"Ignition—stand by!" A warning tone sounded, and the launch's drive exploded to life. The gravs pressed us into our chairs.
Into the dark. We could see the future on the screens as the Highroad fell towards the planet. Mongera glowed before us, a massive, luminous presence, icy blue, drawing us in, sucking us in to our doom, so beautiful it hurt, so great, so awesome it was like the face of God. We were microbes, struck blind and deaf and dumb by the light, falling, helpless, into the future.
"Good angle, Whit."
"Look at all that traffic!"
I shifted my gaze to the port datascreen. The planet was ringed with starships, thousands of ships, a great rescue force, freighters and liners and yachts and cargo tramps and even a great fat colony transport. And a whole fleet of warships, cruisers and fighters and interceptors and probes and scouts and drones. Thousands of tracks, glittering golden tracks, orbiting the planet like rings of dust. And, here and there, popping in and out of stardrive, darting into the planet on hot combat drops were evil little ruby fireflies like falling stars, exploding into whole fleets of ships, hundreds of deceptors hiding their tracks—these were the Omni ships. And Starfleet was after them, immediately. But there was no hope for Mongera—none at all. Great numbers of Omni transports had already landed, discharging hordes of aliens—and nobody could stop them, on the ground. Nobody.
"Good drop, good drop."
The skin started to glow cherry-red as we entered the at. I was sweating inside my A-suit. No mags required, I decided. I was ten high. The stars faded behind us. I hoped the pilot knew what she was doing. Mongera filled the screens.
"Look at that—Starfleet fighters attacking the Omni ships." Hopeless. A gallant last stand. They might get the ships, but no matter what happened, Mongera was doomed.
"Squad leader, it is responsible for our lives. We will help it as we can, but it must protect us," the Mocain soldier said. The three Systies were clad in dull bronze-colored Systie armor. They weren't really expected to do anything, I knew. They were just along for the ride, watchdogs for the System.
"Yes, squad leader," Millina hissed in agreement, "protect us from its squad." Snow Leopard ignored her. We were all going to be watching over them, but Beta One had recruited me as a special watchdog. I was not happy about it. I had been told that the Legion had looked into the Systies' minds, and that there were no plans to betray us. It did not reassure me.
"Is that thing going to work, Merlin?" Ironman asked.
Merlin smiled, and held his weapon up to examine it closer. It was a heavy biobloc fieldfaxer, another special toy, just for us, fresh from the lab.
"It'll work," Merlin replied confidently. "It'll cook an O like an egg. Those samples you guys brought back from Andrion 3 were conclusive. We've finally zeroed the O's genetics. But I can't get through the mags. That's up to the rest of you. Get me through those mags and I'll cook your O."
"Make it well done, Merlin," Dragon said. "Raw meat can be dangerous."
"You get me through those mags and he'll be chargrilled."
The ship began to vibrate wildly, blitzing its way through the atmosphere. Outside we could only see the interior of the launch tube, but Mongera was right there on the screens, coming right at us, irresistible and final. We could see the shuttle's skin, white-hot, and I was strapped in. It was every childhood fear-of-falling nightmare I'd ever had turned up to max, like a killer dog tearing out my throat. Cold sweat trickled down my temples.
Yes, get us through the mags—that would be the trick. The O's walked around in personal force fields, and we did not know how to counter them. Yet we had done it—somehow—last time, and Warhound had drawn blood, when the field went down, briefly. Now all we had to do was do it again.
The ship shook, banging around wildly. Somebody laughed. You have to be in the Legion awhile before you can appreciate that type of humor. I wasn't quite there.
"Thinker, Warhound. You know what I think about that O we met?"
"No. What do you think?"
"I think it was unarmed."
"Yeah—it was."
"It was probably somebody's aged grandmother."
"Yeah, or a pregnant lady," Psycho cut in. "Or a little kid, pissing in its pants."
"Thanks, guys," I said. "I needed that."
"It's a ten, Thinker," Psycho assured me. "When we meet a real O, fully armed, we'll be able to give all this hardware a good field test. Otherwise we're wasting our time."
"Wouldn't want to do that."
The ship was shaking itself apart, a falling star, a meteor, hurling itself at Mongera's tortured surface.
"We die today," Valkyrie said dreamily.
"We die together," Boudicca replied quietly.
Outstanding leadership, I thought glumly.
"That O is going to die too, guys," Sassin announced. He was armed with a massive plasma manlink, another horrendous new toy for our O to ponder.
"I'm staying right next to you, Sassin," Scrapper said. "I've got no plans to die."
"Nobody's going to die," Snow Leopard cut in, "except the O. Listen to me and follow orders, gang. We came back from Coldmark, we came back from Andrion 3, and we're coming back from Mongera. Nobody dies!"
That was the difference between Beta One and Gamma One. I'd walk into Hell for Beta One, but I wouldn't cross the street for Gamma One.
"Drop successful. Levelling out."
"Got the port."
"Watch out for those O's."
"Get down on the deck."
"Highroad, it is cleared for softdock in Mongera Port. Please note the zero."
"Acknowledging landing instructions."
"Priestess," I said, "You stay close. Don't stray." My mind was a whirl of wild emotions; my heart was thumping.
"I'll be right there, Thinker," she replied immediately. "It's going to take more than an O to split us up."
"Thinker." Warhound was on private.
"Yes, Warhound."
"I know for a fact that Scrapper hates me."
Oh no, I thought. Not now. Poor old Warhound.
"Well, I know for a fact that she doesn't hate you, Warhound," I said. "Don't be silly. Look, we can talk about this later. Sometimes things just don't work out. It doesn't mean she hates you."
"She hates me. I know it."
"Come on, Warhound. We need you, right now. You've got to concentrate on the mission; we need that psybloc!"
"Don't you worry about that, Thinker. I'll be right there!"
"Good!" The awful thing was, Warhound was right. Scrapper had told me herself that she hated Warhound and was sick of his bumbling efforts to romance her. I felt so sorry for him. I'd talk to him after the mission.
"Get right down on the deck," somebody said.
"Badboy, prepare for aircar launch."
Adrenalin kicked in. The Highroad was almost at zero altitude now, flashing at blinding speed over a cold grey forest, bouncing lightly over forested hills, flattening out again, hugging the contours.
"Hang on to your stomachs, gals!" Redhawk shouted.
"Launch aircar!" The warning bell bleated.
A sudden chill to my flesh. Then a sharp explosion shattered my ears and the gravs smashed at my chest and my vision blurred and I was paralyzed and helpless and praying for survival.
Redhawk shrieked for joy as my vision slowly returned. Weak sunlight dazzled my eyes. The grav eased off. The aircar was free, flashing over a forest of bleak wintry trees under cold grey skies. I craned my neck and I saw the Highroad, a blunt white wedge, fading into the distance. We were on our own now—down to business! The aircar was crammed full of troopers and everyone was suddenly having second thoughts about the readiness of their weapons and equipment, checking it all once again.