Cross of the Legion (30 page)

He listened to it all patiently, nodding slightly from time to time. He knew. He had been there.

"Pherdos Command declared the planet secure early this morning," he informed me. "A victory—for the books." He knew it wasn't really a victory, for anyone who had been there. But it was an ending, at least. I sighed, to hear the news. Priestess would survive. Good. That was good.

"He's a madman, you know," the director said. "Cotter-Arc. We are all mad, I suppose, but he's gone—over the edge. I knew him in the old days, I know how he thinks. He's decided to pull the temple down around him. He decided that long ago. He knows the System is doomed. This is his final act—his legacy, his Armageddon. He wants the whole galaxy to go down in flames, all around him. We don't appreciate him—so we die. That's all he wants."

I was silent.

"Come here," he said, walking into the darkness. I followed. The dome lit up with stars, a galaxy of diamond dust, glowing golden nebulae, swirling magical rivers of milky jewels, glittering in the velvet dark like a million microscopic fireflies.

"There's the Outvac," the Director said, flicking a thin red laser pointer into the void. The stars were reflected in his empty eyes. "The Gassies are over here. We're landing on those worlds—the ones in yellow are still contested. The greens are taken. You can see there's a lot to do—but it has to be done."

He whispered something, and the stars whirled dizzily around us, then stabilized. "The Inners—the heart of the System. And here, DemFed, and the Hyades." It was a fearful infinity of red stars, glowing like blood. "We're hoping the Mocains will abandon the System and conclude a separate truce with us. We'd welcome it. But if they don't—we fight to the end. They know it." I nodded, resigned to whatever the future would bring. Twenty years, I thought. Thirty years, to take all those planets.

"We know where Cotter-Arc is. If you can kill him, you may save the lives of millions. It could be a long war. Or—if he dies—it could be shorter."

"Yes."

"Kill him. I don't care how. It's not going to be easy, for he is well protected. But you will have the resources of all of ConFree and the Legion behind you."

"Yes sir."

"If you can do this, you will change history."

"Yes sir"

"It will be an act of…deicide…to kill Satan. For that's who he is. He's Satan."

"Yes sir."

A wide panel along one wall was faintly glowing. I suddenly realized it was the dawn, a pale cold light seeping in through an open window port. No wonder it was cold—the window ports were open to the night. Wide open. The faint light illuminated the director's face. Still young, it seemed—until you looked into the eyes. They were cold and bottomless. A void.

"Promise me you'll do it—for ConFree," he whispered, grasping my right hand firmly in both of his. My heart was pounding. Kill a God? And who was the director—but another God?

"I'll do it," I replied quietly, "but not for ConFree. I fought ConFree."

"So did I. That wasn't ConFree—that was Satan. That was Cotter-Arc. But we've got ConFree back now, the genuine article. The ConFree Constitution, written in blood, by free men. Justice, over all—and the death of tyrants. The death of tyrants!"

"I'll do it. I'll kill him. But it will be for the Legion." And for myself, I thought.

"For the Legion. Good. We kill Satan—right in the heart of Hell. Make certain he knows it's the Legion. I want him to see me in your eyes when he dies."

My blood ran ice cold in my veins and my skin prickled with horror, as the director maintained his death grip on my hand. I brought my free hand up and placed it gently over his.

"To the death," I whispered. A shooting star, I thought—that's me. Going out in a blaze of glory.

He withdrew one hand, and traced the cross of the Legion in the air, right over my face.

"Bless you," he said, "in Deadman's name." He was absolutely serene.

I left the room, stunned and silent. I knew I was only a pawn—a hired gun, one of Deadman's Dogs, bound for certain death. But I was going to kill a God before I went out. I could hear Moontouch, whispering in my ear. 'I see men without minds, killing without remorse, and children without hope, waving the flags of an evil God. I see two madmen, leaders of the forces of light and darkness, locked in a struggle to the death for the future of humanity. You will follow the one and fight the other, and never know which God you serve.'

Chapter 21
Uniden Troopers

"This was Goodlib City, capital of Pherdos. The Pherdans didn't have any choice when the Systies intervened. The Systies ruled from here."

