by B. V. Larson
“You used to serve with Graves,” I said. “Back in the day. Graves told me about it once. Don’t you care about those memories, when you were young and real? Can you even remember those times, Claver? Or have you had too many revives by now?”
Claver looked troubled for a few seconds. That was a big deal. No one got to Claver.
But there were theories. I’d heard them, and I believed them.
Mankind wasn’t meant to die and live again over and over. We aren’t designed to live forever in a thousand disjointed chunks.
People often experienced serious changes to their personalities when they were reproduced so many times. Some said it was because our brains weren’t built to hold the memories of so many lifetimes. That we simply couldn’t connect to our past—not forever. We weren’t designed to hold a thousand years of time in our heads, only a hundred or so.
Others said that subtle errors were inevitable after so many repeated copies were created. That biology wasn’t quite like a mound of printer paper. You couldn’t get precisely the same cell when you copied it—you could get close, but not an identical copy. Over time, the body and the mind warped slightly, the way a copy of a copy of a photo became increasingly blurred.
Still others said it wasn’t that complex. Back in the old days, when we’d first gained control of the revival machines—mistakes were made. Our tech had been primitive, and the machines were experimental. Some of those who were copied early-on had come out wrong, that’s all. The oldest legionnaires, like Claver and Graves, were bound to be at least mildly insane. They were, in effect, mildly bad grows that had never been properly recycled, and the original copies had been lost over time.
These thoughts played out on Claver’s face as he gazed down at Graves, a man he’d served with long before I was born. He had to know all the theories—perhaps he’d heard others that were even darker.
Snapping out of it, Claver drew in a sharp breath through his nostrils. He looked at me. “Everyone says you’re a card-carrying retard, McGill. But there’s more to you than the ape that meets the eye.”
“That’s what you keep saying,” Armel said, crossing his arms and looking bored. “But I still don’t see it.”
“Well… never mind. The question is what do we do now?”
Armel shrugged. “Torture him? Gather his women from around the camp and abuse them until he cooperates?”
Claver seemed to consider these ideas.
“Nah…” he said at last. “Such things have been tried before. It’s never worked out. How about this? I’ll take him off your hands. I’ll get the book, and I’ll make the trade.”
“You’re cutting me out?”
“Of the small details, yes. Let an old pro handle the dirty work.”
Armel seemed to consider. “Our original deal stands?”
“Of course. Indirectly, you gave me the book. I’ll get it to the client, and you’ll get the credit.”
“Hmm…” Armel said, seeming to consider. At last, he smiled. “How can I say no? As of now, McGill is your problem. Get him out of my office.”
That was it. Claver and his muscle-bound copies marched me out of the office. Armel announced I’d been placed under arrest for killing Primus Graves, and no one was to interfere.
It was a situation I’d been in before, so I wasn’t worried. Not worried much, anyway.
“Chain him up, boys,” Claver said in a cold voice.
“What’s this?” I demanded. “I’m a legion officer. You can’t just—”
A rifle butt cracked into my jaw. That hurt pretty good.
I struggled, but there were two armed men, and I was stunned. They managed to get manacles on me. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, let me tell you.
“If you want me to cooperate, Claver,” I told him in a rough voice, “you’re going about it in the wrong way.”
The Claver-Prime grinned at me. “You’re out of the picture now, McGill. I don’t need you to get a copy of the book. I know all about Floramel and her memory. I’ll get my own damned copy.”
I frowned. “Well then… why’d you go to all this trouble? Why’d you make deals with Armel about me?”
Claver released a dirty laugh. “Such a moron! You still don’t get it, do you? This is about a second deal, McGill. This time, you’re the merchandise.”
I let that thought bounce around inside my skull for a time. After a while, I decided I didn’t like the sound of it.
The Clavers marched me down the main passage, and I called out to a few legionnaires for help.
