Curse of the Legion

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Curse of the Legion Page 10

by Marshall S. Thomas


  Three shots rang out in the distance, as clear as bells in the still air. X. I ignored it. Delta One appeared, clad in filthy, mud-spattered armor. I guess I looked the same. It had been a hard night.

  "Your boots are unshined, soldier," I said.

  He laughed. "I'll get right on it, sir. We've got that local you wanted." One of our troopies approached, escorting a young U'tal male with hands tied behind his back. The U'tal's head hung down, hiding his face. His long dark hair was filthy and matted and he wore dark clothing, torn and splattered with mud.

  "This one speaks Inter," One said, "But he's not too communicative."

  "That's not a problem," I said, reaching out to seize the U'tal by his hair and jerk his head back to take a look. I was greeted with a glare of such malevolent rage that I almost let go of the creature. Then he spat at me, convulsed with hatred. I swung my E at him, striking him in the face solidly with the butt, smashing his face and knocking him right off his feet to collapse like a rag doll in the mud. I leaned over him, took the brainscan from my toolpak, and affixed it solidly to his scalp.

  "Make sure he doesn't die," I said. "When he comes to, bring him to me. I'll be over here. Anybody want any dox? I've got plenty." I settled down on a nearby rock to wait.

  He didn't look too good when he was returned to me, standing shakily, face cut and bleeding and swollen purple, both eyes blackened horribly, nose smashed and bleeding, lips cut and swollen, a few teeth missing, mouth bleeding.

  "You must answer my questions quickly and truthfully," I said, still seated, not even looking at him. "We know the difference between truth and lies, and lies will be punished instantly. If you cooperate you will get a quick death. If you attempt to deceive us, we will throw you to the apes. We've got cages full of those apes—your apes—and they're getting hungry."

  I held the mindscan reader in one hand. It would determine instantly if the subject was deliberately lying to us, or telling us what he believed to be the truth.

  "What is your name?" I began. He was silent. I hit the shock tab. He gasped, convulsed, screamed, and fell to his knees. It was a horrifying, crackling, burning sensation in your head—as if your brain was going to explode. We had all experienced it, in Basic, and once was enough for me.

  "Name?" I asked again.

  "Weklon Mussat," he gasped.

  "Occupation? What do you do?"

  "Caretaker. I…I clean the temple." The reader lit up red—Deception. I administered another shock. He screamed, collapsed, cried, writhed in the mud, limbs twitching.

  "Just tell us the truth," I said. "Doesn't your religion believe in the truth? Help him up." Delta One pulled him roughly to his knees.

  "Your occupation?"

  "I am a priest," he said quietly. "I answer only to God!" Truth, the meter read in green.

  "A priest!" I said. "Good! I wish to ask about the so-called defilement of the Temple of the Sun. This was a lie, U'tal hate propaganda designed to justify your criminal attacks against our settlers on Fortuna. Who thought up this lie? Do you know?"

  "It is not a lie! The defilement was real!" Glaring his hatred at me again. Truth, the meter read.

  "Do you believe everything you are told? Did you witness the defilement yourself?"

  "I believe what I see! I witnessed it myself!" Truth.

  "When did this occur?"

  "On the third day of the Sacrament of Blood in the Month of the Golden Hound." Truth.

  "Were you intoxicated on that day? Were you hallucinating from drugs or other stimulants?"

  "No! I am a priest of God! God's presence is my only stimulation." Truth.

  "What did you see?"

  He struggled to his feet, his eyes gleaming. "I saw swarms of evil black vultures swoop down to God's own home and disgorge Satan's legions, alien monstrosities, clad in black armor and firing their terrible weapons, laying waste to the temple, killing everyone they found, entering God's sanctuary, striking down God's holy priests where they stood, seizing our holy relics and unleashing a torrent of fire into the temple." Truth.

  I stood up. "Black armor," I said. "What did it look like?"

  "Like yours!" he snarled, glaring directly at me. "Exactly like yours." Truth.

  "And these vultures—do you mean aircars?"

  "Yes! Satan's aircars! Over there—they landed right over there." He pointed past the temple with his bloody nose. Truth, the monitor indicated.

  "Did these aircars have any symbols on them?"

  "Yes! The sign of Satan's Legion! That sign there. Your sign." He was glaring at the Legion Cross on the buckle of my u-belt. Truth, the meter read.

