The Mogwa released a long, farting gale of laughter. “What an absurdity you are, McGill! We would stand no chance against the might of Trantor. We’d be outnumbered a thousand to one.”

  “What’s the trouble then, sir?”

  He was about to answer me when another voice interrupted. Nox had prowled onto the deck, daring to show her nose at last. I suspected that she’d been quietly listening at a safe distance to see how the interview went before revealing herself.

  “Segin is under siege, McGill,” she said. “We’re under attack by barbarians.”

  “Really? A Mogwa colony is fighting some lower-tier beings? Won’t Trantor consider this a great insult? Won’t they send one of their vast fleets to defend a Mid-Zone province?”

  “One would think so. But the Mogwa leadership considers us to be shameful. An officer on the borders, a fleet-commander or a governor—such officers are necessary. But the people of Segin have dared to emigrate of their own volition. They’re considered untouchable. Low class—disgusting to even think about.”

  “Wow… so they don’t care what happens to you guys? Just because you aren’t in the Core Worlds?”

  Nox crawled a little closer. “Segin is technically an independent state living under Mogwa rule,” she said. “But our overlords consider us to be a colony of rejects and renegades. Many of them would enjoy watching us perish, if only to justify their own prejudices.”

  “Okay, I get it… that’s why you came to Earth for help, right?”

  Sateekas ruffled. “Help? That is an inappropriate term. We’ve come to commandeer. To seize power and lead gloriously. To elevate your grunting species by allowing them to die at our orders.”

  “Sure, sure… but one thing you haven’t explained is who your attackers are. Do we know the species?”

  Nox and Sateekas exchanged glances.

  “Yes,” he said. “I believe you do.”

  “Really? Let me guess: It’s the Skay, right!”

  Sateekas flapped his limbs in the unhappy negative. “Sadly, no. If it was such an enemy, the homeworld fleets would come to our defense. No, instead it is those awful bears you speak so much about. The tiny beings who refused our generous offer of servitude.”

  That brought back memories. I recalled one of the last times I’d seen hoary old Sateekas. It had been at Storm World—a messy planet inhabited by salamanders and which orbits M244-H.

  At the time, Sateekas offered the Rigellians the job of becoming local enforcers, taking over Earth’s job. Squanto had refused. In a rage, Sateekas had reinstated Humanity as the local thugs of the empire.

  “Uh…” I said. “Can’t you guys fight them off? I mean, they don’t have much tech compared to the Mogwa.”

  Sateekas glowered at me. “Must you mouth an infinity of insults whenever we meet? I just got done telling you that Mogwa Prime has no interest. Segin has a defensive force, of course, but it consists of little more than thirty aging escort ships, along with this single battlecruiser. The enemy forces have chased off our fleet, and even now they lay siege to the Great City.”

  “Huh…” I said, giving my neck a scratch. “Did you say your ships ran off? Well then… how is it a siege? I mean, how didn’t you already lose this battle?”

  “Segin has a dome of force over it, protecting the world up to an altitude of eight kilometers in your measurements. The enemy has encircled this dome, and they continue to bombard it. They seek ways to penetrate our defenses with regularity. Sometimes, we discover agents in our midst. We fear they will figure out a way to sneak in a teleport bomb or some such thing. We think it’s far more likely, however, that they mean to invade with infantry after they weaken our shielding sufficiently.”

  “Well sir, I know what you need to do right off. Go to Praetor Drusus. Talk to him. Get Earth to commit our fleet—but make it our choice. Together with your forces, we should be able to chase them away easily.”

  “Normally, your humiliating suggestion would be feasible. Possibly, as a final solution, we will choose such a path of abject horror. Today, however, the governors of Segin will not allow such a thing. They even objected to my idea of gathering help against the invaders. I intend to do it anyway. I refuse to be further burdened with the task of explaining my reasoning to slaves and beasts.”

  I shrugged, not much caring. “All right, I’m willing to help you. But I can’t do much in regards to making a decision of this magnitude. I’m a pretty low-level officer. It’s time to level with Drusus.”

