Secret of the Legion (12 page)

"Where is this thing?"

"I won't let you shoot it!"

"So you do read minds."

"It used to be my primary skill. Now it's just a parlor trick. It's not important in comparison with the Star."

"So where is it?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"The last time I saw the Star was on Andrion Two. Everything I've done since then has been a result of what I gained from it earlier."

"So the Star is on Andrion Two?"

"It must be. The System doesn't have it, ConFree doesn't have it, the Legion doesn't have it, I don't have it. It's got to be still on Andrion Two."

"Who had it last?"

"Gildron."

"Gildron! The ape!"

"He's not an ape. He's the only creature who's ever loved me without reservation."

It was getting chilly. Tara clutched the shawl tighter around her shoulders. A light breeze still played with her silky hair.

"Where's Gildron?"

"He's still on Andrion Two. Somewhere. We got separated during the ConFree attack. I was forced to leave him behind—with the Star. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I had no choice."

"Somewhere? Who controls Andrion Two?"

"ConFree. Elements of the Twenty-Third Legion. They claim to be loyal to ConFree."

The air was fresh and pure. It was a beautiful world. Why would anyone want to leave?

"We've got to take back the Star, Wester."

"No, we don't! The hell with it! It'll kill you, won't it? The damn' thing is on the other side of the Outvac and it's killing you as it is. And you want it back? Scut! You've already got enough knowledge to transform human civilization, you admitted it yourself! What else do you want? Absolute power? The thing is going to destroy us, it's obvious. It's already got ConFree attacking the Legion, it's got Legion units facing off to fight each other—it's crazy!"

"What if the System gets it?"

"What?"

"It's there—completely neutral. Waiting for a new owner. What if the System gets it?"

I was silent.

"They'd enslave the galaxy! " Tara continued. "The System spits on humanity. And whoever those ConFree bastards are who've been playing games with the System, they can't be trusted, either. We found out during the raid on the Mound that ConFree wanted to turn the ship over to the System. Can you imagine the System supreme over ConFree?"

"They must have been insane."

"They were afraid—afraid of the Legion."

"It's crazy!" I said.

"No, it's not. They had good reasons to be afraid, Wester—good reasons. We're not angels, either. But you can live free and safe and strong under ConFree, with the Legion cruising the vac. Take away the Legion, and ConFree dies, and the dark rushes in. ConFree is foolish to believe otherwise. We'll all be slaves under the System. I'd rather die!" A bleak vision passed over her face and she clutched the shawl tighter.

"We've got to take back the Star," she repeated. "ConFree thinks we've got it. That's the real secret of the Legion—we don't have it! If they knew it was on Andrion, they'd have it already."

"Fine. Kill yourself. I can't stop you."

"You're going to help me."

"Me! Why me? All I want is my past back! I don't want the damned Star! I'll shoot it if I see it!"

"The Star is your past, Wester."

"No thanks!"

"I'm going to give you your past back—all of it. Then you're going to help me, just as you promised."

"I promised? When was that?"

"You promised Whit. Get you your past back, and you'll do anything we want."

I was silent again. She was absolutely right.

"You're going to get me the Star back, Wester. I already know exactly how you're going to do it. But first we're going to give you your past back, and find out why the System is so interested in you."

"Why they're interested? I thought they were interested because of the Star."

"They were. But that was before. I've been trying to understand why they would pursue you to Yida, once they learned you were gone. After all, ConFree psyched you thoroughly; they drained your mind and turned you over to the System. There's nothing you know that they don't know by now. And the System released you from detention to wash dishes on Nimbos. Why should the System care if you disappeared? Why should ConFree care? I think you must know something that Con Free—or the System—doesn't want anyone else to discover."

"Well, I know about the Star—or I will, once you de-psych me."

"Many people know about the Star by now. We certainly know about it. No, that's not it."

"Well, what is it?"

"I don't know. But I'm going to find out. And then you're going to get me the Star back."

"Let me destroy it! Then it won't be a threat anymore."

"No! No, you have no idea what it can do."

"I've got a pretty good idea of the trouble it can cause. Look what it's done already! Destroy it, and we'll all be safer. Then the System won't get it either."

"I don't know if it can be destroyed, Wester. How can you destroy knowledge? That's what you're proposing. It's pure knowledge—all the secrets of the future! Imagine it!" Her eyes were glowing, and her face was briefly transformed into a frightening, distant mask.

"It's evil—I can see that now."

"It's the future! It's good! Mankind will be strong and free! We'll be the masters of our fate!"

"We'll be slaves. Under the Legion or the System, we'll be slaves of the Star!"

"Why can't you ever agree with me, Wester? We could never agree on anything!"

"We should destroy it!"

