Secret of the Legion (8 page)

"Next one down," our young guide said, pushing open a fire door to reveal another stairwell. He was one of Dragon's streetfighters, spotty skin and extra long hair, armed with a vac gun.

"This place is swarming with people," I said. "Are you sure it's safe here?" I found it hard to believe a revolutionary outfit could operate so openly.

"We own this whole complex," Dragon assured me. "The System doesn't come in here." He was wearing a khaki raincoat that barely concealed the cut-down SG dangling from one shoulder. I thought the sunglasses a nice touch—it was almost high noon outside, but Yida's white dwarf didn't generate much sunlight.

"Stop worrying, Three," Whit said. "Dragon has got it under control." She was looking mellow, cheeks flushed, dreamy eyes—she was almost floating. Well, he's got her under control, I thought. That much is certain.

The stairwell was well guarded. More heavily armed youths, their weapons pointed in every possible direction.

"Do these kids ever shoot each other?" I asked Dragon.

"They're mostly ex-VS," he said. "We give them basic firearms training. They don't need motivation—they've got that already."

"Here we are," our guide said. We had entered the lowest level somewhere in the sub-basement, a hall lined with pipes, the floor slick with moisture. Two guards with SG's were posted by a door. They looked more alert than the others, but they opened the door to Dragon immediately.

It was dark and cold inside. A single desk lamp was directed at the captive, a young male who sat miserably in the glare, shirtless and shivering. He was tied to a chair, surrounded by shadowy figures. One of them approached Dragon.

"Here's what he had," he said, passing something to Dragon. Dragon examined it, than passed it to me. I strained to make it out in the dark. It was an enhanced, enlarged printout of my face. I recognized the pix immediately.

"We picked him up at Pearce Plaza," the shadow told Dragon. "He had a phony Front ID, and he was showing that pix around, asking if anyone had seen him. He wasn't the only one, either—at least two others got away."

"They're getting a little pushy, aren't they?" A voice from the dark.

"That pix is from my Nimbos ID card," I said quietly.

Dragon put one foot up on a chair and leaned over the captive. "Do you know who I am, Systie?"

The Systie looked up. He was an Outworlder. We could read the fear in his face. He licked his lips and responded. "Yes sir. It's the Deadman."

"That's right. Your designation?"

"Designation. Uhh…Three Two Glenn."

"Your unit?"

"We're with Keltos City Special Branch—Polcrime Investigations, sir."

"Your mission?"

"The mission was to locate William Fifteen—the fellow in the pix. Locate and detain."

"Did they tell you why? What had he done?"

"Thoughtcrime, sir. They said it was important. The order came from off-planet—from the SIS."

"Scut!" Whit exclaimed. A hush settled over the room. The captive was sweating in the cold. He probably figured he was as good as dead. Dragon motioned to the door. We followed him out to the hallway. I fumbled at my oxy mask and took a deep whiff. My throat was burning and I was dead tired hauling my body around in that grav. Just walking was a major effort on Yida.

"If the SIS is after Three," Whit said, "it means the
Stardust
is in danger as well. We've got to get off this planet right now!"

"You're right," Dragon said.

"Nelson!" Whit snapped into her comset. "Tear itself away from those underaged beauty queens and get to the car—now! We're leaving!"

"On the way!" the comset squawked. Nelson had evidently been romancing some of Dragon's more comely guerillas.

"Sir…" it was one of the guards. "What shall we do with the Systie?"

"He's just a cop," Dragon replied. "We're not at war with them. We'll free him…later. Check with me later."

"Sir!"

"You coming, Dragon?" I asked.

"Yes!" Whit exclaimed.

"No," Dragon said calmly. "No, afraid not. I belong here."

"Dragon!" Whit stared at him, stunned. "We came here for it! Only for it!"

"Sorry. Can't do it."

"It said it loved us!"

"I do—but I'm not going to walk away from the Front. I'm needed here."

"We need it more!"

"Then stay here. Stay here, with me."

"No…we can't." It was a whisper.

"Don't you love me?" A thin smile, from Dragon.

"Intrusion!" The comset at Dragon's waist crackled urgently. "Center, Noran. We've got three DefCorps hotcars, overflying us headed roughly northeast."

