Top Secret:

Executive Brief #866

Author: Equestrian William Drusus

This document and all its supporting materials are to be considered highly classified. No portion of the information revealed herein can be legally revealed, nor can any of the sources or source documentation be leaked or copied without the express permission of the Second Directorate. Penalties for anyone convicted of losing, or forfeiting control of access to such documents, whether through purposeful or negligent behavior, include severe physical reprimand and mandatory life imprisonment. There is even legal precedent for permanent execution in extreme cases.

Unauthorized personnel who discover this document are hereby ordered to report the incident and destroy it under penalty of Hegemony Law.

Report Introduction:

This report summarizes Earth’s evolving political situation. It was written exclusively for Hegemony Intelligence Committee members. If you are not a member of that august body, stop reading immediately!

This is your final warning!

Section I: The Growing Terran Influence:

Earth has been politically united since 2054, when the last nationalists were rooted-out and either exiled, imprisoned or terminated. For approximately seventy years, a period considered by most historians to be Humanity’s Golden Era, our role was secure within the Empire. We reliably provided ground troops for hire to any other star system who wanted them. In exchange, we were given access to alien trade goods and were protected by our provincial defense force: Battle Fleet 921.

All of that has changed over the last few decades. Starting with the rediscovery of a lost colony expedition to Zeta Herculis, Earth began to expand. Dust World, as it’s more commonly known, became our second governed planet.

The third was arguably Gamma Pavonis—Machine World. Although no large independent colony exists on that planet, it remains a critical metals mining outpost today. Most of the titanium used to build our fledgling fleet was mined on the rocky slopes of Gamma Pavonis.

After these first two, our possessions and territories exploded. With the defeat of the Cephalopod Kingdom, Earth was able to boast theoretical possession of three hundred and twelve inhabited star systems.

Alas, this happy windfall came with two grave caveats: First, we lack the military power to enforce our will upon so many remote stars. Second, the Galactics have become alarmed by our rapid growth, and they’re actively seeking to curtail it.

In reality, Earth legitimately manages no more than nine star systems. These now include Epsilon Leporis, once colonized by the Cephalopods and more commonly known as Blood World. But beyond this handful of relatively obscure worlds, the other three hundred inhabited planets qualify either as independent rebel states, or they roil in perpetual anarchy.

In short, Earth’s growth as an interstellar power is still very much in its infancy.

Section II: Political Rivals in 2147:

We’ve come a long way, but the natural outgrowth of any success is the rise of competitors. We’ve managed to maintain an uneasy alliance with the Mogwa, our patron Galactics. Unfortunately, they can’t be trusted to defend us as their charter promises. In general, our strategy in regard to the Mogwa has been that of the kitchen mouse: we stay out of sight and pick up crumbs. To that end, we’re gathering strength quietly, but taking great pains to avoid direct confrontations with the Empire. The situation is obviously intolerable, but it’s the best we can do at the moment as their strength is a million times greater than our own.

With the Galactics brooding on the sidelines, our more direct rivals come to the foreground. We’re slowly establishing dominance over choice star systems of the former Cephalopod Kingdom, but we’re not alone in playing that game. The Rigellians occupy an unknown number of star systems on the far side of the lawless Cephalopod region. They’re busy snapping up new possessions at a rate that exceeds our own.

Last, but far from least, are the Wur. They cannot be discounted. They dominated the Cephalopods behind the scenes until we attacked. They’ve seemingly vanished, but all our intelligence points to the fact they’re still here, still with us.

An odd, plant-based life form, the Wur are something like an interstellar disease. They don’t colonize but rather infect worlds, growing strange megaflora in a green carpet that overwhelms one globe at a time.

Like any disease in dormancy, they’re always with us, but they evade detection. The Wur are always ready to flourish and sicken the host at the first sign of weakness. It is this author’s opinion that in the long run the Wur might represent a greater threat to humanity than the Rigellians.

Section III: Policy for the Future:

Caution is the watch-word. From the point of view of the Mogwa, we’re like a species of useful microflora in the gut: we provide a service, but our existence is hardly a priority.

Escalating warfare and gradual expansion are the only clear paths forward. We must be seen as a bulwark against the destructive influences of the Wur and the Rigellians. To that end, we must identify and establish military control over the most useful of the nonaligned worlds.

Unfortunately, our rivals are practicing a similar strategy, but without needing to worry about the opinions of the Galactics.

Section IV: Immediate Strategic Goals:

Over recent years, we’ve secured an excellent source of mineral wealth from Machine World. Rogue World provided a tech team that has begun to produce miracles, and Blood World is a planet full of eager ground troops.

What’s needed next, in this author’s opinion, is an advanced base. An industrial center to serve as an outpost capable of mass starship production. This base must be established and fortified quietly. Then, when we’re ready, we’ll use this base to stage operations deep inside the disputed region.

The exact star system to be targeted will be provided in next week’s strategic brief.

End Report

“The gods conceal from men the happiness of death, so that they might quietly endure life.”

— Lucanus, at his execution, 65 AD

-1-

Today I was at Central, that ziggurat of a building squatting in Central City.

Central was a man-made mountain of puff-crete and ballistic glass with bones of crystallized steel. Earth’s defense forces were commanded from this single structure.

Deep inside the massive pyramid, I had been summoned to witness an ascendancy. The event promised to be a promotion among the brass rarely witnessed in Earth’s history.

Everyone present was an officer, and we all knew the details of the main event. Drusus, a longtime mentor and confidant of mine—if not exactly a friend—was being elevated from the rank of equestrian to that of praetor. These ancient Roman ranks might not mean much to people outside of Earth’s military, but to those of us on the inside, it was a big deal.

Equestrians had three sunbursts on their shoulders. Praetors had four. That might induce an eye-roll and an urge to switch news streams among those who were viewing the event live on Hegemony’s government servers.

But for a lowly centurion like me, the promotion was earth-shaking. There were about fifty commissioned equestrians running around on Earth, but only a handful of praetors. They were real brass. The top of the top.

For my own part, I was happy with the advancement. It gave me a connection among the military leadership that could be good for a man’s career. Even better, these sorts of ceremonies and banquets served free food and booze that couldn’t be beat. That was the main reason I’d bothered to accept the invitation and join a hundred others here in Central to witness the ceremony.

Some fat guy with four stars of his own—Wurtenberger, I thought his name was—stood up and began making a speech. Essentially, he talked for a long time about how great Drusus was. He reminded us of when Drusus had led the defensive effort on Earth, and when he’d sponsored our successful capturing of Epsilon Leporis—Blood World—just last year.

That was all fine and dandy, but like any member of the brass, Wurtenberger couldn’t seem to cut it short. After listing Drusus’ accomplishments in glowing terms, he kept right on going. He talked about honor, and responsibility, and six other kinds of crap I didn’t need to listen to.

My mind and eyes soon began to wander, as they tended to do at moments like this. There were many familiar faces in the crowd. I found their expressions interesting.

I eyeballed Primus Graves first. He looked like he actually cared about what Wurtenberger was saying. His eyes had seen the worst of the worst, but he still liked pep talks.

Next to him was another primus, a man I liked a lot less than Graves: Winslade. He was a whisper-thin, weasel of a man.

Winslade’s reaction to the speech was entirely different than Graves. He looked suspicious. His arms were crossed, his eyes narrowed. What did he have to fear by the elevation of Drusus? I didn’t know, but I suspected a paranoid officer like him rarely cheered for any kind of random change in the status quo.

My eyes shifted again. Up front, sitting behind Wurtenberger and Drusus himself, were two women I knew well. One was Imperator Galina Turov. She had a look on her face that I recognized in an instant: glowing happiness.

Did she know something? Did she dare to hope she’d move up from her current rank as a two-star imperator to a three-star equestrian, taking Drusus’ spot? It was my honest impression that she expected as much.

On the other side of the stage sat Tribune Deech. She was the current commander of Legion Varus, my outfit. She’d never been an approachable woman, but I didn’t hate her. Her arms were crossed, as were her legs. But that expression she was wearing—what was it? Smug confidence?

Could she know something as well? It was hard to imagine these two women, who essentially hated one another, could both turn out to be happy with today’s events. That would be a rare day, if it actually happened. Once in a blue moon, as they used to say.

With an effort of will, I forced myself to tune back into Wurtenberger’s speech. Fortunately, it looked like he was wrapping it up.

“…the trinity therefore remains whole: honesty, integrity and innovation. These things are more than goals for Equestrian Drusus. They are realized simultaneously, all in a single fleshly being.”

Wurtenberger stepped back, indicating Drusus with a flourish.

Scattered applause broke out, and I joined in. Using a technique I’d developed as a noncom, I slammed my big hands together while cupping each palm. This created an explosively-loud popping sound. I was pleased to see a few of the men around me—notably Winslade—wince and glance in my direction with evident irritation.

I took no notice of this response. I continued to slam my hands together and even whistled once.

“DRUSUS!” I roared.

More glances came my way. More quick up-down appraisals. I didn’t care. I ignored them all, and I kept on clapping until the applause died down, and then I still kept it up for five long seconds after that.

“Yes…” Wurtenberger said when I’d quieted at last. “So good to see enthusiasm for this pride filled day. And now, without further delay, I will present to the world our first new praetor in a decade’s time. Praetor Drusus!”

More cheering and clapping. I wasn’t the only one making noise now. Amid the din, Drusus stood at attention while fat-boy Wurtenberger placed his new rank insignia on his shoulders. A fourth gleaming sunburst was added to the three he already had.

I knew Drusus was really feeling it, despite his calm and confident exterior. He was beaming, just a little. I hooted and hollered like it was a high school graduation.

I liked Drusus, I always had. He was what everyone hoped to get in a superior officer: confidence, competence and honesty all wrapped into one—just like the fat-boy had said.

When the crowd had settled down, Drusus made a small acceptance speech. It was mercifully short, but I didn’t listen to it anyway. I’d had about enough speeching for one day.

My eyes were already crawling over the buffet. A gang of service people and robots had been laying out a fine spread for the last several minutes. The delicate smells of roast pork, sweetbreads and gravy were gripping my mind.

There was a little more clapping when Drusus stopped talking—but there was some confusion as well. What had he said at the end? My brain could almost remember…

“Well, this is odd,” Graves said at my side. “Do you know why we’re being singled out?”

Graves was looking at me.

Winslade was eyeing me now, too. His face was full of suspicion.

I realized they both thought I knew all the behind-the-scenes intrigue, even though I hadn’t even been listening. This kind of thing happened to me all the time. People always thought I knew more than I did about secretive goings-on.

Sure, I was often involved in events that seemed unexpected, undesirable or even alarming. But sometimes, like today, I was just as much in the dark as to the nature of events as the next guy.

“Uh…” I said. My face went slack and stupid—and it wasn’t even an act.

“That’s what I thought,” Winslade said bitterly, eyeing me with fantastic suspicion. “I knew something was up today. Clearly, a reshuffle has been coming.”

“I don’t even know what he said,” I objected. “I was looking at the food.”

Winslade made a pffing sound of disgust. He turned to Graves. “McGill must have gone over your head again, Graves. He’s playing dumb, but I’m never fooled by that ruse.”

Glancing at Winslade, then back to Graves, I asked the question that was really burning in my mind at the moment. “Does this mean we can’t eat yet?”

Graves shook his head slowly in disbelief.

“All right, McGill,” he said. “You hold onto your dirty secrets. I’m sure it will all be made clear to us soon enough.”

Around me, I noticed most of the crowd was filtering out. Some of them were casting soulful glances toward the growing spread of food as well. Since Winslade and Graves didn’t budge, I didn’t either.

Damn, sometimes I wished I could listen to a speech for more than two minutes without tuning out, but it just wasn’t in me. As a result, all my life everyone around me seemed to know what was going on, while I was in the dark.

This was just one more day in that lifelong story, I supposed.

After a few minutes, the hall had emptied down to maybe a quarter of the previous crowd. Even Praetor Wurtenberger had ducked out.

Counting heads, I noticed that everyone who’d been left behind was an officer from Varus.

Could that be it? Had Drusus ordered everyone who wasn’t in my legion to leave? What the hell for?

“Why just Varus people?” I asked.

“Still playing the dummy, are we?” Winslade demanded angrily. “I’m in the dark as to the details, but if you look up there at the stage, there are two women who seem to be in the know.”

I looked, and sure enough, Turov and Deech had remained. They were both looking smug.

These two women didn’t like each another. Arguably, that didn’t count for much, as I suspected there weren’t too many souls on the planet who liked them, either.

But the point was: how could they both be looking happy? I could only think of one reason: Turov was moving up to equestrian, and Deech was moving up into her spot, becoming an imperator.

Damnation.

That would be an unpleasant result from my point of view. Deech hadn’t been half-bad as our tribune, and moving her up would mean a new tribune was running Varus. That could be good or bad—it was a roll of the dice.

But what really troubled me was the concept of Turov getting Drusus’ old spot. She was far above her level of competence already, and in my opinion, she’d been a traitor to Earth on a number of occasions. Were they really going to give her more rank?

Holy shit.

“What about you?” I asked Winslade. “Do you think you’ll be promoted to take over the legion?”

Winslade was a primus, one step below a tribune. He was junior to just about everyone, but when promotions were handed out, they didn’t always go by seniority. In fact, it was my impression Hegemony actively avoided that traditional approach.

Winslade looked at me sourly. I could tell that he suspected I was teasing him.

“Don’t you think, McGill,” he said in an acidic tone, “that if I were involved in this shuffle toward the top, I’d be up there on stage smirking with the rest of those ingrates?”

“Hmm…” I said, having to concede his point.

“Let us come back to order,” Drusus announced.

We all instantly fell silent. The hall had been buzzing with speculation, and we all wanted to know what this was about.

“I’ve held back only the members of Varus because my first decisions as a newly-minted praetor directly affect you.”

I nudged Winslade and gave him a half-smile. He scowled back. He was no optimist.

Deciding to stop bothering him, I took a step back. Maybe he was right. Maybe he was being left without a chair when the music stopped today.

“To that end,” Drusus continued, “I wish to make two announcements. These decisions have been carefully considered by myself, and others. But since you are all personally involved, I’m going to call for motions of support from the body of officers who run this legion.”

Graves frowned at that. I knew he didn’t like anything that smacked of a decision made by a committee. To his mind, when you were in command, you ordered people around and that was that.

Winslade, on the other hand, perked up and took a step forward. He looked like a dog that had spotted a pork chop.

Why? I wasn’t quite certain yet, but I was on my guard.

“The first change will involve Tribune Deech,” Drusus announced. “By all accounts, she’s performed admirably in service of Varus. Accordingly, I’m planning to promote her to the rank of imperator. Who here supports this promotion?”

Winslade went berserk. It wasn’t like him, but that small body of his cheered and waved. A few others raised their hands. Graves frowned, disapproving of the entire affair. He stood as motionless as a stone.

But Winslade—what was on that weasel’s mind?

It struck me what was really going on. Oftentimes, management in any organization made tough decisions and desired support from those affected. Disapproval wasn’t going to change anything in such a situation, other than getting the brass to dislike you.

Loud approval, on the other hand, was an opportunity for bottom-feeders like Winslade and I.

That’s why Winslade was acting like a dog in heat, he was cheering in hopes of gaining favor.

Two could play at that game. My support could only make Drusus and Deech happier with me. Lord knew that I could use some support from the brass now and then. I usually spent my life pissing them off.

My own hand shot up. My mouth opened as well. “I support the motion, Praetor!” I shouted. “Deech deserves it!”

Drusus smiled briefly. He nodded to me, then to Winslade and a few others. Deech smiled at us as well. How could they not like vocal support for decisions they’d already made?

It did occur to me that I was following Winslade’s slippery example, but it was hard to fault his tactics. To me, cheering on a decision that was a done deal couldn’t hurt, especially as I didn’t disagree with it on principle. Deech should make a decent Hegemony Imperator.

“Excellent,” Drusus said. “I’ll accept this response as a motion carried. Thank you for your support.”

Deech stepped up to center stage, and she beamed down at us. I could tell she was really, really happy. She’d never enjoyed commanding our legion of misfits. Now, she had finally moved up into the ranks of Hegemony brass.

“I feel like she’s stamped our foreheads with her boot heel,” Graves complained.

This made me laugh quietly. It wasn’t like Graves to talk like that—but he was right, of course. She’d started out in Iron Eagles originally. She’d taken the post as the leader of Varus so she could get some creds in the battlefield.

After dirtying her hands on Blood World, she’d gotten the valor she’d wanted. Now, she was advancing right back out of Varus, which was lovingly referred to as a “shit-outfit” by members of the more prestigious legions.

“My next decision took more deliberation,” Drusus went on. “I’ll again ask for support from those affected.”

We all fell silent, curious. Most people had their eyes on Imperator Turov.

For her own part, Galina was playing it cool. She had on her usual too-tight uniform and non-regulation boots to give her a few centimeters of needed height. Was her make-up a little heavier than usual today? I thought that it was.

“Legion Varus needs a new tribune,” Drusus said.

Galina’s eyes flicked to him in surprise. She recovered quickly, but I knew then she’d been expecting to be given the rank of equestrian next.

Everybody got quiet in the room, as we all wanted to hear who our next tribune would be.

Galina didn’t much care. I could see that right off. She was worried about her own rank. I watched as her gaze moved to land on Deech. There, her expression soured.

She’d clapped politely when Drusus had moved up Deech, but now things had shifted. If Galina herself wasn’t moving up, these two women would have the same rank and both be left serving in Central together. That could get sticky.

Suddenly, the whole crowd gasped collectively. I realized Drusus was talking again, and I’d missed it. Sometimes, it seems like I can’t listen and think at the same time.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“Sweet Jesus,” Graves mouthed.

“I don’t believe it,” Winslade hissed. “That prick!”

Looking around, I spotted Galina again. She was on her feet.

Her face was white. She looked like her execution had just been announced.

My mouth fell open, and I began to catch on.

“Step up, Turov,” Drusus ordered. “Join me, please.”

She did so, swaying only slightly. She had to be in shock.

“Legion Varus, I present to you your new leader: Galina Turov.”

A few people tapped their hands together, but it was less than half-hearted. Everyone was in a flat-out state of shock.

“Now, I know this decision might seem to be an odd one,” Drusus said. “But these are unusual times. Turov has served for years here, flying a desk in Central. We’ve decided to give her a chance to gain more field experience. Her command skills will no longer be wasted in an office.”

It was still crickets. A few dared to mutter comments, but these weren’t audible to me. No one seemed happy.

“Legion Varus is our best,” Drusus said firmly. “No matter what others say about this organization, you take on the hard jobs. The work that no one else wants to do. That, in my mind, makes Varus a legion of heroes.”

There was scattered applause at that. Graves and I joined in, but Winslade stood with his shoulders slumping, the very picture of dejection.

“Who here,” Drusus asked, “who support’s your new leader?”

For a long time—maybe two whole seconds—no one moved. No one clapped. No one cheered. In fact, the only person in the whole room who appeared to be happy was Imperator Deech. She was smiling quietly from the back of the stage. Today was her day, that was for sure.

Then, perhaps feeling the pressure, a scattered group began to bang their hands together. This went on for a few seconds, but it died quickly.

“Excellent,” Drusus said, as if we’d all roared approval, “I thank you for your support. Finally, before we eat, there is a last parliamentary requirement.”

He looked at Turov. She looked like a drowned cat. If I hadn’t known how many plots, murders, and general acts of skullduggery she’d been involved in, I’d have felt sorry for her. As it was, I felt a pang. An honest pang.

“Galina Turov,” Drusus said in a stern tone, “according to the military bylaws written by the Ruling Council, the highest rank that can serve as a legion commander is that of tribune. Accordingly, I’m going to have to temporarily demote you to that rank. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice sibilant and little bit hissy. “I understand perfectly, Drusus.”

Drusus cleared his throat. She’d neglected to use his rank or call him sir. That was a public slight—but I could tell he’d decided to let it go.

“Very well then. Legion Varus, let me introduce to you someone you know very well. A true champion of the downtrodden: Tribune Galina Turov!”

Again, his words were met with mediocre applause.

“That’s it, troops!” he shouted. “Let’s eat!”

That was the cue I’d been waiting for. Sensing things were wrapping up, I’d used these final moments to maneuver closer to the buffet. I already had two plates in fact, one in each hand.

If I have one singular talent in this world, it’s being first in line for chow. Accordingly, I was duel-wielding my plates before the brass could even get their butts off the stage.

-2-

Someone cleared her throat behind me. I didn’t even look to see who it was. There was a flu bug going around, and it might have been anyone.

“McGill!” Turov barked a moment later.

I glanced back. A delegation of brass stood with her.

Suddenly, the light went on inside my fridge. The brass was supposed to eat first, as they were the honored guests.

My suspicion was confirmed by the congo-line of respectful others who stood off to my right, at the end of the long table of food. They each held a plate. A single, empty plate.

“Uh… here you are, sirs,” I said, handing one of my plates to Turov and one to Deech. “Ladies first!”

Neither one of them looked too impressed, but they took the plates.

“A nice gesture, McGill,” Drusus said. “Perhaps you’d like to join us at our table?”

My eyes flicked to Deech, then Turov. Neither one of them gave me a shake of the head, so I shrugged.

“Sure!” I said, and I followed Drusus closely. A moment later, I was scooping again at the buffet.

Every other officer politely waited behind us in that long, long line, but not me. I was stuck to Drusus like glue. It gave me the perfect excuse to glom two additional plates of fresh chow.

Drusus watched me shovel and scoop with alarm.

“Are you filling two plates for someone else again, McGill?”

“Uh…” I said. “That is my usual excuse,” I admitted. “But the truth is, when a man reaches two meters in height… well sir, he gets kind of hungry.”

Drusus laughed. He was in a great mood.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Carry on!”

We soon found ourselves back at the head table, just the four of us. Deech was smug, Drusus was beaming—but Turov? She looked like we’d all taken turns running over her puppies.

“What we need here is a fine bottle of wine,” Drusus said, and he signaled the waiters.

Soon we had full glasses, and soon after that, full bellies.

Drusus and I did, that is. Deech ate sparingly, and Turov barely touched her roast duck.

Now, as a matter of public record, I’m a big fan of duck.

“Uh… Tribune?” I asked.

It took a second for Galina to realize I was addressing her. Less than an hour earlier, she’d been an imperator, and Deech had been the lowly tribune. Now, the roles were reversed. It occurred to me that I might be the first person to address her at her new rank.

She gave me a venomous glance. “What, McGill?”

“Uh… I was just wondering if you were going to finish that fine plate of duck, sir. I really like duck, see—”

She didn’t throw it at me. I’ll give her that much. But she did shove her plate in my direction with a forceful gesture that could only be called rude.

I took this good-naturedly, chalking it up to a bad day on her part, and wolfed it all down.

Satisfied at last, I tuned into the quiet talk the three of them were having. It’s hard to listenin when you’re hungry, I always say. But at this point I was three plates into dinner. I’d stuffed myself.

“I can’t thank you enough for the confidence you’ve placed in me, Praetor,” Deech said. “I hope I don’t let you down.”

“You won’t,” Drusus replied. “I’ve reviewed your record carefully. You’re an officer who gets things done by the book. I need that, especially here at Central.”

Turov crossed her arms. She was giving Deech the death-stare, but Deech seemed immune.

“Shall we talk policy?” Deech asked brightly. “I feel I shouldn’t waste this opportunity to talk in a casual setting.”

“Excuse me, Praetor,” Turov interrupted. “Perhaps it would be best that I withdraw. I’ve got an entire legion to manage… suddenly.”

Drusus looked at her. “That’s why I wanted you all here. There must be some planning sessions. Personnel discussions. For example, who’s been on your watch-list for promotion within Varus, Imperator? The new tribune taking your place needs to know.”

The two women glanced at each other. Turov’s expression left no room for misinterpretation. She was filled with seething hate right now.

Deech sniffed. “I must confess, I’ve been blindsided by this change. I haven’t worked up a detailed transition plan. Perhaps over the following days—”

“Good idea,” Turov interrupted. “We’ll meet later when you’re ready. Now, if you don’t mind, sir? I’d like to go meet with my top people. Many of them are here right now.”

“All right,” Drusus said.

Turov stood up like her butt was on fire, but Drusus lifted a hand to stop her from running off.

“Before you go, I think you should know that a new mission contract has been signed for Legion Varus.”

Turov’s eyes widened. Instantly, she flicked her gaze toward Deech. If it was possible—which I doubted—she looked even more pissed than before.

“A new mission? Let me guess, I’m flying off to some hellish rock to watch my troops die in pits of steaming offal. Am I close?”

“Something like that, I’m afraid,” Drusus admitted. “The target planet is… well… unpleasant.”

“What else would it be?” Turov said with a small, bitter laugh.

“Yes, well…” Deech said, finally joining the talk. She showed some emotion herself. “Be assured, Tribune, that Legion Varus is up to the task. I’ve come to admire these soldiers. They’re far from elite—they’re not even regulation troops. But what they lack in self-control, they more than make up for in toughness of mind and spirit.”

This surprised me. Never, in all my years of experience under Deech’s thumb, had I heard words of praise for my beloved legion. It had taken this promotion, I guess, for her to see the bright side of the outfit she was leaving behind.

“Don’t forget that I’ve served with Varus in the past,” Turov growled. “I know all about them. May I retire now, Praetor?”

Drusus sighed, and he nodded. He appeared to have given up on smoothing things over. I could have told him you couldn’t put two cats in a bag with one mouse and hope everyone would come out happy. It just didn’t work that way.

“McGill,” he said, turning to me, “are you finished as well?”

“Uh…” I said, glancing wistfully at the dessert trays. “Sure, Praetor. I’m full enough. Do you want to discuss things in private with Imperator Deech? I’d understand.”

“Not just that. I’d like you to go talk to Galina, if you would. I didn’t want this to seem like a demotion. Like an insult. I sense she might have taken it that way.”

“You don’t say?” I asked, blinking. “Um… what am I supposed to tell her, sir?”

“You two have known one another for decades. Welcome her back to her home.

Tell her Varus is glad to have her. Let her know she’ll do well commanding a field unit again.”

I didn’t know any such thing. Deech was better than Turov in every way except for appearance. On the personality side, they were about even. As far as knowing how to lead a legion to victory—Turov was a disaster.

The rest of the troops in Varus would all agree with me, I was certain. They were going to be horrified when they learned about this change at the top.

But none of that was what Drusus wanted to hear, so I forced a smile.

“I’ll talk to her, sir,” I said. “She’ll be full of sunshine by morning!”

Deech snorted a little, but Drusus nodded, dismissing me with a wave.

Walking out of the hall, I paused only long enough to snag a half-dozen pastries. Popping them in my mouth rapidly, I followed Galina’s trail.

Along the passages, noncom hogs had been posted as guards. I asked them where she’d gone, and every one of them was able to point the way.

That wasn’t a surprise. Galina looked like a college cheerleader due to her insistence on not updating her body-scans. Whenever she died, she reverted back to the state that she’d stored carefully on the day she’d signed up with the legions.

Sometimes, she grew to be mid-twenties, but then she’d manage to get herself killed again somehow—not a hard thing to do in the legions. Then, she’d pop back out looking like she belonged in a freshman dorm somewhere.

I caught up to her in an elevator lobby. She heard me coming, and she glowered with a mix of suspicion and paranoia.

“Come to gloat?” she asked.

“Uh… no sir. Quite the opposite! I’m here to tell you that all Legion Varus—”

“Stick it up your ass, McGill,” she said. “Go back to Drusus and tell him I’m fine. I’m as happy as a pig in shit—Varus, that is.”

“Uh…”

Next, a thought seemed to occur to her. She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. It was a calculating look. One I’ve seen far too often.

“Wait a moment…” she said. “I’m sensing a connection here. I was taken by surprise today—that almost never happens. It takes more than Drusus, more than the straight-laced likes of Deech to pull off something like this. It takes a coordinated team.”

“Um… sir?” I said, having no clue where she was going with this particular paranoid delusion, but I was already sensing she was on a dark path. “Let me assure you, there was no conspiracy. At least, if there was, it was only between Deech and Drusus.”

She took a sudden, aggressive step toward me. Her head was forward, jaw set and working, eyes glaring in rage. Her finger came up and pointed in my face.

“So!” she said. “You do know something! You were in on this!”

She spun away on her heel before I could respond, and she began doing a strutting, wildly gesturing walk around the elevator lobby.

I was too alarmed to even stare at her butt. The woman was going off—seriously.

“I’ve got to think!” she declared loudly. “I won’t take this lying down. I won’t! Not again!”

“Uh…”

An elevator arrived and dinged. The doors opened, but she ignored them.

“You!”

She spun around again, focusing all that rage and hate on the only handy target.

“You’re always around, aren’t you?” she demanded. “Always pecking at the sorest of sore spots. Playing the fool, but hidden in plain sight. I’ve underestimated you for years, McGill. What I want to know is this: why didn’t you demand the rank of primus as part of this grand bargain? Why not press for that as your blood-price?”

“Galina, I didn’t—”

“Too obvious, hey? Too clear-cut? No, no, you like to get your revenge in the coldest way. You play the long game, McGill. Don’t you?”

The elevator gave up, closed its doors and whisked away to another floor. I reached out and pressed the call button again for her.

“Imperator—I mean Tribune,” I stopped and sighed.

She snarled at me, stung by my accidental reminder of her demotion.

“Listen,” I said, “I didn’t do this to you. Someone did, I’ll give you that, but Winslade and I were as surprised as anyone when the announcement was made.”

Galina heard me, but she didn’t take my words to heart. She seemed to be listening to some internal demon instead.

“It was that business last year with Thompson, wasn’t it?” she demanded. “You didn’t like me putting an agent on your tail. At least now you know how it feels to be spied on.”

It was my turn to frown.

“I will say that was rude on your part, sir. I liked Evelyn a lot. I think she even began to care for me some at the end.”

Galina snorted. “The great lover McGill, crying over a girlfriend who played him for a fool? I’m supposed to believe that?”

She was starting to piss me off. I can take a lot of abuse, but eventually, it lights my fire as well.

“You’re downright crazy tonight,” I told her, “and that’s not going to get your rank back for you.”

Again, she gave me that calculating tilt of the head. She nodded to herself, as if hearing a voice I couldn’t.

“All right,” she said, quieting down. “I see now how this game is to be played. Tomorrow morning, I want to see you, Winslade—and that little slut you just professed your love for: Thompson. All of you, in my office.”

An elevator arrived and dinged again. This time, she stepped inside.

“In my office by six!” she repeated.

Then the doors shut, and she was gone.

When she vanished, I shrugged. Sometimes, it seemed like there was a long list of women who were angry with me. Tonight’s example had been both unfair and unusually vehement—but it wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before.

I headed back toward the buffet, planning to eat my fill of those pastries—but I didn’t quite make it there.

“James?” a soft voice hissed.

I turned to see Specialist Evelyn Thompson. She was the bio girl I’d had a lot of trouble with over the years.

Evelyn was still pretty, in a too-skinny way. In the past, she’d looked at me with a sour expression, but ever since last year, when she’d seduced me and spied on me, her eyes had held a different light.

“What is it, Specialist?”

She looked pained. “Look, James… I never got to talk to you after last—?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “You’re going to make another play? Turov just left moments ago. Maybe you’d like to call her back up here to have her judge your performance.”

She sighed. “I know, I know, I deserve all of that. But I’ve got something—I found something. I don’t want to give it back to Turov, and I don’t want to have it in my possession. Will you take it?”

She had me confused now. “Take what?”

“This,” she said, sliding a paper-wrapped object out of her purse. “They thought it was destroyed—but it wasn’t. It survived the year Central was bombed to ruins.”

Evelyn was talking about a day long ago when the Cephalopods had invaded Earth and almost taken out Humanity. In those dark times, we’d almost lost a war for extinction. Fortunately, it had been the squids that had paid the bigger price.

“What is it?” I repeated, beginning to tear at the packaging.

“Don’t!” she said. “Not here. Do it in private, where no cameras can see. Make sure nothing is watching—not even your tapper.”

Frowning at the package, I nodded. Something about her urgent words had sunk in. She was full of fear, and I figured she probably had good reason to be.

“What the hell should I do with it?”

“You’ll think of something,” she said, stepping onto an elevator. “Just don’t tell anyone where you got it. Not even if I’m dead—not even if we’re both dead.”

She wasn’t making any sense, but before I could press her for more, the elevator’s doors snicked shut, and she vanished.

I turned the package over and over in my hands, frowning.

Then I went back to my hotel room in the city and tossed it onto the couch. By morning, I’d forgotten all about it.

-3-

At six a.m. I was yawning and slouching outside Turov’s office door.

Her secretary was in there, ignoring the three of us. Winslade was looking paranoid, and Adjunct Thompson appeared downright scared.

“She’s in a really bad mood this time,” Evelyn said for the eighth time.

“When is she in a good mood?” Winslade asked sourly.

“She’s late,” I said, yawning again and rubbing my face.

I wasn’t used to military mornings yet. I’d received my summons, of course, just like the rest of the legion. I’d planned to go back home after this awards ceremony and spend the week with my folks—but that wasn’t likely to happen now.

If the brass didn’t put us on deployment and shove our butts onto a lifter bound for space, then Turov would probably assign us something punishing to do. Either way, the week was turning out bad.

“Hey, Adjunct?” I called out to the man who played her office-boy. “Any word from the imper—tribune?”

“Nope, Centurion,” he said loudly. “She’s not in yet.”

I eyed the secretary narrowly. He was big fellow, blondish hair, wide shoulders. Suddenly, it struck home that he was a little bit like me. Could it be that Turov had chosen him for his looks?

Shrugging, I lost interest. Galina was a puzzle with a few pieces missing on the best of days.

It was almost seven in the morning when she finally strolled into the office. I was slouching on her couch by then, and she kicked my foot hard. I woke up with a jerk.

“Oh… good morning, sir!”

“In my office,” she said, jerking a thumb toward the door. “All three of you.”

Exchanging worried glances, Thompson and Winslade scuttled inside. I brought up the rear, yawning and looking bored.

When we were inside and the door was shut, Turov circled her desk in front of us.

“Sit down,” she ordered, and we did.

She looked at each of us in turn, squinting hard into our faces. I felt I was being judged—or maybe sized up by a butcher for a good skinning. It was hard to care much. I’d taken a lot of punishment in my years of service, and I doubted this would be any different.

“We had quite a quaint little ceremony yesterday, didn’t we?” Turov said. “Did you all enjoy it?”

“The food was good,” I said.

The others were stone-silent.

“Right… but what I really want to know, is what went on before that fateful evening. Who knew about these changes in ranks—and who didn’t?”

“Took me by surprise,” I said without hesitation.

The other two were a pair of mutes, fixed in their chairs.

She nodded at all three of us, but she lifted a finger and directed it at me.

“You see this?” she said, as if I were a slab of meat. “That’s genius at work. He responds when he shouldn’t. He plays the part of the bored simpleton when in actuality, he’s scheming all the while.”

At this, Winslade and Thompson dared to toss me a glance. It was my impression they disagreed with her paranoid delusion, but they were too smart to say so.

“You two, on the other hand,” Galina continued, “are playing it safe. Staying quiet, and low, and mouse-like. Well, it won’t work. None of this will. Not for any of you. Not today.”

“But sir!” Thompson protested. “This isn’t fair! I’ve been loyal. If I’d known anything about Deech’s power-play, I would have warned you.”

Galina stared at her, and Thompson dared to stare back.

Finally, Galina nodded. “I believe you. That’s why you’re here. It’s the other two I’m still contemplating.”

“Excuse me, Tribune,” I said, having stayed quiet through this drama for long enough. “What exactly are we all doing here at six—no, make that seven in the morning?”

“Your fates are being decided. I’ve been thinking about this all night long.”

I saw the dark smudges around her eyes then—and I believed her. Could she have cried last night? Make-up could only cover so much.

“Sir,” Winslade said, speaking up for the first time, “I’m the one who shouldn’t be here. I’ve always supported you from the very beginning.”

“As long as it suited your purposes, yes. But you sucked-up to Deech just as hard when she was your commander. Don’t think I don’t know that. Loyalty is thin in this room. Very thin indeed.”

I yawned again. I didn’t mean to, as it was a rude thing to do, but I was sleepy and bored. I just couldn’t get myself to care about her little show.

“So,” I said, “what next?”

Galina smiled then. It was a tight, nasty thing to see. I didn’t like it at all.

She dug a small box out of her drawer, then two more. She handed one of them to each of us.

I stared at mine. I knew what was most likely contained in that box: New rank insignia.

In just such a lofty office in Central I’d been given the rank of adjunct. More recently I’d been promoted to centurion, the equivalent of a captain in days gone by.

What did this box hold? I wasn’t sure.

“Open yours, Thompson,” Galina said.

“I don’t want to,” she said stiffly.

“I order you to open it!”

Thompson looked traumatized. I knew why. She’d been demoted before, having reached the lofty rank of centurion among the bio teams, she’d been busted down to specialist years ago. Now, she was fearful of another demotion. Would she become a regular? Or even, God forbid, a lowly recruit again?

Trembling a little, she opened her box.

Her face lit up, and she showed off what was inside: the red crest of a centurion.

“Congratulations, girl,” I told her.

She looked so happy. She sighed and thanked us all.

“Now gentlemen,” Galina said, “it’s time to open your boxes.”

Winslade went first, and I could tell by the look on his face he’d begun to hope—but those hopes were instantly dashed.

“I’m a centurion again?” he demanded.

“Technically, it’s for the first time,” she reminded him. “You jumped from adjunct directly to primus years ago.”

“This is… I must protest in the strongest terms, Tribune!”

“Would you like to file a grievance with Legion Varus?” she asked in a sly voice.

“I will!”

“Fine. You can leave it with my secretary in the outer office. I’m the final voice in this legion now—an absolute dictator.”

“I’ll go to Hegemony then!” he declared. “This is unjust, and unwarranted!”

“Go, go! By all means, go! Tattle to whoever you want in all of Central. Trust me, no one will give the slightest shit what you say.”

Winslade got up and slunk out of the office, shoulders hunched in rage and defeat. Evelyn stayed, however, watching Galina and I with a frown.

Galina’s eyes turned to me next.

“So,” I said with a smile. “You made me a primus, didn’t you sir? To replace Winslade?”

“An excellent guess,” she said, gesturing toward the small box in my big hand. “Open it, James. I insist.”

I did so, and my heart sank. A single bar gleamed back at me. The rank of adjunct—I’d been demoted.

A grin sprang up onto my face.

“This is a surprise, sir!” I said in false excitement. “Truth is, I never really felt comfortable in command of so many men.”

“Good,” Galina said, not fooled at all by my bullshit. “You’ll be happy to hear that Winslade will be your new centurion, relieving you of all that stress. Follow him well and die at his side, like the loyal hound that you are.”

Thompson frowned at me, then Galina. “Why are you busting McGill, sir?”

“Did you witness the ceremony yesterday?” Turov said softly.

“Yes, of course—on video.”

“Who cheered the hardest when Deech was advanced to the rank of imperator?”

Thompson glanced over at me, but she didn’t say anything.

“That’s right. McGill and Winslade were practically doing handstands for that cold bitch. And then, when it was my turn, they were as silent as mice.”

“You think they knew?”

“Yes. I’m sure of it.”

Thompson shook her head, and she looked down at the rank in her box. She closed it, and stood up.

“May I be excused, sir?” she asked, not looking at either of us.

“Dismissed.”

Thompson left, and I was alone with the Tribune again. At least this morning she didn’t have that crazed look in her eye. I think tossing around ranks had made her feel better.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, McGill,” she told me.

“Huh?”

“About Thompson. That she might have had actual feelings for you. Normally, I’d dismiss such nonsense as masculine bravado on your part—but that display just now. She cared about your fate. I could see that.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like to see someone done wrong. It happened to her, years back.”

“Yes. And on that occasion, it was in no small part due to your actions.”

My mind cast back to those days. On Steel World, when I was a fresh recruit and new to the legions, Centurion Thompson and I hadn’t gotten along. She had, in fact, tried to kill me—but ended up dead herself.

As a result of this and her allegiance to Turov through some very bad decisions years later, Thompson had been demoted.

“Tell me,” Galina said, walking around her desk and standing alarmingly near. “Are you still interested in me—physically?”

“Uh… sure. I guess so.”

“Good. I’d like to have you service me now.”

“Um… what, sir?”

“You heard me.”

I stared at her. She had jutting young breasts, a lovely swell to her hips and an ass to die for.

“Truly,” I said, “this isn’t a fair thing to do to a man, standing over him like this and offering up—”

“Are you interested or not?” she snapped, putting her hands on her hips.

I sighed. I thought I knew why she was turned on. She liked feeling she was back in charge. She liked the idea of me being dominated by her—punished.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that if I had an ounce of self-respect I’d have gently scooted her fine posterior out of my face and beat a hasty retreat.

Unfortunately, I’m a man of simple tastes. One of them involved beautiful women.

Accordingly, I put my hands on her, and I gave it my all. She hissed and she squirmed, but she didn’t tell me to stop. She liked everything I could give.

We didn’t quite get to finish, however.

Suddenly, the door popped open.

Galina’s face was down on her desk, and most of her uniform was off.

When she looked over her shoulder at the open door, she pulled away from me, instantly raging. One moment she’d been purring with pleasure, the next she was hissing like an alley cat.

“What is this—?” she shouted.

Two hogs crowded into the doorway. Hegemony men. Military police, according to their uniforms. Stern-faced veterans, they were heavyset guys who looked like they’d played a lot of football back in the day.

“You’re under arrest—” began the lead hog, but that was as far as he got.

Now, in order to understand what happened next, certain facts have to be made clear. I’m not your ordinary man when I’m rudely surprised. In fact, I have to confess a propensity to extreme violence in unexpected situations.

Accordingly, the lead hog making his arrest-speech caught my fist under his chin. His eyes bulged in shock. I’d popped his larynx. He staggered, grabbing his throat, and made wheezing sounds.

The second man went for his pistol, but I grabbed his wrist and jammed the gun back down into the holster at his hip. The gun went off, and it burned a neat hole in his brown leather boots. A gray wisp of steam and smoke told me the beam had gone right through to the floor, searing a hole the width of a pencil straight through his foot.

Roaring, he punched me with the other hand. That was a good play—for a hog. They normally went down without much of a fight when you surprised one of them.

My face was bleeding, and the two of us were struggling in a clinch. The first hog was on his knees now, then he rolled over on his back. His face was turning blue.

“McGill!” a familiar voice shouted. “McGill? Damn you, man!”

It was Winslade’s voice.

My eyes slid for a fraction of a second over the shoulder of the hog who was giving me a good fight. There, in the outer office, stood Galina’s office boy-toy and Winslade. The secretary looked horrified, and he was calling for backup.

It was Winslade who caught my attention, however.

I was in a blood-rage, but sometimes I can still be reached, even in such a primal state. Fortunately for everyone, I managed to hear Winslade, and to comprehend what he was saying.

“They’re not here to arrest you, you mad ape! There here to arrest Turov!”

I froze. The hog I was wrestling with backed off, putting his hand to his chest and gasping for air. I hoped he didn’t have a heart attack. He didn’t deserve that.

The other guy—well, his tongue was protruding and blue. He was pretty much dead and gone.

-4-

I found myself standing half-nude in Turov’s office, with a crowd staring at me in shock. Now that my initial anger at having been attacked in the middle of… shall we say… an indiscretion with Galina was gone, I wasn’t sure what to do.

“You might want to cover yourself,” Winslade suggested to me in a sneering tone.

“Oh… yeah.” I reached down and pulled up my pants. Behind me, Galina was already dressed. Smart clothes were wonderful at moments like this. Straps were knitting themselves into place and cinching up tight all over her body.

She pushed past me and the hog I’d been wrestling with, who was trying to revive his partner. I could have told him that was hopeless—but I didn’t like delivering bad news.

Turov strode into her outer office. Her hands were on her hips. “What is this intrusion, Centurion Winslade?”

“I’m sorry, Tribune,” he said primly. “My hand was forced. I can’t condone this kind of harassment.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, you rodent?”

“Here’s the evidence, sir. I did my duty and reported it. Nothing else.”

On his tapper, a vid was playing. It was only a few minutes old. First, we watched Galina demote me. Moments later, I was approached and practically commanded to have sex with her.

“I’m afraid this sort of sexual aggression is frowned upon these days,” Winslade said, clucking his tongue.

Turov’s hands formed into claws. Her nails were blood red, and I could tell you from personal experience they were pretty sharp.

She swung her head around wildly, looking at high corners. “You put a buzzer in here? You spied on your superior officer?”

“I merely tapped into the security grid. These offices are recorded periodically—you know that, don’t you, sir?”

Her eyes swung to meet his, and there was a mutual moment of hatred exchanged. “I had those things turned off months ago.”

Winslade shrugged. “Perhaps there was some kind of error in the processing of that request. I’ll reprimand the technical department for the oversight.”

The second-banana hog had finished reporting his partner’s state, and he’d regained some of his composure. More hog MPs had arrived in the meantime, trotting through the door and surrounding me. They pointed guns in my direction, so I surrendered and let them handcuff me.

“You’re both under arrest,” the second-banana hog told Galina and I. “Come with me, please.”

“Sorry about your buddy,” I told him. “You surprised me, that’s all. It’s a Varus thing.”

The hog set his jaw in anger for a second, but then he nodded. “We should have identified ourselves before busting in. But Centurion Winslade here insisted—”

Winslade cleared his throat loudly. “Veteran, don’t you think you ought to explain all that to a military court, not to the defendants? Hmm?”

“Right… Okay, let’s move out.”

We were marched out of Galina’s office like a pair of felons—which I supposed we were, technically speaking.

The tribune was spitting mad, but she was quiet. That was a bad sign. If she’d been throwing a fit, I would have felt better. She was at her most dangerous when she was quietly plotting.

Glancing back, I saw her working her tapper. Her hands were cuffed, but she was doing it anyway, behind her back. That was a nice trick. She was a pro.

Before we made it into the elevator to go down to the brig, the lead hog stopped the march and gazed down at his tapper, frowning.

“What’s wrong, sir?” asked one of his minions.

“We’ve got new orders… we’re supposed to go back and arrest Centurion Winslade, too.”

They looked at one another in confusion. Then the lead hog, an adjunct with a beer-gut, turned suspicious eyes on his prisoners.

“How did you two pull that off?” he asked.

I shrugged and looked as dumb as hog’s fat. That worked, and his eyes slid right off me.

“Tribune?” he asked Galina. “Is this some kind of trick? You’re not getting out of my custody.”

“That thought would never occur to me, Adjunct. Who sent these new orders to you?”

“Imperator Deech, looks like.”

“Well then, it’s up to you to decide whether they’re legitimate or not. Perhaps you’ll be joining us in the brig within the hour.”

The hogs didn’t like that idea. They were rule-followers, through and through. Not like Legion Varus people—sort of the opposite, really.

It occurred to me as I watched Galina’s magic work on their minds that she really did belong with us in Varus. She was just too much of a loose cannon to be Hegemony brass. No wonder they’d voted to kick her out.

“All right,” the adjunct said at last. “Squad, about-face! We’re not splitting up. We’ve got six men, we can arrest one more crazy Varus legionnaire today.”

When we arrived back at Galina’s office, we found Winslade with his boots up on her desk, swiping at her private tablets. He jumped to his feet in alarm.

“Centurion,” the lead hog said, “you’re coming with us.”

“You can’t be serious,” he said. “Did our tribune talk you into this? You do know that by regulations she can’t order you around while she’s under official—”

“No sir,” the adjunct said. “The orders come from Imperator Deech.”

This confounded Winslade. After another thirty seconds of squawking, they had him in cuffs. All three of us were marched to the brig and placed in separate cells.

The door to my cell opened about an hour later, and I snorted awake.

“McGill…?”

I climbed to my feet and saluted. My visitor was none other than Imperator Deech.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Sleeping? It’s ten am.”

“Well… I haven’t quite adjusted to military mornings yet. Besides, this brig is like a second home to me.”

“I see.”

“Uh… am I in trouble, sir?”

“Always…” she said. “But before we get to your violent outburst, let’s discuss the first string of crimes that preceded it on this fine morning.”

“I’m not following you, sir.”

She looked down at her tapper and shook her head in bemusement. “Let me see if I can summarize. As I understand it, your rank was removed at approximately seven a.m. Shortly after that, you were pressured for intimate contact by your superior officer.”

“Uh… sort of. But it wasn’t quite the way it sounds.”

“How do you mean?”

I squirmed a little. “Is there any way I could talk to Drusus about this?”

“No. He’s gone back to Geneva.”

“So… that makes you the head hog around here, doesn’t it?”

Her eyes were glittering and black for a moment. I figured she didn’t like being called a hog, but that wasn’t unusual. Most of them hated it.

“Right…” I said in the face of her silence. “Well sir, Galina—I mean, Tribune Turov, did demote me. But she didn’t threaten me or offer to restore my rank in return for any kind of favor.”

Deech frowned fractionally then tilted her head. “Then why did she do it?”

“Well, uh, sometimes a young lady gets certain impure ideas, you see, sir. Can happen to anyone.”

“No, fool. I mean why did she demote you?”

I shrugged.

“She didn’t pressure you? She didn’t threaten you? She didn’t demand anything you didn’t want to give?”

“She might have…” I admitted. “I don’t really recall. She says things all the time, but unless we’re deployed in the field, I rarely listen to them.”

Deech nodded again and pursed her lips tightly. “Do you have anger issues with women, McGill?”

I looked startled. “Uh… no sir! I like women just fine. Ask anyone.”

Deech heaved a sigh, and she stood up rapidly. “Fine. Just fine. I get it. You aren’t going to help me. Either Turov’s threats are so frightening you can’t move against her, or she’s managed to buy you off somehow. Keep in mind, Adjunct, that a patron outside your cliquish legion could be a nice thing to have. You’re throwing that opportunity away.”

It was my turn to look confused. She seemed to be suggesting I should help rat out Turov to further my own career.

She might be right, of course. Galina had lots of enemies, and only a few well-placed friends. Signing on with Deech’s faction might just be the wisest course—but I’d rarely taken the smart man’s path in life.

Deech began to walk out, but I called her back.

“Imperator, what about Winslade? What was he arrested for?”

“Apparently, he hacked into the interoffice security system.”

“Oh…” I said, figuring that was probably true. “Am I free to go?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m releasing all of you. Not as an act of mercy, mind you, but of practicality. Your legion is due to deploy within weeks. There’s no time for the prison sentences you all richly deserve. But McGill?”

“Yes sir?”

“Try not to kill anyone else until you reach your new target world, all right?”

“Sure thing, sir. I’ll do my best.”

Sighing, she left. A pair of disgruntled hogs released me, glaring as they did so. I figured they were sore about me offing one of their buddies. I understood that, so I didn’t tease them or anything.

Soon, Winslade and I were standing outside the brig, eyeing one another with suspicion.

“You didn’t turn on her, did you?” Winslade asked.

“I told the truth, that’s all.”

Winslade winced. “Now? After all these years? Whatever possessed you to turn into a boy scout at this late date?”

“You set this up, didn’t you? It’s your fault that hog died, and we’re all in the shit with the brass. All because you couldn’t stand a demotion.”

Winslade looked up at me with hooded eyes. “We could have gotten our ranks back if you’d just played along.”

“Listen, before you include me in any of your future schemes, you’d better check with me first.”

“Fine,” he said, spitting the word.

His tapper beeped, and he looked at it. New orders had just come in—mine beeped a moment later.

We both looked at them and then at each other in dismay.

“Both of us?” Winslade asked. “Working the booth together?”

I laughed. “It’ll be just like the old days! We’re going to have a good time!”

Winslade wasn’t laughing. We’d been ordered to report to the Mustering Hall in Newark for recruitment duty.

For most Legion Varus people, that assignment was a vacation. You got to sit in a chair and talk dumb kids into signing up. But for Winslade especially, this felt like a real slap in the face.

“She’s back in her office already,” he lamented. “Handing down shit-work from on-high. If you’d only claimed harassment—”

“Well, I didn’t,” I told him. “See you tomorrow, bright and early. Listen, the good news is we’ve only got a few weeks of this to serve out before we’re shipped off to God-knows-where.”

“Weeks…” he echoed, and I could tell his dreams of glory and vengeance were evaporating.

I had to hand it to Turov, she was the slipperiest of the slippery. That woman made snakes seem rough to the touch.

She’d gotten herself out of the brig pronto—probably the moment Deech had figured out she couldn’t get me to file charges.

Still smiling and giving my head little shakes of bemusement, I headed for the ground floor. It was midday, and I was already late for any bar and grill I could find.

-5-

After a hearty lunch, I went back to my rented hotel room. I really was sleepy, and my grand plan for the afternoon included a lengthy nap.

I was just stretching out on the couch when I felt something pressing into my back. Grunting and probing, I found the brown paper package Evelyn had given me the night before. I’d forgotten all about it.

Opening the package carefully, just in case it was a bomb with a trigger-wire, I stared in bafflement for a moment.

It was a book. An old book, made out of paper. To me, that was like holding a scroll from ancient Egypt in my hands.

I read the cover out loud: “The Eaters of Lotus.”

Suddenly, I was struck by a memory. Claver had been seeking this book years ago. We’d found it, at more or less the same time, in the library in Central.

Before that, a Cephalopod commando in a teleport suit had sought the same book. After Central had been badly damaged in the war, everyone had assumed the book was gone forever. Frankly, after all these long years, I’d forgotten about it.

But here it was, in my hands again.

With a jolt, I recalled what Evelyn had said: don’t open it with any cameras around—not even your tapper.

Clumsily, I covered the title back up again with the ripped up paper. Then I found a bag, and I stuck it deep inside.

Who could I take this to? There were only a few trustworthy people I knew of who might be smart enough to explain its significance. Taking the bag, I headed out into the streets and began a long walk south.

For about two kilometers around Central—which was a big area, because the building by itself was more than a kilometer wide at the base—the city was pretty safe and orderly. Hogs patrolled the streets, and people with money and jobs hustled this way and that in every direction.

But further out, where the residential areas began, things changed. Oh, if you stuck to the nicest neighborhoods with auto gun-turrets and face-recognition systems on the gates, you didn’t have a problem. But if you strayed all the way out into the tenement housing districts, it could get a little rough.

The worst neighborhood of all was the Old City. In this region the buildings were made of worn out bricks, and the streets were narrow and dark. The area wasn’t without charm, as there were some good bars down there, but mostly there were lots of aliens—and a few very friendly women.

People called it the gray zone. I’m not sure why—probably because it was where the rules were blurred. Some of the aliens who lived here from off-world had their own ideas about cultural conduct. One being’s tradition was another’s crime, as they say—but not down here. The laws were lax, and most of the aliens liked it that way.

Not all of them were happy residents, however. Some lived here just because they couldn’t get housing permits anywhere else. It was unfair, but that’s how it was.

Today, I wanted to talk to someone special who lived down here. Smuggling the book in my bag like it was a million credits worth of contraband, I walked up a half dozen flights of stairs before I arrived at a painted door made of actual wood fiber.

When I tapped on her apartment door the first time, Floramel didn’t answer. I decided to wait in the hallway, suspecting she must still be at work.

Sure enough, after a few hours she showed up.

“McGill?” Floramel asked in surprise.

“That’s me.”

She froze in the hallway, and she looked a little scared. That made me feel bad. Our past was checkered at best. We’d seen a lot of events together, some good and some bad.

Floramel was a near-human. She was tall, with a long slim neck and a runway-model’s body. Her face was distinctive, exotic. It was her brain she was best known for, however. She’d run the alien research labs on Rogue World, back in the day, before the Mogwa fleet had bombed it out of existence.

“Am I under arrest again?” she asked finally.

“No, no, nothing like that. I’m just here to visit.”

“Oh… I see,” she said, touching her tapper to her door and watching it slide open. “I’m sorry, James. I’m not sexually active at this time.”

“Can I come in anyway?” I asked. “I ship out soon.”

She thought about it for a moment. “All right.”

She stepped inside, and I moved to follow her—but I didn’t make it.

A thick, scaly arm shot across the doorway in front of me. It was attached to a saurian—one of those raptor types.

Now, you have to understand that I’ve fought to the death with this kind of alien on many occasions. My first death, in point of fact, involved a swarm of these guys tearing my guts out with their wide snouts full of teeth that looked like yellowy nails.

As a result, my hands came up and grabbed the arm. I figured this lizard was trying to perform a home-invasion.

Then the dino went for me with his other clawed fist, and it was on.

“Stop!” Floramel shouted. “Both of you! What are you doing? There’s no cause for violence!”

We both froze and looked at her.

The translator around the dino’s neck flickered as he grunted and hissed.

“This being is an invader,” the saurian said. “I’ve watched him for hours, standing in this hallway. He stalks you. You are his prey.”

“No… he’s not exactly a predator, Raash. And James, please don’t break his arm or anything.”

“Sorry,” I said, letting go. “Is this your friend? You should teach him some manners.”

“The density of my bones is too great for human strength,” the alien bragged. “Breaking any of them would prove impossible.”

“You want me to prove you wrong?” I demanded.

“Gentlemen,” Floramel interrupted again. “You’ve got to stop. Come inside, both of you.”

We both eyed each other, and then we tried to walk into her apartment at the same time. The doorway was nowhere near wide enough for the two of us, and we almost got into it again.

“James, you first,” Floramel directed.

“Why this one? Why not me first?” the lizard demanded.

“He’s my guest, Raash. You’re just a neighbor.”

“I’m your guardian. I am indebted for the gift of this device.”

Raash touched the translator, and I began catching on. Apparently, Floramel had given him a compact translator. It was only about the size of a hundred-credit piece. They were usually much larger and harder to use. She’d probably helped develop these things at Central, where she worked in the labs.

How had she brought it home? It was hard to say. Her people were geniuses, but they didn’t totally get the idea of secret projects—or government property.

I sat warily on her only couch. The lizard hulked in the doorway, malingering.

“This male is aggressive,” he complained. “He’ll abuse you.”

“Raash…” Floramel said. “He’s not that bad. I’ve known him for years. This is James McGill. He’s an officer in the legions.”

Raash looked at me with sudden intensity. “A legionnaire? A paid killer? How can you trust such an individual? If he had a tail, I’d cut it off.”

“Your tail is looking kind of limp to me, dino,” I said. “Maybe I should take it off your hands.”

Raash took two steps into the apartment, and he loomed over us. His kind were big, as tall as I was and heavier built. They generally weren’t as fast as humans, but their musculature was denser.

“What legion do you serve?” he demanded, looking down at me.

Before I could answer, Floramel shut him down. “Raash, you’re being rude. By human rules of conduct, you haven’t been invited into my home. You must retreat.”

Raash stood there, his tail floating behind him. It was as thick and rough as an alligator’s, but it moved more like a cat’s tail. I could tell he was using it to balance on two feet, which his kind often did.

After a pause, Raash’s translator flashed again. “I will withdraw. If you are found dead in the morning, I will mourn.”

“See you then, Raash,” Floramel said.

The lizard retreated with poor grace. Floramel had to get up and close the door herself, as he’d left it hanging open.

“You’ve got a dino for a boyfriend?” I asked.

“Hardly,” she laughed. “He’s more like a house pet. He thinks he’s caring for me.”

“That’s odd…”

“He’s the only saurian in this building. He hasn’t adjusted well. By showing kindness, I suppose I’ve gotten him to imprint on me.”

“Strange…” I said. “The saurians of Steel World living among us here in Central City. Imagine that… I didn’t know there were any of them on the planet! Except for a few stuffed heads mounted on walls, that is.”

Floramel wrinkled her nose at me in disgust. “Don’t talk like that.”

I shut up, but I could have told her I wasn’t joking. I knew a few officers who had such trophies on their walls.

“Okay,” she said. “You can tell me now.”

“Tell you what?”

“Why you’ve come here tonight. The real reason—if you’re not still hoping for a sexual encounter.”

She was right, of course, about my secondary motives. What man didn’t hope for the favors of a lovely lady in the evening?

But that wasn’t the whole story. I dug out the torn up brown paper package I’d brought with me. I made sure there were no cameras watching, even covering my tapper with my sleeve, before I showed her the book.

At first, she wasn’t impressed.

“This is an antique,” she said. “How do you adjust the font?”

“You don’t,” I admitted.

“How disappointing… The Eaters of Lotus. What’s to be gained by reading this?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted, then I provided her with the long list of people who’d sought this book with deadly intensity.

“The Cephalopods wanted it? So badly, that they sent a commando to Central?”

“Yes,” I said. “It might even have kicked-off the invasion of Earth. Their first move was to attempt to capture this artifact. That was all years ago, and I thought it was lost, but it’s been found.”

“By who?”

I shrugged, and she frowned at me.

“You’re not going to answer? All right… You’ve intrigued me—was that your intent?”

“Not really,” I said, “I just want to know what this is about—why people would want a copy so badly.”

She began to examine the book closely.

“It’s not a copy,” she pronounced. “You see here? These markings indicate it’s a first edition. I’ve only read of such things on your grid—I’ve never seen one. But this is definitely one of the original printings. How old did you say it was?”

“It was written and published about two hundred years ago.”

“Interesting… very well, I will read it. Be quiet, please.”

“Uh… have you got anything to eat?”

Floramel pointed vaguely toward the kitchen. I raided her small supply of edibles, and the results were even worse than usual. Thin women rarely had good food around the house.

Chewing carrots and slurping yogurts, I made the best of it. There was no alcohol of any kind that I could detect.

After a while, I got bored and started watching vids on my tapper. I was laughing at an old serial when she walked up to me with a strange look on her face. She touched my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I said, sitting up. “Was I being too loud?”

“You’re lying on my bed.”

“Yeah… you don’t have a lot of furniture.”

“I told you, I’m not—”

“Look, maybe I should go,” I said. “I’ll come back later, when you’ve finished the book.”

“I have read it,” she said, tossing the paperback onto my lap. “And I’ve made notes, trying to detect a code or pattern. I’ve found nothing.”

“What’s it about?” I asked.

“It’s about a tidally-locked planet, where one side is warm but sunless. A dark place, full of intelligent plants. There are many beings—some deadly. The title creatures are highly intelligent, but have virtually no survival instincts. They allow others to consume them without concern.”

“That’s weird… Those plant creatures sound kind of like the Wur.”

“Indeed.”

She went on to explain several elements of the story, all of which seemed vaguely familiar. I’d tried to read the book when I’d first discovered it, but it had put me to sleep. Most books did that.

Floramel touched my tapper with her fingers, looking to see what I was watching.

“You like old shows?” I asked her. “Some of them are still funny a hundred years later.”

“No,” she said. “I’m marveling at the smoothness of your skin. The warriors from Blood World are always scarred if they last through early adulthood.”

“That’s one of the miracles of revival machines. A new bod to go with an old mind.”

Floramel’s fingers lingered on my arm. That wasn’t a good thing for a woman to do to a man like me—it gave me ideas.

“Uh…” I said.

“Do you have a place to stay in the city?” she asked.

“A hotel room.”

“Would you rather stay here?”

There it was. She was propositioning me. It honestly came as a surprise—but not entirely. Floramel and I had been serious lovers long ago. I suspected that by ignoring her, and making no moves at all, then getting her to read a boring book—well, she’d changed her mind about me.

I thought about playing hard-to-get for a few more minutes, but I couldn’t do it. I pulled her down onto the bed, and she offered little resistance.

Hours later, I woke up. It was dark and quiet in the apartment. At first, I thought maybe I’d been snoring and awakened that way—but no. There was something else.

About then I noted a hulking figure in the bedroom with us. Rolling off the bed with a grunt, I saw the figure stoop once, striking at the bed—could he have…?

“No!” I shouted.

Floramel moaned in pain and went limp on the bed.

I tackled the big alien—because it was Raash. I recognized him by his bulk, his swampy odor, and the way his silhouette moved. It wasn’t the way a man would move. His shoulders and hips kind of rolled when he walked. All saurians moved like that.

Saurians are hard to deal with in hand-to-hand. They have scales, heavy muscles and bone, not much in the way of pain receptors, and lots of teeth.

Still, there are sensitive spots, and I’d been trained to find them. I rammed a finger into each of his crusty nostrils and did a little ripping in there. The sensation was disgusting, but a gout of blood poured out a moment later.

Roaring, Raash backhanded me and I went ass-over-teakettle into the wall. I bounced back up, and he walked close, shaking his head and snorting. Blood flew everywhere.

I flicked on the overhead lights. Raash stood in all his glory, bloody and full of glinting-eyed fury. If anything, he looked more dangerous with the lights on. I could tell by his stance he’d had some training in physical combat.

Punching him wasn’t going to do the trick. The only way to kill a saurian without a gun was to get him to bleed out. Hammering on him with my fists would probably break more knuckles than it did scales.

Accordingly, I grabbed a ceramic lamp with a bottle-thick base and smashed it on the dresser. Jagged blades of glass and a few wires stuck up from my fist, forming a makeshift weapon.

Raash charged me again, as I knew he would, and I sidestepped.

His thick arms closed on nothing. I jabbed him in the back as he went by. Before he could turn around, I ran the glass down the inside of one thigh, where the scales were thin. Like humans, saurians were evolving past scales, just as we were evolving past fur.

More blood ran.

Raash stood up again and wheeled to face me.

“You will not grapple with me?” he demanded, his translator flashing in the dim room. “You dishonor yourself.”

“It’s you who has dishonored yourself!” I shouted back. “You struck a sleeping woman! Your friend, the one who made you that translator! Why’d you do that?”

“I plotted your death from the moment I saw you… but her… she forfeited her life when I caught your scent upon her.”

“So this is an honor-killing? You’re not even human.”

“She is female. I would do the same on my home world.”

Part of the reason I was trying to get him to talk was to weaken him. Blood was running out of his snout as he spoke and pouring down his leg, making a puddle. Saurians had a weakness in their nasal cavities. The vessels there didn’t seal themselves easily, and if the bleeding didn’t stop…

Raash didn’t charge me again immediately, so I checked on Floramel. I was surprised and dismayed to see Raash had killed her.

“You murdered her,” I said, shocked.

“Does that upset you?”

“Of course it does!”

“Good, because you have upset me. You have changed my direction in life. Tell me why you really came here tonight? Not just for the mating, I’m sure.”

I looked up at him. My eyes narrowed.

Raash might not be what he seemed. Perhaps he was more than an alien who’d gotten lost on Earth and caught a case of puppy-love for Floramel.

“You’re a spy,” I said with sudden certainty. “You’ve been spying on Floramel, because she works at Central.”

Raash snorted, and a fresh squirt of blood hit the floor with an audible slap.

“I am from Cancri-9,” he said. “No member of my race would ever seek to live among humans permanently. I was exiled until I performed a great service for my prince. She—” here, he pointed at Floramel’s sprawling body, “she was to be my route back home.”

“But you killed her, you fool!”

“She is no longer useful. I have researched you, and learned you are the McGill. I have been told you are important. Now, you will tell me why you are here, McGill.”

I’m not a person who can control my emotions at moments like this. Sure, I could have tried to make peace. I could have asked him all about his aunties and uncles back on Steel World—but I didn’t feel like it.

“I’ll show you why I’m here,” I said, and I took a step forward. I took the book off the bed and held it up to him. “The Cephalopods invaded Earth just to get this book.”

“The book…” he said.

He squinted at it, and he reached out to take it.

That’s when I struck. He was leaning toward me, and he wasn’t expecting a sucker-punch. What really helped out were his slow reflexes, they just weren’t as good as a human’s.

My broken lamp rammed into his snout. The jagged glass split open his thumb-sized nostrils and cut him up good.

For a second he recoiled in pain, but then he lunged at me, roaring again.

This time, he caught me. I didn’t have much room to run—the apartment was a small one.

Arms as thick as a strong man’s legs wrapped around my chest and squeezed.

I felt ribs crackle, and the air wheezed out of my lungs. Raash’s hot, bubbling breath and blood ran all down my neck and back. His teeth sought my neck as well.

Right about then, I realized I was going to die—then everything went black.

-6-

Coming back to life was never pleasant. I suspected that when baby James had been born the first time, I hadn’t enjoyed the process then, either.

“What’s his score?” asked a harsh-sounding woman.

“A solid nine.”

“Good. Get him into recovery.”

People prodded at me, and I let them get it out of their system for a while.

“What about Floramel?” I croaked when I was able.

“Who?” the woman asked me.

“Floramel. Scientist—one of the Rogue-Worlder researchers.”

“I don’t know about aliens, Adjunct. We only do military personnel here.”

Eventually, I was released from Blue Deck and issued fresh clothing. A team of hogs was waiting for me at the door.

I was disappointed to recognize the leader of the team—it was none other than the hog MP I’d killed in Turov’s office. His name was Blaine. I hadn’t bothered to look at his nametag when I’d first met him.

“Hello Veteran Blaine,” I said. “Damn, it seems like just yesterday when you were arresting—”

“That was yesterday, McGill,” Blaine snapped.

“Well, damnation… You look great, you know that? You must have lost fifty pounds!”

The men behind him exchanged amused glances. This fat hog had died and lost years of paunch. A good-natured fellow might have been grateful for such a fast improvement in his personal appearance—but not this guy. Blaine’s face got angrier and redder with every word I spoke.

“James McGill, you’re under arrest—again.”

“What for this time?”

“The murders of two civilians. First Floramel… um, I don’t see her last name, here.”

“That’s because she doesn’t have one.”

Blaine glanced at me, then back down at his tapper. “And secondly… Raash?”

“Did you say you’ve got a rash?” I asked him loudly. “That could be a serious problem. Don’t ignore it! Maybe you caught a bad grow. You ought to go back down to the doctors on Blue Deck and ask for a shot or something.”

As, I spoke, I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder toward the doors I’d just exited.

Veteran Blaine’s only response was to glare at me.

“But,” I told him in a low tone. “I’d have a care. If you can live with this rash, you might want to keep your mouth shut. They like to recycle bad grows.”

The regulars behind him snickered.

“Are you coming with us quietly, McGill? Or do we have to put you in cuffs?”

“You know, I’d advise you to do that regardless.”

Looking confused and annoyed, they shrugged and cuffed me. I walked with them back down to the brig again.

They questioned me, and I told them everything—except about the book, of course. At the same time, I pumped them for what little information they had.

“So Raash died, did he? Hot damn!”

“No regrets? No remorse?”

“No, sir! That lizard broke in and killed the girl I was spending the night with. Then, he tried to kill me. Looks like it was a tie in that case.”

The hog frowned. “Are you claiming that this Raash person instigated the attack?”

“Uh… of course. Basic forensics, the home cameras, they should back that up.”

“Normally, we could check your story that way. But there was some kind of failure in the passive security systems on that floor of the building.”

“All night?”

“All night.”

“Huh… So it was a setup. Maybe Raash was smarter than I thought. He came in with a plan, and he waited until he figured we’d be sound asleep to strike. He did say something about being an agent here on Earth, you know.”

Veteran Blaine set his jaw and looked at me suspiciously. I didn’t think he believed me. That was a funny thing—hogs like this guy tended to buy my lies, but then scoff at the truth, finding it unbelievable.

“McGill, I’ve looked at your records. There are way too many incidences of unexplained violence circulating around you.”

“You’re right about that, and you’re just the man to fix it, too. Get on out of your office, hog! I shrank down that big ass of yours for you, don’t let it grow back! Investigate that apartment on foot. Tell me why Raash was befriending Floramel in his own weird way. Tell me why she made him a small translator—and lastly, tell me why he killed her the night I showed up to visit an old girlfriend.”

I could tell the hog had no idea what to think. He sighed and pushed back from his desk, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what to do with you. We’ll set a hearing date, and I’ll forward every charge I can dream up to the prosecutors—but do you know what they’ll say?”

“What?”

