by B. V. Larson
“Thanks for the confidence, sir. When do I ship out?”
“Immediately. Come this way.”
It was a set-up. It had been from the start, I began to realize, from the minute Graves had knocked on my door. As we walked down to the shuttles, everyone seemed unsurprised. They handed me gear and briefed me like airline people punching tickets.
“Centurion, set your air conditioner to high and keep it going,” a bio told me. At least it wasn’t Thompson who’d been given the task of seeing me out the door. “It’s hot down there, and very dry. You’ll dehydrate in ten minutes if you’re exposed.”
“Got it.”
I passed the cursory fitness test and was placed on a shuttle. I had a morph-rifle, heavy armor, a single grav-plasma grenade and basic survival gear. That was the arrangement, apparently. We were to present them with a single man in standard infantry gear.
The shuttle dropped like a bomb. We split their clouds and plunged toward the cratered surface at an alarming pace. I guessed our brass wanted us to make our arrival look as intimidating as possible.
Fortunately, I’d never suffered from vertigo, a fear of heights, or much else in that department. My pilot didn’t seem to have much in the way of nerves, either.
When we pulled up from our screaming dive, the whole ship rattled and stuttered to a violent stop. The skids thumped down, and the pilot looked at me.
“That’s it, McGill,” she said, staring at me through a shaded visor. “End of the line.”
“Wish me luck,” I said.
“Luck.”
She smiled briefly. I couldn’t see anything except her mouth. It was a nice-looking mouth.
“Say… are you the one who will fly me back up to Nostrum—I mean, if I live through this?”
“That’s right. I’m staying right here. A front-row seat.”
“If I put on a stellar performance,” I said, “how about you and I have a drink afterwards?”
She snorted, and she shook her head. “You just won my boyfriend a bet—sorry.”
“No problem. A man has to try.”
She watched me unbuckle and double-check my gear. Just before I hit the airlock, she called after me.
“Hey, McGill?”
“Yeah?”
“Good luck. I mean it for reals this time. You’ve got huge balls to go out there on a new planet and go up against an unknown opponent. I appreciate that.”
“Still no drink though?”
She laughed. “Can’t.”
“All right. You wait right here. I’ll bring you back something on a stick—maybe a bug’s head or whatever…”
Climbing out of the airlock, I heard a blast of friendly air go by. That air had first been canned all the way back home. It made me feel nostalgic, as I knew I was leaving the last vestiges of Earth and humanity behind.
-35-
My boots crunched down on Blood World soil, and I looked around, checking my tapper for readings.
The atmosphere was quite breathable. That wasn’t really a surprise as this planet was inhabited by genetically altered humans. The air was mostly nitrogen, with oxygen second and argon in third place. The other stuff like carbon dioxide was too high, but not toxic.
Essentially, this part of Blood World was a desert, kind of like the Sahara back home. The temperature was hovering at around forty-five degrees Celsius. That wasn’t good. At that heat level, I would dry out fast, especially since the humidity was only four percent.
But enough of such minor worries, I told myself. This contest was to be an open-air, open-ended struggle. Once I left the immediate vicinity of the shuttle, anything could happen.
I surveyed the landscape. There were low hills around me in every direction. I was walking in the depths of a crater roughly two kilometers in diameter. There was strange vegetation, mostly shed-sized leathery growths with sloping tops. They looked like lumpy mushrooms, but they weren’t as wide and flat as mushrooms usually were back home. They were more conical in shape.
Besides that, the region was littered with boulders, spiny shrubs and cracks that ran every which-way. The cracks attracted my eye first, and I headed for the largest of them. If I could find one as big as a ditch, I’d have cover.
A hundred steps. That’s all I was allowed to take before things kicked into gear.
Way overhead, I saw drones. Those were the cameras, the vid-streaming system for all of Blood World to watch this contest. They weren’t supposed to drop down below the edge of the crater, which was at least a hundred meters above my head.
