by B. V. Larson
“Something on command chat…” he said. After a few moments, he looked up at me. I saw a hint of alarm on his normally stoic features. “Specialist McGill, what kind of weapons did you deliver to the gun-runners down at the Vents? I thought they fired explosive pellets.”
“I can’t say the guns in the box were the same type, sir. We never saw them. I only have Claver’s word that they were guns at all. Whatever was in those containers, the items would have to be unusual and valuable to warrant all that credit.”
“Indeed. I’ve just received a priority message from Drusus. There’s an attack underway at the umbilical transport hub and the weaponry involved is quite unusual. In fact, no one who’s seen it can identify the technology.”
Both of us looked at Old Silver. He smiled back faintly and shrugged. “Can I help you gentlemen?”
“You better not be behind this, Claver,” Graves said.
Claver laughed coldly. “What are you going to do? Hold me in contempt in some Galactic court run by Nairbs? Or maybe you’ll perm me on the spot? What’s the difference to me at this point? You’ve played your last card, Centurion.”
Graves turned away from him and back to me. “The Tribune has heard about your jog across the city, the gunrunning—everything. He’s not happy and he’s already done the math. He’s blaming our new Primus, who in turn is blaming us. Our unit is to deploy in a police action to stop the riot at the umbilical transport hub.”
Claver chuckled. “A riot, huh? Is that what it is?”
“We’re bringing this man to the line with us. I don’t trust anyone to watch over him—not even you, McGill.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” I said. “You can give me his leash. I hate him more than I love money.”
The corners of Graves’ mouth twitched upward. “Good to hear. I’ve arranged air transport. Three units are deploying at once.”
“Air transport?” I asked. “The pilots wouldn’t be hired locals—guys who look like turtles?”
“What the hell difference does that make?”
I sighed. “None at all, sir.”
* * *
We arrived less than an hour later at the umbilical transport hub. The place was eerily quiet. It wasn’t empty, however. There were corpses everywhere.
Most noticeable to me were the corpses of the ghoulish revival squads. They had attempted to search among the dead for good clients and quickly paid the ultimate price.
Hanging back now along a perimeter a block from the cavern-like entrance to station, the surviving revival squads complained and stayed behind hastily erected barriers.
I followed Graves who met up with Adjunct Leeson. I rejoined 3rd Unit, with Old Silver at my side. He was in a fine mood for a man condemned. I couldn’t explain his attitude, but I knew I didn’t like it.
Leeson didn’t hesitate to put his face into Claver’s face. It was an odd spectacle, one man screaming and red-faced, the other smiling and unconcerned.
“I know how you feel, kid,” Claver told Leeson. “I’ve been there, believe me. Really sucks to be in the dark when the shit starts to fly. If you live through this one, take notes and learn for next time.”
Leeson finally stalked off, and I relaxed a little. I’d been charged with watching over Claver. He was unarmed, unarmored and under arrest. Officially, he was an officer who had yet to face trial. Unfortunately, that meant I was in the odd position of protecting him.
I followed Claver to the front lines. Harris was there, and he gave Claver a deadly stare. For the second time within a minute, I knew my prisoner’s life was in jeopardy.
Harris was good, I have to admit that. He knew the score. He knew I was Claver’s jailor and bodyguard at the same time. What I should have seen coming was an underhanded move. Harris was a master at putting the hurt on a man when he least expected it. I should have, in retrospect, figured out what was going to happen. I’d been the Veteran’s victim often enough myself.
Harris turned to me, ignoring Claver. “Nice of you to join us, McGill,” he said. “You know what we get to do now? We’re going into that bat-cave over there and down to the bottom of the station. The only thing lower than the Vents on this megahab is the umbilical transport hub, and we’re going to visit it personally.”
“It’s been on my list of tourist destinations since we got here, Vet.”
Harris shook his head, stood up, and turned toward the cavernous entrance to the transport hub. Naturally enough, I moved to stand next to him, and Claver came up behind the two of us.