No one moved a muscle to come to my aid. They’d all gotten the word from their tribune that I’d been legitimately arrested for killing Graves. Sometimes, having a reputation as a troublemaker wasn’t a good thing.
One face among many others, however, did give me a second glance. It was the odd, tree-frog like face of Second-Man. He watched in alarm as I was hustled on by.
“Hey!” I shouted at him. “I’m under false arrest!”
A big hand came up and clubbed my mouth. One of the dumbass Clavers had done it without even looking.
The Claver-Prime at the front of the pack laughed. “Don’t bother, McGill. Everyone knows you deserve whatever’s coming to you. Not even your own officers will lift a finger to help.”
Looking back, straining my neck, I saw that Claver was partially right. Harris, Barton and Leeson were circled up, staring, muttering and shaking their heads. None of them looked too keen on getting permed on my behalf.
The squid sub-officers, on the other hand, were delighted. They were slapping tentacles and swiveling their eye-groups excitedly. Ding-dong, the big bad witch was finally dead.
Only Second-Man truly looked upset. He trotted after me like a lost dog for a time, but then slowed and stopped. He went slinking back toward the mass of Scupper troops.
Did that mean he was pining away for his master? Or was he plotting his own move up to fill the First-Man’s shoes? It was hard to tell.
I noticed the number of Scuppers was significantly greater than it had been. Craning my neck, I thought I saw Big Green, the guy I’d sent off deep under the ocean to look for more native recruits.
Second-Man and Big Green were both here at Fort Beta, willing to fight. It would be a crying shame if they’d come all this way for nothing.
Soon, we passed by the salamander camp and kept going. Seeing as I was being dragged along in chains, I kind of expected to end up aboard a ship. Maybe I’d be hauled aboard a small vessel, of the type Claver used to travel the galaxy.
Instead, he took me to Blue Bunker. That was kind of surprising. Claver generally had few friends among the bio-people and xeno-nerds who dwelled there.
Marching by several challenges, he was allowed down into the bowels of the bunker. Down here in the basement, that’s where the revival machines were kept.
Was I going to be recycled? I wasn’t sure, but I began to drag my feet. Lifting me up with bulging biceps, the Class-Threes barely slowed down.
The humid stink of the machines was nearby. This was the region where near-humans could be revived. Somehow, the bigger machines produced a bigger stench—I supposed it was only natural.
Claver tried the last door on the left, but it was sealed shut. He ordered his Clavers forward to kick it in—but that was almost hopeless.
At last, the men grabbed me and rammed me against the door, making certain my face was against the steamy porthole-like window.
The window was triangular and fogged-up, but I could still see inside. I didn’t know why they were pushing me up there—but after I got a look inside, I knew what the score was.
A big, flaccid-bellied revival machine was in there. Working beside it was Raash and two other saurians.
None of that was terribly interesting. This was, after all, a near-human legion’s revival chamber. Working such machines was Raash’s job.
But there was someone else there—a woman who wasn’t a bio tech or even a saurian.
; It was Floramel, and she was looking at me with a puzzled expression.
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I shook my head. I swear I did. I did everything I could to warn her.
And I shouted, too. “Floramel! Don’t open the door!”
But I should have known she couldn’t hear me. These revival chambers had solid doors, meant to survive assaults.
The Clavers took turns bashing my skull, trying to quiet me. All that did was splash some blood on the triangular window. I didn’t shut up.
“Floramel! Stop!”
They pulled me away, and Claver-Prime got into my face.
“Now, don’t you mess this up. She’s mine. All I want is what’s in her head. I’ll let her go afterward.”
“Is that a bargain?” I asked him.
He hesitated. “Yes,” he said finally. “That’s a deal between us, McGill. You know I keep my deals.”
Before we could say more, the door swished open.
We all turned, expecting to see Floramel’s pretty face. But instead, we were greeted by the snarling features of Raash.
“You are not to be here. This man,” he pointed at me, “he speaks nothing but lies. If you have listened to him, you have been misled.”
