"Idyllic, wouldn't you say?" I asked.
"You could say that." Tara looked up into the sky. Her pale brown skin was flawless, toasting in the sunlight.
"Paid for in blood," I said.
"That's affirmative," Tara said. "A lot of people died here. Yes, we paid the price."
"We?"
"The Legion. I mean the Legion."
"Is this your home?"
"No, it's just a hide-out. I'll be back in Systie vac as soon as you get my exec back."
"Back in business?"
"No, I'm through with all that. I've done enough. They can't make me go back. I'm going to make a new life."
"In Systie vac?"
"Yes…in Systie vac."
"Why don't you stay here?" Priestess asked. "It's so beautiful! Why leave?"
"You'd like to stay, wouldn't you? No, you wouldn't be happy here."
"Why not?"
"You don't belong here."
"Why not? It's a Legion world, after all."
"Yes—so it is." Tara looked off into space, again.
"Isn't that what we're fighting for?"
"Yes—but the people who live here are not part of your world."
"What do you mean?" Nine was insistent.
"What I mean…is that if people like you and me decided to settle down in places like Mica Three, it would not be peaceful for long. We might have some peace and quiet for awhile, but our children would pay the price. The O's are out there, cruising, ready to pounce on the slightest sign of weakness. Without the Legion, Mica Three would be extinguished like a candle, and the dark would rush in, and ConFree would die."
"You mean we just fight forever? Is that it? There's never any rest? It just goes on forever?"
"You already know the answer to that," Tara said calmly. "You don't need to ask me. You know the answer better than I. You came from a Legion world, too. Why did you leave? You could have stayed. And now you're a part of it. Do you think you can just walk away? There's nothing to stop you—try it. You're welcome to stay here. I'll extend the lease on the villa, if you want. Try it for a few months. But I warn you—you'll have to look up at the stars, every night. The stars are beautiful here—dazzling."
Priestess was quiet for awhile. I took her hand. Finally she spoke. "I never told you I was from a Legion world. How did you know that?"
"I know everything," Tara said carelessly, "except what happened to my exec."
Chapter 15:
Biergart
"Take you bag." He was a short, nasty looking creature with dark leathery skin, filthy greased hair, yellow eyes and dirty hands with long jagged fingernails.
"No, you don't." Dragon maneuvered the bag away from him. It was Nine's bag, an elegant plum-colored armorite creation that shrieked privilege and expense. We were out of Customs and heading for the aircar bay. I was on my comset to the hotel.
"The Lady Arbell does not appreciate waiting!" I shouted into the set. "Why is your aircar not here yet?" I was having a little trouble breathing. There didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the air, and the grav was too damned heavy.
"Take you bag!"
"You touch that bag and I'll remove your arm!" Dragon growled to the persistent porter. We were attracting a crowd. Several dusky, silent men drifted over to our vicinity, glowering. They appeared to be the same race, dark skin, yellow eyes, and thick matted hair.
"They say the aircar is on the way," I reported.
"You give the bag!" one of them demanded, pointing at Dragon. He was tall, with a wild, greasy head of hair. "We are porters—federal porters! You must give the bag!" The others growled in agreement. The short one reached out for the bag with a dirty hand.
Dragon hit him with a hard right to the face that came at him from above like a falling tree. I heard the cartilage in his nose crack. The porter bounced off the floor once and lay there stunned, blood smearing his face.
The tall greasy one snarled and came at Dragon with a metal pipe. I hauled out my vac gun and shot him in the face. It knocked him off his feet, and his head hit the dirty floor with a dull thud. The rest of them screamed in outrage, circling us like a pack of swarmers but now at a respectful distance. A policeman came running up to investigate the disturbance.
"Nice start," Priestess said. She was clothed in elegant civvie casuals, and she was a vision of heart-stopping beauty. I could tell she was upset. It was, indeed, a poor way to begin our clandestine mission on Katag.
"Why they have guns?" one of the porters shouted at the policeman. "Guns are illegal! Why they have guns!"
