"Good Lord!" Merlin exclaimed. "An O starship! Well, you've got my interest!"
"The mission," Snow Leopard said, "is to penetrate the Mound and seize the ship, if it's there, and insure it doesn't leave. Cripple it, if necessary."
"Good Lord!"
"We have no idea what else might be in the Mound. Our offensive has not yet overrun any other mounds, so this is a first. You should also know that Cinta was assigned to us because she is a psycher of extraordinary abilities. With her along, our chances of survival against the O's psypower are increased. Of course she can't counter them—nobody can. But she might give us a little extra warning. And this mission is important enough to the Legion to justify her presence."
"A psycher! So that's it!" Twister exclaimed.
"We were wondering about her," Scrapper said.
"Cinta, can you read my mind?" Psycho asked cheerily.
"I'd rather not," Tara said, "if you don't mind."
"If she's a psycher," Merlin said, "she must know who set off the nova."
"Cinta?" Snow Leopard asked.
"I can't tell who set off the nova," Tara replied carefully. "The reason is that it was not a conscious act. The person who set it off is not himself aware that he—or she—did it. The act was performed in an autohypnotic trance, initiated by subconscious suggestion to a subject who has been programmed to receive subconscious commands. The neural process involved is so deeply covered that even I cannot read it."
"How does somebody get programmed to receive these commands," Dragon asked, "and who does it?"
"The Legion does it," Tara responded, "on a very selective basis. It's a controversial program. Most of the Legion leadership opposes it. But those who favor it—including the upper levels of ConFree—have so far prevailed. You see, it gives them direct control over individuals in the field. It's a long-range, experimental program. The subjects are chosen not with any particular mission in mind, but just to ensure that there are receptive subjects out there—just in case they're ever needed."
"Must be handy if you don't trust your troops! That sounds like the System, not ConFree!"
"ConFree!" I said bitterly. "I might have known!" I had not trusted ConFree ever since Andrion 3. The bastards were Inners, manipulating us like toy soldiers. The Legion took its orders from ConFree, we existed only to defend ConFree, but sometimes I wondered about ConFree's motivation.
"The initial programming is rather lengthy," Tara said. "It takes several hours. Once that's done, the subject is yours, forever. You can access the subject during sleep, through normal sleep-ed channels, awaken the program with a code word, and give your orders. When the circumstances are correct to accomplish the mission, the subject will act, then revert back to normal, remembering nothing. And even I cannot detect it, unless I'm around when the act is being performed. Unfortunately, I was asleep when the nova went off."
"Those bastards!"
"But how do they do it? How do they do the initial programming?"
"Has anyone ever spent any time in the body shop?" We all had, of course. All of us.
"But why? Why should the Legion want to wreck this mission? They gave us the mission!"
"Why, indeed," Snow Leopard said. "Well, that's the question, isn't it? It's a critical mission. The struggle with the O's on this planet is still underway, and every Legion unit is fully engaged, but I've got a promise of strong reinforcements—very strong reinforcements—if I can confirm there's an O starship in the Mound. Makes you wonder who would oppose such a mission."
"So who do you think is trying to stop us?"
"Well, first of all there's the Systies. That should come as no surprise. That squad that almost walked into us in the river—I'm certain they were looking for us. It wasn't a coincidence they were walking the same river as us. They knew our route—they knew we were taking the river. That's why I left the river."
"You mean the Systies want the ship as well."
"The word got out—somehow—about our mission. About the ship, and about our route. The Systies certainly don't want the Legion getting its hands on that ship—they want it themselves."
"All right, but the Systies didn't mess around with our minds!"
"No, they didn't. There's somebody else that doesn't want us to do this mission. The bunch that did the autohypnotic trance on one of us, and sabotaged our power reserves so we couldn't contact Recon Control—probably hoping it would get us killed. The same bunch that sent that aircar that got blown away by the O's—the hunter-killer teams that called a nova, and told us our mission was cancelled—Blue Gold. They wanted to draw us away from the target, too. They don't want the mission to succeed, either. They're still out there right now, just like the Systies, tracking us down. Legion troopers, it appears. Whoever is behind this, they're being very cautious in the way they do it. I'm sure there's a good reason for it."
