by B. V. Larson
Everyone woke up and leaned forward.
“That close?” Fike demanded. “They’re almost here.”
“Actually, they’ve technically arrived. They’re within scanning range now, so we must assume they’re watching us. They’re already dumping gravity waves in order to brake rapidly. Soon, they’ll be orbiting this miserable planet with us.”
“If I may, Tribune?” Graves asked.
She nodded to him.
Graves stood up beside her. “The alien formation appears to consist of a single Skay vessel. Accompanying them is a single Nairb ship.”
“Those traitorous green snot-bags,” I said suddenly.
Graves looked at me. “You have something to add, McGill?”
“Yes sir. The Nairbs work for the Mogwa. They must be turning against them if they’re serving the Skay AI as well.”
Graves shook his head. “That doesn’t match our latest intel. To the best of our knowledge, the Nairb race serves all the Galactics as their bureaucrats.”
“Oh… that explains a lot.”
“When will they come into weapons range, Graves?” Galina asked.
“Tomorrow. We have less than a standard Earth day to prepare.”
“That’s unfortunate. Can we—?”
The meeting chamber door opened suddenly, slamming into the wall. A skinny, kind of drippy figure stood there. He trembled a bit, but he wasn’t scared or cold. It was Winslade, and he seemed to be in a really bad mood.
“McGill…” he said, pointing at me and talking through clenched teeth. “There you are!”
“Primus Winslade?” Galina said sternly. “You’re late. Come in and take a seat.”
Winslade’s mouth hung open for a second. That was pretty funny to me. I grunted out a short laugh.
Winslade’s eyes snapped back to me. He seemed, if anything, more angry than before.
“So… McGill is the hero, is that it?”
“McGill did his job,” Galina said stiffly. “That’s more than I can say for most of you. Despite your shortcomings, I hereby officially thank you for your efforts, ex-Tribune Winslade. Your services as the temporary commander of Legion Varus are no longer required.”
“Obviously…”
Winslade slunk into the conference room and slid into a chair. He sat right next to me, and he reeked a bit from the amniotic fluids of the revival machine. He made an effort not to look me in the eye, which was probably for the best.
“We have come to an arrangement with the Shadowlanders,” Galina continued. “We will return their hostage, as they have returned me. When the Galactics arrive, they’ve agreed to inform them that their wish is to remain part of Province 921 for as long as possible.”
Winslade looked stunned. “How did you get them to agree to that?” he demanded.
Galina glanced at me, then back to Winslade. “They’ve seen the light concerning who might make a better master. Earth, or the heartless Skay.”
Winslade became thoughtful, but he soon waved a skinny hand full of stick-like fingers for attention again.
“Yes?” Galina demanded. “What is it?”
“If we can buy enough time, we might get them to relocate to a safer world—one deeper within Province 921.”
Galina thought that over. “That would be the best solution. But why would they do it?”
“Think about this hellish planet—moving all the time because you’re forced to? If they wait too long, they fry. If they move too far, they end up freezing solid—there must be somewhere better to live.”
“I understand the nature of the planet, Primus. If you don’t—”
“Excuse me, but until moments ago I was in command of this mission. In fact, I was in command of it for more hours than you’ve yet to log. If you don’t mind, I’d like to explain what I’ve been working on.”
Galina nodded sourly.
“There are three peoples sharing this world. They all hate each other. The only group we care about is the most advanced, but least populous group, the Shadowlanders. If we can provide them with a new and improved home, with improved stability, I think they’ll go for it. If nothing else, they’re already packed and ready to move.”
Galina nodded. “I will consider your suggestion. After a study, I’ll form a planning committee. After that—”
I didn’t listen to anymore of her bullshit. She was lifting her leg on Winslade’s idea, and everyone there knew it. Winslade looked sour, but he shut up.
After the meeting, I caught up with Galina alone.
“Not now, James,” she said. “I enjoyed our evening together, but you can’t expect to make love to me every minute. I have a campaign to run—thanks to you.”
With that, she walked away down the ship’s main passage.
Looking after her, I felt conflicted. Galina was in a very sweet mood toward me right now. Was it worth blowing it by pissing her off?
Sucking in a deep breath and letting it out again, I decided that it was. I walked after her and caught up in three strides.
“Hold on a second, Tribune. I wasn’t about to suggest a nooner—as pleasant as that might be.”
“What then?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with that awful Helsa creature—or her mother. Oh—don’t tell me it was both of them!”
She was being sarcastic and jealous, but I ignored the whole thing. “I’m talking about a way out of this. A way to keep the revival machine supply available to Earth. If you think about it, the plan is ingenious.”
“What plan?”
“Winslade mentioned it,” I said, “but lots of people have been talking it over.” That part was a lie. I hadn’t heard anyone else mention any such thing—but I knew that if Galina thought it was general knowledge, she might bite. She hated Winslade and didn’t want him anywhere near her legion.
“Hmm…” she said. “If that’s true, and the idea works… I could take all the credit.”
“Exactly. You’d be a hero.”
