Cross of the Legion (32 page)

"Release the antimat at the last instant," Dragon suggested. "If they can't see the Wraith…"

"It sounds tempting, but it won't work," Snow Leopard said. "We've done simulations. Close won't work. We've got to penetrate the shielding to kill it. We've got to get inside. The place is pretty advanced. And there's another reason why we might not want to blow the thing sky-high."

"What's that?" I asked.

The image faded to be replaced by a still holo of a vast hall full of…children. Uniformed children, grade schoolers, all boys. Outworlders, mostly, clad in silky white, gold piping at sleeves and collars. They were cheering, throwing their slim arms up, glazed eyes focused somewhere up ahead, innocent faces gleaming with joy. Hundreds of them.

It was not until that moment that I knew I would gladly, cheerfully kill Kenton Cotter-Arc, if I could, and that I would feel very good about it.

"Explain, please," I said.

"Initial results of the Children's Raids," Snow Leopard said. "You may have missed it. It began while you were on Pherdos. Starfleet would hit an isolated ConFree world and the DefCorps would attack the milbase and starport. While the defenders were concentrating on that, a fleet of aircars would hit the grade schools and snap up all the boys. Then they'd be off, followed immediately by the rest of the raiding party. The whole point of the raid would be to take the children."

"Why?"

"Simple. Nobody believes in the System any more. So it's being defended by biogens, who can be programmed to believe whatever you want. But biogens are expensive to build, and the System is running out of cash. Children are next-best: They can be programmed. System kids won't work. They already know what the System is—and their parents would resist, too. So ConFree children are best. Systie psych programming is very effective. And it works best on young kids, because they have limited experience of the world."

"And they've done a lot of these raids?"

"Our defenses are spread thin. They've been surprisingly successful. The programming is excellent. This is KCA's own project. The kids are being used primarily in the Hyades Federation. Biogens and children—his personal guard. The biogen girls are known as the Arcangels. The boys are called Arcwhites."

"Our own children."

"Our own children. They'll die for him—willingly."

"We're going in. I want to kill him with my own hands."

"An argument has been made that it might be worth antimatting the place, if we can gain access, just to insure he dies. It will be difficult reaching him personally. Of course, no one wants to kill hundreds of children. But if it ends the war…"

"We go in. I want him to die like a dog. I want to see him bleed."

"Tell us what you really think, Three," Dragon urged me. "Don't be so damned detached."

"There's something else you should know," Snow Leopard continued. "KCA is a homosexual paedophile. He helps himself to those kids. It's…"

"Evil," I said. "The word is evil." My skin crawled with horror and hatred. This was evil. This was what the Legion had been fighting, all these years. Pure evil, now concentrated, focused, in the person of one man—Kenton Cotter-Arc. Satan. The Director was exactly right. KCA was Satan!

The images faded from the holo field, to be replaced by the fortress again, calmly glowing in a dark sea.

"What do they call this place?" I asked.

"Norport Station."

"How much do we know about it?"

"About everything—by now. Information we've got."

"How?"

"Eyemote probes. We've infected the place. We've sent them throughout the complex. It's almost completely mapped by now. The individual units don't last long. They've got some kind of air filter equipment or anti-eyemote device that snaps up our probes regularly. But they last long enough to send the info back to us."

"Do they know we've been eyemoting them?"

"It's doubtful. Anti-eyemotes destroy the devices, but don't really know what they're destroying."

"All right. We project our holos right into the site, and track the bastard down, and blast him."

"Can't do it. The entire dome is protected with anti-holo shielding. KCA ain't easy."

"How did your eyemotes get in?"

"Through the supply subs."

"Then we'll get in the same way. Once our holos are in they can't stop us—right?"

"That's right. But if your holo goes down inside you can't project back there—you'll have to re-infiltrate all over again. And that will be unlikely."

"It's all right," I said. "We're immortals—and they say the universe is going to last forever. We've got plenty of time." I felt good about the mission. I felt holy. It didn't matter how long it took. It didn't matter if we succeeded or failed. It didn't even matter if I lived or died. I was going to go out killing Satan. And, years after my death, nobody was ever going to say that Beta Three had just been along for the ride.

