Cross of the Legion

by Marshall S. Thomas

  "My my," Psycho said, in evident admiration. "Remind me not to get on this young lady's shit list."

  "Why should she be any different from everybody else, Psycho?" I couldn't resist adding.

  "Well, DD has handed the sample of the fungus to Lab, and they are being very, very careful with it," Dragon said. We had all sat in the vac for quite some time in the Kiss's airlock. DD said the stuff couldn't survive in the vac. He had stored his own sample in a sealed medtube—standard medical procedure for possibly dangerous substances.

  "If they're not careful," Tara added, "everyone on board will die a horrible death."

  "They'll be careful," Snow Leopard said. "The sample is going to Starcom as soon as we can link up with Atom."

  "This is heavenly," Tara said, "just being able to lie here like this, and drink what I want and eat what I want. I love this stuff." She sipped at a frosted glass of fruit blossom, pressing the glass against her cheek from time to time, almost in ecstasy. "It's the simple things in life that become important after you come that close to death."

  Priestess and I were still there, but the others had left. It was getting late.

  "What were you doing on Augusta 6 anyway?" I asked. Tara gave me a dreamy smile.

  "I was redeeming myself."

  "What does that mean? Are you still working for Galactic Information?"

  "I can't tell you what I was doing on Augusta 6, Wester. Suffice it to say that it didn't work out."

  "I should have thought the Information folks would have written you off after the Mound. You're still dealing with them, aren't you? Wasn't the rock pile enough to convince you to stay away from them?"

  "I blame the Legion for nothing, Wester." She looked off into space. "We're all the Legion. The Legion is us. The Legion does what it has to do, and we do what we have to do. If our paths sometimes diverge, nobody's to blame. Where would we be without the Legion? We'd be Systies. We'd be sheep. But I shouldn't have to explain this to you. Now tell me—what are the two of you doing here? The last I heard you were both safe and happy, at last, on Andrion 2."

  I looked at Priestess and she looked at me, silent. "I guess it had something to do with you, Tara," I said. "It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay there. The war was becoming harder and harder to ignore. Then I got a note from Dragon, and he told me you were missing. And…well, you had come after Priestess, and the others, in the Mound. It didn't seem right…to stay home. Even though I didn't think there was a chance in hell that you could be alive."

  She just looked at me, not even blinking. Then she slowly raised one hand, and held it up. I grasped it. It seemed very cold. Priestess added her hand to ours.

  "Thanks, gang," Tara said.

  "It's nothing," I said.

  "Yes, it is. It's a whole hell of a lot. It's your whole life. But I guess I should have expected it. I never thought it would last for you, Wester. Safe and happy—I knew you wouldn't be able to deal with that. You belong out here with the rest of the crazies. You too, Priestess. You've got too much stardust between your teeth. You're not the little domestic housecat you pretend to be. You're just as nuts as your mate."

  "Maybe," Priestess said grimly, "but I'd trade it in a frac for a quiet life."

  "At moments like this, I think the same thing. But the moments don't last. Time rolls on, the stars wheel in the sky, and new worlds come right at you. New worlds—Lord, I'm tired! I believe I'll take a little nap now. Good night, gang."

  "Good night, Tara. Sleep well."

  "Bet your ass!"

  ***

  I ducked as another titanic explosion lit up the dusk over the milbase, sending a glowing orange cloud skyward. The shock wave buffeted my A-suit. I had a terrific view, up on the top floor of the Civic Center. The great picture window had already been blown out and swirling, greasy clouds of black smoke rolled in from the burning milbase, dirtying up the governor's palatial office. I kept scanning, but the DefCorps had pulled out, leaving plenty of bodies behind. Kiss was hard to counter, and she was still going after them. They were going crazy trying to spot her. Meantime Little Miss Miss was finishing off the milport. The DefCorps transmissions were sheer chaos. They had no idea what was happening.

  "You could have avoided a lot of trouble," Dragon told the governor, "if you had handed over the sub when we first asked for him."

  "STRATCOM refused," the governor replied. He was sitting at his desk, a tall powerful Mocain, bald head and no eyebrows, faintly green skin, golden earrings dangling, clad in DefCorps khaki. "We asked, and they refused. They said the Legion had no business interfering in the internal affairs of a System world."

