by B. V. Larson
“No, no… she says she wants me to continue with the mission—to explore the inside of that cracked Skay.”
“Fat chance of that. I’m your legion’s commanding officer.”
“Yeah, but… read this part.”
I fingered my arm, scrolling down to the final sentences. Galina read the words there, and she began hissing something awful.
Praetor Drusus, a top dog among Earth’s defense officers, had backed Floramel’s request. I’d been ordered to go on this mission, under the personal guidance of Floramel herself.
Galina was quite unhappy about this development, of that I had little doubt.
“That vicious skinny witch!” she complained. “I’ll get her for this!”
“No doubt you will, sir,” I said in what I hoped was a comforting tone, but she didn’t look comforted at all.
“And you!” she said, turning on me. “You’re going down there to investigate—but you’re not going to screw this one up. Drusus insists I can’t rely on a single man. I’m to activate your best squad of commandos.”
“Oh… like who?”
“I don’t know what he means. That crowd of clowns and retards you always operate with, I suppose.”
“Like… Carlos? Harris?”
“Yes, yes. Whatever. I’ve sent my approval in a text. Activate whoever you wish. They’ll be placed under your command.”
“But if I’m using the casting device—”
“We’re talking about arrangements for after that step. You’ll go down alone at first.”
“But why bother to bring in a whole team if I’ve already checked it out?”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Think, McGill. If we’re standing on top of a dead Skay and a Mogwa invasion force, you won’t be able to scout all of that in one ten minute trip, will you?”
“I guess not…”
“No. The best you can do is find a safe place to set up gateway posts. They’ll operate even through walls of star dust.”
“Okay then… When do I go?”
She looked at me again, making an effort to focus her roving eyes. I could tell she was thinking hard, and most of it wasn’t about me at all. “You’ll go immediately. There’s no time to waste. Make up your team roster, and then report down to the casting chamber for your first solo mission.”
Sighing, I did as I was ordered. Things were not going in the direction I’d hoped at all. Instead of rekindling on the romantic Moon, my near future involved being kicked around and most likely killed a lot.
My list of commandos was short, and I kept it down to just assholes and essentials. The assholes on the list were people I didn’t care to save from this vicious mission, which was most likely going to kill us more than once. The essential people were… well… essential. People I couldn’t do a good job without.
Carlos was number one on my list, naturally. There’d never been born a bigger half-useful irritant than him. He would be my bio specialist, the team medic. Harris was my supporting officer. I couldn’t very well take Barton or Leeson, they didn’t deserve to be brought out of a nice furlough for such a cruel duty.
Cooper was an easy choice for my scout. He was a Ghost Specialist, and a good one—but he was also a smart-mouthed shirker.
When it came to my weapons man, the choice wasn’t as easy. I didn’t want to take Sargon. He was too friendly. Nope, I chose Washburn, a big dumb guy who’d never stopped talking about how cool he was since birth.
After that, the choices thinned out. Most of my heavy troopers were reasonable and law-abiding. Still, I manage to scroll through names and come up with seven more that fit the bill. All of them were gruff and unforgiving men and women.
The last spot in the team was reserved for possibly the most critical role: that of tech specialist. As we would be investigating alien hardware, I knew my techie would be even more important than usual to my mission success.
In the end, I was torn between Kivi and Natasha. Overall, Natasha had superior skills, but Kivi was less pleasant to be around…
Hmm… I almost chose Kivi, but in the end I sighed and tapped on Natasha Elkin’s name. I felt bad doing it, but I consoled myself with the firm knowledge that she would be overjoyed. Death sentence or not, she’d have been angry if I’d chosen anyone else to go on this crazy safari of exploration.
Confirming the list twice, I transmitted it to Central. All the people on the list would be sent a notice, informing them they were reactivated and summoned immediately. In my mind, I could almost hear all the cursing going on down on Earth as those fateful texts were transmitted about a minute later.
With that done, I moved to my daughter’s little death-chamber she’d set up. She looked up warily when I entered.
“I got the message,” she said. “You’re really going to go first? Again?”
“Yup.”
“Daddy, listen. You can just send one of those flunkies you called up. I’ll tell you what, I’ll inject you with this.”
She held up a dripping needle, which I eyed warily.
“Uh…”
“It’s no big deal. A purgative, that’s all. You’ll throw up everywhere, and you’ll run a fever for a few hours. After that, the team will have arrived. You can send whichever loser you wish at that point.”
Etta seemed happy with herself and her scheme. The whole thing alarmed me. What kind of a daughter had I raised?
Of course, my mind was able to immediately answer that question. Etta had never been terribly civilized. She protected her own, and everyone else could damned well choke on it.
The needle in her hand dripped one more time. I stared at it like a man eyeing a snake.
“I’m going to go on the first jump,” I told her. “Don’t worry, I’m good at it.”
She tossed the needle down into a metal tray where it clattered and bounced in the low Moon gravity.
“I knew you would say that. You’re always playing the hero.”
“I live up to my responsibilities… most of the time.”
Sighing, she strapped me into her compact death-box, and I stretched out on the seat.
