March of the Legion (19 page)

I activated the control, and the message filled the wall screen. The squad took it in silently. Finally Dragon spoke. "So who's Tara?"

"Tara," I responded, "is Cintana Tamaling. I believe you all remember her—the slaver, Commander of the P.S. Maiden."

"The girl with the pet ape," Psycho remarked with a wry grin.

"That's right," I said. "The girl who saved us all. The girl who dropped out of the sky firing tacstars. The girl who got us off Mongera. Right—the girl with the ape."

The message glowed on the screen. "Come quickly. I need you now." It wasn't complicated. The most important issues rarely are. Tara herself had taught me that.

"The way I see it," I said, "she came when we needed her. Now she says she needs my help. I think I should go."

"Why you?" Merlin asked.

Why me. How could I possibly explain that? Tara and Wester—people from the past. She was Tara, and I was Wester, in a warmer, simpler world. And now we were out here at Chaos Gate, and Tara was calling in the past. I wasn't Wester any more, but I would always be hers—that was certain.

"We're old friends," I replied.

"She helped us," Valkyrie said, from her post by the wall. "We should help her." Then she turned her eyes away, bored.

Yes, Tara helped us. We would all be dead, without her divine intervention. She fell from the sky like an avenging angel and struck down our enemies with thunderbolts from Hell. We owed her our lives. How could I not go?

"You should go," Dragon said. There was a general murmur of agreement.

"What kind of trouble can she be in on Mica Three?"

"That's a Legion world."

"She's a slaver—it could be bad."

"Probably something illegal."

"It doesn't matter—we should help."

"I thought she had some kind of in with the Legion."

"What does she want, Thinker?"

"All I know is what's in the message," I replied. "Just that. So what's the word, One? Do I go?" I had already decided I was going—it was not really an issue. The only issue was whether or not I got Snow Leopard's permission. It would be a lot easier with it. Without it, I was going to call in all my cards—Dragon, Merlin, Priestess, Redhawk, Valkyrie—they were all going to help me. I already knew what each one was going to do to help me get off Veda 6. I couldn't see anyone turning me down. We had been through a lot together.

"Tell them the rest," Snow Leopard said.

I turned back to the screen. "As you can see, she's given me funding. I presume it's for the trip. If you're not on official business you can still travel, even on Legion ships, if that's all that's available. But it costs plenty. The current fare to Mica Three from here is twenty-two thousand credits—one way. You can't pay return fare in advance, because the route might not be the same. As you can see, she's forwarded exactly three times what I need."

"Sounds like she's trying to tell you something," Merlin commented.

"That's what I think," I said. "I think she wants me to bring a couple of buddies."

"Why didn't she just say it?" Dragon asked. "If she can afford to send you close to a million credits, she can afford a few more words in the star tracer."

I shook my head. "That's just the way she is. She never says anything straight out."

"It sounds pretty straight to me," Psycho laughed. "I need you—ha! We may never see Thinker again!" Psycho could be counted on to say something like that. Everyone ignored him. Snow Leopard stirred, partially hidden in the shadows.

"All right, this is it," he said. "We certainly owe her. Thinker, you get three weeks sick leave—Priestess will prep it. That much is within my power. If you choose to travel during that period, it's your business. It's highly unusual, but there's nothing illegal about it. What happens after you get there, we don't know. It's true that Cintana Tamaling has close ties to the Legion. But she's on a Legion world. Whatever problem she has evidently cannot be solved officially. It may be illegal. All I can say is use your best judgment, don't get caught, and be back in three weeks at the latest. Earlier, if you can. We're not staying here forever. We'll be moving soon—I'm expecting a big offensive against the O's. And I don't want to have to explain any missing troopers."

I was light-headed with relief. I should have known Beta One would come through! It was so much better this way. Finally I found my voice. "I owe you, One. Can I take two guys with me?" I figured I might as well press it; Snow Leopard owed his life to Tara, after all.

"Who do you want?" Snow Leopard was expressionless. I knew it would hurt, asking for Dragon.

