Homefall: Book Four of the Last Legion Series Read Online Free PDF Page B

curling into a strike hand.
    Liskeard saw his hands, then started laughing, very hard.
    “Does Angara know you’re trying to recruit me?”
    “He does,” Njangu said. “And he growled something about I better be sure I’m right.”
    Liskeard looked surprised. “That’s the last thing I’d expect that hard-ass old bastard to say.”
    He took a deep breath.
    “Yoshitaro, I’ll put the wings back on for you. And if I snap again … you won’t have to take care of me. I’ll do it myself.
    “And … thanks. I owe you. Very, very large.”
    Njangu, never happy with sentiment, came to attention, saluted, and turned. Over his shoulder he said:
    “Then get over to
Big Bertha
— she comes out of the yards in two hours — and start learning what a pig she is to fly. Sir.”
    • • •
    “You’re sure that dance is authentic?” Garvin asked doubtfully.
    Dec
Running Bear, resplendent in breechclout, a rawhide necklace of long teeth, face paint, and a feather sticking sideways out of his braided hair, grinned.
    “Just as my mother’s mother’s mother taught me. Or, if the people I’m dancing for start lookin’ like they think I’m shitting them, my father’s father’s father’s father. Hell, I’ll tell ‘em next performance I’m gonna put bone spikes through my tits, hang in the air, and yodel for the ancient Sun Dance.”
    “I dunno,” Garvin said, still skeptical.
    “Look, sir. I could really use some action. I’m bored cross-cocked doing nothing but fly
Dant
Angara around. Great Spirit on a bicycle, I actually found myself wanting a little shooting last week.”
    Running Bear absently rubbed a scarred arm. He was one of the few living holders of the Confederation Cross, gained in what he called “one ee-holay mad moment.”
    “So I dance some, tell some stories … those are for real from back when, maybe even back to Earth … my gran taught me … smoke a peace pipe, sing some chants, look like a dangerous warrior.
    “Isn’t that a good way to meet women? Sir?”
    “Doesn’t sound that bad,” Garvin said. “Plus we can always use another certified crazy besides Ben Dill. And you can fly.”
    “Anything short of a Zhukov, right through the eye of a goddamned needle, sir.”
    “Well, we’re pissing off
Dant
Angara bad enough already, taking his best. Might as well grab his chauffeur as well,” Garvin decided.
    • • •
    “Might be fun,” Erik Penwyth drawled. “Wandering out there, a day in front of you folks, seeing who and what can be taken advantage of.”
    “Just don’t get cute on me,” Njangu promised. “Remember, you’re in the job I wanted.”
    “Would you stop whining?” Garvin said. “Clown master you are, and clown master you remain. Pass the goddamned bottle, would you?”
    Njangu pushed it across, just as a tap came on the door.
    “Enter,” he said.
    The door opened, and a woman wearing hospital whites came in.
    “Well, I’ll be goto,” Garvin said. “
Alt
Mahim. Sid-down, Doc. I thought we’d detached you to medical school.”
    She sat, on the edge of one of Garvin’s chairs.
    “I am … was, sir. Until three days ago, when the term finished. I took a long leave.”
    “Uh-oh,” Njangu said meaningfully. “The sy-reen call of excitement.”
    “Come on, Jill,” Garvin said. “First, knock off the ‘sir.’ Or have you forgotten I&R tradition, such as it is?”
    “Noss … no, boss. I came to see if you need a good medico aboard.”
    “Damme,” Penwyth said. “What is it about the old I&R crew? You try to put them in place where they just might not get killed, learn how to do valuable things like deliver babies and do brain surgery that’ll give them a slot on the outside, and they come roarin’ back to the cannon’s mouth, every time.”
    “I won’t even try to argue with you,” Garvin said. “Hell yes, we need a good combat medic. Here. Pour yourself a drink.”
    “Not right now, boss,” Mahim said, getting to her feet. “I’ve got