The Last Legion: Book One of the Last Legion Series (18 page)

“ ’Kay, that’s out,” Garvin said. “How’d you come here?”

“I brought my lifter.”

“Well?”

“It’s a little two-seater. We’d never be able to … to be comfortable.”

“So let’s go somewhere. I just happen to have a nice, luxurious hotel,” Garvin whispered. “With a big soft bed, and nobody pays any attention to people’s comings and goings.”

“Comings?” she whispered.

“Anywhere you want to,” he promised, and they kissed again. He brought his hand up, fondled her breasts, felt her rigid nipples.

“Hey,” a voice came. “You. Shithead!”

Jasith squeaked in surprise, jumped back. Garvin turned, very quickly. Loy Kuoro stood, face angry, fists balled. Jaansma forced his mind away from Jasith.

“That was a shitty thing you did to me,” Kouro said.

“Those were some shitty things you were saying,” Garvin said reasonably. “Especially in front of some people.”

“People?
’Raum
people?” Kouro sneered.

“
Publishers?
People?” Garvin echoed in an equally nasty voice. “I hear the only way you can breed is with your own sisters? Any truth to that?”

Jasith gasped, and Kouro turned white. Garvin had a moment to realize he’d touched on something explosive, and the man tried to kick him. Garvin stepped back, and the kick barely touched Garvin’s jacket.

“Don’t do that,” he said in a calm voice. Kouro stumbled, recovered, and Garvin realized the man was somewhat drunker than he appeared. He swung, and Garvin grabbed his hand, pulled, and Kouro stumbled forward, falling to his hands and knees.

“Go back inside and get yourself a drink,” Garvin suggested. “You’re pushing the framework.”

Kouro came to his knees, and lurched forward, head down. He butted Garvin in the chest. Garvin almost fell, recovered.

“That’s enough,” he said, still in the same mild tone, and slammed two straight forefist strikes into Kouro, the first into his eye, the second into his midsection. Kouro
whuffed
, puked, staggered back, and teetered on the edge of the lake. Garvin reached out, pushed, and the man shouted surprise, windmilled his arms, and fell backwards into the lake, landing with a thoroughly satisfying splash.

Garvin Jaansma didn’t bother seeing whether Kouro surfaced, saw Jasith was gone. Garvin swore, went after her, through the great room, along the causeway, and through the estate’s entrance. He went down the steps in time to see a small, bright red lifter streak down the driveway.

“I should’ve killed him,” Garvin said, and went back, looking for Erik.

He couldn’t find him anywhere. He looked at the crowd of utter strangers. “No friends, no taxis. I think,” he said to himself, “it’s gonna be a long walk home.”

• • •

“Curious,” Jo Poynton mused. “Most curious.”

The voice came again: “Your instructions?”

Poynton keyed her mike: “Stand by.”

She returned to her analysis:
A group of soldiers stops one of our children from being beaten. Odd. They then somehow have enough money for rooms in one of Leggett’s most expensive hotels and outfit themselves in luxury. Even odder. Three of them then elude one of my most experienced agents and disappear. The other two attend a very exclusive party in the Heights, at the home of one of the most anti-'Raum swine. One is identified by an agent of ours, working as a waiter, as Erik Penwyth, whose family, while not the worst of the giptel, isn’t considered an especially fervent supporter of our cause. He mysteriously joined the Confederation oppressors a short time ago, for no known reason. Now his companion, name unknown, starts a fight over a minor insult made by the giptel Kouro about the ’Raum. He then leaves and is walking toward Leggett. All this is very unusual, and we do not need unusual occurrences this close to Dawning Fury.

“I don’t understand,” she said softly, looking around her room in the depths of the Eckmuhl. Bare except for three transceivers, it gave no answers. She thought of trying to reach Corn-stock Brien or, perhaps better for his fresh thinking, Jord’n Brooks. But there was no time, and certainly she might have a better understanding of the problem than they would, far distant in the hills.

She opened her mike. “Is there traffic in your area?”

“Almost none.”

“Do you and Lompa think you could take him alive? There must be no misunderstanding — alive or do not make the attempt.”

“Wait.” Silence, then: “Affirm. Lompa has a pacifier.”