She looked up at me again, slyly. “You must spread the thought far and wide. Get everyone talking about it. Use the grid—whatever.”
“I surely will!” I said.
She caught me by the arm as I turned to go. I could barely feel her small fingers, but I stopped anyway.
“James… there’s something else we need to work on. I want my key back. Remember that.”
“Absolutely, sir. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“When are you going on that commando mission to get back the Galactic Key?”
“Uh… any minute now. I just had to attend this meeting, see, and—”
“Forget that stuff. Retrieve my property and make a deal with these irritating aliens. That’s an order.”
She left me then, and my fake grin faded away. I’d received some tall orders recently. First off, I had no idea how to get everyone thinking we should negotiate with the Shadowlanders. Legion Varus was a combat unit. If you asked any Varus man for any kind of solution, it was bound to start off with tramping boots and end with shooting.
My first stop was Helsa’s prison cell in the brig. I came with the authority to release her—but I didn’t do it immediately.
“Are you here to gloat?” Helsa asked me. “If so, it’s unbecoming of you.”
“Not exactly,” I told her. I quickly laid out the deal we’d made with her mother and her clone.
Her eyes grew bigger and rounder as I spoke, but she didn’t interrupt.
“Are you serious?” she asked. “You expect me to believe you bested my mother and myself in combat?”
“Yep. Here’s the vid.”
I tossed the evidence to her tapper from mine. She caught it and watched, aghast.
“So…” she said. “I’m unwelcome back home now.”
“Why do you say that? Your mom killed that other Helsa. She’s out of the picture.”
Helsa shook her head. “My mother wouldn’t have made a new copy unless she’d written me off. She has move
d on and bonded with my clone. It would be for the best that I commit suicide.”
Quick as a cat, she reached out and snatched my knife from my belt. I hadn’t been expecting that, so she got away with it.
She backed away and placed the tip to her throat.
“Hey! Hold on! I’ve got a better solution.”
She shook her head. “The Galactics are coming tomorrow. I’m evidence of a serious crime. I won’t be a party to my own people’s destruction.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get that. But I’ve got a better proposal for you.”
I laid out the deal that Winslade had originally described.
“You want the Shadowlanders to leave 91 Aquarii? Are you mad? This is our home.”
“You share your home with two sets of angry relatives. Wouldn’t you prefer a planet that wasn’t full of dangerous barbarians? A place where you wouldn’t have to migrate all the time?”
“Perhaps…”
“And, wouldn’t you rather be the favorite daughter again? I think I can arrange that, too.”
She looked at me doubtfully, but after a moment, she let my knife drift away from her long neck. A single droplet of blood ran down from her throat.
“Describe your plan to me.”
I grinned, and I started talking.
-45-
The next day, the Galactics arrived, and they put on quite a show. We’d known about the single Skay that was coming—a massive ship that was actually an artificially intelligent being the size of Earth’s Moon. What we hadn’t realized that there was another fleet. A task force of ninety Mogwa ships was trailing them.
That raised the stakes. These two Galactics had a delicate truce going. If they started firing live rounds at one another, all of that could blow up into yet another Civil War.
In between these two powerful forces, another squadron of five ships glided into orbit. These weren’t warships, they were small private transports. They were Nairb ships.
I was minding my own business at the time of the arrival, marshaling my unit in our module. All the regulars had been ordered to confine themselves to their respective modules at that point. I suspected this was in case the Nairbs demanded a snap-inspection. The brass didn’t want to take any chances. If anyone was up to something illegal, it wasn’t going to be on full display for the aliens to see.
We were, however, allowed to watch the proceedings on our big vid screens. Accordingly, my unit was standing around like it was a New Year’s Eve party in the main room of our module. We had a few beers in hand, but we were in uniform.
“Wow,” Carlos said, coming to stand next to me. “This is something, huh big guy?”
“Sure is. I haven’t seen this many ships in one place since the big battle at Clone World.”
Finally, the images of the drifting ships vanished. They were replaced by an alien that looked like a big green seal. He was a Nairb, and an important one. He had some kind of silver circlet around his neck. I didn’t know what the deal was with that, but I suspected it was some kind of rank insignia.
“Look at that,” Carlos said. “He’s like a queen, or something.”
“Hush.”
“Loyal slave-creatures of the Empire,” the Nairb began. “It is to our infinite pleasure that we’ve been chosen to act as judges on this fateful day. We stand here on the precipice of conflict—but with appropriate legal action, it can and will be avoided.”
“War?” Carlos asked. “Is he talking about going to war?”
“Shut the hell up!” I ordered.
Everyone had fallen quiet. The stakes appeared to be higher than we’d thought.
“First things first,” the Nairb said. “We have two critically important personages here. One represents the Mogwa,” here the Nairb moved a flipper. On his left side, looming over his head, Nox appeared. I would have recognized her poisonous black carapace anywhere. “The other represents the glorious Skay.”
The Nairb moved the other flipper. On his right side, an external shot of the Skay appeared. It had a pockmarked surface, but the hull looked like it was still intact.
“Whoa,” Carlos whispered. “That’s an old warhorse. It must have been in some rough battles to look like that.”
