by B. V. Larson
“Don’t give me that look, Specialist,” Leeson told me. “We’ve had a tough time of it, and we’re going to do the last part by the book. We’ll wait here for the next three units. The Primus is in contact with me through relayed buzzers and nanite wire. I’ve got her approval to hold here until relief arrives. We don’t know what their final defenses will be like on the bridge.”
I twisted up my lips, which hurt, as Harris had torn them up with his punch. They were starting to swell now.
“Sir,” I said, “I’m going to give you my private opinion, then I’m going to shut up.”
He grinned at me. “That’ll be a first, McGill, and I’m going to hold you to it.”
“Look, sir, what if they manage to get this ship to fly right now? We don’t know anything about how the colonists sabotaged them. If they lift off with us trapped in here, well…”
I saw the Adjunct’s eyes light up. He finally got it. He was risking all our skins on the hunch that the colonists knew what the heck they were doing—and the squids didn’t. That was quite a bet in my book. I knew why he wanted to wait for back up. It was the safer bet. Why take any more losses when we could gather up hundreds of fresh troops and do it without further bloodshed on our part?
But it was just too risky. Flying off into space—that could get a man permed, and we both knew it.
Leeson stood up and straightened his kit. He addressed everyone on the general com channel.
“Troops, we’ve got one more job to do. We’re going to finish this—one way or the other. Gear up and advance. I want a squad on each flank and remember not to mass up in the center. We’ll hit them fast with a steady advance, firing as we go. Oh, and try not to hit their equipment if you can. Force-blades in close, shorten up the length and be sure of your targets.”
We were on the move again less than a minute later. Harris and the other vets screamed at anyone who didn’t get up fast enough. Laggards were roughly propelled toward the enemy. I thought the vets might have figured out the score on their own.
When we finally got to the bridge, we found it was only lightly defended. There were only about ten aliens left alive. Still, squids are tough, and they gave us plenty of trouble despite their small numbers.
The aliens that had survived and now awaited our long march through the entrails of their vast ship were injured and desperate. I saw them at the controls as we approached. They were still working at them with tools and flaring lights that must have been welding torches of some kind. They hadn’t given up on effecting repairs—but time had run out for them.
They fired on us the second they spotted our approach. That’s one thing I’d come to understand about the squids: they weren’t big on peace talks. Their only attempts to communicate had been made through their littermates, all of whom were now dead.
A wobbling, black projectile was sailing toward our advancing line. I knew it was gas, as did everyone else. We dived away from the impact point, but I don’t think anyone was dumb enough by this time to have their visors open in the face of this enemy.
We pressed ahead, marching out of the coiled mists of gas like ghostly warriors. For the first time since I’d met the squids, I sensed a hint of fear in their behavior. This pleased me. Up until now, they’d been arrogant, self-assured and merciless.
After a brief, vicious fight, the last of them laid quivering and leaking fluids all over the deck. They hadn’t asked for quarter—at least, not in any way we could understand—and we didn’t offer them anything less than death. It was butchery by the end, but I didn’t have a qualm.
The bridge was aquatic in nature. The rest of the ship had been filled with a breathable atmosphere, but the bridge was enclosed in a shallow tank of water. I figured this was probably a luxury for the squids. They were an aquatic species who were able to function well on land, but it hadn’t been comfortable for them.
Encircling the central pool of liquid were banks of instruments. They weren’t designed the way we would have done it. The controls were large, and most of them were disk-like knobs without labels. I thought such a control system might be easier for a race with tentacles to operate than buttons, touchscreens or levers.
Six of them floated in the middle of the control panels in their pool of dark water. I eyed the corpses, intrigued despite myself by these aliens.
How many years had these creatures been enslaving my kind? It was bad enough that we’d abandoned our colonists out here. These aliens had put an extra twist into our callous handling of exiles. I thought that killing the monsters which had tormented our people for so long was the least Legion Varus could do for our long lost cousins.
The road had been long, but victory was finally ours. When we finally were certain we’d taken the entire ship, there was a ragged cheer from the units but not much more. We were exhausted both emotionally and physically.
The celebration, if you could call it that, rapidly degenerated into troops stretching out on their backs and gasping like beached fish. We were so glad it was over. A battle like this one seemed like an interminable grind.
It wasn’t only the marching around and fighting that tired us—it was the tension that had filled our every step. We’d feared for our lives ever since we’d dared walk into this ship. Knowing that we’d made it to the end of the campaign, and that we’d probably get to live and sleep and eat proper food again was a great relief, but it also meant all that nervous energy and adrenaline abandoned us. I saw men staring at nothing and even snoring on the decks just a few minutes after the all-clear had been called.
* * *
About two hours later, a delegation of VIPs arrived. Among them were Graves, the Investigator and even the Primus herself.
As usual, the Primus looked like she smelled a cat-box that needed cleaning. Graves didn’t seem to have any emotion—but he did give me a nod of greeting. I nodded back, then leaned against a control module that was shaped like an octagon and was about the size and weight of a fireplug.
