by B. V. Larson
The guards, who consisted of two heavy troopers slumped against one wall, snapped to attention. They crunched forward, their guns lowered to my chest-level and their lumpy faces deadly serious.
For another, I was on an alien planet. The gravity was light—probably two thirds that of Earth. What’s more, the air was dank, kind of like my swamp back home.
“Hello troops,” I said. “I’m Centurion McGill, Legion Varus. Where’s your commanding officer?”
The two hulking near-humans froze. They’d looked like they’d been intent on killing me at first—but I’d slowed them down with that wall of words. Blood-Worlder troops weren’t generally geniuses. They were slow, deliberate, loyal—all of that, yes—but morons, mostly.
“The McGill?” the one on the left rumbled.
I rewarded him with a smile. “That’s right. The man who once stood as the proud hero of all Blood World.”
They looked at each other again, then they both began to side-step, stomping slowly from one foot to the other. They swayed back and forth in a solemn fashion. I knew from experience that meant they were doing some hard thinking.
“The sub-centurion,” the one on the left spoke again. “That way.”
He pointed his long, tree trunk-thick arm toward the only door.
I touched my cap and marched smartly toward the door.
A gunshot rang out. A chip the size of a cue ball appeared in the door jamb. That was impressive, as the entire wall was made of rough puff-crete. We were clearly inside a bunker of some kind.
Pausing, I turned around, nice and slow. “Is there a problem, boys?”
The one on the right spoke this time, impressing me. “No one supposed to use the gateway.”
I glanced back at the humming posts. “No, no,” I said. “You’re supposed to stop people from leaving here—using the gateway to desert. I’m returning to the field. I’ve just come from Earth with important news for Tribune Turov.”
More frowns and stumping from side-to-side. They weren’t all that good at English, despite years of training. It took them a long time to puzzle out sentences that were more than three words long.
That was my fault, really. I should have dumbed it all down about six notches, but I’d been surprised by just about everything lately, and I wasn’t yet at the top of my game.
Grinning like an idiot, I stared and waited for them to make a decision.
“The McGill should go, then,” said the one on the right at last.
Turning slowly and taking cautious steps, I moved to the door and pushed it open. All the while my neck was craned back over my shoulder to watch them. If either one got the bright idea to take another potshot at me, I didn’t want to be surprised.
Neither man moved. They just watched me go.
Once out in the hallway, I breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, my mood crashed down again when I saw where I was.
The hall was wide. Way too wide. And the ceiling—that was twice as high as it needed to be.
Then I saw the marching troops, and I knew: I was in the camp of the Blood Worlder legion. This was their territory, and this entire bunker had been hollowed out in dimensions meant to fit their outsized bodies.
Slavers, heavy troopers, groups of hopping gremlins—they were all here. The place was a regular hive of near-humans.
Not having a clue where I was going, I marched off to the left at a smart pace. When caught in enemy territory, always appear decisive. Never hesitate or give any other sign that you don’t belong.
It worked at first. I made it about a hundred steps down the central hallway before anyone did more than give me a puzzled glance.
Finally, however, a voice burbled words at me.
I could hear the alien words, which sounded like the garbled voice of a drowned man, then the translation box kicked in.
“Centurion? Why are you in our bivouac?”
Spinning around on one heel, I confronted the creature who had addressed me. It turned out to be a squid.
Checking his rank, I saw he was a sub-centurion. That was good, because it meant I cleanly out ranked him. Blood Worlders were subservient to Earth troops in our army.
“Sub-Centurion,” I said. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Bubbles, would it?”
He looked like Bubbles to me, a squid I knew pretty well—but then, almost all squids looked alike to human eyes.
“No sir. I’m Sub-Centurion Churn.”
“Ah, okay. Nice to meet you. Now, if you’d show me the way to Legion Varus headquarters, I’ll be on my way.”
He gave me an odd look. “There is no path to such a place.”
“Why not?”
“The sea is between this rock, and that rock, for at least another ten hours.”
“I understand,” I said, and I meant it.
Storm World, as people were apparently referring to this turbulent rock, experienced almost continuous atmospheric disruptions. With several extra moons, the climate was continuously stirred up to a violent degree. Tides weren’t just low and high, when moons combined their gravitational tug, they became near tsunamis.
The winds, too… Listening for a second, I thought I could hear a howling sound outside. Could that be the wind? I felt, with a sinking sensation, that the odds were high that it was.
“Then why did you ask such a foolish question?” Churn demanded.
That was just the kind of asshole thing any squid would say. They liked catching you in any tiny twist of the facts. They had no concept of saving face, or politeness. It just wasn’t in them.
Instead, they seemed to get a charge out of proving others to be wrong—wrong about damned-well anything at all. Nothing gave a squid a hard-on quicker than calling you out on something stupid you’d done.
But I wasn’t in the mood for that game.
“Sub-Centurion Churn!” I barked out. “Come to attention!”
Surprised, he did so.
I walked around him in a circle twice, taking every step slowly.
“Eyes front!” I ordered.
He’d been following me with all eight of his orbs.
He looked a little puzzled, but he did it.
