Dying in hard vacuum is a nasty way to go. Your blood begins to boil, your lungs and eyeballs freeze solid—

  I didn’t have to experience the whole thing. A spray of snap-rifle bullets crashed into my skull before the end.

  Harris did it, I was pretty sure. Maybe he knew I’d meant to commit suicide, and he’d decided to help me out.

  Either that, or he was getting petty revenge on me for having talked to Graves.

  -27-

  I’ve died and been brought back to life any number of times, but I usually didn’t try so hard to get off the table and get moving.

  “What’s his score?” a male voice asked.

  “Eight… eight-point-five. I’m calling it a good grow.”

  “Get off me,” I mumbled, struggling to open my eyes.

  The lights seemed brilliant, dazzling. As was always the case, I felt the pain of using eyeballs that had never focused or dealt with vision before. It was kind of like being under studio lights with a serious hangover.

  Sitting up, I swayed on the edge of the table. Beginners would often take a first step right then—but I was no beginner. My balance was off, I could feel it. The inner ear, the nervous system—everything was settling in.

  Revival machines weren’t exactly machines, and they didn’t exactly revive a person, either. Using a process akin to flesh-printing, what they really did was grow a new body inside an artificial organic sac. Functionally, the alien contraption was the newly-copied person’s mother—in a disturbing way.

  The whole process was messy and stomach-twisting. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  When I knew I could stand up straight, I climbed off the gurney and pulled on clothes.

  “Don’t you want a shower?” the bio leader asked. “We highly recommend a shower.”

  “I wish I had the time,” I said, “and I thank you for the offer, but I’ve got to get going.”

  The bio was a tall fellow with narrow, intelligent-looking face. “What’s the hurry, Adjunct?” he asked. “You’re not going to win this battle single-handed.”

  There was a hint of defeat in his tone. I forced my bleary, burning eyes to focus on him.

  “What’s the story?” I asked. “What’s happened since I went out?”

  The bio slid his eyes to the orderlies helping him, and then back to me.

  “Charge the tanks,” he said, toweling goop off his hands. “I’ll take a second to talk to the adjunct, here.”

  They nodded and went to work. Their faces were sweaty and grim.

  To my mind, only two groups of people earned their pay when Varus deployed into a hot zone: the frontline troops, and sorry bastards like this bio who rebuilt us when we fell in combat. For this reason, I was interested in what the bio had to say.

  “Adjunct James McGill,” the bio said, reading his tapper. He frowned for a second. “Aren’t you…?”

  “Yeah,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m that guy.”

  I didn’t know which of my exploits he was thinking of, but it didn’t much matter. Whatever crime, exploit, heroic act or astounding breach of protocol he was pondering, I was almost certainly guilty as charged.

  He laughed and shook his head. “Okay then, you deserve the straight story. We’re not supposed to say anything that might demoralize the troops, you understand?”

  “I surely do. You mind if I take that shower after all—real quick-like, while you’re talking?”

  He blinked, but waved me toward the stall.

  There wasn’t anything like privacy in a revival chamber. We were all born naked and slimy. Everything about us was right there in plain sight. In accordance with these realities, the shower was nothing more than a tube-shaped vessel made of clear plastic. I got inside, slammed the door and poured water onto myself. It felt good, and I thought it was the right move. I was thinking more sharply immediately.

  “The fighting on the complex is all internal now,” the bio told me. “We’ve been pushed back to inner strongholds. Some units are completely cut off.”

  Long before I’d had my fill, I turned off the water, toweled off and put on a uniform. It stuck to me in places, but not as badly as it would have if I’d been coated in afterbirth.

  “How much of the station do the Vulbites control?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “I get different reports. Twenty percent? Thirty? Something like that. I do know they command everything around the umbilical. They made a big push there.”

  My face twisted into a half-smile. I wondered how much trouble my unit had given them. I hoped the Vulbites had suffered a great deal of pain.

  “So… we’re losing?”

  “Seems like it. We’re definitely in retreat.”

  I looked up, and I saw the defeat in his eyes. He knew. Probably, everyone did.

  “What about reinforcements?”

  His eyes lit up. “More ships are coming? More legions?”

  Shaking my head, I had to burst his bubble. “No—not that I know of. Not yet.”

  “There won’t be a later. We won’t last three days.”

  “Well sir,” I told him. “You’re in luck.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I’m here to fix things.”

  He snorted, clearly not believing me. Still, he did seem curious. He waggled a finger at me.

  “Now I remember. You were the guy who was permed and brought back. Some people said you attacked a Mogwa. Is that really true?”

  “No sir!” I said loudly. “That’s a vicious lie. Do you really think that if I’d done something so heinous, so insane, I’d be standing here talking to you right now?”

  The bio relaxed and shook his head. “No… I guess not.”

  “Most rumors are like that,” I advised him. “They fall apart the moment you think about them in the cold light of day.”

  “All right,” the bio said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Go kill a billion Vulbites for me.”

  “A billion, huh?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Yeah, the population of the planet is supposed to be in that zone—or maybe more.”

  Sickened, I gave him a big smile. I marched out waving and whistling a little tune.

