by B. V. Larson
“Right sir,” he said, shaking his head. “But take it easy. Even in armor, it’s dangerous.”
The moment they released the outer locks both the doors began to lift and flap. Between the two bouncing steel doors, I could see a gray light. Splattered rain flew through the crack in silvery strings.
The doors flapped and drooled like the jaws of a rabid dog. I hesitated for about two seconds, but then I steeled myself. After all, the two guards were watching me.
Moving with purpose, I marched up the steps and pushed my way out into a howling maelstrom.
-26-
Marching through the storm was a daunting experience. The winds were fierce, driving against me like I was a leaf in a gale. Leaning into it, I headed toward Gold Bunker. Mud whipped up into my face and got all down into my suit—despite my having sealed most of it.
I could have gone back and put on an exoskeletal unit, of course, and powered right through it. But I didn’t feel like limping back to my module and commandeering a power suit. Doing that would have made people laugh. After all, they all knew how rough the storms were.
Why was I taking this difficult path? Sheer stubbornness, plus a desire to avoid embarrassment. I’d been left out of the first half of this shitty campaign, and I didn’t want to look green in front of my troops.
So, I toughed it out. Fighting the blasting storm, I focused on putting one foot ahead of the other. My universe was reduced to my immediate surroundings. I kept telling myself to keep my head down, lean into the wind, and keep marching…
Then a reversal came. It was a shock. The wind that had been blowing directly into my face shifted. Instead of propping me up as I leaned into it, the wind now angled from the right, and it knocked me off my feet.
A big, wet, silvery hand of water and wind slashed in and I slipped down to one knee. I threw out my hands, feeling them sink deep into mud. With a grunt and several loud curses, I pulled my arm out of a sinkhole. I tasted blood in my mouth—maybe I’d bit something. Cursing some more, I got back to my feet and began marching again at a new angle.
This time I moved more warily, as I realized the wind was tricky. It could switch on you without warning.
Twice more the fickle winds switched angles and velocities—but I never fell again. I was getting the hang of it.
Hammering on the steel doors of Gold Bunker, I got no immediate response. Growling, I unlocked them manually and threw both leaves wide.
The doors clanged onto the puff-crete walls, ringing like two church bells. The stairway had two surprised-looking noncoms at the bottom. Without asking permission, I stumped down toward them. A small wave of water came with me, along with at least a hundred liters of mud.
The two veterans rushed up the steps, reaching out their hands. They grabbed either arm.
I think they meant well, in retrospect. I really do. They were probably just trying to help me out, a man staggering out of a bad storm.
But I was in a rather bad mood by this time, so I shoved them both away. They stumbled into the walls of the bunker.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m Centurion McGill, here to see the tribune.”
“Um… that way, sir. Hang a left at the second intersection.”
Marching onward, I ignored the mud, grime, dripping silt and large limp leaves that had accumulated on my kit during the crossing. They fell off and stained the floor behind me.
After being ushered into the tribune’s office, I pulled off my mask and hood. Another gush of water and mud splashed the carpet.
Carpet? I was amazed. Turov liked the good life, even when she took to the field with the rest of the legion, but it seemed to me that a carpet didn’t belong on Storm World. Not even in the driest room on the planet.
“Centurion McGill reporting, sir,” I said loudly.
Turov glanced at me, and to my pleasant surprise, she gave me a neutral smile.
Around a conference table sat a number of officers. They all held the rank of primus, which was one level above mine. Each of them commanded ten units like mine.
My immediate supervisor, Primus Graves, was in the room. He sat at Turov’s side. He was her senior officer, second in command of the entire legion.
Unlike Turov, however, he wasn’t smiling at me.
“McGill,” he said. “You should have worn powered armor. The storms are dangerous on this planet.”
“Nah,” I said. “Just a little rain.”
Turov’s face brightened further. “You see?” she demanded of the others, looking from one to the next. “This man rushed right to my side without hesitation. He isn’t interested in creature comforts, or fearful of stepping in a mud puddle.”
The rest of the officers looked sour. They fidgeted. I got the feeling I’d helped win an argument for Turov.
Graves didn’t change his expression, however. Not one iota.
“We’re not talking about toughness and willingness to obey, Tribune. We’re talking about safety and—”
“Silence!” Turov said. “I’ve heard enough defeatist talk. We can’t fight only when the skies clear. If we continue to do that, we’ll be here for years.”
Graves glanced at her sourly. I knew he didn’t like being accused of being defeatist—but he didn’t like to argue with his commander either. That wasn’t his way.
“We must attack the moment the winds drop below gale force,” Turov continued. “We’re not delaying a minute longer. There will never be a clear day on this miserable planet. Waiting around for it will only allow the enemy to gather more strength.”
“I feel it necessary,” Graves said, “to warn you as I’ve done before: the enemy are far better adapted to these conditions than we are. After all, they’re plant-based.”
“Too bad. Each of you must give me at least one able unit. These units will march at first light tomorrow. The weather will be sufferable by then, according to AI predictions.”