"Center, Memorial." Another voice on the comset. "We've got a flight of four DefCorps hotcars, heading east, high altitude."

"Let's go!" Dragon barked. As we charged up the stairway with our long-haired guide, the comset was alive with transmissions.

"Noran, Memorial, Center. Please confirm these are DefCorps aircars, respond."

"Definitely! Center, Noran. They're DefCorps hotcars, now losing altitude."

"Center, Memorial. We confirm four DefCorps aircars."

"Center, Parks. We've got two DefCorps airbuses, escorted by four hotcars, passing low over Mount Condor, heading southeast."

"All air defense units, stand by."

"Permission to fire!"

"Permission to fire!"

"Negative, negative, stand by all!"

We had reached the ground floor corridor and skidded along the hall, bursting noisily through the exterior doors and into icy air by an aircar lot. I stopped, gasping. The sky was grey and smoky. Light sleet peppered my skin—the concrete walkway was covered with ice. Dragon had his SG out. He was scanning the skies. The streetkid was glancing around nervously, fingering his vac gun.

"Do it…do it." Dragon muttered under his breath. Then the comset crackled again.

"All air defense units, fire at will and disperse immediately. Repeat, fire and disperse—let 'em have it!"

"Good!" Dragon snapped. "Where's your car?"

"Nelson, where is it!" Whit shouted into her comset. "We're on the other side—get over here!"

"On the way!"

"They've never done this before," Dragon said calmly. "It's the Systie garrison—first time they've attacked us. It must be you—they're attacking us because of you."

"Deadman!" A couple of Dragon's militia tumbled out another door, calling to him. "What do we do?"

"We got one!" Dragon's comset came to life again. "DefCorps aircar hit, falling—we got one!"

"Disperse, disperse—now!"

"Defend the building!" Dragon shouted at the kids, ignoring the comset. "Get to the popholes—now!" He started jogging towards them but Whit snatched him by one arm, skidding along comically over the ice behind him.

"Dragon! Come with us! Please!" Our aircar rounded a corner of the building in a cloud of spray, heading right for us.

"I told you…" Dragon began. The sky flashed, then turned a shocking pink. My blood froze. A titanic explosion split the heavens. A huge armored airbus appeared, a leviathan from Hell, crashing right through the parking lot, flipping parked aircars aside like toys. A Systie aircar shot overhead in a flash and the world erupted in a horrific bang, a million dazzling white-hot contrails crackling out to fill the sky. I could feel the heat, burning my skin. I scrambled up from the walkway, stunned. We had been protected from the blast by a low concrete wall. As I watched in horror, Dragon shouldered his SG and fired over the wall. My eyes snapped over to the parking lot to see what he was shooting at. Billows of glittering pink smoke parted briefly to reveal a great many fully armored DefCorps troopers coming right at us on foot. As I stared aghast they fired, and the wall of the cube bloc behind us erupted, peppering us with debris. The kid with the hair popped up with his vac gun and his head burst and he crumpled, bloody and lifeless. Whit screamed. Our own aircar floated over us like a slow motion dream, taking hits, xmax popping and flashing on the armored skin. I could see Nelson through the plex, snapping us a quick glance. I realized suddenly that he was going to bring the aircar down further along the building. We'd have only a few fracs to make it. Dragon had Whit by an arm, and we were running hunched over by the little wall toward the aircar, trying very hard not to slip on the ice. The air was crackling with laser and x.

"Get in!" Dragon shouted. The aircar hovered, spraying ice and sleet, and the doors snapped open. Dragon threw Whit in bodily, then turned to face the DefCorps. I had my vac gun out but I knew vac wouldn't do any good against those armored troopers. Dragon carefully removed his sunglasses with one hand and tossed them aside. He shouldered his SG and the raincoat flapped all around him in the backblast of the aircar. The Systies were coming right at us, bronze-colored DefCorps armor, relentless, unstoppable, armored goliaths. Xmax exploded off the side of the aircar, a tremendous racket, the shrieking of laser, the whining of the aircar, and Dragon stood there firing, as cool as ice. My skin crawled as I suddenly realized that Dragon had decided to check out right there, calmly facing the DefCorps, going out like a moth hurling itself at a naked flame. I stood near the open aircar door and the car danced lightly over the downblast and Whit was leaning out of the aircar door screaming something, but I could not hear her. I raised the vac gun and fired right into Dragon's back. His arms flew up into the air loosely and the SG went flying and he collapsed face first onto the icy pavement.

