The Last Legion: Book One of the Last Legion Series

by Chris Bunch

  “It wasn’t,” Yoshitaro said. “Or, maybe, indirectly. What’s that sign mean — No Fold Unwelcome?”

  “My family’s stores sell to anybody,” Angie said. “But mainly to the ’Raum.”

  “I’m lost,” Njangu said. “If that’s where you get your money from … why’re you down on them?”

  “They’re dirty, they breed like rats, they’d like to wipe anybody out who isn’t ’Raum, and they ought to be run off Cumbre,” Rada said bitterly. “If people had any sense, they’d get rid of ‘em, and work the damned mines with their own people. But they won’t. People always let somebody else sling their shit. One of these days, it’s gonna come back on them.”

  Njangu eyed her, decided he’d gone close enough.

  “Hey,” he said softly.

  “What?” she snapped.

  He cupped her chin in his hand, kissed her. Her eyes went wide in surprise, then her mouth opened, and her tongue curled against his, arms going around him.

  “Hey,” Penwyth shouted, “come on, you two. No fraternizin’ in ranks!”

  She looked up at Njangu. “I hope you’re not giving out tickets you don’t plan on punching,” she said a bit breathlessly. “I thought you were going to go antsy over that rich bitch back there.”

  Njangu wiggled his eyebrows. Angie laughed, and Yoshitaro thought it was a very pleasant sound.

  • • •

  “So much for wild, banzai soldiers on reckless leave,” Angie snorted. “Turn us loose, and what do we do? Stroll the friggin’ docks like friggin’ tourists looking at friggin’ boats. We’ve been on pass most of a day now, and had two beers each, one pretty crappy meal, and a nice frigging stroll is all.”

  “What’s the matter with that?” Milot asked. “Being close to the sea is relaxing.”

  “If I wanted relaxation, I could’ve taken a nap at the Rec Center,” the woman said. “I’m looking for something resembling action. You know … dicks, drugs and doowah?”

  “Pick a bar, any bar,” Erik said. “They all look like we might find a disgustin’ brawl.”

  Njangu looked up and down the waterfront. “No kid,” he said. “But would just a plain simple brawl make our Angie happy? Doesn’t there have to be a good body count and … and what the hell’s going on over there?”

  Six men were pushing a young, ragged-looking peddler around. Yoshitaro heard shouts of “damn ’Raum,”

  “toss him in th’ bay,” and “boot him, Sayid.” The boy’s wares — brightly plated knickknacks — were scattered in the street.

  Sayid was about to obey when a quiet voice stopped him. “You don’t even want to do that.”

  He spun, saw Njangu. “Butt out, sojer boy.”

  “Sure,” Yoshitaro said agreeably. He spun sideways, and his foot snapped up, raked down Sayid’s tibia, and smashed the arch of his foot. Sayid howled, bent, and Njangu snapped a punch into the man’s jaw, recovered, dropped him with a hammer strike on the base of the neck.

  Another man grabbed Njangu’s collar, and Njangu turned into him, brought a knee up into the man’s stomach, let him fall, vomiting, as he turned again.

  A third man had a knife out of a belt sheath, and Milot had his arm in both hands, smashed it across his lifting knee, and the bone snapped.

  Ton barely ducked a punch as Angie’s knife hand struck into that fourth man’s gut. The man gagged and collapsed.

  Njangu kicked the first in the head twice, very hard, without lowering his foot. The man whimpered, staggered away, both hands over the bloody mess that had been his face.

  The last man was holding up both hands, backing away, as Erik, grinning savagely, closed on him.

  “Nuh-uh, nuh-uh, not my doing, not my concern,” he said quickly.

  “Then get the hell out.”

  The man obeyed, ran about ten meters, then started screaming, “Police! Help! Police!”

  Njangu helped the boy to his feet. “You better scoot, little friend.”

  The ’Raum glowered, spat, and ran into an alleyway and was gone.

  “Nice,” Njangu muttered sarcastically, mopping his face with his sleeve. “Virtue’s sure as hell its own reward. Now let’s beat feet before the law materializes.”

