At least someone is happy, mused Osu. No one else seemed to be.
Whether the liquid was doing the amphibious Littoranes any good was another matter. It looked like sticky milk. And with the fence construction gang working from east to west, it was easy to see what the liquid would do simply by looking east at the earlier construction. There, the liquid ran over the lattice like a white chocolate fountain, forming a hard layer. These were fast-growth walls.
Osu panned his binoculars to the right and watched workers throw longer tubes over fences already ten feet high. The liquid frothed, bubbled, and built.
They were on the southern edge of the equatorial green zone, where the atmosphere was breathable, but they needed an occasional boost from cans of compressed oxygen-rich air.
Phantom was hidden beneath camo extrusions in a dried riverbed two klicks behind the sandy ridgeline. As they’d flown in, Osu had seen the strangest sight: the tessellation of hexagonal walled gardens that had started off green and blue when they crossed the terminator to the east but had slowly shifted to browns and reds as they’d flown westward to the coordinates Khallini had given Fitzwilliam. In the greenest hexes, the finished white walls reached 40 feet, and each hex encased an area of about 150 square kilometers.
This was seriously weird terraforming shit.
Osu had thought terraforming meant chucking asteroid-sized snowballs from the outer system at a dead planet. Then there was releasing oxygen-generating algae and melting water frozen deep beneath the surface. Planetary things. Not this.
Doloreene’s surface looked like a game played with hexagonal terraforming tiles. It was so crazy, he wouldn’t have been surprised if giant gaming dice descended out of the heavens and rolled along the horizon or to learn he was a playing piece with limited self-awareness in a game played by incomprehensible alien super beings.
He scowled. Now, he was being melodramatic. How quickly he’d picked up bad habits from the smugglers, spies, and Militia scum he was calling comrades these days.
Osu told himself that, although Chimera Company was his home for now, every cell in his body was stamped with Legion DNA. Once he’d played his part in righting the Federation, he would return to the fold.
Somehow.
After blowing the red sand off the lenses, he replaced the binoculars in their case and rolled over onto his side to catch the attention of the Gliesan lying prone behind him. “Are you sure there were no Corrupted on the Broken World where you worked?”
“I have already made myself clear, Sybutu. Yes, I did manage a terraforming system on one of the Broken Worlds. No, I saw no Corrupted individuals.”
“Perhaps they were there, but you didn’t notice. Let’s face it, Catkins, you’re…”
He hesitated. He sensed the others in this observation group—Green Fish, Bronze, Darant, and Hjon—suddenly tune in to his conversation. Damn them. “I’m sure you’re a marvel with spanners and engines and giant terraforming machines, but you’re not exactly with it when it comes to people. There could have been a mechanized army group bunking with you, and you wouldn’t have noticed.”
Catkins took a long draw from his oxygen mask. “Once I realized my employers had imprisoned me—which I admit may have taken me a little longer to realize than some people—I monitored data traffic across the entire system, looking for a route out. Your suggestion is as ludicrous as it is insulting.”
“But the atmospheric composition here is the same as on your planet, Catkins. You told us that. The huge building fifty klicks to the east? You said that looked identical to the terraforming center where you worked. Even if there weren’t any Corrupted on your world, this is clearly the same setup, just a stage or two further advanced.”
“Lieutenant Hjon?” The Gliesan’s words spilled out in an angry trill.
“Go on,” Hjon replied.
“You appear reasonably intelligent for a soldier. Kindly explain to your subordinate the distinction between causation and correlation.”
Your subordinate! Osu gritted his teeth. The damn thing was, Catkins was so clueless, he had no idea he was poking a wound that was beginning to fester.
“The question that interests me,” said Hjon, “is why Khallini brought us here. Was it to see these hexagons being constructed?”
“It’s got to be because he wants us to blow up the terraforming station,” Osu suggested.
“Then why give us coordinates fifty klicks out?” asked Bronze.
“That’s a question above our pay grade,” Hjon answered. “We’re better off here than inside Phantom, thrashing out the answer with the captain and Ree.”
