“Lost your train of thought, sir?” I asked. “Not a problem. I’ll catch the rest of it whenever you’re ready.”

  The meeting fell into a grumbling silence after that. I sensed that no one in the room was a happy camper—except for myself, of course.

  By the time Graves returned, I was raiding the snack trays on the side-table. After all, I hadn’t had time to eat since they’d brought me back to life, and I was famished.

  When Graves walked in, he didn’t come alone. I was impressed. Behind him walked Winslade, Imperator Turov, and—surprise, surprise—Drusus himself.

  “Whoa!” I said, scooting away from the snacks with two skinny plates in hand. After saluting until the brass took their seats, I shoved some little finger-sandwiches into my mouth and swallowed hard.

  They all looked at me expectantly. I pointed toward Captain Merton helpfully. “Our excellent captain, here, has been briefing me on our order of battle. Quite an impressive fleet we’ve assembled.”

  “Yes,” Drusus said, “sixteen capital ships, nearly a hundred screens—we’ve probably never fielded such a large force and committed it to battle. Not since the Clone World campaign, at least.”

  Merton stood up again. “Praetor,” he said, “this centurion has done everything possible to delay these proceedings and defy authority. I suggest—”

  “I suggest you consider your every word very carefully,” Drusus said, interrupting him. “We’re recording, and we’re going to transmit the final copy to the Mogwa flagship as has been requested.”

  That stopped old Merton in his tracks. He swayed there, not knowing what to say next. “Ah… all right. Let me continue where we left off.”

  Merton was flustered, but he handled it well. The threat in Drusus’ statement about recording and transmitting the recording to the Mogwa was a serious one. Nairbs might pore over every word spoken and every gesture made. If they found an obscure violation of a regulation, they might well demand the perpetrators be put to a violent end.

  The old bastard rattled away, listing his ships and formations again. It was like replaying a file—I swear, the man was part machine. When he got to the part about the organization of ships and which ones were to arrive in what order—I raised my big hand high.

  “What is it, McGill?” Drusus asked.

  “Sirs, I’ve been instructed to inform Fleet that the Mogwa flagship must arrive in the system first and foremost.”

  That took them all by surprise.

  “Are you sure?” Imperator Turov asked, speaking up for the first time. “That’s not like the Mogwa. They don’t usually lead from the front lines.”

  “True, but those are his demands.”

  Drusus nodded. He stepped up to the battle planning holograms and slid the Mogwa battlecruiser up from the back of the formation to the front. It joined the three heavy cruisers.

  “They’ll get their wish,” he said. “I see no reason to deny them.”

  Merton was annoyed, but he kept his mouth shut. He must have been thinking about the recording that he’d been threatened with.

  When the meeting finally dragged to a close, I was almost drooling. Just keeping my head up was a challenge.

  At last, Drusus declared we were finished. I wanted to stand up and whoop, but instead, I took my third plate of snacks and slid toward the door. I was the second man to lift a boot over that threshold.

  “Not so fast, Centurion.”

  Shit.

  Being the only centurion in the room, I couldn’t even pull any tricks of mistaken identity. Instead, I stepped out of line, watching longingly as everyone escaped the room except for me.

  Drusus was standing at the battle maps, poking at the ship icons. They flickered at his touch. We were the only two left in the room.

  “Are your recording devices turned off, McGill?” he asked me.

  I glanced down at my tapper, and I did a double-take. “Oh no… I must have forgotten to turn this thing on. I’m mighty sorry about that.”

  Drusus nodded. His expression didn’t change. He was wise to my tricks by this time. “In an amazing coincidence, I failed to record the proceedings as well.”

  His fingers ran over the battle table, and a file was flicked to the trashcan. I got the feeling he’d deleted some evidence, but I wasn’t a snitch. Not usually, anyway.

  Drusus relaxed somewhat. “Okay. You’re our official liaison to the Mogwa. What are you going to tell them?”

