Slave of the Legion (7 page)

"Oh, wonderful. So the Legion was sponsoring a slaver! Terrific. I knew you were reporting to them, but I didn't know they were actively backing you. I hope you're going to tell me why."

"I'm paying, Wester. Right now. I was phenomenally successful—more successful than we had ever dared dream. We've got the entire galactic network now—there's not a single organization that didn't deal with me. Every world I visited is marked. Every slaver, every Systie official, every cop, every expeditor, every last, sleazy crim, everyone who lifted a finger or held open a door—they're all on the death list now, every single one."

"Great! So they're on the list! How many slaves did you sell for that?"

"It's the wheel of history, Wester. I knew an angel once—a psycher. He made me, Wester. He was a genius. He was tortured, obsessed, brilliant, insane, divine. My angel! He showed me the galaxy, the way it really was. He ripped the scales right off my eyes and it almost blinded me. I worship the man, but sometimes I think I'd kill him if I could. He was truly driven—he was mad, but he taught me everything. He whispered the Legion's darkest secrets into my ears, because I had to know. He cut the Legion cross right into my heart. He made me cry, he made me pray, for Justice. That was his God, and the Legion's God—Justice! He made me promise to fight for Justice, no matter what—no matter how hard it would be."

Tara paused to catch her breath. The gnats were still with us, snacking on my face. It was dark and cold.

"It was hard, Wester. It was so hard! It was only after I had promised that he told me everything—about what I would have to do. I was horrified when he told me. I cried with grief, for myself. Then he told me more. The Legion takes a long view of history, Wester—a very long view. Yes, I've been collecting names. I'm an undertaker, compiling a list of the dead. Only they aren't dead yet. But the hand of the Legion is on them now—they're all going to die, for Justice."

"And just how is the Legion going to do that?" I was nodding off, but I had to admit she told a good story.

"That's what my Angel told me, Wester. It's not just a theoretical exercise. These people are all going to die, on Judgment Day. And Judgment Day is coming for every System world. And on Judgment Day the evil will all die, and the innocent will be freed."

"Yeah?"

"Yes—the System is doomed, Wester. History is clear on that. And the Legion is clear on it as well. We know we must destroy the System, or it will destroy us. We must attack it head-on and not stop until the entire rotten structure collapses into fragments. Then we drive a stake into its heart, so it will never arise again."

"So we're going to replace their empire with ours?" I asked.

"No, Wester. The stage after empire is decay and dissolution—always. There are no exceptions, ever. ConFree knows that. We're never going to be an empire. We're going to smash the System, liberate all Outworlders who want to be liberated, ensure galactic slavery is dead, then return to our own sector and remain faithful to ourselves, our own people and our own traditions. The rest of the galaxy can do as they wish, once the System breaks up. But once we land on a Systie world, the slavers had best watch out. We're going to cleanse those worlds—all of them. It's not a paper plan, Wester; it's not a think piece. This is the Legion's goal. Slavery is to be annihilated from the Galaxy—along with the System that supports it. It may take generations, but the Legion has got plenty of time for Justice. That's the goal, Wester—Justice. But we're not doing it for some theoretical ideal, we're not doing it to conquer the galaxy or liberate humanity from its own stupidity. We're doing it for our own people, for every civilian housewife on every ConFree world who doesn't give a damn for politics and just wants to raise her family in peace—and for their children. And for all those Outworlders and Assidics who live in slavery under the System. And on Judgment Day, the Legion will fall from the sky and open the Book of Death, and everyone in the Book will die."

"That's crazy, Tara—that's the craziest thing I've ever heard." I really wanted to close my eyes and sleep.

"Yes—isn't it? They're really serious, Wester. Millions are going to die! And it's all I ever wanted from life. You remember me—even as a child, I was always outraged by what I saw. All I wanted was justice. Well, God should have mercy on people who get what they want."

"And what about all those slaves, all those lives you ruined?"

"Yes, we owe them too, Wester. We owe them justice as well. There's a White Book as well. Every one of my people is in there."

"Oh great! I'm sure that makes you feel a whole lot better! And what does the Legion give them, on Judgment day, assuming they're still alive—an apology?"

"A new life, Wester. Immortality. Peace. Everything. We give them everything. Life and Death, Wester—that's what we offer, on Judgment Day."