“Hey, this is pretty comfy. You sure I don’t have to get naked or anything?”
“Not anymore. You can carry some minimal equipment, too.”
“My suit? My rifle?”
“Both. Enjoy.”
She strapped me down and started the reaction. As she did this, Floramel came into the chamber quietly. She watched the proceedings with interest, but without interrupting.
“Good luck, Daddy,” Etta told me, and she threw the final switch.
The room dimmed then brightened. A blue, flashing light grew and grew. The flashing became faster and more intense every time it strobed on and off. I knew it was the casting field, building up energy.
Something unexpected and new happened next, however. It started as a burning white fire in my belly. This sizzling light expanded, seeming to crack loose from my guts. It shined through my suit, as if my body had turned to liquid fire.
I was screaming, I’m pretty sure, but it came out as hoarse grunts of pain and fear. I knew what that white light had to be. Before, when I’d been casted, I’d walked naked into a contained violent field like this one.
Now, with improvements made after years of study, these science pukes had managed to make the reaction start inside my own person. That way, I didn’t have to walk into it—it formed inside me instead and grew outward to engulf my sad-sack body.
Floramel walked closer and stood beside Etta. Neither one spoke or shed a tear. But they didn’t look happy about my torment. At least I had that going for me, I told myself.
The field engulfed me a moment later, and the universe vanished—or maybe I did. It was hard to tell the difference.
-10-
“What’s his score?” asked a gruff voice.
“Don’t have it yet,” said a much softer, feminine voice. “He’s not breathing on his own.”
Alarm bells went off, d
rifting in my head. I felt hazy, distant—but I knew something had gone wrong.
I’d died, I guess. That much was clear. I knew the stink and sickness of a revived body, coming to life for its first time. It wasn’t like being born, it was more like being Frankenstein’s monster as he’s shocked into life.
Dying wasn’t the bad part. I’d expected to die down there, wherever I’d been cast into the crust of the Moon. The freaky part was I couldn’t remember how I’d died. I was a blank. One minute, I’d been in that chair being eaten by a ball of white light—then I was here.
“I’ve got something now,” said the girl. “Independent movement—looks like he’s going to be okay.”
“I need a score.”
“Call it an eight. I’ll go with that.”
“Good enough. I’m off-shift. Get him dressed and up to the officer’s deck for a debrief as soon as you can.”
“Will do,” said the sweet one.
I didn’t recognize either of them. Permanent Moon base spacers, probably.
For a time, I struggled to breathe, to get my limbs moving. Another person came into the room and looked me over.
“That’s him. I’d recognize that big lump of stupid anywhere.”
Carlos. That had to be him. What was he doing here?
I opened my eyes a crack, but closed them again. The room was painfully bright. For a few seconds, I was drifting again. The sensation was almost pleasant.
Then I heard Carlos—I heard what he was telling the sweet-voiced girl. “…yes, yes, seriously. That’s what they call him. That’s what everybody calls him—especially the ladies.”
“Leather-dick?” she asked. “Why would anyone call him that?”
“Old leather-dick,” Carlos corrected her, “with emphasis on the old. Why that loving nickname? Well, first off he’s been around for decades, dying and coming back like some kind of demented vampire.”
“Really…?”
“As to the rest of it, I’m not entirely certain as to the history of the leather-dick nickname, but I’d guess it has something to do with his infamous promiscuity. He’s a righteous goat around women, see. Some people say that’s because he’s undergone too many revives, and he’s… well… a little nutso.”
“Ah…”
By this time my hand, still shaking and dripping with slime, was reaching for his throat. With my eyes cracked open painfully, I could barely see his round-faced form, standing over me. He was probably ogling the bio-girl and grinning at her, not watching me.
To my surprise, my fingers made it to his throat, and I got a firm hold on him. I clamped down immediately, as he was a trained fighter. He hacked and slapped at my wrist, trying to break the hold. My fingers were rubbery, or he wouldn’t have had a chance. As it was, there was a struggle to be had.
“Centurion?” the bio asked with her sweet voice. She didn’t seem all that alarmed.
My eyes were still bleary, but I could detect a cute girl’s voice right-off. It was a skill of mine.
“…urgh…” I said, or something to that effect.
“If you want to kill him now, it’s a good time,” she said quietly. “I’ll run a private recycle and have him back at his post in an hour.”
Carlos was growling, straining. Finally, he managed to get my long, thick fingers away from his windpipe. He stumbled away, choking and gasping.
“Uncalled for, McGill!” he wheezed. “Uncool!”
With a serious effort, I sat up and tried to stand. I swayed, and both Carlos and the bio-girl took a step back. No one offered to help me stay on my feet—people rarely did when I was in a murderous mood.
“Give me some clothes,” I said.
Carlos grabbed a coverall and threw it at me. “I’m supposed to escort you up to the brass on the observation deck,” he said. “Fortunately, I’m in a good mood. I won’t report you for this assault, Centurion.”
“Damn straight you won’t,” I told him, and I staggered by—brushing him out of the way.
