by B. V. Larson
“At ease, Adjunct. Take a seat.”
She did so, and I sat across from her. We mouthed some small talk for a few minutes, but I soon got to the matter that was burning on my mind.
“So… you got kicked out of Victrix and exiled to Varus. Is that right, Barton?” I asked her point-blank.
She blinked. “That’s rather direct, sir.”
I shrugged. “We’re a fighting outfit here, Adjunct. Not a color-guard. I like to know what I’m dealing with before I go to war depending on a new officer.”
“I… I understand, sir. Yes, I’m from Victrix. You might have heard of them.”
There was a hint of pride there. I could hear it clearly. But then she looked down.
“I was transferred out.”
“Transferred…? No one leaves Victrix for greener pastures. There aren’t any.”
“I guess that’s accurate, sir.”
“Okay. So why’d you end up with Varus?”
She looked back up from the deck. “Because I didn’t want a desk job. They tried to move me to Hegemony—but I’m not ready to be a hog. I hope I’m never ready for that. So, I asked if I could switch to Varus instead. They agreed.”
We stared at each other for a second or two. My obvious next question would be to ask her why she’d been kicked out and transferred to Hegemony. It didn’t say on her profile.
But I didn’t want to ask that question.
“So you like to fight…” I said. “That’s good enough for me. Varus is the land of misfits. Here, each soldier’s history is largely their own. For that reason, I’m not going to ask you why you were booted… I don’t really care.”
Barton smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
My return smile was grim.
“Don’t thank me too fast. We’re going to start training tomorrow, at 0500 hours sharp. You’ll be taking over Harris’ platoon of lights. Some of them are fresh recruits.”
I stood up again, and she stood with me. She looked alarmed. Her big eyes studied me.
“Do I gather this will be a combat exercise, sir?” she asked. “With fresh recruits? They won’t know their asses from their hats, Centurion. I haven’t even met them yet.”
“Then introduce yourself! Tomorrow we’ll see to it that they learn real fast. Dismissed, Adjunct.”
Looking a little shell-shocked, Barton walked out of my office.
-14-
Della visited me later that evening. This was an eyebrow-raiser for me, as she and I had been through a lot of life together.
We’d had a child—without my knowledge at the time, mind you—and we’d tried forming a real relationship when the mood struck us. The results had always been somewhere between humorous and tragic.
“James?” she asked, leaning into my office. “Have you got a moment?”
My heartbeat accelerated a notch. It almost always did when Della came around.
This wasn’t just because she was pretty and moved with a dancer’s grace—it was also because she’d killed me on several occasions, and I’d returned the favor now and then.
Like Etta, she was a Dust Worlder. The real deal, born and raised. That meant, essentially, that she wasn’t entirely civilized. She was kind of like a feral cat—and if you’ve ever tried to adopt one of those furry bastards, you know exactly what I mean.
“Hello Della,” I said in a falsely cheery voice. “Sure, come on in. What’s up?”
She stepped inside my office and closed my door. That’s when I saw the pistol in her hand.
I was out of my chair and standing with my combat knife in my hand in a flash. I might have tried to draw my pistol, but it was snapped down at my side. My knife, on the other hand, had been lying within easy reach on my desk.
Still, for all my alertness and speed, I couldn’t beat her on the draw. She had the pistol trained on my face. A tiny red dot played over my eyelashes, making me blink.
“We need to talk,” Della said in a calm voice.
“Uh…” I said, thinking of a half-dozen crimes and misdemeanors I’d committed lately. When a woman came at me in a war-like mood, there was always a good reason—or several of them.
“Put the knife down, please,” she said. “I only want to talk.”
“Um… okay. But if you’re in a talking mood, maybe you could take that heat lamp off my eyeball too.”
“I’m the injured party here,” she said. “Or at least, I’m representing her. So I’ll keep my weapon for now.”
“Della, dammit,” I said, thunking my blade into the desktop. “This kind of insubordination is exactly why I didn’t want to transfer you into my unit when you first asked.”
She shrugged. “It’s a bit late for that now, isn’t it?”
Sighing, I flopped back down in my chair. “All right, fine,” I said. “Shoot me for whatever petty, jealous hysteria you’ve got burning in your mind. But this time, I’m not going to drop the charges. You’ll head to the stockade and serve your time like anyone else would.”
Della slid into the chair across from me. She kept that annoying beam on my forehead, which was beginning to piss me off.
The trouble with living and dying together just about forever was the relationships that naturally formed over the years. We didn’t have the discipline we should have in the legions—and we were especially lacking in that department in Legion Varus.
“All right,” I said, “can you tell me what’s on your mind?”
“You can’t guess? Really? Are you still so thick-headed after decades?”
“Um…” I said, thinking hard. “Is it about Turov?”
“No, you big idiot. If you want to waste your lifetime entertaining her, it’s none of my business.”
That response didn’t sound like she was a completely disinterested party, but I decided to let it go. If the woman said it didn’t bother her, well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to poke at the wound.
“Um…” I said.
Then, it struck me. Struck me hard.
“Etta,” I said. “You heard about what happened with Etta, right?”
