March of the Legion (5 page)

"A tempting offer, Priestess," Redhawk responded. "But I'm too damned busy right now. Why don't you go first, and call me when you finish. Oh, and, uh…I want you naked, too."

We popped our helmets, still laughing at Priestess's remark. The air stunk, a strange heady perfume, but we knew it was really us who stunk. I removed my helmet and hooked it on my u-belt. The air lanced through my nostrils and mouth like fire. My eyes stung and watered. We were all gasping, taking deep breaths. I looked at the others and grinned.

Psycho was a mutant werewolf with yellow fangs and glittering lunatic eyes. Redhawk was a savage hairy gargoyle, bleeding and covered with slime. Priestess was a vaguely female zombie, dead pale splotchy skin and cold glazed eyes and dirty matted hair. Snow Leopard was still in helmet so we could not see him. I did not want to know what I looked like but judging by the others, I imagined I had lost my dashing good looks.

"Psycho, stay here," Snow Leopard ordered. "We're going to use this screen to search for Warhound. Thinker, accompany Priestess and secure the area while she cleans up. Redhawk, you're next after Priestess. Now, tell me how you work the zoom. I want to search every fraction of this crater for Warhound."

I accompanied Priestess into the living quarters. The lights were on and the floor was sticky. Priestess chose a cube at random. The door was open, as we had thoroughly searched the area. It was even smaller than a Legion cube—there was barely room to turn around. The head was a tiny closet with a toilet, sink, and shower. Priestess tossed her helmet and E on the bed. She reached into the head and hit the shower tab. The line coughed once and then a needle spray of water hissed steadily from the nozzle. It was so lovely a thrill ran over my skin.

"Help me out of this A-suit, Thinker. Lord, I stink like a cesspool. Look at that—soap! Towels! Oh, save me!" I helped her unlink. She was sticky with sweat and trembling with anticipation.

"Wait for me, Thinker—don't go. I may be awhile," she said.

"I'll be right here," I replied, taking a position in the doorway to the cube. Priestess flashed me a weary smile and stepped into the head and the door slid shut.

I expected a long wait. Fortunately I had some good reading material. I sat in the doorway, my E strapped to my chest, and read through the next entry in the datapak.

1444/02/07 SS—Frantic activity, and all of it correct, all by the regs. We are doing terrific work, but we keep asking ourself how this benefits the System. We have concluded that the System wants the status quo maintained in this sector. And it is willing to sacrifice us for the status quo. But surely STRATCOM realizes that our activities here are not maintaining the status quo—to the contrary, as soon as these creatures are ready, the System will have to deal with its monstrous creation.
So what is our mission? It is to strengthen the V until we are no further threat to them. It is to betray our own, in the name of galactic peace. We are Peacemakers, they tell us, holding the Dogs of War at bay. But the dogs are growing stronger, for we feed them with our flesh and blood.
Soon they will tear out our throats. Why are we here? We must be cursed by the Gods!

"Well, I don't see a thing." It was Redhawk, muttering to himself.

"Not a sign of life!" Snow Leopard, in awe. "This is really strange."

"He's out there," Psycho declared. "He's out there somewhere." They were searching for Warhound on the screen. I felt sick inside. How could he have survived? It was a miracle that any of us did. How could we hope for more?

We'd have spotted him by now if he had survived. No, Warhound was gone—at the bottom of the lava. A black depression settled over me. Beta Six, Warhound—he was as faithful as a dog. He was young and trusting, always did what he was told, a good and dependable soldier of the Legion. How could it end like this? He had his whole immortal life ahead of him. He had a crush on Gamma Five, Scrapper, but she didn't like him. He'd tell me his troubles, and I'd give him advice. And now he was gone. He was a friend; I should have told him how I felt, but we never did that in the Legion. Now I regretted it. I gazed blankly at the datapak. I had been reading it without thought.

…death, death, death! Every day, hovering right outside. Black ships, and black skies. Lunacy! To think we have any control over events, or that we are accomplishing anything at all, except for the V. Lunacy! We are slaves, trapped and terrified. Abandoned, by STRATCOM, by the System itself. We are still useful, we know, to the V, but the instant that ends, we will all die like bacteria. The Old Man is already gone. It called a meeting—fool! We told it not to do so, but it insisted, and now it's gone. A troublesome bacteria. That was five full days ago, and we just huddle here, terrified. We don't even dare ask about it. The V can have us for lunch, whenever they want.