  "Your fleet is space junk, your milbase is burning, and the 12th DefCorps is going to need a lot of replacements for Calgoran 2 when we're through. Maybe even a new governor." Dragon stood by the desk in full armor, his E aimed at the governor. The governor appeared angry, but not afraid. Mocains were tough bastards. We knew we had to be a lot tougher than them to get what we wanted.

  "DefCorps units retreating from last positions. Looks like heavy casualties," Redhawk reported. We could hear tacstars going off, a horrific series of ripping, crackling blasts.

  "Keep after 'em, Redhawk," Psycho urged him.

  "If he doesn't show up soon," Dragon reminded the governor, "we'll destroy the starport and everything in it. STRATCOM won't like that. They may even blame you."

  The governor picked up a handcom and spoke into it in an alien tongue. Then he addressed Dragon, in Inter. "They've located and detained him. They're on the way in an aircar—but they are reluctant to approach this area."

  "Describe the car. We'll let it in."

  "Everything all right up there, Thinker?" Priestess asked me on the net.

  "We're fine, Priestess. You just keep a sharp lookout down there," I replied. Priestess was on ground level, covering the approach to the building. The whole city was frozen in shock, stunned by the ferocity of our unexpected attack. We were only two squads, and we normally didn't do this type of work, but we had been available when the decision had been made that something was to be done. So we were it, and Calgoran 2 was going to remember us, no matter how it ended.

  "You're all insane! It's only a minor criminal! Let the courts handle it! You have no right to interfere!" The speaker was a squat little Orman, hogtied on the dirty carpet, looking around wildly, sweat on his brow.

  "Shut down, Pig," Valkyrie came to life, moving away from her post at the door. "The courts freed him. We've already seen the courts in action!"

  "The police made a procedural error in the arrest!" The Orman's eyes were wild and his face was speckled with little cuts from flying glass. "The law says he goes free! That's the law! We're a society of laws here, Legion!"

  "The sub confessed!" Valkyrie shouted.

  "It doesn't matter!" The Orman snapped, glaring up at her from the carpet. "That doesn't matter! Only the law matters!"

  Valkyrie snarled and went for him, seizing him in her armored hands, yanking him off his feet, striding over to the ledge where the picture window had been, dangling him over the edge.

  "Let me kill him!" she exclaimed.

  "Go ahead," I said. I personally suspected the Ormans were responsible for most of humanity's problems.

  "No," Dragon said. "That's enough, Val. Put him back."

  She hurled him back onto the carpet with a curse. He lay there gasping. Several sharp booms echoed overhead.

  "Two DefCorps fighters are reconning the city," Little Miss Miss's pilot reported. "I'm going after them."

  "Have fun," Redhawk said. "I'll orbit the site."

  "Pads, Valkyrie. How's Hotpants?"

  "She's stable, Val. Don't worry—I'm on it!" Hotpants had been hit during our assault on the Civic Center. Pads, Valkyrie's medic, was watching over her downstairs.

  "If she dies, your Orman lawyer dies also, Greenie!" Valkyrie snarled to the governor.

  "They're here," Priestess reported. "One aircar, approaching very s
lowly down Civic Avenue."

  "All right, watch them but no firing. Psycho, escort them in."

  "Tenners. I'll try to restrain myself."

  "Don't hurt him, Psycho. We've got some special plans for this sub."

  "I'll bet."

  The System had made a bad mistake on Calgoran 2. Two ConFree citizens, sisters, had been visiting friends on the planet. Both were documented as ConFree nationals, which normally ensured the local officials would not harass them. Private travel between the System and ConFree was now possible, but not recommended by ConFree. Nevertheless, if someone wanted to go, they could.

  They should have stayed home. ConFree citizens don't know about crime, and tend not to believe it even when they're warned. The two sisters were drugged, abducted from their hotel cube, and then raped and murdered. All their belongings had shown up on the black market. The bodies were discovered, and revealed they had been tortured as well. Torture was the sport of choice for Calgoran 2's criminal class.

