March of the Legion sotl-2

by Marshall S. Thomas

  The Systie Colonel laughed. "Is it telling us its troopers are in the Legion of their own free will?"

  "Is that so hard to comprehend?"

  "It is hard to believe. But let us not argue. We have much to tell it about the Variants. Let us begin. Each of us has something to contribute. We all spent a very long time on Andrion 3, under the power of the V. We will brief it on what we know of their military capabilities. Cit Millina will brief it on the V's psychic powers. Cit Carollus will brief it on what we know about the V's decision-making processes. Together, we believe we can prepare Legion to face the V—or the Omnis, as it calls them. Then, it will be up to Legion. We do not know how to kill the V—but we can tell it everything we learned."

  Dragon grimaced. He looked over at me and slowly shook his head. Dragon was not buying it either. We would listen, but we were not going to be easy to convince. As the Systie Colonel droned on, my mind drifted away. Priestess sat off to my left, an angel in a litesuit, blinking dark wet eyes. What was she doing here? A volunteer—yes, she was a volunteer, just as One had said. We were all volunteers, immortal fools, walking death's dark road. Mongera grew closer every frac, and all we could do was wait for it, and prepare.

  Chapter 10:

  Mongera

  Mongera Port, this is P.S. Maiden, exiting stardrive and requesting port clearance. We are here to evacuate refugees in response to its regional nova. Please give us a sitrep on the starport and vicinity." Cintana Tamaling was cool and efficient, once more in charge, sitting in the command chair. Her first officer, Whitney, was beside her in the exec's chair, cruising on mags, quiet and calm. Snow Leopard and I huddled with Delta One just out of view of the d-screens. The idea was to keep an eye on the slavers.

  The main screen flickered and filled with light. A Mocain officer appeared, his faintly green skin covered with a tracery of pale white scars. His suspicious eyes focused on the screen under naked brows. Identification data from the P.S. Maiden filled his databloc and hopefully matched up with the registration data in his files. The officer would be viewing two young females on his screen. The Commander was a stunningly beautiful creature with pale brown skin and lustrous auburn hair. The exec was a pale blonde, as cool as ice. The biotech should have been flashing confirmation of the genetic ID—this was the P.S. Maiden, and these were the principal officers.

  "P.S. Maiden, this is Mongera Port. It has port clearance. The port is secure. Appreciate its assistance. Request it hard-land inport. Mongera Port is our evacuation center. We are sending it landing data."

  "Negative, Mongera," Tara replied briskly. "We will not risk our ship downside. We will do the evacs with our shuttle, call sign Highroad, repeat Highroad. Please note we are a commercial firm and will be charging a fee for this service. We are sending it our price list, terms, and guarantees. We will be happy to evac everyone we can carry."

  Delta One was just out of view of the main screen, a shadow with an E. He was a young trooper with long black hair; dark tanned skin; and alert, wary eyes. He'd be in charge on the ship when we were downside.

  "P.S. Maiden, this is Zemband Station! We are surrounded and need evac fast! The skies are clear—request its shuttle land here, please send us its terms."

  "P.S. Maiden, this is Century City main aircar terminal! We request extraction right now! We'll pay whatever it wants! Just get here quick! We've got over seven hundred people here and no more aircars!"

  "P.S. Maiden, this is the Cairnsport Police. We have a group of two thousand refugees on the move in darkside—we're sending it our zero. These are women and children, Maiden! The V are closing in, and the military can't help us. It is our last hope, Maiden. We'll give it everything we have! Please don't abandon us!"

  "P.S. Maiden, land at the National Trust Commercial Center in Torrens City. We're a group of bankers and lawyers, treacherously abandoned by the military. We'll pay twice what it's asking! Its highest profits are right here! We're sending it our zero."

  "P.S. Maiden, our town is cut off and our aircars are all gone! This is Forest Hill—we're a squad-sized DefCorps unit and the V are cutting us to pieces. Maiden, the schools were never evaced! All of the children are still here, and the V are closing in! Maiden, there are hundreds of children here! We can't pay it. Just save the children, Maiden. Please! We're willing to die. Just save the children! We're sending it our zero."

  "This is Mongera Port! Clear this channel! P.S. Maiden, its shuttle is cleared to land at Mongera Port—we have hundreds of thousands of refugees processed for evac, right here. We'll meet its terms."