  “The plain truth, Praetor. We’ve got a big fleet, and they can lead the way into the Segin star system. That star, by the way, is part of the constellation of Cassiopeia from Earth’s point of view. I looked it up.”

  He looked at me expectantly, as if he thought there would be more. “That’s it?”

  “Yessir. I believe in brevity.”

  “Indeed you do… All right, McGill. Make your report, and put a good face on it. Keep in mind that your transmission will be recorded and monitored.”

  It was my turn to be startled. “What transmission, sir?”

  “You’re reporting this to the Mogwa, aren’t you?”

  “I surely am. But my instructions are to report the facts to them in person.”

  Drusus showed his teeth. He began to pace. He always did that when stressed. For some reason, he was stressed a lot when I was around.

  “Okay,” he said at last. “Have it your way. But don’t screw-over your home planet. You can manage that much, can’t you?”

  I grinned. “Don’t I always handle diplomacy like a pro, sir?”

  He shook his head. “No. Not always.”

  “Well sir, you’ve got my heartfelt assurances this time. There will be no embellishments, hyperbole or braggadocio on my part. You can take that to the bank.”

  “Outstanding… How do you propose to deliver your report? With another radiation-laden ride through our warp bubble?”

  “Oh… I was hoping you could spare me a teleport harness, sir.”

  He frowned, but at last he agreed. After that, he finally let me go, and I trotted out of there like my shoes were on fire.

  -14-

  Out in the passages, I slowed down to a walk and whistled a tune. I was in no hurry to do anything other than eat and shower. Accordingly, I did just that. My report to the Mogwa could wait until I was in a proper state of mind and body.

  On impulse, I checked in on the lady-pilot I’d gone to the Mogwa ship with. She’d popped out of the revival machine less than an hour ago. They’d taken her down to the brig for questioning. Eventually, someone had figured out she was an unwitting bystander in my schemes, so she was allowed to return to duty.

  I approached her with high hopes and a warm smile—but it didn’t go well. After getting gunned down, revived and interrogated, she just wasn’t in the mood for a date.

  Rejected but not dejected, I moved on to my own module. People there gave me sidelong glances—even more than they usually did.

  Leeson came walking up to talk to me first. “Centurion? We were told you were reporting to the Mogwa ship, sir. We were told not to expect you back tonight.”

  “Really? I planned to go over there tomorrow. Don’t worry about it. The suits are always getting it wrong.”

  Frowning, he nodded and walked away. Harris approached me next.

  “Sir? This is going to sound strange… but I was hoping you might see fit to leave me in charge of the unit this time out. I mean… it’s usually Leeson, but…”

  I made a show of thinking this over. Finally, I nodded to him. “You know what? I do usually leave Leeson in charge because he’s senior. But you’ve convinced me. I’m going to spread the love a little.”

  He brightened, but then I pointed over his shoulder and beckoned to Erin Barton. She came over at a trot.

  “Adjunct Barton, as I understand it, the only other legion in this fleet is Victrix—is that right?”

  “Sort of, sir. There are two support legions as well.”

  I shook my head. “Zoo legions aren’t important in this instance. I want someone backing me up on this campaign who has been a centurion in the past, and who knows a lot about Victrix. Do you know anyone like that?”

  “Um…” she said, “well sir… I fit that description. I used to be a centurion when I served under Victrix.”

  “Oh yeah! That’s right!”

  By this time, Harris was glaring at us both. He had his big arms crossed, and he looked pissed. I ignored him.

  “This time, I’m handing command over to Adjunct Barton when I’m away from my duties. She has acting command over 3rd unit in my absence. We have Adjunct Harris, here, to thank for this suggestion.”

  There was some scattered clapping, but it soon died out. Harris never stopped fuming and glaring at everyone. He finally marched away and slammed the door to his tiny cabin. The thin metal door rattled in the frame behind him.

  After that, I retreated to the showers and my bunk. I felt pretty good after a solid nap, and I came out yawning at around dinnertime. Heading to the mess hall, we ate well during our slot of time. I ate with the enlisted troops, which always brought smiles to their faces.