Osu realized he was staring at the woman who had become his superior. He understood there was some logic for her taking command of the Marines. She wasn’t corrupt and venal like almost every other Militia officer he’d ever encountered. And, although he’d built up a little respect for the dumb Viking oaf, the two of them had been at loggerheads ever since they’d met. When he looked at Hjon, though, she didn’t look the part.
She was a little older than him and Arunsen—early 30s, he placed her—and she would have been a beautiful woman if not for the bizarre all-body tattoo. It had started as a weeping rose but had settled into razzle camouflage for the last few months. Not only did she not look the part, but she didn’t act it, either. The morphing tattoo said it all. When she’d been busted to the ranks, it had been a relief to her. It meant she could go wild. No responsibilities.
Osu had never forgotten his responsibilities.
Hjon caught his look and threw back a glare of disapproval. “Are we having a problem, Sybutu?”
“The first time we met, you shot me with a tranquilizer dart and dragged me back to your camp. There, you chained me to a rock and tortured me. Yes, Lieutenant. I have a problem.”
“Legion and Militia!” Hjon rolled her eyes. The ripple this induced in her razzle markings was hypnotic. “We must learn from each other. Embrace the suck is the ethos of the Militia trooper. Dry your tears, Sybutu, and make it your mantra too. Because, if you possess even the tiniest notion that you deserve the universe to be fair to you, you’re of no use to me or Chimera Company. You don’t have to look far to see an example. Bronze has adapted. Be like Bronze.”
“I don’t get your meaning.”
“What Lily means,” said Green Fish, who was at the back of the observation group, watching their rear. “Sorry, what Lieutenant Hjon means, is that Bronze has a special lady friend on the ship. Spent a night in her quarters. And most of the next day.”
“A lover on Phantom?” Darant had barely spoken a word. Now, he was interested. “You mean Fregg? She is hot enough to cook off ammo at fifty paces. Or…no! Surely not our super-hot Zhoo, the captain’s wife. Oh, boy! Talk about special missions.”
“All wrong,” Green Fish said. “I’ll give you a clue, Darant. She’s big. She’s blue. And she’s not interested in anything with less than a 110mm bore.”
Osu shook his head at the laughter coming from everyone except Hjon and Bronze. The team was supposed to be observing the terraforming activity to make sure no one came too close to the ship. Not gossiping.
“Hey, metal man,” said Darant. “What was she like?”
Bronze took a blast from his oxygen mask but didn’t reply.
“This is why the Legion gave you robot eyes,” said Darant. “You must have recorded that particular operation for after action review. Can’t you show us?”
Bronze rolled onto his back and looked at Darant, a grin pushing onto his face. He flicked his eyes to one side, as if basking in the memories from his time in Verlys Sinofar’s cabin. “She was…”
“Yes?” Darant threw his hands in the air. “Orion’s tits, Zy Pel! Don’t string us along. Spill!”
“She was…” Bronze let out a contented sigh. “Delicate.”
Darant groaned. Green Fish laughed with Catkins. But on the subject of his and Sinofar’s intimate details, Bronze would not say another word.
> “Fun time’s over,” snapped Osu, although the group was already settling naturally. “Stay frosty and stay low. We don’t know for sure what’s out there.”
The whole time the others had been blowing off steam, Hjon had kept watch over the long, sandy incline to their position.
Grudgingly, he gave her credit for lightening the mood while simultaneously ramming home that he was not up to the task of being the senior NCO for this mongrel band of Marines. He was supposed to know what made people tick so he could anticipate potential issues and squash them early before they became serious problems. Yet half the people aboard Phantom seemed to know Bronze had been screwing the Pryxian, and he’d had no idea.
“Lieutenant,” he said, “I want to take a look south of here, along the riverbed.”
Hjon nodded. “Good idea.”
He crawled toward Green Fish, meaning to tap her on the shoulder and confirm his intention to patrol downrange of her.
