by B. V. Larson
“Oh…” I said, catching on. She had always been one of Turov’s sidekicks. But apparently, her loyalty hadn’t been rewarded like that of certain others. “Well,” I said, “for what it’s worth, all is forgiven on my part.”
Thompson looked at me. “You mean… everything between you and me? All the murders?”
That statement chilled me a little. I knew that I’d been abused in the past. Some versions of James McGill had been tortured, killed and revived again for a repeat performance. Could Thompson have participated in that particularly gruesome part of my history?
I didn’t know, but I’m a man who gives out apologies and forgiveness easily. It costs my mind almost nothing to do so—as I rarely mean it when I make such declarations.
“Uh… I guess so,” I said. “All of that stuff is forgiven.”
She looked me up and down quietly for a second. Then she went back into action, checking my stats all over again.
“You surprise me, McGill,” she said. “I couldn’t have forgiven you for the same thing. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for all that’s happened between us, too.”
Thompson slapped me on the leg then, and she waved for me to climb off her table. “I pronounce you a good grow! Better get up there and get it over with.”
“Get what over with?”
She stared at me in confusion for a moment then apparently she figured I was making some kind of joke. She slapped me on the shoulder and threw me out, shaking her head.
I stumbled out into the passages, trying to get my jacket to wrap around my chest. It wasn’t easy, as I was still sticky with birthing fluids.
Gold Deck was under repair from my battle with the littermates. At least they’d removed all the gigantic bodies of the fallen.
“Centurion McGill?” a veteran with a stern demeanor called out. “Right this way, sir.”
I followed the veteran, and I noted that two others fell in behind me. This wasn’t good. It didn’t look like an outright arrest, but it was quite possible it would turn into one.
Legion Varus had a way of eating its own when it came to difficult situations like this. People were very serious about their careers in the upper ranks. The key to rank, in many people’s eyes, was never being tagged with the stink of failure. Since we lived essentially forever, a truly ambitious person could hope to rise to the very top over time.
Because of this, the brass often took a dim view of individuals who went way off-script and into the weeds. Unfortunately, that was my particular specialty.
The veterans marched me to Tribune Deech’s office. Winslade was there, as was Primus Graves.
I gave them both a nod and a slight smile. As we were technically in a warzone, I didn’t salute. I didn’t feel like doing so, anyway.
“Centurion James McGill,” Deech said slowly, coming out from behind her desk. “You’re the crown jewel of this legion, if Tribune Armel is to be believed.”
“Yes sir,” I said, “I do think he’s got a point there.”
Winslade chuckled, but Deech glanced at him, and he halted immediately.
“Impudent to the last,” Deech said. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Uh…” I said. “What’s this all about, Tribune?”
“Graves?” Deech asked, turning to him. “Do you want to explain? He’s your responsibility, after all.”
“Certainly, sir. McGill, we’ve got to file a report on the deep-link describing our progress on this mission thus far. Your recent actions have not been successful in dislodging the gremlins from the Engine room, and therefore—”
“Ah-ha!” I said, interrupting. “I get it. Someone has to get spanked. It might as well be me, right?”
Deech glowered. “I’ve watched the vid files, McGill. You were sent down there twice, against my better judgment.”
Here, she glared at Winslade for a moment. I guessed it had been his idea, or at least Deech was going to blame him for it.
“The resulting debacle was horrific!” Deech continued. “The gremlins sent out a delegation to entreat with Floramel. Within two short minutes, you were engaged in slaughtering them!”
“Well now—”
“Shut up!” she boomed. “I don’t want to hear any excuses. Not today. Not out of any of you!”
It occurred to me, as Deech marched around the room and proceeded to blame all three of us for this gross failure, that she was one slippery customer. She was in command of the entire legion, of course. She’d placed us all in harm’s way by ordering us to go down to Engineering. I’d heard more than once that she liked to set people up when she felt a mission might fall apart. That way, she could blame an underling, roast him alive and march out of it a winner.