“That we’ve got one live human, and two dead aliens. The live human has a story, and he was once decorated with the Dawn Star for defending Earth. On the other hand, the dead aliens aren’t telling us anything.”

I nodded. “Sounds like a pretty good summary to me. But I’m sure Floramel will catch a revive any hour. She’ll be able to corroborate my story.”

Veteran Blaine shook his head. “I’ve been checking. She’s not on any revive list according to the data core. Maybe she’s not as important as you thought. Tough break.”

He didn’t look like he thought it was a tough break. He hated me—at least mildly—and anything that might make me unhappy was probably turning him on.

Annoyed, I got out of there as fast as I could. I didn’t leave Central, however. I headed up to Turov’s office instead.

She wasn’t all that happy to see me.

“What do you want, McGill?” she growled.

“Uh… about yesterday.”

“No,” she said firmly.

“No, what?”

“No, we’re not going to pick up where we left off. That moment has gone—probably forever.”

“Oh… that. No, sir. That isn’t what I was talking about.”

I quickly filled her in on my evening activities from yesterday. Naturally, I again left out any part concerning Evelyn Thompson and the book she’d given me. By the end of the tale, Galina was slowly shaking her head.

“Unbelievable,” she said. “You’re a goat of a man.”

“What?”

“I didn’t satisfy you, so you ran off to find some alien chick a few hours later.”

“Uh…” I said. I hadn’t thought about the story from her point of view. “Do you mean that if I’d come over to your place instead…?”

She made a rude noise with pursed lips. “As if! I said the mood was gone, and I meant it!”

“Okay… Can you help me out, though?”

“How?”

“By putting in a revival order for Floramel. She’s an employee here at Central. She deserves another life.”

Turov shrugged. “Not on my budget, she doesn’t. Get the science people to pay for it.”

“That’s petty, sir. Real low.”

She looked at me speculatively. “Are you willing to offer something in return?”

“Like what?”

“Loyalty? Information?”

I sighed. Things always went this way with Galina. I’d played the spy for her on any number of occasions.

“I can’t spy on Drusus. Not now. He’s gone, and we’re shipping out soon.”

“Not exactly. He hasn’t left yet. He plans to have a meeting of all the Varus officers in two days’ time. As you’re an officer, you’ll be attending. Still, however… you’re right about one thing. Your usefulness has been substantially reduced due to the recent changes.”

“Come on, Galina. I killed a man for you just yesterday.”

“You did that out of reflex,” she said. “But still… the gesture was appreciated. I felt like killing those men myself for barging in. I still do. So… I’ll consider the revival order. In the meantime, I’ve come up with a suitable new post for you.”

There was a twinkle of amusement in her eye—and with Turov, that wasn’t a good thing.

“What duty? Oh…” I said, remembering. “You mean the Mustering Hall job, right?”

“The orders came through already? Good. You’re going back to your roots, McGill. You’re going to serve Legion Varus as a recruiter. We’ve got a large number of gaps in our legion’s roster—I can’t imagine why.”

I knew why, of course. The news was out worldwide about Varus. When I’d joined up, not many people had ever heard of the outfit. But that had changed over the years. We were now famous—or rather, infamous. Many screw-ups, bloodbaths and long, difficult assignments had been attributed to our name by the press.

Over time, we’d become the butt of jokes and exciting stories on the interplanetary grid. People liked to follow our exploits—but not all that many were volunteering for an organization so often referred to in public as a “meat-grinder” legion.

I tried to talk my way out of it, but Turov remained firm. The very next day, she sent me to sit on a worn-out, steel-legged stool in the Mustering Hall of Newark.

The job was dull and somewhat humiliating. Often, candidates came down the escalator to the booths huddling around the sky-train station and gawked at us. Sometimes, they even approached and asked us funny things.

“Hey, Varus,” a snot-nosed high school grad said on the first gray afternoon.

“What, kid?” I called out, trying to sound cheery. “You want to sign up?”

His name was Cooper. I knew that much from the recognition system built into my booth. He hadn’t cleared all the tests upstairs yet—I could see that too. But it didn’t hurt to make an early play for candidates—not if you were Legion Varus.

“Sure thing, old man,” Cooper said, even though by appearance I looked no more than five years older than he was. “As soon as I finish the last tests, I’ll put my thumb down on your tablet. But first, I need you to answer one question honestly.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“How many times have you died, sir?”

I blinked. Cooper had me there. I didn’t even know. A hundred? Two hundred? I really wasn’t sure. I’d given up counting years back.

“Three,” I said firmly, lying with a smile and an honest-John stare. “I’ve died exactly three times. That sounds bad, I know but—”

“You fucking liar!” the kid said, braying with laughter and shaking his head. “No one gets into the officer ranks in Varus with only three deaths. More like thirty—or a hundred and thirty.”

Cooper walked off, and I had half a mind to go after him and send him through a revival machine for a firsthand experience.

“Losing our touch, are we, McGill?” a snotty voice spoke from behind me.

I spun around on my stool to see Winslade. His arms were crossed, and his eyes were hooded.

My face split into a grin. “Ha! So you’re the one pulling the evening shift? She got you too! Shit-duty for her two favorite officers!”

“That’s right, laugh it up. I must say, however, I’m equally surprised to find the great McGill here. Aren’t you the tribune’s latest sex-toy?”

“Well…” I said, hanging my head. “I didn’t play that so well.”

“Right… From what I heard, you couldn’t stay faithful to your new paramour for twenty-four hours.”

“It wasn’t like we exchanged rings or anything.”

Winslade released a dirty chuckle. “The mere concept is amusing.”

“What about you? Your gambit failed to jail her. Why are you still breathing at all?”

Winslade shrugged. “You must think on a less visceral level. Turov has just suffered a stunning defeat. Yes, she’s angry and vengeful—but, she hasn’t lost her mind to emotion. Not completely. If I do manage to press my case against her, further demotions or other direct punishments will strengthen all my claims of harassment.”

I nodded thoughtfully. “Right… So, she sent us here to this salt-mine instead of dropping us into a ditch because it would look bad?”

“Correct. This is the worst thing she could do to both of us without it being obvious. This way, she’s leaning on us without seeming to.”

The more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right. I was hating it down here, and so was Winslade. The woman was diabolical.

A dull hour passed.

My mind cast back to that distant day, when I’d first come to the Mustering Hall to find a home among the legions.

At that point, Veteran Harris had been sitting in the very same booth I was haunting now. Had he been placed there as a punishment, too? It seemed possible—maybe even likely. I made a mental note to ask him about it someday when he was in a good mood.

Another hour past, and we actually managed to sign a few people. They were universally desperate and clueless. I almost felt bad, knowing firsthand what they were in for during our no-mercy training sessions.

At about four pm, when I was just starting to daydream again, a familiar face appeared at the top of the elevator. It was Centurion Evelyn Thompson.

She approached the booth and looked at me furtively.

We’d shared a lot of moments. Most recently, she’d given me the book I had in my pack right now. But before that, we’d been lovers, murderers—and I still liked to think—friends.

“James?” she said, stepping up to the counter and eyeing me with uncharacteristic shyness. “When do you get off?”

“My shift ends at five-thirty,” I said. “Winslade’s going late tonight.”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Oh… My… Gawd…” Winslade said in disgust, sitting at my side with his arms crossed.

We glanced at him, then ignored him. He figured this was some kind of dating ritual—but I knew she wanted to talk seriously. She probably wanted to know what I’d found out about the book.

Sucking in a deep breath, I made a show of considering her offer.

“Well…” I began.

She instantly grew angry. “Has Turov bought you off, then? With this crappy recruiting post?”

That stung, but I didn’t let it show.

Winslade, for his part, was looking less disgusted and more interested in the interplay. Other people’s pain was sweet wine to him.

“All right, all right,” I said. “I’ll see you at five-thirty.”

The final hour crawled by. Winslade made numerous snide jokes—but I didn’t punch him. I thought about it often, mind you, but I controlled myself, and I was proud of that.

Evelyn met with me at the Overlook Café. That was a relatively swanky place inside the Mustering Hall. As an enlisted man, I’d never been able to afford it. Now, times had changed.

As one might imagine from the name of the place, it was located in a balcony that overlooked the main floor. Down below us, the Hall still echoed with shouts and the general buzz of a thousand merged voices. In a few hours from now, everything would shut down. There’d be nothing but the roar of cleaning drones as the recruits filtered back into the city.

“You’ve still got the book?” Evelyn asked me quietly after our small talk died down.

“Yeah. I’ve got it.”

After the incident at Floramel’s place, I’d been allowed to collect my personal effects, and I’d claimed the book. That had been easy to do, as it had my DNA on it.

I noticed Evelyn was giving me the stink-eye for some reason.

“What?” I asked.

“When I heard there was some kind of a mass-murder due to a love-triangle, with you in the middle of it—”

“That’s not how it went,” I protested.

She raised a small hand to stop me. “Okay. It doesn’t matter. You’ve got the book—and I want it back.”

I reached down under the table to draw it out of my pack—but I stopped. I considered my options. With a shrug, I slid my hand back up onto the tabletop again.

I took a bite of my pastrami sandwich. It was good.

“I don’t have it on me,” I lied.

“Where is it?” she asked, suddenly intense.

I shrugged again.

“Come on, James! It’s just a book. I gave it to you—it’s mine!”

“I found it long before you even knew it existed,” I pointed out.

“You didn’t leave it in Floramel’s apartment, did you?”

“I did actually, when I died. But I picked it up early this morning.” That was the truth, but she still looked suspicious.

Evelyn flopped back in her chair and crossed her arms.

“What do you want for it?” she said in a resigned voice.

“Revive Floramel. I want to see her breathing again.”

“That will happen—eventually. It’s up to Central Admin. She’s not part of any legion, you know.”

“I know that,” I said. “No one wants to pay for it—but you should want to. She read the book. She knows things about it. She took notes, had ideas…”

She leaned forward again with hungry eyes. “Tell me what she said.”

Again, I chewed my sandwich and stared at her blankly. My jaws moved with exaggerated slowness.

Evelyn set her own jaw and finally, her small head gave me a tiny, tight nod.

“All right. Fine, I get it. I’ll get your girlfriend revived—but you’d damned-well better hand over that book after I do!”

She stormed out then, leaving me at the Overlook Café. As I was stuck with the bill, and she hadn’t touched her food, I snaked out a long arm and scooped up her dinner. After polishing off both plates, I felt better.

Two plates—that was my standard for a full meal.

Thinking about the book in my bag, I decided it would be for the best if I stashed it somewhere down around my home. Swamps had always been used to hide any number of sins, and my backyard seemed like just the right place to keep something people wanted so badly.

Sauntering down to the testing arenas, I watched a few young punks who were fighting robots with cattle-goads. It wasn’t pretty. Some of them ended up in the sawdust, curled into fetal balls. They were squirming, gasping and puking. Not one of them thought to zap the robot’s power cord. They probably didn’t belong in Legion Varus.

Then I caught sight of the snot-nosed kid who’d come downstairs to crap on my parade. Cooper was in the psych booths, trying to answer the test questions.

He was frowning fiercely, and I could tell he really wanted to do well.

“Hey! Hey kid!” I called out to him.

Cooper’s head jerked up, and I grinned at him.

“Relax,” I told him. “Don’t worry about that bullshit test. Don’t overthink it. Just be yourself.”

He blinked at me, but then he nodded and turned back to his test.

A stern hog officer was already frowning at me. She suspected I was helping him cheat—but that was far, far from the truth.

Those tests did a pretty good job of figuring out who a man really was inside. I felt sure that if this cocky punk answered honestly, the psychs would figure out the cold truth: Cooper was a complete and utter asshole.

Smiling with that thought, I left the Hall for the night. I felt confident I’d helped at least one kid end up where he really belonged.

Call it my good deed for the day.

-7-

Drusus called all the Varus officers together the next morning. It was early, six a.m., and I had a full day ahead of me in the recruiting booth at the Hall. Bleary-eyed, I tried to pay attention.

“Today, I’ve called you all here because a new challenge faces Earth.”

I crossed my arms and stifled a yawn. I’d heard this before.

“This time, however, we’re not planning a defense, and the Mogwa don’t appear to be involved. Instead, we’re going to project the growing power of Earth into the disputed region.”

Drusus made a spinning motion with his arm, and the wall behind him lit up. The smart-walls were always watching us these days.

Stars glittered, laid out in a familiar pattern. I quickly got my bearings—which was made easier by a labeling system that placed various symbols and strips of text on the various star systems.

“Here’s Earth,” he said, “in the Solar System.”

He indicated a yellow-white dwarf star in the right quadrant of the long, rectangular display.

“Farther out in that direction,” he said, using a gesture to place a pulsing arrow on the wall, “lies the center of the Galaxy—and the Galactics. To the left of this display is the frontier. As you can see, we’re less than a hundred lightyears from the edge of the Empire.”

I felt like a kid in school. If he was going to keep on lecturing on basic star maps, I’d soon nod off. I knew myself—it was inevitable.

“When the Cephalopod Kingdom fell,” he continued, “it theoretically left a vast swath of space under our control—but they didn’t hand it over cleanly. We’ve managed to exert control over only nine stars.”

These lit up promptly. The computer was listening and responding to his words.

“So few, really… Zeta Herculis, Gamma Pavonis—a smattering of others. Most recently, we took Epsilon Leporis.”

A red star lit up deep in the disputed territory. It was well known to me, and its primary planet was better known as Blood World.

“So, here you have it. We’ve got our Home World and a few other colonies. We control a planet with vast mineral wealth, another planet with a large population of trained ground troops. What, you might ask, could be missing? Aren’t we ready to bring order to the rest of these three hundred-odd inhabited systems?”

A large lit-up section appeared. It extended from near Earth all the way over to the Rigel region, which was beyond the frontier. We were only starting to learn of the barbaric societies that lived out there beyond the fringe.

He looked at us for a long moment as if expecting an answer. I felt compelled to speak.

“We need starships!” I shouted out, cupping my hands over my mouth to make a megaphone.

Drusus smiled momentarily and nodded to me. “Centurion—ah, Adjunct McGill?” He frowned, noting my new rank insignia. He cleared his throat after a glance at Turov, who said nothing.

After a moment, he continued.

“In any case, McGill is quite right. We need starships. We need an industrial base in the middle of the region. Here on Earth we’ve managed to construct a few space docks, surely. But what if we could do better than that? What if we gained control of a planet with a greater industrial capacity?”

“Then we’d kick some alien tail!” I shouted out.

A few laughed, a few frowned. I didn’t care. I’d already lost my rank. They could bust me down to recruit if they wanted to. I was done with being quiet.

Drusus gave me a slightly pained smile. “Right. So that’s the essence of the plan. We need to capture a world close to Blood World and make it an advanced base for the construction of a fleet. There are more reasons for this—other than needing the production capacity.”

Now this was interesting. I shut up, and I listened. Drusus explained how the advanced base had to be close to Blood World to protect our new troop planet.

It took weeks for our fastest ships to fly from Earth to Blood World. Any enemy who decided to capture or destroy the place could do the dirty deed before we could get there if we kept the whole fleet in orbit above Earth.

It occurred to me that this exact problem had once faced the Empire. At some point in the past, they’d realized they needed local defense stations and fleets. That’s why they’d built Battle Fleet 921 and sent her to patrol our province.

All that seemed to be history now, however, as the Empire was crumbling. Earth, at the fringe of the fringe, was starting to break away. I could feel it happening now, having lived a long time and fought on many worlds.

Back in the old, old days, when Europe had first conquered the Earth, they’d been forced to colonize and maintain local garrisons of troops and ships. Traveling from England to America, for example, took weeks. Enemy raiders would come and go, plundering valuables long before a distant Imperial force could respond.

Local strongholds. A fleet and an army, in the heart of the disputed territory. I was intrigued, and I’d begun to wonder why I’d been called here today. Why legion Varus officers were present—and no one else.

“Now,” Drusus said, “in order to continue, I must swear you all to secrecy—but don’t take this oath lightly. The penalty for violating it is perma-death.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s that important. Let’s have an oath. Show your hands if you pledge to defend what you’re about to learn with your life—all your lives.”

My hand shot up. Slowly, dozens of others did the same.

“Very well,” Drusus said, running his eyes over us proudly. “Let me explain. We’re exposed out there at Blood World. We’re in the middle of forming a beachhead, and we have many enemy powers to worry about. We’re weak right now because we’ve just begun the effort. If they hit us today, before we can establish ourselves—we’ll be wiped out.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

When you start talking about perming people, legionnaires tend to shut up and listen. We all knew Drusus was a praetor. He had the power, the will, and the right to carry out his threats.

“In short,” he continued, “Earth’s entire effort to exert control over this vast swath of territory can be easily derailed at this point. We can’t allow that. One step we’re taking involves subterfuge. Secrecy. Stealth.”

Graves raised a gauntlet. Everyone looked at him.

“Yes, Primus?” Drusus asked.

“Sir, may I suggest a more private meeting? If you’re going to go further—to tell us something critical—”

“No,” Drusus said. “I want you all in on this. I want every officer in Varus to hear me, and hear me well. We’re putting everything on the line today—and it will be your responsibility, collectively, if we fail.”

People started muttering, but they shut up when Drusus spoke again.

“So,” Drusus said, “we’re in a sealed room. Your tappers have been disabled, and you’re all disconnected from the grid.”

I glanced at my forearm. Everyone did—it was reflexive.

Drusus had spoken the truth. My tapper was disconnected.

“Just so you understand, if these details get out, you’re all dead. I can say this is fair, because I’ll know for certain that one of you let it get out. You will all share in that guilt. So… suspect one another! Make sure no one else is playing a dangerous game with your life.”

The crowd shifted and murmured. We weren’t happy. How could we be? Hell, there were plenty of weasels in Varus.

Tribune Galina Turov had been quiet all this time, but she’d worn a frown that seemed to grow in intensity with every point Drusus made. Finally, she raised her hand.

“What is it, Tribune?”

“Perhaps you should offer the group an out, sir,” she said.

“How do you mean?”

“Let them resign—now, no repercussions. If they feel they can’t uphold the group, they can exit gracefully.”

Harris, in particular, was nodding to himself as he heard this idea. I wondered if he’d actually offer his own resignation over this—or if he was hoping others would.

Drusus seemed to consider the idea, but at last, he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I need you all, and you’re being collectively made privy to the mission for good reason. There’s no turning back.”

A few people eyed the exits, but no one made a run for it. For that, I was thankful. It would have been a shameful thing—something a hog would have done.

“I’m trusting you,” Drusus continued, “because you have honor and grit. I’ve come to ask Legion Varus to make sacrifices because you’re our best commandos. Our dirtiest of dirty fighters, veterans of conflicts most people don’t even know occurred.”

It was all true. We already had so many secrets entrusted to us, it was hard to count them all. The least of these might cause the Mogwa to burn Earth to ash if they found out about them.

How do you get a man to keep a secret? Put a gun to his head. That was the Legion Varus answer. That was the Varus way.

“Time to reveal our destination,” he said. “This is the target star.”

Some people winced and squeezed their eyes almost shut. Harris and Leeson were among these. I wondered if they figured they could save themselves from a treason charge if they squinted hard enough.

The displayed star system was unremarkable. It was only six lightyears away from Blood World.

“We’ve chosen this target because—”

“Hold on!” Winslade interrupted. “Praetor, sir? Did you say ‘we’ have chosen the target? How many other Hegemony officers are privy to this vital secret?”

I knew what he was doing, of course. He was setting up doubt ahead of time. Nothing motivated Winslade like threatening his precious skin. In this case, he’d gotten the bright idea of identifying another possible scapegoat for the future.

“Very well,” Drusus said, “you’ve caught me in a lie. No one else knows this destination. I’m revealing it to you for the first time. It took me years to choose this spot.”

Winslade crossed his arms and cinched up his mouth in disappointment.

Drusus began to pace. “You have to understand, troops, that Earth has had plans all along—contingency plans, you might call them. We knew that the Empire might someday sputter out. That day seems uncomfortably near. For now, they’ve given us the right to conquer neighboring suns—that’s all well and good, if it ends there. But it might be more than that. It might be the beginning of the end.”

I spoke up again. It was as if a devil inside me opened my mouth and forced words out.

“Tribune?” I asked. “How long have you been planning for this?”

“Years. A decade—maybe longer. These steps—they’re not random. Notice, we first captured a planet full of mineral wealth, and we established ourselves as a two-world civilization—that part, I admit, was somewhat random. But more recently, when we took a world with great technical prowess and brought back their discoveries to Earth, and when we captured a planet full of ready-made soldiers—these steps were foreseen. Never in the exact details, but definitely in the manner one plots to conquer a child’s puzzle by locating the corners first, then completing the frame, then filling in the middle.”

Somehow, I found his speech comforting. It was good to know someone was minding the store. Accordingly, I shut up and let him finish.

“Here,” he said, making the target near Blood World’s star light up. He gestured, and the system zoomed in. “This is our target: 39 Eridani. It’s is a binary star, approximately 206 lightyears from Earth. There are a lot of binary stars in this region of space. From our point of view, it’s visible only from the southern hemisphere.”

He lit up scores of other systems nearby. They were all numbered and collectively called “Eridani” stars. All of them were doubles or even triple-star systems.

“In any case,” he said, “we’re going out there because we’ve learned of a large superstructure orbiting the target world. It’s an amazing industrial facility in space. A giant space-dock. The Cephalopods built it, but it has fallen into disrepair. We’re going to capture it, repair it, and liberate the strange people who live out there.”

How are they strange?

I wanted to ask that. I really did, with every fiber of my being, but I managed to keep quiet. I’d spoken up enough at this meeting, which had kicked off with a threat of general perma-death for the lot us.

“That’s all for now. You’ll be shipping out in ten days. Your cover story involves a deployment to Machine World—which is partly true. You will go there, make an appearance for the miners, then vanish in an unexpected direction, heading deeper into the disputed zone. Hopefully, no one will be the wiser.”

-8-

After the meeting we were all irritable and glum. We’d been informed yet again of our possible doom due to the leaking of information by any single member of the officer core, then dismissed.

“Why the hell did he bother to tell us where we we’re going at all?” Leeson wanted to know.

He had a bottle of beer in each hand, and the corners of his mouth were wet.

“Maybe it’s a trap,” Harris said. “A test. Maybe he showed us the wrong world. Maybe he just wants to see if one of us leaks it, so he can find the leaker and squash him.”

Leeson swilled down six fast gulps from the beer in his left hand. I’d noticed he’d been favoring the left one lately—it was almost empty.

“Either, that,” he said, “or he’s set us up to fail. A hundred people can’t keep a secret like that. This is all an excuse to perm the officers of Varus—a clean sweep! A purge!”

He slashed his right hand, armed with a full bottle, across our shared table. He nailed my beer in the process, and glass broke and tinkled to the floor.

“Nah,” I said, signaling the annoyed waitress for a fresh brew. “Drusus isn’t sneaky like that. If he wanted us dead, he’d just kill us straight out.”

They both nodded in agreement, but no one seemed especially happy.

Later that day, I returned from my lengthy lunch to the recruiting booth. Winslade came in late for his shift, too. I complained at him about it, but he just sneered at me.

“At least I got some sign-ups last night,” he said.

He slid a tablet my way. I caught it, and I reviewed the names. Three candidates had signed up the night before, after I’d quit for the day.

A moment’s thought made me realize why it had gone that way. I recalled my own experiences in the Hall, many long years ago. I’d tried every reputable, famous legion upstairs first. After having washed out, I’d eventually found my way down to the loser legion booths downstairs, under the main floor.

We were huddled around the train station, hawking to those who came in on the train or those who were on their last legs and heading home. As a refuge of last resort for the desperate, it only made sense we’d get most of our sign-ups in the evening.

“See there?” Winslade boasted. “Three sign-ups! More than you managed all day long.”

I slid the tablet back toward him, and he barely caught it before it went off the edge of the counter.

I didn’t bother explaining to him what had happened. If he thought he was a great salesman with a gift of gab for young recruits, I’d let him have his—

“Just a second,” I said, reaching over and plucking the tablet back out of his skinny fingers.

I paged through the contracts, one, two, three…

There he was. His face wore a crooked, knowing, smug expression I wouldn’t soon forget.

It was none other than Cooper. The ass-hat who’d so pissed me off on my first day in the booth.

I laughed loud and long.

Angrily, Winslade took the tablet back from me. He didn’t get it, and I didn’t care to enlighten him.

Instead, I daydreamed about the special surprises we had in store for Cooper in what passed for boot camp with Legion Varus. It might even be fun to watch this time around.

Several days rolled by, and we got a few sign-ups every evening. As we were missing our quotas, it was announced that we could offer signing bonuses. That kicked it up a notch. Two hundred thousand credits didn’t go far these days, but to some of these kids, it was a fortune.

On the last day before we were to ship out, the shock of my life came.

It was about six p. m. After a day in the booth, I’d gone to the Overlook Café and had myself a few beers and sandwiches. When I was about to leave and go back to Central—I’d taken up residence in the barracks there since renting hotel rooms every night was breaking me—I realized I’d forgotten my coat.

Riding down the escalator, I noticed a young female recruit was standing at the Varus booth, talking to Winslade.

He was all charm. His toothy smile and raised eyebrows told me he thought he’d caught a live one.

I frowned, because something was familiar…

Halfway down the escalator, I began bounding down the rest of the steps, bowling aside innocent people. I’m a big man, and when I’m coming down a set of steps and blindsiding people—well, they go down like wheat in the path of a scythe.

I tried not to step on them, as a few were facedown and yelling. But most rode the escalator to the bottom on their bellies.

When I was about four meters from the bottom, I vaulted over the side of the escalator, landed on my boots and charged the booth.

I think the thing that surprised people most was I wasn’t shouting. Many people in a hurry to prevent a catastrophe shouted a lot—but it wasn’t going to help in this case. It might even, in fact, cause that darned girl to go faster.

At the end, Winslade caught sight of me. His eyes widened when he saw me tearing up behind the girl he was talking to, boots hammering on the puff-crete. My clenched teeth were all exposed in a snarl.

“What the…?” he began, but I was there already.

Both Etta’s hand and mine made a reach for Winslade’s tablet.

We lunged right at him, and Winslade must have thought he was a dead man. He recoiled, and the tablet he’d been paging through slipped through his fingers.

I leapt over the countertop, caught the tablet, and lifted it high.

“Dammit, Daddy!” Etta complained, snatching at the tablet. “That’s my contract! You haven’t got the right!”

“Daddy?” Winslade echoed, his jaw sagging.

“That’s right,” I told him angrily.

I ignored the girl hopping and grunting. She was still trying to pry the tablet from my fingers and sign it. She’s got the Devil in there, I’ve always said it.

“Winslade, meet Etta McGill.”

“Etta McGill? That’s not the name she gave me.”

“Of course not,” Etta said. She’d stopped hopping and stood with her arms crossed and her brow furrowed in rage. “I’m not a total fool.”

“What’s more, she’s underage,” I continued. “She must have hacked the door recognition system somehow.”

“I thought you were off-shift by now, Dad,” Etta complained.

“I am, but I forgot my jacket. Winslade, if you’d be so kind?”

He handed over my jacket, bemused and stunned. “Your daughter is trying to sign up with the legions, and you don’t approve, is that it?”

“Not exactly,” Etta said. “I’m trying to sign up with Varus. Only Varus.”

“And they would have taken you,” I said, “but only for a few days until someone figured out who you were and got you dismissed. You’re underage, girl.”

She crossed her arms and shrugged. “Maybe,” she said. “You ship out soon… what if I was already aboard Nostrum?”

“It says she’s eighteen here,” Winslade added unhelpfully. “Everything appears to be official.”

“So give me something to sign,” Etta said.

Winslade looked like he was considering it, but one glance at my angry face changed his mind.

“Sorry,” he said.

“How’d you manage to change your age? You’re not even fifteen yet.”

Etta shrugged. “I’m a Dust Worlder. We’re born when we want to be. There’s no official record—not until you make one.”

I set my jaw in anger, but I realized like a zillion fathers before me that I had to tread carefully. Young women held lots of cards when they dealt with their parents in their teen years—some of those cards they usually weren’t even aware of.

“Does your grandmother know you’re up here, pulling this?” I demanded.

She hung her head a little. “No,” she admitted. “She’s under the impression I’m on a school trip.”

“Uh-huh.”

While she was looking down, I tapped on Winslade’s tablet. I erased the contract, canceling it, and handing it back to Winslade.

He released an unpleasant laugh. “You know… There’s nothing you can do legally at this point.”

I looked at him, stunned. “You mean she already signed?”

“No, no… but you can’t really stop her. If she wants to sign, and she’s eighteen—”

“She’s not eighteen, dammit!”

Winslade shook his head. “I’m trying to be helpful here, McGill. The computer says she’s eighteen. That makes her eighteen. At some point, when you’re not here…”

I got it. He was telling me I’d lost control of my girl.

“I could prove in court she’s under age… I think.”

Etta wasn’t saying anything. She just listened, arms crossed, and she rolled her eyes at me whenever I spoke. I didn’t like the feeling of confidence she was exhibiting. She figured she had this, and it didn’t matter what I did to try to stop her. She was a smart girl—too smart by half—and she usually got her way in the end.

But I was a man who was used to getting my way, too. I looked at her seriously.

“No way are you joining Varus, girl. I’ll get you blackballed by the tribune—permanently.”

“That would do it,” Winslade chimed in. “But I do hear the Iron Eagles are offering a bonus today as well.”

“I want to join Varus, not the Eagles or anyone else. Dad! You can’t get me blackballed. I’m your own daughter!”

“Just watch me, girl. Sign whatever you want to—but you’re not joining Varus.”

That was it for me. While she fumed, I turned around and walked off. I headed for the sky-train station.

Before I got there, I heard small, rapid footsteps behind me.

I felt a jab in the kidney.

Reaching back automatically, I grabbed her wrist, but I managed to ease off so I didn’t break it. She hadn’t stabbed me, after all, she’d just punched me in a rage.

That was my fault, I guess. Partly her mother Della’s fault, too. Etta was still only half-civilized. She’d grown up for her first ten years or so on Dust World. That was a wild desert planet. A colony that Earth governed—but only in theory.

People gawked at us as they passed to board the trains, but I ignored them. They kept moving after a few angry glances from both of us.

“What are you doing?” I asked her. “Why do you want to go through a meat-grinder so badly, girl?”

“It was good enough for you and mom. Why not me?”

“Because… you don’t understand. It’s a terrible thing.”

“I want to see the stars, daddy,” she said, rubbing at her wrist. “I’m from the stars. I don’t belong on Earth—not really.”

Sighing, I shook my head. I was up against a powerful attraction.

The legions advertised constantly. They knew what sites kids visited on the grid. They knew what was trending and what wasn’t—and they knew how to appeal to the disaffected, the lonely, the desperate.

Recruiting was an ancient art, as old as the first Roman frescos depicting glory. They’d painted them on the stone walls of places like their coliseum and their military barracks, a few thousand years back.

“It’s not a good life,” I told her. “I want better for you.”

“If it’s so painful, then why do you keep reupping your contract?” she asked. “You could retire any time now and draw a pension.”

She had me there. She was right. I could have left the service—but it had become my way of life.

“Look,” I told her. “It’s in my blood now. I’m a legionnaire by trade. I’ve never known anything else. But it doesn’t have to be that way for you. I don’t want it to be like that.”

Instantly, her mood shifted again from pleading to rage. That was the way with her and her mama, too. They had grimly fast tempers.

“I’m going to decide my own life’s path! Not you!”

She stalked away from me then, back into the Hall.

I watched her go, and I thought about going after her—but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’d stopped her from joining Varus for now, and that would have to be enough. Talking to her further, after I’d won the day—that would only piss her off more.

So I let her go, and I felt a pang in my heart as she vanished into the crowds.

Damn it.

Sometimes, parenting sucked.

-9-

I got news that Floramel had been revived the next day—but I never got to see her, because we’d gotten the order to ship out.

We exchanged texts and a few pics on my tapper. We wished each other well, and I got something close to a promise of a fine date when I got back. Apparently, someone had told her I’d worked hard to get her revived.

That same night, Legion Varus filed aboard the lifters. We roared up into orbit to meet Nostrum, our legion’s transport.

The nice texts from Floramel made me smile, but I was too distracted to enjoy it or even to flirt properly. While we were in flight, I kept scanning the recruitment logs. I brought up the picture of every new recruit we’d signed up over the last twenty-four hours.

Etta was a hacker, so the names didn’t matter. But the Hall took headshots of every candidate, set to spin in 3-D. It would be hard to fake that.

Etta wasn’t there, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d dodged a bullet—but for how long?

“Checking out the fresh fish, huh, McGill?” Harris boomed next to me.

I glanced at him, and he shook his head, tsking.

“Shameful,” he said. “It’s a shameful thing when an officer is scanning for a date among the rawest of the recruits.”

Glancing back at my tapper, I cleared the screen. I had been looking only at females, and only at the fresh sign-ups. I didn’t feel like explaining myself to Harris, so I ignored him.

That was hard to do, as he wasn’t done poking at me yet. He’d been in an insufferably cheerful mood ever since I’d been busted down to adjunct again. He didn’t have to call me sir anymore, and he very much appreciated that twist of fate.

“Did you hear there were two arrests?” he said, changing the topic. “For treason, I mean.”

“What? Who?”

“Both were adjuncts. One was Henderson, that puke-sniffer over in the sixth.”

I knew him, but only vaguely. He’d never seemed like an impressive officer.

“But the other…” Harris said, and he began to grin again. “The other struck very close to home.”

“Who?”

“Adjunct Toro. Our own beloved she-monster from the third. Can you believe that?”

“What’s the charge?”

“Espionage. Sedition—whatever. She’s gone. She’s not on the lifter—didn’t you notice?”

I looked around, and I finally realized there was only Harris, Leeson and myself. Winslade was glumly playing centurion at the end of the line of jump-seats.

“Holy shit…” I whispered. “Drusus really did it? I thought he said if anyone squealed all of us were going to be permed.”

“Yeah… maybe that was just him, bluffing. Putting a scare into us. But they’ve been watching—our tappers scan us constantly, you know.”

I nodded. I knew that. I’d learned all about it the hard way, long ago.

“So,” Harris continued, “I figure they did sweeps until they found out who leaked what, and then they arrested them this morning.”

“Right…” I said, chewing that over.

Central was taking the secrecy of this mission very seriously. Maybe they wouldn’t really execute us all for a breach—but they meant business.

“Do you think they’re going to get permed?” I asked.

“Maybe,” Harris mused. “Hard to say. At the very least, they’re being ‘debriefed’ by the hogs under Central.”

“I’ve been down there, in the brig,” I said. “It’s no big deal.”

Harris chuckled and shook his head. “Maybe not to you—but they may not be in the brig. Central has some floors people don’t normally venture into. In the upper basement, floors minus one to minus twenty, they have police barracks and an extensive prison section. Everybody knows about that. But lower down, around floor minus one hundred—that’s a dungeon.”

I nodded, having heard such things before.

“We’ve been down lower,” I said, “in the bunkers and the research chambers. All the way down to minus five hundred, about.”

“Right, but did you ever notice that zone between minus one hundred to about minus two hundred? The elevators always skip right past them. That’s where the political types are… um… handled.”

Thinking about that, I wrinkled my nose in disgust. I didn’t like torture. I’d been at the receiving end more times than I knew about. In many cases, it had happened to McGills who hadn’t lived to see the morning. But I could remember enough to know I didn’t like it.

My mind fell back to Etta. To me, this all seemed like one more big fat reason I didn’t want to see my daughter join this outfit. Snakes like Winslade, Turov and a dozen others—who knew what kind of crap they might pull on my little girl?

As worldly, smart and mean as Etta was, she didn’t know half as much as she thought she did about the universe yet—not by a long shot.

When I got the chance, I resolved myself to bring up the topic to Turov about permanently banning her from Varus. We’d shipped out so fast, I hadn’t had time to approach her. Now that we were engaged in a mission, and I was a low-tier officer again, my access would be further reduced. I’d have to bide my time.

The last stage of the lifter trip was routine. When our lifter docked, the officers hustled aboard Nostrum and moved quickly through the internal passages to the last docking bay in the line.

Officers who had holes in their rosters had been invited to watch how the new kids dealt with the first training “scenario”.

People were crowding the windows to watch. You would have thought it was the Hegemony Championships.

The brass had seen to it that all the raw recruits were packed into that last lifter, and they were kept in null-G. The regulars and noncoms who had come up with them scuttled off, leaving the kids behind, locked in their seats.

We watched through darkened portholes, crowding around. Harris laughed and hooted when they began to pump the air out.

“Now they know they’re in trouble! Look, the first one broke loose! Dibs on that girl!”

“Wait your turn,” Winslade said. “McGill has been assigned to the noob platoon this time. He has priority in picking new splats for this campaign.”

Harris grumbled.

I didn’t even watch. I couldn’t enjoy watching people suffocate and panic—not today. I couldn’t help but think of Etta in there, dying and freaking out. Thinking she’d been permed on the first day of her new job.

“Oooo,” Harris whooped, “that frigger in the back, he’s got spunk! Look at him go! Look, McGill!”

I didn’t bother to look up. I kept working my tapper.

“Hmm…” Winslade said. “I think I know that recruit. Cooper, isn’t it? McGill has a special relationship with that young man.”

Cooper…?

Sparked into action, I crowded up to the porthole and stared.

Cooper was vicious. He’d clawed his way out of the restraints, slipping them off somehow. Behind him trailed a floating series of blood drops. He was injured, but he didn’t seem to care.

The other recruits were mere props to him as he fought to pass them by. Eyes were gouged, people were shoved aside.

He wasn’t a big man. He was fit and fast, but with a more or less average build.

What he lacked in bulk he more than made up for in savagery. He’d gotten hold of a writing stylus, and anyone who got in his way he stabbed without compunction.

In the final moments, as recruits were choking out, convulsing, and dying all over the lifter, Cooper made it to the exit.

He laid strong hands on the wheel, and he tried to turn it—but he had no leverage.

The point of the exercise, besides putting the fear of Varus into their hearts, was to get the troops to work together. Now and then, a resourceful group operated as a team and escaped. With two men holding another trooper’s legs, one could spin the wheel pretty easily. But with nothing to push against in null-G, they were doomed.

Cooper had long since driven off any such allies he might have used now. He got to the porthole, and he met a grim stare from me.

After a few seconds of struggling with the wheel, he realized he couldn’t open it.

Harris and Winslade watched with me, but it was my big face in the glass. That’s what Cooper saw.

Maybe he recognized me in those final moments. Or maybe not. It’s hard to say.

In any case, he showed me his teeth in a feral snarl, and he flipped me the bird.

Cooper died with his middle finger up, and Harris whistled long and low.

“I’ll be damned! What an animal!”

“I’ll take him,” I said. “I want that boy.”

“Really?” Harris asked. “Well, you can have him. He’s an asshole. I’m telling you right now, he’ll be trouble every day and every night. I thought for sure you’d take one of those ladies back there with the polished nails and fluffy hair who never even got out of their seats.”

“Nope,” I said. “I choose Cooper.”

“So noted,” Winslade said in a bored voice, marking down the draft pick on his tablet.

“Why Cooper?” Harris asked me, honestly curious.

I glanced at him. “Because that man belongs in Legion Varus. He’s a killer. I can work with that.”

Harris made a pffing sound. “Well, good luck.”

-10-

After the recruiting drive was over, I met with my platoon—and I was in for a surprise.

Winslade gathered us all up in our assigned module. He looked even more sour-faced than usual. I suspected he’d become accustomed to flying desks up on Gold Deck, and this business of slumming with actual troops rubbed him wrong.

In my book, that was just too damned bad.

“We’ve got an announcement from Turov coming in at the top of the hour. Please remain quiet and respectful during her speech.”

Harris raised his hand first. I’d wanted to do the same, but I was glad he’d beaten me to it.

Harris jabbed a thumb in my direction, then his own. “Uh… sir? These ranks are thin. I know I recruited a few, but there aren’t enough to—”

“That’s what the announcement is about. We’ve got more reinforcements coming up in two special lifters. Your ranks will be filled with recruits—I doubt they will be to your liking, however.”

Harris and I exchanged confused glances. We had no idea what he was talking about, but we were each about a squad short by my count.

Our unit was a mixed one to begin with. Our normal order of battle was to have one platoon of heavy troops in battle armor, a platoon of lights with snap-rifles, and another made up of specialists and heavy-weapons teams.

Since Toro had been arrested, I wasn’t sure how Winslade was going to deal out the reinforcements.

Turov’s big face finally flickered into life on the main screen.

“Legionnaires,” she said. “I’ve got a treat for you all. A surprise! An opportunity to prove once again that Legion Varus is the ground-breaking test case for everyone else in Earth’s military.”

The camera was tight on her face up until this moment, and she looked pretty good.

“So,” Harris whispered to me, “word is that you managed to tap that just last week? Was it worth losing rank?”

He was so happy, I found him irritating. Accordingly, I smiled and nodded.

“It was totally worth it.”

“Seriously?”

“I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Harris stared at me for a long second, and I held firm to my boast, looking one hundred percent certain. I stared up at the giant image of Galina Turov like I was basking in the glory of a goddess.

At last, Harris decided I was messing with him, and he made a rude noise.

The camera was panning back now, showing us what was around Turov. We gasped in shock.

Rows of troops stood arrayed around her. But they weren’t human troops—not exactly.

There was a mix of aliens present. Heavy troops from Blood World made up about half. Then there were some others. A few towering idiot-faced giants, a tall skinny slaver or two, and even a saurian raptor.

But what caught my eye and made me really gasp was an oddly-shaped bulky figure in dark fabric. I knew that hunched body, that fat core, the eight dangling limbs…

“A squid!?” I shouted aloud, overcome with emotion.

Winslade instantly frowned at me and waved a shushing hand.

My mouth gaped. It was an honest-to-God Cephalopod!

That was hard to take. Sure, I’d fought to the death with all of these aliens and near-humans—but a squid? That was a bridge too far in my book.

“I’m not serving with any damned squids…” I muttered.

“Shut up, McGill. Our squid will be joining Harris and his platoon of heavy troops. You won’t have to deal with him.”

“Say, what?” Harris snapped.

Slack-jawed, I kept staring.

Turov was talking again, but it took me a few moments to tune back in and comprehend what she was saying.

“…this grand experiment is broader in nature than would be the norm. We’re studying how an integrated legion can fight with approximately thirty percent of the troops being—ah—foreign-born. I know that you will welcome these newcomers and—”

“Frigging squids?!” I burst out again suddenly. “You’ve got to be shitting me!”

“Shut up, McGill!” Winslade barked. “That’s an order! We have to have one squid in each unit.”

“Why?” I demanded.

“To manage the Blood Worlders. They’re conditioned to listen to Cephalopods.”

“Why do we have to have any Blood-Worlders at all?” Harris asked.

“Because,” Winslade said between clenched teeth, “we just conquered an entire planet-load of them. How did you think we were going to deploy them? We need to understand them, and they need to understand us. What’s so hard to grasp about that?”

Dumbfounded, we turned back to watch Turov again.

She began doing some kind of dog-and-pony show with the aliens. She had them lift big objects, while they smiled with crooked teeth at the camera. I guess she was trying to show how strong and friendly these monsters really were—but I wasn’t buying it.

Not for a second.

“I don’t like squids…” I muttered.

“For once,” Harris whispered, “I’m with you one hundred percent.”

Leeson walked over nonchalantly to join us. He gave me a hard look.

“Did you know about this bullshit, McGill?”

“Fuck no, he didn’t,” Harris said. “Didn’t you hear him mouthing off in shock?”

Leeson looked around and lowered his voice. “McGill always mouths off. What I want to know is: how are we going to fix this?”

Harris and Leeson both looked at me then. In our unit, I had a rep as the man who got things done—even when the brass didn’t want them done.

“My mind is a blank,” I admitted.

“That’s just shock,” Leeson said. He turned back to Harris, who was still staring at the screen with wide eyes. “Don’t worry, McGill will come up with something. He always does.”

“This is bullshit…” Harris said, listening to Turov and glaring. “Total bullshit. I didn’t sign up with Varus to manage a zoo!”

Turov was strutting around now in front of the alien troops. When she got close to the heavy troopers, who were hulking men with massive limbs and thick bones, she recoiled.

“Ha!” Harris said. “Right there, see that? She caught a whiff! Why don’t you put that ape in your quarters with you, lady?”

The troops who overheard him laughed. A buzzing started among them.

“Harris, I’m warning you right now,” Winslade said. “Unless you want to enjoy a demotion of your own back down to veteran, you’ll curb your mouth.”

Harris shut up in a hurry. His eyes spoke of hate and death when they landed on Winslade—but he wasn’t saying a word. Not a damned word.

He liked being an officer, even if he wasn’t entirely fit for the job.

When the new “recruits” arrived, it wasn’t a happy day in our unit. They were led by an individual known as “Silt” who was a card-carrying Cephalopod.

Silt was a large, imposing creature. He was alien and bulky. There was an indescribable aura of menace about him. It was something about the way his thick dark tentacles drifted and rasped upon the deck while he stared at us with numerous baleful eyes.

“I can’t believe it’s come down to this,” Leeson said quietly.

I knew how he was feeling. We’d spent years fighting the Cephalopods, killing their troops while they killed ours. To have to serve alongside these aliens—well, no one who had lived through those wars was happy about it.

“Sub-Veteran Silt,” Winslade said, stepping forward. “Meet my supporting officers. These three are my adjuncts.”

“These beings serve you?” Silt’s translator asked as his own words spluttered and smacked behind it.

“Ah… yes.”

“Then I respect only you. I will listen only to you. I will not respond to the bleating of—”

“Hold on,” Winslade said, putting up a hand in a languid gesture. “Your rank is that of a noncom. Therefore, you will give deference to me and all my officers.”

Silt’s limb churned for a moment. I could tell he was unhappy.

“I will obey,” he said at last.

“Good! Now that that’s settled, we’ll place you and your men in these quarters.”

One thing about Winslade, he knew how to finesse something like a bad case of B.O. The squid himself stank a little as he liked to swim in murky water and his wetsuit was kind of drippy—but that was nothing compared to the raw stench of his troops.

Crowding up behind him were a dozen and a half heavy troopers. These were men that weighed four hundred kilos or more. They were a solid three meters in height, on average, but if they could stand straight they might be even taller. As it was, their hulking bodies seemed forever hunched forward, like men bending to shovel dirt, or to drag a heavy burden.

Their eyes weren’t the eyes of idiots—but you could tell they weren’t thinking men, either. They were cunning and possessed of an intellect that reminded me of a forest predator. They ran their eyes over everyone present as if sizing us up.

They hung together in two tight groups, and it was then that I realized we had two sets of nine—two sets of littermates. Each group was made up of close-knit brothers, all with the same brood-mother back home on Blood World.

Looking over the troops, I was at least relieved not to see slavers, full-on giants or other types of Blood Worlders. At least it was just the littermates.

“Who is going to have to babysit this parade?” Leeson demanded.

“I’ve given that considerable thought,” Winslade said, rubbing at his chin. “Toro has been… removed from her platoon. Her armored troops would work most naturally together with these men.”

There was a murmur of dismay from Toro’s platoon, but Winslade ignored them.

“Normally,” he said, “I’d place McGill in charge of the heavy platoon and add these troops there. However, McGill doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to cooperating with aliens.”

“Excuse me, Master,” Silt said to Winslade.

“Don’t call me master. Call me Centurion—it’s more specific.”

“A thousand rippling apologies,” the squid said. “Centurion, you mentioned ‘McGill’ is that correct?”

Winslade’s eyes slid toward me. His lips twisted into a scowl. “You see? They hate you already.” Turning back to the alien, he addressed Silt. “Yes, we do have an officer named McGill in this unit.”

“Remarkable! I’m truly honored to serve the master of the McGill.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are,” Winslade said sourly. “Harris, you’ll take charge of these men. They seem to be more your cup of tea.”

“Say what?” Harris demanded.

“Harris, your rank is in jeopardy…”

Harris shut up, but he glared at everyone, daring us to make a joke.

No one did.

“Yes,” Winslade said more decisively. “You’ll take the heavy squad. McGill will take over your team of light troops. Many of them are raw recruits, so that’s not such a bad assignment.”

Harris’ eyes told a different tale, but Winslade didn’t seem to care.

“That’s settled then! Harris, assign these men to your barracks. You’ll probably need to requisition stronger bunks… Start working with Silt immediately.”

So saying, Winslade beat a hasty retreat to his combination office and quarters. He promptly shut the door behind him.

“Well, if that don’t beat all!” Leeson said, whistling loudly. “I’d never counted you as a squid-tamer, Harris! Will wonders never cease?”

Harris turned him a venomous glance, and Leeson grinned back. Then he sauntered away to his end of the module with his head held high.

“That prick,” Harris muttered to me. “He’s loving it. We got all the shit-work and he’d sitting pretty.”

“Shall I kill him, Adjunct?” Silt said, looming near.

Harris looked up in surprise. “Well… no. We don’t do that sort of thing normally in this outfit.”

“My mistake,” the squid said. “On my homeworld, when two officers disagree, one of them must be defeated by the other before there is resolution. Servitude or death—there is no other possibility.”

“There’s cooperation,” I said, speaking up. “For the mutual survival of all.”

Silt made a rumbling sound. He could have been laughing, coughing, or shitting himself. It was hard to tell with a squid.

After the newcomers were given quarters—as far from the rest of the troops as possible—we spent an uneasy night with them.

I don’t know about the rest of the officers, but I could hardly sleep knowing the enemy was snoring nearby.

-11-

Integration was the goal, but it didn’t come easily. Blood Worlders were near-humans, but we soon found our new soldiers had a very different mindset.

“All right 3rd Unit,” Winslade began, marching in front of us with his hands clasped behind his back.

His long-fingered right hand clutched at his skinny left wrist. For some reason, I found this distasteful, but I tried to overlook it.

“Today, we’re going to start with target practice. Our new friends will be introduced to non-traditional weaponry—non-traditional for them, that is.”

So saying, he gave each of the heavy troopers a belcher. They looked at them like they’d been given toilet brushes. One man even looked into the barrel with a huge, bloodshot eye.

“No, no, no,” Sargon said, shouldering forward.

He was about the biggest man in the Unit, not as tall as me, but bulkier. He snatched away the belcher and earned himself a scowl.

The man he’d disarmed reached forward to snatch the belcher back—but halted.

I noticed that the squid noncom, Silt, made a fluttering gesture with one tentacle. The heavy trooper froze then dropped his hand. He sulked motionlessly.

Silt used hand-gestures to command the littermates? I might have to learn those.

“You see here, dumbass?” Sargon began. “This is the reticle. You’re looking at the wrong end. You’ll burn your fool head off doing that.”

Sargon proceeded, in his usual brusque fashion, to educate the hulking near-humans on the proper use of the belcher. They learned slowly, but methodically. They appeared to be teachable.

That’s when I turned to my fresh-faced squad of human kids. I twisted my lips up into an expression of disgust.

“This is where we take our leave,” I told them. “Follow me.”

They did so, and I was glad they were too scared to ask any questions. I didn’t like to lie—not on a day like today.

We walked out of the main chamber of Green Deck, which by day served us as an exercise yard and by night as a social haven. We walked the long, long way around to the far side, and we waited at a pair of huge power-doors.

“Don’t these doors lead into the main room again?” asked a snotty voice.

My head snapped up. There he was: Cooper. He’d been quiet up until now. He’d stayed low—but a young man like him could only fake it for so long. His real personality was bound to emerge over time, as certain as the sun rising in the east.

“That’s right,” I told him.

“Then why are we wasting time, sir?”

There was just a little hint of a sneer in that last word. I could hear it. Maybe not everyone could, but I did, and that was good enough.

I gave him a grin, which made him frown back.

“We’re waiting until that light goes on—right up there.”

I pointed to a big light over the top of the powered doors.

Cooper shut up, but I could see that not knowing the score was eating at him.

“Strange setup,” one of Cooper’s squad mates said.

“Retarded is a form of strange, I guess,” Cooper agreed.

My veteran glowered at them, then glanced at me. She was a stocky fireplug of a woman named Moller.

I shook my head just a fraction. Nope, it wasn’t time to bust heads. Not yet.

Another minute slid by, and all my snot-nosed splats began shifting restlessly. Finally, the light went green.

I slammed my hands together loudly.

“Okay, platoon. We’re going in. You’ll be issued snap-rifles. Listen close to Veteran Moller. She’ll teach you how to use them.”

“About frigging time,” Cooper said.

The big doors slid open, and we stepped inside. There, right in front of us, were several racks of snap-rifles.

These light but highly versatile and effective weapons weren’t quite like the ballistic weapons of the past. Instead of using gunpowder to propel their bullets, the snap-rifles used tricks of physics to accelerate tiny pellets to fantastic speeds.

Any object sped up to around five thousand miles an hour tended to do two things: burn up and hit hard. The bullets were often made with alloys including metals like tungsten, which had a melting temperature of well over three thousand degrees C. The size of the projectile didn’t matter that much, as the kinetic force upon impact was tremendous anyway.

The rifles had a high rate of fire, and could hold about a thousand rounds of ammo in their auto-fed magazines. This meant troops didn’t have to worry about reloading much, and they could hit targets at long range with little drop-off due to gravity and wind resistance.

After a brief lecture outlining these points, I handed off the distribution of the weapons to Veteran Moller. She issued each soldier a gun and made sure they could hold it right.

“Now,” I said. “You see those targets over there?”

They followed my gesture, and Cooper laughed.

“All I see are trees,” he said.

“Right. Hit them. Take them down.”

The troops looked at me in confusion, but Cooper grinned. He aimed his gun and released a loud hammering spray of rounds.

The weapon kicked up, but he didn’t lose control. He took a firm stance and grip. He set his feet, put his eye to the sites and fired away in short, controlled bursts.

The tree he was aiming at spit white wood. The trunk was soon torn up, and leaves fluttered.

“This is great!” Cooper laughed.

The others soon joined in, and Moller walked the line, adjusting grips and kicking feet wider apart. Soon, they were all blazing away and the first tree came crashing down.

The squad cheered, and I smiled grimly. It was their first accomplishment.

“Aren’t we damaging Green Deck, sir?” one of the girls asked me.

I shrugged. “It grows back fast. Don’t worry about it.”

The trees were, in fact, genetically designed to sprout up like mushrooms. The wood was thin and light, and it would crack if you punched it hard enough. But by the next day, it would grow back again.

The team was all smiles at that point, but the mood didn’t last long.

A beam sprang out of the tree line to our left—a bluish radiance that was ghostly and liquid in nature. It struck three of the recruits. They went up in flames, screaming. They fell and writhed on the deck.

“Incoming fire!” I roared. “Take cover!”

They threw themselves onto the ground—except the two slowest. They were crisped next.

“Spread out! Return fire!”

“I can’t see them!” Cooper shouted.

“They’re behind the trees and rocks!”

I began laying down suppressive fire, chipping each of the trees and sparking rounds on the rocks. I had to get the enemy to duck before my whole command was taken out.

Most of the recruits hammered away, shooting ghosts. But Cooper held his fire. He wasn’t scared—not more than usual, anyway. He seemed to have a plan.

Movement appeared to our right. Cooper was on it like an angry wasp. He fired short bursts, hard-hitting and accurate enough at this range, which was maybe fifty meters.

A heavy trooper toppled back, but then got up again, hugging his rock. More blue beams lanced out at us, and we returned fire.

“It’s those freaks!” a recruit shouted. “They’ve turned on us, sir! I knew they would!”

“That’s right,” I said. “Take them down.”

Cooper stood up and charged. Two beams tried to catch him—but the kid was fast and the enemy barely knew how to handle their weapons. They had their belchers dialed up too tightly. Hell, if they’d opened the apertures just halfway, they’d have burned us all down in that first barrage.

Cooper made it to the rock where he’d hit the first Blood Worlder. Standing on top of it, he hammered away, point-blank, putting a hundred rounds through a near-human’s faceplate.

The trooper sagged down, stone dead.

That’s when things went off-script. The troopers, seeing one of their littermates brought low, went berserk. They stood up in unison, roaring with impossibly low voices.

They charged us, and we blazed away at them, bringing down two, then three more.

But that was it. The troopers were berserk. They used their belchers as clubs as often as they fired them. Clubbing the crawling recruits like seals on a beach, they put us down—all of us.

Moller and I managed to take out one more with our knives before we, too, were beaten to death.

-12-

I was revived and dumped into the cold, waiting arms of an orderly. Before I could see straight, I was hustled off Blue Deck and into Nostrum’s echoing passages.

I didn’t mind. It was all part of the job.

“Adjunct McGill?” a voice called after me as I staggered toward 3rd Unit’s assigned module.

Turning around, I nodded to Cooper. “Did you just pop out of the oven?” I asked him.

“No, sir. I was one of the first to die, so they processed me about an hour ago. I’ve been waiting for you to walk down this passage.”

Warily, I slowed, and we walked alongside one another. I took my time to fully appraise him.

Back in my day, I’d killed Veteran Harris for slaughtering my fellow recruits. Cooper might be that kind of renegade as well.

But I didn’t see murder in his eyes, and he had no weapon. Instead, he was looking at me with honest curiosity.

“What did you want to say, Recruit?” I asked him.

“Well… sir… I realize that whole thing was a setup. I read up on Varus training techniques months ago. I was kind of expecting it, in fact. Not so soon though… I thought it would happen after we got our first week’s weapons training.”

“Is that what you wanted to know? Why we moved ahead so fast?”

He eyed me curiously. “No, I get all that—what I want to know is why you fought with us.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I would’ve expected an officer to step back, out of the line of fire. To send all us chumps into the grinder. I mean—you knew it was coming, right?”

“Of course.”

“So… why did you play it to the end? Why’d you actually die with us?”

I shrugged. “It’s all part of the job. Dying isn’t fun, but you get used to it.”

The kid’s mouth hung open. He shook his head slowly.

“I don’t know… I don’t know if I can ever get used it.”

“Some can’t,” I admitted. “They usually bug-out and join the hogs. Life and death both come hard and fast for a bona fide starman. Not everyone can take it.”

We’d stopped walking, but at this point I moved on. I left him there to ponder in confusion.

As I rounded the next corner, I glanced back once.

Cooper was still standing there. He was leaning his back against a wall, staring up at the ceiling. I could tell he was thinking hard.

That made me smile. The kid had gotten his bell rung today. Time would tell if he was a real Legion Varus man or not. I couldn’t make that transition happen—I could only facilitate.

When I got to the unit module, the mood was more than glum. All the regular recruits had checked in by dinnertime—but not the Blood Worlders. The heavy troopers who’d died in the firefight were wandering back in very slowly from Blue Deck, one at a time.

They glowered at me and my snap-rifle men with hate. Harris and Silt were walking among them, explaining that no one had died—not permanently—and that this process was all part of their training.

I could tell the Blood Worlders were having a hard time swallowing it all.

Dinnertime came and went, and I noted less than half the heavy troopers were back yet.

“Harris?” I asked. “What’s the hold up with your new boys?”

“I’ll be damned if I know!” he complained. “I’ve half a mind to go down there and kick ass. These heavy troopers are still suspicious of the whole process. I need them back here now, so they’ll stop trading rumors.”

I looked around for Winslade, but he was hiding in his quarters again.

“I’ll go check it out,” I told Harris. “Keep the lid on up here with Silt.”

Harris frowned at me. “You don’t give me orders anymore, McGill.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll just go watch a vid-show and catch a nap.”

“All right, all right. Never mind, I’m just annoyed. I’d appreciate the help.”

Marching down to Blue Deck, I was met with unpleasant expressions.

“What are you doing down here, Adjunct?” one noncom had the balls to ask. “Are you lost, or maybe you’d like to take another ride on the gurney?”

I glowered at him, and he melted. Sometimes, freshly revived troops—even officers, came back with vengeance on their minds.

“I’m here to check up on the slow revives. What’s the hold up?”

“Slow… oh, you must be talking about those fat bastards from Blood World, right?”

I nodded.

“Yeah… they’re not being revived with the rest. They’ve got their own ward down the hall.”

He directed me, and I marched down a long passage to the very end.

Hardly anyone was around down here. Just a few orderlies, and a single, large door. I ignored the restricted-access signs, pushing it open and walking inside.

There, I was in for a new shock. A massive revival machine, three times the size of any I’d ever seen, hulked in one corner. It took up at least a quarter of the floor space.

Revival machines are a little sickening to begin with. They’ve got a metal encasement on the front, with a control panel merged with the fleshy part. But the part that did all the 3-D printing of cells, that part looked like a massive slab of meat with a skin of mottled gray.

There were tanks to charge the machine—and this one had the biggest cylinders of protoplasm and bone meal I’d ever seen. The maw was hanging open and dripping, just like normal, but it was gargantuan. A dinosaur’s mouth had never existed that could rival it.

Except for being bigger, grosser and smellier, none of this was all that shocking. In fact, it made a perfect kind of sense once I’d laid eyes on it. The heavy troopers were simply too big for traditional machines. They had to have their own unit—and this was it.

The real shocker came when I saw who was running the outsized unit. There were three saurians in the chamber.

They looked at me when I opened the door, and we had ourselves a mutual stare-down.

“Who are you?” demanded the nearest of them.

At his throat, I saw a flashing translator. I knew that device well—Floramel had given one to Raash, that murdering alien back on Earth.

It was new tech, I realized. And this was the newly assigned post for the saurians Turov had paraded for us after we left Earth.

“I’m Adjunct McGill. I lost several heavy troopers today. Why’s it taking so frigging long to revive them?”

The saurians shrugged. “They’re big,” the leader said. “As big as our juggers. That’s why we were hired to work here.”

Suddenly, I got it. The legion had wanted a method of bringing back heavy troopers, but new revival machines—especially big ones, cost a lot. They also had to be manned by a team of bio people who could lift a ton together. These three looked like they fit the bill. Each was as strong and powerfully built as Raash had been.

Also, I recalled that back on my last trip to Steel World the saurians had tried to match our revival units with some of their own. They’d revived juggers—members of a huge sub-race that were the size of draft horses. I’d never really thought about it before, but they must have had a really big revival machine somewhere—and a team that could operate it.

“I see…” I said. “Is this the only big unit? The only one that can spit out a heavy trooper?”

“Yes. It’s the only such organism aboard Nostrum.”

“Cheap bastards…” I muttered.

“What was that? You insult us?”

“Uh… no. I’m insulting the top officers. They didn’t want to pay for enough machines—or enough bio teams like you guys to run them.”

The saurians exchanged glances. “We do not believe you insulted us with your odd statements, but you must go now. We’re recharging to start the process again.”

As I watched, the maw slowly closed. They poured in fluids and powders, and the machine shivered and began to steam and drip. It seemed to stink a lot, too. Even more than they usually did.

Wrinkling my nose, I decided to exit the place in a hurry. My troopers would come back eventually—but not as fast as I wanted them to.

-13-

The long, long journey through space to our destination star took several weeks. It would have taken months, but Nostrum was a fast ship. She was a new, sleek design that fit humans better than our previous rented-out models had ever done.

Most of the passages and public chambers had a ceiling or a wall that appeared to show the cosmos as we passed by it all.

It was nice to watch the stars slide by. On a long trip, it made you feel like you were going somewhere fast. Other than this simulated starscape, there was no sensation of movement at all inside our warp-bubble.

We continued to have training sessions, and I came to respect the heavy troopers. For one thing, they didn’t complain all the time. None of them were like Cooper—a maverick with a sneering expression and loud mouth.

Instead, they hunkered down and endured whatever abuse our legion chose to throw at them. Those that died were brought back, and that simple fact began to calm the littermates. They didn’t go quite as mad anymore whenever a brother fell, because they knew the loss wasn’t permanent. That was a big relief for the rest of us.

Silt, however… that Cephalopod was another thing entirely. He began grating on my nerves more and more as the journey came to an end.

“Your slaves have failed again,” he informed me after a bloody exercise on Green Deck. “They are clearly inferior.”

This time, we’d thrown the recruits into the jungle to attack nine entrenched giants. The recruits had served as targets, primarily. We’d retreated and called the battle a loss when over half the light troopers had been lost without a single heavy being taken out.

My eye met Silt, and he rustled his elephant-trunk limbs idly.

“Why are you staring at me?” he asked. “Have you no words? Can your shame be so tremendous, human?”

“I’ve been wondering,” I said, “if you would fit into that big new revival machine they’ve got downstairs.”

“Why would you ponder such a thing?”

“Well… you know… you’re part of this unit too. I wouldn’t want to lose you the moment we arrive on a new planet, but if I do, I would want you to be revived.”

“Why would such a thing happen?”

“There are a thousand ways to die in a ground campaign, squid. How many times have you invaded a planet, by the way?”

Silt thrashed his limbs around and stared at me. “You know I’ve never been deployed in actual battle.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I must have forgotten.”

“It seems unlikely that you would require so many reminders.”

“Sorry about that. But I’m going to have to ask the saurian orderlies down on Blue Deck about this. They might even want to measure your carcass—just to make sure they’ve got the right materials, and the unit is big enough for your kind. You understand.”

“Did you mention saurians?”

“Yep. We hired saurians from Steel World to operate our new, larger revival units.”

“Steel World… Cancri-9. That world has not been subjugated by humans.”

“Nope, it sure hasn’t. They don’t even like us very much in that star system.”

“Trusting such beings to raise your dead—that seems foolhardy.”

Smiling, I spread my hands wide and shook my head. “I agree! I don’t trust those scaly, long-tailed lizards at all.”

“Then why would the top officers—”

“What can you do?” I said, laughing. “They probably work cheap. We’re all here to die over and over again on a strange planet. We’re supposed to come back to life—but who knows? I guess we’ll find out if the lizards know about Cephalopod biology one of these days.”

“Your words are almost threatening.”

“What? Nooo. Not at all. I’m thinking of your welfare, that’s all. It’s an officer’s job to predict problems and prepare to meet challenges. For that reason, I’m thinking I should assign a veteran like Sargon to shadow you as you deal with the Blood Worlders. If you’re dead and gone for an extended period, he can step in to fill your role.”

Silt didn’t appear to like that idea. After a moment’s pause, he spoke up.

“That seems unnecessary—”

“On the contrary! It’s very necessary. Just imagine the scene: we land the legion, go into combat and BOOM! You’re squid-meat within five minutes! Who handles the big guys while our lizards are back aboard the ship reading the manual? Who knows if they can even get a good grow? Might take them seven or eight tries, pushing each failure into the grinder to start over—”

“What’s this grinder you speak of?”

I explained how a bad grow might come out deformed and require recycling. The wood-chipper device they used to reclaim their failures got some loving details. I painted the most vivid picture I could for him.

“I’m dissatisfied with these possibilities,” Silt said at last.

“Ah now, don’t turn coward-like on me! I’ve always heard your race feared nothing.”

“You heard correctly.”

“Good then! We land in two days, from what I hear. No more waiting around aboard this dull ship, bored out of our minds! Time to kill and be killed!”

Disgruntled, Silt retreated into his humid chambers to sulk.

“Ha, HA!” a familiar laugh burst out behind me when Silt was gone.

It was Leeson, and he looked like he’d been listening in.

“That was priceless, McGill. Old Silt is going to ink his bed tonight with nightmares for sure!”

“I hope he does,” I admitted.

The next day, Nostrum came out of warp. Everyone watched the walls and the ceiling. We were glued to the visuals.

The warp bubble dissipated like torn cobwebs, pulling away in a manner that was both alarming and beautiful to behold.

The imagery darkened as it went from simulated to real. Dead ahead of our ship was a glimmering brown dwarf. It was a deep orangey-brown star with stripes on it that almost looked like Jupiter might if you lit the whole thing on fire. It was small but dense, and it burned so faintly it barely looked like a sun at all. It reminded me of a dying coal in a campfire, rather than a stellar body.

“That’s got to be the dinkiest excuse for a star I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Leeson complained. “Better break out the jackets, troops. I’m predicting snow and sleet.”

A general groan went up from the unit’s rank and file. We were all taken by surprise, as very little had been explained to us in briefings about the exact nature of our destination.

“Wait a minute,” I said aloud. “Is this the right star? I thought we were going to 39 Eridani. That system is supposed to have two good-sized stars in a binary system.”

Winslade looked at me, and he shrugged. “It would seem they lied to us.”

“But why?” I complained. “They made such a big deal out of telling us what the target was, then arresting Toro and that other guy afterward for leaking it. How could they—?”

“Turn that simian brain of yours back on, McGill,” Winslade said. “It’s counterintelligence. Trickery, deceit—whatever you want to call it. You tell your team something very important—but the information is a lie. When that particular lie shows up in a transmission, you can trace the leak directly to its source.”

“Huh…” I said. “Diabolical. So this sparkler is it? I can’t even see any planets.”

“They’re out here in the dark, somewhere,” Winslade assured me. “We’re supposed to land in the morning.”

This whole invasion felt wrong somehow. We hadn’t been equipped with proper cold-weather gear. We’d have to stay in our pressure suits just to stay warm. The whole thing looked bleak.

Harris came up to stand beside me. “More shit. We’re always fed shit and kept in the dark in this legion.”

“Seems that way,” I admitted.

The unit broke up soon thereafter for equipment checks. With deployment in the morning, we had to repack everything and check every seal on our suits.

I was especially concerned about my new people. Light troops didn’t get any armor, just a tough, layered spacesuit that wasn’t all that different from the ones that men had first used to spacewalk and explore on Mars.

As an officer, I got a breastplate at least. It protected my vitals without restricting my movements—but to me, it wasn’t good enough.

After years of serving in heavy armor, the idea of landing on a hostile world in what amounted to a leathery balloon filled with hot air held no appeal for me. I felt naked—but I didn’t let on.

“Snap-rifle inspection!” I shouted, and Veteran Moller went into action.

She marched the ragged line of recruits, kicking ass and screaming into people’s faces. It was time to become harsh now. There was no room for screw-ups on a drop—especially a drop into the total unknown.

My helmet crackled with an incoming call as I watched Moller work.

“Varus officers,” Turov’s voice spoke in my ears. “We have a surprise for you—the destination we described to you at the kickoff briefing has been changed.”

“No shit,” Harris whispered to himself.

We were both on the command channel, which only allowed officers to tune in. As adjuncts, we weren’t expected to talk, just to listen.

“Our target is not 39 Eridani—not exactly. It’s a brown dwarf nearby. By the star catalogue, it’s been listed at 191 Eridani.”

There were more muttered comments from the officers around me. None of them seemed to appreciate being left out of the loop.

“Some of you—particularly those of limited intellect—might be wondering why Central saw fit to lie about our target. That should now be obvious. This has always been a highly secretive mission. Any public release of our goals could jeopardize the entire venture. For similar reasons, only a single legion has been dispatched to conquer the target planet.”

At this, Leeson, Harris and I exchanged alarmed glances. We’d been under the impression the place was all but abandoned, waiting for Earth forces to land and snap it up. Perhaps that was a lie, too.

“191 Eridani is between Earth and Rigel,” Turov continued, “a zone where our rivals infest many stars. We must gain control of this middle-ground between our two growing domains. It’s a frontier region not only for Earth, but for the Empire as well.”

I couldn’t even look at Harris any longer. He hated surprises. His face was so full of contorted expressions—showing in turns rage, disgust and resignation—that I found it distracting.

“I’m told the target planet has a lot of geological activity, and therefore isn’t as cold as one might assume. It is, however, dimly lit during both day and night.”

Already, we were changing our kits. We had night gear, of course, but a permanently dark world? That would require some special outfitting. I relayed the information to Moller, who immediately set the troops to rummaging in the equipment lockers.

“We will be landing on the factory superstructure at the end of the shift. No immediate resistance is expected, but the enemy might be able to mount a counterattack in time. It is essential we spread out and gain control of the space dock within a few hours after dropping. Legion Varus forever, Turov out.”