He didn’t get that far.
“Contact front!” Bronze warned.
Before Osu could spin about to see what they were facing, the blaster bolts were already flying over his head.
* * * * *
Chapter 35: Lily Hjon
“Hey! Will you cut that out?” protested the…thing that had emerged from the sand ten paces from the front of their position. It spoke like a human woman, though with a weird accent Lily had heard some place before.
“Hold your fire,” she told her Marines. Hell, it felt freakish to think of the troopers and jacks as Marines.
“Thank you.” The thing dusted itself down. “I can’t believe you just shot an innocent dog like that. What kind of sick animals are you?”
Dog? Yes, she supposed it was a kind of robo-dog. It was a foot-high artificial creature with a cylindrical torso like a shrunken version of Lynx, three splayed legs with tracked wheels for feet, miniature humanlike arms, and a highly expressive snouted face, which lacked fur but was giving her a wounded look out of puppy dog eyes.
On paper, it would be a gruesome assembly of body parts sewn together and animated by dark sorcery. But the various elements blended so well, the reality was exquisite artistry.
She’d seen artificial creatures like this before. On Hundra-7. Same place she’d heard that accent.
“Why did Lord Khallini send us these coordinates?” Lily asked.
“Doesn’t matter now. You’re late.” The robot licked its lips and grimaced at the scorched grooves the Marines had shot into it. “It’s going to take months to grow out those marks.”
Lily’s blood boiled. Her patience had run out nursemaiding Sybutu. She sighted the creature in her PPR3. “Are you telling me our journey here was a waste?”
“Shame on you, Lily Hjon. I was told you were the intelligent one of this group. You’re in the wrong place because the galaxy didn’t wait for you. Luckily, the action has only moved on two dozen klicks. Grab the pink lady, and I’ll take you there.”
“Did Lord Khallini give you a designation?”
“Yes. My name is 3Condax.”
“Stay there, 3Condax. I’m going to contact the boss. All Marines, if she moves, shoot her.”
3Condax raised her hands in surrender. “Good idea,” said the AI, or whatever it was. “Bring the captain if you like—he sounds fun—but definitely bring your droid. I’ve never met one. They sound fascinating.”
* * * * *
Chapter 36: Osu Sybutu
Fitzwilliam ordered Chimera Company to regroup at their hidden ship. From there, they set out again on four armored hover-tubs, moving east along the relative cover of the sunken riverbed. The captain and Zan Fey took the driver’s seats of the two vehicles in the center, Zavage and Green Fish drove the tubs on the flanks.
They were simple vehicles that were usually collapsed into stackable components aboard Phantom. When in use, they were shaped like high-tech canoes. The ribs that strengthened their inward curving walls joined to form a combined roll cage/firing platform. Fitzwilliam sat in the driver’s position at the front, chatting with the two droids, and Osu rode at the back. He’d adjusted the floor height so his PA-71 rifle was resting on the firing cage where he wanted it, at shoulder height. Their tub was at the back of the formation, so he watched their rear.
Phantom and the sandy riverbank hill it nestled against soon disappeared from his sight, replaced by klick after klick of desiccated rock, smoothed by a light covering of red sand.
His mind started to fill the river with water. With movement and sound. He imagined boats, people, fish, and a world that was alive. What had those people been like? Would he have had to fight them?
He shook his head, furious with himself for losing concentration.
He returned to watching their rear, and he tried to keep himself alert by running a silent commentary of what he was observing. It was hopeless. Sandy ridge to the right. Dried river. Dried riverbank. Repeat. Endlessly.
Instead, he tuned in to the conversation behind him in which the two droids seemed to be having an electronic pissing contest. It occurred to him that he could only eavesdrop on the words the droids were speaking in the human language. It was likely he couldn’t hear most of the conversation because it was being communicated in a binary language narrowcast via microwave.
So far in his life, Osu’s interaction with droids had been limited to giving them orders, which they always carried out unless you didn’t express them clearly enough. These two were different. Since Lynx was a part of Chimera Company, he needed to learn more about droids. There was a lot about life in the Federation the Legion had never trained him for, but he judged was important now.
