“Their suits are better than ours,” Harris complained. “Better tech. It’s like some kind of translucent film that covers their whole body. What I don’t get is how they can take the radiation.”

  Space is a deadly place. Most of the universe is space—and it’s full of things that will kill the toughest man in under a minute. Vacuum—the utter lack of an atmosphere, was only one such item on a long list. Fantastic heat and cold were equally as deadly. Orbiting Dark World and her pathetically dim sun, one might think it never got hot. But without any air to protect us, it still hit plus or minus one hundred degrees Celsius on the exposed skin of the space factory during any given planetary spin.

  Then, there was the radiation. Many planets had magnetic fields that generated Van Allen belts of particle radiation. Your cells were bombarded with it whenever you were in certain areas of space, and Dark World had that charming feature as well.

  Our own suits were pretty thick, and that was partly an effort to keep harmful gamma rays from penetrating.

  “Either their suits are very advanced,” I said, “meaning they stop radiation. Or Vulbites can take a dose of rads better than humans can.”

  “They are bugs…” Harris agreed. “Some bugs can take a hundred times what we can.”

  “But they can’t take the weight of a man’s shoe. Don’t worry, we got this.”

  We were tense, squatting in our chamber and waiting for the word to move up and meet the enemy. That word hadn’t come yet—but we suspected it was only a matter of time.

  At last, Graves came online and spoke to us.

  “McGill,” he said, “take your unit out onto the hull. Set up some automated turrets and hunker down. Let them come to you, engage only when they’re right on top of you. We’re hoping they won’t use their ground-based beamers for fear of killing their own troops.”

  “Excuse me, Primus,” Winslade said in an acid voice. “I believe I’m in charge of 3rd Unit today.”

  “Oh, right… They revived you, didn’t they Centurion? Okay… I’m giving you the same orders. Move out immediately.”

  Harris and Leeson grinned at me. They knew Graves hated Winslade. Everybody did.

  “McGill’s platoon will move to the hatch first and open it!” Winslade ordered. “Then, they will exit first. The rest of you hold back until we see if any of his recruits survive.”

  Cooper was back from the revival machines, and he moved up next to me.

  I glanced at him, and I saw the fear and tension in his face. Sure, the kid was a jackass, but he had every right be afraid.

  Cooper was watching me closely, intently. I got the feeling he wanted to know how I’d survived the last go-around with these aliens. Smart boy. Death could be a great motivator.

  The bay doors yawned wide. We saw the stars and the dull glimmering crescent of Dark World outside.

  Normally, I’d send a man like Cooper up top to scout—but I didn’t have the heart. Instead, I crawled out on my belly and ordered Kivi to send out buzzers.

  At first, it looked like we were alone. The hull was encrusted with equipment, sensors, pipes and even a few bodies from our last battle out here.

  The buzzers lifted high, and I watched the relayed scene.

  The Vulbites were swarming in great numbers. They were moving steadily forward, like ants bubbling out of an anthill in every direction. They didn’t bother to use stealth cloaks this time.

  They seemed well aware we might counterattack at any moment. They carried beamers with their largest forward limbs. A dozen clawed legs clutched their rifles, pointing their weapons at every strut, tower and instrument.

  “Well, McGill?” Winslade called me on our local command chat. His voice seethed with impatience. “Are you moving your platoon out there or not?”

  “I’m scouting, sir,” I said. “Right now, I’m the only man who’s going to fry if those batteries down there on the surface decided to nail this region again.”

  “Editing your orders already? You’re not wasting any time today.”

  “Excuse me, sir. Do you wish to micromanage or relieve me of my command?”

  Winslade considered it. “No… but do you plan to do more than squat up there?”

  “Of course, sir. I’m carrying out Graves’ orders one step further, that’s all. I’m watching the enemy approach. I’m letting them get just a little closer before I expose my platoon.”

  Winslade growled, and I imagined he’d crossed his skinny arms by now. He didn’t quite have the confidence with tactics to overrule me. That was for the best.