"I want Eight—and Nine." I wouldn't be afraid of anything, with Dragon at my side. And Priestess—yes, she was for protection as well.

"Nine!" Psycho exclaimed. "Thinker, you scut! You're just afraid to leave her here with me!"

"You wish!" Priestess shot back at him.

"Dragon?" One asked.

Dragon was staring into space. He told me later that at that instant he had flashed back to Tara, leaping from the escape pod on Mongera holding an E, covering her mouth, a hot nuclear wind blowing her hair around. Dragon blinked, and turned to me, then back to Snow Leopard. "Sure, I'll go," he said.

"Priestess?"

Priestess wet her lips. "Tenners." Her gaze flashed over to me. "I'll come."

"Priestess," Snow Leopard said. "Sick leave for the three of you. I'll approve it. Now get moving. First leg is that freighter to Aran. If we're not here when you get back, I'll expect you to find us."

###

I brooded alone in my cube, trying to decide what to take. I didn't like it one bit. This summons from Tara was exactly the last thing I needed. We had enough problems, trying to regenerate the squad after the disastrous mission against the O's on Mongera. And now this. Yes, we owed her, we all owed her, but it wasn't fair. My mind whirled with terrifying images, echoes from the past.

After Mongera they had sent us here, to a medmod on Veda 6, a backwater garrison world reserved for the truly lost, where the air tasted of sweet rain and forest and the nights were still and cold with a billion stars glittering in a deep black sky. We had time to think.

Priestess and I didn't need any words. I kept my new arm around her, although I guess it was really the Legion's arm. The damned thing felt fine. We'd lie out there on the terrace of the medmod on deckchairs under the stars, and the rest of Beta would be all around us, silent. I wondered why we were there, but Priestess knew exactly why she was there. She had always been stronger than I. The Systies had almost killed her, but she had survived. She had taken x-max right in the chest and was still badly scarred. She worried that it meant she was not beautiful any more. I told her it was the mark of the Legion, and that it made her more beautiful than ever.

She was closer to me than before, but more distant at the same time. It was not easy to talk—we preferred not to talk. It was enough just to be together.

They saved our dead for us. When we were all out of the bodyshop, we burnt them in a still dark night lit up by nuclear flames. Five bodies, all in their A-suits, just as they had been when hit—Coolhand and Warhound and Ironman and Boudicca and Sassin, laid out side by side on the platform under dark stars, and all the brutal horror of their deaths came flooding back. Snow Leopard and Valkyrie held the torch and touched it gently to the pyre and the platform flashed and burst into white-hot flames and the Gods of War consumed them, five nuclear pyres glaring in the night like miniature stars. I cried like a baby.

Snow Leopard survived—so they said. Better than new, the body shop claimed. I was not at all certain about that. Snow Leopard was always a bit distant. In the old days, he talked with me. Later he talked with Coolhand and Merlin. Now he didn't talk at all. It didn't matter. We'd still follow him to Hell.

Shortly after our arrival at Minos Station, One called each of us into his cube, where he sat at his desk with printout tacmaps of the battlefield at Fernveldt. He asked each of us to go over, in exhaustive detail, what we had done and where we had been and what we had seen. We answered him, he thanked us, and that was that. Since then he had stayed by himself. I figured he was going over the action to see if he had done anything wrong. To see if he should blame himself, for all our dead. I knew he was bleeding inside for his lover Boudicca—and for the others too. Foolish—nobody could have done better than our One. Nobody! I'd follow him tomorrow—today! Just give me the word.

We may have been walkers, but we were all there. We had all changed. Dragon was harder than ever. He had added some new images to those strange pale miniature faces which adorned his hands and knuckles—the dead, faces from his past. I knew their images and numbers were on the monument as well, the Legion Monument to the Dead, with that final line: Died in Service.

Died in Service—that fate was reserved for us all. They died facing the enemy. They died for us, I thought, for all of us, for the Legion, and the Legion is us.