“Take him then, before he leaves the Heights,” Poynton ordered. “Move him to a secluded area, and I’ll have a pickup craft ready to home on your signal.”

“Understood,” the voice said. “Stand by.”

Poynton picked up another com. “This is Watch Control,” she ordered. “Wake the alert team for action.”

• • •

“I forgive this
barraco
,” Njangu said in a noble tone, trying to sound like Garvin Jaansma being pompous, “for trying to eat me, for I find the mother pretty goddamned delicious.” He realized he was a little drunk, just loopy enough for almost any silliness to sound like an excellent idea. Njangu took another piece of grilled
barraco
from the fire-warmed stone, put it on a disk of flat, unleavened bread. He poured a dipper of fiery green sauce over it, folded the top over, and took a huge bite.

“How many of those are you planning to eat?” Angie asked him, speaking with the careful pronunciation of the quite drunk.

“What do you care? I won’t let it spoil my girlish figure,” Njangu said.

“I don’t want you to founder and not be able to … take care of other things.”

“The day that happens,” Njangu promised, “is the day the heavens crumble.”

“Yeesh,” Angie said. “Ego!”

There were five of them lying on mats around the small fire — Ton Milot; his girlfriend, Lupul; Njangu; Angie, who lay curled with her head on Njangu’s ankles; and a slender, large-breasted girl about sixteen named Deira, with tied-back dark red hair, a slow smile, and lips Njangu didn’t want to think about kissing. She wore only a wrap, tucked in above her breasts, and insisted on showing far too much of her upper thigh to Yoshitaro.

“Men’re all like that, aren’t they?” Lupul said.

“ ‘Cept for me,” Ton Milot said. “I’m perfect.” He belched loudly. “Wanna see?”

“It is about that time,” Lupul said, getting up. She tottered a little. “Wups. Earthquake season, I guess.”

Ton Milot clambered to his feet and stood, grinning foolishly. He looked down the beach, where two or three dozen fires guttered down. There were shadows around them, some sitting, talking; others dancing slowly to their own music; others on the sand, moving, twined; still others motionless, paired or alone. “Looks like things’re trickling down to the last hard-cases,” he said. “Guess I’ll see you sometime after the sun comes up.”

“Would you come
on
,” Lupul said. “You see these guys every damned day, not me.”

“Coming, dear.” He followed her into darkness.

“So now it’s just us,” Njangu said. He bent over, and kissed Angie.

“Well,” she said. “Not quite. There’s Deira. She’s locked, loaded, and ready.”

The girl giggled.

“Ready for what?” Njangu asked.

“Show him,” Angie said.

Deira stood, unfastened the tie, shook her head and let her red hair cascade down almost to her waist. She walked slowly around the fire until she bestrode Njangu, pulled the tie on her wrapper, let it drop. Her body was shaved clean.

“Don’t you like these colorful local practices?” Angie asked.

“Uhhh,” Njangu managed.

“She came over,” Angie said calmly, “while you were fishing, and told Lupul she thought you were very handsome, and wanted to know what our customs were, since she guessed I was already with you. She told Lupul that she thought I was handsome, too, and wondered what I thought of her. I said I thought she was pretty, and that I wouldn’t mind if she wanted to kiss me. So we did. She’s a very good kisser. And she does … other things real nice, too. We borrowed one of the huts while we were waiting for you.”

Njangu realized his mouth was dry.

“Well,” Angie said reasonably, “she’s awfully pretty, isn’t she?”

“Uhh … yes.”

“Can I kiss him?” Deira asked.

“Sure,” Angie said, and laughed.

Deira knelt, and pushed Njangu gently down onto his back. She lowered her body onto his, her mouth opening. Njangu felt her breasts hard against his bare chest. An eon or so later, Deira lifted her head. “I do like him,” she said dreamily.

“So do I,” Angie said.

“Now I want to kiss you some more,” Deira said.

“That could happen,” Angie said. She unbuttoned her uniform blouse, took it off. Then she took off her shorts and briefs.

Njangu’d turned on his side, was watching. “You don’t act like this is a total shock,” Angie said.

Njangu smiled slightly, inclined his head, said nothing. The girls in his clique
had
done anything and everything they thought might shock the cits, with each other or the boys.

