by B. V. Larson
“To a point,” he said noncommittally.
There was only one other person in the room. None other than Tribune Drusus watched the interplay between the two of us. He was the commander of Legion Varus. He outranked Winslade, but Turov outranked him.
The trouble was, Drusus was no pushover. He was almost as good at detecting bullshit as I was at slinging it.
“It’s simple enough, sirs,” I said to both of them. “I’ve got nothing to hide. As best I understand it, Turov got wind of a squid commando attack on Central. Apparently, she didn’t have enough time to go through channels and explain herself. She brought us along, and we battled the squids downstairs. Fortunately, we stopped them before they achieved their mission goals.”
Winslade relaxed a fraction. Apparently, my bullshit matched his—or at least it was close enough.
“Exactly,” he said. “It’s just as I told you, Tribune. Turov deserves a medal.”
Tribune Drusus hadn’t said a word throughout this exchange. He’d just been watching the two of us as we went back and forth.
“There’s only one problem, gentlemen,” he said. “I don’t believe a word of this.”
I looked dumbfounded. Winslade pretended to be indignant. “Really, Tribune?” he asked in a hurt tone. “I don’t think casting aspersions is an appropriate—”
“Stuff a sock in it, Winslade,” Drusus said. “Let me give you an alternate scenario: Turov is mixed up in this somehow, I’m willing to buy that. She might even be in contact with the cephalopods.”
Winslade made an inarticulate gasping sound, as if scandalized. I kept a flat, dumb-ass expression frozen on my face.
“Yes,” Drusus continued, “that’s right. I wasn’t born yesterday. I know her ambitions are beyond measure. She’d be just the type to learn of an attack and cook up an insane scheme like this to gain status as a heroic figure. The only trouble is, she’s no commando herself.”
Winslade picked up on his thread of logic with smooth grace. He was still going with outrage.
“Tribune,” he said, “jealousy of the Imperator’s achievements doesn’t flatter you.”
Drusus gave him a sour glance, then he turned to me. “That’s where you come in, McGill. What are the odds of us finding a room full of death and you standing in the middle of it? You should be ashamed of yourself for getting tied up in this mess. It besmirches all of Legion Varus.”
“I’m sorry sir,” I said, contriving a rueful look.
Winslade and I were both copping to a lesser charge. Drusus seemed to be buying that Turov wasn’t a traitor, but a glory-hound. That was an infinite improvement as we were both tightly tied to her fate.
Drusus dragged in a breath then let it out slowly.
“Now,” he said, “if both of you understand you’ve been reprimanded, it’s time we discussed my new orders. I’ve been put in charge of Earth’s defensive network.”
With a flair, he took out a double-starred rank insignia—the twin sunbursts of an imperator. Despite everything, I was impressed. He’d gained rank in a big hurry, probably because so many of the top brass were dead.
“Congratulations, sir,” I said with feeling. “But what about all the hogs that were in line ahead of you?”
He shrugged. “In times of true peril, even bureaucrats can become desperate enough to face reality. There are very few senior officers on Earth with decades of combat experience. Besides, most of the existing Hegemony brass have been permed.”
“Right…” I said, thinking about it. “Only real mercenary legionnaires have been to the stars. With the upper ranks wiped out, the council put you in charge of everything, is that right?”
“Not of everything. The fleet is independent. They’re up in orbit now, trying to patrol the system. They’re understandably nervous.”
“That’s a good idea, sir,” I said. “I believe the cephalopods intend to attack us.”
Winslade tossed me a venomous glance which I pointedly ignored.
“An interesting supposition,” Drusus said. “I’ve come to much the same conclusion. What information do you have about it, McGill?”
“Not much—but I know who does. Claver’s body is outside, in the trunk of my tram. If we were to revive him… well, he might know more about this incoming attack than anyone else does.”
Playing my trump card, I proceeded to tell him about Claver and his squid jump-suit. Drusus listened intently. During my talk, Winslade moved to slip out the door behind me.
“Where are you going, Primus?” Drusus asked loudly.
“Nowhere, sir! I just thought I might take a moment to use the facilities…”
“You can hold it,” Drusus said, “or you can piss down your leg. I don’t care which.”
Reluctantly, Winslade took his good hand away from the door.
After Drusus was satisfied he had our stories straight in his mind, he let us go. My handcuffs were removed, and I was thrown out of his office.
In the lobby, I found Carlos and Kivi had been dismissed. I figured I could catch up with them later and headed toward the bio-level.
Winslade caught up with me and strode along beside. He seemed upset.
“McGill,” he whispered loudly, “I’ll get you for this. For all of it.”
I glanced at him in surprise. “What’s your problem, Primus? I thought you’d be happy.”
“Happy? About what?”
“You attempted treason, and you’re still not permed, for one thing. Not yet, that is.”
He glared at me. We reached the elevator and rode down a few floors in angry silence. I figured he owed me, but somehow he didn’t see it that way.
“The damage you’ve done,” he sputtered at last, “I told her not to trust you.”
“Damage? The way I see it, I saved the world from squid slavery.”
