The Last Legion

by Chris Bunch

  There was a light knock . . . no more than fingernails . . . at the door.

  Njangu opened it. Angie was there, holding her small ditty bag.

  "You ready to go downstairs?" she asked.

  "Mmmh," Njangu said neutrally.

  "I told Garvin we might be a little late."

  "Mmmmh?"

  "I don't know about you," she said, "but I'm a lot hornier than I am thirsty."

  "Mmmmh."

  "Would you be interested in doing something about that?"

  She stood next to the bed, hipshot, and slowly ran a thumb down her tunic seal, let it drop. She wore a black, lacy brassiere, not issue khaki. Her nipples were hard, erect.

  Njangu undressed, watching her take off her shoes, socks, and pants. She lay back across the bed, lifted one heel up, let her leg fall to the side.

  "Well?" she murmured.

  Njangu walked across the room, bent over her.

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  "That was quick," she said, a few minutes later.

  "Sorry," Yoshitaro apologized. "It's been a while."

  "Don't apologize," she whispered. "You're still ready."

  "Trying to be," Njangu said. "So whyn't you put your legs around my back and we'll see what happens?"

  Angie obeyed, and her wet mouth opened, moved for his.

  They never did make it to the bar that night.

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  "You appear a bit disheveled," Erik said cheerily as he poured caff the next morning. Njangu yawned, made a rude gesture, and Angie curled a lip.

  "He," Penwyth went on, indicating Garvin, "looks like rat-shit on rye."

  "If you think I look bad from there, you oughta see things from the inside," Garvin moaned.

  Ton Milot chortled.

  "We sat at the bar waiting—"

  "—and drinking," Erik said.

  "—and drinking," Ton continued, "and all of a sudden it got drunk out."

  "I was staying pretty clean-cut," Garvin objected. "For a while."

  "Actually, he was," Erik agreed.

  Njangu evaluated Jaansma. "Then what happened? You step on a rhinoceros or something?"

  "There was a band," Garvin offered weakly. "And they had a singer."

  "Who's partial to blonds," Erik said. "Marya's got a savage reputation for what she does to men. The rest of us lesser mortals had to make do with availables in the audience. Thank Heaven."

  "My available wasn't all that fine," Milot complained.

  Garvin moaned.

  "Poor baby," Angie offered, patting his hand.

  "My peck . . . my something feels like it went through one of those old-timey clothes wringers," Garvin said. "That woman has more strange ideas of what's a good time . . . guys, we can't be drinking in that bar anymore. She said something about getting together again. One more night like that, and I'm undone."

  "Tsk," Penwyth said. "Don't forget the party tonight. Bound to be clusters and globules of beautiful young debutantes, just itchin' to make the acquaintance of a long-dicked stranger with money."

  "What party?" Garvin demanded.

  "That's right, we forgot to tell the lad," Erik said. "A terribly big thing. At Bampur's—he's a bit richer'n the Creator—estate. It'll be interestin', because either the family's around, in which case it'll be old farts tryin' to get naked with young talent, or else the Bampurs're off on their island, which means it's the daughter's shinny, and everybody'll be tryin' to get naked with everybody else." He slapped Garvin on the shoulder. "So buckle up, old boy. The best is yet to come."

  "What am I gonna do?" Garvin moaned again.

  "You need some nice water sports," Njangu offered.

  "That was what Marya said last night," Jaansma said. "And I didn't. Lord, Lord, how I didn't."

  "Off your dead ass and on your dying feet, troop," Njangu said. "A little clean-cut exercise is all you need."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  Garvin reluctantly admitted he might live after an hour being smashed by the long, rolling swells that swept onto the manicured sands of the hotel's beach.

  He came out of the surf to where the others lay on the sand.

  "Enough," he announced. "It's time for a beer . . . then shopping."

  "Who put you in charge of this glee club, anyway?" Angie demanded.

  "I'm buyin'," he announced. "So we're all flyin'."

  "For what?" Milot asked.

  "For clothes what don't look like uniforms," Garvin said.

  "What's the matter with uniforms?" Milot asked.

  "They make you look like a soldier," Jaansma explained.

  "And what's the matter with that?"

