Slave of the Legion

by Marshall S. Thomas

  "Wrong, trooper. I am a Senior Captain in the Legion's Galactic Information Service—Starcom Information Command, to be exact. I am here on an official mission, and I outrank everyone in your squad. Including you!"

  "You're lying!"

  "It's the truth, Wester. On the cross!"

  "It doesn't matter! You were attached to our squad! Your rank doesn't matter, as long as the mission continues!"

  "The mission is over, Three—over!"

  "Says who? You? Screw that!"

  "Yes, me! My orders were to accompany your squad, and assist, if possible, in the completion of the mission."

  "Good! Then shut down and follow orders!"

  "And if any unusual situation was to arise which required Starcom's input, I was to provide such input, taking command if necessary by revealing my rank and Starcom affiliation."

  "You're making this up, aren't you?"

  "I am the Legion, Wester. I'm nothing else. I am the Cross of the Legion. I live and die for the Legion. And I know you do, too."

  "The O's have psyched you!"

  "My immediate superior is an officer in Outvac Sector Command—Starcom. I'm a Starcom officer, Wester. A Captain in Galactic Information. And I'm taking command, right now."

  "Why now? Why not before? We argued about this before! You didn't say anything about Starcom then!"

  "I wasn't really sure then. I thought maybe you were right. But I'm sure now—I'm sure!"

  "You're just as wrong now as you were then!"

  "Trooper, I am formally taking command of this element, as authorized by Outvac Sector Command. Do you dispute this?"

  "You absolute bitch!"

  I knew she was telling the truth. She was a psycher, she didn't have to lie to me. If she wanted to do something illegal, she could have simply psyched me.

  "Do you dispute it?"

  "No, damn you! I believe you! Only an officer could be so totally confused about reality."

  "There's no confusion—not any more! Once I saw that bridge and their attitude toward us, I knew. We're not enemies any more. We're going to communicate with them, Wester!"

  "The Systies tried that—and failed!"

  "The Systies didn't have Gildron! Gildron is going to communicate with the O's for us. He's the go-between. There's nothing to lose, Wester! There's no harm in trying, and it would be criminal not to try!"

  "It's impossible. Humans can't live with exosegs, and O's can't live with humans."

  "You're wrong, Wester! And I'm so glad you're wrong! We're going to overcome generations of hatred, today!"

  "Our ancestors would curse us!"

  "Our descendants will bless us!"

  "Our descendants will die in slavery! Assuming we have any!"

  "This is the door, isn't it?" Just another closed door in a deserted corridor.

  "Yes, that's it." Sweety still showed a human inside. I reached out for the door and it snapped open.

  The stink of stale feces and urine and sweat hung in still air. A floor littered with empty ratpaks. Dirty blankets strewn about. And one boy, a pre-schooler, squatting against the wall. He was clutching a ratty blanket and a dirty shoe. Nobody else—only the one boy.

  We approached him cautiously, and his big dark eyes watched us without emotion. He was just a little boy, naked under the blanket. Pale Outworlder face, clear features smudged with dirt, a cute little pixie haircut. Somebody had loved this little boy and taken good care of him, I could tell.

  "Hello," Tara said shakily, "What's your name, little boy?"

  He just looked at her for a few fracs, pondering what it all meant. Then he responded.

  "Willard," he said, "We're Willard Tor-Sanna, Fifteen Rivergate Place Massan." He was totally serious. Something evil had happened here, I knew. He had a thin golden chain around his neck with a little metal tag. I took a look at it—an ID tag with his name and a series of numbers.

  "Systie ID," Tara explained. "Willard, our name is Cinta. We're here to help it. Were there other children here?"

  "It can't help," he replied quietly. "They'll kill it, too."

  "How many other children were with it, Willard?"

  "We don't know." A whisper. We could barely hear him.

  "Were there a lot?"

  "Yes."

  "What happened to them?" The boy did not answer. I spotted something on the deck by his legs—a gleam of gold. A little pile of thin golden chains, all snapped in two. He had been saving them. I picked them up, a handful of glittering chains and flimsy ID tags—fifteen or twenty of them. Tara gazed at them silently. I dropped them to the deck. Gildron watched, silently. The boy didn't even look at him.

