Armor World Page 15

  They went off right under the machine’s belly. The dragon did a hop and smoked. It was dead, and so was our beloved tribune.

  “That was magnificent!” Barton said, limping up to me and clapping me on the back.

  I nodded, panting and hurting from a few slivers of shrapnel that had escaped the explosion. “Please don’t tell Turov who did it,” I said. “Okay?”

  Barton blinked, but then she nodded and shook her head bemusedly.

  Harris came up and pulled me to my feet. “Manfred’s dead. Turov snipped his head clean off, that witch. No offense…”

  “None taken. Let’s help with the rest.”

  We waded into the steel barricades then. Half the primus heavies were down—but our side was running out of troops, too.

  None of us were pleased to see that Graves was still in the fight.

  “Damn!” Harris breathed. “Look at that mother! He’s poetry in motion!”

  Harris wasn’t exaggerating. I’d only tangled with Graves on a few occasions, but believe me, when you went into a fight with that man, you damn-well better mean business.

  He stood in the midst of several of the steel shields, and men rushed him with knives from every direction. His stance was so practiced, so effortless. No matter how they hit him—tackling low or high—they couldn’t seem to take him down.

  In the meantime, his two blades hummed and slashed. They thrust through guts, sliced through ribcages and always seemed to be directly in the path of every attacker that dared to charge in.

  His faceplate was a glittering tangle of glass. Round after round had been fired into it, shattering every inch. The face inside looked barely human—but for all that, he was still on his feet, fighting.

  “Your commander is down, Graves!” I roared through cupped hands. “Give it up!”

  He seemed not to hear me, or maybe he didn’t care. I hadn’t expected he would.

  “You’re wasting your time, boy,” Harris said. “I’ve fought with Graves for a long time. He’s not giving up while he’s still breathing.”

  Watching him, I saw Harris screw an extension onto the snap-rifle he’d taken off a dead centurion somewhere. He quickly and expertly converted his weapon into a single-shot sniper rifle.

  Taking careful aim, he waved to me. “Get him to look this way!”

  Trotting up, I shouted at him. “Graves!”

  He turned to see me. I waggled a knife in each hand, issuing a clear challenge. I gave him a feral grin.

  “Two blades against two blades!” I said.

  He nodded. He seemed beyond speech—then I saw how injured he was. Some rounds had penetrated his faceplate. It looked like his jaw was hanging down, useless and flapping. Blood was everywhere inside his helmet, and a lot of it had to be his.

  I charged, but before we could meet, a rifle cracked. Graves flew onto his back, stone dead.

  “Ah well…” I said. “It would have been a fine fight.”

  A general round of catcalls went up from the group around us. They didn’t like how we’d suckered Graves.

  “Shut the shit up,” Harris snarled at them, no matter what their rank. “McGill did his part, and Graves is down. Any recruit that did that would be given a medal.”

  They still grumbled. Looking around for more upper ranks, we realized that Graves appeared to be the last of the enemy. We’d won.

  There was some ragged cheering, but not much. Most of us were hurt, and all of us were bone-tired.

  “We need to get out of here,” Harris said. “Are the doors still locked?”

  “Yep, they sure are.”

  “This is bullshit,” he complained. “It must be Armel up there in the ops booth. He’s probably drunk. That man is as useless as a pecker on a pope.”

  There was scattered laughter and agreement on that point.

  Barton walked over to me, and she laid a hand on my shoulder. I thought for a second she was going to admonish me over Graves’ death—but she didn’t.

  “Hey,” she said, pointing. “You see that pile bodies over there?”

  I looked. “Yeah?”

  “Winslade went down right there, but I didn’t see anyone actually kill him.”

  Barton and I glanced at one another, and we both grinned.

  “This is ours—all ours,” I said.

  “Agreed. How are we going to do it?” she asked me, whispering.

  After a few minutes, we organized search parties to head into the woods. Ostensibly, this was just in case there was another primus hiding in the trees someplace, like that last Easter egg with the ten credit piece in it no kid seems to be able to find.

  In the meantime, Barton and I took our combat knives and we went to work on the belly plates of the dragon. They were warped and jammed, but we got one open eventually. Reaching my hand way up into the magazines, I managed to pull out one last grenade.

  We walked over to where Winslade was napping under a grisly pile of death.

