Tech World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 3), page 37
“But sir, I don’t think this punishment is just. How can you lock me up and leave me to rot? I’d rather be permed.”
Harris perked up and he lifted his gun meaningfully. “Maybe we should listen to his plea, Centurion.”
Graves looked at his tapper. “Hold on.”
“Sir?”
He waved a finger to silence me, still staring at his tapper.
I heaved a sigh and stood there, baffled.
“One full minute has passed,” Graves announced at last, lowering his arm. “All right. Release him, Harris.”
“What?” demanded Harris.
“Did you not hear me pronounce the sentence?” Graves asked calmly. “I said I’d sentenced McGill to imprisonment for an undetermined amount of time. I’ve decided since then that his sentence is complete, and I’ve released him.”
“One minute?” asked Harris, aghast.
Graves motioned for Harris to get on with releasing me, and I lifted the manacles toward him helpfully. Harris grumbled curses, but he unlocked my wrists.
“Thank you, Veteran,” I said. “I’m sure I learned my lesson today.”
Harris rolled his eyes. Graves dismissed him, but he had me stay behind.
“Now, to our last order of business,” Graves said. “You’ve been promoted to candidacy for the rank of Veteran by the Imperator. Are you aware of that?”
“I am.”
Graves nodded and eyed me in speculation. “I never would have thought you’d be so good at horse-trading. I can only imagine what you held over her head to get this perk on top of everything else.”
He grinned at me briefly, while I pretended not to get his implication. Without letting on, I found I was pleased by Graves’ assumptions. If people thought I’d promised to keep my mouth shut about Turov’s transgressions with an enlisted man in trade for rank—well, that was better than having them know the truth. No one needed to know about the Galactic key.
“Harris isn’t going to like this,” Graves said. “In fact, I wouldn’t give you the best odds of passing the trials. But, you’ve got the Imperator behind you—what can I do? I’ll sign it.”
Frowning, I nodded as if I understood—but I didn’t. Not really. What I did know was that getting to the rank of Veteran in Legion Varus wasn’t completely straightforward. The commanders announced new candidates for the rank of Veteran, but that alone didn’t guarantee the promotion. Each candidate had to prove himself to the other Veterans in the cohort first. The exact nature of the process was somewhat arcane and shrouded in secrecy. What I did know was that a lot of it depended on a man’s popularity with the other Veterans. Unfortunately, the Veteran I knew best downright hated me.
“You have the right to turn down this promotion to candidacy,” Graves said, looking at me expectantly.
For an honest second, I considered exercising my option of refusal. But then I felt a spark of anger. Harris had been so greedy to see me dead or imprisoned, and I knew there was hardly anything I could do that would piss him off more than gaining the rank of Veteran.
“I accept the promotion, sir,” I said formally.
Graves shrugged. “Your funeral. Dismissed, Specialist.”
Wondering about the nature of my future, I left his office and returned to my quarters.
* * *
We arrived on Earth several days later. Our mission had radically altered over the course of the campaign, and it had been decided that leaving Tech World early was the best option.
Going home solved many of our problems. Both legions Varus and Germanica had suffered crippling losses. Worse, due to the loss of all but one of our revival units, we weren’t able to rebuild our strength. By going home, we could regrow every trooper within a few days. Hegemony could then decide if they wanted to send us back or utilize our skills in some other capacity.
When Minotaur came out of its warp bubble and glided close to Earth, I gazed through a viewport thoughtfully. I wondered how long I would have here at home before I was shipped off to war again.
For the first time, I had another thought in the back of my mind. What if the war followed me to here? What if Earth was the next battleground?
The thought was disturbing because I didn’t think we could beat the squids if they launched a full-out attack—not yet. Maybe not ever.
* * *
A month later, I was back at home in my shed. Things had improved around the homestead. Even though I was only a Veteran candidate, my pay had increased. I’d also collected my higher active-duty pay, and for once I had a good deal of cash on my hands.
Spending a few credits on extras, I bought a real environmental control unit. It was one of the new models that gently conditioned the air to whatever temperature, humidity, or even barometric pressure you wanted inside your home. It even had settable oxygen levels—and I found I liked mine just a little bit on the high side. It was an alien device, naturally, but it worked like a charm. Fall was setting in, with the cool breath of winter coming in on the wind behind it. I knew that even if it snowed I’d always be comfortable in my place.
Natasha showed up one night in November. It was cold outside, but warm and perfect in my shed. She came in when I invited her and marveled at the change.
“This is so different from the last time I visited here,” she said.
“Yeah, I even cleaned all the bloodstains off the walls.”
She gave me a wry face. “Don’t spoil it.”
“Sorry.”
She looked down at her hands for a second which were fidgeting with one another. Still looking down, she began to speak. “James…James, I came to tell you I’m sorry.”
This surprised me. Really surprised me. Of all the stuff I was expecting this girl to throw into my face, an apology had to be dead last on a very long list.
My mouth opened a tiny fraction, but I clamped it shut again. Under no circumstances was I going to screw this up.
She looked at me, and I looked back at her with a blank poker face. I honestly didn’t know what else to do.
