by B. V. Larson
The bathroom door banged open while I worked. Someone stalked into the room.
“Hey, Varus,” he said. “You shitting yourself in there? I’ve got a few friends outside. We want to talk to you.”
“Just a minute,” I called to him, gritting my teeth as I worked on my grenade.
Officially, I wasn’t supposed to have explosives on me in the Mustering Hall. As an active-duty legionnaire, a loaded pistol and a combat knife were acceptable—but not a grenade. Fortunately, I’d never been a fan of persnickety regulations.
“You’re not getting out of this so easily,” the man said. “We’re gonna have that talk, hot shot.”
“Yep, we sure are,” I said in an agreeable tone.
Muttering, he left.
I finished my work, dropped the grenade into the toilet, and flushed it right down. Right then, I wished I hadn’t locked the stall door. I flipped the tab up quickly and nervously. Then I headed for the door. There wasn’t going to be much time left.
Stepping outside, I saw three men waiting for me. They were all Solstice. They saw my rank, and they looked surprised. I was a Centurion now.
The days of rough-and-tumble enlisted rivalry between the legions were mostly in the past for me. At the officer level, things became political. You screwed each other over with budgets, mission-assignments and promotions—not your fists.
“Why didn’t you say you were an officer?” my original harasser complained.
“I don’t recall you asking, Veteran.”
Shaking his head, he waved, and the three of them began to slink away. They’d been more than ready to start something with a Varus man on his own—but messing with an officer would’ve resulted in more than a day in the stockade.
“Wait a second,” I said, reaching out a hand and hooking him by the back of his collar.
He wheeled around, snarling, but I pointed back into the bathroom with a friendly expression.
“You want to have some fun? Off the record, just man-to-man?”
He looked at me warily. “One-on-one?”
“That’s right—unless that’s too scary for a Solstice Veteran. I hear you still pee your sleeping bags at night, and I wouldn’t want to scare you any further.”
He showed his teeth, which were stained and filthy. He flexed his knuckles, and he nodded at me. He was a big boy—not as tall as I was, but broader of shoulder.
“Step right in there,” I said. “I’ll follow a minute later so it doesn’t look funny.”
“You’re on, Varus!”
He stalked into the bathroom alone, as his friends had all moved on by now. I did a U-turn and hurried for the escalators. There couldn’t be but a few seconds—
Crump! It was a weird sound, one I knew all too well. A plasma grenade had gone off and weaponized the restroom.
Plasma grenades were odd weapons. They grabbed up whatever was around them, changed their form, and blew everything outward as shrapnel. Even water turned into a thousand tiny needles, liquid transformed into solids and blasted in every direction at once.
Alarms went off all over the Hall. People froze and looked around in shock. Terrorism, a squid attack, some kind of horrible error in the maintenance AI—who knew what had gone wrong? Someone triggered the evacuation script, and the doors flew open.
People trotted by me for the exits, but I didn’t hurry. I walked with Varus pride.
When I stepped outside, I squinted up at the sun and summoned an autocab.
Then I looked at my tapper and swore. There were twice as many messages as before. It was a good thing I’d silenced all the tones, buzzers and ringers. The damned thing would have made it hard to concentrate if I’d been listening to all that.
“Damn,” I said aloud. “They must really want me on this mission.”
-8-
The cab took me straight to Central. But before I could make it to the elevators, a group of stern-looking hogs encircled me.
“Uh… what’s up, fellas?” I asked.
“You’re under arrest,” barked the most disagreeable looking individual. “We’re to escort you down to the lower lab complex.”
“That’s mighty friendly of you guys,” I said. “It just so happens that’s where I’m headed.”
He snorted. “Don’t even think of taking any detours, McGill.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. No way I can get lost with you guys crowding around. And to think, people say hogs have no sense of hospitality!”
They fell silent on the long elevator ride into the lower bowels of Central. When we arrived at last, we passed through some pretty serious security. I was relieved of every weapon I had on me.
“This way, Centurion,” said a fine, tall girl with a pretty face and bony arms. She looked like a runway model to me—not your typical government type.
I followed her with gusto, but my high spirits soon faded. Drusus, Graves and Winslade were waiting for me in the dark labs ahead.
“What’s the drill today, sirs?” I asked in a hearty tone.
“McGill…” Graves said seriously, “what have I told you about having respect for other people’s time?”
“I do believe you’ve admonished me to show more respect on any number of occasions, sir—in fact, let me congratulate you on your promotion to the high rank of primus. It was greatly overdue.”
Graves stared at me in an unfriendly fashion. “We’re discussing kicking you off this project, McGill.”
“I’d say that was a shame, I’m sure—if I knew what the project involved.”
“He’s hopeless,” Winslade said. “Exactly as I told you. Unless you overrule me, Drusus, I’m kicking him out of the entire legion.”
“On what grounds?” Drusus asked.
Winslade sputtered and pointed at me. “Can’t you see, sir? Nearly three hours late! Reports of criminal activity fill his morning!”
“Criminal activity?” I gasped. “What? Since when is it against the law to bed a retired legionnaire?”