“Of course I did. She’s my daughter. Did you think you could keep a violent exchange of gunfire all to yourself? I still have connections to Dust World natives, you know.”
“Right… Okay, here’s the deal.”
I quickly sketched out the events, leaving out all details that might have shone a bad light on my actions. In my version, I was something between a saint and a bounty hunter chasing down the bad guys.
She took all this in with a frown and a stare. It didn’t seem to me that my explanation was pleasing her too much, however, as she was still heating up my eyebrows with that damned laser sight.
“That’s all you’ve got to say?” she asked when I’d finished. “A pack of brash lies? Really? What about our daughter, James? Did you go back and check on her? Did you make sure she was all right?”
“Um… I did send a text.”
“That’s right. I heard as much from Etta herself. A single text, after a traumatic experience. Did you think that was sufficient?”
“Interstellar texts cost some serious credit…” I pointed out, but I knew even as the words left my lips it was the wrong thing to say.
Her expression darkened. The laser stopped circling on my face and became an angry glare burrowing into my left pupil.
Della stood up suddenly. “Why did I ever seek to mate with such an uncaring man?”
I’d always wondered about that myself, but I didn’t think it would be a good idea to delve into the topic now.
“Look,” I said, trying to be soothing. “Etta is fine. She didn’t die out there, and the men who came after me aren’t interested in her. Now that I’m out in deep space on a mission, they’ll just have to wait for their satisfaction.”
“Men?” Della asked. “You said Claver was after you.”
I kicked myself mentally. I’d simplified the story to make it all sound less dangerous. I’d failed to mention the army of Cl
aver-clones that were involved.
“Uh… Claver may have supporters.”
“Henchmen?”
“Yes, something like that.”
I thought of the Claver-Threes and their relentless pursuit. Describing them to her now might induce a panic.
Della was the kind of mother who tended to wander off from her young, but when Etta was in danger, she turned all mama-bear on you.
“Well?” I demanded. “Are you going to shoot me or not? Get on with it, Specialist. I’ve got work to do.”
That seemed to break the spell. She lowered her gun and put it on the table between us.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a faint voice. “I just don’t like the idea of our daughter going through her first death.”
“I don’t want that, either,” I said truthfully. “But she’s growing up. I think you need to talk to her directly if you want to guide her path. There’s only so much a part-time dad can do.”
Della studied the deck. “I have talked to her. A dozen times. She still wants to join the legions, even after almost dying. Even after watching her own father die before her eyes while defending her.”
“We can’t protect her forever.”
“We’ve barely tried. You and I are both so selfish it’s disgusting.”
“Come on,” I said. “The kid herself is impossible. She’s largely responsible for her own fate now. You’re still thinking of her as a child, and she is inexperienced, but she’s very much her own woman.”
Della looked miserable. It seemed like I couldn’t say anything to cheer her up.
Taking a chance, I stood and walked slowly around the desk. She didn’t move, so I put hands on her.
She let me hug her, then she waved at her gun on my desk.
“I’m sorry about that. I got emotional. I’ve been listening all day to the tone of your voice. I was expecting to hear some hint of the same kind of worry I’ve been feeling about Etta. When I finally realized you didn’t care at all—I became angry.”
“Well now, hold on a minute. I do care. It’s different for me, but I still care. I went out there to Dust World, didn’t I? I found her, and I made sure she lived. Isn’t that good enough?”
I thought I heard a sniffle. That was a shocker. She was normally made of steel.
Della turned to me suddenly, and my gonads clenched up in an automatic bolt of fear—but then I relaxed again.
She’d pressed her face into my chest, and her arms were around my waist.
My hands slid up to touch her shoulders. Looking down, I had certain thoughts, but I steered clear. The rest of her stayed untouched.
After a long hug, she went up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek, then she took her pistol and left.
When she was gone, I let out a long sigh of relief.
A few hours later, when we sounded lights-out, I was still thinking of her.
-15-
The next morning came too soon. I felt like I’d barely gone to sleep—because I had.
Hammering and yelling, the noncoms were kicking groaning troops out of bed all up and down the module.
That was how we lived in the legions. Every transport trip was like a refresher course through boot camp. Effectively, this was boot camp for the newest recruits. They were expected to get their training and their general cultural reeducation on life during our journey to the target star.
As for those of us who were experienced, we always seemed to need a few lessons repeated for our benefit as well. A few had managed to get flabby, and that wasn’t a good thing to do, not even if you were an officer. Superiors at every level liked nothing more than to send a man through a revival machine to thin him down to a lean, mean fighting weight.
Fortunately, my team hadn’t gone completely to seed. We’d only had about four months between deployments, and that was entirely different than taking a year off. All we needed was a rough spring-training, and we’d be back in the saddle again.
Standing at attention in a ragged line, I took charge. Noncoms were still walking the ranks, kicking at ankles and slapping at hands that were out of place, but I began speaking anyway.
“Proud members of 3rd Unit,” I began. “It’s an honor to serve with all of you. Even the lamest recruit in this outfit is going to earn my respect over the next few months, let me assure you of that.”
