by B. V. Larson
-40-
“We’ve got anterior fibrillation! Clear!”
Vaguely, I felt several hands let go of my limbs. There was a hum and a snap, followed by an instantaneous bolt of pain.
The hands came back to grab hold of me. I struggled, but I was as weak as a cat.
“One more?”
“Hold on. I think…he’s back. He’s stable.”
The hands relaxed, and one of them patted me on my bare chest.
“Get suited up, McGill,” Anne said. “You’re wanted upstairs.”
“Are we back on Earth?” I asked in a croaking voice.
Anne chuckled. I still hadn’t opened my eyes more than a crack. What little I could see was washed out and full of glare. Despite this I caught her smile, and I smiled back.
“I wish,” she said. “We’re still on lovely old Death World.”
“How did I catch a revive?”
“It was tight. Fortunately, Turov sent out long-range drones to your location when your squad didn’t respond to calls on their tappers. They provided us with a vid-feed of that firefight with the squids. It was quite dramatic, right to the finish.”
“Glad you liked it. What about my heart? Are you going to recycle me now?”
She helped me up, still amused. Her delicate touch made me remember some good times we’d had a year or so back.
“No such luck,” she said. “You’re a good grow, you just came out with an erratic pulse. We’ve fixed that. Get dressed.”
“You’re kicking me out already?” I asked. “How about another date?”
She looked slightly pained. “I thought that was over between us.”
“That fellow that broke your heart was another James McGill,” I said. “He was a right-bastard from what I hear. I’m an entirely different breed.”
Shaking her head, she guided me to the lockers and fitted me with a uniform. “Get up to the officers’ deck. They want a full report. They saw what happened, but they don’t understand all of it.”
“What about Claver?”
She shook her head. “He’s on ice, for now. No revive until authorized.”
“That’s probably for the best.”
Once I had my clothes on, I made one more pass at her. “How about that date? We could do a picnic on Green Deck for old-time’s sake.”
“You don’t give up easily.”
“Never have.”
She looked down at the deck for a few moments. “I’ll think about it,” she said at last.
“I’ll take that to the bank!” I said, marching off in a good mood.
The events that had transpired out in the woods hadn’t gone as expected, and I wasn’t sure how my superiors were going to react to my story. At least I had a date to look forward to later.
There were only two people waiting for me upstairs. Imperator Galina Turov met me with her head cocked to one side, like she didn’t quite know what to make of me.
Winslade, on the other hand, appeared to have made his decision. He studied me with a mixture of disgust and anger—to him, I was some kind of walking dog-turd.
“At ease, Veteran,” Turov said.
Taking her suggestion to an extreme level, I took a seat in a comfy chair and stretched out in it.
“I’m a bit foggy,” I said. “Sometimes a revive leaves a man with cobwebs in his head.”
“Maybe you need to be recycled a few more times to clear that up,” Winslade suggested.
“Shut up, Primus,” Turov told him without taking her eyes off me.
While Winslade pouted, she walked over and stood near me. That provided me with an excellent view. She really was a sight for sore eyes.
“You did something out there…” she said. “Something you weren’t supposed to do. Maybe several things.”
Shrugging, I gave her a half-smile.
“Look,” I said, “I think everyone got what they wanted. The plants are dying, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Slowly—but they’re dying. They don’t seem to be able to think coherently. The xenobiologists think they normally communicate through scent signals, like ants, and they aren’t getting signals they can comprehend. No new pods are being grown. The mobile creatures that remain wander like feral beasts. They no longer feed, and they’ll become gaunt in a week or two.”
I spread out my hands. “See? Everyone’s happy.”
“I’m not happy,” Winslade snapped. “I want to know what you said to the cephalopods. You talked to them quite a while before you killed yourself. Our drones zoomed in and caught the action—but not the words.”
“They did most of the talking,” I explained. “The captain said he wanted to capture me, to breed me. He said he could sell a line of new warriors with my DNA.”
“You’d like that,” Turov commented.
“The idea had its appeal,” I admitted. “But, as a man of duty and honor, I took the hard way out and tried to blast them all to Hell and back instead.”
Winslade snorted and clasped his hands together. His eyes were half-shut with suspicion whenever he looked at me.
“James,” Turov said, “it’s vitally important you make a full and complete report to me concerning your interaction with the enemy. Something small, even a minor detail, might be valuable to Earth intel.”
For the first time since I’d walked into her office, her words troubled me. I’d planned to wake up and go back to my old routine, all the while staying quiet about what Captain Torrent had said. But Turov had a point. The squids were our enemies, and they’d given me information, whether I’d promised Torrent to hold onto it or not.
“Hmm,” I said. “What do you think of a promise made as a matter of honor, sir?” I asked her seriously.
Turov frowned. “You promised to stay quiet? You promised this to a cephalopod officer?”
“I was in difficult circumstances,” I pointed out.
“Ah, then such a promise is not ethically binding. Is that not right, Primus Winslade?”
He looked us both over, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’re even taking this seriously, Imperator. Order this disrespectful noncom to brief us on what happened. Anything less would be conduct unbecoming.”
