by B. V. Larson
“Yeah…” I said, thinking about the agreement we’d made with Xlur a year or two back.
Earth had opted to build up our military and eventually go to war with an unnamed frontier power beyond the borders of the Empire. In return, we were allowed to keep control of all the Cephalopod worlds.
The only trouble was our relative lack of numbers. Earth was just one small planet. To govern hundreds of worlds, you needed a lot more than a few elite legions and a thrown-together fleet.
Her words made me think. She was right: the Blood Worlders were human, more or less. If they could be convinced to serve us instead of someone else we’d have a ready-made army to wield.
“I pretty much get all that, Tribune,” I said. “But what I don’t understand is the idea that I was risking something big. What would have happened if I’d lost this battle to the Skrull?”
She sighed. “We haven’t discussed that previously because we didn’t want to overwhelm you—but these contests are single-elimination. If we lose one, we’re out of the running.”
“Out of the running for what? What exactly is the prize? They aren’t going to declare themselves to be our slaves, are they?”
“It’s better than that. Slaves sometimes rebel. They will ally with us—following our orders.”
They tell me I’m not the quickest man in the Legion, and they’re more right than they know, but it sounded kind of like slavery to me.
“I see…” I said. “What about those gateway posts I found in the hold? What’s their purpose, if not to invade this Blood World?”
Deech looked at me like I was six kinds of a moron. She lifted her butt off her desk—and wow, I got way more than I’d bargained for in a single glance. Her pants were so tight I could see her religion.
Fortunately, she was too distracted to notice where my eyes had wandered.
“Think about it, McGill,” she said. “What if we succeed on this mission? What if we actually do gain a billion soldiers to fatten our ranks? Would Central want to send a fleet of transports all the way out here to pick them up?”
“Ah… I get it. The gateway isn’t going to be set up to bring our troops here—it will send their troops back to Earth. So we can load them up in transports whenever we need them.”
“Finally,” she said, shaking her head, “you grasp the situation. Now, let’s discuss tomorrow’s contest. You’ve beaten a single Skrull—not exactly an astounding feat. Tomorrow, we must send a full unit to face another challenger.”
“Uh… are we talking about fighting a hundred Skrull or something?”
“I’m not sure what we’ll meet on the field of honor, but the one thing they won’t be is Skrull. The Skrull have lost. They’ve been eliminated.”
“Oh yeah. Right. Okay then, I’d like to go spit-polish my unit, if you don’t mind.”
Deech looked me up and down. “Why would you assume your unit has been chosen to represent Earth?”
“Um… am I wrong?”
She squirmed a little and shook her head. “No, you’re not. No other group would make sense now. But McGill, don’t get cocky—or rather, don’t get any worse about it.”
“I swear I won’t, Tribune.”
“Good. Now, get out of here before I come to my senses and send someone else.”
I walked out of her office, giving her one more back-glance on the way out. Yes sir, there was no getting around it: she was doing her best to attract a mate today. Nowhere in her mannerisms had I detected any hint she was interested in me, however.
Curious, I decided to play out a hunch. As I passed by Winslade’s desk, I and crashed my fist down on his desk.
He had his boots propped up there, but his feet swept themselves down to the floor right-quick. Alarmed and annoyed, he planted them on the deck and stood up.
“What’s the meaning of this, McGill? Can’t you respect a superior for one second?”
“I’m angry for your sake, Winslade.”
Confused, his rat-slit eyes narrowed even farther than normal. “What are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you heard? The rumor mill says Deech is dating a primus. That’s just dirty. Graves shouldn’t be pulling this kind of thing. He’s got to be a century older than she is, for one thing.”
Winslade’s face underwent a series of contortions. At last, he settled into a snooty expression. “That’s ludicrous.”
“Yeah? How do you know? Do you see how she dressed herself today? Her uniform is so tight her—”
“Yes, yes, I know. I shouldn’t say anything, but for your information, I’ve been taking the Tribune to dinner lately.”
I feigned shock, and let my expression quickly morph into a leer.
“Congratulations, Primus!” I said loudly. “Imagine that, bagging the CO! I stand impressed!”
Winslade began hissing at me. “Shut up about it. That’s not public knowledge, understand?”
“Oh… yeah. Right. Sorry about that. Best of luck to you, you sly dog!”
With that, I left him. He looked kind of ruffled, but he looked happy, too. I didn’t begrudge him his moment of pride. Even a ferret like Winslade deserved to catch a fish now and then.
-37-
That night I made a mistake. I let Specialist Thompson into my room.
We’d been sneaking around for nearly a month, but that had gotten old, and after my safe and triumphant return from the pit, she’d wanted to celebrate.
We opened the first bottle, and by the time we’d finished it, we were already making love. That’s when my tapper started buzzing.
Glancing at it, I saw no red. That meant whoever was calling wasn’t my superior, and therefore they could wait. Probably, it was one of my troops fussing about our plans for the morning.
I’d tried to impress upon them that we couldn’t do much other than carry our basic gear down to Blood World and figure out what to do when we got there. That was upsetting to the likes of Leeson and Toro in particular, but that was just too damned bad. This time, they weren’t going to get to line up all their ducks in a row. The Blood Worlders didn’t play it that way.
