Steel World

by Larson, B. V.

  “I don’t give a shit. Hit him again.”

  They zapped me a third time. Fortunately, I lost consciousness…

  When I came back to the world of pain and bright lights, which was how I now thought of my universe, I did so with trepidation. I took each breath cautiously, experimentally.

  No one grabbed me or shocked me this time around.

  I opened my eyes and stared. There was a brilliant glare, but nothing else—was I still dead?

  Slowly, I became more aware. I was on a slab of cold metal. There was no sheet over me, nothing. The room was cold, and I shivered in random twitches.

  I heard footsteps.

  “You made it. Congratulations.”

  I forced my head to roll toward the voice. It was female and stern, but not without a hint of kindness.

  I stared at her without recognition for a few seconds. Then it came to me.

  “I know you,” I croaked.

  “Speech?” she asked, tapping at her arm. “A good sign. This might not have been a total waste of time. The pool was fifty-fifty betting you’d come out brain-dead.”

  “You’re from Cancri-9,” I said hazily. “You were running the revival unit at the base.”

  I remembered her now, in a flood. She was Anne Grant, the woman who’d been killed after sending me out on point: The woman who’d done my first revival. It all seemed so clear…but the current situation was fuzzy.

  In fact, the moment of my first rebirth now seemed clearer to me than what I’d been doing more recently in the mines. It was strange how memories worked after they rebuilt a person. They didn’t come back with quite the same priority structure in the brain. It was very much like waking up and being uncertain if one was dreaming or fully awake.

  “Yes,” Bio Specialist Grant said, her voice softening. “I know you, McGill.”

  She put a hand on my wrist, took my pulse, then leaned over me and checked my eyes, spreading them open and looking into them. She had a light on her forehead, one that made me wince with the bright, probing glare it shot into my pupils. “I was on Cancri-9, and I ran the unit non-stop. Did you die down there?”

  “Yeah…just once. The second time was aboard this ship.”

  She withdrew her hands and worked on her tapper. “As soon as you can stand, you’re good to go.”

  I couldn’t stop staring at Grant. She still had her short dark hair and narrow, careworn eyes. But her face was pretty. I remembered that part. I almost asked her to turn around—but stopped myself in time. I was a little out of it.

  Specialist Grant turned away and made as if to leave. I reached out to her and caught the hem of her lab coat with rubbery fingers.

  “Explain a few things to me,” I croaked. “Please, Anne.”

  The bio turned back. She frowned, looking troubled. “I really shouldn’t,” she said quietly.

  “Just tell me if I’m going to be normal. I heard you guys saying it went wrong.”

  “You’ll be fine—I think. You’re recovering.”

  “What could go bad? What should I look for?”

  “Toxemia, necrolysis—there are a few other side-effects.”

  I shook my head. “What went wrong?”

  “Nothing, really. Nothing unexpected, anyway. Sometimes, when we revive someone with poor quality base materials, it doesn’t go right and we have to redo it. In your case, that wasn’t possible.”

  I tried to lick my lips. They felt as dry as sandpaper. I frowned, trying to think.

  “Bad materials? Why would you use—?”

  She leaned forward and adjusted a pillow under my neck. Then she pretended to examine my head. This put her mouth quite near my ear.

  “Do you recall the circumstances of your death?” she asked quietly.

  “Yeah, I was supposedly permed. Executed by—”

  Anne winced as I said that. “I don’t want to hear anything else about that, you understand? Don’t talk to anyone about that! Just pretend you don’t remember a thing.”

  I thought that might be difficult to pull off, but I nodded. I needed whatever information she could give me.

  “Why did you revive me?” I asked. “I didn’t think you liked me.”

  “Saving lives is what I do,” she said.

  “You know,” I said, my mind wandering a bit, “when I was first coming awake, I thought maybe the execution hadn’t been done according to regulations. I thought maybe they’d revived me to do it again.”

