Home World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 6) Read online

  SF Books by B. V. Larson:

  STAR FORCE SERIES:

  (In chronological order)

  Swarm

  Extinction

  Rebellion

  Conquest

  Army of One (Novella)

  Battle Station

  Empire

  Annihilation

  Storm Assault

  The Dead Sun

  Outcast

  Exile

  Lost Colonies Trilogy

  Battle Cruiser

  Dreadnought

  OTHER SF BOOKS:

  Starfire

  Element-X

  Technomancer

  The Bone Triangle

  Z-World

  Velocity

  Visit BVLarson.com for more information.

  HOME WORLD

  by

  B. V. Larson

  The Undying Mercenaries Series:

  Steel World

  Dust World

  Tech World

  Machine World

  Death World

  Home World

  Copyright © 2016 by the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

  An excerpt from:

  The Galaxy and Our Place in It

  2052 AD.

  In that blessed year, the Galactics revealed themselves to Humanity. The impact of this singular event can’t be overstated. Our entire culture was transformed.

  Earth found herself instantly united, a goal sought throughout history. Even better, we weren’t just politically merged with every fellow member of our own species, we were simultaneously introduced to countless other life forms. We were called brothers by all of them.

  To be sure, there were a few individualists who resisted these changes, but their aberrant thinking was corrected. The survivors embraced the Empire whole-heartedly.

  And why shouldn’t they? How could any right-minded person deny the superiority of intellect, technology and culture that the Galactics represent? We are like insects at their feet. But far better than most insects, we were able to learn and adapt. Thus far, these traits have kept us from being exterminated.

  As a society, we became adults in the year 2052. Before then, we’d been nothing more than wild children—beasts of the field. In return for our whole-hearted allegiance, the Empire bestowed their gifts upon us. These were many and varied, but the most obvious after unification and security were the technological benefits.

  After we proved ourselves to be viable members of the Imperial Marketplace by producing mercenary troops, a trade good with sufficient demand in other star systems to warrant exchange, we were allowed to purchase any goods or services that weren’t restricted in Province 921.

  The first of these services was interstellar shipping. We couldn’t build or design ships of our own, of course, as that would compete with the legal holders of such rights in our region of the galaxy. Nor could we serve on ships, as that was the exclusive role of the Skrull.

  But we were able to buy passage to other systems in order to deliver our troops to them. There are many archival videos from that first voyage by Legion Victrix, and this author would suggest that all readers touch here to view them. The pride, honor and obvious delight of those brave legionnaires should be remembered and emulated.

  Using technology we’d only dreamt of, the warp-bubble ships slid through space at unimaginable speeds. Without this technology, the Empire itself could not exist. We used these rented alien ships to gather credits for Earth.

  Once Humanity was earning a staple diet of Galactic Credits, we reinvested that hard-won cash into weapons and armor for our troops. Snap-rifles, plasma-belchers and countless other tools of the soldier were soon in abundant supply.

  It should be noted here that certain sour individuals have claimed our armament is mere surplus equipment. That it’s outdated, previously-used and even obsolete. Snap-rifles, for instance, have been likened to arrowheads made of chipped flint.

  How like humanity to bite the very hand that feeds us! This author finds such remarks ungrateful and even scandalous. The Empire is under no obligation to arm our troops. We should take their cast-offs—if we must think of them as such—and use them gratefully to the best effect we can.

  The side-benefits of cooperation are obvious in our daily lives. Earth has prospered, bringing countless consumer items to the Home World. Floaters, for instance, are wondrous vehicles that defy gravity. They’ve become commonplace.

  Other alien products have crept into our lives as well. New to the market are sensory suits. They provide an amazing, unique experience, and they’re sweeping aside older forms of entertainment.

  Nothing but toys and amusements, the critics grumble, but I’d challenge any of them to go back to the days of simple holo-vids downloaded off the public net. They’d be bored and begging to have their sensory units returned to them within hours!

  Last of the great gifts of the Galactics, but certainly not the least important, are the revival machines. They’re very expensive, yes, but amazingly effective. With this technology, our soldiers are able to live and die over and over again for Mother Earth. Who can argue with immortality?

  As to the expense, remember that the savings on retraining and the transport of fresh troops is dramatic and undeniable. Despite their upfront costs, revival machines are a bargain which is why every legion deploys them whenever they take the field.

  In summary, it’s this author’s opinion that the growing dissent on Earth concerning our status within the Empire is the talk of ungrateful traitors. The Empire’s many amazing gifts should be reflected upon on a daily basis by everyone who walks this green planet. Do the Nairbs restrict what we can buy? Of course they do, but their restrictions are anything but arbitrary. We should all trust our government and treat our rulers with the utmost respect. After all, they’ve given us so much.

