subtly than the guys who followed me up the hall. People tracked me as I left one neighborhood and entered the next; but no one said anything. With the glow from my remote hidden, I had become a New Olympian.
I strode to the alley and entered. The open door was just as I had left it, and I heard the voices of general-issue clones speaking inside.
I hope this finishes quick.
You still nervous?
Hell, yes. I hear Harris is in there.
Harris isn’t so scary.
Get specked! The son of a bitch is a specking Liberator.
Bullshit, there aren’t any specking Liberators left.
A third man said,
There won’t be any Liberators once Harris breathes this shit, I promise you that. This shit makes your lungs blister.
I’m just saying I’m nervous.
Don’t sweat it. If Harris breathed this, he’s already dead.
They were clones fighting against the Enlisted Man’s Empire; it made no sense. They must have joined forces with the New Olympians, though I was not sure which New Olympians.Governor Hughes would not have sanctioned something like this. Were they religious converts out to kill Legion? If the term “Legion” referred to clone converts, they could have been out to kill
for
Legion. “Legion is among us.” What the hell did it mean?
No matter how I tried to fit the pieces together, the end result made no sense.
If I’d been wearing combat armor, I could have recorded their conversation and given it to Intel for analysis; but I had come dressed as a civilian. Apparently, these clones had the same idea. I peered in the doorway and saw they had come in slacks and tees.
The night period ended, and the light around the spaceport started to brighten when the first two members of the trio finally emerged from the alley. The illumination level had not reached daylight levels, only the murky shadows of the early morning.
The third guy must have been in charge of the oxygen geny; his friends left the alley empty-handed. I watched them from across the hall as they turned right and disappeared.
My instincts told me to wait for the final traitor.
A few early-rising natural-borns drifted through the area. The street revival had long since cleared away. A twenty-three-man crew set up food tables where the preacher had been.
A clone wearing white security armor but no helmet drove up in an old-fashioned electric-powered cart with a flatbed for hauling cargo. He parked outside the alley and beeped the horn.
The third clone came out to meet him. They traded salutes, then the new clone drove his cart into the alley. Five minutes later, with the light level just below breaking dawn, the two men drove out of the alley with the oxygen generator in the back of their cart.
They drove slowly, talking happily, not looking back. Staying about fifty feet behind them, I followed as they left one neighborhood and entered the next. The floor was smooth, and the cart glided over it without making much noise.
I followed the cart through a crowded maze of halls and corridors. The illumination hit midmorning levels, and I thought about using my remote to check in with Jackson; but the bastardsin the cart kept driving forward. I would lose them if I stopped to chat.
We turned a corner, and there it was…the grand arcade, with its five-tiered ring of stores that now served as a campground for refugees. This time, though, no one noticed me. I was just another New Olympian, walking around the spaceport at the break of another unhappy day. People noticed the clones driving the cart with the oxygen geny, however. I saw a few heads turn to follow them.
We crossed the arcade and continued down a main hall. Arteries such as this one had been constructed to handle tens of thousands of harried travelers at a time.
The cart entered a nearly empty hallway and started to pull away. By the time I reached the corner, it had disappeared. Fortunately for me, there was only one place it could have gone, a doorway with a sign that said, MILITARY PERSONNEL ONLY
I strode to the alley and entered. The open door was just as I had left it, and I heard the voices of general-issue clones speaking inside.
I hope this finishes quick.
You still nervous?
Hell, yes. I hear Harris is in there.
Harris isn’t so scary.
Get specked! The son of a bitch is a specking Liberator.
Bullshit, there aren’t any specking Liberators left.
A third man said,
There won’t be any Liberators once Harris breathes this shit, I promise you that. This shit makes your lungs blister.
I’m just saying I’m nervous.
Don’t sweat it. If Harris breathed this, he’s already dead.
They were clones fighting against the Enlisted Man’s Empire; it made no sense. They must have joined forces with the New Olympians, though I was not sure which New Olympians.Governor Hughes would not have sanctioned something like this. Were they religious converts out to kill Legion? If the term “Legion” referred to clone converts, they could have been out to kill
for
Legion. “Legion is among us.” What the hell did it mean?
No matter how I tried to fit the pieces together, the end result made no sense.
If I’d been wearing combat armor, I could have recorded their conversation and given it to Intel for analysis; but I had come dressed as a civilian. Apparently, these clones had the same idea. I peered in the doorway and saw they had come in slacks and tees.
The night period ended, and the light around the spaceport started to brighten when the first two members of the trio finally emerged from the alley. The illumination level had not reached daylight levels, only the murky shadows of the early morning.
The third guy must have been in charge of the oxygen geny; his friends left the alley empty-handed. I watched them from across the hall as they turned right and disappeared.
My instincts told me to wait for the final traitor.
A few early-rising natural-borns drifted through the area. The street revival had long since cleared away. A twenty-three-man crew set up food tables where the preacher had been.
A clone wearing white security armor but no helmet drove up in an old-fashioned electric-powered cart with a flatbed for hauling cargo. He parked outside the alley and beeped the horn.
The third clone came out to meet him. They traded salutes, then the new clone drove his cart into the alley. Five minutes later, with the light level just below breaking dawn, the two men drove out of the alley with the oxygen generator in the back of their cart.
They drove slowly, talking happily, not looking back. Staying about fifty feet behind them, I followed as they left one neighborhood and entered the next. The floor was smooth, and the cart glided over it without making much noise.
I followed the cart through a crowded maze of halls and corridors. The illumination hit midmorning levels, and I thought about using my remote to check in with Jackson; but the bastardsin the cart kept driving forward. I would lose them if I stopped to chat.
We turned a corner, and there it was…the grand arcade, with its five-tiered ring of stores that now served as a campground for refugees. This time, though, no one noticed me. I was just another New Olympian, walking around the spaceport at the break of another unhappy day. People noticed the clones driving the cart with the oxygen geny, however. I saw a few heads turn to follow them.
We crossed the arcade and continued down a main hall. Arteries such as this one had been constructed to handle tens of thousands of harried travelers at a time.
The cart entered a nearly empty hallway and started to pull away. By the time I reached the corner, it had disappeared. Fortunately for me, there was only one place it could have gone, a doorway with a sign that said, MILITARY PERSONNEL ONLY
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