Slave of the Legion

by Marshall S. Thomas

  "Systie! Systie!" The journalist was turning red. "It dares to call us Systie! We are all Systies here, Legion!" He waved his arms around, taking in the entire hall. "We thought ConFree was here to help us! What Black Book? Is it only the politically reliable who are to be evacuated? Is that it?"

  "'The CrimCon's satanic motives are apparent to anyone who is familiar with the Legion's horrific orgy of racist genocide against all defenseless non-Outworlder peoples.'" The Assidic trooper was quoting from the d-screen. "'Life under the Variants would certainly be preferable to death under the Legion. We already know what the Legion represents, but all we know about the Variants is what the CrimCon's hateprop apparatus has told us. Inviting the Legion to "assist" us is simply insane. Our only goal should be to stop the killing. And that won't happen as long as the Legion is here.' Are those your words?"

  "What does that have to do with anything?" the journalist responded warily. "Have we failed the Legion's political reliability test?"

  "Stop the killing, huh? Who do you write for anyway—a journal for the feeble-minded? The O's would like us to stop the killing. It would make it a lot easier for them to slaughter your people."

  "We don't know anything about the Variants!"

  "Then why are you running from them? Why ask the Legion to evacuate you?"

  "Our wife and children are being evacuated. The System told us the Legion would be doing the evacuation!"

  "We'll help your family, Systie—but we won't help you."

  "Why not!" The journalist was sweating profusely. "It's criminal to split up a family like this! And it's a crime against humanity to sentence people to death for expressing their opinions!"

  "Death?" the trooper asked. "Don't tell me you're afraid of the O's? I thought they were preferable to the Legion."

  "The Legion has maddened them! It's attacked them! They're only defending themselves!"

  "I see. So we're responsible for everyone they kill."

  "Yes! Yes! It's the Legion's doing!" He was wild-eyed and dripping sweat. He knew now there would be no evac for him.

  "Look, Systie," the Assidic responded patiently. "We don't yet know the outcome of the battle for Uldo. That's why we're doing the evacuation. In the event we lose, at least some of the planet's human population will have been saved. But you have to realize we can only evac a very, very small percentage of the total. Well under one percent. The rest will all die, under the O's, if we lose. And there's nothing at all we can do to change that, if we lose. So you see we are under absolutely no compulsion, moral or otherwise, to evacuate anyone who asks. You've spent your adult life spewing hatred for ConFree and the Legion, and opposing everything we've been trying to accomplish. I can't think of a single reason why the Legion should expend any effort at all to move your fat ass off this planet. I'd suggest you take a walk, and ask the O's to stop the killing. Let me know what they say. Trooper, get this guy out of my sight."

  I hustled Fatso back out of the hall, through the frantic mob, and he was screaming epithets against the Legion and demanding justice. Justice! Justice was what he was getting—Systies shouldn't ask for justice. I felt really good when I tossed him out the door. It certainly made my morning.

  ###

  "Nothing on scope," Valkyrie reported. We were all on foot, A&A, carefully picking our way through the glowing rubble of Gadalpa. It had been Uldo's global governmental and administrative center. Now it was a flaming wilderness, scores of massive office mods looming above us under dark skies, enveloped in smoke, burning freely. The O's had been here briefly and the Legion had countered. We were far behind the attack, tying up loose ends until our recon mission was approved. I was on my knees by a tall, smoking stone wall. My armor glowed from the heat. The tacmap flickered on the lower left plate on my visor, and the safeties were off on my E. Valkyrie was right ahead of me, huddled against the wall, and Merlin was immediately behind us.

  "It's good news, Thinker," Merlin remarked. "The fact we're here means the O's lost the engagement."

  "Then why am I so freaking scared?" I asked him.

  "Cover me!" Valkyrie was off, charging ahead in a low crouch into the smoke, then falling onto a pile of rubble. I fired another deceptor and it exploded above her, a shocking phospho burst of dirty yellow smoke, screeching electronic gibberish, showering the streets with hot hail, scrambling our screens.

  I ran into the mess hunched over, breathing hard, E up and scanning, boots slamming down onto powdered rubble. Sweety, my tacmod, whispered sweet nothings in my ears. "All clear, all clear, no enemy in view. Systies remain in the records center ahead. Psybloc is close to max."