  It wasn’t until I got to the elevators that I let my real thoughts show.

  Billions?

  If that was true, we were well and truly screwed over. Nothing I could do in the short term was going to save the situation.

  All the same, I had to try.

  The floor lit up under my feet in the passages, directing me with arrows to the barracks. I ignored them and went off in the opposite direction. Hopefully, no one would notice.

  A few minutes later, I reached the way-station, where troops were filing down from the revival chambers to the front lines in the space-factory.

  A centurion stopped me, putting his hand against my chest. He frowned up at me, and I frowned down at him.

  Recognition lit up my brain.

  “Centurion Manfred!” I said, greeting him with a hearty hello.

  He clapped my arm, but he didn’t stop frowning at me.

  “Uh…” I said. “Is there a problem, sir?”

  “You don’t have to sir me, McGill. Remember?”

  “Oh… right. What’s up?”

  He pointed at my head. “Your hair is still wet. You can’t go right back to the line, man. You should head to the officer’s mess and take an hour.”

  “I thought things were bad down there,” I said.

  “They are—but that’s all the more reason we need our officers clear-eyed and fully operating in the brain-pan.”

  As he said this, he tapped his temple with a gloved finger.

  “Um…” I said, looking around the chamber.

  There was lots of foot-traffic, and to be honest, I’d kind of hoped no one would notice me as I slipped through the way-station.

  One of these two active jump-gates led to Earth. It was easy to see which one it was, as heavy troops marched out of it periodically in squads of nine.

  The other gate was getting far more traffic. Everyone who’d died and been sent back to the front, plus all the Blood-Worlders, were marching through at a pretty steady rate. I wouldn’t call it a congo-line, but it was clear we were taking heavy losses and replacing them as fast as we could.

  None of these people, however, looked like they’d marched here straight from Blue Deck.

  I was trying to figure out what to say to Manfred, who was really cramping my style. But before I came up with anything good, my tapper began to buzz.

  I ignored the message, although it was marked urgent and blinked red. I pulled my sleeve over it while it continued to buzz.

  “Is that Primus Graves calling?” Manfred asked.

  “Nope,” I lied.

  “But that tone,” he said, frowning at me. “That’s a superior officer.”

  “Right,” I said. “Sometimes… well… ladies get concerned at moments like this.”

  Manfred looked baffled for a second—but then he caught on and gave a shout of laughter.

  Everyone glanced at us, and I forced a grin.

  Manfred took a step closer to me, and he lowered his voice.

  “So it’s true?” he said. “What they say about you and Turov? That you’re meeting her every night?”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation.”

  Shaking his head, he threw his arms wide. “How can I possibly give a man like you advice? Do what you’re gonna do, McGill. See you in Hell.”

  “Thank you, Centurion. I’m looking forward to it.”

  At last, he stopped pestering me and led a squad of fresh troops through the jump-gate that led back to the space-factory. I felt a pang to see him go. He was a brave man, and he didn’t deserve to die again today unnecessarily.

  That moment made up my mind for me. I turned away from the jump-gate that led back down to the space complex, and I approached the second one.

  “Hey!” a hand shot out and grabbed my bicep.

  I fought down an urge to put the man on his ass—he was only doing his job.

  “Veteran,” I said, nodding to him.

  Then I did a double-take. I knew the guy. It was Veteran Alders, the very man who’d tried to stop me from entering Galina’s quarters the day before.

  Smiling in recognition, I greeted him like he was a long lost brother.

  “Hey, Alders! You okay? I’m surprised you can talk with that fat lip.”

  His face fell into a deep scowl.

  “McGill,” he said, “there’s no way you’re going AWOL back to Earth. You can just get that idea right out of your head.”

  Two other men, thick arms crossed, came up to support him. They had their shock-rods out, but they hadn’t flipped them on. That was good, because I might have taken things the wrong way if they had.

  I kept a smile on my face. I’m good at that. Ask any of the women who’ve arranged a surprise party for me on a night I wanted to watch a ball game. I can smile all the way to the gallows and back again, if I have to.

  “Oh,” I said, “my bad. I’ll have you talk to the tribune, then.”

  So saying, I made a show of drawing back my sleeve to reveal my tapper. Red symbols blinked there, and the special tone that sounded when officers called their subordinates.

  “Um…” Alders said. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Sure I do!” I said. “It’s no trouble at all. She likes to talk to hogs—I mean veterans like you guys who are checking up on her special orders.”

  Alders showed me his teeth, but he looked worried all the same. The other two vets at his side were frowning now, stepping side-to-side like worried horses.

  “Just get the hell out of here,” Alders said at last. “It was because of you I drew this shitty post in the first place.”

  “Oh no! I’m real sorry about that. You want me to put in a good word—?”

  “No, no! Just disappear. Forget I talked to you at all.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Alders, but I accept.”’

  Then, before they could change their minds or notice it was actually Graves and Winslade trying to contact me, I stepped in between the gateway posts and vanished.

  -28-

  The jump-gate trip was a long one. Long enough so I could feel the alien machine breaking me down and assembling me again. Nostrum and Legion Varus were deployed way, way out there.