She seemed to be doing just that now, with Winslade, Graves and I all taking the rap for her.
Of the three of us, I think Winslade was the only one taken by surprise. He’d been working hard to brown-nose this woman. He’d been smooching up pretty much nonstop since we’d left Earth. A fat lot of good that had done him. He was about to be sold down the river with the rest of us.
By the time her overly-long, irritating speech finished up, I was getting bored. I was also having second thoughts about how I was going to get out of this. The trouble was, my approach might save Winslade too. I felt I owed him nothing, but I couldn’t figure a way out of helping him when I helped myself.
Ah well. Sometimes, a man’s got to play the cards as they’ve been laid.
“…and furthermore—”
“Tribune Deech?” I interrupted. “Can I say something, sir?”
“Really?” she said, whirling around on me. “You’re going to grovel? They told me you wouldn’t do that. Apparently, they were wrong.”
“Uh… no sir,” I said. “There’s no point in that. I’d rather explain my plan to move forward and win this situation.”
Graves slid his right hand to touch his left wrist. His tapper blinked once, and I almost smiled. I knew right off what he’d done. He’d activated the recording option on his tapper.
More than once, Graves had recorded embarrassing conversations for use against brass later on. In this case, I couldn’t be sure what he intended, but perhaps when Deech reported in to Earth he’d insert a snippet including my plan in the deep-link packet. That way, if Deech refused to utilize my plan, she’d have to explain why she’d given up instead.
“What are you talking about, Centurion?” Deech demanded, standing right in front of me.
“A solution, sir. A way out of this predicament we’re in.”
“You’re telling me you have a way to regain control of my ship? To restore Engineering, fire-up the warp core, and continue on our way to Epsilon Leporis?”
“Just possibly so, sir—if you’d let me explain.”
“You’re right, McGill,” Winslade said suddenly. “It’s time to reveal our plans.”
Both Deech and I looked at him in surprise. Was he honestly going to try to hitch a ride on my plan? Without even knowing what it was? Honestly?
“Shut up, Primus,” Deech told him.
Winslade recoiled as if slapped, but he did shut up.
“Speak, McGill,” Deech ordered me.
“Yes sir. It goes like this: the enemy—I’m talking about the gremlins now, not Winslade, or anyone else in the Legion.”
Winslade made a tiny growling sound.
“Yes, yes, continue,” Deech said, spinning a finger at me to indicate I should speed up.
“As far as my techs could figure out, they came on the ship that delivered the littermates. They were, in fact, the crew.”
“That stands to reason,” Deech said. “But it also seems irrelevant.”
“No sir! The point is that the ship they came in on must still be in nearby space. Am I correct?”
Deech frowned at me. She glanced at her computer table and tapped at it.
The walls displayed the immediate situation outside our vessel. We were indeed hanging in space with another, much sm
aller vessel nearby.
“There it is,” I said. “Now, think of it: that ship has the ability to fly in warp—otherwise, it couldn’t have gotten out here. It’s also pretty precise in navigation, as it had to come to this exact spot, locate our warp-path and intersect it on the fly.”
“McGill,” Deech began, crossing her arms and sounding bored. “Perhaps it’s your lack of technical or oratory skills, but in any case I’m getting tired of this pointless speech.”
“Sorry sir. I’m getting to the point. Consider this: if the enemy crew left that ship to board ours, penetrating and taking over Engineering… well then, who’s minding the store back home on their ship?”
They all frowned. I think Graves got it first.
“Tribune,” he said. “McGill might be onto something. The enemy ship hasn’t moved since our warp-bubbles intersected. At that point, the enemy crew clearly invaded at two points, Gold Deck and Engineering.”
“Hold on,” I said, unable to contain myself. “You told me that the Gold Deck assault was an exercise!”
Graves looked at me then slid his eyes to Deech. She nodded to him sourly.
