Adjunct Harris was thinking the same way, I could tell. He and five of his heavy legionnaires were polishing their kits no more than ten steps away. None of them were laughing or screwing around with each other. They were listening and watching.

  “I see you have your thugs, even as I have mine,” Winslade said, gesturing toward Harris.

  “Huh? Oh, that’s just Harris. He’s wearing that expression because he can’t abide the stink of your Blood Worlders—no offense, boys.”

  The Blood Worlders stared back without much expression and no words at all. It was hard to tell if they were following the conversation. They were kind of like guard dogs that way—they responded more to their leaders’ mood and actions than they did words.

  “McGill,” Winslade said, “there are certain realities of which you seem to be actively ignorant.”

  “Huh? Like what?”

  “I’m talking about that fiasco today on Green Deck.”

  “Oh, that. Don’t tell me you’re going to file charges and bring in some nerds from Hog Central to complain about me frying robots. That’s not going to fly on this ship. Everyone aboard hates those things.”

  “Yes, I daresay you’re right. Even I find them distasteful.”

  I blinked at him. I’d kind of expected him to go off about budgets and regulations—but he didn’t.

  “So that’s not it? You’re not upset about the robots?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Well then… Oh, I’ve got it. You had some money riding on that outcome, didn’t you? You bet hard and lost it all. Let me give you a word of advice, Leo—you don’t mind if I call you that, do you?”

  He gave me a sour look. “I’d rather you didn’t. I’m a full-fledged tribune now, and I’d prefer you to be more respectful.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll call you Leonard then, whatever. But when it comes to my glorious performance on Green Deck—I get it. Someone important must have lost his shirt betting on the game, right?”

  Winslade’s eyes were furtive. “That’s closer to the mark—but it also doesn’t matter to me right now.”

  “Really? Wow… in that case, I’m flat out of ideas, sir. Give me a hint or something.”

  He sighed. “Very well. Let’s attempt to do some reasoning together, shall we? I know it will be difficult for you, but try to think like a full-fledged human being.”

  “Uh… okay.”

  “Recently, a shocking promotion was made inside your legion. Am I right?”

  My face was blank, and my jaw hung low for a few seconds. Then I suddenly snapped out of it. “You’re talking about Foam, right? Our new squid CO?”

  “You said that hateful word, not me. In any case… yes. Next point: did we, or did we not discuss resolving that problem very recently?”

  “Uh… we’re still talking about Foam, right?”

  Winslade put his hand to his face. “Dear God…”

  “Hold on. You must be talking about all that nonsense about removing the new Tribune. What? Was I supposed to kill Foam right off, or something?”

  He showed his teeth again, with his lower ones poking out farther than his uppers. “Yes... I sent him down to the bottom of the lagoon to meet you in person—but you failed to do your part.”

  “Oh…”

  “Now listen McGill, I know he gave you a fine gift. That armor you covet so much. But you can’t—”

  “Oh! Hold on! That reminds me, where’s my frigging armor?”

  He threw a bony hand in the air. “Stop worrying about the damned armor, will you? You took a gift from a squid. That’s like swearing loyalty to him.”

  “Well now, I wouldn’t go that far. All he did was give me the armor I was issued years back. It was hardly even a gift, if you think about it. He was just returning lost property.”

  “Don’t be a naive halfwit. That’s how Cephalopods keep their close subordinates happy, Centurion—with gifts. I’m shocked such a base technique worked on you at all. I’m telling you that Foam is manipulating you, McGill. Don’t you see that?”

  “Huh… well… maybe.”

  The truth was beginning to dawn. Foam was buying my loyalty. He was having private conversations, siding with me on command disagreements, and he’d even given me one of the few material objects on Heaven or Earth that I cared about.

  “Huh…” I said again, thinking it over.

  “That’s right. Foam pulled a fast one on you—on both of us. All I’m asking is that if you’re given another golden opportunity like that one—don’t pass it up.”