“Answer my question, Primus,” Turov said sternly.
“About the ethics of the situation? Of course it works that way. You can’t torture a man into a confession and have it be legally binding—at least not in a civilized society. You can’t extract contracts or promises from a man under any kind of duress. That isn’t honor, it’s force.”
I thought such words were ironic coming from Primus Winslade, the torture-master. But even so, his points made sense to me. I was still a bit troubled, but I decided to tell them what had transpired.
They listened closely as I described my interactions with Captain Torrent. They were particularly interested in the details of how and why the cephalopods came to be committed to defending the Wur.
“Very odd,” Turov said. “They don’t like the Wur. In fact, they’re in a state of war with them. But still, they continue to protect them.”
“I don’t think that’s quite what’s happening,” I said. “I think Claver lied about the war between the squids and the plants. That war is over—and the plants won.”
I explained further about Torrent’s description of the squid queens, captured on their thrones.
“Back on Machine World,” I said, “do you recall that giant squid we found in a cold tank down in the lowest tunnels?”
“Of course,” Turov said. “Your idiot friend, Ortiz, blew it apart.”
“I believe that was later determined to be a matter of self-defense.”
Turov rolled her eyes. “Yes. That lie was in the report, as I recall. Well, what about the giant squid?”
“It was female,” I said. “All the others we’ve met up with, every soldier, officer, you name it, have been male.”
Turov squinted at me. “Are you saying it was a queen?”
“Makes
sense to me.”
She moved to her desk and leaned her butt up against it. I caught Winslade eyeing her from behind. I couldn’t blame him.
“That means the queens—their females—are rare,” she said thoughtfully. “Anything necessary and rare is important. Could the plants have won the war by capturing critical members of the cephalopod species?”
I shrugged. “Could be. It’s certainly worth reporting to Central. If I don’t miss my guess, the xeno-freaks back home on Earth will get the shakes over it when they hear these details.”
“Right,” she said. “Good thinking, James. I’ll make sure to deliver that information personally.”
That was Turov in a nutshell. She was going to deliver her findings—my findings—all prettied-up with a bow on top. She’d take the credit and reach for more rank. It was her standard operating procedure.
But I didn’t care. I wasn’t much of a rank-climber myself. What I was happy about was the probability this tidbit would get her off my back.
The central display began beeping as did Turov’s tapper. She frowned, but answered the call.
“What is it?” she snapped. “I gave orders that I wasn’t—”
“Imperator, the cephalopod Captain is attempting to open a channel to your office—”
Turov’s butt flew off her desk. She worked the screen, and a moment later the ugly, gold-collared Captain Torrent flickered into being in all his glory.
She gave me a stern glance. “Stay off-camera—and stay quiet.”
I nodded. Even I knew Torrent might not be thrilled to see me in the background during any negotiation.
Captain Torrent’s eyes swept the scene, but I positioned myself where the cameras wouldn’t pick me up. I could see his wet, pinkish-brown skin was pock-marked with wounds. He’d been injured. One of his eyes was drooping and weeping a bit, too. Probably, my plasma grenade had picked up grit, turning it into needle-like shrapnel and blasted him with it. As far as I was concerned, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer alien.
“Imperator Turov,” he said. “An accident has occurred. The nexus Wur on this planet has ceased to function.”
“A pity.”
“Your odd word translates to ‘a small matter.’ We do not agree with your assessment. This matter is a significant one. A dishonorable failure for our species.”
Turov nodded. I could see the wheels turning inside her head. She was trying to come up with a way to gain an advantage in the situation, but she was also being cautious.
“What action will you take next?” she asked.
“You have no right to demand such information.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“However,” continued Torrent, “in the spirit of investment, I’m willing to share information with inferiors such as you, beings that might yet prove useful to the Kingdom. We’re leaving this system. Please inform your crew and all the other slave-candidates awaiting our leadership on your homeworld. The Wur garden that once enveloped this planet will wither and die without nexus guidance. Therefore, there is nothing left here to protect. Our mission has ended.”
“A most unfortunate accident,” Turov said. “We offer our condolences for your loss.”
Torrent looked at her quizzically. “Your words have no meaning. We’ve suffered a loss, but there is no translation for the concept you connected to that fact. No matter, we will be your masters in the end. This discussion is at an end.”
Torrent disconnected abruptly.
“What a dick,” I said.
Turov looked at me and Winslade thoughtfully. “Did you notice? They have no words for pity or condolences. You’re right, James. They’re truly unpleasant creatures.”
“Did you see his eye?” I asked proudly. “He took a hit there. I’d bet my bottom credit it was shrapnel from my grenade that did that.”
She looked at me closely. “You did kill the nexus as I requested. What’s more, after talking to the cephalopods, you sent them packing into space. I’m quite impressed, McGill.”
Winslade squirmed uncomfortably. “That’s like thanking a cat for pissing on the curtains,” he said. “McGill only did what came naturally to him. Deceit, violence—such things are all in a day’s work for—”
“Conceal your jealousy, Primus,” Turov uttered the words without looking at him. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Winslade got to his feet, looking annoyed. “Permission to get back to my duties, sir?”