  “Looks like everyone’s left,” I said loudly. “Kind of weird how they don’t want to let us out.”

  “Right,” Barton said with equal volume. “How about that lamer Winslade? He went down in the first thirty seconds, didn’t he?”

  “Sure did. I killed him myself.”

  “No you didn’t, sir! I killed him. He ate it like a hog right at the start!”

  About then, the pile of bodies stirred. They slid aside, and something gory and metallic stood up in their midst. Inside that blood-smeared faceplate, a triumphant Winslade sneered at us.

  “You’re both liars!” he shouted, and he began to wade toward us. His force-blades sprouted and began to hum.

  That was our cue. Barton and I hit the deck. We’d been standing near the barricades, and we made sure the thick shields were between us and the flash of blue-white plasma that ignited the area a moment later.

  We’d booby-trapped the bodies Winslade had been hiding under. His suit was blown open.

  Unfortunately, Harris hadn’t gotten wind of our plot. He charged Winslade from behind, and he blew up with him.

  Barton and I stood up when the smoke cleared, grinning at each other.

  “See that?” I asked. “You’ve made an honest man out of me, Barton. I now can prove I had an undeniable hand in killing old Winslade.”

  “No charge, Centurion. No charge.”

  Moments later, a voice like that of the Almighty spoke. It rumbled across the vast chamber that was Green Deck. It took me a second to realize it was Armel. His words had been amplified, and they were ear-splittingly loud.

  “The last of the better men has fallen. The lower ranks have won this dark day. Congratulations, peasants. You have thrown down your masters. This contest is finished.”

  Then, and only then, did the massive doors of Green Deck roll away and allow the survivors to exit.

  -26-

  It had been a grim slaughter. By the end, three quarters of the officers who’d participated had died. Despite that, the enlisted types seemed jubilant.

  “Blowing up Winslade,” Carlos said, clapping me hard on the back. “That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen you do, McGill. We were all watching, and when Graves led that charge into the center—well, we thought all you guys wearing your undies out there were finished.”

  “It was a close thing,” I agreed. “It would have helped if all the cohorts had decided to jump in.”

  “Yeah, the 2nd and the 5th… I don’t know how they can look themselves in the mirror after that embarrassment.”

  “They pissed themselves and shivered in the woods,” I said loudly, giving an eye to a few centurions who were in earshot.

  They showed me their middle fingers and hunkered over their gear. They couldn’t fool me—they were feeling ashamed.

  Graves entered the mess deck then, and we gave him a cheer. He saluted us in return.

  “I’m here on the part of your superiors,” he said. “We would like to congratulate the lower ranks of Varus on a job well done.
There are no hard feelings, and we’d like every centurion to join us for a banquet on Gold Deck tomorrow night. By then, the revival queues are scheduled to be empty.”

  Another cheer went up, and he marched back out again.

  “That’s totally cool of him,” Carlos said. “Graves is a class act.”

  “Would have been cooler if he’d invited the adjuncts,” Harris grumbled.

  “Not enough ballroom,” Carlos said.

  “What’s that, Ortiz?”

  “That’s just what I’ve heard, sir. Gold Deck can’t squeeze hundreds into their banquet chamber.”

  “Let me tell you a little story, Ortiz…” Harris said. “You’re an idiot.”

  Carlos laughed, but Harris glowered and poked at his food. He’d died in the exercise, and he somehow seemed to blame me for it. From my perspective, that was just sour grapes. Harris was always in a bad mood after dying. Always.

  I searched for Kivi that night, but she was otherwise engaged. That’s how it went with her. You couldn’t get attached, or you were sure to get your dick shortened.

  My mind considered the idea of wandering up to Gold Deck and trying my luck with Galina—but I passed on that. She and I had a long-term, simmering relationship. But when we were on deployment, we rarely got together. It never seemed to work out when we were under the stresses of a military campaign. On top of all that, I’d just ganged up with twenty other guys to kill her. She was unlikely to be in a receptive mood.

  So, I returned alone to my quarters. I was surprised to find someone waiting there for me. It was Adjunct Erin Barton.

  Now, let me get things straight right here, I’d always played the game strictly by the rulebook with Barton. I hadn’t even hinted around with her, as she was my immediate subordinate.