  “But sir, if I had killed Foam, he’d just catch a revive and be back at his desk in an hour—wouldn’t he?”

  Winslade gave me a dirty look. His lips pulled into a tight, grim smile. “You leave that part up to me.”

  Winslade left then, and I went into my private quarters to clean up. While I did so, I thought about his words.

  As far as I knew, there was only one revival machine on Dominus that could revive someone as big as Foam. Did Winslade plan to sabotage it?

  The thought was kind of disturbing.

  -26-

  Still thinking hard, I left my module for my date. I found Wendy at the entrance to Lavender Deck. She was dolled-up, with her blonde-streaked braids hanging down and non-reg sexy shoes on her feet.

  Two ornery-looking navy pukes stood in front of us, however, playing the cock-block card. They were marines—or what passed for marines on a transport ship. I met up with Wendy and gave her a raft of compliments.

  She smiled briefly, then nodded toward the two wannabe-hogs at the entrance. “Thanks, McGill, but—”

  “Call me James.”

  “Okay, James. But these guys aren’t letting us onto Lavender Deck. I already asked them.”

  “Don’t fret. You just have to know how to talk to these fellows.”

  Turning to the two guards, I saw the lead noncom was already shaking his head at me. He did this slowly, with a slant to his head and a flat smile on his lips. He looked like he had me all figured out. He thought he was onto my game and well-prepared to stop me.

  But he didn’t know me very well yet.

  “I’m sorry, sirs,” the marine sergeant said. “Lavender Deck is for crew and guests only. No legionnaires allowed.”

  Throwing my shoulders back and squaring them, I approached the two. “You’d be exactly right—most of the time. But I happen to know that if said legionnaires are performing an arrest, those rules are out the window.”

  The marines blinked. “Uh… who are you arresting, Centurion?”

  While we talked, I’d been flicking through names on my tapper. One nice thing about modern technology is it let everyone pretty much spy on everyone else in a given environment. With very little effort, I was able to see which navy losers were currently off-duty and roaming Lavender Deck seeking entertainment.

  The seventh name on my tapper caught my attention. It said he was an arms-dealer. Those guys sometimes came along on missions, doing negotiations with the brass until we reached the combat zone we were targeting. This was one of the wonders of modern technology. By using gateway posts, merchants, politicians and VIPs in general could come and go while we were flying the big ship out to the destination we had in mind.

  “This is him. Miles Stannish. He’s a fiend—a double-dealer who’s selling his wares to Earth and Rigel alike.”

  The noncom eyed my tapper dubiously. “I don’t even recognize that civilian. Are you sure he’s—oh. He is on Lavender Deck. Well… I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait until he leaves this zone.”

  I took a sudden step forward. “Hey, hog—yeah, I’m talking to you. Are you on the take? Is that the deal, here? This worm Stannish, he’s known to pass out bribes like candy.”

  “Uh…”

  The two guards were in confusion now, but they soon found their way out of it. They let us walk onto Lavender Deck.

  “James!” Wendy hissed from my side. “That was insane! Why would you tell all those sick lies just to get some better food?”

  “Food is a passion of mine, just ask anyone. But anyways, I’m not just down here for the cooking. Come on.”

  We walked around Lavender Deck like we owned the place. Wendy was nervous, and I soon found she was kind of hanging around at my elbow when we barged into various restaurants and bars. She wasn’t very tall, so she looked like she was hiding behind me or something. I didn’t mind, and I pretended not to notice.

  After a fine meal and several house-specialty drinks, we were both feeling pretty good. Wendy was even starting to come around and enjoy herself.

  All too soon, however, she pulled the whole ‘I’ve got to get up early tomorrow’ routine, and we left the deck. At the elevators, we saw those same two hog-boys, and they seemed riled-up.

  “There you are, McGill! Stannish is about to take lift three—see him?”

  Craning my neck, I did see the pudgy fellow I’d fingered over two hours ago.

  “Right!” I said. “We’ve been tailing him, waiting for him to make his move. Thanks, guys.”

