Holy shit.

  “What about you?” I asked Winslade. “Do you think you’ll be promoted to take over the legion?”

  Winslade was a primus, one step below a tribune. He was junior to just about everyone, but when promotions were handed out, they didn’t always go by seniority. In fact, it was my impression Hegemony actively avoided that traditional approach.

  Winslade looked at me sourly. I could tell that he suspected I was teasing him.

  “Don’t you think, McGill,” he said in an acidic tone, “that if I were involved in this shuffle toward the top, I’d be up there on stage smirking with the rest of those ingrates?”

  “Hmm…” I said, having to concede his point.

  “Let us come back to order,” Drusus announced.

  We all instantly fell silent. The hall had been buzzing with speculation, and we all wanted to know what this was about.

  “I’ve held back only the members of Varus because my first decisions as a newly-minted praetor directly affect you.”

  I nudged Winslade and gave him a half-smile. He scowled back. He was no optimist.

  Deciding to stop bothering him, I took a step back. Maybe he was right. Maybe he was being left without a chair when the music stopped today.

  “To that end,” Drusus continued, “I wish to make two announcements. These decisions have been carefully considered by myself, and others. But since you are all personally involved, I’m going to call for motions of support from the body of officers who run this legion.”

  Graves frowned at that. I knew he didn’t like anything that smacked of a decision made by a committee. To his mind, when you were in command, you ordered people around and that was that.

  Winslade, on the other hand, perked up and took a step forward. He looked like a dog that had spotted a pork chop.

  Why? I wasn’t quite certain yet, but I was on my guard.

  “The first change will involve Tribune Deech,” Drusus announced. “By all accounts, she’s performed admirably in service of Varus. Accordingly, I’m planning to promote her to the rank of imperator. Who here supports this promotion?”

  Winslade went berserk. It wasn’t like him, but that small body of his cheered and waved. A few others raised their hands. Graves frowned, disapproving of the entire affair. He stood as motionless as a stone.

  But Winslade—what was on that weasel’s mind?

  It struck me what was really going on. Oftentimes, management in any organization made tough decisions and desired support from those affected. Disapproval wasn’t going to change anything in such a situation, other than getting the brass to dislike you.

  Loud approval, on the other hand, was an opportunity for bottom-feeders like Winslade and I.

  That’s why Winslade was acting like a dog in heat, he was cheering in hopes of gaining favor.

  Two could play at that game. My support could only make Drusus and Deech happier with me. Lord knew that I could use some support from the brass now and then. I usually spent my life pissing them off.

  My own hand shot up. My mouth opened as well. “I support the motion, Praetor!” I shouted. “Deech deserves it!”

  Drusus smiled briefly. He nodded to me, then to Winslade and a few others. Deech smiled at us as well. How could they not like vocal support for decisions they’d already made?

  It did occur to me that I was following Winslade’s slippery example, but it was hard to fault his tactics. To me, cheering on a decision that was a done deal couldn’t hurt, especially as I didn’t disagree with it on principle. Deech should make a decent Hegemony Imperator.

  “Excellent,” Drusus said. “I’ll accept this response as a motion carried. Thank you for your support.”

  Deech stepped up to center stage, and she beamed down at us. I could tell she was really, really happy. She’d never enjoyed commanding our legion of misfits. Now, she had finally moved up into the ranks of Hegemony brass.

  “I feel like she’s stamped our foreheads with her boot heel,” Graves complained.

  This made me laugh quietly. It wasn’t like Graves to talk like that—but he was right, of course. She’d started out in Iron Eagles originally. She’d taken the post as the leader of Varus so she could get some creds in the battlefield.

  After dirtying her hands on Blood World, she’d gotten the valor she’d wanted. Now, she was advancing right back out of Varus, which was lovingly referred to as a “shit-outfit” by members of the more prestigious legions.

  “My next decision took more deliberation,” Drusus went on. “I’ll again ask for support from those affected.”

  We all fell silent, curious. Most people had their eyes on Imperator Turov.