  "Sounds like the bankers and lawyers have got it," Whit said with a faint smile. "We guess we could call this a profit-rich environment."

  Tara was silent but she was in a white-hot rage—I knew her well. She cut the commo and turned to us. "Are you people ready?"

  Snow Leopard picked up his E. "Keep an eye on things here, Delta."

  "You watch yourself, Beta."

  "Death." Snow Leopard and I started to move out. Whit got up from her chair. Tara ignored me. She looked up at Whit.

  "Take care of the Highroad, Whit. It's the only shuttle we've got." Tara avoided her eyes.

  "Yeah, we love Cit too, Commander. We'll be careful."

  "Sub will be fine, Whit," Tara said carefully. "Don't worry."

  ###

  "Helmets on! Tac mode! Systems check!" A cool green glow bathed the interior of my helmet. All systems were ten high. Beta One lowered himself into the aircar from the overhead escape hatch. He was metalman, a great dull black soldier-ant, studded with antennae and weapons. We were all in A-suits. I checked my E. It glowed with life and death—this was a special E, as special as you could get. All the twisted dark science the Legion lab rats could cook up was in that E. It was a very nasty bag of tricks and if this didn't work, there was nothing left except to say our prayers.

  "Seal the car."

  "Shuttle prepped for launch."

  "Badboy, Delta, all secure." Our aircar was poised in a launch tube in the belly of the shuttle, the Highroad. The other tube housed Cinta's personal aircar. Two of Delta's best were riding the shuttle, watching the pilot and the crew. The Maiden's exec, Whitney, was piloting the shuttle, and she was bringing a few Cyrillians to help with the refugees. All of Badboy—Beta and Gamma—were packed into the aircar, along with the three Systies.

  "Just another drop, gang." Coolhand was in a good mood—he was always a calming influence.

  "Keep your safeties on, Psycho, or this is going to be a very short trip." Warhound sat behind a manport atlauncher, modified to counter the O's psypower. He sounded a bit nervous, with good reason. Psycho grinned back at him through his faceplate. He was burdened with a massive weapons system, a heavy chainlink skysweep attached to a backpack shoulder rig. Quadruple ammopaks were strapped to his back. The chainlink was normally mounted in Legion fighters. In addition, Psycho had a specially modified manlink secured to his chestplate. He was a walking arsenal, a city buster. We hoped it would bust the O as well, but there was only one way to find out.

  "Separation!" A heavy metallic explosion rang through the aircar and we were falling, hearts in our throats, stomachs floating, falling down into the dark. The shuttle had separated from the Maiden and was carrying us down to our fate.

  "Good luck, Whit."

  "On course, Badboy."

  "Omni ships continue combat tracks last reported. Looks like another Starfleet attack shaping up."

  "Ignition—stand by!" A warning tone sounded, and the launch's drive exploded to life. The gravs pressed us into our chairs.

  Into the dark. We could see the future on the screens as the Highroad fell towards the planet. Mongera glowed before us, a massive, luminous presence, icy blue, drawing us in, sucking us in to our doom, so beautiful it hurt, so great, so awesome it was like the face of God. We were microbes, struck blind and deaf and dumb by the light, falling, helpless, into the future.

  "Good angle, Whit."

  "Look at a
ll that traffic!"

  I shifted my gaze to the port datascreen. The planet was ringed with starships, thousands of ships, a great rescue force, freighters and liners and yachts and cargo tramps and even a great fat colony transport. And a whole fleet of warships, cruisers and fighters and interceptors and probes and scouts and drones. Thousands of tracks, glittering golden tracks, orbiting the planet like rings of dust. And, here and there, popping in and out of stardrive, darting into the planet on hot combat drops were evil little ruby fireflies like falling stars, exploding into whole fleets of ships, hundreds of deceptors hiding their tracks—these were the Omni ships. And Starfleet was after them, immediately. But there was no hope for Mongera—none at all. Great numbers of Omni transports had already landed, discharging hordes of aliens—and nobody could stop them, on the ground. Nobody.

  "Good drop, good drop."

  The skin started to glow cherry-red as we entered the at. I was sweating inside my A-suit. No mags required, I decided. I was ten high. The stars faded behind us. I hoped the pilot knew what she was doing. Mongera filled the screens.

