by B. V. Larson
He tapped at his arm, and I watched his big finger slapping on the screen while he did it. Then he went back to frowning again.
“You’re still in the brig? I traced this signal back—and why are you using Kivi’s account, Tech Specialist Elkin? That is an unconscionable breach of security.”
Natasha began to sputter excuses. She was a great tech, but she was useless in creative situations like this one.
I grabbed her arm and pushed my face into Winslade’s view again. “Listen up, sir. We can fix this. I swear on my mamma’s bible we can. But we can’t do it from down here in the brig. Can you spring us out?”
Winslade’s eyes slid around like a cephalopod who was considering a bribe. Finally, I saw him walking away from the bridge. He took the conversation out into the passages where he could continue talking to us privately.
“McGill, it’s too late for your special brand of foolishness. A deal has been struck, and it’s being carried out right now.”
“What deal, sir?”
“Nox left the Nairbs dead in her revival queue, claiming there was some kind of problem with the processing. She even blamed the Shadowlanders for sabotaging it.”
I laughed. Nox was a tricky one—even for a Mogwa.
“She refused to revive them,” Winslade continued, “and she pressed her claim on 91 Aquarii, insisting that Legion Varus had won the day, fair and square.”
“It was anything but.”
“Obviously. Anyway, the Skay was forced to either go to war or back down. It chose a third option.”
“Uh…” I said, thinking that over. “What third option?”
Winslade hissed and pointed over his shoulder wildly. “That nightmare of tectonic destruction that’s going on in Earth’s orbital field right now, you ignoramus!”
“Oh! You mean it insisted on towing away the dead Skay ship?”
“Exactly.”
“Huh… Well, okay. That gives us an edge.”
“How so?”
I shrugged. “You’ll just have to trust me on this one. I can see the way out. It’s as clear as day.”
Winslade narrowed his eyes to slits. He looked like a highly suspicious house pet. “What is your imaginary solution?”
“No way am I giving it up now. You’re not going to take the credit while we rot down here in this cage.”
Winslade bared his teeth. “This isn’t the time for such selfishness, McGill. Our world will be forever changed after this day. You must tell me your harebrained idea.”
I could tell I had him on the hook. All I had to do was reel him in.
Winslade’s weakness was his sense of desperation. He was a man who’d try almost anything when the chips were down. He also knew me, and he knew my crazy plans frequently bore fruit.
I puffed air at him and went back to playing a game on my tapper. Winslade bitched at me for a few more minutes, but finally, our cell door popped open.
Standing up, I grinned down at Natasha. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
She followed me out of the place, apologizing to the confused and angry-looking guards. That was just like Natasha, she was always worried about people’s feelings, even if they were her sworn enemy.
A few minutes later I met up with Winslade in the passages just outside the guarded entrance to Gold Deck.
“You can’t go any farther,” he said. “You’re due to be executed online within a few hours—that’s part of the deal they made with the Skay.”
“You mean that big cue ball actually insisted on witnessing my execution?”
“Yes, it certainly did. Can you blame the thing? You have a unique way of charming aliens and ladies everywhere you go, McGill.”
“You can say that again. Sometimes, I impress even myself. Now, stand aside Mr. Primus, sir, if you want to save the Earth and the Moon.”
“You can’t just walk onto the bridge, McGill. They’ll shoot you down—dammit, I’ll shoot you down!”
He drew his pistol and aimed it at us. As we were unarmed, all we could do was glare back at him.
“That’s a chance I’ll have to take, Winslade,” I told him. “You can shoot me in the back right now, or you can follow along and explain things to Graves, or… or I guess you can just skedaddle and hide someplace. It’s all up to you, sir.”
Not giving him another glance, I strode on by. I don’t mind telling you that my back crawled a bit when he was behind me. He was a natural-born backstabber.
But in the end, he didn’t shoot me. At the entrance to the bridge area, I glanced back over my shoulder. Winslade and Natasha were nowhere to be seen.