We lay there in the snow, listening to our One and watching the Mound through our scopes. The sky was clearing rapidly, a bright, sparkling day. There was not a sign of deceptors. Our tacmods were crystal clear. It was not good, for us.
"Nobody wants us to do it," Snow Leopard said quietly. "Everybody is against us. We're even fighting ourselves. But none of that matters to me. As far as I'm concerned, we've got a mission from Recon Control, and until I hear directly from them that the mission has been cancelled, I'm assuming it's still on. We're going to get that ship, gang, and hold it against all comers—no matter who they are."
"What about whoever's under that autohypnotic trance?"
"Whoever it is," Snow Leopard said, "will try again. Probably at a critical time. Keep alert, and listen to Cinta. She might give us a few fracs warning, when whoever it is starts to surface. It could be anybody—maybe even me. Maybe even you! Don't trust anybody! And remember, the mission is the ship. That's the only mission! Everything else is secondary."
"Tenners."
"Ten."
"Does everybody agree?" There was a murmur of assent.
"Then we do it! All the way—we do it or die! Is everyone with me?"
"We're all with you, One," Valkyrie said. "Just give us the word!"
"This is our payback, gang," Snow Leopard said. "for everything! For Coldmark, for Andrion 3, for Mongera. This one's for Gamma. And Beta Two, and Six, and Seven." I could almost feel his icy rage.
"Damned straight," Valkyrie said. "Payback!"
"Anything moves, it dies," Snow Leopard said. "I want those psybloc grenades going off like firecrackers, gang—we've got plenty!"
"You hear that, Momma?" Psycho said to his Manlink. "Coolhand, Warhound and Ironman! They're going to be right beside us! Just like the old days! They're cutting us loose, Momma! If it moves, it dies! All right…all right! You heard the man!" Psycho was completely insane, but I was really glad he was on our side. He was the Angel of Death. Nothing ever happened to him—he was invincible. And I suddenly realized something. I went on private to One.
"One, Three."
"Yes, Three."
"Psycho has never spent any time in the body shop—other than routine physicals. He's never been wounded."
"Yes, I know, Thinker."
"The rest of us all have—except maybe Thirteen. So chances are we can trust Psycho."
"Well, I hope you're right, Thinker. Just stay alert—we'll be all right."
"Tenners." Of course, Snow Leopard already knew—he knew everything.
"ALERT!" Sweety shouted in my ears. "Systie armor, as marked! I have three A-suits! I have numerous unarmored humans—sixty…seventy…eighty-six, as marked!"
"Prep for combat," Snow Leopard ordered. "They'll spot us!" We were already combat dispersed. I switched my E to auto xmax. They were walking out of the east, evidently heading west, toward the Mound. We were northeast of the Mound, well hidden, but there was no way they were not going to detect us under this sky. I snapped down my visor and Sweety zoomed me in on them. They were still on the horizon, a long way off, just moving shadows against the
snowy ground. They were walking slowly, trudging towards the Mound.
"Systies! Well, I'll be damned," Dragon said. "This can't be the bunch that was following us!"
"The walking dead," Psycho said quietly. "Can I use tacstars, One?"
"Nobody fires until I give the word," Snow Leopard responded. "Let's see what we've got first."
The wind picked up, moaning past my armor. We watched them approach, growing slowly in our scopes. Finally I made out the first figure—a DefCorps trooper, fully armored, a camfax smock flapping around him in the rising breeze. He carried an SG, walking slowly, step by weary step. It was obvious it had been a long march. Behind him—who were they? Civilians—a long line of civilians, dressed in rags and blankets, staggering forward, exhausted. I saw men, women, and children. What the hell? Who were these people?
Snow Leopard consulted a field map. "Massan," he said suddenly. "They've got to be from Massan. A big settlement, not a hundred K away. Captured some time ago by the O."
"But what's happening?" Priestess asked. "Are they going to the Mound? Why would Systie troopers be taking civilians to an Omni mound?"