  “Okay now, they’re about two hundred meters out. I need all my weaponeers and demolitions people to set up turrets.”

  A half-dozen troops crawled out to join me. They pulled turrets from their rucks and set them up on raised, flat surfaces. My own platoon only had two such specialists, and I was glad to see Leeson had lent me his troops for this purpose without being asked.

  “All right,” I said. “We’re at one hundred meters. Deploy and scatter. Stay low. Don’t position yourselves between an auto-turret and the enemy line. The turret will probably shoot right through you.”

  The weaponeers hastily retreated into the hole, and my light troops slid up onto the roof and moved into position. Behind them, a dozen armored heavies gathered.

  Everyone was hugging up against any cover they could find. We weren’t shielding ourselves from the advancing enemy line, but rather trying to put the biggest chunk of metal we could between our bodies and the crescent of Dark World. As beams were line-of-sight weapons, an air vent or radar dish might save a life at this point.

  The battle began early, before we were set up for it.

  Maybe the enemy had spotted us. The crews from the beamers on the surface, or drones, or the Vulbites themselves could have done it.

  No matter how they’d detected our ambush, they rushed to meet us at the last minute. A horde of Vulbites came in close, their strange guns flashing with a violent, ghostly fire from the muzzles.

  Being a space battle, it sounded different. There was no air to transmit vibrations to our ears, except inside our helmets. At the same time, we were in radio contact with one another.

  As a result, you heard a lot of shouting, cursing and labored breathing. This was layered with the hiss of air conditioning inside your own suit.

  The enemy made no sound as they rushed close and engaged. They seemed as eager to close as we were. Maybe their weapons weren’t as effective as ours were at range. They did seem more like flame-throwers—or maybe radiation-throwers—than regular rifles.

  Whatever their reasoning, the enemy got close to us and mixed it up immediately.

  Flipping my snap-rifle to full-auto, I hammered down the first one I came into contact with. The snap-rifle jerked rhythmically in my gauntlets, but I couldn’t hear the splattering rounds.

  The Vulbite went into a spin, losing touch with the hull and going over my head. He was flipping and twisting up his long body like a pretzel. Then, he went limp and drifted above us.

  More and more troops poured out onto the hull on both sides. The beam batteries on the planet didn’t fire—maybe they knew they couldn’t without endangering their own soldiers.

  We fought for about seven long minutes out there. Now, to some people that might not seem like a long time. Often, battles could go on for days—but this was a single continuous assault.

  When the Vulbites finally broke, they’d lost about a hundred. We’d lost about half that many. The sky above us was full of drifting bodies, both human and alien. Whenever one showed any signs of life, automated turrets pumped rounds into the convulsing body until it again lay still.

  “Pull back, McGill,” Winslade said.

  “Why sir?” I asked. We’re doing pretty good out here.”

  “Yes, you are. But most of the other strongholds have been defeated. The enemy is pocketing your position. It’s hopeless.”

  For once, I thought Winslade was doing his job right. He had his eye on the big picture.

  Wriggling backwards, I slid down into the hatch and we sealed it tight again.

  “We lost?” I asked. “They captured the surface of the factory hull?”

  “Yes…” Winslade said, looking us over. “But you did exceptionally well, troops. You held the line longer than most. Take a break—this has only just begun.”

  -23-

  The Vulbites now controlled the exterior hull of the orbital complex. It was like having enemy soldiers crawling all over your roof—not a comfortable situation.

  It was our first serious defeat on Dark World. We’d fought hard, but we’d been driven back. Even with a full strength legion, we’d been forced to retreat inside the hull and stay there.

  “Well, if this isn’t just the shits,” Leeson said. “Don’t call me a prophet, but I’m looking at the meat-grinder to end all meat-grinders.”

  “How do you mean, Adjunct?” I asked.

