Chapter Six

A good legionnaire is a man who needs to find something in the Legion. If he has a past he wants to forget and needs a lifeline to cling to, and providing he is in good physical condition, he will have the right motivation to succeed with us.

—Colonel R. Forcin,
French Foreign Legion, 1984

The study in the consul-general’s Residence was decorated in dark paneling, a quiet, somber room that suited Hauser’s bitter mood. He sat in a straight-backed chair at the richly inlaid kajudjati desk Doenitz had brought to Robespierre from Laut Besar, holding his head in both hands and staring unseeing into the glossy, polished hardwood desktop.

He could sense Suartana hovering nearby, but ignored the Indomay. The sersan had tried to attend to his injured arm, but Hauser had waved him away. Neither had spoken for a long time now, and the silence of the study had been broken only by the brief flurry of noise in the courtyard as the ambulance had arrived to pick up Erich Neubeck.

Long minutes passed before Doenitz came in. Hauser looked up at him hopefully, but the consul-general shook his head. “It’s no good, Wolf,” he said slowly. “It took too long. There’s no hope of reviving him now.”

The words knocked down the last hope Hauser had been holding on to. Medical technology on a world as sophisticated as Robespierre could work miracles, and even a mortal wound like Neubeck’s might have been treated at a high-tech hospital facility. But without a regen capsule on hand to keep the body on life support until the ambulance arrived there had never been much hope of that. Now there was no hope at all. Erich Neubeck was dead.

“What about … his brother?” Hauser asked, turning away from Doenitz.

“He left with the body. But he’s more determined to even the score than he was when you left. They were … a close family.”

Hauser nodded. “What’ll he do? A challenge? Or is there some legal action he can bring instead?”

“Neubeck provoked the whole thing,” Doenitz replied. “A Uro court would find in your favor, since the man so obviously flouted the conventions. You satisfied the demands of honor and yet he continued to insult you.”

“Unfortunately, this isn’t Laut Besar and there are no Uro courts available,” Hauser pointed out grimly. “I’ve seen how they feel about the Besaran aristocracy around here.”

“The offense took place on Besaran soil,” the consul-general pointed out. “Robespierre has no jurisdiction … but there’s no organized homeworld civil authority that Neubeck could turn to. He might argue that it’s a matter for a military court. That would mean the Oberst von Padang Tengah.”

“Who is married, if I remember correctly, to a Neubeck,” Hauser finished the thought glumly.

“It’s more likely he’ll issue a challenge of his own,” Doenitz went on. “And he’s nowhere near as good with a saber as his brother. You could probably beat him.”

Suartana cleared his throat. “You might beat him, Tuan, but you know that wouldn’t be the end of it.”

“Yeah.” Hauser slumped in the chair. “There must be a dozen Neubeck connections in the regimental mess alone … including the oberst.”

“Nor would von Padang Tengah be too happy if you kept fighting his officers. You know the Neubecks will turn this into an outright blood feud. All duels to the death … not just an agreed capitulation. So either you die in a duel, or you keep killing off officers until the oberst decides that military court is in order.”

“Always assuming that Freiherr Neubeck sticks to the proprieties,” Suartana added hesitantly. Indomays were usually careful to avoid questioning Uro honor, but the sersan’s words were blunt even if his tone was not. “If he’s really out for revenge he might just round up a few of his men and ambush you somewhere.”

“He’s an honorable man,” Hauser said, but he made the admonishment more from habit than conviction. “But the alternatives don’t sound too good.…” He trailed off. Inwardly he was cursing the hot temper that had made him strike Erich Neubeck down. It was a betrayal of everything he believed in. Hauser had cut off more than a man’s life in that courtyard. Honor, reputation, both his and the Hauser family’s, had died on the cobblestones alongside the major.

“I warned you,” Doenitz said. “You were worried about the disgrace of cowardice, but what you’ve ended up with is … worse. Infinitely worse.”

Hauser turned in the chair and met the old man’s eyes. “What do you suggest, Freiherr Doenitz?” he asked softly. “What would you do in my situation?”

The consul-general’s dark eyes were sad. “There’s nothing left for you here, Wolfgang. Home, family … those are gone already. If you stay and fight for your name, you only condemn yourself to death, and I hate to see anyone throw away a life to no good purpose.”

