Dark World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 9), page 27
“Verdict?” I asked, not liking the taste of that word.
“Yes. After you destroyed the eastern continent, the news got back to Drusus. He’s come out personally to investigate and adjudicate the situation.”
My heart sank. I couldn’t see how I’d get past a perming this time. Brightening up, I shrugged and stretched.
“Well,” I said, “it’s good to have you all back among the living. You were captured or killed down there in one of those nests. You know about that, don’t you?”
Graves nodded. “We do. I have vague memories—unpleasant ones. They have Vulbites down there by the millions, but there are also other creatures. Poisonous, flapping things. They latch onto a man and feed.”
I grimaced and climbed into a showering stall. “That’s all in the past now, sir.”
“Hardly. If we don’t get permed, we’ll be redeployed.”
“What?” I asked, leaning back out of the shower.
“That’s right,” Evelyn said. “Varus gets all the shit-work. It never fails. The brass is talking about dropping us again—onto the southern continent this time.”
“But there are millions of them,” I complained. “We can’t kill every bug on the planet.”
“No, that’s not the mission,” Graves said. “This won’t be a traditional effort to conquer. They have queens in these nests. The whole planet seems to consist of around six giant colonies—make that five now.”
“Kind of like the squids?”
“These Vulbites are more like social insects. They lay eggs—thousands of them. If we can threaten a high queen in her egg-chamber…”
I looked at him doubtfully, and he didn’t seem any more convinced than I was.
“Can I talk to Drusus? Before he passes judgment?”
Graves snorted. “That’s probably not a good idea. Deech is with him, and I get the feeling they’ve got a personal relationship.”
“You really think Drusus would be swayed that way?”
“McGill, you just tried to kill his girlfriend.”
“I did not! She personally pulled the triggers on the broadsides with me, and then she killed me.”
He frowned. “Are you shitting me again, Adjunct?”
“No sir. I swear on my poppa’s grave.”
“Your father is alive, McGill.”
“His future grave, then. You have to give me a chance. You have to let me talk to Drusus.”
Graves looked indecisive. It was a rare expression for him.
Evelyn walked up and snaked an arm around my waist. “I can get him up there. Turov will help.”
Graves huffed. “You’re on trial, too, Thompson. You’re an accomplice.” He began to read the charges on his tapper. “Gross insubordination. Conduct unbecoming. Assassination of a superior officer. Mass murder. Unauthorized entry. Unauthorized operation of weaponry. Conspiracy to—”
“Yes, yes,” I said impatiently. “But it was all for a good cause. They’ve got to take that under consideration.”
Graves made a wry grimace. “I’m sure they will, McGill.”
While Graves had been making his bitter speech, Evelyn had pressed something hard and round into my hand. I knew right off what it was: the Galactic Key.
“Let us go up there,” I urged Graves. “We’ll fix things.”
He stared at me. “If you can talk your way out of this prison block, you can do whatever you want.”
He stalked off, and I eyed the module we were in. It wasn’t a standardized steel living module, it was a brig unit with a revival machine in the central chamber. Every exit wasn’t just locked, it was sealed.
Walking around the module, I sought a way out.
“James,” Evelyn hissed behind me. “We’ve got to get out of here. If they find us guilty, they might just eject this entire module into space and start fresh with new recruits.”
“Nah…” I said. “They wouldn’t eject a perfectly good revival machine. They’ll save that for sure.”
Searching each hatchway, I finally found a domed access cover over a maintenance tunnel. Fortunately, most of the components that Earth used to build our ships were of alien manufacture. I popped the cover open with the key and saw a dank, slippery interior.
“You’re going to go into that?” Evelyn said, looking over my shoulder and wrinkling her nose.
“Nope,” I said, “you are. I’m too damned big. My shoulders would never fit.”
She complained, but in the end, she was convinced. We were running out of options. Who knew what gruesome lies Deech was telling Drusus right now during our absence?