I touched a holcard that was lying on my desk and both squads flashed to life in miniature, mils from my face. We grinned at the holscan, splattered with the mud of Planet Hell, celebrating some mindless triumph. Beta and Gamma, living and dead—we were all still there. My heart burned with grief. Psycho was smirking, seemingly ready to plunge a hot knife into Dragon's back. Psycho would be all right—wielding a Manlink was his destiny. He'd be a little tougher, a little nastier, after Mongera, but he'd be all right. I knew he had been especially depressed by Warhound's death. It had been the same with me. Both Warhound and Ironman were special. They were innocents, I thought, in the service of a savage God. I'd never told either one how I felt. And now they were gone. And Coolhand—Deadman, Beta Two was my blood brother. The Gods had snatched him away, and it didn't seem right. They were all in the picture—Coolhand and Warhound and Ironman. Children, grinning in the face of death.

If it doesn't kill you, it makes you stronger. Old Legion saying. Yes, that was Mongera all right. I could still see Millina, the Bitch, raising Coolhand's E and blasting that Systie soldier right in the face. Lunacy—she was just as crazy as we were. She was a Mocain, our enemy, but she had turned on her masters and now she wanted to join the Legion—to walk through the Gate, just as we all had done. She had said she just wanted to carry an E, only that. Then she leaned over and kissed Valkyrie tenderly on the forehead, right on the Legion cross, and said goodbye. A new life, for Millina. I knew she didn't have to worry about the psych. She was exactly what the Legion was looking for.

Our dead were still with us—they would always be with us. Nobody here dies in vain! The Second had said that right after the Coldmark raid. But what had we died for? The lab rats had wet their pants with delight when they saw the dead Omni we brought back. Millions of O's would die, I was convinced. But the System would not pay for its betrayal of humanity, or even for its betrayal of us. ConFree had decided to pass everything we had learned about the O, and everything we were to learn, to the Systies—despite the Systies' attempt to steal all that knowledge away, knowledge we had paid for in blood. It was too important, they had decided, to keep. Our struggle with the Systies could wait—this was a war for the survival of humanity, and every world the O's seized from the System was a direct threat to us. That's what they said. I didn't follow their logic—the United System Alliance was a totalitarian obscenity, founded on slavery and coercion. The Confederation of Free Worlds and the Legion had always opposed everything the System stood for. Pass vital military information to the System? It was treason, I thought—a betrayal of everything we fought for. I knew I would never trust ConFree again—not ever. I wondered what Boudicca would have said—or done—had she known. It seemed there was nothing that could be done. It was out of our hands. But it was not going to end there as far as I was concerned. The Legion stood for justice—that's what they had told us since the very beginning. And this wasn't justice.

Ironman was in the front row of the holo. I had done a star tracer to Alpha Station, asking them to tell Moontouch that I was alive, and Ironman was dead. She would relay the news to Ironman's Taka girlfriend, Morning Light. Someone had to speak for the dead. In my world, even some of the living might as well be dead. I knew Moontouch awaited me on Andrion, praying in the dark to strange Gods, and there was not a chance in a million that I would ever return to her. Moontouch was my lover, my wife, my lost future. I did not know what to do about Moontouch. She must have had my baby by now—I was starting a new race, all by myself. Half Legion and half Taka—he would be a tough little kid, a survivor. I could hear the Legion chant, echoing in my head.

"I carry my seed to cold new worlds
To raise me up strong children
Who will dwell in the stars…"

Moontouch—she was an enchanted dream, a fever dream. Yes, I had to make plans about Moontouch and the baby. It was not going to be easy. I would surely never see Moontouch again, and I would never have the pleasure of touching my own child. That was life in the Legion. All you could do was live for today, and stay out of the way of the lasers. I accepted it—I was a soldier of the Legion.

I had no idea what Tara wanted. What could I possibly do that nobody else could? There was only one way to find out.

Chapter 14:
The Trouble with Katag

A wet cool breeze washed over us, tingling our flesh. It was a clear crisp morning. Mica was a white orb, glittering in a brilliant white sky streaked with wispy silver clouds. We wore Legion coldcoats, stepping carefully in light gravity. It was a magnificent morning, so beautiful it was downright eerie. I had called Tara upon arrival at the port, and she had told us to rent an aircar. Now we were at her villa, past a formidable sliding cenite gate set in a tall stone wall covered with razor vines.

