by B. V. Larson
“Who do I have the honor of addressing, sir?” I asked the Mogwa.
“I am the Magnate Slur.”
“Great to meet you, Magnate.”
“A polite slave, at least,” Magnate Slur said. “As a reward I will treat you with undeserved kindness and explain my behavior. I executed the Nairb captain because it was his decision to turn off all your Galactic technology. That was a foolish mistake. Your pathetic ground forces were clearly in the thick of battle, attempting to expunge a rebellious force. After listening to your discussion with the Nairb, I found I couldn’t contain my rage any longer.”
I squinted at him. “What exactly got you so fired up, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Isn’t it obvious? These rebels fired missiles at my ship! If we’d been a million kilometers closer, they would have killed everyone aboard. That would have included my eminent self. Such idiocy on the part of a Nairb—he was so sure you were performing some kind of violation of Galactic Law that he risked my person to prove it.”
“Ah…” I said, catching on. “A natural response, Magnate. I completely understand.”
Every Mogwa valued his own comfort and safety above the extinction of any dozen races in a frontier province—perhaps even more than that.
“So,” Slur continued, “I will now provide you with new orders. These orders will supersede anything you’ve been instructed to do by Earth. Is that clear?”
“Crystal clear, Magnate.”
“Good. First, we will restore the function of all your equipment so that you may defend yourselves. Then, you will revive and arrest the creature you referred to as a ‘Winslade’ and extradite this beast into our custody.”
“So far, so good,” I said happily.
“Lastly, before Battle Fleet 921 arrives at this dark, greasy hole, you will kill every living thing on the planet below us.”
“Hmm…” I said thoughtfully. After hesitating for a second, I got an idea, and I brightened. “Okay. We’ll do it.”
“There is no need for you to agree with my commands, creature,” Magnate Slur said sternly. “It implies you have the option of disobedience. My word is the word of your master. What is required of you now is action—not agreement or even acknowledgement.”
I almost blew it then and said “Yes sir!” but I caught myself in time. Instead, I stood there and stared like a statue until he dismissed me and cut the channel feed.
When the Mogwa’s ugly face finally faded away, I threw up my arms and let loose with a whoop of joy.
Graves twisted his lips up in disgust. “That was gut-wrenching to watch, McGill.”
“What? We just got soooo lucky,” I told him. “You don’t even know the half of it, sir.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Didn’t you hear? They turned all our weapons back on. We can revive our troops, and we can get the legion moving again.”
“So what?” he demanded. “We had all those resources before, remember? We fought the rogues with everything we had. They beat us, McGill.”
“Huh? No, no, no,” I said. “You aren’t getting my point at all, Graves. We’re not going to kill the rogues. We’re going to kill that hoity-toity Mogwa. It’s the only way.”
Graves stared at me after that, and his mouth sagged open a little. I felt proud at that fine moment. I couldn’t recall ever having stunned him into silence before.
-45-
Graves started off by reviving Tribune Deech. I thought that was a mistake, but since I wasn’t really in charge of the legion what I thought didn’t matter much.
“We have to get our command and control working again,” Graves said. “McGill, you promised to deliver Winslade to the Mogwa. I can’t proceed until I hear from an officer who outranks both Winslade and I.”
“We could revive him and ship him off—then just print a new Winslade,” I suggested. “We don’t even have to tell the second one there was a first one, for that matter.”
Graves looked annoyed with my idea.
“We’re reviving Deech first,” he said firmly. “She can decide what she wants to do.”
In the meantime, I left Gold Deck and became reacquainted with my unit. Leeson was the first man of rank I ran into. He didn’t look too happy to see me.
“Centurion,” Leeson said, giving me a slight nod. “What kind of fresh Hell are we stuck in now?”
“What are you suggesting, Adjunct?”
“Well… you disappeared. You didn’t come up here on a lifter, and neither did Winslade. I can only surmise, sir, that there was some serious hanky-panky involved.”
“That’s out of line Adjunct,” I reprimanded him. “I’m going to ignore your rude remarks, and I won’t hold them against you, but let’s not hear any more of that kind of talk.”
Harris had come up during this exchange, and he crossed his arms and rolled his eyes when he heard my false outrage. He didn’t say anything, however.
They were both right, of course. I’d been involved in all sorts of conduct unbecoming an officer today and it wasn’t even dinnertime yet. But a man certainly couldn’t run a unit with his subordinates giving him a hard time in public.
After handing out a slew of orders, I sent them off to clean up the dead all over the ship. Despite this gruesome duty, the troops were glad to be back aboard Nostrum. The planet below us had been anything but hospitable.
“Sir?” asked Harris a few hours later, “can I have a word?”
I was stretched out on my bunk at the time, and I’d just been starting to dream. The lights in my quarters were automatic, and they didn’t turn off until the entire cube went into night-mode. Consequently, I’d had my arm thrown over my face.
“What is it, Adjunct?” I asked wearily.
Flesh-printing wands had been run over my various injuries, but I was still sore and worn out. One bad thing about command was how little sleep a man seemed to get.
“It’s about my murder,” Harris said. “Have they revived that recruit yet?”