  The Empire and its servants deserve our praise, rather than our scorn. Certainly, there are technological gifts that the Galactics haven’t shared with us, but we must assume that we’ve not yet been deemed worthy. We humans might become a danger to ourselves and others if we were allowed unlimited access to all the wonders of the Empire.

  It’s right we have trade restrictions. It’s good we haven’t been allowed to witness the undoubtedly awesome power of the Galactics, a power best reserved for the Core Worlds.

  Trust your Empire. Believe in your Empire. And if she should call upon you to die a thousand times in her service, do so without qualm or hesitation.

  As the Galactics tell us with regularity: Service is Strength.

  “What shore knows not our blood?”

  – Horace, 39 BC

  -1-

  After Nagata gave me my twin nano-adhesive gold bars, I became an adjunct. But the bureaucrats shuffling around Central weren’t satisfied yet. They wanted to put me through a battery of tests to make sure lowly James McGill was worthy of an officer’s commission.

  The Hegemony people, or “hogs” as legionnaires from independent legions called them, had a lot of rules. They wanted their rules to be respected, even if a three-star equestrian had already approved the promotion.

  In addition to their sheer love of red-tape, I figured there was just a hint of a sneer on their collective lips. They didn’t like seeing a grunt work his way up to a commission so fas
t. They liked the fact that a man from Legion Varus had managed to earn such an honor even less.

  Lastly, hogs just plain don’t like me, in particular.

  “We need to discuss your scores, Veteran McGill,” a prim hog named Rossi told me.

  “My rank is adjunct,” I said.

  “Not yet it isn’t. Let’s go over these results, shall we?”

  Rossi wore the uniform of a primus. She was one of those severe types, with her shoulders squared tightly, and her hair cropped down to her scalp on the sides. Her sole concession to femininity consisted of a small pony tail she kept stuffed under her cap most of the time. Today, it had slipped out to touch her neck. I found that intriguing.

  “Shall we go over them, McGill?” she asked again.

  Pulling my eyes away from her hair, I frowned. Rossi and I stared at one another for about three long seconds. Internally, I thought up and rejected about a half-dozen rude comments I could make.

  “All right,” I said at last.

  “First off,” she said, “your latest psych profile has gained my attention. The metrics are alarming, but the worst part is the trend-line. Did you know you’re heading down a dark path, McGill?”

  “Could you elaborate on that?”

  “We’re seeing a reduced flight-time—that’s what we call it—from a state of calm to a state of rage. This behavioral flaw results in violent outbursts. There’s also a marked increase in your propensity to take any criticism as a personal attack. Almost as bad, you’ve moved into a region of high mendacity.”

  “A region of high what?”

  “You lie a lot.”

  “Oh…” I said.

  Rossi looked at me as if expecting some kind of defensiveness, but she got a blank stare instead.

  Taking in a deep breath, she pressed on.

  “The truthfulness quotient in your responses to even basic questions has dropped to thirty-seven percent.”

  “Uh-huh…”

  She wasn’t done yet. She proceeded to tell me how I lied, and in what situations, and even how long and complicated my lies were.

  Thinking about all this, I became alarmed.

  “Excuse me,” I interrupted when she got to her next complaint, which consisted of accusing me of having too many sexual encounters with a wide variety of women. “Where are you getting all this data?”

  “Your psych profile, as I said.”

  “I don’t think so. That was a short test. Sure, you gave me two hours, but I finished it in forty minutes. The data you’re prattling on about can’t be from that test.”

  “Of course not. You didn’t think our investigation would hinge on a walk-in test, did you? You’ve been under surveillance for some time.”

  “Yeah… okay. Drones and all that… but what about your data on how truthful I’ve been? Who’s measuring that?”

  “Your tapper is. Your autonomic data is being constantly monitored and fed into the data core here at Central.”

  I glanced down at my forearm, where my tapper resided. There were a few stray hairs growing out of the fleshy screen—mine always seemed to do that—but otherwise, it looked the same as it always did.

  Tappers were parasitical things, that was for sure. Organic computers that were so symbiotic with us that when we died they were revived along with the rest of our bodies. They always came out fully functional again, just like any other essential organ.

  My tapper was my friend, my companion. It was like my own arm to me. I didn’t like to think it was also spying on me in a new and unacceptable way.

  “Are you having dark thoughts about your tapper right now, James?” Primus Rossi asked.

  I glanced back up at her.

  “Not really,” I lied. “I was just wondering how much you guys really know about my personal life. How much you’re tracking about all of us.”

  She nodded. “It is disturbing, but it’s for the best. The real answer is that we know everything—and nothing—at the same time.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “What I’m saying is that yes, masses of details are tracked by our tappers. They store measured autonomic impulses going back a decade, and we can use that data to calculate what you were doing on any particular Thursday in May. But we generally don’t bother to do so. All of that data stays private—unless we have a reason to delve into it.”

