March of the Legion

Delta One was just out of view of the main screen, a shadow with an E. He was a young trooper with long black hair; dark tanned skin; and alert, wary eyes. He'd be in charge on the ship when we were downside.

'P.S. Maiden, this is Zemband Station! We are surrounded and need evac fast! The skies are clear—request its shuttle land here, please send us its terms.'

'P.S. Maiden, this is Century City main aircar terminal! We request extraction right now! We'll pay whatever it wants! Just get here quick! We've got over seven hundred people here and no more aircars!'

'P.S. Maiden, this is the Cairnsport Police. We have a group of two thousand refugees on the move in darkside—we're sending it our zero. These are women and children, Maiden! The V are closing in, and the military can't help us. It is our last hope, Maiden. We'll give it everything we have! Please don't abandon us!'

'P.S. Maiden, land at the National Trust Commercial Center in Torrens City. We're a group of bankers and lawyers, treacherously abandoned by the military. We'll pay twice what it's asking! Its highest profits are right here! We're sending it our zero.'

'P.S. Maiden, our town is cut off and our aircars are all gone! This is Forest Hill—we're a squad-sized DefCorps unit and the V are cutting us to pieces. Maiden, the schools were never evaced! All of the children are still here, and the V are closing in! Maiden, there are hundreds of children here! We can't pay it. Just save the children, Maiden. Please! We're willing to die. Just save the children! We're sending it our zero.'

'This is Mongera Port! Clear this channel! P.S. Maiden, its shuttle is cleared to land at Mongera Port—we have hundreds of thousands of refugees processed for evac, right here. We'll meet its terms.'

'Sounds like the bankers and lawyers have got it,' Whit said with a faint smile. 'We guess we could call this a profit-rich environment.'

Tara was silent but she was in a white-hot rage—I knew her well. She cut the commo and turned to us. 'Are you people ready?'

Snow Leopard picked up his E. 'Keep an eye on things here, Delta.'

'You watch yourself, Beta.'

'Death.' Snow Leopard and I started to move out. Whit got up from her chair. Tara ignored me. She looked up at Whit.

'Take care of the Highroad, Whit. It's the only shuttle we've got.' Tara avoided her eyes.

'Yeah, we love Cit too, Commander. We'll be careful.'

'Sub will be fine, Whit,' Tara said carefully. 'Don't worry.'

###

'Helmets on! Tac mode! Systems check!' A cool green glow bathed the interior of my helmet. All systems were ten high. Beta One lowered himself into the aircar from the overhead escape hatch. He was metalman, a great dull black soldier-ant, studded with antennae and weapons. We were all in A-suits. I checked my E. It glowed with life and death—this was a special E, as special as you could get. All the twisted dark science the Legion lab rats could cook up was in that E. It was a very nasty bag of tricks and if this didn't work, there was nothing left except to say our prayers.

'Seal the car.'

'Shuttle prepped for launch.'

'Badboy, Delta, all secure.' Our aircar was poised in a launch tube in the belly of the shuttle, the Highroad. The other tube housed Cinta's personal aircar. Two of Delta's best were riding the shuttle, watching the pilot and the crew. The Maiden's exec, Whitney, was piloting the shuttle, and she was bringing a few Cyrillians to help with the refugees. All of Badboy—Beta and Gamma—were packed into the aircar, along with the three Systies.

'Just another drop, gang.' Coolhand was in a good mood—he was always a calming influence.

'Keep your safeties on, Psycho, or this is going to be a very short trip.' Warhound sat behind a manport atlauncher, modified to counter the O's psypower. He sounded a bit nervous, with good reason. Psycho grinned back at him through his faceplate. He was burdened with a massive weapons system, a heavy chainlink skysweep attached to a backpack shoulder rig. Quadruple ammopaks were strapped to his back. The chainlink was normally mounted in Legion fighters. In addition, Psycho had a specially modified manlink secured to his chestplate. He was a walking arsenal, a city buster. We hoped it would bust the O as well, but there was only one way to find out.

