March of the Legion sotl-2

by Marshall S. Thomas

"Let's understand one thing," Snow Leopard said quietly. "I will personally execute—on the spot—anyone who harms these Systies. Badboy is charged with their safety. I've given my personal word to the Second that these three Systies will accompany our survivors back to report on our mission. I have never before had to threaten my men, and it upsets me that it appears to be necessary this time, but that's the sit. You got that, Seven?"

  "Yes sir." Sassin was suddenly quite subdued.

  "Gamma Two, you get that message?"

  "Yes sir." Valkyrie was cold and distant.

  "I am completely serious," Snow Leopard continued. "You have no idea how important this is. A successful mission could forge an alliance with the Systies against the O—and it could also lead to the collapse of the System itself—since their policy of appeasement directly led to the Omni invasion. Failures on that scale have consequences. Important consequences."

  "Snow Leopard—I don't quite understand one thing." Merlin said.

  "Yes, Four."

  "If the System is with us on this, then why the elaborate cover story, the civilian freighter—why are we worried about port clearance, if the System is with us?"

  "Four, this mission is top secret, both here and on the Systies' side. Nobody on Mongera will know what we're up to. The System has always been more afraid of its own people than of anyone else. If it got out that the System was cooperating with the Legion to solve a problem it had created in the first place, it could lead to political problems of the highest order."

  "But if we're successful, won't it get out?"

  "I'd say—offhand—that the Legion will publicize it heavily. No matter what we promise the Systies."

  "The Systies must know that."

  "I think they do. But I believe they have reached the point where they feel they have no choice. And if the mission fails, they've lost nothing. We're dealing with the highest levels of the Systie regime. They apparently believe the potential benefits of this mission outweigh the possible political backlash. I think they're wrong—but what I think doesn't matter."

  "May I say something?" Boudicca was trying to control her temper.

  "Go right ahead, Gamma." Snow Leopard was tense and touchy. They might have been lovers, in bed, but there was no love showing in the capmod that day, between those two.

  "Just for the record, I want you to know what I think. I think this stinks. I think this is a rotten setup. I think if this works, and we get the O, those three Systies are the only ones who will return to the ship, and the Legion is never going to get the word. I don't like Systies. I don't trust Systies. And they feel the same about us. I'll make a prediction. If our O goes down, the Systies turn their guns on us. Immediately. And if that happens, Gamma is shooting back. Do you have any problems with that?"

  "It won't be necessary, Gamma. This is a Legion op. The Systies will be unarmed."

  Boudicca was quiet. Stunned is more the word. Unarmed! Going to face the O's, unarmed. They were certainly putting themselves at our mercy. I wouldn't do that, with Systies. No—I was not that trusting.

  "Right, if there are no more bitches I'd suggest we get to work." Snow Leopard stood up, aggressive and confident once again. "Hit your quarters and start working on the mission orders. See the ship for your bunks. When I want you, I'll let you know."

  Chapter 9:

  Volunteers

  "How'd you like a ship like that?" Dragon asked.

  We were in a troop shuttle from the Spawn, gathered around the screens, approaching a prize of war. A private starship, a fabulous toy for galactic plutocrats; a wonderful, shimmering white ship, stunningly beautiful. It was a slaver and had been seized by a Legion interceptor. Now a Legion prize crew was aboard. This was to be our transportation to Mongera. I knew this ship. I had visited it in orbit around Coldmark. This was the Personal Ship Maiden, and it was Tara's ship. My heart beat faster as we approached. It was a ship of light, a beacon of hope and life floating in an infinite, black ocean of death. How could such a lovely ship be a slaver? Tara—how could she possibly be involved in such an unholy venture, even as a Legion asset? I could hardly comprehend it. I had attended midschool with Tara in our own impossible past. How long ago it seemed!

  "Slavers!" Merlin remarked. "Nice company we're keeping."

  "We need them," Coolhand commented, "to get port clearance. So let's be nice!"

  "Slavers and Systies!" Boudicca spat. "Scut! Some mission!"

  "Thinker." Dragon was right next to me, grinning happily. "You meet any hot slave honeys when you were on board her?"