"When we were on the ship, you told me you were my weapon. A silver bullet, you said, for alien intruders. A biogen, totally expendable. You said you would kill all my enemies, tear out their throats and come back happy and lie at my feet. You said you were my attack dog."

"I must have been crazy as a loon!"

"You were. So was I. We survived, Wester, because of it. When I was your girlfriend, on…on Galgos, you once told me that, no matter what happened in the future, if I ever needed you all I had to do was call you, and you'd come. No matter what! I did that once, and you did come, from across the galaxy. Now I need you again—more than ever. You've got to help me, Wester. Promise me!"

It was turning dark. The lake was like a sheet of cold metal, the sky was looking ominous, the wind was picking up. Tara took a deep breath, pulled the shawl over her hair and held it tightly. Looking right into my eyes.

"Help me, Wester." She looked so helpless, so fragile—as lovely as an angel, but ground down by weariness, clutching the shawl just like somebody's ancient mortal grandmother, weaving slightly in the breeze. She didn't fool me. I knew she was anything but helpless. But my fate was written in her eyes. I could see it was hopeless. There was no way I was going to be able to fight this. Get the Star back—scut! It was hopeless. I was doomed. Just like Dragon had said—we all die. Absolutely right, Dragon. It was perfectly clear now. I was going to die for the Star, and I didn't even want it.

"All right," I said wearily. "Fine. I'll help you. Without thought, without judgment. I'll be your biogen. Just get me back my past, and point me in the right direction."

She reached up suddenly and embraced me, pulling my head down to hers and kissing me gently on the mouth. Sweet, wet ecstasy, for just an instant, and then she pulled away abruptly with an impish grin.

"We kissed on Andrion, Wester. I still remember it. All right—it's done, and I thank you! Now just put yourself in my hands. We're going to get your past back! I feel wonderful!" She sucked in her breath again and spun around to face the breeze, laughing. "The future is ours, Wester! Ours!" She threw out her arms wildly, laughing, and the shawl flew away in the wind. It was frightening. I hoped I was doing the right thing, but I knew I was committed.

Chapter 6
A Taste of the Past

The de-psyching procedure was not at all what I expected. With no memory of how I had been psyched, I had no basis for comparison; but had been thinking about it for some time and had built up this image of a gang of serious-looking, aged psychers in white coats slipping wires into my brain and cackling to themselves. It wasn't like that at all.

All I had to do was go to sleep—that's what they said, and it was true. Sleep, and leave the rest to them. It was fine with me. I was not resisting any more. Every night I reported to the PsyCenter and stripped down to my jox and slipped into the psybed and finished off a warm glass of acid. That's what I called it. I forget what they called it. It was a real witch's brew, designed to knock me out, relax my body and stimulate my mind. Then all I had to do was rest my head on the pillow, totally surrounded by massive brainscan devices, and float away. Four ghosts monitored the readouts as I faded away. They wore white coats all right but they weren't psychers, they were techs; and they looked young, not old. They were a good bunch. They told me everything they were going to do. They told me what had been done to me, and how they were going to undo it. They made me understand that they weren't even going to try it unless I understood it and agreed and trusted them, completely.

I was with them a long time. Dr. Lock, team leader, was a young fellow with thin sandy hair, crazy eyes, and a spooky grin. He had been a Legion trooper, but lost his arms and legs in a scrap with the O's. The Legion biogenned him new limbs, of course, but the O's had cut up his unit pretty badly and he spent a lot of time in psychotherapy. He developed an interest in psyscience as a result, and began a new career. That was "some time ago," he said, and I didn't ask what that meant. I didn't want to know. It might have been hundreds of years ago. It was hard to tell with an immortal.

"They've blocked access to the decoding centers for your established long-term memory circuits," he had told me in his office over dox. "That's the basic problem. Without accessing the decoding centers you can't recall anything prior to the time they set up the caps. You can't retrieve it—can't be done." He grinned, twitched his head to one side, and snapped it back quickly. He did that a lot. "And if the LTM—your long-term memory—is blocked long enough, if you don't stimulate the synapses, it's all going to eventually fade away."

"But I thought my memory was all still there—just blocked. The System told me that." His office was not as spacious as Dr. Varna's; he kept the plex a lot darker. The walls were decorated with solids of Legion soldiers in combat with O's. They were really scary pix.

"The System was right," he said, twitching his head again, his eyes sparkling merrily. "However, if you don't use your LTM—if you don't trigger those synapses—it fades and disappears. It makes way for new impressions, which are coming in all the time."

"So psyching does erase your memory!"

"Not at first. But eventually—yes. Unless we can locate and eliminate the caps."

"How do you do that?"