It was quite a villa, two stories with lots of shaped stone and darkened plex, set in a garden of bright green grass and pale purple flowers and strange willowy trees.

Priestess hesitated on the walkway before the door, looking up to the sky. A faint shiver ran over her flesh. A few birds flew over, calling out. A sudden anger flashed over me.

"Forget it!" I hissed. "This is nonsense! It's all crap! None of this is real—so just forget it!"

"It's so peaceful!" Priestess exclaimed, almost in despair.

"It's a graveyard!" I said. "Of course it's peaceful. We don't belong here—so just get it out of your mind!"

Dragon touched the doorbell and chimes sounded, soft notes hanging in the air. The door hissed open. The ape stood there, Tara's man-ape, a huge retarded humanoid dressed in elektra violet, massive arms with big hairy hands. His lips went back to show his teeth. "Wer-kong," he said. He stood aside and motioned for us to enter. Dragon was measuring the beast up as if he was planning to challenge him to a little arm-wrestling.

The ape led us through the villa to a sun-drenched room overlooking an extra-large swimming pool that glittered like molten gold. Tara sat in a sofa by a low marble table littered with com gear and minicards and d-screens. An E lay on the carpeted floor. Tara looked up and smiled, a vision of languid beauty. She was so lithe and slender; she appeared to be not quite real, a girl from another world, a little bit closer to perfection than our own species.

"Hello, Wester! Glad you could drop by. Please have a seat. Would anyone like some dox?" She was so casual I started to burn. Did she have any idea how difficult it had been for us to get there?

We found seats around the table. The room was decorated with strange objects collected from many worlds. The ape disappeared to get the dox. Tara looked us over with a faint smile.

"This is Priestess," I said. "And Dragon. You may not remember them. But they remember you—well."

"I remember them both," Tara said quietly. She seemed suddenly very subdued.

I placed three expended farecards on the table. I tried not to look at her. There were too many memories. I suppose I was still angry. "We've used all your funds," I said. "How can we help you?"

Tara did not answer immediately. She picked up a datacard, then put it down. Her gaze fluttered around the room. She avoided looking at us. Finally she spoke. "It wasn't easy for me," she said, her eyes focused on the swimming pool, "sending that star tracer. No, it wasn't easy. I'm the sort of person who fights her own battles. I've never needed anyone's help before."

The ape reappeared with a tray of steaming dox. The aroma hit me as he set the tray down. "Thank you, Gildron," Tara said. She seemed happy with the interruption.

"Nartsing," Gildron responded. Then he padded away again.

"Please—help yourselves," Tara urged us. "I hope the trip was all right. This is Mica home brew—hot and sweet. They export it—it's pretty good."

I tried it. It was indeed very good. It was strange, seeing Tara this nervous. Tara did not shake easily—she was tough as cenite armor.

"It's funny," she continued. "I've made a lot of sacrifices in my life for the Legion. I've never asked anything, and I've given all I had. Now, for the first time, I need something—for myself. Do you know what they told me? They said no. No, for all my work. They gave me a lot of good reasons—but it was no." Her eyes flickered over us all, and she took a sip of dox. "And then I looked around to see who would help me—anyway. And you know what I found? I had Gildron, and a crew of loyal Cyrillians. They'd help me, if they could—but they couldn't, not in this case. There wasn't anyone else." She put down her cup. "That's when I thought of you, Wester. I wouldn't have called you if I didn't need you."

I carefully put down my dox. "We're here, Tara. You asked for my help, and you've got it. So what's the problem?"

"You say the Legion wouldn't help you?" Dragon cut in. It was a troubling concept.

"No, they wouldn't," Tara confirmed. "Tell me…are you here officially or unofficially?"

"I'm here as your friend," I said. "Unofficially. And Dragon and Priestess as well. We're on sick leave—officially."

"And you won't be prepping any reports on this when you return?"

"No—we won't."