That was all the proximity that Harris needed. He took a step backward and stomped his boot down onto Claver’s right foot with grinding force.
Now, stomping on another guy’s foot is all fun and games back on Earth. But when you’re wearing heavy armor weighing in at a ton or more, and you engage the power-assist mode when you stomp—bones break.
Claver went down, hissing and screeching.
Harris whirled, almost catching him before he hit the ground.
“Oh, damn,” he said, “did I do that, Adjunct? I’m sorry, man. I backed up right onto your foot. I’m so sorry, sir. Please accept my heartfelt apologies.”
I put a gauntlet on Harris’ forearm. Harris already had a short, white-hot length of force-blade sticking out of it. He looked at me, and I shook my head.
“Can’t let you do it, Vet. Much as I’d like to.”
The force-blade vanished. Harris’ face shifted to one of innocence. “McGill,” he said, “you’re a guardian angel. Did anyone ever tell you that?”
“No Vet, I don’t believe they ever have.”
“Well, it’s true. And do you know when people see angels? Old people like you see them all the time, Adjunct Claver. Right before they die. Did you know that, Adjunct Claver, sir?”
“Come on, Vet,” I said, and I finally got him to retreat.
I noticed Claver was tapping on his forearm again. His expression was grim but that might have been the pain.
“If you pricks are done laughing,” he growled, “help me up and get a bio over here.”
I signaled the bio people, one of whom had seen the fall and was already on her way. I tapped a short text to Natasha as well. She arrived and they worked on Claver together.
The Adjunct was on his feet again shortly, but limping. The bones wouldn’t knit up for hours, but his boot had been turned into a cast, holding his foot so tightly he was able to walk on it.
Out the corner of my eye, I saw Claver working on his tapper again. He paused, cursed, then repeated a series of gestures. Finally, he looked around after Natasha, then at me.
“Did that bitch disconnect my tapper?” he demanded.
“It’s for the best, sir,” I said.
“You don’t have the authority to do that!”
“Should I contact Centurion Graves? I’m sure he’ll be glad to have our techs look over all your recent activity. If there’s nothing unusual recorded, I bet he’ll turn it back on.”
Claver bared his teeth at me then nodded after a few seconds thought.
“All right,” he said. “Why not? We’ll ride this out blindfolded and see how it ends.”
I cocked my head, unsure of what he was talking about. Before I could ask anything else, an explosion rolled up against my back. My faceplate was open, but my armor took most of the heat and pressure. I turned, flipping down my visor, and unlimbered my belcher. My ears stopped singing and started working again a second later.
A horde of Tau were boiling up out of the transport hub entrance. They were wearing a shifting maroon light for clothing and nonexistent silver shoes. Many of them had slim metal rods in their hands with knobs at the end. From these they released bolts of energy that looked to me like…lightning?
Whoever these people were, they were pissed. They fired their strange weapons toward us, and each strike landed like a mortar. I think the only reason they didn’t clear our line right off was because they barely knew how to aim their lightning rods.
A bolt struck a puff-crete barrier right in front of me. It jumped as if kicked and was left smoking. I was knocked flat from the jolt, falling onto my face.
Hunkering down there at my side was none other than Adjunct Claver. He didn’t talk to me or even look at me. Instead, he crawled on his belly away from the action. I couldn’t really blame him for that. He was as good as naked and didn’t even have a sidearm.
All around me troops opened up in a blaze of fire. The front rank of rebels, terrorists—whatever they were—went down in a heap. More came up behind them, raving. They snatched up fallen lightning rods and spread out taking cover on both sides of the street. Bolts flew overhead sizzling in the air.
As a weaponeer, I was torn. Should I fire on this charging enemy or go after Claver? I’d been put in charge of him, but as far as I could see all he wanted was to keep breathing.
I made a decision, and later I came to regret it. But there it was. I got to my knees, leveled my heavy weapon and beamed the crowd.