"Two methods. First, we search your fornix and hypothalamus for the decoding centers that house the signal mechanisms of your pre-psyching LTM storage circuits. These decoding centers are the key. You can't recall anything prior to your psyching because they've flooded the LTM decoding centers with gibberish—massive amounts of static. The decoding center shuts down, flooded in false data. The real information can't get through the static to stimulate your LTM synapses. We're going to remove the static."

"How do you do that?"

"Hunter-killer teams," he grinned. "We identify the static and destroy it, electrochemically. We burn it right out." Another crazy grin. "It's non-invasive, don't worry. We target the body's natural biochem processes and focus it right where we want it. And in the meantime, we locate and stimulate your pre-psych LTM, to ensure the synapses don't fade away. That's the second method, and it's almost as important as the first. We just ignore the decoding center and stimulate the circuits directly. We call that deep-brain stimulation. The brain has a curious structure—miraculous would be closer to the truth. LTM is scattered throughout the cerebrum, to maximize your chances for survival in the event of injury. You're certainly going to see your past, in your sleep. But you're probably not going to remember it when you wake up." He snapped his head back and forth again, grinning happily. "So we're taking you back to the past. Temporarily, at first. And permanently—later."

"Back to the past."

"And all you have to do is sleep. Nothing to it!"

Nothing to it, I would think, climbing into the psybed. Marty always tucked me in. She was a sweet little doll with short chestnut hair and big brown eyes, a mischievous smile—and a white coat. I was bleeding internally, every time she came close to me. I knew she was interested in me, but I avoided her after they woke me up in the morning. I was angry about it—I was very attracted to her, but she was the last thing I needed on top of all my other problems. I had three lovers already, even if I didn't remember any of them. I sure didn't need another. My life was complicated enough.

It was like a ride in a magic aerial bus, a totally silent rocket, flashing into the dark, sparkling little stars flickering all around me, falling, falling, black clouds whipping past. Floating alone in the dark. Spiralling into alternate worlds. Cruising over strange territory. That's how it started. But then it would fade into the warmth, and I would slowly wink out.

I would awaken, exhausted, bathed in sweat, my heart hammering. The headache would last all morning, but I couldn't remember anything—not a damned thing. Dr. Lock told me not to worry about it. It was normal, he said—normal. As if anything in my life was normal.

I went on a picnic once with Tara and Willard and Dragon and Whit. It was a perfect cool day, Dindabai's pale sky glowing brightly. A light breeze caressed my skin as I lay there beside Tara on a camfax cloth covered with snack food and cold drinks, under a great shady tree. Dragon and Whit were completely happy, clowning around with Willard like a couple of kids, throwing a ball back and forth and chasing each other around in a field of blood-red flowers. I was growing very fond of Willard. He was a good kid.

Tara remained quiet, staring into space. She had agreed to another five days of rest—it looked as if she was doing a lot of thinking. I had been doing the same. Having your past taken away from you is almost like murder—as if someone has killed a part of you. I wanted only to get it back. I knew Tara had been my girlfriend at one time in my past life and now I felt I was falling slowly into the past once again. I did not want to resist it any more.

My hand gently closed over hers. I half-expected her to snatch it away, but she didn't. She flashed me a sad little smile, and gave my hand a barely perceptible squeeze, and looked out again into the green haze of the forest. Dragon and Whit and Willard were laughing and shouting at each other.

"We used to hold hands, Wester. I still remember it—a million years ago. What a simple, happy time that was."

"There's no reason it couldn't happen again."

"We were children. That's gone forever."

"We can do anything we want."

"No, we can't. I'm a psycher. I can't love anybody. And I'm on a mission that will end in my death. So are you. Don't tell me we can do anything we want. That's crap. We're slaves—slaves of the Legion. It's a good cause, Wester. I don't mind dying for the Legion. Do you?"

"Ask me when I get my memory back."

"You have no idea…how long it's been."

"How long what's been?"

"Since anyone held hands with me." She was still looking blankly into the forest, but she made no move to withdraw her hand. I felt like a kid on his first date.

"Why's that? You're beautiful! You could have any man you wanted."

"I'm a cold, hostile bitch, Wester. And I hate associating with people. I hate people. All psychers do. Deadheads—damn them to hell! We serve them, we hate them. They use us; they hate us."

"Do you hate me?"

"No—never. I used to think about you out in the vac. Good memories. Why don't you pick up a normal girlfriend? How about Marty, in the PsyCenter? She likes you—I know she does. She's a nice kid."

"I know she is. No. My life is too complicated."

"Get involved with a psycher and you'll learn what complicated really means."

"Teach me." I squeezed her hand. Slim hard fingers—my heart was thumping. I could fall right into those fascinating Assidic eyes, with no effort at all. It would be easy—so easy.

A flicker of despair passed over her lovely face, and she snatched her hand away. "I'm sorry, Wester. It's not possible." Her eyes filled with tears, and she seized a napkin and covered her face. Dragon and Whit and Willard were still cavorting in the field. I decided I must have offended some very powerful God in a previous life. What other explanation could there be?

