Secret of the Legion

by Marshall S. Thomas

  "Right. Give us a few fracs."

  "Take its time. There's no rush, Beta Three—no rush at all." I looked at her sharply. Her face was flushed. She ducked out the door and it slid shut again. Strange.

  The little cube was spotless and icy cold. The head was a vertical closet, also spotless. I had never imagined such luxury, such fanatic, sterile perfection. I hit the shower and closed my eyes.

  ***

  "So it sees, we're really old friends," Whit said. We were sipping dox over our breakfast. A couple of Cyrillians were lounging over the remains of their meal at the next table. I had been astounded by the abundance and high quality of the food. The rec room was another miracle of compact and totally functional design. The dox was like a powerful drug. I could not remember ever tasting anything so rich. It was making my head spin. I put down the cup. It was marked with the logo of the Personal Ship Stardust.

  "We wouldn't be here without it, Beta Three," Whit continued. "We owe everybody—but mostly we owe Cinta and Beta. Cinta arranged it, but it was Beta Three and Eight and Nine that stepped out of that awful night and freed us. Does it remember? We remember—we'll never forget. We owe it, forever. Beta, and Cinta." She was glowing. Her eyes were clouding over. She was lost for a moment. Then she laughed. "Memories. Good and bad. We're nothing—we're stupid, just as Cinta said. But we pay our debts. Touch us, and it's done. We see it as an angel. A dark angel, raising the dead. Doesn't it remember anything?"

  I blinked, suddenly realizing that she had just offered to sleep with me. Things were happening entirely too fast for my taste.

  "No, we don't," I said. "It promised it was going to tell us about our past. We're still waiting."

  She bit her lip, and got up. "Come with us, Beta Three. It's time."

  ***

  I settled into an airchair before a dark d-screen. The instrumentation was new to me, but a lot of things were new to me. It looked a bit like a starlink. Whit slipped into another airchair beside me. The door had slid shut behind us, leaving us alone in the little cube. It was dead quiet.

  "How much does it know about the war?" Whit began calmly.

  "With the CrimCon? We only know what we've been told," I responded. "The System and the CrimCon are at war. The System is slowly winning, but it's a protracted struggle that has lasted for generations, and may last for generations more. The CrimCon has recently split into two warring, power-hungry factions, and this may ultimately prove decisive. The break-away faction is called the Lost Command."

  "And what about the Variants?"

  "The V? The aliens continue to attack System worlds, but the DefCorps is learning how to counter them. The CrimCon attempted an alliance with the V, and encouraged them to move into System vac. The alliance failed, because the V learned they could not trust the CrimCon."

  "Very good," Whit smiled. "Is that what the System taught it?"

  "Yes, it is."

  "And do we believe it?"

  "We believe nothing," I said, "except what we experience ourselves."

  "A wise policy. Tell us more about the CrimCon."

  "CrimCon—the Criminal Conspiracy. Confederation of Free Worlds, we think they call themselves. An evil, racist, genocidal, totalitarian dictatorship, ruling solely by force over half the inhabited galaxy. A cabal of obscenely rich, all powerful plutocrats, responsible for the deaths of billions of defenceless non-Outworlder peoples."

  "Good! Very good! And the Legion?"

  "They're the CrimCon's terrorist shock troops. Fanatic, mindless, brainwashed barbarians, motivated by cash and loot and pointless violence. They're programmed to rape, torture and kill. They eat babies, too."

  "Excellent. Tell us—does it remember Andrion Two? Does it remember the last time it saw us?"

  "We remember nothing."

  "Think! An aircar, falling into the dark. We were both in there, with a squad of troopers. Lasers and xmax, flashing outside, following us down. We were personally so scared we wet our panties, and Beta Three was right beside us. Doesn't it remember?" Her pale blue eyes were glowing.

  "No," I said. "We don't remember."

  "We leaped out of the car and ran with the troopers. It had a death grip on our arm. Then everything started blowing sky-high, and those armored bastards came right out of the flames, firing. It let go of our arm and fired back. Doesn't it remember?" Her pale face was twitching.

  I just looked at her.

  "We don't recall anything like that," I said. "It's an interesting story. What were we doing in the aircar? Who were the troopers with us? Who were the guys in armor? And who were we? Is it going to tell us, or just go on asking us if we remember things?"