She cut the feed, and we three adjuncts looked at each other.

“Did you hear that sign off?” Leeson complained. “What kind of a pep-talk was that? She sounded bored with the whole thing.”

“Who cares about that?” Harris asked. “She said we’re dropping on a factory? An active space-dock? Are you shitting me? Who are they building ships for? Where are those ships? How is Nostrum supposed to invade a space-dock that’s active and presumably armed?”

“Huh…” I said, firmly believing Harris had a point. “This whole thing doesn’t feel well-planned.”

“That is the understatement of the twenty-second century, McGill!” Harris said. “I smell a meat-grinder. Blue Deck is going to get a workout, mark my words.”

Walking away, I went to Winslade. He flicked his fingers at me and sighed.

“Have a little faith, Adjunct,” he said. “I’m sure they’re planning something incredible up there on Gold Deck.”

I heard a hint of hurt pride in that statement. After all, a few months ago Winslade had a higher rank and a choice spot at a desk up there on Gold Deck. Down here in the modules—or dungeons, as the troops called them—we were clueless and confused.

“I’m going upstairs,” I said. “Any objections, sir?”

He looked at me seriously for the first time. After considering it, he shook his head.

“Who are you going to pester? Primus Graves or the tribune herself?”

“Either one—I was kind of hoping you’d give me an excuse, sir.”

Winslade shrugged. “I’ve got no pretext to go where I’m not welcome. I’m already slumming it down here, and I don’t want to see a further demotion. Of course, I realize such thoughts have never stopped you.”

“No sir—but maybe I can give you something to help us both out.”

Then, I told him about our single revival machine capable of spitting out squids and heavy troopers.

“Are you certain?” he asked incredulously.

“Absolutely, sir.”

“That’s quite an oversight.”

“Not at all. It’s sheer cheapness. The legion was given these new troops, but they shorted us the equipment we need to properly support them in the field. The first hard battle we might lose half of them and wait a week to get them all back out of that machine.”

“Yes…” he said thoughtfully. “All right. You can inquire about the slow revival rate of the alien troops, and how we’re expected to adjust to the consequently slow trickle of reinforcements we’re predicting. Just don’t use my name unless asked directly.”

“Got it. Thank you, Centurion.”

He dismissed me, and I hustled to the elevators before he could change his mind.

-14-

At the lobby in Gold Deck, I expected to be challenged, and I was.

“Adjunct McGill?” asked a non-smiling veteran. “State your business, sir.”

“I’m here to see the tribune—if she’ll talk to me. Centurion Winslade sent me.”

“Huh…” the veteran grunted, paging through a contact list on his tapper.

He shrugged. “Nothing here about you having an appointment—but there’s nothing about you being banned, either. Her office is at the end of the passage. Good luck.”

When I got to the last door, I figured out why he’d wished me luck. There were six other guys in line ahead of me, and that was just to get past the first door.

Groaning aloud, I almost ditched the whole thing right then and there.

However, an attractive young adjunct stepped up to me before I could do an about-face. She asked me my name and business.

I stated these, as I had before. She tapped them in, scanned some results, and raised her eyebrows. She looked up at me in surprise.

To be honest, I figured I’d popped up on the “no way” list—but that wasn’t it.

“This way, Adjunct,” she said.

With a surprised smile, I followed her. I had to crowd past the people standing in line.

“Hey!” a centurion complained. “Why’s McGill moving up? I’ve got an appointment, and I’ve been standing out here for forty-five minutes!”

“McGill has a priority appointment,” the adjunct said.

“You’ll get your turn,” I told him. “In time, all things come to a patient man.”

He glared at me, and I gave him a smile and nod as I slid past.

When we got into the outer office, which had been redecorated since the days of Deech, I noticed there was no one else waiting there.

The adjunct pre-screener dropped me off, and I watched her go back out.

“James McGill?” the secretary asked.

There was a sneer in that voice, and I turned to look at him. I recognized him immediately. He was the same pretty-boy who’d been posted outside Galina’s office back on Earth.

“That’s right. Should I take a seat?”

He set his mouth in a disgusted expression. “No. Go on in.”

“Uh… isn’t she with someone else?”

He shook his head and pointed at the door.

Shrugging, I straight-armed the door and it swung wide.

Turov’s office was full of wispy curtains, incense and expensive-looking art. Head-and-shoulder statues of various Hegemony leaders were posed in alcoves with lights shining down on them.

Galina herself wasn’t in sight, so I figured she must be in the bathroom. She always had an office with a private bathroom. Rank did have its privileges.

I walked over to check out the various statues, and I took snapshots of the plaques with my tapper. I figured she was displaying the likeness of people who had been her supporters. Researching their names might teach me a thing or two.

“I see you’re admiring my art collection,” Galina stated suddenly.

She’d popped up behind me. I turned around, a little confused. I hadn’t seen her come out of the bathroom. Did that mean she had a secret passage in here somewhere? I wasn’t sure.

“Uh… yes,” I said. “I think I recognize some of these guys.”

She was out of uniform—way out. She wore nothing but a slinky one-piece with lots of sparkles on it.

“Is that why you came here?” she asked, stepped close and touching my chest with one finger. “To admire my busts?”

“Your what? Oh… no, Winslade sent me.”

For some reason, this threw her into a small fit. I wasn’t the best at figuring out the motivations of moody women, but this behavior was strange, even for her.

“You mean to tell me you skipped ahead six places in line to complain about your new recruits?”

“Uh… No, sir. Not exactly. But we’ve noticed there’s only one revival machine aboard that can support the Blood Worlders. What happens when we get into a serious fight?”

She laughed at me and shook her head. “Can you really be so naïve?”

“Uh…”

She put a hand out and touched my chest plate. I thought that was odd—her mood had shifted again.

“This foolishness makes you seem cute to me. I’m almost willing to forgive your rudeness.”

As a man who constantly needs to be forgiven, I didn’t want to blow any opportunity.

“Thanks,” I said in a neutral tone, even though I wasn’t exactly sure what she was forgiving. “But can you just tell me what the plan is with the Blood Worlders? These new machines are slow. If we lose a thousand of them, it will take weeks to get them all back.”

Galina sucked in a breath and sighed.

“Think, James,” she said. “You were involved in taking Blood World. You saw their vast armies firsthand.”

“Yeah,” I said, wrinkling my nose at the memory of watching thousands of the brutes march by. “I can remember the smell, too.”

“The point is, they’re great in number. We’ll make up for our losses with fresh troops, rather than bothering to revive them all. It’s much cheaper.”

I blinked at that, but slowly, I got the message.

“Seriously? We’re going to let them get permed?”

“Throughout history, troops have normally died once. You do realize that, don’t you?”

“Yeah… but it seems wrong knowing that I’m going to be brought back, and they aren’t.”

“Yes. That’s why it’s your job as the officer in the field to make sure they don’t die.”

“But how are we going to get replacements out here? They’re all back on Earth—or home on Blood World.”

She pointed a finger at me. “Keep thinking. You’re doing so well. I can almost see the smoke coming out of your ears.”

“Um… are we going to use the gateway posts? To walk them through when we need them?”

“Ha! You’ve got it. The gateway will be set up in a separate module. When men die, they will be replaced.”

“But how can I train new people all the time?” I asked.

“That part is inefficient,” she admitted. “What we’re doing in secret is sending back vids of the training you and other officers are providing. Back on Earth, in their base camps, teams are training with the Iron Eagles. They will come through knowing what is expected of them.”

My confused stare transformed into a solid frown. The more I heard about this scheme, the less I liked it. They’d turned the Blood Worlders into second-class troops. It didn’t seem fair, and it didn’t seem like it would work very well, either.

“Are you finished asking dumb questions?” she asked.

“Yeah… I guess so. But I didn’t like the answers much.”

“Do you even know why I was angry when you first arrived?”

“Um… no, not entirely,” I admitted.

She sighed and clucked her tongue. “Do you remember the last time we were together in my office?”

“Sure.”

“You understand that it was an embarrassing moment for me, right?”

“Uh… of course.”

“Now, what was I supposed to do if I wanted to see you again?”

“Um… send me a message?”

She shook her head. Her voice took on a tone that was like that of a lady talking to a dumb kid who just wasn’t getting it. I’d heard that tone before plenty of times.

“I’m under investigation for harassment, remember?” she asked.

“Oh… sure. I remember something about that. From Winslade.”

“There you go. So, how would it look if there was a trail of online communications between me and you—initiated by me?”

“Bad,” I admitted, and finally, I was starting to catch on.

Galina had been avoiding me like the plague. I’d figured that was because she was embarrassed, or angry about something.

But that wasn’t it. She’d been covering her shapely ass all along. She’d dropped me because of Winslade’s legal challenges—not because she wasn’t interested. Suddenly, a whole bunch of things made more sense to me.

Smiling at last, I encircled her with my arms.

“You’re doing this of your own free will, aren’t you?” she asked me.

“Damn straight!”

“Good,” she said, and she kissed me. Her lips were buttery-soft.

Then, she pushed a button on her tapper, and she slid out of my grasp.

“That’s good enough,” she said, her tone suddenly business-like.

She walked back behind her desk, while I stared after her, dumbfounded all over again.

“What the hell…?”

Galina was staring down at her desk intently. She brought up a window and began pecking it with her fine fingers. She made a shooing motion with her other hand.

“Dismissed.”

“Hold on a minute!” I said. “This is bullshit! You just wanted to get me to say that? You recorded the whole thing on your tapper, and now you’re going to use it as evidence against Winslade, aren’t you?”

She glanced up at me. “Of course. Grow up, McGill. I’m too busy for sex today. Did you see that line out front? Did you seriously think I would be entertaining you in here, in the middle of the afternoon, while a crowd waited outside?”

“No…” I lied.

That was exactly what I’d thought—and hoped for—after she’d teased me.

“Very well then. Crawl back to that worm Winslade and tell him the good news. His worries about reinforcements are unfounded.”

I was mad. She’d tricked me, teased me, and used me. I thought about threatening to testify against her—but I couldn’t quite get myself to do it.

Heaving a sigh, I gave myself a shake and headed for the door.

“James,” she called after me.

“Yes, Tribune?”

“You don’t have to be a stranger. If you want to see me at a more opportune time, well… I might be more receptive.”

“I’ll think about that.”

Exiting the office and the outer office, I again pressed past the gaggle in the passageway. They looked at me with hate in their eyes.

“Well?” asked the centurion who’d complained to me before. “Can we go in now?”

I glanced around. That little adjunct who’d been playing hostess was nowhere in sight. Maybe she was taking a break now, too.

“It’ll be a bit,” I announced to them loudly. “I just finished her daily afternoon rub-down, and so she’s relaxing with some nice whale sounds and hot rocks—you know the routine.”

They looked at me, astounded. “Whales sounds? What are you? Her masseur?”

“Uh-huh.”

The centurion shook his head in amazement. “No wonder it’s taking so damned long to get in there!”

“Well now,” I admonished him, “don’t be rude. You can’t rush these things. That will spoil the whole effect. A stress-relief session with aroma therapy, a foot massage, and all the rest of it will be spoiled if you let people with petty problems barge in afterward. No sir, it’ll probably be another half-hour or so.”

Then I walked off toward the elevators. Behind me, I heard them mutter angrily among themselves about Turov. My ears almost stung from all the bad words.

People will say awful things when the object of their scorn is safely out of earshot.

-15-

The next day we arrived at the target planet. There were no defensive barrages fired up at us, so we slid into orbit right on top of the target factory complex, which hung in space a good four hundred kilometers above the surface of the world itself.

As an officer, I was allowed to access a vid feed from outside the ship. I’d expected to jog aboard a lifter—but that wasn’t how they wanted to play it this time.

“Troops,” I announced to my platoon, “we’re headed for Red Deck. We’re getting into capsules, and we’re going to make this drop look picture-perfect.”

They looked at me, scared. Even Cooper was worried.

“But we’ve never dropped before, Adjunct,” he said.

“That’s right—but fortunately, there’s nothing to it! Moller will go first, and I’ll bring up the rear, shoving.”

“Don’t you want me to get them loaded into the cannon, sir?” Moller asked.

I glanced at her. She was right—normally the noncom stayed with the troops, slapping the chicken out of any of them that felt like hanging back.

“Nope,” I said. “I want to watch firsthand to see how they perform.”

She nodded and didn’t complain. I liked that about her. She wasn’t full of color and spice, but she got the job done, and she didn’t argue all the time. Harris had been more of a smart ass—even worse than Sargon. Moller was strictly business.

“Follow the red arrows!” she boomed, trotting ahead. “They’ve started flashing. That means we’ve got five minutes before we drop.”

For my own part, I was a little excited. We hadn’t dropped like this on a world we hadn’t mapped out in a long, long time. What’s more, I couldn’t recall the last time we’d hot-dropped on a satellite structure at all.

When we hustled them all up to the tube-like loading bay, we soon had them in a ragged line. Each trooper clutched onto their equipment like they were facing execution—which, by the odds, some of them were.

“This is it,” Moller said, pointing at a round hole in the deck.

It was about a meter wide and six times as deep. The hole was black, but ran with a few blue lights. Artificial gravity tugged hard on anyone who stepped over the chute, and you could hear a gentle sucking sound. They maintained negative air pressure here to make sure anything and everything that they wanted to load got down there in one balled up mass.

“The first chance you’ll get to kill yourselves today is right here,” Moller said. “You want to step out into the middle of the chute. Don’t be grabbing the sides, or getting twisted up. You’re going to drop down into open space, and two halves of a capsule will slam down over you. At that point, if you haven’t had an appendage chopped off, you’ll be taking a gentle ride down to the target.”

I watched the troops. Some of them looked like they were hyperventilating. Others looked like they weren’t breathing at all. The sight made me smile, remembering my first drop.

“On the way down, you got no control,” I said, stepping in. “Just enjoy the ride, and read the data stream if you want to. If you hit the explosive bolts early, you’ll splat for sure.”

“That’s your second chance to die,” Moller said. “Once you’re down and out of your capsule, killing you isn’t our job any longer. That’s up to the enemy. Any questions?”

They were all staring at the hole, mesmerized.

The red arrows began blinking in unison, and a klaxon sounded, making all the recruits jump. The hole clamped shut with a powerful blast of released gas.

“Okay, watch me!” Moller said, stepping up to the line. She had to shout now to be heard over all the active machinery. “Timing is critical. After you see me go down, the chute will close, then the outer hatch will open below. Only one hatch opens at a time—because we don’t want to depressurize the whole frigging ship. About once every three seconds, this hatch will open and shut again. When it opens, drop in and don’t screw up!”

As she said these words, the hole shot open again. She stepped neatly out into space and vanished. She fell faster than was normal, due to the enhanced gravity and the sucking vacuum draw of the loading tube.

The hatch sliced closed, hard and fast, and we heard something like a cannon firing below.

“She’s away!” I boomed, stepping up and grabbing the shoulders of the first recruit in line. She was young, female, and terrified.

I wondered if I’d have to push. I wanted to make sure she didn’t screw up right off—it would be harder to get the rest into the chute if they had to step over a lot of splashy gore.

The chute opened, and the girl stepped out into the center, just like Moller had done. She gave a little squeak of fear as she was sucked down into darkness. The doors scissored shut again, and I turned a broad grin to the rest of the platoon.

“See that? Nothing to it! This is fun once you get the hang of it!”

The next recruit in line was Cooper. He eyed me, and I eyed him.

I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and grabbed him. “You’re next, Cooper!” I told him. “You’re not going to let that girl show you up, are you?”

For just a second, he looked at me, and fear sprouted up in his eyes.

I was a little too happy, and I grinned a little too broadly.

I knew what he had to be asking himself: Was he going to become my first accident of the day? An object lesson for the rest?

Watching these paranoid thoughts go through that little shit’s mind, I pushed him to the line and held him ready for the hole to open again.

“Hands off, sir. I want to do this on my own.”

The door fired open, and I lifted my hands away from him. He stepped out into space—but he took a moment too long.

I winced. Damn!

He’d hesitated. The aerial on top of his helmet, small though it was, had been chopped off by the scissoring doors.

“See that?” I roared at the rest. “Could have been his whole head! Wet your pants if you have to, but you’ve got to move!”

The door popped open again, and the next recruit didn’t reject my guidance. There was a rhythm to it, and you had to jump in the moment the doors clanged open.

The whole point of processing troops this fast was to get us clumped together for the drop. If we landed on the target as closely together as we could, we’d be able to meet up and fight more quickly. In the end, dropping fast was more important than suffering a few splats along the way—at least, that’s how the legion saw things.

My turn came last. I stepped into space, experienced a stomach-lurching drop, and for a split-second I saw open space around me.

I was in the midst of many dropping soldiers. We were being loaded into capsules and fired out of Nostrum’s belly, thirty-two troops at a time.

Out to the sides, in my peripheral vision, I saw flashes of stars. Below the firing mechanism a big gray, brown and acid-green planet spread wide.

In between the planet and our ship was a glinting structure of burnished metal. It looked like no one had ever bothered to paint it.

Then everything vanished again. Two halves of a rounded cylinder slammed over me from either side, loading me up like a bullet into a firing chamber.

The slamming part had been silent, as I was out in open space. It still made me wince—it always did.

Air began to hiss, pressuring the drop-capsule. I could hear again after that as the capsule was spun around, loaded into a breach and aimed at the target.

Right then, I realized we’d forgotten to tell the troops to bend at the knee at this point. Sure, it had been in training vids the day before, but when you were on the spot and scared, you needed that final reminder.

A few of them were bound to land with cracked legs.

Shit.

That was the last thought I had before getting slammed with terrific force. It felt as if twin giants had struck the soles of my boots with sledgehammers.

Fired out of the launch-cannon, I felt myself speed downward like a bullet.

The invasion was on.

-16-

Landing was almost as traumatic as being loaded and dropped. The capsule spun around and fired retro jets. Again, my body was strained by G forces.

Impact foam had filled the cylinder after I’d been fired from Nostrum, so much so that I could barely move. My arms were pinned to my sides, and I hardly had room to cough.

The only instrumentation data amounted to displays inside my helmet. That fed me velocity, range and other info I couldn’t do anything about.

The capsule itself was like a tomb. For some of those who dropped today, it would literally become their coffin.

Almost without warning, the base of the capsule slammed into the satellite. Before I could get out, I felt something give under my feet—and I almost panicked.

Reflexively, I squeezed the handles that blew the capsule’s explosive bolts. The hatch flew away from me and rang against a distant surface.

Ripping away shreds of protective foam, it was like being born again. I staggered away from my capsule.

I was inside the factory. That had to be it. Above, a hole had been punched in the roof. Below me, a deep dent had been made in the deck, and my capsule smoked in the depression.

As I watched, the capsule began to drop deeper, having penetrated the deck under my feet.

I was just about to contact my platoon, when disaster struck. I was yanked forward, off my feet. It took me a second, but then I realized I hadn’t disconnected the emergency hoses that had attached my helmet to the capsule—damn, I wasn’t with it today.

Pulled prone on the deck, I was dragged toward the dark hole in it. I frantically slashed the connective tubes—and I was free.

I stood up again, panting. On my general unit channel, I relayed what I’d experienced. Normally, we landed on hard earth and didn’t have to worry about our capsules falling to lower decks. I wasn’t sure how many troops could hear me, or would understand the message, but I figured I’d try to pass it on.

“Is that you, McGill?” a voice crackled in my ear.

“Harris? Where are you?”

“Damned if I know. We punched through the hull and were driven like hammered nails down to what has to be the third deck. Hell of a thing.”

“Any contact from Winslade? Or Leeson?”

“Nothing—but I’ve got a fix on you now, you’re right above me.”

I got down on my belly and peered through the hole in the deck at my feet. Down there, I saw Harris and a few other troops. They all looked dazed.

Then a hulking figure appeared, bigger than all the rest. It was a heavy trooper. How had they squeezed him out of the drop cannons? I wasn’t sure—until I saw his oversized capsule. Apparently, they’d spent some money on upgrades to Nostrum I hadn’t been aware of.

We soon sorted out our platoons—what was left of them. Harris had twenty survivors, half of them human and half of them Blood Worlders. I, on the other hand, had fared worse. I had nine recruits and Veteran Moller left—that was it.

“Splat!” Harris said, laughing as he counted my troops. “You lost more than half! That’s pathetic.”

“Rough drop for first timers,” I said. “They didn’t all seem to get the part about popping out of their capsules the moment they landed. I figured we’ll pick up more as we go deeper.”

We both gathered up more men over the next ten minutes. That left each platoon short a few, but then we ran into a new problem.

We found Winslade and Leeson, who’d dropped with him. They were both as dead as doornails, as were most of the weaponeers and other specialists.

I reported in to Graves immediately.

“Apparently, sir,” I said, “it wasn’t their drop technique. They punched through the outer hull of the factory, but then they landed in a crucible of molten metals. It was just bad luck, I guess.”

“Shit…” Primus Graves said. “All right, you’ve got operational command of your unit. It’s at half-strength already, I might merge you up later.”

“Got it, sir. Any change to our mission parameters?”

“No. Advance to the crew quarters and secure it.”

“On it, Primus. McGill out.”

When I closed the channel, I looked up to see Harris giving me the evil eye.

“What?” I asked him.

“You planned that, didn’t you? You called in, and he gave you command over me!”

“Grow up, Harris. I’ve got seniority at the officer level anyway.”

“But not in total years of service! Not by a long shot.”

“You can call Graves and lodge a formal complaint—after we take our objective.”

Harris grumbled bitterly, but he followed me with his team of heavies. I knew he wouldn’t call Graves. He wouldn’t have gotten anywhere with that—we both knew it. Graves wasn’t overly concerned with petty squabbles between ranks. He wanted things done and done right now. That’s all he cared about.

The trouble with finding the crew quarters on this factory was it had been built by aliens. As humans were from Imperial territory, we were accustomed to working with markings, computer interfaces and equipment controls that looked a certain way.

This station was sized right, and it looked like humans could work here without a problem—but the aliens that built the place had their own ideas about things like signposts.

Every hatch had a cube above it. That cube was a different color on every side, and some of them lit up more than others. I could tell right away that this was their form of writing. The format impressed me, as it was very compact. All you had to do in order to derive information was study a single three-dimensional object.

“What the hell is that supposed to be?” Harris complained. “Some kind of colored light?”

“No,” I said, and I explained my theory.

Harris was alarmed. “I’m calling Natasha over here. There’s no way we can find our way through this maze following funky backlit cubes!”

Natasha was our smartest tech specialist. She joined us and studied the lit cubes.

“Such an ingenious system,” she marveled. “Think about the data compression! I see at least ten color variations, with six possible sides to display. That gives you ten to the sixth power—a million permutations right there. That’s just if you assume the colors aren’t being used more subtly. Then for added meaning, you’ve got some sides of each cube that are lit more brightly than the others. Emphasis? An accent? We can only—”

“Uh…” I said, interrupting. “Hey, that’s all great, but we need to know what these signs mean. Like, now.”

She looked at both of us, startled.

“I’ve got no idea. Not yet. I’d have to study them. Examine the contents of every locker, chamber or deck with a symbol above it. Then, when it’s all become input into a computer database, I’ll run an inference engine through it and—”

“Okay,” I said, sighing. “For right now, we’ve got no idea. We’re flying blind.”

“We can follow tradition and logic,” Natasha suggested. “The crew quarters should be in a safe region, one that’s centrally located with regards to the life support and workspaces.”

I extended both my arms and pointed in either direction down the passage.

“Which way?”

“Best guess?” she asked.

“Sure, if that’s all you’ve got.”

“Okay… head down stairways. Go that way, spinward around the planet. The radioactive regions are behind us—let’s leave those behind.”

We did as she suggested. What did we have to lose?

The station was huge. All over it, human troops were crawling like ants exploring a train-wreck. We’d damaged the outer hull with our landing pods, but the wounds weren’t fatal.

For the most part, the station seemed to run itself. But it couldn’t entirely be automated. There were too many signs of biotic habitation everywhere.

“Atmospherics?” I asked Natasha.

She shrugged, working her instruments. “We can breathe here. The O2 is a point or two on the low side, and the argon is high—but it’s not dangerous.”

“Good enough,” I said, opening my faceplate.

That was a mistake. The air was acrid. It put a funny taste in my mouth and my nostrils.

It wasn’t the argon, a gas you couldn’t really detect. It was the industrial waste. All these hot machines and boiling vats…

“Smells like Hell itself,” I said. “but I don’t think it’s poisonous. Unit, open masks and turn off respirators for now.”

They all did so, sniffing tentatively. Many coughed and grimaced, but they soon got used to it.

If we could breathe their air, we could save suit power and our oxygen supply. That would make us last longer if we needed it later.

We checked every room, every compartment. True to her word, Natasha catalogued the colored cubes and the contents behind them. Soon, a few patterns began to emerge.

“James,” Natasha said, forgetting to call me Adjunct in her excitement, “I’ve got some data points. Three pinks and any other combo is a small compartment, a storage locker. We can ignore those hatches.

“Good deal,” I said, and relayed the instructions to the rest of the troops. “What else?”

“Black seems to mean danger. Every time that color comes up, there’s an exposed electrical conduction system or a volatile chemical involved.”

“That just figures,” Harris complained, scowling.

Carlos laughed. He was working with Natasha doing biotic measurements looking for trace genetic material. “These aliens are clearly very perceptive. Right, Adjunct Harris?”

“Ortiz,” Harris ordered, “get back up to the front of the line with your fart-sniffing machine.”

Carlos scuttled off, and Natasha followed him.

When we were alone, Harris faced me. “This is hopeless. This complex has at least a thousand kilometers of passageways. We can’t even read their signs, and the place looks deserted.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “you’re right. But think: what if you were working on a huge industrial station and an alien ship showed up? Wouldn’t you sound an alarm, telling your workers to move to a safe location?”

“Maybe… But where?”

I slapped his shoulder plate with my gauntlet. “That’s what we’re supposed to find out!”

I marched off after Carlos and Natasha while Harris followed muttering foul words.

When I reached them, they’d stopped walking and were listening to something intently. It was their tappers.

Frowning, I leaned close. Was that a crying sound? A whimpering?

“Civilians?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” Carlos said. “Natasha is picking it up, but we can’t. The signal is faint.”

“Have you tried to talk to whoever is bawling on the radio?” I asked her.

Natasha waved me to silence. Reluctantly, I obeyed.

Turning up the volume, she let us all hear what she was hearing.

The sounds were disturbing—creepy, even. The sounds of a woman or a child, grieving quietly in the dark. I got a feeling of loneliness and despair.

“There’s no way to talk to them,” Natasha said. “It’s half-duplex. It’s like they’re broadcasting on a faint wavelength with the mic keyed open.”

The sounds went on and on. They sent a chill through me. Such unhappiness couldn’t last forever. Could it be a repeated recording?

Now and then, it faded, but soon it rose up again. It was like the distant song of a forgotten ghost locked in a closet.

“That’s just frigging weird,” Carlos said. “Turn it off.”

“No,” I said. “Triangulate. Give me a fix. We’ll head to the spot.”

Carlos looked at me in alarm. “Hey, big guy, let me give you a little advice.”

Carlos was only a specialist, but we’d been together since we’d joined Varus on the same day. Because of this, I let him get away with things the rest of the rank and file wouldn’t dream of.

“What?” I asked, knowing full well I was going to regret the question.

“Let our ghost-child go. Let it lure in some other sap.”

“You think that’s what it is? A ghost?”

“It’s a trap,” he said firmly. “Something created to demoralize us or to lure us closer.”

“Hmm,” I said, giving his thoughts actual credence. “You could be right, but it’s also the only damned lead we’ve got. We’re going to find it.”

Carlos sighed and shook his head. “I tried. I’ll always tell it that way. No one can convict me.”

-17-

My entire unit had broken up into small search parties, looking for whatever we could scare up. In my own case, I decided to take Carlos and Natasha along to investigate the odd signal Natasha’s computer was picking up. If we did find a person, it only made sense to have my chief medical and chief technical person with me.

While we were searching for the source of the odd crying sounds being broadcast from somewhere in the complex, we found the security center.

All around us, big displays showed what was happening. The cameras were small, we hadn’t even noticed them as we advanced through the passages. But the displays—they were perfect.

“Wow,” Carlos said, marveling. “This is better than a sensor-round ride back home.”

“You can see they’re intelligent,” Natasha said.

“Intelligent?” I asked. “Who do you mean, the aliens who run this thing?”

“Not just that—the cameras. They only pick up unusual activity. Watch.”

I did for a few moments, and I began to understand what she was talking about. The cameras weren’t just motion-sensitive. They didn’t bother to capture moments that were repetitive, such as the movement of large machinery. As a result, we were watching primarily images of our own troops moving around the complex, searching it.

“It’s all about us,” Carlos said.

“What about that signal?” I asked. “Where’s it coming from?”

Natasha worked to isolate and pinpoint the source. Attached to the security center, we found a set of detention cells.

“A prison,” Carlos said. “This just keeps getting better.”

I led them down deeper, into the brig. All the cells were open except for one. That single unit contained shreds of clothing—what looked like human clothing.

We couldn’t get into the cell, but I reached my long arms in through the bars. The rest of my search team stood around, making hissing sounds of distress. It was as if they expected something awful to grab onto me—but it didn’t.

Pulling back the clothes, I found a tapper, of all things.

Now, that’s a bad thing to find, all by itself. Our tappers are symbiotic. They live on us, and they feed on power from our body’s electrical fields. They can’t be ejected by pressing a button—they’re more than surgically implanted.

Dried blood, shreds of desiccated flesh and some stringy things I couldn’t identify dangled from the tapper. I pulled it back with the dress—because that’s what the scrap of clothing seemed to be—and presented it to Natasha and Carlos.

“They ripped out some girl’s tapper?” Carlos asked. “That is sick.”

“A human captive, here?” I asked. “Can you verify this, Natasha?”

She was working her equipment. Her lips were curled back, but she didn’t shy away. She took samples, ran them into tiny compartments in the tech computer in her ruck—and started nodding.

“The remains are human,” she said, wiping her face with the back of her wrist. I wasn’t sure if she was pushing off tears or sweat, and I didn’t have the heart to ask. “Female—not too badly decayed. She must have recorded this, and when her tapper tried to connect with ours, it broadcast the message.”

“A lot of good it will do us,” Carlos complained. “Sobbing? No words? That’s her last message?”

I cuffed him. Sometimes, I react physically, and this was one of those times.

“Have some respect for the dead, Ortiz,” I said. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll put your ass behind these bars and rip your tapper off with some pliers. Then we’ll see what your last will and testament sounds like.”

Grumbling, he sidled away.

Natasha was running more tests on the remains. “I think she is dead—but this is disturbing. I’m not getting a clear ID from this tapper.”

Suddenly, she turned to frown up at me. “James, I think this person—whoever she was—wasn’t from Earth. She doesn’t have a valid tapper ID.”

“Huh… no way to revive her, then. No way to find out who she was. A strange thing…”

“With all due respect, Adjunct,” Carlos said from a safe distance. “I think we should get the flying fuck out of here.”

I looked at him. “You’re probably right. But I’m not done looking around yet.”

We found a hatch that led below this level—and I marched down it.

“James,” Natasha called from behind me. “We’re getting pretty far from the rest of the unit.”

I looked back. Natasha and Carlos were still at the circular entrance of this latest, smaller passageway. They didn’t want to follow. They didn’t want to go any deeper, I could tell.

“Spooked, huh?” I asked. “All right. I’ll just trot down this way and see where this tunnel goes. After that, we’ll go back up. You two can hold onto your panties and sit at the entrance.”

They were annoyed, but not annoyed enough to follow me.

The passage was narrow. It was only about a meter and a half in diameter, and I had to hunch forward in order not to scrape my helmet on the ceiling.

At last, I reached a big pressure hatch, and I forced it open.

There, inside the chamber at the end of that long, weird tube, was a junction. A larger chamber that led off in several directions to other passages. Some of the other passages were much larger than the one I’d used to access this chamber.

In the center of the chamber was the power generator. It was a very alien-looking device. It spun constantly inside of a metal cage—but without actually moving physically. Instead, a ball of light whirled around on a spindle that looked like a shaft of diamond. The energy ball shot out bolts of power every second or so, like a storm caught inside a cage.

“Natasha, are you getting this?” I asked, talking into my tapper.

“I see—” Natasha said, then cut out with static, “—possibly dangerous.”

“Yep. Looks deadly to me.”

“That’s definitely a power generator,” Natasha said in my ear. She was reading my vid feed and watching my every move from a safe distance. “I can’t fathom how it works from here—but I’d love to run tests on it.”

“You’re welcome to come on down here and investigate.”

“Hold on a second,” Carlos interjected. “I’ve got a message from Graves. It says we’re all to report back to the main decks. We’ve got incoming hostiles.”

“What?” I complained. “Did you just phone up Graves and tattle on me, Ortiz?”

“I’m sorry sir, I’m not reading you clearly. Should I forward a shot of your middle finger to the primus? I’ve got one on file, here…”

“You chicken-shit,” I complained. “Natasha, is Carlos full of crap or what?”

“Specialist Ortiz is indeed exploding with excrement, sir,” she said. “But in this case, he’s right. Graves is recalling all scouting parties. We’ve got assault ships inbound from the planet below.”

“Dammit,” I said, and I rushed out of the chamber. “You guys return to the unit back the way we came. I’ll meet up with you soon enough—I’m taking a different route back.”

“You’re just not going to be happy until you die down here, are you, McGill?” Carlos asked.

“That’s right,” I admitted, and I closed the channel.

Finding a much larger passage, I was able to move faster. Bounding along in low-G, I raced back to the upper decks. Taking a different route allowed me to do more scouting, too. I took photos of strange rooms and once I even found remains of a dead Vulbite.

Taking a quick snap of that, I relayed it up my chain of command. I got a call back from Primus Graves—but it wasn’t a personal chat line. It was a message broadcast to everyone in the cohort who was able to access command chat. Apparently, I’d gotten close enough to the legion routers to pick up messages like this again.

“Listen up, officers,” Graves said. “We’ve got inbound hostiles. ETA six minutes. They’re coming up from the planet, and their ships are moving too fast for Nostrum’s broadsides to lock onto. Turov has opted not to fire as the fusion shells would likely miss and hit either the factory or the planet itself.”

That made sense to me. Nostrum’s weaponry was built to either knock out an enemy capital ship or destroy a planet. We didn’t have much in the way of armament designed to surgically take out small ships at range.

Moving as fast as I could, I bounced along the passages back to my unit. Each flying leap caused my helmet to scrape and squeak on the ceiling, slowing me down. I cursed and tried to time it all perfectly, but it was hard. I wasn’t used to the low-G environment yet.

-18-

When I made it back to my unit, I motioned wildly to Veteran Moller.

She approached, and I shared the feed from Graves with her. As Graves talked, her eyes widened in alarm.

“We can only assume,” he said, “that these assault ships are part of a counter-invasion force sent to repel us. Reports are the ships are full of Vulbites. That’s not confirmed yet, but several sightings support the idea.”

I wanted to speak up and ask questions, but there were too many people listening in, so I kept my mouth shut for now. Let him finish, I told myself.

What I did do was motion to Moller again.

“Gather up everyone,” I ordered her. “Pull in all our scouts. We’re changing plans.”

Nodding, she rushed off and began bellowing orders at her startled recruits.

“The third cohort,” Graves continued, “is hereby ordered to shelve our previous search-and-secure mission. We’re moving out onto the outer hull, to the superstructure in open space. We’ve got the space-docks covered by another cohort, so don’t worry about them slipping in that way. The enemy forces will have to land and crawl into any available hatch—but to do that they’ll have to get past us first.”

My lower jaw jutted out in thought. The plan seemed like a good one. It looked like the aliens had evacuated the complex when they saw us coming, and we’d snatched the entire orbital structure by surprise.

But now the enemy was finally in the game. They’d mobilized their troops and began staging a counterattack. There was going to be resistance after all.

“This is what we get paid for,” Graves said. “Don’t let a single enemy trooper sneak aboard our prize. You now have fifteen minutes left to deploy on the roof. Graves out.”

My helmet had lit up inside with new mapping information and waypoints for my team to reach. It was pretty general, and the map was blank in a lot of places, but we definitely had to backtrack several decks upward.

Natasha grabbed my arm at that moment. Her eyes showed amazement.

“James, I can’t believe you made it back here before we did.”

“I’ll tell you all about it sometime. For now, we’re going up onto the roof. Check your HUD.”

Natasha did, and she cursed aloud. That wasn’t the norm for her, but I understood. I’d relayed the predicted enemy landing points and our defensive line graphics to her.

“We don’t have time to get up there and set up an effective defense.”

“Not if we keep standing around here jawing,” I agreed.

Moller and I got people moving, but our redeployment wasn’t going as fast as I’d have liked. Many exploratory teams hadn’t returned yet.

Harris rushed up to me a few minutes later. “McGill,” he said, “I’ve got all my people back here.”

He did, too. A dozen or so hulking giants were wandering in to stand behind him, and armored men clustered behind that.

“Where’s the squid?” I asked him.

“Silt? He’s somewhere…”

“Sub-Veteran Silt!” I called out over unit chat. “Show yourself, or I’ll have to call you AWOL!”

Silt drifted into the chamber. In the low artificial gravity fields, it was easy for him to glide around almost like he was swimming.

“What are your orders, Adjunct?” he said.

“You’re staying with me. Sargon, you’re staying with me too—three steps behind Silt, here.”

Sargon had survived Leeson’s deadly fall into the crucible and had joined our platoon. He had a belcher and a sour attitude to go with it.

I caught his eye, and I nodded toward the squid.

“Sure thing, sir,” he said, and he moved behind Silt.

Sargon had been at my side for so many years, I barely had to give him specifics. Sometimes, just a look and a nod was good enough for us to communicate. In this case, I didn’t trust Silt, and he knew it.

That was just fine with Sargon. There was no way he’d ever trust any squid—unless that squid was already dead, and maybe not even then.

Silt’s eyes slid to track Sargon then came back to me.

“What is it I can do for you, Adjunct?” he said.

“You can guide me and the remains of my unit. Get us up onto the roof of this structure as fast as possible. Check your data stream for details.”

I relayed Grant’s mapping data to him.

“The exterior? I see…” he said. “We’ll be on the side facing the planet surface. That will leave us vulnerable to enemy cannons.”

“Whatever,” Harris said, losing patience. “Can you get us there in… four minutes?”

“Yes,” Silt said.

Then, bunching his thick tentacles, he sprang away. He shot off, gliding vertically to the ceiling of the chamber we were in.

“Now, Adjunct?” Moller demanded.

“Now!” I ordered.

“Magnetics off!” Moller shouted.

In unison, we turned off our magnetic boots and sprang after the squid. Legion Varus troops like Harris and I were experienced spacers. We weren’t as smooth with null-G maneuvers as a squid—but we were pretty damned good.

But the same couldn’t be said for our fresh recruits or our heavy troopers. They all preferred the feel of something solid—like a ship’s deck—under their boots.

All of the experienced Varus officers and noncoms flew like birds. We didn’t hesitate, or tumble.

In a surprised rush, the recruits and heavy troopers tried to follow. Some of them did pretty well. Cooper, for example, managed a controlled swan dive, with his hands stretched out on either side of him.

The heavy troopers were the worst. They moved like falling boulders. They didn’t flail, but instead sort of hunkered into a ball, often spinning slowly. When they hit the upper part of the chamber, they landed on their heads, sides or feet at random.

Sad it was for the light trooper who didn’t skitter out of the way fast enough when they came sailing in. A few cries of pain were heard, and none of the heavies apologized for crushing my lights.

There wasn’t time for recriminations. Silt was still on the move. He’d levered open a hatch and vanished into it.

I was right on his tail, along with Sargon and Harris.

Turning to Harris and Moller, I nodded to the clown-posse of noobs on our tail. “Ride herd on them. Don’t let them straggle.”

Then, with a nod to Sargon, I launched myself into the hatchway. We were hard on Silt’s tail—or rather, his aft tentacles.

Once, after taking two or three more rapid turns, Silt glanced back.

Sargon and I were right there. He paused, as if surprised.

“Do you wish me to slow down?” he asked.

“If I do, I’ll give you the order.”

One of those trailing tentacles twitched. Was that annoyance? Some latent desire to reach out and slap this irritating human? I wasn’t sure, but Silt turned away again and swam higher, heading toward the outer decks.

After a bewildering series of hatches, passages, and wide open chambers, we finally reached a large airlock.

“Open space lies beyond,” Silt said. “Should I open it?”

“It’s pressurized in here,” I said. “We’ll be sucked outside.”

The squid rippled his dangling limbs. I’d learned this was a sign of unconcern on his part, a Cephalopod shrug.

“Boss?” Sargon said. “When the unit comes in here, we’ll have to cycle through that airlock. We’ve only got about a minute left. I don’t think we’ll have the defensive line organized before the enemy shuttles get here.”

“Yeah…” I said. “All right, hang on. Silt, blow both doors.”

Looking mildly surprised, the squid tapped a sequence of buttons.

Right then, I realized something. Silt had been here before. Either that or he knew how to operate this equipment because the interface was familiar. It hadn’t occurred to me to mine him for information as he’d been part of Harris’ command.

I made a mental note to ask him about the colored cubes and a half dozen other things later on—when we weren’t about to go into a pitched battle.

The door shunted open with shocking speed, and the released air sucked at our bodies hard—but the effect was brief.

One recruit was caught by surprise, however. Our first light trooper came up into the chamber just as the doors opened.

Taken by surprise, Cooper was propelled by an explosive gust of air. He went flailing by.

“Snag him, somebody!” I shouted.

We all reached, but only one of us had the length of limb to do the job. Silt caught one ankle, and Cooper slammed into the steel bulkhead with bone-cracking force.

The pressure had equalized by now, and I gestured to Silt, who tossed Cooper toward me carelessly.

I caught the kid and checked him out, frowning. His helmet had a star-like crack, but it was intact. His face—he wore a comically shocked expression.

“Ha,” I laughed. “You still with us, Cooper?”

“Uh… yessir. I think so. I might have cracked a rib—but I’m alive.”’

“Good to hear. I like your spunk. You’re going to scout the exterior hull for me—right now.”

He moved painfully at first, but soon he was crawling over the metal hatch like a spider. He was back in the game.

Mean, but tough… Part of me liked the kid. Sure, he was the biggest asshole I’d met since Carlos, but he had spirit.

While he scrambled outside in the blue-gray light of the planet, the chamber behind us filled with troops. The heavies came in last, squeezing their bulk past the hatchways, looking like grown men negotiating tunnels made for children.

I saw a flash outside.

“Cooper!” I shouted. “Report!”

Silence returned to me. I remembered his broken antennae—maybe the kid was having trouble with his com system through the thick hull.

“Silt, can you see him?”

The squid gave me an unpleasant stare. “Not without exposing myself.”

“Expose yourself, then. Briefly.”

Squids are big and bulky aliens, but in space or water, they’re pretty fast-moving and even graceful. They only seemed to move with lumbering slowness when they were on dry land under the solid tug of gravity.

Silt lunged past us into the open air lock. After about two seconds, he returned again. He trailed Cooper’s broken body behind him.

Cooper no longer had to worry about his broken antenna, his starred faceplate—or much of anything else. His head had been burned clean off.

His neck was a charred-black stump. That’s all he had left of his most important appendage.

-19-

My light troopers were scared. I couldn’t blame them, what with Cooper’s beheaded corpse drifting around in the middle of the chamber we were hiding in.

“Looks like we have company,” I announced. “Natasha, relay the contact report to Graves.”

“Aren’t you going to ask him what to do next?” she asked. “We’re pinned in here.”

I looked at her, startled. “Nope. I know what he’ll say: ‘get yourself unpinned’ or something equally helpful.”

“What are we going to do, then?” Harris asked.

For two quick seconds, I thought about it.

I’ve never claimed to be a smart man, but even an average man often has natural areas of expertise. One of my specialties, developed over many years, was a good feel for small unit tactics.

“Light troops, gather up!” I shouted.

Moller herded her charges forward, and they were soon clustered all around the open airlock like rabbits hunkered down in a hole.

“You’re just going to send them up there in a surge?” Harris asked, sounding doubtful.

The light troopers were all fresh recruits, and they looked like they were shitting in their pressure suits.

“Nope,” I said. “Not exactly. Get your heavy troopers to gather farther back. They’re wave two.”

“Wave two?” Harris asked, spitting the words. “You’re gonna lose them all at once in a single flash of glory? Is that it?”

“Shut up,” I said without anger.

I was watching what we could see of the hull outside. “Natasha, send out your buzzers.”

“Already done,” she said, and she relayed her data stream.

I watched, but I didn’t see much. A dozen or so drone bugs were crawling over the skin of the ship. They couldn’t fly—at least not easily, as they had wings and there wasn’t any air out there. What little propellant they carried would be wasted fast if I had them use it.

“Send one high,” I ordered.

She did, and I watched as it did a slow panning spin.

The scene outside was mostly dark. A few areas were catching the dim sunlight of the brown dwarf, which really looked more like a reddish coal in a dying fire. The planet reflected some light up too, as it was “day” down there and the cloud cover was bouncing a few rays up to us.

For a few seconds, I didn’t see anything other than the usual external clusters of nozzles, vents, hatches and the like.

Then, during the buzzer’s second slow, panning spin, I caught sight of movement. The motion vanished a second later, and the equipment-festooned surface appeared empty again.

“Freeze that image, right there,” I ordered Natasha.

She did so deftly. Then she enhanced the few frames we’d caught and redistributed her new version.

“Is that some kind of flat-worm?” Harris said in disgust.

“No…” I said, thinking about where I’d seen these things before. “No… they’re Vulbites. They must be cloaked.”

Back on Blood World, I’d met several species in combat that were new to me. Among them were Vulbites. Big insectile creatures, they were centipedes the size of tigers.

“I remember those sneaky pricks,” Harris said. “That’s why we can’t see them. They’re probably cloaked, crawling all over the hull, waiting for us to come out to play.”

“Right…” I said, thinking hard.

“What are we going to do?” Carlos asked me. He’d drifted up from somewhere in the back. “They’ll get in close and drop a charge in here soon. They know we’re here.”

He had a point. We’d expelled a lot of gas and fed Cooper to them. They had to be closing in.

“Wait,” I said, watching the buzzer feed closely. “Don’t attack until my signal, then the lights will spring up with the heavy troopers right behind them.”

We waited a full minute. Natasha’s buzzer still spun, and I watched for signs—but I saw nothing.

“McGill?” Graves voice was in my ear.

I cursed quietly and opened a channel. I kept my eyes glued to the buzzer’s feed.

“Yessir!” I reported back to Graves.

“What’s the goddamned hold up? I can see you’ve reached the outer hull. Only two others have made it that far—and you’re just squatting in cover.”

I angled my tapper to give Graves a good view of Cooper’s corpse. It was slowly bouncing along the bottom of the chamber.

“We’ve made contact, sir.”

“You’re orders are to defend that region. Don’t let them into this complex, McGill.”

“I’m on it, sir.”

Graves grunted unhappily, but he stopped short of ordering me to attack immediately. I’d hoped he’d give me some leeway. In Legion Varus, the general rule in such engagements was to give the commander in the field the right to follow his orders with whatever edits he felt were necessary. If the higher-ups didn’t like how a commander handled things, they could relieve him of command and find someone better.

Graves finally disconnected with a growl. It was a relief, really. It was hard to pay attention to him and watch the buzzer feed like a hawk at the same time.

One more minute passed before things broke. By then, the enemy force had to be close at hand. They could move stealthed, but if they attacked us they would be visible—at least briefly.

Back on Blood World, they’d engaged us with large swords. But here in space, that wasn’t really feasible. You couldn’t get leverage for a powerful strike without some decent gravity.

At last, I saw what I was looking for.

It wasn’t a Vulbite. No glint of a sword or a shimmer of moving feet gave them away.

What happened instead was another unit—probably the fifth, which according to my tactical maps had reached their contact point—decided to deploy in a rush.

A large team of lights went out first, taking the lead. There were at least thirty of them, and I envied their commander for having a full strength unit. They bubbled out of a hatch about a hundred meters away and spread out, advancing.

I thought about warning them, but it was too late. Maybe they knew what we were up against, anyway, as I’d shared my buzzer feed with the whole cohort.

Thirty seconds after they made their move, the Vulbites answered it. The invaders shed their cloaks and opened fire in unison.

The light troops, taken by surprise, were hammered with bolts of plasma. The bolts were visible when they struck metal, which was everywhere. Light troopers exploded, firing puffs of pink steam out of their backs, which immediately froze into vaporous ice crystals.

“Now!” I roared. “Lights up, engage immediately, full-auto!”

The other unit that had been surprised had hunkered down and begun to return fire, but they weren’t having much luck. The Vulbites outnumbered them, had the drop on them, and possessed superior weapons and training. A few Vulbites pitched into space, flailing—but not many.

My own lights advanced with speed. I had to give them that—they had heart. The poor kids had to be terrified, but they were still game.

Telling green troops to unload with a snap-rifle always ended with the same spectacular results. The Vulbite line was caught from the flank, having turned away from our lifeless hole to face the enemy at hand.

Several were shot to pieces—then my heavy troopers crawled up out of our hole.

I followed them with Sargon, my officers, and the armored troops bringing up the rear.

We fell on the Vulbites, and they tried to escape. Some wrapped themselves back up in their silvery, net-like stealth cloaks. Others got down low, legs churning, and scuttled for cover.

But it didn’t do them much good. We shot the ones that had cloaked by spraying the area with fire. It was hard to cover oneself in a mesh blanket while under a hail of incoming bullets. Really, we were spraying for all we were worth.

A few of them might have managed to float or sneak away—but not many. We killed most of them by advancing from two sides, my unit and the other across from me, cleansing the hull of the enemy.

After the battle was over, a stocky centurion walked over to greet me. He was a man named Manfred, and I liked him. We clasped gauntlets briefly.

“Adjunct McGill?” he asked. “Where’s Winslade?”

“Died in the drop, sir.”

Manfred laughed. “I’m not surprised. That walking puke-bag has been in the service nearly thirty years, and he still splats on combat jumps. They should never have given your unit to that loser.”

“Um… thank you, sir.”

He looked at me. “Don’t sir me. You earned centurion once, and you’ll earn it again.”

“Thanks… Centurion.”

I caught a flash of a smile through his faceplate. “We’re proceeding to point,” he told me. “You report this action to Graves. Go ahead and leave my name out of it.”

Manfred swaggered away, and I smiled after him. He was the opposite of some officers. Far from being a glory-hound, he liked to see credit bestowed where it was due.

Taking his suggestion, I reported directly to Graves.

“Good deal,” Graves said. “Yes… I can see you’re finally at your waypoint. Vulbites, you say? All our reports have been confirmed. Makes sense anyway—but not in a good way. The Rigellians must know about this facility, and apparently, they beat us out here.”

“I agree, sir,” I said. “I would guess the Vulbite troops are fighting for the Rigellians, and they’ve already taken over this planet. The Vulbites are probably their local garrison.”

“Right… That’s got to go up to Turov. We’ll call in reinforcements. Hopefully, ours will get here before theirs can.”

“Reinforcements, sir? The legion is already deployed.”

“That was a misstatement, McGill. Forget you heard that.”

“Heard what, sir? My helmet is buzzing.”

“Good. Graves out.”

For several minutes we spread out over the hull, but I didn’t put all my troops out there on the exposed surface. Over half went back down into the chamber below. After all, we didn’t know what the enemy might throw at us next.

I wondered briefly about what reinforcements Graves had been talking about—but not too much. I’d find out soon enough.

-20-

For nearly a half hour, we remained at our post, uneasy but unmolested.

“They can’t have given up so easily,” Harris said for about the fifteenth time.

I glanced at him as I put my back against a large flange of twisted metal that resembled a blown-up water tower.

“I doubt they have—but who knows? We’ve got ten thousand troops, they’ve got an entire planet. They might have more assault shuttles, or they might not. We’ll see.”

“A worldwide garrison has to be bigger than our legion,” Harris fretted, staring down at the dark planet below. “I hate this place already,” he said with feeling.

“When have you ever liked a planet we’ve invaded?”

“I liked Death World, kind of. Until those massive plants started eating us for snacks.”

We laughed, sharing an old memory.

Just then, I thought I saw a flicker. I snatched up my rifle, figuring the Vulbites might be back. They could move in stealth with their odd technology. We’d tried to duplicate it on Earth, but we’d failed thus far.

Looking this way and that, I didn’t see anything, but I remained tense.

“Harris? Did you see that? Looked like a flash of light.”

Harris didn’t answer. He was in an odd pose, languishing on his back. I heard a bubbling sound on my com box.

Then, tuning into unit-wide chat, I heard several similar examples. Low moans, the sounds of labored breathing and great pain.

“We’ve been hit hard!” I shouted. “If you’re able, retreat into the hatch!”

A few troops dove for the yawning hole. One heavy trooper lumbered by, his magnetic boots sticking with every clumsy step.

But before he could dive to safety, the sky lit up again. It was like the flicker of lightning—distant, silent lightning.

The heavy trooper began to smoke. His back had been seared, melting his suit and his air hoses. Vapor exploded under pressure, and he began to flip and convulse like a granddaddy bass in the bottom of a fisherman’s boat.

I grabbed him, pulling his vast bulk after me. If I hadn’t been in a nearly weightless environment, I never could have managed it.

Hauling my heavy trooper behind me, I joined dozens of others as we dove down into the darkness.

“Close the hatch!” I ordered when everyone who wasn’t registering as dead on my HUD was inside.

The hatch closed and the air began to cycle back into the chamber, re-pressurizing it.

“What the hell was that?” Carlos panted, popping open his face plate. Plumes of mist flowed from his face with every word.

He began working on the man I’d brought in immediately—Carlos was our unit bio.

“Probably some kind of long-range antipersonnel beam,” I said. “It got Harris.”

“What are your orders, Adjunct McGill?” Silt asked me.

The heavy troopers were sulking. They looked at the man I’d dragged behind me. He was one of their brothers, I realized.

I nodded to Carlos. “See if you can keep him alive.”

“Wouldn’t it be just as well to finish him?” Silt asked.

The heavy troopers were watching this interaction, and they gathered around to stare at Carlos as he worked on their fallen comrade.

“You know them best,” I said. “You can make that call, Silt. Snuff him out if you think you should.”

I stood up and backed away, making a welcoming gesture to the Cephalopod. Silt ruffled a bit, a clear sign of irritation.

Was the squid trying to get me to upset the heavy troopers? I wasn’t sure. These guys all thought like aliens from my perspective. It was hard to decipher what was what with any of them.

But I was certain that watching me kill one of their men wouldn’t be a good thing for morale, so I passed on the suggestion.

Silt passed as well. He glided away to check on other things.

Carlos watched him go.

I gave him a quick hand-gesture, meaning what’s the deal? We’d started doing that more often lately, as the heavy troopers came from a very different culture, and they never understood these subtle communications.

Carlos lifted one hand, thumb out. He began to turn it downward, but then reversed it and gave me a thumbs-up. The heavy trooper was going to live.

“He’s tougher than a regular human,” Carlos said. “I sprayed him down with nu-skin like it was going out of style, and the wounds have sealed. I think either of us would have gone into shock and required critical care.”

While he spoke, the heavy trooper rustled. Slowly, he got to his knees, and then to his feet. He wobbled a bit.

I thought about reaching out to steady him, but I stopped myself. His own brothers weren’t touching him. Maybe by their rules that would dishonor him, or prove he was still weak.

So I didn’t touch him, and when Carlos reached for his massive elbow I yanked him back.

“Let the man stand on his own two feet! You see that? He’s okay! He’s good to fight!”

I started slamming my gauntlets together, clapping loudly. These littermates knew enough of our strange ways to understand it was a compliment. They soon joined in, clumsily beating their catcher-mitt-sized hands together.

For the first time, the faces of the heavy troopers lit up. I could tell they were relieved. I wouldn’t say they were happy, exactly. I wouldn’t even say they smiled, because they didn’t. But for them, it was like a standing ovation.

The injured man limped away and found some food and drink. He sat painfully and consumed it. His eyes were glassy, but he wasn’t passing out.

“Good enough!” I said. “We won the day!”

All of my troops looked at me in surprise at these words. I was pretty sure they all figured we’d gotten our asses whooped—but that isn’t how I read things.

“Look,” I said. “We took this station, they counterattacked, but we held. That’s called winning. Sure, we got our noses slapped a little, but that’s to be expected. This is a war, after all.”

There was some ragged cheering. I could tell they didn’t feel like winners. I walked around handing out praise and sounding cheerful. The stack of half-roasted corpses we’d dragged down from the exterior hull—those who hadn’t survived—I studiously ignored.

Carlos came near after a few minutes, and he grinned at me.

“Noses slapped?” he asked. “It’s more like we’re still trying to pull Vulbite boots out of our collective butt-cracks.”

“Hush!” I told him. “These troops are green. They need a little morale-building.”

“Why didn’t you just tell them not to worry, that they’d catch a revive if they died?”

“Because recruits never respond well to that kind of line. Hell, no one does. People don’t like dying.”

“So I noticed.”

He walked off then, and I looked for Natasha. Sadly, I soon figured out she was among the dead.

Several hours passed, and I got word that reinforcements were trickling back to our front lines from Nostrum. The first evidence of this came dramatically about six hours after we’d initially set boots down on this frigging space-factory.

“McGill!” a familiar voice boomed.

I lurched and snorted awake. I’d nodded off while leaning back against a wall.

“Primus Graves?” I asked, looking around and sniffing.

Climbing to my feet, I noticed he had a small army behind him. The most significant of these included a party of nine fresh littermates. They were heavy troopers, outfitted and ready to go.

Only, I could tell right away they weren’t ready for action. I hadn’t trained them for a month aboard Nostrum—no one had.

“Harris, Winslade, Leeson,” Graves said, “they’re all coming out of the revival queue soon. They’ll move here to reinforce your position.”

“Okay…” I said, and I wanted to ask about the littermates who were missing their brothers—but I didn’t dare. Instead, I dodged. “How’d you get down here so fast? And what’s this team of noobs for?”

Graves cinched up his brow. “They’re your reinforcements. Put them in Harris’ team and crunch down your existing heavy troops into one group.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the Blood Worlders. They were listening without comment, as usual.

“Uh…” I said. “I don’t know about that, sir. I’ve got five from one group, and six from another. That’s eleven who don’t know each other, plus these nine.”

“So what?” Graves asked. “We’ll sort them all out when this campaign is over. Tell them that, and line them up.”

The new guys behind Graves were looking stern, but bewildered. I got the feeling they were fresh off the training fields, either from Earth’s camp up in Nova Scotia or from Blood World itself.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” I said, “but I suspect these men haven’t been trained in the ways of Legion Varus yet.”

“That’s where you come in. Stop complaining. We set up a pipeline from Earth to Nostrum, and now we’ve got a gateway down from the ship to this station.”

“I get that, sir, but—”

“Listen, McGill,” Graves said, taking a step closer and lowering his voice. “Am I going to get grief from you? I don’t need any of that. Not today—not any day.”

Sighing, I nodded. “Got it, sir. Don’t worry about a thing, we’ll make do.”

“Good. More reinforcements will be trickling back. Take a break—unless the enemy shows up again.”

“So… it’s confirmed?” I asked. “We completely kicked them off the complex?”

“As far as we can tell we have. This place is strange—and huge. Who knows what might be hiding deep inside this maze of passages and chambers?”

I thought about the remains of the human prisoner we’d found. Who had she been, and how had she come to be all the way out here in deep space? I didn’t know. This place had its secrets.

Graves left and moved on, taking a long column of troops with him. He was apparently dropping some off at every post that had suffered losses against the Vulbites.

Shortly after that, all of our officers returned. I was glad to see everyone—except Winslade.

“So,” he said, swaggering up to me. “You survived the first round, McGill?”

“I did indeed, sir.”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised. You’re a cockroach of a man.”

The heavy troopers listened. The guys who’d been with me since I’d left Earth stood a little closer to me as they listened in on our conversation. I wouldn’t have noticed, except for the fact they were about three meters tall.

But when Harris showed up, they stopped crowding around. Harris shouted at them and the new guys as well. He made them line up, get counted, and individually report their status.

Carlos sidled up while this went on. “At least you don’t have to play mother-duck anymore.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “These guys need direction, and they know it.”

“More like they’re clueless retards who—”

I slapped him one on the back of the helmet. It was reflex. I didn’t like one of my men putting down the rest.

“What the hell?” he asked, rubbing the back of his head. “That’s the second time you smacked me in twenty four hours. Have you gone sweet on these meatballs?”

Meatball was a term I was hearing more and more often. It was an unfortunate reality in every military organization that the troops would, sooner or later, invent derogatory terms for any and all subgroups. “Meatball” had become the word of choice in regards to the heavy troopers from Blood World.

“They fight hard,” I told him, “they follow orders, and they die like the rest of us. In fact, they’re more likely to get permed than you are, so I respect their sacrifice all the more.”

Carlos had been at my side for decades. During that time, I don’t think he’d learned as much as he should have, but I had noticed he’d come to understand when an officer was pissed off at him.

Rubbing the back of his head, he walked off sullenly, muttering something about me having strange bunk-mates.

Pretending I hadn’t heard him, I turned back to the other officers.

Adjunct Leeson sought me out first. He was a little on the shorter side, balding, and opinionated.

“This planet sucks so hard,” he told me. “You’re the luckiest bastard I know of on Dark World.”

That’s what people had begun calling it: Dark World. Part of the reason for the name was the dim sun, but on top of that the planet itself looked dark all the time. It appeared to be in perpetual twilight. The purply night side was facing us right now, and I had to admit it looked pretty damned dark down there.

“Um…” I said. “How do you figure I’m lucky?”

“Did you hear about our drop?”

“Just that you punched through the hull and splashed down in the middle of some kind of molten metal.”

Leeson made a hissing sound, closing his eyes and remembering. “That’s right. Only, it was more like landing in lava. Just imagine, you’re cruising down on the drop, homing your capsule in on Winslade, our finest.”

“Yeah…”

“And so, BOOM! We cracked right through the skin of this giant titanium outhouse! Winslade planned that, see? He didn’t set our retros to fire as we approached the skin of the factory structure. He figured he’d be smart and grab some glory. So, he set our drop-pods not to fire the retros until they made actual contact.”

“Ouch…” I said. I hadn’t known the disaster was so directly attributable to Winslade.

“At that point,” Leeson continued, “we were going too damned fast, so WHAM! We punched right through the roof.”

“And down into a pool of molten metal…”

“Damn straight! But here comes the bad part: Sure, we knew at that point we were dead. It was hopeless—but the frigging drop-pods didn’t get it. They tried to keep us alive. They’re on automatic, you know.”

“Oh…” I said, visualizing the scene.

The drop-pods were built to resist heat. They could take a lot of it, being built with outer layers that burned off as they fell through the atmosphere of a target world.

“Yeah…” Leeson said, eyeing me. “I can see you’re getting the picture. We were trapped in those damned coffins with the outer insulation slowly burning off. We were broiled, McGill. Cooked like one of those barbecued meats you bury in a pit of hot coals—only we were burned alive.”

“More like lobster, then.”

He squinted at me after this comment. “You think it’s all funny? Just a big joke?”

“Uh… no.”

In truth, the thought of it almost gave me a shiver. I’ve died a lot of ways, some worse than others—but I’d never been cooked. Not to the best of my knowledge, anyway.

“I’m sorry to hear about that mess,” I told him seriously.

“It’s okay,” Leeson said, getting over his anger quickly. “Wasn’t your fault.” He studied my boots for a moment. “You haven’t heard anything, have you?”

“About what?”

He tossed a hateful glance at Winslade’s back. “About command changes.”

I followed his look, and I thought about the situation. Finally, I caught on.

“Uh…” I said, “are you wondering if my rank has been reinstated?”

“Yeah, dammit. What about it? I heard Graves came through here just a half hour ago.”

It was nice to have a man who was hoping I’d get my rank back. In his own way, Leeson was paying me a big compliment.

“The topic didn’t come up,” I said, recalling that Graves had been annoyed with me. I left that part out.

“Okay. Okay… but listen: don’t screw up anymore on this mission. You got that? We need you running this unit again.”

Leeson stalked off, and I thought his words over.

I wasn’t sure I could manage it. I was already entertaining ideas of doing things that were unsanctioned at best.

Shrugging, I went to find some food. The reinforcements had brought good rations and camping equipment down with them, at least.

I figured I’d just play everything by ear. After all, that’s pretty much what I always did.

-21-

After I’d eaten and found a place to anchor my sleeping bag, I settled in for the night.

Sleeping in null-G is hard for some people, I hear, but not for me. I kind of liked it. The sensation was like that of floating on a raft. Recruits often felt out of control and jumpy—but I just drifted and snored.

Command chat woke me up a few hours later.

“Cohort! We’ve got incoming!” Graves said.

For safety reasons, we were sleeping with our helmets on. That wasn’t terribly comfortable, but if the station suddenly lost pressure, all we had to do was slam down our visors, and we’d be able to keep on breathing.

Reflexively, I did just that. Graves’ voice continued speaking in my ears as I groaned and stretched.

“The Vulbites are taking another shot at us,” he said. “This time, they’re coming up the umbilical.”

Like most large permanent space structures, the space-dock had a thick, hollow cable anchoring it above a single location. The space-dock was in orbit, but it moved at the same speed the planet rotated. That meant the structure was always above one fixed spot on the world below.

“Can’t we just destroy the umbilical?” I heard a voice ask on command chat.

It was Centurion Manfred. He wasn’t a man who could keep quiet long if he had a question. If I hadn’t lost my rank, I would have asked the same thing.

“No,” Graves said. “That would impair the operation of this facility. Most of this factory’s raw materials come up from the planet it’s anchored to. If you destroy that…”

He didn’t need to tell us anything more. Many of us had served on Tech World when a heavily populated orbital city had been disconnected from its anchoring planet. The results had been memorable—and disastrous.

“I’m patching in Tribune Turov,” Graves said. “She’ll lay out the overall battle plan. If any of you feel like speaking up, don’t bother. I’ve put you all on mute.”

The channel scratched and beeped for a few seconds before Turov came on the line.

“We’re setting up a defensive perimeter in the docking area,” she said. “Cohorts four, six and seven are to advance and encircle the loading bays. The rest of you maintain your positions for now. Turov out.”

As we were the third unit in the third cohort, I felt some relief. We were to maintain our post.

Harris signaled me, and I looked at him.

“That was unusual,” he said. “Maybe this attack is a bad one.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” I said. “That short, to-the-point set of commands from Turov surprises me. She usually likes to give long, drawn-out, moralizing speeches that totally waste—”

Our conversation was interrupted as the channel crackled back into life again.

“I’m reopening the legion-wide command channel,” Turov said, “but I’ve removed the three cohorts I’ve activated so as not to distract them.”

“Damn, I should have known,” Harris groaned aloud.

“I’ve overheard several conversations,” Turov continued, “indicating wrong-headed thinking among the rank and file. This enemy is NOT in the right.”

Harris and I looked at each other and shrugged. We certainly hadn’t felt any special sympathy for these overgrown centipedes.

“The Vulbites are mere servants to the mysterious Rigellians. They’re squatters here, entitled to nothing. In fact, this territory was ceded to Earth six years ago at the end of the Cephalopod War.”

Damn. Had it really been six years already? Time sure flew by when you kept fighting and dying on different planets.

“These Rigellians are cowards,” Turov said, and I sensed she was winding up for a full-blown speech. “Have any of you wondered why we haven’t seen them yet? They don’t like to fight their own wars. Their troops are never volunteers. They’re mercenaries at best, slaves at worst.”

“If that’s not the pot calling the kettle black,” I said.

Harris gave me a funny look, but then he got it. “You mean because we’re mercenaries, right? Or because these Blood Worlders are… um…”

“Right!” I said. “We got both.”

I tuned back into Turov’s speech, because she wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

“…absolutely no respect for their troops, not even their officers. Even those among them who command their servant troops are considered low-caste. The Rigellians sneer at military people of every kind—including us.”

That was different, I had to admit. Back on Earth, people generally liked the legions. They even had their favorites. Some officers had trading cards, online followings and public appearances that went beyond just recruitment drives.

“I wonder what they look like,” I said aloud, but of course, she couldn’t hear me. I was on mute.

Harris waved to me, and pointed to his tapper. I looked at my own, and I saw a blinking indicator. I touched it, and a visual data stream sprang to life.

There, on the inside of my forearm, I saw Galina walking on a stage. Behind her was a large image of a strange-looking alien.

“This is a Rigellian—we think,” she said. “We haven’t captured an individual of the overseer species yet, but by using deep probes—the nature of which will remain secret—Hegemony has managed to secure snippets of video like this one.”

The Rigellian wasn’t entirely ugly, but it wasn’t pretty, either. If I had to put a label on it, I’d say it looked like an oversized bear cub. But this bear cub stood upright, and it didn’t have much fur, just curly tufts here and there.

Was it cute? Not to me. A girl might think so, but I thought it was kind of nasty-looking. Like a troll in a kid’s story that squats under a bridge.

Wearing no clothing other than a loop of silver chain, the plucked bear cub marched along a catwalk above a large mass of Vulbites. Now and then, it gestured and gave commands. Often, when it did so, the bear-thing pointed down into the crowd. A flying drone would then dart into the mass of Vulbites, locate the individual which the bear cub had indicated, and snipped off a leg.

That was alarming, and it clearly brought pain to the Vulbite. Since they had about a hundred churning legs each, they could still function all right. It was unfortunate for them that they had plenty of limbs to sacrifice.

“What a vicious teddy bear!” Harris said.

“That’s a slave-driver if I ever saw one,” Leeson added.

I glanced at each of them, not sure what to think yet.

Turov was back onscreen again, walking around in boots in front of her video clip. She froze the shot and slapped at the bear’s ears.

“We believe these are sensitive organs,” she said.

“No shit?” Harris said, snorting.

“We estimate these creatures are a little over a meter tall,” Turov continued, “but they possess greater muscle density than humans. These monstrous beings are powerful and cruel to their subordinates.”

She turned to face the camera drone fully, and we all watched. I had to admit, seeing her like this was generating a certain interest I’d forgotten about since that day in her office.

“If you ever have the displeasure of meeting up with a Rigellian,” she told us. “I don’t want you to take its life immediately, despite its disgusting nature. We could learn a great deal from a captive.”

The camera lens zoomed in on her face now, and she filled my tapper. The girl still had it. I was suddenly real sorry I hadn’t managed to finish up the last time I’d been with her. I recalled how she’d led me on and teased me after that. I felt a certain determination overcome me to follow through with my original intentions—sooner or later.

Maybe my expression revealed something of my thoughts, because when I looked up, both Harris and Leeson were staring at me and grinning.

“What?” I asked.

“I bet you can’t even stand up straight right now, can you McGill?” Leeson laughed.

“You dirty dog!” Harris declared in mock disgust. He shook his head. “I keep hearing rumors about you two, but I’m a hard man to convince. Then you go and confirm it all!”

“How’d I confirm anything?” I demanded.

The two adjuncts looked at each other in amusement.

“It’s in your eyes, McGill,” Harris told me, “…and your pants.”

Leeson nodded sagely. “That’s right. It’s true love. I’ve seen it before, and I’m sure I’ll see it again. You two are soul mates. A match made in Hell.”

They both laughed.

Trying not to show how annoyed I was, I looked back down at my tapper.

True love. As if. Sure, Galina was cute, and I’d always enjoyed hooking up with her whenever the moment presented itself. But the idea we had a tight relationship—that we could ever be anything but friends—that was absurd.