He laughed bitterly. “Saved it? The cephalopods are still coming, you know. They’ll show us no mercy now.”
“We’ll see,” I said shrugging. “Better to die on our feet than live on our knees, anyway.”
“Noble words to kill your home planet with,” he said, then broke off and looked around. The doors opened. “Floor two thirty-one? Why has the elevator stopped here?”
“Because I chose this floor to get off,” I said.
Without further comment, I stepped off and left him in the elevator car. I could feel his eyes burning a hole in my back. He was full of anger and suspicion. I knew he might well shoot me in the back. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened.
I heard slapping feet behind me. “Blue level? The bio people? Are you injured?”
I didn’t even look at him. “Nope.”
The wheels worked in his head.
“Turov? You’re here because she’s being revived now—that has to be it.”
“Only took you two guesses, sir. You’re getting better.”
He narrowed his rat-like eyes. “I get it, but I’m not sure of your plan. Are you here to kill her or coach her?”
Glancing down at the shorter man, I smirked. “I’m in enough trouble without killing officers. I’d never do that.”
“Right…” he snorted. “Let’s get our stories aligned this time. I almost had a heart attack when you were talking to Drusus.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Don’t show yourself right away. Hold back. I’ll speak to the Imperator. She’ll be more cooperative that way.”
Shaking my head, I refused. “No sir. That’s the wrong play. I’ll greet her. She’ll think I’m the one whose story she must align with.”
“You’re certain she’ll overcome her natural anger at seeing your face again?”
“Initially, no. But she’ll play along. She’s always good at analyzing her situation and making a safe move.”
The corridor we were in wasn’t like the other levels of Central I’d been on. There were no doors except for the occasional janitor’s closet. When we got to the big blue doors of the bio level, we were ch
allenged.
Winslade’s rank got us past security. He also seemed to have a blanket clearance for the building. That was probably Turov’s doing.
We stepped into the inner sanctum and found it bustling with activity. The bio people were rushing around, carting supplies of raw bone meal and blood plasma from one room to another.
“What’s going on?” I asked a specialist with two barrels as big as she was stacked up on a power-cart. “Are you still doing revives from the attack?”
“That’s right,” she said, looking stressed. “One of our ships must have been hit. The whole crew is queued up for revival.”
Winslade and I exchanged worried glances.
She wasn’t talking about the attack on Central. She was talking about a battle on-going in space. Apparently, the war we’d all feared had begun.
-10-
Fortunately, the bio people were too freaked out about reviving fleet crewmen to question a couple officers who wanted to see Turov’s rebirth. They let us into the waiting area immediately outside the revival center. I calmly strode over to the nearest bio with an admin look to her and leaned in for an earnest word. She nodded and I headed back for my seat.
Nervous as a cat in a bag, Winslade eyed everyone that walked past.
“Do you think they know yet?” he asked me in a whisper.
“Know what?”
His eyes slid to me and then he shook his head. “That we fabricated this whole business of being cephalopod-killing heroes.”
“No, no way.”
“How can you be so sure?”
I chuckled. “Because I’m still breathing, that’s why. Stop worrying so much. We’ll be fine. Turov won’t blow our cover—at least not until she’s sure she can blame everything on us.”
After thinking this over, he nodded to himself and sat back in his creaky waiting-room chair.
We didn’t have long to wait. The doors flapped open and an efficient-looking bio stepped out, glancing around. Her eyes fixated on me.
“Are you Adjunct McGill?” she asked.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Come with me, Adjunct. The Imperator is up and asking for you.”
Winslade stood up and followed me, but the bio put her hand on his chest firmly.
“Just McGill, sir,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t sound sorry, but I could have been mistaken.
Winslade blustered, pulling rank and all that. But none of that would wash with any bio on their own turf. I could have told him that. They had jurisdiction here, just as they did on any Blue Deck in the fleet.
I left Winslade behind, enjoying how he hopped from foot-to-foot in agitation while he watched me stroll into the revival chamber.
The smell of the place hit me right off. I’d never liked it. It always reminded me of blood, disinfectant and stale piss all mixed together.
Turov was up, but she wasn’t quite on her feet yet. She was naked, of course, and dripping with slime. She still had her wet butt on the gurney she’d been delivered on. Her eyes were squinting, and her teeth were clenched. The bio people were trying to towel her off, but she was hissing and slapping them away.
“Imperator,” I boomed. “Good to see you’re back and ready to lead us to victory!”
“You bastard, McGill,” she said. “I’ll see you in Hell for this.”
“Hah-ha,” I chuckled nervously. “A little off-kilter, huh? Maybe you don’t remember everything clearly. We saved Earth, sir. We’re heroes. The brass is very happy.”
She snatched a towel from a bio specialist and rubbed at her eyes with it. “This shit always burns my eyes. Why don’t they fix that?”
“It’s been a while since you were revived, I guess?”
She glared at me. Suddenly aware of her nakedness, she ripped a nano-cloth suit from the hands of an attending bio and wrapped it around herself. The fabric crawled and inched its way over her body until her bare skin was hidden underneath. It was a shame to see it go.
“I knew you’d be waiting for me to come out,” she said. “But how did you get past their security?”
