"Don't give me that crap, Tara! You're an auxiliary, attached to my squad. You're subordinate to everyone except Gildron!"
"Wrong, trooper. I am a Senior Captain in the Legion's Galactic Information Service—Starcom Information Command, to be exact. I am here on an official mission, and I outrank everyone in your squad. Including you!"
"You're lying!"
"It's the truth, Wester. On the cross!"
"It doesn't matter! You were attached to our squad! Your rank doesn't matter, as long as the mission continues!"
"The mission is over, Three—over!"
"Says who? You? Screw that!"
"Yes, me! My orders were to accompany your squad, and assist, if possible, in the completion of the mission."
"Good! Then shut down and follow orders!"
"And if any unusual situation was to arise which required Starcom's input, I was to provide such input, taking command if necessary by revealing my rank and Starcom affiliation."
"You're making this up, aren't you?"
"I am the Legion, Wester. I'm nothing else. I am the Cross of the Legion. I live and die for the Legion. And I know you do, too."
"The O's have psyched you!"
"My immediate superior is an officer in Outvac Sector Command—Starcom. I'm a Starcom officer, Wester. A Captain in Galactic Information. And I'm taking command, right now."
"Why now? Why not before? We argued about this before! You didn't say anything about Starcom then!"
"I wasn't really sure then. I thought maybe you were right. But I'm sure now—I'm sure!"
"You're just as wrong now as you were then!"
"Trooper, I am formally taking command of this element, as authorized by Outvac Sector Command. Do you dispute this?"
"You absolute bitch!"
I knew she was telling the truth. She was a psycher, she didn't have to lie to me. If she wanted to do something illegal, she could have simply psyched me.
"Do you dispute it?"
"No, damn you! I believe you! Only an officer could be so totally confused about reality."
"There's no confusion—not any more! Once I saw that bridge and their attitude toward us, I knew. We're not enemies any more. We're going to communicate with them, Wester!"
"The Systies tried that—and failed!"
"The Systies didn't have Gildron! Gildron is going to communicate with the O's for us. He's the go-between. There's nothing to lose, Wester! There's no harm in trying, and it would be criminal not to try!"
"It's impossible. Humans can't live with exosegs, and O's can't live with humans."
"You're wrong, Wester! And I'm so glad you're wrong! We're going to overcome generations of hatred, today!"
"Our ancestors would curse us!"
"Our descendants will bless us!"
"Our descendants will die in slavery! Assuming we have any!"
"This is the door, isn't it?" Just another closed door in a deserted corridor.
"Yes, that's it." Sweety still showed a human inside. I reached out for the door and it snapped open.
The stink of stale feces and urine and sweat hung in still air. A floor littered with empty ratpaks. Dirty blankets strewn about. And one boy, a pre-schooler, squatting against the wall. He was clutching a ratty blanket and a dirty shoe. Nobody else—only the one boy.
We approached him cautiously, and his big dark eyes watched us without emotion. He was just a little boy, naked under the blanket. Pale Outworlder face, clear features smudged with dirt, a cute little pixie haircut. Somebody had loved this little boy and taken good care of him, I could tell.
"Hello," Tara said shakily, "What's your name, little boy?"
He just looked at her for a few fracs, pondering what it all meant. Then he responded.
"Willard," he said, "We're Willard Tor-Sanna, Fifteen Rivergate Place Massan." He was totally serious. Something evil had happened here, I knew. He had a thin golden chain around his neck with a little metal tag. I took a look at it—an ID tag with his name and a series of numbers.
"Systie ID," Tara explained. "Willard, our name is Cinta. We're here to help it. Were there other children here?"
"It can't help," he replied quietly. "They'll kill it, too."
"How many other children were with it, Willard?"
"We don't know." A whisper. We could barely hear him.
"Were there a lot?"
"Yes."
"What happened to them?" The boy did not answer. I spotted something on the deck by his legs—a gleam of gold. A little pile of thin golden chains, all snapped in two. He had been saving them. I picked them up, a handful of glittering chains and flimsy ID tags—fifteen or twenty of them. Tara gazed at them silently. I dropped them to the deck. Gildron watched, silently. The boy didn't even look at him.
"Who were they, Willard?" Tara asked.
"Blue Bear Playschool," he explained sadly. He shuddered, and clutched the shoe tighter to his chest. It was a walking shoe, pink and white, splattered with dirt. It was much too large to be his.
"Whose shoe is that, Willard?" I asked. Tara's hand went to my shoulder, but it was too late.
"Our mommy's shoe," Willard replied. "We found it." His eyes were wet and suddenly the tears streamed down his dirty cheeks.
"Well, don't you worry, Willard," I said. "Because we're going to make friends with the creatures that did this."
"You bastard!" Tara gasped.
"And after we make friends with them, they'll promise not to kill any more people."
"Shut down, Wester!"
"Oh, and about your mommy—they said they're sorry. Isn't that nice?"
"Stop it, Wester. Please." I stopped. The boy cried silently, still hugging the shoe. And Tara's face was pale and twitching. I knew that look—white-hot fury, consuming her totally.
"All right," she said. "All right, Wester. May God damn you to Hell. You've won. We kill them—all of them! We're killing the future, but I don't care! We kill them or die!" She reached out and embraced the boy, and she couldn't say any more.
"Good," I sighed. "That's good." Gildron growled contentedly—he'd do whatever Tara said.
###
"It's not going to happen," I announced, glaring at the tacmod. "They're not going to get together." We were back in the room Gildron had taken us to, and it was decision time. The two O's were still on the bridge and the other two were still working on the stardrive.
"Is it going to kill the V?" Willard asked. He still clutched the shoe, dressed in short pants and a sleeveless shirt. We had found a sad little pile of children's clothing next door to his room.
"That's right, kid," I replied.
"Can we help?"
"No, honey," Tara responded. "You're going to stay right here."
"Will it come back?"
"Good question," I said. "Tara, it's going to be the second plan. You and I to the bridge, and Gildron to the stardrive. Are you sure he can do it?"
"Gildron, come here." Gildron towered over Tara. She pulled gently at his arms, and he squatted down to face her. She took his massive head in her hands and gently kissed him on the forehead. He moaned. "Gildron," she said, "You must kill those two V. The V in the hot room. You must shoot them with the E. Auto canister x, Gildron. If the door doesn't open, use the contac. Press it against the door, activate, stand back under cover, and after the explosion, switch on the E, toss in two psybloc grenades, go in firing, kill two V. Two of them! Do it quickly, Gildron! Can we depend on you?"
"Keer V," Gildron said. "Hot loom, gordoc, pless, broom! Zybloc, keer do V. Keer V!"
"Auto canister x, Gildron!"
"Arider gariderex! Keer V!"
"Yes, Gildron, that's right," Tara said sadly. "He'll do it, Wester. He'll do it if it can be done. We can depend on Gildron."
"Don't touch that!" I said. The kid had been about to pick up a brick of contac. He pulled his fingers away as if scorched. We had visited the room where they had stored our weapons and done a quick recon. The door opened when we touched the panel, and it was all there—all our weapons. We took all the contac and timers, but left the E's. We did not want to tempt fate, and it looked as if the weapons would be there when we needed them. But I needed the contac first. There had been no reaction from the O's. I had gambled that they might not recognize the contac as weaponry. They appeared to be ignoring us—we were simply not important. We were no longer a factor in their planning. We were under control.