  The murderer, a career criminal, was tracked down, arrested, and confessed. He was promptly set free—because of a legal technicality. It was the usual result under Systie laws. He then started marketing a recording of the week-long rape and torture session of the two sisters, which he had meticulously documented. It was a big seller, and he was kept busy producing extra copies.

  ConFree sent a Ministry of Interstellar Relations team to Calgoran 2, to investigate the crime and demand custody of the killer. They were sent away, with the explanation that the case had already been resolved in court. They brought a copy of the sub's documentary with them when they returned. It certainly sealed his doom. That's when the Legion was called in.

  "One subhuman, as ordered." Psycho said. "It's him. We checked the genetics." The sub was escorted in by two very nervous Systie cops, disarmed, wearing police A-vests and semi comtops. The sub had his wrists manacled together in front. He was tall and lanky, a great head of oily, matted shoulder-length hair, an ugly, scarred and pock-marked face, dark brown skin seemingly covered with a thin layer of slime, a scraggly beard. He looked puzzled and…uneasy.

  Psycho kicked his feet out from under him and the sub fell face first onto the dirty carpet.

  "Thank you, gentlemen," Dragon said to the policemen. "You may leave now. Psycho, see they get their weapons back—outside."

  "Tenners."

  Valkyrie reached down and grasped the sub by his glistening hair, pulling him to his knees, looking into his savage face.

  "Would you like to try raping me?" she asked pleasantly.

  "I'd love it, bitch," the sub leered, revealing misshapen teeth. "I'd make you beg for mercy!" He apparently had no idea with whom he was dealing. Valkyrie raised the butt of her E and smashed his face, shattering the nose, cheeks and teeth with one blow, transforming the face instantly into a bloody, oozing pulp.

  The sub croaked once and fell onto his back, spraying blood and teeth all over the governor's carpet.

  "Did anyone record that?" Valkyrie asked.

  "That's a ten, Val," Tourist said.

  "Good. The ConFree terrorism and public relations boys are going to make a feature-length documentary on this sub's arrest and punishment, and release it right here on Calgoran 2. They expect it to out-sell the rape-torture story."

  "Criminal!" the Orman squeaked from the floor. "You're torturing an innocent! That's clearly illegal! It was found innocent! You're all criminals!"

  "It's all right," I responded calmly. "A recent Calgoran court decision concluded that it was all right for criminals to torture innocents. So don't get so upset."

  "A lot of your troopers have died because of this subhuman," Dragon said to the governor. "Next time ConFree asks for custody of a criminal, advise the System to comply. We'll be going now. Thanks for your assistance, sir."

  "Does it really think the System is going to ignore this arrogant attack on its sovereignty?" the governor asked, flashing Dragon a haughty look. "Doesn't it realize this could spark another galactic war?"

  "I'm just a soldier, sir," Dragon said, smiling. "I just follow orders. War or peace, it makes no difference to me."

  The sub rolled around on the carpet, moaning, stunned by the enormity of what was happening to him. He had undoubtedly never been struck by anyone representing the interests of his victims.

  "We're going to castrate you publicly, sub," Valkyrie told him, planting one boot firmly on his throat. "We're going to neuter you. Then we're going to cut off your arms. And that's just for starters! Any more smart comments?"

  The sub could only croak, squirming on the carpet.

  "You can't mean it!" the Orman objected in shock. "He's got rights! He's a citizen of the United System Alliance! He's just as good as you are!"

  I raised my E and shot the Orman, blowing his head apart with a single round of x. The echo rattled around the room. The governor sat frozen behind his desk, stunned, splattered with the Orman's blood.

  "You shouldn't have done that, Thinker," Dragon chided me.

  "Sorry…no. No, I'm not sorry."

  "Bring the sub. And don't touch him, Thinker. Nobody hurts him. That comes later. Let's go."

  I moved. I was almost frozen with rage…as good as you are! We were going to torture him to death all right, but there was one big difference. He deserved it, and his victims didn't. Systie goodlibs could never make that distinction. Moral judgments were beyond them. The Legion didn't give a damn for laws. We were concerned with justice.

  We took the stairs. Tourist took charge of the sub. I didn't want to be anywhere near him, for fear of what I might do to him.