  “No! I won’t have any more direct communication with that fop! Drusus must be one of the villains plotting my assassination. I’ll talk to you—only you, McGill. You will carry my orders back to your wretched, conspiring officers.”

  Sateekas often seemed to forget that I didn’t rule Earth. Just because I sometimes committed diplomatic breaches and struck deals with aliens, that didn’t mean I had any real authority.

  I sighed and scratched myself thoughtfully. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  Sateekas swept away then, and half the marines in the room followed him. When he was gone, Lady Nox took another step closer.

  “Drusus is a tool, McGill,” she said. “He’s a fingernail on the hand of a servant. You must go above him to the real authority that presides over Earth.”

  “Uh… who’s that?” I asked.

  Nox looked shocked. “Why, I’m speaking of myself, of course. I am still the official governor of Province 921. It’s true, I’m no longer allowed to retreat to Trantor… but my offices and titles are still intact, shoddy though they may be.”

  “Oh, of course! I was thinking you meant another human that I know about…”

  Nox narrowed her many eyes. She was a smart one—easily smarter and more perceptive than Sateekas. “Are you thinking of that civilian oldster? The one in the robe which poorly apes the color of space?”

  I blinked. She’d pegged it. I had been thinking about our esteemed Public Servant Alexander Turov in his long, black robes. He was more powerful than Drusus, there was little doubt of it.

  “Hmm…” Nox said, reading my reaction correctly. “All right then. We will trust you in this instance. You will carry our words to that den of pirates, and you will convince them to follow us into battle. Do you have any questions?”

  “No, sir. Not really.”

  “Excellent. I hate questions.”

  That was it. They kicked me off their ship, and I boarded the shuttle with Lt. Patel. She gritted her teeth and flew us back into the radiation storm.

  “How did it go?” she asked, noticing I was quiet and sunk in deep thought.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know… it seems like the Mogwa expect the impossible out of me every time we meet.”

  She smiled. “You are infamous, you know. A man reputed to be the craziest in your crazy legion.”

  Forced to agree with her, I nodded my head. “I can’t deny that rumor.”

  We landed a few minutes later, after getting another dose of wild cosmic rays. A posse waited to greet us on the flight deck.

  “Let me do the talking,” I told her.

  When the hatch opened, and the little metal stairway unfolded, I stepped down to greet the navy pukes who were waiting there with their short-barreled guns pointed my way. Behind me, the pilot lingered in the doorway.

  “Hey guys! Glad to see a welcome-home color-guard has been issued. Don’t worry about a thing, every supposed violation against me will be dropped, then eventually an apology will be issued. It always ends that way, see, when misunderstandings—”

  “Are you Centurion James McGill?” an unsmiling naval officer demanded. He had a short-barreled automatic carbine like the rest, and he was standing in front of the group.

  “Yep, that’s me.”

  They fired. All of them did, all at once. It was a regular ambush. Their guns were loud, but the power bolts didn’t hurt that much. I don’t think my body really had a chance to register anything other than shock as dozens of burning holes ripped through it.

  Spinning around, I stumbled down the steps and fell on my back. Behind me, I saw Lt. Patel go down. She’d been blasted to death, too.

  I had just enough time to regret getting her involved in all this—then I died.

  -13-

  The first thing I heard was a beeping sound. That’s all. Then, as my consciousness improved, I sensed bright lights and muttering voices. It seemed like an argument was on-going.

  “…and he should have stayed dead. I want you to recycle this mistake, and this time, leave him permed.”

  “The Mogwa declared McGill their liaison. We have no choice but to bring him back.”

  “Liaison?” the first guy laughed bitterly. I recognized him now: it was Tribune Winslade. “He’s a turncoat. A renegade. A serial miscreant who—”

  “All right sir, you’re in command,” said the second man. I had him placed now as well. Rough voice, uncompromising: he was Primus Graves. “I’ll notify the Mogwa immediately. They’ll have to accept your decision. After all, this is your legion.”