  "Lordy, Lordy, Lordy," Njangu said. "I can see why he likes fishing. It's an intellectual match between him and ol' Scaley. Hipe!"

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  Ton Milot drank beer and eyed Njangu and Garvin.

  "Got a question for you two."

  "Anything," Garvin said.

  "Yeh. We lie cheaper'n anybody," Njangu said.

  "Since you're offworlders, and it appears nobody's gonna get back to the Confederation for a while, are you gonna go career and stay in the service?"

  "Screw you."

  "I'm not being cute," Milot persisted. "It's pretty easy to guess what's gonna happen to the rest of us. Erik'll go back to being rich and working a couple hours a week at his da's trading company. Angie . . . well, up 'til she ripped my face off yesterday, I would've guessed she would've done her hitch, got out, and maybe taken over one of her family's stores."

  "Hey, Ton," Angie said. "I'm sorry. I didn't have any right—"

  "Forget it," Milot said. "I never was good at subtle, anyway. Me, I get out, wonder why the hell I went in in the first place, get on a boat, and hopefully do good enough to get one of my own."

  "But you two? What you just said, Njangu, makes me think you would've just done your time, and gone back to wherever you came from—"

  "Wrong on that one," Yoshitaro said. "I go back, there'll be a judge wanting to talk to me. Exile's permanent where I came from."

  "'Kay, then," Milot persisted, "what will you do?"

  "Dunno," Njangu said, staring into his beer. "Get out, for sure. Whatever's cut us off from the Confederation can't last forever. Get my ass back to something resembling civilization, I guess. Maybe figure out some kind of hustle for Centrum."

  "Which brings up my question," Penwyth said. "Yesterday, when we got into it with those Neanderthals over the 'Raum offspring, I noted you behaved in quite an experienced manner."

  "I paid attention in hand-to-hand fumbling," Njangu said.

  "I name that pure bullshit," Erik said. "They never taught me to kick head-high once, let alone twice without recovering. It would appear to me you've been some sort of professional at this bodily damage business?"

  "Not me," Njangu said. "A little peaceful lambikins." He ostentatiously changed the subject. "Isn't it interesting that here we are, cut off from Big Momma Empire, and nobody seems to give a shit or go jumping around in a blind panic? That ain't the way it'd be played in the holos, everybody'd be running around skreekin' and skrawkin', 'Catastrophe, Catastrophe.'"

  "Big things take a long time to trickle down," Garvin said. "Sooner or later, we'll feel it, when we can't get Earth pepper, or granny's little annuity doesn't come in. Thank gods the beer at least's made here on Cumbre." He poured about half his glass down, signaled for more.

  "Come to think about it, what the hell happens if we've got to handle problems offworld? Say about the mines on C-Cumbre, which I understand is part of our terrain. Speaking as a big-time gunner on a Grierson, it'll be a long and crowded goddamned trek with a couple assault teams in the back."

  "The Force has civilian cargo ships already under charter for pappery like that," Erik said. "My father makes just pots of money off the government keepin' a couple on standby."r />
  "'Kay," Garvin persisted. "That's for simple things. But suppose we have to go interstellar? Suppose somebody like Caud Williams or Governor Dickhead T. Haemer decides we should go out and find those 'space pirates' who just happen to hang their helmets on Larix and Kura? Where's the Confederation Navy that's gonna haul our asses over there, beat shit out of whoever the hell's king shit's navy, then give us fire support on a landing?"

  He looked around the table. Only Njangu appeared interested in the topic.

  Angie yawned ostentatiously. "You're raving, Garvin. Drink more beer."

  "Somebody'll no doubt figure out something if that happens," Erik said vaguely. "Besides we're just line slime. We're not s'posed to worry."

  "But . . . aw, screw it," Garvin said, and followed Angie's suggestion.

  "Let's go back to my first question," Ton said. "What about you, Garvin? What happens when they hand you the discharge?"

  "My fate is easily determined," Jaansma said, striking a noble pose. "I shall return to my rightful place as the dauphin of the continent of Prance on Earth, and collect sluts by the score."

  "Yeh, Dauphin," Milot said. "I was being serious."

