“Yeah, because she screwed—”

  “No!” Turov said loudly. “It was because she made sure someone below her took the blame.”

  “Ah… right. I remember that now. Who have you got lined up to play scapegoat?”

  Graves cleared his throat again. “Tribune,” he said, “although I am a loyal officer, I would have difficulty—”

  Turov fluttered her finger at him. “Not you, Graves. No one would buy that. No, it must be someone people enjoy pinning blame upon.”

  She gazed at me then, and I recoiled. “Not me, sir! Not unless you want to make me a primus first, so I can get busted back down to centurion again.”

  “Useless…” she said, barely looking at us. “No, the person I have in mind should be obvious to you both, but still, I can see by your expressions you have no idea. There is no innate talent in either of you for this sort of thing. It’s no wonder that you’ve been passed over for promotion so many times.”

  With that, she dimmed the screen, and her upper body appeared to sink into the table.

  Graves and I were left frowning at one another.

  “I didn’t like the sound of that,” Graves said.

  “Neither did I. Any idea who she’s talking about?”

  Graves shrugged. “The woman has a twisted mind. It could be anyone.”

  I wasn’t so sure of that. She operated very logically, once you understood her motivations and rules of engagement. She didn’t do things the same way as others, sure, but that wasn’t because she was plain crazy. She was crazy like a fox.

  It wasn’t until about a half hour later that my tapper buzzed and I knew the truth.

  A familiar, if unpleasant face stared up out of my forearm. He sneered at me, and I grinned back at him.

  “Welcome back Winslade!” I boomed. “I’m mighty glad to see you up and around again!”

  “Put a sock in it, McGill. We both know there’s nothing less than unbridled rivalry between us now. “In any case, I demand that you address me by my proper rank and title.”

  “Uh…”

  He lifted his tapper so I could see his shoulders. His hair was still drippy from his recent revive. But his new uniform and the insignia on his shoulders was unmistakable.

  “You’re a tribune now?” I asked in amazement. “Who did you have to—?”

  “Ah-ah!” he admonished, waving a finger at me. “I’m now an acting tribune, and I’m this legion’s commanding officer.”

  “But Graves is our blood-primus,” I argued. “And what happened to Turov, anyway?”

  “She was suddenly called away to Earth. I’ve been theorizing as to the reasons for that myself… That’s why I’m contacting you. You’ve long been her confidant. Perhaps we could meet, and you could enlighten me as to the situation here on Glass World.”

  “Glass World?”

  “Yes. The bio-people say that’s what everyone has decided to call this miserable rock. Tau Orionis is too wordy, I suppose.”

  “Uh-huh…”

  My mind was reeling, and I struggled to take it all in.

  Galina had cut and run. She’d ditched Legion Varus on Glass World and used the gateway posts to return to Earth. Worse, she’d placed Winslade in charge.

  What a mean thing to do! Of all the skullduggery, scheming and outright fraud I’d caught her at, this had to be one of the worst examples yet.

  -33-

  My first meeting with Winslade didn’t go all that well. I suppose it was bound to be difficult, given our recent interactions. After all, the final moments of his previous existence had been spent arguing with me—then suddenly dying.

  He sniffed as if I stank as I walked into his office. I guess maybe I did, a little.

  “Is that what this planet smells like?” he demanded. “A livestock market?”

  “Uh… kinda. Really, it depends on what you step in. There are these really big critters, sort of bison-like, that wander the grassy plains just outside our camp. I was watching a few go by before I came to your bunker, see.”

  “I get the point. Disgusting, and yet appropriate. Just like usual, McGill.”

  “Huh?”

  “Make that huh, sir. Or huh, Tribune.”

  “Oh…yeah, sure. Sorry Tribune, sir. It takes a bit of getting used to—you getting that kind of rank and all.”

  Winslade had his skinny arms behind his back, hands clasped together. He was rocking on his heels and staring at me with squinty eyes. I got the feeling he was planning out an evil fate for me.