  But I didn't really remember much about the slaves at all. What I remembered was Tara, her face glowing out of the dark. She was certainly cooperating with the Legion—but at what cost? The Tara I knew was as bright as a sun—compromise was not in her vocabulary, and slavers only lived until they met the Legion. She would have gladly shot them dead, herself, and felt good about it.

  "Prep for docking! Secure all personnel!"

  Stone cold beauty, a ship like a burning star glittering in the dark. What horrors had it known? How many hopeless slaves had seen those portals? How many tortured souls had Tara delivered into the unknown? Tara, Tara, Tara, my hopeless, dark angel—what will be your fate?

  Priestess squeezed my hand, smiling up at me, a child of the Legion, blinking warm dark eyes. A shot in the heart. Priestess was mine, totally mine, and she was all I ever wanted. Just to be alone, with Beta Nine—how could I want anything more? But life was not that easy, could never be that easy. Tara awaited me, in a ship of slaves, and back on Andrion 2, a Dark Cloud princess was going to have my baby. Moontouch, Moontouch, Moontouch, my secret obsession. What was I going to do? It was all dark to me—in the Legion you live one day at a time.

  ###

  The Legion never told anyone a thing they didn't need to know. Snow Leopard certainly knew about Tara, and so did Delta One. I only knew a little.

  Delta's half-squad came on board with us, and the Spawn's prize crew was ferried away. We went into stardrive immediately—there was no time to waste. While Delta took charge on the bridge, Badboy fanned out through the ship, looking for trouble. It was a palace in the stars, still and lifeless except for the padding of our boots in the carpeted halls and the sighing of the conditioners. The odor of perfume still hung in the air. A pleasure palace, full of memories. Now it belonged only to the Legion—what would we do with this ship of lights?

  We found the brig—they had locked the humanoid inside. I had heard about this creature, but had never seen him. Gildron, they called him.

  He snarled at us, his eyes dark lifeless pools. A giant, he was clothed in the ship uniform, elektra violet. Thick hair covered his huge body. The prize crew had said he was the Commander's personal bodyguard. I tried to reconcile this half-human beast with the girl I had known, and could not. Tara had taken a very strange road to the present. I sighed, and turned away.

  The Cyrillians were all unarmed, but it was their ship; we didn't trust them for an instant. They snapped to when we approached, and tried to be helpful. We were all armed, at all times, and prepared to fire. They knew it. The Legion was not a trusting bunch. The Cyrillians watched us with suspicious eyes, and whispered to themselves in their own language. They had jet black skin, yellow slit eyes, and sharpened teeth. Cyrillians were mercs, refugees from a savage, violent world that had been effectively destroyed by the System in a series of nasty civil wars. They were survivors. Gamma had one Cyrillian in their squad—Sassin the Assassin. He was a survivor, too. And so was I.

  ###

  I was on aircar watch when she came. Our Systie aircar was safely tucked away in the launch bay of the Maiden, and we were not about to let any of the slavers near it. So we watched it. I sat there under its great black belly, my E at my chest, nightmares rushing through my mind, and there was nothing at all I could do to stop them.

  She came as silent as a ghost and at first I thought I was imagining her, a vision from my past, glowing softly out of t
he darkness. Then she moved, just a little, and her auburn hair slid over her shoulders like silk, and she blinked hot exotic eyes and wet her lips. The shadows highlighted her high cheekbones and her skin was like brown satin. She was dressed in black. I rose to my feet.

  "Hello, Wester." That soft, slightly husky voice.

  Adrenalin, my heart exploding. She had always called me Wester.

  "Tara! Hello." It was the best I could do, under the circumstances. I tend to freeze up in the grasp of angels.

  "Are you worried about the aircar?" A faint, faraway smile.

  "Yes. Yes, we are."

  "There's no need to worry. My Cyrillians are very enthusiastic about this mission. They will do exactly what I tell them to do."

  "And what will you tell them to do?"

  She blinked, looking right at me. "We'll do the Legion's will. Isn't that what it's all about? We all do the Legion's will."

  "Even you, Tara?"

  She looked around, uneasily. "Especially me, Wester. Are you going downside in that thing?"

  I looked up at the aircar. "Yes, I'll be downside."

