“This is getting us nowhere,” Deech said. “I thought we’d be finished before lunch.”

  Drusus gave her a slight smile. I knew what that meant. She was offering him a nooner, and he was interested.

  Damn.

  “I got something. Check this out!”

  With a flicking motion, I sent it to their desktop.

  Deech reached out with a motion of her own, pressing down with her finger as if she were squashing a June bug. The vid stopped playing.

  “I don’t see the point of this,” she said. “We’ve gone over all the evidence. Watching McGill destroy the station is no doubt instructive, but it can hardly overturn—”

  Galina saved me. I hadn’t expected that. She reached out a hand, made a spinning motion with one finger, and set the clip I’d transmitted to the table to start playing.

  Deech sat back, glowering. Her lips were compressed into an angry line.

  What played were scenes of the security station. There were dead bodies everywhere—Iron Eagles in every form of repose.

  “You see?” I demanded. “They were dead when I got there!”

  “Unless you slaughtered them wholesale in a deleted moment,” Deech muttered.

  I snorted with laughter. “How would I do that? A whole legion of Iron Eagles? If I’m that good, you should send me to Rigel to wreck the place singled-handed.”

  “Look…” Turov said, pointing at a detail in the security displays. “Troops are outside on the hull, and they’re not ours.”

  All three of them studied the vid, pausing it and zooming in with spreading fingers. The Rigellians crawled over the outer skin of the complex.

  “They used radiation,” I explained. “Intense blasts, by my estimation. They killed pretty much everyone aboard, then boarded themselves.”

  “Then why weren’t you killed, McGill?” Deech demanded.

  “The anti-personnel radiation beams hit before I got back. They irradiated the structure, then started an invasion. In-between these events, I used the jump-gate to return to the station. When I realized what was happening… well, I took steps.”

  Deech stood up angrily. She extended a long crooked finger in my direction.

  “You destroyed the place! The most valuable construction platform in the known star systems. Our advanced base—all our plans—were destroyed with it.”

  Drusus glanced at Deech and gestured toward her chair. “Please sit down, Imperator. This does put a different light on the events, McGill. You didn’t kill the Eagles… but why did you destroy the station? After all the effort we’d gone through to capture it?”

  “Because, sirs, we’d already lost it. The enemy fleet was in the system. They had wiped out Varus on the ground, destroyed Nostrum, and burned away everybody from the Iron Eagles on the space-factory. At that point, I figured I was probably the last human in the star system.”

  “Hmm…” Turov said. “So, you view your heinous act of destruction as excusable?”

  “Better than that!” I boomed. “I had to do it. If you can’t capture an asset, you must deny it to the enemy.”

  “But what if our fleet was about to arrive and change the situation again?” Deech demanded. “You had no way of knowing. You had no authority. You had—”

  “I had to do it,” I repeated. “Besides, I knew the fleet wasn’t coming.”

  Drusus and I looked at one another. He nodded.

  “You realized I couldn’t afford to leave Earth undefended?” he asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “That’s exactly right. We tried to do this whole mission on the cheap, and it didn’t work out. But still, I’d argue we’re better off than we were before. If we’d done nothing, Rigel would have the factory and we’d have zip.”

  Drusus was nodding.

  Deech was stunned. She stared at Drusus in disbelief.

  “Am I getting the wrong vibe, here?” she asked. “Or is McGill actually swaying your thinking—again?”

  “You’re correct in your assessment,” Drusus said. “Scorched Earth... That’s what it was—an old policy, but still fitting today. As McGill said, if you can’t capture an asset, destroy it.”

  “I don’t believe he was able to divine our plans about the fleet,” she said, crossing her arms and turning away from Drusus. “It was guesswork. It would be a dangerous precedent to accept his explanation. He made decisions beyond his station again. He should have been permed the last time when he bombarded the planet. He’s only an adjunct, for God’s sake!”

  Drusus was studying the vids, and I could tell he was doing some hard thinking.

  “This court is adjourned,” he said. “All charges are dropped.”

  “What? Just like that?”

  Deech made some angry movements. Drusus looked up at her. “I thought you were in a hurry to move on with your day.”

  “I’m skipping lunch,” she said. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  Looking as pissed-off as a wet cat, she gathered her things and stormed out.

  Drusus looked after her tail-section as she exited. He looked wistful. I could understand his disappointment. I’d spent most of my life in the doghouse with one woman or another.

  “Well,” Turov said, “I’m hungry. I’ll see you two later on.”

  As Galina passed me, I gave her a small, up-down motion of the eyebrows. It was a question, even a suggestion.

  She paused for a second, and then she gave me a tiny nod in return.

  I watched her leave until the door snicked shut behind her fine posterior.

  Turning back to Drusus, I was all grins. In contrast, he looked like someone had stolen his sunshine.

  Finding it hard to care, I didn’t bother to apologize about anything. After all, he was the one who’d put me up on charges and held a private vote on my perming—not the other way around.

  “McGill…” he said. “This mission went very badly. I can see now that you performed on the spot. You played the command part of this op better than I did from Central.”

  “Uh… thank you, sir,” I said, surprised. “I must say, this change of heart is extreme.”

