Metal Legion Boxed Set 1

by C H Gideon

  “If he hurt you...” Podsy growled, the threat hanging heavily in the air.

  “Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “He had his price and I paid it. Just because I think something’s gross and degenerate doesn’t mean it was violent or forced on me. I’m a big girl. I don’t need a white knight rushing to defend me at every turn. Besides,” she said, her moue of distaste softening fractionally as a glimmer flickered across her eyes, “it’s not like it was all bad. But having to watch that crap the whole time…and the audio…” She glanced bitterly down at the data chip in his lap. Her hand went to her mouth and she burped. “I think I’m going to throw up…”

  Podsy was thoroughly confused, and unsure if he should go privately address the matter with Styles. Yes, he had known that Styles had a sexual interest in Xi, but that was true for at least three-quarters of the battalion, including the women! She had curves in all the right places, striking facial features, and a fiery, playful personality that was every bit as alluring as her physique.

  As far as he was concerned, she was the perfect woman. But she was also barely more than half his age, and despite her attractiveness, he had never really thought of her romantically.

  “Well…” he finally hazarded, looking down at the data chip. “I mean…fine. If you say it’s all good, I’ll drop it…for now.”

  “He’s a pencil-neck, Podsy,” she said dismissively, after sitting down and apparently getting her guts under control. “You could drop him with a stiff jab, but there’s no need. Still…” she said awkwardly, “thanks for…you know…caring.”

  “Of course, LT.” He nodded, picking the data chip up and declaring, “It’s getting late. I’d better go make this handoff so we can get Koch’s people to push us up the line.”

  “Go.” She waved a hand, which soon went to her lips as her cheeks turned a tortured shade of green.

  After Podsy was out of earshot, Xi closed Elvira’s hatch and erupted into full-throated laughter.

  “Men,” she snickered, taking a deep, steadying breath as she refocused on the repair work awaiting her at the pilot’s console. “Sometimes it’s so easy, you almost feel sorry for them…almost.”

  9

  Tall Wagons & Initiative

  Commander Jenkins was struggling. The battle in the cavern had been greater than he had expected it to be. The enemy were at least ten times more numerous than Fleet Intelligence had suggested they would be. Durgan’s Folly continued to live down to its name.

  The Arh’Kel had almost destroyed his battalion and killed everyone under his command, and in the full day since they had returned to the plateau, that thought had dominated his consciousness.

  He looked up at the full bottle on his shelf. Whisky. Old and dry. Imported from Earth under a centuries-old label, it was easily one of the most sought-after bottles in the Terran Republic and there it sat, staring at him.

  Describing the urge to crack that bottle open and guzzle it was impossible. Even after years of waging, and often losing, his personal war with the stuff’s impact on his life, Jenkins could offer no verbal description of its allure that made sense.

  Hunger. Gravity. Lust. Yearning. Incompletion. Familiarity. Companionship. None of those things described the urge that rose within him like the tide rising and falling, slowly eroding the shore with its rhythmic caress. And yet, in a way, all of those words did describe it.

  Telling a drunk like Jenkins not to drink was like telling a politician not to lie, or a doctor not to heal, or a teacher not to teach, or a parent not to love their children. Drinking wasn’t something he did, or even wanted to do. It was more like not doing it somehow denied him access to a part of himself, a part he was ashamed of, certainly, but a part that he had come to accept was inextricable from his core being.

  And there that bottle sat, daring him to give in and love that wicked part of himself. Telling him that it wasn’t weakness to seek comfort in a lifelong companion, one he could never, and would never, truly be rid of.

  The problem was that Jenkins was giving serious consideration to doing just that.

  Standing up, he reached out with hesitant fingers, like a teenager’s first brush with sex, and touched the outside of the bottle. The thrill that went through him was tantalizing, and he decided this was it. He only had the one bottle, after all, and once it was gone, so too would be the temptation to drink it. Fleet reinforcements would arrive in two days’ time, and the plateau was well-defended. They could get along without him for a few hours.