  She looked at me again, a soft, faraway gaze, full of longing and regret. I didn't need it; not then, not ever. "…all the more reason." Her lips found the words, but I could hardly hear her.

  "Say again?"

  "All the more reason…" She tossed her head back, and her hair hissed around her shoulders again, silk on silk. "…for the mission. I can hardly believe it, Wester. Surely it must mean something."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean we're tossed together again, two grains of sand in the wind. You're going downside, and I'll be watching over you, from above. Doesn't it give you a thrill?"

  "Tara…" There was only one thing I wanted to know from her. "You'd make it easier on me if you'd explain something. You command a slave ship, your alias is in our Black Book, and you pass secret messages to the Legion. I suppose that makes you a Legion asset, but it doesn't explain a thing to me. I knew a girl called Antara once…a long time ago. She wouldn't do what you've done. Why, Tara? Why? You used to tell me everything. Remember?"

  She looked up at the aircar again. "Remember…yes, I remember. How could I forget? Yes, that was a long time ago, wasn't it? A girl called Antara…life was simpler then. I was just a girl, and you were just a boy. Now you're a soldier of the Legion, and I'm…well…a lot of things, I suppose. I see the Legion has told you nothing. Yes, of course they wouldn't. I can't answer your questions, Wester. You want more than I can give."

  "The Legion has taken your ship, Tara. Are they going to execute you? You can surely tell me that."

  Her dark eyes smouldered briefly. "I can take care of myself, Wester. They were going to kill me and all my crew, when they captured us. But they didn't. Perhaps it would be best if you thought of me as being dead already. Yes—maybe she is dead, maybe Tara is only a memory, just like that boy Wester. But I can tell you this much, Beta Three. I've got plenty of names and I can assure you that Cintana Tamaling is very much alive, and she's going to be watching over you when you're downside. You can depend on that." She turned abruptly and faded into the dark. A hatch hissed open, and she was a shadow, outlined against the light. "Good luck, Beta Three," she called out softly. "Good luck." And then she was gone.

  ###

  A Legion interceptor delivered our Systies, in great secrecy, in the pit of the vac, endless light years from nowhere. There was no hint where the interceptor had come from. We were definitely in Systie vac by then, and getting closer and closer to Mongera. Whatever the Systies were supposed to teach us about the O's, they would not have much time. Not that it mattered to me. I had already decided I was not going to be listening.

  "Leave your weapons outside, Badboy. Delta will babysit." Snow Leopard made the announcement, his face pale and grim. Whatever was on the other side of that door was bad news. A couple of Delta troopers stood by with E's. We propped our weapons against the corridor wall. Delta was at the bridge and would watch over the Cyrillians. There was nobody in the conference room except the Systies.

  "You sure they're unarmed, One?" Coolhand whispered.

  "They're unarmed—but you're not going to like it. Nobody's going to like it. Right, Badboy! File in and take your seats! Go in there and sit down and shut down! You hear me? I want you to act like a Legion squad—keep your traps shut!" Snow Leopard's face was flushed, his hot pink eyes glaring at us.

  I noticed One's mini was still holstered at his waist. We filed in.

  There were three of them, dressed in STRATCOM red, Systie silver and SIS green, sitting together calmly at a large conference table. A huge Mocain soldier, tall, shaved bald, well-muscled, pale greenish skin, flashing dark eyes, no eyebrows. Another Mocain, a female, as pale as death, short military hair, speckled, mottled skin, her face in shadows, as still as a statue. The third was an Outworlder, slender and wiry, shaved skull, blinking nervously. It was all wrong, and warnings were going off in my mind. I paused before an airchair. Then I realized what it was. The girl, dressed in SIS green—there was a huge purple scar at her throat, and ugly shrapnel splotches all over her face. It was that Mocain bitch, what was her name—Millina! She had taken Valkyrie, and almost killed us all on Coldmark. Merlin had lost his legs in that raid. We had rescued Valkyrie, but had failed to recover Millina…we had thought she was dead, but here she was, cold green flesh, sitting right there.

  And the Outworlder! It was that simpering, fast-talking diplomat we had captured on Andrion 3, right in the Omni's starport. He was scared of his own shadow, and terrified of the O's. These creeps were going to teach us about the O's?

  No, this was not going to work.