"What is it doing? Is it crazy?" Whit was suddenly out of the car and by my side, screeching into my ears, scratching at my clothing.

"You want him or not?" I shouted back. "Help me get him into the car!"

We tossed him in headfirst—I can't imagine how we did it in that grav, but we had plenty of motivation. Laser burnt tracks into the side of the aircar as we scrambled in after him. Nelson took off so fast I almost blacked out.

***

"Feeling better?" I asked. We were in the command lounge of the
Stardust
on vac run red, deep in the hole. I was sitting across a little table from Dragon. He was slouched over a cup of dox and Whit was standing behind him, lightly massaging his shoulders. It was quiet and warm, and my fingers and toes were rapidly defrosting. The air tasted so sweet after Yida it was almost intoxicating.

"Let me get this straight," Dragon said, shifting in his chair. "You shot me in the back with a vac bolt. Is that right?"

"That's it," I said.

"I see," Dragon said, looking me over curiously. He had a nervous tic on one side of his mouth that I had never noticed before. "So now," he continued, "I'd like to hear one good reason why I shouldn't smash all your teeth right down your throat." His eyes were blazing, and his arms were twitching. I had no doubt at all he could do it, with very little trouble.

"I'll give you two good reasons," I said, as calmly as possible. "First, I saved your life. If you had stayed there, you would have been killed—and I think you know it. Second reason, I felt kind of sorry for you and I wanted to even things out."

"You felt sorry for me?" His face was turning purple—a bad sign.

"You told me you betrayed us on Uldo, after ConFree psyched you."

"Yes. What has that got to do with you shooting me in the back?"

"You told me you felt badly about betraying us—so badly that you quit the Legion."

"Yes—so?"

"So there's no reason to feel bad about it anymore. We're even now. You betrayed us, I betrayed you. You can come back to the Legion now. There's no further reason to feel guilty. And we all want you back. You belong with us. You belong with the Legion. You're a soldier of the Legion. Your friends on Yida will get on without you."

He just gaped at me, open-mouthed. Whit had been frozen during the exchange, but now she resumed massaging his shoulders.

"That's right, Dragon," she said soothingly. "It's the reason we came here. Ten—uh, Redhawk wants to talk with it. Cinta wants to talk with it as well. She told me Beta was betrayed, sold out, dispersed by ConFree after its costliest, most successful operation. We don't even know who's alive or who's dead. We don't know what's truth and what's a lie. We've got to determine who survived, and who didn't. We've got to get the squad together again—no matter what it takes. We owe it to the past. And Cinta needs our help, as well. Talk with Ten. Talk with Cinta, it'll see."

"Talk with them, Dragon," I urged him. "I have no memory, I can't help you. But they can. Just talk with them, then you decide. If you want to return to Yida, we'll arrange it. But talk with them first! I get the feeling we've all been royally screwed, and I'd kind of like to get at the truth. I don't even remember Beta, but I don't like what ConFree has done to us, if it's true. They erased me, just like Redhawk said. I don't like that. I'd like to get back at them. I'd like to find out who's responsible and track them down and shoot them right through the forehead. It's probably the same bunch that psyched you. What do you think?"

He glanced toward me coldly, his eyes far away. "You know, you haven't changed at all, Thinker," he said calmly. "You always pretended to be so cool and rational, but underneath that you were a raving maniac. It's why I always liked you. All right—you're right. I feel the same damned way. But there's another reason I walked away from the Legion. And it's partially why I didn't want to go back with you. I told you before—everybody I know dies. I figured I had done enough damage to Beta already. If we pursue this we're all going to die—you, me, Whit…Redhawk, Cinta…Nelson, all your Cyrillians…everybody. We all die. That has to be understood."

I held out my hand. He grasped it. Whit reached over and her slender fingers wrapped around ours.

"Agreed," I said. "To the death."

"Death," Eight repeated.