  Whit shook her head, turned her eyes away, and looked around the cube. Then she looked back, right into my eyes. "They were Legion troopers, Beta Three. The ones in armor were the CrimCon—from ConFree. And it—it was with the Legion, too. It's a soldier of the Legion, Beta Three, sworn to the Legion. It took an oath to protect and defend the people of ConFree from all enemies, foreign and domestic."

  ***

  "None of what it says makes any sense," I objected, after the initial shock wore off. The Legion, I thought—those were the guys that had been roasting that baby, in that great proprop shot we had pasted over the staff lunch table. My head was swimming. I didn't believe everything the System told us, but I knew the Legion were barbarians. They routinely tortured women and children to death, just for kicks, and gang rape was their national sport. Surely I could not have been with those scum!

  "If we were with the Legion," I asked, "why were CrimCon troopers firing at us? Why would they fire on their own people?"

  "That's why it's here, Beta Three," Whit replied sadly. "That's the source of all its troubles. And that's what caused the Lost Command to split off from ConFree. Does it doubt us? Feel its left arm."

  "It's artificial. We know that."

  "It's a Legion arm, Beta Three. Biogenned. It lost the original on Mongera, fighting the V and the System, for the Legion. Does it doubt it's a Legion trooper? Who else would go to so much trouble? Would the System? Those scars on its knuckles, on its arm. Legion tattoos, Beta Three. Dead troopers—its comrades. Lasered off by the System, or maybe by the CrimCon, to hide its identity. Does it notice it never gets sick? Stick around another hundred years, it will notice it doesn't age either. It's a Legion immortal, Beta Three—a soldier of the Legion."

  "A soldier of the Legion." I considered it. I guess it did make some sense. I was in tremendous shape, even after all that time in the Oz. There was no spare fat on me, and it was not just because of the starvation rations they had fed us on Nimbos. My muscles were whipcord tight, and hard as iron. That mugger in the elevator—I had demolished him with my hands and fists. I had reacted as savagely as a jungle animal, and I had felt no remorse for his death. And it was true, I never did get sick. And the arm…immortal? Immortal! System proprop claimed it was because Legion troopers were doomed to fight forever, until they were killed, even if it took hundreds of years.

  "The CrimCon captured it, Beta Three, when we were running together from that aircar on Andrion Two. They almost got us as well, but the Legion troopers that were with us hustled us out of the area."

  "It's nonsense," I objected. "Why was the CrimCon fighting the Legion?"

  "We don't know the full story, Beta Three. We know only what Cinta has chosen to tell us. But we can tell it that it is one extremely important unit. Cinta told us that elements in the CrimCon allied themselves with the System, to oppose the Legion and to capture both Cinta and it. They didn't get Cinta but they got it. They psyched it, and gave it to the System—we don't know why. It wasn't easy, tracking it down. But we did it. And now we've got it back!" Her eyes were glowing, and a fierce grin arose. "Cinta will be ecstatic."

  "Why did they want us? What did we have that was so important?"

  "We don't know, Beta Three. Cinta never told us. But we do know it had something to do with a little trip that it took with Cinta�
��we can't even tell it about that. Whatever it was, it precipitated the breakup of ConFree—the CrimCon—and the foundation of the Lost Command. What does it know about the Lost Command?"

  "Insane, genocidal war criminals—a gang of ruthless, merciless, marauding bandits, armed with antimats and hungry for blood—something like that."

  "Yes, yes…right. Something like that. It consists of several Legions that have broken away from ConFree and formed their own sphere of influence. We used to be terrified of the Legion, Beta Three. We were on the Legion death-list, once—maybe we still are, but it doesn't matter any more. Cinta fooled us for a long time, it was good, but we're not stupid. We were pawns, the whole time—and Cinta was the only one who knew. It doesn't matter. We love that woman. We'll follow it right into Hell, if it wants. We'll never leave our Cinta."

  "It sounds as if this Cinta person is the one with all the answers. Is that why we're in this room?"

