Firemask: Book Two of the Last Legion Series

by Chris Bunch

  “I’m afraid this is just the beginning. I warn all of you, not just the men and women honored in this ceremony, to soldier well and carefully in the days, weeks, and months to come.

  “Never forget. You serve the Confederation as well as Cumbre, and the honor of the Strike Force depends on you, and only you. Serve as bravely as these eleven did, and we shall never have cause to be ashamed.

  “Thank you again. Alt Jaansma, take charge of your soldiers and dismiss them.”

  • • •

  The Kouros, Matin’s society section reported, were spending a protracted honeymoon on one of the family’s private islands.

  • • •

  “I remember,” Jaansma said thoughtfully, “I went with my parents on an animal-buying expedition once. Don’t remember what world it was, but it was pretty desert-y. We were buying flying reptiles.”

  He and Yoshitaro’d been invited to the noncommissioned officers’ club at Camp Mahan by First Tweg Monique Lir. Normally thronged with noncoms from the ten-thousand-man unit, now it was cavernous, almost echoing.

  At least, Lir’d told them, they didn’t have to worry about rationed suds, like the dispersed regiments had to until they’d made their own quiet arrangements. There was the whole Legion’s allotment to swill down, unless they wanted to shame I&R. But Yoshitaro noticed that none of the warrants were drinking heavily, any more than the two officers. If it came down right now, nobody wanted to get bombed while bombed.

  “Somebody actually wanted flying snakes?” Lir said. “As if the bastards aren’t enough just crawling up your legs.”

  “People want thrills,” Garvin said. “The circus delivers.”

  “Now I know why my folks never took me to one,” Monique said. “Brragh!”

  “Second that emotion,” Njangu said. “But go on. Here you were, cute’n’cuddly little Garvin, toddlin’ around with all these writhers writhin’ at you from the skies.”

  “Actually,” Garvin said, having patiently ignored the backchatter, “it wasn’t the snakes that got my eye, but some of the local furry rodents the snakes fed on. I remember watching these little bitty sorts, all furry and friendly, and how they’d scurry from bush to bush, always with one eye cocked up, to keep from becoming somebody’s dinner.”

  He sipped at his beer, seemed finished with his story.

  “So?” Monique demanded.

  “So … the way things have been, I’m starting to understand those cute little buggers real well.”

  “Got the moral,” Njangu said. “But you don’t look very cute and cuddly.”

  “Nope,” Garvin said. “But I sure feel like an am-blin’ target.”

  “Question?” Njangu asked quietly.

  “Yeh?”

  “You feel better?”

  “About what?”

  “Shit me nix, little brown brother,” Yoshitaro said. “About your former flame.”

  “Her?”

  “Her.”

  “Have I ripped anybody’s lungs out lately?”

  “Who didn’t need it? No,” Njangu said.

  “Answers your question, doesn’t it?”

  Njangu eyed his friend, decided that was enough answer for him.

  • • •

  It was another week before the alarms went off, first from one of the innermost ice giants, F-Cumbre, then echoed, within the hour, by other automated posts closer to D-Cumbre.

  One ship, medium-sized, inbound.

  More sophisticated if shorter-ranged sensors “saw” four patrol craft accompanying it.

  The bigger ship was identified as an obsolescent Confederation Remora-class destroyer leader, the three patrol ships types unknown.

  Shortly thereafter, coms set on the standard Confederation frequency clicked on:

  “C-Cumbre Control, this is the Corfe, inbound from Larix and Kura, Protector Alena Redruth aboard. Request landing instructions for Confederation Base Camp Mahan.

  “Members of the current Planetary Government are requested to attend Protector Redruth on his arrival.”

  The voice, even filtered through com speakers, wasn’t asking, but demanding.

  • • •

  Fifteen Council members and Caud Rao nervously waited outside the still-sealed airlock of the Corfe. Behind them were thirty volunteers from the Legion, ostensibly an honor guard since Redruth was still a Confederation member, actually as much of a bodyguard for the Council as Rao could devise.

