by B. V. Larson
“You think Turov would have done better?” I asked Leeson.
He frowned, taking the question seriously. “I don’t know. She’s more of a chicken-shit schemer, but Fike seems more emotional. More prone to give an order while snarling.”
I thought Turov could be quite emotional at times too, but I knew what Leeson was talking about. She was hyper-focused on not letting things go wrong. That led her to take fewer risks—and make fewer mistakes.
Fike, on the other hand, had ordered me to march into that damned town with no clear mission. That had led to a deadly encounter. The flames and destruction in the midst of their town would never have happened if Fike hadn’t pushed things. The Shadowlanders had felt threatened, so they started a fight.
Walking off the lifter with the few of my troops who’d survived, I was surprised to see who was waiting for me at the bottom of the ramp.
“Centurion McGill,” Fike said, “this way.”
He turned his back, and I glanced at Harris and Leeson. They looked surprised, but they didn’t take long to recover. Leeson made a kissing motion, perhaps suggesting I should do some kissing-up. Harris, on the other hand played with the hilt of his knife and flashed his eyebrows up and down in my direction.
Was Harris really suggesting I murder Fike? That was just like him. He was full of drastic ideas that would cause other people to risk their lives and careers.
“Uh… Tribune Fike, sir? Weren’t you up on Dominus just a few minutes ago?”
“I was. We’ve set up some gateway posts, and I came down the moment I saw what was on your vids. I need a full report on those non-standard drones you fought.”
“They were non-standard all right.”
While we walked to the command bunker, I began describing the nature of the robot troops we’d encountered. By the time we reached the gloomy shade under the bunker, I got to the part about the death-ray.
Fike stopped, looking at me in concern.
“So, they blasted their own town, setting it alight?”
“As God is my witness sir, that’s what happened.”
He nodded thoughtfully and pushed open some swinging doors. I followed him, and we parked ourselves around a battle computer. It glowed between us, being the relative size and dimensions of a pool table back home.
“Let’s look this over,” he said, bringing up maps photographed from orbit by Dominus. “Essentially, they hit you in the center of their own town. They fought on their own ground, heedless of damage or loss of life… it was almost suicidal.”
“That’s about the size of it, sir.”
“What do you think of these drones? Were they locally built or imported?”
“Uh…” I said, thinking it over. “I’d say they’d almost have to be imported. They have decent organic tech, but those things couldn’t be made in a mobile dome. Constructing those metal nightmares would take too much in the way of specialized industrial machinery.”
“Right… our techs have sampled the moss carpet that wraps the rotating edge of this world. They say it has DNA traces that match up with any revival machine. That all makes sense—but not these killer robots.”
“Well sir, I would put to you that the Shadowlander people must have plenty of Galactic credits to spend on imports. Their revival machines don’t come cheap, and Earth can’t be their only big buyer. They’ve got to be spending the money on something.”
Fike wagged a finger at me and nodded. “That’s a good point. It makes sense, but what I can’t get over is their willingness to take casualties like that in the midst of their civilian population.”
I shrugged. “Pretty easy to pop out a reprint of any citizen that dies, I guess.”
Primus Collins pushed her way to the edge of the battle computer then. Her face, under-lit in the bluish glow from the big screen, looked even less pleasant than usual. She eyed me like she’d spotted a turd in her kitchen.
“I’ve found Bevan, sir,” she said. “He wasn’t easy to locate.”
Surprised, we all regarded the man she had in tow. Reluctantly, Veteran Bevan took a spot along the rim of the big computer.
“Hello mate,” he said to me. “It’s been since the Moon, hasn’t it?”
“Damned right it has. Glad to see you’re still breathing, Bevan.”
“He won’t be for long if he doesn’t start becoming useful,” Primus Collins snapped.
“All right, Bevan,” Fike said. “You’re an expert on alien tech—at least that’s what people keep telling me. Review today’s action.”
Fike played back the battle in the streets of the Shadowlander city. Bevan watched in alarm. He winced and sucked on his teeth in appreciation as the battle unfolded.
