Rogue World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 7)

by B. V. Larson

  Graves waved for Harris to be quiet.

  “I agree to your terms, McGill,” he said. “But only because we don’t have much time. Now, for the love of God, tell me what the hell you did out there.”

  At this point I gave a cold look to the two hogs holding onto my arms. At a nod from Graves, they reluctantly released me. I struck an easy, thoughtful pose while Graves and Harris shivered and wobbled, dressing themselves with rubbery fingers.

  “This is second-hand, sir,” I began, clearing my throat, “but it’s the best we’re going to get at this point. James—that other version of me with the mean-streak—he popped out there to intercept Battle Fleet 921, which, as I understand it, is in the vicinity of Spica right now.”

  “That’s correct. Go on.”

  “The problem was one of accuracy, sir,” I said. “Apparently, the techs did a good job of matching velocity and momentum, but they put that other James McGill right up against the hull of the ship, rather than teleporting him inside the ship itself.”

  “Hmmm…” Graves said taking notes and recording me with his tapper. “The techs will be interested to hear that.”

  “As the Mogwa fleet was in a warp bubble at the time… well, you know there’s a lot of deadly radiation inside those bubbles. James got burned, despite the shielding in his suit.”

  “Makes sense, go on.”

  “He got inside the ship somehow,” I said, “but it took more than five minutes to do so.”

  Graves stared at me for a second. “Okay, but there’s a snag... How is it he didn’t just ride it out and get automatically teleported home?”

  “Good question,” I said.

  “Damned straight it is!” Harris barked. His eyebrows were beetled together in a harsh frown.

  “Fortunately,” I continued unperturbed, “I’ve got a good answer. The hard landing on the ship’s hull damaged the auto-return circuitry. James was forced to break in.”

  “Already off-script…” Graves muttered, making more notes.

  I thought about calling foul on that one. What else could that poor McGill do? He could either float around out there and fry, or he could break into the ship. Didn’t seem like much of a choice to me.

  “Anyway, as I understand it he got aboard, took some vids, then teleported back.”

  They both looked at me with questioning expressions. “That’s it?”

  “Yes, but, that’s not what makes this an urgent matter. We need to talk to Drusus because we’ve got this incursion by the Galactics all wrong.”

  Graves stepped close to me, and he stared up into my face.

  “This isn’t the time for extra bullshit, McGill. If you value your planet, you’ll tell the truth.”

  “I am in full agreement, Primus! Seriously, this is a big deal. Take me to see Drusus, if you please!”

  He heaved a sigh. Harris peered at me over his shoulder.

  “He’s full of it, sir. I’ve seen it many times. He looks dumb—and he is about as dumb as a rock—but he’s got some kind of animal scheme going on inside his head anyway.”

  “I thank you for your support, Veteran,” I said.

  “Let’s go,” Graves said resignedly.

  I followed Graves, and Harris followed me. I heard the man behind me muttering all the way to the elevators. When we reached Drusus’ offices at last, we weren’t kept waiting.

  We walked in together. I hadn’t been given my weapons back yet, either. I found that significant. They didn’t trust me—not that I could blame them.

  “James McGill…” Drusus said. “It seems I can’t pass a day in peace around here without hearing your name.”

  “These aren’t peaceful times, Equestrian,” I said.

  He walked around his desk to meet me. “What can I do for you?”

  “I think I can help you,” I said, and I quickly outlined the day’s events. I left out most of the killing—Graves had covered for me on that as part of our deal.

  “Yes,” he said, “I do understand you’ve had a busy afternoon. Now, give me your report and make it quick.”

  “It’s about the Mogwa, sir,” I said. “They aren’t coming here to erase Earth. They’re coming here to trim down our empire.”

  “Our empire?”

  “We gained three hundred worlds, more or less, when the squids surrendered. That means we’ve become too big in their eyes. Normally, they would destroy an upstart civilization like ours—but they can’t spare the time or the firepower.”