  Each woman or man had, concealed under their dress uniforms, two magazines for their blasters, and small handguns hastily grabbed from Hedley’s “contingency” armory. They were also well trained in unarmed combat and knife fighting.

  Hidden inside a hangar, its doors open a slit, a warrant ready to hit the door-lifter control, were two autocannonarmed Cookes. Garvin commanded one, Njangu the other. Garvin’s pilot was Rao’s driver, Dec Running Bear, his gunner Finf Ho Kang, the former ECM specialist with Ben Dill’s Grierson.

  Yoshitaro had an equally skilled crew of hastily-picked volunteers.

  The autocannons were fully loaded, and the gunners ready.

  Garvin watched the Corfe. Its chaingun turrets were lifted, guns ready, and missile launch tubes unmasked.

  “Stand by,” Garvin said. “Their hatch is coming open.”

  The gangway hissed down, touched the tarmac. Four soldiers in dark green dropped down it, stood at attention, blasters ready.

  A speaker crackled.

  “I’d like to extend an invitation for you men and women of Cumbre’s government to board my flagship, so we may discuss matters of great urgency.”

  Even through electronic filters, the invitation was, again, clearly a command.

  The Council members exchanged looks, then slowly went up the gangway into the ship.

  Waiting inside the lock was Protector Redruth, who still looked more like a stocky, balding low-level bureaucrat than the dictator of two systems.

  “I welcome you,” he said, tone not at all friendly. “We have matters of great import to discuss. If you’ll accompany me to the conference room?”

  A green-uniformed man came out with a detector and swept each of the Councilmembers, in spite of protests. Caud Rao made none. Nothing he had hidden on him would respond to any detector he was aware of.

  “None of them are armed, Protector.”

  “Good. This way, then?”

  The men and women followed Redruth. Rao tried to take in everything, trying to reach an estimate of Redruth’s military. The Corfe was spotlessly kept, even if it was obsolescent, and the two weapons stations he peered into were manned by alert-looking soldiers, clean-cut and sharply dressed.

  The conference room was paneled with false wood, old prints on the walls. It could have served any Rentier corporation well.

  “If you’ll be seated,” Redruth said.

  A door slid open, and a man Rao recognized as Celidon, Redruth’s military leader, came in. He wore dark green, as his soldiery, glittering with decorations, and a Sam Browne belt with pistol holstered on one side, dagger on the other. He was tall, muscled, with a scar along his forehead. He gave Rao a slight nod, looked at the Council members with chill amusement, but said nothing.

  “I know all of you are busy with your normal duties,” Redruth said. “So I’ll keep this very brief.

  “I’m sure you know that some time ago, I offered to place the Cumbre system under my protection. The offer was refused by your Planetary Government.

  “That was then, and we’d just lost contact with the Confederation. I was most concerned about inroads the Musth would most likely make on Cumbre, up to and including trying to seize the system for their own.

  “My offer was foolishly rejected.

  “Nothing has changed to improve your situation, and it’s inconceivable that I would allow my own people to be endangered if the Musth carry out the plans I consider inevitable.

  “Therefore, although I would always rather rule by consent rather than fiat, I have decid
ed Cumbre is to be placed under my protection immediately.”

  There were gasps, protests. Redruth waited, his expression calm, as if nothing was being said.

  “This is not a debatable matter,” he said. “Of course, I want our liaison to be as painless as possible. I see no reason why this Council cannot continue to handle matters as before, although, of course, I’ll appoint a regent to moderate the Council, report to me, and present my views on pertinent matters so you may help me implement them.”

  Now there was a yammer — “can’t do this,” “sovereign state,” “violation of Confederation laws,” “goddamned pirate,” and so forth. One woman stayed silent, Rao noticed, Jo Poynton, who had a smile of tight amusement on her face.

  Redruth waited for a moment, then rapped sharply with his knuckles on the table.

  “As I said,” and now his voice was steely, “this is not a matter for debate, but for you to implement as rapidly as possible, or face severe consequences.

  “My plans are — ”

  “Excuse me,” Caud Rao said. “As you know, my Strike Force is part of the Confederation military, and is sworn to defend Cumbre’s present government. Are you declaring war against the Confederation?”