They were both pretty smart that way.
-78-
When I walked onto the bridge, I was ignored at first. Not even the two marines at the entrance could be bothered to toss me a sneer.
Maybe that was because of the amazing spectacle that was playing out in three-dimensional holographic splendor in the middle of the chamber. Everyone had their heads tilted back just so they could take it all in.
On the display, our beloved Moon was front and center. Behind her, sneaking up like an old letch in a locker room, was a badass Skay. It was the same old bastard I’d seen before out at 91 Aquarii, I recognized him by his worn out, pock-marked hull.
As the two bodies got closer, our Moon began to… well… crumble a bit. Chunks of gray-white material, looking like fine dust on the screen, drifted away into space. The disruption grew steadily. Soon there were dust devils of the stuff, rising up in violent, twisting cones like tornadoes. The skinny tips of these whirling maelstroms were all touching down on three points of the Skay’s face. The broad cones—they were lifting off from the Moon itself.
“What the hell is it doing?” asked a familiar voice.
Surprised, I tore my eyes from the fantastic scene, and I spotted Drusus. He had his head tilted way back, so he could look up at the disaster unfolding in giganto-vision right above us all.
I hadn’t even known Drusus was aboard—but it made sense. Whenever there was triple-decker, six-star red alert with Varus’ name all over it, the top brass generally blamed him and sent his sorry ass in to fix it. I suspected that was because he’d been the original tribune. When something like this happened the politicos and other suck-ups down on Earth seemed to assume it was all his fault anyway—and maybe there was a grain of truth to that. He had to be at least partially responsible for Varus and its general infamy.
“As best we can tell, Praetor, the Skay is exerting a gravitational field. It’s… it’s sucking up all the surface debris from the Moon.”
“Makes sense, I guess,” Drusus said in a defeated tone. “I don’t know how else they might go about hauling our Moon out of Earth’s orbit. I’d hoped it would be beyond their technology, or at least that we’d have years to come up with some plan of action—but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen now.”
“They’re taking immediate possession of our Moon?” Captain Merton asked. He seemed to be incredulous. “May I remind you, sir, that Earth Fleet stands ready to defend our territory. There are fifty ships with armament comparable to Dominus in the Solar System. Perhaps this is the appropriate time to stand our ground.”
Right then and there, I decided I liked Merton. I always had to some degree. He was an honorable man who was just trying to do his job. Often, Galina or some other legion brass type spent time spitting on him—but here he was, still ready to throw down and die for our Moon. That had to tell you something.
Drusus sighed and looked at Merton seriously. “I appreciate the sentiment, Captain. Unfortunately… there will be no valiant last stand here today. The Mogwa have shown no interest in defending us. Our entire fleet might or might not win a conflict with this single Skay. Even if we did, we would be announcing war on a Great Power, with no one to back us up.”
“But the Mogwa hate the Skay, sir,” Merton said. “They’ve fought several wars with them. If we give them an excuse—”
Drusus shook his head. “It
’s not happening. I’ve talked to Nox and others—they aren’t interested. They think of us as whining babies. The actual suggestion I got from them was to find or build another artificial satellite if we liked this one so much.”
“Really?” I squawked out loud. “Is that even possible?”
Pretty much everyone in the place craned their necks to gawk at me. This included the two slack-jawed marine chumps that had spent the last two minutes standing next to me without even noticing.
Instantly, four hands landed on my person, two on each side. It was all I could do to keep myself from slamming them onto the deck—but I managed it.
Sure, I could have probably put both of them down. A few slips of the wrist and some quick footwork—but no. I wasn’t wearing any fancy armor today, and I wasn’t even armed. I’d be dead in less than a minute, and all my plans to help Earth keep her beloved Moon would be dashed, probably forever.
“Uh…” I said, glancing at either marine, “thanks for the thought, boys, but I’m not looking for a date.”