After about fifteen minutes, during which I heard a lot of curses floating up from that pipe, Evelyn opened the module’s emergency exit.
I rushed out and found a guard cold-cocked on the floor.
“I didn’t know you had it in you, Centurion,” I told her.
“Come on. I’ve still got clearances that are active. We’ll take the stairs up to Gold Deck.”
We almost made it—but not quite. As we were unarmed, I found myself irritated by the fact a few noncoms had captured us again.
“I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding, Veteran Alders,” Evelyn said in a stern voice.
“I’m sure it is, sir, but we’ve got to check. There’s been some funny—”
Veteran Alders held a gun on me, while the other ran our tappers through a search. His eyes flashed up in alarm a moment later.
But it was too late for him. I grabbed his pistol with his finger on the trigger and pushed it into the gut of the second man. Reflexively, he shot his partner.
Then, I beat Alders down until he stopped moving. It wasn’t anything to be proud of, but there it was.
Breathing hard, I turned to Evelyn. She looked sick.
“Why’d you do that, James?” she asked. “Now they’ll never believe we’re innocent.”
“Well… we aren’t. Not exactly. We’re way past that whole thing.”
She followed me, hurrying in confusion as I made my way to the conference rooms on Gold Deck.
“What whole thing are we past?”
“You know, all that business of guilt or innocence. We’re into the realm of who guessed right and who guessed wrong. Who’s going to take the blame for this fiasco and who is going to walk out smelling like a rose.”
“Deech is fantastically talented in that department,” she said dejectedly.
“We’ll see.”
The door to the conference room opened after a few deft taps with the Galactic Key.
A startled bunch of brass turned to look at us. At the head table were three I knew well: Praetor Drusus sat in the center. On his right side was Imperator Deech. On his left was Tribune Galina Turov.
“Sorry, sirs,” I announced. “We couldn’t get here any faster. There must be some misunderstanding with the security personnel.”
Deech didn’t snarl at me. Instead, she cocked her head and smiled.
“And there we have it,” she said, as if we’d somehow proven a point she’d been in the midst of making. “I rest my case.”
Galina looked at me like I’d strangled her last kitten, and Drusus appeared to smell something foul.
“Uh…” I said, uncertain how to proceed. “Am I missing something?”
“Indeed you are, Adjunct,” Drusus said. “You’ve somehow exited your holding cell, and… ah yes, reports of injuries are rolling in on my tapper even now.”
“Look, Praetor,” I said. “I don’t know what’s been discussed, but I—”
“I must object, Praetor,” Deech said smoothly. “This prisoner is dangerous, and he shouldn’t be allowed to barge in here to make a statement.”
“Agreed,” Drusus said. “But then again, here he is with his codefendant. Let’s use the moment to finish these proceedings.”
Deech perked up. “You mean it’s time to pass a verdict?”
“Yes,” he said, and he seemed deflated. Even depressed.
“Very well,” Deech said, lighting up. “Let us by all means proceed.”
I tried to object, but they shut me down. Bailiffs and MPs were filling the room by now, and their guns told me I’d better keep quiet.
“Adjunct James McGill, Centurion Evelyn Thompson,” Drusus began. “You two are accused of conspiracy to commit a raft of crimes, previously listed. How do you plead?”
“Not guilty, sir!” I belted out.
Evelyn hung her head in shame.
“Guilty, sir,” she said.
“Very well, we’ve heard the evidence. What’s your vote, Turov?”
“Not guilty.”
“I object,” Deech said severely.
Drusus looked at her in surprise. “You object to a verdict rendered by their superior officer?”
“I do. Insomuch as this officer is also to stand trial immediately after we finish this proceeding. Really, we should have done this in reverse order.”
Drusus thought about that but then shook his head. “Objection overruled. How do you vote, Imperator Deech?”
She tried to look composed, but I could see the glee in her face.
