March of the Legion

by Marshall S. Thomas

  "I'm just above the elevator door," Psycho reported.

  "Coming," I responded. I was there in fracs. I slid down a bit further. I could see the door activator. I eased my way down until it was between my legs. "I'm at the activator."

  "Can you see the emergency lever?" Redhawk spoke from the aircar control center.

  "I've got it." I looked up at Psycho. "You ready?"

  "Mother's on barbecue," he replied. "Do it."

  I pulled down on the control and pushed away from the wall, still dangling from the line. The double doors to the elevator shaft slid open smoothly. Psycho went hurtling in with a sharp crack, his Manlink suddenly spitting raw flame.

  I followed him, swinging in like a great alien ape, firing my E on flame. A brilliant, dazzling ball of flame exploded violently before us where our streams met, a dull boom, the world erupting, white-hot streaks shooting past us, hissing and spitting. Anyone waiting for us was going to have a very hot welcome. We landed in the center of the holocaust and dropped to our knees in the heart of our own hell, weapons at the ready, sheets of eerie blue and yellow and white-hot gas dancing all over my A-suit, Psycho right beside me. We kneeled there as the flames slowly died.

  "Negative life," Sweety assured me. The hanger was full of black smoke. Flames licked all over the floor.

  Negative life. My armor glowed. My heart was thumping. "Scut," I observed.

  "You love it, Thinker. You don't fool me." Psycho was high, snapping his head around in his helmet, looking for something to cook with his Manlink.

  ###

  The elevator hissed open, and Snow Leopard and Priestess dragged Redhawk in on a camfax poncho. Psycho and I were standing by with weapons balanced on our hips. It was a large, well-stocked aircar hanger. There were only two aircars left, still in the repair bays. The launching bays were all sealed and empty. Green lights glowed everywhere—the installation was intact and functioning, but completely deserted.

  "Let me at 'em," Redhawk said throatily. He was fighting off the pain. Priestess helped him to his feet.

  "Which is the one you wanted?" Priestess asked.

  "Bay Three—right over there. Get me in the cockpit."

  "Three, Five—" Beta One looked around the installation, his E in one hand. "Cover all the exits—see the tacmap. It looks like this site connects directly with the starport. See that corridor? The O's could kick in the door in a frac. I want silence. Ten, what's the sit?"

  "Let me get in the cockpit first, will you?" Priestess was helping him hobble up the service stairs to the aircar cabin.

  "Do it!" Snow Leopard was uncharacteristically nervous.

  "Ten sir! Deadman!" I wasn't worried. If the aircar could be fixed, Redhawk would do it. Psycho and I found our places. We were each covering two doorways. Snow Leopard craned his neck, inspecting the ceiling and the launching locks.

  "Three, Five—if it's the O's, we go all out. Five, use tacstars. The rest of us go to xmax and laser."

  "Mother is pleased," Psycho replied. Snow Leopard ignored him. Mother was Five's Manlink—the Mother of Destruction. She'd saved our asses more than once.

  "These bastards shouldn't be here," Snow Leopard said, kicking a door open into what looked like a mini office. "I'll be in here looking for info." He ripped a file drawer open and scattered the contents.

  "Ohhh, that's good." Redhawk was off his feet, in the pilot's seat, right where he belonged. "Now let's see what's ailing this old gal." It was a DefCorps aircar, an older model, but still a highly dangerous beast.

  My blood stirred just looking at it. I couldn't help it; I had been bound for the Legion ever since my birth. It had just taken a little time for me to realize it. But all it took nowadays was an aircar, sitting in the repair bay. On Andrion 2, we had seen Legion fighters, booming over the burning ruins of the Systie base, flashing past and wheeling in the night sky; and they were so beautiful, I had almost cried. On Coldmark, the Spawn had dropped in the whole fighter force to rescue us and the System had met us, face to face; and we had smashed them to bits. No, I was with the Legion, for life or death, for good or evil, in sickness or in health, for better or for worse, no looking back. And every once in awhile I realized it. It was scary. I tore my eyes away from the aircar and clutched my E tighter. My fate was to die, under strange stars, for the Legion.

