Cross of the Legion

by Marshall S. Thomas

  I pulled him brutally out of bed and backed out the door, dragging him behind me. Dragon covered the stairs. Fresco's wife, stricken, raised one hand towards him in helpless disbelief as he slowly disappeared from her life. Her face wrinkled with emotion, tears filled her eyes.

  "We won't hurt him," I said. "Don't worry." She may have found that a little hard to believe, considering the circumstances, but I meant it sincerely.

  Valkyrie whispered in my ears just as Dragon and I cleared the front door of the residence with our captive. The sleet crackled all around us. "Aircar," she said. "Damn! Discharging…" The sharp crack of auto x suddenly filled the air. Valkyrie was firing. I kept hustling Fatso along the walk. He was still in his nightclothes. Dragon faded to one side and suddenly the horrifying shriek of a tacstar rippled through the air and a titanic bang lit up the night, a dazzling electric arc light, freezing a sky full of sleet in mid-fall.

  "Aircar…" X and laser cracked and popped all around me. I dove into the snow and landed on Fatso. I snapped my E to my shoulder and Sweety highlighted the targets. Four troopers, starbursting from a disintegrating aircar, coming right at us through the forest, firing. I fired, full auto x. We all fired, going into counter-ambush mode, spraying a heavy volume of x. The others moved forward, attacking. It was so automatic not a single order was necessary. Normally I would have been moving on them as well, but I was stuck with the prisoner.

  The forest erupted, bursting into a horrid sea of white-hot flame. I could feel the heat through my litesuit. My hands were burning. An eerie whistle snapped overhead—the Kiss, coming back for another pass.

  "Confirm opposition eliminated."

  "Evac, please."

  "I'm hit." A whisper—just a whisper. Priestess! My adrenalin exploded. I staggered to her position, dragging the prisoner behind me like a big dog on a leash.

  She lay in the snow, a pale camfax angel, and her blood stained the slush a bright red. She was silent, staring at nothing. I tried to get her on her side to examine her wounds. Her legs were shredded, bloody slices of glistening red meat dangling from awful exposed bones, and the blood was pouring out in cascades. Like a river, I thought, in shock—a river of blood. I was stunned, momentarily frozen in horror with Priestess in my arms, looking at me, blinking.

  "We'll take her, Thinker." Scrapper was suddenly there, ripping open a medpak, wielding a field syringe. Valkyrie slapped on medgel dressings. But how can she cover all those wounds? Cannot! We don't have enough bandages! Dragon hovered over us on guard with the Manlink. The prisoner lay in the snow beside me but I seemed incapable of doing anything. I could only gape at Priestess, my lovely Priestess, bleeding a torrent of bright red blood onto alien snow.

  And then the Kiss was there, hovering above us like a great bat from Hell, winking in and out of visibility, the assault doors snapping open, and they loaded Priestess in. I pushed Fatso in and the doors snapped shut behind us and we launched instantly, invisible and silent. The mission had been successful. I moved over to Priestess. Valkyrie and Scrapper were grimly working on her wounds. They had removed her comtop, and blood was squirting everywhere. Priestess was still conscious, looking into nothing. I touched her forehead with one hand and lowered the other over her heart. My hands were scarlet with her blood, and trembling uncontrollably. I closed my eyes and prayed, to Deadman, for her soul.

  Chapter 18

  Sleepwalking

  How are you feeling?" I asked Priestess. She was pale and still, stretched out on an airbed in the Body Shop in Quaba Fleet Hospital. Like an angel, I thought—a pale, wounded angel, cast down from Heaven's wars.

  "I feel wonderful," she replied with an easy smile. "Lucky biomags are not addictive—or I'd be hooked for sure."

  "They say your new legs are growing fast. With chromite bones, you'll be able to outmarch us all." The lower portion of the airbed was obscured by the gentanks. They had shown me the images of Priestess's new legs. Creepy, I had thought.

  "All I want is for them to look the same."

  "They will. Don't worry."