I figured the Blood Worlders were probably watching closely, and I knew Legion Varus was recording every second of this via high-atmosphere optics. It was a little intimidating to know I was performing in front of a live audience of possibly billions.
Something buzzed overhead. Glancing up, I saw the camera-drones were still hanging high overhead. It didn’t look like any of them had moved.
Insects then? If that had been a bug, they sure had big ones out here!
After six or seven more steps, one of them went into a whining dive. Instinctively, I stepped out of the way, and an explosion splintered the ground where I’d stood. Shrapnel rang off my armor, denting it all around my shins and legs.
“A frigging suicide-drone?” I asked nobody.
Swinging my morph-rifle high, I looked for targets. I spotted two of them that were way under the limit.
Shrugging, I figured they were fair game. I thumbed my rifle’s muzzle aperture to its widest setting and began lazing the sky overhead.
Two more drones fell like stones, but they didn’t explode. I’d wrecked them.
The last one I didn’t see at first, but I could hear it making a buzzing approach. It was coming from the opposite direction.
I spun around and spotted it. The tiny disk had dived low, zooming along at about ten centimeters off the deck. The little bastard was going to take my leg off at the knee, I could tell.
Even when dialed to the widest setting, the cone of fire on my morph-rifle wasn’t going to do it this time. The drone was in too close already, moving too fast.
Reversing the rifle, I took a big chance. I swatted at it, like a batter trying to nail a low-ball coming in over the plate.
It worked, sort of. The drone splattered on the stock of my rifle. But that wasn’t entirely good news, as the explosive charge it was carrying detonated, blowing the butt of the gun clean off.
My head was ringing inside my helmet. I did a systems check and a health check. All good. My armor integrity was over ninety percent still, and although my heart and breathing were at elevated rates, that was only to be expected. If that drone had gotten through to me, I’d have lost a limb at least.
The bad news came when I inspected my rifle. Unlike in older, traditional weapons, the stock on a morph-rifle wasn’t just a block of wood or polymer. It held a sophisticated high-energy battery. With that gone, the rest of it was a fancy walking stick.
Tossing the weapon aside, I began to run. My armor was still powered and the exoskeletal systems picked up my legs and propelled me at an alarming rate.
I don’t mind telling you, I was kind of freaked out. I’d expected to face a heavy trooper, maybe, or a tracker. But this—could it be a gremlin out there, throwing his toys at me from a good hiding spot? I had no idea, as I’d yet to lay eyes on my opponent.
Fortunately, I reached the wide crack in the ground I’d been advancing toward before anything else deadly was tossed my way. Diving in, I made myself right at home, letting dirt sift over my metal boots and trickle down on my helmet.
My eyes scanned the environment, especially the sky, but I didn’t see any more drones. Maybe my opponent had a limited number of such sophisticated weapons available. That would be fair, at least.
Scooting along in the trench, I found it kept getting wider and easier to navigate. The bottom was filled with sand and gravel.
My legs kept churning. My plan was to put some distance between
me and the initial contact point. If you can’t locate your enemy, get the hell out and come back under your own terms later. That was my motto.
Ten minutes passed, and I found another crack, breaking off from the first. A fork in the road. One way led toward the crater walls, and the other back toward the center.
The safe play might have been to keep moving away from the initial contact-point. I still didn’t know who I was fighting or where he was—although the enemy was clearly in possession of advanced technology.
I took the twist that went back the way I’d come. Maybe running off wasn’t going to help at all, as the sun was already dipping low. It would be dark soon, as Blood World’s rotational period was only about thirteen hours long, and who knew? Maybe this guy was nocturnal.
I had my secondary weapon, a pistol, out and ready to go. Now and then, I checked my single issued grenade and knife as well. Both were still with me and fully serviceable.
But in order to apply any weapon, I needed to locate my opponent. The fact he’d thus far eluded me kept me grinding my teeth as I doubled-back toward the shuttle.