That perked up the bio people. The chief specialist frowned. “He told us you required a briefing the moment you were revived, Imperator. We’re sorry if—”
“No,” she said, “forget it. It’s all right.”
She seemed to be regaining her wits and her composure. I was glad, as it had been looking like she was going to blow our entire plot open wide a minute ago.
“Where’s that weasel Winslade?” she asked me.
“He’s just outside,” I said. “Weaseling, as you might expect.”
She took two steps then her left knee gave out. Her hand flew out, and I caught her by the wrist.
“Let go of me, you ape!”
“You almost took a nasty fall there, Imperator.”
Reluctantly, she let me walk her to the door and out into the waiting area. The bio people hovered around us, but they weren’t quite sure what to do. Normally, they were bossy with newly revived troopers. But Turov was so high-ranked she must have scared some respect into them.
One of them pushed a computer scroll at me, and I signed the release. She gave me a nod and an eye-roll. I knew what that meant: they thought Turov was suffering from minor dementia, and they were glad to make her my problem.
When you get revived, sometimes your circuitry doesn’t all knit-up right off. I likened it to waking up from a long, deep sleep. You might get up refreshed and bounce out of bed. Or, you might fall out and stumble around, cursing and confused.
Turov seemed to be experiencing the latter type of revival right now. The bio people didn’t know that she also had a very good reason to be pissed off at me. They’d explained it away in their heads, and I was just fine with that.
“Imperator!” Winslade gushed, clapping his hands together. “You look even younger and even lovelier than you—”
“Shove it up your ass, Winslade. Get out of my way!”
She walked weakly toward the exit. I was still holding her up by one wrist, but she seemed not to notice. By the time we all made it to the elevators, she was walking normally and slapping at my hands as if I’d been taking liberties.
“Dying sucks,” she said in a guttural voice.
“Yes sir,” I agreed.
Winslade had the brains to stay quiet. He followed us like a nervous ghost and tried to stand out of her sight. That was a difficult trick in an elevator, but he managed it somehow.
“Give me the sitrep,” she said when the door dinged. “Where do we stand?”
“Well…” I said, not quite sure where to begin, “the squid commando raid was successfully repelled. But they seem to have taken a dim view of that reality. They’ve attacked our fleet. I don’t know all the details, but it seems that at least one of our battle-wagons has been destroyed.”
Turov looked at me with hatred. “Now do you see why I took drastic action? We’re at war with a fleet ten times the size of ours. We can’t win. It’s just a matter of time until they come here and burn Earth to bedrock.”
I nodded thoughtfully.
“Could be,” I admitted. “I just couldn’t stomach the idea of trading the distant Galactics for the squids. They annoy the hell out of me.”
She nodded slowly, studying me.
“I miscalculated. I’d thought you were simple, but useful. Instead you’ve turned out to be uncontrollable—a monster that must be put down.”
“I told you,” Winslade dared to say, speaking up from behind her.
That was a mistake on his part. Whirling around, she drew my pistol from its holster before I could react and shot him in the chest.
Lunging forward, I grabbed her wrist.
My eyes widened when I saw the pistol wasn’t there. She’d dropped it—and caught it with her other hand.
“Good night, McGill,” she said.
Then, that ungrateful woman shot me in the face.
-11-
I’m n
ot sure I’d ever gone out like that before, shot in the nose at point-blank range. When I came back to life, I could remember the heat of the beam on my skin, and the brilliance of it hurting my eyes.
Gasping, breathing hard, I felt myself becoming angry before I’d even left the table.
With a growl, I pushed away the orderly. A bio came at me with a hypo full of sedative—but I straight-armed her and sent her sprawling on the floor.
Then a powerful hand grabbed each of my wrists. I struggled, still half-blind. Finally, I stopped to take a breath. I felt winded.
“You listening to us now, Adjunct?” said a familiar, gravelly voice.
Graves… What was Graves doing here in the bio room? I couldn’t see his eyes yet, because my own weren’t fully operating. But I knew they were steel-gray and pitiless.
“I don’t think he came out right in the head, Centurion,” said another voice. It was Veteran Harris. “He’s crazy. Let’s put him down and reroll.”
“No time for that. We’ve got orders.”
I was hauled by the two men from the gurney, and a jumpsuit was stretched over my body.
Harris was your classic legionnaire non-com. He was big, black and mean. His idea of a good time was killing recruits for their first time in rigged training exercises.
“Walk, McGill,” Graves said.
I did my best, shuffling along. After ten seconds, my feet could leave the ground when I took a step. One minute later we were in the hallway, and I was walking unaided.
“I’d like to catch a shower, sir,” I said.
“No go. Events are happening in real-time, McGill.”
“What’s happening?”
“First of all, we’re at war.”
I nodded. “I know that much. How’s our fleet holding out?”
Harris and Graves exchanged glances.
“Not good. We lost a lot of ships in the first engagement. The boys made a good accounting of themselves, but it wasn’t enough. Turns out our puff-crete bathtubs can fight, but we’re outnumbered. We’ve lost thirty ships, and even though they took fifty of the enemy down with them—”
