by George Olney
Her eyes were misty with unshed tears, but now she thought she could see shadowy figures mixed with the real ones out there on the field. Somehow, she was seeing the Victrix at full strength.
The Legate returned to his position and left the carryall. He spun on his heel to face the troop line and commanded, "PASS in review-w-w-w-w... Ho!"
The music began again as the commands echoed down the line, heavy with a steady drumbeat, and she could swear she heard more repetitions now than the first time she'd heard commands echo down the field. Now it was "COHORT, attention... Ho! Right turn... March!" running in sequence down the line. All the way down the field. All the way down the field. The cohorts began to coil out into a marching formation that turned left in front of the band and left again to march down the line in front of the reviewing stand, one battalion behind another, feet steadily stepping in time to the band's 88 beats per minute.
The music began to swell and dominate her surroundings. She began to feel a part of the music as well as a part of the parade. There was something happening here, she wasn't sure what, but she could feel whatever it was, deep in her mind, deep in her being. She didn't know how, but she felt as though she was becoming part of Something, greater than just one person, greater than her, greater than everyone here, yet part of everyone on the field.
Shana got the feeling she wasn't alone. She didn't turn her head, but it seemed like there was someone standing next to her. A woman, older, shorter, and stockier than she was, in the flowing skirt of a Gladius woman's uniform. The Legion Commander, taking the Review. Corona's wife.
As the Legate marched in front of her, he commanded, "MARK tim-m-m-me... Ho!" His head snapped to face her and she could see the set, sad, grim expression on his bearded face. His ax snapped up from its carry position against his arm to be held rigidly upright in front of his face in salute. Shana knew the salute wasn't for her, but for someone else, someone not here in body. She wasn't supposed to salute, but she did, holding it as other officers marched forward to fill the holes in the staff formation. When it was full, the staff moved on, followed by the Sunburst, then the rest of the units.
As each battalion paused, marking time in front of her, men closed holes in the formation or came up from the destroyed units. She held her salute. By now, she knew why she was here. She represented all of the women that were half of the Victrix, half of the Whole. She was standing formation for their real commander and each woman that had died. The Victrix couldn't have reintegrated before now, because it didn't have a woman in it, but her recruit status meant she was officially a part of the Victrix. Now she was here, a living representative for all these men had lost. She stood straighter and held her aching right arm rigid across her chest in a perfect salute, tears streaming as each battered unit passed at eyes right with its commander rendering an ax salute, its shadowy dead vanishing as a man moved up to fill a hole left by death. Some holes remained unfilled because there weren't enough extras from the destroyed cohorts, but the men closed up to make full lines and the shadows of the dead vanished.
The music soared to a crescendo as the last manned unit passed, but there were still shadowy figures marching in review, the women of the Support Command. And still she held her salute, her head high. Shana felt approval from the misty figure by her side, now flanked by the very real Legate, who was also holding a salute with his ax.
As she, a reporter and a recruit by casual decision, stood there, she knew the Victrix was intact again.
It was because of her.
CHAPTER 4
LEGIO IX VICTRIX
CAULDWELL
Shana tossed and turned through an almost sleepless night in her quarters. There were so many new questions rolling over and over in her mind, questions it seemed nobody wanted to answer. Neither the Legate nor the Sergeant Major had spoken to her after the formation and none of the rest of the legion's men were talkative either. The legionnaire mess hall was normally loud and active whenever she ate there, but the young troopers around her were quiet and thoughtful that night.
Come morning, she resolved to get some answers. Probably the Sergeant Major. The Legate was as human as a moving statue the last she'd seen of him, with an invisible wall between himself and others. It had to be the Sergeant Major.
At the first break in her day's training, Shana walked up to Sergeant Howard. "Drill Sergeant, I need to see the Sergeant Major."
Howard gave her one of those piercing Gladius looks that seemed to totally assess her. "Not surprising. Report to his office now."