That’s when I realized something. The shuttle I was approaching—it wasn’t mine. It was an Imperial shuttle, that was clear, but it wasn’t the same one I’d come flying down aboard.
Frowning, I decided to take a chance. I climbed up out of my trench and after looking around furtively for about thirty seconds, I trotted toward the small ship.
It sat there, as if waiting for me.
“McGill!” a voice crackled in my headset. It was Winslade. “You’re in violation of some rule or other. The Blood Worlders are warning us that unless you desist, you’ll be disqualified, so whatever you’re doing, knock it the hell off!”
“Roger that, Primus,” I said, and I stopped charging at the shuttle.
But there it was, not ten meters away.
I had to have a look. I’d come so far, risked so much—I had to know.
Rushing up to the front windshields, I saw they were open. The blast shields had been peeled down to afford a good view of the action.
There in the pilot seat sat a creature I could easily identify. It looked startled and quivered slightly at my brief inspection.
The weird-looking thing wasn’t very big, maybe a meter long from stem-to-stern. A hard glossy shell covered its central thorax. Several thin limbs sprouted from under this shell at various angles. The wrinkled-up face in the middle of the whole thing was vaguely humanoid, and it wore a scared expression.
It was a Skrull.
Generally speaking, the Skrull were a peaceful species. They were highly technological, and usually served on ships that they rented out to the inhabitants of Frontier 921. They possessed, in fact, the Imperial patent on FTL travel in this region.
As I high-tailed it out of the area, complying as fast as I could with the rules I’d flagrantly violated, my mind was left whirling.
Could the Skrull be butt-hurt about Earth’s recent advances? We’d gone from a single, low-tech planet to being the supposed masters of three hundred planets in a very short time. Worse from their point of view, we’d been given the okay from the Core Worlds to violate their patent and start building our own starships. Maybe that was why they were out here fighting against me.
It was a working theory, at least, but I was certain I didn’t yet understand the full picture.
My helmet buzzed again, and Winslade spoke into my ear. The contempt in his voice was palpable.
“That was so close, McGill. You’re such a fool sometimes. We had to insist you were confused, and beg for a pass on that last stunt of yours. If you pull anything else, other than defeating—”
“It’s a Skrull,” I said, getting bored with his little tirade.
“What?”
“My opponent, the guy in the second shuttle—they’re Skrull.”
“Are you mad? That’s utterly impossible. The Skrull aren’t a violent species. Did it ever occur to you that the Skrull pilot you saw might just be a chauffeur?”
“Yeah, it did, but I rejected that idea. This enemy, whoever he is, is acting the way I’d expect a Skrull to act.”
“And how, in your wild imagination, would an impossibility like a killer-Skrull behave?”
“He’d be a chicken-shit,” I said with certainty. “Just like this guy is. He’s trying to kill me at range while hiding. I still haven’t laid eyes on the little bastard.”
“That doesn’t prove anything, McGill, but I must get off the channel before we’re accused of cheating again. Winslade out.”
Completely certain of my discovery, I paused at the next spot where I’d found cover. Slinking under the umbrella coverage of a giant mushroom, I crouched low and waited.
Sure enough, a few minutes later I saw a Skrull crawl into view. I’d predicted the exact location where he’d emerge. He slipped up out of a narrow crack in the ground nearby.
To be sure, he didn’t exactly stand tall and beat his chest. No, not this weasel. He crept out into the open just far enough to scan the horizon. Every few seconds, he dodged down into that crack again.
It was no wonder I hadn’t found him earlier. He was so much smaller than I was, probably no more than thirty kilos soaking wet, he’d been able to hide in the countless bolt-holes on the crater floor.
Hmm… How to get him? It was going to be like hunting up a gopher on my grandparents farm back in the day.
Coming up with a plan, I set up my grav-grenade. They had timers and other optional fuse settings. After adjusting the grenade’s tiny brain with my tapper, I stood up and walked out into the open.