Redhawk was at the controls of the aircar, ferrying me back to the squad. The wind whistled coldly against the plex as we hurtled over the remnants of the capitol, a nightmare city of the dead, great piles of smoking rubble stretching to the horizon under a dark grey sky. I had insisted on returning here, to choose my task force personally. Tara had not even argued about it.

"Doesn't look too healthy," I said.

"It wasn't much better before," Redhawk replied, grinning behind his faceplate. He looked more like a pirate than a soldier. The war didn't do much for our grooming or personal hygiene, and Redhawk wasn't overly concerned with either topic in the best of times. We were both in A-suits, and I cradled an E in my arms. The aircar's console chirped with electronic challenges and responses. I felt right at home. The planet may have been officially declared secure, but that didn't mean all the Systies had gotten the word.

Redhawk was right, I reflected. As on most Systie worlds, the System had holed up in their Government fortresses as society went to hell all around them, spurred on by Systie policies that divided the populace into mutually hostile groups that would end up fighting each other instead of the System. A corrupt government, a fraudulent democracy, a bankrupt economy, a failed legal system that protected lawyers and criminals and attacked the law-abiding, mandatory redistribution of wealth from workers to parasites until there was no more wealth to distribute, corrupt police…No, it had probably not been much better before. Pherdans or Systies, it was the same. Crime, poverty, despair, resentment and helplessness—a familiar story.

"That's the capitol building," Redhawk said. "We took it while you were away. They ran out of biogen girls. We wound up fighting Mocains. Didn't last long." The car wheeled to one side, falling giddily downwards, and a huge, dark structure appeared on the horizon, a great multistoried bunker of armored stone, still intact. What a colossal waste!

I hopped out the assault door in the shadow of that obscene monument to the past, trying to see through the muddy spray from the car's downdraft.

"Thinker—give this to the guys!" Redhawk threw a cloth bag at me, almost as an afterthought. I tucked it under one arm as the aircar shot skywards. Not far away, a line of destitute women and children shuffled towards a field kitchen where troopers in Legion armor ladled out hot soup and Legion rations into plastic bowls. Children! My heart leaped at the thought of Stormdawn. He was safe and warm by his mother's side on Andrion 2—unlike these poor wasted, shivering unfortunates. I could barely stand to look at them. The System hated and feared its subjects. But all that was going to change now. The System was being swept away, forever, by us. If that was all we ever did, it would be enough.

A Legion aircar hovered up ahead over a sad tableau. A half-squad of Legion soldiers stood over their dead. Three A-suits lay side by side in the dirt, their armor burnt white by tacstars. The car touched down gently and the troopers moved to load the dead through the assault door. I made the sign of the Legion, instinctively. Further away, a work crew of DefCorps prisoners was marching off somewhere with a single Legion escort. Systie soldiers didn't have to fear their fate as Legion prisoners, assuming they didn't resist. I felt no anger at them, even though we had been fighting them not so long ago. I knew they were only pawns—just like me. Our anger was reserved for the politicals. They had best not let us capture them alive.

"Thinker! You're back!" Priestess suddenly appeared and collided with me in a sharp clash of armor. Her visor snapped up and she looked up at me with those lovely brown eyes, beaming like a child with a new toy. "Gimme a kiss!"

I snapped up my visor and we locked tongues for awhile but that's not easy to do wearing an A-suit helmet. I lifted her off her feet and spun her around. My heart was burning for her. So lovely, so sweet. Deadman, how I had missed her! We embraced, silent, ecstatic. She wouldn't stop grinning. What a treasure I had in her—and what a fool I was to risk it all at the front. But it couldn't be helped. We were all on Atom's Road, walking point for Deadman, and turning back was not an option.

"Come on," Priestess urged, "we're all inside. It's quite a place!" She shouldered her E and snatched my hand and led me up an imposing cenite staircase into a wide, open doorway past giant armorite doors that had been blasted right off their hinges and lay on the floor. There were no lights inside the cavernous interior. It was cold and gloomy. Trash and wreckage was strewn around the deck.

"Elevators are out. We take the stairs," Priestess said, heading up an interior stairwell. A Systie Mocain was sprawled over the stairs, frozen in death, his bronze-colored armor burnt white with X-max hits. I could tell he was a Mocain by his size—they're big.