  “Hmm… How do they plan to trim us down, then?”

  I shook my head. “That’s the part that’s unclear. I know they’re bringing along Nairbs and they plan to perform some kind of an audit.”

  “An audit… great. How, pray tell, did that other version of you manage to come by this information? It would hardly be something you could see with a body-cam.”

  I squirmed a bit. This was the tricky part. The part I hadn’t explained to Graves and Harris, for fear they might take it the wrong way.

  “Well sir…” I began, “my previous copy was known to have violent tendencies. In fact, I think he might have been a bad grow all along.”

  Drusus transfixed me with an intense stare. “Go on.”

  “Well… he might have… might have, mind you, coerced a Mogwa crewman into giving up this information.”

  Everyone’s jaw dropped. It was like having three baby birds surrounding me, all waiting for dinner.

  “You’re joking,” Drusus said.

  “Nope… afraid not—but I wasn’t there personally, so I can’t swear to any part of the story as more than earnestly delivered hearsay.”

  Drusus began to pace. “You popped out there, broke into their ship, damaging an airlock. That was bad enough. But then, you dared to accost a Mogwa citizen—a Galactic citizen—and interrogate it?”

  “Uh… that’s about right, yes. Except again, it wasn’t me, sir, who did this. Not exactly.”

  “Put a sock in it, McGill,” Graves said. “Sir, I want to apologize on behalf of all Legion Varus for this unsanctioned activity.”

  Drusus laughed bitterly. “Apologize? You think that will be enough? They’ll wipe us clean, Graves. It’s as good as done now if it wasn’t before.”

  “Now, hold on,” I said. “I’m not as dumb as all that. According to that other James fellow, he killed the Mogwa and disposed of it before he left. The Empire can’t prove who did this.”

  They gaped at me again. The Mogwa were our overlords. Unquestioned overlords, who ruled over a thousand craptastic planets like Earth. The mere concept that I would torment, question, and murder one of them on their own ship was so monstrous they could barely conceive of it.

  “McGill,” Drusus said, “the Mogwa are a lot of things, but they’re not idiots. They know a spy struck their ship. Coincidentally, they’re on their way out here to trim down an upstart civilization on the frontier of the galaxy. You think they’ll believe that a damaged airlock and a missing crewman are all just a giant coincidence?”

  I shrugged. “They have their suspicions, sure. But as someone who’s been making his own rules for a while, I can tell you most people are blinded by their own adherence to the straight-and-narrow. I’d bet the Mogwa are blaming one another, or one of their Galactic enemies from the Core Worlds instead of us.”

  “Hmm…” Drusus said. “It could be true...” He heaved a sigh. “Well, what’s done is done. Executing you for this would be cathartic, but pointless. Either you’ve doomed us all, or you haven’t. Either way, you’re dismissed—and that goes for all of you. Get out.”

  We high-tailed it out of his office. I, for one, was glad the day was over.

  “Either of you gentlemen feel like a drink?” I asked. “I’m buying—it’s the least I could do.”

  Graves shook his head and walked off. Harris glared at me, but he finally relented.

  “You owe me McGill—and you’re right, buying a round is the least you could do.”

  I smiled. Harri
s liked free booze just as much as the next legionnaire.

  -12-

  Harris and I had been at each other’s throats for a long time now. I’d usually gotten the best of him more than my share of the time over the years. Strangely, however, we could get along fine when times were bad enough.

  Sure, the stars hanging above us were full of approaching death and destruction—but the fleet wasn’t here quite yet. When faced with war in the morning, a soldier’s mind often turned to celebrating life on the evening before.

  As we were well past the stage of youthful competition, I was determined to get Harris into a better mood. The ornery cuss had deserved everything I’d ever dished out, but tonight I felt that I’d clearly established myself as the tougher man. So I set out to make peace with the old dog this evening—who knows, it might even make him shine.

  We were stacking beer bottles several hours later, and we refused to let the waitress remove them.