Tara looked out to the swimming pool again. Her eyes were misting over. She licked her lips once, pale pink tongue. My heart gave me a jolt. I sure didn't need that.

"You realize…" she said, "that I wouldn't have called you half way across the galaxy if this was an easy matter to resolve."

"We realize that," I replied.

Her eyes came back to me. Magical, swirling dark eyes, worlds of mystery, a hot typhoon of rain. A whirlpool, sucking me right in. "What are you prepared to do," she asked, "to help me?"

I glanced over to Dragon, then to Priestess. "We'll do anything you want," I replied. It was only the truth—we owed her our lives. I picked up my dox and took a sip. Good dox. The preliminaries were over. Now we would find out what this was all about. And how many laws we'd have to break.

Tara raised her chin, and long silky hair swirled around her shoulders. The fire was back in her eyes. The transformation was visible. Tara was back in command. She reached down and touched a datacard. A vision appeared to one side of our table, a holo of a slim pale girl, life-sized, dressed in elektra violet, shimmering in a field of light. Wispy short blonde hair, watery blue eyes—I recognized her. It was Tara's assistant, the P.S.
Maiden
's exec.

"Maralee Whitney," Tara confirmed, "my exec, has been with me several years." Her voice was clear and steady. "It seems more like twenty years, but it's only been about three. Whit has always been something of an idealist—she truly believes that money can buy happiness, and she's devoted her young life to achieving that goal by acquiring as much wealth as she can, as quickly as possible. It's her major weakness. I should probably explain, first, that Whit does not know about the Legion connection—and we have to keep it that way. To her I'm Cintana Tamaling, phenomenally successful slaver and galactic criminal, wanted by every law enforcement agency around for crimes against humanity, but protected by the System itself as a useful source of slaves and funds. Secondly, I should explain that, although our relationship is strictly super-sub, the two of us have been through a lot in those three years." Tara paused, and reached down to touch the datacard again. The holo disappeared in a flash of light. I could see the old Tara coming back, rushing over her like an aura of the past, the mouth setting, the color draining from her face, the eyes burning with cold rage—this was the Tara I remembered. When she spoke she was in complete control. "My reasons are not important. I'm going to help her. I'm going to do everything in my power to help her." Her gaze flashed over to mine. "I'm glad you came, Wester! And your friends—yes, we'll need them. I want my exec back. And you're going to get her back for me!"

"Where is she?" I asked.

"She's on Katag," Tara responded. "Katag Two—a System world. Not a very pleasant place, I'm afraid. Very much a Systie outpost. And very much a garrison world. I'll tell you all you need to know about Katag Two. Whit went there, and disappeared. The deal evidently went bad. She was on her own, trying to open up a black infolink in cooperation with some local crims. I had advised her not to go, because we have some real problems with the authorities on Katag. But one successful infolink can set you up for life. She was determined to do it.

"I never should have let her go—I should have seen it. It was stupid. The authorities have a tremendous financial interest in controlling all infolinks, so it was a dangerous business. We already knew the locals were difficult to deal with on Katag, and it was certain they had us on a watchlist. We had run into trouble there before, you see. That's why I can't go anywhere near the Katag system. That's why I can't handle this myself." Tara's voice was hushed, almost a whisper, her eyes unfocused. It was almost as if she was talking to herself. I leaned forward to catch every word.

"She knew it was risky, going there. She went by commercial freighter. I set up good docs for her, even though I didn't approve of the trip. She went in alias as a regional inspector for a Systie microtech firm that had an office there. Mitomass—they owed me. It was not hard to arrange. And, although Mitomass was not into infolinks, it would explain any contacts Whit might have with the seedier elements of Katag's business community."

"How about the genetic ID?" Priestess asked.

"That was the weak link. She had excellent docs, but if they wanted to do a full genetic ID scan, the genetics on the docs would not match, and her real ID would be revealed. We were hoping it would never come to that. If the story held, there was no reason it should."

"Sounds like you went to a lot of trouble," Dragon remarked, "for a mission you had not approved."

Tara paused for a moment, then looked up out the window to the golden haze of the morning. "Yes…I suppose I did. I told her it was stupid, but I did all I could to make it work. It didn't."