My weapon was set for a mid-range cone and it caught the front rank squarely. At least eight of them smoked and fell. Their eyes boiled in their sockets like eggs. A few more bolts flew from this group, then they were nothing but dead ash on the street.
It was a good shot, but it wasn’t enough. We were being overrun. Looking around, I saw that at least half our heavy troopers were down and not moving.
“Fall back!” roared Leeson, standing over me suddenly. “3rd Unit, fall back!”
Clanking along in a half-crouch, I did the best I could do in heavy armor to follow his orders. But then, a moment later, something came up and kicked me in the ass. I’d been struck by artificial lightning. Falling again, I found I couldn’t get back up.
Systems failure—not in my body but mechanical. My suit had shorted out, and I realized an instant later that this is what had happened to many of my fallen comrades. The lightning strikes not only blew things up, they operated as EMP blasts to fry our equipment. Overloaded couplings smoked all around me inside my suit, and the stink of burning insulation rolled into my nostrils.
A face loomed in front of me then. It was none other than Old Silver.
“You like it in there, punk?” he asked.
I felt a jostling as he worked my sidearm out of its holster.
This pissed me off. I’m a large, strong man and I’d worked out like a man possessed to become a proper weaponeer. All that training had made me twice as strong as the day I’d joined Legion Varus. Despite the fact my power-assist was dead, I snaked out my arm and clamped onto Claver’s hand with my dead gauntlet. It felt strange, as if I was grabbing someone with two shovels, but I managed it.
Claver cursed me desperately and tried to aim my own gun into my face. At this range, it would go right through my visor.
My next action came without thinking. It was self-defense, pure and simple. I fired the explosive bolts on my suit.
As far as I knew no one had ever done that in combat, but I was trapped in a dead suit. I didn’t feel like waiting around for Claver or one of these crazed rebels to finish me off.
Not every suit has explosive bolts. Only weaponeers were so-equipped. Because our kit was so heavy, they’d been installed in case of a power failure like the one I was experiencing.
The two halves of my suit popped apart, and I was freed. I did a push-up, and the back half of the suit fell away.
Claver looked startled, and I managed to slap away the pistol before he could pull the trigger. I grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him after me as I ran from the front lines.
The battle was clearly over, and Legion Varus had lost. Chattering excitedly, the Tau killed everyone they caught. I ran with Claver stumbling and hobbling on his bad foot right behind me.
“You don’t die easy, do you son?” he asked when we found a spot to hide and gasp for breath.
I looked at him. “I’ll probably never have your silver hair, sir, but I don’t like to die any more than the next man.”
“Then you should take my advice, kid,” he said. “Get off this station.”
I frowned at him but didn’t get a chance to reply. Something dashed against my skull. I spun around and slumped onto my back, staring up at the artificial sky. Claver fled.
Stunned, trying to get up, I saw the rebel Tau were overrunning my position. Several of them ran past me ignoring the unarmored human who couldn’t even stand.
But one man noticed me. He paused, aiming his lightning rod at me. He turned to chatter something to his fellows—perhaps it was a joke, or maybe he was bragging.
While his attention was diverted, I kicked his feet out from under him. Tau are skinny fellows, and he went down with a surprised squawk. On my knees and elbows, I made it to the lightning rod before he did. I shoved the butt end of the weapon into his mouth tentacles and dark blood fountained.
Heaving myself to my knees, I took a look around. There had to be seven of them nearby and another seventy within earshot. Already they were pointing and converging.
I lifted the unfamiliar weapon, aimed at the biggest knot of rebels in sight, and depressed a firing stud. Nothing happened.
One of them returned the favor and a bolt exploded an air car nearby. They were shooting at me. I didn’t have much time to figure out an unfamiliar weapon.
The controls weren’t anything special to look at. There was a knob on top, but no sights, no readouts. There were only two studs that I could find—one at the end and one at the front. I’d pushed on the front one and it hadn’t worked.