Turov kept going, talking and strutting around. She was trying to make the Vulbites and the Rigellians out as monsters. I’d seen and heard it all before. True or not, it was a standard-issue propaganda technique.

Long before Galina stopped talking, I’d stopped listening. I was still watching her, however. She was pretty.

An alert signal went off, jolting me out of my reverie. I tuned back in, surprised.

Galina stopped yapping suddenly.

“The enemy has reached the hull,” she said. “Our loading bay ambush…” she trailed off as someone offstage began speaking to her.

She listened for a moment, and after a few sentences she showed her fine, white teeth in a snarl.

“Shit,” she said, and stalked away from the camera.

The vid stream cut off. Harris, Leeson and I exchanged confused glances.

Then, we felt rather than heard something. The hull was shivering.

“Impacts?” I asked aloud.

“Sure as hell feels like it,” Leeson said.

Winslade buzzed into our ears a few moments later.

“I’ve gotten word from Graves,” he said. “The Vulbites apparently didn’t read the script Turov wrote for them. They stopped the elevator short of entering the loading bays, and they’ve moved in force out onto the exterior hull instead.”

“What are those explosions we’re feeling, sir?” I asked.

Winslade slid his eyes to regard me. “They appear to be using charges to blow open hatches. They’re invading the decks about a kilometer from here right now.”

Grunting, we got to our feet and ordered our platoons to assemble. Over recent hours, our ranks had swollen due to revivals and reinforcements. The unit was nearly full strength.

“We should have blown that umbilical!” Leeson declared.

“Don’t I know it,” Harris agreed.

I didn’t chime in. It was my belief that the brass had been right on that call. If we’d destroyed the umbilical, this massive orbital factory would have been rendered useless.

In that case, what would have been the point of invading Dark World at all?

-22-

The enemy wasn’t fooling around this time. Vulbites poured out onto the station’s hull, crawling in a black-brown mass.

They didn’t bother to come in stealthed this time. They wore pressure suits, but they seemed to be much more form-fitting than ours were. They were even the same color as a typical Vulbite carapace, which gave the illusion we were fighting creatures that could tolerate hard vacuum.

“Their suits are better than ours,” Harris complained. “Better tech. It’s like some kind of translucent film that covers their whole body. What I don’t get is how they can take the radiation.”

Space is a deadly place. Most of the universe is space—and it’s full of things that will kill the toughest man in under a minute. Vacuum—the utter lack of an atmosphere, was only one such item on a long list. Fantastic heat and cold were equally as deadly. Orbiting Dark World and her pathetically dim sun, one might think it never got hot. But without any air to protect us, it still hit plus or minus one hundred degrees Celsius on the exposed skin of the space factory during any given planetary spin.

Then, there was the radiation. Many planets had magnetic fields that generated Van Allen belts of particle radiation. Your cells were bombarded with it whenever you were in certain areas of space, and Dark World had that charming feature as well.

Our own suits were pretty thick, and that was partly an effort to keep harmful gamma rays from penetrating.

“Either their suits are very advanced,” I said, “meaning they stop radiation. Or Vulbites can take a dose of rads better than humans can.”

“They are bugs…” Harris agreed. “Some bugs can take a hundred times what we can.”

“But they can’t take the weight of a man’s shoe. Don’t worry, we got this.”

We were tense, squatting in our chamber and waiting for the word to move up and meet the enemy. That word hadn’t come yet—but we suspected it was only a matter of time.

At last, Graves came online and spoke to us.

“McGill,” he said, “take your unit out onto the hull. Set up some automated turrets and hunker down. Let them come to you, engage only when they’re right on top of you. We’re hoping they won’t use their ground-based beamers for fear of killing their own troops.”

“Excuse me, Primus,” Winslade said in an acid voice. “I believe I’m in charge of 3rd Unit today.”

“Oh, right… They revived you, didn’t they Centurion? Okay… I’m giving you the same orders. Move out immediately.”

Harris and Leeson grinned at me. They knew Graves hated Winslade. Everybody did.

“McGill’s platoon will move to the hatch first and open it!” Winslade ordered. “Then, they will exit first. The rest of you hold back until we see if any of his recruits survive.”

Cooper was back from the revival machines, and he moved up next to me.

I glanced at him, and I saw the fear and tension in his face. Sure, the kid was a jackass, but he had every right be afraid.

Cooper was watching me closely, intently. I got the feeling he wanted to know how I’d survived the last go-around with these aliens. Smart boy. Death could be a great motivator.

The bay doors yawned wide. We saw the stars and the dull glimmering crescent of Dark World outside.

Normally, I’d send a man like Cooper up top to scout—but I didn’t have the heart. Instead, I crawled out on my belly and ordered Kivi to send out buzzers.

At first, it looked like we were alone. The hull was encrusted with equipment, sensors, pipes and even a few bodies from our last battle out here.

The buzzers lifted high, and I watched the relayed scene.

The Vulbites were swarming in great numbers. They were moving steadily forward, like ants bubbling out of an anthill in every direction. They didn’t bother to use stealth cloaks this time.

They seemed well aware we might counterattack at any moment. They carried beamers with their largest forward limbs. A dozen clawed legs clutched their rifles, pointing their weapons at every strut, tower and instrument.

“Well, McGill?” Winslade called me on our local command chat. His voice seethed with impatience. “Are you moving your platoon out there or not?”

“I’m scouting, sir,” I said. “Right now, I’m the only man who’s going to fry if those batteries down there on the surface decided to nail this region again.”

“Editing your orders already? You’re not wasting any time today.”

“Excuse me, sir. Do you wish to micromanage or relieve me of my command?”

Winslade considered it. “No… but do you plan to do more than squat up there?”

“Of course, sir. I’m carrying out Graves’ orders one step further, that’s all. I’m watching the enemy approach. I’m letting them get just a little closer before I expose my platoon.”

Winslade growled, and I imagined he’d crossed his skinny arms by now. He didn’t quite have the confidence with tactics to overrule me. That was for the best.

“Okay now, they’re about two hundred meters out. I need all my weaponeers and demolitions people to set up turrets.”

A half-dozen troops crawled out to join me. They pulled turrets from their rucks and set them up on raised, flat surfaces. My own platoon only had two such specialists, and I was glad to see Leeson had lent me his troops for this purpose without being asked.

“All right,” I said. “We’re at one hundred meters. Deploy and scatter. Stay low. Don’t position yourselves between an auto-turret and the enemy line. The turret will probably shoot right through you.”

The weaponeers hastily retreated into the hole, and my light troops slid up onto the roof and moved into position. Behind them, a dozen armored heavies gathered.

Everyone was hugging up against any cover they could find. We weren’t shielding ourselves from the advancing enemy line, but rather trying to put the biggest chunk of metal we could between our bodies and the crescent of Dark World. As beams were line-of-sight weapons, an air vent or radar dish might save a life at this point.

The battle began early, before we were set up for it.

Maybe the enemy had spotted us. The crews from the beamers on the surface, or drones, or the Vulbites themselves could have done it.

No matter how they’d detected our ambush, they rushed to meet us at the last minute. A horde of Vulbites came in close, their strange guns flashing with a violent, ghostly fire from the muzzles.

Being a space battle, it sounded different. There was no air to transmit vibrations to our ears, except inside our helmets. At the same time, we were in radio contact with one another.

As a result, you heard a lot of shouting, cursing and labored breathing. This was layered with the hiss of air conditioning inside your own suit.

The enemy made no sound as they rushed close and engaged. They seemed as eager to close as we were. Maybe their weapons weren’t as effective as ours were at range. They did seem more like flame-throwers—or maybe radiation-throwers—than regular rifles.

Whatever their reasoning, the enemy got close to us and mixed it up immediately.

Flipping my snap-rifle to full-auto, I hammered down the first one I came into contact with. The snap-rifle jerked rhythmically in my gauntlets, but I couldn’t hear the splattering rounds.

The Vulbite went into a spin, losing touch with the hull and going over my head. He was flipping and twisting up his long body like a pretzel. Then, he went limp and drifted above us.

More and more troops poured out onto the hull on both sides. The beam batteries on the planet didn’t fire—maybe they knew they couldn’t without endangering their own soldiers.

We fought for about seven long minutes out there. Now, to some people that might not seem like a long time. Often, battles could go on for days—but this was a single continuous assault.

When the Vulbites finally broke, they’d lost about a hundred. We’d lost about half that many. The sky above us was full of drifting bodies, both human and alien. Whenever one showed any signs of life, automated turrets pumped rounds into the convulsing body until it again lay still.

“Pull back, McGill,” Winslade said.

“Why sir?” I asked. We’re doing pretty good out here.”

“Yes, you are. But most of the other strongholds have been defeated. The enemy is pocketing your position. It’s hopeless.”

For once, I thought Winslade was doing his job right. He had his eye on the big picture.

Wriggling backwards, I slid down into the hatch and we sealed it tight again.

“We lost?” I asked. “They captured the surface of the factory hull?”

“Yes…” Winslade said, looking us over. “But you did exceptionally well, troops. You held the line longer than most. Take a break—this has only just begun.”

-23-

The Vulbites now controlled the exterior hull of the orbital complex. It was like having enemy soldiers crawling all over your roof—not a comfortable situation.

It was our first serious defeat on Dark World. We’d fought hard, but we’d been driven back. Even with a full strength legion, we’d been forced to retreat inside the hull and stay there.

“Well, if this isn’t just the shits,” Leeson said. “Don’t call me a prophet, but I’m looking at the meat-grinder to end all meat-grinders.”

“How do you mean, Adjunct?” I asked.

“I’ve been with Varus for about twenty years longer than you have, McGill,” he said. “So, I remember the old campaigns. First off, these people are bugs. That means they don’t give up until they’re dead—until all of them are dead. You ever seen a bee or an ant get scared and run from battle?”

“No,” I admitted.

“There you have it. Same thing with these Vulbite friggers. But it’s worse than that. Usually, when you’re going to win a battle, you start off winning, and you keep winning. It rarely seesaws back and forth.”

“We’re on the seesaw?”

“I’d say we’re the fat kid on this seesaw. We’re on the down side now, and we’re going to stay down. The basic fact is: the enemy has too many troops. Even with revival machines, we can’t hold out forever.”

“So…” I said, taking him seriously. “We’re looking at dying a lot?”

“Doesn’t have to be that way!” Harris interjected.

He walked over and joined our conversation, having clearly listened in.

“Oh, I want to hear this,” Leeson said. “This is going to be good.”

Harris frowned at him briefly. “The answer is simple: we call for serious reinforcements. Right now, up-front, before they push us off this station entirely.”

“Another legion?” Leeson said. “You’re dreaming.”

“Why not? It’s not like we’d have to fly another ship out here. We’ve got a gateway set up. Just march them through.”

“How many?” Leeson asked, crossing his short, thick arms.

“One, two—six legions. Hell, I don’t know. Whatever it takes.”

Leeson shook his head. “It’ll never happen. Turov would rather wipe.”

I frowned at him. “Why’s that?”

He gave me a dirty laugh. “You should know. You know her better than any of us.”

Thinking about it for a second, I nodded. “Right… it would look bad. She’d be seen as weak—as calling for help. But doesn’t it make sense to do that now, before things become desperate?”

“Damn straight!” Harris shouted.

Leeson lifted a finger and waggled it at us, shaking his head. “You’re not thinking like our lovely tribune. She wants her rank back—that’s all she’s thinking about right now. Calling for help on the second day? She’d have the stink of a loser. She’ll convince herself Varus can do this alone.”

I got it suddenly. It was as if the future were laid out before me in a series of stepping stones.

“Right…” I said. “She’ll wait too long. She won’t call for help until we’re driven all the way back to Nostrum.”

“Bingo!” Leeson said, pointing his waggling finger at me. “So now, McGill, tell me how this all ends up?”

“Meat-grinder,” I said. “Reinforcements—maybe from each side—upping the ante until it’s a grand mess.”

“Hmm…” Leeson said, frowning. “Thinking the bugs and their side through, this has got to be even worse than I thought. Those vicious bear-cub things don’t seem to be as dumb as our brass. They’ve probably called up Rigel for help. They’ll come in force.”

“But they probably will have to send a ship—or lots of ships,” Harris said.

He had that glassy look in his eyes now. We all had it.

After a starman has been out on a dozen campaigns, he gains a certain skill in tactics above his rank. His experiences teach him, one savage beating at a time, how the universe really works.

“McGill?” Harris said, turning to me. “You’ve got to give it a shot.”

“Me?”

“Harris is right,” Leeson said. “Turov doesn’t give a shit about any of us. But for some reason, she’s sweet on you.”

Heaving a sigh, I threw up my hands. “I’ll do what I can,” I said.

They both clapped me on the back, but about then Winslade came over to see what we were talking about.

“McGill? Harris, Leeson?” he said. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

“Unfortunately no, sir,” I said.

I felt more than saw Leeson and Harris fade into the background. I’d experienced this sort of thing before. People often egged me on to do something they didn’t have the brass pair to attempt. Usually, these same cheerleaders ran off when the process began.

My eyes fixed upon Winslade.

He already looked suspicious. He probably thought we were working up a case to mutiny against him—it wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Sir,” I said, “I’d like to say you’ve handled this pretty well so far.”

“Well…” he said, taken by surprise. “Thank you, McGill.”

“We’ve both been done wrong on this deal,” I said. “This was my unit, and your cohort. We’ve been busted down a rank, but that doesn’t mean we have to turn on each other.”

Yellow suspicion lit up his rodent-like eyes again. “Turn on one another? Was that proposed only moments ago by your peers?”

I shook my head. “No, sir. We’d rather turn our sights higher—toward the one who put us in this unhappy circumstance.”

“You mean Tribune—?”

My big hand came up toward his face in a shushing motion.

He took an involuntary step back, as I was twice his size and we hadn’t had the most cordial relationship in the past. When I lowered my hand, however, he regained his composure quickly.

“Let’s not name any targets,” I said.

A smile flickered, but quickly vanished. Winslade was happy, but he didn’t want to let on. That was just fine.

“Do you have…” he began, lowering his voice, “a suggestion as to how we might accomplish such a lofty objective?”

I could tell his mind had leapt forward right to where he wanted the conversation to go, and to where I wanted him to be. He thought I was offering to help him bring down Turov to get our ranks back.

Hell, it might come down to that—who knew? But of course, that wasn’t my immediate goal. My plans were focused upon avoiding the “meat-grinder” scenario that Leeson had so lovingly laid out.

“I need an excuse,” I said.

“For what?” he asked, scowling a little. “You rarely need an excuse for anything you do.”

“To see… her.”

His eyes lit up again. “Ah… Of course. Here—take this.”

He handed me something. It was small—like the size of a housefly.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“A very discreet buzzer,” he said. “I’ll send you an app for your tapper to control it. Be careful—it only has enough battery power to operate for a few hours. You must deploy it to get the video we require.”

“Uh… What video, exactly?”

He looked disgusted, and he put his fists on his hips.

“Are you not following the conversation?” he demanded. “You must capture the… harassment… while it’s ongoing. Is that somehow unclear?”

The light finally went on in my fridge. “Oh yeah. I’ve got it. Okay, will do.”

I closed my hand on the tiny device, and Winslade made a hissing sound, sucking air through his teeth.

“Careful, you ape!” he said. “That item is very delicate. Put it into this tube before deployment.”

He gave me a tube, and I put it next to the buzzer. Both fit in my palm.

Under its own power, the spy drone crawled into the tube and vanished.

Suddenly, I understood something.

“Hey! All that crap about you hacking Central’s office security—that was hogwash, wasn’t it? You used one of these toys.”

Winslade gave me a tiny shrug and pursed his lips. “When caught, it’s best to confess to the wrong crime.”

“I’ll remember that,” I laughed. “Now, I only need one more thing.”

“Yes, yes?” he asked quickly.

“An excuse to go up to Gold Deck on Nostrum.”

Winslade licked his lips in thought. Just watching him do it made me grimace. It wasn’t a manly mannerism, but I knew better than to tell him so.

“I’ve got it,” he said after a minute or two. He pulled out a data chip and pinched it until it crackled.

“You broke it?” I asked.

“Not that you know of. Take this report to her—tell her it’s from the front, and it’s highly confidential.”

“Uh…” I said, looking at the tiny chip. “But it’s broken.”

Winslade rolled his eyes. “It’s broken,” he said between clenched teeth, “because there’s no data on it. The entire thing is a ruse. I swear, McGill, for a man who’s managed so many—”

“Right… I get it! I’m on my way, sir.”

I walked away toward the passages that led deeper into the orbital complex, and I left him behind, shaking his head.

The data chip, the cover story, and Winslade’s approval got me all the way down to the gateway posts.

The chamber was in the center of the factory complex. Down here, it was hot and the air was wet. Unfortunately, as there were a lot of Blood Worlders around—that meant it didn’t smell too good.

It took some talking, but I managed to get past the guards and the suspicious noncoms running the gateposts. When the flow of fresh troops paused for a few seconds, I got the nod.

I stepped in-between the posts. A shimmering, pink-white haze hung in the air there, and I felt an odd shiver in my molecules as I passed through.

In that moment, I ceased to exist.

-24-

Effectively, the gateway deleted my existence from the orbital complex and added it to the lower decks of Nostrum an instant later.

It was a weird feeling, but one I’d experienced before. I’d never liked it—the whole thing was kind of creepy if you asked me.

I knew enough to understand I wasn’t being “transported” from one place to another—not in reality. Instead, I’d been disintegrated and then rebuilt again, molecule by molecule, in a remote location.

My usual approach to disturbing technology like this was to think fixedly about something else. If you thought about what was really happening to you—well, it would be damned hard to march into it.

In that way, I likened it to cliff-diving. You just had to convince yourself everything was going to be fine—then you jumped out into space.

“Adjunct?” the guards asked me on the far side. “What’s this all about?”

They were Varus veterans, and I thought I knew one of them. I showed him my tapper. Winslade’s order was clearly printed there.

The noncom frowned. “Gold Deck…? Wasn’t Winslade busted down to centurion recently?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes, ranks change quick around here,” I said. “How long have you been a vet?”

He looked at me suddenly, his eyes guarded. “Um… three years. Since Blood World.”

“Right, well… things change quick in Varus.”

The two noncoms exchanged glances. They cleared their throats.

“You’re good to go, sir. Gold Deck can be reached down this—”

“I know the way.”

I left them scratching their heads. I didn’t look back, and I didn’t hurry. Part of the key to barging into places was maintaining the illusion that you were completely calm and belonged there. Just doing that kept most questioners at bay.

Arriving at Turov’s office, I almost made it to the door—almost.

“McGill!” a voice boomed.

It was a familiar voice.

My hopes sank as I turned to face Primus Graves.

He looked me up and down appraisingly. He must not have liked what he saw, because his expression was highly dubious.

“McGill, what the hell are you doing on Gold Deck?”

“How’d you find me, sir?” I asked, faking a smile.

“I had a watch put on your whereabouts. Imagine my shock when you traveled from the factory complex to this ship in an instant’s time—without authorization?”

“Oh, I have authorization, sir.”

“Like hell you do. I’m the only one on Gold Deck you could possibly be here legitimately to see—and I don’t remember you making an appointment. Are you bucking to be busted down to veteran next?”

Telling Graves that Winslade had sent me wasn’t going to buy any happiness. Not with this man. He knew Winslade just as well as he knew me.

No… Graves had to be given a solid reason before he’d let me keep on walking.

At this point, I feel something needs explaining. If I have one gift that never seems to fail to impress, it must be that of improvisation.

Under normal circumstances, my mind seems to move like a turtle in a snowstorm. But when the pressure is on, it can occasionally flip into high gear. It’s an in-born thing, or so my mama says.

Without skipping a beat, I fished the tiny tube Winslade had given me out of my breast pocket. Tipping it gently, I tapped at the far end until the fly-sized spy drone crawled out into my palm.

“What the hell is that?” Graves asked.

“This is how he did it,” I said.

“How who did what?”

I lowered my voice and leaned closer to Graves.

Frowning, he leaned back immediately. Graves liked his personal space. He especially didn’t enjoy close proximity with any man.

“Sir,” I said, quietly. “Do you remember when Winslade produced that video of Turov in a compromising moment?”

“How could I forget? You starred in it, and you shamed the whole damned cohort that day.”

“I could argue that point, but that’s not why I’m here.”

I nudged the spy-drone, and it crawled about an inch closer to Graves.

“This is how he did it.”

Graves stared at the drone for a second, and his face contorted as he caught on.

“You mean he lied? About hacking into Central’s security system?”

I smiled tightly. “What do you think is more likely, sir?” I asked. “That Winslade suddenly grew some mad hacking skills—or this?”

“Right…” he said, staring at the drone. “So… you’re going to show this to Turov?”

Without answering, I gently stuffed the drone back into its tube and put it away.

“Do I have your permission to continue, sir?” I asked.

Graves looked indecisive. “All right. But keep me out of this cloak-and-dagger bullshit, all right?”

“Will do. Thank you, sir.”

He turned away in disgust, like I was a suspected plague-carrier, and hustled away.

There was only one more barrier between me and Turov’s office.

The pretty-boy in her outer office had his feet on his desk and his eyes on his tapper.

He swept up to stand when I walked in, but immediately relaxed again when he recognized me.

“Oh… it’s you. What do you want, McGill?”

“To see Turov, of course.”

He flicked his hand at me. His eyes were already back on his tapper. “Are you blind? It’s four pm. She left early today. If she hadn’t, there would have been a crowd to fight past.”

He was right, of course. I hadn’t thought of that.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

His lips twisted sourly. I got the feeling he didn’t like a little friendly competition.

Stepping back out, I walked down towards the private quarters sector of Gold Deck.

Another veteran stepped forward suddenly. “Where are you going, sir?” he asked.

“Damn,” I said. “There are more guards up here than there are troops in my unit on the front line.”

“There’ll be one more of them when you turn around and head back to the line, sir.”

This vet was stern. I checked out his name: Veteran Alders.

“You know what, Alders?” I asked him. “You should have joined Hegemony.”

His face reddened. For any Legion Varus man, those were fighting words.

“In fact,” I continued, you remind me of a hog I once knew in Newark Sector. He had a petty job which he made out to be a big deal, too.”

The wannabee-hog drew his nightstick, which was a shock-rod in reality. He switched it on.

“Listen, McGill—yeah, I know who you are. You’re trouble, and I’m not supposed to allow—”

Veteran Alders had made a critical error. He was waving that shock rod right between the two of us, in what he imagined was a threatening manner.

What I saw was a man who had a very loose grip on a dangerous weapon. To inform him of a possible safety violation, I reached up to steady his hand.

Alders jerked it back, away from me—and just as suddenly as I’d reached for his wrist, I let it go.

The shock-rod jerked up and tapped him—square in the mouth.

There was a loud cracking sound, like when some rookie gets himself snapped hard in the ass by a towel.

Whatever sanctimonious speech the vet had been about to give me ended right there. Gagging and toppling back, he hit a steel wall and slid down onto his butt. He landed hard. His face was red and full of pain.

“Oooo!” I said. “That looked bad. Let me help you up.”

Alders roared incoherent sounds like a wounded pig as he swatted an arm at me. His words had come out quite garbled due to his swelling lips and tongue.

“What’s going on out here?” a female voice demanded.

I turned around.

Turov had opened her private door. She was wearing a silk, hip-length white robe—some might have called it a kimono, but I knew real kimonos were longer.

“This hog here,” I began, “excuse me, I mean Veteran Alders—had an accident with his baton, sir. I was trying to help him up, but he’s feeling embarrassed and—”

The vet had balls, I’ll give him that. He lashed out at my knee caps.

One would think that with my being turned away and distracted by the sexy appearance of our legion’s high commander, he’d have caught me unawares.

But part of my brain was always ready for trouble. Just go and die a few hundred times. You’ll probably grow some surprising new survival instincts, too.

I lurched back, but he managed to brush my kneecap. I almost buckled and fell, but I caught myself.

Angry, I faced the vet.

“So, you’re not done yet?” I asked him.

Alders struggled to his feet and slurred at me carefully—drooling. “Nope. I’m going to shove this baton up your ass and run down the batteries.”

I went into a fighting stance, and so did the vet.

“Stop it!” Turov shouted at us.

We both hesitated and backed away a step.

“Tribune, this intruder—” the vet began.

“I know what he’s doing,” she said in a disgusted tone. “He’s a serial intruder.”

“I’m under orders to—” he continued.

“That’s right,” she interrupted again, “and I gave you those orders. I thank you for your service, but you’re dismissed in this instance.”

Alders looked at her in surprise.

“Dismissed, sir?”

“That’s right. Go have your ears checked. Dismissed.”

Glaring at me, he switched off his shock-rod and stalked away down the passage.

“You’re a good sport!” I called after him. “But you still missed your calling. You’re a born hog!”

“Shut up and get in here,” Turov ordered me.

I did so, and she closed the door with an angry motion.

“Damn you, McGill!” she said. “I told you to visit me at some point, but this is absurd. You can’t barge up here to Gold Deck! We’re in the middle of a military campaign!”

Blinking for a moment, I caught on to what she was suggesting.

“I get that, and I purely understand. But, as long as I’m here…”

Galina crossed her arms over her breasts and stared at me.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Get out.”

I shrugged. “Okay. My information can wait until this is all over with, I suppose.”

Two steps. That’s as far as I made it toward her door. When I tried to touch the lock and open it, a very thin arm barred my way.

“What information?” she demanded.

“I thought you weren’t interested.”

Her lips were pursed into a tiny rosebud of pink.

“Are you seriously trying to blackmail me into a sexual encounter in exchange for vaguely hinted-at information?”

“I would never dream of such a thing!” I said, looking aghast.

In truth, I hadn’t been suggesting such a bargain. Often, people who naturally entertained devious motives of their own imagined I operated the same way. All I’d been doing was trying to tease her into letting me stay in her office for more than ninety seconds.

Galina heaved a sigh, which made her kimono stretch open a little. All this talk of sex had my mind and eyes wandering.

Turov noticed, and she slapped me a good one.

“Get your mind up here,” she said, pointing to her face.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Now, tell me your information. I will judge its worth.”

“Uh…”

She laughed. “Did you seriously think I would offer you favors for whatever shopping list you have to show me?”

“No, sir. But I do think you’re interested in busting open Winslade’s harassment case.”

Her eyes revealed her true thoughts then, for a second. They lit up like a kid’s who just found the golden egg on an Easter hunt.

Quickly, she buried that. But I’d seen it, and I knew I had points to spend with her. Lots of them.

“Should I stay, or should I go?” I asked her. “It’s your call.”

Galina made a flicking motion toward her couch.

I headed to her bar, first. She had a limited selection, but the booze was top notch. I selected a Kentucky bourbon and poured us each a double.

She sighed, took the glass I offered her, and sipped it.

“All right,” she said. “Talk.”

“Well, it all started—”

Galina lifted her hand to stop me again. “Wait a second. Aren’t you supposed to be on the front line? With your unit, down on the complex?”

“That’s right.”

“This could be construed as desertion of your post,” she said sternly. “I should have you flogged.”

I shrugged disinterestedly. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

She sipped her drink, studying me like a cat watching a tiny creature it wanted to murder.

“All right,” she said at last. “Since you’re here, bothering me, you might as well talk.”

“I have something to show you. Something small and probably illegal.”

I took her hand, and she squawked a little, but then I showed her the tiny vial in my other hand.

“Let go of my hand! This is assault, McGill!”

“Trust me for one second more…”

Staring into my eyes, she stopped struggling.

I poured the bug-like mini-drone into her fine white palm.

“Gah!” she said, tugging again. “An insect?”

“Don’t move!” I said quickly.

She froze in alarm. “Will it bite? Are you trying to poison me with this?”

“No, no,” I laughed, still cupping her small hand in my larger one. “It’s a drone, see? A spy drone. It’s probably filming you right now.”

“A spy…?”

Galina leaned forward, peering closely at it.

“This disgusting thing is artificial!” she declared.

“That’s right.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Well, how about you look into its eyes, and say: ‘Hello, Winslade.’”

That was when she finally got it. Everything flashed into her mind at once, and her soft pretty face twisted up with emotions.

First, I detected amazement. Then her features swiftly transformed into rage.

Lastly, a cold, calculating expression won out as she realized what I’d brought to her—and why.

“Put it back in its tube,” she said. “Gently.”

I did so, taking my time to nudge it back into its home. Then, I handed the tube over to her.

She lifted it up and threw her drink down her throat. She stared at the black, crawling thing inside the tube. Her face was full of malice.

“James…” she said softly. “You did well. You’re hereby forgiven for smiling when I was demoted. After this disastrous campaign is over, I’ll see that you get your rank back.”

“Okay,” I said. “What are you going to do to Winslade?”

“I’m going peel off his balls and boil them in hot oil— separately.”

That made me frown a little. After all, I didn’t think Winslade deserved more abuse. Sure, he was a first-class weasel, but he’d helped me get up here to Gold Deck in good faith. He’d already been demoted, and I couldn’t honestly say he should be treated to anything worse.

But now wasn’t the time to worry about Winslade.

“Galina?” I asked gently. “Would you like a refill?”

She smiled, still looking at the captive drone in her hand. She handed over her glass, and I poured a healthy dose into it. A triple, if I had to guess.

I sat beside her, and my hand wandered to her bare knee.

Reflexively, she put her hand on top of mine, and I froze.

Then she sucked in a deep breath, downed her whiskey, and she lifted her hand again.

“You’ve earned it,” she said, “and so have I.”

With that, she let me touch her.

Soon, I was able to verify beyond a shadow of a doubt that she wasn’t wearing anything else under that soft, white kimono of hers.

-25-

I ended up spending hours with Galina Turov. We hadn’t been together like this for years.

It was kind of strange—a little like going home again.

Along about midnight, I finally remembered why I’d come up to Gold Deck in the first place.

Galina was preening, getting ready for bed—to sleep, that is. She hadn’t yet thrown me out. Normally, she always did that after she grew tired of my attentions.

“Tribune?” I asked while she applied countless lotions and brushes in the bathroom.

“What is it, James?” she asked.

“When are you calling for reinforcements?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she came to the door of the bathroom and gave me a weird look.

“Who said I was doing that?”

“No one in particular,” I lied. “Everyone’s just assuming—”

“Well, they’re assuming incorrectly. Legion Varus has a mission to perform. We don’t run from battle and call home for help the moment we reach stiff resistance.”

“Uh-huh. I guess that makes sense. We can wait until the Vulbites push us right off the platform. That would make it look like a legit need to Central.”

Again, there was a pause before she responded.

I knew I was pissing her off something terrible. It was only a matter of time until she went off like a firecracker.

However, when she came out of the bathroom and sat on the edge of her bed, opposite me on the couch, she wasn’t raging. She looked thoughtful. Her eyes were slits, staring at the aqua carpeting which she’d installed before leaving Earth.

She was thinking hard.

“Graves has talked to you, hasn’t he?” she asked at last.

“Uh… what? Graves? No, sir. All he’s done is assign us our posts and send warnings when the Vulbites attack in their thousands. I probably should get back to my unit, actually. They’ll soon invade the complex, and I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Her eyes came up to meet mine. “You really think the Rigellians will send reinforcements out here?”

“Of course!” I said. “It’s a vital industrial center. That’s why they beat us here to capture it. They know the score. By now, their garrison commanders have reported our attack back to their homeworld. It’s only a matter of time until their real force arrives.”

Galina flopped back on her bed.

It was an inviting pose, but I didn’t molest her. I let her stew, considering reality.

“I’ll never get my rank back,” she said. “This was a setup from the beginning. He promised glory, but gave me a hopeless task. Drusus—”

“Now, hold on,” I said. “He didn’t know there would be an extra million centipede troops out here. I think he honestly hoped the place would be deserted. It’s not your fault the plan didn’t work out—the flaw was strategic, not operational.”

She licked her lips while lying on her back, staring at the ceiling.

“You are naïve,” she said. “One wouldn’t think that was possible—but you are. Deech hates me. Drusus wants to neutralize me. I’ve been boxed-in out here, damned no matter what I do.”

I let her think for a few seconds more, then I spoke in a gentle tone. “What are you going to do, Tribune? Call home for more legions? That’s what I’d do.”

“That would be a display of weakness, and you know it.”

“Losing badly and getting our entire legion wiped would be a worse disaster.”

She sat up slowly, her eyes narrowing again. She focused them on me.

“This is why you really came here tonight, isn’t it?” she asked in a deceptively quiet voice.

“What? No, sir! I came to show you Winslade’s drone—and to see you too, of course. That’s the God’s-honest truth.”

She stared at me, sighed, and nodded her head. She’d bought my lies.

“All right,” she said. “I will consider requesting reinforcements. Now, however, you must head back to the front. Another attack will be coming soon.”

“Uh… what kind of attack?”

“They’ll breach the hull. They won’t do anything too drastic—they don’t want to wreck the factory any more than we do. But they will attack.”

“Right,” I said, “what are our orders, sir?”

She frowned at me. “To hold, of course! To kill so many they’re forced to retreat. Graves will push them back. I have faith in him.”

It was my turn to frown in concern.

I set my glass down on her tiny bar and turned to go. Adjusting my kit in the mirror, I was surprised when she came up behind me.

Looking in the mirror with me, she fluffed up my hair and cap, even though she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach.

“You know,” I said, “I think this is about the first time we’ve parted ways without either of us raging at the other.”

Galina smiled in amusement. “You’re probably right.”

I left then, and I walked straight past the vet I’d tangled with hours ago. He watched me go, shaking his head in disbelief.

Normally, I’d have said something to goad him—but I didn’t have the heart. A battle was coming, and I knew it was going to be a bad one.

Due to pride, hope, or just plain cussedness, Galina wasn’t going to call for the reinforcements we so desperately needed. I’d failed in my mission to persuade her, and I wasn’t sure what to do next. Things were playing out just the way Leeson had said they would.

Returning to the space factory and my unit, I was met with suspicion from everyone.

“McGill!” Leeson shouted. “Imagine seeing you down here with us lowly grunts! Maybe we should all gather around and get your autograph. Here, you want to sign my helmet?”

“Come on, Leeson,” I said. “It was your idea.”

“Yeah. I said you should go off and talk to the brass. But you stretched that into spending the night AWOL. That’s pure McGill.”

Harris came up to me next, and he got into my face. He wasn’t in a joking mood like Leeson was. Not at all.

“Well?” he demanded. “When are they coming? Will it be Victrix, or Germanica?”

“What?”

“Our reinforcements, you damned fool!” he said, suddenly angry.

He got that way when he was scared—but that was something he’d never admit.

“Oh yeah… about that…”

“Don’t tell me,” he said, walking away and shaking his head. “You just spent nine hours chasing tail, didn’t you? Did you forget what you were supposed to be pushing for? Did you even mention it to her?”

“I did,” I said. “I truly did. But she wants us to give Varus one more shot. She’s not convinced we need help. Not yet.”

Harris gave a bitter laugh. He crooked his finger to me, beckoning. “Come here, take a walk with me.”

Wary but trying to looking unconcerned, I followed him. He led me into a long, empty passage.

He paused there, in the attitude of someone listening closely.

“You hear that?” he asked.

“Hear what?”

“Take your helmet off. Go on, do it.”

He took his off, so I followed suit. We both listened for a moment.

Then I heard it. A squeaky, grinding noise.

“You hear that?” Harris whispered. “Their sappers are drilling into the hull—all over the place. They have this facility all mapped out. They know where every duct is, every passage and chamber.”

“So they’re drilling holes? So what? If they try to make one big enough to wriggle through, we’ll know and shoot them the moment they try to invade.”

Harris laughed bitterly. “You’re not getting it. They aren’t drilling big-ass holes with augers. They’re making small ones—and filling them with shaped charges.”

My face fell, and I looked at the ceiling. The squeaking and grinding began again. It could have been my imagination, but it sounded like this hole was being drilled a bit to the left of the last one. The situation reminded me of when we got rats in the attic in springtime.

“You hear them?” Harris said. “These Vulbites aren’t stupid, see? They’ll plant small charges. They’ll blow them all at once, depressurizing all the chambers along the outer decks. Then, they’ll flood in. Thousands of them, all at once. There won’t be any warning, because the explosions will be coordinated.”

“Hmm…” I said, thinking over his idea. “That way, there won’t be much damage to the equipment. They wouldn’t have to open the whole place to space.”

“Right. Surgery, not butchery.”

So saying, Harris put his helmet back on and leaned against a wall.

“Here,” he said in a hushed tone. “Lean right here for a second.”

I did so, warily. After a while, when the squeaking began again, I felt a vibration that must have been transmitted through the walls into my boots and pack.

“You feel that?” Harris asked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s the sensation of doom, boy. The Devil is tapping on our shoulders. We’re about to be up to our assholes in bugs.”

I didn’t say anything. It was pretty clear Harris was right.

Thinking hard, I tried to come up with a solution, but I drew a blank.

“When do you think they’ll hit us?” I asked him.

“The second they’re all set up. Not too long now—hours, not days.”

Nodding, I agreed with him.

“Dammit, Galina,” I said aloud. “Why’d you have to be born so vain?”

Harris laughed, but there wasn’t any joy in the sound.

-26-

The Vulbites were clever. They’d drilled more than just holes for explosives. They’d sunken listening probes into the hull as well.

When we were at our lowest ebb, the artificial moment we called “dawn” in our cycle of time, their listening devices detected the drop in activity.

That’s when they hit us.

It was when all the explosions, alarms and shouting began throughout the vast complex that we knew they’d been listening up there. They’d waited until they’d noticed a marked reduction to our movements and energy levels—in that moment, they struck.

We weren’t ready. A soldier can only stay alert and tense for so long. Once a man’s done that for twenty or thirty long, long hours, the edge is gone. Adrenalin counters that natural state of fatigue, but it isn’t perfect, far from it.

Staggering up, fumbling with weapons, releasing incoherent shouts—we tried to pull it together.

Vulbites dropped through the roof, but not directly into the chamber we were holed up in. Oh no, they were too cunning for that. They came down in every surrounding passageway, cutting off our unit from everyone else.

The truth was that we just didn’t have the numbers to cover this place. Nor did we have the kind of warship that could be tasked with cleaning them off the roof of the complex. We were a ground force spread thin, and they outnumbered us.

Thousands poured into the passages. A savage battle began.

We hadn’t been idle, of course. We’d set up traps for them everywhere. Automated turrets chattered like sprinklers. Grav-grenades went off with blue-white flashes, tearing the enemy apart.

Just as great as our shock was, theirs had to be even worse. They died, and died. Squirming bodies piled up, forming wriggling mounds of flesh in the passages.

But another wave came minutes later, right on the heels of the first one. This wave crawled on the walls and the ceiling, avoiding the littered floor. They crawled closer to us, using the bodies of their fallen comrades as cover.

We had well-positioned firing squads at every open hatch. We sprayed the attackers, killing them at a steady rate.

But then, as they kept advancing despite losses, one of them managed to lob a smoking sphere of vapor into our midst.

It popped, and a black acidic fog roiled up around our legs. It ate into our suits, making the polymers—anything that wasn’t glass or metal—melt away.

Soon, our suits had breaches, and our air leaked out. Worse, the acidic vapors began to leak in.

“Squad, vent the chamber!” I ordered.

“McGill—?” Winslade called out in alarm, but he didn’t finish. He began screaming instead. The black vapor had gotten into his suit. His flesh began to liquefy.

My people jumped in the low-G and slammed fists on the releases. The top hatch, the big one, blew open.

There was so little pressure left that the door flew away into space almost silently.

The last of our air managed to suck out the vapor with it as it fled into nothingness. The black vapor was instantly rendered ineffective. It had spread out too thinly in space to burn us any longer.

We had new problems, however.

“Vulbites!” Harris called out. “Up top!”

They were crawling to the new, unexpected breach we’d created and poking their weapons into it. They showered us with fire, and we returned the favor.

Running my eyes over the numbers, breathing hard, I tried to take account of the situation. We’d lost Winslade, and about half our troops.

“Leeson?” I called out.

There was no answer. His name was red on my HUD.

“Harris? You still with me?”

“Until Hell freezes over.”

“Okay, let’s do something.”

“Something crazy?” he asked me.

“Yeah.”

“I’m game. We’re dead anyway. Lead on, McGill!”

I jumped up to the hatch we’d blown open. There were a few Vulbites up there but not many. Most had already entered the complex. They were down in the passages now, digging deeper, trying to crush us.

“Unit!” I shouted. “Follow me! Up and out!”

Sargon was still among the living as were several of the heavy troopers. They followed me without an argument. Harris brought up the rear, firing with controlled bursts whenever he saw a Vulbite poking up from cover.

We were good, you have to understand. Earth men of the past, they only had one life to spend learning all the ins and outs of combat. When they became true experts, should they live so long, they were usually too old to be at their peak.

We had unfair advantages. The minds of old, experienced killers and the bodies of youthful men and women—we had it all.

Our shots were more accurate, more precise, and more decisive than the enemy could hope to be.

Most of my recruits and heavy troopers had perished, but I recognized one face inside a helmet.

“Cooper?” I called out. “Is that you?”

“Yes sir. I’m still alive.”

“Good. I have a job for you. Scout ahead. Find me a path. Feed it back to me via your tapper.”

“The enemy will trace that, sir,” he said.

“That’s right.”

He didn’t groan. He didn’t even respond. He just stared at me.

“Are you up for this?” I asked him.

“Where am I going, Adjunct?”

I pointed. “That big, fat umbilical over there. I want you to lead us to it without running into an enemy concentration. It should be easy to do. Most of the Vulbites are inside the complex. They aren’t expecting a counterattack—not out here.”

Cooper eyed the umbilical. It looked like a giant air conditioning duct, and it reached from the belly of the space complex all the way to the surface of Dark World. From our perspective, that was “up” but it really didn’t matter what you called it.

He didn’t ask any more questions. He just rushed off into the dark, weaving between the obstacles, dashing from one scrap of cover to the next.

Sargon came up to me. “He’s a good kid,” he said. “You doing this just to kill him?”

“What? No.”

Sargon looked me up and down. “He told me he took a shit on your desk back at the Mustering Hall. Says it was the worst thing he ever did.”

I laughed. “Nah,” I said. “I’m not pissed about that—not anymore.”

Sargon smiled. “I told him that. I told him the boss doesn’t hold a grudge—not after several solid killings. Not sure if he believes me, though.”

“He’s a bright boy. After another dozen trips through the revival machine, he’ll be fully educated.”

Sargon laughed and stepped away from me.

What was left of our unit moved as a scattered group. We maintained a distance of about five meters between us, just in case the ground lasers noticed us and tried to burn us down.

As we covered ground rapidly, I noticed a vast number of small, dark holes in the hull at our feet. They weren’t big enough for an armored man to pass, but they would fit a light trooper—or a Vulbite.

We reached the umbilical after about ten minutes of rapid progress. The shocker was that Cooper made it all the way out there, still very much alive.

We’d only encountered and killed a score of the enemy on the way, mostly wounded types and communications-relay troops working equipment. Rushing them by surprise, we took them out one by one.

I knew we were living on borrowed time, of course. Either the enemy would send out a counterforce, or they’d use their planet-bound beamers. One way or the other, they’d kill us eventually.

But sometimes, in the heat of battle, a small force can flank and take significant action. I hoped this would be one of those times.

We reached the umbilical, and we began to set charges. The whole thing was relatively flimsy. Torn loose from its moorings, it should rip loose and fall down into the atmosphere, burning up and collapsing of its own weight.

“Unit Three?” a familiar voice buzzed in my helmet. It was Primus Graves. “McGill? Are you the one who’s out there on the roof?”

Only Harris and I could hear Graves, as he was using command chat, and the other officers were all dead.

Harris looked at me, and I looked at him. We were both breathing hard.

“Just stay quiet,” Harris said. “You’ve got mute on, we both do. Just ignore him and set these charges. This whole thing will be over in five minutes.”

I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“McGill, damn your worthless skin, answer me!” Graves bellowed.

Looking at Harris, I knew what he wanted. If the umbilical was destroyed, the complex would be worthless. It would take months or even years to repair. We’d probably be recalled, or reinforcements might be dispatched. Either way, the meat-grinder would stop grinding for now.

But I was thinking of bigger things. We were in a war, after all. Earth needed this planet. Drusus had carefully laid out the case for that, and I for one had been convinced he was right.

“This is our forward base—” I said to Harris.

“Oh now, hold on, McGill!” Harris shouted. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and turned into a law-abiding citizen all of a sudden! This is over! I don’t want to crawl on top of this tin can for one more—”

“Primus Graves?” I transmitted. “McGill reporting, sir. We’re at the base of the umbilical.”

“What the fuck are you doing out there, McGill? Do not, repeat, DO NOT blow that strategic asset. Do you copy that?”

“Yes sir. I wouldn’t even consider it. We’re just ambushing Vulbites as they come up from the planet to reinforce.”

Harris was hanging his head and groaning. Sweat dribbled and spread over his helmet’s faceplate.

“All right,” Graves said. “Hold out as long as you can. Graves out.”

When the contact closed, Harris didn’t raise his head.

“We were so close, man,” he said. “So close…”

“Don’t worry, Harris,” I told him. “I’ve got a better idea.”

He lifted his head again. “Are you shitting me? Don’t mess around. That’s not cool, McGill. Not today.”

“I’ll tell you all about it later—if it works out.”

With those words, I flipped open my faceplate.

It was a bad move. I should have shot myself instead.

Dying in hard vacuum is a nasty way to go. Your blood begins to boil, your lungs and eyeballs freeze solid—

I didn’t have to experience the whole thing. A spray of snap-rifle bullets crashed into my skull before the end.

Harris did it, I was pretty sure. Maybe he knew I’d meant to commit suicide, and he’d decided to help me out.

Either that, or he was getting petty revenge on me for having talked to Graves.

-27-

I’ve died and been brought back to life any number of times, but I usually didn’t try so hard to get off the table and get moving.

“What’s his score?” a male voice asked.

“Eight… eight-point-five. I’m calling it a good grow.”

“Get off me,” I mumbled, struggling to open my eyes.

The lights seemed brilliant, dazzling. As was always the case, I felt the pain of using eyeballs that had never focused or dealt with vision before. It was kind of like being under studio lights with a serious hangover.

Sitting up, I swayed on the edge of the table. Beginners would often take a first step right then—but I was no beginner. My balance was off, I could feel it. The inner ear, the nervous system—everything was settling in.

Revival machines weren’t exactly machines, and they didn’t exactly revive a person, either. Using a process akin to flesh-printing, what they really did was grow a new body inside an artificial organic sac. Functionally, the alien contraption was the newly-copied person’s mother—in a disturbing way.

The whole process was messy and stomach-twisting. It didn’t bear thinking about.

When I knew I could stand up straight, I climbed off the gurney and pulled on clothes.

“Don’t you want a shower?” the bio leader asked. “We highly recommend a shower.”

“I wish I had the time,” I said, “and I thank you for the offer, but I’ve got to get going.”

The bio was a tall fellow with narrow, intelligent-looking face. “What’s the hurry, Adjunct?” he asked. “You’re not going to win this battle single-handed.”

There was a hint of defeat in his tone. I forced my bleary, burning eyes to focus on him.

“What’s the story?” I asked. “What’s happened since I went out?”

The bio slid his eyes to the orderlies helping him, and then back to me.

“Charge the tanks,” he said, toweling goop off his hands. “I’ll take a second to talk to the adjunct, here.”

They nodded and went to work. Their faces were sweaty and grim.

To my mind, only two groups of people earned their pay when Varus deployed into a hot zone: the frontline troops, and sorry bastards like this bio who rebuilt us when we fell in combat. For this reason, I was interested in what the bio had to say.

“Adjunct James McGill,” the bio said, reading his tapper. He frowned for a second. “Aren’t you…?”

“Yeah,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m that guy.”

I didn’t know which of my exploits he was thinking of, but it didn’t much matter. Whatever crime, exploit, heroic act or astounding breach of protocol he was pondering, I was almost certainly guilty as charged.

He laughed and shook his head. “Okay then, you deserve the straight story. We’re not supposed to say anything that might demoralize the troops, you understand?”

“I surely do. You mind if I take that shower after all—real quick-like, while you’re talking?”

He blinked, but waved me toward the stall.

There wasn’t anything like privacy in a revival chamber. We were all born naked and slimy. Everything about us was right there in plain sight. In accordance with these realities, the shower was nothing more than a tube-shaped vessel made of clear plastic. I got inside, slammed the door and poured water onto myself. It felt good, and I thought it was the right move. I was thinking more sharply immediately.

“The fighting on the complex is all internal now,” the bio told me. “We’ve been pushed back to inner strongholds. Some units are completely cut off.”

Long before I’d had my fill, I turned off the water, toweled off and put on a uniform. It stuck to me in places, but not as badly as it would have if I’d been coated in afterbirth.

“How much of the station do the Vulbites control?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “I get different reports. Twenty percent? Thirty? Something like that. I do know they command everything around the umbilical. They made a big push there.”

My face twisted into a half-smile. I wondered how much trouble my unit had given them. I hoped the Vulbites had suffered a great deal of pain.

“So… we’re losing?”

“Seems like it. We’re definitely in retreat.”

I looked up, and I saw the defeat in his eyes. He knew. Probably, everyone did.

“What about reinforcements?”

His eyes lit up. “More ships are coming? More legions?”

Shaking my head, I had to burst his bubble. “No—not that I know of. Not yet.”

“There won’t be a later. We won’t last three days.”

“Well sir,” I told him. “You’re in luck.”

“How’s that?”

“I’m here to fix things.”

He snorted, clearly not believing me. Still, he did seem curious. He waggled a finger at me.

“Now I remember. You were the guy who was permed and brought back. Some people said you attacked a Mogwa. Is that really true?”

“No sir!” I said loudly. “That’s a vicious lie. Do you really think that if I’d done something so heinous, so insane, I’d be standing here talking to you right now?”

The bio relaxed and shook his head. “No… I guess not.”

“Most rumors are like that,” I advised him. “They fall apart the moment you think about them in the cold light of day.”

“All right,” the bio said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Go kill a billion Vulbites for me.”

“A billion, huh?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Yeah, the population of the planet is supposed to be in that zone—or maybe more.”

Sickened, I gave him a big smile. I marched out waving and whistling a little tune.

It wasn’t until I got to the elevators that I let my real thoughts show.

Billions?

If that was true, we were well and truly screwed over. Nothing I could do in the short term was going to save the situation.

All the same, I had to try.

The floor lit up under my feet in the passages, directing me with arrows to the barracks. I ignored them and went off in the opposite direction. Hopefully, no one would notice.

A few minutes later, I reached the way-station, where troops were filing down from the revival chambers to the front lines in the space-factory.

A centurion stopped me, putting his hand against my chest. He frowned up at me, and I frowned down at him.

Recognition lit up my brain.

“Centurion Manfred!” I said, greeting him with a hearty hello.

He clapped my arm, but he didn’t stop frowning at me.

“Uh…” I said. “Is there a problem, sir?”

“You don’t have to sir me, McGill. Remember?”

“Oh… right. What’s up?”

He pointed at my head. “Your hair is still wet. You can’t go right back to the line, man. You should head to the officer’s mess and take an hour.”

“I thought things were bad down there,” I said.

“They are—but that’s all the more reason we need our officers clear-eyed and fully operating in the brain-pan.”

As he said this, he tapped his temple with a gloved finger.

“Um…” I said, looking around the chamber.

There was lots of foot-traffic, and to be honest, I’d kind of hoped no one would notice me as I slipped through the way-station.

One of these two active jump-gates led to Earth. It was easy to see which one it was, as heavy troops marched out of it periodically in squads of nine.

The other gate was getting far more traffic. Everyone who’d died and been sent back to the front, plus all the Blood-Worlders, were marching through at a pretty steady rate. I wouldn’t call it a congo-line, but it was clear we were taking heavy losses and replacing them as fast as we could.

None of these people, however, looked like they’d marched here straight from Blue Deck.

I was trying to figure out what to say to Manfred, who was really cramping my style. But before I came up with anything good, my tapper began to buzz.

I ignored the message, although it was marked urgent and blinked red. I pulled my sleeve over it while it continued to buzz.

“Is that Primus Graves calling?” Manfred asked.

“Nope,” I lied.

“But that tone,” he said, frowning at me. “That’s a superior officer.”

“Right,” I said. “Sometimes… well… ladies get concerned at moments like this.”

Manfred looked baffled for a second—but then he caught on and gave a shout of laughter.

Everyone glanced at us, and I forced a grin.

Manfred took a step closer to me, and he lowered his voice.

“So it’s true?” he said. “What they say about you and Turov? That you’re meeting her every night?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation.”

Shaking his head, he threw his arms wide. “How can I possibly give a man like you advice? Do what you’re gonna do, McGill. See you in Hell.”

“Thank you, Centurion. I’m looking forward to it.”

At last, he stopped pestering me and led a squad of fresh troops through the jump-gate that led back to the space-factory. I felt a pang to see him go. He was a brave man, and he didn’t deserve to die again today unnecessarily.

That moment made up my mind for me. I turned away from the jump-gate that led back down to the space complex, and I approached the second one.

“Hey!” a hand shot out and grabbed my bicep.

I fought down an urge to put the man on his ass—he was only doing his job.

“Veteran,” I said, nodding to him.

Then I did a double-take. I knew the guy. It was Veteran Alders, the very man who’d tried to stop me from entering Galina’s quarters the day before.

Smiling in recognition, I greeted him like he was a long lost brother.

“Hey, Alders! You okay? I’m surprised you can talk with that fat lip.”

His face fell into a deep scowl.

“McGill,” he said, “there’s no way you’re going AWOL back to Earth. You can just get that idea right out of your head.”

Two other men, thick arms crossed, came up to support him. They had their shock-rods out, but they hadn’t flipped them on. That was good, because I might have taken things the wrong way if they had.

I kept a smile on my face. I’m good at that. Ask any of the women who’ve arranged a surprise party for me on a night I wanted to watch a ball game. I can smile all the way to the gallows and back again, if I have to.

“Oh,” I said, “my bad. I’ll have you talk to the tribune, then.”

So saying, I made a show of drawing back my sleeve to reveal my tapper. Red symbols blinked there, and the special tone that sounded when officers called their subordinates.

“Um…” Alders said. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Sure I do!” I said. “It’s no trouble at all. She likes to talk to hogs—I mean veterans like you guys who are checking up on her special orders.”

Alders showed me his teeth, but he looked worried all the same. The other two vets at his side were frowning now, stepping side-to-side like worried horses.

“Just get the hell out of here,” Alders said at last. “It was because of you I drew this shitty post in the first place.”

“Oh no! I’m real sorry about that. You want me to put in a good word—?”

“No, no! Just disappear. Forget I talked to you at all.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Alders, but I accept.”’

Then, before they could change their minds or notice it was actually Graves and Winslade trying to contact me, I stepped in between the gateway posts and vanished.

-28-

The jump-gate trip was a long one. Long enough so I could feel the alien machine breaking me down and assembling me again. Nostrum and Legion Varus were deployed way, way out there.

It didn’t hurt, not exactly. It was more like a fluttering sensation that rippled through my guts.

When I was whole again, I stood in a northern field. The land was green with a thick carpet of grass, and the soil was black and wet beneath it.

I almost doubled over with that freaky sensation in my guts fluttering and bubbling—and events didn’t give me time to recover.

A squadron of heavy troopers was marching right toward me, single-file. Not being too bright, and being the type that followed orders to the letter, they marched right into my face without breaking stride.

I dove to the left, rolling off the platform and onto the grass. Getting up and brushing myself off, I looked up at Earth’s bright yellow sun. Even up north, here in Nova Scotia, our star was brighter than the one I’d left behind.

Despite the unpleasant welcome, I felt glad to be back. Right off, I knew I liked Earth best. The Mogwa might call my planet a backward dirt-hole, lacking in refinement in every possible way—but she would always be home to me.

While I was brushing myself off and adjusting my kit, I sensed the approach of another squad of large beings.

Looking around, I saw a trio of lanky slavers approaching. They had that dumb-but-mean stare on their faces.

The slavers surrounded me on that grassy hill. They could talk, but they usually didn’t bother. Today was no exception to that rule. They stared at me like a bug on a dinner plate—a bug they didn’t like, but which they didn’t quite have the guts to squish.

“Gentlemen,” I said, looking up at the slavers. “I’m Adjunct James McGill, a human officer in Legion Varus. I’m here to talk to your commander.”

Without a word, they formed up a triangle around me. I felt like a little kid being surrounded by football players. With hardly any daylight between them, they began to march. I marched with them—it was that or be walked over and trampled.

Blood Worlders didn’t talk much as a group. The really big ones, the giants, lacked the capacity to speak more than a few dozen words. They were more into taking orders than giving them. Once these guys had been given a task, they followed it unswervingly until they died or succeeded. They were born and bred to be that way.

The slavers didn’t lay hands on me, and I was glad for that. Sometimes, I got angry when I was handled improperly, and bad things happened. Luckily for all of us, they merely used this herding-technique of theirs to walk me to a command post.

The tent flaps were drawn wide. The tent itself was impressive, looking more like something that belonged in a circus than the great outdoors.

The front man of the slaver trio stepped aside, allowing me to walk inside. I did so, thanking them for serving as guides.

Their faces registered nothing. Not even confusion. Just a blank.

“You boys are fresh from Blood World, aren’t you?” I asked, laughing. “I can tell you just got here.”

Inside the tent, another large figure sat at a folding desk. This being was just as big as the heavy troopers, but he had a very different configuration of limbs.

“A Cephalopod?” I asked in surprise.

“I am Sub-Centurion Bubble,” he said in a deadly-serious tone.

My mouth twitched, but I sensed it wasn’t the time to bust out laughing, so I contained myself. Cephalopods were usually named after some property of water, and this squid was no exception to that rule.

“A sub-centurion, huh?” I asked. “Tell me, as a human adjunct, am I expected to salute you?”

The squid look startled at this suggestion. His numerous eyes widened in unison.

“Certainly not. That would be improper. I’m a sub-centurion, meaning a leader among slaves.”

“Right…” I said. “Good then, here’s what I need you to do for me, Bubbles—”

“It’s Bubble,” he interrupted, “the singular form.”

“Yeah, well… forgive me if I get it wrong.”

Bubble ruffled himself.

“There’s no need for a human to ask forgiveness from a slave-commander,” he said in a formal tone. “However, although I serve humans, it’s not you in particular I serve. I’m concerned that you’re not a legitimate authority here as you’re not assigned to this post.”

“Ah… so you’re a stickler, huh?” I asked. “Tell me, squid, have you heard of Praetor Drusus?”

“Of course. He governs the defense of Earth.”

“That’s him. Now, he’s the man I need to talk to. He’s the man I answer to directly, when everything is said and done.”

The squid looked confused and wary. “Is this an attempt to get me to damage myself?”

“What?”

“My reputation. If I forward your request, I may be in error. That will lower my status, possibly making me lose my sub-centurion rank.”

“On the other hand,” I said, “if I am an acting agent working for Drusus, and you delay my urgent message from the front lines, you’ll be in big trouble. They’ll boil you in your own ink back at Central.”

The squid looked alarmed all over again. I knew a thing or two about squids, having dealt with them for years. They really had boiled each other in ink, back in the old days when they were running their own empire.

“There’s no reason to resort to threats,” Bubble said.

“No? Good. Now, contact Drusus for me.”

The squid hesitated further. His tentacles squirmed around indecisively. “Why can’t you use your tapper to place this call?”

“I’m a secret agent. I need help. There are enemies of the state after me, and I require your assistance. Are you refusing to render aid?”

“No…” he said, and he began working his tapper at last.

The real reason I didn’t use my tapper was a practical one. Hegemony tracked all humans via their tappers. According to the Central’s datacore, I’d been assigned to a post on Dark World. Accessing the net and placing calls would set off alarm bells, and very possibly it would result in my arrest by less than friendly folks.

The squid indicated the surface of his desk. I walked forward and used one finger to spin around the image so it faced me.

“Hey there,” I said, liking what I saw.

A young adjunct with short-cropped hair was playing the part of receptionist for Drusus. I was impressed as this alone told me he was true brass. Most officers only had AI faces answering their calls.

Besides, she was kind of pretty.

“Who are you, Adjunct?” she asked. “What happened to sub-centurion—?”

“Bubbles is right here, don’t worry,” I told her. “I’m Adjunct James McGill, from Legion Varus. I need to talk to the praetor. It’s urgent.”

Her face had been open and inquisitive, but it quickly closed down into an unpleasant scowl. I thought to myself she should avoid that type of expression. It would undoubtedly draw premature wrinkles on her face—and that would be a shame.

“Legion Varus has been deployed,” she said. “All information concerning that legion is classified. This call is at an end, Adjunct.”

“Wait!” I said. “Hold on, girl. Think for a second: I’m a member of that legion. I’m on Earth. Something has gone wrong with the Varus mission. Something has gone very wrong, and I’ve been sent to tell Drusus about it.”

She hesitated. I could tell she wanted to cut me off, but she wasn’t quite sure that she should. Before she spoke again, I pressed my advantage.

“Classified missions sometimes use unconventional channels when communicating their status back to the brass,” I said. “Now, all you have to do is contact Drusus and tell him who’s calling. If he doesn’t want to talk—well then, I’m in error.”

That pretty face was scowling right up until the moment she hooked me up to Drusus, but I no longer cared. There were bigger things to worry about now.

Drusus’ face appeared. “McGill? Really…?”

“Yes sir! It’s your lucky day!”

He heaved a sigh. “Then why is it that my lunch is already churning in my stomach?”

“Well sir, my family has a number of remedies for that sort of thing. I’ll have to tell you about them sometime.”

“I look forward to it,” he said dryly. “Now, why are you on Earth, and why are you calling me?”

Right then, I knew I had him. He was in the palm of my hand. He’d almost wriggled free, what with the aliens and his secretary, but I’d gotten through.

I think the reason Drusus put up with so much bullshit from me was because I intrigued him. We were polar opposites. He was a man of calm judgment, decorum and strict adherence to the rulebook—and I, on the other hand… I was a scoundrel. A man without any respect for the rules other than common decency in all its forms.

Requesting a private talk before I spilled my guts, I learned Drusus had already dispatched an air car. It was coming from his office, and it arrived quickly.

I was surprised to see there was no driver. I climbed in, and the air car lifted off. I was whisked away to Central.

We had plenty of auto-piloting vehicles these days, of course, but they weren’t that common in air cars—especially ones heading to Central.

Lawyers and bureaucrats, that’s who had stopped Earth’s development in AI. They’d started right in during the twenty-first century, suing the pants off of every auto-driven car manufacturer. Later on, when our AI got smarter, the Galactics had rolled in the Nairbs and pretty much outlawed the use of such systems.

While I rode the skies to Central, I pondered the Empire. The core bedrock of the biggest organization in history, the glue that had kept it together for thousands of years, was economic in nature. By maintaining strict regional trading rights on many products—including AI systems—the Galactics had both kept the lesser races from improving and made us dependent on each other at the same time.

Since AI systems were a trade good from the Pegasus star systems, it was illegal for us to make them very smart here on Earth. If you want a true smart air car, you had to pay up to the Pegs, as they were known. Since the Pegs liked to charge too many Galactic credits per license, we relied mostly on dumb, cheap robots.

During the flight, I had time to wonder what this flying AI-driven car might indicate. Were we flaunting age-old laws? Or had we paid off the Pegs? Or possibly, we’d become so important to the Galactics that we were now allowed to bend certain rules.

Whatever the correct answer was, I thought it would be an interesting question to ask Drusus when I saw him.

When I landed at Central, things didn’t go quite the way I’d expected. In fact, I didn’t exactly land at all. As the car was descending, the roof opened up and swallowed it whole.

Sinking down a deep shaft, I looked up, craning my neck to peer out the passenger window. Above me, a blue square of sky could be seen. Rapidly, this square became a rectangle, then a slit, and finally winked out entirely.

“Uh…” I said, wondering what was going on. “Hey car? AI? Who’s driving this thing? Can you talk?”

There was no response, and that got me to frowning. In case something had gone terribly wrong, I felt an urge to take action.

I’m not a sit still and take it quietly kind of guy under most circumstances. So, I began to climb from the backseat into the front. Maybe with a real human at the wheel, the car would pay more attention to me.

The first thing I discovered was my seatbelt didn’t release. I thumbed it, whacked it and gave it a mighty tug. Nothing.

A moment later, I slashed myself free. A big rip appeared in the tank-grown leather seat, but I figured that was just too damned bad. The owner should have instructed the car to talk.

Wriggling over the seats from the back into the front, I seized the wheel.

The air car bucked a little, and a spark—no, make that a whole long streak of sparks—began flaring up from the fender on the passenger side.

“Dammit…” I said, trying to angle away from the wall.

I over-corrected as apparently the shaft the car was descending into was a very tight squeeze. I winced as a screeching sound began again. It set my teeth on edge, like fingernails on a rough surface.

Getting desperate, I considered kicking out the windshield next—but I didn’t do it.

Taking about six deep breaths, I reasoned things through. If Drusus had wanted me dead, he didn’t have to go to all this trouble. He’d have just ordered the Blood Worlders to shoot me when I was still back up in Nova Scotia.

Bubbles would have done it, too. Squids were natural bastards on their best day.

So, logically, I wasn’t in any danger. And even if I was, there wasn’t much I could do about it. I couldn’t fly the car back up the shaft. The door at the top had closed, and the shaft was so narrow I’d probably wreck the car in the attempt.

Sighing, I relaxed, took my hands off the steering wheel and sat back. My arms were crossed, and I rode in brooding silence down about a hundred floors.

At last, light expanded and brightened under the car. It came down for a very gentle landing.

-29-

When the air car landed, I took a good look around. I found myself in a luxurious office, a real surprise for Central.

First off, the room was big. Possibly, this entire floor of Central had been used to make this one, gigantic chamber.

Distantly, I saw a figure rise from a desk and approach the car. As if the car itself recognized the man, it rolled down a window for me.

“Ah, McGill!” Praetor Drusus called out. “There you are!”

It was time for a grin of greeting, so I created one, despite the fact it didn’t come from my heart.

“Praetor Drusus!” I called out, bellowing back at him.

I opened the car door gently, not wanting to do any further damage, and climbed out.

“What do you think of my new car from Pegasus—Sweet Jesus!” Drusus broke off.

Dumbfounded, he walked around the vehicle and surveyed the damage.

There was a wisp of smoke and a powerful odor. My best guess was one of the tires had been abraded down to nothing, like a pencil eraser in the hands of a grade-schooler.

Standing beside the vehicle, my smile faded away.

“Uh…” I said. “I think the AI might need some adjustment.”

“I don’t believe this…” Drusus said, making a second circuit of the car, faster this time. He spotted and touched each damaged component.

Shaking my head, I made tsking sound. “A damned shame. Surprising too, seeing as it’s a genuine Pegasus product. Those aliens really know what they’re doing—usually.”

Drusus looked like I’d run over his cat. “This car was trained to come down that shaft to my new office on its very first day, and it’s never made a navigational error before!”

“Calibration,” I said firmly. “That’s what it needs. These vehicles can be tricky, sir. Just ask Turov, she’s had several air cars.”

Drusus finally looked up at me, peering into my eyes. His expression had shifted from open and welcoming to suspicious.

For my own part, I thought his mind was traveling down unfair pathways. He was already suspecting me. Sure, I’d wrecked his car, but that wasn’t the point. Why couldn’t he at least give me the benefit of the doubt?

None of my thoughts showed on my face, naturally. In fact, I maintained a dumbfounded frown of shared concern. My hands were on my hips, and I eyed the car curiously, as if trying to fathom the mystery of its status.

Drusus let his eyes travel over the car, then me, and then the shaft overhead.

“When you got out of the car, you were in the driver’s seat, weren’t you?” he asked.

“Um… yes sir. I get sick in backseats. It’s been that way since I was a kid.”

He nodded slowly, he opened the back door. There, plain to see, the seatbelt and seats had been slashed. The foam padding underneath was exposed and mushrooming up in an ugly-looking manner.

Drusus straightened and looked at me with his teeth clamped together.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” he said. “It’s my fault.”

“Uh… what’s your fault, Praetor, sir?”

“I shouldn’t have allowed a man of your caliber into my air car. If you don’t want something damaged, you don’t stick it into a blender.”

“Words to live by, Praetor.”

We regarded one another seriously for a moment. Finally, Drusus turned his back on his car and walked away. He was making an obvious effort to drop his anger and focus just on me.

I found this impressive. It was a clear example of how Drusus wasn’t like normal people. He could put aside petty troubles in order to seek important solutions to bigger problems.

Since he’d made such a magnanimous move, I decided to do the same.

“Let me cut right to it, sir,” I said walking after him. “I’m here because we’re about to lose Dark World. Turov needs to call in reinforcements, but she doesn’t want to do it.”

Drusus frowned. “You realize she’s assured me, as recently as this morning, that she can hold and soon advance her position?”

“Maybe—but that’s bullshit, sir. I’ve been on the front lines, and I’ve died there. The Vulbites have pushed us back. By now, they probably control half the factory complex.”

“Vulbites aren’t that sophisticated,” Drusus argued.

“It’s a simple matter of numbers: they have more.”

He stared at me for a moment. “Come over to my desk,” he said.

I followed him, and he led me to a command table. Normally, units like this were located in the center of a command post, but Drusus had one of his own.

A sweep of his hand woke up the table, and a few more gestures brought up a schematic of the space complex.

“This is the latest sitrep from Varus Command,” he said. “You’re telling me it’s in error?”

Frowning, I pored over the map. It took a minute to get my bearings. The place was big and complicated, and some of its regions had yet to be explored.

“There,” I said, spotting the hold out position my unit had defended until my last death. “That was where I was stationed yesterday. But it’s gone now, in enemy hands.”

The region I’d indicated was tinted blue, which meant it was supposedly firmly held border territory. The outer hull was red, meaning it was in enemy hands—but there were spots of blue out there, too. The deeper levels were all green—meaning safe.

“What else?” he asked.

“That whole level and two more below it—that’s all gone sir. And these spots of interaction on the outer hull? Contested? That’s a joke. We abandoned those yesterday. Keep in mind that I’m not even sure how much worse it is right now.”

Drusus leaned on the table, putting both his palms on it. The table made flashing ripples around his hands, trying to figure out what he wanted it to do next.

“I don’t understand how she could do it—or why.”

We were talking about Turov. I understood, and I felt a pang. I was in the very act of ratting her out.

My relationship with Galina had never been anything like normal. We’d killed each other, loved each other, and backstabbed one another many times.

But today, I was taking action because I felt I had to. She was only one of the friends I had out there on Dark World. The others were fighting and dying in a hopeless battle because of her.

And it wasn’t like I was doing this to get revenge on her. I was motivated to save my friends the agony of frequent death and the possible loss of this valuable asset for the homeworld. Earth needed a frontline industrial base, just as Drusus had explained.

“I’m not sure how this map was faked, or who did it,” I said. “But I think… yes, looking at this layout, I’d say you have old data. They’re feeding you maps from the early hours, right after the invasion and the original counterattacks. Things have changed for the worse lately.”

He nodded. He looked morose.

“I shouldn’t have sent Turov,” he said. “It’s my fault, in a way. I demoted her, humiliated her, and at the same time removed a more capable officer from the legion.”

“I wouldn’t take all the blame myself if I were you, sir.”

He looked at me. “If the soldier disobeys, it’s the soldier’s fault. But if the order was incorrect, or the general was unclear, it’s the general’s fault. Do you know who said that?”

“Uh… no.”

“Sun-Tzu. I’m paraphrasing, but the logic fits. I placed the wrong commander on the scene, after having put her in a no-win position.”

“Um… how’d you do that, sir?”

“Turov is very ambitious—I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

I laughed. “I might have at that.”