  Celidon smiled thinly. “I hardly think the matter is important enough to be called war.”

  “What Celidon means,” Redruth said, “is we have no intention of interfering with your Force. However, since you lack a naval element, we shall be providing that. I see no reason that my security forces and yours cannot coexist comfortably in keeping order.”

  “Unfortunately, I do,” Rao said. “You’ve announced plans to usurp authority. We must stand against it.”

  “I don’t think things will come to a confrontation,” Redruth said. “Particularly if the Council welcomes my presence, realizing the choice is very simple: either my protectorate or conquest by the Musth. That would make the slight change I propose within legal boundaries, and therefore not the concern of you or your Strike Force.

  “Don’t lose your temper, Caud Rao. Consider this. The Cumbre system is on the edge of nowhere, barely self-sustaining. Allied with Larix and Kura, there’ll be not only safety, but increased trade, increased wealth flowing into this system.”

  “And what will be flowing out?” Poynton asked.

  “Certain exports,” Redruth said. “But we’ll hardly be appropriating them. We’ll pay an honest price.”

  “Starting with the mines,” a Councilman said cynically.

  “That is one of the most important areas of concern,” Redruth said. “Is there a representative of Mellusin Mining present?”

  “Jasith Mellusin,” a man said, “has recently married. She and her husband are honeymooning. A message was sent to their island as soon as you summoned us for this meeting. I don’t know if it was received, but I’d assume it was, and she is on the way now.”

  “Good,” Redruth said. “We can begin with the ores on C-Cumbre, then discuss other matters, such as the minor increase in your present taxes necessary to support my garrison here.”

  “Which will be of what size?” Rao asked.

  “That’s still undecided,” Celidon said. “It’ll depend on how easily these meetings go, won’t it?”

  “I see,” Rao said, hand unobtrusively pressing a transmitter taped to his side under his tunic. The transmitter sent a one-second beep.

  “How much,” a Councilwoman asked, “will you be increasing our taxes?”

  “Initially, no more than one percent on all products, although you might choose to increase the present income tax instead. I have no interest, by the way, in what method of taxation you choose, or the percentage called for from any particular income group.”

  “In other words,” Poynton said, “if we decide to soak the poor, you could give a damn.”

  A man turned and scowled at her.

  “Dammit, this is hard enough, without your ‘Raum bullshit!”

  “Excuse me,” Redruth said. “I understand your recent problems, but I see no reason to bring them into this matter. Now, let’s consider just what of Cumbre’s products are most important to the continued security and welfare of our mutual systems …”

  • • •

  All commanders in the Legion, and all combat aerial and ground vehicles had secondary receivers tuned to Rao’s transmitter.

  “That’s it,” Garvin said. “Crank ‘em up, and get ready to move.”

  The drives on the two Cookes whined to life.

  • • •

  The speedster drove hard past Lanbay Island, into Dharma Bay. Loy Kouro was at the controls, Jasith Mellusin beside him. They were barely fifty meters above the water, at full speed.

  Kouro was furious. “The biggest damned thing since the war, and I’m off playing with you!”

  “Loy,” Jasith pointed out, “taking an extra two weeks for our honeymoon was your idea.”

  “Whatever,” Kouro said. “What the hell do you think these people want, anyway?”

  “I’m pretty sure it won’t be good,” Jasith said.

  “In ten minutes,” Kouro said. “We should be able to see Chance Island.”

  • • •

  “This is Scimitar Alpha,” Ben Dill said. “Inbound from Balar. ETA Mahan three zero. Scimitars Beta and Gamma monitoring transmission. Over.”

  The three aksai, at three-quarters drive, saw D-Cumbre growing large ahead.

  “This is Control,” Mil Angara said into a mike, and the scrambled signal spat from a bunker below Camp Mahan into space. “No change to orders. You’re cleared to respond to any hostile action. If none is made, remain out-atmosphere for further instructions.”

  “Clear.” Dill switched frequencies. “You heard the man. Let’s go kill some Larries or Kurans or whatever they’re calling themselves these days. Out.”