Forgetting about the buzz, I put both hands back on the bio, and I let her have her way with me. For a skinny girl, she sure had a lot of energy once she got going.
“Specialist,” I said, “this is an unexpected treat.”
“Don’t you think it’s time you started calling me Evelyn?”
“Oh… sure, Evelyn. Sorry.”
She didn’t seem upset, and things continued to grow more heated. My bunk was making a squeaking sound, but I decided to ignore it.
The door chimed not ten seconds after I’d had that thought, and Evelyn froze. “It might be important,” Evelyn said. “Maybe you should answer it.”
I let out a growl of frustration.
“It’s just some nervous Nellie freaking out about tomorrow,” I told her. “Just ignore it.”
We tried to keep going. Really, we did. But this visitor didn’t seem to be capable of catching a hint. Whoever it was, they chimed and knocked about every thirty seconds for the next two minutes.
Finally, I got up with a roar. I pulled my clothes on and threw open the door.
It was Floramel. She had the gall to display a surprised expression.
“I was beginning to think my tracer was wrong,” she said. “Were you asleep?”
“Uh…” I said stupidly.
Behind me, Specialist Thompson didn’t run away. Far from it. She stretched luxuriously on my bunk and looked at Floramel with a slight smile.
I knew what that meant. Most women were either embarrassed in this situation, or pissed off. The fact that Thompson was happy—maybe even amused—meant she wanted to show me off—like a cat with a mouse in her mouth teasing her neighbors.
Floramel finally noticed her and stood dumbfounded.
“You… you have a visitor.”
“Um… yeah. What’s up, Floramel?”
A series of thoughts ran through her
face. Now, you have to understand that Floramel is a genius. She was born and bred for intellectual pursuits. But somehow, for all of that, she was a relatively innocent when it came to matters of the heart.
Because of this, when her face crumbled, my heart fell with hers.
She was crushed.
Maybe I’d known she was going to react this way. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t made it crystal clear to her that we were no longer a thing. After all, she’d pretty much dumped me. After that plus a few months without so much as a dinner-date, you’d think any woman would know it was over—but Floramel hadn’t been brought up on Earth.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m interrupting. I’m sorry.”
“Hold on, Floramel. Let me explain.”
Floramel was turning away slowly, stunned. She walked out into the passageway and stood there for a moment. I moved to follow.
“Let her go, James,” Evelyn said behind me.
That was a different tone. She didn’t say it sweetly—not at all. I could hardly blame her, but in that instant, her voice brought back unpleasant memories. She’d once been an officer trying to get me permed, and I could hear a commanding, mean note come out of her.
“I’ll be right back,” I said over my shoulder, and I followed Floramel.
We stood out there in the passage. She turned away from me—her face was blank and lost. I talked to her back, and I didn’t try to touch her.
“Look,” I said, “you had to know we were drifting apart. You had to know a man like me can’t be shunned for months and—”
“I was a fool,” she said. “I always play the fool among neuro-typicals. We’re just too different.”
“Oh, come on…”
“I came to talk about Gytha. I’m sure you’re not interested, but I needed to explain something to you.”
“Okay, okay, tell me. I’m not sure I’ll ever meet her, but I—”
“You will,” she said. “If you keep winning, she’ll want to meet you personally. She’s cold, James. Not like me. She’s much more dedicated.”
That was an alarming statement as I considered Floramel to be one of the most dedicated people I’d ever met.
Floramel turned around, and I could tell by her expression she was serious.
“You have to be careful around her. She’s not what she seems.”
“Uh… okay. Is that it?”
“Yes, I’ll be going now. I’m sorry to have caused you an inconvenience.”
“It’s not like that. I’m the one who should have talked to you. I just kept thinking you’d figure it out. Any Earth girl would have.”
“Again, our cultural differences sabotage us. I should stick to my own kind—too bad they’re so dull.”
She walked away then, and I stared after her. Damn, she was a lovely woman. Evelyn couldn’t hold a candle to her in the looks department. On the flipside, my little bio-specialist was as hot as a firecracker. It was all a matter of preference, I supposed.
Heading back into my room, I found my firecracker’s fuse had gone out.
“Out of my way,” she said, pushing past me.
“Hey! Wait a second,” I called after her. “I came back to you!”
“Not good enough, James.”
That was it. Both women had left in a huff.
Just wandering around bumping my nose into relationships wasn’t cutting it these days. I had to work on my relationship skills.
-38-
The reddish, Mars-like disc of Blood World filled my horizon a few hours later. This time, I wasn’t a lone man riding down on a shuttle. Instead, my entire unit was strapped into the lifter with me, and we rocketed downward together.
As Leeson was my senior adjunct, I’d tasked him with doing the mission rehash and the pep talk.
“Here’s the deal,” Leeson said loudly. “We’re going to face an unknown group of enemy soldiers. There should be an equal number of them as there are of us. Remember, the last contest featured a single Skrull, so I wouldn’t freak out about the unknown part.”
A wave of muted laughter swept the group.
“All we have to do is defeat them and we’re in the clear. Any questions?”
