The Last Legion: Book One of the Last Legion Series

by Chris Bunch

  Hedley grinned at a flushing Angara. “Why?”

  “Because the real world … at least when it comes to crookery, isn’t all that dramatic,” Njangu said.

  “You have some expertise in the area?” Angara asked.

  Njangu just looked at him.

  “Sorry. Go on.”

  “Look at it from the ’Raum point of view. I show up with cops chasing me, hollering and screaming, and it looks flash, like I said. So the first thing they’re going to do is check me out every way they can.”

  “We don’t think they have a scan.”

  “I don’t give a shit about scans,” Njangu said. “I can beat them, most times.”

  Hedley blinked. “How? Sorry … some other time you’ll have to show me that little trick. But go ahead. Sorry I interrupted you.”

  “What I’m worried about is the records. Charge sheets, court-martial scheduling, all that sort of thing, right down to who was going to stand in for officers who were gonna be on that court-martial. Other things, like what hard evidence did you get to think I was a ’Raum convert to get this court-martial rolling?”

  “You’re being paranoid.”

  “Am I? Even paranoiacs got enemies, sir.”

  “As long as we keep everything inside the Force, and at the highest level, we should have no trouble,” Angara argued stubbornly.

  “Inside the Force, sir? Last time I was at Headquarters, I saw a dozen ’Raum clerks. Don’t try to make me believe Caud Williams and Mil Rao do their own filing.”

  “Just because one of our clerks happens to come from a ’Raum background — ” Angara started.

  “Means they’re the enemy. Not to mention I don’t believe somebody in II Section, some Force person, won’t tell this tippy-top secret to a buddy of his with the cops’ P&A Section. And of course I don’t believe the ’Raum just might happen to have an agent or two inside the coppery. Pretty soon, everybody’ll know good old Njangu’s out there playing games, including the ’Raum. I’ve got to take a one-way, chicken-shit point of view, sir. It’s my ass you’re talking about dumping in there. Let’s say that I’ve had some experience in things going wrong, and if they can go wrong, they will. And I’ll be the dead meat.”

  “ ’Kay,” Hedley said. “Drop the idea. We’ll find some other way to get Jaansma into contact with II Section. But we’d like you to help us plan whatever we’re going to do, since you know him better than anybody else.”

  “Not a chance,” Njangu said. “I’m the one that’s going in. But we’re going to do it my way or no way.”

  • • •

  Njangu stamped back into the barracks with a black look on his face, and obvious rage in his heart.

  “What’s the matter?” Kipchak asked.

  “Dirty sons of bitches,” Njangu snapped. “They won’t get off this shit about Garvin being a traitor, and maybe I know something and maybe this and maybe that.”

  “Hey, Njangu,” Gerd said. “They don’t know any better.”

  “No,” Yoshitaro said. “No, they don’t. Tell you what they’ll do … they’ll put Garvin’s face on a poster, and some Planetary oinker’ll gun him down, and then they’ll find out different and all it’ll be is ‘oh, so sorry, we made a little mistake.’ Which won’t do the late Garvin Jaansma a goddamned bit of all right. Idiots practicing to be morons, every goddamned one of them.”

  “Maybe it’d do some good if I talked to Hedley,” Penwith said. “I spent time with Garvin myself.”

  “You can try. But I’m through talking to butthooks with their fingers in their ears.”

  “You better get some sleep and stop raving,” Kipchak said mildly. “They’ve got you on guard, third watch, tonight.”

  “It never frigging rains but it pours, doesn’t it? All right. Lemme start spit-shining on the off chance I make supernumerary,” Njangu growled. “I really didn’t need this shit.”

  • • •

  Very quietly, PlanGov announced normal traffic to and from the far-distant island/city of Kerrier and three other islands had been interrupted because of “civic unrest,” to be resumed as soon as possible.