“Who gave the order to attack the bridge?” the Primus asked, staring around her. She had her hands on her hips and her lips were twisted.
It took me a moment to figure out what her problem was. A group of techs were with her, and they had buzzers out—the kind that took movies of everything.
When I saw her standing on the deck loaded with alien carcasses and floating camera-drones, I finally understood that she’d wanted to be present when the final push was made. She’d hustled up out of camp to be here, and she wasn’t happy that the party was all over before she arrived.
Finally, with obvious reluctance, Leeson walked up to her.
“Primus,” he said. “I led the final action.”
She stared at him, looking him up and down for a second. “One of Graves’ team, I see. Figures. Not one of you can follow a simple order. Any reason I shouldn’t put you on report?”
Leeson looked befuddled for a second. “On report?”
“You were told to hold your position and wait for overwhelming force. You ignored my orders. Explain yourself.”
“Uh, we were fighting all the way up here, and the enemy was effecting repairs on the ship. If I’d waited around, they might have flown off with it. I didn’t want such a valuable prize to be lost, sir.”
“Bullshit,” she said. “You attacked to save your own hide: To make sure the enemy couldn’t carry you off into space.”
Leeson was finally getting angry. It wasn’t good for an adjunct to mouth off to a primus, but he did it anyway.
“So what if I did?” he demanded. “That’s better than risking lives to grandstand at the final moments of a battle.”
The two glowered at each other. Graves stepped forward, making calming motions with his hands.
“Let’s not lose sight of the important thing: we’ve won. The ship is ours. I would suggest you report this information to the Tribune personally, Primus Turov.”
She nodded and took Leeson with her to act as a tour guide. Together they
stalked away to make their reports to the Tribune. Techs followed her, with their buzzers continually recording and transmitting everything. She wouldn’t get the glorious pictures she’d wanted of herself striding in during the final moments, but she could at least pose with the big pile of alien bodies and equipment.
The Investigator stepped forward in her absence and addressed Graves.
“Beastly woman,” he said, indicating Primus Turov.
Graves was bemused, but it barely showed. “She’s in command,” he said.
The Investigator eyed Graves coldly. “I overheard something disturbing,” he said. “Did you tell your commander that you were now in possession of this ship?”
“I believe I did say something to that effect.”
The Investigator shook his head. “You were mistaken. This vessel and all her contents belong to us. Without our help, you could never have taken her.”
Graves frowned slightly. “Investigator—is that your title?”
“Yes. I’m the Principal Investigator of the Hydra Mission. There is no higher authority on the planet. Using antiquated words, you could call me a planetary governor.”
Graves nodded. “Sir, you would be well served to grasp certain realities. This ship isn’t under your control because we’re the ones with military units inside it.”
While Graves spoke, the Investigator’s eyes roved and landed on me. I was standing nearby listening, while trying to appear as if I wasn’t doing so.
“You there. You’ve been to my labs. Come forward, soldier.”
I approached reluctantly. I could recognize trouble when I met up with it.
“Hello, Investigator,” I said. “Enjoying your victory?”
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean these cephalopods have been enslaving and tormenting your people for a generation. Surely you must feel relief to see they’re all dead at your feet. You’ve been saved, man.”
The Investigator eyed me as if I were speaking in an alien tongue. But slowly, his expression shifted. He nodded at me.
“Well said,” he replied at last. “You’re right. Gratitude is in order. This victory was achieved through cooperation. It’s best for both our factions to accept that reality. I’ll tell you what, Graves. Let’s co-occupy the ship. We know these beings. We’ve studied them for decades. We have labs and equipment you military types lack. In turn, I’m sure that your people have technology we don’t possess. Together, we can study this ship and mull over the findings. I’ve often found that if done properly, scientific methodology results in answers that become obvious to all.”
Graves looked from me to the Investigator. “I take it you two know each other?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the Investigator. “We’ve met.”
Graves shook his head and chuckled. “All right, I’ll try to play it your way. It makes sense. But that doesn’t mean it will fly because I’m not in charge. You see that woman over there?”
Graves indicated Primus Turov, who was taking a victory lap around a severed tentacle that still twitched now and then as her team filmed it.
“She’s going to be your biggest problem,” Graves continued.
“Then I must convince her with unassailable logic,” the Investigator said, and took a step toward the Primus.
Graves and I both moved to stop him.
“Bad idea,” I said. “Listen to the Centurion for a minute.”
The Investigator paused and looked at Graves curiously.
“Fortunately, she’s not in charge of diplomatic matters,” Graves said. “We have a higher authority. The leader of our entire legion is Tribune Drusus.”
Before the Primus finished her report, Graves, the Investigator and I all walked down the ramps together, heading toward the exit. I liked the sound of the plan Graves had just come up with, and I thought it might just work.
-32-
The only good thing that came out of the cephalopod invasion was a new sense of cooperation between Legion Varus and the colonists. I didn’t have to listen to any more muttering from the officers about taking them all out. They were humans and, even though they’d given us plenty of resistance at first, once they worked with us they’d been critical to our success. I dared to hope we were beginning to pull together as a species.