“You’re wearing too much,” she said, and Njangu obediently slid out of his shorts.

Angie tube-rolled her shorts and tunic, put them down on the mat about a meter away from her.

“Come here, Deira,” she whispered. “Next to me. Put your hips on my pants.”

The girl melted into Angie’s arms. After a bit, Angie pushed on her head, and Deira kissed down Angie’s neck, across her breasts and stomach. Angie lifted, parted her legs, gasped as Deira’s fingers found her.

“Oh yes, oh good,” she sighed. “Njangu, come here. I want you to bite me on my tits, my stomach. Then do it to Deira while she loves me. I promised her she could be first.”

• • •

Garvin guessed he was no more than fifteen minutes from the hotel, and making good time on the curving downhill road. He was singing quietly:

He broke off, looking for a rhyme for Jasith, failed to find one. “She sure was lovely,” he mourned. “Nice and friendly and warm and — ”

He heard the scrape, jumped sideways. The first man’s sap came down, missed, and he tried to recover, staggering on a few footsteps. The second man had some kind of gun. He pointed it at Garvin, who ducked as the weapon hissed and something spat past, very close.

At the side of the road was a tall, straight-limbed bush. Garvin tore off a branch, held it across his chest like a fighting stave.

“Oh you poor bastards,” he said. “You poor sorry bastards. Did you
ever
pick somebody in the wrong goddamned mood.”

The second man aimed his gun. Garvin darted to the side, raked the butt end of the branch across the sapman’s face, who cried out and stumbled back. Without pausing, he snapped the branch’s other end across the gunman’s wrist, and the gun spun away, into the street. Garvin brought his knee up, smashed the branch across it. Now he held two clubs about 10cm in diameter and 50cm long.

“Let’s play,” he said. The second man reached in a pocket for something. Garvin clubbed his forearm, then smashed the other club across the bridge of the man’s nose. The man screamed, had both hands over his face. Garvin drove the club like a sword into his gut, kicked the man hard in the side of the head as he went down.

“Now for
your
young ass,” he said grimly. The first man was holding up his hand, whining, pleading. Garvin smashed him on the elbow with the club in his left hand. The man howled, clutched his wrist with his other hand. Jaansma snapped the club in his right into the man’s face, heard teeth crack. He kicked the man in the stomach like he was driving a ball into the score zone, and the man whip-snapped, fell backward, lay motionless. Garvin stood over the two for a short time, breathing hard, waiting for movement. There wasn’t any.

“Stupid goniffs,” he said. “Rob a soldier, who’s never got any goddamned money anyway.”

He looked up and down the road, saw no vehicles. He spotted the gun, picked it up, and examined it.
Some kind of knockout weapon
, he thought.
Nice and new-looking. Thieves don’t normally carry trick shit like this I wouldn’t think.

He picked up one man by the hair, ignored his ruined face, sniffed his breath.
No alcohol.
The same was true of the other.
That’s also a little unique.

He went through their pockets, found two ID cards, pocketed them, continued searching. Both had some money and, interestingly, two identical expensive-looking corns fitted with scramblers.

“Hmm. Wish I were some kinda detective, so this shit’d make sense,” he muttered.

He considered calling the police, found himself grinning.
Njangu would beat my butt for even thinking that.
Besides, they’d keep him up the rest of the night with stupid questions he had no answers for. He pocketed the corns, the money, and the ID cards, and trotted away, toward Leggett.

• • •

Half an hour later, he saw the lights of the Shelburne ahead. A woman came out of the shadows.

“Morning, sister,” he greeted. “Up late, aren’t you?”

“Looking for a good time, I am,” she said. “You interested? Half price, and you can stay ‘til you wake up?”

“No thanks.”

“You one of those who like boys?” the whore asked, not insultingly.

“Nope,” Garvin Jaansma said, thinking of Jasith Mellusin, and her melting lips. “Just stupid.”

“ ’Kay, troops,”
Alt
Hedley told the company. “Break ranks and gather around this tippy-top-secret map and hear the good skinny.” The men and women of Intelligence and Reconnaissance Company obeyed. “First,” Hedley said, “let’s welcome the new fools. Monique’s shattered ‘em so much they actually want to flipping join us. Tsk.”