Squids had to be dominated. They were like mean dogs. Either you were the alpha, or they were. Nobody was on an even playing field. Everyone was somebody’s master, and somebody else’s slave in their society.
“That’s better,” I said. “I’d heard discipline was very lax here in this legion.”
“That’s untrue,” the squid complained. “We are very—”
“Quiet! You haven’t been given permission to speak.”
He shut up. I proceeded to tell him what a piece of livid shit he and his entire unit were thought to be by Legion Varus brass. He looked alarmed, but he held his drippy blue tongue still.
As my lie took over my thinking, the story quickly expanded. I was here to inspect the Blood World legion. It was, of course, a surprise inspection, and Churn himself was under a dark cloud of suspicion for slovenly behavior.
At last, I let him talk. He complained a bit, then I cut him off and chewed on him some more.
By the end of it, the squid was cowed. That’s how you had to treat them, or they’d walk all over you every time.
“Permission to speak freely, sir?” he asked when I’d finished ranting at his expense.
“Granted.”
“Are you the human who killed so many of our troops during our exercise aboard Legate?”
“Uh…” I said. “Yes. Yes, that was me. I’m a harsh man.”
“You are a murderous tyrant. Therefore, I respect you.”
I glanced at him, and I figured he was deadly serious. Killing great numbers of his troops in a mock battle—that was cool, according to squid thinking.
“I’m surprised you survived,” I said. “If I’d seen you, Churn, I would have killed you myself.”
“I have no doubt of it. I now understand better why these simpletons still revere the name of McGill.”
“They do?”
“Absolutely. They speak of their planet’s hero with awe, fear and respect. They do not understand why you left them, but they still believe you are their conqueror.”
I felt a twinge of guilt to hear his words. After all, I’d beaten their world in a series of trials by combat, winning their loyalty. But then… I’d gotten bored with their nasty desert planet real quick and gone home.
“That’s good,” I said. “Adulation pleases me.”
“As it would please any thinking being.”
“Listen, Churn, when the weather breaks, or the path to walk home opens, I want you to guide me back to Legion Varus.”
“That would be most irregular.”
“Do you have a sub-primus that needs convincing?”
He did. I had him lead me to his commander, who turned out to be a human. That surprised me a little, but I guess it shouldn’t. The whole legion couldn’t be made up of a giant stack of aliens. How would they stay loyal to Earth if it did?
What I found even more surprising was the man who was running things. He was known to me.
It was Primus Fike of the Iron Eagles.
I’d first met Primus Fike back on Dark World. He’d been serving under Deech back then, and he’d been one arrogant SOB.
Today, he looked a lot younger. He’d died back on Dark World while I was watching. I guess he hadn’t died for a long time before that, because he was at least a decade younger today.
“By damn!” I said. “Primus Fike? As I live and breathe, sir! I haven’t seen you since we fought the good fight back on the orbital factory together.”
“Speak for yourself, McGill,” he said sourly. “I found nothing about that battle to be satisfying.”
“Just so, sir. Just so. But look at you! You’ve lost a lot of years, sir. A lot of years. You can’t be unhappy about that.”
Apparently, he was unhappy. He gave me a sour stare. “Is there something this sub-legion can do for Varus?”
“Uh… sure. I need to get back to my unit, sir. I want to do so at the first opportunity. As I understand it, the tides and the storms should break in another eight hours or so. I’d like to quickly rejoin my comrades then.”
“Impossible. You’re not even supposed to be here on my turf. I don’t get why you’re here—and knowing Turov, I probably want to keep it that way.”
“Um… why would it be impossible, sir?”
“Because we never get a break on this shit planet, McGill!” he snapped. “If it’s not a storm, then it’s a tide. And if it’s neither of those, the enemy attacks our walls. We’re in a state of continual siege. You wouldn’t know it by the way we’re all hunkered down in this hole, but we are. The moment the conditions are right, the enemy will attack again.”
“Hmm…” I said. “Well then, how am I supposed to get back to my unit, sir?”
While we’d been talking, Primus Fike took out a pistol and screwed on the barrel slowly. He aimed it at me.
He gave me a little grin. “I’ll take care of that personally.”
Then, the bastard shot me.
-25-
I was revived in a crappy bunker about fifty kilometers away in another compound. Needless to say, I found Fike’s “decommissioning” and “sudden transfer” process extremely rude. Accordingly, I came out of Blue Bunker in a sour mood.
Locating 3rd unit’s module, I was greeted by an enthusiastic throng. Leeson seemed happiest of them all.
“Glad to see you’re back, Centurion,” he said, pummeling me on the shoulder.
Despite my frown, I almost smiled to see how excited Leeson was. As my senior adjunct, he’d taken over as unit commander in my absence—but he’d never been all that comfortable in the role. He didn’t mind the mid-manager job of being an adjunct, but a centurion? At that level, you really had to think for yourself.
Taking in a deep breath, I tried to let go of all my pent-up, pissed-off feelings toward Fike.
“It’s good to be back with 3rd unit,” I managed to say in an even tone.
“Where have you been all this time, Centurion?” Harris asked. “If you don’t mind my asking in public…?”
Harris had that suspicious-dog look on his face. He probably figured I’d wangled a vacation of some kind.