'Separation!' A heavy metallic explosion rang through the aircar and we were falling, hearts in our throats, stomachs floating, falling down into the dark. The shuttle had separated from the Maiden and was carrying us down to our fate.

'Good luck, Whit.'

'On course, Badboy.'

'Omni ships continue combat tracks last reported. Looks like another Starfleet attack shaping up.'

'Ignition—stand by!' A warning tone sounded, and the launch's drive exploded to life. The gravs pressed us into our chairs.

Into the dark. We could see the future on the screens as the Highroad fell towards the planet. Mongera glowed before us, a massive, luminous presence, icy blue, drawing us in, sucking us in to our doom, so beautiful it hurt, so great, so awesome it was like the face of God. We were microbes, struck blind and deaf and dumb by the light, falling, helpless, into the future.

'Good angle, Whit.'

'Look at all that traffic!'

I shifted my gaze to the port datascreen. The planet was ringed with starships, thousands of ships, a great rescue force, freighters and liners and yachts and cargo tramps and even a great fat colony transport. And a whole fleet of warships, cruisers and fighters and interceptors and probes and scouts and drones. Thousands of tracks, glittering golden tracks, orbiting the planet like rings of dust. And, here and there, popping in and out of stardrive, darting into the planet on hot combat drops were evil little ruby fireflies like falling stars, exploding into whole fleets of ships, hundreds of deceptors hiding their tracks—these were the Omni ships. And Starfleet was after them, immediately. But there was no hope for Mongera—none at all. Great numbers of Omni transports had already landed, discharging hordes of aliens—and nobody could stop them, on the ground. Nobody.

'Good drop, good drop.'

The skin started to glow cherry-red as we entered the at. I was sweating inside my A-suit. No mags required, I decided. I was ten high. The stars faded behind us. I hoped the pilot knew what she was doing. Mongera filled the screens.

'Look at that—Starfleet fighters attacking the Omni ships.' Hopeless. A gallant last stand. They might get the ships, but no matter what happened, Mongera was doomed.

'Squad leader, it is responsible for our lives. We will help it as we can, but it must protect us,' the Mocain soldier said. The three Systies were clad in dull bronze-colored Systie armor. They weren't really expected to do anything, I knew. They were just along for the ride, watchdogs for the System.

'Yes, squad leader,' Millina hissed in agreement, 'protect us from its squad.' Snow Leopard ignored her. We were all going to be watching over them, but Beta One had recruited me as a special watchdog. I was not happy about it. I had been told that the Legion had looked into the Systies' minds, and that there were no plans to betray us. It did not reassure me.

'Is that thing going to work, Merlin?' Ironman asked.

Merlin smiled, and held his weapon up to examine it closer. It was a heavy biobloc fieldfaxer, another special toy, just for us, fresh from the lab.

'It'll work,' Merlin replied confidently. 'It'll cook an O like an egg. Those samples you guys brought back from Andrion 3 were conclusive. We've finally zeroed the O's genetics. But I can't get through the mags. That's up to the rest of you. Get me through those mags and I'll cook your O.'

'Make it well done, Merlin,' Dragon said. 'Raw meat can be dangerous.'

'You get me through those mags and he'll be chargrilled.'

The ship began to vibrate wildly, blitzing its way through the atmosphere. Outside we could only see the interior of the launch tube, but Mongera was right there on the screens, coming right at us, irresistible and final. We could see the shuttle's skin, white-hot, and I was strapped in. It was every childhood fear-of-falling nightmare I'd ever had turned up to max, like a killer dog tearing out my throat. Cold sweat trickled down my temples.

Yes, get us through the mags—that would be the trick. The O's walked around in personal force fields, and we did not know how to counter them. Yet we had done it—somehow—last time, and Warhound had drawn blood,