“Listen, please,” Drusus said. “No decisions have been made yet. We’re going to hear her out, that’s all.”

  “Thank you, Praetor,” Abigail said. “Friends… we’re a beaten people. We’re a splinter colony of Earth, no longer a rival to your planet. Think of us as you might the people from Dust World or Blood World—any of the planets where humans that vary genetically and functionally from Earth reside. Let’s put aside our mutual distrust and recognize we’re all one people underneath. In short, let’s trade again.”

  If it came to a vote, I’d say the general consensus would have been a powerful “no way” from the crowd. But this was a military organization, not a democracy or a tribunal. Drusus had the power to make the decision unilaterally.

  Wisely, Abigail looked at Drusus and no one else. I felt good about that, because she was at least being allowed to make her case. I’d promised her she would be given that opportunity, and I’d come through, no matter how this ended.

  Drusus looked down. He seemed to be mulling things over. At last, he looked up and shook his head.

  “I’m sorry. We can’t go from a state of war to trading partners in a single step. The reaction of all Earthlings will be as you’ve seen here. Give me the information you’ve held back until this point, and I’ll let you go home. I’ll even order a cessation of all hostilities between our two… ah… factions, let’s call them. There will be peace again. Perhaps in time, trade will follow once trust is reestablished.”

  Abigail chewed her lip. “I need more than that. I need a clear win. In order to shift the mindset of my people, I can’t take home a half-measure. They won’t follow me if I try that.”

  “Hmm…” Drusus said. “Are you saying you won’t tell us where this processing center is?”

  “I can’t. It’s the only bargaining chip I have.”

  Drusus stood up suddenly and sighed. “Very well.” He turned to the guards, who were malingering in the area. “Take this prisoner back to the brig, and execute her. We’ll find the processing center by ourselves.”

  The room erupted at this announcement. Some clapped, some whistled, some booed. There was a lot of loud talking, and it was anything but decorous behavior.

  Abigail looked shocked. She stared at Drusus for a moment, making sure he was in earnest—I could have told her he was.

  Next, her eyes sought me out. She found me in an instant, as I was standing tall with the rest of the excited crowd—only taller.

  “James?” she called—then the gravity bolt was released, and she was dragged away by a pack of those security goons. They seemed kind of pleased with themselves. Maybe, to their minds, this meant there would be an end to the imaginary investigation concerning her treatment.

  Holy shit. I could hardly believe what I’d seen. Wading forward, I pushed my way through the crowd.

  Drusus caught sight of me coming. He did a double-take, then he looked slightly disgusted. “McGill…? I hope you enjoyed brunch.”

  “I did indeed, sir. But my stomach has soured. Are you really going to kill that girl just because she hasn’t told you everything she knows?”

  “She misled us. Her information was critically incomplete, and now she wants to use that as a bargaining chip. Unfortunately, her kind can’t be trusted.”

  “Clavers always keep a bargain. Besides, if she had told you everything, she’d have gotten nothing for it, right?”

  “She has bought peace. Isn’t that good enough? Why are you so interested, anyway? I got that mysterious text from you about this trade deal offer over the deep-link—a misuse of government property, by the way—which is why I decided to come and deliver the bad news in person.”

  “Uh… a text, sir? Wasn’t me, I swear it. I don’t even like texting.”

  Drusus looked like he didn’t believe me, but he decided not to make an issue of it. “In any case, I’m going back to Earth now. Try to focus on finding the processing center she was talking about. The sooner you do, the sooner the legion can go home.”

  “But…” I said. “Why do we have to kill her?”

  There it was, the question that was really bugging me.

  Drusus shrugged. “I’m not perming her, McGill. I’m sure you realize that by now. Dying is how her kind gets around. When they aren’t making a thousand down-graded copies of themselves, they commit suicide on a regular basis. Effectively, I’m just sending her home.”

  “Yeah… but…”

  Drusus crossed his arms. “Are you seriously telling me you’re involved with this woman, McGill? Is there a single eye-catching female in this galaxy or the next that can’t sway your judgment?”