Pondering the nature of my response for a few moments, I came up with an angle and ran with it.
“I’ve just come from the Blood Worlder camp. Primus Fike decided I was needed here… so here I am.”
“What?” Leeson demanded. “You mean he offed you just to get a Varus man out of his hair? That’s rude. Uncalled for.”
“That depends,” Harris said.
“On what?”
“On what said Varus man did to deserve it.”
A chuckle ran through the group. That put me right back into my sour mood. I could see what was happening. My long absence, unavoidable though it may have been, had eroded respect in my unit for their rightful centurion.
What’s more, Harris seemed to be leading the charge on undercutting me. Adjunct Barton, at least, had the good graces to keep her mouth shut. Every time a critical moment came up, she’d been playing it straight. I was beginning to like the woman, and I was also beginning to appreciate what it must feel like to command a group of pros from Victrix who didn’t mouth-off all the time.
“At storm-break,” I announced. “We’re going on patrol.”
“What? You mean outside the walls?” Harris asked me.
“That’s what I said.”
“Dammit. Uh… sir, did you anger Turov as well as Fike…?”
“Put a sock in it, Adjunct.”
He shut up at last. His giggle-partners shut up as well. Being experienced Varus troops, they knew exactly the wrong time to piss off your commander was before a dangerous patrol. Unpopular soldiers tended to get dangerous assignments on hostile planets like this one—and they often didn’t make it back to their bunks at the end of the day.
As the group broke up, I pulled my favorite noncom aside. “Veteran Moller,” I said, “I’m reassigning you to Barton’s light platoon.”
Moller looked surprised. She was the most barrel-chested woman I’d ever served with. She was competent, quiet, and dedicated. Even so, I could tell she wasn’t happy to be joining the platoon with the lowest probability of survival in the unit.
“Did my dog shit on your lawn, sir?” she asked.
“No, no. To the contrary. I want Barton to have the best support I can give her.”
Moller nodded resignedly. “Understood.”
She stumped off to talk to Barton. While she did so, I worked my tapper.
I’d decided it was time to confess to Turov that I was breathing again. I’d been avoiding reporting in, if only because my last experience with her hadn’t been completely positive. More importantly, I couldn’t know for sure if my little venture to the core of the galaxy had sent shockwaves all the way back to the frontier. Hopefully, no one would ever investigate Xlur’s death and follow the trail back to Earth.
Turov picked up right away.
“McGill? You’re here on this godforsaken rock?”
“Yes, sir. And for the record, I’m not a man who minds a little rain now and then.”
“No…” she said, “considering where you live on Earth, I guess that’s clear. Well, come to my office. Immediately.”
I glanced around uncomfortably. My officers were glancing my way too. Clearly, they expected to talk to me in private. I was sure that there was plenty of politics and dirt to catch up on with all of them.
“Uh… all right, sir. I’ll be right there.”
There were a lot of eyes on my back as I walked out. At the module doors, I turned back to face them.
“Remember,” I said with a stern expression. “We’re out of here at the first ray of sunshine. Pack-up, gear-up and be ready.”
They got moving then, and I felt glad I’d left them with something to do.
Naturally, t
here hadn’t been any orders to go on patrol when the storm broke. I’d invented that detail. But the fabrication had worked wonders. They all had a task to perform, something to fear and worry about that was coming at us within hours. They were moving quickly and with purpose.
Leaving the module, I had to smile. A unit needed a centurion. They just never felt good without that single individual on hand to keep them all on target—even if the target was imaginary.
After checking my tapper a few times, I hunted down Turov’s office. It was in a separate bunker across the compound. At the stairway that led up to the bunker doors, I was stopped by an armored specialist who laid a hand on me.
“Sir?” he asked me. “Where are you going?”
Now, as an officer, I wasn’t accustomed to being grabbed by specialists. I yanked out of his grip. “I’ve been ordered to report to Gold Bunker—if that’s any business of yours.”
“Well sir, it’s not, but you might not want to walk out there on the surface right now. It’s not safe.”
My eyes slid off the noncom and up toward the puff-crete stairs. At the top, I saw the heavy doors. They were shut and sealed, but as I watched, they shivered with a powerful gust of wind.
I frowned. I couldn’t recall ever having seen bunker doors affected by winds. Just how bad were the storms on this particular shit-bucket of a world?
“Uh…” I said. “What’s the wind speed out there?”
“A steady hundred kilometers an hour right now,” he answered brightly. “Technically, that’s not even a hurricane-force wind. But it can gust up on you. We’ve tracked wind speeds of over two hundred earlier today.”
“Huh…” I said. “Is there another way to get from here to Gold Bunker?”
“Nope. Most of the bunkers are connected with tunnels—but not that one. The brass voted to keep themselves off the tunnel grid. That’s because of the scuppers, of course.”
“Um… how’s that? Scuppers?”
The noncom was frowning at me now. “Are you feeling all right, sir?” he asked. “It’s like you have amnesia or something.”
I drew back my shoulders and straightened my spine. “I’m fine, Specialist. Thanks for asking. Now, open those doors. I’ve got orders from the tribune herself to report immediately.”