One's comset beeped. He listened, said a few words, and stepped away from the holo table. "Your backup squad is here. Captain says we're almost set to launch."

"Tell him there's no rush. Let's inspect that squad."

***

Nine more troopers, clad in Legion black, braced at attention in the boarding lock. Backup, I thought—and a fearsome backup it was. I knew every soldier personally, and would trust each with my life. Snow Leopard and Dragon and I walked down the line slowly, pausing before each trooper. So young, I thought—they seem so young. I'm only a few years older—but it seems like a generation. Holy Angels, I thought. Deadman's Army—reinforcements for the dead. Temporarily with us, the living. Trigger, now a squad leader, a tall, strapping youth, totally fearless, driven by secret demons he shared with no one. Sweats and Tourist and Doctor Doom, survivors from the Pits, returning to their leader, Dragon. And Squad Mams, five scary, lovely girls with cold eyes and short hair, all branded on the forehead with the black cross. Ricochet, Ragdoll, Pads, Hotpants and Claws—Valkyrie's Babes, guaranteed crazy and all set to shoot up the town. Valkyrie and Scrapper appeared suddenly, grinning, and a satisfied growl arose from the girls. All was well, it seemed. We were all going to die together.

"All right, troopers. Welcome back," I said. "This is Operation Deep, and you're backup. Chances are high we're all going to die. You were told that before you came here. I'll re-emphasize it. This is a suicide mission. I don't want anyone who isn't fully prepared to die. If you have a lover—or anyone else to live for—I want you to walk back out that boarding lock, right now. Do it!"

Somebody laughed. "Nobody like that here!"

"Our lovers are right here!"

"My lover's already in Hell!"

"I've always wanted to die. Can I take some Systies with me?"

"As many as you like, Trooper," I said. "That's part of the deal."

"All right!"

Hopeless, I thought. Hopeless. Perfect. How the hell was KCA going to stop this bunch?

***

"Captain reports the ship is fully prepped for launch," Snow Leopard said. "Your last volunteer is here—the crazy fem I told you about. Also we finally got a full team for Ship's Triage." I looked up. Snow Leopard stood by the door. I had been lost at the holo table, inside KCA's serpentine fortress, mapping out possibilities. Dragon was by my side.

"Just what we need," I said, "another crazy. Well, if you recommend her, that's good enough for me."

"Another couple of tits," Dragon objected. "That's four females in the strike force, and five in backup. They outnumber us!"

"From what One's told me about this chick, I'd say her femininity is in question. That right, One?"

"I recommend her without qualification. You want to see her? You've met her before."

"I have? Sure—bring her in." Dragon and I stood by the holo table as the door snapped open. A Mocain girl stepped in and snapped to attention, dressed in blacks, Combat Cross, pale greenish skin, throat and jaw speckled with ugly scars. A Mocain!

"Trooper Zero reporting as ordered, sir!" she shouted. Hooded, icy eyes, almost invisible eyebrows, and a black Legion Cross on her forehead. She looked hard and fit and very tough. Deadman's death—I knew this girl! She was a cold breath from the past.

"Millina," I whispered. "It's Millina." I stood before her, fascinated. This Mocain bitch was part of Beta's past. She fought against us on Coldmark, and with us on Mongera. "One…you're joking," I gasped. "You recommend her?" Dragon was almost nose to nose with the Mocain, glaring at her. Millina continued gazing calmly into space, braced at attention.

"Without qualification," Snow Leopard said. "She's got over 320 documented kills. She's saved over 2,700 Legion or ConFree lives, including an entire outpost on Uldo. And including all of Squad Beta, on Mongera—you remember that. She's been mentioned in after-action reports eleven times. Recommended for promotion to officer four times, and she refused it four times."

"She almost killed Valkyrie," I said.

"Valkyrie almost killed her. She's been wounded in action five times. She's lost both legs, one arm, and large chunks of her hide in service to the Legion."

"She's a Mocain!" Dragon snarled.

"She fought in Galagos, Titan, Uldo and Pherdos. She's totally fearless, totally reliable, and totally ruthless. She's exactly what you need."

"Why should we trust a Mocain?" She stared into space, her hooded, vaguely reptilian eyes betraying nothing while we discussed her as if she were a dog or a biogen.

