“What bargain…? Oh yes, of course.” He gave me a wicked smile. “Your lady-friend. I must say, McGill, your libido gets you into the most unpleasant of scrapes.”

  “Thanks for the constructive criticism, sir.”

  He snorted and made brushing-off gestures with his hand. “You’ll find her languishing in the brig. I’ll send word down that you’re allowed to visit.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I turned to go, but he called me back.

  “McGill… what do you think Drusus meant by ‘strings attached’?”

  “Huh? Oh… that. I don’t rightly know, sir,” I lied. All kinds of bureaucratic nightmares and officer replacement strategies came unbidden to my mind. To conceal these thoughts, I kept an idiot’s grin on my face.

  This seemed to work. He made that brushing-off gesture again, and I left.

  Down in the brig, I was allowed to meet with Abigail at last. She was in manacles, and the sour-faced guards didn’t seem to trust either of us. They whispered rude things and stared. This began to piss me off after a while.

  Since they were watching and listening to us, I couldn’t do more than engage in small talk. After a few minutes, I realized I had to get rid of the guards before we could discuss anything important.

  “Hold on just a second, Abigail, please?”

  “Certainly, McGill. I’ve got all time in the world.”

  Lifting my tapper to my face, I spoke into it in an overly loud voice. “That’s right, Tribune, sir. I’m right here with her now, and she’s got quite a tale to tell.”

  For a moment, I pretended to listen to Winslade, even though my tapper was blank. “No sir, I don’t think they’ve touched her—not yet. But she could be covering that up. It’s for certain they watch her pee, and all kinds of other indignities, just as we suspected.”

  My eyes glanced up to Abigail, who was looking mildly surprised.

  “Isn’t that right, Miss?”

  Abigail was no dummy. She caught on to what I was doing right away. That was a good thing, because I couldn’t very well get a single private word in edgewise with the guards hanging around.

  “Um…” she said. “I suppose that describes the problem.”

  “Hmm…” I said sternly. “Sounds like you’re covering up. This investigation needs to be widened to include—”

  Right then, the prison duty-chief came near. His badge said his name was Thayer. “Um… Centurion?”

  “What’s that, Chief? Anything you’d like to say up front?”

  “Did you say something about an investigation?”

  I gave Thayer a stern look. “Are you interfering with an official matter? I’ll have to make a note of that.”

  Tilting my tapper toward my eyes, I began working it. The thing was indeed flashing with angry messages from irritated superior officers—it always was—so I pretended to make a note.

  Duty Chief Thayer went from curious to worried in a matter of seconds. “Wait, wait,” he said. “We want to cooperate in every way possible. There’s been no mention of an investigation—and no need for one, either.”

  I put on a flat, fake smile. “I’m hearing a new spirit of cooperation, Thayer. Is that right?”

  “Absolutely, sir. What will make this go smoothly?”

  “Just let me interview the witness in privacy and in peace. No snarky guards, who’ve been threatening the witness in an obvious fashion. No spy devices, either.”

  Thayer’s eyes flicked around the interrogation chamber. He looked worried again. “We’re required by Hegemony law to record what goes on in here, sir.”

  “Video is all right. But no audio—and I’ll run a sweep if I need to, be assured of that!”

  “Not necessary! We’ll let you talk to the prisoner in peace, Centurion.”

  The duty-chief exited the cell, slamming it behind him. Even through the steel door, I could hear him shouting out in the passageway. His two comedian guards were getting an earful.

  Turning back to Abigail, I found her gazing at me with an odd mixture of curiosity and amusement. “That was quite a performance, McGill.”

  “Call me James. Now, shall we get down to business?”

  She frowned and looked around. “Aren’t you going to do your spy-sweep?”

  Naturally, I had no such equipment. I was mildly surprised that she thought I did. It was testament to the fact she really didn’t know me all that well yet.

  “Already did it,” I declared. “And don’t worry, they’ll be erasing every record they have with your name on it right about now—just in case something looks bad.”

