Stone cold beauty, a ship like a burning star glittering in the dark. What horrors had it known? How many hopeless slaves had seen those portals? How many tortured souls had Tara delivered into the unknown? Tara, Tara, Tara, my hopeless, dark angel—what will be your fate?
Priestess squeezed my hand, smiling up at me, a child of the Legion, blinking warm dark eyes. A shot in the heart. Priestess was mine, totally mine, and she was all I ever wanted. Just to be alone, with Beta Nine—how could I want anything more? But life was not that easy, could never be that easy. Tara awaited me, in a ship of slaves, and back on Andrion 2, a Dark Cloud princess was going to have my baby. Moontouch, Moontouch, Moontouch, my secret obsession. What was I going to do? It was all dark to me—in the Legion you live one day at a time.
###
The Legion never told anyone a thing they didn't need to know. Snow Leopard certainly knew about Tara, and so did Delta One. I only knew a little.
Delta's half-squad came on board with us, and the Spawn's prize crew was ferried away. We went into stardrive immediately—there was no time to waste. While Delta took charge on the bridge, Badboy fanned out through the ship, looking for trouble. It was a palace in the stars, still and lifeless except for the padding of our boots in the carpeted halls and the sighing of the conditioners. The odor of perfume still hung in the air. A pleasure palace, full of memories. Now it belonged only to the Legion—what would we do with this ship of lights?
We found the brig—they had locked the humanoid inside. I had heard about this creature, but had never seen him. Gildron, they called him.
He snarled at us, his eyes dark lifeless pools. A giant, he was clothed in the ship uniform, elektra violet. Thick hair covered his huge body. The prize crew had said he was the Commander's personal bodyguard. I tried to reconcile this half-human beast with the girl I had known, and could not. Tara had taken a very strange road to the present. I sighed, and turned away.
The Cyrillians were all unarmed, but it was their ship; we didn't trust them for an instant. They snapped to when we approached, and tried to be helpful. We were all armed, at all times, and prepared to fire. They knew it. The Legion was not a trusting bunch. The Cyrillians watched us with suspicious eyes, and whispered to themselves in their own language. They had jet black skin, yellow slit eyes, and sharpened teeth. Cyrillians were mercs, refugees from a savage, violent world that had been effectively destroyed by the System in a series of nasty civil wars. They were survivors. Gamma had one Cyrillian in their squad—Sassin the Assassin. He was a survivor, too. And so was I.
###
I was on aircar watch when she came. Our Systie aircar was safely tucked away in the launch bay of the
She came as silent as a ghost and at first I thought I was imagining her, a vision from my past, glowing softly out of the darkness. Then she moved, just a little, and her auburn hair slid over her shoulders like silk, and she blinked hot exotic eyes and wet her lips. The shadows highlighted her high cheekbones and her skin was like brown satin. She was dressed in black. I rose to my feet.
'Hello, Wester.' That soft, slightly husky voice.
Adrenalin, my heart exploding. She had always called me Wester.
'Tara! Hello.' It was the best I could do, under the circumstances. I tend to freeze up in the grasp of angels.
'Are you worried about the aircar?' A faint, faraway smile.
'Yes. Yes, we are.'
'There's no need to worry. My Cyrillians are very enthusiastic about this mission. They will do exactly what I tell them to do.'
'And what will you tell them to do?'
She blinked, looking right at me. 'We'll do the Legion's will. Isn't that what it's all about? We all do the Legion's will.'
'Even you, Tara?'
She looked around, uneasily. 'Especially me, Wester. Are you going downside in that thing?'
I looked up at the aircar. 'Yes, I'll be downside.'
She looked at me again, a soft, faraway gaze, full of longing and regret. I didn't need it; not then, not ever. '…all the more reason.' Her lips found the words, but I could hardly hear her.
'Say again?'
'All the more reason…' She tossed her head back, and her hair hissed around her shoulders again, silk on silk. '…for the mission. I can hardly believe it, Wester. Surely it must mean something.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean we're tossed together again, two grains of sand in the wind. You're going downside, and I'll be watching over you, from above. Doesn't it give you a thrill?'
'Tara…' There was only one thing I wanted to know from her. 'You'd make it easier on me if you'd explain something. You command a slave ship, your alias is in our Black Book, and you pass secret messages to the Legion. I suppose that makes you a Legion asset, but it doesn't explain a thing to me. I knew a girl called Antara once…a long time ago. She wouldn't do what you've done. Why, Tara? Why? You used to tell me everything. Remember?'
She looked up at the aircar again. 'Remember…yes, I remember. How could I forget? Yes, that was a long time ago, wasn't it? A girl called Antara…life was simpler then. I was just a girl, and you were just a boy. Now you're a soldier of the Legion, and I'm…well…a lot of things, I suppose. I see the Legion has told you nothing. Yes, of course they wouldn't. I can't answer your questions, Wester. You want more than I can give.'
'The Legion has taken your ship, Tara. Are they going to execute you? You can surely tell me that.'
Her dark eyes smouldered briefly. 'I can take care of myself, Wester. They were going to kill me and all my crew, when they captured us. But they didn't. Perhaps it would be best if you thought of me as being dead already. Yes—maybe she is dead, maybe Tara is only a memory, just like that boy Wester. But I can tell you this much, Beta Three. I've got plenty of names and I can assure you that Cintana Tamaling is very much alive, and she's going to be watching over you when you're downside. You can depend on that.' She turned abruptly and faded into the dark. A hatch hissed open, and she was a shadow, outlined against the light. 'Good luck, Beta Three,' she called out softly. 'Good luck.' And then she was gone.
###
A Legion interceptor delivered our Systies, in great secrecy, in the pit of the vac, endless light years from nowhere. There was no hint where the interceptor had come from. We were definitely in Systie vac by then, and getting closer and closer to Mongera. Whatever the Systies were supposed to teach us about the O's, they would not have much time. Not that it mattered to me. I had already decided I was not going to be listening.
'Leave your weapons outside, Badboy. Delta will babysit.' Snow Leopard made the announcement, his face pale and grim. Whatever was on the other side of that door was bad news. A couple of Delta troopers stood by with E's. We propped our weapons against the corridor wall. Delta was at the bridge and would watch over the Cyrillians. There was nobody in the conference room except the Systies.
'You sure they're unarmed, One?' Coolhand whispered.
'They're unarmed—but you're not going to like it. Nobody's going to like it. Right, Badboy! File in and take your seats! Go in there and sit down and shut down! You hear me? I want you to act like a Legion squad—keep your traps shut!' Snow Leopard's face was flushed, his hot pink eyes glaring at us.
I noticed One's mini was still holstered at his waist. We filed in.
There were three of them, dressed in STRATCOM red, Systie silver and SIS green, sitting together calmly at a large conference table. A huge Mocain soldier, tall, shaved bald, well-muscled, pale greenish skin, flashing dark eyes, no eyebrows. Another Mocain, a female, as pale as death, short military hair, speckled, mottled skin, her face in shadows, as still as a statue. The third was an Outworlder, slender and wiry, shaved skull, blinking nervously. It was all wrong, and warnings were going off in my mind. I paused before an airchair. Then I realized what it was. The girl, dressed in SIS green—there was a huge purple scar at her throat, and ugly shrapnel splotches all over her face. It was that Mocain bitch, what was her name—Millina! She had taken Valkyrie, and almost killed us all on Coldmark. Merlin had lost his legs in that raid. We had rescued Valkyrie, but had failed to recover Millina…we had