Claver-Prime released a dirty, wheezing chuckle. “He knows you, McGill! Even this shit-for-brains lizard is wise to you!”
I said nothing. My muscles were tense, waiting for a solid opportunity to act.
“He plots!” Raash said. “You don’t know him as I do. He’s a devil in pink skin.”
“That he is indeed,” Claver said. “We’re here, in fact, to gather witnesses for McGill’s trial. Would you like to testify, Mr. Lizard?”
“My name is Raash.”
“Of course it is. McGill here is up on charges. We’ve arrested him, see? We just need a few more witnesses, and he’ll be permed this time.”
“Permed? This concept pleases me.”
“What’s going on?” Floramel asked, stepping up behind Raash.
My body tightened up, and my lips drew into a line. I wanted to shout for them to run for it.
But Claver was eyeing me, shaking his head. He had a beamer in his hand, while Raash and Floramel were unarmed.
It was hard, but I kept my mouth shut.
“A lovely young lady,” Claver said, addressing Floramel. “Let me guess: you too are familiar with the accused, one James McGill. Isn’t that so?”
Floramel’s eyes slid from me to Claver and back again.
“Yes…” she said hesitantly.
“Good, good. It’s just one big happy family down here on Storm World, isn’t it?”
Suddenly, Floramel’s expression changed. “I know your face. I know these words… you are the Claver! A thief in the night who steals our technology! Raash, throw them out of here!”
Raash moved to close the door, but a huge arm from one of the Class-Threes barred his path.
The saurian roared and attacked. The Three fought with genetically-enhanced strength, but the contest was uneven. Raash was bigger and stronger than most humans, even pumped-up clones. More importantly, he had teeth.
He got hold of the man’s thick neck, tore it open, and blood sprayed.
I struggled with the remaining Three, but he had my hands tied, and he was hauling on my arms to hold me back. Even so, I bashed him into a few walls.
Suddenly, a beamer sang.
Dazzled by the flash, I fully expected to feel my own hot guts slipping away over my belt buckle—but it wasn’t me that Claver-Prime had shot. He’d gunned down Raash.
Floramel ran to the crumpled form and wept.
“Seriously?” Claver laughed. “Are you some kind of a pervert who likes lizards, girl?”
Floramel didn’t answer. She stood, and she might have attacked Claver, but he had his beamer on her.
Leaving behind Raash and the Class-Three who’d battled to the death on the deck, we marched out of Blue Bunker. My own personal guard still had my arms behind me, and the Prime had Floramel with a beamer’s muzzle in the small of her back.
The various guards among the Blue Bunker staffers glowered at all of us as we passed by, but they clearly had orders from Armel not to interfere.
We were half-marched, half-dragged to the blast-pans. Here, lifters had once ferried back and forth troops and supplies from Legate. But that was the past. Legate had gone back to Earth, and she’d taken the lifters with her.
Now, only one vessel sat in the midst of the central blast-pan. It was a small ship, something about the size of an Imperial patrol boat.
But the markings were all wrong—in fact, they were absent. It was a quiet, unassuming ship with no flags, emblems, or visible guns.
I knew it had to be Claver’s.
We were forced aboard, but then a howling rush of wet blue flesh came out of the rainy gray light and attacked.
Second-Man and Big Green led the charge. Behind them was a pack consisting of hundreds of Scuppers. I was impressed. Big Green really had managed to drum up some support from other native cities.
This ambush took Claver by surprise. He didn’t even seem to know enough to blame me for the attack. He had no idea, apparently, that I’d been snake-charming these odd people for weeks.
“What in the holy hell—?”
His shock was brief, however, and he came up with a simple expedient. He kicked his last Claver-Three in the ass, pushing him out into the howling mob that rushed from all sides of the ship.
“Kill them!” he ordered. “Kill them all!”
