Legion Of The Damned - 02 - The Final Battle Read Free Page B

took a deep breath and released a long, steady plume of lung-warmed air. His heart beat like a trip-hammer. It reminded him of how stupid he was. So stupid he’d allowed the very creatures Uncle Movefast had warned him against to manipulate his actions, because even though Booly was half-human himself, and therefore tainted with the blood of those who had tormented him for six long years, he thought of them as aliens. Aliens who wouldn’t mind if he plunged to his death, or was caught trying to reach the admin building, as long as it reinforced their rather shaky sense of superiority. Thiswas an attitude Booly found hard to understand, since he’d been raised in an atmosphere where tribal needs came first, and what after all was the Legion, if not a military tribe?
    So there was only one thing left to do, and that was to succeed. Because if he made it to the admin building without getting caught, and hoisted the senior-class pennant to the top of the flagpole, he would not only uphold one of the academy’s most venerable traditions, he would disappoint the bigots and graduate at 1000 hours the next morning. But it wouldn’t be easy, because while hundreds of classes had tried to hoist their pennants, and roughly twenty-five percent of them had succeeded, all of them had moved their flags across the ground.
    The “aerial route,” as Riley liked to call it, was both untried and undeniably dangerous. Something the academy’s staff would officially disapprove of, even punish if they could, but secretly admire, because it was very much in line with the Legion’s culture of perseverance in the face of impossible odds, personal bravery, and death in battle.
    The bell tower was located on the far side of the huge quad on which he and his classmates had spent countless hours marching back and forth. And even though the chimes were muted during the night, the sound still surprised him. He jerked, swayed, and regained his balance. It was midnight. Time to get going.
    Checking to make sure that the pennant was tied around his waist, and the knapsack securely fastened to his back, Booty stood on the long, flat cornice. It received direct sunlight during most of the day and he could feel what remained of the warmth through the soles of his bare feet. That ability was a gift from his mother’s people, which, when combined with their superior sense of smell and the cape of short, thick fur that covered the upper part of his torso, accounted for much of the prejudice that he’d endured.
    The rest flowed from his stubborn “screw you” personality, something he’d inherited from his father, a onetime legionnaire, currently serving as Naa ambassador to the Confederacy.
    Like his classmates, Booty had spent a great deal of time in the field, learning how to move without being seen. But unlike his classmates, Booty had grown up on the planet Algeron, where tribe fought tribe, and bandits roamed the land. So it was second nature to avoid the skyline, to remain in the shadows, to seek warmth with his feet. He could almost hear his uncle saying, “Good rocks are like beautiful females, son—warm, clean, and pleasant to touch. Bad rocks are cold, wet, and slippery. Step on them and they will betray you.”
    The cornice felt like “good rock” and carried Booty to the northeast corner of the building, where the first of many challenges awaited him. He knew the gap between Danjou Hall and the library was less than six feet wide, a distance he had jumped countless times on the ground. But this was different. This was scary. He looked down, saw a flash of white as a legionnaire walked by, and jerked his head back. What was a drill instructor doing out at this time of night? Looking for him? No, checking the plebes, that’s all, and handing out gigs to the jerks on guard duty.
    Booty paused, brought his breathing under control, backed up about fifteen feet, and ran full tilt toward the abyss. His feet made slapping sounds as they hit the