"Wonderful. Well, I'm glad to hear our leaders are completely insane. It should ensure that my lifestyle doesn't change."

"Yes—isn't it wonderful? This is all I ever want to do, Wester—walking in the mud with an E. It's my penance. I never want to see the Maiden again!"

Gildron moaned. Tara turned to him. "Oh, Gildron! Don't worry; I'll never leave you! I'll love you forever, old friend!"

I lay back, my head on my ratpack, and closed my eyes. I couldn't stay awake any more, not even with Tara's hypnotic voice whispering in my ears.

###

I dreamed about Moontouch. She came at me out of the dark in a cloud of incense. Candles flickered in the background and I knew she was in the Tomb of the Kings on Andrion 2, praying for my soul. She was as lovely as an angel fallen from the sky, a pale angel with long silken black hair and hypnotic eyes. She wore a black cloak and she held up a baby—a beautiful, strong, squirming baby boy with luminous skin and eyes that shone in the dark. There was a Legion cross burnt right onto the baby's forehead, and the crown and skull of the Book was etched onto his chest.

"Our Prince, Slayer," she said. "Behold our son—he is the Emperor of the Dark, the King of the Dead. I pray he may join these immortals, in time." The Kings of Southmark were lined up behind her, skeleton Kings propped up on their ancient thrones, ruling an empire of death. The baby cried out, the lusty voice of new life echoing in the Tomb of the Kings.

"We await you, my King," Moontouch said. "I am your slave—I guard your son with my life! I know you will return to me—I know it! I will cry rivers of tears until you return to see your son. He will be a great warrior, my King. He will lead into battle the hosts of the Armies of the Dead, and nothing will stand before him. He will rule for many years, and die in battle as a great King of Southmark, bathed in blood, and I will lie beside him in the Tomb of the Kings. You must return, to see our son!" Her lovely face was fierce and proud, but she was crying freely.

It broke my heart. It simply broke my heart.

###

The blast was so loud it almost deafened me. My eyes snapped open and a white-hot phospho core was spitting actinic tracers up into the sky and all over our camp site, flashing and crackling only a few mikes away from us, catching us all in its light, a whole squad of downed A-suits, black cenite reflecting the light. It was so bright it almost blinded me. Fully adrenalized, I scrambled to my feet with my E. The echo rolled through the mountains.

The thing continued erupting white-hot, dancing along in the dark, blazing away, spitting and sparkling, a miniature star to light up our life.

A burst of xmin shattered my thoughts, glittering golden tracks. The star exploded, a tremendous bang, the shock wave rocking us all, tracers again lighting up the sky, shooting up to the clouds, then falling slowly like hot rain. The thing was gone, snuffed out by the blast. The echoes ricocheted off the mountains, slowly fading. My eyes were so dazzled I could hardly see—I had not had my helmet on.

"What the hell was that?" someone asked breathlessly.

"There's nobody here," Valkyrie said. She was up and scanning with her E. "Nobody—it's clear."

"Perimeter is secure," Merlin reported shakily.

"That was a nova beacon," Snow Leopard stated quietly. His E was still smoking. He had blown the device apart.

"A nova! What the hell!" Dragon exclaimed.

"Well, where did it come from?" Scrapper demanded.

"Cinta," Snow Leopard commanded, "go to private."

I snapped on my helmet. I was shaking. A nova beacon! That was a last resort distress signal. It would attract everyone on the planet, it would signal our location to everyone! What the hell!

"Aw right, who was it?" Psycho demanded angrily. "Who's the retard who set off the nova!"

"Thinker, I don't like this," Priestess told me.

"Neither do I, Priestess—this is bad news!"

"Count your novas, Valkyrie!" Snow Leopard ordered. Only Snow Leopard and Valkyrie carried novas.

"One is missing," Valkyrie responded, looking through her fieldpak. "Damn it!"

"That's it then," Snow Leopard said. "Where were they?"

"They were with the rest of the gear, right here." We had piled our gear together where everyone could find it easily in the dark.

"Merlin? You were on duty."

"I didn't see a thing, One! It was dead quiet. Then the damned thing went off, and it was so bright I couldn't see anything else!"

"Did anyone set it off by accident? Answer up!" But there was no answer. It seemed that nobody had set it off by accident. That left only one other possibility.

