Secret of the Legion (11 page)

"Gildron is not retarded! He's smarter than we are! Yes, he was my bodyguard."

"Willard…the kid?"

Cinta smiled another dazzling smile, and her eyes softened. "My darling Willard! We found him on the Ship. A little boy, a survivor from the O's holocaust on Uldo. He's with me still, here on Dindabai. He's the one bright spot in my life. I love him, Wester, I love him!"

"You said you never loved anybody."

"I lied. I love Willard."

"Will you please stop doing that?" I said.

"What?"

"Those words—I was sharpening my knife, and you said 'Will you please stop doing that?'"

A puzzled smile from Cinta. "Yes…that's true. I remember. We were on the bridge of the ship, I was trying to decipher the controls, and you just kept sharpening your knife, like some kind of demented blacksmith. It was bugging the hell out of me."

"Willard was there," I said, "and Gildron."

"Yes, that's right! You remember that?"

"It came to me in a dream."

"Good. Then your past is alive. We'll get it out, Wester. We'll get it back." She sighed, and looked out to the lake again. It really was a perfect morning.

"What happened to the Ship?" I asked.

"It's gone, Wester. Gone, forever. The O's didn't want us to have it."

"And what happened to you, Cinta? I understand you've been teaching the Legion's top scientists a lot of new tricks. And they're afraid your brain is going to melt, or something like that. What's that all about?"

"I'll tell you later," she said, rising slowly from the chair. "And call me Tara—not Cinta. You always used to call me Tara. Come on. I want to show you around."

We walked lazily along leafy footpaths that took us on a circuitous tour of Dinda. Tara kept the black shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and her movements were those of an old woman, but her figure was slender and willowy. She was certainly the most attractive girl I had ever seen, and she seemed so fragile and ethereal that I half expected her to blow away in the wind.

"We don't really have any roads," she said, "just walkways. We walk or stick to aircars. Groundcars really are an abomination."

"It's like being in a forest." We were surrounded by huge trees, and the walkway was dappled with sunlight flickering through the leafy canopy overhead.

"We don't think you should have to chop down any trees to build a house—or a city."

"These buildings are so strange." We were strolling past a large edifice with several low-rise, roughly circular domes rising from a massive ground floor platform. Windows with darkened plex were set into the domes. The domes did not rise above the treetops—the overall effect was very pleasing.

"They're all mo-quad. We like it."

"Mo-quad? What's that?"

Tara smiled faintly. "Sorry. It's something new. We tried it, and it works. Mobile modular mobius molding—we call it mo-quad for short."

"I can see why."

"The mobius part was my own idea…well, not really mine, but it came from me."

"I won't even pretend to understand that."

"We developed the theory here on Dindabai. Mobius growth takes place when any crystalflash-susceptible element or compound—such as ionium or stoneglass—is duped into a mobius pattern. Each flash feeds on the next, and it doesn't stop until it fills the mold and the appropriate pressure forces it off. It means we can make things extremely light and extremely strong—and the building builds itself! All you have to do is stand there and watch."

"That must be strange to see."

"It is. And all of these modular structures are fully mobile. They're so light we can detach each module from the base and move it wherever we want with air effects tractors. Then we can move the base the same way. We could move the whole city if we wanted. And if we get tired of anything we can reverse the mobius process and watch the building dissolve."

"That would be a hell of a schoolboy prank. Hope it's not too easy to do."

Tara laughed. "No—it's not."

We came to a massive public building, seemingly made of stone, two stories high, fronted by great plates of darkened plex. A fountain sparkled in a shallow pool set in a plaza before the building. Two flagpoles flanked the entrance. There was no breeze but I could see one flag was the Legion's black war banner. The other appeared to be the ConFree standard.

"You're still flying ConFree colors?" I asked. "I thought you were in revolt against ConFree."

"ConFree gave us birth. What's happening now is an aberration. We're convinced it will pass."

"What makes you think that? They're going to forgive a mutiny?"