  "Ten, report." Snow Leopard did not like it here, I could tell.

  "I can fix this girl, One. But I'm going to need some new internal power packs. I'm giving Priestess instructions on what I'll need right now."

  "Is it all here?"

  "Sure, we'll find it."

  "So you can fix the aircar?"

  "That's a big ten!" Salvation, for us all! Redhawk was a genius—how could we survive without him? We were going to get out of this madhouse!

  "Alert! Movement! Life! Human! Target approaching, as marked!" Sweety's icy metal voice hissed in my ears, the tacmap glowing red, pinpointing the target, a flashing red dot approaching us in the corridor to the starport. We ran to cover the door. It was a personnel door, closed and locked. Snow Leopard and Psycho and I skidded to a stop, bracketing the door, ready to fire. My E was at my shoulder.

  "Three, E on v-max auto," Snow Leopard ordered. "Fire when the target appears. Five, stand by on laser. Fire only if the target's in armor. This one's human. I want it alive." Priestess dropped to the deck from the aircar, running to us, shouldering her E. "Nine, cover the other entrances. If anything else shows up, be prepared to go to energy systems."

  Priestess whirled around to cover the other doors.

  I could taste the fear. E on v-max auto, sights centered on the door. I watched the target on the tacmap. As it came closer, Sweety got a faint energy image.

  "Target not in armor," she informed me. "Confirm it's human. No weapons."

  "Thinker, v-min auto," Snow Leopard hissed. I made the adjustment.

  "This is crap!" Psycho objected. "I don't believe this!"

  "Stick to your orders!" Snow Leopard snapped.

  "Target approaching door!"

  I was ready, ready, ready, ready. The locks snapping open, he's got access, the door hissing open, a frozen instant of time, a male, pale face, my autovac cracking wildly, white-hot flashes erupting all over his body, the crack of doom echoing around the hanger; and suddenly he was down.

  "Cease fire!" I ran up to the open door.

  He lay sprawled in the corridor, litesuit smoking. His eyes were open, his mouth was open. The barrel of my E was right at his face. Then Snow Leopard was there, and Psycho leaped over the body and took up a position in the corridor with his Manlink.

  I touched the Systie's throat with my armored fingers. "He's not breathing!"

  "Priestess, up!" Snow Leopard commanded. She was there in a frac, tearing open her medkit.

  "Save him, Priestess!"

  "Biotic charge!" she responded, slamming the instrument on to his chest. His litesuit was still smoking. Vacmin is not normally lethal, but autovac is a bit heavy.

  He jerked, and took a breath. His eyelids fluttered.

  "You got him, Priestess!"

  "Corridor is secure," Sweety informed me.

  "Back to the hanger," Snow Leopard said. "Give me a hand." He had the Systie by one foot. I grabbed the other foot and Priestess took an arm. We dragged him through the door and Psycho backed in, waving his Manlink back and forth, giggling to himself. Psycho was getting stranger and stranger. He hit the control and the door hissed shut silently, sealing us off again from the corridor.

  Chapter 6:

  Oplan Gold

  The Systie trembled. We had secured his hands behind his back and when Priestess brought him back to full consciousness, he found himself surrounded by Legion soldiers in black A-suits and darkened red faceplates. He could see no human faces, only his own reflection flashing off the faceplates of the enemy. I stood to one side, my E pointed right at his chest. He was indeed a weird bird, still young, unarmed and unarmored, pale and sickly, thin an
d wiry, cold blue eyes and shaven head, dressed in a rumpled civilian litesuit. He did not look like a soldier.

  Snow Leopard cracked open his helmet and removed it. He was a pale horror, white hair and hot pink eyes glaring at the Systie. The Systie stared at him, wide-eyed.

  "Systie, this is a combat tactical interrogation," Snow Leopard recited coldly. "You are a combatant, and you are being interrogated by field elements of the Twenty-Second Legion of the Confederation of Free Worlds. We are now in a combat situation, and your cooperation is essential to our tactical success. If you refuse interrogation or attempt to deceive us, you will be shot dead immediately as a combatant. If you cease resistance…"

  "Just a moment," the Systie squeaked. "Just a moment—Legion's mistaken. We're not a combatant."