Inside the headquarters, Shana marched up to the Sergeant Major's open door and knocked. "Sergeant Major, Recruit Ettranty reports," she announced to the man behind the desk.
He looked up. "Come in, girl, at ease and have a seat. Close the door behind you."
Once seated, Shana studied the Sergeant Major, turning the usual tables. "I need to know this, and you're the only one I can think to ask. Were those figures - the dead members of the Victrix - real?"
Sergeant Major Olmeg looked at her calmly. "As real as you and I. Just away Somewhere Else. The Corps isn't just the people here, Recruit, it's everyone that ever made it up, and we join with Those Now Gone when things warrant. The ceremony brought them back because it was needful."
He settled back in his chair. "There's a lot in our makeup that isn't obvious, girl. Some of that shows up in the general population from time to time. Mutations, I suppose. It's something we look for when we accept a recruit from outside the Corps. Whatever it is, you have it, or you wouldn't have seen Those Now Gone. You wouldn't be here in this office, either."
Shana took a deep breath, mildly surprised at the matter of fact answer, but just as surprised to find she wasn't very surprised. Not even about herself. "That's why you asked me out to the camp?"
The Sergeant Major nodded. "That, plus you're intelligent, resourceful and have initiative. You are also here because you're a woman."
Things started falling into place. "You needed a woman in the Victrix because all of your own women were dead. What am I supposed to be, breeding stock?"
The Sergeant Major glared at her for a moment. "Say that again, girl, and you're out on your ass! People aren't animals! They aren't, or they aren't worth dying for!"
Shana, blood up, bored in. "So why am I here? You needed a woman, didn't you?"
The Sergeant Major looked uncomfortable for a moment. "This isn't my area, but you deserve an answer. You ought to be talking to the Legate."
"I'm asking you!"
The Sergeant Major nodded after a moment's silence. Then he gave her a slight smile. "You get mad and you fight, but you fight intelligently. That's what I like.
"You're right, girl. We deliberately looked for a woman, and you filled our bill. The women of the Corps are essential to what we are. We couldn't have done that integration parade yesterday without a woman member in attendance. You were a recruit, but close enough to Gladius status to stand for every woman that was killed."
He broke off and looked at her shrewdly. "But you figured that out, didn't you?" She looked at him silently, but didn't dispute what he said.
The Sergeant Major nodded again. "Good. You appealed to us because you were a woman and the Victrix isn't complete without its female members. But we also wanted you because of you. Who you are and what you are inside. We were looking for a person, girl. The fact that you're a woman meant we could make a start at becoming whole again, but it's the person, not the plumbing, that matters."
He looked at the wall with a thoughtful expression. "As Sergeant Major, I'm a keeper of the legion's tradition, but it's our women that really do that. They tend the legion as a body, a living, breathing organism. I'm not supposed to do that, but I have to try until the day comes when we can recruit women to take up the job again. Part of why you're here is to record who we are so that we won't be lost. That all those Gladii you saw won't be lost and gone. That's why your tridio crews are welcome."
He turned to her
again and waved his hand outward. "Out there, some of those boys are going to die when the Wareegans come back. Maybe most of them. It happens and it's the Gladius Price. But we were able to at least integrate and bring every man back to belonging in a unit because you were here. You may go back to being a reporter after your training, girl, but you'll be someone that understands us, a part of us will be inside you, and you'll have a record of the Victrix. Our spirits and Those Now Gone will still have an existence.
"That's a soldier's greatest fear, did you know that? To die alone and forgotten, to do your duty but be lost forever. That's why you're here, Recruit Shana Ettranty," he said intensely, using her name for the first time, "to capture the memory. To hold it so no matter what happens we won't be forgotten."
Shana had to swallow a lump. Suddenly, she was responsible for the continuing memory of a legion, this legion. Her legion... and she finally admitted it. The weight of what they wanted felt crushing for a second then she squared her shoulders, taking up the challenge. It was her responsibility as a person, as a Gladius. "The Victrix won't be forgotten, Sergeant Major," she said softly. "No matter what I do, I won't let that happen." He nodded at her, satisfied.