The V—that was Systie slang for the O. We called them the Omnis. The System called them the Variants. It would never have occurred to the Legion to try and communicate with the O—except with antimats. But then we had a lot more experience fighting the Omnis than the System did. It was becoming increasingly clear why that was—the Systies had done a deal with the O's, a dirty, secret deal, right here on Andrion 3. And the unitium mines on Andrion 2 were part of it. Genetic suicide, for our species—death to the children! I got dizzy just thinking about it.

"Thinker." The door to the head slid open. Priestess posed in the doorway, completely naked, soapsuds glistening all over her heavenly body, long dark hair clean and wet, her skin glowing with life, sparkling angel eyes and a pink tongue teasing me behind even white teeth. Her breasts were perfect, rosy pink nipples, long slim lovely legs knocking my eyes out. The shower was still on behind her. She pirouetted once, showing me her petite, tender rear, smiling back over her shoulder. I dropped the datacase and scrambled violently to my feet, armor ringing against the door frame.

Nine giggled once and disappeared as the door to the head slid shut abruptly. I hurled myself against it.

"Priestess! Open up! Open up!" I pounded on the door with my armored fists, leaving dents in the metal.

"What's wrong, Thinker? Answer up!" It was Snow Leopard, alerted by my shouts.

"Uhh…nothing!" I answered quickly. "Nothing at all! It's all right—uh, it's nothing."

"Well, keep it down! And let us know when Priestess is through."

"Right! Right." I leaned against the door to the head, breathing hard. On the other side was the most lovely creature in the galaxy.

"Priestess…" I whispered feverishly. "Open up. Please?"

"No! You're all smelly. I just cleaned up!" She giggled again.

"Are you trying to torture me, Priestess?" My blood raced. "What did you do that for?"

"Didn't you like it?" She sounded disappointed.

"Yes! Yes, oh yes, I liked it! It's just, uh, well—let me in. All right?"

"Don't be silly! We don't have time to play! Besides, I have a date already—with Redhawk. Remember?"

"Priestess, why are you doing this to me?" I was so frustrated I trembled.

"I just wanted to remind you what you're missing," she replied through the door. "If we survive this place, I'm yours, Three. I hope you appreciate me."

###

"All right, listen up." Beta One never had to raise his voice to get our attention. We gathered around the main panel of the aircar control center. We had all cleaned up, and Priestess had prepped Redhawk's wounds. Now we were all back in our stinking A-suits, helmets still off, E's within easy reach. We had turned the place upside down looking for clues to what the Systies were doing there, and we'd found plenty, stacks of datapaks and datacards and minicards full of info for the analysts to ponder, should we ever return. We were stuffing our faces with Systie rats, hot food and cold drinks, and loving every frac. We had raided their kitchen, and the working surfaces of the control panel were littered with steaming meal trays and icy cans of soft drinks.

I felt almost human.

The chilling spectacle of the lava lake stretched out before us on the main screen. A brilliant explosion of lava boomed out of the luminous golden lake even as we watched. A faint shudder rattled the walls. The skies were dark and smoky, and fires burned on black mountain ranges in the hazy distance. We could hear a faint howling.

"We've used the screen to search the entire area for Warhound," One informed us bleakly. "We haven't found him." We greeted the news in silence. One appeared calm and rational, in icy control. His white-blond hair was clean and wet, and blue veins throbbed on his pale flesh. His pink eyes were cold and distant. "The screen gave us the best possible chance at finding him. It appears that he's not there. I believe we have to conclude it is likely he's at the bottom of the lake."

"We're not there, either," Psycho pointed out quietly. "But that doesn't mean we're at the bottom of the lake."

"That's right, Snow Leopard," I added. "He could be under cover somewhere. Our camfax is damned good, and there are plenty of nooks and crannies out there. It would be only natural for him to get under cover."

"Nevertheless," he said, "we have to proceed on the assumption that he's gone. Unless we go to full power, there's nothing further we can do to find him. And if we go to full power, we're dead. Now, I can promise you we are going to go to full power, as our final effort to locate Beta Six. But the time for that has not yet arrived. First, we have a mission to accomplish. And we can't do that if we're dead."

