The Last Legion

by Chris Bunch

  But there was nothing waiting except bodies.

  Bodies and the Musth. There were thirty-three of the aliens, a platoon, wearing the combat harness that identified them as soldiers, and they moved in pairs, from human corpse to corpse, methodically making sure each was adequately dead.

  Njangu and the rest of Gamma Team ran around the Musth headquarters, and set up a hasty perimeter. Not two meters from Yoshitaro was a very dead man, who wore the simple coveralls of a farmer, but wore a Confederation battle vest and carried an issue blaster. There was a fist-sized hole in his chest. Njangu glanced at the body, away, then quickly back, for something in the hole had moved. White-gray worms wriggled, then returned to their burrowing. Njangu swallowed hard.

  "That's one of their weapons," Kipchak said calmly. He was crouched, blaster ready, to the team's rear. "It's a projectile weapon that blows a frigging great hole in you with a capsule, the capsule breaks, and those worms eat you to death before you've got time to scream more than once or twice. Supposedly the worms then die."

  "Not that it'd matter by then," Penwyth said.

  "Silence over there," Gonzales snapped.

  "Your men need not mire themssselves," a Musth told Alt Hedley. "Thessse creaturesss have gone beyond, and will not be troublesssome, and there are no more of them, or we would have found them on our detectorsss."

  "So it appears," Hedley said. He glanced back at Caud Williams and his staff, coming out of a C&C Grierson. "But I have my orders."

  "Then continue wasssting your time," the Musth said. "It isss no concern of mine."

  Hedley nodded, made the rounds of the I&R company. The 'Raum must've come out of that ravine, he guessed, seeing the sprawl of bodies from there almost to the main buildings. The first to die had been hit with conventional blasters, and left not completely unpleasant remains. But the closer the raiders got to the Musth, the more nastily they'd died.

  Here was a clot of bodies shredded by something, there was—

  "You are interesssted in what happened?" It was the Musth.

  "I am."

  "I have the name of Wiencing," the Musth said. "I have the lead of the sssoldiers who dessstroyed thessse bunglersss, I believe the word is."

  "Why bunglers?" Hedley asked. "Jon Hedley is my name, by the way."

  "To make an attack, and be utterly wiped out without causssing any casssualties in return doesss not sssuggessst the most ssskilled of warriorsss to me. Or am I making a misssevaluation?"

  "No," Hedley said. "Not considering the results, you're not."

  "Are thessse the same sssort I have ssseen on your holosss? Banditsss, I think you term them?"

  "Yes. Renegades from the 'Raum."

  "I know the 'Raum," Wiencing said. "Wormsss who burrow at the ordersss of your authority-onesss. From thisss, I would think they ssshould know their ssstation, and not presssume to be fighters."

  "They didn't do very well," Hedley agreed.

  "That makesss me wonder about certain . . . thingsss," Wiencing said. "About how good your warriorsss really are."

  "I am not familiar with your weapons," Hedley said. "Blasters killed those men and women over there. But what about this group?"

  "A very sssecret weapon," Wiencing said. He opened a pouch, took out a box with rounded corners. "I touch thisss stud, then throw the deviccce. When it ssstrikes, sssmall creaturesss explode out, sssmall creaturesss with . . . bitesss? Isss that the word?"

  "Stings?"

  "Yesss. Ssstingsss. Quick, but not pleasssant."

  "You said it was secret," Hedley said. "Why are you telling me?"

  "Why not? I do not think there isss anything that ssspecial about the deviccce. Ssstarshipsss' performance, ssstrategies, misssiles, yesss, sssecret. But a sssimple killing tool? That isss ridiculousss. Besssides, sssince I command our warriorsss, no one will contessst what I decccide to do. Or not to do."

  "I see," Hedley said.

  "Are you not plagued by thossse-far-from-the-fight, who think it their right to make rulesss for all?"

  "Lord knows we are that," Hedley said. He looked at another body. "How did she die?"

  "By a hand weapon like this," Wiencing said, taking something from a pouch. It had a short, stubby barrel, and the "grip" was a double strap.