“Well, when you demote someone, they’re naturally out to prove themselves and regain their rank. That instinct is doubly strong in Galina Turov.”

“Oh…” I said. “I think I understand what you’re saying. She’s taking risks, delaying the reports of bad news, hoping against hope she can pull this off and come out a hero.”

“Exactly,” Drusus said. “And all because I made a series of errors in judgment.”

There was an awkward moment of silence. I still didn’t quite get why Drusus was blaming himself, rather than Turov.

“Sir?” I asked. “Why exactly did you move Deech up into the top brass?”

His head rose, but he didn’t meet my eyes. “That was a mistake too—I’m afraid. She’s a good officer, don’t get me wrong—but my motivations weren’t appropriate.”

That word… appropriate. That set off alarm bells.

“Sir?” I asked. “You and Deech aren’t… um… Maybe I shouldn’t ask any more.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” he said.

Sucking in a deep breath, Drusus straightened his spine again. He’d been half-slumped over the command table all this time, not meeting my eyes.

Now, he turned around and faced me again.

“I’m sending you back,” he said.

“Uh… okay.”

“With a new legion right behind you.”

I brightened. “Which one, sir?”

“The Iron Eagles.”

“Oh…” I said in disappointment.

“You don’t approve?” he asked.

“That’s not my place to—”

“Just give me your opinion, as a man on the spot.”

“Well sir, Iron Eagles is a fine outfit. One of Earth’s best. But they’re kind of straight-laced, if you know what I mean. I’m not sure they’ll mesh well with Varus.”

He smiled grimly. “That’s what I’m counting on. Deech used to command the Eagles, did you know that?”

“Um… yes sir.”

That was another, more private reason why I was worried about the choice. Deech seemed to be behind Galina’s fall, and she might be pressing for Drusus to use her old legion to bail out Varus in the field.

“Um…” I said. “Who might be placed in charge of the whole op, sir?”

“Imperator Deech, of course,” he said. “She has the appropriate rank to run a two-legion operation. Besides, she’s recently commanded both of these outfits. I can’t think of anyone more qualified.”

My lips curled up to bare my teeth, and I wanted to make a hissing sound—but I didn’t. Fortunately, Drusus missed my reaction. He’d turned back to his command desk and was making notes.

Drusus had confirmed my worst fears. He was still favoring Deech, even if he didn’t realize it.

Galina couldn’t help but feel burned. It would be the ultimate humiliation between these two women to have their roles reversed, and both placed on the battlefield together.

“Sir…” I began, “I’m not entirely sure—”

“McGill,” Drusus said, turning away from his desk again.

I noticed he had a gun in his hand. Where had that come from? I wasn’t certain.

“Sir…?”

“I thank you for bringing me this information,” he said, “but I can’t publicly acknowledge the fact that you did it, do you understand?”

“Uh…”

“It would be unseemly, and it would blow your cover. I’m going to be very busy deploying the reinforcing legion as rapidly as possible, so I regret that I can’t offer you any form of refreshment before I see you off.”

“Um… that’s okay, sir. I’m not hungry or anything.”

He gave me a wintery smile. “Good. Well, then. Time to send you back to your unit, in the fastest manner possible. Our cover story will be that you died stepping through the jump-gate when it was unstable. That happens from time to time, you know.”

“No, sir. I didn’t know that…”

“Well, now you do. Good bye, Adjunct.”

“Uh… Good bye, sir.”

Then, without a further word, he shot me in the left nostril—or at least, that was my recollection. It’s hard to be sure as I was dying at the time, and nerves in shock can give a man twisted-up memories.

I can only assume the super-sonic pellet punched right through the back of my skull. Being well-acquainted with such things, I’m sure a microsecond later my brains were blasted out all over Drusus’ office in a fine, misty spray.

One thing I was sure of when I eventually returned to life: the praetor had worn a cold smile on his face as he murdered me.

Maybe he’d been more upset about the state of his air car than he’d let on.

-30-

After an unhappy revival, I was redeployed to my unit.

My cover-story about having been killed in a jump-gate incident was met with outright disbelief.

“Yeah sure, McGill,” Leeson said, snorting with laughter. “Turov must have been pretty disappointed with your performance if she killed you all over again.”

Harris guffawed, and I looked at both of them with a smug expression.

“What?” Harris asked, noting my mood was a good one. “You like dying now? Does it turn you on?”

“I don’t mind when my mission has been accomplished.”

They both blinked at that. “We still talking about Turov?” Leeson asked, confused.

“No, dammit. I’m talking about what I set out to do.”

“What?” Harris demanded. “Get us pulled out of here?”

“Better,” I said. “We need reinforcements, and we’re going to get them.”

“More lies,” Winslade said.

He’d sidled up to listen to our conversation, apparently.

“You’ll see,” I said.

“You’re wrong, McGill,” Winslade said. “In fact, you’re worse than wrong, you’re full of the worst kind of sewage. I don’t approve of ginning up morale in this fashion—by lying to the rank and file.”

Frowning, I turned to face him. “What makes you so sure help isn’t coming, Centurion?”

“Because I’ve questioned Turov—with great circumspection, of course—on her plans. You might have spoken to her, and possibly she promised you help. But it will not happen. Not in the near future, at least. She wants us all to fight and die down here in squalor until the absolute hopelessness of the situation is made even more abundantly clear.”

“Is that right?” I asked.

Shaking their heads in disgust, Leeson and Harris walked away. Once they were out of earshot, Winslade came a few steps nearer. I did my best not to shy away.

“You did see her—didn’t you?”

“I surely did.”

“And you… planted the drone? Is that correct?”

“Uh…” I said, thinking about how I’d handed it over to Turov, screwing Winslade in the process.

“Don’t tell me you lost it!” Winslade exclaimed.

My slack-jawed stare didn’t impress him. “It was kinda small…” I said, deciding to cop to the lesser plea he’d offered me.

Winslade sucked in a lot of air and spit through his teeth. “That thing is illegal, expensive, and dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“Don’t I know it, Sir, I’m awfully sorry. I’m sure it will turn up somewhere.”

“You’re an imbecile, McGill. The only bigger fool present is me, for trusting you with such a delicate instrument. I should have crushed it under my boot heel. That would have been more satisfying.”

“In the end, you might be right about that, sir,” I said.

He gave me an odd look, not getting my meaning. Shaking his head, he stomped off in a huff. I wasn’t sad to see him go.

Before I could settle down into a bunk and get a little much deserved shut-eye, I was accosted by another unexpected person. It was Della.

So far on this campaign, I hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to her. She’d left 3rd Unit to join another outfit full of light troops who were experts in scouting. That was more her strong point, anyway.

“Della,” I said, mustering all the enthusiasm I could with one eye propped open. “I haven’t seen you in a month.”

“That’s because I haven’t sought you out,” she said.

I heard, just maybe, a hurt tone under her words. Could she be suggesting I should have come looking for her?

Della and I had a long, twisted history. That could be said about any number of women, but it was especially true in her case. We’d fought together, killed each other, loved each other, and even had a child—Etta.

Suddenly, I knew why she was bent out of shape. It had to be about Etta. She didn’t give much of a shit about me most of the time, but buried beneath that harsh, Dust-Worlder exterior, she was still a mom.

“It’s Etta,” I said. “Are you worried about her?”

“Of course I am. I only just found out she tried to join Varus!”

“She did?” I exclaimed, sitting up and pretending I was shocked.

Della rolled her eyes at me. “You can cut the act. I know you were instrumental in keeping Etta out of the legion.”

“Oh,” I said, slumping back and putting an arm over my face to block out the light.

That earned me a swift kick in the ribs. Her boots were on, and my breastplate was off, so I knew I’d bruise up pretty badly. I didn’t think she’d broken any, but ribs could surprise you that way.

In a flash of anger, I caught her foot and almost flipped her on her can, but she slipped away and danced out of reach.

I rolled onto my feet, and we faced each other, both pissed off.

Did I mention that Della and I had anger-management issues when we were in close proximity? This instance was just one of many.

“How could you?” she asked.

“Uh… how could I what?”

“Let our daughter join this blood, bones and gristle legion? She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s too young!”

“Damn, girl,” I said, rubbing my ribs. “Didn’t you just get done saying I kept her out?”

“That’s not the point. She wouldn’t be even dreaming of joining if you hadn’t raised her to think Varus is acceptable. It’s anything but that.”

“Um…” I said.

Della had me there. Varus wasn’t the kind of outfit that you wished upon anyone other than your worst enemy. To my recollection, I’d only worked hard to sell two people on Varus: Cooper and Carlos. Both of them were in the legion now, and I was pretty sure they weren’t completely happy with their life choices.

“All I do is defend Varus now and then.”

“She’s convinced Varus is like her: unloved, out of place, and heroic. That’s got to be your fault.”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “How did you find out about Etta?”

She glanced over her shoulder toward Winslade. “He told me, while attempting to seduce me.”

“Hmmm,” I said. “He thought that bit of information might turn you on, huh?”

“He used it as a conversation starter—but the discussion quickly went in a direction he didn’t expect.”

I laughed. “Did you cut off anything?”

“No… but perhaps I should have.”

“Okay, listen,” I said. “I didn’t tell you about Etta trying to break into Varus because I stopped her. We’ve got a few years now, as she’s underage and Varus knows it.”

“That means nothing. She’ll never let it go. She’s more stubborn than either of us.”

“Yeah…”

Della’s face worked with a series of emotions. That wasn’t like her. She was a tough girl who took most life-events stoically.

But the topic of Etta, her only child, brought out unusual feelings in her.

“Listen,” I said, seeing she was really worked up about the whole thing, “when we get back to Earth, we can plot out a plan of action. Something we can work on together to gently steer Etta on a different path.”

Della clearly needed comforting. She was a sleek, attractive girl who usually showed a lot of tanned skin. Today she was wearing a spacer suit, of course, but her face revealed her state of mind.

Normally, when a pretty girl had a look like that on her face, I was the first man in line to give her a hug—but this was Della. She wasn’t entirely civilized.

Her face twisted with worry, and she stared at the deck between us. “I keep thinking of her, dead in the mud on some airless rock. It makes me sick, James. I never want her to go through dying and living and dying again.”

I sighed, stepped forward, and bit the bullet. I put a gentle arm around her shoulders.

She tensed up automatically, and I swear, it took all my self-control not to cover my privates or even grab her wrist before she could put the hurt on—but I didn’t, and she didn’t do anything nasty.

Della relaxed after a few seconds, and I gave her the lightest of squeezes. It was a very chaste hug, touching only her shoulders.

Surprisingly, she seemed to appreciate the gesture.

“I don’t want to see her like that, either,” I said. “That’s why I did my damnedest to get her blackballed.”

“It won’t work—not forever.”

“I know,” I said, “but I bought us some time.”

She looked up at me then, and I saw a small flower of hope in her face.

I also saw, to my amazement, what looked like a single glistening tear on her cheek.

Damn.

I couldn’t recall ever having seen Della cry before, not even when she had missing limbs and was dying in a heap.

“Really?” she said. “How are you going to stop her?”

“Uh…” I said, thinking fast. My mind was a blank for about three seconds, and Della’s face began to falter again.

“It’ll take both of us,” I said. “It won’t be easy.”

“What do we do? How do you control an errant child? I’ve got no experience with this. No Dust Worlder does, really. Our young do as they please once they reach sexual maturity.”

“Right… I gathered that. But look, when dealing with adolescents, there are a few things that are known to work. You can pretend to be happy with their choices, for example.”

Della blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Let’s say a girl chooses a boy to date—a boy you know will be trouble. A boy you hate.”

“Yes?”

“What parents would do in such a case—the smart ones—is pretend they liked me… uh, the hypothetical bad boy, I mean. Then the girl would often lose interest in time.”

Della blinked. “Are you talking about what the parents of young women did to rid themselves of James McGill?”

“Maybe…”

She looked down, thinking about it. She didn’t seem to notice my hand was still resting lightly on her shoulder, so I left it there. There was no telling, after all, how much comforting she might require.

“It might work…” she said. “It’s a trick. It’s such a base thing, but I understand it. The child is rebelling, demonstrating it has self-control and autonomy. Therefore, it innately wishes to do whatever the parents forbid.”

I nodded, grinning down at her. “That’s right. And by the same token, any behavior the parents begin to encourage becomes less interesting.”

“It will be hard, pretending to sell her on Varus. I’m not sure I can do it. I’m a poor liar.”

“Well then,” I said, giving her an additional light squeeze. “We’ve got a plan, at least. We’ll dig into it the minute we get back to Earth.”

Della glanced at my arm, which was now firmly encircling her shoulders.

“James…” she said, “whatever you’re thinking about, it’s not going to happen. I’m too upset.”

“What?” I exclaimed in mock excitement. “I just wanted to make you feel better.”

Reluctantly, I let my arm drop away, and she gave me a small, thankful smile. She got up on her tiptoes, kissed my cheek, and then she headed back to her unit.

I watched her go, eyeing her walk with pride. That girl really knew how to walk. A man’s pulse quickened with every step she took.

When she’d gone, I flopped back on my makeshift bunk and threw my arm over my eyes again.

Tomorrow would be another day. If I lived through it, I might look up Della and give her a second shot.

After all, I wasn’t the kind of man who learned to avoid a fire the first time he got himself burned.

-31-

The Iron Eagles arrived the next day.

There was no warning and no message from Central heralding the move. Deech simply walked through the gateway posts with her staff at her back, and she immediately began giving commands to anyone and everyone who got in her way.

While this happened in the early morning, I was still sleeping—but that didn’t last long.

A sharp boot kicked me in the side. By chance or design, the point of that boot struck home right where a dark bruise had grown up overnight due to Della’s generous shot to my ribs.

Coming awake with a snarl, my hands grabbed that boot and twisted.

Winslade wasn’t as fast or agile as Della. Perhaps he hadn’t been expecting my reflexes to be so quick, either.

As a result, he was flipped around and onto his face.

“Oh…” I said, yawning and getting up. “Sorry about that, Centurion. Should I lend you a hand?”

“Get away from me, you oaf!”

Winslade climbed painfully to his feet, and he eyed me with hate.

“How did you do it?” he demanded. “How did you get Deech out here, taking over everything?”

I stretched and shrugged, rubbing at that sore spot under my arm. “That was Drusus,” I said. “He decided to send her.”

Winslade’s eyes roved the deck, deep in thought.

“What’s the big deal?” I asked. “You wanted help. The Vulbites are going to attack soon, and they’re going to wipe us out when they do. I thought you wanted reinforcements.”

“Yes, of course—but not Deech! She’ll get us all permed if she can!”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it couldn’t be helped—at least, that’s what she’ll say. She’s no less ambitious than Turov. Don’t you get that?”

I blinked. I knew what he meant, but I didn’t think the two women were much alike. Turov worked in a more free-wheeling fashion that I thought was much more dangerous. She used aliens, Galactics—whatever she had to. Deech, at least, took a much more plodding, traditional route to the top.

“Listen, Centurion,” I told him, “I think you’re getting all wound up about nothing. We’ve got reinforcements coming. Earth is now aware we need help. It should all turn around now.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. I swear, if you gave the man a hundred-credit piece, he’d suspect it was a silver-painted poker chip.

“McGill…” he said, “I sent you to talk to Turov, to get her to agree to request reinforcements. Instead, it seems that they’re coming without her request—and possibly without her knowledge as well.”

I shrugged. “Do you really care how I did it? You wanted it done, and it’s done. If you send James McGill on a mission, you’d better not be the picky type.”

“Evidently…” he said, and he walked off.

Somehow, his radar was up. The man had a rodent’s intuition about danger. I didn’t think he had any idea how I’d arranged things yet—but I hoped he didn’t pry too deeply. He wasn’t going to like the answers.

I wondered how things were going to play out. As it turned out, I didn’t have long to wait.

After Deech had marched through the gateposts with her entire senior staff at her back, she took over Gold Deck aboard Nostrum. A few minutes after that, none other than Galina Turov herself contacted me.

“McGill,” she said, seething mad. “I don’t know how you did it, but I know you alerted Drusus. I will not forgive you for this! Never!”

“Uh…” I began.

My mind searched for any rational excuse, lie or dodge. After a long second, I thought I had an idea. There was no time for second thoughts, so I ran with it.

“Wait a minute!” I said. “Winslade ordered me to do it! Winslade—”

But I stopped talking, because the channel had closed. Effectively, she’d shut me down.

“Winslade what?” a familiar voice demanded from behind me.

I turned to find Centurion Winslade approaching me carefully, the way a man might sneak up on a rabid dog.

“Hello, sir,” I said, sounding as cheery as I could.

“What foul slander were you mouthing just now? And to whom?”

“What? No, no, no,” I said, shaking my head and laughing. “Don’t get the wrong idea. There’s this girl down on Blue Deck that I’ve—”

“Is her name Winslade then, perchance?”

“Of course not, sir. You see, I had a date, and I broke it to follow your orders—regarding the reinforcements, I mean. She’s kind of mad, so she hung up.”

He checked my tapper, and I let him. The id was blocked, which wasn’t uncommon. Turov had called me privately.

His finger lifted, and for a cold second I thought maybe he’d tap on the call-back option, so I deftly turned away.

“If you don’t mind, sir,” I said, “I’d like to go up there and apologize in person.”

“You only just got back, and Deech is in inspection mode. Request denied.”

“Well then… Is there any chance you might see fit to record an explanation for me?”

“A what?” he demanded.

“You know, to tell the girl I’d been sent on a private mission to deliver a message for you. Any chance you could do that for me?”

“None whatsoever.”

I managed to look forlorn, and Winslade gave up the pursuit in disgust. That was just as well. I might have been tempted to use such a recording against him later, and that might make me feel bad. It was never a good idea to tempt a man like me.

Deech didn’t waste any time establishing her authority. She rushed all Turov’s staffers off Gold Deck and took over. Soon, she was on every wall screen and tapper, delivering the news.

Harris walked up and thumped me on the shoulder while she gave us all a speech about twin legions, and cooperation, and all kinds of other malarkey.

“Did you pull this shit?” Harris asked.

I shrugged noncommittally.

Harris laughed. “I was hoping Drusus himself would come out. But at least she brought a solid legion. Iron Eagles—that’s respectable. We should be able to push the Vulbites out now.”

“You’re welcome,” I told him, and we watched Deech finish up her speech.

“And now to our plan of action,” she said. “We’ll first deploy the troops then retake the ground lost on the station. Once that’s secure, we’ll assault the planet itself and wipe out these uppity insects. They’ll never stop attacking if we don’t carry the battle to their doorstep.”

“She’s pretty self-confident,” Harris pointed out.

“Yeah…” I agreed. “Maybe that’s because she hasn’t fought these creatures before.”

Deech wrapped it up, and while she finished speaking she had the cameras switch over to a live feed of the way station.

Ranks of troops were marching into our hold. Hundreds of units, all human, were proudly displaying the double-headed eagle on their pennants.

“The Eagles are going to be insufferable,” Harris said, “but I’m still glad they’re here.”

All the while Deech ordered people around, there wasn’t a peep out of Turov. She’d been buried in her office and essentially deposed. I could only imagine the fit she was throwing right about now.

A few minutes after the feed cut out, Primus Graves came on the line.

“All right, cohort. We’ve got our marching orders. We’re to hold our positions while the Iron Eagles attack.”

Harris and I frowned at one another.

“What’s this horse hockey?” I asked aloud. “We’re going to stay in the rear? Behind the lines?”

Harris shushed me, but Graves seemed to hear my words—I’d forgotten to mute my line.

“Is that—? Yes, it’s Adjunct McGill. The word from on high is that we’re tired and beaten. Accordingly, fresh troops will make the assault. We’re to support them if needed, but mostly, we’ve been ordered to stand aside. Graves out.”

Grumbling ran all over our camp. We hadn’t stuck it out this long in Hell to have another legion waltz in and claim all the glory.

Leeson and Harris were both bitching about this when I shushed them.

“Listen,” I said, “are those Vulbites up there a bunch of weak-sisters?”

“Hell no,” Harris said. “They’re killers.”

“Right. So let the Eagles do what they want. We’ll cooperate fully by stepping aside. Then the Eagles can show us how to do things right.”

Leeson caught on first, and he gave me a dirty laugh.

“You bastard! You’re not going to lift a finger, are you?”

“That’s not true! I said no such thing! What I’m going to do is admire their style from a safe distance. If they ask for help in an appropriate tone, I’ll give it.”

Harris was grinning now. “That’s good. That’s real good. Let them march out there and die in waves. We’ll pick up the pieces.”

Winslade came to talk to us. He was in as sour a mood as I could remember.

“This is underhanded,” he said. “In the past, Deech has commanded both Varus and the Iron Eagles, but she clearly prefers the Eagles.”

“You’ve got that right,” I said.

“They’ll be here in a few minutes. We’re to make way—like peasants scattering from the boots of royalty.”

“Hey,” Harris said, “McGill has an idea. He wants us to hold back support until they beg for it.”

Winslade eyed us. His tongue slipped out, wet his lips then vanished again. It always gave me a chill of disgust when he did that.

“We’ll have to be subtle…” he said, thinking hard. “Slow to react, slow to follow…”

Harris grinned wider. “Are you in on this, Centurion?”

“Yes… but not officially.”

“Of course not,” I said. “Here they come.”

Not thirty seconds later, the lead elements of the Iron Eagles showed up.

They looked good. Not even on our best day, not even while we were in parade dress, were our uniforms, armor and weapons so shiny and perfect-looking.

The Iron Eagles were elite. They marched as one, in lock-step. It was almost like they were an army of clones.

Varus, on the other hand, was an outfit made up of people who slouched, who skipped showers. There wasn’t a solider in my unit that didn’t have a visible ding or a scratch on every inch of their kits.

Trotting in a bouncy, null-G way, the Eagles raced right through the middle of us. Their column was two abreast, and they glanced at us like we were some kind of zoo exhibit. At least they didn’t throw any insults our way—but they were thinking them.

An Iron Eagles primus walked up to Winslade, and they briefly saluted one another. The Eagles officer looked pretty snooty, but Winslade was good at that game as well.

“Varus?” the primus asked. “I’m Primus Fike. Is our path clear ahead?”

Winslade made a vague gesture to our half-melted blast-doors. “The enemy is on the far side of that barricade, Primus.”

“What do you estimate their strength is?” Fike asked.

“In the sector immediately beyond, no more than a few hundred. It’s the thousands on the level above and the outer hull that should concern you more.”

Primus Fike blinked at that.

“Thousands?”

“That’s our best guess, yes.”

“In that case, why haven’t you used Nostrum’s broadsides for support?”

Winslade shrugged and languidly draped an arm over a broken girder. “That’s not my decision, is it?”

The primus looked him up and down, and he nodded. “All right. We’ll advance and meet the enemy. When we make contact, do not follow us. You’re to hold here in case the attack fails.”

“As you command, Primus,” Winslade said.

Was that a hint of amusement in his voice? I thought it was, and so did the primus from the Eagles. Fike frowned at Winslade—but he didn’t start yelling at him.

“Open the barrier!” he commanded. “Point unit, advance by squads. Maintain overwatch and keep your eyes peeled!”

It was about then I realized that Fike was leading four full units right through our humble stronghold. That meant about five hundred troops altogether. A serious force.

I signaled four of our hulking heavy troopers. They hunched over the blast doors, bulging their massive musculature. Damaged by combat over the last week, the doors no longer operated automatically. They groaned and squealed with the shriek of metal on metal as the three meter tall men slid them open.

Beyond, a stygian pit of darkness met our eyes.

Primus Fike started by sending in a full unit of troops. The ruined passage was immediately illuminated by their suit lights.

It was a large area, about ten meters across and a thousand long. The deck gently curved, as the space complex was shaped to fit like a belt over the planet. You couldn’t see all the way to the end of it.

What was visible included countless side passages, open chambers and blown-open holes in the deck and ceiling.

Here and there scorched metal could be seen. Big curls of steel resembling flowers had been created by the drilling and blasting the Vulbites had done.

Fike didn’t march into that passage himself, I noticed. He sent a full unit ahead first and readied a second one. He lingered in our strongpoint, eyeing the passage and the Varus garrison with equal distaste.

Most of the time, however, he kept casting worried glances after his troops.

“This has been a hard slog, hasn’t it?” Fike asked us.

We nodded in response. Winslade didn’t say anymore, so we didn’t upstage him.

“I’ve been briefed…” Fike said, “but judging by the level of damage, it looks like serious fighting. I see bodies everywhere. Haven’t you Varus-types the decency to clear your dead?”

“We haven’t opened this door for days,” Winslade said, shrugging.

“It’s turned into a siege then, has it?”

“That’s right,” I said, “and we’re glad you’re here to break us out.”

Fike eyed me coldly. There was no love lost between our outfits. Not today.

We’d all pulled together back when we’d fought to defend Earth, but the troops in most legions are usually an unforgiving lot. You don’t just walk in and start throwing insults around—not if you know what’s good for you.

“Don’t worry,” Fike said, lifting his chin. “My boys will show you how it’s done.”

So saying, he marched at the head of the third unit, vanishing into the dark. Two hundred more troops followed in his wake.

Harris dared to flash me a grin, but I didn’t return it. I was kind of pissed off.

Four full units had marched into that passage. There were no lights or power from the station itself. Nothing other than what they had on their suits. But we could see them, splashing beams on every wall and surface.

The Vulbites let them get farther in than I’d expected. Maybe they had some idea we’d been reinforced. I wasn’t sure.

But when the attack finally did come, it was all-out.

-32-

A firefight erupted when the last Eagle trooper was a hundred meters in. Seemingly without warning and with perfect coordination, everyone began blazing away at once.

The ambush was well-executed. I was impressed. Say what you will about these centipedes, they knew how to time things.

They came at the humans from all along the passage, from every side-route, breach and popped-opened hatch.

Men returned fire in every direction, but Vulbites were in close within seconds. I saw flashes of shimmering cloaks—they’d used their stealth tech in some cases. Clearly, the Eagles had never dealt with that sort of thing before.

The battle was chaos, and I had trouble watching it as a bystander. I lunged forward, but a thin arm snapped up to hold me back.

“Let them show us how it’s done,” Winslade told me in a reasonable voice. “Those were Primus Fike’s orders.”

My teeth were bared in a snarl, but I nodded, and I held myself back.

It was a hard thing to watch. The Eagles were good—but they had their limits. They’d been ambushed, and they were unfamiliar with this enemy.

They held out, shooting and struggling, for perhaps a full minute. Then, inevitably, the retreat began.

“Set up for supporting fire!” I ordered.

Winslade frowned, but he didn’t countermand my order.

I set up my recruits all around the opening. They shot the Vulbites that raced along the ceiling, sniping at them whenever they could get a clear shot.

The aliens fell, but more kept coming. They launched themselves onto the backs of the retreating humans. Two or three squirming insects would lash and sting wildly at the legionnaire underneath them as he desperately slashed back with his combat knife. But usually, the fallen trooper didn’t get up.

The Vulbites were strong and they outnumbered Fike’s men. They levered open faceplates, chewing through air hoses and polymer joints in the pressure suits. They seemed to know just how to penetrate standard-issue human armor this time around.

Surprisingly, Fike himself almost made it back to safety. He was a tough man, and despite having lost a foot, he was able to drag himself along, hopping stubbornly.

His face—I saw it in the glare of our lights as we shined them into the dark passage to illuminate targets. It was a rictus of pain and determination.

Were those wrinkles and lines I saw on his twisted-up cheeks? Yes, I do believe that’s what I saw. Fike had the look of a man who hadn’t died in years.

When two Vulbites leapt and rode him down, he flopped and struggled, but I knew he wasn’t going to get up.

All in all, only fifty-odd troops made it back to our stronghold.

“McGill!” Winslade called. “Have your apes close those doors!”

“Sir, we’ve got live legionnaires out there!” I shouted back.

“Well then—take care of that.”

We exchanged glances. Winslade’s face was as cold and heartless as space itself.

Grabbing a belcher, I turned it toward the slaughter which was still ongoing in the passage. Sargon and several other weaponeers joined me.

We blazed gouts of energy, burning Vulbites, troopers, and the walls themselves. For good measure, we tossed a handful of grav-grenades into the mess as well.

Silent, blue-white flashes went off, killing dozens more.

“Close it!” I roared at the heavy troops.

Stoically, they lifted and heaved. Even in the low gravity, the blast doors were heavy beyond belief. They were solid metal and as thick as a man’s chest.

When it was closed, we all leaned our backs against it, panting and sweating.

“Do you think…?” Harris breathed. “Do you think Fike will give us a medal?”

Leeson released dirty laugh. “Maybe we’ll get an Iron Eagle.”

“Shut up,” I said. “A lot of good men died out there. They didn’t deserve that.”

“It was your frigging idea!” Harris shouted at me, suddenly angry.

“All we did was follow orders,” I said. “But now, after seeing how it ended, I wish we hadn’t.”

They stopped laughing and moved away, muttering and sulking.

No one was in a good mood today.

Carlos was helping with the wounded. He came at me when I went to check on their status.

“McGill, you did this, didn’t you?”

“Huh?”

He came right up to me, and I could see he was really angry. His hands were out of his gauntlets, and he’d pulled on blue nano-fiber gloves instead. They were slick with blood all the way to his elbows.

He held his hands out in front of me in an accusatory fashion. Gore was smeared everywhere.

“This!” he said. “You didn’t like their snooty primus, so you marched them into an ambush. That’s the word—and I believe it. The whole idea is so petty, so merciless—so McGill.”

“That’s not right, Specialist. That’s not what happened.”

Disgusted, he turned away. “Yeah, sure. Right. You warned them. You did everything you could to stop that slaughter. I believe you. You always tell the truth.”

He stalked off, and I let him go.

Bio people had it rough in Legion Varus. There were a lot of wounded, and it was true that our officers didn’t much care about the troops.

They got to see all the pain, all the dying—they even got the unenviable task of sorting out the weak from the strong, recycling those that would be better off dead and reprinted. They were the clean-up crews of the legion, while the officers got to have all the fun ordering people to fight and die.

Winslade was the next guy in line to get a reaming over the disaster with Primus Fike. Being a cagey man, he quickly invited me into the conversation.

“McGill,” he said in my ear, “I’m patching you in. This is Imperator Deech. She has certain… questions.”

“McGill?” Deech said. “Are you telling me he’s involved in this disaster?”

“Hello Imperator,” I said, “good to hear your voice again, sir.”

“Shut up,” Deech said. “Centurion Winslade, why are you merging this channel and adding lower level officers to the feed?”

Looking at displays that overlaid my lower visual area inside my helmet, I saw Harris and Leeson had been invited to the party as well.

“Imperator?” Winslade said, sounding confused. “I thought you wanted to get to the bottom of our interchange with Fike. All of us were present, therefore—”

“No,” Deech said firmly. “I won’t have you wriggling off the hook and spreading the blame so easily.”

As she said this, I saw the printed blocks representing Harris and Leeson go dark and then vanish entirely. She’d kicked them out of our private chat-channel.

Winslade cleared his throat. “Perhaps you could state your wishes more clearly next time, hmm?”

“It’s my most sincere wish that the man who makes a mistake owns up to it,” she said sternly.

“Oh really? Who was it, then, who ordered the Iron Eagles to make a blind attack? Was that Primus Fike? Or just possibly, was it someone more highly placed?”

Whoa… Winslade was really treading on some thin ice. Some might even say he’d painted his butt red and mooned the bull.

He was right, of course. Deech was famous for passing the buck. Whenever she screwed up—or even when she sensed something bad might happen in the near future—she lined up an underling to take the blame.

But today, Winslade wasn’t having any of that. I wasn’t sure why he was fighting back so hard. It could have been one of several things. After all, Deech and Winslade had apparently enjoyed a sordid affair of their own.

That relationship had gotten Winslade precisely diddly-squat when the reshuffle in ranks came. Deech had moved up, and he’d moved down.

That had to be it. The more I thought about it, the more clear it became to me.

Deech, for her part, seemed stunned. She sputtered for a moment then regained her composure.

“Very well,” she said in a coldly angry tone. “You do not have to accept the blame—but the situation, as you’re the only unit left on the spot, is your baby now. Your unit—in fact, Graves entire cohort—will continue to press the attack. Show the Iron Eagles how Varus does things right!”

“Um…” I said, not liking this twist in the direction of the conversation. To me, it sounded like a lover’s spat transforming into a fresh military disaster. I decided to rejoin the conversation before things got out of hand.

“Imperator?” I asked. “We’ve got about a hundred injured Eagles down here. We’ll be glad to help when they’re transported to the rear lines. But for right now—”

“I’ll dispatch a platoon of bio people to relieve you of that duty,” Deech said. “For your information, the Eagles did better on almost every front than they did in your little pit. Fike’s fateful charge started at your post, and turned into an instant disaster. In many similar battles, they broke out and pushed the enemy back with acceptable losses.”

While we’d been talking, I’d located Winslade in the flesh. He was leaning against a steaming pile of wreckage with his helmet sealed and his eyes studying the pocked ceiling.

He spotted me, and his sour expression tightened so much I had to wonder if he’d stunk up his own suit.

“Well?” Deech demanded. “I’m waiting for your response, Centurion.”

Catching Winslade’s eye, I made kissing motions with my face, hoping against hope he’d smooth her ruffled feathers.

Now, I knew Winslade had it in him to be a kiss-up. The man was a born brown-noser—but today, he just wasn’t in the mood.

“Fine,” he spat out. “We’ll do it. We’ll show the Eagles how to clear out a nest of insects.”

“Excellent,” Deech purred. “That’s a better response than I’d hoped for. Perhaps there’s hope for you yet, Centurion. Take an hour to regroup and prepare, then push the enemy back. Don’t let Fike’s sacrifice be in vain. Deech out.”

The channel went dead, and I slumped up against the same wall of debris Winslade was propping up with his skinny frame.

“Jeezus…” I said. “Sir? Do you know what we’ve just been ordered to do?”

“Die,” he said. “We’re to die like pigs.”

“Why the hell would you push for that?” I demanded. “What the hell good will it do?”

He gave me a sneering smile. “It will deepen the hole she’s digging for herself. The way I see it, I can’t lose. I’ve lost all favor with Deech anyway, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

I snorted. “Yeah. She’s entertaining Drusus now. She does like moving up!”

“Exactly. Now, if we take this assignment, and we fail, and a dozen other pushes fail… do you think she’ll keep her job long?”

I thought about that. “Probably not. Drusus is distracted, but he’s a sensible man. He won’t stand for constant failure.”

“Precisely. Deech rose high, which pushed all the rest of us down. Turov, you, and me. If she were to stumble…”

“You can’t be serious,” I said, as I began to grasp the depths of his plan. “You plan to fight and lose this whole thing? Just so you might get your rank back?”

He shrugged. “It might not happen that way. We might win. The Eagles were fools, after all. They advanced arrogantly—but they also took out a lot of the enemy. Perhaps we can win where they failed.”

“Hmm… and to your thinking, whether we lose this brave fight or win it, we come out better in the end?” I asked.

“It’s worth a try. All my sponsors from high places have forsaken me. I have to regain their favor—either that, or reshuffle the deck, hoping for better cards.”

I shook my head bemusedly. I was a schemer, a liar, and a rogue element on any battlefield. But I’d never hatched schemes the way Winslade and Turov liked to do.

“Well?” Winslade said, eyeing me closely. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

For a few seconds, I squinted at him, and he squinted back.

“We’re committed now…” I said, thinking it over. “But if we’re going to do it, we have to do it on our terms.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We have to attack immediately. Not in an hour from now, or a day. We have to move out right away while those bugs are still scrambling to cover all the other places where they lost ground. They’re probably pulling troops out of this passageway, since they think they won. If we hit them now…”

Winslade looked alarmed, but after he thought it over he shrugged.

Sucking in a deep breath, he nodded.

“All right then, we’ll attack immediately.”

I put a single finger up to stop him as he began to relay the order.

“Hold on. Let me make one call first. We need an ace in the hole.”

His eyes narrowed again. He didn’t seem to have any idea what I had planned. That wasn’t surprising as the idea had just popped into my head at that moment.

“Very well,” he said. “You’re right—we do need an edge.”

-33-

After several long minutes, I still hadn’t managed to get through to Turov. I could tell she wasn’t interested—but I had to get her to listen, so I fought dirty.

She’d ignored my texts, my calls, and all attempts to join her command channel. Getting desperate, I sent her a simple text:

What Drusus really said.

That’s all I typed, in a blank message. That was just the subject, the teaser. Four simple words that would splash up on her tapper as she scrolled by.

It was bait—and it worked.

“McGill?” she demanded less than thirty seconds after I’d sent her the message. “Why are you irritating me with these illicit attempts to make contact? Are you unaware of the pitched battle going on all around you?”

“Tribune!” I boomed in greeting. “So glad you could spare the time. Have you been briefed on recent events in our sector?”

“What has this got to do with Drusus?”

“Everything, sir. Let me explain.”

“Why would Drusus have said anything to you at all?” she demanded. “We left Earth a month ago.”

The woman was full of suspicion. In this case, her worst fears were true, but it wasn’t time to tell her about my meeting with Drusus. Not yet.

“Listen, sir. Deech has ordered my unit to charge into the same death trap her man Fike just enjoyed. Were you aware of that?”

“What? You’re under my operational command!”

“That’s right, sir,” I said. “But Deech saw fit to bypass the Varus brass this time out. We’ve been ordered to launch another offensive—using only Varus troops this time—in the next few minutes.”

“That’s unconscionable!” she complained. “The enemy has shown overwhelming superiority in your sector. Why would she order such a thing?”

“Well… if you think about it for a moment, the answer might come to you.”

This is where I depended on the devious nature of my opponent. Often, a person like Galina Turov was able to imagine worse motives for anyone’s behavior than I could possibly come up with.

“Hmm… maybe she wants to prove Varus can’t do any better than the Eagles.”

“That sounds good,” I said. “I mean, it sounds reasonable. But you and I have a different goal in this situation: we need it all to blow up in her face.”

“Right!” Galina said, catching on. “If it’s a massive disaster, a bloody kilometer of death, she can’t shirk the blame. After all, she ordered both attacks.”

“And even better, if it’s a winner, if Varus breaks through, we will look like winners.”

“Yes…” she said. “That must be why she ordered Varus troops to stand aside the first time. She didn’t want me to get any credit for a victory here. If the Iron Eagles could have done it alone, she would have gotten another medal.”

“That’s all out the window now. Her back-up move is to prove it wasn’t her fault.”

“We have to make it her fault… Now I see why you called me—but you’ve yet to explain your reference to Drusus.”

“Listen, I think we can set this up so that if Varus wins or loses, we can still come out of this in good shape.”

“All right, I’m following all this, McGill. But why do you need to contact me about it? Just go out there and do it—or fail dramatically. It hardly matters which you manage to pull off as long as you go big.”

“Toward that goal,” I told her, “it would be great if you could contact Graves and ask him to throw in more weight behind us. With a single unit, it’s hard to change the course of this war.”

She was quiet for a minute, but then she finally answered. “All right. You’ll have more troops. Turov out.”

The channel had closed. I turned to Winslade, who’d gathered up our hundred-odd surviving Varus troops while I was sweet-talking Galina. They all wore bewildered expressions.

“Turov is sending reinforcements,” I told him.

“Excellent.”

Winslade and I gave each other the thumbs up.

A few minutes later, supporting troops began rolling in. In fact, we got more than I’d bargained for. Not only were there now two additional units at our back, but Graves himself was leading them.

“McGill…” he said, “and Winslade… Why don’t you two seem surprised to see me?”

“I am, sir!” I said in a bright tone. “It’s like my birthday has come early!”

“Same,” Winslade said, but in a decidedly sour tone.

“Hmm…” Graves said, brushing past us to the front line. “Get your apes to slide this door open. We’re to attack immediately.”

“I’m on it, Primus!” I said, and I signaled the heavy troopers.

“Take point, McGill,” Graves ordered, immediately assuming command. “Scout that hellhole. I want your platoon a hundred meters ahead of the main column.”

This wasn’t my dream scenario, but I didn’t hesitate. I waved for my light troopers to follow, and they did so with obvious fear in their faces.

I couldn’t blame them. They were still pretty green, and the passage was choked with bodies, both human and alien alike.

“Cooper, Gomez, Lucas—take the lead,” I ordered.

Cooper trotted by with the others, and as he did so he couldn’t help but make a comment.

“If I live for the next hour, Adjunct,” he said, “will you sponsor me for rank when we get home?”

After a second’s thought, I nodded. “All right. Consider yourself a regular in training—but only if we both live.”

“Good enough!”

The kid raced ahead of the scouting trio. It was almost like he wanted to die—but then I noted something. He paused to search a pile of debris. Lucas and Gomez passed him by, and Cooper never seemed to catch up after that.

I had to smile. He was doing the best he could with a bad hand of cards, pushing up his odds of survival in a subtle way. I couldn’t fault him for that.

When the scouts were about thirty meters ahead, the rest of my platoon advanced. I’d never seen such a pack of nervous nellies. They were so jumpy, if a corpse so much as slid sideways as they brushed by, they jumped half out of their skins.

“Contact!” a female voice called out up ahead.

It wasn’t Cooper, it was Gomez—and she didn’t sound happy. I opened my mouth to ask what she had seen on tactical chat—but before I could get a word out, her name began fluttering red on my HUD.

Firing erupted in the dark ahead of us. We had our suit lights, but there wasn’t any other good source of lighting. Turning on night vision was an option, but if we did that and the heavy troopers behind us unloaded with some of their energy weapons we might be blinded.

In the corpse-filled dark, two blazing streams of snap-rifle fire were going off at the same time, converging on the ceiling, then moving down to the deck.

At this point, I had a few options. I’d sent three troopers ahead to flush out the enemy, and they’d done so. By no means did that commit me to rushing to their aid. If they died, well, that’s pretty much the purpose of light trooper scouts in the legions.

So, I could either advance, retreat, or lay down supporting fire. A retreat wasn’t realistic, not with only one man down so far. Running now was out of the question.

I would normally opt to lay down supporting fire, but we couldn’t see what our scouts were shooting at from this range. The passage was choked with the dead and other loose debris.

“Platoon advance, quick-march!” I ordered. “Graves, looks like we’ve made contact with… something.”

“Roger that, McGill,” Graves said, and his tone was almost bored.

We advanced quickly to support our scouts.

“Something reached down from the ceiling and grabbed Gomez,” Lucas told me. “I think it was a wounded Vulbite.”

“It lopped Gomez’s head right off,” Cooper said. “She never had a chance.”

I quickly examined the scene.

“Looks like this Vulbite had been hanging out here for a while,” I said, “left for dead. He got in one good snip with those big curved mouthparts of his before he croaked. So far, we’re going one-for-one. We’re improving on the Eagles score already! Sarah, join Cooper and Lucas on point.”

Sarah sucked in her breath sharply, but she didn’t argue.

She was kind of a special case. She had been a light trooper, a fresh recruit on Rogue World. She and I had even met up after the deployment was over for a brief, happy time.

She’d made regular after that campaign, but her actions back on Rogue World—which involved shooting Harris in the back of the head on a bad day—had kept her from moving into the armored platoons, or getting a specialist rank.

Putting Sarah on point might seem mean, but it was the best way in Varus to get noticed and advanced.

“On it, sir,” she said, and she sprang ahead.

Startled by her energetic rush forward, Cooper and Lucas trotted after her.

We’d gone pretty far in when Graves contacted me. “I’m coming in behind you. Keep advancing and reporting. Only one incident so far?”

“That’s right, sir,” I said. “If I had to guess, I’d say the Vulbites have pulled out of this sector to defend other areas where the Eagles made more progress.”

“Outstanding. Keep advancing.”

I could tell he was in the mood to push our luck. That was a fine thought to have when you were in the center of several hundred armed troops. For me, it was a little harder to feel confident about.

After we’d gone maybe five hundred meters in, the bodies and other signs of battle gave out. We were now in an open passageway. Closed hatches stood in rows on both sides of us. They were mute testimonials to another possible ambush.

“This is going well, McGill,” Graves said from behind me. “I’m going to push our luck. Head all the way to the end of the sector where your first stronghold was. We’ll be one step from the outer hull at that point.”

Trying not to think about it, I acknowledged and ordered my troops to continue the advance. We walked fast, bouncing along in the low gravity.

Behind us, I couldn’t even see the suit lights of our heavy troops any longer.

“Walking pace,” I ordered my lights. They obeyed with relief. “Keep advancing, and aim your snouts into every nook and cranny. Kivi?”

She came up and asked me what was on my mind.

Kivi was a specialist, my only tech in the platoon. She hadn’t really been thrilled to be attached to a light platoon, but she liked being under my command.

“Adjunct?” she said. “I’ve got nothing on the buzzers.”

“You missed that last Vulbite.”

“Yeah, he was probably cloaked or something. The readings are confusing in here—there are too many bodies.”

“Right, but we just passed the battlefield. It’s wide open up here. Give me another sweep ahead.”

I kept walking with Kivi at my side. Ahead, I could see Cooper and the other scouts. They were still advancing, meeting no resistance.

All that changed just as we were about to breathe a long-held collective sigh.

When the attack came, it didn’t come from an expected direction. We were scanning with rifles to our shoulders and eyes on our sights in every direction—except one.

We’d examined the deck, the ceiling, the walls and hatches—but no one was looking behind us.

Vulbites are sneaky creatures. To my mind, they’re about the best at quiet hunting I’d ever met up with. It wasn’t just their stealth-suits, either. It was in the nature of every attack they made.

Never to my knowledge had the Vulbites lined up in a trench or something similar then charged in organized ranks. They liked to slide around out of sight and lunge from the dark, like predators snatching unwary prey. I’d even noticed that the lighting systems were not only powered down, they’d been destroyed. Every light panel in the passage was broken.

So, when they appeared behind us, we were taken by surprise. They must have been stealthed, probably clinging to the ceiling in their shimmering cloaks that bent what little light there was.

The rear rank went down hard. I was walking with the leaders, so I didn’t get hit first, but about six of my people were down and out before we realized what was happening.

Whirling around, we blazed our guns down the long passage, shooting on full-auto. Sparks flew, showering every inch of the enclosed space with rapid-fire accelerated slivers of metal. Fortunately, snap-rifles held a thousand rounds in a magazine, so we could afford sustained fire.

Several Vulbites were struck, and a few of the dying wounded were taken out as well. My troops were green, and they were more than a little freaked-out by this point. They chopped down their friends, the looming insectile enemy, and damned-well anything else that got between the muzzles of their guns and the clinging darkness of the passage.

It was all over in less than a minute. Cooper and Sarah had rushed back to us by that time. They examined the carnage with us.

“What’s your read, Veteran Moller?” I asked.

The squat woman was crouched over the bodies. “They’re all gone, sir. Six lights, and four Vulbites. We got off easy.”

“Yeah…” I said, nodding. “The enemy have drained their numbers from this region, clearly. They must be defending other regions in force.”

I reported to Graves, and he was oddly jazzed about the news.

“Only four of them? That’s all you’ve seen?”

“That’s it, sir. Plus that wounded bug that came off the ceiling.”

“He hardly counts. This is excellent. I’d expected light resistance, but this barely qualifies. I’m going to accelerate our time schedule.”

“Sir?”

“Move faster, Adjunct. Stop checking every hatch. Run to the next level up, and then the one after that. Push hard. Let’s regain the territory we lost a few days ago.”

“Uh…”

A circle of eyes looked at me. I didn’t want to have to reward their bravery with a suicidal set of commands—but that wasn’t up to me.

“You’re not losing your nerve, are you, Adjunct?” Graves demanded, sensing my hesitation.

“No sir! We’re on it. McGill out.”

The platoon didn’t make a sound. They all stared at me, hungry to learn their fates.

“Why the hell is everyone looking at me?” I demanded. “Moller!”

She cracked two recruits in the back of the head. One of them was Cooper. She didn’t like him anymore than anyone else in authority did.

The spell was broken, and my people were scanning for the enemy again.

“Okay,” I said, “Graves ordered us to move ahead. We’re going to pick up the pace. No pausing to check doors and passages. Just run right past.”

“Um…” Carlos said. “Excuse me, Adjunct? Could you just shoot me right now?”

Carlos was a smartass in the best of times. Worse, his jokes and complaints were contagious. I could see Cooper was already smiling and opening his mouth to make a similar remark—but he never got the chance.

Spinning around to face Carlos, I unleashed a shower of snap-rifle rounds. Purposefully, I aimed high, drawing a sparking line of bullets in an arc across the roof of the passage and ending that spray very close to his left ear.

Carlos showed me big, round eyes behind his faceplate. He didn’t move, as he could tell from long experience I was in a killing mood.

“A suicide squad doesn’t need a bio,” I told him. “And I don’t need any grief coming out of you, either.

“I get it,” he said. “Sorry, Adjunct.”

Cooper’s comments, whatever they might have been, had died in his throat. His face was tight with fear all over again.

“Good,” I said. “Platoon, advance. Double-time!”

We ran off into the darkness without a glance back.

-34-

We pushed them back all the way to the outer hatches.

I, for one, could hardly believe it. We’d taken days to lose that same terrain, and now we’d won it back.

We weren’t the only ones who’d noticed. Graves had called up the entire cohort, pushing hard on every front. We’d posted troops along the way, so we could legitimately claim control of several new levels and kilometers of territory in between.

I poked a few buzzers out of the hatch in the roof, examining the exterior hull. It was a wasteland. We’d come here seeing a vast expanse of unfinished metal. Now, it was scorched and pitted for as far as the eye could see.

“McGill?” Graves called me as I examined the scene remotely.

“Yes, Primus?”

“Are you still moving forward?”

“Negative, sir. We’ve reached the outer hull. Unless you want my lights to try to capture that, we’ve come to the end of the line.”

He chuckled. That was a rare thing.

“That’s excellent. We’re filling in behind you. The Vulbites have abandoned this region. They must have stretched themselves too thin by trying to take—”

Right then, Kivi rushed to my side. She pushed her portable screen into my face. I frowned, looking at what she was trying to show me.

It was a view of the outside. In the lower foreground, I saw a dozen kilometers of gently curving space factory. Up high—from our point of view—was the disk of the planet. It was night there now, and it looked even darker and murkier than usual.

But none of that was too interesting. What was important was a silver disk—a broad flat disk, that was moving up from the planet to the space factory inside that very long umbilical tube.

“Uh…” I said, “Primus Graves?”

“What is it, McGill?”

“I’m forwarding you my tapper feed.”

Graves watched the buzzer input, and he began cursing.

“Dammit. They’re sending up more reinforcements. This is very disappointing. Just how big of a garrison did Rigel leave out here on this shadowy, godforsaken rock?”

“I don’t know, sir,” I admitted. “But at least this shows that we’re hurting them.”

“They’ll drive us back. They’ll outnumber us again, even with two full legions. We’ve got revival machines and reinforcements, but this war keeps escalating.”

“What are my orders, Primus?”

“Hold your position. I’ll get back to you.”

Something like three minutes went by. We watched the umbilical disgorge more troops onto the space factory then the disk platform rolled back down the long, rippling tube again. I had no doubt it would soon bring yet another fresh load of troops up to join the fun. It was depressing to watch.

Finally, Graves came back online. His voice sounded defeated.

“I couldn’t talk them into it,” he said. “We’ll never win this if we don’t sever that reinforcement line. They’ll keep coming, sending as many as they need to defeat us. Eventually, a fleet of starships will show up and finish us.”

“What about our own fleet, sir?” I asked.

“That’s classified, McGill.”

I laughed with a hint of bitterness. “Classified? Who am I going to tell?”

“That doesn’t matter. The disposition of our fleet is always classified.”’

His words made me think. In fact, I realized after a few seconds what he was hinting at, whether he’d meant to or not.

There was no way Earth could hold Dark World without having a serious fleet stationed here. We were an advanced ground force, a rapid-deployment formation making a surprise attack. But once we took Dark World, assuming we could even accomplish that much, the enemy could always send a serious fleet to smash us all to dust.

The only counter to that was the deployment of Earth’s fleet to this location. Drusus had said that was the long-term plan, to establish a base out here to build ships and control the region.

But how much of our existing fleet should Drusus send? All of it?

That would leave Earth defenseless.

That was the terrifying calculus of interstellar war. We really didn’t know how many ships the enemy had, and they didn’t know what we had, either. We lived in haunting uncertainty about these simple facts.

Launching an all-out assault might end the war, but it was insanely risky. The enemy could then send out a relatively small task force, catch you unprepared and wipe out your homeworld.

The stakes had never been higher. Humanity hung in the balance. We had to take territory, but to do so we had to risk losing our entire species.

It was at times like these that I was glad I was carrying a rifle around. When I screwed up, a few extra people came out of a revival machine. In comparison, it was no big deal.

“Primus Graves?” I said suddenly.

He paused, as I’d interrupted him. He’d been giving me a list of captured decks, body counts and the like. That stuff always bored me, so I hadn’t bothered to listen.

“What is it, McGill?”

“What if I could take care of this… problem we share?”

Graves was quiet for a second. He knew what I was suggesting. He knew me better than most.

“This is big, McGill. Everyone would know.”

“It could be… sort of an accident.”

Graves snorted. “No one would buy it. Turov, Deech, they would all want you permed.”

“Yeah… but do you think we could win the battle if I did it?”

“Of course. Right now, we’ve got a direct line to Earth—but they have a direct line to the planet. If one of us loses that source of reinforcements, it will break the cycle and give the victory to the other side.”

“Why can’t Deech see that?”

“Because it’s not in her orders. She’s not here to perform tactical miracles or make real strategic decisions. She’s here to—”

“Advance her career?”

“I wasn’t going to put it that way, but…”

“All right, sir,” I said. “We’ll scout the area.”

“Scout? Just scout?”

“Are you sure you want details, Primus?”

He was quiet for a while.

“No,” he said at last. “I guess I don’t. Graves out.”

After he was off the line, I signaled my light troops. They gathered around, and we huddled up.

“All right,” I said. “Time to say good-bye to your gonads. We’re going up and over.”

“Out there?” Carlos squawked.

“That’s right.”

Cooper threw his rifle down, fuming.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, waving back Veteran Moller who’d been about to kick his ass.

“We had a deal,” he said. “Now it’s all blown!”

I thought about that. I’d said that if we finished our mission parameters, Cooper would get rank. This push out onto the hull was icing on a shit-cake, and he didn’t want to eat it.

“You’re right,” I said. “Our deal stands. You got both of us this far—so the deal’s good.”

Cooper stared at me, blinking for a second. Slowly, he began to smile.

“That’s great, sir!”

“Now,” I said, “pick up your weapon before I have Veteran Moller shove it up your ass and stomp on your dick.”

To emphasize this threat, Moller made a stomping motion with her right boot.

“Yes, sir!” Cooper said, grabbing up his snap-rifle and checking it out. “No damage, sir. All indicators in the green.”

“That’s lucky for you, splat,” Moller said.

“Okay,” I said, looking around the group. “The buzzers show that the umbilical carried its load right into the station. They still control the loading bays. We’re going to advance over the hull itself, using any cover we can find, and scout our way to the umbilical.”

“The umbilical?” Carlos demanded. “Weren’t we there already?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “But we failed that time. This time—we’re doing it.”

Carlos grinned. “Promise I get to die?”

“If you don’t, I’ll shoot you myself to make sure.”

“You’re such a tease, sir,” he said. Then he turned to the recruits. Most of them were looking bewildered and shocked.

“You see this shit right here?” he asked them. “This is what I’ve been talking about. This is the James McGill I’ve known for decades, the magic-man I’ve been telling you kiddies about. You’re all going to die soon, be confident about that, and maybe you’ll even go to prison afterward for a while—but you’ll get to see something cool. Something so cool that it’ll almost make everything worthwhile. In fact, today’s scheme reminds me of Tech World—which they now call Trash World by-the-way because of this man’s—”

I signaled Moller, who stood up and approached Carlos. Her long arms reached for him.

Carlos shut up in a hurry, but it wasn’t good enough.

It’s hard to stomp on a man’s dick when he’s wearing a spacesuit, but I had to hand it to Moller—she did her damnedest.

-35-

The battle proceeded at an alarming rate. The Vulbites, shocked by heavy losses and our doubled strength in numbers, had been pushed back. They were collapsing, but they’d wisely decided the one region they couldn’t afford to lose was the area directly surrounding the umbilical loading bays.

Like a gigantic elevator lobby, the decks around the base of the umbilical were dedicated to cargo transfer. Large chambers, warehouses, loading equipment and even robotic transports systems dominated the area. This zone had become a beachhead for the invading Vulbites.

The human troops, thousands of them, were now pressing in from all sides, trying to drive the Vulbites back toward the umbilical connection point. With time and perseverance, our commanders hoped to push them off the space complex entirely.

Another load of reinforcing enemy troops was already on the way up, however. We could see them, riding their silver disk at a pace of something like a hundred kilometers an hour up toward the base of the space factory.

We opened a hatch and Cooper sprang out of it like a gopher in heat. The strategic situation was laid out in easy sight. We sent up buzzers too—but human intel was always better.

“Sir?” Cooper said. “They’ve got a full load on the elevator—it’s about two-thirds of the way up.”

“I see it. Have you got any company on the roof?”

“A few guards and spotters, maybe. No concentrated force in sight.”

“But they might be stealthed.”

“I’m no wizard, sir. I see what I can see.”

“Roger that. Take cover, keep spying, and stay low.”

Taking a minute to huddle with Kivi, we examined the data.

“I don’t see a large force,” Kivi said. “They might have troops out there, lurking around with stealth suits—but I doubt it. The battle to defend the umbilical station is too critical.”

“Agreed,” I said. “Okay, people. Good news! The mission is a go!”

They all looked sick.

Slamming my gauntlets together, I grinned at them. “This is it! This is what we get paid for! We’re going up and over the top. Today, I don’t want to see any lollygagging. Nobody holds back. We’ll make a fast charge to the base of the—”

“Sir,” Cooper called to me. “I’m seeing something.”

“Talk, Cooper.”

“Um… looks like exhaust plumes. A lot of them, coming up the gravity well from the planet.”

Exhaust plumes?

I signaled Kivi urgently. She worked her equipment, and she soon fed me imagery.

“We’ve got assault shuttles inbound,” I said, examining the evidence.

My heart sank as I said these words. The Vulbites were pulling out all the stops. They were in trouble on the station, and they knew it. They’d decided to send up another wave of troops using ships.

“Report it to Graves,” I told Kivi.

“I already did,” she said. “Command says they know.”

Everybody looked at me. Again, the enemy was escalating. Thousands more Vulbites would soon be crawling all over the roof of the space factory. We had maybe fifteen minutes to go before we were up to our asses in Vulbites.

“It’s go-time,” I said. “We’ll never get another chance.”

Our whole op was better-planned for this attack—at least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

This time, we didn’t climb out onto the external hull kilometers from the umbilical. Instead, we’d chosen a spot that was as close as we could get without running into our lines—or theirs.

When a pack of light troopers really decides to run, they can move pretty fast. We were in low grav, which allowed us to bounce around like rabbits.

The scene was surreal. I’d been involved in many infantry scrambles and charges under fire, but I’d never done so while in orbit with a strange planet looming overhead.

We were breathing hard, rushing for all we were worth. Maybe, at some level, we knew what was about to happen.

Off to my right, there was a flash of brilliance. A whole layer of the outer metal of the orbital platform’s hull vaporized. Gases expanded in a gush then thinned out into an ashy cloud.

Three names among my platoon members went red in that single instant, all of them struck dead.

“Laser fire!” I shouted. “Spread out!”

My remaining troops bounded away from each other, and some sought cover. We slowed down—which I knew was a mistake—it was only natural to try to save yourself.

Rushing from one scrap of scorched metal to another, we kept advancing on the umbilical. It was close now, and it was shivering as the next transport disk was coming up from the planet.

Somehow, some way, Command got wind of what we were doing. Maybe it was only a matter of noticing our transponders were outside the main hull. No one else was in the area.

“Who’s commanding those troops on the outer hull?” a voice demanded.

I knew that voice, and that imperious tone. It was Deech.

After a half-second of indecision, I decided to put her on mute. In my book, it was far better to ask for forgiveness later than permission now. Although, knowing Deech, I wasn’t likely to get either one out of her.

A few precious moments passed. The laser struck again, behind us and to my right this time. No names went red—a clean miss.

There were only a few hundred meters left now to cross, and my troops had resorted to rushing from one half-assed scrap of shelter to the next. Everyone tried to keep a shoulder against some protrusion as much as possible, hoping it would save them from the ground-based lasers.

“Troops!” I shouted on tactical chat. “I want you all to spring up and rush. That cannon has a cool-down cycle. If we run all-out now, it won’t have time to nail us again before we get into the shadow of the umbilical. Then, even if they do try to take us out, they’ll be doing our demolitions work for us. Now, GO!”

I sprang up, and I saw several others follow out of the corner of my eye. Some hesitated—but most of them overcame their fear and raced after me.

Another beam flashed—close this time. It ate the troops I’d left behind. I was down to a squad, no more.

But we’d made it. We hugged the shadowy base of the umbilical, away from the laser cannon. We were all panting in our suits. I could hear the O2 hiss in my ears. Watching my gauges flutter, I tried to figure out how much air I had left while the readings fluctuated wildly by the second.

“Kivi!” I shouted. “The weaponeers are gone. Fix me up some charges. We’re disconnecting this giant vacuum hose in the next ninety seconds.”

Cooper came close and threw his shoulder against the umbilical. He used proximity chat, so that only I could hear him.

“You’re so full of shit, sir,” he said, gasping for air. “That crap about a cool-down cycle…”

“That’s right,” I said. “But it got everyone’s ass out of cover and running, didn’t it. Take a look back, Cooper. Check out your friends who froze like frightened mice.”

Cooper did, and he blinked at the drifting, flash-roasted corpses. Finally, he nodded.

“You played it right—again,” he said. “I don’t have your kind of brains. I don’t think I could ever do your job.”

I clanked a gauntlet down on his shoulder. “It’s not some innate ability, it’s experience. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a kid. I’m older than your daddy—maybe your granddaddy too, even if I don’t look like it. Who knows what you’ll be capable of if you make it to my age without being permed?”

Cooper nodded, but he didn’t look overly comforted.

“McGill?” Kivi called out to me.

“Kivi? You got those charges set yet?”

“Not yet—but I’m getting nasty calls from Deech. She’s knows it’s you. She demands to be transferred to you, directly.”

I closed my eyes.

Dammit. We were so close.

“Imperator?” I asked, tapping on her name. “To what do I owe this honor, sir?”

“McGill, you are a rogue element. If you don’t obey me right now, I’m going to put you down.”

Hearing those words, I craned up my neck and helmet. I could see Nostrum hanging in space.

Deech had moved the ship, and I was now under her guns.

Nostrum had more armament than just her broadsides. She had smaller weapons, defensive guns that could knock out missiles. I suspected it was these that Deech was threatening to use on me now. We hadn’t dared place the ship in the sights of the ground batteries before—but apparently, Deech was determined to stop me.

“Fantastic!” I shouted, waving a hand at the ship, although I doubted she could see me. “We’ll stand down, sir. All we wanted to do is hit the Vulbites as they arrived in this big elevator.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said. “You’re stalling for time. McGill, if you don’t move your troops away from that strategic asset in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to fire.”

“Aw now, Imperator, these troops came a long way—”

“We’ll honor them properly in the revival chamber. Twenty seconds left, McGill. It’s up to you.”

I switched over to tactical chat.

“Kivi, are you ready?” I asked.

“No, sir. I don’t have the charges set yet. We lost most of our stuff with the weaponeers. I’m chaining together grenades, here.”

“How long do you need?”

“About five minutes—maybe ten.”

I closed my eyes. There was no way I could stall Deech that long.

“McGill?” she shouted in my ear. Her voice seemed emotional when she spoke my name. “I’m running a countdown. Ten… Nine…”

“Troops!” I shouted. “Move out! Everyone away from the umbilical—including you, Kivi!”

They didn’t hesitate. They fled in every direction, seeking whatever cover they could find.

Only I remained, standing with my butt propped up against the undulating skin of the umbilical.

“Excellent,” Deech said. “My people tell me your platoon has scattered. You’ve avoided a well-deserved perming today, McGill.”

I was barely listening to her, but I sensed I’d get more time if I kept her talking, so I tried to keep her on the line.

“This was all a big misunderstanding, sir,” I said.

While I talked, I dug out my combat knife and began slashing a hole in the umbilical tube. The material was tough, but my molecularly aligned blade was insanely sharp. I managed to slash a slit, which was soon crossed by another cut. An X-shaped hole formed, and I began crawling inside.

The umbilical was lightly pressurized to keep it from collapsing, and a gush of air came out. I crawled inside, feeling the rough fabric shiver and flap over my suit.

“We were ordered to rush into the enemy lines,” I told Deech. “Ordered to seek and destroy, to advance until the enemy was defeated. When we ran out of Vulbites, we naturally pursued them right out onto the hull itself.”

“I can almost believe that. You Varus types are like animals trained to fight in pits.”

“That’s right, sir. You just let us loose, and we’ll get rid of any—.”

“McGill? What are you—?” Deech interrupted, and the change in her tone left no doubt she was aware I wasn’t huddled-up on the hull with the rest of my troops.

“Damn you, man! You’ve left me no choice. Gunners, burn him down!”

I was inside the umbilical, edging my way around inside it. Knowing I only had seconds left, I lunged hurling myself out into the void. For a few seconds, I found myself falling in the middle of the chute. Once away from the space complex, the gravity of Dark World had begun to tug me downward.

Below, toward the planet, I could see the silver disk coming rapidly up the endless tube. If I didn’t die soon, I’d be crushed for certain.

But I didn’t plan to last that long.

Stuttering beams came crashing all around me at an angle, puncturing the umbilical fabric in a hundred places. I could vaguely hear a ripping sound as the fabric was torn apart by a thousand pencil-thin bolts from Nostrum.

Deech and her gunners had doubtlessly locked onto my signal and were showering the area with rapid fire. The stream of bolts followed me down as I fell toward Dark World, many kilometers below. A few of them slammed into my body and threw me into a spin.

As a man who’s been shot on many occasions, I knew right off I was dying. It seemed like one of my thighs had caught most of it. The rest of my leg below that—it was gone.

I experienced shock and pain that was more like pressure and sickness than real agony. All of that was followed the by stinging sensation of the freezing thin atmosphere, which invaded my suit like a splash of ice water.

The cold wrapped me up in a frozen hand, and soon it sucked the very air from my lungs, replacing it with frost.

My mind was still working well enough to understand I’d failed. I was spinning, dying, falling toward Dark World. The umbilical was all around me, a semi-transparent film that had somehow held together. There were holes—lots of holes—but it was still in one piece.

Then, as my vision began to darken, I saw a change.

The sun came out. Dark World loomed a moment later, surrounded by its purplish haze of atmosphere.

It took me a second to realize the umbilical had torn loose, and it had begun to fall due to its own fantastic weight.

I tried to whoop as I dropped toward the alien planet, one I’d never yet set foot upon, but there wasn’t enough air left in my lungs to make a sound.

-36-

I died hard, and my corpse fell all the way down to Dark World. Fortunately, I lost consciousness before I burned up in that thick, hazy atmosphere.

There was time to calculate that I’d probably permed myself. It had been a good way to go out, as a man like me measures such things. After all, if every single one of us is destined to be permed at some point—why not do it in the most dramatic fashion possible?

But it wasn’t to be. When I felt life stir in my mind and my limbs again, I was almost disappointed.

“What now?” I managed to croak out.

“What’s that? He’s talking?” said a male voice.

“He’s a good grow—good enough, anyway,” a female answered. “Get him off my table.”

My mind was slowly knitting together, and I squinted in the glare of the revival chamber, trying to figure out what was going on.

Usually, after a stunt like the one I’d just pulled on Deech, I would be revived to stand trial. Today, though, there was a different vibe going on.

The bio people looked stressed and tired. The floor was stained and even a little steamy. These were sure signs that they’d been running the machines night and day, churning out troops.

That was normal in the wake of a big battle, but I got the impression from their intense, nearly exhausted behavior that we were in trouble.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “What’s our status? Are we losing the platform?”

They looked at me in surprise. The specialist turned to the orderly and glared at him. She had a mean look to her. “I thought you said his numbers checked out. His mind isn’t working right.”

“It’s working okay—for him,” he said defensively. “Check out his storage date—he’s been in limbo for two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” she said, blinking. Then she frowned at me. “Did your dog take a shit on somebody’s lawn up there on Gold Deck, Adjunct?”

“Um… something like that, yeah.”

She nodded. “Well, I don’t want any part of that. Get to your unit. Someone will brief you there.”

I agreed, deciding it was high time that I became agreeable. Maybe I’d gotten off easy—somehow.

Making my way to my unit’s module, I found it empty. Checking my tapper, I discovered there wasn’t a soul aboard Nostrum who was part of 3rd unit.

Feeling uncertain as to what to do, I began making quiet inquiries using my tapper. That could be dangerous if I’d been revived by mistake, but I felt I had to know the score.

Graves was the first one I reached out to. After all, he’d more or less approved of my intended actions.

The tapper rang and rang, but he didn’t pick up. Finally, I noticed the message: unavailable.

That was strange. He’d been on Gold Deck, then on the space complex with me. If he was in either place now, he’d be available. Could he be dead? I wasn’t sure.

In rapid order, I tried Carlos, Kivi, Natasha—even Harris. I came up with nothing.

Worried, I took a quick shower, dressed in fatigues and headed up to Gold Deck.

Now, a thinking person might believe waltzing onto Gold Deck was madness on my part. To be honest, part of me was thinking the same thing.

But someone up there must have released the hold on my revive. Someone had to know what the score was—so I took the gamble.

I got to the elevator lobby and was waiting to catch a lift to Gold Deck when a small hand tapped on my back.

I whirled around, expecting foul play—but the face that greeted me was familiar.

She was a petite, thin woman with sharp features. She was cute enough when she smiled, and a few years ago we’d had a thing going on.

It was none other than Centurion Evelyn Thompson, a bio officer from Blue Deck. She backed up a step when I whirled around on her, but then she relaxed when I smiled in recognition.

“Sorry,” I said, “I’m a little jumpy after spending two weeks on ice.”

“Right,” she said. “You can relax. I’m the one who shuffled the queue to get you back into the game.”

“Really? Thanks. But… can you tell me what’s going on?”

She looked around with furtive eyes. “Not here. Follow me.”

Evelyn was a special case. She worked for Turov most of the time, but she didn’t always like her job. Most recently, she’d been restored to the rank of centurion by Turov—which to my mind meant she was locked-in like an indentured servant.

When Evelyn and I had enjoyed our affair, I figured it hadn’t really harmed either of us—but still, we weren’t really on the same side.

It occurred to me as I followed her tight little behind down a side-passage, that Evelyn fit the profile of Varus women I tended to get involved with down to a T. She blew hot and cold seemingly at random, and in the past we’d both killed each other at one point or another. Why such females attracted me was a mystery I figured I’d never solve.

“Uh…” I said. “Where are we going?”

She glanced over her shoulder in surprise. “No trust? Not even on a day like today?”

“Well… sorry.”

I soon figured out she was leading me to her private quarters. Things were looking up, from my point of view.

After she let me in, I stretched out on her couch.

“I do have some fine memories of this couch,” I told her.

“Don’t… don’t go there.”

“What? Why not? You aren’t still upset about our past, are you?”

She shrugged and didn’t meet my eye. That told me she was still uncomfortable about it.

The thing was, Evelyn had been playing me for a dupe. She’d spied on me, loved me, then spied on me some more. When I’d finally figured out what she was doing, she dumped me, apologizing briefly before running off into the night.

“James, can we forget our past? Things are urgent.”

“I’m sure they are,” I said. “People don’t just unperm old McGill for nothing. But you know, you kind of hurt my feelings a few summers back…”

“Look, I told you I was sorry about that. What else can I do?”