They all glanced at me.
“And who might that be, McGill?” Graves asked.
I smiled. I had them curious now. “You remember that bio who quit after the invasion?”
“Oh please,” Winslade scoffed, “don’t tell me it’s Anne Grant.”
“Well, how about that? Somebody remembers Miss Grant by name! Is there perhaps a bit of latent interest there?”
“Yes, I remember her—a very sensible girl by appearances. I’m surprised her judgment hasn’t improved.”
“He’s just distracting you, Primus,” Graves said.
That was a shocker. I hadn’t expected Graves to out me so off-handedly.
“McGill,” Graves continued. “Do you realize there’s a recruiter from Mustering Hall who’s just come out of a revival machine upstairs? He’s demanding that you be arrested.”
“Uh… he wouldn’t happen to be from Legion Solstice, would he?”
“Thanks for verifying your involvement,” Graves said.
“Now hold on,” I said. “If he’s complaining along formal channels, it’s just sour grapes, sir. That Solstice man had it coming—it was just a little joke, anyway.”
“A joke? Thousands of credits in damage, a ruined day of recruitment—you think that’s funny?”
“Well…”
Graves turned away from me to face Drusus. “Equestrian, I hate to say it, but I concur with Primus Winslade. McGill should be off the mission roster. Hell, he should probably be removed from this service entirely.”
Drusus hadn’t said much for the last several minutes. He’d just been staring at each of us, listening. Now, he looked both thoughtful and sour at the same time.
“McGill is uniquely qualified for this highly hazardous duty. It’s my decision, and I’m standing with my previous choice. McGill goes. Get him suited up.”
“Sir,” I said, “I’m proud to be your man. I’ll make Legion Varus proud again.”
To their credit, no one grumbled openly. Winsla
de looked like someone had kicked his cat however. His teeth were clenched, and his eyes were slits.
“May I be excused, sir?” he asked Drusus. “I’ve got duties to attend to.”
Drusus nodded. “Graves will provide the briefing and oversee the insertion. Good luck, gentlemen.”
Drusus left us, and I suspiciously watched Winslade scamper off a moment later. It didn’t take a genius to know he was running off to report the situation to Turov. If Drusus had noticed, he apparently didn’t care.
Soon, there was no one in the lab other than Graves, a bunch of techs, and yours truly. I was given a suit—and it looked familiar, sort of.
“Is that a teleport suit, Primus?” I asked Graves.
“Modified for human usage, yes.”
The costume was a metallic black mesh with a durable insulated interior. It was kind of like a spacer’s service uniform, or maybe a high-tech diving suit. There was a power-pack, however, and a digital gauge on the front.
The original teleport suits had been built by the Cephalopods with some stolen Empire tech thrown in. This suit looked like it was built to hold a man instead of a squid. The old ones had been huge and floppy, but in comparison this model looked like it would be a tight fit for a man my size.
“So… where am I going?” I asked. “And what kind of team do I have going with me?”
“You’re flying solo,” Graves said. “This is the only working suit we have at the moment.”
“Why’s that?”
“The original suits didn’t hold up to extensive testing, and they apparently required maintenance that we didn’t understand. They began self-destructing shortly after your teams’ involvement during the invasion.”
“Huh…” I said. “That’s weird.”
He narrowed his eyes in my direction. I could tell that he suspected I knew something about these suits that I wasn’t sharing.
The fact was, the original suits had required usage of the Galactic Key to function. I’d hacked their security system, in essence, to get them to work. Trying to use them without understanding that step had probably resulted in the “accidents” he was describing.
My face was a total blank, and I barely looked curious as I rubbed at the fabric of the new model.
“Who’s been testing this one out?” I asked him.
“Several hogs. They were scared at first, but we managed to do small jumps repeatedly, without an incident. Cannibalizing parts of the squid-made suits and designing components of our own, we’ve managed to construct a unit that can reliably fly distances of up to one hundred meters without error.”
I stared at him. “One hundred meters? Like—about the length of this lab?”
“Precisely.”
“So… where am I supposed to be going?”
“That’s classified. Follow me.”
Troubled, I did as he asked. We left the bustling techs behind and retreated to a small office off the main lab chamber.
“Primus?” I asked him. “Are you kidding me? You’re expecting me to jump off-world, aren’t you? This suit is a jury-rigged mess, I can tell just by looking at it.”
“That might be true,” he admitted. “It’s experimental at best.”
“Why don’t we just have the squids cook us up an improved model?” I asked him.
His face pinched up in a frown. “You remember that fusion bomb you set off on Throne World—their capital?”
“Of course. It was my finest hour.”
“Yeah, well… where do you think they manufactured their teleport suits?”
I squinted at him for a second. “Oh…” I said. “I get it. There aren’t any more teleports suits coming from the squids. That’s a crying shame. But I still don’t get why I’m being sent off to test it in such a fired-up hurry.”
“Because we have an emergency. The Mogwa are coming back—they’ve crossed the border into Province 921 and they’ll arrive here soon.”
My eyes bugged out at this news. “You mean the Nairbs, right?” I asked.