As my vision was clearing up, I finally got a good look at the girl with the sweet voice. She looked as nice as she sounded, but I could tell she wasn’t. She’d known Carlos was full of shit and been as ready to off him as I was.
I smiled at her, and she smiled back.
“Dawn?” I said, squinting to read her nametag.
“That’s right, Centurion.”
“What happened to me?”
Her smiled faltered. “I… I don’t know. You were on some kind of mission. They say it went wrong—and you died.”
“I figured out that much already. Thanks anyway—hey, what if I went to that little bar dug-out of the crater wall later tonight? Would you be interested in coming with me?”
I sensed motion off to my side. Carlos was undoubtedly making obscene warning gestures. I ignored him. His time would come.
“Well… maybe. Check back when my shift ends.”
Nodding, I walked out.
Carlos followed along, grumbling. “You just had to do that, didn’t you? Chicks like that always go for you—always. The sweetest, most innocent women can’t wait to be defiled by—”
My hand clamped onto the back of his neck. He struggled a bit, but I was getting my strength back.
“Listen up Specialist Ortiz, unless you want to take the next ride on that casting couch the lab people have cooked up, you’d best shut the hell up.”
That did the trick. Carlos seemed alarmed, and he actually shut up. Oh sure, he kept on muttering to himself about tyrants with leathery dicks all the way to the observatory, but I didn’t mind. He’d gotten the message.
“What did happen to me?” I asked him as we approached a pressure door with an old-fashioned wheel lock in the center of it.
“No one knows. That’s the real story. They sent you down there to what appeared to be an empty chamber—but you never came back. The casting machine lost contact with you—you were damned lucky they didn’t just call it a day and declare you permed.”
I nodded. “I’m kind of surprised they brought me back. They must have something else in mind for plan B. Oh, and by the way, why are you being a prick today?”
“What? About the leather-dick stuff? That was all in good fun.”
“Sure, right… you’re pissed because I volunteered you for this mission, aren’t you?”
“No, no, why would I feel that way? I love the Moon. I love breathing my own farts in this helmet all day, and I look forward to my turn at the casting couch. I can’t wait to be transported into solid rock.”
Ditching Carlos at the door to the observation deck, I entered the meeting place alone. The wheel spun with a squeal, then it swung open on big hinges with a metal-on-metal groan. Inside, I followed a short airlock tube that led to the observatory itself.
The view was spectacular. Spread out on every side were perfect vistas of stark black and white. The surface of the Moon was down low, a glaring motionless expanse. The rugged crater walls stood farther out, like cliffs looming over a dead sea.
But it was the sky above me that took the prize. Overhead, the observatory was constructed with a perfectly clear crystalline dome. It looked like I was really out there, just standing on the Moon fully exposed to open space.
I gaped overhead, staring at a heaven full of fat stars.
Finally, a voice called to me.
“McGill?” Graves said in his gravelly tones. “Stop gawking and make your report.”
When I brought my eyes back down from the heavens, I noticed the officers sitting in a circle around a glimmering desk. I walked over to them and slumped into a chair.
“Well?” Graves asked.
I eyed the group for a few seconds. Turov wasn’t there, so that left Primus Graves in charge. The rest of them were Varus officers, all primus rank. I knew something about all of them, and from the disgusted looks on their faces I figured I wasn’t going to be receiving any commendations for my valiant service. Not today.
“Not much to say,”
I told them, spinning around in my chair and gazing up at the spectacular sky again. “I got cast into the middle of the Moon and promptly died. I don’t remember jack squat.”
“The trace feedback we got suggests that you landed—but the casting device never synched up.”
“Maybe the techs screwed up then?”
“Maybe… but it’s never happened this way before. We couldn’t even read your vitals. After the timer ran out, we had to make a hard call. By all rights, we should have declared you permed—but we didn’t.”
“Why not?”
Graves shrugged. “Because you were probably dead—and we needed a guinea pig. If your old self is still down there, puttering around, you’ll know what to do the next time.”
I brought my eyes down to the circle of faces again. “Uh… the next time?”
“That’s right. Unless you want us to execute you right now and call it good, you’ve got to go back down there and discover what went wrong the first time.”
“Outstanding,” I said, slamming my palm down on the computer table hard enough to leave a dent in the aluminum bezel. “I don’t like leaving missions half-done.”
Graves smiled grimly at the others. “See? He’s up for more. McGill almost always is.”
“There’s one tiny thing I’d like to ask for, however.”
Graves’ smile soured immediately, and he turned back to face me. “What’s that, McGill?”
“Don’t send me to the same spot. Send me down to the petrified Mogwa area instead.”
“What good will that do? There’s no critical tech there. It’s more of a mass burial site than anything else.”
“Right. But it has a story to tell. All mass graves do.”
Graves looked like he was sniffing dog shit, but he didn’t argue. “Go on.”
“I think there’s something wrong with the first LZ. Send me to a different spot. I’ll make my report from there.”
“Well… all right… what the hell. If you can at least prove the equipment is working right, we’ll have made some progress.”
“Thank you, sir. Uh… where did Tribune Turov go off to?”
“She said she was suddenly called away to Earth.”