We pondered that without comment. One was right—what else could we do? Chances were high that Six was dead. And if we stayed in the neighborhood much longer, we would be, too.

"We have to move out," One concluded, "as rapidly as possible. This is an extremely dangerous area. I consider it a miracle that we're still alive. Our antis fell right here. This was our primary target. Now, I've been getting fragments of info on the command channel, but it's so thoroughly shot by deceptors that I can't tell exactly what's happening. One thing I can tell, though—the assault is still underway. There are Legion units fighting their way through the Omni base, and that means they are inside the base, and under the lava. That's where we should be. Ten, report."

"Right," Redhawk responded. "The aircar station is located about sixty mikes below us. There are two personnel elevators and a freight elevator that should get us there. All still functional. Air and pressure full normal as well." His wild eyes flickered over the readings, shaggy red hair hanging over one eye. "There are two aircars on-site, but neither is in ready status."

"Why not?" Snow Leopard asked.

"Don't know," Redhawk replied. "I can probably get a status report if you give me a little more time."

"There's only two aircars?"

"The other bays are all empty."

Aircars! My blood stirred; we could all feel it. Priestess put down her drink. Psycho raised his head and blinked expressionless eyes.

"Can you get us a visual?"

"Affirmative."

"Not yet! Is this aircar garage a part of the starport?"

"That's a twelve. The launching ports open in the side of the caldera, right into the air, slightly above the level of the lake. The actual starport—or what's left of it—is below the lake, and launches of major spacecraft are probably made through a central launch tube that breaks surface when necessary. Landings would be the same routine. That's my conjecture." He scratched at his scruffy beard.

"And the starport—you can get me an internal visual of that, as well?"

"Ten high, Beta. Sure looks like it."

That one would knock us on our asses, I knew. An internal visual, on an Omni starport! The aircar control center was a Systie installation, but nobody—nobody—had ever seen the inside of an O starport, and lived to tell about it. My adrenalin was going again. I picked up a cold juice, and tried to get it to my lips without spilling any. It felt as if my muscles were just barely connected.

The datapak was on the console before me. My eyes strayed to the next entry.

1444/03/11 SS—We are doomed. We share it with no one, but we know it. Death stares us in the face, every morning. Our rotation times have come and gone, and still STRATCOM is on the screen making promises. The others believe. They have to believe, for the sake of sanity. But we no longer believe. Show your faces here, STRATCOM, and we'll believe you.
"Soldiers of Peace. We are slaves. We saw the V only once, and that was enough. Our whole body stopped functioning. At first we thought they were trying to kill us, but later we decided they were just saying hello. We will never recover.

Chapter 5:
Under Strange Stars

Every once in awhile, I get so much adrenalin in my system that I just kind of freeze up and have a lot of difficulty moving my body. This was one of those times.

"You girls ready?" Snow Leopard asked.

"Oh, yeah." Psycho and I were both dangling in a darkened elevator shaft like a couple of black robot spiders, rapelling silently down our lifelines to the aircar hanger far below. Snow Leopard did not want to risk using the elevator until we knew the hanger was secure. We needed the elevator because Redhawk could not walk.

"Race ya," Psycho said, dropping like a stone.

"Scut! Slow down!" I triggered the catch and the cable sang through the mounts. I dropped, slowing gently, boots glancing off the walls. The shaft was dark and cold and full of thick oily cables. My A-suit whispered to me, and green readouts glowed on my faceplate.

"Negative life. Proceed."

I hissed past Psycho, and he was a deadly camfax shadow, just another shadow, all the power of the Legion, coiled like a snake. We were nearing the entrance to the hanger. I slowed and stopped.

"All right, Psycho—go. Deadman!" I was breathing heavily, leaning off the wall, my E at the ready.

"Come on, Thinker, admit it—you love it, don't you?" Psycho giggled, and I could see him coming at me from above, an obscene black beast armored for war. My E was set on flame. Psycho flashed past me, dropping, his cable whistling eerily.

We had seen the hanger on the screen, cold and still, undamaged, fully lighted, two aircars in the repair bays. Not a sign of life. Then we tried the internal view of the Omni starport, but the screen was dead. Perhaps the starport was crushed flat, popped open by our antis, then torn apart by the lake of molten lava. I wondered how many O's had died in the disaster. It made me feel good, thinking about all those dead O's, knowing that we had contributed.

"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.