  Abigail squinted at me. “You turned a bureaucracy against itself in about thirty seconds flat. I stand impressed. My brothers have misjudged you—as have I.”

  “Uh… maybe. But let’s get to business before they check out my story and come back, shall we?”

  “Get to business? What are you suggesting?”

  There it was again. She was making eyes at me, like I was going to grab her and ravage her on the spot. I had to remind myself that this woman was as tricky as any I’d ever met up with. Maybe even trickier than I was.

  “Look,” I began, “I need to know some things. You led me out there to that Skay husk, but you died there. Now here you are, languishing in a ship’s brig. That doesn’t add up in my book. You’ve arranged things, step by step, to lead me out here. What I want to know is why?”

  She shrugged. “You already know. We’re working to change the course of our race. To change the way Clavers interact with the rest of humanity. To make amends, we’re starting off with a gift. Isn’t that the custom between two tribes that have been at war?”

  I blinked a few times, trying to absorb that. “You wanted to lead us to this discovery—the personal armor, I mean—so we’ll trust you? So Hegemony will deal with you again as traders?”

  “That’s right. That’s all we want.”

  “Huh…”

  We talked a bit more, but that was the important part. The rest of the time she said cryptic things and flirted. At last, I saw an eyeball in the porthole behind me. It looked like Duty-Chief Thayer had finally grown a pair.

  Standing up, I nodded to Abigail. “Good to see you alive and well again. I’ll see what I can do to get you out of here.”

  “Thanks… James.”

  Was that the first time she’d called me by my first name? I wasn’t sure, but I thought it probably was.

  “Just one more thing,” I said. “Did you die out there on that dead Skay on purpose? Just to get our attention—just to get my sympathy?”

  She smiled faintly and looked at her hands. “What do you think, James?”

  Snorting, I laughed and walked out of the brig. After thinking it over carefully, I went to see Natasha.

  She’d been working on hacking deep-link messages for days now, whenever she wasn’t face down in the mud of Glass World. She still hadn’t managed that, but she had gotten access to the deep-link system. She figured that decoding the messages would have to wait, it would take a serious computer like those back home at Central.

  Natasha seemed disappointed, but just being able to gain access to the equipment was good enough for me. With a little bit of cajoling, followed by some serious hacking, I got her to send an anonymous text to Drusus back at Central. She had to secretly use the deep-link for that. We sent it without a trace-back so no one would know who’d sent it. Using that kind of gear without authorization was something that could have landed us in a cell on the same row as Abigail’s.

  But the message got through to Earth, and that was all that mattered.

  -43-

  The next day, we were still busy printing out new Legionnaires. We didn’t have enough of us yet to land on Glass World, so it became an unofficial day-off for everyone except those poor bastards working on Blue Deck.

  I was in the middle of a fine breakfast when the ship’s crew in the mess hall became agitated. They all seemed to get a tapper-call at the same time. Bounding up like jackrabbits that had sat on a hornet’s nest, they all began scrambling for the exits.

  Frowning, I checked my own tapper. There were plenty of red messages, but they were all old ones I’d decided to ignore. Touching the update button so it only displayed messages from the last hour, the screen became as smooth and unblemished as a stripper’s butt.

  What could be upsetting the crew so much? Whenever there was an emergency, they usually contacted old McGill first.

  One slacker was running by me at the rear of the herd, still chewing his breakfast. Instantly, I snaked out a long, long leg with a size-thirteen boot on the end of it.

  Purely by accident, I’ll swear that to my grave and back again, I hooked the last jackrabbit in the room and brought him down. The ensign went sprawling, so I helpfully snagged his arm and set him back on his feet.

  “Damn!” I said, “I’m awfully sorry about that. Is your chin bleeding?”

  “It’s all right. I’ve got to go, Centurion.”

  “Sure, sure,” I said, giving him a smile. My big hands didn’t let go of his uniform quite yet, however. “Just answer me one thing: what’s the big hurry about?”