At this point, I slowly raised my gauntlet. As I did so, a shower of muddy droplets fell onto the carpet, but Turov didn’t seem upset about that.
“Sirs?” I asked. “I’d like to volunteer for this patrol duty. My troops are bored sitting around in their bunker. Besides, it’s not all that bad out there.”
“A volunteer!” Turov said, beaming. “Do I hear another?”
A few of the officers offered up units of their own. She made notes, then quickly “volunteered” one unit from each of the cohorts that hadn’t spoken up.
“At first light, you will all choose a patrol path. McGill gets first pick. You’ll march out into the jungle and loop around, returning with news of any contact you make. Don’t go more than ten kilometers from the walls. That’s it then. You’re all dismissed—except for you, McGill.”
There were a lot of muttered words and a few grunts—but they didn’t argue. They all knew it wouldn’t do them any good to grumble and moan aloud. Instead, they stood and marched off into the passageways, already working their tappers to pass along the unwelcome news.
After that, I knew they’d go off to the officers’ mess and bitch about Turov over a drink. They’d do their complaining privately, to each other.
As they filed out past me, one of them flipped me off. I touched my soaked cap in return.
When they’d gone, I felt small hands touch my back.
“You know,” she said. “Any other day, any other time, I’d cut off your parts for this stunt. You do realize that, don’t you?”
“Of course,” I lied. I had no idea what she was talking about.
Her finger pointed downward, and I followed the gesture.
“My carpet is ruined, but… I think it was worth it. Your example humiliated all my other officers, as I’d hoped.”
“You knew I would march here despite the storm?”
“Of course. You were hoping for a sexual greeting, right?”
“Uh…”
“Besides, I know you anyway, James. You’re just the kind to ignore a tiny hardship like a storm
on Storm World. What I’m uncertain about was this business of tracking mud in here. Was that for dramatic effect? Did you realize I wanted you to make a grand entrance?”
The truth was I’d been annoyed with her summons in the rain, and so I’d decided to stomp off some of that fresh mud I’d accumulated inside her office. But it wouldn’t do to admit that now, so I went with another approach.
“Primus Fike mentioned it,” I said.
“He did...? When did you speak to…? Oh yes, the gateway goes to his bunker. It’s set up there to allow reinforcements to arrive directly from Blood World.”
“That’s right. He’s a friendly fellow, that Fike. He told me all about your troubles here with Varus.”
She flashed her eyes dangerously. Her hands left my drippy form and slid to her own hips, where they formed fists.
“Oh really? What else did he say?”
“It was just a short briefing, really. Something about limited command skills, lack of authority… Oh, and a general problem with unpopularity—that coupled with running the worst troops in the cosmos. Something like that.”
Galina’s expression had shifted dramatically as I spoke.
“That slippery bastard,” she said. “He’s so polite when he speaks to me. He must still be pining away for Deech, his past commander. She ditched him, you know, after that disastrous attack he led back on Dark World. You remember that, don’t you? He marched four units to utter destruction right past your encampment.”
“How could I forget? He told us he’d show us how things were done… but he sure did make a mess of it.”
I laughed, and Galina softened.
“In any case, I’m glad you’re back. You did well. I got a message from Xlur over a month ago. I was very worried when you left that you’d deleted the book.”
“I managed to get that back for him,” I lied with a cheery smile.
“Yes, I assumed that. Afterward, I couldn’t revive you here directly—the entire affair was illegal, from top to bottom. To cover the trail, I brought you back on Earth, then had you transferred here in steps.”
I grimaced. On several of those steps, I’d died—but there was no point in complaining about that now.
“It’s good to see you again, too, sir.”
Saying these words, I began to take liberties. After all, I felt I’d earned them. How many men have died a half-dozen times to return to the woman who’d murdered him in the first place?
My hands shucked off my gauntlets, which slapped down onto her wet carpet. Then, they snaked forward, reaching for her waist.
She danced back a step, giving me a tiny frown. “Not so fast. Tell me about the Core Worlds. What was it like?”
Reaching for my tapper, I brought up an edited file. It had only a few highlights such as my view from the high windows of the revival room, and my march across the passages inside the city. With a flick of a finger, I passed the recording from my tapper to hers.
She began to watch, fascinated.
“It’s so… normal. I see advancement, but I don’t see fantastic wealth and displays of glory. Don’t they have monuments? Statues?”
“I didn’t see the whole planet,” I admitted. “But what I did see gave me the impression that the Mogwa are a practical people. What’s more, Xlur told me there were around three trillion of them on Mogwa Prime. I guess that doesn’t leave them much room for monuments and such-like.”
Her eyes came up to stare at me, and they were huge. “Three trillion?” she gasped.
“That’s what he said.”
“And thousands upon thousands of planets they must inhabit. We’re a microscopic species by comparison.”
“No… not exactly. He also said most of the Mogwa species lives on Prime. They don’t like to live anywhere else. They consider governorships like the one he’s been serving out here in Province 921 to be a form of exile.”