"Don't know. Let's wait and see."
We waited, as the ragged line of civilians drew nearer. There were only three Systies in A-suits, the one in the front and two at the rear. All three had SG's. It soon became clear that the procession was indeed headed for the Mound.
"What the hell are those Systies doing?"
"Quiet!"
"Why haven't they spotted us yet?" Valkyrie asked.
"I want auto x on the last two," Snow Leopard said. "Five, I want a stunstar on that first guy. Nobody fires until I give the word."
"Tenners."
"You got it."
Closer. We could see the civilians clearly now—dressed in rags. Some of them didn't even have shoes. They were all starving, that much was obvious. They were stick people, blue from the cold, eyes glazed, staggering forward. An old lady stumbled and fell. An old man pulled her up, helping her on. There was a young man, a walking skeleton, carrying his wife in his arms. A young boy with hollow cheeks walked beside him, holding the hand of a little, bright-eyed toddler, bundled up in a thick red baby suit. The toddler looked up at his brother and his parents. I could see in his eyes that he did not understand. Brave little children, I thought, marching into Hell. And I was suddenly overcome with rage. My whole body began shaking with hate. I centered my E on the last two A-suits, and set it to auto xmax. The sight was shaking. I wanted to see those two Systie bastards die, I wanted them blown to shreds, I wanted to do it so bad I was shaking, I was salivating.
"I have broken the Systie net," Sweety announced calmly, "opening the channel." At first there was nothing. Then we heard them.
"They're over there," one of the Systies said.
"Yeah."
"Legion A-suits."
"Yeah."
"What does it think they're doing here?"
"We don't know."
Silence. They continued marching.
"Think we should report it?"
"To who?"
More silence, the wind whistling eerily past my helmet.
"Legion A-suits. That's strange."
"Who cares. We're almost back." They lapsed into silence. And the march continued, into the wind.
"What the hell, One?" Valkyrie asked.
"Puzzling," Snow Leopard said.
"'Who cares'?" Merlin repeated. "They've got the Legion on scope and they say 'who cares'? What is this?"
"Their minds are sedated," Tara reported. "They've been psyched. I've never felt anything like it—they're almost punch drunk. It must be the O's. And the civilians are the same—psyched. Powerful, powerful psyching."
"But our psybloc hasn't gone off!"
"No, no, this happened before—they're still under it."
"Fire," Snow Leopard said calmly. My laser sight was right on the helmet of one of the last two Systies. The helmet exploded, a horrid bang, spraying a bloody mist, white-hot xmax erupting all over his armor and he was down, flaming like a torch. A massive boom and a heavy shock wave rocked us simultaneously; snow swirled up off the ground. The Systie's armored companion had been blown in two—his frozen arms clawed at the snow. I snapped my sights to the front of the column. The leading DefCorps trooper was flat on the snow, down and out. Civilians were scattered around him on the ground, unconscious. Psycho had taken out the point man with a stunstar.
"Secure that Systie!" Snow Leopard ordered. We scrambled up from our positions, hustling over to the Systie column. My skin crawled as I ran forward. The Mound was still on the horizon but the terrain was completely flat and we were totally exposed. There was no way they weren't going to see us from the Mound.
"Priestess, revive the prisoner!" Snow Leopard knelt by the point man, turning him over. The Systie trooper had dropped his SG. He had no visible wounds—a stunstar scrambles all nerve and motor activity but has no lasting effects. Priestess passed me, heading for the surviving Systie trooper. I hurried to the back of the column to check on the dead. There were a lot of Systie civilians down—those at the front had been hit by the stunstar. They would survive, but those in the rear might have more serious wounds. The surviving Systie civs had fallen to the ground, exhausted. I passed whole families, too tired to talk, too tired to move. There were a few babies as well—they didn't even cry. I imagined that meant they would die soon.
"They're gone," Dragon said, touching one DefCorps trooper with the tip of his boot. A bloody corpse, grey skin, encased in a smoking, pitted bronze-colored A-suit.