  • • •

  “Wup,” Njangu said, as they trotted past the entrance to a hotel fairly oozing class. Several luxury lifters were unloading ostentatiously wealthy passengers, and uniformed help hustled here and there. “In here. Nobody’d look for four soldiers in a ritz dive like this.”

  “And we are supposed to meet your friend here,” Penwyth said. “At the very least, we can feed our darlin’ Angie a drink.”

  They slowed, tried to look suitably arrogant, failed, and entered the Shelburne. The lobby was all old-fashioned overstuffed leather chairs, dark wood, and engravings of people in red coats jumping four-legged beasts over fences.

  “Now, where would the bar be?” Njangu wondered.

  “These are sure not my people,” Ton Milot said. “Let’s scoot. I’d rather face the cops.”

  A clerk curled a lip as he saw them, then his expression changed.

  “Mister Penwyth! I didn’t know you’d gone into the services.”

  “I felt it was my patriotic duty,” Erik drawled, in as snotty a tone as he could manage.

  “But of course, and it’s a delight to see you. Are you planning on dining here?”

  “My plans,” Erik said, “are nebulous at the moment. Actually, we were hoping to meet a friend. A Mister Jaansma.”

  “Yessir,” the clerk said. “He checked in about an hour ago. Oh, you must be the party he told me to expect. Your rooms are waiting. Six seaview rooms … I was able to put all of you on the ninth floor … I do wish Mister Jaansma had told me you’d be among his party, Mister Penwyth.

  “Perhaps if you’d sign in … and how are your parents these days?”

  “Spending most of their time on the out islands,” Erik said. “They’ve closed down the main house on the Heights.”

  “Ah,” the clerk said, pushing an archaic register toward them. “That explains why I haven’t seen them for a while. We’re delighted to welcome you all to the Shelburne.”

  • • •

  “I had your stuff brought over from the Rec Center,” Garvin said, lounging on the bed. “Save the wear and tear.”

  “You must’ve found somebody real rich,” Angie said.

  “And dumb,” Ton Milot added.

  “That’s a big affirm to both,” Garvin said. “Now go brush your teeth, and we’ll rendezvous in the bar in half an hour.”

  Njangu lingered for a moment.

  “You did a pretty good job of impressing those people.”

  “Njangu, my friend, I did a pretty good job of impressing me, even if it was my deck. Those fools insisted on handing me money in bales, almost like they thought it was a straight game. So we should have a fairly adequate leave.

  “I’ve found one thing in his life,” Garvin added. “Whether you’re rich or whether you’re poor, it’s nice to have credits.”

  • • •

  Njangu wandered around his room, face still, his mind on the past, touching the raw silk curtains, playing with the sensors on the com center, looking at the array of bottles in a wall cabinet, staring out the window at the calm twilight sea. Not ever like this, he thought. I never ever thought I would —

  There was a light knock … no more than fingernails … at the door. Njangu opened it. Angie was there, holding her small ditty bag.

  “You ready to go downstairs?” she asked.

  “Mmmh,” Njangu said neutrally.

  “I told Garvin we might be a little late.”

  “Mmmmh?”

  “I don’t know about you,” she said, “but I’m a lot hornier than I am thirsty.”

  “Mmmmh.”

  “Would you be interested in doing something about that?”

  She stood next to the bed, hipshot, and slowly ran a thumb down her tunic seal, let it drop. Sh
e wore a black, lacy brassiere, not issue khaki. Her nipples were hard, erect.

  Njangu undressed, watching her take off her shoes, socks, and pants. She lay back across the bed, lifted one heel up, let her leg fall to the side.

  “Well?” she murmured.

  Njangu walked across the room, bent over her.

  • • •

  “That was quick,” she said, a few minutes later.

  “Sorry,” Yoshitaro apologized. “It’s been a while.”

  “Don’t apologize,” she whispered. “You’re still ready.”

  “Trying to be,” Njangu said. “So whyn’t you put your legs around my back and we’ll see what happens?”

  Angie obeyed, and her wet mouth opened, moved for his.

  They never did make it to the bar that night.

  • • •

  “You appear a bit disheveled,” Erik said cheerily as he poured caff the next morning. Njangu yawned, made a rude gesture, and Angie curled a lip.

  “He,” Penwyth went on, indicating Garvin, “looks like rat-shit on rye.”