"She's a ConFree citizen—and a Legion trooper. Proven, repeatedly, in battle."

"Why didn't you tell me it was her?" I asked. "How do you think Valkyrie is going to like this?"

"Valkyrie is going to do what she's ordered to do. I described her qualifications. You agreed she sounded terrific. That hasn't changed. Neither has my recommendation. She's the perfect trooper for this mission. And the past is dead and gone!" His pink eyes glowed.

Dragon breathed in her face, bristling. I went nose to nose with her as well. "You're a Mocain," I hissed. "What are you doing in the Legion, Greenie? Why do you fight for ConFree?"

She blinked, and responded. "I want to kill Systies, sir." Only that. Deadman—wasn't that enough?

"It's your mission, Thinker," Snow Leopard said.

"You're in, Greenie," I said quietly. "Do you have a war name?"

"Yes sir. Greenie. My war name is Greenie."

***

"Wraith, you are cleared for launch."

"Confirm ship is cleared for launch."

"Detach dock lock." The captain of the
Wraith
was in the command chair as Dragon and I stood behind the bridge crew at the observation rail. The bridge was a marvel of compact, perfectly functional design, the culmination of hundreds of years of experience, lights dimmed, screens glowing a soothing phospho blue. It's almost like a chapel, I thought—a chapel to our God. We had a terrific view out the armored plex. The
Spawn
blazed like a star, a breathtaking sight.

"Dock lock detached."

"Spawn, Wraith is free."

"May Deadman be with you."

"Thank you, Spawn. God bless you. Docking power ahead point one." We were underway—gliding away from the
Spawn
in a graceful, slow-motion ballet of blinding spots and icy shadows and a lovely infinity of silvery stars, a silky road of glowing dust as far as we could see. Our journey had begun. All jumps start with docking power, they say.

"Docking power, ahead point one. All green."

"Activate vac drive."

"Vac drive activated, standing by, zero, all green."

"Initiate vac drive, ahead point one."

Gliding like a cenite bat, into infinity. The
Spawn
was already lost in the distance behind us. Now it was up to us—to me. Snow Leopard was hard at work already. I vowed not to bother him for awhile. I knew whatever he came up with would give us maximum chances for survival while insuring the accomplishment of the mission.

"Triage is still standing by for inspection," Dragon said. Volunteers were not always immediately available when the chances for survival were posted as 'minimal', but they were always there when it was time to launch. It gave me all the faith I needed in the Legion, just knowing we still had people like that, every day, walking in the door. If the day ever came when we called for volunteers and nobody showed, it would be the end of the Legion—and ConFree.

"Fine," I said. "Tell them we're on the way."

***

"Ship's Triage Combat Fleet Medunit 901 ready for inspection, sir!" They were all in white, a young male Combat Surgeon and six medics and nurses, males and females, a brand new Body Shop equipped with every possible…my heart stopped. She stood there at attention, nurses insignia over one breast—Millie! My own Millie! She smiled proudly, looking at me out of the corners of her eyes. I held up a hand, cutting off the surgeon's description of the unit and its capabilities.

"Millie," I said stupidly. "What are you doing here? I thought you were on Quaba 7."

"I volunteered," she replied brightly. "I heard you were commanding this mission, so I volunteered—sir."

"I see." I stepped back, furious. A volunteer. Just what we needed. And who could stop a Legion volunteer? Nobody! I had wanted her safe and sound on Quaba 7. And now she was here, to share my fate. Fate, fate, fate—impossible to fight it.

"Thank you, Chief Surgeon," I said. "It looks like a splendid medunit. Hopefully, you won't get a chance to use all this fancy equipment."

"Yes sir! Thank you sir!"

Millie—and Millina! What a contrast! Day and night, love and hate, blind faith and blind revenge, saving lives and taking them, walking into the future side by side, right into Satan's den. I had a feeling we were going to need both of them.