I didn’t bother to shush him this time. After all, he was right. Why would the Skay send an elderly warlord of its race out here to Edge World? I didn’t know, but it didn’t seem like a positive sign.
“Now, who do we have present to represent the interests of the slave-races?”
Way down low, on the bottom half-meter of the giant screen, appeared the head of Kattra. “I am the leader of the people who dwell on this planet,” she said officiously. “I will speak for my world.”
A moment later, Galina’s face appeared down on that lower line-up, on an even level with Kattra. “And I’m from Earth. We are the Empire’s local enforcers in Province 921.”
That should be it, I figured. Altogether, with the Nairb in the center spot, there were five people in the online meeting. I yawned a bit, suspecting this might turn into a long and overly formal meeting where nothing of importance happened—but I was wrong.
Galina’s face was under the Mogwa Nox. But then, under the Skay’s ominous shadow, another face appeared. It was a familiar face, and it made everyone present gasp in astonishment.
“Tribune Armel!” I boomed aloud. “What the Hell is he doing here?”
It was true. Maurice Armel was a scoundrel of a man, a renegade legionnaire who’d traipsed off into the cosmos to seek his fortune as a mercenary leader in unknown parts of the galaxy. I hadn’t seen him since the Glass World campaign, if memory served.
He was a Frenchman who embraced the worst of his heritage. He didn’t like me, he didn’t like the Empire, and he was willing to sell anyone out for a credit.
“This is inappropriate,” Nox said. “Who is this person? Why are we saddled with an interloper?”
“Dear Grand Dame Nox, I am the enforcer of Province 926,” Armel said. He struck a pose, standing proudly in combat gear. His thin mustache bounced over his twitchy mouth.
“Impudence,” the Mogwa complained. “I object. The star system is still in Province 921’s space. Therefore, no local enforcement from outside the province should be heard from.”
“I object in return,” the Skay rumbled, speaking up for the first time. “The purpose of these proceedings is to determine which province the star system belongs to. Therefore, our enforcer has as much right to be here as the Mogwa sycophant from Earth.”
Everyone’s eyes were getting big by now. The talks hadn’t even begun yet, and they were stalling out already. What chance was there for peace?
“We are deeply screwed,” Carlos said. “These two want to go for it. There’s going to be a war, mark my words.”
Things looked bad. Peace was a group decision. War wasn’t. It only took one side to stand up and start shooting to kick things off.
The Mogwa queen appeared to be rattled. Her eyes roved over the scene with displeasure. “I propose that we remove both of these voices from the conference. They’re useless and disruptive.”
The Skay sat like a stone for a few moments. I knew it was doing some deep-thinking.
“Agreed,” it said at last. “The opinions of slaves are not valid in this instance.”
“What?” Galina squawked. “What does—?”
The Nairb flicked his flipper again in her direction, and she vanished. She’d been kicked off the feed. A moment later, the same fate befell Armel.
“There,” the Nairb said. “Are all participants satisfied? If so, we can begin with—”
“No,” said the Skay.
“What is it now?” Nox demanded.
“There are two more parties that must be considered in this matter. The bright-siders and the night people of 91 Aquarii must be heard.”
Armel’s spot and Galina’s spot were replaced by two more aliens. I recognized them from the briefings. One was a mummy-like desert person known a
s a bright-sider. The other was definitely one of the black-eyed freaks from the icy side of the planet.
“What kind of fuckery is this?” Carlos demanded. “They kick all the humans out and reserve three spots for these losers?”
“It is their planet,” I said, shrugging.
Right then, my tapper began to buzz. Galina was doing it. Her face looked up at me from my forearm, and she looked really angry.
“McGill, get up here to Gold Deck. We’re losing control of this situation.”
“I’d say we’ve already lost it,” I remarked, but I was talking to my own arm hairs. She’d already closed the connection.
-46-
I hustled up to Gold Deck, and for once I found Veteran Daniels wasn’t standing in my way. In fact, he urged me to hurry with big sweeping gestures. He must have gotten the word that I’d been summoned.
Turov was on the bridge, surrounded by the top brass. Graves, Merton, Fike and Winslade—they were all there. None of them looked even slightly happy.
On the main screen, the two Galactics were locked in a legal argument. It was pretty boring. Mostly, they were reading Galactic by-laws to one another. Neither seemed to be listening to the other. They were just reeling off historical precedents, legalese, and other crap like that.
“At least they’re not shooting at each other yet,” I said in a hopeful tone.
Galina’s eyes focused on me like a pair of lasers. “McGill! About time you showed up.”
If I’d been a sensitive man, I might have been upset by her harsh tone. After all, we’d just spent a lovely evening together, and before that I’d saved her pretty ass from purgatory. But that was Turov for you. She could be sweet enough in private, but she was a serious ball-buster in daylight. The psychs I’d dated called that “compartmentalization” and she was a master at it.
“Centurion McGill reporting, sir. What can I do for you?”
She took two steps toward me and threw a finger at the screen. “You were the last one to have contact with Armel. Back during the Glass World campaign—right?”