“McGill…?” Drusus said, and from his tone, I got the feeling he wasn’t happy to see me. In fact, it sounded like it made him even more depressed. “Who ordered your revival?”
“I wouldn’t rightly know, sir. I just woke up in the brig, and I got bored down there, see, so… I left.”
Drusus nodded tiredly. He accepted this explanation at face-value, and I was glad for that. Winslade had helped me get this far, after all, so I didn’t want to finger him as my benefactor.
“Well,” Drusus said, “seeing as this is mostly your fault, I guess it’s only fitting that you watch the greatest injury ever perpetrated upon our green Earth.”
“Now hold on, Praetor sir. I don’t agree with that.”
He folded up his lips and eyed me. “This isn’t your fault?”
“No sir! I accomplished my mission out there on Edge World. I led Legion Varus to victory, the only way it could be achieved.”
“Meaning… you cheated.”
“An offensive way to describe it, sir… but… yes. We won though.”
Drusus nodded. He put his hands behind his back, clasping them together. Then, in a predatory fashion, he began walking over the metal deck plates in my direction.
Finally, when he got close, he violently flung a finger up toward the Skay. “Look at that! Do you call that a win for Earth?”
At this point, the whirlwinds of transferring matter were increasing. The two heavenly bodies, similar in size and general appearance, were only about two thousand kilometers apart. It was like they were kissing or something. I couldn’t even figure out how they weren’t slamming into one another—the Skay had to have incredible control of itself.
“Looks like that Skay is about to mount up and ride on our old girl, I’ll admit. But sir, we can still revive our people. We’ve got plenty of machines left.”
“For another decade, maybe,” he said. “But long before that, the politicians will start hoarding all the revival machines we buy for themselves. After that—we’ll lose 91 Aquarii permanently. It’s inevitable.”
“What about contacting Claver?” I asked him.
“We tried that. They don’t have a supply, and they don’t want to sell us any of their units. Once these machines we already have wear out, we’re going back to permadeaths for everyone.”
That little speech seemed to dampen the mood even more than the theft of our lovely Moon. Everyone aboard Dominus had died more than once. We were pretty attached to our revival machines, as we liked continuing to exist. The idea of losing them… well, it was a death sentence for everybody.
“So…” I said, “would you be happier if we’d let the Skay take our revival machines now, and allowed us to keep our Moon instead?”
Drusus dropped his eyes and studied the deck. He shook his head. “It’s a hard choice. I know it’s not fair to expect Varus to win every time—but somehow, everyone back here on Earth had been hoping for a better outcome.”
“And… what if I could give you that outcome, sir?”
Drusus didn’t tilt up his head right away. He was still studying the deck plates.
Behind him, however, my words sparked movement. Three people exchanged glances then walked up behind Drusus. One was Graves, another was Merton and the third was Turov.
Up until now, these three wise monkeys had kept their damned mouths shut. But they knew a con when they saw one. They knew I was working my worst McGill-magic on their commander, taking advantage of him when he was down and hurting.
“Praetor Drusus,” Graves said, speaking up first. “Let me take the prisoner back down to the brig. I’ll make sure he doesn’t escape again.”
Punctuating his true meaning, he drew his sidearm and pointed it at me.
Drusus shook his head, but he kept studying the deck plates between my size-thirteen boots.
“The Fleet is still closing in,” Captain Merton said. “We can take effective action. We’ve beaten a single Skay before.”
“That’s not good enough. Years from now, they’ll send out a squadron to crush us. It might take them decades, but they’re machines. They’ll never forget it if we break our word and attack their brother now.”
“But we’ve beaten them before, sir! We can do it again.”
Drusus glanced at Merton. “We did that under the guise of defending the Mogwa. We were therefore exempt from direct guilt. If a master orders a slave to act, no one blames the slave. At least, not a machine.”