  “You might be wondering why I didn’t have you arrested instantly upon assuming command.”

  I blinked a few times. “Why would you do that, Tribune?”

  “Ah, playing the fool again. Very well, I’ll explain. During my final moments, you and I were having an argument. Agreed?”

  “That would describe it pretty well.”

  “And then, as we parted ways, I was suddenly shot in the back.”

  My eyes popped wide. “Really? Is that how it happened? How rude! Did you get some bod-cam vids or security footage to determine the culprit?”

  Winslade’s sour expression soured further. I wouldn’t have thought it possible if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, as he already looked like he was sucking on a fermented lemon.

  “No. There is no conclusive proof, and beam guns are generally untraceable.”

  “You don’t say… but what about—?”

  “Shut up, McGill. I know you shot me. What I want to know is why?”

  “Listen here, sir,” I said, putting on the most serious and slightly offended expression I could muster. “I’m going to let this go, but I find it kind of offensive.”

  “Really? Care to explain that odd statement?”

  “Here’s how I see it,” I began, having worked up this particular fabrication on the way up to his office. “The last time we met up man-to-man, we both considered killing the other guy, right?”

  “That has been established.”

  “Right. We both thought about it, but we passed on the feuding. Now, I can understand how you might still harbor strong suspicions and maybe even some guilty feelings—”

  “—as if—”

  “—however, I consider what occurred to be a matter of honor satisfied. We came eyeball-to-eyeball and neither of us struck in that passionate moment. Don’t you think, that if I’d wanted you dead, I would have made my move right then? I’m not a snake-in-the-grass type, sir.”

  “Hmm…” he said, looking uncertain for the first time. “That is true. You’re an emotion-driven beast. You rarely have a thought that originates above the waist.”

  “Well said, Tribune. Therefore, in short, I don’t know who killed you—or why.”

  Winslade had studied me throughout this bluffing, bullshit-filled speech. I could tell he was in doubt. I’d planted the seed carefully, and it had taken root in his mind.

  Oh sure, he was still pretending he knew the real score—but I knew he didn’t. If he had known I’d shot him, he would have arrested me and thrown me into the brig by now.

  That knowledge had me working overtime now. To escape justice, I had to act offended at the mere suggestion I’d been involved in his most recent demise.

  At last, he made a growling sound in his throat. “Very well. I’ll play this charade if you insist—but you owe me!”

  “Uh…” I said, not quite following his logic. “All right… I owe you. I owe you because you’re right, I was nearby when the heinous act was performed, and I should have caught the culprit red-handed.”

  He rolled his eyes at me, but I could tell he wasn’t certain I was the assassin. That single lie, played to the absolute hilt, was my saving grace.

  “Fine,” he said. “Let us move on. Can you say why anyone—not you, in particular—might have killed me that day?”

  “Sure,” I said, brightening. “First off, there’s the matter of your personality, sir. I’m not one to throw around terms like ‘abrasive’ lightly, but—”

  “Put a sock in that massive maw of yours! What I want to know is why I was shot and left dead for so damnably long!”

  I took his question seriously. “At the time of your death, we were experiencing mysterious power outages. We almost lost the entire ship that very day.”

  He frowned at me. “You’re saying people thought I was the saboteur?”

  “I’m not saying a damned thing, sir. I’m just making an observation.”

  Winslade nodded and rocked on his heels again. “I get it. Yes… I finally get it. A group of officers might be involved?”

  I shrugged, giving him no input.

  “I see… They blamed the warp bubble failure on me, and then they sent you as their ham-handed assassin. Weeks later, mysteriously, Turov and her staff have vanished and put me in charge of this mission, which has rapidly transformed into a flaming bag of excrement. The puzzle begins to take shape.”

  I shrugged, neither confirming nor denying his claims. They were pretty close to the mark—except the part where I hadn’t been the one to plan and execute his murder.

  “Hmm… You do realize that I can’t trust you now, McGill, yes?”