"Death!" Whit whispered. Her eyes were closed. Our future was sealed.

Chapter 4
The Hand of the Legion

It was a long way to Dindabai. We hurtled into the void, into the endless black dust of the hole, blasting our way right between the eyes of the Cosmos—an impossible antimat bullet, rupturing the magical fabric of spacetime. We were cold and dead and doomed, neither here nor there, somewhere between the in and the out, phantom travellers riding the edge of extinction. It was extremely cold and I could feel the pressure on my skin. Vac run red. I knew we were in the eye and I knew we would be there for a long, long time.

The
Stardust
was so spotless and sterile it made me feel dirty. My little cube was so clean it almost glowed in the dark. I felt like a pig moving around in there, leaving impressions in the icy phospho green carpet, wrinkling up the neatly folded blankets on the bunk, leaving hairs in the sink, getting water all over the shower floor. On the other hand, just taking a shower was such a remarkable experience to me, after Nimbos, that it was almost erotic. It may have been a long way to Dindabai, but we were also a long way from Nimbos. And as we travelled further and further into the hole I felt I was leaving my old life—my false life—behind me forever.

Whit said it was obvious that the Systie attack into the Freedom Front's pitiful little liberated area was prompted solely by a desire to kill, capture or neutralize…me. That gave me something to think about, all right. I thought it strange that no apparent effort had been made to attack or cripple the
Stardust
, after we had escaped the DefCorps garrison's downside attack. It didn't surprise Whit at all, however. She said the DefCorps was so rigid and paranoid that combat units were normally unable to adapt to changing situations, and unauthorized to do so as well. When we escaped their massive attack on the ground, the situation was out of their scenario. In addition, as a senso smuggler, the
Stardust
had first-class protection from the local authorities, who may not have been informed by a distrustful SIS. We were probably lucky—but there was no way of knowing.

Whit wouldn't tell me why the System was so concerned about me. Ask Cinta, she would say—ask Cinta. It seemed that everything was fine as long as I was safely psyched, washing dishes on Nimbos. But now that I was on the move, and out of their control, things were different. I knew Whit was very worried about pursuit, even though it was highly unlikely in stardrive. We were bending spacetime, rushing into the future, leaving Systie vac far behind, bound for Dindabai and all it meant—bound for ConFree vac. I had heard only horror stories about Dindabai and the CrimCon. I didn't know what to expect.

***

"Fireworks," I said, "filling the sky." I was in the lounge with Dragon. It was dark and cold. There was some spooky music moaning away in the background, and incense smoke hung in the air. Dragon was shirtless, sitting cross-legged on the deck. He was a strange one, all right. When I walked in he had been frozen, eyes closed, worshipping private demons.

"Mongera," Dragon responded. We were playing association. I wanted him to explain my dreams, but I didn't want to give him the details. I was still suspicious. His pale brown skin was covered with dark tattoos. Glittering dragon-snakes writhed down his arms, armored beetles marched across his chest and strange indecipherable runes marked his earlobes and shoulders. The faces of the dead looked up at me from his knuckles. I didn't know where he had come from, and I didn't think I wanted to know.

"Tell me about Mongera," I said. "The sky…tell me about the sky."

Dragon closed his eyes. I knew he could see Mongera again. "It was beautiful," he said softly. "We made that sky. Warhound had the manport atlauncher. The techs had worked it out. It was psybloc, to counter the O's psypower, and we were giving it the first combat field test. The psybloc burst at high altitude—just like fireworks, and fell slowly down like hot rain. It scrambled the O's psypower projections, protecting us. There were different colors, for the different frequencies. Warhound just filled the sky—it was heavenly. It was…it was us. We marched right at the O, under that holy sky. We didn't have any doubts we were all going to die. Nobody had killed an O before."

That was my dream, I thought. That was my nightmare. A sky full of sparklers, falling gently down.

"Flame," I said. "Raw flame—burning brightly. The whole sky, burning, white and green."

"Mongera," Dragon said again, his eyes still closed. "Tacstars and biotics—the O was blasting us with tacstars as we advanced. The green fireballs were biotic saturation strikes, from the O. Psycho blew them apart with our own tacstars as soon as they appeared. The little squirt had quick reactions, I'll give him that."