  “If you think I look bad from there, you oughta see things from the inside,” Garvin moaned.

  Ton Milot chortled.

  “We sat at the bar waiting — ”

  “ — and drinking,” Erik said.

  “ — and drinking,” Ton continued, “and all of a sudden it got drunk out.”

  “I was staying pretty clean-cut,” Garvin objected. “For a while.”

  “Actually, he was,” Erik agreed.

  Njangu evaluated Jaansma. “Then what happened? You step on a rhinoceros or something?”

  “There was a band,” Garvin offered weakly. “And they had a singer.”

  “Who’s partial to blonds,” Erik said. “Marya’s got a savage reputation for what she does to men. The rest of us lesser mortals had to make do with availables in the audience. Thank Heaven.”

  “My available wasn’t all that fine,” Milot complained.

  Garvin moaned.

  “Poor baby,” Angie offered, patting his hand.

  “My peck … my something feels like it went through one of those old-timey clothes wringers,” Garvin said. “That woman has more strange ideas of what’s a good time … guys, we can’t be drinking in that bar anymore. She said something about getting together again. One more night like that, and I’m undone.”

  “Tsk,” Penwyth said. “Don’t forget the party tonight. Bound to be clusters and globules of beautiful young debutantes, just itchin’ to make the acquaintance of a long-dicked stranger with money.”

  “What party?” Garvin demanded.

  “That’s right, we forgot to tell the lad,” Erik said. “A terribly big thing. At Bampur’s — he’s a bit richer’n the Creator — estate. It’ll be interestin', because either the family’s around, in which case it’ll be old farts tryin’ to get naked with young talent, or else the Bampurs’re off on their island, which means it’s the daughter’s shinny, and everybody’ll be tryin’ to get naked with everybody else.” He slapped Garvin on the shoulder. “So buckle up, old boy. The best is yet to come.”

  “What am I gonna do?” Garvin moaned again.

  “You need some nice water sports,” Njangu offered.

  “That was what Marya said last night,” Jaansma said. “And I didn’t. Lord, Lord, how I didn’t.”

  “Off your dead ass and on your dying feet, troop,” Njangu said. “A little clean-cut exercise is all you need.”

  • • •

  Garvin reluctantly admitted he might live after an hour being smashed by the long, rolling swells that swept onto the manicured sands of the hotel’s beach.

  He came out of the surf to where the others lay on the sand.

  “Enough,” he announced. “It’s time for a beer … then shopping.”

  “Who put you in charge of this glee club, anyway?” Angie demanded.

  “I’m buyin',” he announced. “So we’re all flyin'.”

  “For what?” Milot asked.

  “For clothes what don’t look like uniforms,” Garvin said.

  “What’s the matter with uniforms?” Milot asked.

  “They make you look like a soldier,” Jaansma explained.

  “And what’s the matter with that?”

  “Lordy, Lordy, Lordy,” Njangu said. “I can see why he likes fishing. It’s an intellectual match between him and ol’ Scaley. Hipe!”

  • • •

  Ton Milot drank beer and eyed Njangu and Garvin.

  “Got a question for you two.”

  “Anything,” Garvin said.

  “Yeh. We lie cheaper’n anybody,” Njangu said.

  “Since you’re offworlders, and it appears nobody’s gonna get back to the Confederation for a while, are you gonna go career and stay in the service?”

  “Screw you.”

  “I’m not being cute,” Milot persisted. “It’s pretty easy to guess what’s gonna happen to the rest of us. Erik’ll go back to being rich and working a couple hours a week at his da’s trading company. Angie … well, up ‘til she ripped my face off yesterday, I would’ve guessed she would’ve done her hitch, got out, and maybe taken over one of her family’s stores.”

  “Hey, Ton,” Angie said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have any right — ”

  “Forget it,” Milot said. “I never was good at sub-tile, anyway. Me, I get out, wonder why the hell I went in in the first place, get on a boat, and hopefully do good enough to get one of my own.

  “But you two? What you just said, Njangu, makes me think you would’ve just done your time, and gone back to wherever you came from — ”

  “Wrong on that one,” Yoshitaro said. “I go back, there’ll be a judge wanting to talk to me. Exile’s permanent where I came from.”