Chapter 23
Deneb's Seed

That damned big male Mocain kept looking at Valkyrie. It made her nervous, I could tell, but it made me more nervous. I was beginning to sweat, and I didn't want that. We were in Norport Station's supply sub, all six of us. It was working. We had appeared in the milbase, infilled quietly through to the warehouse, killed two guards and all six VS and took their places, loading massive dropboxes onto the sub. We looked like a truly ratty gang of VS—Voluntary Service—Eiros slaves, skin darkened by a hot tropical sun, dressed in rags, totally unarmed and totally harmless. We had left a bloody mess behind us in the warehouse, but with any luck we'd be inside Norport before the carnage was discovered.

I was sweating all right, even though the air in the cargo hold was icy cold. The Mocain was lounging near Valkyrie. We sat on benches that ran along the interior of the hull facing the cargo, which almost filled the hold. Little observation ports gave a terrific view of the sea outside. Part of Norport came into view off in the distance. A little patrol sub cruised lazily past. A larger sub was doing something on the sea floor.

The Mocain reached out for Valkyrie's headrag and pulled it back to reveal her face. The VS females on Eiros all wore those headrags, perhaps for modesty, but it wasn't going to hide Valkyrie's beauty. We had erased the Legion cross from her forehead, thinking it might not be appropriate for this mission. We'd done the same for Millina and Scrapper. The Mocain smiled and said something to Valkyrie. Damn it! There was only the one Mocain security goon in the cargo hold with us and a crew of two up in front, past the small passenger compartment with three passengers, if our info was right. A total of six to be dealt with.

Valkyrie looked down at the deck. Good! Don't talk, Valkyrie. Just ignore him. Let the driver get us to the target first. Just get us there. Grant us only that!

The Mocain liked what he saw. He was huge, with pale, faintly greenish skin, clad in DefCorps khaki. He reached down and grasped Valkyrie's wrist and pulled her from her seat, dragging her roughly to the front of the compartment near a crew hatch where a plastic wall panel blocked our view. VS weren't supposed to resist Mocains—it was unthinkable. The security camera, above the door to the passenger compartment, gave the crew a good view of the supply compartment, but Valkyrie and the Mocain were now out of its field of view. Probably another ten marks before arrival at Norport Station. Damn!

Scrapper eased out of her seat and took a look behind the wall panel to see what they were doing. She looked back at me, grimacing—insistent. Damn! I started to get up. Dragon signalled me, urging me not to move. He was closer to them. He got up casually and strolled over to the scene of the action. Scrapper resumed her seat. Damn damn damn! We'd never make it!

A flurry of movement. Valkyrie staggered into view, shaken, her blouse dishevelled. The Mocain came crashing down, spraying blood from his face, Dragon following him to the deck like a killer bloodcat, hissing death. The intercom squawked something. Dragon dragged the unconscious Mocain back to the corner, but it was probably too late.

We resumed our seats, desperate to salvage something. Maybe they hadn't seen much. Dragon confiscated the Greenie's shockrod. That was the extent of the armament that most of KCA's troopers were permitted downside. Even KCA's quick reaction forces were only armed with vac. KCA knew firearms and energy weapons were dangerous. All good dictators knew that. The first thing he had done in the Hyades Federation was to disarm the populace. Possession of firearms was punishable by death. He didn't even trust his own troopers or biogens, downside. All his installations were wired to detect firearms, so we were going in barehanded. But that was all right. It gave us an extra edge.

The door to the passenger compartment snapped open—that was it! A crew member, a Cyrillian, peering in. Dragon caught him behind the ear with a vicious roundhouse kick that drove him to the deck like a falling tree. We burst through the door past three passengers, startled, two males in khaki, one female in white, biogen. I was past them in a flash and tore open the door to the control room, the pilot, startled, stared back from his chair. I snapped the near-invisible angel wire over his neck and dropped, putting my full body weight behind it. Blood cascaded down my arms as he convulsed silently, his arms flapping wildly. I got a glimpse into the passenger compartment. Psycho was slitting a male Systie's throat with a ceremonial cold knife he must have snatched from the Systie. Blood poured down the Systie's chest. Valkyrie used her angel wire on the second male, riding him like a horse as he collapsed into the aisle, face purple, scratching at his bloody neck. Priestess and Scrapper struggled with the biogen girl, clinging to her like a pair of killer dogs on a jungle cat. She shook them off, then attacked Priestess. Dragon landed on the biogen's back, jabbing at her with a shockrod he had taken from the Mocain. Psycho jumped on her head, plunging a bloody knife into her back. She snapped to her feet, dumping Dragon and Psycho, holding Priestess in a stranglehold under one arm, reaching behind her to pull the knife from her back, then slamming Priestess to the deck and plunging the knife hilt-deep into Priestess's belly. Priestess screamed. Something exploded. Scrapper leaped on the biogen's back, snapped the angel wire over her neck and yanked. The biogen released the knife, squirming wildly, going to her knees, white blood splattering everywhere. Scrapper was ripping the biogen's head right off—where the hell was Priestess? Dragon pounded at the biogen's face, reducing it to a greasy white pulp. A voice from the cockpit console was demanding a sitrep. The station—how could we dock? I caught a glimpse of another sub, spiralling our way. A bloody, hopeless screwup—criminal stupidity! A horrid clang rang out and the ship lurched. A deafening bang, and the passenger hatch was blown away and a squad of armored Systies charged in, firing vac wildly.