Finally, Fike paused the action and made a spinning motion with his fingers in Bevan’s direction. He was demanding a verdict.
“They’re drones, obviously,” Bevan said. “They must be an Imperial make, they can’t have been built locally on this world.”
“Where are they from, then?” Fike demanded. “Who sold them weapons like these?”
Bevan shook his head. “They’re not from our province. You can’t get gear like that anywhere in 921.”
He looked up at us, and we all stared at him.
“So…” Fike said, speaking up first. “You’re saying the Edge World people are already in contact with the merchants of Province 926? That they’re trading with other worlds in the Skay province?”
Bevan nodded. “They must be.”
We all stared down at a single frozen frame from the fight. One of the alien-made drones had rammed a spike home, lifting a dying trooper in the air. A spray of blood flew wide from the victim’s abdomen. It was a gruesome and shocking reminder of the enemy abilities.
We didn’t know much about our new enemy, but we knew they had weapons we’d never seen before. Suddenly, this campaign was looking much more dangerous.
-39-
Fike pulled off his helmet and rubbed at a carpet of stubble on his wide jaw. “I’ve got to report this to Drusus,” he said at last. “We’ve lost our commander, and we’re dealing with shit I’ve never seen before…”
Right then, for the first time, I approved of his decision. Turov might have pressed onward, working blindly toward whatever disastrous finish awaited her, but not Fike. He wasn’t that stubborn—or maybe he wasn’t quite as good at denying reality as Galina was.
The brass wanted to plan in private, so they kicked me and Bevan out of their bunker. Blinking in the slanting sunlight, we walked out into the gleaming twilight of the alien sun.
“Isn’t it weird how that sun just hangs under the horizon, never getting any darker or brighter?” I asked.
“Actually, it is getting brighter. Only at a very slow rate.”
“I know that. But it doesn’t seem to be moving. Not at all. Their sun is slower than a snail on an hour hand.”
“A what?”
“It’s an old expression. Anyway, do you know if they have a canteen setup somewhere yet? I’m kinda thirsty.”
Bevan grinned at me. “Of course you are. Right this way.”
Three drinks later, I was feeling a lot better. The horse-piss they were selling wasn’t exactly beer, but it did the job nonetheless.
“McGill?”
My tapper was talking to me again. This time, it was Primus Graves. He’d obviously been revived and probably had awakened with some degree of curiosity regarding his final moments.
“Hello Primus,” I said in a cheery tone. “Bevan and I are having a drink in your honor. You died like a true Varus man, and I avenged you on the spot. It was glorious, if I do say so—”
“Shut up. I’ve got a fix on your tapper now—hold still, I’ll be there in a minute.”
The screen on my arm went blank. Bevan leaned close and frowned. “You don’t think Graves will shut down this little watering hole, do you?”
“I dearly hope not. I’m not half-way to drunk yet, and I don’t like leaving an important
job unfinished.”
True to his word, Graves arrived shortly thereafter. We’d managed to consume one more drink by that time, and I had a fresh brew waiting on a flipped-over crate for Graves the moment he walked in.
I offered it to him, and he sniffed it doubtfully. “Smells like varnish.”
“As a matter of fact, sir,” Bevan said, “it rather tastes of varnish as well.”
Graves nodded, and he downed the drink. Then he sat on his makeshift stool and eyed us both sourly.
“I’ve been trying to catch up,” he said. “You killed that witch Kattra after she nailed me, right?”
“With extreme prejudice, sir.”
He nodded. “Of course you did. Then, Fike got pissed and ordered you into the alien town, at which point you torched the place?”
I began to protest, but he lifted a gauntlet to quiet me. “Whatever. Save it. Fike must not know you all that well yet, or he wouldn’t have given you the opportunity to create more destruction.”
“Uh… I guess not. You want another drink, sir?”
He shook his head. “Nah. We’ve got another mission—the three of us do, that is.”