  I nodded. “So… you’re saying we have all the privacy in the world until someone shines a light on us. Then we turn into a bug under a shoe.”

  “That’s about right.”

  Sighing, I thought for a moment about how I could explain myself. The primus had some good points. I was a darker-minded individual than I’d been years back, when I’d first stepped into the door of the Mustering Hall and signed up with the only legion that would have me.

  “Primus,” I began, “how many people have you killed?”

  She looked surprised.

  “I don’t see—”

  “It’s a simple enough question. Humor me. Count people you shot in training. I’m sure even you Hegemony-types have to participate in live-fire exercises. How many times did you end the life of another human being?”

  Rossi hesitated. I could tell I’d gotten her to think. Her lips squirmed for a moment.

  “Thinking of a lie?” I asked her. “Your tapper knows you’re doing that. The fact will be tracked forever.”

  “Certainly not,” she snapped. “I fail to see the point of your inquiry, but I’ve killed exactly one person in a live-fire drill.”

  “Was it up close?”

  “No, I did it with a snap-rifle.”

  “Did you look over the body afterward? Did you see those shocked eyes, wide and staring up at nothing?”

  She hesitated again. “I don’t see—”

  “Never mind,” I said. “Don’t bother to answer. I can read it in your face—just like your tapper can. You did see the face of the man you killed, and I can tell from the way you’re reacting that it was a disturbing experience for you.”

  She shrugged. “All right. You’ve made your point. I suppose you’re going to claim now that killing people for a living changes people. That we can’t expect a veteran of numerous conflicts to be a stellar—”

  Leaning forward suddenly, I gave her a crazed look. That part came naturally to me. I didn’t have to manufacture any of it.

  “You’re not getting it,” I said. “Not quite. My tapper has other data in it. Kills, estimated kills. You know how many times I’ve looked into the eyes of a human I’ve murdered? They didn’t all come back, either. How many times have you permed another person?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, I’ve done it a number of times. Hundreds—maybe even thousands of times by now.”

  Rossi was trying not to recoil from me, but I could tell she wanted to shrink back into her seat.

  In my mind’s eye I could see dead faces. And there were countless more who I’d slain with big equipment at a comfortable distance.

  “And if you’re including aliens,” I continued, laughing ruefully, “let’s not even go there. Millions. I’ve killed millions. Quite possibly, I’m the biggest murderer living on this planet today—except maybe for Claver.”

  Claver was an interesting man from my past. He’d started off as a corrupt officer in Legion Germanica and ended up as an independent operator between the stars. As far as I knew, he was the only human trader out there who broke all the rules of the Galactic Empire, and who had thus far gotten away with it. He and I had presided over some serious disasters in the past, and people who got in the way had often lost their lives.

  Rossi’s eyes flicked down to her computer to verify my words, and when she looked back up again she appeared to be startled.

  I smiled grimly. “Does it say I’m a big-time murderer? That I’m telling the truth?”

  “The truth, as best you know it.”

  I nodded and sat back again. “So now you know. I’m different for a reason: I�
��m a killer. You people made me like this. You, Legion Varus, and several planets-full of hostile aliens. But at the same time, that’s exactly why I’m here. Earth needs her best killers now.”

  Rossi licked her lips. Her expression and her manner had shifted. She sucked in a breath and released it. I noticed how her eyes avoided mine.

  “Millions…” she whispered under her breath. “How…?”

  “Not everything is in my tapper, Primus. A lot of the best stuff has been deleted.”

  She glanced at her screens again, then back at me, alarmed all over again. “The data core breach?”

  I shrugged noncommittally. “Could be. Do you have any more questions for me?”

  She thought about it for several long seconds. We sat there in silence, listening to the air-traffic outside the pyramid-like walls of Central.

  “No,” she said at last. “I don’t think I want to know anything else.”

  “You’re right, you don’t,” I told her. “You really don’t.”

  She stood up and extended her hand. I stood up and shook it.

  “Congratulations, Adjunct McGill.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I slipped on my jacket and my cap. She watched me as I moved toward the door.

  “McGill?” she called as I was about to leave.

  I turned, eyebrows raised. She looked smaller to me now. The attitude on her face had shifted. She wore a new expression of concern, rather than scorn or severity.

  “Sir?”

  “Could you try—could you try to kill only aliens from now on?” she asked. “The ones that need killing?”

  Nodding, I flashed her a smile. “I’ll do my damnedest.”

  “Thanks.”

  Leaving Primus Rossi behind, I rode the elevator to the ground floor lobby. My ears cracked twice on the way down.

  It felt good to be outside again in the crisp November air. Central had been like a prison for the last few days, but I’d finally slid past all the bureaucrats.

  They’d taken a hard look under my hood, and they’d promptly slammed it back down again, shuddering.