The big, dumb Claver whirled to see the ship’s door closed. He knew he was screwed—he was at least that smart.
The salamanders were on him in an instant, and he fought as best he could. The native warriors were smaller, weaker, and less well-trained—but it didn’t matter. There were lots of them, and they took him down in a matter of moments.
Inside the small ship, I got to my feet and looked around for a weapon. I looked for something to free my hands, but I was knocked onto my face.
The ship had surged upward, lurching into flight. Claver had hit the jets, and we were soaring.
Under the belly of the small ship, dozens of faithful Scuppers were flash-fried.
Dammit.
I hoped Second-Man had managed to get clear.
Flipping on the autopilot, Claver had his gun turned on us before I could take him out. Still, I stood over him, and the look in my eye told the tale. I was going to try to take him out, hands or no.
Claver’s wrist flicked, directing the gun toward Floramel.
“Sit down, McGill,” he said. “Or all of our deals are canceled. All of them.”
It was clear he meant to kill or at least mistreat Floramel.
Growling, I sat down on a bench seat and decided I’d bide my time.
Claver sniffed, and he turned to face Floramel—appraising her.
“Impressive,” he said. “You must be something special, little lady. I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who could get two muscle-bound retards to kill themselves for her on a single day.”
“You misunderstand the situation,” Floramel said.
“How’s that?”
“McGill is not allowed to mate with me.”
“Oh no? But he did at least once, right?”
She didn’t answer, and Claver started up with his dirty laugh again.
“Claver, where are we going?” I demanded.
“Isn’t that obvious? No?” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Let’s do a little math, shall we McGill? How many starships are in this system right now?”
“Uh…” I said. “Three last I knew.”
“Right, right. Two transports from Rigel, and one light cruiser from the Core Worlds.”
I blinked at him. None of these destinations were very appetizing to me.
“Now,” Claver continued as if talking to a slow child, “I’m planning to sell both of you. Who do you think might be the highest bidder, respectively?”
I
blinked some more.
“Sell us?” Floramel asked in alarm.
“That’s right. I’m a trader. Trading is what I do. It’s nothing personal, doll. Now, I happen to have here two valuable specimens, if I can only find an interested buyer. Can you figure this out, Rogue-Worlder? People keep telling me how smart you are and everything—but I haven’t seen any evidence yet.”
Floramel glowered. I knew she was proud of her intellect, the same way a man like me might be proud of a pair of thick arms, a kill-count, or even how much he could eat at one sitting.
“You know of my memory,” she said. “You know I’ve memorized the book.”
“Yes! That’s right. Who would want that tidbit the most?”
She shrugged. “It seems like half the galaxy wants it.”
“Right again! Maybe I was wrong to think you were some kind of organic robot. Maybe you really are as smart as they say. Both of the potential buyers in this system are interested in what you have to offer—but really, I can’t sell you off to the Empire. They might misguidedly blame me somehow, or even think—wrongheadedly, of course—that they can suppress the information by killing all of us.”
“Therefore… I must go to Rigel?” she said in a small voice. She sounded horrified, and I didn’t blame her. We’d all seen how those miserable bears treated their captives.
“Stands to reason!” Claver said. Then he looked at me, and he waved his gun in my direction. “Now girl, let’s see if you can apply the same logic to the case of this overgrown idiot.”
Floramel looked at me thoughtfully. “It’s hard to say. Both parties probably hate him. He’s probably wronged them all.”
Claver cackled then. He outright cackled like a happy witch.
“Exactly right!” he laughed. “That’s been my dilemma, until I gave the matter a careful five minutes of deep thought. You know what I came up with?”
Neither of us answered. We just stared at him.
“Nothing, huh? I’m disappointed… but never mind. What I realized was that if I flew to meet with Rigel, the Galactics would notice. And vice-versa. What I needed, therefore, was a cover-story. A reason I could give to the second ship as to why I’d visited the first. McGill’s here partly for that purpose.”
