Rogue World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 7)

by B. V. Larson

  I stood at attention, as stunned as anyone else in the room.

  A medal? I was getting a medal? That just wasn’t how things usually worked out for simple, old James McGill.

  The medal was an old-fashioned thing, too. It didn’t use nano-adhesives, probably having been manufactured a century ago. The legends said that there were only seven of these medals in existence, and those who held them had to surrender them at death.

  Opening the clasp on the back, she smiled up at me, and I beamed back down at her.

  “Centurion James McGill,” she began in a formal voice. “I hereby honor you with the Dawn Star. Wear her with pride, honor, and distinction.”

  “Thank you, Impera—”

  I stopped right there, because she jabbed the thing into my chest. The pin punched right through my dress uniform and stuck in my right pectoral muscle. Almost immediately, blood began to dribble down inside my tunic.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, giving me a tiny, mean smile.

  I’d managed not to yelp, or even gasp. To maintain the illusion that all was well, I kept smiling back at her, and I nodded my thanks.

  Slightly put out that I’d done nothing to show pain, she turned around on her heel and presented me with a flourish to the group. They clapped with muted popping sounds as their hands beat together.

  Right then, despite everything, I felt honored.

  “All right,” Drusus said. “Now that the festivities are over, we have some serious news to report. The Mogwa grand admiral has been on the deep-link to the Core Worlds for days.”

  We all sobered up in a hurry.

  “Equestrian?” I asked.

  “What is it, McGill?”

  “That can’t be a good thing. Sateekas is determined to do us harm. He must be appealing the legal actions of the Nairbs, or trying to speed them up, or something.”

  “That’s what we assume,” he agreed. “He’ll be calling here shortly, and he’s demanded that you be present for the call.”

  It was time for me to start sweating. I hadn’t expected anything like this. I turned toward the back wall of Drusus’ office, which was really a giant screen.

  “Is there something special I should say, sir?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “As little as possible, McGill—please.”

  “Right, got it.”

  The pin on the back of my new medal stung in my chest. I was glad we weren’t wearing dress-whites, or everyone there would have seen the blood soaking into my uniform.

  Sateekas didn’t keep us waiting for long. Drusus connected up a holo-globe in the middle of the office and signaled that we were all assembled, as ordered.

  “This is it?” Grand Admiral Sateekas asked. “The team of grunting humans that has so wrongly sought to evade justice?”

  “We constitute the officers above McGill in the chain of command, sir,” Drusus said. “I’m at the top of that chain, recently given the honor of coordinating all Earth’s defenses.”

  Sateekas’ numerous eyes swept over the group.

  Suddenly, it occurred to me that this “honor” I’d been bestowed with, along with Drusus’ sudden promotion, had been a setup. Perhaps the former commander hadn’t felt like facing the music with the Mogwa today.

  Wondering what fate might be offered to us, I looked at the Mogwa with a mix of curiosity and disgust. Damn, he was ugly. He reminded me of that time my cousin Shelby got poison oak on his balls and up his backside. I managed not to point that out, however, and felt proud of my self-control.

  “Your species is to be offered a choice,” Sateekas said. “Either your collection of star systems will be broken up on the grounds you now control an illegal number of worlds due to conquest, or you’ll have to contribute to the Empire in a more meaningful fashion.”

  We eyed one another. What should we say? No one wanted to speak up and blow it.

  Finally, when I’d been about to blurt the obvious question in everyone’s mind, Drusus spoke up.

  “May we ask what our contribution to the mighty Empire should be, sir?” he asked.

  The Mogwa eyed him again. “There is another troublesome faction growing in a neighboring province,” he said. “You would be tasked with quelling the growing threat. That would allow me to return to the Core Worlds sooner and with fewer losses.”

  We all frowned, not quite getting why we were being told all this.

  “Grand Admiral,” Drusus said, “we’re honored you would include us in this conversation, but we aren’t in charge of Earth. The Ruling Council—”

  “No!” boomed the Mogwa. “I won’t hear of such nonsense. Civil authorities never supervise military personnel. That’s a perversion of order I won’t accept in any species.”

  We were stunned. Was this alien actually asking us to make this fateful choice?

  “Still… sir…” Drusus said, “we must consult others on a decision of such gravity.”

  “No,” the Mogwa repeated. “You will choose now. This is an offer of settlement. Either way, all charges against Earth will be dropped. Your species will continue to infest this region of space—for now.”

  “We can’t discuss this with anyone else?” Turov asked, daring to speak up.

  “I said not. Are your auditory organs compromised in some fashion?”

  She shook her head and stepped back.

  Sateekas’ eyes swept the group, and they landed on me.

  “That one. The rebel. I want his opinion.”

  “Uh…” I said. “I’m not fit to judge, your excellency.”

  “No, you’re not. But I want to hear your thoughts anyway. Will you cling to your little kingdom out here on the fringe of endless darkness, or will you go to war seeking the incomprehensible glory that awaits you even farther in the void?”

  It was my turned to look scared. I admit, I’m sometimes a man who doesn’t know his place, but I knew this was way above my pay grade. I pointed a finger at Drusus.