“Really…? That’s fascinating… There’s so much information here to take in, McGill! I’ll have to use backchannels to get these files to key people at Central. I’ll tell them I’ve slipped a spy into the capital. That will put fear in their bellies. I’ll demand favors…”
She was walking away from me now, and I caught sight of her tight outfit. She hadn’t lost any of her charms. In fact, she’d improved things somewhat. She’d reshaped her hips a little and probably stored a new body scan to make the fix permanent.
“You’ve still got it, Galina,” I said aloud.
Almost without conscious thought, I followed her and put my hands on her waist again. From behind, this time.
She allowed my touch. I could tell she was in a fog of grandiose thoughts. I could almost see the gears spinning inside her little head.
Shedding my jacket, I kissed her neck. She barely noticed, but she did tilt her face to one side enough to kiss me back.
Over her shoulder, I watched the vid I’d passed to her. She’d already transferred it onto her desktop. She played it again from the beginning, and the blue flickering light filled her face.
“This is amazing…” she said.
My hands moved over her, and although she never said another word, she never gave me a complaint, either. Not even when I slipped her out of her sheer clothes.
All the while we made love, she gazed down at the sights and sounds of a true Core World. Most likely, she was only the second human in existence to have ever seen such amazing sights.
The images were forbidden fruit, and they worked their seductive magic. Entranced, she never stopped playing that vid. She paused it, expanded it, playing certain scenes over and over.
I didn’t mind her distraction. I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and I thought that she did, too, in her own way.
-27-
The next morning, dawn broke over a different world. The sky was still gray, the ground was still swampy—but the rain and wind had paused for now.
The doors creaked and clanged open, and I marched out of the bunker at the head of my unit. Behind me, the armored troops had the hardest time, squelching and sinking into the mud. I gave them permission to power up exoskeletal support systems, which burned their batteries, but allowed them to move freely.
We left the puff-crete walls and marched out into the countryside. Two rocky outcroppings thrust up on either side of my unit. In between them, an overgrown bog stretched for a good three kilometers, according to my HUD. The region amounted to a gully, a spillway for floodwaters. Storm World was built for storms, it seemed. Every feature of the landscape had been eroded by eons of rough weather.
Harris came up to me. He spoke in low, earnest tones. “You don’t want to march us into that bog, sir. A man might take fifty paces, then sink into oblivion one step farther out.”
“Let’s follow the higher ground then, to the left,” I said, and I set off.
Behind me, a single field group marched. They strung out pretty quickly, as often happened in rugged terrain.
The dark rock and the green-crusted bog reminded me of the rough-hewn fjords of Norway. This planet was lovely and strange all at the same time.
Leeson was the next man to come puffing up to get my attention.
“Uh… Centurion McGill? Sir?”
“What is it, Leeson?”
“There’s a forest ahead, sir.”
“I’m well aware. It’s on the map-app.”
“Um…” he said, sounding stressed.
I stopped to look at him. Leeson wasn’t a man who would bother his commander for no reason.
“Unit, halt!” Moller shouted back down the line without being told. She was good that way. She seemed to know what I was going to do next almost before I knew it myself.
“What’s the problem, Adjunct?” I asked Leeson.
“Well, you see… the forest is where we’ll find the Wur, Centurion. They’ve got some of those giant trees down there—plenty of pod-walkers and those weird spider-things, too.”
He looked at me earnestly, and I considered his words. Nodding,
I made a choice.
“Cooper!” I shouted. “Cooper, get up here!”
A light trooper with a slight build and a sour attitude came trotting up the line to join us.
“Centurion?”
I looked him over. “You still want some rank, Cooper?”
“Uh… I sure do, sir,” he said warily. He looked interested, but not quite eager. Rank didn’t come easily to junior troops in Legion Varus. The price tended to be high.
“Good,” I said. “You’re my man. Have you heard of the new specialist rank for recon?”
“Recon, sir?”
“That’s right. They call them Ghosts.”
“I didn’t think Legion Varus…”
“They’re quite new,” I said. “We’ve got some new equipment we can issue to help out our scouts.”
For once, I wasn’t bullshitting. Legion Varus had undergone some changes. In the old days, we’d been designed to function as a complete outfit. These days, we were more likely to operate as a single legion in a much larger force. Instead of hiring out to alien princes, we were being used as elites to spearhead invasions.
We were still technically independent, however, and we had a rental price which was negotiated for each mission with Hegemony. I’d never paid that much attention to the economic side of Varus, but costs mattered. They always mattered.
“You see,” I told Cooper. “The Blood Worlder legion we’ve been teamed up with has three times our weight in troops. They’re the regulars now, and we’re the spearhead of the army. Accordingly, there’s more need for on-the-ground intel.”
“Uh, sure… but can’t we just use buzzers for that?”
“Buzzers don’t have sniper rifles, Cooper. Buzzers don’t plant mines, demo bridges or anything like that. What’s more, if we give you a few buzzers, you’ll reach farther into the field than any tiny drone can on its own.”
“I get all that, sir, but I—”
I clamped a large gauntlet onto his shoulder and grinned. “This is where you come in, Cooper. I want you to be my first Ghost.”
“That’s sounds real nice, sir, but—”