  • • •

  Caud Williams had ordered Garvin Jaansma and Njangu Yoshitaro to keep a low profile. Probably no order has ever been so lavishly disobeyed: First Garvin deserted, then Njangu Yoshitaro, at least in the eyes of the Force, vastly outdid him. According to the charge sheet, Striker Yoshitaro, when detailed to guard duty, was observed to be loudly and obnoxiously drunk when his watch was called. The commander of the guard attempted to quiet him, and he knocked him unconscious, broke the Tweg of the guard’s left arm when he tried to quiet him, drew a pistol on other members of his guard, and told them to get inside the guardhouse or die, then locked them all in cells and hurled the key into the bay.

  He proceeded to the Camp Mahan main commissary, which was just closing, broke in the back door, terrorized several civilian clerks at gunpoint, and stole the evening’s receipts. Yoshitaro ran out the front entrance of the commissary, shot out the overhead lights, commandeered a passing Military Police patrol lifter, struck one of the policemen when he attempted to reason with the berserk striker, and stole the lifter. Civilian authorities were not able to respond in time, and the Military Police lifter was abandoned outside one of the gates into the Eckmuhl.

  Njangu Yoshitaro and Garvin Jaansma were placed on the Planetary Police’s Most Wanted list, and orders were given to the police and army that both were considered armed and extraordinarily dangerous, and authorization was given to shoot on sight, without warning.

  • • •

  “This,” Garvin explained, “is Jo Poynton. She’s the equivalent of the head of II Section for The Movement. She gave me a chance when I first decided to join the ’Raum.” He sounded impressed, and Njangu looked respectful.

  “You others can leave,” Poynton said, and Njangu’s guards vanished. She took a pistol from her desk, and laid it in front of her. “You two are interesting,” she said. “Your deeds make you sound like terrible desperadoes.”

  Njangu shrugged. “People got in my way.”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “Although I’ll admit it’s very hard for me to believe the Force would allow anyone to create as much chaos as you did to create the rationale for a false deserter. And we do appreciate the contribution to The Movement’s treasury. It came to a bit over ninety-seven thousand credits, for your information.”

  Njangu smiled wryly.

  “Since you arrived in the Eckmuhl four days ago,” Poynton went on, “I did some thorough checking within The Movement about you. You already know, Jaansma, how careful we are in documenting all members of the Force, requiring all brothers and sisters to report on any contact with soldiers, but perhaps that’s new to you, Yoshitaro.”

  Njangu tried to ignore the constriction in his throat, remembering his “contact” with the woman named Limnea.

  “The first appearance you, Yoshitaro, have in our records is when you, without any rationale, chose to help a ’Raum boy who was being bullied by some drunks. Why?”

  “I’d had a bad day, and needed to relieve my tension.”

  Poynton blinked. “That’s an unusual answer. At any rate, because of this uncommon event, I had you and your group followed. You, Yoshitaro, managed to elude my not-inexperienced operative. I then decided to have you, Jaansma, picked up for interrogation later that night. I sent two men after you, both skilled warriors, and one you crippled, the other was a long time recuperating and still can’t be considered fully capable of combat.”

  “I’m sorry,” Garvin said, trying to sound ashamed. “I thought they were trying to rob me.”

  “Then,” Poynton went on, “first one, then the other of you desert, and make your way to the Eckmuhl and want to join The Movement. Don’t either of you find those events a bit suspicious?”

  “Maybe,” Njangu said. “But I think life’s a bit suspicious.”

  Surprisingly, a smile came, and Poynton’s c
ompressed lips were attractive for an instant. “I discussed my problem with the one who now leads The Movement’s Planning Group, and what should be done. On one hand, I don’t want to lose the potential of your valuable services. You’ve already given us excellent information on your unit’s codes and procedures, although the Force has already changed its signal operating procedure, so what you told us is important less in practice than in theory. Both of you will be very useful in the days to come, both training new fighters and as warriors yourself, so the first option that was suggested I found unpleasant.”

  “I assume,” Njangu said, “your leader suggested shooting us.”

  “Correct.”

  “That does seem a little wasteful,” Garvin said.

  Again Poynton smiled. “Sometimes I forget how grim we’ve all gotten,” she said. “I hope both of you can keep your humor alive.”

  “Easy, as long as we’re alive,” Njangu said.