“No, the actual Mogwa. The Galactics are coming themselves this time. Battle Fleet 921, or at least a contingent of that force, has been ordered to return to our province and put down what is seen as a local rebellion.”
“A rebellion? I haven’t seen anything about that on the net vids.”
“That’s because we’re the rebels—as far as the Mogwa are concerned.”’
I blinked at him in confusion. “When did we declare independence from the Empire?”
“In their view, that happened when we fought a war with the Cephalopods and won. Now that the squid worlds are under our control, we’re a danger to the Mogwa. We’re in violation of a list of Galactic Laws.”
“Right…” I said thoughtfully.
The only reason the Empire had survived for thousands of years was their strict maintenance of the status quo. Individual member civilizations weren’t supposed to grow, research new tech, or even fight serious wars against one another. By keeping thousands of species frozen in development, the Empire had been able to keep us from challenging their power or otherwise disrupting what worked well for the elite races at the top.
“If they think we’re a danger,” I said, “well… there’s only one cure for that.”
“Exactly. Extinction of the rogue species. We can’t confirm that’s their plan, but we have to assume it’s a possibility.”
“Okay… but I still don’t get what my part is in all this.”
Graves poked at the suit. It rustled and the metallic links clinked audibly. “You’re the only man we have that has successfully teleported to remote locations alone and survived. That’s why Drusus is putting this on you, despite everyone’s misgivings.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, not bothering to argue with him about it.
“Now,” he said, “I want you to try to absorb the critical nature of this mission, McGill. I want you to be on your best behavior. You’re not going out there to slaughter anyone—you’re going out there as a spy, not a fighter. Your onboard body-cams will do most of the work. All you have to do is take a look around and get back here with whatever you can find out in five minutes.”
“Five minutes?”
“Yes. This suit model has several improvements. One is that it holds enough of a charge to power two jumps. You’ll fly out there, and after five minutes you’ll teleport back.”
“What if I can’t do it? What if I’m captured or killed in that amount of time?”
He poked at the suit’s digital readouts. “That’s all taken care of. The suit is on a timer. You’ll be pulled back here after five minutes, dead or alive.”
“Hmm…” I said without enthusiasm, but after a moment, I grinned. “Well… okay then. I’ll do it.”
“Of course you will!” Graves snorted. “I’m not asking for volunteers. I’m ordering you to suit up and fly as soon as the techs have the suit ready.”
“Uh… just one more thing, Primus? Where am I going, exactly?”
He looked at me in surprise. “I thought that would be obvious. We’ve spotted the approaching battle fleet, as I said. You’re going to pop out there and take a look at their ships, hopefully learning of their intentions. Don’t let them see you or detect you—that’s an order.”
I followed him back to the labs doubtfully. “That’s a hard one, sir,” I said. “Your people are in control of where I end up. If they miss, and I end up in the middle of the bridge on the flagship, I think somebody might just notice me.”
“Let the techs handle that part. You’ve got no choice, anyway. None of us do.”
I stopped following and lowered my voice as we came into view of the launchpad. Techs were swarming the suit, charging it up.
“Sir,” I whispered, “I’m beginning to question the wisdom of this entire venture. I mean, if the Mogwa are already pissed and view humanity as a possible threat, won’t this push them over the edge?”
He looked at me seriously. “You could be right. Hell, I
don’t know the answer to that. But the Ruling Council of Earth has made the call. You and I are just soldiers, caught up in following orders from the top. It’s my opinion that they already know the Mogwa are coming here to remove us, and they’re trying to get confirmation.”
“But what good will that do?”
“Earth is building a new fleet. It’s last-ditch, but we have to do something. If it comes right down to it, the Ruling Council is going to ambush the battle fleet the second it shows up. But they want confirmation from you, first.”
The magnitude of the situation was beginning to sink into my thick skull about then. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a man who’s easily spooked. But this was big. Real big.
They suited me up, taught me how to operate the digital controls, and hooked me up to some wires.
Then, they all backed up like I was wearing a suicide vest. I didn’t blame them, because I was, sort of.
The timer on the suit started up by itself a few seconds later. That was rude, in my opinion. I thought a man ought to be able to at least flip a switch before he consigned himself to death.
But then, maybe I was old-fashioned.
The world shifted around me. It blurred and wavered. I was losing coherency as a singular mass. Soon, I knew, I’d turn into a smoky semblance of myself and port out.
It occurred to me as I began to fade from existence, that Turov and Winslade might have been right. What if they knew it was a stupid idea to piss off the Mogwa like this? What if they had some inside knowledge on what the Mogwa were planning, and what the mission orders were for the battle fleet?
It was a disturbing thought, but it was too late to act on it now. The last thing I saw before the world blurred completely was Graves. He was giving me a lazy salute.
I would have saluted back, but I was already insubstantial. A moment later, I ceased to exist on my fine green homeworld of Earth.
Already, I missed the feel of her under my feet.
-9-
The next moment I was aware of was all wrong.
I’d expected to appear inside an alien ship. My immediate plans for such a case were still in my mind, in fact. They were vague, but I believe the simplest plans work best.