  "Who were they, Willard?" Tara asked.

  "Blue Bear Playschool," he explained sadly. He shuddered, and clutched the shoe tighter to his chest. It was a walking shoe, pink and white, splattered with dirt. It was much too large to be his.

  "Whose shoe is that, Willard?" I asked. Tara's hand went to my shoulder, but it was too late.

  "Our mommy's shoe," Willard replied. "We found it." His eyes were wet and suddenly the tears streamed down his dirty cheeks.

  "Well, don't you worry, Willard," I said. "Because we're going to make friends with the creatures that did this."

  "You bastard!" Tara gasped.

  "And after we make friends with them, they'll promise not to kill any more people."

  "Shut down, Wester!"

  "Oh, and about your mommy—they said they're sorry. Isn't that nice?"

  "Stop it, Wester. Please." I stopped. The boy cried silently, still hugging the shoe. And Tara's face was pale and twitching. I knew that look—white-hot fury, consuming her totally.

  "All right," she said. "All right, Wester. May God damn you to Hell. You've won. We kill them—all of them! We're killing the future, but I don't care! We kill them or die!" She reached out and embraced the boy, and she couldn't say any more.

  "Good," I sighed. "That's good." Gildron growled contentedly—he'd do whatever Tara said.

  ###

  "It's not going to happen," I announced, glaring at the tacmod. "They're not going to get together." We were back in the room Gildron had taken us to, and it was decision time. The two O's were still on the bridge and the other two were still working on the stardrive.

  "Is it going to kill the V?" Willard asked. He still clutched the shoe, dressed in short pants and a sleeveless shirt. We had found a sad little pile of children's clothing next door to his room.

  "That's right, kid," I replied.

  "Can we help?"

  "No, honey," Tara responded. "You're going to stay right here."

  "Will it come back?"

  "Good question," I said. "Tara, it's going to be the second plan. You and I to the bridge, and Gildron to the stardrive. Are you sure he can do it?"

  "Gildron, come here." Gildron towered over Tara. She pulled gently at his arms, and he squatted down to face her. She took his massive head in her hands and gently kissed him on the forehead. He moaned. "Gildron," she said, "You must kill those two V. The V in the hot room. You must shoot them with the E. Auto canister x, Gildron. If the door doesn't open, use the contac. Press it against the door, activate, stand back under cover, and after the explosion, switch on the E, toss in two psybloc grenades, go in firing, kill two V. Two of them! Do it quickly, Gildron! Can we depend on you?"

  "Keer V," Gildron said. "Hot loom, gordoc, pless, broom! Zybloc, keer do V. Keer V!"

  "Auto canister x, Gildron!"

  "Arider gariderex! Keer V!"

  "Yes, Gildron, that's right," Tara said sadly. "He'll do it, Wester. He'll do it if it can be done. We can depend on Gildron."

  "Don't touch that!" I said. The kid had been about to pick up a brick of contac. He pulled his fingers away as if scorched. We had visited the room where they had stored our weapons and done a quick recon. The door opened when we touched the panel, and it was all there—all our weapons. We took all the contac and timers, but left the E's. We did not want to tempt
fate, and it looked as if the weapons would be there when we needed them. But I needed the contac first. There had been no reaction from the O's. I had gambled that they might not recognize the contac as weaponry. They appeared to be ignoring us—we were simply not important. We were no longer a factor in their planning. We were under control.

  Well, we'd see about that.

  "Say it again, Tara," I said.

  "Out the door, up the corridor to the weapons room," she recited, "techprobe if it doesn't open, but it should open. Pick up the E's and grenades. You detach the psybloc unit from your helmet. Gildron to the stardrive, you and I to the bridge. Up the corridor, approach the bridge, you activate the psybloc, I set off the timers, all hell breaks loose, all weapons on, in the door, contac if it doesn't open, auto canister x until there's no movement. And that's it."

  "Nothing to it," I added.

  "Nothing to it," Tara repeated.

  "Nartsing doit," Gildron said.

  Tara turned to Willard. He blinked his big brown eyes at her, his face completely serious. He was a doll—a living doll.

  "Willard, if we don't come back, there's something you must do."