  For her own part, Galina was playing it cool. She had on her usual too-tight uniform and non-regulation boots to give her a few centimeters of needed height. Was her make-up a little heavier than usual today? I thought that it was.

  “Legion Varus needs a new tribune,” Drusus said.

  Galina’s eyes flicked to him in surprise. She recovered quickly, but I knew then she’d been expecting to be given the rank of equestrian next.

  Everybody got quiet in the room, as we all wanted to hear who our next tribune would be.

  Galina didn’t much care. I could see that right off. She was worried about her own rank. I watched as her gaze moved to land on Deech. There, her expression soured.

  She’d clapped politely when Drusus had moved up Deech, but now things had shifted. If Galina herself wasn’t moving up, these two women would have the same rank and both be left serving in Central together. That could get sticky.

  Suddenly, the whole crowd gasped collectively. I realized Drusus was talking again, and I’d missed it. Sometimes, it seems like I can’t listen and think at the same time.

  “What did he say?” I asked.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Graves mouthed.

  “I don’t believe it,” Winslade hissed. “That prick!”

  Looking around, I spotted Galina again. She was on her feet.

  Her face was white. She looked like her execution had just been announced.

  My mouth fell open, and I began to catch on.

  “Step up, Turov,” Drusus ordered. “Join me, please.”

  She did so, swaying only slightly. She had to be in shock.

  “Legion Varus, I present to you your new leader: Galina Turov.”

  A few people tapped their hands together, but it was less than half-hearted. Everyone was in a flat-out state of shock.

  “Now, I know this decision might seem to be an odd one,” Drusus said. “But these are unusual times. Turov has served for years here, flying a desk in Central. We’ve decided to give her a chance to gain more field experience. Her command skills will no longer be wasted in an office.”

  It was still crickets. A few dared to mutter comments, but these weren’t audible to me. No one seemed happy.

  “Legion Varus is our best,” Drusus said firmly. “No matter what others say about this organization, you take on the hard jobs. The work that no one else wants to do. That, in my mind, makes Varus a legion of heroes.”

  There was scattered applause at that. Graves and I joined in, but Winslade stood with his shoulders slumping, the very picture of dejection.

  “Who here,” Drusus asked, “who support’s your new leader?”

  For a long time—maybe two whole seconds—no one moved. No one clapped. No one cheered. In fact, the only person in the whole room who appeared to be happy was Imperator Deech. She was smiling quietly from the back of the stage. Today was her day, that was for sure.

  Then, perhaps feeling the pressure, a scattered group began to bang their hands together. This went on for a few seconds, but it died quickly.

  “Excellent,” Drusus said, as if we’d all roared approval, “I thank you for your support. Finally, before we eat, there is a last parliamentary requirement.”

  He looked at Turov. She looked like a drowned cat. If I hadn’t known how many plots, murders, and general acts of skullduggery she’d been involved in, I’d have felt sorry for her. As it was, I felt a pang. An honest pang.

  “Galina Turov,” Drusus said in a stern tone, “according to the military bylaws written by the Ruling Council, the highest rank that can serve as a legion commander is that of tribune. Accordingly, I’m going to have to temporarily demote you to that rank. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice sibilant and little bit hissy. “I understand perfectly, Drusus.”

  Drusus cleared his throat. She’d neglected to use his rank or call him sir. That was a public slight—but I could tell he’d decided to let it go.

  “Very well then. Legion Varus, let me introduce to you someone you know very well. A true champion of the downtrodden: Tribune Galina Turov!”

  Again, his words were met with mediocre applause.

  “That’s it, troops!” he shouted. “Let’s eat!”

  That was the cue I’d been waiting for. Sensing things were wrapping up, I’d used these final moments to maneuver closer to the buffet. I already had two plates in fact, one in each hand.

  If I have one singular talent in this world, it’s being first in line for chow. Accordingly, I was duel-wielding my plates before the brass could even get their butts off the stage.