  "So now, your girl has got fake tits and fake legs. Tired of me yet?" Priestess was exaggerating slightly. She had taken x-max in the chest on Mongera, and they reconstructed her breasts.

  "It's not a problem, Priestess. The important parts are still there."

  "Very funny. How much longer before they unplug me from this thing? I'm getting tired of dribbling into a urine bag."

  "Now you just relax and don't worry about that. When everything's ready they'll let you up, and you'll have brand new legs."

  "I hope they'll meet with your approval, sir. I know you're a leg man."

  "It's still you, Priestess. Every cell is from your own body, so don't fret, all right?"

  "So—what do you do when you're not visiting me? I hear you're dating one of the nurses."

  "Priestess. I'm just waiting for you to recover—that's all. That's all I want from life, at this point. What did you say to Millie? She was in tears. She wouldn't even discuss it with me." Millie had visited Priestess, with flowers, anxious to win her friendship. It had not gone well.

  "Maybe I was a little hard on her. I just told her that I was not going to let anyone steal you away from me, and if she tried, I'd kill her. That's all. I think it was the biomag talking. It makes everything very clear."

  "She wanted so much to become your friend."

  "I'm sorry, Thinker. I must say, she was not what I was expecting. I was expecting some kind of predatory vixen—you know, like Valkyrie. Well…I'll admit I felt bad when she ran out of the room."

  "Remember when Valkyrie visited me in the Body Shop on Atom and chased you out of the room?"

  "I remember. I guess I was the vixen then, huh?"

  "Look—I've already told Millie I'm never going to leave you. That's not an issue. But Millie is…she's totally dependent on me. I'm all she has, in this time, in this place. She's in agony right now because you rejected her. She wants you to like her. Can't you try? Just a little?"

  Priestess closed her eyes. She looked tired. "All right, Thinker—for you. Tell her to come back. I'll see her. I'll be nice. You never cease to amaze me, Three. Nobody else would dare come to his wife's sickbed and beg her to accept his new girlfriend. But I guess I'm just as crazy as you. I don't know anybody else who would agree. Only me. We're a couple of nuts, aren't we?"

  "That's a ten, Priestess. But we're going to be together forever. That's a promise."

  ***

  Strange days in Quaba Base. Double suns, wheeling in a startling blue sky. Legion hotcars splitting the skies, thundering overhead. I strolled through those days with the assurance of a sleepwalker. A great calm overcame my soul. I was no longer worried about anything. The White Death mission was over, my unit was disbanded. Strange—perhaps I should have been unsettled, uneasy—but I wasn't. Perhaps I had accepted my life—living from one day to the next, anticipating nothing. My certainty was absolute. I was not worried about Priestess, I was not worried about Millie. I would do it right, for both of them. I was not even worried about Moontouch and Stormdawn. She had still not written but I knew she was receiving my star tracers, and I had pledged eternal love. Priestess had added her greetings as well. It was foolish to pretend we were coming back any time soon, so I didn't.

  Sleepwalking. Great events were underway, I knew, as a result of our missions to Dardos and Santos. Tara had psyched Cit Fresco personally. The psych exam had revealed a lot more than we expected. The Systies thought they were secure on Santos. Fools. Nobody is secure, anywhere, with the Legion on the loose, with the Kiss gliding invisibly overhead like a great vampire bat, cutting through the air with that faint, eerie flutter that would always raise the hairs on the back of my neck.

  I knew the future was preordained. It was coming at us, inevitable, unstoppable, a tidal wave that would rush over us all like grains of sand on a beach. I knew it—Moontouch had told me.

  ***

  "It's getting darker—looks
like it might rain. Does it rain here?" Millie asked. We strolled along the beach at a vacation resort by Quaba's Sea of Storms. It was cold. Winter was rushing at us. The sea was slate grey, breaking gently on a beach of black, gritty pebbles. The air was refreshing. Millie had asked to be taken somewhere—anywhere—away from Quaba Station. The resort was nice, but the weather was not cooperating. The sky was gloomy.