“Guilty,” she said. “Since the first moment I laid eyes on this man, he’s been nothing but an embarrassment. A slovenly soldier destined to be permed for insubordination if nothing else.”
Drusus nodded, unsurprised. He sucked in a deep breath.
“I vote… not guilty.”
We all blinked in surprise. Deech was positively stunned.
“Let me explain my reasoning,” he said in the silent room. “Your DNA was on the triggers, just as theirs was, Imperator—”
“I told you why that—”
Drusus lifted a hand. “I understand. But the fact remains that without using the broadsides, one of our legions was effectively permed. No matter who we blame for the mess—that step had to be taken.”
“It’s not fitting that low-level officers should take it upon themselves—”
“No, of course it isn’t,” Drusus agreed. “But when the brass refuses to make the hard choices—or refuses to accept responsibility for them—Varus people tend to act.”
Deech glowered at him. I had the feeling their shared bed was going to be ice-cold tonight.
“What,” she said sternly, “do you propose to do to remedy this breakdown in discipline? Who will be punished, and how?”
Drusus ruminated on that. “The fault here, in the end, is almost entirely mine. I allowed my judgment to be swayed again and again. This entire venture has turned into a fiasco due to my errors. Therefore, I can’t hold anyone responsible for—”
“That’s insane!” Deech cried out, standing tall. “Praetor Drusus, I demand—”
“This trial is dismissed,” he said firmly. “As are all follow-up charges and recriminations. We’re here to win a war, officers. We’re not here to in-fight, to investigate, to waste valuable time. I don’t think anyone here is a traitor to Earth. But we’ve lost our way, and leadership has failed to unite everyone in this taskforce and guide them to victory.”
The courtroom fell silent again, but I couldn’t contain myself any longer.
I stood up and released a long war-whoop. While doing so, I cranked my arm over my head and swung it around as if my team had just won the pennant.
In a way, I guess we had.
-39-
The next morning, the legions began to drop on Dark World again.
This time around, I went down with them.
Dropping one at a time into the capsules and firing out of the belly of Nostrum, my unit looked universally tense and glum—but I was all smiles.
Now, to be sure, I wasn’t certain we had a prayer of beating the Vulbites, but at least we had a new plan, and I hadn’t been permed.
Grinning, I tucked each recruit into their little cylindrical coffins and shot them at Dark World’s dank landscape with glee in my heart.
“Come on!” I boomed. “Step right up, who’s my next lucky splat!”
This was their third drop, so I didn’t expect any splats—but you never knew. One by one my recruits walked out into open space. They were sucked into that round, black hole in the deck and swiftly processed.
At last, it was my turn. Without hesitation or regret, I hopped in and shot myself at the planet.
The jump went as smoothly as such things could go. We punched through the cloud layer and screamed downward. The external heat shields measured around three thousand degrees C, and all systems were go.
Retros fired in the final minute, slowing down our capsules. Even so, we landed rough, some cylinders sinking into the soft ground a meter or more.
Blasting the release bolts, we crawled out of our smoking eggs like hatchlings.
Getting my bearings, I summoned my platoon as it landed, and we all moved out of the LZ.
It was my first up-close view of Dark World. Right off, I could tell the planet was a strange one. The horizon seemed too close as the planet wasn’t that big. You could practically see the curve of it from the ground.
Off to the east where the sky was brightest, it was still pretty murky. The dim light made the grass look purple, rather than green. The soil was more mud than dirt, and it was as black as space itself.
To the north was a low, worn-tooth series of humps in the land. I guess they were mountains—dinky ones. There weren’t any trees where we landed, but larger flora in the shape of big leafy plants was in sight to the west.
“Don’t get nailed by the next wave,” I urged my troops. “I want every trooper to move past the western line you see on your HUD now.”
A wave of color swept over the group, and they could all see the only direction where marginal safety lay. To the west, a line of light was superimposed on their faceplates. They rushed there, scrambling, limping and dragging themselves as needed.
