###
“Thinker! Have you seen Psycho?” Snow Leopard asked me, pale and sweating, still stinking of the battle. And still looking for Psycho.
“I’m sorry, Snow Leopard. No news yet?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Deadman! It’s such a bloody mess. Nobody knows anything.” He turned, his pale pink eyes scanning the body shop for his missing squadies. He appeared distracted and lost, slightly off balance, running one hand back through wet hair, his other hand toying with a comset. This was not at all like the cold, efficient Snow Leopard we all knew and loved. Was the whole world coming apart?
A ragged voice cut us off. “Thinker! Snow Leopard! Priestess! Deadman, you’re all right! I thought the whole squad was gone!” Psycho stood before us in a shredded, bloody litesuit, his face all bruised and cut, his nose smashed and bloody, a crooked smile.
“Psycho!” I croaked. “We thought you were dead!” I seized him by the shoulders, transfixed with joy. “You look great!”
“Where the devil have you been, Trooper!” Snow Leopard snarled furiously, his face flushing red, his eyes almost shooting sparks. “I’ve been looking for you for hours!” He glared at Psycho for an instant, then abruptly reached out and embraced him, his eyes closed, his face expressionless. Psycho flashed me a goofy smile over Snow Leopard’s shoulder.
###
“Here’s to Merlin, and here’s to Ironman, and here’s to Dragon.” Warhound proposed the toast, holding up a frosty mug of ale. We had run into him in the corridor. He had been helping Coolhand hobble toward the lounge.
The lounge was jammed, wild ionic music blasting from the speakers. Warhound appeared untouched by our Coldmark adventure, aside from a few minor bruises on his face. His harsh facial structure and deep eyes always made him appear formidable.
“Death!” We stood, raised our mugs, drained them dry, slammed them back empty to the table, and everyone laughed. Priestess got her ale all over her blouse. Beta at rest, at rest at last. I refilled my mug.
“Death!” We rose again, toasting Coolhand, and drained our mugs, and fell back into our chairs, wildly happy. Coolhand had broken a leg in the aircar crash and he had it enclosed in a plastic brace. The bone would knit itself shortly, the lifies said, but he had to take it easy for a week or so. Coolhand’s easy smile was back. He looked like a rich, handsome young layabout without a care in the world. He had the gift of making everyone around him calm down. Psycho related his adventures downside; he had cheated death a score of times.
“Death! Death! Death!” We cheered, and drank, and shouted. The ale was strong, it made me dizzy, but I didn’t care. Priestess sat right beside me, one hand clutching mine like a vise. Beta had come through again. Alive! It was good to be alive. Over at another table a group of troopies sang the squad song. It was a drinking song, and they were drinking.
“One squad one road
Nine tales to tell
One squad tac mode
Nine souls to Hell
One squad one road
Eye of the hole
One squad tac mode
Death is the goal
One squad one road
Gateway to Hell
One squad tac mode
Sound the death bell
One squad one road
Lost world, lost war
One squad tac mode
Last call Death Corps.”
It was a depressing song, but it was pure Legion. Somebody started singing the chorus.
“Deadman, Deadman
Hold me tight
Deadman, Deadman
Might is right
Deadman, Deadman
Won’t you say
Deadman, Deadman
Who dies today?”
I took another drink of ale. I had a headache. What a crazy way to make a living, I thought.
“One squad one road
Nine tracks on screen
One squad tac mode
Eight tracks on screen
One squad one road
Eight tracks on screen
One squad tac mode
Seven tracks on screen…”
It went on like that. We were insane, I decided. Completely insane. Nobody in his right mind would join the Legion. Nobody in his right mind would stay in. So we were crazy. Crazy. It struck me as terribly funny. I started laughing, and could not stop.
What a day!
Chapter 20: Motes of Dust
As we filed into the wardroom of the Spawn, Cubes awaited us on the stage, a solitary figure, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore his blacks. He appeared to be gazing past us, somewhere out in space, somewhere out in time. The others sat behind him on the stage, talking quietly, all the Second’s CAT commanders.
I wondered what Cubes thought, as I found a seat. Cold waves from the far past, washing over dead sands. Lost worlds, lost races, lost wars. The Black March, opening up the Cosmos. The Omni’s, suddenly there. Black swarms, exiting star drive, alien ships filling evil skies.
Most civilizations never learned from the past. Doomed to repeat history, they don’t survive. The Legion doesn’t have that problem. We are immortals. We carry our history with us. We try not to make the same mistake twice. Everyone on that stage had lived through the Race Wars and some had seen the Yellow Wars. Even though I did not know what Cubes thought, I knew I would accept his orders, without question. I certainly wouldn’t have any better ideas. But whatever they announced would be bad news, I knew that much. More dead immortals, we could count on it. I felt powerless, powerless to object, powerless to even complain. We were in the grip of history, I knew, in the hands of the Gods.
“At ease, troopers.” The wardroom overflowed. The aisles were full of standees and the whole ship listened over the SA system. Cubes still stood, hands behind his back. He did not have to raise his voice. The mikes picked it up and magnified it, a steely whisper. We settled down. Beta sat together, but only six of us remained. Merlin and Dragon were still in the body shop, and Ironman was back in Atom. It did not seem right.
“Attention the ship,” Cubes began. “We have called this meeting to brief all hands on the current sit.” He paused and looked out past us, over our heads and into some unknown space. Then he took a breath, and resumed.
“We have just taken some casualties…too many. We’ve had wounded and dead. The full stats will be out shortly. Some of our closest comrades are gone. We grieve for them. They all died in the best traditions of the Legion, fighting for the future. They did not die in vain. Nobody here dies in vain! Nobody!”
Cubes paused for an instant, regained his composure, and continued, calmly. “We accomplished all our missions. Valkyrie of CAT 24 is back with us, and her captors are dead. My personal congratulations to everyone who participated in that op, the 24th and the 21st and everyone who supported them. That is exactly what the Legion means by ‘instant reaction’. The Legion thanks you. ConFree thanks you. Your descendants thank you.
“The System Ship Preference is now space junk. The monastery no longer exists. We dropped an antimat on it, once we were sure all our people were out. And the whole inhabited galaxy is going to learn about that.”
I wondered about the philosophy behind our actions. It sounded like a good incentive not to take any Legion prisoners. Perhaps it was just as well.
“That was the first mission. The second mission was unitium. Well, we’ve done that, too. With the help of some outside assistance…which we still can’t talk about…and with some brilliant and daring work from our own Gravelight, we now have the explanation for the unitium mine on Andrion 2. The mission which Gravelight led in conjunction with the recovery of Valkyrie was absolutely vital to our understanding of the purpose of the mine. The objective was to recover a Mocain officer who had knowledge of the mine. This mission was also conceived and executed on an instant reaction basis under the leadership of Lowdrop. Although we failed to recover the officer, Gravelight got close enough to the target to obtain the information we needed.