  "We want it to come back."

  "I know, honey. We're going to try and come back. But if we don't—if the V come back first—it has to take this." Tara pressed something into the boy's hand.

  "When the door opens, have this in your hand. If it's the V, pop this into your mouth and swallow it. Fast."

  "Is it medicine?"

  "Yes, Willard. But do not take it unless the V come in this door. That's very, very important. Can it remember that?"

  "Yes."

  "What is that stuff?" I asked Tara.

  "Cyro," she said quietly.

  "Good idea," I replied. Cyro was a life-saver for catastrophic injuries, but a full dose would kill you quickly if there was nothing wrong with you. And that was vastly preferable to living in the power of the O's.

  ###

  "Damn it! It's stuck!" I was sweating buckets, my heart was hammering and I could taste the adrenalin. We were in the weapons room and I was struggling to remove the psybloc unit from the blackened, pitted helmet of my A-suit. I had not thought it would be a problem. The links were all open but it wouldn't move. And if the O's were paying any attention, it would not take them long to determine that we were up to no good.

  "It's probably fused!" I was frantic. We were dead without the psybloc—the whole op would fail. Tara had an armful of weapons. She tossed an ampak of grenades to Gildron, then turned to me.

  "Gildron! Let Gildron try!" She urged me. Gildron lunged at the helmet and wrapped one massive finger around the release handle. He pulled, and showed his teeth, growling way back in his throat. For an instant nothing happened. Then it gave with a sharp crack. Gildron smiled, and handed me the device.

  "Deadman. Thanks, Gildron! Let's go!" I ordered. Tara slammed an E into my arms, and dropped an ampak over my shoulder. Her skin was icy pale. I was all set—E, tacmod, psybloc, ampak, contac, psybloc grenades, contac grenades, hot knife, cold knife, medpak, what else, what else? I raised the E. She was scarred and burnt, an evil black bitch from the bowels of Hell. I could feel her obscene power rushing through me. I loved her with all my heart, and I knew she was all mine and I was all hers.

  "Move it, soldier!" Tara was getting impatient. We burst into the corridor. All quiet. It looked as if all was well in the O ship. But all was not well at all. The lab animals were out of their cages, and hungry for blood.

  "Death!" We struck fists, all three of us. We were launched, and there was no turning back.

  "Gildron—go to the stardrive and kill the V!" Tara commanded him, and he snarled and took off, heading down the corridor toward the stardrive, a giant, hauling an E and an ampak of contac and psybloc grenades. We had walked Gildron all the way earlier, right up to the stardrive door. He knew exactly where he was going. I didn't know what was going to happen but I knew sure as hell I didn't want to be anywhere near that stardrive when Gildron kicked in the door.

  Tara and I hurried along the circular corridor toward the bridge. I could see Gildron on the tacmod heading straight for the stardrive.

  "Psybloc ready?" Tara asked.

  "Ready. Timers ready?"

  "Ready!" Closer and closer, the door to the bridge right up ahead, and all was quiet. Icy sweat beaded my temples.

  Closer! A perfectly circular door. All we had to do was approach it, and it should snap open. And throw ourselves into the future, whatever it was to be, victory or defeat, life or death.

  "All right," I said. "Timers! I'm switching on the psybloc!"

  "Timers!" Tara activated the detonator. We had walked the ship unhindered with contac and timers and set the explosives in the corridors, up against the walls of everything that looked even vaguely important.

  "Psybloc on! Activate weapons!" The psybloc flashed and crackled at my waist as I activated the E. We ran, hurling ourselves at the door to the bridge.

  The contac detonated simultaneously throughout the ship, a deafening crack, the concussion booming up the corridor. The lights flickered. The grav cut out and I was suddenly dancing in air, weightless.

  "Whoa!" We had somehow damaged the ship's grav center. This was not in the plan. Tara clawed at the air, desperately trying to get close to a wall or a ceiling to get some leverage. I got one foot on a corridor wall and pushed off, rocketing through the air right to the bridge door. It snapped open like the mouth of a hungry beast, drawing me right in. The psybloc was flashing and I hurtled into a swirling montage of light and color and movement. O's were all around me and they were moving faster than I'd ever seen before.