  “I’ve been with Varus for about twenty years longer than you have, McGill,” he said. “So, I remember the old campaigns. First off, these people are bugs. That means they don’t give up until they’re dead—until all of them are dead. You ever seen a bee or an ant get scared and run from battle?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “There you have it. Same thing with these Vulbite friggers. But it’s worse than that. Usually, when you’re going to win a battle, you start off winning, and you keep winning. It rarely seesaws back and forth.”

  “We’re on the seesaw?”

  “I’d say we’re the fat kid on this seesaw. We’re on the down side now, and we’re going to stay down. The basic fact is: the enemy has too many troops. Even with revival machines, we can’t hold out forever.”

  “So…” I said, taking him seriously. “We’re looking at dying a lot?”

  “Doesn’t have to be that way!” Harris interjected.

  He walked over and joined our conversation, having clearly listened in.

  “Oh, I want to hear this,” Leeson said. “This is going to be good.”

  Harris frowned at him briefly. “The answer is simple: we call for serious reinforcements. Right now, up-front, before they push us off this station entirely.”

  “Another legion?” Leeson said. “You’re dreaming.”

  “Why not? It’s not like we’d have to fly another ship out here. We’ve got a gateway set up. Just march them through.”

  “How many?” Leeson asked, crossing his short, thick arms.

  “One, two—six legions. Hell, I don’t know. Whatever it takes.”

  Leeson shook his head. “It’ll never happen. Turov would rather wipe.”

  I frowned at him. “Why’s that?”

  He gave me a dirty laugh. “You should know. You know her better than any of us.”

  Thinking about it for a second, I nodded. “Right… it would look bad. She’d be seen as weak—as calling for help. But doesn’t it make sense to do that now, before things become desperate?”

  “Damn straight!” Harris shouted.

  Leeson lifted a finger and waggled it at us, shaking his head. “You’re not thinking like our lovely tribune. She wants her rank back—that’s all she’s thinking about right now. Calling for help on the second day? She’d have the stink of a loser. She’ll convince herself Varus can do this alone.”

  I got it suddenly. It was as if the future were laid out before me in a series of stepping stones.

  “Right…” I said. “She’ll wait too long. She won’t call for help until we’re driven all the way back to Nostrum.”

  “Bingo!” Leeson said, pointing his waggling finger at me. “So now, McGill, tell me how this all ends up?”

  “Meat-grinder,” I said. “Reinforcements—maybe from each side—upping the ante until it’s a grand mess.”

  “Hmm…” Leeson said, frowning. “Thinking the bugs and their side through, this has got to be even worse than I thought. Those vicious bear-cub things don’t seem to be as dumb as our brass. They’ve probably called up Rigel for help. They’ll come in force.”

  “But they probably will have to send a ship—or lots of ships,” Harris said.

  He had that glassy look in his eyes now. We all had it.

  After a starman has been out on a dozen campaigns, he gains a certain skill in tactics above his rank. His experiences teach him, one savage beating at a time, how the universe really works.

  “McGill?” Harris said, turning to me. “You’ve got to give it a shot.”

  “Me?”

  “Harris is right,” Leeson said. “Turov doesn’t give a shit about any of us. But for some reason, she’s sweet on you.”

  Heaving a sigh, I threw up my hands. “I’ll do what I can,” I said.

  They both clapped me on the back, but about then Winslade came over to see what we were talking about.

  “McGill? Harris, Leeson?” he said. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

  “Unfortunately no, sir,” I said.

  I felt more than saw Leeson and Harris fade into the background. I’d experienced this sort of thing before. People often egged me on to do something they didn’t have the brass pair to attempt. Usually, these same cheerleaders ran off when the process began.

  My eyes fixed upon Winslade.

  He already looked suspicious. He probably thought we were working up a case to mutiny against him—it wouldn’t have been the first time.

  “Sir,” I said, “I’d like to say you’ve handled this pretty well so far.”

  “Well…” he said, taken by surprise. “Thank you, McGill.”