"The consequences of breaking up ConFree are too painful to contemplate," Tara declared calmly. "What happened is the citizens of Dindabai told the ConFree Council that they had lost confidence in the present Council to represent the people of Dindabai, but they were not yet ready to declare secession, which is their right under the ConFree Constitution. They told the Council that henceforth they would handle their own affairs, while encouraging the Council to come to its senses. If the citizens regain confidence in the ConFree Council, they will return as a full member of ConFree. And, if that doesn't happen, they may formally declare secession."

"And the Council has to listen because Dindabai is supported by the Lost Command?"

"That's right. The entire Twenty-Second Legion and elements of the Twenty-Third are loyal to the people of Dindabai. And yes, that's mutiny—it's never happened before in the Legion. And the official name is the Dindabai Command, not the 'Lost Command' although that's what a lot of people call it."

"It sounds…pretty complex. What's this building?"

"This is the library." I could make out the inscription now, carved into the stone: THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE.

There was not a sign of life. It was a bit eerie.

"Where are all the people?" I had seen no inhabitants during our entire walk.

"They're around. But there's not so many of us. We don't think a city should be crowded. We like to give ourselves plenty of room."

"I see."

"Come on. I want to show you the school."

The school was not far from the library. A sunny playground greeted us, full of brand-new children's recreational equipment—slides, swings, a large sand box, a climbing gym, a toddlers' maze.

We entered the school through doors that hissed open at our approach. It was deserted inside but it was bright and cheery. Skylights let in the sun. We walked down halls that opened onto elementary classrooms with miniature desks and walls covered with bright pictures, letters of the alphabet and numbers. Everything was spotless—right out of the factory.

"This is the preschool—for the really little guys." Another room, full of sunlight, scattered with little toy rocking horses and aircars and stuffed animals. It was so quiet I could almost hear my heartbeat.

"Where are the children?"

"There aren't any." She frowned. "Not yet. Except for Willard. But we're going to have children, eventually. We'll raise a new generation, right here, once it's safe for children. We'll raise them up right, with love. We're going to…" she turned away, abruptly. "Scut!"

"What's the matter?" I approached her in alarm. She turned her face away from me. I reached out for her.

"Don't you touch me! Don't you dare!" I froze. She was dabbing at her eyes with the shawl. "Sorry," she said. "I'm sorry, Wester. I'll be all right in a frac."

I stood there as she recovered her composure. When she faced me again she sighed. Her eyes were wet. "We'll have children, eventually," she continued. "We'll have hundreds of children. Strong children, who will dwell in the stars. They'll fill up this school, and you'll hear their lovely laughter from across the lake. Have you ever heard children singing the ABC song? It's a heavenly chorus. They're like angels—just like angels! Oh scut, I'm sorry." She turned away again, and buried her face in the shawl. "I'm a sentimental fool, Wester," she gasped. "I'm getting soft in my old age—they should put me in an old folks' home. I'm no damned good anymore. All I can think of is those things I never had—love, family, home, children. Deto! I hate this!"

"Please, Tara…" I reached out for her again. I was aching to hold her in my arms.

"No! Don't touch me! It cannot be, Wester. I'm a psycher. I live with loneliness and despair. I'll die alone—it's what we are. And you can't help! Nobody can help."

As we walked out of that nursery there were a few little bells, mounted on the rocking horses, tinkling faintly in the breeze from the hallway. I thought it the loneliest sound I'd ever heard.

***

"Nice view?" Tara asked. We had paused in an open hallway running along the side of a large, low building perched on a hill overlooking the lake. The view was indeed spectacular. The lake was metallic blue, with ripples glinting like ice. The sky was white. There was a faint breeze.

"What is this place?" I asked. The building was so new we could smell it, an intoxicating, tangy blend of newly bonded compounds.

"This is going to be a vacation spot," Tara replied. "A hotel for lovers, for families, for doomed psychers. The rooms are extra large, and every room has a balcony with a view."

"I thought you didn't cut down any trees," I said, running a finger over the railing—fine wood, as smooth as satin.

"It's artificial. Good, isn't it? We can dupe almost anything. We can do almost anything here, anything we want. This is our world—ours! A Legion world. An Outworlder world. It's our domain. We live life here the way we think it should be lived. And we're keeping it that way. We're sick of compromise, sick of ConFree's whining. We're proud of what we are, and we're not changing for anybody. If ConFree or the System doesn't like that, they know where we are. We're ready for them—they'll be sorry if they attack us. Their worlds will burn for a million years. We'll knock their planets right out of orbit!"