"Mud," I said. "A worm in the mud."

Dragon smiled, and his eyes flickered open. "That was all of us—on Mongera. It started raining after we killed the O. Then the Systies surprised us." The smile faded. "You were hit—trying to reach One and Two and Nine. I told you not to try it, but you ignored me. That's when you lost your arm. The sky was alive with nukes by then—and we were squirming in the mud. Five dead—five immortals." His eyes were closed again. "They died for us. They died for the future."

"We remember that sky." It was Whit, standing in the doorway. She had been listening, and I hadn't even seen her. "Cinta had gone in to help, and the DefCorps hit the escape pod. That's when we showed up in the aircar. We remember that sky—it was a glowing ocean of fireballs, and all of the city had been nuked. We prayed to God, for simple survival, as we approached."

"You were our last hope," Dragon said quietly. "I could hardly believe it when you answered Cinta's nova. It was like a dream."

And it was like a dream to me, listening to it. Whit was a pale, ghostly vision, slim and alluring. She glided over to Eight and settled down beside him, running long fingernails lightly over his flesh. Eight closed his eyes again. I regretted not having taken Whit up on her offer. What a stupid move. It was definitely a little late now.

Further and further, into the hole. Dindabai was at the furthest reaches of the inhabited universe, on the far side of the Outvac, so far the mind was not really capable of grasping the distance. This was where the Lost Command was making its last stand—and this was where Cinta awaited us. She had all the answers, I knew. She was the ultimate destination, for me. It was a long way to go but I knew it would be worth it for me. I just wanted to fill in the blanks, that's all. I wasn't worried about the consequences.

Stardrive is tricky—it does things to your mind. And the longer the trip, the more it does. I had enough problems already, and stardrive wasn't helping.

The dreams got worse. It got so bad I didn't want to sleep, but sheer exhaustion is one of the symptoms of extended stardrive. I'd have the dreams every time. It was like going to Hell, every time I slept. I'd drift off, into the mists, and then the gates of Hell would snap open, engulfing me immediately in a white-hot blast of fiery gas. Everything would be burning all around me, the flames roaring and shrieking, and I would be burning too, my cenite skin glowing cherry red, alarms ringing in my ears—and the voices. The voices were there, too, calling me urgently, just like before, calling my name, only now I could hear it clearly: 'Thinker! Thinker! Thinker!' It was a desperate cry for help. She was trapped in the flames, going out like a fleck of burning ash, calling my name. I was frantic, wild, lost in the flames, trapped and doomed, burning, no idea which way to go, no idea where she was. I would scream, horrified, and wake up covered in sweat, and moan, collapsing back onto a wet pillow.

Sometimes I thought I could see her face, peering at me out of the flames—but I could never quite make it out.

"That was Uldo," Dragon informed me, after I told him about it. "We were running from the O's in the bowels of the Mound, and they were blasting us with starmass. It eats right through cenite—our A-suits were melting." I was growing to like Eight a great deal—I was not sure why. I had already decided I could trust him.

"Was anyone lost in the…starmass?" I asked.

"We all were, at one time or another. But Twelve—Scrapper—she was caught in one especially intense burst. And Nine—Priestess—she ran right into the flames, looking for Twelve. That's the last I saw of either of them."

"Scrapper—and Priestess. And the tall girl with the freckles?"

"That was Thirteen—Twister. She was with you when Merlin was killed. And she was accompanying you when you left me behind. That's all I know."

I triggered the holo again, and the squad came to life. Beta and Gamma, triumphant, on Planet Hell. Thirteen wasn't there—she had joined the squad later, replacing the dead. My eyes kept going back to Beta Nine, Priestess. I examined the images again, in the solid. Nine was the medic, a pale, angelic girl with dark hair and dark eyes, clutching a medpak, looking off into the distance, with the hint of a sad little smile. What a beauty—had I really known her? Was she the face in my dreams? Gamma Five, Scrapper, was another charmer, a thick mop of tawny hair, a white flash smile, heavy breasts, leaning against another girl, Gamma Two, a stunning blonde with icy green eyes.