  "Why do you come here, to ask about your own crimes?" the priest snarled. "To beg God's forgiveness?"

  "I'll ask the questions here," I said. "What did you do when these…intruders…attacked?"

  "I fought them! I defended my God! What else should I do?" Truth.

  "How many of your people died?"

  "We know not! We do not count those who die defending God! They are uncounted and uncountable. We will all die, if necessary, to defend our God. Count them yourself, if you must know for your unholy lists—their bodies lie all around us."

  "The intruders—did any of them die?"

  "No. Satan's Legion's were armored—we were not. They stayed only long enough to defile the temple and then they departed. Why do you ask me about your own crimes? Now you have returned, and destroyed the temple utterly. Do you think it ends here? God will punish you! God will punish you!" Truth, it said again. Truth, Truth, Truth. My skin was crawling. What the hell was this?

  "Why did you attack Fortuna?"

  "Because of the defilement of the Temple of the Sun! Why do you ask such stupid questions? Our duty is to defend our God." Truth, again.

  "Is your God pleased when you rape and murder women and children? Is your God pleased when you have your man-apes eat them alive?"

  "Yes! He knows it is just punishment, for those who defy Him." Truth.

  "One?" I turned to the squad leader. "We're taking this one back to Quaba. Make sure nothing happens to him. We need him alive."

  "Yes sir. Let's go, creep."

  I removed the brainscan from the priest's bleeding scalp, popped up my visor, and attached the device to my own temple as Delta One led the prisoner away. It was a tight fit inside the helmet.

  "My name is Antara Tarantos-Hanna," I said. The monitor glowed red: Deception. Damn! I had been half-hoping the device had been stuck on Truth.

  Chapter 7

  Movement, from the Edge

  A star tracer—from Moontouch! A bolt of fear shot through my body. No! Something's wrong! It's Stormdawn! What could it be, for Moontouch to send a star tracer? A thin sheen of sweat formed on my brow as I triggered the little card and the d-screen lit up. I was in my cube in Galactic Information on Quaba, but as the message formed on the screen everything slowly went black all around me and there was only the message, handwritten in spidery Taka runes, like silk, silvery, magical tracings, not quite there, fading in and out of my vision. Moontouch. She must have traced it with a light pen; somebody had helped her with the star tracer. What was it? Moontouch was not in the habit of sending star tracers. I know how her mind worked. The longer she ignored me, the greater would be my desire to return. She was right. And now a star tracer! It was bad news, I knew it, even before I read the first word.

  "Translate," I said.

  "My King," the metallic, emotionless voice of the translation unit began, "My Maker, My Soul, My Heart, My Blood, My Sword. We are one. I cry hot salt tears in the Tomb of the Kings, for you, kneeling in fields of holy skulls and chanting dirges to Those Who Have Gone Before. I charge them with your protection, with your Fate. I curse them, for their evil prophecies. I offer my Fate, for yours. They refuse! I burn holy silks, in the Tomb, and pray to the Gods of the Past and the Future, who know all. I pray on all the Kings and Queens of Southmark, in their holy place. I pray to the Golden Sword, on his iron throne. I c
ut my flesh and scatter my blood before his feet. I wander the Swamp of Lost Souls, singing the Death Song. I pray in the Garden of God, for forgiveness. I wade in the icy waters of the Cold Coast, begging for mercy. I walk barefoot in the Deadlands, a pilgrim to the Past. All is lost."

  I could almost taste the scented ash of that burning silk. I was almost there, thrown into the Tomb of the Kings by Moontouch's hypnotic words.

  "Return to me, O my King. The mailed serpent of time quivers in the shadows. A great evil awaits, breathing, stirring, watching with unblinking eyes. Once again, movement, from the edge. Abandon all hope, unsheathe your sword, and prepare to die for your people. What does it matter, who lives and who dies? What matters is to make a good end. The living maidens of all our dead Kings weave the battle flags of Southmark. To unfurl those holy colors once again, what a rapturous sight! Victory or death, it matters not, we stand by our holy past.

  "Return to me, O my King. Your son grows tall and strong. You should see him before he falls in battle defending his people. I am blinded by tears. Black clouds cover the stars, strange evil birds float overhead, tall trees burn in the forest at night.

  "When pigs rule,

  When apes eat our young,

  When tools rebel,

  When the strong are weak,

  And the weak are strong.