  "Yes to both. Just a frac." Her slender fingers flashed over the controls. She adjusted the screen so I was just out of the picture. She flashed me a quick smile, and nervously brushed back her short wispy blonde hair with one hand. The screen filled with light. "It will take a few fracs to make the connection," she said. I watched her, my mind in neutral. It was going to take awhile for me to sort it all out, I knew. I was a dishwasher—what did I know about the Legion? It was ridiculous, I thought. They must have the wrong person! Surely I would remember something, if it were really true. The screen crackled suddenly, and flashed blue-white.

  "Is it true?" A female voice, from the d-screen. I couldn't see her features—Whit had turned the screen away from me.

  "Absolutely!" Whit was beaming, triumphant. "We have Beta Three, Commander. And it's right here. Just for it, Cinta. Happy birthday—with love, from sub."

  "Let us see." There was no emotion in the voice. Whit reached out a finger and swivelled the d-screen around to face me.

  A stunning image of beauty gazed at me out of the screen. She was exquisite—pale brown skin, lustrous shoulder-length auburn hair, exotic Assidic eyes and a wide, sensual mouth. The smouldering eyes, the high cheekbones and the very fine facial features suggested the blood of the Conqueror, a chill ghost of the bloody past. Yet she was so fragile and perfect she looked like an angel, fallen to earth through some heavenly tragedy. I knew this was no ordinary girl. As her gaze fell on me she sucked in her breath and one hand went up to her lips, an involuntary gesture. She had paled, ever so slightly, and now she was frozen, taking me in. Then the hand came down, and her lovely face was a stony mask.

  "We thank it, Whit," she said quietly.

  "Pandaros helped us," Whit said. She was still beaming proudly. But I hardly heard it. My mind was swirling madly, my gaze rivetted on the vision in the screen. Her voice! 'Will you please stop doing that?' The words were echoing in my skull. This girl, Cinta—she wasn't just on the screen, she was in my mind as well. I knew her! She had come to me one night in my dreams, back in my filthy cold little cube in Agra Workers Hostel Number 14. I had been sharpening my knife, lost to the world, and she had come out of my mind, out of my past, cutting past all those barriers like magic, hissing right in my ears—'Will you please stop doing that?' She had been upset. And there had been a child—and something else—a beast, a giant…yes, there was no doubt—this was her, my past!

  "I remember you!" I exclaimed. Then I stopped, shocked. I had said "I", and "you". That was CrimCon vocabulary, sub talk. Strange—it had just popped out.

  "I remember you, too, Wester," the vision said calmly, "and I'm very pleased you're getting your memory back." The color was coming back to her face now. And she was talking CrimCon too! "I'd like to welcome you back. What exactly do you remember?" Somehow her speech sounded perfectly natural. The you's and I's didn't bother me at all.

  I squirmed, uneasily. "Uh…nothing. Really. We just…I just…seem to remember it. You. Your face. Your voice. That's all. Nothing else."

  She was silent for awhile, looking out of that flickering d-screen, glowing out of the dark. And my whole world seemed to focus in on her, right there, in that shimmering field of light. Had I really known this angel?

  "Then it's true," she said. "You've been psyched."

  "That's affirmative. They told us…they told me I was a dangerous criminal."

  "You were dangerous all right, Wester, but you weren't a criminal. You were mostly inconvenient, to ConFree. They probably felt uneasy about killing one of their own, after they had extracted all you knew. So they turned you over to the System. The slimy bastards! This is what we're dealing with, this is our enemy, this is how bureaucracies deal with moral dilemmas—they make you go away. What did they do to you, Wester? You look terrible!"

  "Sorry…if we don't come up to its standards," I said coldly. "We're just a dishwasher, after all. And those people may be its enemies—but they're not ours." I was a little upset. I guess things were happening a bit too fast for me to absorb it all. The Oz had made me stupid, after all, and I had no idea what was happening here.

  Cinta just stared at me. I couldn't read her at all. She licked her lips, and my heart leaped. "You're not a dishwasher, Wester. You can forget that right now. Everything you remember is crap. It's all a lie. You're not a citizen of the System, you're a soldier of the Legion, born in ConFree, and you've got a date with destiny. Your past is what's really real, and that's hidden deep in your mind. But we're going to get it back for you, Wester—don't you worry about that at all. I pledge that from the bottom of my soul. I swear it on Deadman. I'm going to get you your past back, and when I do we're going to finish what we started, and ConFree's going to regret it, and the System's going to regret it, and the O's—the V—they're going to regret it, too."