  "Silence!" Snow Leopard barked. "The decision is ours to make. You will speak only when responding to our questions! All Systies here are combatants. You have been designated a combatant by us, based on your presence here. If you cease resistance, and cooperate to our satisfaction, you will be granted official ConFree prisoner of war status and will come under the protection of the laws of the Confederation and of the interstellar code on prisoners of war. Do you understand the situation?"

  "No! It's Legion who doesn't understand! We're not a combatant! We're a diplomat! We're a diplomat of the Galactic Service of the Government of the United System Alliance. Our status is protected by interstellar law. We are not a combatant!" The Systie was twitching.

  Snow Leopard paused, staring silently at the Systie. Then he turned to me. "Set your E to flame, Three," he said calmly. "I don't want to alert the O's." I made the adjustment. Snow Leopard focused on the Systie again.

  "A diplomat, huh? What's a Systie diplomat doing in ConFree vac? Or—better yet—what's a Systie diplomat doing in an Omni starport? Would you care to answer either of those questions?"

  The Systie froze, blinking his eyes nervously. He appeared very uneasy. Understandable, considering the circumstances. "We are on a diplomatic mission for the United System Alliance," he answered carefully. "We're afraid that's all we can tell it. We can discuss no further details of our instructions. We must remind it that we have diplomatic immunity from arrest or detention, under solemn interstellar agreements signed by both our governments." For a skinny, bald little creep he certainly had a way with words.

  "You haven't been keeping on top of current events, Systie!" Snow Leopard snarled. "The System and the Confederation are at war! Or hadn't you noticed? You seem kind of slow, for a diplomat! As a matter of fact I don't think you are a diplomat—but it doesn't matter now—not in the slightest. You have been officially designated as a combatant by the Legion. Your choice is to cooperate fully, or die! Do you understand?"

  "We are not a combatant! We are a…"

  "Talk or die! Choose!"

  "We object! We object! We're not a combatant! We are a diplomat!" He was wild-eyed and frantic.

  "Kill him." Snow Leopard turned on his heel and walked away. "Ten, is the aircar ready yet?"

  I shouldered my E and centered it on the Systie's chest.

  His eyes widened and focused on my faceplate. I knew he could not see my face. I was Death, cold and merciless and totally impersonal. I had never before killed an unarmed, helpless prisoner. I reflected briefly on this as my finger tightened on the trigger, but I could feel no emotion. His death would be mercifully brief, for the flames were quick and powerful.

  "Wait! Wait! Wait! All right, all right, we'll tell it! All right!" The Systie was bathed in sweat. He was shaking violently. I raised my E and turned to Snow Leopard. He impatiently returned to the Systie and stood there looking down at him.

  "Last chance, Systie. No more games. Complete cooperation, or you die. Do you understand? Yes or no."

  "Yes."

  "Will you cooperate?"

  "Yes."

  "One lie and you die. Understand?"

  "We understand." He sat there on the floor sweating, hands secured behind his back.

  For the first time, Snow Leopard squatted down before the prisoner. "Three," he said. "Join me. Five, you're on guard."

  "Ten."

  "Ten." I cracked open my helmet and secured it to my U-belt. The Systie stared at me. I glared back at him.

  "Would it really have killed us?" he asked me quietly.

  "Silence!" Snow Leopard barked. "It's you who'll answer the questions. Now—what is a Systie diplomat doing in an Omni starport?"

  "We've never really been in the starport proper. We have always been restricted to our own installations."

  "Answer the question."

  "STRATCOM called it Oplan Gold," he said quietly. "It was Cosmic Secret—it was our greatest achievement. It's been almost a hundred stellar years we've held the secret. And it's meant a hundred years of peace in the Galaxy. Generations, without the curse of war. And the System was responsible! Yes, we brought it about. Do you expect us to apologize? We're proud of what we've done—proud! We are peacemakers. Peacemakers! Billions of our citizens have lived in peace, without ever knowing the sacrifices made for them by the System. Does Legion think it was easy? So many of us have given our lives, quietly, willingly, for the cause. But now the Legion is here, and it has all changed—it doesn't know what it's done. It hasn't the slightest idea. Billions will die, now. Billions!"