  Grant looked at me with real concern. I thought it might be the first time I’d seen pity in a superior’s eyes during my tenure with Legion Varus.

  “No, that wasn’t it,” she said. “Listen, I don’t know what you did, and I don’t want to know. I never want to hear that story, okay? All I know is they asked me to do an untraceable regrow. So that’s what I did.”

  I frowned. “Untraceable?”

  “The Galactics keep tight tabs on the use of key equipment like revival units.”

  “Why?”

  “The technology would be easy to abuse, don’t you think? What if a madman bought one on the black market and proceeded to copy himself a million times?”

  “Oh,” I said, having never thought about that before. “Is that possible?”

  “No. They keep tight controls over how often it is used and for what purpose. Your regrowth wasn’t sanctioned, so I had to pretend it was a test. We do that sometimes, as part of maintenance. We grow a random biotic construct with expired protoplasm. Then we destroy the mess that issues.”

  I thought about that, and I was beginning to catch on. “So, no one knows I was killed and regrown?”

  “That’s right, and I’m getting the hell out of here before anyone figures out what I’ve done. When you feel capable of leaving—which had better be very soon now—you should get the hell out and head back to your bunk. We’re in the middle of your shift’s rest period. Go to bed, and in the morning, give random, nonsensical explanations that no one can comprehend concerning your disappearance from the unit.”

  I wanted to ask her more questions, but I felt tired and closed my eyes for a second. When I opened them again, Anne Grant had vanished. I sucked in deep breaths for about three more minutes before I painfully heaved myself up and stood on unsteady legs.

  At first, I thought maybe the regrow hadn’t worked properly on my knees, but with a little time and patience, they held me up. I was just weak and sick. I found a generic smart cloth suit in the room and I put it on. The suit resized itself to my body automatically. It wasn’t a combat suit, but it would have to do. I knew I had a spare uniform in my locker I could change into when I got back.

  I staggered out into the hallway. Two orderlies passed me, running their eyes up and down my body with strange expressions.

  I didn’t have a ready lie to tell them yet, so I decided to bluff it through. I nodded to them and did my best to walk with steady, confident steps. I didn’t even know which way to go, but I just wanted to get past them.

  Fortunately, they seemed to be busy, so they let me pass without questions. I found the nearest exit from the medical section and left what we called “Blue Deck” behind.

  A few minutes later I managed to find my quarters. I fell into my bunk and heaved a great sigh. I wasn’t sure if it was the cheap regrow or not, but I was exhausted.

  Someone’s butt landed on my bed a moment later. I opened one eye, fully expecting it to be Carlos, but it wasn’t. It was Natasha.

  I smiled at her with half of my face.

  “Hi,” I said.

  She stared at me. “What the hell happened to you? What did you tell the brass? They’ve been sweating all of us since you disappeared.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I died in the caves, but as I understand the story from the others, you played hero and led them out. That’s about it. I don’t know what they wanted.”

  “What about the alien in the air car? What did you tell them about that?”

  Natasha
shook her head. “I heard about that, but I wasn’t there, remember? Carlos had some story about the alien attacking us. They didn’t seem to buy that. I’m sure they’d already pulled the vids from people’s suits. Our own helmets spy on us, you know.”

  I frowned. I hadn’t known that—or at least, I hadn’t thought of it that way. Natasha was studying to be a tech, so I didn’t doubt her on this point. It did make sense that our superiors would have access to any vid we made with legion equipment at any time.

  “Natasha,” I said. “What everyone should do is forget about Cancri-9. Or at least, forget about the mine and the air car—all that. Spread the word: pretend it never happened.”

  “Easy for me, but what about the people who made it to the end? How are they supposed to forget everything?”

  “Just tell them to do it. All of us have to if we want to keep breathing, okay?”