I didn’t walk toward the hiding Skrull. Instead, I walked away at an angle, never looking his way.
As I passed another skinny trench, I set the grenade for a proximity-kill and tossed it in. Then I moved away and crouched about fifty meters off with my back firmly directed toward my trap.
It was a big risk. Doubtlessly, the Skrull had other types of weaponry besides his cache of drones. If I kept my back to him, he might just sneak up and off me.
But Skrull were cowards through and through. I knew he’d see that trench I’d passed by, and he’d feel an urge to squat in it. That crack in the ground represented all kinds of cover, from which he could screw up his courage to move on me.
Even as I pondered my plans and began to worry that it was taking too long, that it wasn’t working—I heard a singing sound and saw a blue-white flash behind me.
Smiling, I stood up from the worthless pile of sticks I’d been pretending to be interested in. I walked back to the spot and picked up the mangled corpse.
Less than an hour later, I arrived back at my shuttle, where I tossed the body into the pilot’s lap.
She shrieked and pushed it off, cursing.
“Told ya,” I said pridefully.
She gave a sigh and squared her shoulders. “Disgusting.”
After that, she wouldn’t talk to me the whole way back up to Nostrum.
I laughed, because it was funny—and because I was still alive.
-36-
“A Skrull?” Deech demanded, poking at the corpse on her desk. Her lips were curled back so far I could see her gums. “Is this some kind of a joke?”
“The joke was on me,” I said. “I was freaked out down there at first. Imagine, landing on an unknown world, all the while expecting some dumb giants to come at me. Then, I get blitzed by drones and—”
“Yes, yes, McGill,” Winslade said. “We witnessed most of this. Possibly, we should dismiss the centurion now, hmm? Would this be a good time, Tribune?”
He looked at Deech expectantly, but she was still puzzling over the dead Skrull.
I didn’t argue with Winslade, as I would just as soon go wash up and grab some chow. Strategy sessions bored me unless I was about to go into battle—often, they bored me even then.
“No…” Deech said. “This is very strange… I’m hoping for new insights from our reigning champion. We will continue discussi
ng the matter.”
Winslade made a rude sound with his lips. “I’m sorry Tribune, but I must say I’ve had much more experience with this particular man than—”
“Get out,” Deech told him in a deceptively mild tone.
Winslade’s mouth cinched up tight. He nodded, shot me a venomous glance, and turned toward the exit. I gave him a little smile in return. I couldn’t help myself, even though I knew that slight would cost me later.
After Winslade had made his prissy exit, Deech glanced up from the small corpse on her desk to face me.
“What possessed you, Centurion, to risk this entire venture for the sake of curiosity?”
“You mean when I looked into the windshield of that shuttle?” I asked, shrugging. “I wanted intel. It’s much easier to beat an enemy you know.”
Deech nodded thoughtfully. She stopped prodding the Skrull and walked out from behind her desk.
That was when I noticed her outfit. Her uniform was tight. Normally, Deech didn’t go around in boots and cinched up clothes the way some ladies did. This was unusual, and smart-clothes being what they were, it couldn’t be an accident. She had to have a plan in mind—but what could it be?
I kind of hoped she hadn’t altered her appearance for my sake. She wasn’t my type.
Deech crossed her arms, propped her butt up against her desk, and eyed me like I was some kind of bug.
“You judged a peek into the enemy lander was worth the risk?” she asked. “Throwing it all down on a single cast of the dice?”
“Uh… maybe I’m missing something here. Aren’t we just going through these contests to impress the Blood Worlders?”
“Yes, of course. But it’s more than that. Now that we’ve reached our destination, I suppose we can discuss the matter more frankly.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said.
Deech looked at me seriously. “We’re trying to become their new masters, McGill. Earth needs troops. Tough troops that can survive in our transports. These people are human-related at least, which means that our standard life support systems will sustain them. The short version is that we want them on our team. A war is coming, you know.”