  I fired auto canister x, slashing the line of fire in a wild arc. The bridge erupted, shrieking white-hot phospho x bursting everywhere, sizzling tracers ricocheting wildly, a burning, dazzling, flashing tracery of death, an awful, sudden, horrendous catastrophe. The noise knifed into my eardrums. The recoil of the E shot me across the bridge, a wild ride. My shoulders hit something behind me. I was upside down on the ceiling like a lizard, still firing, my fingers frozen on the trigger, canister x booming everywhere, total hell, the entire bridge exploding, how can anyone survive, shrapnel snapping onto my litesuit. I was cutting the O's in two with the x but they were still there, calmly standing upside down like trees growing out of the deck, totally unaffected by the x. I suddenly realized these were the holos—the real O's would be struggling with the loss of gravity. Where were they!

  I caught a glimpse of Tara twisting in the air, firing auto canister x calmly, deliberately hosing down the bridge. The concussion from the blasts and the recoil from the E were buffeting her through the air like a butterfly in a typhoon.

  Movement—an O came at me, clawing through the air like a great alien torpedo. It opened its awful mouth exposing a row of needle-sharp teeth. I snapped my E over to it and the auto x cut it in two, splattering gore all over the ceiling. It had not even had its mag shields up.

  The psybloc unit exploded at my waist like a grenade. I continued firing wildly, desperately—one more O—where is it! And then my mind went.

  It was like a knife, slashing right into my brain. I screamed and released the E. It floated away, tumbling end over end. Psybloc grenades—now! But a bolt of raw terror shot through me. My muscles were all twitching—I was helpless, drifting like space junk through the bridge. There was no way I could get to the grenades. The firing stopped. The bridge was full of smoke, and everything in view burnt fiercely. Sparks spit from alien instruments, lights flashed on and off, and the artificial O's shimmered and vanished.

  Terror, raw terror. I cried, and my limbs shook wildly. Doomed, we were doomed! The bridge was burning and I floated above it like a corpse. An eerie quiet came over the scene. There was only the crackling of the flames and the electronic snapping of the instruments as they self-destructed.

  The grav returned suddenly. I crashed to the deck, exhausted and helpless. I lay in a heap, whimpering
in agony. My blood was like water and my heart was a knot of icy fear. My entire body was shaking. I could not move—I could hardly breathe. The O had us in its awful grip. It was all over—we had failed. We were dead. I could feel only terror, terror to glaze my eyes, terror to stop my heart.

  Movement. It was the O—the one we missed. I watched it, horrified. It staggered forward, partially obscured by the smoke. It leaned over and picked up something from the deck. Tara—it had Tara in its hands. She collapsed, helpless in its mighty grip.

  The O picked her up bodily, hissing like a snake. And the hiss became a furious shriek as it hurled Tara head over heels through the air just like a rag doll. She hit right on top of me, bouncing off to land sprawled on her back beside me.

  The O stood over us, its concave chest heaving. It was peppered with shrapnel wounds, but I knew it did not matter—it was all over for us. Tara whimpered beside me. The creature had us with its awesome psypower. We were worms, writhing before it, awaiting an awful death.

  The creature reached down with one hand and seized Tara by the neck. It lifted her up bodily, holding her there in the air by the neck, squeezing her throat. Tara gurgled, twitching, her feet dangling, helpless. The O was going to choke her to death with one hand. It looked into Tara's face, snarling an evil laugh. The creature drooled, a thin stream of spittle dribbling from its savage mouth. I was terrified—I know there was nothing at all I could do, except watch Tara die.

  The O exploded, a white-hot burst shattering our ears, splattering us with greenish gore. A split head, the eyes glazing over, the mouth snapping open, needle teeth, then it collapsed, right on top of us.

  I could only lie there shaking, twitching in the mess. Tara had landed next to me, again. She coughed and gasped—alive! My limbs trembled, but I had control again. The terror had been replaced by shock. I had no idea what had happened. I struggled to sit up. I brushed one of the O's arms off my body—it was still moving.

  "Tara—are you all right? Answer!" I could hardly breathe. Tara was pale and gasping, on her back, still helpless. Her eyes blinked. She raised one hand, and I grasped it.