  Natasha stared at me for a few seconds. Her eyes darted from one of my eyes to the next, then back again.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” she asked. Then she began running her hands over me, checking my pulse and temperature. “You’re not okay. I’m getting yellow readings on my tapper. You have a fever.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “Just forget everything that happened on Cancri-9. Everything you saw and everything you heard about. For your own sake.”

  She stared at me again, looking more worried than ever. She put her face close to mine.

  “What did they do to you?” she whispered.

  I managed a weak smile. “Nothing. I’m just tired. I need a little sleep, okay?”

  Suddenly, a head dipped down over the side of the bunk above us.

  “Are you two going to get it on or go to sleep? Do one or the other, please! The suspense is killing me.”

  It was Carlos, naturally. I gave him the finger, and he withdrew his round face, grumbling.

  Natasha kissed me, then gave me a worried smile and left. I felt the burning tingle of her kiss as it evaporated on my cheek.

  I fell asleep the moment she was gone.

  The next day I felt crappy. It was like having the flu or just getting over it. I was running a fever, and my face was slightly flushed. When I got up, I vomited in the bathroom. This gathered me no sympathy. Recruits live pretty close to one another aboard ship. They towel-snapped my ass as I bent over the commode.

  “What’d you do, man? Steal a bottle from Graves’ office?”

  “Something like that,” I said.

  They laughed and left me alone. I crawled to my feet and Carlos came to my rescue—sort of.

  “Nothing to see here, folks,” Carlos said, waving the others away. “I know a few of you have had a beer or two in the past. Give the man some air!”

  “Thanks, man,” I said.

  “Come on, get your butt off the can,” he muttered harshly into my ear. “We have to get our stories straight.”

  His shadow left me, and I was able to get to my feet again a minute or so later. I showered and felt better. I tried very hard to avoid thinking about why I was feeling low. I didn’t like to believe I’d been reconstructed with spoiled meat. I told myself it was nothing more than a hangover. I was alive and getting better, and that was the only thing that mattered.

  When I made it out to roll call, I was the last man to find his spot. They called my name twice before I answered. Neither Veteran Harris or Adjunct Leeson said anything to me.

  After breakfast, which didn’t go well for me, they trotted us out to the field. I was already sweating. I was relieved when Harris pulled me out of the line.

  Looking at him was hard to do. I was glaring and sick. I couldn’t help but think of myself pulling the trigger and killing him again. I think he knew it, but it didn’t seem to bother him much.

  “McGill, Graves wants to see you upstairs.”

  I glanced up toward the observation tower. In the center of the exercise area was a tower with tinted, bulletproof glass. I turned and began trotting toward it.

  “And McGill,” he shouted after me. “Try to keep your head on straight. This could be big.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but I was certain he didn’t want to turn his back to me while on the training field today. It was one thing to kill a man during training. But to tell a man he was being executed without trial, judge or jury—then pulling the trigger with glee on your face—to me, that crossed the line.

  I might be alive now, but I’d experienced what I thought was my final, one-and-only permanent death. That hadn’t been fun, that soulless, hopeless moment alone. To know the lights are going out for the very last time…

  -17-

  I shuddered and found myself at the base of the observation tower. I opened it and discovered a spiraling staircase inside. I was huffing by the time I reached the top, which wasn’t normal for me.

  The top of the tower was air conditioned and possessed its own snack and drink counter. There were five comfortable chairs circling the room. Graves was in one of them, and he and I were alone in the room.

  He didn’t look at me when I entered. He was staring outside at the training field watching the squads as they broke up and began to spar with one another. There would be no live-fire exercises today. It was all light exercise and hand-to-hand. Even the officers knew when the troops were tired of dying and needed a break.

  “Mind if I help myself to a glass, sir?” I asked him.

  He waved his hand over his shoulder at me. I took this as approval. I poured myself something fizzy and sweet. It eased my sweating body when I drank it.

  “You feeling all right, McGill?” he asked finally.

  “Never better.”

  He chuckled. “You’re a tough bastard. I like that. I really do.”