The ES snapped off and we were back in the holo chamber, lying where we had fallen. I was shaking with horror and rage and fear. Priestess was crying in terror and frustration, but there was no knife in her belly. The blood was fading from my arms. The door snapped open and Millina stalked in.

"Crap!" she screamed, livid. "That was pitiful! Amateurs! Fools! How have you survived? Put me in the strike force! You idiots can't handle it! You're all dead! Understand? Dead!"

"Shut the hell down!" I shouted. "Nobody asked you!" My heart still pounded. We had decided to exclude Millina from the strike force because a Mocain could not disguise herself as a VS, and anything else would draw too much attention.

"That was not so good," Dragon said grimly.

"God damn it! Why the hell didn't you…"

"Can't you take out a bloody robot?"

"I didn't see you…"

"Shut down!"

"She's right! That was crap!"

"Shut down!" I screamed again. "Just shut the hell down!" A sullen silence settled over the ES chamber.

"All right," I said. "This is why we're doing these exercises. We're going to do it better next time."

"That's not going to be too hard!"

"Critique, Thinker." Snow Leopard demanded. He stood in the ES doorway, as calm as ice.

"That was stupid," I said. "We weren't thinking. Valkyrie—if that happens in real life, you let him rape you."

"Let him rape me!"

"That's right! Our mission is to get inside that station and kill KCA. Only that. Nothing else is of any importance. If it gains us some time, let it happen."

"Easy for you to say!"

"You can cut off his cock after we reach the other side. Until then we keep quiet. It was working until then. That was stupid—we were all stupid."

"You were in charge, Thinker," One said. It hurt.

"Right. Absolutely right. My fault. Scrapper, nobody asked you to get out of your seat."

"We just let him rape her?"

"That's right!"

"I thought we were going to kill Systies, not service them!"

"We do whatever has to be done to insure the success of the mission. That's what we do."

***

We got better. I got a lot more demanding, and we got better. The envirosim chambers were totally realistic. It was exactly like real life, and I set the controls to reflect everything that might possibly go wrong. We learnt fast. At first the angel wires had ripped our hands to shreds. Now we all had thick calluses on our hands—like real manual laborers. Artificial, but undetectable.

The practice was hell. It was not going to end until we were ready for anything. They ended up hating me, but I didn't mind.

We were going to kill a God—and we had to do it right.

We drifted around the Gassies on vac drive. I didn't want to go stardrive until we were ready. There wasn't much down time but when there was, I would spend some of it on the bridge, looking out at the stars. When I had been a regular trooper, I hadn't known or cared where the Legion was sending me—but now I had to know everything. The stars were like milky highways through infinity. We floated along the edge of the Outvac like a microscopic fleck of metal; we had a damned good view. Out one port ConFree's home stars burnt a lovely pattern into the dark—the Crista Cluster, a glorious spangle of silvery dust. Hundreds of stars. Home—home to us all. Veltros, Hell, Korkush, Quaba, Mica—they were all there. I couldn't look at the Crista without feeling a warm thrill on my flesh and a fierce determination that no intruder was ever going to threaten us without one hell of a fight. Those stars—we'd die for them.