“It wasn’t,” Graves said. “They boarded and almost took Gold Deck. Your unit first distracted then defeated them.”
“But what were you guys doing up there in the meantime?”
Deech shrugged, looking defensive. “We barricaded ourselves in our offices after our guards were taken out. What else could we do? We weren’t in full combat gear. We had nothing but sidearms for defense.”
“Right…” I said, thinking it over.
Nostrum had been struck at both ends at the same time. The smaller ship had almost pulled it off, too. They’d gone for the leadership and the engines, like striking the head and the belly at the same time.
“Anyway,” Deech said, “let’s get back to your idea. How are we going to make use of a small, alien ship? Even if it is lightly defended, we can’t very well carry the entire legion to our destination.”
“No,” I said, “but we can make them worry. They’ll have no retreat. Instead of two ships, they’ll have one, and they’ll only be in charge of the engines. They won’t be able to navigate. I doubt they have any revival machines with them, so each death they suffer will be a permanent one.”
“Hmmm,” Deech said. “I like it. McGill, I don’t mind telling you that your rank was in jeopardy today. Possibly, these two could have lost their positions as well. It would have been up to Hegemony.”
Winslade glared at her behind her back. In my opinion, he was no longer sweet on Tribune Deech. She’d thrown him out like an old bone the moment it gave her the slightest advantage.
Turov, in comparison, had been a more benevolent mistress. She’d abused poor Winslade, sure, but she’d never strip his rank to save herself an embarrassment.
Graves, for his part, was staring directly at me.
“Tribune, I would recommend that Centurion McGill be allowed the honor of leading the boarding party.”
“I second the motion,” Winslade said quickly.
“I agree,” Deech said in a quiet tone.
My face split into a grin.
“Hot damn!” I boomed, “and here I was, thinking Winslade was some kind of rank-climbing glory-hound who’d insist on leading all the attacks! Thank you, sirs! Thank you!”
Turning around, I marched out of the tribune’s office. All of them watched me with different expressions as I left.
Winslade had his lips twisted up like a Frenchman in an outhouse.
Deech wore a questioning look, as she wasn’t quite accustomed to my special brand of bullshit yet.
But Graves knew me best. There was a tiny hint of a smile on his craggy face.
-23-
The mission turned out to be harder than it sounded, and it hadn’t sounded all that easy in the first place.
“All right, let’s move!” I boomed, waving for the veterans to marshal the troops.
“Step up, people,” shouted Sargon and half a dozen other noncoms. “I want everyone right here, on the glowing ready-line.”
They moved in a mass, shuffling and adjusting their gear. Unlike fighters in centuries past, legionnaires planning to fight in null-G were weighed down like pack-mules. Every soldier had to operate like a one-man spaceship, complete with survival gear and weaponry. Fortunately, we could carry huge loads without a problem.
It wasn’t all love and biscuits out there, however. The trouble was that space was about the worst place a human could find himself trying to survive. Everything was trying to kill you, the radiation, the cold, the lack of air—even the enemy.
O2 hissed into my suit at a steady pace, cooling my cheek. That was a good thing, because if it ever stopped, I was screwed.
“Okay,” I said loudly on tactical chat. “We’ve got three full units behind us, but we’re the first wave and therefore, the most important.”
They were listening with squinting eyes. No one was joking around, not even Carlos had the heart. Every ground-pounder hated doing trapeze acts like this outside in hard vacuum.
“What we’re going to do, is pop this airlock sudden-like.”
They looked at Sargon in alarm. He was standing by a big red button on the wall. All he had to do was hit the override and pull down a huge lever. Then the doors would open and suck us all out into space.
“Heavies, we’ll hook you up with lines and send you as a group. But first, Adjunct Harris is going to lead the light troopers in a fast-assault dive right onto the enemy hull.”
Harris looked resigned more than he looked pissed off. He’d regretted leading a light platoon many times, and today was no exception.