  It didn’t hurt, not exactly. It was more like a fluttering sensation that rippled through my guts.

  When I was whole again, I stood in a northern field. The land was green with a thick carpet of grass, and the soil was black and wet beneath it.

  I almost doubled over with that freaky sensation in my guts fluttering and bubbling—and events didn’t give me time to recover.

  A squadron of heavy troopers was marching right toward me, single-file. Not being too bright, and being the type that followed orders to the letter, they marched right into my face without breaking stride.

  I dove to the left, rolling off the platform and onto the grass. Getting up and brushing myself off, I looked up at Earth’s bright yellow sun. Even up north, here in Nova Scotia, our star was brighter than the one I’d left behind.

  Despite the unpleasant welcome, I felt glad to be back. Right off, I knew I liked Earth best. The Mogwa might call my planet a backward dirt-hole, lacking in refinement in every possible way—but she would always be home to me.

  While I was brushing myself off and adjusting my kit, I sensed the approach of another squad of large beings.

  Looking around, I saw a trio of lanky slavers approaching. They had that dumb-but-mean stare on their faces.

  The slavers surrounded me on that grassy hill. They could talk, but they usually didn’t bother. Today was no exception to that rule. They stared at me like a bug on a dinner plate—a bug they didn’t like, but which they didn’t quite have the guts to squish.

  “Gentlemen,” I said, looking up at the slavers. “I’m Adjunct James McGill, a human officer in Legion Varus. I’m here to talk to your commander.”

  Without a word, they formed up a triangle around me. I felt like a little kid being surrounded by football players. With hardly any daylight between them, they began to march. I marched with them—it was that or be walked over and trampled.

  Blood Worlders didn’t talk much as a group. The really big ones, the giants, lacked the capacity to speak more than a few dozen words. They were more into taking orders than giving them. Once these guys had been given a task, they followed it unswervingly until they died or succeeded. They were born and bred to be that way.

  The slavers didn’t lay hands on me, and I was glad for that. Sometimes, I got angry when I was handled improperly, and bad things happened. Luckily for all of us, they merely used this herding-technique of theirs to walk me to a command post.

  The tent flaps were drawn wide. The tent itself was impressive, looking more like something that belonged in a circus than the great outdoors.

  The front man of the slaver trio stepped aside, allowing me to walk inside. I did so, thanking them for serving as guides.

  Their faces registered nothing. Not even confusion. Just a blank.

  “You boys are fresh from Blood World, aren’t you?” I asked, laughing. “I can tell you just got here.”

  Inside the tent, another large figure sat at a folding desk. This being was just as big as the heavy troopers, but he had a very different configuration of limbs.

  “A Cephalopod?” I asked in surprise.

  “I am Sub-Centurion Bubble,” he said in a deadly-serious tone.

  My mouth twitched, but I sensed it wasn’t the time to bust out laughing, so I contained myself. Cephalopods were usually named after some property of water, and this squid was no exception to that rule.

  “A sub-centurion, huh?” I asked. “Tell me, as a human adjunct, am I expected to salute you?”

  The squid look startled at this suggestion. His numerous eyes widened in unison.

  “Certainly not. That would be improper. I’m a sub-centurion, meaning a leader among slaves.”

  “Right…” I said. “Good then, here’s what I need you to do for me, Bubbles—”

  “It’s Bubble,” he interrupted, “the singular form.”

  “Yeah, well… forgive me if I get it wrong.”

  Bubble ruffled himself.

  “There’s no need for a human to ask forgiveness from a slave-commander,” he said in a formal tone. “However, although I serve humans, it’s not you in particular I serve. I’m concerned that you’re not a legitimate authority here as you’re not assigned to this post.”

  “Ah… so you’re a stickler, huh?” I asked. “Tell me, squid, have you heard of Praetor Drusus?”

  “Of course. He governs the defense of Earth.”

  “That’s him. Now, he’s the man I need to talk to. He’s the man I answer to directly, when everything is said and done.”

  The squid looked confused and wary. “Is this an attempt to get me to damage myself?”

  “What?”

  “My reputation. If I forward your request, I may be in error. That will lower my status, possibly making me lose my sub-centurion rank.”

  “On the other hand,” I said, “if I am an acting agent working for Drusus, and you delay my urgent message from the front lines, you’ll be in big trouble. They’ll boil you in your own ink back at Central.”

  The squid looked alarmed all over again. I knew a thing or two about squids, having dealt with them for years. They really had boiled each other in ink, back in the old days when they were running their own empire.

  “There’s no reason to resort to threats,” Bubble said.

  “No? Good. Now, contact Drusus for me.”

  The squid hesitated further. His tentacles squirmed around indecisively. “Why can’t you use your tapper to place this call?”

  “I’m a secret agent. I need help. There are enemies of the state after me, and I require your assistance. Are you refusing to render aid?”

  “No…” he said, and he began working his tapper at last.

  The real reason I didn’t use my tapper was a practical one. Hegemony tracked all humans via their tappers. According to the Central’s datacore, I’d been assigned to a post on Dark World. Accessing the net and placing calls would set off alarm bells, and very possibly it would result in my arrest by less than friendly folks.