She looked down again, and I was off the hook. “I’ve been studying these cases—ones like yours, I mean. I’ve read up on them. Sexual predators come in all shapes and sizes, James. I know that now. I didn’t understand before.”
I wanted to say something. I wanted to choke or even laugh out loud. But I didn’t, and I was proud of my self-control.
“Turov was your superior. You were taken advantage of. That’s how I understand it, and I want you to accept my apology for getting angry with you about sleeping with her.”
“Okay…” I said. I felt I had to say something.
She gave me a little kiss then grabbed me by the chin. “But don’t go back to her. Not if you want to ever be with me again. I hate that woman. She’s a monster. Do you understand me?”
I nodded. “Yeah…look, Natasha…”
“What?”
What was I going to say next? That I’d been as guilty of any transgressions as Turov had? That blaming it all on the officer was bullshit in my book?
I couldn’t do it. Instead I hugged her, and I poured her a glass of wine. It was perfectly chilled, due to the precision-engineering of my new alien-made fridge. The old one had never recovered after taking a bullet months ago.
Sitting with Natasha again, I handed her the wine and we chatted about light things for a time. Finally, the subject of the squids came up. The topic never seemed to be far from anyone’s mind these days.
“Do you think they’ll come here, James?” she asked me almost in a whisper. “They might, you know. They know what we did.”
“Are you sure? We blew their ship up in a single salvo.”
She shook her head. “I’m a tech, remember? We went over all the radio signals while we were stabilizing the megahab. They got off a packet of data with a powerful transmitter. They sent it on a tight beam toward the rim of the Galaxy. Somewhere out past the edge of the frontier.”
I frowned. “You think it was an SOS?”
“What else could it have been?”
“Hegemony knows about that, right?”
She pursed her lips at me. “Of course.”
“I’m just asking because I haven’t heard anything on the net.”
“They’re not talking about it on the online reports, naturally. There’s no benefit to causing a panic.”
A panic. The words rang in my mind. Natasha was right—if the people of Earth knew the real score—that unknown worlds full of Cephalopods were out there and enraged with us… If they knew that Battle Fleet 921 was gone and not scheduled to return... Yes, they’d panic all right.
“Did we do the right thing, James?” Natasha asked me in a small voice.
I looked down at her. I could tell she was freaking out. It was true we’d taken it upon ourselves to blast the squids. Sure, Turov was taking the credit and was now doing a talk-show circuit—her new looks were helping her there. But it had been Natasha, Carlos and I who’d pulled the trigger on this new war.
“Absolutely,” I said, putting my arm around her and pulling her close. “We didn’t have any choice, really. They were bullying Earth, and we punched them in the face. They’ll think twice before they come after us again.”
Natasha seemed happier, but I wasn’t sure she bought my bullshit. Hell, I didn’t even buy all of it.
We sipped our wine until the bottle was empty and fell asleep together on my couch. Alien air pumps wheezed and thrummed softly. Somehow, it was a comforting sound.
The End
BONUS Reading!
What follows is the beginning of Undying Mercenaries Series, Book #4: Machine World
To purchase the entirety of the book search for Machine World
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MACHINE WORLD
by
B. V. Larson
“A coward dies many times before meeting his actual death.”
– Julius Caesar, 48 BC
-1-
Earth had gone through several dramatic changes during my years as an adult. First, we’d been thrown into an economic tail-spin when Cancri-9, better known as Steel World, had canceled our most lucrative legion contracts. Years later, we’d been given a boost in budget coming from the Empire’s coffers to handle local defense. Times were good back then.
Things had shifted yet again this year. After reestablishing contact with the cephalopod race at Tech World—and somehow ending up in a state of undeclared war with them—Earth was tightening up her collective belt all over again.
It wasn’t that we didn’t have money. The Mogwa, a race of Galactics that were struggling with their peers for dominance among the Core Systems, essentially owned our backwater province. Either as part of their strategy or because we were just a small line-item in a vast budget, they were still sending us funding in the form of hard Galactic currency.
What had changed was Hegemony Government’s state of mind. Our worldwide politicians and bureaucrats were rationing everything, spending every spare credit on our military effort. I understood the goal, but it was annoying.
Gone were the days when a trooper could buy himself an alien-made contrivance for the fun of it. All the best imported stuff went straight to the legions. They’d stopped paying us in Galactic Credits too, opting instead to issue Hegemony Credits to soldiers. What’s more, the established rate of exchange was ruinous. In the past, about a thousand Hegemony Credits had been deemed worth a single Galactic Credit—but they were now giving us less than half that after the accounting was all said and done.
“Crooked government stooges!” Carlos complained bitterly over a beer in legion Varus’ Chapter House in Atlanta. “At least we’ve finally got a cheap pub in our Chapter House.”
I nodded and sipped a sour beer. They had it on tap, and they sold it cheap. That was about all I could say that was positive about this bitter, foamy, piss-water. I suspected the reason they’d opened a bar at one end of Atlanta’s row of legion Chapter Houses was a sneaky one. The bar was a trick, an inexpensive way to buy off troops like Carlos and me. Sure, we’d lost half our income in some kind of shady, computerized money-shuffle, but at least we could get drunk for less to drown our sorrows.