  “That’s a work of art, Miss!” I told her.

  “I’m going to put the capstone on this pyramid,” Harris added.

  The waitress rolled her eyes at us and walked away, shrugging.

  Harris stood and swayed slightly. I should have been watching him, but I was looking after the waitress instead. We’d chosen a bar where every girl was required to wear shorts that were paper thin and tight as your t-shirt after a buffet. That made it hard for a man like me to focus on anything else.

  Harris made his move, placing the last bottle on the top tier—but he blew it. A cascade of glass, menus and coasters came crashing down. Somehow, we were both bleeding at the end of it, but we were laughing, too.

  They threw us out after that, pausing only long enough to scan our tappers. The bill was high, and I thought they were probably ripping us off. Fortunately, we were both too drunk to care.

  Once out on the street we began staggering back toward Central.

  “McGill,” Harris told me seriously, “you are without a doubt the biggest donkey-dick I’ve ever served with.”

  “Have you forgotten I’m a centurion now?” I asked, but I wasn’t really angry.

  “A centurion? Where’s your unit?”

  He had me there. “I guess I’m really more of a staffer,” I admitted.

  That set him off on a gust of laughter. “A staffer? You? No, sir! You’re a born killer, boy. A killer set upon this Earth to commit as much destruction, murder and mayhem as humanly possible.”

  Finding his points impossible to argue with, I didn’t bother. We both walked back into the military part of town without a care in the world. Sure, the Mogwa ships were gliding closer every second, but for right now, we didn’t care one whit.

  Now and then, one of us reached out a hand to steady the other. That prevented anyone from doing a face-plant on the puff-crete any number of times.

  We heard a tram approaching at one point, but we didn’t even take a look over our shoulders. So it came as a surprise when a round face poked out of a tram window to address us.

  “Harris? McGill?” a familiar voice called out. “Looks like you two are in love. If you guys are going to bone, can I watch?”

  I stopped walking and peered at the man in the tram. My eyes were blurry, but I could tell who it was anyway. It was Bio Specialist Carlos Ortiz.

  “Carlos?” I asked. “What are you doing here?”

  “Coming to look for you, sir,” he said. “Graves said I was to round you up. The whole legion is being mustered, and I live to serve.”

  “They’re mustering the legion? What for?”

  “Might have something to do with that approaching death-fleet, but they don’t tell me details. Get in, sir.”

  We climbed into the backseat and our heads lolled. The city lights blinded me as Carlos drove us back to Central.

  I wasn’t in any state of mind to be doing deep thinking, but if Legion Varus was mustering back in—well, that had to be serious.

  When we got to Central, Harris and I managed to straighten up our kits a little. It wasn’t enough to impress Graves, however.

  “You guys are sloppy drunk,” he said. “Ortiz, sober them up.”

  Carlos grinned. As a bio, he had all kinds of nasty brews in his medical kit. He shot each of us in the neck with an injection gun. Not only did that sting, but within ninety seconds, Harris and I were puking violently.

  “Here, drink this,” Carlos said, handing out squeeze bottles of something fizzy.

  I did as he asked, but I spat it back out. “That tastes like horse-piss!”

  “Close. It’s anti-tox. You’ll be clear-headed in half an hour.”

  It took less than that to put my mind into a murderous mood. The injection and the detox concoction had neutralized the alcohol in my system, but it hadn’t done anything about all the normal effects of a hangover.

  Sitting next to Harris with slumped shoulders, I listened to a briefing in Graves’ office. There were a few dozen other centurions and adjuncts there. When they ran out of room and realized Harris was only a non-com, they kicked him out.

  With an effort of will, I did my damnedest to pay attention to what Primus Graves was saying.

  “The mission will be a special one,” he said. “We’re using a new kind of ship—an insertion ship. We’ll be flown to an undisclosed location where we’ll do some clean-up. When we’re done with that, we’ll head home the fast way.”