“Harris will find a way in,” I continued, “or he’ll die trying. When he does breach the enemy vessel, he’ll signal us heavies and weaponeers. We’ll launch then and join him, performing the final assault in a rush. Remember, we must get to their engine room or helm fast. They can’t be allowed to spin their ship around and escape. Any questions?”
Several people raised their gauntlets.
“Good,” I said, ignoring them all. “We’re all set then. Harris? You’re on!”
Startled, Harris lowered his hand. He’d had a question, just like a dozen others, but I wasn’t in the mood. Wearing a sour expression, he shook his head and gave Sargon a flapping signal to get on with the show.
Sargon slapped the release, and the big lever lit up. He hauled down on it with both hands.
Flashers spun, sirens went off, but very quickly that sound died away to nothing as the doors split open to reveal a brilliant mass of diamond-like stars in a river of blackness. The air burst out of the chamber and we couldn’t hear anything other than our whistling suits and the clanking of our boots.
The heavies had all locked themselves down with magnetics to resist the rush of released gas. But the light troops—they’d been given no such instructions. They rose up like a flock of birds and were sucked out into open space.
Some of them spun and thumped into the doors on the way out. I winced a little, knowing all too well what it was like to fight a battle with cracked ribs.
“You could have played that better, Harris,” I complained.
“That’s right, sir, if my commander had—”
I cut him off from tactical chat. There was no point in having the entire unit listen to their officers bitch at each other at the very outset of a battle.
Clanking to the edge of the sally port, I stood there peering out into the starlit scene. Damn if Harris hadn’t vanished already. I could make out the ship he was heading toward, but it was pretty small and at least four kilometers away.
“Okay, when Harris sends back the go-message, we’re launching next,” I told Toro and her heavies.
“Why don’t you send Leeson’s team next?” Toro asked. “Harris might not be able to cut through on his own. Leeson has all the best techs and weaponeers—”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Leeson said, stomping forward t
o join us on a broad tongue of metal that stuck out into the void. “We got a plan. Let’s stick to that plan!”
I thought about what Toro was saying. Sure, she was trying to get out of stepping into this meat-grinder early—but she did have a point. If the problem was that Harris couldn’t break in, then Leeson’s people were the next logical choice.
“Toro is right,” I said. “I don’t want any downtime if we have to back Harris up technically. Leeson, form up on the ready-line. You’ll jump the moment I give you the signal.”
Leeson shot Toro a sour glance, but I pretended not to notice. Muttering, he ordered his platoon up to the line, and they stood there, looking worried. I couldn’t blame them for that.
“Message coming in from Harris, sir,” I heard Natasha tell me. “He sounds like he’s in trouble.”
“Dammit, pipe it through. I’m not getting anything.”
In that moment, I realized I’d left Harris on mute. Feeling a shock of guilt, I adjusted that and heard him shout in my ear.
“By all that’s holy, McGill!” he roared. “Can’t you see we’re under fire? We’re pinned on the starboard wing of this little ship!”
Zooming in with my optics, I saw his men clinging to the sleek Blood Worlder ship. It was about the size of a lifter, but built with a narrower profile and delta-shaped wings.
“Leeson!” I boomed. “That’s your signal! Go, go, GO!”
Startled, the auxiliary platoon jumped. At least none of them banged into anything. They leapt out into open space and used their tiny steering jets to home in on the target ship.
I grimaced as I watched sparks flying nailing Harris’ troops. They didn’t stand a chance. There wasn’t really anywhere to hide, and they were getting pasted on that wing.
“Toro, ready-line! We jump in ten seconds! Ten… Nine…”
I jumped on the three. I don’t know why. Maybe I felt bad about letting Harris sit out there under fire without a hope.
“Scatter, scatter!” I ordered my troops as Toro’s heavies began leaping behind me. “They’re turning those turrets our way. Weaponeers, fly high and low out of the main column. Heavies, fly straight in. We’re the targets. Sight on those turrets to see if you can get a clean shot.”