  He grabbed the bottle and turned it over, reading the label as he had done a hundred times before. The seal on the cap was intact, and he could almost hear the snapping and crinkling of the plastic wrap seal. The metal-on-glass of the lid twisting off. The deep aroma wafting through his nose. He could feel all of it as acutely as anything without even opening the bottle.

  Jenkins paused briefly before reaching up to twist the top off. No more hesitation. No more delays. It was time.

  Just as his fingers closed on the lid, the chime at his door rang, freezing him mid-motion.

  He looked down at the bottle in his hands, and it was as if a spell had been broken. He stood in horrified silence for a long moment while the back of his mind was filled with a devious cackle. It’s okay, that silent voice mocked, I’ll be back later.

  Jenkins gave serious thought to smashing the bottle on the floor, but he knew that it served him better intact than it ever would in pieces, or worse, lying empty on the floor beside his passed-out body.

  The chime rang again, and he carefully replaced the bottle in its place on the shelf before acknowledging, “Enter.”

  The hatch popped open and Styles stepped through. “Sir, I’ve got Captain Murdoch outside for you.”

  Jenkins resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ll be right there.”

  Straightening his uniform, Jenkins followed Styles out of his cramped cabin inside Roy’s rear compartment. Outside, at the base of the ramp, Murdoch waited with that insufferably entitled expression, the same one he had worn when Jenkins had broken the news of Xi being promoted to platoon leader.

  “Captain,” Jenkins acknowledged, “what can I do for you?”

  “I’m lodging a formal complaint against Lieutenant Xi, Lieutenant Koch, and Chief Warrant Podsednik,” Murdoch declared.

  Jenkins quirked a brow. “On what grounds?”

  “The details are here, sir,” Murdoch said, handing Jenkins a data chip.

  “Answer the question, Captain,” Jenkins said flatly.

  Murdoch purpled with anger. “Lieutenant Koch, in defiance of direct orders issued by a superior officer, diverted vital personnel from repairs on 4th Platoon’s command vehicle to inexplicably work on one of the down-checked mechs.”

  “Which one?” Jenkins asked in confusion.

  “It’s in the report, sir,” Murdoch reiterated, causing Jenkins’ jaw to set.

  “I’m not in the habit of repeating myself to a subordinate, Captain,” he growled. “Which down-check were Koch’s people working on?”

  Murdoch’s ears turned red as he jutted his chin defiantly. “Elvira, Commander.”

  “I see.” Jenkins nodded as he began to understand the nature of the situation. “What was the impact of these personnel diversions?”

  “Sir?” Murdoch asked, blank-faced like a particularly dim student, or like someone pretending to be such.

  “You’re testing my patience, Captain,” Jenkins growled.

  “Sorry, Commander, it’s just, I…” Murdoch stammered before stiffening his spine, at least as much as he seemed capable of. “Vital personnel were diverted from a mission-critical assignment without prior authorization from a superior officer. It’s impossible to know exactly what the impact was, sir, though I would hope we agree that rank insubordination is dangerous in any command structure, doubly so during combat conditions.”

  “I see.” Jenkins grimaced. “So what you’re saying is that there was no impact, at least none that you c
ould detail in this report.” He waved the data chip pointedly. “Is that correct, Captain Murdoch?”

  “I…” Murdoch’s blank-faced stare returned as he stood there, apparently dumbfounded before finally replying, “I did not detail the observable impacts in my report, Commander, no, sir.”

  “Did you observe any practical impact?” Jenkins pressed, deciding it was high time to snap Murdoch’s leash, hard. “If so, I’ll accept your verbal report here and spare you the trouble of transcribing it. After all, as you correctly pointed out, we are in combat conditions.”

  Murdoch’s brow lowered thunderously. “Commander, if you do not intend to...”

  “What I intend, Captain Murdoch,” Jenkins snapped, raising his voice without consciously thinking to do so, “is to receive your verbal report on the observable impact of these personnel transfers. Is that understood?” he barked.

  Murdoch’s visage hardened. “It is, sir.”

  “Then you would do well to give me that report, now!”