  “Which brings me to the second option,” Poynton said. “Both of you are aware of the Rentiers’ own terrorists, the ones they call beards?”

  Both men nodded.

  “We have excellent intelligence that they are not only funded by the Rentiers and other medievalists, but that most of their operatives, at least the most effective murderers, were recruited from the ranks of the Force. Some of us think they are actually still members of the Strike Force, operating under deep cover so they can butcher with a free hand. What’s your opinion?”

  “I’d think not,” Njangu said. “I came from Intelligence and Reconnaissance, and we work closely with II Section — Force Intelligence. I think I would have heard some whisper if we were running death squads.”

  “Perhaps … or perhaps not,” Poynton said. “I must allow my opponents credit for some intellect, and being able to keep a few secrets. Not to mention the possibility that you are both double agents, in which case you’re lying.

  “Not that it matters, for the head of our Planning Group and I have devised a mission for you two, a further test. I will control your team, and you will have access to any resources the ’Raum can provide which you need.

  “Your assignment is to track down and eliminate those death squads, those they call beards. If you fail, that might suggest you are still with the Force, but the problem will have been solved for us by the beards. If you succeed … you have done everyone on D-Cumbre a great favor.”

  CHAPTER

  32

  “I frigging despise eavesdroppers,” Njangu snarled. “Even when they’re on my frigging side.”

  “So I see,” Garvin said calmly. He sat on one of the small apartment’s beds, feet on a table. Their room was a mess working on a shambles — wire ripped from the ceiling and walls draped across plaster-strewn tables; three spike-mikes that’d been boot-tested and found wanting, a shattered grid-mike that’d masqueraded as a bad scenic view of the bay invisible behind the high walls of the Eckmuhl, and an archaic standard microphone that appeared to have been planted by one of D-Cumbre’s original settlers.

  “Did you get all of them?” he asked.

  “Every bleedin’ one,” Njangu said, shaking his head, holding up one finger and pointing to one of the ceiling lights. He scrawled on a notepad: I boogered that one so it’s only got about a meter’s range. Let them think they’re still hearing something, so they don’t get worried. Keep the important shit in writing.

  “ ’Kay,” Garvin said. “By the way, where’d you learn your techno skills?”

  “Can’t a girl have a few secrets?”

  “Why not. So what’re we gonna do about nailing your bearded honey?”

  Njangu slumped down on another bunk. “That’s a poser, ain’t it?”

  “Actually, the first question is, can we do anything about ol’ Angie?”

  “We better,” Njangu said. “Or The Movement’s gonna have us ‘dobe-walled.”

  “Appears like,” Garvin agreed. “So what’re the options?”

  “The first and easiest would be to nark her off to the coppers,” Njangu said. “Which’d piss off our new lords and masters, ‘cause it’s a little hard to believe she and her crew’d get Handled Harshly, since me and some other people have this sneaky and obvious hunch the Rentiers are bankrolling them. Plus I ain’t big on snitching.”

  “So you want to do her yourself?” Garvin asked.

  “Not really,” Njangu said honestly. “I’m not that hard-assed. But we’ve got to ensure she … and the rest of the beards … are inactivated. Permanently. Unless we want the same treatment.”

  “This keeps sounding like killing,” Garvin said, grimacing.

  “It do, doon’t it?”

  “But first things first,” Garvin said. “I know we’re incredibly gifted, intelligent, analytical and well hung, but how are we gonna find young Angie? I understand there’s been some other folks looking.”

  “I think I can get ahold of Rada,” Njangu said. “She did gimme her com number, and suggested a meeting place. I think we ought to establish contact, see what shakes, then play it by ear.”

  “So commence to button-pushing, my friend.”

  “Not here,” Njangu said. “Let’s go grab our quote escorts end quote and find a neutral com. No. Better idea. Let’s go tell Poynton what we’re going to try.”

  • • •

  Njangu waited until the monorail car was almost empty, then picked up his battered case and got off, trying to think like he looked — a young, not very successful salesman having a bad day out here in the tules, hoping the little fishing village of Issus would change his luck. He left the station, walked through the park, eyeing the businesses around the square for possible customers. His eyes swept left, right.