I had known them all, I knew. I didn't want to ask too much about the past. Perhaps I was afraid of what I would find out. Dragon didn't volunteer anything, either. He just answered my questions—but he was uneasy. I knew he was holding back. I think he wanted Cinta to tell me about my past. I found it difficult to ask the really hard questions.

A whole squad of troopers. Some of them may have died for me. Dragon was there, looking totally confident. It was true, I decided—it was all true. I was a soldier of the Legion, and someone had stolen my past away.

And I was going to get it back—no matter what.

***

We ate three times each ship's day on the
Stardust
. I thought it an unbelievable luxury, and the food was so good I made an absolute pig of myself. About three hours after the last meal of the day whoever was off duty would show up in the lounge, which would transform itself into a bar, and it would rapidly fill up with Cyrillians. There were only the Cyrillians, and the three of us. They normally kept their distance, but things loosened up in the bar. Cyrillians were professional mercenaries, mostly. I got to talking with Pandaros once, and he told me their home planet had been destroyed by the System. The System had always told us it was the CrimCon that was responsible for the destruction of Cyrillia. The Cyrillians, however, seemed to feel differently. It didn't surprise me a great deal. I was beginning to realize that the situation in the galaxy was a lot different from what we had been told on Nimbos.

They played a lot of Cyrillian music in the bar. It was mostly hot metal, but was always sad and moody. We'd drink blue ice, and float away. It was really mellow stuff, and just what we needed for stardrive.

I closed my eyes and the music swirled around me—and it returned, the same terrifying vision that had shocked me awake the previous night. I could still see it in my mind—a naked baby, squirming and crying in the grip of a shadowy female. She had thrust the baby right into my face, as a terrible rhythm beat away in the background, like a great savage heart. It was totally horrific. I could not see the baby's face; I could only sense that it was a boy. And of the female holding it I could only see slim fingers with sharp nails, digging into the baby's tender skin. Long black hair swirled around the girl, but the face was all misty. She was almost throwing the baby at me. Frightening, primitive music, and I sensed horror and terror and a great longing.

I hadn't been able to get back to sleep after that one. I ordered a drink of hot water from the kitchenmod, and it appeared in instants, piping hot in a spotless little white cup, and I sat there in the dark on my bunk, sipping hot water, thinking about Nimbos, and my own lost past, and the dream, and what it all meant.

A burst of applause brought me back to the present. Whit was up on stage, her eyes closed, singing a sad little song. She was absolutely lovely, softly glowing in a luminous white light, and the song was not bad either. She was certainly the most attractive thing on board. There was no competition, since she was the only female. She had a captive audience, that was sure.

"If I was her," I remarked to Dragon, "I'd be a little uneasy as the only female on a ship crewed by a gang of Cyrillians. These people aren't renowned for their social graces."

"She told me they've never given her any trouble," Dragon replied, gazing at Whit with unfocused eyes. "Cinta pays them very well. They don't want to jeopardize what they've got."

When Whit finished, she rushed back to Dragon, giggling as the Cyrillians hooted their approval.

"Not bad," I said, raising a glass.

"Outstanding," Dragon grinned, throwing an arm over her shoulders.

"Thanks!" Whit said, "It's fun!"

"Dragon, aren't you afraid those Cyrillians are going to get jealous and murder you in your bed or something?" I asked.

"They'll have to go through me first," Whit laughed.

"Now I'm jealous," I retorted.

"Now you know how it feels, Thinker," Dragon said, grinning, "We were all jealous about Priestess, too." The grin vanished quickly as he realized what he had just said. Whit went suddenly still as well. The Cyrillian music continued, wailing away about lost loves, lost worlds, a lost past.

"So tell me about Priestess," I said quietly.

"Sorry," Dragon said, his eyes going down to his drink. "I shouldn't have said that."

"You've said it. Let's hear it."

"Cinta was going to tell it," Whit said.

"Tell me," I insisted. My heart was hammering.

Dragon's gaze wandered up to the ceiling. "It was Priestess and you. Ever since Andrion Two. You were…lovers. You were in love. You were quite a pair. You tried to hide it, but we all knew. The whole squad knew. You can't hide something like that."

"Priestess." My skin was crawling. Beta Nine—the medic. She had loved me. Somebody had loved me!