"Help me out of this A-suit, Thinker. Lord, I stink like a cesspool. Look at that—soap! Towels! Oh, save me!" I helped her unlink. She was sticky with sweat and trembling with anticipation.
"Wait for me, Thinker—don't go. I may be awhile," she said.
"I'll be right here," I replied, taking a position in the doorway to the cube. Priestess flashed me a weary smile and stepped into the head and the door slid shut.
I expected a long wait. Fortunately I had some good reading material. I sat in the doorway, my E strapped to my chest, and read through the next entry in the datapak.
1444/02/07 SS—Frantic activity, and all of it correct, all by the regs. We are doing terrific work, but we keep asking ourself how this benefits the System. We have concluded that the System wants the status quo maintained in this sector. And it is willing to sacrifice us for the status quo. But surely STRATCOM realizes that our activities here are not maintaining the status quo—to the contrary, as soon as these creatures are ready, the System will have to deal with its monstrous creation.
So what is our mission? It is to strengthen the V until we are no further threat to them. It is to betray our own, in the name of galactic peace. We are Peacemakers, they tell us, holding the Dogs of War at bay. But the dogs are growing stronger, for we feed them with our flesh and blood.
Soon they will tear out our throats. Why are we here? We must be cursed by the Gods!
"Well, I don't see a thing." It was Redhawk, muttering to himself.
"Not a sign of life!" Snow Leopard, in awe. "This is really strange."
"He's out there," Psycho declared. "He's out there somewhere." They were searching for Warhound on the screen. I felt sick inside. How could he have survived? It was a miracle that any of us did. How could we hope for more?
We'd have spotted him by now if he had survived. No, Warhound was gone—at the bottom of the lava. A black depression settled over me. Beta Six, Warhound—he was as faithful as a dog. He was young and trusting, always did what he was told, a good and dependable soldier of the Legion. How could it end like this? He had his whole immortal life ahead of him. He had a crush on Gamma Five, Scrapper, but she didn't like him. He'd tell me his troubles, and I'd give him advice. And now he was gone. He was a friend; I should have told him how I felt, but we never did that in the Legion. Now I regretted it. I gazed blankly at the datapak. I had been reading it without thought.
…death, death, death! Every day, hovering right outside. Black ships, and black skies. Lunacy! To think we have any control over events, or that we are accomplishing anything at all, except for the V. Lunacy! We are slaves, trapped and terrified. Abandoned, by STRATCOM, by the System itself. We are still useful, we know, to the V, but the instant that ends, we will all die like bacteria. The Old Man is already gone. It called a meeting—fool! We told it not to do so, but it insisted, and now it's gone. A troublesome bacteria. That was five full days ago, and we just huddle here, terrified. We don't even dare ask about it. The V can have us for lunch, whenever they want.
The V—that was Systie slang for the O. We called them the Omnis. The System called them the Variants. It would never have occurred to the Legion to try and communicate with the O—except with antimats. But then we had a lot more experience fighting the Omnis than the System did. It was becoming increasingly clear why that was—the Systies had done a deal with the O's, a dirty, secret deal, right here on Andrion 3. And the unitium mines on Andrion 2 were part of it. Genetic suicide, for our species—death to the children! I got dizzy just thinking about it.
"Thinker." The door to the head slid open. Priestess posed in the doorway, completely naked, soapsuds glistening all over her heavenly body, long dark hair clean and wet, her skin glowing with life, sparkling angel eyes and a pink tongue teasing me behind even white teeth. Her breasts were perfect, rosy pink nipples, long slim lovely legs knocking my eyes out. The shower was still on behind her. She pirouetted once, showing me her petite, tender rear, smiling back over her shoulder. I dropped the datacase and scrambled violently to my feet, armor ringing against the door frame.
Nine giggled once and disappeared as the door to the head slid shut abruptly. I hurled myself against it.
"Priestess! Open up! Open up!" I pounded on the door with my armored fists, leaving dents in the metal.
"What's wrong, Thinker? Answer up!" It was Snow Leopard, alerted by my shouts.
"Uhh…nothing!" I answered quickly. "Nothing at all! It's all right—uh, it's nothing."
"Well, keep it down! And let us know when Priestess is through."
"Right! Right." I leaned against the door to the head, breathing hard. On the other side was the most lovely creature in the galaxy.
"Priestess…" I whispered feverishly. "Open up. Please?"
"No! You're all smelly. I just cleaned up!" She giggled again.
"Are you trying to torture me, Priestess?" My blood raced. "What did you do that for?"
"Didn't you like it?" She sounded disappointed.
"Yes! Yes, oh yes, I liked it! It's just, uh, well—let me in. All right?"
"Don't be silly! We don't have time to play! Besides, I have a date already—with Redhawk. Remember?"
"Priestess, why are you doing this to me?" I was so frustrated I trembled.
"I just wanted to remind you what you're missing," she replied through the door. "If we survive this place, I'm yours, Three. I hope you appreciate me."
###
"All right, listen up." Beta One never had to raise his voice to get our attention. We gathered around the main panel of the aircar control center. We had all cleaned up, and Priestess had prepped Redhawk's wounds. Now we were all back in our stinking A-suits, helmets still off, E's within easy reach. We had turned the place upside down looking for clues to what the Systies were doing there, and we'd found plenty, stacks of datapaks and datacards and minicards full of info for the analysts to ponder, should we ever return. We were stuffing our faces with Systie rats, hot food and cold drinks, and loving every frac. We had raided their kitchen, and the working surfaces of the control panel were littered with steaming meal trays and icy cans of soft drinks.
I felt almost human.
The chilling spectacle of the lava lake stretched out before us on the main screen. A brilliant explosion of lava boomed out of the luminous golden lake even as we watched. A faint shudder rattled the walls. The skies were dark and smoky, and fires burned on black mountain ranges in the hazy distance. We could hear a faint howling.
"We've used the screen to search the entire area for Warhound," One informed us bleakly. "We haven't found him." We greeted the news in silence. One appeared calm and rational, in icy control. His white-blond hair was clean and wet, and blue veins throbbed on his pale flesh. His pink eyes were cold and distant. "The screen gave us the best possible chance at finding him. It appears that he's not there. I believe we have to conclude it is likely he's at the bottom of the lake."
"We're not there, either," Psycho pointed out quietly. "But that doesn't mean we're at the bottom of the lake."
"That's right, Snow Leopard," I added. "He could be under cover somewhere. Our camfax is damned good, and there are plenty of nooks and crannies out there. It would be only natural for him to get under cover."