Thinking of several pleasant possibilities, I shrugged. Fortunately, I was smart enough not to suggest anything out loud.

“All right,” I said, “apology accepted for now. What do you want to tell me? By the way, have you got a beer or something? My mouth always tastes awful after a revive.”

She gave me a beer, and she sipped a can of wine herself. She stared at me for a moment before she began talking rapidly.

“Here’s the deal: your unit has been deployed on Dark World. Most of our legion was deployed down there over a week ago.”

I sat up and slammed down my beer can. It was already empty. “We invaded Dark World? Hot damn!”

Evelyn snorted and shook her head, smiling. “Same old James. You like to fight, don’t you?”

“I love smashing bugs like these Vulbites. So, have we pushed their garrison troops back? Have we flushed them all out of their holes down there and squished them by the thousands?”

She looked down and licked her lips before answering. “This planet isn’t garrisoned by the Vulbites, James. We’ve discovered… It’s their home world.”

That was a stunner. All of a sudden, I understood why they’d been coming at us in what seemed like endless waves. They were fighting for their home planet.

“Uh-oh…” I said, thinking about it. “That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not. After we kicked them off this orbital platform, Deech ordered Legion Varus to drop on the planet itself. The fighting down there has been fierce.”

I was frowning now, not liking the idea of having missed all that action. “Why couldn’t they have revived me and thrown me into battle with my troops?”

“They just decided to do so last night. An order went out saying all holds on revivals were off—and your name was cleared immediately. I popped you up to the top of the queue this morning, and here we are.”

Jumping up off her couch, I approached her, and she took a cautionary step back.

“You’ve got to get me down there, girl! I need to join my unit if they’re in trouble.”

My hand clasped her elbow, and she looked a little scared.

“I understand how you feel,” she said, “but it’s a bit more complicated than that. You’re cohort has been captured.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

Now, I understood why she looked worried. She hadn’t told me the really bad stuff before, and now that she had, she was concerned about how I’d react.

I let go of her, and she breathed more easily.

“Look,” she said. “I know this sucks. I know this is unfair—but I’m going to lay it out for you. Deech still wants you dead. She’s up on Gold Deck, busy with disasters, and she doesn’t know you’ve been revived. It probably slipped her mind when she released everyone who was held up in the queue that the order would include you.”

Frowning, I gave her my full attention. “But the Blue Deck people would know the difference. They’d check with the brass before okaying my revival. Who authorized this then? Turov, right?”

“Yeah,” Evelyn said. “She told me to do it. In case someone noticed I’d altered the queues, I decided not to be there when you came out.”

“You chickened,” I said nodding.

“I took precautions,” she amended, and I let her get away with it.

“How did it happen? The capture, I mean?”

For legionnaires, being captured on an alien world was just about the worst imaginable fate. Legally, Earth couldn’t revive troops who weren’t confirmed dead. Being captured and disappearing meant you were permed—no revive. No possibility of freedom, either, if you did somehow survive. Aliens typically made poor hosts.

“They were invading a hive—that’s what’s down there on Dark World. Big hives full of Vulbites. It turns out they live kind of like ants, or termites.”

“Great,” I said. “So all of them are gone? My whole unit?”

She squirmed. “More like your whole cohort.”

My heart sank—and it was feeling pretty low already. “Even Graves?”

“Yes.”

“Well… what the hell can I do about that? Reviving me was thoughtful, but I don’t—”

“We’re supposed to—do something extreme.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me and you—mostly you. I’m supposed to help.”

She looked scared, and I looked baffled for a few seconds—then I caught on.

“Turov wants us to fix this? Somehow?”

Evelyn nodded.

“But… how can we…?” I began, then I thought I had the answer. “You don’t mean the broadsides, do you? That would be extreme. You’d really go so far for Turov?”

“She gave me my rank back, James. Without Turov, I’ll be busted back down to specialist.”

“Yeah, I get that, but… this is a whole new level of crazy for you.”

“She said you could do it. She said you’d want to do it.”

Feeling a little overwhelmed, I paced around her quarters, rubbing at my own shoulders and face.

If everyone I knew was down there on Dark World, as good as permed, using the broadsides was one sure way to get them out of purgatory. A single salvo from those big guns—sixteen shells screaming down with fusion warheads—that would wipe out any nest of bugs that had captured my people. Certified death for all—and a revival for all those captured.

“I’m not magic,” I told her. “I can’t just storm the fire-control center and operate the guns solo.”

Evelyn reached into her shirt and fished between her breasts for a second. I watched this with my eyebrows raised high.

Finally, she pulled out something that looked like a seashell.

“Oh…” I said. “The key.”

“You know what this thing is?” she asked. “You know how to use it?”

“I sure do,” I said, taking it from her hands. It was warm to the touch, and I looked at it thoughtfully.

“Good,” she said, sighing in relief. “That’s all I can do to help. Take it, and do your worst.”

I reached out a hand, and I planted it on her shoulder. I lifted the key up and held it between us.

“This will get us inside,” I said. “But I’ll still need help. You’re in this to the end—right?”

Evelyn looked scared again. “What more can I do?”

“You can talk our way past security, for one thing. Once we’re there, you can pull levers—I’ll tell you which ones. They changed things aboard Nostrum. The interface controlling the broadsides has fail-safes now.”

“How do you know that?”

I shrugged. “Idle curiosity can get a man into all kinds of trouble. Anyway, I’ll need help working the fire-control stations. It’ll take at least two people to pull this off.”

“Dammit,” she said softly. “I guess I’m in.”

-37-

On the way up to Gold Deck, I let Evelyn do all the talking and all the checking in. She was a centurion, meaning she outranked me. I played the part of the big, dumb sidekick.

To add authenticity to the ruse, I had her stop by Blue Deck, which was situated immediately below Gold Deck. We rummaged in a storage closet, and I was soon dressed in the blue coveralls of an orderly.

Hulking behind her, I marched along the passages. We took the elevator to the top. The fire-control center was in the aft region of Gold Deck on Nostrum, as Earth was now licensed to build and operate her own warships.

In the past, transports like this maintained a Skrull crew on a flight deck, and a separate human crew on a gunnery deck to handle the broadsides. That had been necessary for legal reasons. Humans had been approved to fight battles, and the Skrull had been approved to fly starships.

A decade ago, it’d been illegal for Humans to fly a ship or for Skrull to fire broadsides. That was a typical bureaucratic setup in the Empire. It was a goofy way to run a fleet, so Earth had performed some redesigns on ships like Nostrum once we were no longer under such severe rules of engagement from the Empire.

Showing off the red crest of her rank every time she was challenged, Evelyn made rapid progress toward our goal, but we were stopped cold when we approached the fire control center.

“State your business, Centurion,” a deck crewman demanded.

“There’s been an accident,” she lied. “I’m here to confirm the status of the injured.”

The crewman frowned in confusion. It wasn’t uncommon for bio people to perform such inspections. They had the task of confirming who was alive or dead, allowing revivals. They also decided who among the injured needed to be finished off and recycled.

“There’s just one problem,” he said, checking his tapper. “I’ve got no reports of any accidents.”

“James?” Evelyn said, crossing her arms.

“Oh… right. You see, Vet, the trouble is…”

I walked toward him as I talked, and he frowned up at me. I lifted the tapper on my arm so he could see it.

“You see this message right here?” I asked him.

“I don’t see—”

He crumpled after I sucker-punched him repeatedly.

Evelyn bent to check his vitals. She sucked air between her teeth.

“Did you have to hit him so hard? He’ll have to be recycled.”

“Come on, let’s keep moving.”

We reached the fire-control station moments later. The Galactic Key bypassed the locks, and there was no one on duty. The place was deserted.

“Turov arranged this part,” Evelyn said. “I can’t believe we’re really up here, doing this.”

I walked past her and began operating the equipment. The fire-control system was Imperial standard, and I’d operated such a station before. The only difference was the triggering mechanism. Instead of a standard touch-interface, two big metal triggers stood out on the console, each shrouded in a hand-guard of black. The triggers reminded me of pump handles at a tram-fueling station.

On the plus side, the observation ports gave us a fine view. The purplish disk of Dark World glowed below.

Rapidly, I touched the Galactic Key to the various control panels, overriding their security. They all logged us in as super-users. There were no more checks, no more passwords—we were in control of everything.

“Here,” I told Evelyn, “punch in the coordinates of the hive Turov gave you.”

She did so, and I watched her, feeling a little suspicious. But the coordinates matched the ones she’d specified, and they made sense.

The big guns outside swung in unison and locked on the target, aiming down at the equatorial region of the planet. Once locked, they slowly began to track as the world spun.

“We’ve got to fire soon,” I said, “or we’ll be forced to wait until the planet spins all the way around again.”

Evelyn nodded, and she moved to her firing station. Two people had to pull the triggers at once to get the big guns to fire—it was a last-ditch security measure that I didn’t know how to circumvent.

The triggers themselves were large metal things you squeezed together inside their protective guards.

“I’m putting up the blast shields,” I said. “The broadsides won’t fire unless we do.”

Huge, protective clam-shells rolled up and obscured all sight of the planet below.

“All right,” I said. “That’s it. On three, we pull these triggers. One… Two…”

“James?” Evelyn said in a voice I rarely heard from her. She sounded weak, frightened, out of her element. “I can’t do it.”

“Sure you can. Just give it a firm yank. Ready?”

“No… I mean… I can’t just kill a million aliens. I can’t do something like that without having the approval of our mission commander.”

“Deech? She doesn’t want any part of this.”

“I know. I just… I…”

“Listen,” I said, “this is a bad time to get cold feet. Someone’s bound to find us in here soon. Just do it.”

She looked freaked out. She stared at her hand, and I thought for a second she’d pull the trigger—mine was already half-squeezed—but she didn’t.

She removed her hand from the trigger guard and shook her head. “I can’t do it. I’m not like you. I can’t do it. Not for your friends—not for Galina.”

Before I could argue with her any further, a stern voice spoke from the doorway.

“Well, well, well,” Imperator Deech said. “What do we have here? Two agents of Varus caught in the act.”

A trio of guards stood at her back. My mouth hung open for a moment, as did Evelyn’s—but I recovered first.

“Hello there, Imperator,” I said in a cheery tone. “We just discovered an awful security oversight. No one should be allowed into this chamber without proper credentials. If this had been anything other than a test—”

“Shut up, McGill,” Deech said.

She advanced into the chamber warily. Her eyes were on Evelyn, however, rather than me.

“You didn’t have the guts to pull the trigger, did you?” she asked the centurion.

Evelyn didn’t answer. Her eyes were as big around as saucers. She slowly raised her hands above her head.

“Damn you, girl,” Deech said. “Don’t surrender! Fire those guns. Now!”

Bewildered, Evelyn shook her head in confusion. “You want us to fire?” she asked.

Deech rolled her eyes. “Of course. How do you think you got in here? Did you really believe this chamber is ever deserted? There’s a battle going on down below!”

When I thought that over, the situation did seem unlikely.

“Now,” Deech said, “are you going to fire those damned guns or not?”

Evelyn shook her head. Her mouth set itself in a tight line.

“Fine,” Deech spat out the word. She smoothly drew her sidearm and shot Evelyn repeatedly.

On reflex, I reached for my own gun, but the guards were covering me.

“Now, McGill,” Deech asked me, “are you in a more cooperative mood?”

As she talked, Deech grabbed Evelyn’s dead hand, shoved it into the firing stirrup, and forced the bloody fingers to close around the trigger.

Deech looked at me expectantly. “Well?”

“Is my cohort really down there, trapped in that hive?”

“They are. We lost contact with them yesterday. They were overwhelmed deep inside the nest.”

I nodded. “Just tell me one more thing: why the hell are you doing this?”

“You’re mistaken,” Deech said. “The record will clearly show that a squad of Varus renegades perpetrated this crime under orders from Turov.”

I got it then. It was like the heavens above had opened and spilled golden wisdom into my benighted face.

Deech was actually trying to pull a move. That was unheard of behavior—for her. She was trying to get Turov blamed for this whole disaster—instead of herself. That’s why she’d allowed things to go so far.

Deech followed my shifting expressions, and she knew I’d figured it out. She shrugged, perhaps feeling a twinge of shame.

“This business with the broadsides wasn’t my idea, originally. It was Turov’s,” she said. “But after I found out about it, I thought it over, and I came to the surprising conclusion that Turov was correct. We need to strike the planet directly. It’s the only way to win this campaign.”

“Let’s see if I’ve got this straight,” I said. “You liked her idea, but you didn’t want to take the blame for genocide? So, up until now you’ve been helping us slip by?”

“Up until now, I’ve done nothing but observe your criminal behavior. I hadn’t planned to do anything at all except arrest you two when it was over—but then Centurion Thompson chickened at the last step. A pity.”

“Tell me one thing: why are you convinced this is the only way to proceed?”

“It isn’t. Assaulting the nests on the ground is the approved approach. Engaging in genocidal attacks is unacceptable for Earth—even for Varus.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, as I’d participated in various actions that were on an equivalent plane of evil. Often, I’d tried to stop them, with mixed results.

But Deech wasn’t really from Varus. She had the high-minded ideals of the Iron Eagles stuck in her head.

“Why not just revive my legion and assault another nest?”

She squirmed a little. “Right now, Varus is mostly permed. We can’t legally revive those soldiers—not unless we know they’re dead.”

“Ah…” I said, nodding my head. “You’d deploy Varus again, not your precious Eagles, but you can’t because they’re on hold for a revival. The only other thing you can do is ask Earth for more troops.”

“Now you grasp the situation. Are we doing this or not?”

I looked at her intently for a moment. At last I nodded. How could I refuse? Without this effort, Kivi, Natasha, Carlos, Graves—they were all gone.

“All right,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

Deech looked at me for a moment longer, then nodded.

“On my mark…” she said. “One… two… Mark!”

Our eyes were locked as she counted down, and they stayed locked as we both squeezed the big, heavy triggers.

The massive guns spoke, and the whole ship bucked with the unleashed power. Sixteen shells went screaming down toward Dark World.

The war between Earth and Rigel had escalated again.

There was only one advantage I had in this grim situation. I’d fired broadsides before, and none of these Eagles had ever done so. Because of my prior experiences, I knew one critical thing: the main guns aboard a starship kick like a rabid mule.

Back in Georgia Sector on Earth, I’d fired more than my share of buckshot, but the kick of a twelve-gauge was nothing compared to the awesome power of sixteen fusion cannons going off under your boots in unison.

Unlike Deech and her guards, I’d braced myself for this vicious jolt in the ass.

Caught by surprise, Deech’s chin came down and slammed into the steel guard covering the trigger. She looked stunned, and her blood flowed over the housing.

The three guards had been standing around aimlessly. For the most part, they’d been directing their rifles at me and frowning at the instrumentation.

When the kick came, their knees buckled, and they were thrown to the deck. One of them stopped moving, knocked out cold.

This was the third time I’d been involved in the firing of broadsides. Unlike the ground-pounders, I’d set myself, and I rode it out. My knees bent, but they didn’t buckle.

Climbing back to their feet, cursing and confused, the guards were easy targets. One of them caught a bolt from my pistol before the second managed to return fire.

He got me in the side, but I put him down a split-second later.

Deech was stunned, but she was still in the game. She clawed out her own weapon a moment later. We stood there, aiming our pistols at one another.

“You savage!” she called out.

“Me?” I asked. “You’re the genocidal maniac. Take a look.”

So saying, I struck a big green button. The blast shields rolled away again, revealing the purple disk of Dusk World below us.

“Millions are about to die, sir.”

Sixteen streaks were still on their way down. We could see them clearly, arcing gently as they plunged through the upper atmosphere. They left white billowing trails of vapor as behind them as they fell.

“Won’t we be blinded on impact?” Deech said, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene.

“I don’t think so. Not at this range.”

Neither of us spoke for the next twenty or so seconds. Finally, a ripple of flashes went off far below. Deech threw her hands over her eyes, squinting and pulling her lips back from her teeth.

I could have shot her then, but I didn’t. Instead, I stepped close. I put my gun to her temple and pushed hers down. She jerked the trigger, but the bolt scored the deck instead of my body, drawing a smoking line of gouged-up, molten metal.

“You’re a treacherous dog,” Deech said to me. “You can kill me now, but I’ll be revived. I’ll be the one who watches you get permed.”

Ignoring her threats, I took her hand, and I pulled off her glove. She looked confused, but she didn’t struggle much.

Using her hand, I shoved it into the trigger guard. She finally figured out what I was doing then, and she tried to pull her hand back, but she was quickly overpowered.

I forced her hand to close over the metal squeeze-handles that formed the trigger.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Oh, I think you know,” I said. “You turned off the cameras in here, didn’t you?”

Her wide eyes answered me despite the fact she stayed silent.

“That’s what I thought,” I told her. “But these triggers measure DNA. I just want to make sure you share in the credit for this bombardment.”

As I was using both my hands to force her to touch the trigger, making sure it had enough time to scan her, I wasn’t watching her other hand. She managed to get her pistol up against my gut, and she shot me.

I fell back. I’m a tough man, but I know when the game’s about over.

I could have killed Deech anyway, as I still had my weapon, but I didn’t see the point. Instead, I rolled over onto my belly, which was now a tangled, smoldering mess that hung out over my belt. That mass was kind of hot to the touch—a weird sensation.

Taking the Galactic Key, I slipped it into Evelyn’s back pocket.

“Stay down, you beast!” Deech shouted, and she shot me again, in the back this time.

“Oh shit… that one hurt,” I told her.

I got to my knees again anyway, and I heard her labored breathing as she stood over me.

“Die, damn you!” she hissed out.

“Losing your nerve, Imperator?”

Slowly, I levered myself back up and stood in front of her. I was swaying and leaning on the console—but I was on my feet. I looked her in the eyes, daring her to finish me off.

She shot me in the face.

That did the trick. I flopped down, deader than yesterday.

-38-

My next revival started off good.

“McGill…? Adjunct…? Can you hear me, James?”

The voice was feminine, vaguely familiar. My eyes fluttered open. I coughed up slime.

When I could answer, I rolled onto my side and wheezed.

“Evelyn?”

“That’s right,” she said in relief. “He looks good—it will have to do.”

Another figure shadowed me.

“McGill?” Graves asked. “Did you participate in the broadside strike on Dark World?”

Despite my bleary state of mind, I was immediately on-guard. Usually, Graves was a man I could count on for help. But he didn’t like junior officers taking drastic action. That meant we didn’t always see eye-to-eye.

“What strike was that, sir?” I asked, deciding to go with my tried-and-true appeal to ignorance.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

Sitting up with an effort, I managed to look around.

“Are we still aboard Nostrum, sir?” I asked.

“We are,” Graves answered, “but we’re in a holding pen. We’re reviving our own people, one at time, waiting for the verdict.”

“Verdict?” I asked, not liking the taste of that word.

“Yes. After you destroyed the eastern continent, the news got back to Drusus. He’s come out personally to investigate and adjudicate the situation.”

My heart sank. I couldn’t see how I’d get past a perming this time. Brightening up, I shrugged and stretched.

“Well,” I said, “it’s good to have you all back among the living. You were captured or killed down there in one of those nests. You know about that, don’t you?”

Graves nodded. “We do. I have vague memories—unpleasant ones. They have Vulbites down there by the millions, but there are also other creatures. Poisonous, flapping things. They latch onto a man and feed.”

I grimaced and climbed into a showering stall. “That’s all in the past now, sir.”

“Hardly. If we don’t get permed, we’ll be redeployed.”

“What?” I asked, leaning back out of the shower.

“That’s right,” Evelyn said. “Varus gets all the shit-work. It never fails. The brass is talking about dropping us again—onto the southern continent this time.”

“But there are millions of them,” I complained. “We can’t kill every bug on the planet.”

“No, that’s not the mission,” Graves said. “This won’t be a traditional effort to conquer. They have queens in these nests. The whole planet seems to consist of around six giant colonies—make that five now.”

“Kind of like the squids?”

“These Vulbites are more like social insects. They lay eggs—thousands of them. If we can threaten a high queen in her egg-chamber…”

I looked at him doubtfully, and he didn’t seem any more convinced than I was.

“Can I talk to Drusus? Before he passes judgment?”

Graves snorted. “That’s probably not a good idea. Deech is with him, and I get the feeling they’ve got a personal relationship.”

“You really think Drusus would be swayed that way?”

“McGill, you just tried to kill his girlfriend.”

“I did not! She personally pulled the triggers on the broadsides with me, and then she killed me.”

He frowned. “Are you shitting me again, Adjunct?”

“No sir. I swear on my poppa’s grave.”

“Your father is alive, McGill.”

“His future grave, then. You have to give me a chance. You have to let me talk to Drusus.”

Graves looked indecisive. It was a rare expression for him.

Evelyn walked up and snaked an arm around my waist. “I can get him up there. Turov will help.”

Graves huffed. “You’re on trial, too, Thompson. You’re an accomplice.” He began to read the charges on his tapper. “Gross insubordination. Conduct unbecoming. Assassination of a superior officer. Mass murder. Unauthorized entry. Unauthorized operation of weaponry. Conspiracy to—”

“Yes, yes,” I said impatiently. “But it was all for a good cause. They’ve got to take that under consideration.”

Graves made a wry grimace. “I’m sure they will, McGill.”

While Graves had been making his bitter speech, Evelyn had pressed something hard and round into my hand. I knew right off what it was: the Galactic Key.

“Let us go up there,” I urged Graves. “We’ll fix things.”

He stared at me. “If you can talk your way out of this prison block, you can do whatever you want.”

He stalked off, and I eyed the module we were in. It wasn’t a standardized steel living module, it was a brig unit with a revival machine in the central chamber. Every exit wasn’t just locked, it was sealed.

Walking around the module, I sought a way out.

“James,” Evelyn hissed behind me. “We’ve got to get out of here. If they find us guilty, they might just eject this entire module into space and start fresh with new recruits.”

“Nah…” I said. “They wouldn’t eject a perfectly good revival machine. They’ll save that for sure.”

Searching each hatchway, I finally found a domed access cover over a maintenance tunnel. Fortunately, most of the components that Earth used to build our ships were of alien manufacture. I popped the cover open with the key and saw a dank, slippery interior.

“You’re going to go into that?” Evelyn said, looking over my shoulder and wrinkling her nose.

“Nope,” I said, “you are. I’m too damned big. My shoulders would never fit.”

She complained, but in the end, she was convinced. We were running out of options. Who knew what gruesome lies Deech was telling Drusus right now during our absence?

After about fifteen minutes, during which I heard a lot of curses floating up from that pipe, Evelyn opened the module’s emergency exit.

I rushed out and found a guard cold-cocked on the floor.

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Centurion,” I told her.

“Come on. I’ve still got clearances that are active. We’ll take the stairs up to Gold Deck.”

We almost made it—but not quite. As we were unarmed, I found myself irritated by the fact a few noncoms had captured us again.

“I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding, Veteran Alders,” Evelyn said in a stern voice.

“I’m sure it is, sir, but we’ve got to check. There’s been some funny—”

Veteran Alders held a gun on me, while the other ran our tappers through a search. His eyes flashed up in alarm a moment later.

But it was too late for him. I grabbed his pistol with his finger on the trigger and pushed it into the gut of the second man. Reflexively, he shot his partner.

Then, I beat Alders down until he stopped moving. It wasn’t anything to be proud of, but there it was.

Breathing hard, I turned to Evelyn. She looked sick.

“Why’d you do that, James?” she asked. “Now they’ll never believe we’re innocent.”

“Well… we aren’t. Not exactly. We’re way past that whole thing.”

She followed me, hurrying in confusion as I made my way to the conference rooms on Gold Deck.

“What whole thing are we past?”

“You know, all that business of guilt or innocence. We’re into the realm of who guessed right and who guessed wrong. Who’s going to take the blame for this fiasco and who is going to walk out smelling like a rose.”

“Deech is fantastically talented in that department,” she said dejectedly.

“We’ll see.”

The door to the conference room opened after a few deft taps with the Galactic Key.

A startled bunch of brass turned to look at us. At the head table were three I knew well: Praetor Drusus sat in the center. On his right side was Imperator Deech. On his left was Tribune Galina Turov.

“Sorry, sirs,” I announced. “We couldn’t get here any faster. There must be some misunderstanding with the security personnel.”

Deech didn’t snarl at me. Instead, she cocked her head and smiled.

“And there we have it,” she said, as if we’d somehow proven a point she’d been in the midst of making. “I rest my case.”

Galina looked at me like I’d strangled her last kitten, and Drusus appeared to smell something foul.

“Uh…” I said, uncertain how to proceed. “Am I missing something?”

“Indeed you are, Adjunct,” Drusus said. “You’ve somehow exited your holding cell, and… ah yes, reports of injuries are rolling in on my tapper even now.”

“Look, Praetor,” I said. “I don’t know what’s been discussed, but I—”

“I must object, Praetor,” Deech said smoothly. “This prisoner is dangerous, and he shouldn’t be allowed to barge in here to make a statement.”

“Agreed,” Drusus said. “But then again, here he is with his codefendant. Let’s use the moment to finish these proceedings.”

Deech perked up. “You mean it’s time to pass a verdict?”

“Yes,” he said, and he seemed deflated. Even depressed.

“Very well,” Deech said, lighting up. “Let us by all means proceed.”

I tried to object, but they shut me down. Bailiffs and MPs were filling the room by now, and their guns told me I’d better keep quiet.

“Adjunct James McGill, Centurion Evelyn Thompson,” Drusus began. “You two are accused of conspiracy to commit a raft of crimes, previously listed. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, sir!” I belted out.

Evelyn hung her head in shame.

“Guilty, sir,” she said.

“Very well, we’ve heard the evidence. What’s your vote, Turov?”

“Not guilty.”

“I object,” Deech said severely.

Drusus looked at her in surprise. “You object to a verdict rendered by their superior officer?”

“I do. Insomuch as this officer is also to stand trial immediately after we finish this proceeding. Really, we should have done this in reverse order.”

Drusus thought about that but then shook his head. “Objection overruled. How do you vote, Imperator Deech?”

She tried to look composed, but I could see the glee in her face.

“Guilty,” she said. “Since the first moment I laid eyes on this man, he’s been nothing but an embarrassment. A slovenly soldier destined to be permed for insubordination if nothing else.”

Drusus nodded, unsurprised. He sucked in a deep breath.

“I vote… not guilty.”

We all blinked in surprise. Deech was positively stunned.

“Let me explain my reasoning,” he said in the silent room. “Your DNA was on the triggers, just as theirs was, Imperator—”

“I told you why that—”

Drusus lifted a hand. “I understand. But the fact remains that without using the broadsides, one of our legions was effectively permed. No matter who we blame for the mess—that step had to be taken.”

“It’s not fitting that low-level officers should take it upon themselves—”

“No, of course it isn’t,” Drusus agreed. “But when the brass refuses to make the hard choices—or refuses to accept responsibility for them—Varus people tend to act.”

Deech glowered at him. I had the feeling their shared bed was going to be ice-cold tonight.

“What,” she said sternly, “do you propose to do to remedy this breakdown in discipline? Who will be punished, and how?”

Drusus ruminated on that. “The fault here, in the end, is almost entirely mine. I allowed my judgment to be swayed again and again. This entire venture has turned into a fiasco due to my errors. Therefore, I can’t hold anyone responsible for—”

“That’s insane!” Deech cried out, standing tall. “Praetor Drusus, I demand—”

“This trial is dismissed,” he said firmly. “As are all follow-up charges and recriminations. We’re here to win a war, officers. We’re not here to in-fight, to investigate, to waste valuable time. I don’t think anyone here is a traitor to Earth. But we’ve lost our way, and leadership has failed to unite everyone in this taskforce and guide them to victory.”

The courtroom fell silent again, but I couldn’t contain myself any longer.

I stood up and released a long war-whoop. While doing so, I cranked my arm over my head and swung it around as if my team had just won the pennant.

In a way, I guess we had.

-39-

The next morning, the legions began to drop on Dark World again.

This time around, I went down with them.

Dropping one at a time into the capsules and firing out of the belly of Nostrum, my unit looked universally tense and glum—but I was all smiles.

Now, to be sure, I wasn’t certain we had a prayer of beating the Vulbites, but at least we had a new plan, and I hadn’t been permed.

Grinning, I tucked each recruit into their little cylindrical coffins and shot them at Dark World’s dank landscape with glee in my heart.

“Come on!” I boomed. “Step right up, who’s my next lucky splat!”

This was their third drop, so I didn’t expect any splats—but you never knew. One by one my recruits walked out into open space. They were sucked into that round, black hole in the deck and swiftly processed.

At last, it was my turn. Without hesitation or regret, I hopped in and shot myself at the planet.

The jump went as smoothly as such things could go. We punched through the cloud layer and screamed downward. The external heat shields measured around three thousand degrees C, and all systems were go.

Retros fired in the final minute, slowing down our capsules. Even so, we landed rough, some cylinders sinking into the soft ground a meter or more.

Blasting the release bolts, we crawled out of our smoking eggs like hatchlings.

Getting my bearings, I summoned my platoon as it landed, and we all moved out of the LZ.

It was my first up-close view of Dark World. Right off, I could tell the planet was a strange one. The horizon seemed too close as the planet wasn’t that big. You could practically see the curve of it from the ground.

Off to the east where the sky was brightest, it was still pretty murky. The dim light made the grass look purple, rather than green. The soil was more mud than dirt, and it was as black as space itself.

To the north was a low, worn-tooth series of humps in the land. I guess they were mountains—dinky ones. There weren’t any trees where we landed, but larger flora in the shape of big leafy plants was in sight to the west.

“Don’t get nailed by the next wave,” I urged my troops. “I want every trooper to move past the western line you see on your HUD now.”

A wave of color swept over the group, and they could all see the only direction where marginal safety lay. To the west, a line of light was superimposed on their faceplates. They rushed there, scrambling, limping and dragging themselves as needed.

We all made it. There were a few injuries, but nothing as serious as a broken bone.

“A picture-perfect landing,” I told them, and I clapped Cooper on the back.

He winced, but smiled and nodded up at me.

When our whole unit had formed, we’d only lost one heavy trooper when a capsule flattened him in the LZ.

“I hear you’ve got a deader on your hands already, Harris,” Leeson said, gloating.

Harris cast him a glare. “It was your weaponeer that landed on him as he was trying to get off the field.”

“You snooze, you lose,” Leeson said, chuckling.

Winslade popped up in our midst like a gopher. “Let’s shut up and advance to our next waypoint, shall we?”

“Yessir!” I said, and I rushed off in the lead. As the man commanding the light troops, I knew without asking it was my job to scout ahead.

We made rapid progress across a field of purple-green grasses until we reached a line of something that resembled trees. Whatever you might want to call them, they were big plants growing in the rich, black soil.

Up close, the trees looked less and less like real trees. They were like gigantic versions of something I’d seen in my mom’s vegetable garden. Beets, that’s what they looked like.

The man-sized leaves were bright green, but they had purple veins running all through them. The veins were thick and squiggly, and they made me a little uneasy when I examined them too closely. The stalks holding up the leaves were purple, too, but they weren’t as disturbing as those ropy purple veins.

“Weird-looking plants they have down here, huh?” Leeson asked me when his platoon caught up. “You haven’t seen anything yet, McGill. Keep moving. You’re going to love this shit-hole.”

Leading my light troops, I advanced into the giant field of beets, pushing past fleshy leaves and crunching over tangled root structures. We were soon deep in the thicket, and sounds of wind and soldiers faded, muffled by the fleshy plants.

We encountered our first group of Vulbites by chance. They were surrounding one of the plants—feeding on it. They had sharp pinchers with stabbing tubes that came out of the middle of their mouthparts.

“Are they high or something?” Sarah asked me in a whisper. She came near and crouched, breathing hard. “They’re ignoring us.”

“They might be civilians,” I said. “Although they all look the same to me.”

“That one’s moving!” Sarah shouted, and before I could stop her, she’d pounded it with fifty rounds out of her snap-rifle.

The troops converged, crashing through the bushes, and began firing.

The Vulbites rushed us, curved, blade-like pinchers spread wide, but they didn’t stand a chance. They were all cut down and killed.

“That could have gone better,” I said.

“How?” Cooper asked. “We got them all, and we didn’t lose a single soldier. It was a job well-done if you ask me.”

“Nobody’s asking you,” I said. “Take point.”

He shrugged, and did as I asked. I watched him move off into the big purple-green foliage.

Was it a mistake to send Cooper ahead? If more Vulbites were found, civvie or not, I knew what he’d do.

The trouble was, these aliens were just too alien for humans to deal with fairly. It was hard to imagine peacefully interacting with this species. Every Vulbite looked like something every human wanted to kill on reflex.

The beet-field thinned out after a kilometer or so, and we approached the nest itself. There is where I began to wish I’d been revived before the briefings.

Checking my waypoint on my HUD, I had a vague idea about where I was going. But I didn’t have much information on the cohort or the legion as a whole. All I knew was the ground would rise up and up about five hundred meters or so. At the top of this rise was the entrance to the nest, or hive, that we were assaulting.

As the rise in the ground steepened, the vegetation thinned. We finally came close enough to the edge of the beet-plant forest to see the hill in the center of the legion, in all its glory.

“There they are,” Leeson said. “Up on top of the hill, waiting for us.”

I stared up. The hill was artificial, of course. To me, it looked more like an anthill than a termite mound, but it had properties of both. The nest wasn’t simple dirt. It was shot through with a sophisticated weave of naturally extruded polymers. In other words, the mound was made of dirt laced with spit—or something worse than spit.

Harris clapped me on the shoulder. “Isn’t it a sight to behold? From out here, it looks pretty cool. But trust me, it isn’t nice inside. Hell no. It’s full of tricks and traps. That’s how we got caught the first time—at least, that’s what they tell me happened. I can’t remember because once you go into that mound, your radio will cut out and you’ll be on your own.”

“I’ll be on my own?”

Harris grinned. “That’s what Winslade said in the briefing you missed. Scouts go in first, light troopers only. This must be your lucky day!”

He walked off, laughing and shaking his head. I’d gotten a lot of grief like that on this drop. Every trooper who’d come down the first time and gotten skunked assaulting an anthill like this one seemed bitter. They were all under the impression I’d been lounging around while dead in the revival queue.

Winslade sidled up to me next. He wore a smug expression.

“Have you heard the news, then?” he asked.

“That I’m going up there to the top? Yeah, I heard about it. Isn’t that what the cohort did before when you got wiped?”

“Not quite,” he sneered, clearly unhappy to be reminded of the previous invasion, which had turned into a disaster. “Anyway, we’ll all circle the nest, staying under cover until every unit is in position. Then, Graves will give us the final word on when to attack—if the bugs don’t make their move preemptively.”

“The Vulbites might hit us first?” I asked.

He released a disgusted snort. “You really don’t read your briefings do you?”

“Well, sir, I was…”

But I was talking to his back. He’d spun around and stalked off to harangue the other adjuncts.

“Damn these people,” I muttered. “Cooper, get over here.”

He crawled back from his forward position, where he’d been observing the hill from under a leafy canopy on the edge of the forest.

“Cooper,” I told him, “no one seems to get that I wasn’t down here the last time, and that I didn’t have time to do much reading while I was dead.”

“Yeah…” he said. “Okay, I’ll give you the run-down. Up there, the bugs are watching us. They’ve got instruments of some kind. Organic lenses in the dirt, listening systems, I don’t know what else. But this smooth mound—it’s not just a random hill of dirt. It’s full of traps and maybe buried enemy defenders.”

“That’s great,” I said. “The Vulbites always were a sneaky bunch. What happened the last time the legion surrounded a hill like this?”

“We bombarded the top, trying to tear it open. That succeeded to some extent. Then, the lights rushed uphill.”

“Okay… what next?”

“I got up to the top, but then I died pretty fast. That’s all I remember. You’ll have to talk to the heavies about the rest.”

I grunted unhappily, and I signaled Sargon. He was a weaponeer, and he wore armor.

“It went like this,” he said when I’d explained my confusion. “The lights were the bunny-rabbits. We followed them to lend strength. The Vulbites let them get inside the top—it’s kind of like the cone of a volcano up there. But most of the heavies didn’t make it. The ground gave way under us. At first, I thought it was because our armor was too dense and caused us to break through—but I was wrong. The bugs had been busy, digging mantraps under the surface.”

He gave a shudder at the memory. That wasn’t normal for Sargon. He usually didn’t fear anything—not even a grim death.

“It was bad down there,” he continued. “Full of burrowing things—not just Vulbites. The ones we’re used to seeing are the worker-types, I think. There are more varieties inside their mounds. Eventually, I was captured inside some lightless hellhole. More than a few of us men were eaten. I must have had a good signal, because I remember that they were chewing on me when your shells came down—thanks for that, by the way.”

He stumped off, shaking his head. I stared after him. He was the first one who seemed happy about my role in the aerial bombardment—but it was clear he wasn’t happy to be on Dark World again.

About then, I heard a flapping sound. The troops looked up, and they all raised their rifles to their cheeks.

“One final thing I forgot to mention, McGill,” Cooper shouted to me. “The flying things. They’re kind of like big steaks that can fly in this low gravity. Don’t let them get on your air hoses or into your faceplate. They’ll take the skin right off a man.”

Firing began, and I spun around, trying to get a good look at one of them.

Finally, I spotted what they had to be talking about. It was maybe as big as a frying pan. It did look like a slab of meat. Bent in half, the flapping monstrosity didn’t appear to have eyes or any other sensory organs I could make out—but it seemed to know right where we were.

Ripping fire went up from a dozen rifles. The creature tore apart in mid-air, shredded by snap-rifle rounds. It burst and blood sprayed everywhere. It was as if the creature had been a loose sack of red liquid.

One was down, but there were a lot more flapping noises now. I turned back toward the forest, and then I saw it: a gigantic flock hovered over the beet-forest. The flock rose up like a storm cloud.

There had to be thousands.

-40-

“Unit! Circle-up!” Winslade ordered. “Fire into the central mass, but be ready with your knives when they get in close!”

I rolled onto my back and fired a steady series of bursts. Set for mid-range tactical fire, a snap-rifle released ten rounds at a time. You could put a lot of metal in the air fast that way without losing control of your weapon due to recoil.

Each burst kicked up my rifle’s muzzle a little, but I brought it back down again, keeping it more or less on target while sending a hail of destruction downrange.

The mass of flapping things swept over us. Soon, they descended, spreading out and swooping low. They plunged into the forest and came zooming through it to attack us from every angle at once.

Tracking one at a time, I stayed with my ten-round burst setting. Every few seconds, I fired and tore apart another flapper—that’s what my troops called them: flappers. Sometimes, one of the beet bushes was damaged, and a branch fell.

A giant leaf drooped over me, obscuring my vision. Angrily, I pushed the leaf away—but the flappers were already on me.

Two of them slapped onto my suit. One was working on my faceplate, trying to tear it open. I could see the veins in it, the pulsing muscular mass. It seemed to have a very thin skin, so you could see the working guts and pumping fluids inside. It was like being attacked by a living mass of tissue.

The thing was strong, too. My gauntlets were on it, fingers prying, trying to get under the edges of the flaps to rip them away. My faceplate was slimed up, and I already heard the hissing sound of escaping air.

“Son of a bitch!” I said, and I gave up on the strategy of prying it off.

Instead, I drew my combat knife like Winslade had suggested. I stabbed and sliced, trying not to gouge my own faceplate.

The flapper at last relaxed and I managed to scrape it off and sit up.

Oddly, I was still hearing the hiss of leaking air—in fact, it was louder now.

“McGill,” Sargon said, “you’ve got one on your air hose. Don’t let it burn all the way through.”

I panicked a little. I slashed at it, over my shoulder—and I cut my own damned hose.

Cursing, I killed the flapper and was left standing there, panting, with an air leak. Fortunately, the air here was breathable, if a little oxygen-rich for humans.

“Here, let me help you with that, sir,” Sarah said, coming near and patching my hoses up.

Looking around, I saw no more flappers.

“Did we really get them all?” I asked.

“No way,” Cooper said. “That was just a test. It was the same way last time. The nest likes to probe us first, to see what works.”

“How many did we lose?”

Checking into it, I found we’d only lost one light trooper and two others in the unit.

“That’s better than last time,” Harris told me. “We freaked out when those flapping shit-bags hit us and lost nine men. Nine, and we hadn’t even marched up the frigging death-hill yet.”

The death-hill.

My eyes couldn’t help but stray to the rising mound, the artificial mountain we’d encircled. Looking at it, I began to realize why no one in the unit had blamed me for blasting the last nest—and most of our legion—to fragments with Nostrum’s broadsides. I was wishing someone else would do the same favor for me.

But I wasn’t so lucky. The belief among the brass was that we could do better this time around as we’d already experienced the worst this enemy could dish out.

It was all about Deech’s ego, in the end. She didn’t want to lose, and we were going to have to suffer as a result.

Turov herself kicked off the big attack with what amounted to a pregame pep-talk.

“Soldiers,” she said, “we’re all in position now, and we’re prepared to assault the Vulbite mound.”

I found this to be an ironic statement. We were watching her on our tappers, and it was as plain as day to see that she was still aboard Nostrum. The glowing walls of a conference room on Gold Deck were in the background, just in case any of us weren’t certain.

“This time, things will go differently,” she assured us. “We’ll surge in with greater force and superior planning. Rather than rushing up the mound in units, lights first followed by heavies, we’ll employ a new tactic.”

The camera angle shifted, and I could see we were now witnessing a vid-streaming feed from Dark World. The green leafed, purple veined plants were in abundance. Standing in a clearing was a pair of gateposts, and Primus Graves was standing beside them.

Two techs activated the jump-gate, and immediately soldiers began to march out.

The soldiers weren’t human—not exactly. They were Blood-Worlders.

First came a full unit of slavers. Tall, lanky beings with limbs a full two meters in length, they skulked out of the jump-gate and moved up the hill. They fanned out and picked their way up the slope, testing and probing the soil.

The intelligence of this move impressed me. The slavers were the scouts of Blood World. They had better senses—vision, hearing and sense of smell—than normal humans did. Possibly, they could detect a trap before it was sprung.

After this, heavy troops rolled out of the jump-gate. Dozens, then hundreds, then so many I lost count. They kept marching, and they never seemed to stop.

“I love it!” Harris said next to me. “This is the best damned idea Turov ever had! She’s going to pave over the hill with their bodies, instead of ours.”

I wasn’t so happy. These men were faithfully following orders, and sure, they looked and acted like aliens—but they weren’t. Not really. We were still genetically compatible. They were our cousins, at the very least.

More importantly, every time one of these Blood Worlders died, they’d be permed. There was only one revival machine aboard Nostrum that could handle someone of their size. That was going to be nowhere near enough.

The litter mates formed up ranks of nine and marched off to the sides, fanning out behind the slavers.

“Now,” Turov said from my tapper. Her face filled the screen. “When the mound is fully encircled, the Blood World troops will advance first. They’ll take the brunt of the initial casualties and with luck, the slavers will locate the traps. Either that, or the heavy troopers will fall through and find them all due to their weight. Each one weighs almost as much as a full human squadron.”

“Genius!” Leeson said, running over to me and showing me his tapper. “Are you watching this, McGill, or are you sleeping?”

“I’m watching—but I don’t like it.”

“What? Are you high, boy? This has to be the smartest thing Turov has ever done!”

I glared at him. “Leeson, those men feel pain the same as we do. They’re going to be permed when they die—not just inconvenienced until tomorrow.”

“Heck, boy! That’s what they’re for!” he shouted at me, exasperated. “Why the hell do you think we took over their baked-rock of a planet? They’re cannon-fodder, and it’s time to feed the cannons!”

He stalked away back to his platoon, shaking his head and muttering about Blood-Worlders not feeling anything and what a fool I was.

About three thousand of them formed up, and when the signal came, they all rushed the mound. We played sniper, laying down covering fire from the base of the hill. A few Vulbites poked their snouts up, but we pegged them the moment they did so. Soon, they’d vanished back into the cool recesses of their gigantic nest.

The plan worked pretty well at first. The slavers used flags to mark spots where they’d detected a trap and the littermates skirted these.

It wasn’t until they made it about halfway up that things got interesting. As I watched, one of the slavers vanished. Then another.

“Something’s happening!” I called out.

“I saw it too!” Harris said. “Have we got buzzers up there?”

We did. Kivi fed me her stream, and I watched as a wary slaver was sucked into the earth. There was nothing left but a divot of sifting dirt and a tiny puff of dust to show where he’d been.

“Stop the attack!” I called out, but Winslade flapped a hand at me in annoyance.

“Don’t lose your nerve so easily, McGill,” he said. “You’ll demoralize the troops.”

More slavers marked the spots where the first rank vanished, and they moved up further. They were now about three quarters of the way to the top.

That’s when the first rank of the heavy troopers began to sink—all at once. How was this coordination managed? I couldn’t tell at a distance, but I suspected Vulbites were lying in wait, and they’d let the slavers go by.

Reacting to the heavy boots of the littermates, they uncoiled and wrapped themselves around the second rank of Blood Worlders. Croaking in dismay, the men hacked around themselves with their massive swords. The fighting was too close and intense for rifles.

Some of the big men managed to lift their attackers from the dirt swirling around their waists and hold them high. Bulging muscles flexed, and the Vulbites were torn apart by sheer strength.

My unit cheered, and I cheered with them.

Still, our march up to the summit was faltering. It had turned into a dusty, vicious struggle on the slopes of the mound.

“Next wave, advance!” Turov ordered.

“You heard the lady,” Graves said. “Lights, you’re going to play the part of the slavers in that last rush. The Blood Worlder heavies will back you up. Move out!”

Surprised, I realized I was in the game again. I got up and trotted into the field. My lights were at my back, spreading out in a broad line.

Behind them, our unit’s Blood Worlders wandered up, looking confused. I expected Harris to lead them—I honestly did.

But instead, he sent out our squid liaison, Sub-Veteran Silt. Harris stayed back inside the tree-line, and he gave me the finger when I waved him forward.

“Come on, Adjunct!” I shouted back at Harris.

He retreated with his human troops under the forest canopy.

“What a pussy,” Cooper said next to me, and I pretended I didn’t hear him.

The new line-up was sub-optimal. We had about the same numbers as the first wave, but light trooper humans don’t have super-senses. Any traps that weren’t marked we immediately found—with our feet.

Still, as most of the traps had been sprung, we managed to reach the high ground where the Blood Worlder charge had floundered. We passed them and pressed onward to the top. I ordered my heavy troops to help their brothers where they could, dragging them out onto the surface. Due to these actions, we reached the summit with more soldiers than I’d started off with.

Silt came up behind me as I hesitated near the top of the hill.

“Have you lost your bravado?” he asked.

“Nope. I’m trying to think of the best way to proceed.”

“Indecision. Hesitancy. Defeat is fraught with these terrors.”

I turned to face him. “You want to charge in there in the lead, squid?”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate. I’m only a sub-veteran.”

“Yeah… but you’re getting on my nerves.”

“My translation box—”

“Translate this: shut up, squid,” I said slowly.

He got the message and slid away from me.

“Cooper!” I shouted. “Go over that ridge and look down into the cone.”

“That’s me, sir!” he said brightly. “The human equivalent of a buzzer!”

“Half of Kivi’s buzzers have been lost—they set off some EMP blasts on the way up. I’m saving the rest for when we get into that nest.”

“So, I’m less valuable than a buzzer,” Cooper said, “good to know.”

I watched him advance on his belly. I could have given him a hard time, but I didn’t have the heart. When a man knows he’s been given a deadly assignment, Varus tradition allows for some bitching as long as he does his best to carry out his orders.

The kid slithered up like a snake and went over the rim. The rest of us hugged the dirt just below the crusty summit.

For about ten seconds, I didn’t see or hear anything. We were pretty far above the forests of beet-bushes which stretched out as far as the eye could see. There was a light wind blowing up, but we didn’t dare open our faceplates.

A sudden scrabbling caught my attention. Cooper launched over the crest toward us—but he was sucked back down again. Carlos and I lunged forward, caught his wrists, and dragged his sorry ass up and over the rim.

“Grenades out!” I shouted. “Every third man, activate and throw on my mark! …Mark!”

My troops scrambled forward, twisted the caps on their grav-grenades, and tossed them into the cone of the hole.

A series of brilliant blue flashes went off. There were no screams, but there was some hissing and thrashing.

“Holy shit, sir,” Cooper’s voice came over tactical chat. “They almost got me.”

“See?” I said. “This really is your lucky day, Cooper.”

He just blinked at me.

“Platoon! Advance!” I roared these words, and I rushed for the top.

Startled, my troops followed me, including the Blood Worlders.

It was time to get serious.

-41-

When I assaulted the summit of the nest, Leeson, Harris and hundreds of other officers were working their way up the hill behind me. We had thousands of troops on the march, but I didn’t figure the Vulbites were going to wait around politely for us to gather our full strength.

“Light troops, belly down on the ridge! Heavy troopers, advance into the cone itself!”

They followed orders at a jog. It was hard to get up and over as the earth was loose and sandy. The rim of the cone crumbled under our boots—it was kind of like charging over a sand dune.

But we did it. Advancing with their odd, croaking cries, the Blood Worlders thundered down into the sandy depths. They kicked up a dust cloud that would have choked us if we hadn’t been wearing respiratory gear.

In response to our move, other platoons that had crested the rim of the cone did the same, advancing into the center.

Suddenly, the center erupted with a massive gush of pink-gray objects. For a second, I thought maybe the mound was a volcano after all, and it had just gone off.

But no, it was a vast flock of flappers. Thousands upon thousands of them, rushing up like disturbed bats. They massed up in a screeching, fluttering cloud and quickly descended upon the troops.

The light troopers I’d left all along the rim did gruesome work then. They fired into that mass with abandon.

We couldn’t get them all. There were just too many. But we did tear them up something awful. Our bursts of fire could hardly miss the flapping masses, and each round tore through not one, but often a dozen of the leathery bundles of flesh.

It practically rained dying flappers on the heavy troopers, who advanced undaunted into the dark. They were drenched in blood, which turned into black grime when it mixed with the dust that coated us all.

“Gunners, advance!” I roared when the mess cleared out. “Don’t let the Blood Worlders get too far ahead.”

We rushed down after our slower, heavier brothers. Together, we forced our way into the clinging darkness of the central mouth.

The open cone of the anthill structure was maybe two hundred meters across, but the hole in the center of it was only perhaps a tenth of that. Still, it was big enough to swallow a lot of troopers quickly.

Once inside, it felt like the dim sun had vanished, and we’d been caught in a winding, sloping cavern that must go all the way down to Hell itself.

The sound quality changed from the normal tones of the open world to the deadening sound of being surrounded for miles by shaped earth.

We jogged deeper still down curling tunnels. Soon, all natural light cut out. The Vulbites didn’t seem to use artificial light in their tunnels. Perhaps they guided themselves by scent when below ground.

Blindly jogging forward, we met enemy resistance, but it wasn’t strong. Now and then, one came rushing at us out of a side tunnel, but we shot those down immediately.

I began to take heart. Could it be that once you were inside the anthill, their major defenses had been bypassed? Was this more like a civilian hive, rather than an armed camp? Perhaps we’d reached the soft underbelly of the enemy and would soon locate their queen.

My flights of fancy were soon corrected by harsh new realities. The floor gave way on a long ramp, and ahead of us, a dozen or so surviving heavy troops, led by Silt himself, vanished into the darkness.

I pulled up short on the last ledge. Behind me, a score of light troopers piled up.

“I don’t see them down there, sir!” Cooper said.

“Kivi! Give me a depth reading!”

She scooted past the rest and came up to perch on the edge with Cooper and me. She used sensors and sent down crawling buzzers.

Kivi shook her head. “It’s deep. Fifty meters, maybe more. They’re moving around down there, but—”

“Silt!” I called out. “Sub-Veteran Silt! Are you alive? Report!”

A crackling voice came back on my headset. “We’re here. Two casualties so far. We’re circling up, back-to-back, but I fear the worst. The Vulbites have separated us from your weaklings, and they obviously intend to finish us off in this dark pit.”

“That’s one rude squid,” Cooper chuckled, listening in. “I say we leave his ass down there to take as many with him as he can.”

This pissed me off. I’d given Cooper all kinds of rope, hoping to upgrade his nature—but this was a step too far for me.

I grabbed him by the scruff and pitched him into the darkness ahead. He rolled, squawking and flopping. That made me feel a twinge, but only for a moment.

“Cooper has bravely advanced to help our Blood World brothers. Who’s with me to rescue them all?”

A very lame cheer went up from my light troopers. Taking this as a clear mandate, I ordered them to advance and went with them.

The path was steep. We skidded down and down, churning up the dirt into a choking cloud. We would have suffocated if we hadn’t been wearing suits. Those troopers who had opened their faceplates in panic, in fact, were gagging and hacking their lungs out.

“Button up!” I ordered. “I know fighting in a suit sucks, but it’s better than choking.”

The chamber at the bottom of Hell itself was maybe two dozen meters wide. It was unevenly shaped, every dimension being curved and organic rather than squared-off. The floor had the undulating shape of a pool bottom, and the roof scraped our heads in spots while in others it was unreachable.

“All right, guns out. Stop moving around, let the dust settle.”

We froze, waiting, sweating and staring in every direction. There was no way we’d managed to surprise the enemy, except possibly by advancing deep so quickly.

That made me think—stopping here was a mistake. All we were doing was allowing the Vulbites to encircle us. Maybe they were undermining us right now or gathering their combat units together in strength to crush us.

“Light troopers,” I said. “I want you to take each of these side tunnels. I’m sending one pair into each one. If you encounter resistance, don’t engage, just run back and report. If you make it a hundred meters in or find some kind of obstacle, turn around and report.”

Walking along, I slapped pairs of helmets and pointed toward side tunnels, of which there were nine. Soon, they were humping off into the dark again.

Cooper gave me a sour look when I slapped his head and Sarah’s beside him.

“Go on!” I shouted, giving him a shove.

He ran forward, doubled over at the waist so he could fit into the tunnel, and disappeared. Sarah followed him, looking scared.

I knew what was on their minds. If they vanished in one of these missions, and the rest of us got out, they might be permed. Revivals could only be authorized if we had confirmed kills. Otherwise, there might be two versions of any given soldier running around on the planet. That would be illegal, unethical, and very confusing to everyone. When it had happened in the past, one of the troopers—usually the erroneous copy—had to be terminated.

For that reason, legionnaires feared environments like this more than they did the open battlefield. If you were knocked flat and turned into a bloody smear under an officer’s boots, there was no doubt about your status, and the revival usually came soon after.

We waited, and slowly, the scouts began trickling back. I got reports from every direction, along with mapping news from a dozen of Kivi’s crawling buzzers. Putting this all together, Kivi’s computer built me a three-D map.

“All right,” Kivi said, setting up a small battle projector. It looked like a portable camp stove, but it projected a hologram that glowed with a blue-green radiance. “See this? This is where we are inside the nest.”

She showed me a large angled view. We were about two thirds of the way down to the base of the hill—in the very middle of it.

“Damn…” I said. “How deep is this damned thing? I thought we should be hitting the queen by now.”

She released a bitter laugh. “No, no, no. You don’t know anything about ants, do you? The hill part is just the tip of the iceberg. It extends far below ground, in an ancient colony. On Earth, a colony of large ants will dig three meters down, sometimes.”

I computed that in my head, and I didn’t like the answer at all.

“We’re not even down to the surface level yet,” I complained. “You mean this thing could go on under the earth for kilometers?”

“Yes, and I suspect it does.”

A circle of eyes watched me. No one was happy. No one cracked a joke, not even Carlos. They all knew I had the power to order them deeper—and they didn’t want to go.

“What about the other human units?” I asked. “Any radio contact? Any sign others have been this way?”

“None,” Kivi said. “We’re either ahead of them, or we’ve been cut off from them somehow.”

I eyed Kivi. “You went down here before, with Graves and the rest. Is this how it went?”

“No, sir. We didn’t make it this far. We were trapped and buried soon after penetrating the nest. I have only fuzzy memories and no idea how it ended, as our tappers couldn’t update our engrams.”

I nodded. Once you got outside the grid, your memories couldn’t be recorded easily. If we all died right here, right now, it was unlikely that we’d remember any of this—assuming we were revived and not permed, that is.

Gunfire broke out then, before I could make a rational decision. Not all the light troopers had returned yet, and some of them had made contact.

The Vulbites had ambushed my scouts. We moved to help, but it was too late. Only six of my lights came back. Cooper and Sarah were unaccounted for.

“Dammit…” I said to myself. “Veteran Moller?”

“Sir!”

“You’re in charge if I don’t get back. I’m going after Cooper and Sarah.”

“Um…” she said, looking around in alarm.

I knew it was stupid. Most of the rest of them did, too.

“Do you really have to do this, James?” Carlos asked me. “Um… Adjunct?”

I glanced at him. “Yeah… I sent them down there. If we don’t have bodies, alive or dead, they’re permed. I’m going. I’ll only go a short distance. If I don’t come back—”

“Adjunct McGill,” Silt said, speaking up for the first time. “May I lodge an objection?”

“No,” I told him, and he clammed up.

Silt looked like one unhappy squid. His eyes were rolling around in groups, checking all of us, counting heads, probably. I’m sure he knew the score. If he died down here in this deathtrap he was unlikely to catch a revive at all.

I crept into the dark tunnel—the one I’d sent Cooper into—and left my platoon behind.

-42-

Going after Sarah and Cooper was a stupid thing to do. I knew that. Graves would have marked them down as permed and not even bothered to shrug his shoulders.

But I wasn’t like that. I hated leaving troops behind. Sure, I’d shoot them myself if they deserved it—but this was different.

We were talking perma-death. The bugaboo of all legionnaires. The thing we all feared the most. Any legionnaire preferred a clean death to being captured, lost, or simply left behind on a hostile planet.

Creeping forward, the silence of the place got on my nerves. The sounds I could hear seemed amplified as I strained to listen. The respirator hissed and sighed. My suit scratched and thumped over the earth.

Soon, as I advanced, I was forced to bend over then crawl as the ceiling lowered. Still, I saw no sign of them.

Fifty meters in I paused, knowing I should turn back. Vulbites might ambush what was left of my command, and I should be there with them.

Taking off my helmet, I listened for a few seconds in the dark. Figuring to hell with it, I cupped my hands around my mouth.

“Cooper! Sarah!” I shouted. “Are you out there? We’re giving up on you and moving out!”

There was no response.

“All right,” I said. “You’re both as good as permed. Luck.”

After a few more seconds, I clamped my helmet back on and turned around.

There, to my shock, was Cooper. He had crept up behind me in the tunnel.

He had a strange look on his face.

My eyes narrowed. “Were you about to frag your commanding officer, Cooper?”

“No sir,” he said, sighing. “I was about to go AWOL—but you convinced me to come back.”

I squinted at him. “Where’s Sarah?”

“Over here,” he said. “That’s why I came back—for her.”

I followed him and saw a crawlspace I’d missed on the way. Sarah was in there, with a dead Vulbite.

“It rushed us out of this bolt-hole. I killed it, but not before it nailed Sarah.”

Recording the death, I touched my tapper to hers. That way, her latest memories would be stored.

“Let’s see if I’ve got this straight,” I said while I looked over the scene. “You were so spooked down here that you lost your damn mind?”

“Sorry, sir. Being in this bug nest must have gotten to me. I had fantasies of finding my way out alone.”

Thoughtfully, I turned to face Cooper dead in the eye. “Let’s head back—you first.”

He moved down the narrow tunnel, as limber as a gibbon. I followed as quickly as I could. Officers have heavier kits, with breastplates and more gear. Deep in these tunnels, it slowed us down more than anything else.

“You thought you could find your way back out? To the top?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he said over his shoulder. “I figured my odds were better than following you five more kilometers down.”

There was a certain logic to it. If he went up instead of down, he might find another unit. He could hook up with them, or at least be recorded as a death if they found his body.

“So you were trying to avoid being permed, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a violation, Cooper.”

“I know sir. You can bust me down to recruit in the morning.”

I snorted. Cooper was already a recruit—which was as low as you could go in a legion.

“Why’d you change your mind?”

“Sarah,” he said. “It’s one thing to perm myself—but I didn’t want to take chances with her. Now that you’ve recorded her death, I figured the odds someone from this cursed unit will carry that fact out of here were better than my odds alone.”

It didn’t totally make sense, but then again it did. I suspected it wasn’t a calculation of odds that had turned Cooper around. It was the guilt. He’d been risking his own skin—but it was different to risk Sarah’s.

I decided not to press him further or to punish him. Life was shitty enough for a recruit in Legion Varus without people giving you an extra ration.

About when I was having this thought, I heard ripping fire up ahead and a commotion.

We rushed forward without speaking further, and we flipped off our suit lights.

When we got back to the main chamber, I could see things had not gone smoothly in my brief absence.

Veteran Moller was on the ground, face down in the dirt. A rash of red splotches decorated the back of her suit.

Sub-Veteran Silt stood tall. A squid normally was four times the bulk of a man, and Silt was no slouch. His powerful limbs twitched and squirmed like snakes.

“I have taken necessary action,” he said. “Veteran Moller is not an officer. I will lead you out of this trap to the sunlight again.”

Carlos, Kivi and the handful of light recruits who’d survived had squared off with Silt, who stood with the larger group of hulking Blood Worlders.

Instantly, the problems with fighting in integrated units loomed in my mind. Discipline might break under the best of circumstances, but when you stirred in various planetary cultures and alien mindsets—well, it was a powder keg.

Cephalopods simply didn’t think like humans did. They were almost as different from us as the Vulbites were. They only understood master-slave relationships, for one thing. If a squid got the upper hand on another squid—or anyone else—it was written in his DNA that he should try to overthrow the leader.

Silt had been stressed by this long plunge into darkness. He knew he wasn’t immortal like we were, and he couldn’t take it. A being that knows he’ll be given a revive if things go wrong is much more likely to follow you to death’s door than one who isn’t so certain of his future.

“Silt!” I roared. “Drop that weapon and surrender yourself! That’s an order!”

Silt flinched, and his eye-groups peered at me in surprise.

“You are no longer in command here, McGill. You abandoned us. No officer could be so callous and self-serving!”

It did occur to me then that Blood Worlders were accustomed to being watched at all times. When I’d fought with them before on Dust World, Earth, and Blood World, they’d always floundered when there was a lack of leadership.

Whereas a typical human might be relieved to have his CO take the day off, men like these heavy troopers, who were now shuffling around in confusion, were stressed and uncertain when faced with freedom.

“It is you who are out of line, squid!” I roared at him. “Surrender that weapon!”

Cooper was at my side, crouching and aiming. Most of the rest of the humans had their weapons in tight hands, but they weren’t aiming at Silt.

This was clearly because the biggest threat was the Blood Worlders. They weren’t sure what to do. They were standing with Silt, who had been their direct commander for most of their time in the legion. Still, they knew a power struggle was going on, and they didn’t know what they should do about it.

I lowered my rifle and strode confidently into the middle of the group. Standing between the humans and Silt with his Blood Worlders, I raised my palms gesturing for calm.

“Everyone, just settle down. We’re going to get out of this.”

“Are you promising to lead us up?” Silt asked, raising a tentacle aloft. The tip pointed to the dusty roof. “Back to the sunlight—such as it is in this pathetic star system?”

“Eventually, sure,” I said. “I’ll do my damnedest to get all of you out of here.”

“He lies,” Silt said. “He will take you further down—into the depths.”

Turning to face him, I stared down the muzzle of his gun. “Squid, you’re getting on my nerves.”

“Nonsensical insults. Vague promises. A leader takes action, and he never shows fear—”

Reaching out, I slapped his gun aside.

Cephalopods had bad tempers and bad attitudes—well, they were pretty much the assholes of the galaxy in my experience. Silt was no exception when it came to these character flaws.

He lashed out with a tentacle, which caught me a glancing blow in the breastplate.

A lesser man would have been knocked flat. As it was, a crease appeared in my armor.

Still, Silt had made an error. If he’d killed me in that instant, possibly the Blood Worlders would have backed him as he would have been the leader in their eyes.

But what they saw was a subordinate attacking an officer.

Quick as a cat, one of them drew his thick saber. It flashed through the dusty air. The tentacle that had dared to strike me was sliced clean off.

It fell to the floor, where it writhed like a giant, dying worm, caked up with blood and dirt.

That was it for good-old Sub-Veteran Silt. The Blood Worlders reached out with their massive hands and latched onto him.

Silt tried to get his rifle in line with my body, but while he could have overpowered any single trooper, he couldn’t handle a squad of them. Struggling, cursing and spilling ink and blood, he put on quite a show.

The hulking Blood Worlders all looked at me like grade-schoolers for orders and guidance.

It was an unfortunate moment for old Silt, because I was ready to take the chance they would have me for the new boss. Setting my jaw, I made the hard call. The one that Graves wouldn’t have hesitated to make.

“Execute him,” I said.

They went straight to work. Their sabers rose and fell, flashing and thudding into meat. He was hacked apart and soon converted into the biggest pile of raw calamari I’d ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on.

“Oooo,” Carlos said, walking up behind me. “Remind me to stay off your shit-list.”

“You’re a permanent fixture there, Ortiz,” I said.

“How did you know?” Cooper asked me.

“Know what?”

“That they’d follow you? That these retarded apes would turn on the squid, and not you?”

Now, as most folks who know me well might suspect, I hadn’t known exactly how things would play out. Quite often in fact, when I pulled a ballsy showdown stunt like this, I ended up as dead as that fish-smelling meat-pile in the dirt behind me.

But admitting such a thing wouldn’t do anything to raise my mystique. Accordingly, I shrugged, and I lied.

“You’ve got to read your troops, Cooper,” I said. “These are men. They might not be summa cum laude, but they’re men just the same. Earlier today I threw your ass down into a pit they’d fallen into, and I charged after. Action, you see? You don’t earn respect through words and rules alone. You earn it by taking action they respect.”

“You had their back, so they have yours? Is that it?”

“Yeah…” I said, and I brushed past them all. Walking to the darkest tunnel I could find, one that was pretty much a shaft straight down into blackness, I pointed.

“That’s where we’re going,” I said. “Straight down. Straight into the queen’s chamber.”

“I totally fucking knew it,” Carlos muttered.

“You and me both,” Cooper chimed in.

I ignored them. They could complain if they wanted to. In the end, they’d follow me—and that was all that mattered.

-43-

Our approach became simple as we advanced deeper into the nest: whenever we found a steeper, darker tunnel—we took it.

Using this straightforward rule, we managed to plunge rapidly into the ground. I had no idea how deep we were after an hour or so—and I don’t think Kivi did, either, despite her casual estimates.

“We have to be below ground level,” she said, “as much as a kilometer below, by my calculations.”

“What are you judging that on?”

Kivi shrugged. “My pedometer, the average angle of descent and a few other things, like the temperature of the dirt.”

“Yeah, but you can’t go by Earth-normal on all that. We could be—”

“I know, I know—it’s my best guess.”

She seemed a little snappy, so I let it go. Maybe it would be good for morale if at least one of us pretended to know where we were.

It was at the start of the second hour that we made contact with the enemy again. I had a few probing scouts ahead of us, and one of them ran back puffing.

“Sir!” she said, “we’ve got something below, in the next chamber down.”

“What’d you see?”

“I don’t know. Lights, noise. It sounded like… drilling.”

I squinted at her. “Cooper!”

He trotted right by me without stopping.

“Where are you going?” I demanded.

“To go die in a hole. You were sending me down to investigate, weren’t you, Adjunct?”

“Uh… yeah. Go ahead.”

We halted our march, set up for an ambush and waited for Cooper to come back—or not. I had Kivi tail him with a buzzer, so I was able to see what he discovered only a few minutes after he found it.

“Lights…” Kivi said. “Vulbites don’t use lights underground. Do you think—?”

“Just watch. Let him do his job.”

We watched tensely, and at last two light troopers spotted Cooper sneaking up on them and almost shot him dead. He surrendered, identified himself, and then a figure came marching up.

I whistled long and low. “Graves! Would you look at that?” I spun around, showing my tapper feed to anyone who seemed interested. “You think I’m crazy? Do you? Look at this! Graves is below us. He’s been moving faster. You’re a bunch of whiners.”

Marching down the steepest path, I soon caught up to Cooper, who was reporting to Graves.

“Ah, McGill,” Graves said. “About time you got down here. We’re close to the queen. Every indicator shows it.”

“Um… what indicators are those, sir?” Kivi asked him.

He looked at her flatly. “You should know. Insects release heat, smells. We’ve been using our tappers to measure bodily odors and rising heat-levels. That’s how we know something big is ahead. A large concentration of the enemy at the very least.”

Kivi squirmed and nodded. She escaped as soon as she could. She hadn’t thought of any of those things.

Surprising no one, we discovered Natasha was guiding Graves. She’d always been a more capable tech than Kivi. Fortunately, Kivi wasn’t too jealous about that. She only got jealous of another woman if too many guys were checking her out.

“Cooper here tells me you had some trouble with your Blood Worlders.”

“Sub-Veteran Silt was the troublemaker, not them,” I said firmly. “These boys were loyal. They corrected Silt, who now sees the error of his ways clearly.”

Graves chuckled. “He does, does he? Good. Come on.”

Graves showed me his set up. He had about two full units worth of troops with him. Winslade, to my surprise, was one of the centurions who’d survived.

It didn’t shock me to find Winslade was still breathing. He was a clever weasel. What did surprise me was he hadn’t managed to slip away and vanish yet.

Graves seemed to read my mind. “A man tends to be very loyal when he faces a solid perming. I think he suspected that if he had, ah, reversed course, I might not report the body scan if he turned up dead.”

“As good a theory as any, Primus.”

“Anyway, I’m glad you made it this far, McGill. It took you long enough to get down here, seeing as your unit was one of the first to enter the cone and invade the nest… but I guess you had a rough time of it, is that right?”

“Right, sir,” I said. I was annoyed at his unspoken suggestion my team had been lollygagging, but I managed to keep my voice neutral. “What’s the plan going forward?”

“It’s pretty simple, really. We’re going to march down into the queen’s chamber and take her out. We estimate there’s no more than a thousand Vulbites with her—sort of a last ditch royal guard.”

“Uh… did you say a thousand, sir?”

“Nothing wrong with your ears, at least. Now, do you want to know who’s taking point as we assault the egg chamber?”

I blinked, and then I got it. “Um… my team, sir?”

“That’s a generous offer, McGill. I expected nothing less. But no, no, your team can’t do it. Hell no. All you have is a bunch of lights and a half-wild squad of littermates. I’m sending a weaponeer platoon with a full unit of armored troops. I want to light up these bugs with heavy guns right from the start.”

“Ah, I see, sir.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, utterly misreading my expression. “You’ll get your chance for revenge before we’re through.”

Suddenly, a throat was cleared behind us. We both looked and saw Winslade standing near.

“Excuse me, Primus,” he said smoothly. “But do I understand that the term ‘leadership’ is involved here?”

“What do you want to say, Centurion?” Graves demanded.

“Just that if there is to be a secondary prong to this attack, I should be commanding it. I am, after all, the second-highest ranked officer present.”

“A glorious charge?” Graves asked. “Certain death with distinction? That’s what you’re demanding, Winslade? I’m impressed.”

“Ah… perhaps there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Yes, there has been. Now, go manage those weaponeers. Make sure they lay those charges right, or you’ll get to set them off with your own sidearm.”

Winslade beat a hasty retreat, and Graves turned back to face me. “Do we understand each other, McGill?”

“Um… we sure do. But is there no way we can discuss surrender with these beings, sir?”

Graves gave me a hard look, just as he’d done with Winslade. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, McGill. I’m also going to pretend I’m not having second thoughts about your leadership skills right now. Is that clear?”