"What's the trouble, Cits?" The policeman was an Outworlder, eying us warily. He did not know whom to address. I stepped forward.
"This gang of savages attacked the Lady Arbell, and attempted to steal its luggage." I said, gasping in the thin air. "There's no trouble. They did not succeed." The porters howled in indignation, but still kept their distance.
"They are porters, Cit," the policeman replied. "We are required by law to allow them to carry the luggage. Please do not use derogatory terms—we are all equal here on Katag, under the laws of the System. Derogatory terms are highly illegal if applied to the historically oppressed."
"We can understand why they've been oppressed," I said. "Still, we meant no harm. We were merely defending ourselves. Is that illegal, too?"
"Yes, it is. Where did we get the vac gun?"
"We brought it with us. We are employed by the Lady Arbell to defend its interests and its person. We have System Interworld permits for private weapons, fully cleared by Katag customs." Three of them, actually, with hundred-C Systie credmarks slipped into each of the permits for luck.
"That may be, but it's a legal matter when weapons are used and people are injured."
"We think that's our aircar," Dragon said. He was glaring at the porters and they were glaring back.
"The Lady Arbell must not be inconvenienced," I said. "It is here to investigate business prospects, and plans to invest heavily in this world if the circumstances are favorable. We'll be happy to pay for any medical expenses suffered by the injured." I handed him my bogus Systie ID. He examined it carefully, and when he handed it back another hundred credits was gone.
"Very well, Cit. Our compliments to the Lady. Please go gently with the Originals—they were here before we were, and deserve our respect under law."
"Respect—under law, right. Thanks!" We entered the hotel aircar to the howls of the porters.
###
"We want that bitch alive!" Priestess was insistent.
"Yes, Lady—we'll get it!" I assured her. We were in the Nebula Towers, the Princess suite. It was a stunningly luxurious series of rooms done in green marble and soft pink carpeting. My skin crawled to see such waste.
"And if it's already dead, we want its skin!"
"Yes, Lady," I said.
"We want proof it's dead! We want its head! If it's buried, we want the corpse!"
"We'll get it, Lady—dead or alive!"
"If it's alive, we will personally torture it until it begs us to kill it. Then we're going to roast it alive—slowly!"
"Yes, Lady."
"And we record it all!"
"Of course."
"And exhibit its skull in the entry hall of Regulus Octo!"
"That might not be wise, Lady."
"No! It would be a warning—don't cheat Regulus Octo! We'll bill it as an archaeological find—but send the truth through the criminal community. That rotten bitch is going to pay! Nobody steals from us!"
"Yes, Lady."
"Secretary, we want to start on this immediately."
"Immediately, Lady."
"We will authorize all reasonable expenses. If someone is holding it, pay them. Enough so there's no trouble. But reasonable expenses, we repeat. If someone demands too much, we go over its head."
"Understood, Lady."
"What's that?" Priestess asked. Dragon had just unpacked something.
"The suppressor, Lady," Drago
n replied.
"Do you mean you haven't activated it yet?" Her voice was edged in ice.
"Ah…not yet, Lady. We have just unpacked it."
"You stupid fools! Why do we employ you? What good are you? Turn it on, idiot! Turn it on!"
Dragon turned it on. It was a powerful commercial unit—nobody could hear or see us with it on. The hotel tapes would record only static.
"How did I do?" Priestess asked.
"Not bad, Lady," I replied.
"That was great," Dragon said. "A nasty, spoiled bitch! It was really kind of scary."
"I think that should do it," I said. "The System will conclude from our conversation that Lady Arbell is not here looking for investment opportunities, as stated, but is searching for someone who burned her badly on a business deal. And is willing to pay well for access to her target. If the Systies have her, the information should flow naturally to whoever has the power to release her. The story should make sense—it certainly fits in with Whit's background."
"And if it's the governor?" Dragon asked.
"Hopefully the lower echelons won't let the info get that high. But if he's the one, we can only pray he buys our story. We know he takes money, and that's half the battle."