  “Lower your tapper immediately, Graves, or I’ll have you shot down like a dog, just like McGill.”

  “What’s the problem, Tribune?”

  “This nonsense of me countermanding the Mogwa is unacceptable. You’ll tell them no such thing.”

  I thought about opening my eyes at this point, but I passed on the idea. At this stage of a revival, the lights in the average medical chamber were painfully bright—even when your eyelids were squinched shut.

  The two men were having a stare-down, I figured. They’d never been pen-pals, and that situation hadn’t improved recently when Winslade had been promoted over Graves to take control of Legion Varus.

  “All right,” Graves said finally. He was lower ranked, so I wasn’t surprised that he backed off first. “I won’t tell anyone. You can grind him up feet-first if you want to—I’ll even help.”

  “No, no… I’ve reconsidered. I’m not giving any such order. You’ll only shirk the blame and point a finger at me as your commander.”

  “Honesty, sir. It’s called honesty.”

  Winslade made a rude, pffing sound.

  At this point I decided to stage a wake-up. I coughed and finally opened my eyes a crack. I squinted up at them. There I was, lying naked on a gurney between two ornery officers.

  “Damn, boys,” I said. “I didn’t realize both you fellas asked me to the prom. This is embarrassing.”

  Winslade glanced down at me in disgust.

  “We’ll finish this later,” he said, and he stalked away.

  Graves watched while I struggled to sit up, but there wasn’t anything like love in his eyes.

  My muscles were still floppy, but they were getting better every minute as my new brain knitted up with tingling nerves to operate the latest version of James McGill. Finally, I managed to prop myself up with an elbow.

  “Primus Graves, I owe you my heartfelt thanks.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I listened in on that lovers’ spat you just had with Winslade. I got the feeling you were trying to keep me breathing.”

  “Then let’s straighten you out right now. In my opinion Winslade should have you executed. You disobeyed orders in a manner indicating you’re working against the interests of Legion Varus and Earth in general.”

  “Uh… so then how did I catch a revive at all?”

  He flicked at his tapper, tossing a text in my direction. My tapper caught the message, and I squinted at it. The note was from Sateekas, and it was full of flowery threats and demands. I didn’t bother to read it past the first sentence.

  “They want you to be their spokesman,” Graves said. “Our officers are required to communicate through you—and only you. How the hell did you manage to bamboozle every Mogwa on that battlecruiser, McGill?”

  He seemed honestly curious, so I dredged up a good-sounding lie for him. He deserved my best.

  “Well sir, it goes like this: Aliens are kind of like women. At first, they seem complicated and even inscrutable to the average Joe. But given time and careful study, I’ve come up with ten simple rules that apply equally to—”

  He put a worn glove into my face. “Save it. There’s a briefing in the command center in fourteen minutes. Get dressed.”

  I took the time to shower up and finger my hair into place. Nineteen minutes later, I reached command center on Dominus’ sprawling Gold Deck.

  “You’re late,” Graves said, giving me a flat, disapproving stare.

  Unconcerned, I looked around the room. I saw Graves and a pack of other primus-level officers. But the big boys were missing.

  “Where’s Imperator Turov? Or Drusus? Or—wait… not even Winslade is here?”

  Graves shrugged. “We’ve been directed to attend this meeting in the tribune’s place. We’ll evaluate your message from the Mogwa and determine if it’s worth forwarding to flag officers.”

  “Oh… so the brass doesn’t want to listen to the prattling of an old warhorse like Grand Admiral Sateekas, is that it? I’ll have to put this insult into my report.”

  “What report, McGill?” Graves demanded.

  I looked up at Graves in surprise. “Why sir, you must realize that as the formal liaison to the Mogwa, I have to give both sides reports on these interviews.”

  “I realize no such thing. May I remind you, Centurion, that you’re an Earthman first, foremost, and always.”

  “That’s true sir. And as such, I have a duty to the Mogwa who rule all Humanity, as well as to Earth herself.”