  The captain straightened, squaring his shoulders and snapping to attention before replying, “Sir, yes, sir. Sir, I am unable at this time to report any such impact.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Jenkins said, his voice still louder than he would have liked. He locked eyes with the other man, who was fifteen years his elder, and held his gaze for an uncomfortable length of time before continuing, in a more controlled tone, “So Lieutenant Koch diverted personnel without prior authorization. I’ll discuss this with him at the earliest convenience. What is the nature of your complaint against Lieutenant Xi and Chief Podsednik?”

  Murdoch remained at strict attention as he spoke. “They conspired to steal mission-critical gear from company storage, sir.”

  “Where is the stolen gear now?” Jenkins pressed, mildly dismayed at hearing of such hijinks less than a day after Xi had been promoted to platoon leader.

  “I…” Murdoch trailed off before rallying. “I do not know, sir.”

  “Then how, exactly, can you be certain they stole it?”

  “I have received multiple, independent, and voluntarily-given corroborative testimonies which confirm they are the thieves, sir,” Murdoch replied. “And since the article in question is indeed missing from company storage, I demand a formal investigation so that the lost article might be reclaimed.”

  “What is the article in question?” Jenkins asked, suspecting anything from ordnance salvaged from the wrecked mechs to onboard computer components needed to get Elvira II up to fighting trim. He couldn’t just ignore the unlawful transfer of such items, but in the end, he was just as impressed by Xi and Podsy’s initiative as he was perturbed by their bold antagonism of Murdoch. He knew that Murdoch was far from beloved by his subordinates, but now it seemed clear that the problem was deeper than Jenkins had initially surmised.

  “It is mission-critical equipment, Commander. I don’t see the relevance of the article’s...”

  “Luckily for both of us,” Jenkins interrupted hotly, “whether or not you recognize its relevance is, itself, completely irrelevant, and you are dangerously close to earning an official mark in your file, Captain Murdoch. This is the last time I’m going to repeat myself: what is the article in question?!”

  Murdoch purpled once again, though this time he seemed genuinely embarrassed as he replied, “A spare, unopened enviro-suit, sir.”

  Jenkins was stunned into silence, unable to believe what he had just heard. “Tell me this is a joke,” he finally said in a low, dangerous voice. “Tell me that you, Xi, Koch, and Podsy sat down and whipped this little story up just to get a rise out of me. That I could forgive, even support,” he said as he stepped forward, bringing his face mere centimeters from Murdoch’s. “So please, Captain, tell me this is all an ill-timed game of grab-ass that spiraled out of control. Tell me that, contrary to my quickly-eroding faith in your ability to command your people’s respect, you hatched this scheme to build fraternity and camaraderie with your men by putting one over on the battalion commander.” He paused, taking deep, measured breaths as he glared down at the older man. “Go on, Captain. Reassure me that this wasn’t really an instance of one of my sticky-fingered officers seeking petty, vindictive revenge after getting his hand caught in the cookie jar, again.”

  Murdoch visibly bristled. “Sir, I never...”

  “Everyone in the Fleet knows, Murdoch!” Jenkins snapped. “For Christ’s sake, I’d be surprised if the fucking rock-biters don’t know about your hoarding! But instead of dealing with the matter in a productive fashion, specifically, since you clearly can’t see how that might have been accomplished, by one-upping this little game of capture-the-suit with an off-the-books retaliation in the same spirit, you came to me?! WE ARE AT WAR, CAPTAIN MURDOCH!” Jenkins roared, thrusting a finger toward the perpetually-setting sun. “Any minute now, the enemy might breach that glass-field and do their level best to kill every man and woman on this lump of rock, but you thought it prudent to come to me to address a deficiency of discipline within what I thought was your company? Was I mistaken to place you in command of 2nd Company, Captain?”

  “No, sir,” Murdoch said through gritted teeth.

  Jenkins held the data chip up between his fingers, his disgust with the man having finally reached a boiling point. “Are there any changes you’d like to make to this report before I file it in the battalion records?”

  The captain looked fit to explode, with veins across his forehead and neck bulging so badly they looked ready to spontaneously rupture. “Yes, sir, there are,” he finally said.

  “Very well.” Jenkins flipped the chip back to him. “Dismissed, Captain.”