  -2-

  Someone cleared her throat behind me. I didn’t even look to see who it was. There was a flu bug going around, and it might have been anyone.

  “McGill!” Turov barked a moment later.

  I glanced back. A delegation of brass stood with her.

  Suddenly, the light went on inside my fridge. The brass was supposed to eat first, as they were the honored guests.

  My suspicion was confirmed by the congo-line of respectful others who stood off to my right, at the end of the long table of food. They each held a plate. A single, empty plate.

  “Uh… here you are, sirs,” I said, handing one of my plates to Turov and one to Deech. “Ladies first!”

  Neither one of them looked too impressed, but they took the plates.

  “A nice gesture, McGill,” Drusus said. “Perhaps you’d like to join us at our table?”

  My eyes flicked to Deech, then Turov. Neither one of them gave me a shake of the head, so I shrugged.

  “Sure!” I said, and I followed Drusus closely. A moment later, I was scooping again at the buffet.

  Every other officer politely waited behind us in that long, long line, but not me. I was stuck to Drusus like glue. It gave me the perfect excuse to glom two additional plates of fresh chow.

  Drusus watched me shovel and scoop with alarm.

  “Are you filling two plates for someone else again, McGill?”

  “Uh…” I said. “That is my usual excuse,” I admitted. “But the truth is, when a man reaches two meters in height… well sir, he gets kind of hungry.”

  Drusus laughed. He was in a great mood.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “Carry on!”

  We soon found ourselves back at the head table, just the four of us. Deech was smug, Drusus was beaming—but Turov? She looked like we’d all taken turns running over her puppies.

  “What we need here is a fine bottle of wine,” Drusus said, and he signaled the waiters.

  Soon we had full glasses, and soon after that, full bellies.

  Drusus and I did, that is. Deech ate sparingly, and Turov barely touched her roast duck.

  Now, as a matter of public record, I’m a big fan of duck.

  “Uh… Tribune?” I asked.

  It took a second for Galina to realize I was addressing her. Less than an hour earlier, she’d been an imperator, and Deech had been the lowly tribune. Now, the roles were reversed. It occurred to me that I might be the first person to address her at her new rank.

  She gave me a venomous glance. “What, McGill?”

  “Uh… I was just wondering if you were going to finish that fine plate of duck, sir. I really like duck, see—”

  She didn’t throw it at me. I’ll give her that much. But she did shove her plate in my direction with a forceful gesture that could only be called rude.

  I took this good-naturedly, chalking it up to a bad day on her part, and wolfed it all down.

  Satisfied at last, I tuned into the quiet talk the three of them were having. It’s hard to listen-in when you’re hungry, I always say. But at this point I was three plates into dinner. I’d stuffed myself.

  “I can’t thank you enough for the confidence you’ve placed in me, Praetor,” Deech said. “I hope I don’t let you down.”

  “You won’t,” Drusus replied. “I’ve reviewed your record carefully. You’re an officer who gets things done by the book. I need that, especially here at Central.”

  Turov crossed her arms. She was giving Deech the death-stare, but Deech seemed immune.

  “Shall we talk policy?” Deech asked brightly. “I feel I shouldn’t waste this opportunity to talk in a casual setting.”

  “Excuse me, Praetor,” Turov interrupted. “Perhaps it would be best that I withdraw. I’ve got an entire legion to manage… suddenly.”

  Drusus looked at her. “That’s why I wanted you all here. There must be some planning sessions. Personnel discussions. For example, who’s been on your watch-list for promotion within Varus, Imperator? The new tribune taking your place needs to know.”

  The two women glanced at each other. Turov’s expression left no room for misinterpretation. She was filled with seething hate right now.

  Deech sniffed. “I must confess, I’ve been blindsided by this change. I haven’t worked up a detailed transition plan. Perhaps over the following days—”

  “Good idea,” Turov interrupted. “We’ll meet later when you’re ready. Now, if you don’t mind, sir? I’d like to go meet with my top people. Many of them are here right now.”

  “All right,” Drusus said.