“Sarah?”
“Yeah.”
I took my arm off my face and looked at him.
“I thought we’d settled all that,” I told him. “She had a bad day, and a bad revive. Let’s not get—”
“I’m pressing charges, Centurion,” Harris said determinedly. “I just wanted to let you know as I’m required to inform my immediate superior.”
“Aw, now, Harris…”
But he was gone. I shook my head and sighed. My arm slipped back over my face and I dozed for a few precious minutes. It occurred to me that being in command was quite possibly more of a pain in the butt than it was worth. At least when I’d been lower-ranked, I hadn’t had to babysit everyone who got into testy arguing about who killed who.
When I woke up, it was night. My tapper was buzzing, and I got the feeling it had been doing so for quite some time.
I groaned and sat up, pecking at my arm with bleary eyes and clumsy fingers.
Tribune Deech herself showed her face to me. She didn’t look happy.
“Centurion,” she said. “I’m awake and back in command of this legion. Graves has briefed me on a number of gross errors that have been made while I was on ice. Your name has been mentioned prominently, and I wish to talk to you.”
“All right, sir,” I said, “but can it wait until morning? I’ve had quite a day as well.”
“I’m not interested in sleeping, Centurion,” she told me sternly. “I’ve been doing it for days, and I’m ready to get things done.”
“Yes sir,” I said. I signed off, climbed out of my bunk and into the shower.
A few minutes later, I was back on Gold Deck. Deech looked different, I’ll give her that. It must have been a while since she’d died and been revived. Her nose was smaller and straighter, along with the countless other improvements that come with becoming younger. I dare say her bust-line was riding a little higher in the water, too. I could only surmise that she hadn’t died for at least ten years.
“You look great, Tribune,” I said.
She sneered at me. “Is that all you have to say?” she demanded. “They told me you were a shallow man. A rutting beast of the field who thought of women as nothing but targets. Is that true, McGill?”
I was taken aback. “Uhh…” I said, holding the sound longer than usual due to my natural surprise. “Is there something wrong with noticing a woman’s attractive appearance, sir?”
“I’m your superior. You will address me with respect.”
“Of course, Tribune,” I said, stepping closer to her desk.
She hadn’t told me to sit down or anything, but I was getting annoyed already with her snotty attitude. I figured she was just cranky about having died. People tended to be like that when they weren’t used to the process.
I plopped my butt down in the chair in front of her desk, and I leaned back a little. I didn’t put my hands behind my head or anything, and didn’t cross my legs because I don’t usually do that. But I made myself at home and looked fully relaxed.
She frowned at me. “It has been explained to me that you performed a variety of unsanctioned actions on behalf of the legion,” she said. “What do you have to say in your defense?”
“Defense?” I asked. “Am I under investigation, or something?”
“You’re on report. You’re permanently on report, McGill. I thought I’d give you a chance. I was a fool. The next time my subordinates warn me about a troublemaker I’ll listen and take harsh action from the start.”
“Permission to speak freely, Tribune?” I asked.
“Granted—but don’t abuse it.”
I leaned forward. “Sir,” I said, “you’ve got the wrong idea, here. I didn’t cause all these problems, I reacted to them. Someone else brought the legion out here. Someone else parked this ship close enough to get us X-rayed to death. And someone else left you dead for a week.”
Deech glared at me. She clearly didn’t like me, and I didn’t think she was enjoying my little speech, either.
“Insolence, insubordination, risk-taking above and beyond…” she said. “Combined with a weak respect for women. Shall I go on?”
“Only if you desire to, Tribune.”
“McGill, do you know what unexpected action I’m considering right now?” she asked me.
“Hmm…. Nope.”
“I’m thinking of sending you to the Mogwa. They don’t know what Winslade looks like since—”
“I know,” I said, “they can barely tell one human from another. But why would you send me, sir?”
Deech had my complete and undivided attention at last. She began ticking off my crimes on her fingertips. I hate when people do that.
“Because you killed that Nairb agent, not Winslade,” she began. “Then you teleported up here to this ship without authorization. Lastly, you impersonated a commanding officer in a diplomatic crisis as well—namely, me.”
“Hold on,” I said, “Graves was in command when I represented myself as our legion commander, as you were dead at the time.”
Deech waved away my words. “It doesn’t matter. The situation is grim. We’ve been charged to deliver Winslade to the Nairbs and take out the tech-smith scientists under the dome. The first order is unfair, and the second order is probably impossible.”
It was about then that I realized how Winslade had gotten ranked-up so fast. He’d romanced Deech before she’d died and straightened out her nose. That had to be it. I’d suspected something of that nature, but now, hearing her talk about how unfair it would be to march him into the lion’s den, I felt certain about it.
I could have said plenty in my defense at that moment. Not the least of which would be accusing her of having an inappropriate relationship that had clouded her judgment on the subject of Winslade. The irony ran deep in her related accusations toward me concerning improper conduct.
I didn’t bother to do any of that though—mostly because I knew it wouldn’t have done any good.
“Primus Graves and I came up with a great solution to all this, Tribune,” I said. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell you about it.”