  A fiercely burning aircar, resting on its roof. I hit the dirt behind it, then crawled to one end for a look ahead. The energy field from the burning aircar was a good place to hide. My armor glowed red as the flames crackled around me. I spotted the records center, a massive low building of white stone. Smoke curled out of the doorways.

  "Looks like a ten, One." I reported. "No O's."

  "All right, gang," Snow Leopard replied. "Our mission is to take that building. And don't forget there's a Systie squad in there. Let's do it." Snow Leopard was up ahead, as usual. He took off, making for the building. I raised my E.

  ###

  "We've been ordered to secure the records center, and relieve any System units here," Snow Leopard explained to the DefCorps squad leader. "Your mission is over." There were six of them, clad in bronze-colored Systie A-suits, armed with SG's. We had found them in a great hall littered with rubbish, filling with smoke. We were all juiced up and had taken firing positions against the walls, centering the Systies in our field of fire. One wrong move and they would all die in a microfrac, torn to bloody shreds. I was already twitching inside my A-suit, my finger trembling on the trigger. I fully expected we would have to kill them.

  "It doesn't know how good that sounds!" the DefCorps squad leader replied. "We never thought we'd be glad to see the Legion! Are there any V's out there now?"

  "It's clear from here to the causeway," Snow Leopard said. "We were told to ask you to rejoin your unit. They couldn't contact you because of the deceptors."

  "It doesn't have to say it twice! We're gone! Let's go, guys! We can hardly believe this! The V were all around us—we thought we were dead!" They hustled out the main entrance. Then the Systie leader turned back. "There's some civs in the vault downstairs—Government people. Out of their minds—they're Cit's problem now. Good luck, Legion!" And then they were gone.

  ###

  The vault was full of smoke. A large fire burned at one end and the air was charged with glowing fragments of ash. Thousands of empty safeboxes covered the floor, and we walked through miniature mountains of datapaks. A muscular man with no shirt wielded a shovel, feeding scores of datapaks into the flames with his every movement. A young Outworlder with thin sandy hair staggered around, his arms full of datapaks and datacards and books. His face was grey with fatigue and beaded with sweat. He paused when he saw us, weaving slightly, taking us in silently.

  "The Legion," he finally said. "Perfect. A fitting end. Shoot us," he said. "Please. We want to die."

  "We're not shooting anyone," Snow Leopard replied. "What's the sit here, Systie? What are you doing?"

  The young man gaped at One in astonishment, then looked around briefly at the smoky fire. His assistant stopped, leaning on the shovel, watching us. The young man wiped his mouth and laughed, turning back to One. "What are we doing? What does it look like, Legion? We're burning history! We're burning books! That's what we're doing! Get back to work, Rigo! You're barely into the Second Millenium. Faster! We can't leave anything for the future. We leave a clean slate for whoever survives. Let them figure it out themselves! We wouldn't want them following our example, that's for sure!"

  "Professor!" A girl, face streaked with charcoal, appeared suddenly out of the smoke, clutching a single, leather-bound book. "It's the First Dynasty—the Ancient Books Collection—hundreds of them! Originals! Pl
ease let's save them, Professor—please! Nobody will ever know!"

  "Give me that book, child!" He snatched it eagerly from her hands. "The First Dynasty!" He stared at it greedily, enchanted. I could see the glow in his eyes, transforming his features. "We'll never know such heroism in our lifetime, Janine. They dared everything and changed the world. Courage can bring down empires. We can't let such subversive ideas fester in our times, can we?" He hurled the book right into the fire, and it flared and burned brightly. The girl burst into tears and covered her face with her hands.

  "The First Dynasty is gone!" the Professor exclaimed. "By order of the System! Bring the rest, Janine, bring it all! Faster, Rigo! History is dangerous. Knowledge infects the mind, it wakes people up. But knowledge and history are easily lost—aren't they, Rigo? You're burning emperors and artists and gods, poets and explorers and philosophers, Rigo, you're erasing thousands of years of history, for all time! That makes you more powerful than all those old, dead kings, doesn't it, Rigo?"

  "That's right, Professor," Rigo smiled cheerily, the sweat streaming off his naked back. "Whatever Super says!" He tossed another shovelful of datapaks into the flames.

  "Why are you burning this data, Professor?" One asked.