"Redhawk asked me to pass you this," I said, tossing the package to Priestess as we continued up the stairs, heading for the upper floors.

"Yes! I know what this is. Just what we need! So how did it go, Three? Was it Tara after all? Are you back with us for awhile?"

"I'll tell you later. Where are we going here?"

"To the top! Recon's up there. We took this place ourselves. I got to kill a Mocain."

"Yeah?" We threaded our way through a darkened office suite, full of d-screens and commo gear. "And how did you feel about that?"

She turned and faced me, her face hardening. "It felt good," she said.

***

Recon was up on the very top of the massive bunker, under dark skies. Priestess and I surfaced through an access hatch used by maintenance people. The sky was full of dirty grey clouds and the air was wet.

"Three!" Psycho spotted me first. "Hey guys, alert. Thinker's back!" His helmet was off. He had been standing by the edge looking out over the city. It was quite a view. The whole panorama spread out all around us.

"Welcome back, Thinker!" Dragon slammed an armored hand into mine. His helmet was off, too. His face was hard and skeletal, dark skin stretched tautly over bone, cold glittering eyes, sweaty dark hair. "Any news on the war?"

"Yeah, I've got news all right. Plenty of news."

"Thinker! Gimme a hit!" Valkyrie punched my fist, grinning fiercely, icy green eyes, golden hair, the Legion Cross black on her forehead. "You missed the Mocains. We got some kills!"

"I heard." They were all there, in dirty camfaxed armor, bristling with weapons, scattered over the top of the building. I spotted Trigger, Doctor Doom, Sweats, and Tourist from Pits and Scrapper, Pads, Ragdoll, Ricochet and Hotpants from Mams. Flash had been our only casualty, but he was not forgotten. I stood by the edge, looking over a smoking wasteland. Their fault, I thought. Cotter-Arc knows we'll fight to the death. He knows. And he can stop the killing any time by surrendering. But he won't—just as the Director said. He has to be killed. That will end the war. Only that.

"Thinker brought the flag!" Priestess exclaimed, ripping open the package Redhawk had tossed me.

"All right! Get it up!" Dragon ordered. Priestess clutched a dark bundle in her arms. She popped off her helmet and ran over to a large conical structure topped by a tall cenite flagpole. She started up a ladder built into the side of the structure. I snapped my helmet off, dropped it to the deck, and started up the ladder after Priestess.

"Priestess! Hold up! What are you doing?" Her boots were right at my face. It was only a short way up to the base of the flagpole.

"The flag, Thinker! You brought the flag! We tore down the Systie colors, but nobody had our own flag. Can you imagine that? We've got to run up the flag, Thinker—everybody will see it up here!" Priestess was on her knees on the narrow ledge above me, fooling with ropes that whipped in the wind. There was no room for me up there. I clung to the ladder.

"Be careful, Priestess! Isn't there a better way to do this?"

"The Systies raised and lowered their flag automatically through this flagbase, but it's broken. Just a frac."

I gazed skyward. Wild dirty clouds scudded close overhead. A few drops of rain spattered around us. It was a tremendous flagpole, all right. Everyone would see it from the horizon—friend and foe alike.

"Careful, guys!" Recon gathered below, watching us.

"All right, I've got the catches. Help me pull it up, Thinker!" A rope slithered into my arms. Priestess pulled, I pulled. The flag snapped loose, unfurling into a rising breeze, wrapping itself briefly around Priestess, then flapping away as we pulled at the rope. Our own black flag, rising now into our newly-claimed sky. Straining at the rope, cracking and snapping, the flag of the Legion, vac black, a silvery Legion cross boldly emblazoned at the center. A cheer arose from the squad below. My blood was ice cold as Priestess and I continued pulling at the rope, sending the flag higher and higher. What a lovely, fearsome banner. It was us, all of us, proclaiming our victory. Death to tyrants! Fluttering now boldly at the very top of the flagpole.

It was quite a feeling, watching our flag, floating majestically over the defeated foe. An aircar hovered not far off. Snow Leopard told me later it had just been passing by, but it had recorded our flag-raising. Those images appeared all over ConFree, showing Priestess and me at the ropes, with Recon below, over the label 'Uniden Legion troopers raising the flag on Pherdos'. I guess I'm prouder of that than almost anything else.