  “I must take exception to your generality, sir! There never was a woman born that could do that. Not even my mamma.”

  Drusus sighed. “Listen, we’ve mocked up one suit of the new armor—really, it’s several bear-sized suits patched together. We can’t cut it effectively, but we can fold up a few more and wrap them around a man’s chest. Additionally, one torso section covers each leg.”

  “Uh…” I said. “Sounds like it looks funny.”

  “It does, but it looks better than a man wearing a squid suit. Tomorrow, you’re dropping on Glass World again. How would you like to wear the first prototype suit of armor we’ve ever put together?”

  “Instead of my fitted plate?”

  “That’s right. It’s quite bulky and awkward, and it won’t give you full coverage, but it’s essentially impenetrable. You want to try it?”

  I nodded. “You know I do, sir. But what about a stay of execution? At least until this campaign is over, and we have more time to—”

  Drusus dismissed me with a wave. “Enjoy your armor, McGill. In a few years, with luck, you’ll all be wearing the stuff.

  I stalked away, wondering what I was going to do. My mind was wrestling with the vague beginnings of an idea, and I already had the feeling it was going to be a bad one.

  The next day the legion was preparing to drop on Glass World again. The enemy resistance was estimated to be minimal—but I never liked estimates. They weren’t as solid as bullets and missiles.

  Since I was about to be deployed again, I decided to make a move right off. Once I left the ship, it was unlikely I’d get back in time.

  With the air of a man who owns everything he sees, I marched down to the brig. I met up with initial resistance, but after dropping Chief Thayer’s name a few times I managed to scare him up.

  “I’m sorry Centurion,” he told me, without quite managing to look sorry at all. “But the prisoner in question has been executed.”

  “Executed?” I asked, pretending to be shocked. “In the middle of an investigation?”

  The chief almost grinned, but he caught himself. “I’m afraid so, sir. The praetor ordered it done last night.”

  I nodded and made imaginary notes on my tapper. “Exact time?”

  “Uh…” he said, his face faltering a little. Then he gave me the time.

  “Method used?”

  Frowning openly now, as he put his fists on his hips. “Look, sir—it’s over. Whatever complaint was made, whatever—”

  “Whatever makes a hog like you think they can just murder someone to make all their problems go away? You see it all the time in the news, don’t you? Some fool abuses a woman, then kills her. He would’ve gotten a few years in prison, but he just has to risk it all and get himself permed to cover his tracks. It’s one of the mysteries of the criminal mind, don’t you think?”

  Security Chief Thayer’s eyes squinched up in hate when I called him a hog, but then, as I kept speeching, his expression shifted to alarm.

  “No one murdered anyone! It was an execution—and look, McGill, I did some checking around. I haven’t been able to get confirmation from anyone that you’re on some kind of investigation. I’m beginning to wonder—”

  “Did you check with Primus Graves?” I demanded.

  “Graves?”

  “Yes, that’s what I said. He’s my direct superior.”

  “Actually, I tried to, but he’s still not been revived yet. That is kind of odd…”

  I nodded and made more fictitious notes. “Look, Thayer—I like you. So I’m going to do you a solid, okay? Don’t get in the way, here. Graves isn’t breathing anymore, even though he should be. A woman who had a legit complaint has suddenly been ordered executed as well. Does any of that seem odd to you?”

  “Um… I guess so. But what can I do? The woman is dead. All testimony and evidence died with her.”

  I shook my head. “Not so fast. Have you got a local router here? Something that uploads to the ship’s data core?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “And you took a medical scan of this female before incarcerating her, right?”

  “That’s regulations.”

  I smiled. “Good. Copy that material onto this chip, and I’ll be on my way.”

  Handing him a silvery round disk of what appeared to be smooth metal, I left him frowning at it.

  “I’ll have to get authorization—”

  Grabbing his arm, I gave him a little tug. He stumbled closer to me.