  "So was I," Garvin said, "but you won't believe me. So how about this: I'm gonna find me a circus on hard times, buy it and make the damned thing go, and show the folks in the outback the biggest hooraw you've ever seen."

  Njangu was about to laugh, then saw Garvin's expression. "Circus?" he said, before anyone else could try a wisecrack. "Sounds like a good way to go crazy."

  "It is," Jaansma said, still serious.

  "Enough of this nonsense," Njangu said, standing and fishing in his pocket for money. "Let's go make ourselves look pretty."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  Laughing, joking, none of the five noticed the unobtrusive man follow them down the beachfront walk.

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  "Well?" Angie said.

  "Well," Ton Milot said skeptically, "I don't look like a fisherman . . . and I sure don't look like a soldier."

  "Exactly what we wanted," Garvin said. "You're supposed to be one of the idle rich, assuming Erik gave us good advice on what's fashionable here in the capital."

  All of them wore civilian sandals. Angie wore a multicolored short dress of a silky material that iridesced light reds, oranges, pinks. The men wore loose-fitting drab-colored pants, and brightly colored shirts in various styles. Garvin had chanced a floppy-brimmed hat.

  "So what now?"

  Njangu checked a watch finger. "Going on three . . . maybe back to the beach, then something to eat, then nap 'til this party, which we were told not to show up for until midnight."

  "I've been thinking about tonight," Milot said. "No offense, Erik, but I don't want to go there and step on my dick."

  "You won't, my man," Penwyth said. "It's just going to be a bunch of people relaxin', not some horrid sort of formal banquet."

  "People who're all rich," Milot said.

  "Not all. Some of 'em are just pretty an' available."

  "That's not my kind of thing," Ton said. "If it's okay with you, I'd just as soon slide on out." He looked sheepish. "I kind of want to go see what my family's doing."

  "I'm with you," Angie said. "I'd prob'ly do something stupid, some asshole'd say something, and I'd have to do him. You want company?"

  Milot looked surprised, then nodded. "It's just a little village, on the other side of the peninsula."

  "Issus?"

  "Sure," Milot said. "You know it?"

  "When I was a kid," Angie said, sounding wistful, "my ma took me there for . . . I guess it was three days. She and Da were having some kind of trouble. I remember we stayed in this little hut, and ate a lot of fish, and nobody bothered us. I liked it a lot. I thought things were like they must've been in the old days, before . . . well, before things got weird."

  "Hey," Milot said. "Nothing's changed much. Come on. You'd be welcome."

  Angie looked at Njangu. "I'm sorry, babe."

  "What sorry? Sorry you didn't invite me?"

  "I thought—"

  "There you go," Yoshitaro said, "thinking again. You're only a striker, woman, and you're trying to do Mark II thinking with a Mark I brain. I love the tules, and since Milot has the manners of a toad, I'm inviting myself to go fishing, 'kay?"

  Garvin made a face at Penwyth. "How about that shit? Forsook and forlorn by my best comrade."

  "Doesn't bother me in the slightest," Erik said. "No one ought to do what she or he hasn't the inclination."

  Garvin dug into his pocket. "Here's two . . . three hundred each, children. Don't spend it all in one place."

  "Thanks, Father," Njangu said.

  "Don't thank me," Garvin said piously. "It's all to the good . . . having too many people around who know me cramps my style."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  The unobtrusive man followed them back to their hotel, then found an alcove and took out a small com. He keyed numbers. There was a click, and a woman's voice said "Report."

  The man keyed a second set of numbers into the com's built-in scrambler.

  "They now wear civilian garb," he said, and described what the five were wearing. "No attempt made to communicate with anyone. I tried to get close to them in the bar, but all I could hear was they were talking about the Force. I don't know if it's important, but they were talking about military things I don't think an average soldier would know about."

  "Was there any indication on what they hoped to achieve with that carefully planned rescue of that child of ours?" the woman's voice asked.

  "Negative," the man said.

  "Continue surveillance, but take no other action," the listener ordered.

  "Understood."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  Ton Milot had stubbornly insisted on changing back into uniform before they caught the 'rail over the mountains.