“Crystal, Primus.”

“Good. Take a short break and organize your men. Have you got any wounded?”

I hesitated. Being wounded wasn’t the best thing to be when you were near Graves.

“No, sir,” I lied with bright confidence. “Our wounded didn’t make it this far down.”

“Okay, that’s for the best. I plan to put Harris’ worst cases on our front lines to absorb the initial shock of their counterattack.”

“We’re expecting a counterattack?”

He frowned up at me. “Of course. This is the queen’s egg chamber. These bugs are going to go suicidally ape when they realize we’re here to destroy it all.”

“Stands to reason… How are we going to deploy, sir?”

He pointed to a series of squatting weaponeers. They were working with the floor of the chamber, scraping at it and setting cubes in the dirt. Winslade was directing them, which they didn’t seem too happy about.

“Charges?” I asked. “They’re setting up charges?”

“Right. The egg chamber is directly below us. We’ve been using sensors to assess the shape and general layout. The main assault troops are going to rush the chamber down that wide tunnel over there. But you—you’re going down even faster.”

I eyed the weaponeers as they set their charges. “You’re going to blow the roof open? What if it collapses?”

“Even better,” he said. “Our work will be done for us.”

“Okay…” I said, taking a deep breath. “Assuming we get down there alive, what are our orders?”

Again, he looked at me oddly. “To kill everything that crawls—what else?”

“Everything?”

“Everything—don’t miss a single egg. We can’t tell which one might be a new queen.”

My mouth set to a firm line, but I nodded.

I didn’t like killing civvies. Not even insectile ones. But this was a desperate moment, and I could hardly pretend I was some kind of saint. After all, I did help vaporize the last Vulbite nest from orbit with Nostrum’s broadsides.

“What if they try to surrender, sir?” I asked. “What then?”

Graves shook his head bemusedly. “When you see them hold their pinchers up over their heads, you can arrest them, McGill.”

I nodded in disappointment. Graves was right. In my long years, I’d never seen a colony of biting ants “surrender” to an exterminator.

They always fought to the bitter end.

While the troops worked to prepare, I talked to Natasha. She was full of information, as usual.

“Nostrum is on point above this spot in orbit. She’s waiting with her broadsides trained on this nest,” she said. “They aren’t going to allow us to fail. If we don’t report back that the queen was destroyed—with proof—they’ll blast this hive open.”

“And us with it,” I said glumly.

“That’s right. Apparently, you started a trend.”

“Yeah. I think that’s why Deech let me catch a revive. It’s her way of admitting I was right without saying it. But… hey, how do you know what’s going on aboard Nostrum? We don’t have radio contact, do we?”

She smiled. “We’ve got something better. Come look.”

She led me to a pair of humming jump-gate posts. Between them hung a cloudy region of pink-gray light.

“These connect to Nostrum’s loading deck,” she explained.

“We can get reinforcements, then?”

“If Deech would release more of them, maybe we could,” she admitted. “But the word is the brass on Gold Deck figures they’ve spent enough time and equipment on this hole in the ground. There are a lot more nests left after this one. If we don’t finish soon, they’ll use the guns again—end of story.”

I walked up and marveled at the posts. Such small, simple-looking devices. As alien tech marvels went, jump-gates were hard to beat.

“At least we can retreat through them back up to the ship, right?” I asked.

“If we kill the queen, I’m sure we can.”

For just a second, I considered taking another unscheduled jaunt. But I knew that wouldn’t work—not this time. There were sure to be troops up there waiting, and Deech wasn’t the kind who took jokes well.

“The charges are set!” Winslade shouted triumphantly.

“Time to report our status to Nostrum,” Natasha said.

She dug out a buzzer from her pack and set it on the ground near the jump-gate. Shivering its wings as it walked, it traveled through the gateway and vanished.

A few seconds went by. I checked my guns, and I almost walked away to marshal my troops—but then I noticed that Natasha was frowning.

“What’s wrong?”

“My buzzer should be back by now,” she said.

“That quick?”

“Yes. It’s programmed to walk through, transmit my report, and then turn right around and walk back. Ten seconds, tops. It’s been gone nearly a minute.”

I looked at the gateposts. What could be going on aboard Nostrum?

“Why don’t you step through and have a look?” I suggested.

“That’s against orders. Deech is all paranoid about unauthorized use of the jump-gates for some reason.”

That made me give my head a scratch. Could she know—or at least suspect—that I’d used these jump-gates improperly on several occasions? It wouldn’t be the first time an officer invented a rule of conduct forbidding something I’d done.

Losing patience, I stepped toward the jump-gate.

“Don’t, James! You’re already in enough trouble!”

“What’s Deech going to do? Bust me down to specialist?”

“Maybe…”

“Stop worrying. I’ll be right back.”

So saying, I stepped into the pink-gray, shifting haze—and I vanished.

-44-

An instant later, I was back on the deck of Nostrum. I don’t mind telling you, it was a good feeling to be out of that hole in the ground the Vulbites called home.

Just in case there were surprised guards on the far side, waiting for some kind of unplanned bug invasion, I had my rifle slung and my hands up.

But there was no one there to greet me.

Instead of personnel, I saw flashing lights and wailing klaxons. The floor was lit up with a dozen different colored arrows, showing where techs, soldiers and regular crewmen were supposed to report.

“…Battle Stations…” the ship’s computer said. “All personnel are to report to Battle Stations.”

Confused, I took another step forward—and that’s when I heard a crunch.

Looking down, I saw my foot had located Natasha’s buzzer. It had been doing three-sixties, crawling around in a loop. Probably, it had been attempting to deliver what it considered a critical message—and failing to do so.

My tapper lit up about then, as it synched with the ship’s network. I used it to catch the emergency feed.

A vid began to stream on my forearm. It showed the scene outside, but it was too small to make out much.

With a tossing motion of my arm, I relayed the stream to the walls of the chamber I was in. Every blank surface aboard Nostrum was a kind of screen, if you wanted it to be. We usually used them to display the stars outside in a scenic fashion—but they could also be used to deliver briefings or other information.

What I saw outside in space, beyond Nostrum’s hull, made my jaw sag wide.

“Enemy ships…?” I asked, talking to myself. There was no one on the deck. They’d all run off to take defensive combat positions.

Peering at the ships, I came to realize it was more than a squadron or a wing—it was a fleet. There had to be fifty ships—no, seventy! They were still rising up, circling into view over Dark World’s horizon.

The configuration of the vessels was strange to me. They weren’t rounded or delta-winged. They resembled flying parallelograms. Oblong bricks of metal with a forward-leaning cant to the prow. In my opinion, they were sort of mean-looking.

Right off, I knew what I had to be looking at.

“Rigel’s fleet…” I said, stunned.

I didn’t know what to do. Heart pounding, I looked at the bent, crushed buzzer which I’d picked up, then glanced at the jump-gate, which still glimmered nearby.

I thought about trying to contact Turov or Deech—but I realized there wasn’t time. In fact, they probably wouldn’t even care about what was happening back on Dark World at this point.

Flashes began outside, in space. They were silent, but I could tell the approaching ships were firing at us.

Missiles? Railgun darts?

I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t think it mattered. We were outnumbered seventy—no, make that more like a hundred to one. More were still rising up out over the planet’s purple horizon.

Coming to a sudden decision, I spun around and launched myself toward the jump-gate.

At that moment, the world jumped. The deck came right up and smacked me in the face.

For a second, I thought the ship had taken a hit—but no, I knew that sound, that kick—they’d fired the broadsides.

Sixteen fusion shells were away, traveling with fantastic speeds to meet the approaching fleet. I could see them streaking away from our ship toward the approaching fleet.

Nostrum was designed along the lines of an Imperial warship. Possibly, Earth had built her that way because we knew it best. The functionality of the ship was more than that of a transport, it was technically a dreadnought-class vessel.

Imperial ships were built to operate in formations of similar ships. They didn’t have much in the way of small, independent or defensive armament. They were built to either bombard a planet, or stand in line with a thousand others and blast away in unison.

As a result, Nostrum had one single, hard punch in her, and she’d just sent it hurtling toward the Rigellians.

I got up to my knees and did a scrambling crawl toward the jump-gate.

Why? Partly, to keep on breathing for another few minutes. But it wasn’t just that. A ground trooper was as useless as a one-inch cock in a space battle. I much preferred to be on solid ground, where my rifle at least had a chance to affect the outcome of events.

Getting to my hands and knees, I half-crawled, half-fell toward the gateway.

In the last instant, my rolling eyes caught a silent gush of white incandescence. Out there in space, we’d nailed one of the enemy vessels.

Then, I found myself pitching and rolling in the dirt. My right boot was smoking, and I trailed it behind me.

“McGill!” Natasha called out, grabbing me and rolling me onto my back. “What did you do?”

I held up her buzzer, crushed to a nearly unrecognizable state.

“I ran into a little trouble,” I said.

She grabbed up the buzzer. She examined it while growling, then slapped me a hard one. It was a good thing I was wearing a helmet, as she only managed a glancing blow.

“What’d you do? Step on it?”

“Yep—but listen to me.”

I told her what I’d seen. She stared, and although she didn’t want to believe me, I could tell by her eyes that she did.

Graves came to see what the ruckus was about before I was done, and I showed him my tapper video. I’d been wise enough to walk through to Nostrum with my suit cameras rolling just in case there was a misunderstanding.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. “How do you make these things happen, McGill?”

“What? Me?”

He shook his head and waved me off. He walked away, thinking hard.

When he spun back on one heel, the light of determination had returned to his face.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We’re going to execute our mission regardless.”

“Uh…” I said. “I think it does kind of matter, sir. Nostrum appears to have just been destroyed. That means no commanders. No revival machines. Two legions, wiped.”

He came close and glared up at me. “Is that all you think about? Your next squalid life? Earth is in a war out here—a real war. An interstellar war.”

“Yes sir,” I agreed, “but I don’t think getting ourselves permed as fast as possible is our best course of action at this point.”

“Fortunately, as the senior officer present, I’m in command. You’ll follow my orders.”

I heaved a sigh. For a few seconds, I thought about killing him on the spot. I could probably do it—but I didn’t want to.

Graves probably knew what I was thinking. He stared back at me, watching my eyes, daring me to do something.

“Primus,” I said. “I think our best course would be to warn Earth, if at all possible.”

He got into my face. “Agreed—if it was possible, which it’s not. Our second best option—maybe even first in my estimation—is to complete our mission as assigned.”

“A few thousand Vulbites more or less isn’t going to change the outcome of this—”

“McGill, I know you’ve got a soft spot for aliens. I don’t get it. Almost no one does. Under different circumstances, I might even find it commendable. But today, right here and now, I need to know if you’re up to following my orders.”

He had his hand on his sidearm. When Graves did that, he wasn’t fooling around. He meant business, and he didn’t care if a disobedient soldier such as myself was merely inconvenienced by a trip through a revival machine—or permed.

“All right, sir,” I said. “I came back to die with my troops. I’m willing to do so.”

“Good to hear it. Now, get over there with the weaponeers. I’m accelerating our schedule. The heavies will rush the egg chamber, and one minute after they engage the defenders in a firefight, you’ll blast your way down and lead a secondary attack on their flank.”

“Got it, Primus.”

“McGill, one more thing—take out the queen first. Ignore the enemy flank. Just kill the target. If we all die here, well, we’ll have at least completed our mission. Clear?”

“Yessir! She’s as good as dead!”

He stomped off and gathered a few hundred men to make the rush down a long, dusty, curving ramp.

I moved toward the weaponeers, but Natasha stopped me with a gentle touch.

“James? I—I think I might be able to do something.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You know—about getting a message through to Earth.”

I blinked twice. “Really? How?”

“Can’t explain now. I just thought I’d tell you. I’ll be working on it.”

My face split into a grin. I grabbed her shoulder, but I didn’t squeeze. I didn’t want to hurt her.

“That makes this easier,” I told her. “Go for it, girl. If anyone can come up with a tech trick it’s you.”

I meant all that I’d said—but I didn’t believe her. She was probably just trying to make me feel better.

Natasha was like that, always thinking of others. She wanted me to have hope, so I acted like I had it.

But it was all horseshit.

-45-

Graves led his attack right on time. Every armored troop he had rushed down a dirty ramp into the darkness. They were a hundred-plus strong—but it didn’t seem like nearly enough.

Down below, a firefight broke out right away. The bugs were waiting for us, of course. They’d set up ambushes using stealth suits, and when that failed, they rushed the human troops by the hundreds.

To make matters worse, the Vulbites guarding the egg chamber seemed to be of a different breed. Mostly, they were bigger. They were granddaddy Vulbites, the size of draft horses in some cases.

When a thousand-pound insect charges into you, you damn-well know you’ve been tackled. I watched the vid feed of the action below on my tapper, and even though it was hard to make out details, things looked pretty bleak.

Darkness, dust, screams—utter chaos reigned. Pinchers like twin curved swords clashed and screeched on armor. Legs were pulled off, heads gushed blood then the struggles ceased, and they moved on to catch another legionnaire.

Plenty of Vulbites died as well—but not enough to change the math. We were outnumbered and out-massed.

Ignoring these realities, I watched the counter I’d set up. One minute after the fight had begun, I signaled the weaponeers.

The charges popped like flash-bangs, and dust obscured everything. Long before it had cleared, I rushed into the midst of it all and fell, more than jumped, into a hole.

Crashing down heavily into the chamber below, I scrambled to get out of the way. More troops were coming down, one every second, and they’d trample me if I didn’t move my tail.

Rolling, climbing to my feet, and then throwing myself down behind the first cover I saw, I tried to get my bearings.

The main fight wasn’t far off—only fifty meters away to my left. There was so much dust, darkness and confusion I could only see the blazing guns and force-blades. The Vulbites seemed to be out of sophisticated weaponry, but they didn’t need much of that down here in their lair.

Where was the queen? That was my biggest thought. Twisting, peering, I saw a pile of white, crystalline objects. They were stacked up, like diamonds the size of footballs. Could those be the eggs? They had to be.

Beyond the egg pile, off to the rear of the chamber, something big stirred.

When I say big, I mean bigger than an elephant. Bigger than a blue whale, even.

Segmented, brown and shiny, the carapace rippled revealing a long, long body. It—no, she—made me think of tales of dragons found in the depths of the earth. If anything had ever resembled a dragon in its lair, it was the Vulbite queen.

My twin stabbing chest lights ran up the length of the beast to the head, which was a good three meters above the floor of the chamber. Sensing the light, the head swung in my direction.

Black, intelligent eyes hove into view. She saw me. I sensed it, and I knew it was true.

My first move was to heave a grav-grenade at the monster. It flipped and landed under the midsection. A moment later, a blue, pulsing flash exploded. Grabbing up every pebble and fragment of rock, even the sand grains, it weaponized them all and showered them in every direction with great force.

The queen shivered and released a strange sound. It wasn’t a howl—not exactly. It was more like a deep, warbling groan. The throat was so huge, the sounds were a very low bass, painful to the ear even through my helmet.

At least a squad’s worth of light troops had joined my picnic by now. They tossed more grenades after mine and unleashed hammering sprays with their snap-rifles.

But the monster wasn’t showing any signs of dying. To the contrary, as our attacks increased, so did her speed of motion. I got the feeling we were pissing her off, not killing her.

How many pins would you have to stick into a man before he died? A hell of a lot, that’s my guess. Our weapons weren’t punching big enough holes. Tiny wounds, even a lot of them, weren’t doing the job.

In the meantime, the tenor of the struggle at the front of the chamber had changed. The number of flashes and the raging sound of hungry Vulbites softened.

I turned to look over my shoulder. I know I shouldn’t have, but I did it. I couldn’t help myself.

“They’re coming to save her!” Cooper said, gripping my arm in panic. “What do we do, sir?”

That was it. The question every officer must have an answer for, every second of any battle he’s in.

“Snap-rifles, lay down suppressing fire on the Vulbite guards!” I roared. “We’re not killing that queen with these pop-guns anyway.”

Cooper and the rest redirected their fire. They blazed away, weapons chattering on full-auto. Some Vulbites fell and thrashed in the dirt, stricken—but just as many climbed over them and kept coming.

We’d had the poor manners to attack their queen. We had to die, and it didn’t matter to them if they died getting us killed. They were in a frenzy.

A few weaponeers had come down with us. They didn’t have belchers, unfortunately. All the heavy weaponry had gone with Graves into the main assault.

What they did have, I soon saw, were satchels of explosives. Whatever was left after they’d blown a hole in the floor and allowed us into this pit.

Grabbing up a satchel, I started to trot with it, but a strong arm yanked me back.

“Sargon?”

“That’s my kit, sir.”

“You dumbass—all right, you’ve been volunteered. Come with me and die gloriously.”

“Thank you, Adjunct sir!”

He ran after me, his satchel banging into his legs. We approached the queen, who reared up and hissed at our approach.

“String her up with another set of those cube-bombs of yours!” I ordered.

“Uh… she doesn’t look cooperative, sir.”

“You should have thought of that before you yanked my chain.”

Sargon scuttled forward, cursing. He didn’t lay the charges at the queen’s feet—which consisted of a hundred or so thrashing limbs, each the size of a thick tree branch—he tossed them under her body instead.

He got out a detonator, fumbled open the lid—and that was it for him.

Two massive blades like curved scythes scissored where he’d been standing, and he fell, cut in half.

Cursing, I rushed up firing my snap-rifle in bursts. The queen reared up, and I saw the gory ruin of her belly. It ran with yellow ichor from a hundred injuries.

What I did next would be a familiar move for any ballplayer—I feinted left, and dove right.

It was simple enough. She lunged that hulking body where she thought I should’ve been—but wasn’t. She was too big to reverse herself, as her mass and nervous system was by nature slower than mine. Her twin curved blades furrowed the dirt, and I landed on the detonator.

Fumbling, I almost didn’t get it off in time. The queen was rearing up again, ready to strike like a snake.

But then, a ripple of explosions went off right under her.

She collapsed, stone dead.

-46-

There’s something particularly satisfying when a man brings down the biggest baddy, the one that defeated all the rest. I basked in that glow for several long seconds, staring at the dead queen. I didn’t bother to glance over my shoulder—what would have been the point? I fully expected a horrid and well-deserved death was coming up behind me.

Grave’s attack had faltered. The guards were rushing my light troopers—I could still hear them firing sporadically—but that was a joke. Once the Vulbites got to my recruits, they’d tear them apart. They were green, lightly armed, and didn’t even have metal suits to protect them.

That left no one of consequence in this dusty, football stadium sized egg-chamber other than me, the queen-slayer. I just hoped the bugs would make it quick in their righteous fury.

After a half-minute or so, the chamber fell strangely quiet. But, for some reason, the thundering approach of a thousand churning bug-feet didn’t come to my ears.

Turning around, I took a look at last. My squad of light troops was dead already. That explained that.

Graves’ team had been overwhelmed as well. I saw a few of them fighting still, down to force-blades and standing in tight circles, surrounded by hissing Vulbites.

“Why’d they stop?” I asked no one in particular.

To my surprise, I got an answer.

“Your foul action has confused them,” a voice said.

It was a strange voice. A warbling, wet-sounding thing. It was as if a man spoke from underwater. It was the voice of a thing that had been drowned.

Looking around and cranking up my suit lights, I located the source at last.

A creature stood nearby. It was shaped vaguely like a shaved bear. There were devices on it, clearly technological in nature. The devices were—alive? Or maybe they were robotic. They crawled over its skin and peered at me.

The robots were like bugs made of alloys and polymers. One resembled a snake’s skeleton with jewel-like eyes that lit up redly when they looked at me.

It was the metal snake-skeleton that spoke. Could it be some kind of translation device?

Maybe it was more sophisticated than that. I got the feeling the artificial snake-thing was more like my tapper.

Standing tall, I whistled at the alien, long and low.

“A Rigellian!” I shouted. “An honest-to-God Rigellian right here, and I’ve captured it!”

The naked bear-thing regarded me. “Captured? You are mistaken, barbarian. You are the one who is my prisoner.”

“How do you figure that?”

The Rigellian made a gesture toward my snap-rifle, which was lying some distance away. He made another motion, indicating the Vulbite guards.

So far, they weren’t charging at me. They were sliding around in a tightening circle. It was true, though, that their churning legs and undulating bodies were even more creepy to watch when they moved slowly. They seemed to be artificially restrained and full of menace.

“These Vulbites can’t save you,” I said in a tone of utter confidence. “You’ve come too close. You’re as good as dead already, Teddy.”

The bear cocked its head as it listened to the translation. I’d heard enough to understand when it was speaking, and what its language sounded like. The artificial snake-bones were clicking together in patterns—that seemed to be how they talked, with clicking sounds.

After grasping my meaning, the alien took a half-step backward.

Immediately, I took a half-step toward it, but then halted as the Vulbites leaned close.

“Hold still, or we’re both dead!” I told him.

Smiling, I took an empty juice-pack from my ration pouch and held it high. “I only have to crush this trigger, or damage it in anyway, to kill you all.”

“An explosive? You claim to have an explosive device?”

“That’s right. I’m the high officer in charge of this military force. See these bars on my shoulder? That’s a double line. That means I’m the primary leader of this entire attack.”

“You do not act as a high officer. A true leader slinks unseen behind his minions.”

I laughed at him. The snake-bones clicked, but I had no idea how it might translate laughter.

“That’s only in your decadent culture,” I said firmly. “My people are warriors. We believe in the supremacy of bravery, sacrifice and blood-letting.”

The Rigellian looked around the chamber.

“Your recent actions do uphold that part of your claims,” he admitted. “However, you must surely realize that any action on your part that threatens my person—”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, bored already. “Of course your big dumb bugs will tear me up—those that live through the blast. But you won’t, and I probably won’t either. So, I don’t care about such consequences.”

“Hmm…” the bear-thing said. “Perhaps I’ve misjudged the situation. Your species might be too feral to be contained. We’d hoped not to have to commit resources sufficient for your expungement, but your actions here today have convinced me I was in error.”

Sometimes, translations weren’t perfect, but I thought I got the gist of what he was saying—and I didn’t like it.

“Expungement? As in—removal from the cosmos?”

“Precisely. You represent a dangerous species. Feral, skilled, relentless… We can’t have beings such as you interrupting our flow. Sadly, this will be expensive…”

I began to get a creepy feeling. Nothing this shaved critter had said so far had concerned me much as I was generally beyond fearing death. But talk of committing resources to Earth’s removal? That grabbed my attention.

I’d seen their fleet, after all. Ours was out there too—somewhere. If the Rigellians only had the hundred or so ships I’d witnessed, well, we’d be pretty evenly matched. But if they had more—lots more—Earth was doomed.

Suddenly, I felt the weight of my situation. Meeting the alien had started off as fun and games. A way to tweak my captors and maybe even escape them through trickery—but now things had taken a darker turn.

The bear-dude was working with his snake now, and it was clicking like there was no tomorrow. I got the feeling he was texting somebody—maybe making a report.

“Hold on,” I said. “We should talk.”

He paused in his clicking of artificial bones.

“Talk about what?”

“This is the first time two leaders of our respective species have met in person, I believe. This could be a golden opportunity.”

“I fail to understand your reference to rare metals. Are you offering a ransom for your life?”

For about a second, I did some hard thinking. Some people say I’m a gifted liar, but really, that’s not exactly so. I’m a man with a highly flexible mind—a man who can form his own version of reality on the spot. Usually, I did my best work in moments like this, when the stakes were high, and I was completely winging it.

“No,” I said firmly. “I’m not offering you payment for my life. That would be dishonorable to my people. As I said, we don’t mind sacrificing our lives in battle—we enjoy it.”

“What then? I grow impatient with your discordant mind-utterances.”

“Uh… okay. I’ll hurry up, then. What I’m suggesting is that we make an exchange. We each give the other something of value and then return to our own people.”

“What can you possibly possess that would interest me?”

I waggled my juice-box, and I was gratified to see him wince a little.

“I’ll give you this. That will end the threat of death between us. You, in turn, can give me that snake-bone thing you have slung around yourself.”

After a moment of confusion, the Rigellian touched his translator.

“This is my interlocutor,” he complained. “Without it, I’m cut off from everyone of importance.”

“But you can get another one, right? From your ship, or something?”

“It’s possible, but inconvenient.”

Sucking in a deep breath, I nodded. “I understand. I’m bored with all this talk as well, so I’m going to blow both of us up.” As I spoke, I lifted the juice-box on high. A single droplet fell and splattered in the dirt. “It was nice communicating with you and all, but—”

“Pause a moment,” he said, lifting his own slightly hairy appendage.

It was like a paw, but it had a fine down of fur even on the palm. For some reason, I found that disgusting.

“Allow me to communicate your offer to my superiors,” he said.

I agreed grudgingly, and he worked his snake. His claw-tipped fingers rattled over the length of it like a pro. He reminded me of a dexterous saxophone player.

At last, he looked up. “As you are the leader of the enemy ground forces—”

“Hero,” I said, interrupting him. “I’m called a Hero. That’s my official title.”

“—ah, ‘Hero’ then,” he said. “As you are the Hero of Earth’s ground forces, you will be released when this trade of technological objects is made.”

“That’s not good enough,” I said.

The creature blinked at me. “But our described arrangement—”

“I also require my servants. They’re in the chamber above us right now. I require them, or I’ll be uncomfortable.”

“The collection of hostiles?” he asked, and I thought maybe the gargling voice was a little put out. “That group of humans is scheduled for slaughter. We were planning on using the biomass to feed these larvae as they hatch.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to feed them Vulbite carcasses instead.”

The Vulbite guards around us shifted and clacked their mandibles unhappily. Could they be listening in and understanding our discussion? That possibility hadn’t occurred to me previously.

The Rigellian made a cautioning gesture. “It would be best if you restrained your disgusting suggestions of cannibalism. This nest has suffered enough at your ape-hands. I can’t be responsible for their actions if you insist on fomenting a group rage-state.”

Clearly, his translator was having problems, but I caught the gist of it.

“I would no more sacrifice my servants than I would ask you to sacrifice yours,” I said.

Making a broad gesture, I indicated the disgruntled Vulbites. They shifted around us and clacked irritably.

“An acceptable condition,” the Rigellian said. “Now, give me your device.”

“Nope. Not until my surviving troops, gear and all, are gathered together upstairs.”

The Rigellian considered and consulted his bones. At last, with the air of someone doing something unpleasant, he led the way up the shaft.

As we marched, I called out to any survivors to join me or be permed for good down here. A few did manage to struggle to their feet and follow.

Graves wasn’t among the living, and for that, I was grateful. He hated it when I pulled stunts like this, even when they benefited him personally. He might even blow the whole thing by insisting he was in charge.

After a long march, I nearly shit a biscuit as I rounded the last bend and walked into an ambush in the upper chamber.

Snap-rifle rounds clattered against my breastplate and the wall behind me.’

“Hold your fire!” I called out.

After a quick recognition ceremony, the legionnaire guards let us pass. They stared at the bear-thing and the hulking Vulbites in disbelief.

When I approached Winslade from behind, I heard him admonishing a crew of techs.

“You’ll get that thing focused and working, or I’ll—”

“Sir?” Natasha said, pointing over his shoulder.

He turned in irritation and saw my delegation.

“McGill?” he demanded. “Have you made yourself another alien girlfriend?”

“Winslade,” I said in a loud, commanding tone. “This is the enemy leader, a Rigellian. I’ve made arrangements for us to exit this place. The queen is dead, our mission is complete.”

“Oh, really?” Winslade said, putting his hands on his hips. “Adjunct McGill strikes again, hey?”

“Silence, servant,” I said.

Winslade blinked in shock. I kept talking loudly, outlining the situation. He finally caught on when I got to the part about his prescheduled slaughter.

“And so the appropriate term for you is ‘Hero’… Did I hear that rightly?”

“Yes,” I said loudly. “Adjunct, another synonym for Hero, is difficult for their translators to interpret properly.”

“That’s just excellent, Hero McGill,” Winslade said sarcastically. “What do we do now?”

“I think we can make the exchange, and be on our way.”

With a formal air, I turned and handed my juice-box to the wary Rigellian.

“It’s very light.”

“And delicate,” I warned him. “Don’t jar or jostle it unnecessarily, or you’ll go up in a flash.”

The Rigellian handed me his collection of metallic snake-bones, and he took exaggerated care with the juice-box. The rest of my Varus people looked at each other in bewilderment.

I was almost glad Cooper had bought the farm down below. He was the kind of young man who had trouble keeping his mouth shut at moments like this.

Unfortunately, Carlos had survived. As a bio specialist, he was our medic. He hadn’t gone down into the egg-chamber to fight, as his duty came afterwards during the clean-up.

He turned to watch the retreating delegation of aliens and released a dirty laugh.

“McGill, you lying sack,” he said. “These aliens must be the dumbest I’ve ever—”

That was as far as he got, because I’d backhanded him one across the mouth.

The delegation of aliens paused. The Rigellian turned and stared at us, studying the interchange.

“Don’t speak to your Hero!” I admonished Carlos, standing over him. “Unless you’ve been commanded to do so!”

“What the fuck—?” Carlos growled, but I put a boot on his throat to quiet him.

“Wait until they’ve gone… hold on… yes… Okay, now, you may speak.”

I let him back up.

He came up sputtering. “You’re just like that Rigellian!” he said. “Except instead of being a shaved bear, you’re a dumb, shaved ape!”

“Sorry if I ruffled your feathers,” I told him. “But I couldn’t let him hear you. He bought my line of bullshit hook, line and sinker. We have to keep it that way until we can get out of here.”

“I get that, you retard, but the violence was totally unnecessary.”

I almost hit him again. If I hadn’t been feeling a bit sorry about stomping on him, I would have.

“McGill,” Winslade said. “Ortiz is right.”

“What? How so?”

Winslade lifted up the chain of silvery snake-bones that adorned my shoulder. “You said this was his translation device. Once he gave it to you, he couldn’t understand what any of us were saying.”

I stared and blinked, once, twice—then a third time.

“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry, Carlos.”

“It’s okay. We’re still breathing—for now. But I wonder how long it will take that idiot to figure out he’s carrying around your garbage like it’s the Holy Grail. I almost wish I could be there to see it!”

Carlos walked away, shaking his head and laughing.

I looked after him, and then I stared up at the ceiling of the chamber. The surface was at least two kilometers straight up—it was going to be quite a hike.

Looking around, I saw plenty of wounded. There was no way in hell they could march double-time uphill for hours.

How were we going to get out of this hole?

-47-

As was too often the case when I engaged in shenanigans, my latest trick was about to backfire on everyone.

I could only imagine the rage that would surely overtake a high-and-mighty character like my friend from Rigel, once he realized I’d made an utter fool of him.

To brainstorm a solution, Winslade and I held a quick, intense meeting.

“McGill,” he said, “you’ve outdone yourself this time.”

“Why, thank you, sir. That’s mighty kind of you to say.”

“It was not meant in any way as a compliment. We’ve been guaranteed safe passage out of this anthill, but I don’t see how your ruse will hold long enough for us to escape this trap.”

“I hear you sir, and I’d like to commend you on taking leadership at this point.”

“What’s this? What are you talking about?”

“I’m all ears, Centurion. I’ve done what I could. I bought us some time. Now, I’m turning things back over to you. How are we going to spend our final, invaluable moments?”

Winslade’s mouth compressed into a tight line. He was a smart boy, and he got my message loud and clear. “You’re right. There’s no time for recriminations—that will come later, if we’re lucky enough not to be permed in this hole. As it happens, I have Natasha working on a solution.”

Turning, I took a look at the girl. It was true, she seemed intent on something technical. I recalled that when I’d first returned with the Rigellian, Winslade had been hassling her about something.

“What’s she working on?” I asked.

“The jump-gate.”

I shook my head. “That won’t work. Nostrum was destroyed.”

“I know that, you cretin. I’m talking about redirecting it. If we can connect directly to Earth—”

I brightened suddenly, catching on. “We can step through and reach home in minutes!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know such a thing was possible.”

“Normally, it isn’t. She’s trying to hack it.”

“Hmm…”

Leaving Winslade to pace a circle in the dirt on the cave floor, I walked over to check on Natasha.

“Not now, James,” she said immediately, showing me the palm of her hand. “I need to focus.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I’ve got it working, but every time I send a buzzer through, it doesn’t return.”

“Huh…” I said, eyeing the pink-gray haze doubtfully. “So… you’ve got no idea if it really works or not?”

“None.”

“Before, when you sent buzzers through to Nostrum—”

“Yes, I know, but this situation is different. The buzzers aren’t trying to deliver a message. They’re just stepping through and coming back. That’s all.”

“Hummm…” I said, thinking over the problem.

At last, I heaved a sigh. “How many buzzers do you have left?”

“Three. I’m sending another in about a minute—after making what I hope are improvements to the software.”

“All right, I’ll watch.”

She released a tiny metal crawling drone. It quickly scuttled into the field and vanished.

Rocking back on her knees, she sighed and waited. A minute passed, but nothing happened.

“Where’d it go?”

“I don’t know! It could be that the jump-gate I’ve sent the buzzer to is still attached to a third location. Therefore, if the bug goes through and comes back, it won’t return here, it will show up somewhere else.”

“Uh… I don’t get it.”

She sighed. “What I’m trying to say is there are three gates. Two of them connect to each other—but I’ve add a third one, that only connects to one of the two. A computer scientist would call it a directed graph made up of three nodes and pointers, but in this case one of the nodes is unreachable—our node.”

“Uh…” I said. If anything, I was more confused than before. “Okay… I guess it could be that. But it could also be that something is destroying these drones the second they go through, right?”

“Yes… That’s possible. It could be that this gate teleports the drone somewhere I have no control over. The interior of a star, for example. Or the bottom of an ocean trench.”

I thought about that for a few seconds.

“How much dirt is between us and the top of this mound?” I asked, studying the ceiling doubtfully.

“Two… maybe three kilometers. Uphill every step.”

My math wasn’t stellar, but I figured we’d take hours to reach the surface. I didn’t think we had that kind of time.

“Send me next,” I said, “instead of one of your last buzzers.”

Natasha turned to me. “Trying to earn your title, ‘hero’?”

“Nah, I figure I’ve already got that locked up. But the buzzers just aren’t working. You can’t go, because you’re the only one who has a chance to fix things if this escape hatch isn’t working right. On the other hand, I’m pretty much useless at this point.”

“Not so,” she said, but she smiled. “All right. Step through—but I’m not going to watch.”

“Give me a kiss, first.”

She looked startled, then guarded.

I stepped closer then grinned. “Come on, for luck! I’m about to perm myself to prove your haywire setup doesn’t work.”

Standing up, Natasha leaned close to peck at my cheek. I encircled her with my long arms and gave her a nice kiss.

After a moment of resistance, she relaxed and went with it. We’d had some fine moments in the past.

“Thanks,” I said. “I feel better about this already.”

“And I feel worse. Come back safe, all right?”

“I’ll be fine, I can just feel it,” I lied. “Don’t worry for a second.”

Stepping close to the jump-gate, I hesitated for a last look-around. Could this be my final moment as a whole and breathing man?

Deciding it was best not to think about it too much, I squinched up my eyes and stepped into the field. A whispery sensation traveled over my body, and I vanished.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw to my delight that I was on Earth.

My face split into a wide grin. Nothing looks better than your home planet, especially when you contrast it with an alien hive full of death and dirt.

The next thing I noticed were the heavy troopers. They were Blood World types, standing in formation. A squid officer was haranguing them and gesturing with his tentacles. I got the feeling they didn’t want to step into the jump-gate.

“Hey there,” I called out. “What’s wrong?”

The squid turned, and I cocked my head. He had a red crest, the emblem of a centurion.

“Is that you, Sub-Centurion Bubbles?” I asked.

“That is an approximation of my name,” he said, rolling forward with that strange, multi-legged gait that Cephalopods used on land. “I see your identification patch—you are the McGill?”

“That’s right. I’m back home again. We’ve been sending buzzers through this gateway to test it—have you seen any of them?”

The squid shook himself. That was the squid way of shaking their heads—I supposed it was as close as you could get when you didn’t have a neck.

“That’s strange…” I said, “since I came through cleanly.”

Looking around, I thought I saw a silvery glint in the grass. I bent down and picked it up. Sure enough, it was a busted buzzer. I showed it to Bubbles.

“Someone has stomped on it, by the look of it.”

Bubbles examined it briefly then flew into an unexpected rage. He approached the nearest knot of Blood Worlders, and produced a long lash.

“Hey now…” I said, but he wasn’t listening.

Cracking the whip and slashing with it, he demanded to know what had happened. The troops milled and grunted in pain. They were about as bright as circus bears, and right now, I was tired of seeing them get abused.

When Bubbles again lifted his whip high to slash another trooper, I reached out and plucked it from his hand.

He did an about-face and stared, eyes bulging and sides heaving from exertion.

“Be careful, squid,” I told him. “You look like you’re going to hyperventilate.”

“You have shamed me in front of my underlings. What possible reason might you have for inflicting this humiliation?”

I thought about giving him some sort speech on ethics, but quickly passed on the idea. It wouldn’t have any kind of impact on one of his people. Instead, I decided to trump him at his own game.

“You’re wasting valuable time,” I said. “If these Blood Worlders destroyed our buzzers, it’s your fault as you’re the one in charge.”

He looked crushed to hear that. It was just the kind of thing a Cephalopod overseer would have said.

“I don’t have time for your failures and petty vendettas!” I yelled at him. “Legion Varus needs to escape Dark World using this gateway. They can’t do it if they don’t know it’s safe.”

“I have a solution,” Bubbles said, yanking on the collar of the nearest Blood Worlder. “I can tell this one is to blame. He does not meet my eyes. He will suffer in the place of the buzzer.”

Before I could offer a better idea, Bubbles kicked and prodded the Blood Worlder into a shambling run. The poor dumb bastard stepped into the jump-gate and vanished.

We stood around for about a minute, but he didn’t return.

“Odd…” Bubbles said. “I expected him to report back.”

“Well… you didn’t tell him to. He’s either confused—or dead.”

“Your logic is unassailable.”

“You know,” I said, “I couldn’t help but notice that there’s only one buzzer here. Natasha said she sent through at least ten of them. What do you think happened to the rest?”

“Perhaps these oafs ate them,” Bubbles suggested.

He retrieved his whip and approached the line of littermates menacingly.

I’d about had my fill of old Bubbles by this time. Coming to a decision, I snapped my fingers.

“I’ve got it,” I said. “You’re going through next.”

This got the sub-centurion’s full attention. He swung his eyes back to look at me.

“For what purpose?”

“When the general is unclear, it’s his fault—not the soldiers. I didn’t hear you tell that Blood Worlder what to do. In case he died already, it’s not really fair to send another servant, is it?”

“It’s definitely preferable,” the Cephalopod complained.

“Nope. I’m in charge,” I said. Human officers outranked all squid officers. That’s why they had the “sub” in their ranks. “You sent that poor sap through, now I’m sending you. If you can get back to us, try to do so immediately. Understand your orders?”

“Yes, but…”

Stepping close, I grabbed a tentacle and gave a small shove toward the jump-gate posts.

He gave me such a glare in return, I thought maybe he would attack me. Cephalopods were our servants now, but they were incredibly powerful beings. They had muscles like a bundle of gorillas, and even one tentacle was a match for a strong man.

Still, he was cowed. His people had been beaten by Earthmen, fair and square. Also, I think my logic as to how to proceed managed to penetrate that rubber-skulled brain of his.

“I will go on this mission, under duress,” he said.

“You can dress however you want to. Just get in there, pronto.”

With one last angry glower cast in my direction, he humped his way into the jump-gate and vanished.

-48-

When the squid officer didn’t return for five full minutes, I began to worry.

Not about old Bubbles—not really. He could take care of himself, or he could die as a charred pile of calamari for all I cared—but time was wasting, and this problem wasn’t solving itself.

There rose up within me a powerful, dark urge. I realized suddenly I could toss all this nonsense aside and just enjoy being back home. After all, just by reaching Earth, I’d done most of what needed doing. The others could be chalked down as dead, and if I had to, I could lie a little to make sure they all caught a revive.

But that didn’t sit well inside my mind. Natasha, Carlos, Cooper—even Winslade. They didn’t really deserve to be tortured to death by Rigellians just because I’d played a prank on our dear, hairless bear cub-looking friends.

Hmm…

“Troops,” I said to the milling soldiers, “watch this gateway. If anyone comes through, find me and report what you saw.”

They looked from me to the gateway, then back again. I left them there, staring at my back and the gateway intermittently.

The jump-gate was set up at the top of a grassy hill near a barracks building. Striding quickly to Bubbles’ office at the bottom of the hill, I found it unlocked. I pushed my way inside and began to rummage.

He had a com-link, but that was pass-coded.

“Paranoid squid,” I complained, cursing and throwing stuff around.

I didn’t find anything official I could use to contact Central, so I sighed and bit the bullet. Using my own tapper, I leaned way back in Bubbles chair and called Drusus.

Long before the call went through, I’d gotten up and abandoned that chair. It had a bad taint to it—fishy.

“McGill?” Drusus asked, incredulous. “Is that really you? How can you be so self-confident, so disrespectful of authority, so—”

“Hold on a second, Praetor,” I said. “I’m all those things and more, and I’m sure I deserve a good solid perming every other Sunday. But this is urgent, and it involves the safety of all Earth. Can I explain, sir?”

Drusus closed his eyes for a second. He breathed through clenched teeth.

“Did you miss out on some sleep last night, sir?” I asked. “You seem a bit out of sorts.”

His eyes snapped open again. “If I did, it was probably directly traceable to your actions.”

“Aw now, that’s unfair, sir.”

“Report—quickly.”

In as snappy and concise a way as I could manage, I explained that the last of the legion was buried on Dark World, and Nostrum had been destroyed.

“The ship… lost?” Drusus asked. He stared, but he didn’t seem to see me at all. “Two legions, wiped out? Whoever is left alive aboard the space complex… they can’t hold out without Nostrum’s help.”

“That’s about the size of it, sir,” I said. “On the bright side, we completed our mission by destroying the nest we landed on, and I managed to return with an artifact from the Rigellians themselves.”

I showed him the snake-bone necklace thing.

“This serves them kind of like a tapper,” I explained.

Drusus had a sagging mouth. I had that effect on a lot of people—it even seemed to infect me now and then.

“You had close personal contact with one of the enemy?”

“Yessir,” I said, unable to keep a hint of pride out of my voice. “I was close enough to kiss him—not that I’d want to, mind you.”

“But how… how did you escape?”

“Uh…” I said, thinking over my raft of lies and tricks. I gave my head a shake. “Sir, that’s complicated and interesting, but not critical right now. What I need is guidance and technical aid.”

“We haven’t got anyone up there who can troubleshoot a gateway that doesn’t work right,” he said. “Floramel’s team of scientists set it up and left months ago. It will take half an hour to get an air car up there from Central.”

“Okay… so technical help is out. What do we do? How can I save my legion?”

Drusus took a deep breath. “In all likelihood, you can’t, McGill. I know that’s a painful reality, but you’ve already sent through buzzers, a Blood Worlder and a Cephalopod officer. I think that’s about enough proof, don’t you?”

My face fell. I’d really been hoping this would go differently. What he was telling me was that my friends were as good as dead.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, “we can’t authorize revives for those who aren’t confirmed to be dead. That means… most of Legion Varus, I’m afraid.”

“What?” I demanded in shock.

“Yes… The Iron Eagles were aboard Nostrum, which your tapper feed—yes I’m downloading it now—confirms as destroyed.”

I looked down at my tapper. The damned thing was a snitch at times. I could see a red indicator of high traffic. Drusus was using some kind of override to dump my data.

About then, I stopped listening to Drusus, although he went right on talking.

The message was loud and clear. Anyone I’d not actually witnessed dying, or who wasn’t in some way confirmed dead by my tapper, was as good as permed.

Our ship had been lost, our connection to Earth had been a one way thing—but it hadn’t saved us after all. Even if the rest of my cohort did chance it and walk through, there were plenty more lost in that anthill who couldn’t prove they’d died to the satisfaction of Central.

I tuned back in, as Drusus seemed to be winding down.

“In short, we’ll watch the jump-gate. Possibly, more survivors will straggle through. You’ve done well, as it turns out. These shots of the enemy fleet—chilling, but very informative. I’m in your debt.”

“Well then,” I said, getting angry instead of depressed. “Help me get my legion out of purgatory!”

“It’s not that simple. Maybe, in time, Earth ships will venture to Dark World again. Maybe, if they find physical evidence, revivals can begin in future years. It’s hard to say.”

As he kept talking, I kept walking. Soon, I was out on the hillside with the littermates, who were still staring at the jump-gate as if they expected Santa Claus to step out of it.

“Anything?” I asked them.

They shook their heads in unison.

“Shit.”

“McGill?” Drusus said. “Where are you?”

“Outside with the Blood Worlders, sir. I have them watching the gateway for escapees.”

“Anything?”

“Not yet, sir,” I admitted.

“Yes… very unfortunate. Legion Varus is a cursed outfit, truly. We always suffer the most. We shoulder the greatest burden, and still, we—”

That was as far as he got—or at least, as far as I listened.

In the middle of his sentence, while the sun shined, the green grasses waved, and the littermates stared with baffled expressions—I stepped into the jump-gate and vanished.

-49-

Tumbling through the lightyears, it seemed to me I had a chance to ponder, however briefly.

There was simply no way I was going to leave the entirety of Legion Varus stranded on Dark World. First off, I hated the place. It stank, sucked, and was essentially a giant dirt-hole full of giant bugs.

But why use the jump-gate that had swallowed so many? One of my primary motivations for taking such a risk was the injustice of the situation. The Iron Eagles, Deech, Turov—oh, sure, they were all going to catch a revive.

But the actual grunts who marched into the anthill? Those who’d fought and struggled to the last with a gruesome task beyond all measure? Well, they were getting permed, or at least left on ice for possibly a decade or more. None of my friends were getting a revive until the brass back on Earth felt good and ready to investigate their tragic case.

That wasn’t good enough for me. I knew, as I stepped into the ether, that I might well be perming myself prematurely. It was quite possible this gateway went nowhere good. I had no way of knowing, but I decided to take the chance.

When I stepped out on the far side, I felt disoriented. I was standing on a deck, but it was dark.

When I say dark, I mean pitch-black and ice cold. There was nothing to see, and no one to share it with.

“Is this Dark World?” I asked. “Am I underneath another anthill?”

For some reason, my words elicited an unexpected response from the universe. A tentacle uncoiled and slammed into me, sending me spinning around.

I crashed onto my face, and it was only by the grace of the Almighty himself I didn’t crack my faceplate.

“McGill?” asked a voice in the darkness. “Is that the McGill-creature?”

“Bubbles?” I asked. “Are you here, assaulting a superior officer?”

“I—I’m sorry, Adjunct. My visual receptors have failed me.”

“No problem… It’s all right.”

I climbed to my feet and began searching the place. There were lots of things lying around, and the chamber was pressurized. Crawling on my hands and knees, I felt a few small, crunchy items.

Lifting one up, I tried to use my suit lights to see it—but they didn’t work. No form of light was working at all.

“The air is cold, but breathable,” Bubbles said. “I’ve been here several minutes. I’ve taken what measurements I could.”

“I think I found one of Natasha’s buzzers,” I said, daring to remove a gauntlet and touch the crinkled spidery drone. “The weird thing is this darkness. My suit seems to be operating. It’s pumping air and heat—but there’s no light. Nothing.”

“I can’t detect anything with my visual orbs either. The littermate in the corner seems to be similarly affected.”

“There’s a Blood Worlder in here?”

“Yes. You might recall that I sent him through first.”

“Ah, right. Can you see anything, soldier?”

The Blood Worlder was silent for a moment, but at last he spoke up. His voice was deep, and kind of sounded like croaking. It was the voice you might expect a giant bullfrog to have, if one of those amphibians could speak.

“No,” he said simply.

His kind weren’t conversationalists.

“Well,” I said, getting to my feet. I had my hands spread out, partly to balance and partly to ward off the unseen. “Looks like we have to move on. Maybe there’s a way out of here.”

“I don’t think there is,” Bubbles said. “We’ve explored by touch, and in every direction, a border is soon reached. At that point, the deck becomes ragged and freezing cold. It’s as if we’re on an island in the middle of an icy void.”

That gave me pause. “Uh…” I said. “How’s that possible?”

“The jump-gate technology is far from perfect. Perhaps this is a random endpoint in space-time. A juncture, or a seam, in what we think of as reality. I once attended lectures on these advanced transportational technologies. They’re reliable, as long as both ends are firmly tethered.”

I thought about what Natasha had done. She’d untied one end of a jump-gate and attached it to another one. Could she have done so in such a way that she created something new—something that couldn’t be easily escaped?

Putting my gauntlet back on, I slammed the two of them together, making a loud, popping sound. “Well then, what are we going to do now?”

“That noise is irritating. Please don’t repeat it.”

I slammed my hands together again—harder this time. “That noise?”

“Yes…” Bubbles said, his word dragging out into a hiss.

“Any ideas as to the future?” I asked.

“Eventually, I suppose,” Bubbles said in a philosophical tone, “discipline will break down. At that point, we will consume one another. When that limited source of nourishment is exhausted, the survivor’s existence will end.”

“I don’t much care for your depressing prognostication, squid.”

“And I don’t much care for your derogatory references, human. Remember, Earth is far away. Our former relationship was one based upon—”

His voice led me right to him. I’d already figured that if we were going to go down fighting, I might as well get in the first blow.

My fist slammed into the sharp beak that was doing the talking. Squids kept their mouths underneath them, right about where a human’s butthole might be. It was a sensitive spot, and I wanted to give him something to think about before I cut him into calamari slices with my combat knife.

But suddenly, before I could stab Bubbles, a massive hand closed over mine. It was a hand so big, so dominating—it had to be the Blood Worlder.

“Stand down, soldier!” I shouted.

“No,” he said.

“Treachery!” I shouted. “You’re giving him the fight!”

It was true. The squid had been momentarily stunned by my attack, but now he’d looped a few coiling tentacles around my midsection. He began to squeeze the way a python could only dream of.

“Stop,” the bullfrog voice of the littermate said. “Look—the light.”

Somehow, by the direction of his voice, I knew to look up. There, far above us, was a tiny pinprick of light. A white dot that was growing both in size and brilliance.

“We’re saved!” I shouted. “Good thing you intervened, soldier. I was about to kill Bubbles.”

The powerful coils fell away from me. I could see Bubbles now, staring upward at the light.

The Blood Worlder was similarly transfixed.

Now, no one should feel I’m a mean-spirited person, but it took all my strength of character not to stab them both right then, while they were distracted and I had the chance.

Why? Don’t ask. It’s a Legion Varus thing, I guess. We’re all kind of like junkyard dogs. If we encounter something we can’t eat or hump, we feel a powerful urge to tear it apart just for spite.

-50-

The light continued to grow. Soon, we could see stuff again in our immediate vicinity.

After about four minutes the chamber we were in was fully lit. I measured the time passing on my tapper as that familiar, reddish glow had returned to the organic diodes embedded in my forearm.

Surprisingly, I realized I knew exactly where we were.

“This is the jump-gate chamber on the space factory,” I told my two fellow castaways. “That circle of ice, that island of nothingness we were all trapped on—it’s gone now.”

“The field has stabilized,” Bubbles said. “I suspect the transportation system enqueued us somehow, and it now has allowed the transmission to finish.”

“What?”

“Like any technological communications device, the jump-gate must have a buffer. Perhaps, when the system detected an error in transmission, it held up the final processing. Now, it seems to have decided to complete the task and release us.”

“Hmm…” I said. “You’re saying the transmission system timed out?”

“It’s my working hypothesis.”

“I’ll have to ask Floramel about that sometime. But anyway, we’re in a way-station. The halfway point between Earth and Dark World. All the soldiers who came out here after we arrived walked through this chamber first.”

“Evidently. What do we do now, Adjunct?” Bubbles asked.

I noticed Bubbles was behaving himself once again. Neither he nor the Blood Worlder seemed overly upset by the fact we’d all almost killed one another about two minutes ago. They didn’t seem to get as rattled by such events as regular humans did.

I pointed toward the second gateway, the one that was farther from us.

“That one goes to Dark World. Step through, and tell Natasha and the rest they can use the gate to escape safely to Earth. Tell them they shouldn’t delay or worry about me.”

Bubbles looked at me quizzically. “Not worry about you? This sounds as if you’re not coming with us.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’ve got a little work to do here on the station. I’ll follow you soon enough. Time to get going, Sub-Centurion.”

Bubbles looked disgruntled, but he beckoned to his only soldier. They stepped to the gateway and went through. I got the feeling he knew that was his only way out of this star system, and he wanted to get back to the safety of Earth. Otherwise, he might have argued.

Looking around, I found the security stations—and a lot of dead people.

Apparently, after arriving with their fleet, the Rigellians had fried the space factory. Everyone I could find was stiff as a board.

Radiation beams—that was my guess. The dosimeters that hung here and there were all in the red, which confirmed my suspicions.

It made sense, in a rude way. We were lice to them, and they’d just fumigated the entire space factory at once.

The next step was a landing party to make sure none of the vermin—namely me—had survived. Accordingly, I moved to the security station with all the external smart-cameras. This spot had served as our command outpost. In fact, the place was still crowded by the dead.

Pushing aside stunned-looked, burnt-eyed legionnaires, I found that some of the electronics still worked.

I saw enemy troops crawling on the hull. They weren’t Vulbites, but a veritable army of bipedal creatures. Could they all be bear cubs from Rigel? Maybe—it was hard to tell in those suits.

There wasn’t any point in fighting with them as they’d won the day. I wanted to kill a few, naturally, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to take many out before getting whacked myself.

A thought did come to me, however, as I bounced through the passages back toward the way-station. When I reached the chamber with the jump-gate, I stared at it and paused.

I could walk into it, head down to Dark World, then step through the gate down there and be back on Earth. That was the rational thing to do.

But my monstrous idea gripped my mind. There should be just enough time. Just barely…

Gripped by a thought that would have alarmed anyone else who’d conceived it, I ran from the way-station and headed back downward, going deeper into the structure.

Running in half-G is kind of tricky. You tend to bounce like a jackrabbit. Unfortunately, the ceiling wasn’t more than three meters high, so I kept scraping it and taking too long to land and get another bound going. To compensate, I used my hands to pull me along, flinging myself like an ape crossing a jungle-gym. I also bent my head low. Using these techniques I got myself moving at a pretty good clip, probably around thirty kilometers an hour. At that speed, I could crack my helmet if I hit a bulkhead.

Once I was into the rhythm of it, I traveled fast. At each junction, I took the one that went downward, deeper and deeper into the guts of the factory.

I’d only been down here once, back when we’d been searching for a strange, crying voice in the depths of the vast deserted structure.

At last I found the power generator. The squat alien contraption flashed and spun. It was a sight to behold.

Spinning—but not actually moving—a ball of light whirled around on a spindle of silvery diamond. That ball of energy shot off jolts of electrical power every second or so like miniature bolts of lightning. A coiled metallic framework around it caught the bolts. It looked to me like a lightning storm trapped inside a silver cage.

The last time I’d been down here, Natasha had told me that the power generator, and particularly the containment field that kept it from going wild, was inherently unstable. She hadn’t understood how the Rigellians had managed to keep it from going berserk, and she’d been impressed with the technology. She’d wanted to study it, but we’d never gotten the time.

Looking at the tech marvel, my desire was somewhat different. Since it was soon to be captured by an enemy who’d managed to wipe out two Earth legions—well, I wanted to break it.

I guess I’m a true Varus man in the end, through and through.

I started off by poking at it. I almost fried my ass off, right there. Only the wisdom of the moment kept me from sticking a tool I’d found—something like a screwdriver attached to a pair of tree pruners—into the field inside the cage.

Instead, I tapped the base of the unit. Just to see what would happen.

A flash went off, and I was left holding a burnt stump. Fortunately, both my gauntlets and the handle on the tool had been heavily insulated. Still, there were black streaks all up my arm to the elbow.

“Wow,” I said, dropping the burning stump of a tool. “This thing is dangerous!”

Circling the machine, I tried to think of a way to disable it—nothing came easily to mind.

It was about then that I got a warning tone from my tapper. I looked down, and I knew what I was seeing. I’d tapped into the security systems, and they were trying to warn me.

Tuning in to the security cameras, I swiped through a dozen of them. At last, I saw what I was looking for. The enemy had breached the outer hull. They were pouring into the complex from all over, swarming the upper decks.

They weren’t taking anything for granted, either. They were moving fast, with their weapons held at the ready. They were acting like they were ready for resistance.

I felt a sinking feeling as I watched one group get to the security center—and keep going. The camera system was fairly smart, and it followed the group’s progress as they rushed deeper and deeper.

How could they have tracked me? How did they know where’d I gone?

“Shit,” I said, knowing in my heart I was doomed.

I wouldn’t be going back to the way station and stepping out. I wouldn’t be sneaking off this pile of burnt steel in any other nefarious fashion, either.

They knew right where I was, and they were making a beeline for this spot.

It didn’t matter how they’d done it. Maybe my suit was leaking RF. Maybe they had spy drones aboard already, hunting for survivors.

It hardly mattered because I was thoroughly screwed.

Knowing this, I felt somewhat freed. Once a man gives up on living, it can be a liberating moment. You can do all sorts of things that you wouldn’t otherwise dare to contemplate.

Guessing which door the Rigellians would come bursting through when they got here, I moved to the opposite side of the power generator. When they came through, at least they’d have to circle around to get a shot at me.

Taking my only large piece of metal—my rifle, I tossed it on top of the silver cage that contained the power reaction.

That did something. It caused some sparks and smoke. The rifle buzzed up there—but it didn’t explode. After a few seconds, it kind of melted partway and slid off onto the deck.

Cursing, I tried to pick it up, but it was a red-hot mess.

I checked my tapper—damn if those boys weren’t closing in on me. They’d moved to cover every exit, clearly knowing I was in here. They advanced from several directions, planning on opening all the hatches at once.

Glancing at my ruined rifle, I was kinda sorry I’d wrecked it.

There wasn’t much time left. They wouldn’t arrest me, or listen to some bullshit story. They’d gun me down and ask questions later.

Looking around the chamber in a panic, I didn’t see anything else large and conductive. That had been my first instinct, to jam something into the cage and short it out.

But maybe, just maybe, I’d been on the wrong track. I began looking for insulators, rather than conductors—I found just what I needed.

Big gloves. So big, they would have fit a Blood Worlder. They were black, and rubbery.

Putting my hands inside, I was shocked to see they barely fit. That’s when I figured out the gloves were made for an alien hand.

Lifting them, with my fingers rammed painfully inside, I flexed my hands. The big black gloves flexed with them, mimicking the motion.

I knew what I had then, and I smiled. They were exoskeletal gloves. They enhanced the power of the user, making his hands work like those of a giant.

Without any further delay, I rammed all the glove’s big fat fingers into the cage and tried to spread them.

It was hard, and I heard the gloves whine. After a half-minute, they started to smolder. The chamber filled with black smoke, like a rubber-fire.

The trouble was my hands were strong, but not my arms. I had to spread my fingers on both hands in the same spot, to tear open a hole in the cage.

While I was doing this, the generator began to flash more brightly, in a rhythm. The light became so bright it hurt my retinas right through my squeezed-tight eyelids.

The white flashes were speeding up as I worked, like an accelerating heartbeat.

Finally, the hatches began to click and grind around me. I’d tried to lock them, but these people had probably built the place, so that hadn’t held them up for long.

I heard a hatch swing open slowly, creaking and groaning. This was it.

Strange, excited clicking sounds told me they were Rigellians. They sounded just like the guy I’d bamboozled down on Dark World.

Thinking of that, I smiled as I made my final play.

There was only one more large, metal object I had handy for shorting this generator out. That was my helmet.

Unfortunately, my head was locked up inside it—but, oh well. Everyone’s body had to die at some point.

I rammed my helmeted head into the hole I’d spread open in the containment cage, and I knew no more.

-51-

When I caught a revive, I was even more surprised than usual. I’d kind of figured I’d permed myself that last go-around.

Big questions swam into my new brain. Where had I been returned to life? How long had I been dead?

They were serious questions. Sometimes, people brought old James McGill back just to have a little fun with him before recycling his remains all over again.

“McGill…” I said blearily when some guy asked my name.

“Rank?”

“James McGill—uh, adjunct, I mean.”

“He’s fuzzy, but he’ll do. Take him upstairs.”

Those were encouraging words for my new-grown brain. If there were stairs here, that meant there was a building, which in turn indicated some level of civilization.

Also, just on the face of it, being taken upstairs was almost always better than going downstairs. Prisoners tended to be dragged to underground dungeons—it made them easier to contain, and I guess it always had.

As something of an authority on being arrested, tried, tortured, executed and nearly permed on any number of occasions, I struggled to wake up and figure out my predicament. My mind sharpened with every halting step.

I did my best to assess the situation. Two burly men with arms like gorillas were marching me down a long passageway and into an elevator. They’d given me clothing, but it was only an orange, papery jumpsuit.

That was bad. If I’d been given a formal dress-blues uniform, or at least a nice hot shower—that would’ve been a better omen.

Nice clothes and comfort, that’s how people greeted revived heroes. Jumpsuits and dragging? These things didn’t indicate respect.

So, wherever I was, I wasn’t a hero here.

The elevator went up—and that’s when I got my first hard look at my guards.

“Um…” I said. “Do I know you guys?”

They didn’t respond. They stared away from me, at the elevator’s digital floor readout.

The weird thing wasn’t their attitude, but their appearance. I could have sworn I’d seen someone like these two apes before. What was even freakier, as I looked at one and then the other, was the simple fact they were twins.

Identical twins…

Now, people might say I’m a dim bulb stuck in a lighthouse sometimes, but even after a sticky revive, I’m capable of logical thought.

“You two are clones, aren’t you?” I asked.

There was no response from my captors. They didn’t even look at me.

The elevator door swished open. The floor counter displayed a green nine on it, and there was only room for two digits on the readout.

That meant this just couldn’t be Central. Sure, what I’d seen of the place didn’t look much like Central anyway, but I’d been kind of hoping I was back home.

Dragged out of the elevator and marched along to a brighter series of offices, I became sure that I wasn’t on Earth at all.

There were windows, and whatever planet they were allowing me to look at, I knew it wasn’t Earth.

The landscape was kind of pretty. It had heavy plant growth. Kind of jungle-like. Lots of floating things were in the air, too, hanging above the trees. They looked like jellyfish.

When one of the drifting shapes outside twitched and began to undulate, I realized it was alive.

“I’ll be damned!” I said, gawking at the creatures. “Flying jellyfish!”

A familiar voice laughed quietly behind me.

“Same old McGill. You still have the mind of a child, don’t you?”

The two ape-men turned me around, and I faced Claver.

That’s when I realized who the two holding onto me looked like—they were Clavers, too. But they weren’t the type I’d known for so many years. They were more like primitive relatives of Claver. In every way, they seemed dimwitted, inbred and brutish, while Claver had always been small of body and quick of mind.

I nodded my head toward my guards.

“Clones?” I asked Claver. “You made these warped clones of yourself?”

“Who else would I clone?” he asked, shrugging. “Welcome to my happy home, McGill.”

“Uh…” I said looking around again. “What planet is this, anyway?”

“You sure you want to know? I’ll have to erase you if I tell you.”

“Well in that case, keep your secret.”

He gave me a dirty laugh. Walking over to the nearby window, he tapped on the glass. One of the floating jellyfish things startled and humped away in the air.

“Air-jellies,” Claver said, “that’s what I call them—unless I’m in a bad mood, then I just call them farting gasbags. They use air like ballast, sucking it up and farting it out to stay at a given altitude.”

“How can they fly at all?”

“A combination of things. For one, we’re in low-G here.”

Now that I thought about it, the world did seem a little bouncy. I might have paid more attention to that if I hadn’t just come from the space factory where gravity was even less of an issue.

“Second,” Claver continued, “the atmosphere here is kind of thick. Not as thick as water, mind you, and just barely breathable. But it is thick. I think that helps them stay drifting around on the air currents.”

“I see… I’m truly marveling at your home, Claver. But now, if I might ask a question?”

“Why’d I bring you back to life? Why are you here at all?”

“Um… yeah. That’s kind of what I was wondering.”

Claver turned to look out at his air-jellies again.

“McGill, you’re a black blight upon my existence. Did you know that?”

“Uh…”

“That’s right. I said a blight. A disease. A thing of less than no value. A thing that brings only pain and dissolution.”

This wasn’t going the way I’d hoped, so I reached for a distraction.

“What about the bio who birthed me just now?” I asked. “Was he a Claver too?”

“Naturally—but a smarter one. A class two.”

“Class two? You rate yourselves?”

“We have to. There’s no other way for a group fudged up from a single DNA strand to cooperate.”

“If he’s class two, what are these apes?”

“Class three. Loyal workers—the best part of me in human form.”

“Hmm… and you?”

“I’m the type of Claver who you’ve always dealt with. A Prime. Class one.”

“There’s nothing better, huh?”

He scowled and crossed his arms.

“For all intents and purposes, I’m the real Claver. The original. Most of the time, there’s only one or two of me in existence.”

I blinked at him, absorbing these new concepts and trying to make use of them. At last, I grinned.

“You made these guys big, dumb and servile on purpose, didn’t you?” I asked, jerking a thumb toward the face of the one on my left.

“That’s right. I guess I modeled them after you.”

“They don’t ever talk back?” I asked. Turning to the one on my left, I cocked my head. “Why does that little old man over there get to give you orders? You’re bigger than him, you know. Why don’t you give him orders?”

The ape didn’t respond, but the smarter Claver laughed again.

“Sowing discord, huh, McGill? Nice try, but these guys will be pretty darned tough to turn. They’re genetically predisposed toward loyalty and service. They believe in their job as strong-arm guards just as utterly as you believe in the defense of Earth.”

I turned back to the boss-Claver and squinted at him.

“Are there any girl-Clavers?” I asked. “And if there are, are you sick enough to sleep with them?”

Claver scowled at me. “Of course not, you disgusting mud-slinger!”

“You know…” I said, struck by a thought, “I think I found one of your female versions back on the space complex. She was dead, but her ripped-out tapper was still transmitting. A human down there… we couldn’t figure out who it could be, but now—”

“Shut up, McGill,” Claver said, taking a menacing step closer. “Why do you have to make it so damned hard to keep myself from killing you? I’d like to perm you six times over already, just for what you did back on Dark World, but here you go, trying to make things even worse.”

“How about you introduce me to one of your lady-friends?” I asked. “I know you’ve got to have some stashed here somewhere. No one could play god like this without—”

He signaled my guards somehow. They’d been motionless up until now, holding onto me like the metal arms of a crash-seat. But suddenly, an explosion of pain hit me in the gut.

I retched and tried to curl up, but I couldn’t.

“Maybe you should try a different line of inquiry,” Claver suggested. “Don’t you want to know what happened back on Dark World? What do you remember, exactly?”

After a choking, coughing fit subsided, I went along with his suggestion.

“I wasn’t with my unit,” I said. “I only remember arriving on the space factory and finding everyone dead.”

“That’s it?” Claver demanded. He squinted at me, and I let my face go slack.

My dumbass, clueless expression seemed to convince him. It was believable enough that I didn’t remember the details of my death.

“You wrecked the place,” he said, sighing.

“Wrecked the planet?”

“Not entirely—but you gave it your best shot. You wrecked the space-factory. One of the big power-generators blew.”

“You sure that was me?”

He blew out a disgusted snort.

“Who else? But there is proof. According to a recorded vid stream from the Rigellians, they found you trying to destabilize the field right before it happened.”

“Uh…” I said. “So… there was a power-loss? So what? The power’s dead and the place is drifting, is that it?”

“I wish. It was far, far worse than that. A dead power-generator? Ha! No biggee. But what you did brought the whole thing down.”

“Um… seriously?”

“Yes. That generator maintained one of several critical fields that held the massive structure in a stable orbit. It took about two weeks to fall, and the Rigellians worked around the clock to save it—but they couldn’t do it. The whole damned thing collapsed eventually, crashing into the Vulbites’ sorry excuse for an ocean.”

I stared at him for a moment, honestly dumbfounded.

Then, after that pregnant pause, I guffawed with laughter. I raised my knee and slapped my hand down on it, earning a grunt and a tightening of his grip from the Claver-ape on my right side.

“That would have been a great sight to see!” I boomed, smiling and shaking my head. “Too bad I missed it!”

“Yeah…” Claver said, eyeing me with discontent. “Do you know what a factory that size consumes in raw materials? Vast quantities of metals, gasses and radioactives. The shipping contracts alone would have been a big source of wealth for me for decades.”

“That’s what you were interested in? Merchant rights to the factory? Makes sense, I suppose. You probably didn’t care who won the factory, did you?”

“Of course not,” he snapped. “That’s why I kept out of this one. I figured I couldn’t lose. Either way, no matter who owned it and wanted to build starships, they’d need a supply network.”

“Oh…” I said, getting the picture. “I was thinking differently. I figured if Earth couldn’t own it, the Rigellians shouldn’t have it, either.”

Claver snapped his fingers and pointed at me. His hand shook a little.

“That’s it. Right there. The insanity of James-frigging-McGill. I didn’t figure on that—but I should’ve.”

I shrugged, not caring what he thought.

“Standard soldier protocol,” I said. “If you can’t use an asset, at least deny it to the enemy. Scorched Earth.”

“You know what, McGill? This whole thing was a mistake. I thought I could talk to you. I know you have connections, and I thought I could make use of them—but no. All you can do is make jokes. I’m afraid I’m going to have to snuff you out and let someone else revive you—if they care to.”

This statement had me honestly concerned. I’d died under very unusual circumstances. The legion Varus people who’d been on Dark World had probably fled by the time I wrecked the factory and died. I might very well have been the only human being in the star system by that point—so who would be able to verify I was dead?

Without a corpse, Galactic Law forbade a revival for anyone. The reason for that simple wisdom was on display right in front of me. Claver had built an army of himself on some planet tucked away in the middle of nowhere.

I’d long suspected he had a lair like this one. It explained how he was able to pop up and vanish at will—because he wasn’t just one person. He was more like an army of cockroaches, living in a swarm under your house and only sending scouts to venture forth into the light of day now and again.

“Um… hold on,” I said.

“Ah-ha!” he laughed. “Now you’re nervous? Not the almighty McGill? He fears nothing—especially not his long overdue perming.”

“Hold on—I know stuff.”

“You don’t know shit from a hole in the ground, boy.”

“Yes I do! I’ve got the book!”

There was a long silence after that. Claver studied me, and I studied him.

“What book?” he asked at last.

“Don’t play the idiot with me, Old Silver,” I said. “You know the book I’m talking about. The Eaters of Lotus.”

He blinked once, then twice.

“You don’t have it,” he said. “I would have heard by now. You’re bullshitting in order to keep breathing for one more precious minute. Sorry boy, but your luck has run out.”

He signaled the two muscle-bound Clavers, who promptly turned me around and began hustling me back toward the elevator.

I had the distinct feeling that if I rode that elevator down into the dungeon under this nine-story building, the odds were slim I’d ever awaken again.

“Wait,” I said, “do you know a lizard named Raash?”

“Hold on,” Claver said.

The twins halted, and I tried not to sweat.

Claver slowly walked up behind me and the two apes.

“What do you know about Raash?” he asked.

I smiled. Of course—it made too much sense. Raash, the saurian who had invaded Floramel’s apartment and gotten himself killed—he’d been working for Claver.

“I know he was looking for the book,” I said. “He found I had it—so I had to put him down.”

Claver hissed at my back. “You killed Raash?”

“Yep.”

“Damn! He wasn’t backed up. You permed a good agent!”