  “We would have cuffed him ourselves, but we don’t have the warrant or the authority.”

  “You did right. I’m on it.”

  I strode with purpose, and Wendy trailed in my wake. “Don’t hurt him, James!” she whispered to me.

  I caught up with Stannish at the very door of lift number three, ramming a hand between the closing doors. They bounced open, and I strode aboard.

  “There you are! You’re under arrest, Stannish!”

  The civvie looked like he was going to wet himself. He stammered and denied things and held a piece of computer paper up to his chest like it was a shield or something.

  I waited until Wendy stepped aboard, and the elevator doors shut behind us. Then I smiled at Stannish and offered him my big hand to shake.

  “Hey Miles, I’ve read all about you.”

  “You have?”

  “Yessir. I admire your work thoroughly.”

  “But… I’m a sensor calibrator. All I do is contract work for Central. This ship had to leave port in a hurry, see, and—”

  I waved for quiet, as I was already bored with his explanations. “I know all about that, Stannish. I just wanted to shake your hand for a job well done.”

  I offered him my hand again, and he shook it at last. He looked very confused. “You said something about an arrest…?”

  “What? No, no, no. I said you probably needed a rest. You deserve one too, what with all the fine work you’ve been doing.”

  We rode up a dozen floors, talking like old friends. He was so relieved I wasn’t going to rob him or murder him or something that he became animated. At last, he got off and escaped us.

  Wendy eyed me thoughtfully throughout this process. She was thinking about me—thinking hard.

  “You’re a bully, aren’t you?” she asked at last.

  “Uh…” I said, taken by surprise. “Not always.”

  “Well then, you’re a bullshitter.”

  “I can’t deny that one.”

  Wendy heaved a sigh. She seemed kind of deflated. We’d had a nice date, and she’d enjoyed herself. Now, however, she’d gotten a good look under the hood at old McGill. She was beginning to understand how I ticked, and she wasn’t entirely happy.

  “Hey,” I said. “You want to visit Green Deck? Or the observatory up top?”

  These were both well-known make-out spots aboard any legion ship. Wendy didn’t answer right away, but then she opened her mouth.

  I knew before she spoke what she was going to say, so I beat her to the punch.

  “By the way, why’d you kill me today?”

  That made her blink a few times. “I told you. I had orders.”

  “Yeah, right… but what’s the real reason?”

  Wendy looked down. She studied her pretty shoes, my over-sized clown boots, and the deck between them.

  “I… I placed a bet… and I lost. You weren’t supposed to wreck all those robots, James. That was insane.”

  Throwing back my head, I laughed long and loud. I reached out and slipped a hand over her shoulders. She flinched, but then she relaxed when she realized that I wasn’t going to strangle her or anything.

  “That makes perfect sense,” I told her. “I can see why your psych profile landed you in Legion Varus, girl. Don’t you see? I’m a scoundrel, and you’re a murdering witch. A murderess for profit, no less. We’re a match made in heaven.”

  Her eyes were furtive, but she managed a slight smile. I had her number, and I wasn’t angry. She melted then, and we kissed.

  I felt relieved, as I finally understood why she’d been a little hesitant and cold all night. She’d been interested in me, but she naturally wasn’t sure how I was going to react to this tidbit of news when I eventually found out the truth.

  Grinning, I led her to my favorite spot on Green Deck. We had quite an evening, and the fake stars overhead looked lovelier than ever by the time we eventually called it a night.

  -27-

  The next day I expected there to be a court of inquisition over the broken robots—but there wasn’t. Instead, I was invited to Gold Deck for a top-level meeting.

  Now, anyone in my shoes might expect a dressing-down at such a meeting, but I was specifically told to wear my dress uniform and there was no mention of an arrest, or any nonsense about surrendering my weapons.

  I thought about wearing my combat armor just in case, but I left it in the locker with an extra alarm or two on the latch. There was no way I could dress that bulky black suit up and call it formal.

  Arriving at Gold Deck, I still was kind of concerned. I was still wondering if the baby-hog guards would arrest me or something—they didn’t.

