lever!"
Scrapper gestured below—a wild, swirling ocean was rising. It would be upon us in moments! And One's eyemotes were still screwing around!
"Keep trying!" I shouted, punching the code again, both of us yanking at the lever. Nothing! The lever smashed against solid cenite, again and again. It was firmly locked. And the ocean was here, rising, wild icy white foam swirling at our feet, rising to engulf the bridge. One two three four, pull! Nothing! One two three four, pull! Nothing!
"Keep trying, Thinker!" The water swirled around my waist, a freezing whirlpool, threatening to tear us away. We kept our grips on the lever. One two three four pull! Nothing! One two three four pull! Nothing! The water at my shoulders! Scrapper still at her post. One two three four pull! Nothing!
"Take a breath!" I screamed, filling my lungs. Scrapper did the same and the torrent whirled over and above us. The Legion had torture-tested us all underwater, building our lungs and endurance. I had hated it—but I knew my capabilities. So did Scrapper. I wasn't afraid of drowning. The Legion had flooded our bloodstreams with nanoreds, artificial red blood cells—millions of them. I had done the pool test repeatedly. Twenty marks, sitting at the bottom of the pool without breathing, my body surviving on the extra oxygen in my bloodstream. I had thought it was silly—but it no longer seemed silly.
The wild current tugged at us as I pressed the pad again underwater. One two three four, pull! Nothing! We kept doing it. It was getting so cold my limbs were going numb. We were not going to last much longer. But I was not going to stop trying—not ever.
Chapter 28
Fresh Corpses
Dragon stood in the exact center of the circular contact arena on the mat, naked to the waist, his arms still cuffed behind him, his legs manacled, his feet bare. Dragon had spent half his life on the mat, so he knew exactly where he was. It wasn't the type of place he was used to, however. This one was pretty upscale, practically brand new, rows of brightly colored seats ringing the arena, rising at a steep angle. The seats were rapidly filling as teams of contestants lined the edge of the mat, clad in loose-fitting team uniforms. There were a lot of children—boys, dressed in team colors. There were plenty of biogens as well, all female, some of them warming up on the fringes. There was a steady murmur from the audience. Dragon was the center of attention. He was almost like a statue, a dark slab of hard wiry muscles, shirtless, battered and bruised but standing tall, his deep-set eyes glittering defiance. The arena was well-lit and there wasn't much about Dragon that was not revealed by the lights. He was a formidable sight.
KCA came in to deafening applause, surrounded by a flurry of Arcangels and Arcwhites. He was still dressed in white. He took a seat in a box about half way up the bleachers.
"Thanks for coming on such short notice," KCA said, evidently to everyone. His amplified words cut through the buzz of conversation, ending it instantly. "This is one of the Legion assassins who were sent here by the CrimCon to kill the people's Supreme Leader. It failed—and now it is to pay for its crimes. We're told it's a fighter. Samsejan, it's told us the Arcwhites are contact qualified. We have a live target for them. Let's just see how good its Arcwhites are. Guards—release his leg cuffs."
The leg cuffs came off and the biogen guards faded away fast. Dragon tested the mat, stretching his legs. It was perfect. He snapped his right leg out and it cracked like a shot, then slapped back to the mat, as sudden and powerful as a bolt of lightning. He snapped his left out and another shot rang out. He balanced lightly on the balls of his feet, almost floating. His arms were still tied behind his back. It was dead silent in the arena.
The Systie contact master signalled a young fighter, who stepped forward. He was built like a tank, pumped up and ready to leap into action. KCA signalled from the stands.
"The youngest qualified first, Samsejan. Let's work our way up."
A child warrior came out, clenching his fists, bowing once to Dragon in an ancient contact ritual, then taking his stance. Dragon bowed back, and settled into a relaxed stance. The child appeared nervous. Finally he shouted and charged, trying for a left thrust kick. Dragon did a left snap kick that caught the boy in the thigh, lifted him into the air and dumped him onto the mat. Red-faced, the child scrambled to his feet and charged again, throwing a right-left straight punch combo. A jump kick to the throat put him on the mat again, stunned, down and out. Dragon had pulled his kicks. He did not want to hurt the boy.
Two kids came at him next from opposite sides, dancing around him, shouting, feinting. One of them tried a spear kick. Dragon countered with a very solid left side snap kick that dropped the child, screaming in agony. The second one went with a fast roundhouse kick. Dragon dodged it, and countered with a right spin kick that landed hard, knocking the boy almost off the mat.
Dragon stood in the center of the mat, motionless, as his opponents limped off. Fighting with his arms tied behind his back did not bother Dragon at all. On his home world, his contact club built their skill levels exactly that way—conducting tournaments with arms tied behind the back. No hands matches, they were called. Dragon had won the gold more than once in that particular skill set.