I moved my hand to the rear one, but hesitated. A detachable-looking apparatus sat there like a battery-pack at the rear end of a flashlight. Might that not be a release for the power-source? These things had to use a fantastic amount of power very quickly.
I tried pressing the forward stud again. This time I held it down—and that did the trick. Apparently you had to hold it depressed for a full second. Or maybe, when it was low on its charge, it took that long to cycle up and fire. I really didn’t know.
The bolt connected me to a group of three victims briefly. My newfound weapon, their bodies, and the street formed a closed circuit. They died in an instant, and I had time to grin with blood in my mouth.
The moment passed, and the rest of them fried me down to ash.
-17-
Awakening after a bad death is something I’ll never get used to. But I didn’t think of this one as a really bad death. After all, I’d taken more than my weight in enemies down with me, and I doubted any of them were going to get a revive of any kind.
I woke up gasping, and even after I got that under control I had trouble breathing. There’s always liquid in your lungs when you’re reborn, thick stuff like snot—but this was worse than usual. I lay there hitching and trying to suck in air like a dying fish. I didn’t open my eyes. New eyes were always painfully dazzled by the bright lights of the revival room.
“He’s a good grow, but there’s an obstruction,” said a male voice. It was probably one of the orderlies.
“Where?” a woman asked. I found her voice vaguely familiar to my fuzzy mind.
“Right lung. Might be a clot.”
“Let him sit up. Let him cough it out. Sit up, McGill.”
I squirmed but couldn’t sit up on my own. My rubbery muscles wouldn’t obey me. I rolled off the platter-thing they’d used to pull me out of the machine, and I went down on my hands and knees. I coughed and spat until I vomited—but nothing came out of my stomach or my lungs. Absolutely nothing. Not even a trickle of bile. My guts were brand new and completely empty.
“Cough, don’t puke,” said the woman. “Cough, damn you.”
I recognized the voice then. She was Anne—Anne Grant. A senior bio specialist who’d fought two campaigns with me. We’d both gotten each other killed and rescued on multiple occasions.
“Anne?” I sputtered.
Before she could reply I began the coughing fit she’d been hoping for. Talking had triggered it. Blood
and slime splattered the floor.
“You good to go?” she asked when I was finished. Her voice was softer than before, and I felt her light touch on my hair.
I forced my eyes open at last and squinted up at her. The operating room lights were like twin suns behind her head.
“Never better,” I rasped.
She laughed and put her hand on the back of my neck. “Good. We need you back in the streets.”
I sat up and dragged in ragged breaths. My lungs were clearing, but they burned inside. “What’s happening outside?”
“Lots of people are dying, that’s what,” she said with a trace of bitterness. “This entire orbiting city has gone mad.”
I looked at her, frowning. “Because of the transport hub attack?”
She shook her head. “That’s old news. The unrest has spread.”
“But…how long has it been?” I asked in confusion. To my mind, the attack was moments ago. “How long was I out of the picture?”
Anne looked regretful. “We couldn’t revive you right away. Turov placed a limit on troop revivals. She’s using legion equipment to revive Tau civvies. Only the important ones, of course. By important, I mean rich ones who are paying for the service. Can you believe that? She’s spouting some crap about diplomatic relations.”
I shook my head, confused. “Imperator Turov? She can’t have come out here so fast. Wait—how long was I dead? You didn’t say.”
“Three days,” Anne said with a hint of an apology in her voice. “You were gone for three days, James.”
I put my face in my hands. I didn’t feel well all of a sudden.
Anne watched me and sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to freak out. You’re fine. You’re back. Don’t think about the rest of it.”
I knew her advice was sound, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d been dead and gone for three whole days. My old body had probably been mulched by this time—maybe burnt or eaten or sold for fuel—who knew with these people.
What had happened to my existence during those long days? Could I really be the same man if I’d been dead for that long?
