The screen was a hot white glow, my eyes were no longer focusing. I picked up the datacard. I did not need to look at it again. "Come quickly. I need you now." Deadman! The Gods were here, again. Tara—blessed, holy Tara. I knew I had no choice—no choice at all!
###
The squad drifted into the room slowly. Snow Leopard sat behind the desk in the Station Commander's personal office. It was a huge, semi-circular conference desk, inlaid with comsets and d-screens. Snow Leopard was like a sinister white spider at the center of a vast web of power and pain. His gaze flicked constantly over the screens as the remaining squad members filed in. The lights were down, and he was partially hidden in the shadows. A panoramic window port gave us a view of the approaches to the base. The starport was visible in the distance, partially obscured by the forest. It was a grey cold day, still lightly raining.
I was seated, still a little tense after my talk with Snow Leopard. I had decided to throw myself on his mercy. There had really been no other way. But Snow Leopard always did things his way. I still didn't know what he had decided, but he was calling in the squad.
Dragon showed up first, dark and silent, dressed in wet camfax, sliding an airchair out from the desk and settling in without comment. He rested his E against the desk. Dragon moved slowly but menacingly, like a great snake, a constrictor, poised to strike. His ears and hands were covered with dark tattoos from a dark past. Lost faces looked up at me from his knuckles. I knew some of the faces—four of them decorated my own knuckles. Dragon was a first-class killer. I always felt better when he was around.
"The beacons are operational," Merlin announced, slipping into a chair next to Dragon. He was soaking wet, pale and tense, dripping water from a floppy camfax hat, sliding a wet techscan onto the desk top. Merlin was a science freak. He understood everything. Central had recently approached him, asking him to return to Starcom to participate in some new research effort on the O's. It was a big opportunity for Merlin, a chance to do something close to his heart. Something he was born to do. He had turned them down. What a tragedy. He would die in the mud with the rest of us. Died in service, it would say—died in service. I thought it a terrible waste. It made him just as crazy as the rest of us—but after Mongera, nobody was going to walk away.
"Good," Snow Leopard replied. "Redhawk, did we get that shipment off to Narra Base?"
"Tenners. Should keep them happy for awhile. I threw in some sex holos." Redhawk pulled his chair out, smiling, looking around. He had an unruly head of extra-long, tangled red hair, a scruffy beard, and a pale splotchy face. He was certifiably insane—a good soul.
"So what's the word?" Psycho dropped his Manlink noisily onto the desk top. He was always doing things like that. Psycho was another mental case, but I suppose he had his good points. The Manlink was certainly all right—we all owed our lives to the weapon.
"Put it on the floor," Snow Leopard said quietly. He was used to dealing with Psycho. Psycho complied, grinning happily.
Priestess took the last seat at the desk, silently. She was a pale slim child, soft dark hair, blinking liquid eyes, wearing wet camfax raingear. She always took my breath away. Beta Nine, Priestess, my own child, my own future. We had vowed to die together—I could not imagine living without her.
"We all here?" Snow Leopard looked around the room. Valkyrie and Scrapper had taken up positions together, sitting on the floor against the wall. Valkyrie had an arm resting on Scrapper's shoulder. Valkyrie had been Gamma Two, and Scrapper had been Gamma Five, but that was all done now—Gamma was history, annihilated on Andrion 3 and Mongera. Now the two survivors were part of Beta, but Snow Leopard could not bring himself to use the proper designations—Beta Two and Six and Seven were still with us, in our minds. It would seem strange, maybe sacrilegious, to call out their numbers and have someone else respond. So Gamma Two became Beta Eleven, and Gamma Five became Beta Twelve.
Valkyrie was stunningly beautiful, a pale blonde girl with icy green eyes and a black Legion cross burnt right onto her forehead. Scrapper was another heartbreaker, a thick mop of tawny hair, grey eyes, a freckled face, and heavy breasts. Valkyrie had been mine once, briefly, in another time and place. But now she belonged only to the Legion—and Scrapper belonged only to Valkyrie. Since Mongera, Valkyrie's eyes had glowed with hatred and her cold, perfect face was radiant with a strange, powerful energy. It was frightening—it was almost as if her dead fem lover Boudicca had secretly returned and inhabited her body. I knew how hard to resist Valkyrie had always been for me. And now Valkyrie seemed to have appropriated Scrapper for herself, with no effort at all. Scrapper was stunned and shattered by what had happened. There were now only the two of them left from Gamma, and Scrapper did not appear to have the will to resist Valkyrie. In the mornings they would appear together at breakfast, Scrapper with bruises all over her neck. Valkyrie was lovelier than ever and burning with a savage sexuality. I prayed she would not turn her smouldering eyes to me again. Priestess watched Valkyrie the same way you'd watch a highly-poisonous snake. I guess she knew I could never summon the courage to resist Valkyrie. All I could do was stay close to Priestess and pray for protection.
I suppose it was a very strange squad, when you really thought about it. We were walkers, the walking wounded. Maybe that's why we had been dumped on Veda 6. The Legion probably wanted to insure we were still under control.
"All right, gang," Snow Leopard said quietly. "Thinker has got a problem. I've listened to him, and I've made my decision. I'd like the rest of you to hear this, as it concerns us all. Thinker, tell them what you told me." Snow Leopard turned back to the screens, tracking the sit. He had a lot to worry about, even in a backwater world like Veda 6.
I activated the control, and the message filled the wall screen. The squad took it in silently. Finally Dragon spoke. "So who's Tara?"
"Tara," I responded, "is Cintana Tamaling. I believe you all remember her—the slaver, Commander of the P.S. Maiden."
"The girl with the pet ape," Psycho remarked with a wry grin.
"That's right," I said. "The girl who saved us all. The girl who dropped out of the sky firing tacstars. The girl who got us off Mongera. Right—the girl with the ape."
The message glowed on the screen. "Come quickly. I need you now." It wasn't complicated. The most important issues rarely are. Tara herself had taught me that.
"The way I see it," I said, "she came when we needed her. Now she says she needs my help. I think I should go."
"Why you?" Merlin asked.
Why me. How could I possibly explain that? Tara and Wester—people from the past. She was Tara, and I was Wester, in a warmer, simpler world. And now we were out here at Chaos Gate, and Tara was calling in the past. I wasn't Wester any more, but I would always be hers—that was certain.
"We're old friends," I replied.
"She helped us," Valkyrie said, from her post by the wall. "We should help her." Then she turned her eyes away, bored.
Yes, Tara helped us. We would all be dead, without her divine intervention. She fell from the sky like an avenging angel and struck down our enemies with thunderbolts from Hell. We owed her our lives. How could I not go?
"You should go," Dragon said. There was a general murmur of agreement.
"What kind of trouble can she be in on Mica Three?"
"That's a Legion world."