  There’s one … even wearing his old service boots … good camou, Angie … another one pretending to scan the holo board … now one of ours, shit, gotta break that woman’s thumbs and get her to stop playing spy, peepin ‘around like she ought to be wearing a veil with a codebook in one hand … goddamned amateurs … pity the frigging Movement’s down on hiring crooks … He bent, adjusted a bootstrap, glanced casually behind him. Another one back there … Angie’s gift-pistol in the small of his back felt very comforting.

  A man came toward him, a familiar face, brushed against him, and was past, and Njangu realized his sidearm had been quite neatly lifted. Before he could figure what to do next, Angie Rada came out of a net repair shop’s alcove and was beside him, holding his right elbow in her left. She was dressed like a day tourist from the capital, but kept her other hand in her windbreaker pocket. “Smile like you’re having fun,” she whispered. “We’re two old friends who just happened to run into each other.”

  “Aren’t we?”

  “Why’d you take off?” Angie asked.

  “Things got a little henhouse back at good old Camp Mayhem, and I decided to seek grander horizons.”

  “What took you so long to call me again?”

  “I thought I’d check the other options first,” Njangu said. “I’ve got a pretty good idea a man could get killed working for you … with damned few credits in the process.”

  Angie’s grip tightened, and she swung the hand in her pocket until it pointed toward Njangu. “What others? The ’Raum?”

  “Jesu Joy of Man’s Desire, Angie! Just ‘cause you’ve turned into some kind of bigtime death squad leader doesn’t mean you have to pack in what little goddamned humor you had!”

  “Careful, Yoshitaro,” Angie warned. “What I’m doing isn’t a joking matter.”

  “Yeh, well I always learned that it’s a good idea to keep a smile on your lips and a song in your heart when you’re smashing the State.”

  “We’re hardly doing that,” Rada said. “Rather, we’re backing it up, doing the work it’s reluctant to do, so it can become as strong as it’s supposed to be.” She looked critically at Njangu. “You know, I’ll never understand you.”

  “Nothing to understand,” Njangu said easily. “I’m just a charming feller w
ith an eye for the main chance. I checked around with the local mobbies, but they’re lying pretty low, and not hiring outside talent at the moment.”

  “You better realize something, mister. Once you’re in this thing of mine … of ours, there’s no getting out until it’s over.”

  “And that’ll be?”

  “When these frigging ’Raum have been taught their place and put in it.”

  “Which is?”

  “The bastards that have been killing women and children and policemen … dead or in prison. Dead by court, dead by our hands, it doesn’t matter.”

  “What about the others? Not every ’Raum is rebelling.”

  “Shit they’re not,” Rada said fiercely. “They’re backing these murderers in everything they do, and that’s just as bad as if they were pulling the trigger or setting the bomb themselves. So they’ll have to pay. We ought to just stamp ‘em all out, but I know my Cumbrians. They think they’re too good to go off-planet and work the mines, or dig the ditches, so we’ll always need the ’Raum, I’m afraid. But we can keep them off Dharma Island, off the other major islands, and out of the cities.

  “Maybe we’ll isolate them on some of the Windward Islands or something, and build ports to transport the miners back and forth to C-Cumbre, and have temporary camps for those we need to have doing scut work in the cities. I don’t know. That’s for the pols to work out, after we give the government back to them.”

  “We?” Njangu asked.

  “You don’t think I’m alone in this? Killers, for your information, are high-maintenance tools. My family, after their stores got burned, have realized which side they’re on, and that helps. But there’s others … real big names, names that’d surprise you, who’re contributing. Credits, vehicles, target tips … you name it, we’ve got it.

  “So are you in?”

  “As if I’ve got a choice.”

  “Good,” Angie said. “Now, we’ll arrange to get back to Leggett, making sure you didn’t bring any friends along, and then we’ll start training you.”

  “More training?” Njangu wailed, but felt vast relief. It looked as if he’d done it, stepped through the door the minute it fell open. Ho-ho, Njangu Yoshitaro, master infiltrator and double agent. And then everything fell apart around his shoulder blades.