  "Look at that—Starfleet fighters attacking the Omni ships." Hopeless. A gallant last stand. They might get the ships, but no matter what happened, Mongera was doomed.

  "Squad leader, it is responsible for our lives. We will help it as we can, but it must protect us," the Mocain soldier said. The three Systies were clad in dull bronze-colored Systie armor. They weren't really expected to do anything, I knew. They were just along for the ride, watchdogs for the System.

  "Yes, squad leader," Millina hissed in agreement, "protect us from its squad." Snow Leopard ignored her. We were all going to be watching over them, but Beta One had recruited me as a special watchdog. I was not happy about it. I had been told that the Legion had looked into the Systies' minds, and that there were no plans to betray us. It did not reassure me.

  "Is that thing going to work, Merlin?" Ironman asked.

  Merlin smiled, and held his weapon up to examine it closer. It was a heavy biobloc fieldfaxer, another special toy, just for us, fresh from the lab.

  "It'll work," Merlin replied confidently. "It'll cook an O like an egg. Those samples you guys brought back from Andrion 3 were conclusive. We've finally zeroed the O's genetics. But I can't get through the mags. That's up to the rest of you. Get me through those mags and I'll cook your O."

  "Make it well done, Merlin," Dragon said. "Raw meat can be dangerous."

  "You get me through those mags and he'll be chargrilled."

  The ship began to vibrate wildly, blitzing its way through the atmosphere. Outside we could only see the interior of the launch tube, but Mongera was right there on the screens, coming right at us, irresistible and final. We could see the shuttle's skin, white-hot, and I was strapped in. It was every childhood fear-of-falling nightmare I'd ever had turned up to max, like a killer dog tearing out my throat. Cold sweat trickled down my temples.

  Yes, get us through the mags—that would be the trick. The O's walked around in personal force fields, and we did not know how to counter them. Yet we had done it—somehow—last time, and Warhound had drawn blood, when the field went down, briefly. Now all we had to do was do it again.

  The ship shook, banging around wildly. Somebody laughed. You have to be in the Legion awhile before you can appreciate that type of humor. I wasn't quite there.

  "Thinker, Warhound. You know what I think about that O we met?"

  "No. What do you think?"

  "I think it was unarmed."

  "Yeah—it was."

  "It was probably somebody's aged grandmother."

  "Yeah, or a pregnant lady," Psycho cut in. "Or a little kid, pissing in its pants."

  "Thanks, guys," I said. "I needed that."

  "It's a ten, Thinker," Psycho assured me. "When we meet a real O, fully armed, we'll be able to give all this hardware a good field test. Otherwise we're wasting our time."

  "Wouldn't want to do that."

  The ship was shaking itself apart, a falling star, a meteor, hurling itself at Mongera's tortured surface.

  "We die today," Valkyrie said dreamily.

  "We die together," Boudicca replied quietly.

  Outstanding leadership, I thought glumly.

  "That O is going to die too, guys," Sassin announced. He was armed with a massive plasma manlink, another horrendous new toy for our O to ponder.

  "I'm staying right next to you, Sassin," Scrapper said. "I've got no plans to die."

  "Nobody's going to die," Snow Leopard cut in, "except the O. Listen to me and follow orders, gang. We came back from Coldmark, we came back from Andrion 3, and we're coming back from Mongera. Nobody dies!"

  That was the difference between Beta One and Gamma One. I'd walk into Hell for Beta One, but I wouldn't cross the street for Gamma One.

  "Drop successful. Levelling out."

  "Got the port."

  "Watch out for those O's."

  "Get down on the deck."

  "Highroad, it is cleared for softdock in Mongera Port. Please note the zero."

  "Acknowledging landing instructions."

  "Priestess," I said, "You stay close. Don't stray." My mind was a whirl of wild emotions; my heart was thumping.

  "I'll be right there, Thinker," she replied immediately. "It's going to take more than an O to split us up."

  "Thinker." Warhound was on private.

  "Yes, Warhound."

  "I know for a fact that Scrapper hates me."

  Oh no, I thought. Not now. Poor old Warhound.