  “ ’Kay, then,” Milot persisted, “what will you do?”

  “Dunno,” Njangu said, staring into his beer. “Get out, for sure. Whatever’s cut us off from the Confederation can’t last forever. Get my ass back to something resembling civilization, I guess. Maybe figure out some kind of hustle for Centrum.”

  “Which brings up my question,” Penwyth said. “Yesterday, when we got into it with those Neanderthals over the ’Raum offspring, I noted you behaved in quite an experienced manner.”

  “I paid attention in hand-to-hand fumbling,” Njangu said.

  “I name that pure bullshit,” Erik said. “They never taught me to kick head-high once, let alone twice without recovering. It would appear to me you’ve been some sort of professional at this bodily damage business?”

  “Not me,” Njangu said. “A little peaceful lambikins.” He ostentatiously changed the subject. “Isn’t it interesting that here we are, cut off from Big Momma Empire, and nobody seems to give a shit or go jumping around in a blind panic? That ain’t the way it’d be played in the holos — everybody’d be running around skreekin’ and skrawkin', ‘Catastrophe, Catastrophe.’ ”

  “Big things take a long time to trickle down,” Garvin said. “Sooner or later, we’ll feel it, when we can’t get Earth pepper, or granny’s little annuity doesn’t come in. Thank gods the beer at least’s made here on Cumbre.” He poured about half his glass down, signaled for more.

  “Come to think about it, what the hell happens if we’ve got to handle problems offworld? Say about the mines on C-Cumbre, which I understand is part of our terrain. Speaking as a big-time gunner on a Grierson, it’ll be a long and crowded goddamned trek with a couple assault teams in the back.”

  “The Force has civilian cargo ships already under charter for pappery like that,” Erik said. “My father makes just pots of money off the government keepin’ a couple on standby.”

  “ ’Kay,” Garvin persisted. “That’s for simple things. But suppose we have to go interstellar? Suppose somebody like Caud Williams or Governor Dickhead T. Haemer decides we should go out and find those ‘space pirates’ who just happen to hang their helmets on Larix and Kura? Where’s the Confederation Navy that’s gon
na haul our asses over there, beat shit out of whoever the hell’s king shit’s navy, then give us fire support on a landing?”

  He looked around the table. Only Njangu appeared interested in the topic.

  Angie yawned ostentatiously. “You’re raving, Garvin. Drink more beer.”

  “Somebody’ll no doubt figure out something if that happens,” Erik said vaguely. “Besides we’re just line-slime. We’re not s’posed to worry.”

  “But … aw, screw it,” Garvin said, and followed Angie’s suggestion.

  “Let’s go back to my first question,” Ton said. “What about you, Garvin? What happens when they hand you the discharge?

  “My fate is easily determined,” Jaansma said, striking a noble pose. “I shall return to my rightful place as the dauphin of the continent of France on Earth, and collect sluts by the score.”

  “Yeh, Dauphin,” Milot said. “I was being serious.”

  “So was I,” Garvin said, “but you won’t believe me. So how about this: I’m gonna find me a circus on hard times, buy it and make the damned thing go, and show the folks in the outback the biggest hooraw you’ve ever seen.”

  Njangu was about to laugh, then saw Garvin’s expression. “Circus?” he said, before anyone else could try a wisecrack. “Sounds like a good way to go crazy.”

  “It is,” Jaansma said, still serious.

  “Enough of this nonsense,” Njangu said, standing and fishing in his pocket for money. “Let’s go make ourselves look pretty.”

  • • •

  Laughing, joking, none of the five noticed the unobtrusive man follow them down the beachfront walk.

  • • •

  “Well?” Angie said.

  “Well,” Ton Milot said skeptically, “I don’t look like a fisherman … and I sure don’t look like a soldier.”

  “Exactly what we wanted,” Garvin said. “You’re supposed to be one of the idle rich, assuming Erik gave us good advice on what’s fashionable here in the capital.”

  All of them wore civilian sandals. Angie wore a multicolored short dress of a silky material that iridesced light reds, oranges, pinks. The men wore loose-fitting drab-colored pants, and brightly colored shirts in various styles. Garvin had chanced a floppy-brimmed hat.

  “So what now?”