  “Take a right at the end of the main passage, Centurion. It’s the first door on the left after that.”

  “That door goes to the officer’s lounge,” I said. “Are you sure that’s where I’m headed?”

  “All of the brass are headed that way,” the guard answered. “There are some big heavyweight civvies coming in through the gateway from Earth, too.”

  “Really? That always means good food. Okay, thanks.”

  I followed the instructions and barged in. It was just like the guards had said, there were all kinds of important people in the room. On the left side sat a bunch of techs. I recognized them as the same gang who’d built and serviced the robots. On the right side were military officers. Captain Merton was there, plus Tribunes Winslade and Foam.

  Seeing Foam up there made me do a double-take. It was downright weird seeing a squid in the officer’s lounge due to our not-so-distant state of war. The navy boys had taken out three seats for him, and even with that he was kind of squatting with his limbs splayed out under the table. He looked like an adult shoved into a kindergarten lunchroom—an adult with tentacles.

  “Ah, there’s McGill,” Winslade said sarcastically. “He’s on time for once. I’m amazed.”

  Foam eyed him then me. It was hard to read squid expressions, but I didn’t think old Foam looked happy. “If I understand your meaning,” he said, “then I can only surmise that you are easily amazed.”

  “That’s right,” I said, coming near and pulling up a chair. “Tribune Winslade is baffled, bewildered and-or mystified by me on a regular basis. Isn’t that right, sir?”

  Winslade gave me a sour glance. He leaned forward and spoke to me in a mean-sounding tone. “Keep up the disrespect, McGill. Laugh while you can. We’ll see who gets the final kick in the pants from your actions this morning.”

  I laughed him off, but the truth was I was a little worried. It had been my experience that the brass hated losing a lot of expensive gear. In fact, there was probably almost nothing they hated more. Even outright failure to achieve mission objectives was a lesser sin to the bean-counter types who ran Earth’s military.

  After I found my place—which was way back in the cheap-seats—I got myself two bulging plates of chow and went to town on them. The dinner was Hawaiian themed, and my twin plates were overflowing with roasted pig, pasty stuff rammed into leaves, pasty stuff shoved into pineapple rinds, and a big salad full of exotic fruits. I dug in immediately and kept eating until my first plate was empty. My second plate went down soon after. I had to give the food a thumbs-up. Overall, it was pretty damned good grub.

  Rising to go for my third plate, I was halted by a rush of attention directed toward the entrance. Someone important had arrived.

  My neck craned as I raided the buffet again. First came Drusus and Wurtenburger. Two praetors at one meeting? Wow, that was some big brass!

  Behind them walked another man whom I’d only met recently. It was Alexander Turov, a Public Servant of the highest order. Galina trailed behind him next. It was pretty clear to me now how she’d weaseled back her rank and gotten herself invited to this high-level meeting. After all, her dad was in charge of budgets.

  Grabbing no more than a handful of food, I high-tailed it back to my seat. I didn’t want anyone in this group of late arrivals to spot me.

  I needn’t have worried because they were guided right past me to the head table. There, they were seated by Captain Merton himself. Drusus and the Turovs were being treated like royalty.

  The banquet went into full swing as everyone ate and drank. All too soon, however, the fun part stopped and the speeching began. At least they’d let us eat first.

  Wurtenburger took the first crack at the microphone. He was a fat guy with a powerful euro accent and a flowery way with words. “Ladies and gentlemen, it isn’t often that a political dignitary as illustrious as Public Servant Alexander Turov visits a legion transport. This is a great honor, and I must insist that we all welcome the Servant aboard with enthusiasm.”

  The crowd obliged by tapping their hands together. Finding the response tepid at best, I slammed my big palms against one another and hooted. A few people glanced my way with irritable expressions, but I ignored all that. To my mind, I was just following orders.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Servant Turov said, standing and nodding to us. “Today I’m pleased to meet those who are on the front lines of Earth’s defense.”