  Winslade showed up unexpectedly as I was tossing my tray into the recycler. He had four goons with him, and he pointed at me without so much as an introduction.

  “Arrest that man,” he said.

  The goons were navy security types, shore patrol, they used to call them. I thought about killing a few of them, but I held off. I was in a pretty good mood, after all.

  “Uh… what’s this all about, Tribune?”

  “It’s about you, McGill. We intercepted your new orders from the Mogwa, and we’ve decided we don’t like their instructions.”

  Confused, I looked down at my tapper. The hog-like guard holding onto my left arm was pulled around to face me as I brought my tapper to my face for viewing. I had it silenced and everything—but Winslade was right. There was a new message from Sateekas.

  “Says here we’re to be used as target practice? By Mogwa marines?”

  “Not exactly. Keep reading.”

  I did, and I frowned as I did so. “A ‘hand of hands’ of primus-level officers are required. They will be issued weapons deserving of their primitive roots. After they’re exterminated in a blood-ritual, their meats will be sampled, and they will be revived to serve the Mogwa again. Hmm…”

  Winslade was glaring at me. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Uh… not much. I’m glad I’m not a primus, though.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because of the numbers. A Mogwa hand has six fingers. A hand of hands… that’s thirty-six, if my math doesn’t fail me. If we take all the top officers from both our legion and our support legion, plus some of those wanker staffers on Gold Deck, that should just about—”

  Winslade thumped a small fist on the nearest mess hall table. “That’s not going to happen.”

  My eyes widened. “Whoa… you’re not saying they want Victrix men too, are you? That would mean you’ll all have to hop into the grinder. No one less than a primus rank… are you guys going to draw lots or something?”

  “McGill, this has the stink of revenge written all over it.”

  “Uh… how exactly do you write stink on something, sir?”

  He snarled. “You’re accusing me of mixed metaphors? I’m not going to accept this boondoggle of yours, McGill.”

  “Mine, sir? How do you think this is my idea? I hadn’t even read the text until—”

  “Some years ago, you manipulated events to get all the officers in this legion killed—I won’t go along with another of these schemes.”

  I smiled, recalling sweet memories. Winslade had been the last one to die on that fateful day, having thought to ambush me in the final moments. He hadn’t liked dying back then, and he certainly didn’t seem to have sweetened on the idea today.

  “Okay,” I said. “Just let me dig out my teleport harness and pop over there to deliver the news.”

  “What news?”

  “I have to relay your refusal to comply, sir. It won’t take more than a few minutes. You want to escort me down to Gray Deck?”

  “No, I want to shoot you again.”

  Nodding, I made a sympathetic clucking sound. “I get it. I truly do. But executing the Mogwa liaison a second time might not look good on your record, sir. I’m just saying.”

  Winslade did some pacing then. He did some cursing, too.

  “I’ve got it,” he said, stopping and snapping his fingers under my nose. “We’ll send them forty officers—more than they asked for. I’ll issue everyone in your unit a plastic badge identifying them as a primus. You can choose who the lucky souls will be.”

  “Forty, huh?

  “That’s right. Gentlemen, unhand Centurion McGill. He has work to do.”

  The shore patrol let go of my arms, and they grinned at me. They seemed to like the sound of my coming fate.

  Winslade got into my face. “Report to Gray Deck—unarmed—in ten minutes. Bring whatever vagabonds you chose to take to the slaughter with you.”

  They left then, and I turned around to see a whole bunch of unhappy faces. Barton looked worried. Harris looked angry, and Leeson looked amused.

  “Who’s gonna die tonight?” Leeson asked me.

  “Forty…” I said. “That’s quite a few… Well, Barton’s off the hook. She’s got to hold down the fort here on Dominus.”

  Harris went from frowning to outright smoking-mad, but I ignored him.

  “I’ll need a second officer,” I said, “a man with experience in this kind of dirty-fighting.”

  “Why does it have to be dirty?” Harris demanded.