Tribune Drusus flew out the day after we took the ship to survey the scene of the battle personally. Graves invited me to be there when he met with the Tribune, but at first I declined.
“You should come, McGill,” he said. “Your actions in this valley were as important as anyone’s. We brought this campaign to a successful conclusion, and you might as well get some of the credit.”
I shrugged, which was possible now because we weren’t wearing battle-armor any longer. What a relief that was. My smart-cloth uniform felt absolutely cushy after spending days encased in steel and chafing polymers.
“That’s it?” Graves asked, frowning at me. “You don’t care?”
“Oh, I care, sir. That’s why I fought so hard to end this. But I’m not into playing the game with the brass. They can read the reports and watch the suit vids if they want to find out what really happened. If I get into the middle of it, I’m liable to step on toes. It’s not worth it.”
Graves’ eyes slid over to Primus Turov, who was doing everything short of putting on false eyelashes in anticipation of the Tribune’s arrival. He looked amused for a moment, then looked back at me.
“Don’t worry about her. To keep a high profile position, one has to worry about how one appears to their superiors. She’s got to play that game—you don’t. Not really.”
I nodded. “Can I ask you how long you’ve served in Varus—and how long she has—sir?”
Graves didn’t like the question. I could see it in his eyes. They became hard the way they looked before he executed a man for disobeying orders. But after that momentary flash of hostility, he relaxed again.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “I’ve been with Varus a long time. Most of the Primus-ranked officers are my juniors—I’ll admit that. But that’s because I play it my own way the same as you do, Specialist.”
“So why do you want me to change my tune?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“Not for you,” Graves said, lowering his voice. “For these people here—the locals. Their fate hasn’t been decided yet.”
“That is grade-A bullshit, sir!”
“Lower your voice, Specialist. And yes, I know it is. But you have to understand how things are. We’re gambling with much more than our own piddley little lives. If we screw up, all of Earth will suffer. Hell, back home they are already blaming us for Cancri-9. I’m not sure how the Nairbs and the Galactics are going to take the violations that have occurred in this system. They might be in an understanding mood—or they might want to make a clean sweep of things.”
I winced when he mentioned the Nairbs. They were the bureaucrats of the Empire. They were unpleasant beings that only cared about the letter of the law, not justice. I didn’t have the best relationship with them. I’d had unhappy encounters with them on more than one occasion in the past, and I was pretty sure they weren’t going to like anything about what had happened on this planet. Earth had colonized Dust World—even if we hadn’t known until recently that we’d managed to do it. Worse, a Galactic ship had been destroyed. How would the Nairbs mete out judgment and punishment in this instance? I didn’t even want to think about it.
I frowned, took in a deep breath and uncrossed my arms. I knew Graves was right. The brass had to make some hard decisions about the colonists and the fate of the legion itself. You couldn’t make choices like these with your heart—you had to use your head. The survival of our species wasn’t always achieved in the cleanest manner. Legion Varus seemed to always be involved when things became particularly ugly. We were all about the gray-area of morality.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll tag along. You want me to keep quiet?”
Graves chuckled.
“I’m not asking for miracles.”
I followed him outside the alien ship and watched as a lifter floated down over the waters of the central lake. The ripples became furious as it dropped ever lower and landed on the shore. The ramp extended and squelched into the mud.
Rock-fish watched curiously as a delegation exited the lifter. At the center of a knot of officers was Tribune Drusus. He wasn’t the tallest in the group—far from it. But somehow, the way his cloak of office trailed behind him and the purposeful manner in which he moved set him apart from the rest. You could just tell he was in charge.
Primus Turov marched past me and met the Tribune on open ground. I could tell she was trying to move with just as much aplomb as Drusus did. She damn-near pulled it off, too.
“Come on,” Graves said.
I followed him, along with a half-dozen others. Most were centurions, the ones who’d died taking the alien ship. The only adjunct was Leeson, and I was the only enlisted man in sight. I felt like a fluffy cat in a dog kennel, but I tried not to show it.
Turov clasped hands with Tribune Drusus, enveloping his hand with both of hers. Drusus nodded vaguely and ran his eyes over the crowd. Those eyes paused on Graves and me. I thought there was a spark of recognition when he saw me—but that might just have been my imagination. Probably, he was just noting that the only enlisted guy was a head taller than the rest of the group.
Finally, he looked back at Turov. She was babbling something about her official report and the sacrifices we all needed to make for the good of the legion and the good of Earth.
“Well said, Primus,” he said at last. “Have you got a secure location to talk?”
She paused for a moment. “I was planning to give you a tour of the alien ship. Don’t you want to survey the prize, sir?”
His lips thinned, and I thought he was slightly annoyed.
“That can wait. Where’s your nearest bunker?”
Turov’s eyes drifted down the beach. I knew where she was looking, way back at our camp behind the ridge.
“That will be quite a walk, sir,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting—”