  He pointed to the vids I’d given him. “You brought one thing to this discussion the others didn’t: Evidence. It’s cold and conclusive. It doesn’t lie. I always go with the evidence in the end, rather than emotion. That’s probably why I’ve climbed so high in rank. But still, you’ve taught me a thing or two today.”

  I stood up. “Am I dismissed, sir?”

  “In a moment. First, tell me what you would have done differently.”

  “Uh… you mean with this entire operation?”

  “Yes. I always seek input from my officers. You were on the spot, I wasn’t. In hindsight, how would you have played it?”

  I hesitated. This was dangerous ground. The brass often asked me for a scrap of what passed for wisdom inside my brain, but they didn’t usually like what they got.

  “Are you sure you really want to know what I think, sir?”

  Drusus considered that seriously, then he nodded. “Don’t hold anything back.”

  Sucking in a huge breath, I told him everything. All the bullshit that had gone on out there on Dark World, the rivalry between Turov and Deech—the works.

  He looked a little sick by the time I’d finished.

  “I was blind,” he said, staring at his desktop. “I shouldn’t have reversed their roles, then put them into combat together. It was a failure of leadership from the very beginning.”

  “Aw now, don’t be so hard on yourself. I think this mission was tits-up before we launched. The Rigellians bet their fleet on it, and we didn’t. It’s as simple as that. We never stood a chance.”

  Slowly, Drusus inclined his head and nodded.

  “You may be right, Adjunct. Anything else?”

  I thought for a second about all the horse-hockey that legion life was full of, but I knew I had to be realistic. Even a man with four sunbursts on his shoulders could only do so much.

  “Yes, actually,” I said. “Part of the purpose of this mission was to experiment with blending Blood World troops into our legions.”

  “That’s right,” Drusus said. “It’s a critical element. Have you got any thoughts in that department?”

  I rubbed my face for a moment. “My opinion is it didn’t work well. The Blood World people are quite different. Their minds, culture—even their bodies are incompatible. Do you realize most of the littermates I lost out there were permed? No one has revived them.”

  Drusus shrugged. “It’s a hard piece of math, but we can’t afford it. There are just too many of them.”

  I pointed a finger at him. “That’s it, right there. Anything plentiful is cheap. My life is cheap, because everyone knows I’ll just come back tomorrow. Blood World troops are treated in an even worse way, however. Their lives mean nothing because there are millions of them. You don’t want to revive them because it’s cheaper to throw in a fresh body.”

  Drusus leaned back and sighed. “There’s some truth to what you say. But remember as well that they won’t fit into our standard revival machines. We’d have to buy all new ones to support them the way we do the human legions. Also, your troops have decades of combat experience that can be retained. Blood Worlders are—for most purposes—all recruits.”

  “Splats, huh? All of them? Well, if that’s how we’re going to play it, we should build up whole cohorts of them—separate and in no way equal to the human formations. When they’re embedded with us it’s a constant conflict. Every time we get a revive, they look around, wondering what happened to their brother who died last week.”

  “Hmm…” Drusus said. “You’ve got a good point there. That could be quite a morale hit—especially since littermates are very attached to their brothers.”

  “Damned straight it is. Mind you, I’d still prefer we buy a stack of big-ass revival machines—it’s only right.”

  Drusus looked down, studying his desk. “This action was just a test, McGill. A trial balloon using our new, near-human troops. As this war expands, we plan to deploy them in serious numbers.”

  “Then it seems unfair to me that they’re being treated so differently.”

  “Is it? Historically, there have always been elite special forces, small in number, who get more resources than the rest of the main army. Whenever we deploy millions of human troops, as we did in defense of the Home World years ago, they don’t all get revives.”

  I thought about that. He was right. We’d lost hundreds of thousands in that grim war, some of whom I’d counted as friends.

  “All right,” I said. “I guess I’ve said my piece.”

  “I thank you for your input and your candor, Adjunct. You’re dismissed.”

  Hiking it out of there as fast as I could, I headed for the elevators.

  Turov had all but promised me a nooner, and I wasn’t about to let that slide by. After all, this McGill was still an innocent virgin by my way of accounting such things.

  -53-

  Catching up to Galina Turov wasn’t always easy. Especially when your friends are very interested in the outcome of a certain hearing.

  Carlos was the first to waylay me. He was waiting in the elevator lobby, leaning his ample butt against a big set of closed steel doors when I rushed up to punch the call button.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” he said. “Hold on a second, big guy!”

  “I’m in a hurry, Specialist.”

  “Aw, come on, McGill. Just tell me, are we screwed or not?”

  I frowned at him. The elevator display over the doors was ticking through numbers, but it wasn’t going fast enough for my taste. Waiting for an elevator in a building with around a thousand floors can take a long time.

  “What do you mean, ‘we’?” I asked him.

  “Do you really think I’m going to get out of this scott-free if you’re going down? Like it or not, I’m always blamed for your actions. I’m seen as a permanent accomplice. Now, tell me how bad it is.”

  Thinking it over, I could see things from Carlos’ point of view. He had performed various actions in the past that had gotten him labeled a troublemaker.

