CHAPTER III
Legion of the Lost
“So,” said the fat little man with the shaved head, “so you want to join the Legion. Eh?”
Tony looked him over. The dingy office in the outskirts of the North African city was unimpressive. But, somehow, the little man was not. He wore dirty white tropical linens, his face glistened with sweat, but to the three brothers he represented fate. On his decision their destiny would depend.
“Yeah,” Tony said. “We want to join. Well?”
The little man smiled, tapping pudgy fingers on the crowded desk. “Well. Let’s see. You passed the physical examination. Your names are—Anthony. Phillips. Jameson.” The pale blue eyes sparkled maliciously. “Better remember ’em. Sometimes it’s hard at first, but you’ll get used to them. I’m sure I don’t know why everyone who enters the Legion changes his name. There’s no extradition. However . . . You are joining for a term of five years. If you wish to leave before then, you can buy your freedom if you have the money. If you have not, you must serve your term.
“You may try to escape. You may succeed. You may fail, and in that case will be assigned to the guards in the uranium pits of Mars. No one has ever escaped from there. It is not advisable—” The blue eyes were hard as steel now. “It is scarcely wise to attempt escape. Aside from all else, when you leave us, you are no longer under the Company’s protection.”
He passed a plump hand over his shining head. “Anything more?”
Tony glanced at his brothers and shook his head. “Not a thing. What happens next?”
“The Sub-Sahara post needs men. It’s an easy job for recruits, keeping the Copts in check and seeing they don’t go outside raiding. Here!” A buzzer rang, and soon a man entered, clad in the dull gray uniform of the Legion. He saluted casually.
“Sir.”