Bevan and I glanced at one another. We were slightly drunk and seriously baffled.
“Come on,” Graves said. He sighed and climbed to his feet.
We followed him out of the underground bar reluctantly. Outside we met up with Fike and Primus Collins, who were walking and talking. Collins gave us a final sneer, then saluted Fike and walked off.
Fike then turned toward us. “It’s been decided that we need to seek outside advice,” he said. “Wait a second… are these men drunk, Graves?”
Graves looked us over. “Maybe Bevan is, but McGill always looks like that.”
“Great… okay, you’re relieved. I’ll take charge of these two now.”
Graves saluted and left. Bevan and I gave each other confused glances. Bevan looked worried.
“Come on,” Fike said. “I’m taking you two with me as witnesses. We’ve got some explaining to do.”
He led us to a set of gateway posts six bunkers down. The pigs were working hard today, encircling the Edge World town with puff-crete bunkers and freshly-dug trenches. This seemed odd as I knew the Shadowlanders were due to migrate in a week or two, when the sun crept too close for comfort.
Following Fike, we stepped through the gateway posts to God-knew-where. I did so without hesitation. After all, wherever I was headed, I’d probably seen worse.
Stepping out of the posts again, I knew in an instant where we were. The gravity was different, the air more sterile…
“This is Central?” I asked aloud. “Where are the resident hogs?”
“They have the night off,” Fike said. “Actually, we used the VIP entrance. We aren’t down deep in Central’s vaults. This landing spot is for brass only.”
There were hog guards at the exit of the chamber, but they were actually polite to Fike. There was no growling, no orders to fall to our knees or to show valid ID. Instead, two gentlemanly apes offered to help direct us to our final destination. They did look at Bevan and me like we smelled funny, however.
“Sub-Tribune Fike?” the lead hog said. “These two aren’t upper tier…”
“Don’t I know it. Don’t worry, if they aren’t housebroken, they’re my responsibility.”
“As you say, sir.”
The hogs let us pass. We stepped out into the echoing hallways of the upper floors of Central. Windows—honest-to-God windows—showed stunning views of the clouds, a dozen neighboring sky-scrapers and flittering air traffic.
After less than a hundred more paces, we came to a set of big golden doors I knew all too well.
“You mean to tell me Drusus lives right here next to a set of gateway posts? He never even mentioned it!”
Fike laughed. “Of course he didn’t. He’d have been crazy to let you know such a thing existed.”
With my jaw hanging low, I followed Fike into the lobby, then the sumptuous foyer. Beyond these, we entered the waiting zone of Drusus’ amazing office.
Occupying an entire floor of upper Central, it was prime real estate by any measure. In the center of it all was an aircar—a new one. This unit looked better than the old one. It didn’t even bother with wheels, which meant it wasn’t built to roll down normal streets. Instead, it had skids, fins, and God only knew what else.
The aircar attracted my attention immediately. I approached it, whistling loudly.
“Sub-Tribune Fike…?” Drusus asked in surprise, “…McGill? And who’s this?”
Fike wheeled to gesture toward Bevan, who was lingering at the doorway. He looked like he was going to wet the carpet.
“This is Veteran Bevan, sir,” Fike said. “He’s an expert in alien-made products.”
“All right, welcome all of you. To what do I owe this honor, gentlemen?”
“Praetor,” Fike said. “Our mission has hit a snag. I felt it was necessary to come back to Earth and seek your advice.”
By this time, I’d reached the aircar. I ran my hands along those long, low fins. The tips were like blades, and they sliced my fingers drawing a red line across them. “What a sleek machine!”
Drusus spotted me, and he cleared his throat pointedly, but I kept on walking around the vehicle as if mesmerized.
Drusus turned back to Fike. “Tell me, Sub-Tribune, what’s the problem?”
“Tribune Turov was killed by a Shadowlander agent, sir.”
“So?” Drusus shrugged. “Print out a new copy of her—unless the revival machines aren’t working. Is that what you’re here to report?”