  “I wouldn’t say that, sir. You’re here, you’re in charge. Why would you sabotage anything else at this point?”

  “I was talking about trusting you.”

  “Yeah, but in order for you to trust me, you have to be trustworthy yourself. I think you are trustworthy at this point, so you can trust me not to get in your way.”

  He brightened. “Ah! Are you proposing the most unlikely of alliances? Seriously?”

  “Whenever we work together, that’s exactly what it is, sir. And we’ve done it often.”

  He eyed me for a few moments, thinking hard. I’d conjured into his slick brain the idea that I was not alone in my actions, that I had a cabal of other officers behind me. That kind of vague worry could cripple a paranoid man like Winslade.

  “All right,” he said at last. “I’m going to give you a chance. Tomorrow, I’m going to throw your cohort into combat. Your unit will spearhead the legion, which is now nearly at full-strength.”

  “We’re talking about another attack?” I asked in surprise.

  “Are your ears functional?”

  “Yes sir, but—”

  “Excellent. Let me assure you, the attack will be more forceful this time.”

  “Uh… but what about the crystal mountains? What about the drones? What about the army they’re spinning up to defend the mine?”

  Winslade pursed his lips, wrinkled his nose and brushed away my words with long fingers. “Never mind about all that. It will be taken care of.”

  “How, sir?”

  “Let’s just say that I’m prepared to take more drastic action than my predecessors.”

  “Uh…” I said, not knowing what to make of that.

  “Listen McGill, in order to get back into my good graces, all you have to do is make sure one thing happens during tomorrow’s battle.”

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “Primus Graves must die.”

  I stared at him and blinked a few times. Finally, I nodded and agreed. He dismissed me, and I stumped out of his bunker in confusion.

  Was Winslade working against us for reals? I couldn’t be sure.

  Was I really going to kill Graves—or get him killed somehow? I wasn’t sure about that yet, either. I’d agreed because otherwise I thought Winslade would have me shot down on the spot.

  It’s hard to do anything when you’re dead, I always say. This way, I at least had some time to think and decide what I should do next.

  -34-

  The next morning came way too early. I hadn’t even come up with a plan yet. I had nothing to go on at all, in fact.

  Upon being ordered to prep for combat, 3rd Unit began grousing as usual. There were plenty of bitter glances in my direction, in fact. Word must have gotten out that I’d gone to see Winslade the moment I’d been revived. When an officer visits the brass and then is ordered on a suicidal charge the next morning, well, the troops always get suspicious.

  What happened after breakfast surprised me the most of all, however. Instead of being lined up and marched into the crystal mountains—a lifter came down from the sky.

  My entire cohort was herded aboard.

  Launching up into space violently, I felt the G-forces take their toll. The pilot wasn’t fooling around. He didn’t want to stay inside Glass World’s gravity-well for one second longer than necessary.

  “What’s the hurry?” Harris grunted out next to me. “Is he late for dinner?”

  “Seems like,” I managed to say.

  Leeson, sitting on the other side of me, gritted his teeth and spoke through them without parting his clenched jaws. “I thought we were attacking today. Maybe the plan changed. Maybe Turov got nervous and wants McGill to protect her.”

  Harris snorted with laughter, but I didn’t say a thing. It wasn’t general knowledge yet that Winslade had taken over and Galina had left for Earth. Part of me hoped Leeson was right, anyway. Maybe we would get a cush job like guarding the ship’s quiet passages.

  The ship lurched and slowed several long minutes later. Groaning and massaging our numb limbs, the troops aboard struggled to breathe normally again.

  A big green light flashed when we docked, then the klaxon sounded. We were attached to Berlin’s belly again.

  I have to say it was a nice place to be. I felt much more secure aboard Berlin, cramped or not, than I did on the windswept plains of Glass World.

  As we marched off the lifter, following glowing red arrows on the floor, I began to frown a bit. So did Harris and Leeson. Some of the numbers in the arrows were different. In fact, the number three—indicating our unit number—split off from the rest.