"He might be just waiting for us, grinning."
"The Systies may not have her at all," Priestess said. "It may be the crims—but even if the Systies don't have her, they will have a financial interest in locating her and presenting her to us."
"But they don't know who it is yet," Dragon objected.
"We'll let them know that after we pay a visit to Cit Biergart of ProScan—assuming it's then necessary." I said.
"Let's get back in character," Priestess said. "I find it difficult…that is, we find it difficult, using Systie terminology, if we're constantly switching back."
"Yes, Lady."
"Turn on the local networks, Security."
"Yes, Magnifico." The wall screen lit up. A gang of Originals were screaming and gesturing at the vidmon, clutching primitive weapons. They were almost naked, smeared with yellow powder.
"We kill you Outworld pigs!" one of them shouted.
"Burn you house!" Wild eyes, drugged.
"Crush you skull!" Sharp teeth, shaking a stone axe.
"Rape you daughter! Rape you wife!" Spittle flying.
"We cut off you bird!" Jumping up and down, in a trance.
"We eat you! We eat you!" Fade-out. A Systie announcer appeared, a young Outworlder female with a shaven head, calm and cool, dressed in USICOM blue.
"Citizens, please remember the Originals' righteous wrath is amply justified by their experience. Remember, the historically oppressed are fully protected under our laws. Race crimes against the oppressed will be vigorously prosecuted by the full force of the System. All allegations of elitist thought crime will be reported to the Federal authorities, and appropriate measures taken against the perpetrators. We cannot and will not permit crime against our egalitarian ideals. Remember—we are all equal under law, and the oppressed receive special protection.
"Next, local news; the death toll rises as major protests against police violence cause mass evacuations from Point Barrow."
"This really is a strange place," Dragon commented.
"The System is doomed." I said. "The O's are on their way here—now. There's no defense—and they continue bickering about their social problems. Wait until the first Omni ship touches down. Then they'll see some real social problems."
###
"ProScan." A female voice, bright and alert.
"We're sorry—wrong number." I clicked off. Our comset bypassed all the local controls—we could safely call anyone from our own hotel room with no danger of the call being traced back to us.
"ProScan is still there," I said. The suppressor was on. Dragon and Priestess were looking over some detailed maps of the area on their d-screens. One screen was flashing short-term rental properties. The market was down, and there was a lot available. We were going after Biergart first, then Mitomass, and finally the Government. However, we knew we had to approach Biergart with great caution. If the Systies had Whit, they would probably know about the infolink deal and could have Biergart and ProScan under surveillance. But it was just possible they didn't have her. So we would start with Biergart.
"How about this place here?" Priestess asked. A villa in the clouds, surrounded by forested hills. A huge terrace, spectacular view, stunning interior, warm and spacious. Razorwire fences to keep out the scum, a modern security system to guard the air.
"Looks good," I said.
"Looks very good," Dragon said.
"A bit pricey," Priestess commented.
"Regulus Octo can afford it," I reminded her.
"All right," she said. "Secretary, rent it. For a wealthy client who wants privacy. Rent it for a month." Priestess was getting a bit carried away with her role.
"Yes, Lady! As it commands."
"Now let's check out that Multimall," she ordered.
"Immediately, Majesty," Dragon replied.
"Oh, Shut down, will you! And turn off the suppressor."
###
We took to spending several hours at the Multimall every day. Lady Arbell would shop in the snob outlets, buying scandalously expensive and totally ghastly outfits presented by simpering sexboys, and later dine with her secretary—me—in outrageously pricey dox houses, with charmingly attentive fems serving exotic dishes from far-off worlds. It was a nice place, especially if you had the security to deal with the beggars and thieves that haunted the area. All the shops had armed guards.
Anyone following us would have noted that Lady Arbell's security goon hung around the underground aircar bay a lot, watching over her rented aircar. Sometimes he and the Lady's male secretary had drinks together or wandered through the malls while the Lady was shopping. The Lady did have a few appointments with high-powered investment bankers and Federal Chamber of Commerce officials who put on quite a show for her. But mostly, she shopped.