  Wiencing touched it to his upper paw, and the grip curled around it, as his double thumbs clasped it. "A very, very fassst acccid, sssprayed by ultrahigh-presssure air. As fassst asss one of your blasssters, if ssshorter-ranged." He put the weapon away, looked back at the command group. A Musth had joined Caud Williams. "That isss Aesc," he said. "Our sssystem-leader. He isss telling your leader what happened, and warning him."

  "Warning him?" Hedley said.

  "No Musth died here today at the handsss of these sssavages," Wiencing said. "That isss good. That isss the way it mussst continue. If one Musth . . . jussst one . . . isss killed by these rebelsss, thessse banditsss, all humansss, innoccent, guilty, everyone in the Cumbre sssystem will either die or become our digging worms, and these worldsss will become part of the Musth Empire."

  Chapter 26

  Word of the Highland Massacre swept through the 'Raum mining colonies on C-Cumbre, the 'Raum settlements across D-Cumbre, and especially in the Eckmuhl, the 'Raum ghetto in Leggett. The 'Raum exploded in blind rage and hatred. There were no Musth in Leggett, but there were the hated police and the Rentiers who exploited the sect. Police lifters were overturned and burnt, and the officers in them beaten or worse. Riot squads were driven back, and police stations became fortresses under siege. Stores were looted, including two of Angie Rada's family's Markets. Gangs of 'Raum ravaged the streets, and anyone not armed and traveling in company was in danger.

  The Force was brought down from the hills to bring order. The soldiers swept the streets, set up roadblocks. Unfamiliar with civil disorder, the soldiers behaved as if the 'Raum, all 'Raum, were their enemies, sweeping the rioters back into Eckmuhl, arresting any 'Raum who couldn't give an instant explanation for who he—or she—was, and what he—or she—was doing, or even for just having a 'Raum-sounding name. Sometimes the 'Raum fought back, and sometimes they ended up in hospital. Others, not so "lucky," ended in the morgue.

  The streets were quiet again. The holos, especially Matin, cheered the Force as saviors of Cumbre. The soldiers gloried in the praise they received so seldom, or at least some did, Alt Hedley, Finf Kipchak, Finf Jaansma, Striker Yoshitaro, Cent Angara and others kept their own counsel.

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  "Now," Jord'n Brooks told Jo Poynton quietly, as the Group assembled for another meeting, this time in a burnt-out village, "you see my idea of moving against the oppressors in the city might have merit."

  "Our people were defeated," she said.

  Brooks shrugged. "They were rioting, not fighting a war. And they weren't beaten in their souls, their hearts, their minds. Can there be any of our people who don't realize their enemy, and that only one can survive?"

  "I can't argue that," Poynton said carefully. "But Brien's view of the Task has been more successful than yours, at least as far as external results, and success will rule this Group's thinking."

  "True," Brooks grudged. "But how long will his success continue? The Force is still fighting us with only one hand, and that one bare. Sooner or later, unless they are total fools, they will learn to fight our way. And then what?"

  Jo Poynton nodded once, turned away from Brooks as Comstock Brien began speaking.

  Chapter 27

  "You're free," Jasith squealed.

  "Or anyway reasonable," Garvin said. "Since we're such hee-roes, I wangled a pass." Jasith didn't notice the sarcasm. "Any possibilities of getting together?"

  Jasith's voice went husky. "You tell me where." Garvin thought of the Shelburne's bar, remembered Marya, discarded the notion. "I'm from out of town, remember?" he said. "You pick the spot."

  "Are you still at the base?"

  "Yeh. Next shuttle to Leggett's i
n . . . ten minutes."

  "You just wait there," Jasith ordered. "Concentrate on looking cute. I'll get you."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  Garvin peered through the gaggle of shuttles, cabs, and private lifters, spotted a familiar, long black lim nosing toward him. "Aw shit," he moaned. "Now I'm gonna have to listen to more bat shit about how the frigging Force is saving frigging civilization. God damn it, Jasith! Are we failing to communicate?"

  The lifter grounded, and the pilot's door lifted and Jasith stuck her head out. "Surprised?"

  "Oh Lordy lord, am I ever," Garvin said fervently. "Then get in," she ordered. "Up front, with me." Garvin checked the backseat. No father.