“What’s the alternative?” Hauser asked.

“Leave Robespierre. Turn your back on all this … and find something to do with your life. That’s my advice.”

“Just … abandon my honor? My family’s good name? I don’t know if I could do that.” The idea went against everything that Wolfgang Hauser had been brought up to believe.

“Your other choice is to stay and die. It’s that simple. It doesn’t matter if you die fighting some pointless duel, or if you’re condemned by a court martial, or if a gang of hired thugs attacks you in a dark alley some night. In the end, you’ll die unless you leave … and leave quickly.”

“The von Lembah Terang money gives the Neubecks a long reach, Tuan Doenitz,” Suartana commented. “How safe would it be to stay in the Commonwealth?”

Doenitz looked thoughtful. “That’s a good point, Suartana. A very good point.” He was quiet for a long moment. “There’s one option you might consider, Wolfgang,” he went on at length. “But it’s a drastic one.”

“It sounds like anything I do will be a drastic measure,” Hauser said. “What is it?”

The diplomat didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was soft. “There is a place where people can run from their problems, where they can take on a whole new identity if they wish. It’s a Commonwealth military unit, but it accepts anyone who can measure up to its standards. They’re tough, but you have what it takes, I think … if you want to try.”

“The Fifth Foreign Legion,” Hauser said slowly.

It was one of the best-known military formations in the Terran sphere, a unit which carried on a romantic tradition that stretched back through centuries of human endeavor. The Fifth Foreign Legion had been called an elite fighting force and a haven for the worst social outcasts in the Commonwealth, and such was the power of the myth surrounding it that no one could really say which description was more apt.

But the Legion was certainly known as a safe haven, where recruits could vanish into the anonymity of a military life. Legion recruiters didn’t care if a man was wanted for a long list of crimes, as long as he had the potential to be a good soldier. And they were supposed to protect their own, no matter what.

Wolfgang Alaric Hauser von Semenanjung Burat would never have considered joining the Legion … but the man who had killed Erich Neubeck and forever stained his name and honor would fit in perfectly among the other flotsam of human space. The thought that he might somehow expiate his dishonor among such men was seductive.

“Do you really think they’ll take me?” Hauser asked.

“Well, it takes more than a strong back to be a soldier,” Doenitz said. “But you’ve already had military training at the Academy. If anything, your background as an officer puts you ahead of most of the recruits they take in. You could get tapped as an NCO if they think you’re leadership material.”

Hauser shrugged. “After Telok I’m not sure what kind of leader I’d make,” he said somberly. “But that doesn’t really matter, I guess.” He paused, frowning at Doenitz for a long moment. “You sound sure of yourself, Freiherr. Have you dealt with the Legion before?”

Doenitz shook his head. “Not me, no. But I had a brother once, Wolfgang … he joined the Legion a long time ago, after a quarrel with our father. He … never came back. But the last holo I had from him was full of stories about Legion life. He said it was a harder life than he’d ever imagined, but also the most rewarding.” The diplomat looked away for a long moment, then turned his sad eyes back on Hauser. “I was proud of him, Wolfgang. People said he turned his back on our way of life, but I was proud of him. Do you understand?”

Hauser nodded slowly. “I think I do, Freiherr. I hope you can be as proud of me … even after what I did today.”

For the first time since the end of the duel he felt as if he had a future. He would join the Fifth Foreign Legion, and he would prove himself the only way he still could, now that his old life was closed to him. And maybe he could make this one old man proud.

* * *

“Name?”

“Wolfgang Hauser von Semenanjung Burat.”

“God, what a mouthful,” the NCO at the computer terminal commented wryly. His stripes identified him as a sersan, but Hauser had already learned that rank titles were different in the Legion from the ones he was used to at home. “You expect us to call you that, kid?”

“Wolfgang Hauser will do, sir,” Hauser said quietly. He spoke slowly, carefully. It had been a long time since he’d used Terranglic, and he hadn’t taken a chip course to brush up on the language for years.

“Not ‘sir,’” the man told him. “Sergeant. You reserve ‘sir’ for officers, politicians, journalists, and other scum.” He entered Hauser’s name. “Are you a Commonwealth citizen?”