  "Three, did you hear the news about Aran?" Priestess's voice echoed in my helmet.

  "I've been kind of busy, Priestess. What news?"

  "The fungus—it's shown up on Aran. They can't stop it, it's spreading like crazy. They're considering evacuation of the whole planet."

  "The fungus!" Aran was a Legion world, on the fringes of the Crista Cluster. The Cluster! I wondered how the fungus had found its way there.

  "Kiss, Pits. We're ready for evac. Mission accomplished. Miss, cover us."

  "Tenners."

  "Ten."

  Aran—that was odd. How was the thing spreading?

  ***

  "First, Augusta 6," Doctor Doom said, "an Outvac ConFree world just seized by the O's." We were sprawled on the deck between the bunks and the lockers in Recon quarters, sipping dox and trying to relax after a harrowing mission to confirm an Omni presence on a supposedly deserted asteroid. We had stirred up a swarmer's nest and retreated hurriedly under fire, mission successful.

  "Next," DD continued, "Aran, a Legion outpost in the Crista Cluster, sparsely inhabited. Then Veronica 2, a heavily populated ConFree planet, in the heart of the Crista Cluster. And this last one is a true tragedy—the population is over 300 million, and the disease is spreading fast." DD brushed back a strand of long black hair and squinted his Assidic eyes. "Meantime, we're getting reports that two more Omni worlds have been infected—major O population centers. And they're not having any better luck countering the spores than we are." A burst of sonic lektra echoed off the cenite walls. Somebody was always playing the music too loud.

  "What do we know so far about the fungus?" Priestess asked. She was in a sleeveless top and tight shorts. Her lovely legs were on display. She had just showered and appeared fresh and relaxed.

  "It's unique," DD replied. "It's a parasitic aerobic fungus that thrives in an oxygen environment but needs a host to reproduce. Although it can survive in several higher animal species, humans and O's seem to offer it the most favorable environment. It starts life as a microscopic organism that floats through the air as a spore. If it lands on flesh, it burrows into the body immediately. If it's ingested, so much the better. It rides the bloodstream throughout the body, establishing colonies everywhere it goes, just under the skin. Once it's in the host, it extracts all it needs from the host, without harming it. Then something triggers it to bore outward
s and appear on the exterior of the skin. Upon exposure to oxygen in the air, it begins reproducing wildly. The rate of reproduction at this stage is faster than anything our lifies have ever seen. At this stage it starts producing a mycotoxin that is fatal to the host. The fungus spreads rapidly over the exterior of the body, the host goes into shock and dies, and the fungus spreads further in a mad orgy of reproduction. Then it traps the gases from the decomposing host and eventually produces a gaseous eruption that fills the air with spores—thus continuing the life cycle."

  "That's pretty scary," I said. That damned sonic lektra was still blasting away.

  "What's scarier," Priestess added, "is that there's no cure. Once you're infected, you die. The lifies are helpless. This is the scariest, nastiest, toughest creature they've ever seen. Once it's on you or in you, you're finished. There's nothing the Legion can do."

  "Can somebody turn up the music," a lone voice objected. "I can't sleep when it's that low."

  "That's right," DD said. "The incubation time is normally eight standard days. By the time it appears on your skin, you have only moments to live. On Veronica 2, they started calling it the White Death, and now even the lifies are using that term."

  "And nobody knows where it comes from?" I asked. The White Death, I thought. I've heard that before. Moontouch! A White Death, invincible, wasting mighty empires. Deadman! How could she know?

  "No," DD replied. "We don't have a clue. The only way to kill it that we know of is to deprive it of oxygen. Unfortunately that kills the host as well."

  "And it only targets humans and O's?"

  "Primarily. It's almost as if it was designed to do so."

  "So these things live forever?"

  "No, the organism has a natural life cycle of only sixteen hours without a host. If it can't find a host by that time, it can't reproduce, and it dies."

  "So the solution is to prevent it from reaching a host." A burst of laughter erupted from several bunks over.

  "Easier said than done. Once it gets started, there are trillions of microscopic spores released into the air. Breathe it and you die. Let it land on your skin and you die."