I shrugged. I didn’t care at all. “He attacked me—it was his last mistake.”

Claver began to pace around me and the two apes. I craned my neck to follow because I utterly distrusted him.

“Listen,” Claver said. “I’m going to make you a deal. For convenience’s sake, I’m going to send you back to Earth. That’s where the book is, right?”

“That’s right,” I said quickly.

“Okay. You go get the book. When I send an agent, you give it to him. You got that?”

“Sure thing. I owe you just for bringing me back among the living.”

Claver chuckled. It was an evil sound. “You might hold your thanks. I’m not a charitable man. I’m harsh, some say—but fair.”

“Whatever. It’s a deal,” I said.

Claver had stopped walking around. He’d paused behind me. With the two brutes holding on, I couldn’t turn back to see what he was up to.

When he spoke again, it was from directly behind me, up close. “In case you’re thinking about screwing me over, McGill, consider this: I know where your family lives.”

That pissed me off. “And I know what your headquarters looks like,” I said, even though it wasn’t the smartest thing to be tossing around threats. “You think about that at night.”

Something jabbed me in the back.

I grunted and squirmed. I felt a cold liquid pump into me, near my spine.

“Now,” Claver spoke into my ear, “when you wake up at home, cowboy, you remember our deal. Got it?”

My mouth opened to make a nasty reply—but I couldn’t get out the words. The world was going dark.

My last memory was of looking out all those bay windows at the alien jungle and the floating air-jellies…

In the end, I slumped forward and died in the heartless arms of two brutish Claver-clones.

-52-

I don’t mind saying that I was a little freaked out the second time I was revived.

“Orderly…” I gasped. “Orderly…”

“He looks good,” said a female voice. I was pretty sure I recognized her. “Neural-transmitters are responding normally—for him.”

“He’s trying to say something,” the orderly said.

“What is it, James?” the bio asked, and I knew who she was right off.

Centurion Evelyn Thompson had pulled me out of the oven once again.

“Hi Evelyn,” I croaked. “Why did they assign a centurion to do a simple revive?”

“I guess they wanted it done right.”

I smiled. Same old Evelyn. “Tell me, is it a nice day outside?”

“No. It’s February in Central City. That means it sucks outside.”

“February? It’s been that long? It was fall the last I remember…”

“You should just shut up. Have some shame. I can’t believe they ordered your revival at all. You killed the Iron Eagles, you know that don’t you?”

“Aw now, that’s a misunderstanding.”

“All of them…” she said, not listening to me, “just wiped out all at once. They’ve never wiped before. People say they should have left you dead forever.”

Wiping at my eyes and coughing, I got my naked self up off the gurney and staggered toward the shower stall. After spraying myself down, I pulled on a uniform.

Feeling better, I stretched and eyed Evelyn, but she didn’t look at me. She fooled with her instruments instead.

“There’s a formal hearing scheduled upstairs,” she said over her shoulder. “That’s why they brought you back—I guess.”

“Let me ask you something,” I said to her back. “Do you really think I’d commit mass destruction without a good cause?”

She mulled that over. “Maybe…”

“Fine then. Fine.”

A bit annoyed with her attitude, I walked out. Before I’d made it six long strides along the passageway, a door swung open and shut behind me.

“James?” she called out. “I—I don’t think you’d do it for nothing. Did you have a good reason?”

I glanced back and stopped. “I’ll tell you about it over dinner tonight.”

Evelyn puffed out her cheeks and shook her head. “I don’t know…”

“Suit yourself.” I turned around and started walking again.

“All right,” she said. “If you’re not permed by tonight, you’ve got a date.”

She vanished back inside the revival chamber, and I hit the elevators.

Two goons from Hegemony’s endless pool of such characters met me when the elevator dinged, and I stepped inside.

I touched a fingertip to the pad on the wall, and only a single floor number showed up on the options screen.

Four-oh-seven. That was a high number, up in brass country.

“Hmm…” I said. “I wonder where I should be heading…”

“Just press it, McGill,” said the hog on my left.

I looked at him. “Are you a clone?” I asked.

“What?”

“Never mind. I guess all you hogs look alike to me.”

They shifted uneasily, but they didn’t try anything. I could tell they were pissed off, but that was their problem.

I’d kind of hoped they’d give me an excuse to flatten one or the other of the pair—but they didn’t.

At last, the elevator dinged, and I was let off. Four-oh-seven was a high floor, but there was lots more building above me. The size of the Central was a downright spectacle, and my ears were still popping as I marched down another passage.

“Right here. These doors.”

I pushed open a pair of the biggest bronze doors I’d ever seen inside Central. Once inside, I realized I was in the praetor’s office. I’d been here once before, when I’d delivered a wrecked air car to him.

Three officers waited for me inside. Right off, I knew the roster wasn’t in my favor.

Praetor Drusus sat dead-center. To his right was Imperator Deech. To his left was Tribune Galina Turov.

You could hardly have gathered a group with less-friendly eyes to land on poor old James McGill. I stepped into the huge office, and after about fifty steps I reached the conference table.

Standing at attention on one side of it, I faced the tribunal.

Three officers was a bad sign. Under Hegemony Law, it took three superiors to order a man permed. I might have taken it for a coincidence—but unfortunately, I didn’t believe in coincidences.

“Adjunct James McGill,” Drusus began. “Here we are again.”

“Excuse me, Praetor,” Deech said. “Can we simply read out the verdict? I have several appointments to keep today, and we’re running over already.”

Drusus reached a calming hand toward her, but he didn’t quite pat her—I sensed he might have if I wasn’t present.

So that’s how it was. Deech and Drusus were still an item. As there was very little compassion between Deech and myself, I couldn’t see their love-affair as a positive.

“We’ll move quickly enough, I promise.”

He turned back to me, and I dared to frown.

“Um… sirs?” I asked. “I wasn’t exactly expecting a parade, but I’m confused about this lukewarm reception. Am I not one of a handful of legionnaires who bear the Dawn Star medal? Am I not the Hero of Blood World as well?”

“Here we go,” Turov said, shifting in her seat. “Is that really all you’ve got, James? Grandstanding?”

“Your past actions won’t absolve you of guilt in the present, McGill,” Drusus said. “This tribunal has been summoned to decide your fate. We have done so, and I’m afraid your trial in absentia didn’t go well. The verdict was unanimous. You’re to be executed for gross insubordination, incompetence, malicious—”

“Now, hold on a damned second!” I said. “My memory of events in no way matches with that particular list of crimes.”

Deech sighed and stretched her fingers. Drusus seemed entranced, eyeing her hands from his seat.

What the hell did that mean? I didn’t know, and I didn’t much care.

“Are you appealing the verdict, McGill?” Drusus asked.

“I surely am. I don’t even understand exactly what it is I’m supposed to have done.”

Drusus tore his eyes away from Deech’s hands and turned back to me. “When we last met, you told me a tale that was largely a fabrication. You reported that a fleet had arrived from Rigel and destroyed Nostrum.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“After that, you returned to 191 Eridani, better known as Dark World. Then, without orders or approval, you destroyed the space-factory and a very large number of personnel deployed on that same station.”

“Wait, wait!” I called out. “I didn’t kill anyone—no one human, anyway.”

They fiddled with their tablets and tappers. They clearly didn’t believe me.

That got me to look at my own tapper. Desperately, I searched the vid archives stored there. There wasn’t much, but some of the streams I’d captured as a matter of course during that harrowing hour were still there.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Deech said. “I thought we’d be finished before lunch.”

Drusus gave her a slight smile. I knew what that meant. She was offering him a nooner, and he was interested.

Damn.

“I got something. Check this out!”

With a flicking motion, I sent it to their desktop.

Deech reached out with a motion of her own, pressing down with her finger as if she were squashing a June bug. The vid stopped playing.

“I don’t see the point of this,” she said. “We’ve gone over all the evidence. Watching McGill destroy the station is no doubt instructive, but it can hardly overturn—”

Galina saved me. I hadn’t expected that. She reached out a hand, made a spinning motion with one finger, and set the clip I’d transmitted to the table to start playing.

Deech sat back, glowering. Her lips were compressed into an angry line.

What played were scenes of the security station. There were dead bodies everywhere—Iron Eagles in every form of repose.

“You see?” I demanded. “They were dead when I got there!”

“Unless you slaughtered them wholesale in a deleted moment,” Deech muttered.

I snorted with laughter. “How would I do that? A whole legion of Iron Eagles? If I’m that good, you should send me to Rigel to wreck the place singled-handed.”

“Look…” Turov said, pointing at a detail in the security displays. “Troops are outside on the hull, and they’re not ours.”

All three of them studied the vid, pausing it and zooming in with spreading fingers. The Rigellians crawled over the outer skin of the complex.

“They used radiation,” I explained. “Intense blasts, by my estimation. They killed pretty much everyone aboard, then boarded themselves.”

“Then why weren’t you killed, McGill?” Deech demanded.

“The antipersonnel radiation beams hit before I got back. They irradiated the structure, then started an invasion. In-between these events, I used the jump-gate to return to the station. When I realized what was happening… well, I took steps.”

Deech stood up angrily. She extended a long crooked finger in my direction.

“You destroyed the place! The most valuable construction platform in the known star systems. Our advanced base—all our plans—were destroyed with it.”

Drusus glanced at Deech and gestured toward her chair. “Please sit down, Imperator. This does put a different light on the events, McGill. You didn’t kill the Eagles… but why did you destroy the station? After all the effort we’d gone through to capture it?”

“Because, sirs, we’d already lost it. The enemy fleet was in the system. They had wiped out Varus on the ground, destroyed Nostrum, and burned away everybody from the Iron Eagles on the space-factory. At that point, I figured I was probably the last human in the star system.”

“Hmm…” Turov said. “So, you view your heinous act of destruction as excusable?”

“Better than that!” I boomed. “I had to do it. If you can’t capture an asset, you must deny it to the enemy.”

“But what if our fleet was about to arrive and change the situation again?” Deech demanded. “You had no way of knowing. You had no authority. You had—”

“I had to do it,” I repeated. “Besides, I knew the fleet wasn’t coming.”

Drusus and I looked at one another. He nodded.

“You realized I couldn’t afford to leave Earth undefended?” he asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s exactly right. We tried to do this whole mission on the cheap, and it didn’t work out. But still, I’d argue we’re better off than we were before. If we’d done nothing, Rigel would have the factory and we’d have zip.”

Drusus was nodding.

Deech was stunned. She stared at Drusus in disbelief.

“Am I getting the wrong vibe, here?” she asked. “Or is McGill actually swaying your thinking—again?”

“You’re correct in your assessment,” Drusus said. “Scorched Earth… That’s what it was—an old policy, but still fitting today. As McGill said, if you can’t capture an asset, destroy it.”

“I don’t believe he was able to divine our plans about the fleet,” she said, crossing her arms and turning away from Drusus. “It was guesswork. It would be a dangerous precedent to accept his explanation. He made decisions beyond his station again. He should have been permed the last time when he bombarded the planet. He’s only an adjunct, for God’s sake!”

Drusus was studying the vids, and I could tell he was doing some hard thinking.

“This court is adjourned,” he said. “All charges are dropped.”

“What? Just like that?”

Deech made some angry movements. Drusus looked up at her. “I thought you were in a hurry to move on with your day.”

“I’m skipping lunch,” she said. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

Looking as pissed-off as a wet cat, she gathered her things and stormed out.

Drusus looked after her tail-section as she exited. He looked wistful. I could understand his disappointment. I’d spent most of my life in the doghouse with one woman or another.

“Well,” Turov said, “I’m hungry. I’ll see you two later on.”

As Galina passed me, I gave her a small, up-down motion of the eyebrows. It was a question, even a suggestion.

She paused for a second, and then she gave me a tiny nod in return.

I watched her leave until the door snicked shut behind her fine posterior.

Turning back to Drusus, I was all grins. In contrast, he looked like someone had stolen his sunshine.

Finding it hard to care, I didn’t bother to apologize about anything. After all, he was the one who’d put me up on charges and held a private vote on my perming—not the other way around.

“McGill…” he said. “This mission went very badly. I can see now that you performed on the spot. You played the command part of this op better than I did from Central.”

“Uh… thank you, sir,” I said, surprised. “I must say, this change of heart is extreme.”

He pointed to the vids I’d given him. “You brought one thing to this discussion the others didn’t: Evidence. It’s cold and conclusive. It doesn’t lie. I always go with the evidence in the end, rather than emotion. That’s probably why I’ve climbed so high in rank. But still, you’ve taught me a thing or two today.”

I stood up. “Am I dismissed, sir?”

“In a moment. First, tell me what you would have done differently.”

“Uh… you mean with this entire operation?”

“Yes. I always seek input from my officers. You were on the spot, I wasn’t. In hindsight, how would you have played it?”

I hesitated. This was dangerous ground. The brass often asked me for a scrap of what passed for wisdom inside my brain, but they didn’t usually like what they got.

“Are you sure you really want to know what I think, sir?”

Drusus considered that seriously, then he nodded. “Don’t hold anything back.”

Sucking in a huge breath, I told him everything. All the bullshit that had gone on out there on Dark World, the rivalry between Turov and Deech—the works.

He looked a little sick by the time I’d finished.

“I was blind,” he said, staring at his desktop. “I shouldn’t have reversed their roles, then put them into combat together. It was a failure of leadership from the very beginning.”

“Aw now, don’t be so hard on yourself. I think this mission was tits-up before we launched. The Rigellians bet their fleet on it, and we didn’t. It’s as simple as that. We never stood a chance.”

Slowly, Drusus inclined his head and nodded.

“You may be right, Adjunct. Anything else?”

I thought for a second about all the horse-hockey that legion life was full of, but I knew I had to be realistic. Even a man with four sunbursts on his shoulders could only do so much.

“Yes, actually,” I said. “Part of the purpose of this mission was to experiment with blending Blood World troops into our legions.”

“That’s right,” Drusus said. “It’s a critical element. Have you got any thoughts in that department?”

I rubbed my face for a moment. “My opinion is it didn’t work well. The Blood World people are quite different. Their minds, culture—even their bodies are incompatible. Do you realize most of the littermates I lost out there were permed? No one has revived them.”

Drusus shrugged. “It’s a hard piece of math, but we can’t afford it. There are just too many of them.”

I pointed a finger at him. “That’s it, right there. Anything plentiful is cheap. My life is cheap, because everyone knows I’ll just come back tomorrow. Blood World troops are treated in an even worse way, however. Their lives mean nothing because there are millions of them. You don’t want to revive them because it’s cheaper to throw in a fresh body.”

Drusus leaned back and sighed. “There’s some truth to what you say. But remember as well that they won’t fit into our standard revival machines. We’d have to buy all new ones to support them the way we do the human legions. Also, your troops have decades of combat experience that can be retained. Blood Worlders are—for most purposes—all recruits.”

“Splats, huh? All of them? Well, if that’s how we’re going to play it, we should build up whole cohorts of them—separate and in no way equal to the human formations. When they’re embedded with us it’s a constant conflict. Every time we get a revive, they look around, wondering what happened to their brother who died last week.”

“Hmm…” Drusus said. “You’ve got a good point there. That could be quite a morale hit—especially since littermates are very attached to their brothers.”

“Damned straight it is. Mind you, I’d still prefer we buy a stack of big-ass revival machines—it’s only right.”

Drusus looked down, studying his desk. “This action was just a test, McGill. A trial balloon using our new, near-human troops. As this war expands, we plan to deploy them in serious numbers.”

“Then it seems unfair to me that they’re being treated so differently.”

“Is it? Historically, there have always been elite special forces, small in number, who get more resources than the rest of the main army. Whenever we deploy millions of human troops, as we did in defense of the Home World years ago, they don’t all get revives.”

I thought about that. He was right. We’d lost hundreds of thousands in that grim war, some of whom I’d counted as friends.

“All right,” I said. “I guess I’ve said my piece.”

“I thank you for your input and your candor, Adjunct. You’re dismissed.”

Hiking it out of there as fast as I could, I headed for the elevators.

Turov had all but promised me a nooner, and I wasn’t about to let that slide by. After all, this McGill was still an innocent virgin by my way of accounting such things.

-53-

Catching up to Galina Turov wasn’t always easy. Especially when your friends are very interested in the outcome of a certain hearing.

Carlos was the first to waylay me. He was waiting in the elevator lobby, leaning his ample butt against a big set of closed steel doors when I rushed up to punch the call button.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he said. “Hold on a second, big guy!”

“I’m in a hurry, Specialist.”

“Aw, come on, McGill. Just tell me, are we screwed or not?”

I frowned at him. The elevator display over the doors was ticking through numbers, but it wasn’t going fast enough for my taste. Waiting for an elevator in a building with around a thousand floors can take a long time.

“What do you mean, ‘we’?” I asked him.

“Do you really think I’m going to get out of this scott-free if you’re going down? Like it or not, I’m always blamed for your actions. I’m seen as a permanent accomplice. Now, tell me how bad it is.”

Thinking it over, I could see things from Carlos’ point of view. He had performed various actions in the past that had gotten him labeled a troublemaker.

I rattled the call button, cursing. “Goddamn it, this thing is always so slow.”

Carlos looked worried. He suddenly made a connection that wasn’t even there.

“You’re running out, aren’t you?” he demanded suddenly. “What’s the deal back there?”

“Where?”

“In Drusus’ office. Did you kill them all?”

I looked at him and shook my head in disbelief. “Would I do something like that?”

“Shit, yeah!”

“Well, I’m not running. I didn’t kill anyone, so you can stop panicking. We’re fine.”

He squinted at me, and he looked at the call button I’d selected.

“You’re going up? We’re pretty near the top already… But wait… Only Turov’s office is above this one. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re going to see her!”

I sighed. Carlos was almost as smart as he was annoying.

“Look,” I said. “It doesn’t matter where I’m going. Drusus listened to my side of the story, he checked out the vids I gave him, and he dismissed the case. It’s over.”

Mercifully, the elevator doors opened. I stepped inside and pushed Carlos back out again when he tried to follow me.

“Piss off, Specialist.”

He put his hand up to block the door from closing. “Are you expecting me to believe you talked your way out of this, then got an invite up to visit the hottest tribune in the service?”

“Something like that. Do you mind?”

“There’s something not right here,” he complained. “You’re cheating me out of the real story, at the very least. That’s it: you’re a chiseler, McGill.”

“Whatever, Carlos. Step back.” I gave him another little shove, and the doors began to close at last.

“Or maybe I should say: a jizzler…?” he asked.

He made an obscene gesture with his fingers until the doors finally closed.

I snorted with laughter. I knew he’d tell everyone he could about this private meeting with Turov. That boy was a curse in human form.

A few minutes later, I stepped out onto a higher floor and walked down a long corridor. At the end was Turov’s office.

It was really the office she’d been awarded when she was an imperator. As a tribune from a star-faring legion, she shouldn’t have been issued such prime real estate—but I guess no one around here had possessed the gonads to take it away from her.

Arriving at the office, I caught a sneer from the office-boy.

He jerked one thumb over his shoulder, indicating I should go inside. He didn’t even say anything. It was as if he’d been expecting me—perhaps he was.

I did as he suggested, but once inside, my fantasies of a quick romp with Galina vanished.

“There you are, Adjunct,” Primus Graves said.

“At last…” Winslade sneered. “It’s just like you to be late.”

Galina Turov was there too, standing behind her desk. She was wearing a nicely pressed, tight-fitting uniform—but she was very much dressed.

“Damn…” I muttered.

I’d misinterpreted her nod back at the praetor’s office. Whatever she’d had in mind—it wasn’t a nooner. Disappointed, I had no idea where this was going.

“You seem unenthusiastic,” Graves said, frowning. “That’s odd for a man who’s just been given a reprieve.”

“What were you expecting?” Winslade demanded. “A surprise party?”

“Uh…” I said, “something like that.”

“Absurd,” Winslade complained. “No one could have been certain how Drusus would react—unless you had inside information. Is that it, hmm?”

I threw up my hands and laughed. “You got me, Winslade. I’m a master manipulator, a prognosticator—and I’m clairvoyant, too. Now, can we get on with this meeting?”

“An excellent idea,” Turov said, gathering together a set of small boxes on her desk.

We all looked at the boxes warily. The last time three officers had been summoned to her office, she’d handed out demotions—to everyone except Evelyn.

This time, Evelyn was conspicuously absent.

“Rank-shuffling again?” Winslade asked. He crossed his arms and huffed, as if he wasn’t interested.

I wasn’t fooled. He cared—he cared a lot. His eyes gave him away. He couldn’t tear them off the boxes.

“I’ve given this a lot of thought,” Galina said.

She walked slowly around to our side of her desk, and she slid her butt up onto the desktop. She perched there with one leg dangling down. It was a provocative pose.

Was she teasing me? I wasn’t sure. Anything was possible with this woman.

“Last night,” she continued, “my choices became clear to me. Judgment is what I’m paid for, and so I’m exercising it today. Here are your boxes—I hope you’re all happy.”

Reaching for mine, I opened it up right off. There was no point in dragging things out as far as I was concerned.

Normally, I never much cared about whatever rank I was given, but I had to admit, that when I saw the red crest of a centurion in that box—I grinned.

“Looks like I got my old job back,” I said. “Thanks, Tribune.”

“You’ve earned it, James. I’ll have you know I wasn’t going to vote to perm you during that meeting with Drusus—no matter how things turned out.”

I didn’t believe her, of course, but I nodded and smiled anyway.

“Graves?” Turov asked. “You haven’t opened your box.”

He eyed it in stony silence.

“I’m already a primus,” he said. “And unless you’ve been promoted—”

She shook her head and tapped her epaulets. She was still a tribune.

“Right,” he said. “There can only be one tribune in a legion. Therefore, I’m—”

“Just open the damned thing, will you?” Winslade demanded.

Graves sucked in a breath and nodded. He opened his box.

Inside, there was a star—but it was a different kind of star.

Tribunes got one sunburst, two for Imperator and so on up the line. A primus also got a star, but it was a less impressive looking one. It didn’t look like it was exploding into a supernova, it was just a simple star.

That’s what I saw at first, but then I noticed the color. It was red in the center.

“Is that a jewel or something?”

“It’s a blood drop,” Graves said. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?” I asked.

“It’s a ruby, James,” Turov explained. “A small red gem in the center of the star of a primus. It indicates Graves is the senior primus in Legion Varus.”

Winslade appeared very sour indeed. “I get it. You’re moving Graves up to be your replacement designate. Very clever. Now, you can safely restore my rank without fear that I might be mistaken as your favored officer.”

“Favor has nothing to do with it,” Graves said. “At least… it shouldn’t. I’ve been with Legion Varus for over ninety years now.”

Winslade twisted up his lips and rolled his eyes. I could tell he didn’t care about Graves and his seniority.

“In any case,” Graves said, “I thank you for the vote of confidence, Tribune.”

“And now, Winslade,” Turov purred. “It’s your turn.”

Winslade eyed his box in trepidation. I knew that out of the three of us, he cared the most about his precious rank. The only more ambitious climbers I knew of were Turov and Deech.

“Oh, all right,” he said, and he ripped it open.

His face lit up. Stunned, he lifted the simple star of a primus.

“I… I’m shocked.”

“You should be. But the box isn’t empty yet. Keep digging.”

Frowning, Winslade dug a finger into the box. He fished out another item—it was a blue patch.

We all recognized it instantly. It was a blue globe—the symbol of Hegemony.

“Ha!” I shouted, pointing. “You’re a hog, Winslade!”

Winslade stared at it with a funny look on his face, I wasn’t sure if he was happy or not—and I don’t think he knew right then, either.

But finally, he drew in a deep breath and nodded to Galina seriously.

“I accept your offer, Tribune. All charges are hereby dismissed.”

Galina nodded, and I realized a deal had been done.

Only Graves seemed annoyed by the revelation. In his mind, you got rank for a job well done—but I’d learned over the years that didn’t always count for as much as it ought to.

-54-

Galina kicked everyone out of her office after her little birthday present routine—everyone, that was, except for me.

“Are you happy with your rank, James?” she asked.

“Yeah…” I said, watching as she took the nano-adhesive emblems and fixed them on my lapels.

She had to stand on her tiptoes to do it, and I found her closeness distracting.

After she fastened the second red crest, I snaked an arm around her back.

She had the gall to look startled. “Centurion?” she asked. “Are you taking liberties with my person?”

“Uh…” I said. “Only if it’s okay with you, sir.”

She appeared to consider it for a long moment. Finally, she nodded.

I bent down and kissed her immediately. I lifted her up in the air, slipping one big hand under her butt.

“Don’t worry about any cameras,” she said. “I took care of all that. This office is airtight and full of disruptive jamming.”

“Oh… good idea. That’s why you got rid of Winslade, isn’t it? You sent him packing to Hegemony because of his bullshit harassment charges?”

“Yes. It was a good deal, don’t you think? I dropped my charges of espionage against him, and he dropped his case against me.”

It did sound reasonable, but I found something else bothered me while I made out with her.

Coming up for air, I frowned. “Just one thing—why’d you make him into a hog?”

“I don’t want his kind of disloyalty in my legion,” she said.

“But I thought you wanted to go back to being a hog yourself.”

She frowned now, and she pushed off my chest, landing lightly on the floor. “You’re ruining the moment.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll shut up if you prefer.”

“I do—but I’ll answer your question first. I’ve decided to embrace Varus. This legion sucks, don’t get me wrong. But I’ve been stuck with the rank of imperator for over a decade. I need to have more battlefield experience to warrant further promotions.”

I nodded slowly, catching on. “You’re following in Deech’s footsteps, then.”

“It worked for her.”

The conversation lagged, and I approached Galina again. At first, she was stiff and she turned her small face away—but she soon got back in the mood.

We had a fine time. As fine as any I could remember.

When I walked out, I was still adjusting my uniform. The smart cloth crawled over my back and knitted up at the sleeves.

There, in the reception area, was the boy-toy secretary and one other person—the last one I wanted to meet right now: Bio Centurion Evelyn Thompson.

“Ah, are you finished with your private meeting so soon?” the adjunct boy-toy said in a delighted tone.

I glanced at him in confusion, and he gave me a shitty grin. Then he indicated Evelyn with a flourish.

“She was looking for you,” he said. “So I told her to come right up here and wait. You two are going on a date tonight I understand—isn’t that right?”

“Uh…” I said.

Evelyn looked like someone had shot her. Her mouth transformed into a tiny, tight bud of pink, and she stood up in a rage.

Before I snapped out of my surprise, she’d straight-armed the door and begun marching down the corridor.

“Thanks, shit-head,” I told the secretary.

“Anytime, McGill. I’m always down with supporting our heroes.”

Under different circumstances, I might have cold-cocked him right there—but Evelyn was disappearing too fast.

I went after her, feeling a pang of guilt.

Anyone watching this scene would be apt to judge the likes of old James McGill harshly. Sure, I was a scoundrel, a cad, and even a near-professional liar. But there were extenuating circumstances when it came to Evelyn.

Just a few years ago, she’d been regularly paid by Turov to sleep with me. She’d been a spy—one who’d seduced her mark and kept up a false relationship for months.

Worse, there was more blood under the bridge with the two of us. The further back anyone looked into our past, the more depraved it became. We’d murdered one another, lied about each other, and even made efforts to get each other permed.

It wasn’t the strongest formula for a romantic relationship.

“Evelyn!” I called after her.

She didn’t even bother to glance back. She walked faster instead.

Fortunately, God saw fit to give me legs like a giraffe. Unless the woman outright broke into a trot, there was no way she was out-walking me.

By the time we got to the elevator lobby, I caught up. She stabbed at the buttons like a woman demented—but we were pretty far up. The nearest car was about eighty floors below.

“Leave me alone,” she said, facing the closed metal doors.

“Um…” I said, stepping to her side and looking at her profile.

She was crying.

Damn, that hurt. I hadn’t expected it.

“Aw now, look,” I said. “I’m real sorry. I know we had a date later, and I don’t blame you at all for hating me right now.”

“I do hate you—and I hate myself, too.”

“Uh… why’s that?”

She sucked in a breath and wiped her cheeks with the heel of her palm.

“Because I deserve this. I treated you badly before—why shouldn’t you treat me like dirt now?”

“Aw, come on,” I said. “You’re making me feel bad.”

“Don’t bother,” she said. “Forget about it. We can’t be together, James. We’re just too different—or too much alike. I don’t know which.”

The elevator dinged, and she got on. She didn’t even look at me, so I stepped back to let her go.

But then, I had a thought.

My long arm snapped out, blocking the doors.

“Damn you,” she said in a weepy voice. “Can’t you just—?”

“No, I can’t,” I said. “Because I found something—something about the book. I never got a chance to tell you about it.”

Slowly, wiping her face, Evelyn turned around. The expression on her face was hard to read.

“You’re just saying this. To get into my pants, or make yourself feel better—or something.”

I shook my head slowly. “We can’t talk here.”

“I’m not taking you to my place. You can forget that.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s go get a bite. Somewhere public and noisy.”

Thinking it over, she made a grunting sound of distress and waved me into the elevator with her.

The way down to street-level was a long, long ride. There’s nothing like having a hurt, pissed-off girl trapped in close quarters with you for several silent minutes.

When we reached the lobby, I didn’t step out.

“I’m going down farther,” I said. “Wait for me at the restaurant.”

“Why?”

“I have to get someone.”

Alarmed and confused, she squinted at me as the doors shut and I was whisked away, deeper and deeper, heading into the very bowels of Central.

I’d been down this far before—but there always seemed to be something else even farther down. Some said Central was taller underground than it was aboveground, but I didn’t know if that was true or not.

I did know that if you exited the main elevators at the bottom floor, crossed several security checkpoints to another elevator lobby—you could go down farther.

That’s what I did now, heading to the lab levels where Floramel worked.

Floramel and her kind were strange birds any day of the week. But I felt like I understood them, in a way.

Being near-humans, they just weren’t like most people. They called normal folk “basics” because we’d provided the basic genetic stock the rest had been bred from.

I guess a wolf in the wild is a “basic” to a sheepdog, or a pug. Like those animals, every type of near-human had been bred to accentuate a specific quality. In Floramel’s case, scientists like her had been designed to be serious thinkers.

Sometimes, I felt I was a near-human myself.

Naturally, I wasn’t allowed into the labs themselves. I was stopped outside by an unsmiling set of guards. They wore dark goggles, shading their eyes, even though we were indoors—way indoors. I figured we had to be a couple of kilometers underground.

After cajoling and talking big, I finally got them to call Floramel out to greet me.

“McGill?” she asked, looking surprised in her lab coat.

I took a moment to admire her form. She had an unearthly beauty to her, a lankiness that was exotic, but not too thin and skeletal. It just seemed like her bones were longer than normal.

That was a stroke of luck for both of us. Usually, near-humans were butt-ugly. Breeding a person for a specific purpose didn’t always make a handsome shape in the end. But with Floramel—it had.

“You’re looking great today, doll,” I said.

“Are you serious? This is another attempt to gain sexual access?”

She got a nervous laugh out of me with that line. The hog guards in their funny goggles were watching me, but they didn’t look amused at all.

“No, no, no,” I said. “Can’t a man compliment a girl without having people get the wrong idea? Where I come from, that’s just being polite.”

“So… you don’t mean it?” Floramel asked.

“Of course I mean it!” I said, becoming exasperated. “I do think you look pretty. But I mentioned that just in passing. It wasn’t my reason for coming all the way down here.”

“Good. I know you helped me return to life—but you also presided over the death of everyone I know well on Earth the last time we met. In short, if this is a play for my attentions, you’re about to be severely disappointed.”

“Uh… okay. Listen-up, I’ve arranged a meeting with an interested party to discuss a certain piece of literature we’ve reviewed together. Can you come out with us to lunch?”

Floramel frowned. “Us? What’s the gender of this additional person?”

“Damn girl, you’re a paranoid one, but yes—she’s a woman.”

She looked me up and down once, then turned to the nearest guard. “I’m taking an outside meal. Log me out, please.”

The hog ran his tapper over hers. He didn’t say squat. These guards down here—they were kind of spooky. I wasn’t sure if it was all an act, or if they really were as hard-ass as they seemed.

Shrugging off such thoughts, I accompanied Floramel to the elevators.

Now would come the hard part. I’d told Evelyn that I had information on her book—but that had been a lie.

It wasn’t a cruel, cold-blooded lie. It was more of an estimate. Floramel was smart. I was banking on that. When I’d left Earth, I’d hidden the book at home, but Floramel had already read it. I’d left her a note asking her to work on what she’d learned from it when she was revived. By now, I was hoping she’d had plenty of time to figure out its mysteries.

In the elevator, she turned to me.

“So, this is about the book, am I correct?”

“Uh… let’s not talk about that. Not yet, anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Well, seeing as we were attacked and both killed the last time we discussed it, I figure it might be best if we got to a safer place first.”

She appeared to be alarmed at the idea.

“Did Raash kill me because of the book?”

“I think so. He said at the time it was because he’d found me, a better target. He said he was trying to get back to Steel World, back into the good graces of his prince. I also met Claver recently, and he said Raash was working for him.”

“So strange,” she said, staring at nothing. “He seemed honestly grateful for my help.”

“Yeah, well… sometimes people aren’t what they seem.”

She looked at me. “You’re living proof of that.”

I wasn’t quite sure how to take her comment, so I decided to assume it was intended as high praise.

“Thanks!” I said, giving her a grin.

Floramel fell quiet, studying me with sidelong glances.

It was a strange reunion. She’d slept with me shortly before I’d left Earth, but we’d both gotten killed that same night. By the time I got her revived, I’d been flying out to Dark World aboard Nostrum.

From her point of view, I’d slept with her, then gotten her killed and run off. It wasn’t a fair recollection of events, but that’s probably how it seemed to her.

Fortunately, I’m a man who’s had quite a bit of experience with disappointed females. Her sulky attitude washed right off me.

By the time we hit the streets, I was whistling a tune.

“Could you stop making that high-pitched warbling noise?” she asked.

“Don’t like my whistling, huh?”

She shook her head.

“Okay, let’s talk a little before we meet this other person. What have you figured out about the book since we last met?”

“Not much, other than it’s about a certain planet—and the Mogwa.”

I stopped in the middle of a crosswalk and grabbed her arms.

Her eyes studied my hands, one at a time.

“Is this an assault?”

“The Mogwa?” I hissed. “Seriously?”

“Are you attempting to initiate another breeding session? Again?”

It occurred to me then that we were highly exposed. Sure, there were plenty of people around, but we were also standing in a busy street. If someone gunned a van, or fired a rifle from high up—well, there wasn’t anything to get in their way.

“Come on,” I said, and I looped an arm through hers. I walked fast, half-dragging her out of the street traffic.

“This has never happened to me before,” Floramel said. “Are you armed?”

“Uh… I usually am, yeah. Why?”

“In most cases, according to my research, abductions are performed by armed men.”

Reaching a dusty alley between two buildings, I ducked a few steps into it and stopped hustling her.

I sighed. “I’m sorry, Floramel. You’ve got the wrong idea again—but that’s my fault. I’m trying to protect you, not harm you. If you’ve got information about the Mogwa—well, that explains a lot. People all over this galaxy would kill for something like that.”

Floramel looked confused. “You’re not abducting me?”

“No, no. Sorry if I scared you. I just wanted to get you out of the open street.”

She looked around. “This isn’t a suitable place for sex, consensual or otherwise.”

I rolled my eyes. She caught that and understood the meaning.

“You think I’m being foolish?” she asked.

“Yes, you’re getting there. You read a lot, and I think you tend to take a lot of it too literally.”

“I see…”

“Let’s try to make it to the restaurant. It’s right this way.”

I took her another thousand hurried steps down the block, and we ducked into a dim-lit place with old-fashioned holo-vid greenery flickering on the walls.

Floramel looked around with mild surprise. “This is a restaurant—and that person over there is as you described. She’s waving.”

“Yeah, yeah. This is legit. Come on before she gets mad and runs off again.”

“You have that effect on many women.”

“Yep, I sure do.”

We all sat down together, ordered drinks and lunch, and waited until the auto-waiter was gone. All these dingy places had robot waiters these days. Honest-to-goodness human servants cost too much, I guess.

After a few minutes of pleasantries, Evelyn got down to business first. She leaned toward Floramel and spoke in a raspy whisper.

“What have you got? What have you figured out?”

“It’s quite interesting,” Floramel said. “At first, I assumed James was attempting to breed with me. However, as the encounter progressed and grew ever more odd, I came to realize that—”

“Uh…” I said, leaning in. “I think she’s asking about the book, Floramel. What did you learn in your lab after you read the book?”

Evelyn’s eyes slid to me, giving me an acid-filled glance. Then, she slid those eyes back to Floramel again.

“Yes,” she said. “Let’s hear about the book.”

“I only had the opportunity to study it once,” she said. “But I possess an eidetic memory. The book is clearly about the Mogwa, I believe. There are too many similarities. An insectile people on an overgrown world—very much like a planet occupied by the Wur—come up with a way to decimate the population of another planet.”

Evelyn squinted at her. “That’s nothing like the synopsis I read on the grid.”

Floramel shrugged. “That puzzled me too, at first. However, it has been two hundred years since the book was published. Possibly, errors or purposeful misinformation has been placed online about it.”

“For what purpose?” Evelyn asked.

“To hide its true nature, of course.”

“Which is what, exactly?” I demanded.

I was tired of hints and half-answers, but when I got the real thing, I was blown away.

“It’s a treatise,” Floramel said, “disguised as fiction. A blueprint for a scheme.”

“A scheme to do what?” I asked.

“To kill the Mogwa,” Evelyn said flatly. “Our direct rulers among the Galactics—doesn’t every rebel want to kill their king?”

Floramel looked at her. “Yes, that’s exactly right. I don’t know how you missed it, James. Perhaps you were distracted by your present company.”

I fell back in my chair, blown away.

A manual on killing the Mogwa? No wonder Claver, Raash, and God knows who else wanted it.

-55-

That night, I went to bed alone in a hotel room. It was hard to sleep for several reasons.

For one thing, I’d spent the day with two of my ex-lady friends. That always got a man’s mind working. But on top of that, I’d learned about something I didn’t know existed—a way to kill the Mogwa.

According to Floramel, the first edition version contained details on creating a biological weapon. It was all disguised as the fiction in the story, but she’d tried it and then experimented on various cell samples down in her secret labs.

Now, we’re not supposed to have Mogwa prisoners, or Mogwa anything—but we do.

The funny thing was, I was directly responsible for the tissue she’d experimented on. Years ago, I’d killed a Mogwa on Earth. That act had nearly gotten me and everyone else on the planet permed, but it also had allowed the spookiest of our science types an opportunity.

From that burnt-out husk of an air car, the one I’d slid down the side of Central before journeying off to Machine World, they’d managed to extract living tissue.

It wasn’t much. It was a lump about the size of a hamburger patty. But they’d kept it alive all these years—just in case.

Floramel had requisitioned a micro-sample, and she’d grown a culture from that. The bio agent she’d cooked up according to the formula in the book had killed it immediately.

Death spores, that’s what they were.

Now, finding a new way to kill a species might not seem like a big deal. There were literally millions of ways to kill any fleshly being.

But this bio-terminator was different. It was harmless to pretty much all life except for the Mogwa. That meant you could dust a planet with it—or even your own troops—with no ill effects.

Only the Mogwa would die.

Under normal circumstances, even learning all this couldn’t keep me from sleeping. I could sleep like a baby while awaiting a nasty execution.

But what had done the trick was the next thought that occurred to my plodding mind after I learned of this substance: What was I going to do with the information?

Should I—or we, since Floramel was involved—go to the lab authorities in Central? Or maybe directly to Drusus?

I just wasn’t sure. I’d been killed repeatedly concerning this topic over a long, long period. That meant there were people around seeking the information, or trying to prevent it from coming out.

Maybe Raash, Floramel’s neighbor, had been such an agent. Maybe he’d been on the book’s trail—I just wasn’t sure.

Claver had certainly been interested, and I was pretty sure Evelyn was—which meant Turov was in the know as well.

Damn it.

What the hell should I do?

With all this on my mind, sleeping was almost out of the question, but I managed to pass out anyway. It’d been a long, long day.

Sometime before dawn a loud snapping sound woke me up.

Surging awake with a snarfing roar, I rolled out of bed onto the floor.

A familiar dirty laugh met my ears. “Now, now, boy—my apologies! I was getting bored waiting for you to wake up.”

Claver was standing at the windows. To make the noise that had awakened me, he’d double-tapped the window. It had simulated the quick rolling up of shades.

The shades were illusory, of course. In fact, the predawn scene depicting Central outside might have been fake as well. It was hard to tell these days, the screens were so good.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?” I demanded, clawing out a gun. I aimed it at him and wiped the sleep from my eyes.

“Settle down,” he said. “I’m just visiting.”

“I should kill you where you stand.”

He shrugged. “You can if you like. It might even feel nice. But then, you’ll have to fill out a lot of forms for the police, and after that, you’ll finally start to wonder…”

“Wonder what?”

“What brought old Claver to your room tonight…? And why was he in such a good mood for the first time in years…?”

My hand twitched. It wanted to shoot him—and my hand usually has good instincts in these situations.

I almost listened to my gut reaction—but I couldn’t quite do it.

For one thing, I knew he was right. I’d seen his operation—wherever it was—with his air-jellies and his obedient clones. He would get a revive, because there were plenty of Clavers of varying types waiting to do it.

“All right,” I said. “What do you want, Alpha-Claver?”

“That’s Prime,” he corrected. “I’m a Prime Claver. Or a Claver-Prime, if you prefer.”

Not caring in the slightest, I shook my head. “Whatever. The last time we met, you killed me.”

“Wrong,” he said. “That’s ingratitude, right there. Makes it hard to do a man a kind turn when he talks like that.”

I snorted. “What kind turn?”

“You were as good as permed out there on Dark World, but I saw the light in my heart, and I arranged a revive for you back here on Earth. If that’s not a good turn, what is? You wanted to go home, didn’t you? Did you expect to take a chartered flight?”

“So… you’re here for the book. Is that it? That was the deal.”

“No,” he said, surprising me. “I’ve already got it. That’s why I’m here. This is a courtesy call, so to speak.”

“You found the book?” I asked in concern. “That means you were digging around down at my place?”

I aimed my pistol into his face. A red dot shined over his nose.

“It’s hard for a man to think when you’re doing that,” Claver complained.

I was angry. I’d left the book down in Georgia, at my parent’s place. If he’d been sniffing around my family’s home—well, that was beyond the pale. But I needed information, and he was here to provide it, so I fought to control my emotions.

“Are you going to put that gun down so we can talk?” Claver asked.

Thinking about that, I nodded, and I set my gun aside.

“All right,” I said dangerously. “Talk. How exactly did you get the book?”

He looked troubled for just a second. That was a rare look on Claver’s face. It concerned me.

“I traded for it,” he said. “I’m a trader, after all.

Snatching up my pistol again, I aimed it at his right nostril. A tiny red dot played there.

“Did you break into my house? Did you molest my family?”

He blinked.

That was it, right there. I knew a tell when I saw one. Whatever he was going to say next, it was a lie.

He did open his mouth. He was about to speak his lie—but I didn’t want to hear it.

I shot him in the face. He pitched forward, gargling and wheezing briefly until all that stopped, and then he relaxed in death.

The next hour or so was a sheer panic for me. I threw my stuff together and rushed for the train station. Every step or two, I tried to call my folks.

But they kept their tappers on silent at night. Too many sales offers, crap like that. It could buzz your arm off all night long if you let it.

Etta wasn’t answering, either. She’d been mad at me before I’d left, but I’d figured she’d be over it by now—but I guess she wasn’t.

It wasn’t until dawn that I got a call back from my father.

“James?” he asked. “What’s all the fuss about?”

“Dad, has anything gone wrong down there? I’m on my way home to Georgia right now on the sky-train.”

“Uh…” he said, and I knew there was something up. Finally, he sighed. “We weren’t going to tell you until you got home. Etta’s left, James. She made us promise not to talk about it right away.”

That stunned me.

“Dad? Are you kidding me? Where’d she go?”

“She went to visit her grandfather. She said he’s been ill, lately, and—”

“On Dust World?” I demanded.

“Yes. It’s supposed to be a short trip, no more than two months. We didn’t think you’d be too upset about it, as she—”

“Dad, where’d she get the money?”

He hesitated. “We asked her that. She said her grandfather arranged the ticket.”

I snorted at that idea. The Investigator wasn’t a sentimental man. I doubted he gave much of a shit what his granddaughter did.

But that didn’t matter. I knew where she’d gotten the money—and that realization hit me hard.

Etta knew my place. She knew my hiding spots. She’d found the book—and she’d sold it to Claver.

I signed off with my dad as quickly as I could.

Feeling a little gut-sick, I sat back in my seat and stared outside the sky-train. The Earth was waking up, with a pink sky lighting up the world under me. The ocean out to the east was slate-gray. A few silvery dots moved here and there below—air cars, mostly.

My own daughter had sold me out. She’d stolen the book, and given it to my worst enemy.

There just wasn’t any easy way for a man’s mind to come to terms with that.

-56-

By the time I got home, it was morning. I met my folks and gave them hugs and all that. They were upset about Etta leaving, but they weren’t distraught. They didn’t understand what she’d done—and I didn’t enlighten them.

Etta wasn’t coming back. I knew that right off. You don’t go and pull a stunt like the one she did and then do a U-turn back to your folks’ house the next week—at least, you don’t if you’re like my kid.

She was stubborn. A mule of a girl, who’d never liked listening to anyone.

I knew that was partly my fault, of course. I’d provided at least half of the genetics that had put the evil in her.

Even accounting for her nature, it was a disappointing betrayal. She’d always been close to me, and we’d always been a tight team. She’d had my back, and I’d had hers. To break those rules, to go against the family—well, that hurt.

Naturally, I didn’t tell my parents jack-squat about what was really going on. When there’s a painful moment of revelation staring me in the face, I always put it off until tomorrow. When I couldn’t dodge any longer, I made up some lies to push the day of reckoning even farther away. I’m not proud of it—that’s just my approach to life.

Months passed. Soon, it was springtime, and Legion Varus was still demobilized for some much needed shore leave. Things wouldn’t stay that way forever, but with luck, my vacation might last as long as a year.

Deciding to enjoy what I could of each day, I did my damnedest to string along my parents. I was full of bright reasons as to why Etta wasn’t calling or writing to us—much less coming back home. One day kind of slid into the next, and it was late May before I knew it.

Then came a night, just before I was about to retire for the evening, when my tapper beeped with a special tone. The sound signified a private call was incoming.

That was unusual as I always set my tapper to allow only emergency calls from high-level people—or my low-level friends.

Glancing at it, I saw the ID, and my face shifted from curious to concerned.

“Galina?” I asked, answering the call.

“Please use my title, Centurion.”

“Of course,” I said quickly. “Sorry… Hello Tribune. What’s up?”

“I… I’ve learned some things. I’d like to discuss them with you.”

“Uh… does this mean I have to fly up to your office?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I’m already here, in Georgia. My God, how hot and sticky your nights are down here, McGill. How can you stand to live in this swamp?”

Frowning, I walked to my window and split the shade with my fingers. My windows consisted of old-fashioned honest-to-God shades covering panes of glass, not some kind of cheap screen that reimagined what the outdoors looked like.

I didn’t see anything, other than the darkness and shadowy trees. The swamp seemed quiet.

“Well, if you’re already down here, you might as well come see me,” I said. “Where are you, exactly?”

“Out on the road. In my air car.”

“Oh, I get it!” I said, relieved.

I’d thought she might have brought an arresting army with her—it wouldn’t have been the first time she’d sent goons to my door.

I walked to my south-facing window and peeped outside.

Now I saw her. A vehicle squatted on the highway. It looked like an air car—even though I could only see the glow of the running lights from here.

“Hey, if you’re right here, maybe I should come out. We could go into town.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never seen your place. It’s been in so many reports of… incidents. I’m mildly curious about it. Do you mind if I come in?”

“Uh…” I said, looking around my dirty shack in alarm. “I guess that would be okay…”

“Good, I’ll be right there.”

Being a long-term bachelor, I wasn’t the finest housekeeper in the world. In fact, I was more of a pig.

Racing around the place, I began scooping and shoving. I sprayed the toilet, the couch, and my dishes with some nano stain-eater. Everything bubbled up with silver foam. Soon, things glistened and began to smell better.

Throwing open the door and the windows, I aired the place out as best I could—but it still was a little ripe by the time she walked up.

Putting on my best Georgia grin, I greeted her and stepped aside so she could enter.

She paused at the doorway, looking around in concern.

I’d witnessed this effect on women any number of times. There was something about my dank lair that set them ill-at-ease. Possibly, they knew in their heart-of-hearts that this was a place that was completely unfeminine. That was reinforced by the dark, the stains, the musk of my shoved-away laundry, and countless other details.

Letting her soak it all in, I didn’t say a thing. Apologies, excuses—they never did a damned bit of good in these moments of indecision. I had to let her decide if she’d made a mistake or not.

Finally, she walked past me and sat on my couch. It was just about the only piece of real furniture that I had, and it doubled as my bed.

Mildly surprised, I gave her a big smile. “Welcome to my home, sir.”

She tilted her head forward, a suggestion of a nod. “Now you can call me Galina. It’s appropriate.”

“Okay Galina. What will you have? I’ve got beer, and… I think there’s some milk left—but that may have gone sour.”

“In that case, I’ll have a beer.”

“Do you want a glass?”

Her eyes ran over my sink full of dishes. The mercury-like shine of the nanites cleansing them was obvious.

“I’d rinse it off first, of course,” I said.

“Um… just give me the bottle.”

I did, and I cracked one open for myself. We sipped our beverages and studied one another.

“Galina,” I asked, “why’d you call? Why didn’t you just come and knock at my door?”

“I’ve heard things…” she said. “I didn’t think it would be a good idea to surprise you at night.”

“Oh yeah… right. Okay, maybe that was good thinking. I wish more people would call first now that you mention it.”

“Your tapper is usually unavailable.”

“Not for you!” I told her truthfully. “You can always get through.”

She smiled and sipped her beer.

For some reason, she seemed awkward and uncertain. That was weird for her. She was a woman who behaved with the utmost confidence most of the time. I wasn’t sure what was on her mind tonight.

Sex? Maybe. But if Galina wanted that, a man could always tell.

She sucked in a breath, making her chest rise and fall. I watched her curiously. I honestly had no idea what she was about to say.

“James,” she said at last, “I’ve learned of some things… Very bad things.”

“Like what?”

“Do you know of a book called, The Eaters of Lotus?”

I blinked.

That was bad—but then I looked down at my filthy carpet before answering and blew it completely,

Dammit. I looked as guilty as Hell. I might as well have started sobbing.

When I opened my mouth to lie, she put up a hand, stopping me.

“Don’t bother,” she said. “I can see that you have—and I knew the answer was yes before I asked the question, anyway.”

“Uh… okay…” I said, still confused.

Galina struggled to explain herself.

Often, when a person is discussing something that’s difficult for them, it’s just best to shut up. Any hinting on my part might dilute the information I was about to receive.

Upping the stakes was the fact my daughter Etta was involved in the book’s recent change of status. That simple reality made me want to play this the safest way I could.

“The book contains things that can’t be known,” Galina said. “We need to get it back. We need to destroy it.”

“Uh…” I said. “It’s gone.”

She closed her eyes, and she nodded. “I feared that’s what you would say.”

“No, really. It’s gone. If it helps any, the secrets in it have already been figured out, and Central has them.”

Galina’s head snapped back up.

“How is that possible?”

“Well… I happen to know firsthand that the bio-terminator described in the book has been developed and tested. What’s more—it works.”

She looked stunned. “I can’t believe you know such things, and I don’t. Drusus… that bastard, he’s always pushing me out of every loop he can!”

I took absolutely no steps to correct her false line of logic. Floramel had done all the work privately and told me about it. No brains were required on my part to realize it was better for her to blame Drusus than Floramel—so I clammed up.

“Okay,” she said. “I came here to learn about the book, and I learned far more than I’d bargained for. That makes me inclined to believe you.”

“It’s all the truth. The whole truth, the honest truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me.”

“Where’s the book, then? If you don’t have it, where did it go?”

“Uh… Claver took it.”

“WHAT?”

“My daughter was here alone. He got her to give it to him.”

Galina stood up. “That monster! Is she all right?”

My mind churned. She’d again taken a wrong turn in the logical sequence of events—but that was a good thing, to my way of thinking. There was nothing positive about the idea that Etta had turned traitor to me, Earth—and hell, the entire Empire.

“She’s okay,” she said. “I sent her to Dust World—that’s where she was born.”

Galina nodded, thinking hard. “I get it. You wanted to protect her. I don’t blame you—if Claver came and managed to use her once, he’d do it again. I’d love to kill him and all his clones.”

Right there, she’d let drop another bit of information in my direction.

She knew of Claver’s lair—at least, that’s what it sounded like. In the past, she’d had a lot of private dealings with the old trader. It stood to reason that she’d know some of his secrets.

“Okay…” she said. “You’ve been reasonably honest with me. I know this because I verified much of what you said before I arrived. I knew you had the book at some point, and I suspected you’d lost it. I knew your daughter was involved in that process, and that she’s left Earth. Now, I see how all the pieces fit together.”

She lifted her tapper to her face, and she spoke to it.

“Primus, stand down. Remove all assets. The ball isn’t here.”

“McGill is cleared?” Graves’ voice spoke.

It gave me a chill to hear him. Could a cohort of troops be out there in the bog, encircling my place even now? It was more than possible.

“McGill is clear. Withdraw.”

“Do you need an escort, Tribune? I can extract—”

“No, damn you. Withdraw. I’ve got my air car. I’ll leave later.”

There was a brief moment of silence. A hesitation. Then, finally, he spoke again in a resigned voice. “Graves out.”

I could tell by his tone that he didn’t approve, but I also knew that Galina Turov usually did whatever she damned-well pleased.

“Wow,” I said, and I upended my brew.

I drained it and cracked open another.

Galina watched me, and she did the same.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That book—it’s just so important. Do you have any idea who might have bought it from Claver?”

“He didn’t say.”

“No… Of course not. It could have been any of the Galactics that rival the Mogwa. Or even the Rigellians.”

My eyes widened. I hadn’t even considered such things. But she was probably right. If Claver was working so hard to get the book, that meant he already had a buyer all lined up.

Who would want a book that gave away the secrets to a genocidal weapon—one that only worked on the Mogwa?

Any enemy—no, make that every enemy they had. The list was long and distinguished.

“I’m glad to hear we managed to glean the secrets before it was stolen,” she said. “That might be critical in the future.”

“How so? Are we trying to exterminate the Mogwa?”

“Probably not. But there are other uses… If we gave them the formula, for example, they might be able to come up with a cure before they got hit with it. That might be quite valuable to them.”

“Oh…” I said, thinking it over. “Tell me, Galina, why’d you come down here personally? Why not just send Graves with fifty goons?”

She looked a little shy. “Because I owe you,” she said.

“Um… for what, in particular?”

“Have you been keeping up with the legion news articles online?”

“I sure have!”

“No…” she said, “of course you haven’t. That might disturb your meditation, or whatever it is you do down here in this marsh. Give me some whiskey now, and I’ll fill you in on what’s been happening at Central.”

It was an unexpected request, and I could tell from the way she was talking that those first two beers were already having an effect on her. Galina had never built up much of a tolerance for alcohol.

“You sure you want to drink hard liquor right now?” I cautioned her.

“Yes, dammit! Give it to me.”

I shrugged, and I poured. After all, the woman was over fifty, even if she’d kept her body down as close to twenty as she could by dying every few years.

In fact, she’d died just a month or two back aboard Nostrum. Maybe that’s why her face seemed all young again.

Her face was more intoxicating to me than the booze right about now. I hadn’t had a date since Etta left, and that was a long, long time in my book.

We drank a shot each, and she didn’t seem to care any longer about the status of my glassware. After she’d gulped her drink, she sighed and relaxed.

“You were saying something about why you owe me?” I prompted.

“It was glorious,” she said. “I don’t know what you said to Drusus after he dismissed your trial—but it must have been hard on him.”

“Yeah…?” I said, thinking it over. “I just talked to him about how things went out on Dark World.”

“What did you say?”

“That it seemed like a giant charley-foxtrot to me.”

“It was,” she laughed. “A cluster-hump of the first order!”

“When I talked to him, Drusus was contrite. He seemed to blame himself.”

“As well he should!” she said, suddenly angry. “How could he expect us to get along? He’d just switched our ranks for fun and then shipped us out to fight together! It was such bullshit!”

I knew she was talking about Deech. From her point of view, the situation had been made intolerable by the presence of that other woman.

Standing tall, she began to pace and talk loudly.

“First, he fucks her!” she announced, pointing a finger at my sooty ceiling. “But that’s not good enough for him! Oh no. Next, he has to take my job, give it to her, and then make us fight in the same trench! How could he expect anything other than failure at that point?”

“No way in Hell,” I said, egging her on.

“No way! So…” she started laughing again. “Here’s the funny part…”

Her voice dropped and she half-fell beside me on the couch. I steadied her with a hand.

“After you talked to him,” she went on, “he seemed to realize his sick error. The brass from Geneva was making inquiries. Imagine, his first big military campaign after getting the rank of praetor had gone tits-up, and he’d created the disaster himself!”

“Heh… yeah… that sounds funny,” I lied, thinking of tens of thousands of dead legionnaires. “What did he do? Apologize?”

“Hell no. What he did was better than that. He fired Deech, demoting her. He put her in charge of Teutoburg! Can you believe it? They’re almost as bad as Varus. No, worse, because they never do much of anything important. Then, he shipped her ass out to sit on Machine World.”

She broke into a long belly laugh, and I was bemused myself.

“Deech is on guard-duty?” I asked.

“That’s right. Permanent guard-duty. She’s marooned on that rock. She can rot there, I hope. Better her than me.”

“Oh…” I said, “so that’s why you’re so happy. You think I got Drusus to demote her? I’m not sure that my little talk—”

She grabbed up a big wad of my shirt then, pulled me in close, and kissed me hard.

It was a nice, firm kiss that went on for quite a while. After something like a full minute, she eased off, but she was still very near, whispering into my face.

Her hot breath was sweet to me—it was a good thing we were both drinking.

“James, he told me that what you said moved him. You let him see how he looked through the eyes of a low-level officer. He realized that if it looked that way to you—not the most perceptive man in the legions—that everyone must know he was wrapped around her finger.”

“So… he had to send her away? I almost feel sorry for old Drusus. He had a real thing going with Deech, and I don’t get the impression that he’s had many affairs in his life.”

Galina snorted in my face. It caused my hair to puff back a little.

“Do you want to make love to Drusus? Or to me?” she demanded.

That was all the invitation I needed. My arms encircled her, and we got busy.

Galina had lost none of her skills, and she managed to take me away from my own heartaches for a time. I forgot about Claver, the Mogwa, my folks—and even about Etta.

After a solid half-hour, we took a break.

I’d set up a fan to blow over us—that’s a necessity in southern Georgia. The fan thrummed and cooled us down enough to make contact with another humans’ skin comfortable.

Galina laid her head on my chest, but she didn’t fall asleep. She seemed to be thinking.

“You know, I believe…” she said, “yes… I might have a thing for you, James. Is that crazy?”

“Uh…”

She put a finger up to my lips. “No. Don’t answer that. Forget I said it.”

My shrug made her small head bounce.

We’d turned off every light in my place, so the timeless blue glimmer of the heavens was our only illumination. Outside, the stars shined brightly, and the Moon had risen over my shack.

Playing with her hair, looping my fingers through it, my mind was a happy blank.

We fell asleep like that, and I for one was glad she’d come down to pay me a visit.

And if Galina did have a thing for me…? Well, that was okay, too.

THE END

From the Author: Thanks Reader! I hope you enjoyed DARK WORLD, the ninth book in the Undying Mercenaries Series. The audiobook version is due out June 12th 2018.

If you liked the book and want to read the story to the finish, please put up some stars and a review HERE to support the series. Let me know what kind of world you’d like McGill to discover next!

-BVL

BONUS Reading!

What follows is the beginning of: REBEL FLEET

To purchase the entirety of the book search for REBEL FLEET

on your Ebook Seller’s website, or go to BVLarson.com

REBEL FLEET

(Rebel Fleet Series #1)

=1=

The first time I witnessed a stellar flux it was midnight, the moment when Tuesday was about to become Wednesday.

I was sitting at a bar on the tropical island of Maui at the time. The bar was called TJ’s, and it bordered on being a dive. It was a local hangout, not a fancy tourist place. The crowd was muted most of the time, and there was no pounding music to drown out the crash of the surf that was about two hundred steps to my right. I liked it that way.

“Whoa!” Jason gasped.

“What…?” I asked.

“Leo, do you see that?” he demanded.

Jason was a bronzed-skin guy who haunted TJ’s as a regular. He was about five years younger than I was, and he’d become my friend over the last month or two.

Turning to him, I followed his gaze. He wasn’t looking up at the sky, but rather at the waves. Frowning, I stared at a bubbling spot. There was a light source down there, something which made the foaming water glow green and white. The rest of the ocean was inky black all around it.

“That is weird,” I agreed. “Could one of your Hawaiian lava vents be blowing its nose down there?”

“We don’t have stuff like that on this side of the island.”

I took him at his word. Being a drifter from the mainland, I’d spent the last two months here, but I was far from an expert on natural events of this kind.

When I looked back at Jason, his eyes were wider than before. He was looking up at the sky now.

“Don’t tell me…” I said, following his gaze again.

We stared at the sky together. What we saw drove us to leave our drinks behind and walk out onto the open sands.

The stars could be seen clearly—but there was something unnatural about them. I was a Colorado native from the Rockies, and I’d often been treated to gorgeous starry nights. But this celestial event was definitely out of the ordinary.

For about a minute, the stars did an odd, wavering dance. Then a nebula appeared between Earth and the Milky Way. I’d learned the term “nebula” only recently from news reports. Apparently, it was what you called clouds of dust and gas that hung between the stars. Usually, they were the result of stars that had blown themselves up in nova explosions—but there weren’t any dying stars in our stellar neighborhood.

“Don’t take your eyes off it,” Jason said. “It won’t last. I watched vids on the net—it never lasts long. The glowy stuff appears for a while then vanishes again.”

I didn’t argue with him. I didn’t even tell him the proper name for the glowy stuff. Instead, I just gaped up at the sky alongside him, figuring it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to witness a mysterious natural event.

“Are we going to die, Leo?” Jason asked me suddenly. “Is that what this means?”

“Uh… I hope not.”

“What do you think is out there in the water?” he asked a moment later, looking at the light in the sea again.

Jason was young, slightly drunk, and impetuous under the best of circumstances. I’d teamed up with him over the last month or two as he seemed to be even better than I was at finding piecemeal jobs and getting laid at bars like this one. It was the kind of life I’d embraced after leaving my Navy career behind me.

“Hey…” I said. “Kim’s watching us. She’s got a friend with her tonight. Let’s—”

But I was talking to Jason’s back. He headed right back into the bar, which was open to the sandy beach, and curled an arm around Kim’s friend.

Kim didn’t like Jason much. She didn’t seem to like me, either. Lord knew we’d given it our best, but we’d both already struck out with her.

But a young man like me is always on the lookout for new opportunities. After all, “no” and “never” were two entirely different words. Smiling, I joined the three of them.

“Are you guys going out there?” Kim asked me immediately. The look on her face was a mixture of worry and curiosity.

“We sure are,” Jason said. “Come on!”

As a group, we headed out across the sands. How could we not investigate? Over the last three months, there’d been numerous accounts of the stars turning into glowing dust-fields for a time, then smoothing back over and showing our familiar bright pinpoints of light again. As far as I knew, there hadn’t been any reports of splash-downs of debris—but that might have just changed.

“This could be highly dangerous,” Kim said.

“You always worry,” Kim’s friend said.

“What’s your name?” I asked the new girl.

“This is Gwen,” Jason said giving me a hard look.

I caught on immediately. He was claiming Gwen. Hell, his arm was still lightly draped around her waist. That was moving pretty damned fast, even for Jason. They’d only met about ninety seconds ago.

Jason had always been fond of the blonde ones, but I liked Kim’s straight black hair just fine. Taking a tip from my friend, I slipped my hand around Kim’s back when we reached the water.

Kim gave me a funny look. “Are you drunk?”

“Not nearly,” I said. “Look out there! It’s still bubbling. What I think is weird is that light. Where’s it coming from?”

She forgot about my hand and didn’t shrug me off. She stepped closer to me, in fact, as we stared at the water.

From the bar, the underwater lights had looked like a small patch of ocean that was farting up bubbles. Up close, the strange effect had taken on a different character. Whatever was down there—it was pretty big.

“It can’t be an animal,” Gwen said. “Not even a whale would make that kind of gas release.”

“I agree,” I said. “Maybe a small plane went down—or a boat.”

“How could we have missed that?” she asked.

Looking at her in surprise, I could tell right away she was a woman of substance. She sounded educated and possibly opinionated. It made sense, as she was Kim’s friend. That didn’t bode well for Jason.

“I don’t know,” I answered her, “but something has to be down there with its lights on. I don’t think it’s a natural lava vent.”

“No…” Gwen said. “Not lava. It would be orange and steaming if it was.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Jason said, pulling off his shirt and handing it to Gwen.

“What are you doing?” she cried. “Hold on—you don’t have to go out there! What if it’s boiling hot or something?”

“If I feel heat, I’ll swim right back.”

He didn’t invite me on his little adventure. He didn’t even bother to look at me. His eyes were all over Gwen, and I knew he was putting on some kind of mating-dance display for her.

It was all instinctual, and I could tell it was working. She looked both worried and excited. She followed him a few steps until her feet were in the waves.

My eyes went to Kim. A man will do damned near anything to impress a girl, and I’m no exception, but my reading of Kim was less certain. She looked excited, but also upset. She’d crossed her arms. I guessed she was more of a worrier than a daredevil.

I took off my shirt and handed it to her, along with my cellphone. She looked at these items in surprise.

“You’re really going out there too, Leo?” she asked me seriously. “I didn’t figure you for a crazy.”

I shrugged. “Someone has to pull Jason’s ass out of there if a shark takes a bite out of him, or something.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t say anything. She just watched me closely as I splashed out into the surf.

Jason was already swimming smoothly, arm-over-arm, passing the breakers. I trotted out, soon finding myself wading, then swimming—but I didn’t dive right in. Something told me not to.

As I got closer to the bright, foaming spot, what surprised me most was that the water wasn’t hot. Quite the opposite. It was cold. Abnormally cold for Hawaii, even at night.

“Hey! Jason!” I called out.

He waved back at me over his shoulder. Then he dived directly into the bubbling region.

That was the last I saw of him. About a minute passed while I watched the sea with growing concern. Jason could swim like a dolphin, but this was the open ocean.

Getting closer to where he’d vanished, I began treading water. The cold grew worse, and I almost felt like shivering.

The bubbles and the green light were still churning. But overhead, the nebula that had appeared so mysteriously was fading away, turning back into brilliant individual stars again.

“JASON!” I shouted.

Nothing came back. The ocean was empty.

It occurred to me then that Jason might never come back. I steeled myself for what I had to do. In the military, we’d all sworn not to leave a man behind. I felt that old urge to risk my ass overcoming my better judgment once again.

Behind me, on the shoreline, I saw and heard the girls. They were thigh-deep now, about fifty yards or so behind me. They were shouting something, but the wind was up, and the waves were crashing all around. Their words were mangled into high-pitched noises.

It didn’t matter. They were freaking out, that much was clear. They knew Jason had been under for too long.

After sucking in about seven deep breaths, I plunged into the icy water, heading down toward the source of that green-white light.

Usually the ocean at night is pitch-black, especially on a moonless night like this one. But I found I could see fairly well due to the gleaming rays coming up from the bottom.

It was bright down here—even brighter than it’d looked from the beach. I found myself squinting into a glare as I got closer.

There was an oval region about twenty feet down. Something was lying there on the bottom, bubbling furiously. The bubbles kept me from seeing the source of the activity.

The light reminded me of the brilliance produced by arc-welding. Could something metallic be burning? I knew from the Navy it was possible to weld underwater, but I could hardly think of a reason why something like that might be happening here.

Instead of going directly into the bubbles, I swam low and circled around. Maybe Jason had gotten himself fouled on something. If I could see him and drag him out…

Then I spotted him, and I knew right away he was in trouble. His limp body was being buffeted by the released gases, but it stayed stuck to the bottom. I swam hard toward him and grabbed onto his ankle.

He was cold. Ice-cold. His right hand was touching the base of the disturbance. He was touching the object that was emitting the bubbles. His hand had to be caught on something.

I could see the base of the object now, a black surface with holes that emitted bubbles and beams of bright light. I didn’t stare into it for long, sensing it might burn my retinas.

Grabbing onto Jason as firmly as I could, I dug my heels into the seabed and pulled under his arms. He didn’t budge. I ran my own hand down his trapped arm, and I was shocked to find that his arm was encased in a chunk of ice from the elbow down.

His entire right arm was crusted with it. The bubbling block had somehow frozen him to it, and I figured that if I touched it I’d be stuck down here too.

I didn’t know if Jason was alive or dead, but I still had some air left in me. I’d been a good diver all my life, and I could swim for three minutes underwater if I had to.

Bunching up my muscles, I clasped my hands around his chest and heaved. My feet slid on the sandy bottom, and I almost touched the thing that had him.

I wished for a knife. If I’d had one, I would have hacked the ice, or even his wrist—but I hadn’t brought any gear. I hadn’t planned on any of this.

There wasn’t time to swim back to the bar to get help. If Jason wasn’t dead already, he’d be a goner for sure by the time I got back down here.

My body was running out of oxygen, but I got an idea then. Instead of just tugging, I wrenched his body from side to side, trying to get a chunk of that ice to break off.

I’ve always been a strong, broad-shouldered man. It only took a few seconds. Suddenly, he was free in my hands, floating.

Lungs burning, my blood pounding in my veins, I kicked hard off the bottom. Desperate for air, I pulled Jason up to the surface.

I had him with my arm across his chest, swimming with a side-stroke. Gasping and wanting to throw up, I dragged him toward the beach.

The girls came toward us, splashing and shrieking. They helped me drag him to the shore. People from the bar came out carrying lights.

“I called 9-1-1 even before you dove down,” Gwen said. “I can’t believe you got him out of there. What happened?”

“His hand was frozen—stuck to some kind of object on the bottom.”

“Frozen?” she demanded. “How could that be?”

I didn’t have any answers. We reached the sand, and I let Jason down. I began working on him, pumping his chest, turning his head to let the water out. I blew air into his lungs but not much went in. I put my hand behind his neck to prop him up and open an airway—

That was about when Kim started screaming. I didn’t even look at her as I was too focused on getting Jason to breathe again.

“His hand…” she sobbed. “Where’s his hand?”

That got my attention. I looked to see what she was talking about.

Jason’s right hand was missing. It was a clean cut, as if it had been done by an axe.

But I knew what had happened. His hand had been frozen to that thing down there. When I’d broken him free, his wrist must have been brittle enough to snap.

What could be so damned cold?

END of REBEL FLEET EXCERPT

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More SF Books by B. V. Larson:

The Undying Mercenaries Series:

Steel World

Dust World

Tech World

Machine World

Death World

Home World

Rogue World

Blood World

Dark World

Rebel Fleet Series:

Rebel Fleet

Orion Fleet

Alpha Fleet

Star Force Series:

Swarm

Extinction

Rebellion

Conquest

Army of One (Novella)

Battle Station

Empire

Annihilation

Storm Assault

The Dead Sun

Outcast

Exile

Demon Star

Lost Colonies Trilogy:

Battle Cruiser

Dreadnought

Star Carrier

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