  He touched sensors, and missiles armed themselves.

  • • •

  Across D-Cumbre, the scattered soldiers of the Force went to full combat readiness.

  • • •

  In the chatter, no one noted a remote sensor, off the small planetoid of L-Cumbre, as it began reporting:

  SIX OBJECTS ENTERING SYSTEM … ANALYSIS SUGGESTS NOT NATURAL … NONE CONFORM TO KNOWN STARSHIP CONFIGURATION … ORBIT PROJECTED TO INTERSECT D-CUMBRE WITHIN THREE HOURS … SIX OBJECTS ENTERING SYSTEM … ANALYSIS SUGGESTS …

  • • •

  Redruth had opened a folder, was going through exactly what tribute Cumbre would be expected to pay when a man in green entered, went to Celidon.

  He whispered hastily. Celidon’s cool gaze flashed into an angry frown.

  “Excuse me, Protector,” he said. “But the bridge reports increased signals around the planet, and unknown signals from the moon.”

  “What is it? Caud Rao, what’s going on?” Redruth demanded.

  Rao shook his head.

  “I don’t know,” he lied. “I’ve been in this room for two hours now. Possibly my executive officer has decided to increase the ready status of my Force.”

  “Celidon!” Redruth snapped.

  “No problem,” the big man said. “If they’re getting cute, we can do the same.”

  He went out the door, toward the bridge.

  Redruth got to his feet, backed toward the door.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “But if any of you have any ideas — ”

  Caud Rao had a small ceramic tube, the weapon no metal detector could pick up, leveled.

  “You can stand quite still,” he said calmly. “This has only one round, an old-fashioned pottery ball that’ll shatter quite messily when it hits something, so perhaps you don’t want to breathe heavily.”

  Redruth’s face reddened, but he froze.

  “Now, we’re going back out the corridor to the airlock,” Rao said. “You Council people, move first, and quick. We’re leaving the ship.”

  He palmed the door open, motioned the stunned Council out.

  A crewman came t
oward them, saw the tiny weapon, and grabbed for his sidearm. Jo Poynton was on him, a palm striking hard into his face, an elbow smashing his throat, and she had his pistol out of its holster before he fell, gurgling, twisting in pain.

  She hefted it, grinned. “Just like the old days. I’ll meet you at the airlock,” and she trotted away.

  “Now you,” Rao said, motioning Redruth out of the conference room. “Think of me as protecting the Protector.”

  “My men’ll never allow this!”

  “Possibly,” Rao said cheerfully. “But you’ll reap extremely negative benefits from their faithfulness.”

  Rao looked at the gun, grimaced, and went down the corridor.

  • • •

  “All right,” Celidon said as he came on the bridge of the Corfe. “I have the deck, Mister. What’s going on?”

  “Sir,” the ship’s captain reported, “we have at least fifty, maybe more, ships in the air. Everything from yachts to aerial combat vehicles.”

  “What the hell set them off?”

  The officer shook his head.

  “Well, find out, Mister! We can’t take action until we know what’s going on for certain!”

  The captain, remembering he’d been promoted per Celidon’s anger at his vacillating predecessor and a firing squad, shouted for silence, then told all stations to report.

  Celidon waited, listening, not realizing one hand kept touching the haft of his dagger, then moving away.

  • • •

  “This is Corfe-Two,” one of the Nirvana-class patrol boats reported. “Three ships inbound from Balar …” the toneless voice changed, “… Jane’s IDs them as Musth fighting ships!”

  Almost simultaneously:

  “This is Corfe-Four,” another patrol boat called. “Six large ships on course toward D-Cumbre, unknown origin, no Jane’s ID! Request instructions.”

  • • •

  The bridge of the Corfe buzzed in confusion, and Celidon shouted silence.

  A speaker turned, reported as ordered:

  “Sir, Eleven Weapons Bay reports hearing a shot within the ship!”

  “What?”

  The speaker repeated the message.

  “Get the landing squad out,” Celidon snapped. “Find out what the hell that was! Get a security element to the conference compartment, make sure the Protector’s all right!”