  “Haven’t you heard? The praetor’s aboard. He’s brought a whole posse of brass with him, too. I guess it’s a surprise inspection. We’ve all been ordered to our duty stations. We’re supposed to shine up the whole damned ship.”

  “Ah…” I said, and I let him go.

  Ambling out of the mess hall, I headed toward Gold Deck. I was supposed to go to a cohort-wide officers’ meeting on Green Deck—which was going to be mighty thinly attended, as most of 3rd Cohort’s officers were still dead—but that could wait. The scene upstairs in the command sector promised to be much more interesting today.

  When I reached the big pressure doors guarding Gold Deck, I met up with some mild resistance.

  “Centurion? Excuse me, sir? Do you have orders to attend—?”

  The security puke kept talking, but he was talking to my back. I nodded and waved and smiled as I passed him. He looked hurried and upset anyway, so I figured he couldn’t be bothered to mess with a centurion.

  Unfortunately, my bluster didn’t quite work. A hand landed on my collar. I turned around with half a mind to flatten him.

  “I’m sorry sir,” he said. “We’ve got a very important guest today.”

  “I know all about that. Why do you think I’m up here?”

  It used to be a few MPs would be stationed at the command deck exits, and getting past them was relatively easy. These Fleet pukes were different. They weren’t part of Legion Varus. Because I was a member of a mercenary legion, they didn’t have much more respect for my rank than would any hog running around back home at Central.

  All of these new layers of policing were nothing but nine kinds of irritation to me. Looking around, I saw just the person I needed to help me out. It was Duty-Chief Thayer from the brig. He was probably in charge of tightening security ship-wide.

  Stepping up to the security man, I dragged the little guy who’d stopped me along for the ride. I did this as if I didn’t even feel the grip he had on my bicep, or the chattering he was doing about regulations and such-like.

  “Chief!” I called out. “Could you explain something to this man of yours?”

  Thayer wheeled and his eyes widened with alarm when he saw me. That was a good thing, as it meant he’d never figured out my investigation story was all bullshit. He still had the yellow gleam of fear in his ratty eyes.

  “McGill…? What’s the problem?”

  I jabbed a thumb at the security man who still had one hand—rather pointlessly, I might add—latched onto my arm.

  “Could you tell this man I’m part of an approved investigation? That interfering with my duties could be construed as obstruction of justice?”

  The chief showed his teeth, and he quickly turned on his subordinate. The poor man was abusively told to let go and leave his betters alone.

  That made me smile. I was finally being dealt with in a respectful manner. A few moments later, I was striding around Gold Deck like I owned the place.

  Naturally, I took care to avoid the real brass. They looked stern and many of them knew me. They had no more respect for a sneaky centurion than they did for the stuff they scraped from their shoes after mowing the lawn.

  My luck held until I reached the banquet room. Apparently, that was where a big meeting was to be held.

  Now, it needs to be said that when a banquet is being held—pretty much anywhere—old McGill was very likely to attend. Sure, I’d just eaten two plates at breakfast, but that was light fare. Eggs, bacon, flapjacks and fruit. That stuff went right through a man by lunchtime, and it was almost ten… Close enough, anyway.

  A sumptuous brunch was laid out. There were omelets on special order, seafood caught yesterday and brought through the gateway from Earth, and even a hunk of roast beef you could just see had been cooked to perfection. Damnation, the officers sure ate well when the brass came calling!

  “McGill?” a voice I’d hoped not to hear today asked from behind me. It was Winslade, and he really did seem baffled to see me.

  Turning with my heaping plate balanced on one big hand, I gave him a nod and a smile. “Hello sir, very nice of the captain to welcome Drusus in such a fine fashion, don’t you think?”

  Winslade’s ferrety eyes drew tight. He put his hands on his hips and sneered at me. “Sneaking in where you aren’t invited to steal food again, eh? I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

  I feigned shock. “Sneaking in? Sir, that’s a damned lie! I was invited. Wasn’t I on hand during the deep-link call that kicked-off this visit?”