  “Why are we going down a different passage than the rest of the cohort?” Harris complained. His eyebrows were beetling with vast suspicion already.

  “Isn’t this the way to Berlin’s crappy little Gray Deck?” Leeson asked.

  “Oh no…” Harris said.

  All of a sudden, my dopey smile and general sense of well-being was shattered. We were supposed to attack the enemy today, and it looked like we were going to. But, rather than being marched over an open field into the enemy guns, some wise-ass had decided it would be better to teleport us into the enemy nest.

  As soon as we got to Berlin’s Gray Deck, which was a small, low-ceilinged affair with few frills, our fears were quickly realized. A team of unsmiling techs—Fleet pukes, one and all—began strapping us into teleport harnesses.

  “Wait a second,” Leeson complained. “These rigs aren’t carrying enough of a charge for a return trip—not even at this range.”

  “Nope,” I said.

  “A one-way ticket, huh?” Harris asked. “What did you do to piss off the brass this time, McGill?”

  “That’s Centurion McGill to you, Adjunct,” I reminded him.

  He grumbled, but he shut the hell up.

  Trussed up like chickens ready for the oven, we watched dismally as the far wall lit up. Tribune Galina Turov’s face wasn’t the one that loomed over us, however. Instead, it was a repugnant, greatly enlarged version of Winslade. His nostrils were each as big as a man’s head and a lot uglier.

  “What the hell…?” Leeson said.

  “You knew!” Harris hissed out, rounding on me. “You knew all about this!”

  I didn’t even look at him. “Eyes front, Adjunct. You’re acting like a splat.”

  This settled him down. He glared at Winslade and avoided looking at me at all.

  “Troops,” Winslade said, giving us a cold smile, “I’m so glad you’re all assembled and ready for action. Today, you have a critical mission. For the sake of security, I wasn’t able to tell you previously—but now, the cat’s out of the bag. Yes, I’m in charge of Legion Varus from this day forward. The Glass World campaign is my first true command.”

  There were audible groans up and down the line-up. Moments later, thumps and grunts could be heard as veterans slapped the troops to silence. Winslade had never been well-liked by anyone other than the brass who he worked so hard to schmooze.

  The new tribune moved at last. A skinny finger the size of a sapling tree trunk poked up, and for an awful second, we thought he might pick his nose with it. Everyone winced and squinted in horror—but all he did was tap at the side of his nostril. We relaxed a fraction.

  “Let me first say that I’m proud to be your commander today. Previously, back on Machine World, I was left in a similarly dire predicament with hundreds of faithful Varus troops at my back. That day, as I know will happen again this time, the legion performed magnificently.”

  The troops around me were blinking in surprise. They weren’t used to getting anything like a pep-speech from this particular officer.

  I could recall, however, that Winslade had managed to pull it together and take his responsibilities seriously on those occasions when he’d been given a shot to do so. Tilting my head, I made an effort to listen to him for reals.

  “We’re going to start off with a bang. Rather than fighting our way through that morass of broken glass full of crawlers, we’re doing an end-run. A commando team will be transported instantly into the enemy camp. Their mission will be to cause as much havoc as possible.”

  Here, the scene shifted from Winslade’s overblown face to a long-range aerial shot of the mine. Bluish crystals gleamed all around like jewels. In the center, the mine looked like a black pupil of a glittering eye.

  The scene zoomed in sickeningly. It transformed into the shots I’d taken from close-in, and the crackling light of the gateway posts was soon visible.

  “There!” Winslade boomed with god-like volume. “There is our target! Due to the limitations of Berlin’s Gray Deck, the attacking force will be transported one unit at a time. The first unit will be commanded by Primus Graves himself. Every few minutes, with just enough time to suit up and charge, the next unit will be sent. Relentless as waves crashing on a beach, we will take them from the center. With luck, we’ll wipe them out.”