Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun

"Cheap stuff, thin, tearing at a touch." Lofoten smiled, a brief nicker of the lips which revealed a flash of white teeth. "And your weapons the same, yes? How many veterans did your contingent hold? What rations did you carry? How were your logistics? How well were you officered?"

"Badly," said Dumarest and added, dryly, "as you must know."

"Yes, I know, as you must have realized by now, that Haiten's Corps was sacrificed. You had no hope of winning and there was no intention that you should. It was nothing more than a show. Sound and fury and some limited destruction, enough to awe the civilians and make them obedient to the new regime."

"A show," said Dumarest bitterly. "But some good men died."

"Of course-but dead men draw no pay." Lofoten was cynical. "And who ever claimed that the life of a mercenary was easy? You realize why I'm telling you this? Your Command has no interest in redeeming you. Unless you have money to buy your freedom you are ours to dispose of as we see fit. The penalty the vanquished must pay. Either you work off your debt by service in the Legion or we sell you as contract labor. You have money?"

"No."

"Of course not, else you would not have joined up with Haiten on-where did you join?"

"Ragould."

"And you arrived there from where?"

"Elmish."

"And before that?" Too many worlds scattered across the spread of the galaxy. Names which had become faded memories, the habitats of people who were now ghosts. A fact Lofoten sensed. "Never mind. Just tell me the world of your origin." He blinked at the answer. "Earth?"

"Earth."

"A most unusual name for a world." Lofoten glanced at the desk, at the tell-tales relaying their signals. "Earth? I've never heard of it, but no matter, I am more interested in your future than your past. Incidentally Captain Sigiua was most impressed by your conduct. He has agreed to take you under his command should you join us. The captain was the one who had you sent to camp."

"I remember," said Dumarest. "If I did join you for how long would it be?"

"Things are slow at the present. Your expenses would be high and your income small. Even with rapid promotion, and I think that could be promised, it would take several years to gain your freedom. Then, of course, you could remain as a free-lance. Many men have made a career in a mercenary band and you could be one of them. Atlmar's Legion is always in need of good men and the rewards could be high."

And death could come fast with the burn of a laser, the shocking impact of a bullet, the blast of explosives. Dumarest thought of Clar and how he had died-a small return for a decade of loyalty, but a man would be a fool to hope for more. A bigger fool to join an organization which traded in war and used harsh discipline to maintain its dominance over those wearing its colors. And yet had he any choice?

Leaning back Dumarest veiled his eyes and studied the bland face of the interrogator. It was a mask of tissue, tiny muscular reactions firmly controlled, the eyes like glass, the lips carved as if from stone. A proud face belonging to a proud man and once, perhaps, a sensitive one. An ambitious man, certainly, no other would have risen as high in the calling he had chosen to follow.

Lofoten's hands fell, toyed with the knife as, casually, he said, "A small matter which you can easily put at rest. You were crouched over the body of your comrade when discovered and were immediately fired on. Yet you escaped injury. How?"

"Luck," said Dumarest. "I heard the soldier and he fired without taking aim. The type of gun he was using throws up and to the right after the first shot."

"And so you moved down and to the left?" Lofoten shook his head. "No, my friend, I think there must be another explanation."

His hands moved on the knife and, without warning, he threw it from where he sat. An awkward position, but his aim was true and, spinning, the blade hurtled directly towards Dumarest. Lofoten drew in his breath as it slammed its point deep into the back of the chair, his eyes judging distance, the time allowed for intent to be recognised and evasive action taken. A normal man, anticipating the throw, would have barely been able to leave the chair. Dumarest stood three feet to one side of it, poised, watchful.

"Fast!" said Lofoten. "Never have I seen anyone move with such speed. As I suspected you possess an unusual attribute; the ability to evaluate a situation and take appropriate action on an instinctive level. And your reflexes are amazingly fast. No wonder the soldier missed. Well, that is one mystery solved. Now to another. Why did you join the Corps?"

"I've told you that."