  Murdoch snapped a picture-perfect salute, turned on his heel, and walked off with a decided air of discontent.

  It wasn’t until he had been gone for a few minutes that Jenkins was able to crack a smile about the whole thing.

  Xi was shaping up to be everything he had hoped for, and pairing her with Podsednik had been the best roster move of his command to date.

  10

  The Island

  “Let’s hear it, Styles,” Jenkins urged after the chief warrant officer had sat down for the mid-morning briefing.

  “I managed to extract one completely intact device, Commander,” Styles explained, gently presenting a tray containing the bizarre device, which looked like five spoons of various sizes ranging from a one centimeter in diameter to seven centimeters across. The spoon-shaped ‘paddles’ were connected via a delicate frame of wires and rods, each of which was covered in some sort of insulation sheath. “And after monkeying with the broken pieces, I think I’m starting to get a handle on how it works. Basically, these smaller paddles create cognitive feedback loops in the mid and high-brain functions which I think mask regular brain activity, or possibly even feeds false stimuli directly into the brain. Meanwhile, these two larger paddles,” he continued, gesturing to the largest spoon-shaped sections, “look like they directly stimulate certain muscles.”

  “These things turn Arh’Kel soldiers into super-soldiers?” Jenkins asked, slightly confused by the purpose of such an elaborate device.

  “I don’t think so,” Styles said hesitantly. “I’ve talked with Doc Fellows and we think these are too small to produce a total body control system. Arh’Kel neurophysiology is still something of a mystery to Terran experts, but we’re fairly confident that this system isn’t directly controlling the body’s voluntary movements. It seems more likely that the muscles being controlled are in their internal organ systems, like their cardiopulmonary networks, which has quite a few similarities with our own for obvious reasons.”

  “Obvious?” Jenkins repeated skeptically.

  “Arh’Kel and human physiologies only differ on the basic building blocks: carbon vs. silica,” Styles explained. “Beyond that, most everything deeper than the skin is structurally similar. Sure, they directly incorporate iron into their skeletons, but they breathe oxygen just like we do. They’ve got the ability to s
tore and extract that oxygen from the air or from mineral forms, permitting them to hibernate for long periods of time in the presence of oxidized iron, but beyond that, our cardiopulmonary systems are generally the same. Special muscles circulate oxygen-rich blood cells based on iron, they’ve got a fairly narrow range of internal pH they can tolerate, and they digest nutrients by breaking materials down with acid stored in their digestive tracts. Life is pretty varied, but the fundamentals are remarkably similar no matter where a given life tree took root.”

  “Fine,” Jenkins said, hoping to get to the substance of the briefing before enduring too much more technobabble. “Why is there nothing in the archives about this device being found on Arh’Kel corpses?”

  “I think this is something new, sir,” Styles explained. “The Arh’Kel are extremely unified in social purpose, but they’re also just as extremely solitary and individualistic. The almost mindless waves of soldiers that we’ve encountered here are totally unlike anything previously reported during the Arh’Kel wars, and this almost hive-mind is far from normal for Arh’Kel psychology. When they attack, they do so with single-minded purpose, but until our engagements here on Durgan’s Folly, they have never stood their ground while getting slaughtered. Guerilla tactics are much more their style. Displace, disperse, fortify, and counter-raid is what we’ve come to expect from rock-biters once they’re on their heels.”

  “Is it possible we stumbled onto something critical down there?” Jenkins offered. “Maybe their backs were to the wall and they felt they didn’t have a choice?”

  “It’s possible, but unlikely,” Styles said dubiously. “They reproduce in a process somewhere between egg-laying and spore-casting, leaving fertilized zygotes in prepared caverns and then leaving them behind to develop on their own. They indirectly supervise conditions in the hatcheries, but there isn’t much in the way of familial bonding in their society, so the way they think about protecting sensitive locations is alien to us. What we do know is that they’re unusually unified in their purpose, which is predominantly to spread their influence, and that means increasing the species’ numbers. Also, I should point out that Fleet Intel says that anything they have down here was built here. None of this gear was built elsewhere and dropped in from orbit, which means they’ve got factories and mining operations well-established all across the twilight band.”