  Turov stood up like her butt was on fire, but Drusus lifted a hand to stop her from running off.

  “Before you go, I think you should know that a new mission contract has been signed for Legion Varus.”

  Turov’s eyes widened. Instantly, she flicked her gaze toward Deech. If it was possible—which I doubted—she looked even more pissed than before.

  “A new mission? Let me guess, I’m flying off to some hellish rock to watch my troops die in pits of steaming offal. Am I close?”

  “Something like that, I’m afraid,” Drusus admitted. “The target planet is… well… unpleasant.”

  “What else would it be?” Turov said with a small, bitter laugh.

  “Yes, well...” Deech said, finally joining the talk. She showed some emotion herself. “Be assured, Tribune, that Legion Varus is up to the task. I’ve come to admire these soldiers. They’re far from elite—they’re not even regulation troops. But what they lack in self-control, they more than make up for in toughness of mind and spirit.”

  This surprised me. Never, in all my years of experience under Deech’s thumb, had I heard words of praise for my beloved legion. It had taken this promotion, I guess, for her to see the bright side of the outfit she was leaving behind.

  “Don’t forget that I’ve served with Varus in the past,” Turov growled. “I know all about them. May I retire now, Praetor?”

  Drusus sighed, and he nodded. He appeared to have given up on smoothing things over. I could have told him you couldn’t put two cats in a bag with one mouse and hope everyone would come out happy. It just didn’t work that way.

  “McGill,” he said, turning to me, “are you finished as well?”

  “Uh…” I said, glancing wistfully at the dessert trays. “Sure, Praetor. I’m full enough. Do you want to discuss things in private with Imperator Deech? I’d understand.”

  “Not just that. I’d like you to go talk to Galina, if you would. I didn’t want this to seem like a demotion. Like an insult. I sense she might have taken it that way.”

  “You don’t say?” I asked, blinking. “Um… what am I supposed to tell her, sir?”

  “You two have known one another for decades. Welcome her back to her home.

  Tell her Varus is glad to have her. Let her know she’ll do well commanding a field unit again.”

  I didn’t know any such thing. Deech was better than Turov in every way except for appearance. On the personality side, they were about even. As far as knowing how to lead a legion to victory—Turov was a disaster.

  The rest of the troops in Varus would all agree with me, I was certain. They were going to be horrified when they learned about this change at the top.

  But none of that was what Drusus wanted to hear, so I forced a smile.

  “I’ll talk to her, sir,” I said. “She’ll be full of sunshine by morning!”

  Deech snorted a little, but Drusus nodded, dismissing me with a wave.

  Walking out of the hall, I paused only long enough to snag a half-dozen pastries. Popping them in my mouth rapidly, I followed Galina’s trail.

  Along the passages, noncom hogs had been posted as guards. I asked them where she’d gone, and every one of them was able to point the way.

  That wasn’t a surprise. Galina looked like a college cheerleader due to her insistence on not updating her body-scans. Whenever she died, she reverted back to the state that she’d stored carefully on the day she’d signed up with the legions.

  Sometimes, she grew to be mid-twenties, but then she’d manage to get herself killed again somehow—not a hard thing to do in the legions. Then, she’d pop back out looking like she belonged in a freshman dorm somewhere.

  I caught up to her in an elevator lobby. She heard me coming, and she glowered with a mix of suspicion and paranoia.

  “Come to gloat?” she asked.

  “Uh… no sir. Quite the opposite! I’m here to tell you that all Legion Varus—”

  “Stick it up your ass, McGill,” she said. “Go back to Drusus and tell him I’m fine. I’m as happy as a pig in shit—Varus, that is.”

  “Uh…”

  Next, a thought seemed to occur to her. She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. It was a calculating look. One I’ve seen far too often.

  “Wait a moment…” she said. “I’m sensing a connection here. I was taken by surprise today—that almost never happens. It takes more than Drusus, more than the straight-laced likes of Deech to pull off something like this. It takes a coordinated team.”