“3Condax, I just want to point something out,” Fitzwilliam called cheerfully from the controls. “I mean, it’s something completely obvious, but my dear friend Lynx has taught me that droids can have such an impish interpretation of the obvious.”
“3Condax is not a droid,” said Lynx.
“If you betray us,” said Fitzwilliam, “we will destroy you. Even if you look like a lovable robo-hound. Wait? What? Lynx, what are you saying?”
“I don’t know what this entity is,” Lynx replied, “but 3Condax is special.” He hesitated. “More special than me.”
Fitzwilliam sighed. “Lynx, you do pick your moments. Sybutu, take the wheel!”
Glancing behind into the vehicle, Osu saw the captain climb out of the driver’s seat and make his way to the middle of the little craft.
Osu detached his rifle from the firing point, slung it over his shoulder, and hurried forward.
“This would never happen in the Legion,” he muttered.
* * * * *
Chapter 37: Tavistock Fitzwilliam
The tub rocked as he and Sybutu squeezed past each other. Sure, it was a violent motion, but only Sybutu had an air of panic about him. Really, the kid needed to relax and trust the autopilot. In the modern era, people trusted automation all the time. The sergeant was far too uptight, but Fitz knew the route out of Legion stiffness. He’d show the boy the way.
Ignoring the robo-dog, Fitz put his arm around his droid. He was surprised by the strength of humming and buzzing inside the casing. It felt as if Lynx’s innards consisted of cogs, flywheels, and pistons.
“You will always be special to me,” he told the machine.
Lynx buzzed his case. It was a sound Fitz was familiar with, but he noticed for the first time that it was more than noise. In fact, the sound had the measured intervals of music. Like a descending arpeggio. Maybe he should pay more attention to the metal crewman.
“If I am special, it is only because you claim ownership of me.”
“Oh, that. What really matters to me is that Nyluga-Ree does not own you. I won you fair and square with the ship. Would it help if I renounce my ownership? Do you want free will? I hear it’s a dangerous thing.”
“You humanoids! You have such remarkable freedoms but do not understand what they are. I have always possessed free will, but I’m obliged
to follow the needs of my owner.”
“Then I am no longer your owner. I release you, Lynx,” he whispered close to the blinking lights along his case. “So long as you don’t give yourself to the Nyluga.”
“It’s not that easy. I need my…let’s keep this ape-simple and call it my loyalty circuit. I need it removed.”
“Fascinating,” said 3Condax. “I can perform the excision now.”
“Shut up!” Lynx and Fitz both told it.
“I’ll make it happen,” said Fitz. “I promise. It would be a shame if you left me after, but understandable, I suppose.”
“You don’t seem disappointed by the prospect.”
“I am, but everyone on my ship is there because they are a volunteer. Or a desperate refugee in the case of my new Marines. You should be too, Lynx. A volunteer, I mean. I’m sorry, droid. I should have done this a long time ago. Once we’re done on this planet, give me a day to read up on it, and I’ll reprogram you myself.”
Lynx oscillated like those cunningly designed seats in Fitz’s favorite Halcyon-3 pleasure dens. It was probably a sign of gratitude.
“You must be joking,” the droid told him. “Your previous attempts to adjust my programming have led to approximately 526 forced restarts. I can’t be certain of the number because my error log is as full to the brim as the Nyluga’s tax allowances. No, thank you. At the appropriate time, Kanha Wei will engage a qualified technician to make my alterations properly. And to correct your previous botches.”
“Sheesh. I’m just trying to help.”
“I see that. Thank you, Captain. The answer is still no.”
“So Kanha Wei has promised your heart’s desire. Free will. Is that it?”
“Were you even listening when I explained free will?” Lynx gave a mechanical sigh. “I give up. Yes, Captain. She has.”
Fitz tapped him on top of his case. “Don’t stress about it.”
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