  Lies, deception, and needless death

  A man with a heart of ice, directing

  Puppet soldiers, blind and deaf.

  Movement, from the edge.

  An evil tide for your people,

  For my people.

  We are doomed. I chant

  Dirges, in the dark, to the holy dead.

  The Gods laugh.

  You abandon us, again.

  I call out, helpless,

  in the hands of the Undead

  A ladle of cool water

  To seal the peace

  Our fate unfolds

  As you burn the book of laws

  To serve the System's Cause

  As a soldier of the Legion.

  We are undone.

  This is the time for immortals to die,

  For eras to end,

  For our worlds to stop.

  Unsheathe your sword,

  Rip the scales from your eyes,

  And the wax from your ears.

  We all make our own end.

  Die for your people, with sword in hand.

  They will never forget us!"

  ###

  Tara swooped into the little conference room impatiently, escorted by a flock of twitching aides. She slammed down a briefing folder onto the table and fell into her airchair. She looked terrific as usual—I figured anyone who looked that good in black was bound to rise rapidly up the Legion's lunatic chain of command.

  "Gentlemen! Let's see it!" She was evidently having a bad day. The room was packed. The lights faded instantly and the wall screen lit up. At first it was hard to see anything, just a cloudy grey sky, then we made it out—an aircar, just a faint black smudge, punching a hot combat drop through that smoky sky. Then it was gone.

  "Again." Tara demanded. We looked at it again, and the image froze in mid flight and enlarged slightly, out of focus. My skin crawled. This was it! How many had died, how many were to die, because of this obscene image?

  "Details." she snarled it.

  "This was the only visual image captured by Asumara defense forces during the raid on the Temple of the Sun," the analyst said, "or at least the only image we've found so far. We are continuing the search."

  "Details."

  "Analysis of the visual, thermal, electronic and radioactive reflection data reveals the craft to be a Quasar Model 2B armored assault aircar. Probes did not reveal a valid Legion ID pulse." The screen filled up with data, glowing lines of silvery numerals.

  "Why not?"

  "Because it had none. The pulse had been removed."

  "Continue."

  "We have a full list of all Quasar Model 2B aircars, from the factory. All were Legion cars. The 2B model was replaced with the C and no 2B's are currently in service. We have accounted for all cars manufactured. Our records reveal that six Legion model 2B's were declassified and abandoned as surplus upon completion of our successful campaign on Pherdos. These are the only formerly intact 2B's not under our control. These cars were inherited by the new Pherdan government when our forces left. We believe it's possible that the car that raided Asumara is one of those aircars. The data makes it likely, but without the actual aircars we cannot be certain."

  "What are we doing to confirm that?"

  "We're dropping Phantoms into Pherdos to try and ascertain the status of those six aircars. If we can't do it through aerial recon, we'll drop in boots and snatch somebody who might know. We're going over the personnel target list right now."

  "Pherdos," Tara said calmly, gazing vacantly at the glowing image of that sinister aircar. "All right, but be careful. We don't need another war with Pherdos. Damn it. Pherdos." She thought a bit. "I don't believe it," she said. "Why would Pherdos want to do that?"

  "Revenge?" someone asked.

  "No. What's the point? What do they gain? How can a Con-Free—Asumara war benefit the Pherdan Federation? I don't think so."

  "Well, who does it benefit?"

  "It may be too early to ascertain that," Tara said. "Perhaps it will become clear later. But we will keep that in mind. And meantime we track down those missing 2B's. That's extremely important. Whoever did this has provoked a war between Asumara and ConFree. That makes me angry. That makes me very angry. We will find out who did this. And when we do, we will take appropriate action."

  "Like we did on Asumara?" I asked. All eyes in the room turned to me.

  "No," Tara replied coldly. "It will be worse than that. Much worse."

  "Maybe we should ensure we know the full story before we go to war next time," I suggested.

  "The full story? And what would that be? We knew the full story on Fortuna. The full story was that a raiding party of merciless Asumara crazies and transgen apes raided a ConFree world and slaughtered, raped, cannibalized and kidnapped our people. Do you think our reaction would have been different had we known they thought they had a good reason for doing it? I don't think so! I don't give a good God-damn what their reasons may have been. Our reaction was correct—to send the bastards straight to Hell, as soon as possible. But I'll tell you this. I don't like being used, and I don't like our troops dying because some scheming psycho bastard is plotting some kind of interstellar political deception operation. And when I find out who did this, and it's over, I'm going to have his skull displayed on my desk. That's all. Let's get back to work."