  Graves chewed on that for a second or two. He didn’t look happy—but then, he rarely did. “Why can’t you give me the report?” he asked. “I’ll forward it to the other officers personally. No insult need be registered.”

  I shook my head. “The first rule the Mogwa insisted upon was that I operate as their one-and-only liaison. If I give the report to you as a go-between, that makes you the mouthpiece, not me.”

  Graves and I had a brief stare-down. Lesser men might have pissed themselves and changed their tunes, but not me. I went the distance, and he gave up on intimidating me at last.

  The trouble for Graves was we both knew I was right. He could order me around, but if any Mogwa countermanded anything he said, that was the end of the story.

  Technically, Sateekas outranked all of us.

  Graves stood up, and the rest of the officers looked at him wonderingly. “Excuse me,” he said. “This meeting is on recess until I return.”

  He walked out then, never sparing me another glance. That was just fine with me. He wasn’t in a good mood, anyways.

  “Recess, huh?” I laughed after he’d gone. “I think I’ll go swing on the monkey bars.”

  The rest of the officers looked at me like I was a turd on the sidewalk—except this specimen was one they wanted to step on.

  One of them stood up. He was a big-boned, old guy. I squinted at him, recognizing who he was. Captain Merton was the name. He commanded Dominus, and he’d often led super-boring meetings like this one. I groaned inwardly as he began getting his laser pointer all warmed up.

  “Rather than waste our collective time,” Captain Merton said, “I’ve been authorized to proceed with our Order of Battle report.”

  My eyes squinched up. They did that naturally when I saw something I wanted to unsee.

  Working in a slow-motion monotone, Merton laid out our impressive roster of ships.

  “In the forward squadron we have three heavy cruisers, the Lexington, the Kabul and the Mekong. They are supported by fifteen destroyers and smaller ships. In the main body of the formation we have two carriers and two battleships. These ships, known as the Mars Division…”

  He kept on going like that for seven long minutes. I knew it was seven minutes, because I was working on my tapper the whole time, and the ticker on my arm crawled with pulsing numbers.

  I’d stopped listening to Captain Merton’s speech partly because I was bored, but mostly because I needed to think of something to say when Graves came back. Sure, I was the liaison from the Mogwa battlecruiser, but that wasn’t enough to go on at this point. Graves might very well come back with someone important in tow, someone to whom I’d be forced to tell everything I knew—even though I didn’t know anything.

  Pretending I already had information—and that it was critical in nature—had been part of my charade from the start. Without that imaginary, secret knowledge, Winslade could have kept me dead for a lot longer. Now was the time to put up or shut up.

  Texting back and forth with Sateekas was never easy. He hated texting, and he hated giving his subordinates clear instructions even more.

  In his texts, he basically bitched about all kinds of things. Among his numerous complaints, I gathered just a single factoid of actionable importance.

  Tell them that my flagship must lead the others when we return to Segin.

  “Uh…” I said, lifting a hand and waggling fingers at Captain Merton.

  He paused to frown at me. He lifted one chunky hand and pointed at me. “What is it, McGill? I’m just finishing up.”

  “Sir, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but it occurs to me that one element of your plan must be changed to fit with the Mogwa demands.”

  A wave of grumbling went up from the other officers. “What is it, McGill?” Merton demanded.

  I looked around, and I almost played my single card, but some smarter part of my brain stopped me.

  Shaking my head regretfully, I threw my hands wide. “I think I’ve already said too much. We’ll have to wait for Drusus and the others to get here.”

  Captain Merton leaned forward on his bony knuckles. Eyebrows like lobster-spines glowered at me. “Now see here, McGill. This game has gone on long enough. You are a centurion. Everyone here outranks you. If—what are you doing?”

  I held up my tapper, which I’d been poking at. “I’m recording your refusal, sir. I have to document every act of insubordination for Sateekas. Nox will probably want to know about it too, now that I think about it. Please continue.”

  Merton clammed up immediately. He stayed standing, leaning on his knuckles for several more seconds. Finally, with a growl of frustration, he sat down again.