  "Twenty percent discount for people in uniform," he said. "Plus my folks'll be pissed if I'm not looking purty."

  "If they expect purty," Angie said, "we better bring along a plastic surgeon," but she and Njangu had done the same.

  "We've got half an hour 'til the pod goes," Milot said. "I called my folks and told them we were incoming."

  "Yeh," Njangu said absently, staring at the glass window of a shop.

  "Entranced by his own reflection," Angie said. "That's okay, 'cause he is pretty." She squeezed his arm.

  "Pass on pretty," Yoshitaro said. "Don't look back, but check our reflection in this next window."

  "Definitely three good-lookin' sorts," Milot said.

  "With a tail," Njangu said. "See that little guy back there . . . no, goddammit, don't look!"

  "Looks like not much of anybody," Milot said.

  "Good beaks don't," Njangu said.

  "You're being paranoid."

  "He was with us the last two turnings," Yoshitaro said. "I'm paranoid."

  "Who cares? We've got nothing to hide," Milot said.

  "I always do," Njangu said.

  "So what do we do? Dry-gulch him?" Angie asked. "If he's copper, we'll get our butts in a tangle."

  "No. We'll turn right here, and go down this block," and the two obeyed him. "Cut in this store, then we'll go back out the other entrance. Come on now! Run!"

  The three darted around a corner. A moment later, the unobtrusive man appeared, looked about, muttered under his breath, went into a doorway, and dialed numbers on his com. When the ringing stopped, he said, "Three-one-one-five."

  "Listening," the woman's voice said.

  "I still don't know what they are," the man reported. "But they lost me, very neatly."

  "They're professional?"

  "Looks like it."

  "Go back to the hotel," the voice ordered. "There's still two of them there. Team with Lompa, and this time stay with them!"

  "There'll be no more surprises," the
man said grimly.

  Chapter 16

  The silver monorails arced across the city, the center of the spider web a hangar-like stone building. The pod for Issus slid out of the station's roof and the track climbed. Njangu saw the broad lawns around PlanGov Headquarters, then the Eckmuhl, the walled 'Raum quarter with its high-rising, shabby apartments leaning together, about to tumble into the narrow, winding streets.

  The rail climbed the bluffs on nickeled pylons, passing close to the wealthy enclave of the Heights. Angie chattered away about the great mansions and the beautiful gardens. Njangu wondered for an instant why, if she were so fascinated by this wealth, she hadn't wanted to go to the party tonight, somewhere down there.

  Then he went back to worrying about that follower. Who? Some friend of the idiots we gave lumps to? Not likely—if they'd been able to find out where Njangu and Company were staying, they might've gotten twenty other yutzes and lurked in an alley. But just trailing us? No. Who else? Coppers? But why? The police could give a shit if a few waterfront goons get their body structure readjusted.

  Military Intelligence? Njangu assumed, without any reason, the Force had spies. But he'd done nothing wrong, at least on this world. What about the others? Ton Milot? Fishing without a license? Angie Rada? For being oversexed? Balls. Which leaves . . . leaves nobody. At least nobody I can think of.

  Njangu let it swirl around his brain once more, then dismissed the matter and looked out and down lush jungles, wondering what was hidden under the canopy, realized he'd no doubt find out shortly, either in the war games or the real patrols I&R ran against the bandits.

  Njangu leaned back, and Angie put her head on his shoulder. That sparked another curiosity. Why hadn't they just stayed in their hotel room if they hadn't wanted to go to Erik's friend's party? Angie certainly was an interesting enough pastime. That had been a third option. Why hadn't she suggested that? Did she think, maybe, Njangu wouldn't have been interested. Why hadn't he come up with the idea? Screwing was better than fishing from any perspective.

  Oh well, he thought. Nobody's dumber than a soldier. Of any sex.

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  "Good gods," Njangu shouted, leaning close to Ton Milot, "did you tell them you'd been made commander of the fleet or something?"

  "We're pretty patriotic," Milot shouted, and the band broke into another ragged but enthusiastic march. A very pretty girl, about two years younger than Milot, with brown wavy hair, clung to the soldier's waist like a limpet. She'd been introduced as Lupul.