“No sir, the enemy damaged a few of our machines, but the rest are operating fine. The trouble is they kidnapped Turov the moment she was revived. Using some kind of passcode, they got into the machine’s software and deleted our backups of her. We can’t print a new Turov at this point—she’s effectively permed, sir.”
Drusus blinked at that. “Hmm… that does put a different light on things. Have you tried—McGill?!”
I snapped my head around, and I found both of the officers were staring at me. With as much dignity as I could muster, I slid my lengthy person out from behind the wheel of the aircar and threw the door shut. The vehicle was of quality build—you could tell by the way the door crumped closed, rather than slammed and rattled.
“Sorry sirs,” I said. “This sure is one fine piece of machinery.”
“And I want to keep it that way,” Drusus said crossly.
No doubt he was unfairly remembering some years ago when I’d had a disagreement with his previous model of aircar, and it had been slightly… disfigured.
“Get over here, McGill,” Fike barked.
Sighing and leaving a lingering streak of blood behind on the hood, I walked back toward Fike and Drusus. I didn’t even bother to ask if we could go on a little joyride. I could already tell the answer would be “no” before I even asked.
Bevan had taken a quiet seat at a circle of chairs, so I joined him and wiped a bloody hand on his pant leg. He glared at me, but he didn’t say anything. He was too over-awed by Drusus. That’s the trouble with an inexperienced man in my book. Bevan was too new to the Legions to know Drusus was just another piece of the brass.
“It gets worse, sir,” Fike said. “I took command—I thought I could handle it. I tried to negotiate Turov’s release, but all they did was hand over a hostage in exchange for our tribune.”
“Another hostage?”
Fike showed him imagery depicting Kattra and her daughter Helsa. Drusus frowned at both of them. “They don’t look all that dangerous.”
“The older one took down Graves, one-on-one. The younger—she almost murdered McGill.”
“Nonsense!” I called from the cushy comfort of Drusus’ waiting area. “I was only baiting her.”
“Of course…” Fike said. “Anyway, sir, the aliens are tough-minded, well-equipped and unwilling to surrender. McGill patrolled their main town just
today.”
“McGill did what? Good God, man. Did you order that?”
Fike looked a little sheepish. “Yes sir. I thought the natives would come to their senses.”
“How many dead are we talking about? Hundreds? Thousands?”
“Hundreds, sir,” Fike admitted. He’d taken off his service beret, and he held it in his hands. His eyes were downcast, studying the hat he was fidgeting with.
Drusus stepped away from him and looked thoughtful. “I can see it all now… A lack of leadership, a resistant enemy, and McGill in the middle of everything. I’m not surprised a series of negative events have transformed into a disaster. What can I do to help?”
“Well sir… you could print out a fresh copy of Turov, for one. I know Central must have a back-up copy in case—”
“Hold on right there, Fike. The point of this mission is to deal with Galactic encroachment on Province 921. We can’t very well commit a serious violation of their laws a few days before they arrive, can we?”
“I suppose not, Praetor.”
Drusus paced for a while. I could tell he was doing some hard thinking. I felt sleepy just watching him, and I began to slouch in that soft, comfy chair. How could the brass even stay awake with furniture like this under their butts all day?
“I could send out Deech…” he said, and I released an involuntary snort of alarm, “but,” Drusus continued, giving me a reproachful glance, “she’s not available at the moment for interstellar duty.”
Sighing in relief, I slid back down in my chair.
Drusus snapped his fingers. “I know just the man. He’s commanded the legion in the past, and he’s been pestering me about a transfer for months now.”
I blinked, wondering who he could be referring to. My mind was a blank.
“If that’s all, gentlemen…” Drusus began, and even I knew we were getting tossed out of his office.
“One moment,” Fike said. “I brought Veteran Bevan and McGill along for another briefing I felt they were the most qualified to give.”
Fike turned the show over to us then, and we approached Drusus’ planning table as a team. We played vids showing the fighting machines we’d battled on Edge World. Drusus was suitably impressed.