  “Because we’re talking about the Mogwa, here. Do you really think it will be a stand-up fair fight?”

  He didn’t answer me, he just shook his head and spit on the deck.

  “I’ll take that as my first volunteer,” I said, pointing at Harris. After that, I proceeded to select a mix of troops with good hand-to-hand skills, and all my weaponeers. It wasn’t clear how we’d be armed and armored—if at all. I needed men who could be effective even if they were buck-naked.

  When we’d assembled and stripped down to our spacer suits, we looked unarmed and harmless. Being a long-time Varus man, I knew neither of these two things was true. Everyone probably had at least one weapon secreted on his or her person. Besides that, Varus legionnaires were always ready for a fight. We’d use our teeth if we had to.

  Marching to Gray Deck, we were met by a smiling Winslade. True to his word, he had fake emblems for our shoulders. We were christened as primus-ranked imposters while Winslade and his staffers laughed.

  “What about nameplates?” Harris asked. “Shouldn’t we have names printed on our uniforms? These are all wrong.”

  “It won’t matter,” Winslade assured him. “The Mogwa don’t know one human from the next. Even Sateekas will be fooled. McGill will be just one more ape in the grunting pack to him.”

  Knowing he was probably right, we took our harnesses and put them on. I ordered my men to give a cheer as we ported out, and they did so with gusto.

  The blue wavering light throbbed and flashed every time one of us vanished. Soon, the chamber was empty.

  -15-

  Two squads of hand-picked men teleported out together. They were all from my unit, and I’d officially “volunteered” them.

  Moments later, we were all transported to the Mogwa battlecruiser. We didn’t know what to expect, so most of my troops had their eyes open and their hands balled into fists. Knees bent and muscles tensed, we jumped back into existence ready for anything—or so we thought.

  To our surprise and dismay, we found that none of us could move. Very slowly, my eyes traveled to see what was happening around me, but it took a long time.

  We appeared in a large empty chamber surrounded by stasis field projectors. These things kind of looked like X-ray machines—freaky ones. They had flexible, telescoping arms and heads with glowing conical tips. Together, these projectors cast a field of force that prevented movement.

  We’d used such systems before to trap criminals such as Claver, but I’d never liked the way the stasis effect felt on my skin. It was like a thousand electrified ants were crawling all over me.

  As I was at the front of my unit, a team of Mogwa nerds approached me first. They went over my body with instruments. At last, I was freed.

  Stumbling and almost pitching onto my face, I looked behind me. My men were still frozen, looking alarmed and baffled.

  “Why’d you do that?” I asked. “You can see we don’t have any rifles.”

  A Mogwa lieutenant approached. He looked me up and down. “You’re a loud beast. Do you always offend your masters with that bleating voice?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Can you answer my question, Lieutenant?”

  The Mogwa lifted one of his many hands. He flicked two fingers in the direction of my men. “We’re checking for explosives. We suspect some or all of you might be assassins.”

  “Oh… I get it.”

  Their reaction made perfect sense. After all, they hadn’t yet forgotten about how they’d been treated at the banquet. Galina’s gunmen had made a lasting impression.

  I watched as the Mogwa scanned and released my men one at a time. We were all wearing fake officer emblems, and as I considered this, a new worry struck me.

  Sateekas and Nox knew there were Earth officers who were disloyal. By demanding everyone above a certain rank come to their ship, the Mogwa were placing themselves in a position of power…

  Could it be the Mogwa leaders wanted a pound of flesh for the insult the assassination attempt represented? Maybe they thought that by pulling this prank, they’d be able to purge the very officers who’d dared to order them assassinated a few nights ago.

  Hmm… if that was the case, then we imposters were in for a rough time of it.

  “Name?” the lieutenant demanded when he got back around to me.

  I almost slapped my nametag and called him an idiot—but I stopped myself. I wasn’t supposed to be James McGill, and Mogwa couldn’t read Earth languages anyways. “Uh… Primus Smith, sir.”