Merton compressed his lips and stopped talking. It was clear he wasn’t going to get his way.
“Sir?” Galina spoke up next. “Do you know what I think?”
He glanced at her. “What, Tribune?”
“I think that if you really want to get out of this, you’ll have to give McGill’s insane idea a shot. Either that, or forget about it and accept our new fate with a moonless sky forever. You’ll have to decide quickly, however.”
She gestured toward the big hologram. We all turned to look.
Chunks of the moon were now flying from the surface—crags of ancient rock that had been there for countless years, splintering into pieces.
Drusus winced as if physically struck. After staring for a few moments, he turned around to me.
“Can you really do something, McGill?”
“Absolutely, sir! You’re gonna be sooo happy. I promise.”
He looked sick, but he nodded and turned toward the two marines. “Release him.”
“This is a mistake, sir!” Graves said, breaking with his longstanding tradition of accepting his superiors’ judgments without any back-talk.
“The Fleet can do it, sir,” Merton said. “Just give us a chance.”
Drusus looked at each of them, then he turned back toward me.
“McGill, don’t screw this up.”
“That’s simply not possible, sir. Don’t you worry about a thing. First off, I’ll need a teleport harness with two extra batteries and a powerful transmitter. I’d really appreciate it if Fike would return my personal suit of armor too, if you don’t mind.”
Fike, who’d been standing around at the back of the bridge being quiet, cursed a bit at the mention of his name. Apparently, he’d gotten cozy in my armor again since my most recent demise.
“That can be arranged,” Drusus said. “But I’m really hoping you aren’t planning to kick off a new war.”
“No sir! I’m going to prevent one. Oh, and one more thing…”
“What’s that, McGill?”
“Does anyone have an A-bomb handy? Nothing dramatic, just a few gigatons will do the trick.”
-79-
To my mind, my plan was simplicity itself. First off, I had to get the Skay’s attention. After that, everything should go as smooth as glass.
At least, that’s what I hoped.
My opening move was to teleport to the Skay’s surface. After that, I spent a few minutes broadcasting on various channels. I knew it could hear me, but it
was arrogant—sinfully arrogant.
Most big-cheese aliens are like that. They think that they crap ice cream, and you’re nothing but a dung beetle. This general attitude went double for Galactics of any kind. In my long adventures, I’d determined it was even worse with the Skay.
Now, I had to give them at least a partial pass. After all, there was a significant size difference. Humans like me weren’t even insect-sized to a Skay. We were more like an amoeba. To understand how they thought of you or me, try to ask yourself how much care and concern you have for any of the approximately forty trillion microflora that are living inside your body right this moment. That’s right, humans carry around about two kilos of bacteria at all times. We don’t think about that fact much, but there it is.
The Skay don’t think much of us, either. We’re less than fleas to them. So and therefore, it was no surprise when the Skay ignored me. Accordingly, the first thing I had to do was get the monster’s attention.
If I’d been commanding a threatening Armada or an entire planet, sure, the Skay would have answered me. But as I was nothing but a speck on its hindquarters, it didn’t even bother trying to scratch me off.
After I made polite inquiries for a solid ten minutes, I followed up by cursing and whatnot. After that, I finally gave up. It was time for the antimatter bomb I’d brought along on the trip.
In my slice of the universe, A-bombs aren’t rare, but they aren’t exactly commonplace, either. They offered up the most extreme yield of matter-to-energy conversion possible. When antimatter encountered regular matter, there was complete annihilation on a one-for-one, particle-for-particle basis. Consequently, the modest football-sized bomb I had tucked under my arm could release no less than 2 gigatons of force.
Two gigatons was a lot. More than the sum total of all the fusion bombs set off on Earth throughout history.
Trudging along in a spacesuit, I moved to what I considered to be a good starting spot. This Skay was an old bastard, a veteran of countless conflicts. As such, he was kind of scarred-up on one side of his otherwise smooth, gray-white surface.