Making a face, I gulped my mug dry and slammed it down. The bartender behind the counter winced, looking at us in concern.
“You two aren’t about to make trouble, are you?” she asked.
“What?” demanded Carlos. “Do Varus troops have that bad of a rep?”
“You’re getting there. We had a serious fight last night. They had to call in the MPs. There were two deaths, and one of the revives has been placed on hold pending an inquiry.”
I shook my head, snorting. “Let me guess, they’re holding up the Varus guy’s revive, right? What was his name?”
The bartender shrugged and frowned, thinking for a moment. “A big guy. Sargon was his name, I think.”
“Hot damn!” I said. “I wish I’d been here to watch his back. Poor Sargon.”
Carlos nudged me. “Why don’t you go charm the Imperator? I bet she’d squeeze out a revive for him if you handled her right.”
Carlos was talking about Imperator Turov, who’d had a questionable relationship with me last year. I gave him a sour glance and waved for a fresh beer. The bartender poured it, but I could tell she was wary about feeding us any more alcohol.
“That business with the Imperator is all over with, Carlos,” I said. “She doesn’t care if I live or die now.”
I lifted a fresh mug toward my face, but the beer never reached my lips. A hand interposed itself, touching my wrist to block the path of my beverage. The hand was fairly strong, but pale-skinned and thin-boned.
Getting between a drinking man and his brew was rarely a good idea, but it was especially ill-advised in the case of a Legion Varus trooper. We just didn’t take that kind of crap from anyone.
Without even thinking about it, I rotated toward the intruder. My other hand was already balled up into a fist, and it levered back almost on its own, ready to deliver a hammer-blow. Behind the bar, the bartender had already hit the floor. She was probably summoning the cops on her tapper—but I didn’t much care.
The only thing that stopped me from slamming my fist into the face I saw standing over me was recognition.
“Winslade?”
I could tell right off he knew he’d miscalculated by grabbing my wrist. His hand leapt off mine and he backed up a step.
“McGill,” he said, trying to pretend I hadn’t scared him. “You know striking an officer is a flogging offense, yes?”
“Yeah,” I said slowly, as if gauging my options. Finally, I lowered my fist and purposefully turned back to my beer. I took a drink, made a bitter face, and waited for him to explain himself.
Winslade was Turov’s lapdog. He was a suck-up and worse. He’d abandoned Legion Varus for Hegemony at the same time Turov had. That was a shameful thing in the eyes of any off-world combat legionnaire. We knew that men who couldn’t handle real fighting often sought cush jobs in office buildings on safe, reliable dirt.
“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” Winslade demanded. “That’s great. What else should I have expected?”
“This is a bar, sir,” Carlos pointed out. “And we’re off-duty.”
Winslade nodded. “You were off-duty. You’re back on as of now, McGill.”
He finally had my complete attention. “What’s up, Adjunct?”
He was a prissy officer, as they went, and I could tell he didn’t like my lack of deference. I could see his annoyance in the way his lips twitched and his eyes narrowed—but I just didn’t care about that right now.
“I’m here to transport you up to Hegemony Central. In Northeast Sector.”
“I know where it is,” I said, frowning.
The worldwide seat of Hegemony Government had been established on a chunk of land that had long ago been known as Connecticut. I’d never thought much about why the powers-that-be had chosen that small plot of the planet to elevate to the status of a new capital, but I supposed it was the same reason they’d built Washington D. C. in the first place: it was close to where the important people lived.
“Why the hell are you taking McGill to the capital?” Carlos demanded, immediately jealous. “What about me? If he did anything cool, it was only due to my private counseling.”
This statement seemed to amuse Winslade. He’d gotten over his rush of fear concerning my fist, and he was back to his usual slick, self-confident attitude.
“What if I’m taking him up there to be properly permed?” Winslade asked.
“Well then,” Carlos said, “in that case I’m not responsible. In fact, McGill has been acting strange lately. Like he’s hiding something. Maybe you should go out to his shack in the swamp and mess with him tonight. He loves that.”
Winslade nodded at Carlos dismissively and gestured to me with his fingers as if he was beckoning to a dog. “Follow me, McGill.”
“You’re a hog,” I pointed out rudely. “An officer, but still a hog. I need orders from my own legion.”
Winslade’s face remained confident and bemused. “Have you checked your tapper lately, Specialist?”
Frowning, I looked down at my arm. The mail light was blinking red. A priority message was waiting for me in my inbox. I didn’t even have to read it. I knew Winslade had me.
“All right,” I said, accepting that I was beaten. Winslade was the kind of guy who waited until he had all the cards before making a move. There was no point in arguing with him now. It would just give him the thrill of backing me down.
I slapped a twenty credit piece on the bar and stood up. “See you, Carlos. Let’s go, Winslade.”
I followed the officer to the door.
“He’s paying for mine, too,” I heard Carlos tell the barkeep.
I shook my head. I’d meant to leave the girl a big tip. It was the least I could do after scaring her half to death.
Exiting into the parking lot, I followed Winslade to a sleek black contraption parked out on the periphery of the puff-crete pavement.