#####
For Shana, time began to flow. Her twice weekly stories led the broadcast ratings, to Adam's frenetic and slightly puzzled glee. She blandly ignored his repeated requests for shots showing her abused or anything involving blood. Instead, lifestyle and action stories brought in the viewers. She also made it a point to never show her own steadily improving physical capabilities.
She had good reason. The political pot was now boiling in Beauregard and she knew the Legate was deep into the mix. How deep, she didn't know, but she was determined to find out. Low profile and keep her eyes open.
Between stories, she concentrated on the ever expanding subjects handed her. The Sergeant Major began teaching her many of the Corps songs, some of them thousands of years old and all part of their heritage. She learned something of the history of the Corps, but it wasn't the usual names and dates. Her training was strictly about tactical lessons that could be learned from various engagements, most nameless, that stretched back over a millennium. The Corps didn't seem to care much about its history as a history, but every trooper seemed to know it very well. She also took hypnotraining on the makeup and capabilities of the Corps, tactics, weapons use, and - her favorite - the tractor presser bracelets that allowed a Gladius to control his or her blades.
The live portion of the bracelet training began, as usual, with Drill Sergeant Howard. "All right, people, see these?" He held up his wrist, pointing to his bracelet. "They control your blades. Look at what happens when you don't have them."
He took several throwing knives from a small stand next to him, then turned and threw the first one at a target a short way down range. It bounced ignominiously. The next one stuck at an angle, then fell to the ground. Only the last stayed buried in the target. "I let up on the force I used so I could get accuracy," he said. "Not too much penetration, huh?"
Then his short sword snapped into in his hand. It flew straight as an arrow down range, burying itself up to the hilt in the target, quivered for an instant, and then flew back to his grasp. "I've got it back to use again, people. I haven't thrown away my weapon. A knife or throwing weapon spins, and hitting your target with the point depends on distance, force, and knowing the spinning radius. Good to know, but we don't need that. Your bracelets control the speed of the flight and keep your weapon pointed straight. When you throw, your weapon doesn't spin. It's deadly all along the flight path, people, and that's handy in a fight. You have a hard time judging ranges in combat, recruits. There's usually too much confusion and most of what you do will be by reaction until you have some experience. Remember that and use your training. We're giving you the reactions and they'll appear when you need them. Now fall out and pick up the bracelets and blades on the stands in front of you. When you throw, DON'T try to bring the blade back unless you want to duck it and look like an ass. You aren't good enough the first time."
The results of their first throws, as could be expected, varied, but Shana's dagger flew a reasonably straight, if somewhat wobbly path and embedded itself in the target, slightly cocked. At Howard's nod, Shana couldn't help feeling pleased. The hypnotraining seemed to have taken well in her case.
BEAUREGARD
The pool party, in Shana's experienced opinion, sucked. It was one of the political things the network did, and Adam had brought her back from the Victrix camp to be a network representative, much against her better judgment. Several higher ranking Progressive Statists and business leaders were going to be there, expecting the usual fawning veneration they got from the Cauldwell media. Ergo, CWNN was going to make sure they were got it. The party at someone's expensive mansion was political stroking, pure and simple, and the most popular news woman currently on the air was ordered by her boss to go stroke, so she went.
Shana was reclining in a lounger near the water, deep in a brown study. Her bathing costume was tiny in the current Cauldwell fashion, but the twenty or so square centimeasures of cloth and string that made it up was far more than some of the women were wearing. She cast a jaundiced eye on several adorned solely in waterproof body paint and sniffed. Show offs.
Her innate honesty compelled her to remember she'd have worn the same paint six or seven weeks ago, and thought nothing of it, or the flirting and sexual innuendoes the paint brought. Remarkable how her outlook was changing, she thought. Becoming more prudish?