  "To prevent it from falling into the wrong hands, Legion! We wouldn't want the V reading about our past, would we? And what if the Legion got ahold of it? Oh no, better to burn it—burn it all! And it's our responsibility—ours, all ours! We're a historian, Cit knows—we've spent our life guarding the past for the System. History is a state secret under the System—did it know that? Yes, we're a historian. We're in charge of the past; we're the guardian of thousands of years of dangerous, subversive secrets. And it asks why we're burning it! That's what historians do under the System—we burn history! Bring us those books, Janine—all of them! Don't sub dare hide any! Who does it think it is—God? And stop crying! Does it think the past is sacred? It burns like paper! Try it itself!" He staggered, soaked in sweat and covered with ash, and I think he was close to crying, too. I turned my face away. I didn't want to see any more.

  ###

  "Control, Black Jade. We confirm orders. Black Jade out." We were committed now. Snow Leopard had just received the go-ahead from Recon Control. We were still in the records center, back upstairs in the main hall, taking a break, camped against the walls and sprawled on the floor, chewing on rations and sipping water from our canteens. It was already dark outside and fires burned out of control in the night. The great hall was cold and dark and full of smoke, and rubbish littered the deck.

  We had put out the fire in the vault and sent the Systie civs away to face whatever awaited them in the future. We even let them take away some of the books. I thought a lot about that historian. He believed in history, and his mission was to burn it. I believed in justice, and my mission was to kill. Thinking was not good for you—it led to nothing but trouble.

  "Squad meeting, gang—now." Snow Leopard leaned his E against the wall. We gathered around, still chewing on our rations. We were all in A-suits, helmets off. It was like a gathering of great metal spiders, feasting on carrion in the dark.

  "All right, our mission is on," Snow Leopard said quietly. "Ten will be picking us up shortly in the aircar. Then we'll be off, past our forward elements, into the death zone. We'll be under heavy skies all the way—deceptors and psybloc. Take a look at the map." Snow Leopard unfolded a silky printout tacmap and spread it out on the deck. We clustered around.

  "Right there," Snow Leopard said. His pale pink eyes were riveted on the map, his mouth was set, and faint blue veins throbbed at his temples. His chunky fingers poked at the map. "We'll decar right there, and make our way by foot into the mountains. It has to be on foot—any aircar approaching the Mound gets spotted and blasted. We've already established that. Redhawk will return to the milbase with the aircar but stand by for pickup if we need it. So—we go up this valley. We'll stick to the river, if it's not mined."

  "What's the O presence in that area?" Dragon asked.

  "As far as we know, there's nothing there. If they spot us approaching, they may send something after us. Or they may not. You can never tell, with the O's. However, we can certainly expect roving probes, free-floating genetic strands, patrolling energy spheres, and plenty of other nasty surprises."

  I remembered the genetic strands—the snakes—and the spheres, from Mongera. My blood ran cold every time I thought of the spheres. That's what had decimated Gamma—five spheres, five dead. That's what had turned my lovely little Valkyrie into a cold, homicidal psychotic. Now she was second in command of Beta. She'd be in charge if anything happened to Snow Leopard. And the frightening part was that I knew it was exactly what Beta One wanted. In the old days, Snow Leopard would never have even considered someone as unstable as Valkyrie for the Number Two slot. But Snow Leopard had changed too, after Mongera. We had all changed. And when crazy becomes normal, then normal becomes crazy. I wondered how Snow Leopard classified me. A little shaky, maybe. A little normal. Not crazy enough for command. Still too cautious, perhaps, to face the O's. Well, Valkyrie wasn't cautious, that was for sure.

  "Up the river," Snow Leopard said, "and over the hills to the plain. Then we're almost there—the Mound is right here."

  "How do we get across the plain without being spotted?" Psycho asked. "Looks pretty open to me."

  "When we're ready, we'll call for cover," Snow Leopard said. "They'll light up the entire sector with deceptors and smoke and psybloc. Not just our area, but the whole sector—so it won't highlight us. We go in at night, under cover. Nothing to it."

  "Nothing to it!" Speedy exclaimed in surprise. "What happens if the O's spot us and attack? What do we do then?"

  "We fight," Snow Leopard replied, "and call in Beta Ten in the aircar for evac, if necessary."

  "And what if he can't get to us? Or they get to him first?"