  "Yes, it rains. It's a beautiful world."

  "It's so nice to get away for awhile—just the two of us." She gave me a dazzling smile, latching on to one hand. She was clad in a Legion coldcoat. Her hair was cut short in an attractive style and the glasses were gone. Her vision was perfect now, and she was delighted. It was wonderful to see her smile.

  She knew everything now about the past, about her world, and about mine. She had been very quiet after I told her. Then she had cried, silently, for her vanished past, for that lost world. We were closer than ever, now.

  My comset sounded. I answered.

  "Three, Priestess. Where are you?"

  "I'm on the beach with Millie, Priestess. How are you doing?"

  "Bored. I'm bored. I miss you."

  "I'm bringing you here as soon as they'll release you, Priestess. It's nice. A bit cold, though."

  "Sounds good. Let me talk with Millie." I passed the comset to Millie.

  "Yes," she said. "Yes…yes…of course….don't worry, Priestess, I will. Goodbye."

  "What did she say?"

  "She said I had to make sure you wore a coldcoat if it was cold, and eat three meals a day, and don't drink too much dox."

  "Why do females always think males cannot function correctly without their input?"

  "Because it's true. You wouldn't have worn your jacket if I hadn't insisted."

  "It's not so cold."

  "See? No common sense. You're a typical male."

  "Hmm. Well—Priestess is treating you all right now?"

  "She's very sweet. She sure scared me that first time. But she had felt threatened. Yes…I think we'll get along fine. She said if any other girl tried to move in on you, I have to punch her out."

  Good, I thought. Keep them away. I sure don't need any more females. We paused, as grey waves rolled in. A restless dark sea stretched to the horizon, an infinity of cold, gently tossing waves. I tasted the salt in the air.

  "Priestess told me your mission uncovered important information," Millie said.

  "Important isn't the word. Catastrophic might do it—or horrifying."

  "What did you find out?"

  "The data the info folks got from the biogen and the psych interrogation of Cit Fresco both led to the same world—Hyada, the capital of the Democratic People's Federation of Loyalist Worlds—DemFed or HyadFed for short. We usually call it the Hyades Federation. It was formed out of the breakup of the System, just a few years ago, as part of the ongoing attempt by the Greenies to salvage their empire. It's supposedly independent, but it's an associate member of the United System Alliance, USICOM, and the United System Defense Alliance."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means the Hyades Federation is a satellite of the System—a client state. It means they take their orders from the System—or what's left of it."

  "I see."

  "So if the Hyades Federation is responsible for the White Death, then the System is responsible as well. You see, the Legion doesn't shirk its responsibility. We don't try to fool ourselves—or anyone else. It would be easy to focus blame on the DemFeds. But we'd be ignoring the real criminals—and we don't do that. It's the System. It's always been the System. Tara told me the trail led back to the SIS, on Hyada. The SIS is the STRATCOM Information Service. They're the System's eyes and ears—and assassins, it seems."

  "So what does it mean?"

  "It means our lives are going to change—and not for the better. There's more. It gets worse. The Hyades Federation is the creation of a rogue ex-ConFree official who defected to the System and gave them all our secrets. In return, they allowed him to salvage the Hyades Sector for them. He did a good job of it, crushing all nationalist breakaway parties while persuading the people that DemFed is independent from the System. He's psychotic—but brilliant. His name is Kenton Cotter-Arc. He's a sworn enemy of ConFree, the Legion, and humanity. And now it's clear he's employed genocide, as a political weapon, to weaken ConFree. He's on the Legion death list, already."

  "Rain! Look, it's starting to rain!" A few drops spattered around us. The sky was full of dark clouds.

  "Yes. Let's get back to the resort."