  I rattled the call button, cursing. “Goddamn it, this thing is always so slow.”

  Carlos looked worried. He suddenly made a connection that wasn’t even there.

  “You’re running out, aren’t you?” he demanded suddenly. “What’s the deal back there?”

  “Where?”

  “In Drusus’ office. Did you kill them all?”

  I looked at him and shook my head in disbelief. “Would I do something like that?”

  “Shit, yeah!”

  “Well, I’m not running. I didn’t kill anyone, so you can stop panicking. We’re fine.”

  He squinted at me, and he looked at the call button I’d selected.

  “You’re going up? We’re pretty near the top already… But wait... Only Turov’s office is above this one. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re going to see her!”

  I sighed. Carlos was almost as smart as he was annoying.

  “Look,” I said. “It doesn’t matter where I’m going. Drusus listened to my side of the story, he checked out the vids I gave him, and he dismissed the case. It’s over.”

  Mercifully, the elevator doors opened. I stepped inside and pushed Carlos back out again when he tried to follow me.

  “Piss off, Specialist.”

  He put his hand up to block the door from closing. “Are you expecting me to believe you talked your way out of this, then got an invite up to visit the hottest tribune in the service?”

  “Something like that. Do you mind?”

  “There’s something not right here,” he complained. “You’re cheating me out of the real story, at the very least. That’s it: you’re a chiseler, McGill.”

  “Whatever, Carlos. Step back.” I gave him another little shove, and the doors began to close at last.

  “Or maybe I should say: a jizzler…?” he asked.

  He made an obscene gesture with his fingers until the doors finally closed.

  I snorted with laughter. I knew he’d tell everyone he could about this private meeting with Turov. That boy was a curse in human form.

  A few minutes later, I stepped out onto a higher floor and walked down a long corridor. At the end was Turov’s office.

  It was really the office she’d been awarded when she was an imperator. As a tribune from a star-faring legion, she shouldn’t have been issued such prime real estate—but I guess no one around here had possessed the gonads to take it away from her.

  Arriving at the office, I caught a sneer from the office-boy.

  He jerked one thumb over his shoulder, indicating I should go inside. He didn’t even say anything. It was as if he’d been expecting me—perhaps he was.

  I did as he suggested, but once inside, my fantasies of a quick romp with Galina vanished.

  “There you are, Adjunct,” Primus Graves said.

  “At last…” Winslade sneered. “It’s just like you to be late.”

  Galina Turov was there too, standing behind her desk. She was wearing a nicely pressed, tight-fitting uniform—but she was very much dressed.

  “Damn…” I muttered.

  I’d misinterpreted her nod back at the praetor’s office. Whatever she’d had in mind—it wasn’t a nooner. Disappointed, I had no idea where this was going.

  “You seem unenthusiastic,” Graves said, frowning. “That’s odd for a man who’s just been given a reprieve.”

  “What were you expecting?” Winslade demanded. “A surprise party?”

  “Uh…” I said, “something like that.”

  “Absurd,” Winslade complained. “No one could have been certain how Drusus would react—unless you had inside information. Is that it, hmm?”

  I threw up my hands and laughed. “You got me, Winslade. I’m a master manipulator, a prognosticator—and I’m clairvoyant, too. Now, can we get on with this meeting?”

  “An excellent idea,” Turov said, gathering together a set of small boxes on her desk.

  We all looked at the boxes warily. The last time three officers had been summoned to her office, she’d handed out demotions—to everyone except Evelyn.

  This time, Evelyn was conspicuously absent.

  “Rank-shuffling again?” Winslade asked. He crossed his arms and huffed, as if he wasn’t interested.

  I wasn’t fooled. He cared—he cared a lot. His eyes gave him away. He couldn’t tear them off the boxes.

  “I’ve given this a lot of thought,” Galina said.

  She walked slowly around to our side of her desk, and she slid her butt up onto the desktop. She perched there with one leg dangling down. It was a provocative pose.

  Was she teasing me? I wasn’t sure. Anything was possible with this woman.

  “Last night,” she continued, “my choices became clear to me. Judgment is what I’m paid for, and so I’m exercising it today. Here are your boxes—I hope you’re all happy.”

  Reaching for mine, I opened it up right off. There was no point in dragging things out as far as I was concerned.

  Normally, I never much cared about whatever rank I was given, but I had to admit, that when I saw the red crest of a centurion in that box—I grinned.

  “Looks like I got my old job back,” I said. “Thanks, Tribune.”

  “You’ve earned it, James. I’ll have you know I wasn’t going to vote to perm you during that meeting with Drusus—no matter how things turned out.”

  I didn’t believe her, of course, but I nodded and smiled anyway.

  “Graves?” Turov asked. “You haven’t opened your box.”

  He eyed it in stony silence.

  “I’m already a primus,” he said. “And unless you’ve been promoted—”

  She shook her head and tapped her epaulets. She was still a tribune.

  “Right,” he said. “There can only be one tribune in a legion. Therefore, I’m—”

  “Just open the damned thing, will you?” Winslade demanded.

  Graves sucked in a breath and nodded. He opened his box.

  Inside, there was a star—but it was a different kind of star.