My eyes swept over them, and they stood at attention, not meeting my baleful stare.
“Today, I mean to give all of you an opportunity to prove you haven’t gone soft.”
A hand shot up in the back. It was Cooper, and I wasn’t in the least surprised.
“What is it, Cooper?”
“Sir, do I take it we’re going to be killed in some kind of pointless exercise?”
I felt like smacking him, but everyone felt like that when Cooper opened his mouth, so I shook it off.
“Absolutely not,” I said. “If anyone dies in today’s wargames, I’m going to be very disappointed. The purpose here is to make the other side die—we’re here to win.”
A small cheer rose up, and I smiled. They weren’t all smartasses like Cooper.
“Here’s the deal,” I said, pacing in front of them. “We’re going to face a large body of troops. An entire cohort of them, and we’re going to put them down.”
My soldiers looked stunned.
Cooper’s hand was up again, but I ignored him. I pointed to Kivi instead.
“A cohort, sir?” she asked. “How’s that possible? Are we fighting on the outer hull, or the tops of the modules? Nowhere else could possibly—”
I stopped her with an upraised hand. “You’re wrong, Kivi. This isn’t a regular transport. This ship is big. We’re going to have a large, pitched battle. A wargame, like I said.”
“But how—?”
Jabbing a finger upward as if I was pointing out the Almighty himself, I got her attention again.
“Green Deck is big on this ship. A lot bigger than the exercise rooms aboard our past transports. I’d say it’s about ten times bigger than the Green Deck was on Minotaur.”
Kivi nodded to me. She was catching on.
I forced a smile and paced in front of the troops.
“That’s not the only scrap of good news,” I said. “The kicker is this: the other side will be made up of Blood Worlders.”
A groan rose up then, and I frowned.
“What?” I demanded. “Are you guys chicken? The Blood Worlders aren’t—they’re raring to go. They say all the time that human legionnaires are wimps, and I guess they might be right.”
People became angry upon hearing my bald-faced lie. I made up specific Blood-Worlder names for the chief culprits, the biggest insult-slingers on the other side. One name I invented was Bluto, who I described as a full-fledged bastard. I was especially proud of that effort.
The Blood Worlders hadn’t said anything about humans, of course. The males rarely spoke at all. But none of that mattered. Within ten minutes, I had them raging for revenge.
Marching down to Green Deck was a pleasure. Instead of leading a group of bored, somewhat apprehensive troops, I had a snarling pack behind me. Other units passed us in the tunnel-like passages, but they never seemed as fired up as my gang did.
Arriving before a big set of metal doors, I saw a large blue light at the top—and a full unit of pukes standing around underneath it.
Centurion Manfred pushed his way through his team and frowned at me.
“This isn’t your entrance, McGill,” he said. “Keep moving.”
I frowned down at him. He’d always been less friendly when his troops were listening. I figured it was part of his tough-guy act.
“Ah!” I said. “I get it—they changed the plans, huh? Are we supposed to slaughter your gang now? It will be a real pleasure.”
“What?” he barked, then his face softened. A moment later, he laughed. “You didn’t read the brief, did you?”
“Uh… I might have missed something,” I admitted.
Internally, I kicked myself. I’d never been a man who could stomach a long boring talk of any kind. You could confirm that with any teacher who’d had the misfortune to be given the task of instructing me. Any of them… ever…
“Big moron,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Your gate is two doors down. We’re a team. Our side is blue, and the other side is red.”
“Two doors down? How many doors are there?”
“Twelve, I think—on this side. Red team gets its own twelve.”
Harris, who’d come up to listen in, whistled. “Twenty-four entrances? You weren’t shitting us when you said this place was big, McGill.”
Turning, I ushered my unit toward the correct door. Harris lingered behind, and I heard him question Manfred.
“What flavor of bullshit are we in for today, sir?” he asked.
“Nothing ground-breaking. It’s just them or us. This Green Deck is big, and fancy—but it’s still just a city park inside a bubble. Now, get going.”
Harris trotted after me and soon caught up. I was leading the unit at a jog, not wanting to be late to reach my station on top of everything else.
“Did you get yourself… ah… distracted last night, sir?” he asked me.
I glanced at him, and I didn’t like the big shitty grin on his face.
“Yep,” I said. “Turov kept me up all night again. Damn, that girl is a screamer. Didn’t you hear her?”
He frowned in confusion and amazement for a second, then his face shifted into a disbelieving sneer. “Very funny, sir. What are my deployment orders?”
Harris was leading my heavy platoon now. Leeson, as always, had command of my auxiliaries. Mostly, that meant he led weaponeers, bio people and a few techs. Barton, of course, had Harris’ old command, a platoon of lights with snap-rifles.
“You’re team is taking the center, walking advance. Barton will flank left, scouting and moving faster. Leeson’s knuckle-draggers will bring up the rear. See that you don’t leave his people behind and unguarded.”
Harris grinned. “You’re going to angle back left, aren’t you? To screw over Manfred?”
I shook my head, and I showed him the briefing on my tapper—tossing it to him with a flick of my finger. He read it on his own tapper as we marched.