  ###

  Working for Galactic Information was not easy, but you rapidly learned what was really happening in the inhabited galaxy. GI had a seemingly limitless number of information sources sending data to Quaba Hqs, and some days it seemed to me that most of that info was dropping right into my quantum in-tray. GI was always shorthanded and that's why Tara was not letting me escape, at least for now. My function was to send the data where it was most needed. Attempts to rely on autosystems to sort data had always ended in failure. Our artificial intelligence databanks were powerful, but stupid. All AI was stupid. Only human brains could make the sort of decisions we needed. So there I was, comfortably floating in my airchair, surrounded by datalinks and d-screens and holo fields all imbedded in a glassine wall that could fade away to an instant to transparency or revert in a flash to opaque at a whisper from me. I was down in the war room, one of many little cubes surrounding the master holo hall that depicted humanity's little slice of the galaxy, but I had the opaque on to limit distractions. We were pretty far underground. They could have dropped an antimat right on our heads and I wouldn't have even spilled my dox.

  Transmissions were flowing in from Santos. I was responsible for the Gulf Union and surroundings. That included all Gulf Union worlds, Nimbos, Yida and a host of others. It also included in
dependent worlds such as Tanami, Sirrah, and Santos. It did not include the Asumara front or the Pegal Stelcom. I was grateful for that, at least. All right, an Embassy cable. Let's see.

  PRIORITY IR GI OUTVAC STARCOM CLASS1

  CITE: EMB SANTOS 823477

  FOR: IR GI QUABA

  DATE: 329/01/07

  SUBJ: SANTOS MEDIA UPDATE 329/01/07

  TEXT: TWO SIGNIFICANT EVENTS REPORTED IN SANTOS MEDIA TODAY.

  1) SANTOS MINISTER FOR INTERSTELLAR AFFAIRS WERT BROANZO EXPRESSES SOLIDARITY WITH 'FELLOW HUMANS' ON ASUMARA AND ANNOUNCES THAT 'FRIENDLY RELATIONS' WILL BE DIFFICULT TO MAINTAIN WITH 'AGGRESSOR STATES' THAT LAUNCH 'MILITARY ADVENTURES' AGAINST PEACEFUL GULF WORLDS. ALTHOUGH CF WAS NOT MENTIONED, EMBASSY IS RESPONDING WITH QUERY WHETHER SANTOS WILL MAKE SIMILAR STATEMENT CONDEMNING MILITARY ADVENTURES AGAINST PEACEFUL OUTVAC WORLDS SUCH AS FORTUNA.

  2) LOCAL MEDIA HAS REPORTED 'OUTWORLDER TERRORISTS' HAVE ASSASSINATED THE DEPUTY SPECIAL ADVISOR TO MINISTER OF EQUALITY RONO SASSOR THIS MORNING. THE DEPUTY SPECIAL ADVISOR'S AIRCAR WAS DESTROYED BY A POWERFUL GROUND TO AIR MISSILE AND HIS SECURITY ESCORTS WERE ALL KILLED BY AN OVERWHELMING FORCE OF ASSAILANTS FIRING MISSILES AND HEAVY AUTOMATIC WEAPONS. AUTHORITIES HAVE LAUNCHED AN INVESTIGATION THAT REPORTEDLY CENTERS ON THE OUTWORLDER CULTURAL ALLIANCE. EMBASSY COMMENT: SANTOS HAS SO FAR MADE NO OFFICIAL STATEMENT ON THIS INCIDENT. IF TRUE, THIS IS THE FIRST INSTANCE OF VIOLENT, ORGANIZED OUTWORLDER RESISTANCE TO THE NEWHUMAN REGIME. THE VICTIM, DEPUTY SPECIAL ADVISOR SALOS ORD, IS AN ORMAN AND NOT A NEWHUMAN. OUR POLICE SOURCES TELL US THAT THE INTENDED TARGET MAY HAVE BEEN THE SPECIAL ADVISOR THEOPOLD LAMAR, ANOTHER ORMAN, WHO CHANGED HIS SCHEDULE AT THE LAST MOMENT DUE TO A CONFLICT AND SENT HIS DEPUTY IN HIS PLACE TO THE SCHEDULED APPOINTMENT.

 

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