  "Sounds like we've got a lot of very powerful enemies," I said, uneasily. "Assuming you do get my memory back for me, is anybody going to be happy about it?"

  She smiled, a white flash smile that took my breath away. "Yeah," she said, "the good guys are going to be happy. We may be outnumbered, but we don't give a damn about that. We're on a mission from God, Wester—and you've been walking point. I've got an E with your name on it, and it's getting lonely. I'm really glad to see you, Wester. I'll admit it. I'll even admit it in front of Whit. I've missed you, Wester. We all have. You can't imagine how good it is to have you back."

  "Well…" I was more than a little nervous. I knew an "E" was the Legion's standard-issue battlefield superiority weapon. "Thanks. We…I…uh…how about introducing yourself? Oh and, uh…I thought my designation was Beta Three. Am I 'Wester' too?"

  Another pearly smile. What a doll! "Sorry, Wester. Yes, you're Wester, and Beta Three, too. My name is Cintana Tamaling, alias Cinta, alias Antara Tarantos-Hanna, alias Tara, alias Indigo Frost…I've used up a lot of names. You used to call me Tara. We're old friends—we've been through a lot together. Yes, just call me Tara. That name used to be a secret, but all the secrets are gone now. We're standing right under the stars, waiting for the future, whatever it may be. Life or death, it's the same to us. We're going to do the right thing, Wester—wherever it leads. Just a frac!" She leaned to one side, distracted. Someone was saying something to her off-screen.

  "Sorry, Wester—got to go! Whit, take good care of it. Brief it on everything. Get Redhawk on the link and make sure it's all going smoothly. We'll get back to it. Oh, and Whit…thanks."

  "It was nothing, Cinta!" Whit was glowing again. She was obviously fond of Cinta. The screen flashed, cracked once, and faded. Silence settled over our little cube. Whit appeared very pleased with herself.

  "So," I said, "where was she calling from? If she's close enough to use a link, and I'm so bloody important to her, why didn't she come in person?" I was trying out my sub talk, and I didn't care any more what anyone thought. It seemed perfectly natural to me.

  "It's not exactly close," Whit replied. "Cinta's in Dindabai, with the Lost Command. It's about as far as it can get from System vac—twelve hundred light years or
something like that."

  "Dindabai. So—she's with the Lost Command."

  "Affirmative. And from what we've gathered, Cinta is a rather important unit with LC headquarters. Just for its info."

  "We see. And we're in stardrive, out of Nimbos Sector."

  "That's right."

  I just looked at her. They must have thought I was pretty stupid. Just a dishwasher—what the hell will he know. They probably thought they could tell me anything they wanted, and I would believe it. Well, they were in for a big surprise.

  ***

  "Hi. Want some company?" I opened my eyes. I was lying on my back by the pool, toasting in the warm rays of the sun racks lining the overhead. It was Whit, clad in a skimpy black two-piece swim mini that didn't conceal much. Her long shapely legs were knocking my eyes out.

  "Sure." I blinked, running my eyes over her slender, perfect figure.

  "How's the water?" She didn't wait for a response, but dove right in. She hardly made a splash. She was obviously at home in the water. A swimming pool in a starship—these people were seriously crazy, as well as criminally wealthy. The System had taught us that wealth was evil. Whit and her friends were certainly either criminals or CrimCon—maybe both. And I was going to find out.

  When she came back from her swim she settled down beside me, shaking the water from her short blonde hair, flashing me a cheery smile. Her nipples were fully visible against the wet top, and those legs were really distracting. She certainly knew it.

  "Does it like the pool?" she asked.

  "Fine," I said. It was warm and peaceful. The reflection from the water was glimmering off the ceiling. The two of us were alone by the pool.

  "Would it like to mate with us?" Whit asked, touching me lightly on one leg. Nothing like the direct approach, I thought.

  "Of course I would," I replied. "But not now. There are a few things we have to clear up first. You can tell your buddy Cinta that her patsy doesn't believe a word of the story you two have cooked up. Just tell her this is one dishwasher who's not buying it. She's going to have to find herself another fool."