Or just seeing some things more clearly, she mused, watching attendees in various stages of undress buzzing around the floating trays of alcohol, canapés and recreational drugs. She and Imin used to do synthetic endorphins at parties like this, she remembered. Seemed like a vapid waste of time now.
"I have to say, Shana, you're looking more toned than I've ever seen you," Imin said as he came up to her. He handed her a drink and sat on the lounger next to hers.
"Been working out." She sipped the drink and regarded Imin steadily over its rim. Just like everything else, she was beginning to see Imin in a new light. Not necessarily a favorable one.
He squirmed slightly under her emotionless look. "Hey, I'm glad you're back in town. Why don't we go over and have a quiet dinner at Barceiv's after this thing is over?"
"I'll think about it, Imin," she said calmly. "We'll see."
Imin flushed and started again. "Look, I - -" He glanced up behind her, picked up his drink and left. That warned Shana that some kind of VIP was coming over. More bother. She stood up and turned to see who she'd been left to face.
The man strolling confidently up to her was tall and wearing a brief pair of swim trunks that showed off his well-shaped body, perfectly biosculpted face, and wavy brown hair streaked with gray. It was Kantanzakis Theodore, one of the Parliament Members and a power on the Appropriations Committee. He was showing signs of enough alcohol and other substances that his natural arrogance was coming to the fore. Theodore was also widely, if quietly, known as a compulsive womanizer, and it looked like Shana was his target of the moment.
"Ah, Sim Ettranty! I thought I'd tell you that I'm one of your biggest fans."
Like hell, you bastard. You're a fan all right. That's why your eyes are roaming all over my body and your tongue is practically hanging out. "Thank you, Member. It's always nice to meet a fan."
"I'd like to introduce you to our little group over by the bar, if you would permit." That was a command, not a request, and Shana felt pushed just about as far as she was going to be pushed. Two months ago, she'd have gone with him and been excited to do it. No longer.
"I think I'll pass on that one, Member," Shana said. "I'd rather stay here and catch some sun."
A brief scowl flitted across Theodore's face. Nobody turned him down. "Perhaps you didn't understand me Shana, if I may call you that. I'd very much like to have you in my group."
You'd like to have me in your bed, asshole, Shana thought
. "I understood you perfectly, Member. I'm simply not up for company at the moment."
The scowl was back, now, in full force. "Listen, you little plebeian. Nobody refuses me..." He reached for her arm to pull her forcefully with him, enraged that one of the masses could actually refuse his order.
Member Theodore's next sensation was of flying through the air and impacting in the pool. Unarmed combat training at work, here.
Shana didn't even bother looking at the gasping, splashing man in the water. She snarled, grabbed her towel and headed to change.
Adam intercepted her on the way out the mansion's front door. "Shana! What in hell do you think you were doing!?"
"Missing," she snarled. "I wanted to put him on the plascrete. It hurts more."
Adam recoiled slightly at Shana's fury, but started up again in a panic. "For Lord Above's sake, Shana, Theodore is a Power! We have to keep him satisfied! So you might have to sleep with him, so what?"
"I'm not a whore!" She shot back.
Adam took a deep breath and told himself to relax and get Shana to do it too. He was close to losing his top reporter, but what Theodore could do scared him. "Okay, so you don't sleep with him. Look, I've already calmed the guy down. No sex, but you have to do something. The Bayview power station is opening next week. That's a big thing in his district and I've told him you'll cover it. Interview him, too."
"WHAT?"
Shana was shocked as well as mad. Covering a routine utility opening wasn't something for a premier reporter. That was beginner stuff and way below her level. Not to mention the interview was a way for Theodore to rub her face in the dirt. "Power station! You're handing me to that piece of shit, Adam! The bastard will revel in grinding me into the dirt on camera."
Adam looked rueful. "Yeah, I know. But just do it. Try to keep in mind it's for the good of the network. And both our jobs. We have to keep the guy happy, at least until we catch him doing something we can use. That won't be hard, and he'll see reason after that. Meanwhile, just do the story, do the interview, and everyone goes away happy, okay?"