"I believe you. Stay calm."

"I am calm. Let's go down to the lake."

We strolled along a path by the lakeshore in weak sunlight as dark water lapped gently in fields of reeds.

"Is this a real lake, or artificial?" I asked.

"Real. We thought it was perfect for our city."

"It is a nice place." We were the only people in sight. Shade trees lined the shore.

"Can you tell me something?" I asked.

"Sure."

"We were together—you and I and Gildron and the kid—in that Omni starship—for quite awhile, weren't we?"

"Quite awhile."

"How long?"

"It's hard to tell. Days, weeks, months—depends on how you want to calculate it. I can tell you it seemed like years."

"Tell me. Did we…were we…lovers?"

A faint smile from Tara. "No. We weren't."

"I'm disappointed. My former self must have been a very unimaginative fellow."

"You did ask me to take off my clothes at one point. I remember that. But we were too busy to follow up on it. We were focused primarily on staying alive. Besides, I'm a psycher. We don't have time for love."

"I see."

Tara stopped and turned to face me. A light breeze fluttered the black shawl around her shoulders.

"I'm going to tell you about the Star," she said coldly.

"Fine. Tell me about the star."

"The Star explains everything. It's why ConFree psyched you and tried to capture me. It's why the Lost Command split from ConFree. It's why we've survived here on Dindabai. It's why ConFree hasn't dared attack us." Her eyes were far away and her face was grim. She looked up to Dindabai's lovely white sky. I was silent.

"It happened when we were on that ship, the Omni starship. That last group of O's left us something as they disappeared. A present. They must have been laughing, as they left us behind on the ship, with the Star." A faraway smile from Tara. She looked out over the lake. The smile faded quickly.

"It was a brilliant little ball of light," she said, "smaller than your fist. It hung in the air and glowed like a star, so we called it the Star. You wanted to shoot it, but I wouldn't let you. You avoided it, but I gave myself to it, completely. Perhaps it would have been better if you had shot it. The thing has been killing me slowly."

"Well, what is it? What does it do? What do you mean, it's been killing you?"

"At first I thought it was an artificial intelligence device. Later I decided it was alive. It's a…it's a knowledge star. It holds the secrets of the universe, the secrets of the O's. And now it's ours—the secret of the Legion. We were trying to kill them, and they gave us the Star. What does that tell you? It's a double-edged sword. It holds…the future. Used wisely, the secrets of the Star will allow mankind to prosper. Used foolishly, it will destroy us—no, it will allow us to destroy ourselves. It's completely neutral, you see. It's pure knowledge, enough to kill you quickly if you take too much at once."

"And this is what has been plaguing you? This is what makes you so valuable to the Legion?"

"We brought the Omni ship back to Andrion Two. The ship was the key to the future. With the secrets of that ship in its grasp, the Legion was assured of galactic dominance, and the System was doomed. But the O's came back and destroyed the ship. The Legion only had it for a few days—not long enough for what we needed."

"So the ship is gone."

"Gone forever, with all its secrets. But we still had the Star. I tried to keep it a secret from all but Starcom. Somebody found out about it. Starcom must have briefed ConFree. And ConFree did a commando raid on Andrion Two, to capture me and you, and locate and seize the Star. They knew the Legion would never give it up voluntarily. They failed to get me, but they got you. And that's when your troubles began."

"So it's all about this…Star."

"That's right." A soft breeze played with her auburn hair. She was visibly tired, but remained strikingly beautiful. The lake was gunmetal blue, rippling in the breeze. "It's all about the Star."

"How does it work?"

"You give yourself to it, and it floods your mind. It hurts. Later you can explore…what it gave you. That hurts too. It doesn't end. You pursue…new roads. Much of it is meaningless to me, but if you have the Legion's best science freaks by your side it can be very, very rewarding. We've already got enough to transform human civilization. I told them about something the other day. They told me yesterday what it meant—actual time travel, into the past. The follow-up research has already begun. I'm so tired."