"No, we can do it," the Assidic responded. "We can raise the maxes. It can be done, I remember. Get me the manual."
"You're sure he can handle an A-suit?" Snow Leopard asked Tara.
"No problem," Tara replied. "And he can fire an E or an SG with the best. I taught him myself."
"He must obey orders," Snow Leopard said quietly. "The first hint of trouble and we leave him behind—remember!"
"He'll do what you say—I've told him. There'll be no trouble!"
Gildron got his A-suit. The techs said it was the largest suit on record. Armored and armed, he appeared truly formidable. But I had a bad feeling about the mission. We might have been A&A, but I didn't think it was going to ward off whatever was coming—not for an instant.
Chapter 3
Dead Kings
"Tac mode," Snow Leopard ordered. We made the adjustment. We were all in A-suits, camfax over black armor, glowing red faceplates—an aircar full of dead soldiers, bound for the future. I checked my E—it was perfect. Our suits had all been cleared for action. We hovered in a cloud of dust at an exit port, several other aircars close beside us, the armored doors of the milbase still firmly locked, harsh lights glittering off our plex.
"Well, this is it, Speedy," Psycho remarked cheerily, "you ready to die?"
"Is that supposed to be funny?" Speedy replied. "It's not funny." He seemed a little tense. He was getting a first-class introduction to the Legion.
"No worries, gang," I said quietly. It was something Coolhand would have said—but Coolhand was dead. I guess I thought somebody had to say it.
"STAND BY FOR EXIT!" the aircar announced. Redhawk held up one hand from the driver's seat. The jets whined to full power, and a dust storm swirled outside.
"Launch!" The massive cenite doors snapped open and we rocketed into the light, into whatever was to be. We split off from the other aircars immediately, max speed, low altitude. The sky was full of dark roiling clouds and from time to time golden sparklers lit up the morning—deceptors, falling down from orbit, covering the entire line of our attack. The landscape around us was a horror—charcoal skeleton trees, flaming earth, dirty black smoke full of sparks. The aircar's console lit up with data. The car snapped from side to side as we hurtled into the future.
"This place is never going to catch on as a tourist spot," Dragon remarked.
"Don't be so gloomy, Dragon," Psycho said. "We're just doing our job. Man's mission is to explore and destroy the galaxy—nuke it all, antimat every single new world until it glows in the dark, until even the bacteria die. You're a student of history, Snow Leopard—isn't that true?"
"Our mission is to kill O's," Snow Leopard replied coldly, "and if Uldo gets in the way, it's going to perish. You know, you're absolutely right, Five. There's no way the O's are going to inherit this world. It's going to glow in the dark first." Snow Leopard's response was so unexpected it took my breath away. Psycho was a raving lunatic, and Snow Leopard was saying Psycho made perfect sense.
"You'd be surprised," Merlin said, "how quickly a healthy planet can recover from events such as these." Merlin was an optimist at heart, unacquainted with reality.
"Doesn't look too healthy to me," Valkyrie commented.
"How you doing, Twister?" I was worried about the new girl.
"Alive so far," she replied. Somebody laughed. She was all right, I decided. Not brain-damaged after all.
Flaming clouds of greasy black smoke flashed past us. We were heading for Corin, where we would link up with the 12th before breaking off for our mission. If the 12th was unsuccessful in its advance, there would be no mission for us.
###
Corin was a great city of rubble, a moonscape of burning buildings, a greasy cloud of black smoke rolling up to a dirty sky. Legion fighters and aircars shot by close overhead and deceptors crackled in the sky and frantic refugees ran like ants through the flaming streets.
"What a mess!" We were assigned to maintain order at a refugee processing center until word came through on our mission. Thousands of desperate refugees fought their way into the center, a cavernous underground hall that had been a convention center, located under a great building that was now burning like a torch.
"Women and children to the aircar garage," I repeated for perhaps the hundredth time. "Everyone else to the tables. Back in line, you!" We were still in armor but had our helmets off. It was hot and sweaty in the hall. The refugees punched and clawed at each other for a place in line. Scores of huge airbuses waited in the garage to ship the women and children to the starport and then up to orbit and salvation. There were no questions asked of the women and children—not one. All they had to do was show up. It didn't matter who they were; they didn't even need any ID. The Legion was going to take care of women and children, no matter what. We believed in the future, above all.
It was not the same for the men.
The Legion believed everyone was responsible for their actions, and I knew everyone paid for their sins. There is a time in everyone's life, the Legion believed, when you choose where you stand, and it is always a hard choice. But it was a hard life, and we were a hard people. We risked our lives for humanity, routinely. And when we needed some help in return, we were not sympathetic with those people who hesitated, for whatever reason.
"Where is our wife? Our children?" A young Outworlder shaking with emotion, at last at the table, faced a Legion trooper who was punching data into a comlink. The trooper was a young Assidic, jet-black hair and fierce slit eyes, clad in armor, his helmet on the floor by his feet.
"Your ID, please. Quickly."
"That's our ID. What has it done with our family? Why have we been split up?"
"Where did you last see your family?" The Assidic touched the ID to the screen.
"Over there," the man gestured toward the garage. "They went in there!"
The trooper looked up at him. "They'll be all right. They will be evacuated to a Legion base by airbus, then launched into orbit and out of the system to a holding facility. They are official Legion evacuees. We guarantee their safety."
"You guarantee their safety!"
"That's right. Your family is under Legion protection. They're as safe as anyone can be, in a war zone."
"Safe. Good. Good. Well, how about us? Do we qualify for evacuation?"
"We need laborers. It may be dangerous, but we need manpower, very badly, right now, for the defense of Uldo. Can you assist us?"
The young man hesitated briefly, licked his lips, then responded. "Laborers. Yes…yes, sure. We can help it. As long as our wife and children are safe."
"Good. You qualify for evacuation. But first, you help us. Take this card to that table over there. Next!"
"We wish to be evacuated." Fat jowls, wild eyes, a face slick with sweat. "We are a journalist. There's nothing more for us here."
"Your ID please."
"Do we have time? Is that truly necessary?"
"Only if you wish to be evacuated."
"ID. Very well, here's my ID." He handed it to the trooper, who touched it to the d-screen. The screen filled with data.
"You don't qualify. Next!"
"Wait! Wait! What does it mean, we don't qualify? We are a respected journalist! If we don't qualify, who does?"
The young Assidic looked up at him briefly, then took a second look at the screen. "You're in the Black Book, Systie. You don't qualify for evac. Next!"
"Systie! Systie!" The journalist was turning red. "It dares to call us Systie! We are all Systies here, Legion!" He waved his arms around, taking in the entire hall. "We thought ConFree was here to help us! What Black Book? Is it only the politically reliable who are to be evacuated? Is that it?"