Carlos shot his hand up. I felt the same pang Graves must have had when he saw me open my mouth.
“What is it, Ortiz?” Leeson asked with a weary sigh.
“Do we get to use a revival machine?”
“That’s negatory. We’ll get off the lifter with what we can carry—that’s it.”
Harris raised his hand next.
“Adjunct?” Leeson asked, calling on him.
“How are the Blood Worlders defining ‘defeat’ in this case?”
Leeson’s face faltered, and I knew why. We’d talked about this quietly before we’d boarded the lifter. The answer was upsetting, so we’d decided to sidestep it.
“Um…” he said. “There’s a big crater down there. If either side runs outside of it, they’re out.”
Carlos jumped in, smelling dirt. “Out of the fight? As in, free to sip a beer and watch braver souls mix it up in the arena?”
“Uh… no. McGill?” Leeson turned to me, his face uncertain.
Being the centurion meant the buck stopped on my plate—along with the toughest questions.
“Here’s the real deal,” I told them, having decided there was no point in sugar-coating the facts now. They were suspicious, and any more dodging would only lower morale as they began to speculate. “We can’t get out of the crater until the enemy force is a hundred percent dead.”
They looked at me, and I looked back at them flatly. This stare-down continued for about two seconds.
“Thank you, sir,” Adjunct Toro said. “You’ve confirmed my darkest suspicions. No one is going to call this off early. No one is going to get to run off into the desert and sip a beer.”
“Nope,” I said firmly. “The Blood Worlders aren’t big on retreating, not unless a high-end commander orders it. They’d rather die. Anyone exiting the crater will be slaughtered by the locals like the disgusting dog they are.”
You could have heard a pin drop. The difficult part for them to swallow, I knew, was the thought that we might be the ones on the losing side of this contest. What if we were the ones running like hens and being cut down to the very last man?
“This isn’t my best pep-speech,” I admitted. “But facts are facts. When reality is grim, and it can’t be candied-up, I think the truth is called for. So, there it is. Go ahead and have a good cry if you want to.”
No one made a sound. Not even Carlos, who looked like someone had stepped on his dick.
Their grim but accepting attitude made me proud. Varus troops were a lot of things, good and bad, but we weren’t wimps. We could suck up punishment and keep marching.
About five minutes later, the lifter’s skids hit the ground. Harris and his light platoon were the first to deploy, with orders to fan out and scout the perimeter.
“Go! Go! GO!” he roared, chasing his lights out onto the dusty plain.
They scampered like rabbits, and he trotted after them. As an officer, he’d been given a breastplate and a heavier kit, but he still carried a snap-rifle like the rest of them.
Toro’s group stood and formed up next, jogging down the ramp in two columns. Heavy soldiers in full armor, their boots made the deck plates ring. They were all regulars and veterans, with a couple of specialists thrown in. They formed the solid core of our force.
I followed Toro while Leeson marshaled his auxiliary platoon behind me. His was a mix of troops with lots of techs and bio people. They also had more than their share of weaponeers and two light artillery teams.
Outside, the sun was going down. That caught my attention right off. The swollen orange fireball known at Epsilon Leporis was six times as big as Old Sol was back home. But the combination of the dirty atmosphere and the local sun’s weaker output made the day less dazzling than it might have been. Reddish stars were red because they were cooler, af
ter all.
The minute we were all on the ground, the ramp rolled up. The lifter took off and left us behind in a swirl of grit. There wasn’t so much as a “good luck” call from the pilot.
“We’re pulling back toward the crater wall,” Leeson said. “Please cover us, sir.”
“Right,” I responded on tactical chat. “Harris, are your rabbits posted?”
“There’s not enough cover out here… but we’re placed as best we can be.”
“Leeson,” I said, “have your techs unload buzzers. Locate the enemy fast. No holding back.”
“On it.”
We talked and moved professionally. So far, we hadn’t made any kind of contact with the enemy. That was good.
Our planning had been thin prior to deployment. It really hurt to have no idea what you were going to be facing. The basic thinking of my adjuncts was that we had good firepower at range, and the enemy might not. Accordingly, we would try to put as much land between us and them as possible at the start. With luck, we could shoot them down as they came in.
We’d had our lifter set down in the most open, sand-box region in the crater. Digging in close to the crater walls, we hoped to set up at vantage points that commanded all approaches from across the pit. With any luck, the enemy would be simple tactically and charge into our guns.
Leeson’s artillery teams hustled toward an outcropping of leaning stones. Harris’ people were mostly on their bellies, sighting on everything that moved. Toro’s heavies had spread out, but they were marching behind Leeson’s auxiliaries. In case the enemy jumped us, they were supposed to defend the softer troops.
Some of the brass, Winslade in particular, had suggested we cheat by placing a full unit of heavies into the fight. Why have lights and bio-people in a vicious pit fight?
The logic had held water for many, but Graves and I had prevailed upon Deech in the end. We’d been worried that changing out our standard equipment would be noticed, as the enemy had recently engaged with our units and knew what they typically looked like. Also, it was never a good idea to go into combat with a hodge-podge of troops that didn’t know how to work together effectively.