  “Chief,” I said in his face in a low voice. “This is Legion Varus you’re playing with. We don’t play by hog rules. Are you hearing me?”

  He looked annoyed, but also he looked more than a little worried. Legion Varus had the worst reputation of all Mother Earth’s legions. We were known to be a rough lot, a mysterious government-sponsored organization that might be compared to the old time mafia—or a pirate’s nest.

  “Uh… okay.”

  That was all he said. Walking out, he came back a few minutes later with the chip in his hand. He dropped it into mine, and I looked at it critically. “This better not be full of porn feelies,” I told him. “I’m going to check.”

  “It’s not, Centurion. Just her scans and her engrams. Now… could I ask you to disappear? And not come back?”

  I gave him a broad smile. “If this file reads right, you’ve bought yourself some peace of mind, Thayer.”

  As I left, he asked me one more question. “McGill? What exactly are you going to do with that data?”

  I flipped the coin-like disk in the air and snatched it back again. “I’ll think of something,” I assured him.

  That evening, as we prepped to drop on Glass World again, I had Natasha scan the disk.

  “There’s a person on here, that’s for sure. I can’t tell who it is, but the double-X chromosome files indicate the subject is female at least.”

  “Good enough. Thanks, Natasha.”

  She looked kind of troubled. She always had been the jealous type, even though we’d stopped seeing each other regularly years ago—decades, maybe. As I watched her face, I knew I shouldn’t have slept with her that one time on this voyage. It had probably reawakened old wounds.

  She fondled the disk then handed it back to me. “You’ve had so many women, I wouldn’t think you needed to keep a copy of one. Who is she?”

  I ignored everything she said, and I managed not to get angry. Instead, I got an idea.

  “Let’s hang out tonight,” I suggested. “After all, we’re sure to die in the morning somehow.”

  She looked happy, and we spent the night. It was just like old times. Almost as importantly, she didn’t ask me any more questions about who was on that disk.

  -45-

  The next morning, true to Drusus’ word, I was outfitted in an experimental suit of Rigellian armor. I could tell right off why Drusus had asked me to try it. The suit was clumsy, with gaps all over, and it was heavy. Not being tailored to my shape, it fit like a mass of furs on a caveman. Still, for all that, I thought it was kind of cool, and the other troops were seriously impressed.

  The drop started out all right. We lined up a pack of chicken recruits and pushed them one at a time into a rhythmically opening and closing chopper-thingy in the floor. It resembled an open drain—to me, it was so familiar it was almost homey.

  Not a single recruit went splat, either. They were experienced now, if not professional. They’d already dropped and seen what could go wrong. In lock-step, each one walked out over nothingness and fell into the chute they were assigned. Moments later, they were screaming down to the surface in a pod that looked mysteriously like a smart missile.

  The payload in each missile wasn’t a warhead, however. They all held soldiers. Throughout time, humans had gotten better and better at blowing things up—but the universe still needed ground troops to effectively capture an objective intact.

  I went down last, following a swarm of white cylindrical pods. At first, we slid through space at an angle. Then we touched the atmosphere and plunged through. The angle was critical here. If you came in at too steep of an angle, you’d go too fast and burn up. If you approached at too shallow an angle, you could bounce off the atmosphere and die in space.

  Computers had long since conquered the dynamic math problems required to achieve reentry on any planet you might care to mention. As long as it could be seen and measured, any difficulty could be overcome.

  A few minutes later a shock to my boots told me we’d landed. The pod rolled and dirt flew over my external camera pickups—but I thought I’d seen something.

  Something unexpected.

  “Sargon?” I called out, checking my pod diagnostics. Usually, when you landed, you wanted to pop out of your capsule like your ass was on fire. Other times, however, a more cautious approach paid off.

  “Sargon?” I repeated.

  Sargon didn’t answer. My HUD was relayed to the screen in the pod, and I swiped over and over, trying to get it to refresh. It was showing every lifeline in my unit as a flat red streak of color.