We all made it. There were a few injuries, but nothing as serious as a broken bone.
“A picture-perfect landing,” I told them, and I clapped Cooper on the back.
He winced, but smiled and nodded up at me.
When our whole unit had formed, we’d only lost one heavy trooper when a capsule flattened him in the LZ.
“I hear you’ve got a deader on your hands already, Harris,” Leeson said, gloating.
Harris cast him a glare. “It was your weaponeer that landed on him as he was trying to get off the field.”
“You snooze, you lose,” Leeson said, chuckling.
Winslade popped up in our midst like a gopher. “Let’s shut up and advance to our next way-point, shall we?”
“Yessir!” I said, and I rushed off in the lead. As the man commanding the light troops, I knew without asking it was my job to scout ahead.
We made rapid progress across a field of purple-green grasses until we reached a line of something that resembled trees. Whatever you might want to call them, they were big plants growing in the rich, black soil.
Up close, the trees looked less and less like real trees. They were like gigantic versions of something I’d seen in my mom’s vegetable garden. Beets, that’s what they looked like.
The man-sized leaves were bright green, but they had purple veins running all through them. The veins were thick and squiggly, and they made me a little uneasy when I examined them too closely. The stalks holding up the leaves were purple, too, but they weren’t as disturbing as those ropy purple veins.
“Weird-looking plants they have down here, huh?” Leeson asked me when his platoon caught up. “You haven’t seen anything yet, McGill. Keep moving. You’re going to love this shit-hole.”
Leading my light troops, I advanced into the giant field of beets, pushing past fleshy leaves and crunching over tangled root structures. We were soon deep in the thicket, and sounds of wind and soldiers faded, muffled by the fleshy plants.
We encountered our first group of Vulbites by chance. They were surrounding one of the plants—feeding on it. They had sharp pinchers with stabbing tubes that came out of the middle of their mouthparts.
“Are they high or something?” Sarah asked me in a whisper. She came near and crouched, breathing hard. “They’re ignoring us.”
“They might be civilians,” I said. “Although they all look the same to me.”
“That one’s moving!” Sarah shouted, and before I could stop her, she’d pounded it with fifty rounds out of her snap-rifle.
The troops converged, crashing through the bushes, and began firing.
The Vulbites rushed us, curved, blade-like pinchers spread wide, but they didn’t stand a chance. They were all cut down and killed.
“That could have gone better,” I said.
“How?” Cooper asked. “We got them all, and we didn’t lose a single soldier. It was a job well-done if you ask me.”
“Nobody’s asking you,” I said. “Take point.”
He shrugged, and did as I asked. I watched him move off into the big purple-green foliage.
Was it a mistake to send Cooper ahead? If more Vulbites were found, civvie or not, I knew what he’d do.
The trouble was, these aliens were just too alien for humans to deal with fairly. It was hard to imagine peacefully interacting with this species. Every Vulbite looked like something every human wanted to kill on reflex.
The beet-field thinned out after a kilometer or so, and we approached the nest itself. There is where I began to wish I’d been revived before the briefings.
Checking my waypoint on my HUD, I had a vague idea about where I was going. But I didn’t have much information on the cohort or the legion as a whole. All I knew was the ground would rise up and up about five hundred meters or so. At the top of this rise was the entrance to the nest, or hive, that we were assaulting.
As the rise in the ground steepened, the vegetation thinned. We finally came close enough to the edge of the beet-plant forest to see the hill in the center of the legion, in all its glory.
“There they are,” Leeson said. “Up on top of the hill, waiting for us.”
I stared up. The hill was artificial, of course. To me, it looked more like an anthill than a termite mound, but it had properties of both. The nest wasn’t simple dirt. It was shot through with a sophisticated weave of naturally extruded polymers. In other words, the mound was made of dirt laced with spit—or something worse than spit.