We were so far from the Inners that it was not really comprehensible. You could say the distance, but you couldn't really grasp it: 1,400 light years from the Inners. We were way, way out there.

By turning my head just a bit, I could see another stunning cloud of icy, swirling dust and softly burning stars embedded in the cloud. It was the Donatei Cluster, on the other side of the Outvac, considerably further out than the Crista. New stars still formed there. It was a galactic nursery, glowing hot and bright, encased in a glorious bubble of glowing gas. And on one starry edge of the cluster, the Blood Star burnt a brilliant red—a warning, to our enemies. God's work, on display for all to see, even bacteria like us, and it surely was a marvelous sight. It always put things into perspective for me.

And, an impossible distance away, Deneb burnt like an arc light, a brilliant phospho blue-white supergiant, casting a welcoming glow to our tiny corner of the universe, a lighthouse for the Outvac, watching over us all. Deneb had always been there for us. But where we were going, it was just another distant star. We were Deneb's seed, I thought, launched on a holy crusade, into the infinite dark.

***

I staggered out of ES, exhausted, my rags both scorched and soaked. I collapsed against a wall of the squad room and slid to the floor, my limbs twitching. So real! I had been terrified, the whole time.

The others appearing, excited, shouting to each other, still pumped full of adrenalin. Snow Leopard stepped in from the Control Room, clad in faded camfax, standing straight and tall, as cold as ice, watching us without comment.

"Element Beta all present or accounted for, sir!" Dragon shouted to me, crashing down to the deck.

We're all here, One," I said wearily. Deto! Another royal screw-up! The bastard had shot me right in the head and I hadn't even seen him. Deto!

Everyone was on the floor or braced against the walls, totalled, still panting, awaiting the word from Snow Leopard.

"Acceptable," he said. The squad erupted, howling like wolves. Dragon pounded my back, ecstatic.

"What happened, Dragon?" I asked. I had missed much of the action.

"Greenie and I cornered him after they took you and Psycho out. We wasted the body guards and then we wasted him. Man! What a charge! He fought like a tiger! They killed Valkyrie when we were taking the escape pod. Acceptable, Three! Our first acceptable!" He was beaded with sweat—ecstatic.

Got him. A first. I was so tired I could not really appreciate it.

"That was good, Thinker." Snow Leopard squatted beside me, totally calm. "They're getting it. It's coming together." I nodded, mute.

"It will have to be better," he said. "There was a lot of luck, this time. They'll have to get better."

"Yes," I said. "We'll do it."

"I killed the creep that got you, Valkyrie," Scrapper said. They were side by side against the cenite wall, sharing a canteen. Valkyrie was totally dejected. Nobody liked to get killed—even as a Holo-X.

"Not bad, Legion," Millina said to Valkyrie. "I liked the way you handled that officer." Millina was clad in STRATCOM red. She was proving to be most helpful, once we had decided to take advantage of her ethnicity rather than fighting it.

"You enjoyed killing that female, didn't you?" Valkyrie's face was completely blank. She had been that way ever since Millina had walked into the squad. Cold, detached hostility. Millina had raped and degraded Valkyrie on Coldmark and later saved her life on Mongera. Valkyrie had slit Millina's throat on Coldmark and later saved her life on Mongera. They were even.

"Yes I did," Millina replied, pouring the rest of her canteen over her head. "I enjoy killing Systies." She said it as matter of factly as if she had just been asked if she liked snow cream.

"Hey, Priestess—I thought you were watching my back," Psycho complained. He was standing, a little shakily, one hand on his hip, the other clutching a canteen.

"I'm sorry, Five. There were two of them, and I was unarmed. I took down the first one, but she was a biogen. By the time I had gouged her eyes out, the kid was on you."

"The little runt knifed me in the back! Scut! Creepy little dwarf! Don't nobody teach kids manners any more?"

"Listen up!" I struggled to my feet. The chatter slowly died. "All right, that was acceptable," I said. "We killed KCA. We did the mission—but at unacceptable cost. We had three killed. That's not acceptable to me."

"Come on, Thinker," Psycho replied. "We got the bastard! And we're Holo-X's! Who cares about casualties? It doesn't matter if we all get killed, as holos! Just so long as we get King Rat. Right?"