  "My patience is limited," Snow Leopard stated. "I am getting tired of repeating myself, and I will add that we do not have much time."

  The Systie licked his lips. "Is it that difficult to comprehend? We made contact with them, almost a hundred years ago. Contact with the Variants—we communicated with them! They communicated with us! It's a wonderful story, a heroic story—so many sacrifices, so many dead! And yet reason prevailed, and we refused to give up on our efforts. Some day there will be monuments to all those who died, for peace!

  "The result we see before us—a Variant starport, a System base, two different species cooperating, for a common goal—peace in the galaxy, peace in our time, peace for all, peace for the Variants, peace for us. But now the Legion is here, and it's all going to end!"

  "You're damned right on that! What were you giving the Variants?"

  "Unitium. Unitium from the mines of Andrion Two."

  "Why didn't the Variants set up their base right there?"

  "They never revealed that. We believe they were concerned about the Legion. It was easier to camouflage the starport on Andrion 3. If the mines were discovered, there would still be no reason to suspect the Variants."

  "Do you know what they do with the unitium?"

  "Well, no—that was never clear, although we're fairly certain it's vital to their star drives."

  "This has been going on for almost a hundred years, you say."

  "Yes, that's right—a hundred years of peace!"

  "In exchange for a hundred years of unitium."

  "Yes. That's one way of putting it. But what's important is what we gained from the exchange, in terms of peace, and in terms of understanding."

  "So the Variants understand you?"

  "Well…no. That was never clear, either. There are many problems. But we understand them, much more than we did. We've learned so much!"

  "Have you learned how to kill them?" I could not resist interrupting. The Systie looked at me as if I had slapped him.

  "We are not authorized to conduct research in such subjects! And we don't want to. Our mission is understanding. The Variants are very powerful psychics —very powerful! We can hide nothing from them."

  "Redhawk," One broke in. "Progress report."

  "We're getting there, One! Not much longer! Priestess, will you hold the light steady, please?"

  Snow Leopard had his hand on his forehead. I knew he was weary. "Release him, Thinker." I touched the release and the Systie's bonds fell away. He moved his hands gingerly around to his front and began massaging his wrists. From time to time, he stole little glances at me. My face was a stony mask.

  "Give
him water, Thinker." I unhooked a canteen and handed it to him. He took a sip, carefully, then a deep swig. He looked into my eyes when he finished.

  "Do we think we can fight them?" he asked. "Do us a favor—surrender now! Legion has no chance. It will not leave this planet alive."

  "Systie," One said patiently. "This is the last time I'm going to ask this question. If you don't answer it, we're going to kill you. Why are you here?"

  "We were negotiating with the Variants. We were communicating—deciding on a joint response to counter the Legion aggression on Andrion 2. Legion has no idea what tragic consequences its interference will have, for everyone."

  "A joint response. How do you do that—compromise?" Snow Leopard asked.

  "Well…no. We respect their wishes. We have no choice, if we wish to preserve the peace."

  "I see. Describe what happened here when we attacked."

  "It doesn't know? We're sorry, we can't help it. We were right here in the aircar base when its antimats hit. We had just returned from a visit to our science station when the alert went up, and they announced a full-scale attack against the starport. They launched all the aircars—except these two—and then its antimats went off. Incredible! We were talking with them—communicating! And it attacks with antimats. It's hard to accept."

  "It was just our way of getting their attention," I responded. I was beginning to dislike this Systie dip. He gave me a poisonous look.

  "It was simply barbaric. It certainly confirmed their worst suspicions about us."

  "What happened!" Snow Leopard was impatient.

  "It was very confusing. We lost commo with everyone. We had reports of Legion troopers landing. The starport seemed to be gone. The aircar control center didn't answer.

  "The duty crew at the hanger split up and left, to investigate the situation. They only left one unit to cover the hanger—and us. Finally it left, too."

  "Where did he go?"

  "We think the V called it. We thought perhaps the Variants didn't understand, about the attack—about the difference between the System and the Legion."

  "It's you who don't understand," Snow Leopard said. "The O—the V—understand us perfectly."