  I was still a little bit fuzzy, so I lifted my hand in confusion.

  “Primus sir? What’s the fast way?”

  “Are you still drunk, McGill?”

  “Uh… no, sir. Sadly, I’m not.”

  He frowned at me. “I’m saying this is a one-way trip. We’ll plant our device and blow ourselves up. We won’t fly home—we’ll die out there. Earth will revive us all as soon as the detonation is confirmed.”

  This had me confused and concerned. “What’s the point then, sir?” I asked. “Why don’t we just send a warship out to this target and blow it up from orbit?”

  He shook his head. “That’s not a bad idea, but it’s been considered and rejected. The site is sure to be inspected. This is all your fault anyway, McGill. You should really stop complaining.”

  A lot of unhappy officers swung their attention toward me. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the loving kind of attention.

  “Just how was it my fault, Primus Graves?”

  “You informed us of the intentions of the Galactics. They planned to perform an audit, remember? Well, there are some things we’ve been doing that we don’t want the Galactics to see. Accordingly, we’re going to erase these facilities before the Nairbs are able to document anything.”

  “I get it,” I said. “We’re flushing the evidence. I’m with you now, Primus. Please continue the briefing.”

  His lips formed a tight line, and he turned back to his desk. As he touched various points on it, the imagery displayed on the wall behind him flashed into being and swung around with startling rapidity. If I’d had anything left in my stomach, I might have hurled it up just then.

  It was odd, listening to these details, to think that most of the members of Legion Varus would be completely in the dark until we were well on our way to our destination. That had been my lot in life until recently. As a Centurion, however, I ranked highly enough to be in the know ahead of time.

  “McGill!” Graves shouted.

  I realized I’d zoned out for a few seconds—or maybe minutes. It must have been the hangover combined with Carlos’ evil brew of antidotes. Then again, maybe it was the fact I’d never been good at listening to lectures of any kind—by anybody—even when my life depended on it.

  “Yes, Primus!” I shouted back.

  “Are you listening to me? Your unit will come down here and deploy on these coordinates. Is that clear?”

  “Uh… sure,” I said, leaning forward and staring at the maps as if seeing them for the first time—which I was.

  The depicted planet was a rocky, smoky hole-in-the-sky. It appeared
to be slightly larger than Earth with a toxic atmosphere of corrosive gases. It was thoroughly unpleasant by human standards.

  I took all this in, but they were still staring at me. Everyone was.

  “Well?” Graves asked.

  “Are we killing humans on this one, Primus?”

  “No—not exactly. They’re humanoids, but not humans. They’re a subspecies the Cephalopods enslaved, but now they’re on their own.”

  “And why again are we killing them, sir?”

  His face darkened. “I didn’t say what exact crime they committed. No one told me, and you’ll be the last to know if they do at some point.”

  “But you must know something. Who are they?”

  “All you have to know is that they need to be eliminated. This is a laboratory working on technical secrets. They call themselves ‘tech-smiths’ which sounds innocent enough, but they’ve gone rogue. Their entire installation must be erased before it’s located by the Galactics.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” I said. “I’ve got the deployment point down, sir.”

  “Good,” Graves said, “but what I asked was if you thought you could get your team from the drop point to the dome wall within thirty minutes or less. Timing is critical here, McGill.”

  Frankly, I had no clue if I could do what he was suggesting, but I put on my serious face to make him happy. I stared at the scenario depicted by the computers, which had green and red force-movement arrows going every which-way. As far as I could tell over the next seven seconds of stalling, I was supposed to get a group of troops from the insertion point at the bottom of a small crater up to some kind of dome-thingy. That had to happen within the span of a half hour.

  The ground looked very rough, all spikes and pits. There were a few red boxes too, which I figured were probably some kind of defensive installation—but then I caught sight of the distance estimate in digital numbers. Four kilometers, it read.

  I snorted and leaned back confidently.

  “I can do four kilometers blind-folded, sir,” I said. “No problem.”