  Winslade shook his head. “Stay in the back, try to hide your absurdly large body, and above all, stay silent. I haven’t got time to throw you out.”

  He stalked off, and I felt pretty damned good. I headed to the dessert trays and picked out a few items for later.

  Just then, Drusus arrived. He had a posse in tow, just like the ensign kid had said. Checking carefully, I noted that they were all underlings and Wurtenberger wasn’t among them. That was a very good thing, as Wurtenburger seemed to be sweet on Winslade lately. Maybe that was why Winslade had let me skate—he wasn’t certain of his position.

  Making haste, I moved to the back of the room and hunkered over my food like a lion protecting its kill. People started making speeches, but I was eating, so I didn’t hear much of it.

  At one point, however, Drusus turned to one of his guests. I hadn’t noticed her before, somehow. Maybe that was because she’d stayed seated the entire time—after all, she was gravity-bolted to her chair.

  The prisoner was Abigail. She looked dressed up and scrubbed—but I’d know those deceptively soulful eyes anywhere.

  -44-

  Abigail wasn’t wearing an evening gown or anything, but she wasn’t in her prison-jumper either. She was wearing civvies, standard fare for a businesswoman on the street.

  My jaws stopped clacking and grinding, to the relief of those who shared my table.

  “Is she pretty to you?” I asked the guy next to me.

  He frowned at me. “What? I don’t know… I guess so. She’s got kind of a sexy look.” He looked down then, almost embarrassed. I’d gotten an honest answer out of him—maybe that was part of Abigail’s power. She tended to make you want to speak the truth. There were worse gifts, I supposed.

  “Officers of this warship and Legion Varus,” Abigail began. “I’m here to offer you a way out of your predicament.”

  People frowned and glanced at one another. To our way of thinking, we’d pretty much won this campaign. It was almost time to go home after we mopped up on Glass World.

  “You have captured the planet and a mining center. That’s excellent news,” she continued. “Unfortunately, you’ll find all the suits of armor stored here will only fit your children. To retune the plant, to retool it to forge material that will fit your larger dimensions, you’ll have to—”

  Drusus cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Abigail,” he said. “I brought you up from the brig as you said you had critical information concerning securing a victory here at Glass World. It sounds to me as if you’re trying to make a sales pitch instead. We aren’t interested in trade deals. We’ve all but conquered this planet.”

  She looked at him, and she didn’t look upset or even flustered. “Praetor Drusus, you’re misinformed. The prize here isn’t the planet. It isn’t even the mine. It’s the processing center. The technology it takes to transform stardust into wearable armor—will you concede that your people have no idea how to do that?”

  There was some general muttering around the room, but no one argued. Some of the posse Drusus had brought with him were Rogue Worlders. Scientist types who were almost autistic. If they’d heard a word out of place, they wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet.

  “Very well,” Abigail continued. “As I was saying, you’ve exterminated the defenders of the mine—but you haven’t even located the processing center yet. You must capture that and learn how it operates before you can call this campaign finished.”

  The group began to frown collectively—but not me. I was too busy with dessert. They were serving tarts—little cakes with a fruity glaze on top. Done right, that kind of thing really puts a finisher on a man’s meal.

  “Where is this… processing center?” Drusus asked.

  Abigail smiled. I knew that smile. She had old Drusus by the short ones—or at least she thought she did.

  “In return for this critical information, my people would like to enter into a mutually beneficial contract with Earth.”

  Winslade stood up suddenly, as did several indignant others.

  “Never!” he shouted. “We just fought a war with your kind, and we’re not going to trust you again so easily.”

  Abigail shook her head. “So little do you understand... Firstly, the war is over. My people are beaten and in retreat. There are only a few legions of us left.”

  “One legion of clones is too damned many!” someone called out. I wasn’t sure who, but Drusus shushed them.