“Granted. Pack up your cohort. The squid ship is gone. The plants are dying. Correspondingly, we’re going to board and retake Minotaur in the morning.”
Winslade looked startled. “Is that wise, sir?”
“I said it, didn’t I?”
He fidgeted, but then he nodded at last. “We attack in the morning. May I make one suggestion?”
“If you must.”
“We should leave the revival machine here, along with a protective unit. Just in case the assault force is lost. They could rebuild the legion if things went badly. That way, Varus wouldn’t be wiped out.”
Imperator Turov looked at him suspiciously. “And who would you recommend be left in command of this unit on the ground?”
“Well sir, I wouldn’t want to delegate such a critical mission to amateurs. I’d be willing to take on the assignment myself.”
“Of course you would. Dismissed.”
Winslade left, and I was glad to see him go.
Smiling an odd smile, Galina came to me and sat in my lap. When my hands came up to reach for her, she slapped me a hard one across the face.
I looked at her questioningly.
“You’re becoming insolent,” she said. “I wanted to shoot you when you sprawled yourself out in this chair like a child. Winslade knows we’re having an affair. It’s affecting his performance.”
I scoffed. “I think you’ll find my performance hasn’t diminished in the least.”
My arms came up again, and this time she allowed them to encircle her. She squirmed a little, but she let me touch her. Things progressed quickly as they always did with Galina. After making doubly sure the desktop display was turned off and not recording anything, she leaned on it and let me have my way with her, right then and there.
After we were finished, she walked primly around to the other side of the desk. Her clothes reknitted over her as I watched. I was sorry to see her soft skin vanish under cloth.
“That was the last time, James,” she said.
My jaw sagged. “Really?”
“Yes. People are beginning to talk. I find that annoying. Please don’t be distraught.”
I felt an urge to laugh at the idea that I would cry about losing her, but I knew enough to hold that back. Sure, I liked our get-togethers, what man wouldn’t? But I’d never been one to fool myself into thinking she seriously cared about me. The best I could hope for was an even break now and then.
“I’m surprised, not hurt,” I said. “Women don’t dump me all that often. Not without good reason, anyway.”
“Yes,” she said. “Usually you forget about them and wander off. Just as often they catch you cheating and become angry. Don’t you think it’s better for both of us to end it this way instead? As adults?”
Thinking, I stuck out my chin and nodded. “Good enough. I guess I’ll be going, but there’s one more thing, Galina.”
“What is it?”
“Did you mean what you said? About being impressed by my actions in the field?”
She met my eyes evenly. “Absolutely. Compared to you, Winslade is a worm under a rock.”
I knew she was right, of course. But hearing it from someone in command was good for the spirit.
Galina Turov was as ruthless as they came, and she didn’t pull any punches. That said, I felt I could count on her to say what she thought was the truth most of the time.
Happy with her honest praise, I smiled all the way out of the lifter and back to my squad.
-41-
The
next morning we launched an all-out assault. Minotaur had been squatting in space over Death World for about a week now. In all that time, it hadn’t shifted orbit or responded to transmissions other than in the most rudimentary, automated fashion.
Fortunately, the dreadnaught was far enough out in space to stay stable. The orbit hadn’t decayed, so it wasn’t in danger of falling and crashing yet. The techs had already calculated we had around two years before that happened. But we weren’t interested in waiting around any longer than we had to.
We loaded up four hundred troops, carrying the best of the gear we had left. We left Winslade and about two hundred troops behind, camped on the endless green expanse of grass that had begun to grow over the scorched land. Turov had assigned him a single combat unit, which was made up of poorly equipped recruits. They had a few bunkers and drones, and of course, were left in charge of the revival unit.
Winslade was all smiles and waving as we took off and left him. You’d have thought we were loved ones going on a cruise.
Anne, Natasha and most of the other non-combatants were left planet-side with Winslade. There would be time enough to ferry them to Minotaur later—assuming that we were able to recapture her.
All attention turned toward our goal once the cloud cover enveloped the world below us. I was up in the command center with Turov, Tribune Drusus and Captain Graves. That was quite an honor for me. I didn’t know why they’d taken me up there, unless it was because there was plenty of room. The briefing chambers were meant to hold all the officers in a full cohort.
Turov, as usual, spoke first. “I want to tell you all that I have the utmost confidence in the highly-experienced troops Legion Varus has left,” she said, looking from one centurion to the next. “I’m only sorry that we could not bring more troops. It would take months to revive the whole legion, and this lifter is only capable of transporting a single cohort.”
A centurion named Martinez spoke up. She was a stocky woman with her hair pulled back so tightly her eyebrows were half-way up her forehead.
“We could have waited one more week, at least,” she said. “Then we’d have a thousand troops rather than four hundred.”
Turov looked at her flatly. “Yes. But we don’t have guns for that many men. In that same period of time, we don’t know how much stronger the enemy aboard the ship might grow. They might even gain control of the ship and maroon us here.”