  “He’s the newly appointed Earth commander. I can’t go against his wishes.”

  “Hmm,” the Mogwa said, “it is as I thought. You’re earlier actions were reflective of your superiors. Why else would you defer to them when asked for an opinion?”

  “Um…” I said. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Your words reveal you, soldier. My respect grows. You have been honored today, I understand, with a trinket. Is this true?”

  I looked down at the shining Dawn Star on my chest. I nodded slowly.

  “What else would a soldier be rewarded for other than a job well done?” demanded the Mogwa. “Stop avoiding my query. What would be your choice? Would you keep your frail kingdom and fight for it, or would you give it all up for peace at any cost?”

  My eyes slid from one face to another among the circle of officers. They looked scared. We all knew this was serious business.

  “All right,” I said, “as long as this is just an opinion—I’d take peace. Earth could stand alone again without her new possessions.”

  The Mogwa ruffled itself and looked around at the others.

  “Which of you creatures signaled him to make this choice?” he demanded.

  White-faced, they all denied it.

  “Very well,” he said coldly. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You’re a more clever lot than I’d imagined. I chose to ask this man’s opinion because I’m sure there’s no fear in his heart. Apparently, this isn’t the case with all humans.”

  “Well, Grand Admiral,” Drusus began. “Now that you’ve heard McGill’s choice, for the sake of curiosity I’m sure, let’s adjourn this meeting and—”

  “No!” the Mogwa boomed again. “Stop squirming. I like food to wriggle, but you are just irritating me. I pose the same question to you, high commander of Earth—with a slight alteration.”

  “And… what would that alteration be, sir?”

  “The removal of the peaceful option. McGill already took that one.”

  “Um… I don’t understand, sir.
There’s only one other choice you presented—war. Is that right?”

  “And they said you dark-worlders were all stupid. Yes, that’s right. Choose.”

  “What’s the point?” Drusus had the balls to say. “What kind of choice can be made from a list of a single option?”

  “The point is that if you choose it, I will drop my legal actions against you and the Nairbs.”

  Drusus blinked, and then he stood tall. “In that case, sir, I would opt to keep our conquests and go to war on behalf of the Empire.”

  “Excellent!” the Mogwa said, suddenly happy. “I accept your offer. I hereby—”

  At this point, a green bulbous head peeped up into view on the vid pickup.

  “Excuse me,” the Nairb said. “If I may be so bold as to request a clarification.”

  Sateekas looked annoyed, but he didn’t say anything.

  All of us were beginning to get it. This elaborate dance of offers, threats and declarations was part of some kind of arcane legal process. The Empire was old—countless millennia old—and like any old political entity it had the worst bureaucracy you could dream up.

  “What is it?” Drusus asked.

  “You’re the chief defense coordinator of Earth?” the Nairb asked.

  “Yes,” Drusus admitted.

  “You have chosen to accept the grand admiral’s offer of settlement?”

  “I have,” Drusus said unhappily.

  “Very well. Committed and confirmed. This case is now at a close. Court is dismissed. All charges are summarily dropped.”

  The orb suddenly went dark. All of us were left staring at it, dumbfounded.

  “Uh…” I said. “You’d better relay that recording to the Ruling Council... I’m just saying…”

  Turov stared at me. “That’s why he went to you first,” she said. “He wanted that answer all along. It was the only answer that would be acceptable to him.”

  “I guess so.”

  “I can’t believe that happened,” Drusus said. “I lost control of the conversation. The stakes were so high—I couldn’t see a way out of it.”

  Drusus dismissed everyone, except for me. When they’d all left, he tapped my shoulder, and I stayed.

  He looked me over with squinting eyes. “That’s what it feels like to be you, isn’t it?” he asked me.

  “Pardon, sir?”

  “I was faced with grim choices and put on the spot...” he explained. “Damned if you do or if you don’t…”

  “Oh, right—yes, that’s exactly what it feels like to be me, sir.”

  Drusus nodded, his shoulders slumped. He waved me off, and I exited, dismissed.

  -65-

  We’d promised to wage war on an unknown alien menace in a neighboring province—but most of the people of Earth didn’t know about that part. The Ruling Council had decided to swear us all to secrecy on penalty of perma-death. So far, we’d kept that promise.

  Two months had passed since Battle Fleet 921 had left Earth’s orbit for a second time. The people of our world were understandably relieved. Many were jubilant. There were parties, and rallies. Politicians promised the future would be brighter and different. Those they governed seemed to believe them even more than they usually did.

  But I knew it was all a lie. War was again in our near future. War against an unknown enemy who lived on dirtballs like ours, circling distant stars. It was the same-old, same-old, for me.

  When at last our legion mustered out, I returned home to Waycross. Etta hugged me—a shocker in itself—as did my parents. My mom wasn’t in good shape, however.

  “You’re shaking, Momma,” I told her, looking her over carefully.

  “It’s nothing, just a tremor,” she said, forcing a smile on her face through her pain.

  “That’s good,” I told her, giving her a smile back. “You look good.”

  I was lying, of course. She looked like she was on death’s door. She was in a floating chair now, a machine equipped with padding, repellers and a touch-steering system.