Willard came charging over to us, flushed and excited. "Nobody will play with me! Will you play with me, Wester? Why is Tara crying?"

"Girls have to cry every once in awhile, Willard," I told him.

"I'm glad I'm not a girl. Can I have some water? Is Tara sad?"

"Kiss her. Maybe she'll cheer up."

Willard kissed Tara on the cheek, and she threw the napkin down and wrestled him to the grass as he struggled to escape, giggling.

"Kiss me, will you?" Tara chided him. "Don't you know it's illegal to kiss a psycher? I'm going to tickle you to death!"

I settled back with a cold drink. Hopeless—it was hopeless. Maybe it would become clearer once I got my memory back.

***

She came to me through the mists—a pale face, all youth and innocence, as serene as an angel, looking up at me with a faint smile. Gleaming black hair, deep brown liquid eyes and a small mouth with ripe tender lips. She blinked once and I was hers, then and forever. She was serving me something from the cooker. "Flanpie," she said, setting it gently down on a wall table. She was dressed in Legion camfax, as slender and lithe as a cat. She was absolutely adorable. I vowed to love her forever, and never leave her side.

"Do you believe in God?" she asked me.

The world erupted, a deafening bone-shattering blast of starmass roaring in my ears, engulfing me in deadly white-hot flames. My armor was melting, Sweety was shrieking warnings into my ears, and Priestess was gone—gone! She was lost and blind, flaming like a meteor, staggering, groping, lost in the starmass, melting, dying, going out like a fleck of burning ash, calling my name—"Thinker! Thinker! Thinker!"

I screamed and awoke in a blind panic, thrashing wildly, slamming up against the brainscan devices. Marty came running out of the dark, snatching at my arms.

"Three! Three! Three! Calm down! It was just a dream!"

I collapsed against the pillow. My body was covered with cold sweat, and my heart was thumping. Marty was quite concerned.

"The hell it was," I hissed. "It was the past!" And I wasn't likely to forget it.

***

I began to retain some of the images that came flooding up from my brain in my sleep. They weren't really dreams, but were the result of the techs poking around in my brain, stimulating the LTM circuits. I wasn't recalling any of this on my own, since the caps were still in place, but when they prodded the circuits directly, I didn't have to recall anything. It flooded my mind, just like a dream. And when it did that, I could sometimes remember it when I woke up. I wasn't recalling a memory, I was remembering a dream. But these dreams were from the past. I was cheating, bypassing the caps. I was getting little glimpses of the past.

Daytimes, I went to class. It was a rather special class—I was the only student. But it was all part of Tara's plan. I learned about the Legion. I learned what happened to a new recruit, where he goes and what he does. I memorized my lines. There was a lot to learn, a lot to read. It kept me busy.

Dragon often joined me on the range. They had a first-class range out in the wilderness. I soon grew familiar with a wide range of weaponry, Legion and Systie. I had done it all before, you see. It was all strangely familiar.

I got to know the E. I got to love the E. The E Mark 3 was a little black bitch, hot and nasty and very talented. Treat her good, treat her bad, it didn't matter. She would stand by you no matter what. She was beautiful and faithful and tough as nails. I could strip her in the dark, blind as a bat, bathe her lovely limbs in slick and put her back together again in no time flat.

We fired for hours, Dragon and I, shattering the afternoon, then triggering the lights and firing on into the evening. I loved it. I loved every freaking frac. Full auto x, cracking right through the ear baffles. Xmin, xmax, the targets flashing and erupting, smoking phospho shrapnel tracers shooting skyward. Laser, death's bright light, snapping, shrieking. Vac flashing, knocking the targets flat. Flame, sheets of white-hot gas, setting the world afire. Hell, on tap. Canister, erupting like the end of the world, shredding the target with a hot hail of cenite microdarts. It sounded like a swarm of killer bees, and it chilled my blood.

I loved it. It was better than sex. Dragon and I would laugh in sheer delight as smoke poured from our targets.

"We're living on borrowed time," Dragon said once, with a far-off smile. "Might as well enjoy it."

"No argument here!"

Whit joined us once. She stayed about a half hour, watching us, then left. I guess girls just hate it when they're not the center of attention.

We had a couple of new girlfriends. That was the problem.

Tara came by once, hoisted an E, and bet us each a hundred credits she could out-shoot us. Then she humiliated us both, and to prove it wasn't an accident she did it again. She did it so easily we were stunned. As the echoes faded into the distance, she slipped her earbaffles off. Downrange was wreathed with smoke. It was glowing, flickering, burning.

"It's good to relax," she said quietly. She was clutching the E just like a baby, and her face was cold and hard.