"We move!" Snow Leopard snapped. "Now! On me, Beta!" I had never heard him so upset. We scrambled around hurriedly to get our gear. Our location had just been compromised in the worst possible way. A missile might be on its way, right now, death might be only instants away. We hustled into the dark behind our One.

###

Stumbling downhill through the dark, my mind was a torrent of contradictory images. Moontouch was with me like a phantom, swirling all around me. I had done all I could for her and for my child, but it had not been enough. I had never seen my son. And the way things were going, it appeared increasingly unlikely that I would ever see him, or ever again feel Moontouch's satin skin. Who was it, I thought? Who could have done such a thing?

"Tara, Wester."

"Yes, Wester." She sounded tense.

"You're a psycher! Who was it? You looked into everybody's mind, didn't you? Snow Leopard asked you to, didn't he?"

"It's not that easy, Wester."

"What do you mean by that? I thought you were a hot psycher! Did you find anything or not?"

"Nobody knows, Wester. Nobody knows."

I almost lost my balance. We were sliding down a steep slope of slippery pebbles.

"How can nobody know, Tara? Somebody set off that nova—one of us!"

"That's affirmative, Wester. But everyone is still in shock—I'll have to wait until things calm down. It wasn't conscious, Wester—it's a lot deeper than that."

"You mean it was an accident?"

"No, Wester, it was deliberate—but it wasn't conscious."

"What does that mean?"

"I can't say any more."

"Talk to me, Tara!"

"I'm sorry. I'll tell you later."

"Damn!" I switched over to Merlin. Not conscious! What did she mean? "Four, Three."

"Four. What."

"You tell me, Merlin. You had the duty. What the hell happened?"

"Somebody set off a nova—haven't you figured that out yet?"

"Somebody! You mean one of us?"

"There was nobody else there, Thinker."

"Couldn't it have been an accident?"

"That's a twelve, Thinker. It was deliberate."

"But what does it mean?"

"Somebody is violently opposed to this mission, Thinker. That's clear."

"Who?"

"I've got my own ideas. But I'm not ready to share them yet."

"Come on, Merlin! This is life or death!"

"I may be wrong. I'll tell you when I'm sure."

"Aw scut!" I broke the connection and almost walked over a cliff—I managed to stop just in time.

"Watch out for that drop."

"Thanks!" We were putting distance between us and the campsite as rapidly as possible. Nothing had yet dropped from the sky to pulverize the site—we were lucky so far.

"Black Jade, Control!" It must have been a full-power blast, but we could barely hear it through the deceptors. "We read your nova and note your zero. Do you require extraction, over?" But we couldn't respond. We just continued hustling over the rocks. I could see the mission coordinator in my mind, back in Recon Control, sipping on his dox, bored.

"Black Jade, Control. If you require extraction, please pop another nova, over." We did not respond. There was no need. Our One did not want extraction. We were going to go on, no matter what. Speedy was whining, muttering to himself.

Damn! One of us was a traitor, conscious or not. My mind reeled at the concept. Who could it be? Not Snow Leopard, surely—impossible! He was our leader. He'd die for the mission. He almost had, on Mongera. He had no doubts of any kind. He would lead us into Hell, blind, no matter what. No, it was not Snow Leopard. I knew it wasn't me. Surely I'd know if it was me! No, impossible—I had been in the middle of a dream! Could it be Merlin? He had the watch. Merlin had been with us since the beginning of the squad, since Providence, since Planet Hell. But he never really belonged in a Legion squad. Four was a tech, a lab rat. Why had he volunteered to carry an E? They offered him a first-class research position after Mongera, but he turned it down. He had seen too much on Mongera. And he paid his dues on Coldmark. Both his legs were artificial. It was not inexplicable after all, I thought. He had thrown away his future to die in the mud, with Beta. He was one of us now. He would never betray us!

Who, then? Psycho? Out of the question! He was as predictable as a biogen. All he wanted was to fight, to annihilate our enemies with his Manlink. The little jerk was a giant pain in the ass, but he would never betray us. The Legion was all he wanted from life.

Beta Eight? Dragon? Out of a murky, violent past, he took to Legion life like a shark to water. He was a natural-born killer, and I could not imagine Beta without him. He had been wounded badly on Coldmark, and stood with us against the O's and the Systies on Mongera. No—not Dragon. If anyone had approached him proposing treason, he would have shot him in the head and told us about it later. Dragon was like Psycho—the Legion was his life.