  “Come on in for supper,” she told me, and the whole family circled around the table and ate.

  My dad had done the cooking. I could tell this right off, because everything tasted like cardboard. Burnt cardboard. But I kept right on smiling and talking up everything all evening long.

  Afterward, I snapped my fingers and stood up suddenly.

  “What’s wrong, James?” Momma asked.

  “I forgot,” I said. “I’m supposed to go pick up Della at the sky-train station.”

  “Della?” she asked, brightening. “She’s coming here tonight?”

  “That’s right. You guys want to come along? One way or the other, I need to borrow the tram, Dad.”

  He gave me a funny look. He didn’t seem to buy my sudden story. But that was okay, because Momma looked entranced. She still held out dreams that Della and I would form a normal relationship and raise a family in the traditional way.

  “Well, son—” my dad began, but my mom interrupted.

  “I want to go,” she said. “I never go anywhere anymore. Can she stay for Christmas, James?”

  “We can ask her.”

  “What about Etta?” she asked. “She’s playing outside again.”

  I shrugged. “She’s fine. She’s got all the snakes, bones and mud she could ask for.”

  My mother made a face, but she didn’t argue. Etta didn’t like long tram rides. She’d rather run around outside.

  “I’ll have to go too,” my dad said. “To help with her chair.”

  “Uh…” I said, trying to think of a way to get him to change his mind. I couldn’t, so I gave up. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  After we packed up her float-chair, a shawl, and a snack—Momma never let anyone go on a trip without a snack—I caught my dad’s arm in the garage.

  “Dad? Have you got those silver disks still, the ones we made back at the Mustering Hall?”

  He frowned at me and nodded.

  “I need those, please.”

  He stared at me, and again he slowly nodded. He went back into the house and presented them to me.

  I took them and left them in my shack in a safe place. When I returned, my dad was more full of suspicion than ever, and Momma was going crazy with impatience.

  “Come on, let’s go!” she said. “The last train arrives at Albany in an hour. She must be on that one, right James?”

  “You got it, Momma,” I said automatically.

  “The poor girl will be waiting for a long time. No wonder she ditched you.”

  “Aw now, that’s a rude thing to say,” I said, slipping behind the wheel and putting the tram into gear.

  We rumbled out of the garage and into the night.

  But we never made it to the sky-train station.

  * * *

  I was revived first, at about six a.m. the next morning. I snorted awake, bleary-eyed and itchy.

  “What happened?” I asked the bio team at Central.

  “We were hoping you might be able to tell us, Centurion,” a bio said.

  “I don’t remember… I was driving my family down in Georgia… Hey, what happened to my folks?”

  The bio people looked at one another. “I’m sorry, sir,” said the woman in charge. “It’s tragic, but there was a crash. There were no survivors.”

  “No survivors…” I said, doing my best to sound sad. Internally, I was relieved. My dad had been in the backseat, and I’d been worried he might survive in a coma or something.

  “Centurion?” the bio asked. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m all right.”

  Sliding off the table, I dressed and walked out into the night.

  A few people contacted me, giving me their condolences. The word was spreading. Della had already gone over to the house to check on Etta, and she reported back that the girl was fine.

  But there was only one person I was interested in talking to: Anne Grant.

  It took seven calls to
get Anne to answer. When she did, she looked angry and wary.

  “I can tell you’re in town and the answer is ‘no’, James. Stop calling me.”

  “Hold on, hold on! Have you heard the news?”

  “What news?”

  I filled her in about the tram crash, and she was horrified. Then I told her I had disk copies of them—both of them.

  She peered at me through slitted eyes.

  “James…” she said. “This is either one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had, or an extreme attempt to get me back into bed with you on a sympathy plea. Either way, you’re going to fail.”

  “No, no, no,” I told her, “you’ve got it all wrong. Check the news, do a search. They really are dead. I died too.”

  She played with her tapper for a few minutes and gasped. “A forest fire? You ran into trees at high speed.”

  “Uh… I don’t remember, exactly.”

  “Why would you—?”

  “Listen, Anne,” I told her, “I’ve got the disks down in Georgia. Will you at least come with me and check out my options?”

  Eventually, a combination of intrigue and sympathy for my loss got her to see reason. She accompanied me back down to Georgia on a commercial flight.

  As a centurion, I’d been given the keys to the local Chapter House for the legion. It was there, in the back of the equipment lockers, that I found what I was looking for. I showed it to Anne, and she yawned.

  “What are we going to do with that?”

  “It’s a flesh-printer,” I said.

  “Yeah, so? You’re not injured anymore.”

  The unit was one of the big, old-fashioned kind. Before we’d had revival machines, they’d been in vogue. In fact, they were capable of printing out a new limb or organ.

  Producing the coin-like silver disk-copies of my parents, I jingled them in front of Anne.

  “Could you do it?” I asked her. “You’re the best bio I know—could you print out a new set of parents for me and imprint the mental engrams stored on this disk?”

  She stopped mid-yawn, and she stared at me in horror. “That would be unethical, illegal, and maybe impossible!”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “but will you do it?”