"So what happened?" I asked.

"She never came back. Entry was all right at the port, and she checked into the hotel. She spent a few days at Mitomass, and did the inspection. Everything seems to have gone all right there. Then she disappeared."

"Just disappeared?"

"My Mitomass contact freaked when I told him his inspector had run into trouble. However, I did prevail upon him to make an official inquiry about his missing employee. It would have looked bad had he not done so. It resulted in the recovery of the personal effects she'd left in the hotel—nothing else. The authorities claimed to know nothing."

"Have you got the effects?"

"Sure, you can look them over, but there's nothing there to help us. Now, my problem is I've got nobody on the ground there to investigate this matter. It's a real mine-field. Highly illegal activity, big money, dangerous and desperate criminal gangs, a hostile government, and a girl who is wanted by both the Legion and the System for a host of illegal activities."

"And the Legion won't help you."

"No. She was engaged in illegal activity, there's a war on—they had plenty of reasons. They won't help."

"What was the original trouble the two of you had with Katag?"

Tara smiled. Lord, she had a dazzling smile—sparkling eyes, pale brown face and phospho white teeth. A clock chimed softly on the wall. It was still and peaceful. "The trouble with Katag," Tara said. "Yes, we were young and foolish in those days. We were running slaves—Katag was a source of supply. They had just had a war and the losers were locked up and available. It enabled them to pretty much empty their prisons and make big money as well. Well, the Minister of Law—a nasty little bureaucrat called Fornos Cabra-Marist—decided, at the last moment, that he wanted twice as much as had been earlier agreed. Of course, we should have simply paid. But he was a despicable little bugger who dealt with us as if we were dirty. So I simply informed the governor of the attempt. Got the little rat in a bad sit, I'm sure, because the governor was making plenty on the deal and didn't want trouble. The only problem is that things change from time to time. Cit Fornos Cabra-Marist is the new governor. You have to expect things like that, which is why you should simply shut down and pay. But we were rolling in those days. We were impatient, invincible, and greedy."

"What do you think happened to Whit?" Priestess asked.

"On a world like Katag, there's no sense in speculating. Could be the System's got her. If so, they wouldn't make it public. Cabra-Marist will be waiting like a spider for me to show up. Or it could be she's had a disagreement with the crims. That can be fatal. And they tend to get crazy when large amounts of cash are involved. Or—it could be—something as simple as street crime. As in every System world, crime is out of control on Katag."

"What were the financial arrangements?" I asked.

"Never concluded," Tara replied. "Whatever happened, the infolink deal never went through. Whit's bank account is still empty. And Whit's infolink contacts—they're on another System world—are still waiting for the down-payment from Katag before going ahead with the link. The trouble is, all contact with the Katag infolink crims has to be on-planet, for obvious security reasons. Gildron!"

The beast appeared in the doorway, snarling.

"Gildron, show our guests to their rooms. You will each find extensive information on Katag Two, on Whit, and on the infolink deal, in datacall. You may access these files with the code 'Lost Lamb.' I've got a suggested ops plan in there as well. Please look it over. Now I imagine you'll want to freshen up. Lunch is at noon. Do you have any luggage? Gildron will take it to your rooms."

###

Gildron didn't strain himself carrying our luggage. Soldiers of the Legion travel light. The rooms were incredible—I had never before seen so much space for one person. It wasn't a room; it was a suite, spotless in soft phospho white carpeting, a warm golden haze from the morning glowing through the plex. There was a mini office in an alcove, screens on the walls, a desk studded with comgear linked up to a dozen worlds. The air was cool and clean.

"Quite a place. Mine's the same. Do you think the Legion pays for this?" Priestess came in silently, looking around the room. She was so slim and lovely I wanted to pull her to me and fall to my knees and cover her body with kisses. But I restrained myself. I got dizzy every time I looked at Priestess. She was a child, with gleaming black hair and warm dark eyes and small, ripe lips. Her beauty glowed right on her skin, and she didn't need any make-up to enhance it.