The Systie master signalled, and three more youths took to the mat. These were a bit older and certainly more experienced. They circled Dragon warily. He did not move. One of them leaped in, swinging a right crescent kick. Dragon leaped aside like a great cat and landed a solid left snap in his opponent's ribs, putting him out of the fight, writhing on the mat. The second fighter tried a left thrust kick, but his foot went slicing past Dragon, who whirled and did a full roundhouse kick, connecting to the back of his opponent's neck, decking him. The third boy leaped at Dragon with a flying snap kick to the chest but Dragon avoided it by mils and delivered a jumping left kick to the side of the head, knocking his enemy unconscious.
Dragon stood alone, not even sweating. He had been a bit worried about his balance during the roundhouse, without his arms, but it had worked fine. His opponents lay groaning on the mat.
The young tank came out alone. Finally—some serious opposition. The youth took a wide combat stance, twitching in anticipation—just a little too close. Dragon struck with a sudden overhead right hammer kick that whistled around like a great scythe, landing with a sickening thud on his opponent's head, driving him to his knees. He looked at Dragon briefly, surprised, then collapsed face-first onto the mat.
KCA, visibly disappointed, signalled the contact master. A short-haired biogen girl came out, quite beautiful, wearing a white team uniform with scarlet trim. She exploded from the ready stance, launching a very good roundhouse kick that whistled past Dragon's face. He caught her with a rising left snap that dumped her on the mat. She leaped to her feet instantly and ran into a front kick to the face. She fell to her back, teeth broken and white blood oozing from her lips. She leaped up again and went after Dragon with two left kicks that came close, a roundhouse right that glanced off his shoulder and a series of straight punches that caught him in the chest. Dragon kicked her in the belly with a rising right snap, and followed with a left spear kick to her face, breaking her nose and sending her down again. She sat there for a moment, stunned, then got up. Dragon knew she would not stop until she was dead, or he was.
Another biogen girl joined the fray, another beauty, anxious to score. Dragon took on the first one again, roundhouse kick, perfect, blasting her to the mat. The second one attacked with a side thrust, dodge, glancing off his shoulder. Dragon struck with a dropping left hammer thrust to the leg. The crack of the biogen's bone snapping was clearly audible. Both were down, and Dragon stood alone.
Two more biogens slipped onto the mat, and the first two got up again, one struggling with her broken leg. All four attacked and Dragon acted on instinct—right spear, score; left snap, duck; left snap, overhead right hammer, good; roundhouse left, good, score; biogen flying, right snap, snap, snap—left half roundhouse, right snap, left hammer. Four biogens struggle
d up from the mat.
Two more biogens appeared, reinforcements, six of them now coming at him. The crowd roared, kicks and thrusts and snaps and fists coming at Dragon from every side. He parried, ducked, countered—left snap, right snap, half left roundhouse, hard biogen feet connecting to his back, his side. He went down but sprang up again, a rising left, connect hard, dropping right hammer, connect hard, biogen punching at his face, flying left kick, she's down, right snap to that one. Somebody scored hard with a flying thrust kick and Dragon went down briefly, jumping up instantly, countering with a half roundhouse left, connecting, the biogen crashing face first to the mat.
Six of them rose up from the mat, coming at him again. Dragon was bleeding from the mouth. The audience was on its feet, ecstatic—wild, thunderous applause.
The biogens were holding off. Dragon stole a glance at KCA. He was on his feet, one finger in the air, a sudden hush falling on the arena.
"Free his arms," KCA said. A fierce cheer from the crowd, as Dragon's cuffs fell away. He snapped his right arm free, crack! Then his left, crack! He settled into combat stance, balancing lightly on the balls of his feet, as graceful as an aircar. Every muscle gleamed in the light. He smiled. He was going to die free, on the mat—doing what he liked best. The biogens approached, warily.
"We're beginning to lose interest, Samsejan," KCA said to the contact master, heading for the exit. "We'll watch the recordings. We'd like a happy ending. Suggest you arrange it. Do it yourself if necessary. Otherwise we may replace you with this fellow. We can tell you we're not impressed with your students."
***
Underwater, the wild current tugged at Scrapper and me as I pressed the pad frantically. One two three four, pull! Nothing! We kept doing it. It was hard to fight the instinct to breathe, but the Legion had shown us how to do it. The roar of the falling water was now deafening.
One two three…Scrapper and I both had a death grip on that lever. Scrapper looked like she was already half dead. Deto! Four! One more pull.
Cross of the Legion Page 38