  Beta and Gamma filed around the table, but nobody sat down. We stared at the Systies. Valkyrie turned pale, locked on to the Mocain female like an E on laser. Her lovely mouth snapped open in a savage snarl. Boudicca seized her arm, but Boudicca was also glaring at Millina, the blood rushing to her face.

  "It's that Systie dip!" A hoarse whisper from Psycho.

  "It's the bitch!" Boudicca exclaimed. "That Mocain bitch! Scut, I thought we killed her!"

  "It's not too late…" Valkyrie trembled, leaning forward, both hands on the table, and it looked as if she was going to climb right onto the table and throw herself at the Mocain. Boudicca grabbed her by the shoulder to hold her back. The tall Mocain soldier stood up, and Snow Leopard appeared by his side.

  "Silence!" Snow Leopard shouted. "Badboy, be seated! I want silence!" He was furious, his face bright red.

  "Can it not control its own units, squad leader?" The Mocain soldier was openly contemptuous, speaking Inter with a thick Mocain accent. He was dressed in STRATCOM red.

  "Take your seats, gang," Coolhand quietly ordered. We obeyed. I think it was a combination of Coolhand's low-key tone and the contempt displayed by the Mocain. We were not at all pleased by this development. Valkyrie was just barely under control; Boudicca was still holding her back.

  "Do you recognize me, Millina?" Valkyrie called out. There was no stopping her. Millina blinked her cold reptilian eyes and focused on Valkyrie. She gazed at her for a few fracs, her face cold and set.

  "Legion," she at last concluded. "It's our Legion. Yes…yes, we see you now. You've changed a little. We like the cross. Yes, it suits you!"

  "I'm sorry you didn't die, Millina."

  "Yes, we know. You're a lot stronger now than when we first met, Legion. We think we were good for you—don't you?" A faint smile appeared.

  I could hardly believe it.

  "I'm not good for you, Millina," Valkyrie replied. "You'd better keep your distance." She twitched, pale and sweating.

  I knew if Valkyrie had her E that would have been one dead Mocain.

  "All right, blackout," Snow Leopard ordered. "So now we all know. Some of you have met Systie Cit Millina, of STRATCOM Information, on Coldmark. Others have met Systie Cit V-Four Carollus, of the diplomatic service of the United System Alliance, on Andrion 3. C
olonel Calgan of the Fifteenth DefCorps is new to us all. Millina and Carollus we met under very trying circumstances, for us all. But that was the past. The past is dead and gone—maybe some of you have heard those words." Snow Leopard paused, and looked up at the ceiling. His eyes glowed, and his voice was hypnotic.

  "I'd like you to think about that. We are engaged in a great historical event—we are soldiers of the future, and we're walking point for our race. This is no ordinary mission—it requires great courage to set aside the past and step into the future. It requires courage and faith. Faith in the Legion, faith in your leaders, faith in your comrades, faith in yourselves. I know we can do it, Badboy. These people have lived with the O's; they know their capabilities. They know exactly what the O's can do. And they're going to tell us all about it. I want you to put aside the past, and open your ears and your minds, and listen to what they have to say. It might—it just might—save our lives. They're coming with us, downside. Unarmed. That says something, Badboy. We must cooperate—we must. Together, we can defeat the O's. The Gods of History are watching us—right now. We have a great responsibility, and we will prove equal to the challenge—we will!"

  Beta One was a visionary. When he got onto the subject of history, it was all over. He was convinced he was a direct participant in momentous events, and we were his squad. We were all going down in history, whether we wanted to or not. I always enjoyed listening to him, and I often wondered whether he was right. But it was truly wonderful, knowing that our leader had such great faith in his cause. He had enough faith for us all.

  "Is it trying to convince its own units to obey it, squad leader?" the Mocain Colonel asked. "Why doesn't it just order them to do what it wants?" He seemed vaguely amused by One's speech.

  "My units—as you call them—will do exactly as I say," Snow Leopard replied. "If I ask them to shoot you through the forehead, they will do so. If I ask them to safeguard your life, they will do so. What you do not understand is that the Legion is composed of free volunteers. There's not one Legionnaire who hasn't chosen to be here. And we like to tell them what they're fighting for."