“No. I’m from Laut Besar.”

“Ah … one of the refugees.” The sergeant looked at him. “Look, son, far be it from me to turn away a recruit. Lord knows we can always use fresh meat. But if you’re enlisting with the idea of fighting the Ubrenfars, stick with the Besaran army they’re putting together out in the country. There’s no guarantee the Commonwealth’ll even get involved, and even less that you’d get a posting to your systerm after Basic. Any good card player knows not to play against the odds, see?”

Hauser shrugged. “I wasn’t counting on anything, Sergeant. And I have my reasons for preferring your Legion.…”

The sergeant gave him a knowing look. “Like that, huh?” He grinned. “Well, whatever it is you’ve done, the Legion’ll look after you. We’ll protect your identity … you don’t have to tell anyone anything more about your past than you want to, once you’re in. But we’ll need a complete history before we can process you.”

“Whatever you want, Sergeant,” Hauser said. Despite the commitment he’d made to himself at the consul-general’s Residence, part of him still felt empty, as if he was just going through the motions.

Consul-General Doenitz had handled all of the arrangements once Hauser had made up his mind to enlist. The diplomat had placed a call to the Legion’s Robespierre recruiting office, arranging for a floatcar to pick Hauser up at the estate. It had arrived a little more than an hour later, giving Hauser time to make arrangements to have his meager personal effects picked up from his hotel in the capital. Nothing he had left there had any particular value or usefulness, and anyway Doenitz had said the Legion wouldn’t let him take much of a personal kit, but he needed to wrap up the loose ends in his life. It was almost a symbolic gesture, closing out his past life to clear the way for his Legion career.

But there was one loose end he hadn’t known how to wrap up. Radiah Suartana had insisted on accompanying Hauser into the Legion, and despite all of Hauser’s protests and orders the Indomay had bluntly refused to be put off. Even after it was pointed out that the Legion might not let them stay together the big sersan had remained set in his intentions. He had been told to watch over Hauser by the family he had served for years, and he would not give up that charge under any circumstances.

In a way Suartana’s stubbornness was comforting. A part of Hauser recoiled from the idea of this complete break with his past, and the unswerving loyalty of the Indomay, despite everything that had happened, was something Hauser could draw strength from as he faced the most difficult moment in his life.

The Legion floatcar had been piloted by a tough-looking, scar-faced man wearing the insignia of a kopral, but he was a Uro—of Old Terran European stock, at least—and he told Hauser and Suartana to address him as “corporal.” He was plainly a long-service veteran, with close-cropped hair beginning to go gray. Each of his five hash marks indicated completion of a five-year hitch in the Legion, and in response to a question from Doenitz he indicated that his sixth term was nearly over. Most legionnaires on recruiting duty were approaching their retirements, and this man was no exception.

For all his long military experience, the corporal was good at dealing with civilians. He was polite to Doenitz, brisk and businesslike toward Hauser and Suartana. They had surrendered their ident disks to the noncom, then followed him to the floatcar for the hour’s trip to the Commonwealth military installation on the fringes of Robespierre’s principal spaceport.

The Legion occupied its own compound within the larger complex, a building surrounded by a high chain-link fence topped by barbed wire. Over the single gate was the inscription Legio Patria Nostra—“The Legion is our country”—one of the many unofficial mottoes of the Fifth Foreign Legion. The two would-be recruits were escorted to a waiting room outside an office on the first floor, where the corporal left them to take their ident disks inside. Hauser spent the time examining his surroundings.

It was a spare, Spartan room with few furnishings, white walls contrasting with tile floors colored red. Holopics and paintings depicting legionnaires in a variety of situations and environments hung on the walls. Looking at scenes of combat on far-off worlds had brought back the remembered horror of the fighting on Telok, and Hauser had nearly elected to back out at the last minute. Yet there was something compelling about those images, too, something that touched him on a deep level of his soul where romance and adventure reigned supreme. They made Hauser feel as if he were poised on the brink of something large and mysterious which he simply had to explore, no matter what the consequences might be.

He hadn’t been given much time to debate the question, though. The corporal had emerged from the inner office, pointed at Hauser, and jerked his head toward the door. The NCO had knocked sharply as Hauser approached, and a voice inside had growled “Enter!”