  “You’ve got a funny way of showing your love, if you don’t mind me saying, Centurion.”

  He spun around in his chair which swiveled without a squeak. “You want to know why you’re up here?”

  “So I don’t fall on my face on the field and give it all away?”

  His smile faltered. “You’re angry? I’m surprised, but I guess I shouldn’t be. Gratitude is a rare component in most people’s personalities.”

  I blinked at him, then frowned. “You want a big thanks for having me executed?”

  “You weren’t executed—at least not permanently.”

  “It felt real enough, sir.”

  “I think you need to keep things in perspective, Recruit. I didn’t have to bring you back. I took a major risk in doing so. I’ll have you know that Primus Turov was against it.”

  That bitch, I thought to myself. But I nodded. “Sorry if I don’t feel like kissing anyone’s ring today. They told me when I came out it was a bad grow.”

  Graves frowned. “A bad grow? Why didn’t they recycle and do it right?”

  I wanted to shiver at the idea of being recycled. Right then, for the first time, I wondered how often that happened. How often did a man miraculously return to life, only to be killed again instantly and brought back yet again? I bet they threw those little slices of our memories away by not copying our minds when such dark events occurred.

  I sipped my fizzy sugar water and stared out at the practice field. “They didn’t want to risk a regrow. The bio said I should be all right in a few days.”

  He nodded. “Well enough, then. With any luck, the Galactics will never bring it up again. You were executed promptly with one of their own as a witness. Fortunately, they can’t tell us apart nor do they track individual IDs for us. To them, we’re like fish thrashing in a vast pond or rabbits nibbling in an endless field. There are billions of us, and we don’t matter as individuals.”

  I looked at him seriously. “Why did you bring me back, sir? It was less of a risk to leave well enough alone.”

  “Because it wouldn’t have been right,” he said. “You did your job well. You led your team out of an impossible situation.”

  I almost believed him. But I waited quietly, sta
ring, just in case.

  Graves returned my gaze evenly then he shrugged after a moment. “That’s not the only thing, naturally.”

  Naturally, I thought to myself.

  He turned back to the practice fields. The teams were being issued combat knives—sharp ones. They flashed with edges like white lines in the bright sunlight that streamed in from the dome overhead. I winced as one recruit opened up another’s arm. There would be plenty of nu-skin sprayed over open wounds tonight.

  “The real reason was that Harris and I owe our lives to you.”

  I looked at him in surprise.

  “How’s that, sir?”

  “We were at the bottom of the mine and cut off. Several teams never made it out of that mine, McGill. Yours did. When you made your report—that changed everything.”

  I began to put it together. I nodded.

  “When I made my report they had confirmation of your death, right?” I asked. “At that point, they authorized your revival. So, they were holding off on doing it until you came out or were confirmed dead?”

  He nodded slowly. “That’s right. And with the legion leaving Cancri-9, that would have been it for all of us if you hadn’t made it out. They’d keep the data, but never make our copies. Perma-death for all.”

  I understood now why he was impressed by my efforts to survive and why he’d felt the urge to go the extra mile to keep me breathing. If I hadn’t made it out, we’d all have been done for.

  “Sir?” I asked. “What will the Galactics do if they find out I’m still alive?”

  “They won’t.”

  “I know that sir. But, hypothetically?”

  “Hypothetically? I don’t know. I don’t know how connected that inspector is or how pissed off he might be. I would guess we’d all be permed officially. Possibly the entire legion would be unloaded on a rock and nuked. Hell, I don’t know.”

  I stared at him. “That wouldn’t be right. I remember Galactic Law from school. It’s quite egalitarian. The Galactics are no more—”

  By this time, Graves was laughing. “You read their laws? Their treaties? The deals they signed with Earth? That’s grand. You should read a little more of history, son. Those who rule don’t take insults lightly. They bend the rules now and then, and when they do, they always bend them in their favor. It’s a natural part of life, I think.”