  "Then we die. Any more questions?" The new guy paled, and shut down.

  "You shouldn't worry, Speedy," Valkyrie said soothingly. "We all know what we're doing. We've fought the O's before. Just stay close to us and follow orders. You'll see—we'll get some kills. It's a good feeling, a great feeling, when you kill an O! We blew that last one apart, didn't we, guys? We filled the sky with psybloc and ripped its mags apart with canisters and tore it to shreds with the darts, and melted it with plasma, and cooked its genetics with the fieldfaxer and riddled it with laser and chainlink and tacstars and xmax and flame, we barbecued it, we char-grilled it, Speedy, and it burned like charcoal! We loaded it into the aircar in sections, didn't we, guys?" Her green eyes glowed, spittle was leaking out of her soft pink lips, and her face twitched. The Legion cross, burnt right onto her forehead, completed the picture. It was dead silent. She gave a nervous little laugh and wiped her mouth with the back of her armored hand. "Like Snow Leopard says, there's nothing to it. It's a charge—a real charge."

  But Speedy wouldn't leave it alone. "Did you have any casualties?"

  "Casualties," Valkyrie said. "Yeah, let's see—the O's got five of us, on Andrion Three. And two on Mongera—the rest were killed by the Systies. Yeah, total of seven killed, by the O's."

  "Seven killed! How many O's did you get?"

  "How many! There was only the one," Valkyrie replied. "Just the one, on Mongera. One is enough, believe me!"

  "Just one!" Speedy's voice went up a few octaves.

  "Relax, Speedy!" Valkyrie chided him. "Deadman, what an old lady! Just relax; we'll kick the crap out of the O's."

  I closed my eyes. We were in the hands of the Gods.

  Chapter 4

  The Mission

  A poisonous black rain fell through an uneasy night. We huddled in the aircar, armored and armed, hurtling into the future. Thirteen soldiers of the Legion, bound for death. We were on the left flank of the attack, moving fast and low with the advance elements of the 12th. The sky flickered with light, then faded. Deceptors trembled across the sky like lightning. Psybloc fell like hot ha
il. When it lit up, black clouds hid the stars and sheets of rain burst against the skin of the aircar. Dead forests of smoking charcoal trees flashed past outside, stark reminders of the elemental struggle that had just been waged. We could see other aircars on our screens. Green ghosts, all around us. The horizon erupted, an intense phospho-white burst, icy green core; then the shock wave rattled the car, the horizon fading once again.

  "Antimat!" Redhawk exclaimed. "Big one!" Redhawk was piloting and he had the speed close to max. Terrifying things came at us out of the dark, huge boulders and massive hills of burning trees and sudden cliffs, tearing right past us. I knew Redhawk had it all on screen, but it didn't make it any less scary.

  "There's some O's over there," Snow Leopard said. "Just stay away from them."

  "Sounds like good advice!" We'd been through a lot with Redhawk, and we trusted him—he was a first-class driver. He was a little crazy, maybe, but he wasn't the only one.

  "Control, Black Jade. Commo check." Snow Leopard did one last check.

  "Black Jade, Control. Read you ten high. Please go to blackout. Good luck."

  "Black Jade going to blackout." Now we were truly alone, flying right into the mouth of fate.

  "Play the stars, Sweety." I spoke to my Persist, the tacmod. She responded wordlessly and in moments I was calmer, alien galaxies howling in my ears, black stars hissing, red giants crackling. It was the music of distant suns, the murmur of faraway nebulae, crawling slowly over my skin. The music of the stars—it was all I needed for any dark night, and I had shared it only with Priestess.

  "Opstars!" Redhawk exclaimed. They glowed on the screens. I craned my neck to see behind us. There, a line of pale glowing fireballs rising into the sky. Lightning lanced down all around them.

  "Is that us or the O's?"

  "Looks like Legion stars to me."

  The rain was letting up. Something rattled past us, a black blur. Then a river of cold black molten mercury glittered under us, catching the light from a sky full of psybloc, multicolored sparklers falling slowly down into the dark. We followed the river like a great cenite bat, the wind whistling eerily past our armored plex, and it looked as cold as death down there, a river of black ice lethargically flowing out of some frozen wasteland, some arctic Hell. Bleak hills rose on each side of the river.