  “We’ve both been done wrong on this deal,” I said. “This was my unit, and your cohort. We’ve been busted down a rank, but that doesn’t mean we have to turn on each other.”

  Yellow suspicion lit up his rodent-like eyes again. “Turn on one another? Was that proposed only moments ago by your peers?”

  I shook my head. “No, sir. We’d rather turn our sights higher—toward the one who put us in this unhappy circumstance.”

  “You mean Tribune—?”

  My big hand came up toward his face in a shushing motion.

  He took an involuntary step back, as I was twice his size and we hadn’t had the most cordial relationship in the past. When I lowered my hand, however, he regained his composure quickly.

  “Let’s not name any targets,” I said.

  A smile flickered, but quickly vanished. Winslade was happy, but he didn’t want to let on. That was just fine.

  “Do you have…” he began, lowering his voice, “a suggestion as to how we might accomplish such a lofty objective?”

  I could tell his mind had leapt forward right to where he wanted the conversation to go, and to where I wanted him to be. He thought I was offering to help him bring down Turov to get our ranks back.

  Hell, it might come down to that—who knew? But of course, that wasn’t my immediate goal. My plans were focused upon avoiding the “meat-grinder” scenario that Leeson had so lovingly laid out.

  “I need an excuse,” I said.

  “For what?” he asked, scowling a little. “You rarely need an excuse for anything you do.”

  “To see… her.”

  His eyes lit up again. “Ah… Of course. Here—take this.”

  He handed me something. It was small—like the size of a housefly.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “A very discreet buzzer,” he said. “I’ll send you an app for your tapper to control it. Be careful—it only has enough battery power to operate for a few hours. You must deploy it to get the video we require.”

  “Uh… What video, exactly?”

  He looked disgusted, and he put his fists on his hips.

  “Are you not following the conversation?” he demanded. “You must capture the… harassment… while it’s ongoing. Is that somehow unclear?”

  The light finally went on in my fridge. “Oh yeah. I’ve got it. Okay, will do.”

  I closed my hand on the tiny device, and Winslade made a hissing sound, sucking air through his teeth.

  “Careful, you ape!” he said. “That item is very delicate. Put it into this tube before deployment.”

  He gave me a tube, and I put it next to the buzzer. Both fit in my palm.

  Under its own power, the spy drone crawled into the tube and vanished.

  Suddenly, I understood something.

  “Hey! All that crap about you hacking Central’s office security—that was hogwash, wasn’t it? You used one of these toys.”

  Winslade gave me a tiny shrug and pursed his lips. “When caught, it’s best to confess to the wrong crime.”

  “I’ll remember that,” I laughed. “Now, I only need one more thing.”

  “Yes, yes?” he asked quickly.

  “An excuse to go up to Gold Deck on Nostrum.”

  Winslade licked his lips in thought. Just watching him do it made me grimace. It wasn’t a manly mannerism, but I knew better than to tell him so.

  “I’ve got it,” he said after a minute or two. He pulled out a data chip and pinched it until it crackled.

  “You broke it?” I asked.

  “Not that you know of. Take this report to her—tell her it’s from the front, and it’s highly confidential.”

  “Uh…” I said, looking at the tiny chip. “But it’s broken.”

  Winslade rolled his eyes. “It’s broken,” he said between clenched teeth, “because there’s no data on it. The entire thing is a ruse. I swear, McGill, for a man who’s managed so many—”

  “Right… I get it! I’m on my way, sir.”

  I walked away toward the passages that led deeper into the orbital complex, and I left him behind, shaking his head.

  The data chip, the cover story, and Winslade’s approval got me all the way down to the gateway posts.

  The chamber was in the center of the factory complex. Down here, it was hot and the air was wet. Unfortunately, as there were a lot of Blood Worlders around—that meant it didn’t smell too good.

  It took some talking, but I managed to get past the guards and the suspicious noncoms running the gateposts. When the flow of fresh troops paused for a few seconds, I got the nod.