  "Well, I know for a fact that she doesn't hate you, Warhound," I said. "Don't be silly. Look, we can talk about this later. Sometimes things just don't work out. It doesn't mean she hates you."

  "She hates me. I know it."

  "Come on, Warhound. We need you, right now. You've got to concentrate on the mission; we need that psybloc!"

  "Don't you worry about that, Thinker. I'll be right there!"

  "Good!" The awful thing was, Warhound was right. Scrapper had told me herself that she hated Warhound and was sick of his bumbling efforts to romance her. I felt so sorry for him. I'd talk to him after the mission.

  "Get right down on the deck," somebody said.

  "Badboy, prepare for aircar launch."

  Adrenalin kicked in. The Highroad was almost at zero altitude now, flashing at blinding speed over a cold grey forest, bouncing lightly over forested hills, flattening out again, hugging the contours.

  "Hang on to your stomachs, gals!" Redhawk shouted.

  "Launch aircar!" The warning bell bleated.

  A sudden chill to my flesh. Then a sharp explosion shattered my ears and the gravs smashed at my chest and my vision blurred and I was paralyzed and helpless and praying for survival.

  Redhawk shrieked for joy as my vision slowly returned. Weak sunlight dazzled my eyes. The grav eased off. The aircar was free, flashing over a forest of bleak wintry trees under cold grey skies. I craned my neck and I saw the Highroad, a blunt white wedge, fading into the distance. We were on our own now—down to business! The aircar was crammed full of troopers and everyone was suddenly having second thoughts about the readiness of their weapons and equipment, checking it all once again.

  "Weapons check—mark!"

  "Weapons all—hold it. What's the story, Gamma Seven?"

  "Yeah, just a frac…"

  "Tenners, all weapons ready."

  "Look at the horizon."

  It was past dawn, but the sky was dark. Up ahead, the horizon was aglow under smoky black clouds.

  "That's Century City. We'll find our O there."

  "Badboy, Big Kid. We've got you on scope." Big Kid was Two Three Delta, back on the P.S. Maiden. Delta's mission was to watch us die, or maybe even live, and report it all back to the Legion. We didn't answer.

  "Look at all those O's—Deadman!"

  The Maiden had flashed us a view of Century City, and each individual O glowed red. The suburbs were spotted with hundreds of little red dots,
like an infectious disease. A scattering of dots were in the city. There did not seem to be any order behind it—the O were wandering around by themselves, all over the place.

  "What do you think?" Snow Leopard, to Coolhand.

  "The East—there's hardly anybody there. Look at that one."

  "Yeah. Yeah. Target selection. You see him, Merlin?"

  "Right. That's the one!"

  Mountains flashed past, taking my breath away. We were between two great mountain ridges, hurtling to our deaths. The sky was dark with smoke. I caught a glimpse of the city up ahead, burning brightly. We had our O zeroed. Introductions would be made, shortly. And one of the two parties was going to die. Either the O, or Badboy. We burst free of the mountains and Redhawk took us down as low as he could get. The aircar was a fat black bullet splitting the air apart, a supersonic knife, now over darkened meadowlands, now flashing through black smoke, the land below all on fire, a dirt road snapping past, a glimpse of a moving groundcar.

  All the power of the Legion was with us. I could feel it glowing inside me. And I knew that O was in trouble. I didn't know if we were going to kill it, or it was going to kill us, but I knew, for certain, this was not going to be one of its better days.

  "See it?"

  "Right, Badboy. Let's get our O. By the numbers! Prep for decar!" Snow Leopard was out of his seat and ready to go, death in an A suit. He would be the first one out the door and the closest to the O.

  The ZA came flashing at us on the screens, and the gravs were again pulling at us, and then we softly glided, weightless, floating like a dream, an armored bat, hovering over the ground.

  "Badboy—decar! Death." Snow Leopard added the last part almost as an afterthought.

  "Death!" We echoed him, in unison.

  The assault door snapped open and we threw ourselves out at once, into swirling smoke, an entire reinforced squad dancing in air for just an instant, dull black armor and winking red faceplates and exotic weaponry, all on display, all together, charged and hyper, coiled to strike. Then we hit the ground and I ran, following the track etched onto my faceplate. We were going starburst, immediately. The O was going to have to kill thirteen of us, and then he'd still have to deal with Redhawk in the aircar.