The dead always look the same, I thought. Lumps of clay. They were shaped just like people, but it was clear there was no life in them. The inhabitants were gone.
"This SG looks good," Scrapper said, hoisting the weapon.
"Yeah, get the weapons," I suggested. "We might need 'em."
"We've got wounded here!" Twister said. She knelt by a young female who was bleeding from chest and shoulder. "Priestess, we need you!"
"Give me five!"
I assisted Twister with the casualty. A girl, pale hollow face, just barely conscious, going into shock. Twister gave her a mag. I cut her thin jacket away with my cold knife and pressed field dressings onto the bloody shrapnel wounds. The gel would protect the wounds until she could get proper care, if that ever happened.
"He's conscious," Priestess reported. She had revived the prisoner. "Can I tend to the civilians now?"
"Yes," Snow Leopard said. "Go. Hurry! We don't have much time!" One wasn't kidding. My flesh crawled every time I looked at the Mound squatting on the horizon like a temple of death. We could die in an instant, at any time.
"All right, Systie," Snow Leopard said in a voice edged in ice, "We're with the Legion. I'm not going to make a speech, because we don't have time, but you know the story. Talk and you live, refuse and you die. It's that simple. I'm going to kill you in one mark if you don't cooperate completely. Do you understand?"
"We understand—ah! What did it hit us with?" The Systie's helmet was off.
"I want your answers short and accurate, Systie! The Mound! Why were you going there? Why the civilians? Answer!"
"Ah…yes! We're assigned there! We work…for them."
"Them? Explain!" I was working on another civilian casualty, but I was hanging on every word of the Systie's debriefing.
"The V! The Variants. We have to do what they say. Our whole company was captured. We had no choice." The V—he meant the O's. The System called them the Variants, we called them the Omnis.
"Explain! You're assigned to the Mound?"
"Yes—two squads. We supervise the deliveries—the civilians. Oh, my head is splitting! Ah!"
"You mean your quarters are inside the Mound?"
"Right. Inside. Where…where are my squadies?"
"They're gone, trooper. Listen up! Can you get us into the Mound?"
"Gone…yes. But it doesn't want to go there, believe us!"
"Beta,
forward!" Snow Leopard shouted. "On me!" I clenched my teeth and raised my E. This was it—we were going into the Mound. The civilians were all still sprawled on the ground, gasping. "Get those civilians up," One ordered. "Everyone comes! Three, Eight, get that Systie camfax on! The rest of you surround yourselves with civilians! Up! Up! Everybody up!"
We started hauling them up. They obeyed wordlessly, hopeless and doomed, struggling to their feet, then slowly resuming the march. The wind rose, whipping flurries of snow up from the ground. I ripped a bloodstained Systie cloak from one of the DefCorps troopers and picked up an SG as well. We had no desire to involve the civilians but it was the obvious way to cover our approach. We wouldn't fool anyone for very long, but it might work for a few marks—and a few marks might mean the difference between life and death.
And that's how we approached the Mound, walking with a long line of starving Uldo civilians, behind a Systie prisoner. One continued the interrogation as we walked.
"Why were you taking the civilians into the Mound, trooper?"
"The V—they make us do it. We can't resist the V. We do as they say or we die. They use the people—we're not sure for what. It's horrible. We've delivered thousands. Nobody ever leaves—nobody."
"You've got weapons! Can't you fight the V's?"
"We've got no weapons! The SG? It's only good against people. There's no defense against the V. They take our minds. We do exactly what they want."
"No psyprobes!" Tara reported. It was remarkable. We were coming closer and closer to the Mound. Nobody appeared interested in our strange procession.
"How many O's, trooper? How many V in the Mound?"
"We don't know! We hardly ever see them. We don't want to see them! We do what they want, they don't appear. It's fine with us."
Closer! The Mound was silent, a massive, brooding presence, looming above us now, leaking smoke out the vents on top. Huge blackened cenite doors. They could swat us in an instant—but they didn't. We came closer—and closer.
Cold sweat trickled down my temples. Fear, in my mouth. It tasted like metal.
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