The Last Legion: Book One of the Last Legion Series Read Free Page A

beside him, snorted, and turned away.
    “I want to learn how to do that,” the other recruit said in a low voice.
    “Do what?”
    “Melt ‘em with a look like that guy did. Cheaper’n a blaster and not nearly as convictable.”
    Garvin extended his hand, palm up, and the other man repeated the greeting.
    “Garvin Jaansma.”
    “Njangu Yoshitaro.”
    Garvin considered the other young man, who was about his age and height, dark-skinned with close-cropped black hair and Asiatic features. He wore charcoal trousers and a pale green shirt. Both fit poorly and looked cheap. He had a collarless windbreaker over his shoulder. Yoshitaro reminded Jaansma of an alert fox or hoonsmeer.
    “Did anybody say where we’re going?” he asked.
    “Of course not,” Njangu said. “Recruit scum don’t get told shit ‘til they have to know it, which I guess’ll be whenever we get where we’re going.”
    “What about training?” Jaansma said. “I enlisted for Armor, and so far all I’ve done is polish toilets.”
    The older man turned back.
    “And that’s all you’ll do ‘til you get to your parent unit. The Confederation’s got a new policy. They ship your young ass to your home regiment, and let them whip you into shape.”
    “That isn’t the way it is in the holos,” Njangu said.
    “Damn little is,” the man said. “It’s ‘cause the Confederation’s falling apart, and they don’t have time or money to take care of the little things like they used to.”
    “Falling apart?” Garvin said incredulously. “Come on!”
    Garvin had seen troubles in his wanderings, but the Confederation itself in trouble? That was like saying the stars were burning out tomorrow, or night might not follow day. The Confederation had existed for more than a thousand years, and would no doubt exist for another ten thousand.
    “I spoke clearly,” Kipchak said. “Falling apart. The reason you don’t see it is because you’re right at the center of things. You think an ant knows somebody’s about to dump boiling water on its nest? Or a
wygor
ever realizes what the skinner wants?”
    Neither young man understood the references.
    “What do you think all the riots are about?” he went on.
    “What riots?”
    “You didn’t watch any ‘casts while you were farting around in the ‘cruit barracks?”
    “Uh … no,” Yoshitaro said. “I don’t pay much attention to the news.”
    “Better start. A good holo-flash’ll generally clue you how deep the shit is you’re about to get tossed into, and maybe even give you time to pack hip boots.
    “People are rioting, tearing things up because they can’t get things. Centrum being a high-class admin center, nobody bothers to grow anything. Which means everything from biscuits to buttwipe gets shipped in, not produced locally. Since the system’s showing cracks, sometimes those shipments don’t get here in time for dinner.
    “It’s real hard to accept you’re on the greatest planet in the universe, like the holos say, if you can’t afford beans and bacon.”
    “How come you know so much, anyway?” Njangu said, just a bit billigerently.
    This time the look came at him. But he didn’t quail. Kipchak let his glower fade down.
    “ ‘Cause
I
pay attention,” he said. “Something you better learn. For instance, I could tell you where we’re going, what unit we’re headed for, and even what the pol/sci setup is there. If I wanted to. Which I don’t, much.” Perhaps he was about to add more, but they’d reached the ship’s gangway.
    “Your name and home world,” a synthed voice intoned.
    “Petr Kipchak,” he growled. “Centrum, when it suits me.”
    “Noted,” the robot said. “Compartment sixteen. Take any bunk. Next.”
    And the huge
Malvern
swallowed them.
    • • •
    The compartment stretched into dimness. It was filled with endless four-high rows of bunks, with small lockers under the bottom one, and, like the rest of the ship, was spotless and smelled of fresh