We didn't notice any surveillance, but that didn't mean much. ProScan's offices were located in the Multimall, on the 19th floor of one of the office towers. We didn't approach it directly, but on the third day we spotted Biergart in the aircar bay, arriving by car in mid-morning. He had an Original driver. After four more days, we were familiar with his routine and knew his aircar, his driver, his residence, and his route home. On the next day we were ready.
Biergart was later than usual leaving the office. Dragon and I were in the aircar bay sitting in the car, ostensibly waiting for our employer. Biergart hustled out of the elevator, looking around him, a doc case in one hand. He was heavy and balding, with shifty eyes and fat jowls. He wore a business suit. His driver was waiting, a somewhat large Original, oily hair and a scraggly mustache, wearing an uncomfortable-looking driver's outfit. There was a bulge in the front right pocket of his jacket that was probably a vac gun. He triggered the door of the aircar open for Biergart, then slipped behind the controls. It was obvious the car was armored.
We waited a few marks after they left the bay, then slid out into the weak sunlight and onto his route. In moments, we were out of town. He lived in a residential center about eighty K from the city.
"I've got him—he's up ahead." Dragon was driving.
"Keep this distance and altitude. This is about right."
We were so far behind him there was no way he would suspect he was being followed. A light mist hit the plex. The sky was darkening.
"Nobody else ahead…"
"Great!"
"Doesn't look like anybody behind us heading this way."
"I guess we go with it."
"He's over the forest." I hit the side window and it slid open. An icy wet breeze shot through the car. I leaned out with the vac gun. I had loaded a mini heat-seeker probe with a contac tip. We had lots of contac. I fired when I acquired the target. Then we sat back to watch the fun. We were still a long way behind and it took several fracs for the prob
e to hit.
"He's going down."
"Right in the forest."
"Good shooting!" The contac would have exploded inside an exhaust vent, causing the engine to cut off immediately. The aircar's occupants may have heard a sharp pop but would have no way of knowing they were under attack.
Dragon dropped our altitude quickly. The forest came at us, stark and grey. With luck, they would be out of the car when we arrived. Otherwise, we were going to have to use the can-openers, and that would be noisy and messy.
We approached just over the tree-tops. We were hoping their instruments were all out—that normally happened with full engine failure on commercial aircars. It was quite a forest. We had reconned the area thoroughly in the last few days, ostensibly on our way to and from rental properties, and had found not a sign of life. Now the nearest aircar traffic was several K away. Nobody appeared to be paying any attention to us.
"They're down."
"Let's do it." Dragon dropped the aircar down below tree-top level. Trees flashed past wreathed in mist, leaves and branches exploding against our metal skin. Reducing speed now, just a faint whistle, the occasional branch snapping off to splinters. Closer, closer, right up ahead now. I leaned out the window with the vac gun. Cold rain stung my face.
They appeared suddenly out of the mist, a mud-splattered aircar parked incongruously in a field of shattered branches, surrounded by tall grim trees. The engine compartment was open. The driver turned suddenly to face us, his face going pale. Biergart was frozen for an instant by his side, then lunged for the open aircar door. I fired at Biergart first to prevent him from getting inside the car. He bounced off the aircar, spraying water, and fell to the mud. Back to the driver—I fired just as he was raising his weapon in a perfect two-handed stance, both feet planted solidly. Vac bolts flashed against his chest, knocking him over backwards.
I was out and running even before Dragon slid alongside the other car. Mud splattering, cold rain and icy air, adrenalin pumping. Biergart was getting up, thrusting one arm into the aircar. I fired again and he twitched to the ground. The driver moved. I approached him warily, aiming right at his face. He sighed and collapsed again before I had to fire. Dragon was suddenly by my side, his vac gun out, as cool as ice. I was out of breath and gasping helplessly.
March of the Legion sotl-2 Page 21