Deech looked at me suspiciously. “What solution?”
Then, I told her about my ideas. She looked appalled, then thoughtful. Before I was done, she was white-faced and wincing as my words fell over her mind like gravel hitting a tin roof.
By the time I was finally done, she took a deep breath. She picked up an object from her desk—a trophy in the shape of a planet. The inscription read: For exemplary service on Rigel-7.
“You are different,” she said thoughtfully. “You’re much more dangerous than I’d been willing to believe.”
“Aw, now, hold on—”
“Let me finish,” she said. “You see this award? I’ve earned dozens like it. Do you know why? Because I get things done, and I do them by the book, McGill.”
I shrugged. “So I take it my ideas aren’t pleasing to your ear?”
“They’re like a discordant hammering,” she said. “Like the sound of an air car smashing into the ground. Speaking of which—didn’t this rivalry between you and Winslade go back to just such an incident some months ago?”
“Oh, that? No sir. That was just a bump in our shared road. No… we’ve been hating on each other for at least a decade now.”
Deech nodded slowly and returned the trophy to her desk. She set it down carefully, so it aligned perfectly with the others.
“I should have known,” she said. “Do you know why I’m upset right now?”
“Uhh…” I said, unsure of the proper response. I’d gotten a similar if not identical question from women on many occasions, and they’d never been happy with any of my answers.
“Because, McGill,” she went on, relieving me of the stress of having to come up with a response, “I’m beginning to listen to your insanity. Although I’d dearly love to send you in Winslade’s place, it amounts to deceiving the Nairbs. I just don’t see any other way out.”
That cheered me up. I’d just begun to give up on her because I’d misread her signs. Instead of becoming sour and stubborn, she was seeing the light. That didn’t make her happy, but it did make her smart.
“You won’t regret this, Tribune,” I told her.
She chuckled. “I’m very sure that I will regret it,” she said, “but I don’t know what else to do.”
“You see that? That spot you’re in now? That’s when it’s time to call up old James McGill. Drusus—back when he was our leader—he called me into his office to help him come up with something creative like this many times.”
“Did he really?” she asked.
“Yes sir, as God is my witness, he did.”
She nodded slowly. “That explains a lot. Dismissed, Centurion.”
When I left her, Tribune Deech was looking long in the face, like someone had just run over six of her seven cats.
Conversely, I felt pretty good. We had a plan, and we had a chance. In my book, that meant we were better off than we had been just a few minutes earlier.
Things were looking up.
-46-
A few hours later, Winslade woke up on a pinnace. I was flying it, and there was a veteran pilot unconscious on the floor.
Winslade looked around blearily. “I… what’s going on?”
“Don’t concern yourself with the details, Primus,” I said. “You’re being delivered to the Nairbs for crimes against the Empire. Just relax, and you’ll be processed in short order.”
His eyes widened, and he looked around in growing alarm.
“You…” he said, “you knocked out the pilot? You’re giving me to them instead? Why don’t I remember any of this?”
“The mind’s a funny thing,” I told him. “It’s liable to play all kinds of tricks on a man when he’s fresh from a revive.”
“Yes…” he said. “I remember now. You killed me. Let me go, McGill. Whatever mad scheme you’ve hatched, it will never work.”
“Come on now, s
ir,” I chided him. “You don’t want to end things in a way that leaves you remembered as a coward.”
He began thrashing around, fighting his bonds and making a racket. I gagged him with tape, and then I took my name patch off my tunic and slapped it onto his. It sank in and adhered to his clothing like it belonged there.
He kept straining, looking down at the patch saying “McGill” and straining to rub it off. I could have told him it was hopeless, but he wouldn’t have listened.
When we docked with the Nairb ship, I carried Winslade over my shoulder like a kidnap victim and marched aboard. A suspicious pack of Nairb crewmen met me and escorted me up to their command deck.
There, I met with the first Mogwa I’d seen in the flesh in years.
“This is the prisoner,” I said, setting Winslade on the deck.
“How can I be sure?” Magnate Slur asked. “One of you looks much like another.”
I shrugged. “That’s him,” I said. “I’d swear on a stack of bibles this high.”
“Your words are meaningless,” the Mogwa complained.
It slithered forward to the squirming Winslade and ripped the taped gag from his mouth.
“Identify yourself, creature,” Slur commanded.
“Magnate,” Winslade said breathlessly. “I’m Primus Winslade. That criminal over there is James McGill. He’s the one you want!”
“You are the Winslade?” Slur demanded, looming even closer.
“I am indeed.”
The Mogwa shook, and its lobes puffed out at the sides. I honestly thought it was going to kill Winslade right then and there.
“Take this beast away,” Slur said at last. “I’m having trouble controlling my temper in its presence. I don’t want to damage it irreparably—not yet. The death must be drawn out over much time.”
Winslade eyes widened, and he was dragged away. He looked back at me plaintively, and I have to admit, I almost felt bad.
He got one arm free and grabbed the corner of a hatch, holding up his captors for a second.
“Why’d you put that patch on me?” Winslade demanded, shouting at me.
“Because,” I told him, “Galactics can’t read English—but you can.”