  Jasith had her hair tied back and wore a red halter top and baggy black crepe pants. She was barefoot. Wordlessly, the two leaned together, and kissed. After some time, a horn blasted, and they broke away. "Take me," Garvin said. "I'm yours."

  Jasith touched controls, and the lim took off and floated along the ramp toward the ocean. "Daddy's got two bodyguards keeping me safe," she said.

  "Where'd you hide them? In the baggage compartment?"

  "I managed to convince him that I was perfectly safe, if I came out here to see you. He said we couldn't get in any trouble with soldiers all around us."

  "There aren't any soldiers all around us," Garvin said.

  "You noticed."

  "So where are we going?"

  "Nowhere." Jasith touched sensors, and the lim turned until its nose was pointing toward blackness. "On this heading," she said, "we'll reach"—she hit another sensor and the SatPos screen lit—"Lanbay Island. About dawn, at this speed."

  "What's there?"

  "Nothing. Rocks. Trees. Waves. But I wasn't thinking about going there."

  "What were you thinking?"

  "First, about putting this lifter on auto . . . like this," Jasith said.

  "Then about putting an anti-collision alarm on. Then about toggling this sensor here"—the dark canopy of the lim cleared, and they were looking up at storm clouds racing overhead—"and getting in the back, like this." The seat swiveled, and Jasith moved past Garvin. "Join me?"

  Garvin found seat controls to the side, pressed one. The seat back collapsed.

  "Not that button, silly," Jasith said. "The one in front of it. But put the seat back up first."

  Garvin obeyed. "Now what?"

  "I had the head cook flash-defrost one of our picnic baskets," she said. "I put it in the storage compartment in the back of this seat. It's got all kinds of good things in it—roe, pâté, chilled filet of beef with sour cream dressing, endive salad, and a fruit ice, plus a couple of bottles of that Earth Taittinger champagne you sucked up so fast when Daddy and I took you to dinner. So we could eat. Or . . ."

  "Or what?"

  "Or you could always press that button over there, under the window."

  Garvin obeyed, and the lim's rear seat gently collapsed, and pillows inflated on either side. Jasith swung her legs up, until she was lying on the seat.

  "I wondered why Daddy ordered this feature on the lim, which came all the way from Centrum," she said. "He said there'd been a mistake. I don't believe him. Do you think he might be unfaithful to my stepmother every now and again?"

  Garvin didn't answer. He was staring, hypnotized, at Jasith. She sat up, unfastened her hair, let it fall free, then her fingers touched the button of the halter top between her breasts.

  "Let me do that," Garvin said.

  "All right." Jasith lay back. Garvin's fingers were suddenly thumbs, but the top came away. He bent his head, nibbled at her nipples. She sighed, stroked his close-cropped hair. He put both hands in the waistband of her pants, slid them off. She wore nothing under them.

  "Undress for me," she whispered.

  He obeyed, Jasith's eyes on him. "You're very pretty," she murmured.

  "So are you."

  "Now," she said, lifting one leg and resting it on the doorsill, and putting her hands together, over her head, "come here. Hold my wrists to keep me from moving. Now, my Garvin. Oh, please, now!"

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  Half an eternity later, the lim bumped softly against something. Jasith murmured, sat up, peered out. "Oh dear," she said.

  "What's the matter?" Garvin said.

  "We appear to be lost. Oceans don't have shacks."

  The lim had gently bumped into a low shed, turned, and was drifting away from it. Garvin saw a sign: FIRING RANGE SEVEN.

  TARGET STORAGE SHED.

  "We sure as hell are lost," he said. "Lost and in trouble. We're back on Chance Island, out on one of the target ranges, on the east end. We will get our heinies slapped if they catch us."

  "How'd we get here?" Jasith wondered.

  Garvin looked over the now-lowered front seat, noted flashing lights on the control panel. "I think we must've kicked something," he said. "Or everything, starting with the collision sensor. And I think we better rectify the matter. I see headlights coming toward us."

  Jasith slid past him, into the driver's seat, and her fingers rippled over sensors. The lim lifted to two meters, accelerated, and sped over the range, then down a rocky beach and back out to sea.

  "Do you think they'll shoot at us?"