So now he was inside, seated on a hard chair looking across a broad, cluttered desk at the sharpest and most alert man Hauser had ever encountered. Like the corporal, the recruiting sergeant was an aging veteran with short, grizzled hair and an air of tough competence. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal well-muscled arms covered by intricate tattoos, and his chest was decorated with three rows of colored campaign ribbons and the space-helmeted death’s head insignia of the Legion’s elite assault troops.

“You’d be surprised how many people try to join up thinking they can get a billet without any kind of background check,” the sergeant went on amiably. “We’ll take damn near anyone who meets our requirements, but even the Legion has some standards!” He laughed as if he’d made a brilliant bon mot, then checked his compboard and asked another question. “Date of birth? In standard reckoning, please, no local calendars.”

Hauser had to use his wristpiece to translate Besaran dates to the Terran Commonwealth’s system. The questioning continued from there as the sergeant led him through the list of questions. He answered each one as truthfully as possible, and the sergeant seemed satisfied even after Hauser recounted the story of the duel and Neubeck’s death. After half an hour he leaned back in his chair. “All right, Hauser. The crime, or whatever you’d call it on Laut Besar, occurred out of the Commonwealth’s jurisdiction, and anyway it probably wouldn’t change anything if you’d murdered a man in the middle of the capital. What matters to us is your qualifications … and your aptitude. You’ll be given scholastic, physical, and psych tests, and you’ll have time to record your personal history in more detail. I’d also suggest you chip Terranglic. You’re pretty good, but you’ll be expected to understand and obey orders promptly, so you’d best be comfortable with it.”

Hauser raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean I’m in, ah, Sergeant? A legionnaire?”

“Hell, no!” the sergeant said with another laugh. “You are now a Probationary Engaged Volunteer. That means you’re under military discipline, but we haven’t made up our minds about keeping you. Pass your evaluations and you can drop the ‘probationary’ … but you won’t be a legionnaire unless you get through Basic Training first.”

“I see.…”

“Don’t worry, Hauser. You can back out as long as you’re still under Probationary status. A lot of guys pull out as soon as they sober up and realize what five years in the Legion really mean.”

“I won’t back out, Sergeant,” he said flatly.

The recruiter smiled. “Think it over, Hauser. It’s a damned dirty job, you know. We’re not one of the glamour regiments, y’know. The Legion’s been getting the short end since before Mankind had spaceflight. If you don’t die in some worthless skirmish on a frontier world helping some politician or corporation carry out some half-assed policy, then you’ll probably get a dose of the bug and go nuts … maybe you’ll try to desert, and get caught and sent to the penal battalions. Or maybe you’ll pull it off and end up stuck on some dead-end frontier world without a way off planet.”

“You make it sound like you don’t want me,” Hauser said.

The sergeant gave a shrug. “Throw your life away any way you want, kid. Just keep in mind that the Legion isn’t about glory, or romance, or adventure, or any of that crap you might come across in a vidmag. When you join the Fifth Foreign Legion, kid, you’re giving us everything … body, mind, and soul. The Legion looks after its own, and we’ll expect you to be there for your buddies the way they’ll be there for you. And if you survive your hitch, you’ll get citizenship, a stake on some new colony planet … and the knowledge that you were part of something special. The Legion’s tough, Hauser … but if you’re the right man for the job you’ll find out there’s no going back. Think about whether you want to make the commitment … and why.” He turned away. “That’s all, Hauser. You’ll spend the night in the barracks room here, then we’ll shuttle you and our other recruits up to the transport Bir Hakeim tomorrow morning. Recruits take Basic on Devereaux, at the main Legion depot, so unless you flunk out on your tests en route that’s where you’ll end up in about ten weeks. After that … well, that’s up to you and your drill sergeant.” The sergeant gave him a lopsided smile. “And may God have mercy on your soul. Now wait outside again until I’ve finished with the other applicant. Then someone will show you to your quarters. Dismissed.”

Hauser left the recruiter’s office with an unexpected jumble of impressions and ideas whirling through his mind.

The Legion sounded far more complicated than it had seemed when he’d first decided to join.