  Kenton Cotter-Arc—Traitor Number One. He was responsible for the sabotage of Beta's mission to Uldo, for the ConFree Special Mission raid to counter us there, and for the coverup that followed. He had destroyed our squad on Uldo, and dispersed us all over the galaxy. And he had been responsible for the ConFree raid on Andrion 2 that followed, and for my abduction, psyching, and detention on Nimbos. He had once been Director of Starcom, but his treasonous intrigues against the Legion and the Lost Command had failed. And I, personally, had played a large part in driving him from office.

  He was my Satan. He was the black heart behind all my woes—an evil, secret, distant spectre, weaving the magical web of my destiny. It was he who sent me on my long odyssey in search of my soul. And I knew he was waiting at the end of my road, to meet me. He was as much a part of me as Tara, even though I had never personally met him. But I would. I knew I would. I could feel him, tugging at that silken web, ever so gently, anxious to draw me in and consume me.

  ***

  "Kiss me, Westo." She sat on the edge of the bed, in our suite. We had just returned from the beach, the balcony doors were open, and one of Quaba's suns was bleeding on the horizon, falling into that dark sea, casting us in a wine red hue. I had been heading for the snack mod and she had reached out and touched me, looking up at me trustingly.

  I sat beside her, and looked into her milky brown eyes. Cheek to cheek, breathing in her scent. Soft, silky hair. Her heart, pounding softly. Her arms, a velvet embrace. Together—and all is well, for a moment, one precious moment, as the world slows and holds its breath.

  "West Lake," she said. "You kissed me by West Lake, the Lovers Lake—and I was yours. From then. From that very moment. Now it's all gone—but we're still here! You stole me away, Westo, from the past. You ripped me right out of history, and brought me back here. It's a miracle. You shot me through the heart and brought me back, like a trophy. Well—you're stuck with me now, Westo. Hope you don't mind."

  I kissed her ears, her cheek, her eyes, her throat. And I had wanted to seduce her, to gain her cooperation, to…what a fool! It was I who had been seduced. Touch a girl and you're undone. They're all practitioners of the black arts. How can a fool like you resist anyone? Least of all this…magical…bewitching…lovely…creature.

  She guided my hands to her breasts. I stripped her blouse away and cupped those lovely breasts in my hands—the nipples were hardening, anxious for my lips.

  The comset rang. Perfect.

  "Yeah."

  "Thinker, Priestess. Turn on the news, now. Priestess out." She sounded—tense. I snapped on the Legion Infonet and the wall screen lit up. A dark figure dressed in Legion black stood behind a lectern displaying a silver Legion cross. He looked up into a light glowing out of the dark. His skin was tanned by the fierce rays of alien stars and his eyes were a very pale blue, almost luminous in their intensity. He appeared to be young, but his finely chiseled face radiated authority and—confidence. A calm, sad, almost glacial confidence. I had seen him on the infonet before. He was some kind of political. I never paid attention to those things. The screen blinked 'LIVE.' That was most unusual. If true, it meant they were relaying a Q-Link broadcast—that was a first.

  He had paused. He was evidently addressing a large audience. We could sense them, breathing, out in the dark. Now he resumed, speaking softly, without notes.

  "There is nothing further to be done," he said. "There is nothing further t
hat can be done, except to do our duty to humanity. We are in the grip of history now. Our descendants will be the only human judges of whether our actions were correct. But now, under today's stars, we can only stand forth and confront our enemies boldly, without hesitation, without doubt. We will do so—and let the Gods decide whether we were right or wrong.

  "There is no doubt about the System's guilt. It is overwhelming. The hands of the SIS are red with the blood of millions. There can be no half-way measures here. This is genocide, as a weapon of undeclared war. Should we ignore this? Should we look the other way, because the consequences are so fearful? Should we blame the Hyades Federation, while ignoring their masters? We are in the dock of history. The light of the ages is shining harshly on us, now. It is time to decide—for our children. For is not that what we live for? It is they who will judge us. Shall we leave them this writhing, poisonous serpent, as a legacy?"

  He paused, and looked out at the audience. His face glowed out of the dark. Now, for the first time, he looked down at some papers on the lectern.