  "I don't know," Garvin said. "Whyn't you drop it down some, and I'll say a prayer."

  She obeyed, and small waves crested barely a meter below the lim's bottom. "Now what?"

  "Now we wait until we make sure we're out of range and beyond challenge," Garvin said. "Are we going back toward Lanbay Island?"

  "More or less," Jasith said.

  "I don't see any missile flashes," Garvin reported, looking back. "So I guess we showed 'em clean skirts . . . well, not that. Bottoms, maybe. Whyn't you drop the speed down?"

  "And then?"

  "And then come back here where you belong."

  "All right," Jasith said. "And then?"

  "Is there some way to open this roof?"

  "Surely." The canopy opened, and a light, warm, tropical rain misted down.

  "Now what?" Jasith said.

  "You just stay on your knees like that," Garvin said, getting carefully to his feet, "and let me surprise you."

  A moment later Jasith squealed. "Oh God, God, God," she moaned. "Oh yes. All the way in me now. Oh, Garvin, Garvin . . ."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  At dawn, the men and women of the Force were stumbling out of their barracks for reveille as a black luxury lifter floated down the enormous parade field. It grounded, a door lifted, and a disheveled Garvin Jaansma got out, went to the driver's side.

  "Wasn't Daddy right?" Jasith said softly. "Wasn't I perfectly safe?"

  He kissed her.

  "Give me a call, soldier, when you're of a mind to." The lim window slid closed, and the craft lifted, spun on its own length and accelerated away, toward Leggett across the bay.

  Garvin Jaansma took a deep breath, started across the parade ground as the whistles and catcalls built from the Force.

  Chapter 28

  "Again . . . you know nothing about the murder of Mister Scryfa and his family?" the interrogator asked, slipping, letting a bit of incredulity into her voice.

  "Nothing," the 'Raum said calmly.

  "But you were their housemaster," Technician Warbeck insisted.

  "I was."

  "You were in the house when the murderers came in."

  "Evidently I was."

  "But you heard nothing? Nothing woke you?"

  "I am a very sound sleeper," the man insisted.

  "Warder!"

  The door opened, and the guard entered.

  "He's cleared for release," Warbeck said. "But you're to stay in close touch with us, in case we need to question you again."

  The man stood, a trace of a smile on his lips, and walked out. The warder lingered. "Why didn't you nail him? The bastard was there . . . we know that . . . we even found a b
lood trail from the Scryfas' bedroom to his quarters."

  "Look at this trace." the woman said, and lifted the hood away from the machine she sat behind. "Zero flickers on the readouts, zero wiggles, zero anything, which means the frigging scan insists he's innocent, innocent, innocent, and that's all a judge will listen to."

  "That's not possible," the guard said.

  "Sure it is," Warbeck said tiredly. "If somebody doesn't believe lying to us is really lying . . . they'll fly every time."

  "That's what it's come down to?" the warder asked. "Somebody can slaughter a Rentier . . . and his whole family . . . and hike?"

  "That's what it's come down to."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  A Cooke hovered up the jungle trail, hovering at intervals, and a small white spike spat into the ground from a cylinder bolted to its hill.

  Within an hour, three women and two men went the length of the trail.

  The leader carried a small homemade case. Every now and again, the case buzzed, and the five looked carefully through the undergrowth, dug in the ground until they found one of the spikes. Every time they did, a woman covered it with a dark metallic cone. They did this to all of the people-sniffers except one. That one they put a very filthy pair of pants next to, and one man urinated in a circle around it. Then they ran, back toward their camp.

  Three hours after that, three Zhukovs dived toward the spike. Three salvos of the semi-guided Fury rockets shot toward the ground, and the jungle rocked under explosions. A single Grierson sailed through the whirling smoke, and an I&R team dropped off its ramp. "Kursk Leader, this is Sibyl Beta," the team reported. "Negative contact."

  The alt commanding the Zhukov flight forgot his communications discipline. "Whaat? We had positive indicators!"

  "This is Sibyl Beta," the com told him. "I say again . . . negative contact. No casualties found, no traces found. Your trickshit machinery's wonky. Out."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  Two Cookes swirled about the village. "No sign of life," one reported.