  That’s when a cold thought hit me. Could the readings be accurate, not just dead air? Could they all be dead? All of them?

  I’d taken the last position in the landing group, but that wasn’t unusual for a centurion. Coming in last gave you more intel when you arrived, upping the odds of the commander surviving.

  Feeling a little concerned, I checked each of the crappy camera pickups outside of my flying tomb. They weren’t perfect. Each was fish-eyed, low res and some were covered with dirt. It was kind of like trying to examine the world using only the external parking cameras on your family tram.

  I was lying on my back like a vampire in his coffin, trying to make sure the sun had really gone down before throwing open the lid.

  There! Movement, off to my left. What looked like a fuzzy dude with long teeth flashed by. That was the only living thing I saw, and it was a bear—a fucking bear.

  I cursed and hissed. We’d landed in the middle of an enemy formation. More of them went by now, rushing past my capsule and even standing on it. I heard the chatter of gunfire.

  How could there be so many of them? So many that they’d overwhelmed my unit before I’d even reached the ground?

  A group of them approached and encircled my capsule. They had guns out and snarls on their faces. They huffed and clacked and scratched at the exterior. I could have told them that would be useless. This thing was a titanium case, and until I blew the explosive bolts—

  A loud whirring sound commenced. It was a saw—a frigging diamond-bladed saw. Already, one of the bastards was buzzing away at the seal. Soon, they’d have a crack, then they’d force it open.

  Steeling myself, I decided not to be caught on my back jammed into a cocoon. It just wasn’t my preferred way to die.

  Gripping my gun firmly, I blew the bolts—all of them, all at once.

  The bear with the saw did a backflip off the capsule, thrown clear with the upper half of my pod. Grenades went flying right behind him, all four I carried. They landed all around me in the dirt.

  I was gratified to hear some squawks of fear. Then the grenades went off—I’d set them on the shortest-fuse possible. I was still lying flat inside of the capsule, and it rocked gently with the blasts.

  The shrapnel and plasma bursts, all going off around my protective cocoon, threw a devil’s worth of sped-up debris in every direction, but the pod was only scarred, not destroyed or flipped over.

  Rolling out of the pod, I took shelter up against it. My flapping experimental armor slapped and caught on things and exposed me like a pulled-up shirt. I tucked it down, cursing, and put my back to the pod. That provided me with cover on one side, so I focused on the other.

  A dozen bear regulars approached. They had their weapons out.

  “Human,” said a strange gargling voice, the speech their translators always used, “you must surrender. You will not—”

  I blasted them. Full-auto, close range, targeting the parts of their bodies that were vulnerable. They were knocked down, scattered and thrown back. Some were grabbing at their nuts. Others were clutching at their eyeholes. I’d gotten in a few licks, but they were climbing back to their feet. Unlike the grenades, which could kill by shock alone at close range, my power bolts couldn’t stop them.

  Hosing them down as they climbed to their feet and growled, I was suddenly grabbed from behind. Two powerful sets of hands—no, they were paws, really—ripped the morph-rifle out of my grip. These bears were as strong and mean as cat-dirt.

  They hauled me up and soon, I was surrounded. We were all breathing hard, and I could tell they really, really wanted to kill me.

  “Do not kill!” shouted one of them from the back. “Do not feast! This one is mine!”

  An officer approached.

  “I surrender!” I said loudly.

  “Excellent! Back—back my troops. Yes, this one deserves a thousand deaths, and he shall receive them, but not today.”

  Squinting, I figured out pretty quickly this wasn’t Squanto. He was some kind of captain over the unit I’d fallen into the middle of.

  He walked up to me, and he hooked a single curved claw into the hanging layers of armor that surrounded me.

  “Taken from our fallen?” he asked.

  “Yes. I wear these proudly. They are the skins of all the bears I’ve killed on this campaign so far. I would be grateful if you gave me seven more—that’s the count of dead I see around my capsule.”