  She’d come to Varus out of Victrix, under somewhat mysterious circumstances. Her shoulders were broad, her face was sharp. She wasn’t an ugly woman, far from it—just… kind of mean-looking.

  Tonight, she looked different somehow. More feminine and inviting. I thought it was her smile and her eyes. They seemed to glow at me.

  Uh-oh.

  She’d been through a lot today, and I’d somehow struck her fancy. I’d have to step carefully tonight.

  “Good evening, Adjunct,” I said. “You did some excellent killing today.”

  “I could say the same, sir. I especially liked tripping up Winslade at the end. Is it wrong to feel vindictive like that?”

  Blinking for a second, I could tell by her smile that she was joking. I laughed and opened my door.

  “It sure isn’t,” I said. “Not where he comes from. Winslade is like a snake lurking under your porch swing. He’s always fair game.”

  I stepped inside my quarters, and I half expected her to say goodnight and walk off—but she didn’t. She just kind of lingered there, canting her hips so they leaned against my doorway.

  “Uh…” I said. “You want to come in? We could have a drink or something.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. I knew it the second those words were out of my mouth, but it was already too late by then. She slammed the door behind her, and she sat on my bunk. I made us a couple of drinks in disposable cups, and we both downed them.

  “You know what?” she asked. “I think I’m finally feeling at home here—with Varus, I mean. I owe a lot of that to you, sir.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “That’s right. From the start, any normal centurion would want to know how a girl like me got herself kicked out of Victrix, demoted to adjunct, and sent down to Varus. But you didn’t pry.”

  There was an insult or two buried in her statements, but I let that slide. A man who gets offended easily rarely gets any tail—not that I was angling for that tonight. It was just reflexive for me to let a lady speak her mind.

  We had another shot each, and she heaved a deep sigh. I’d rarely seen her drink. She’d always been a tightly wound creature from day one.

  “I’ll admit,” she said, “I considered Varus a worse fate than perma-death. There are so many stories, so much sneering…”

  “Uh… how about now?”

  “I feel differently about things. I spent that first year, back on Storm World, trying to be an exemplary officer.”

  “And you achieved your goal, by the way.”

  “Thank you… but it didn’t work. I didn’t get a reprieve. All my requests to return to Victrix went unanswered.”

  That surprised me. I hadn’t known she’d been working hard to transfer out. Normally, when an officer wanted a transfer, they were supposed to inform their direct commander.

  But I knew what she meant. She wasn’t making formal written requests. She was feeling the waters back home, testing the ears of whatever friends she had back there. Apparently, Victrix had taken a pass.

  “Their loss and our gain,” I said firmly.

  She gestured with her cup. I hesitated, then poured her another.

  “Well sir,” she said. “I’ll say goodnight if you want me to.”

  She wasn’t looking up. She was studying her hands, eyes downcast. That wasn’t the norm for her. She usually met any gaze with her own steely blues—but not tonight.

  For some reason, this caused a surge of attraction to grip me. She was making it clear she was interested—but it was all up to me.

  Damn.

  I knew I shouldn’t, mind you. I’m not the young savage I was thirty years before. Oh, sure, I still felt all those old emotions. Hell, my body was at least thirty years younger than my mind at the moment. But the passions and hormones of a young healthy male were definitely affecting me tonight.

  Reaching out a hand, I touched her arm. It was a chaste thing, a comforting thing—but it garnered the expected reactions.

  She jumped my bones. Right then and there. That single touch… I guess she’d taken it as a sign I was interested—which I was.

  But I hadn’t been expecting her to come on strong after looking so demure. Whatever was going on in her mind, the whole situation was beyond control about ten seconds later.

  We made love like a couple of animals. Damn, she was kind of hot. Passionate. She clawed at me, even.

  Sometimes the reserved ones… I don’t know, they’re bottling it up.

  When we were finished, she sprang off me and started pulling her clothes on. I raised myself on my elbows and watched.

  “Uh…” I said. “You in a hurry, Erin?”

  That was probably the first time since we’d met that I’d used her first name. She paused and softened.

  “I… I think I made a mistake. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Aw, come on. I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

  She laughed at that. She shook her head. “It’s not that. This just isn’t appropriate.”

  “You mean the part about jumping on your centurion by surprise? No… that sure as hell wasn’t,” I agreed. “But it happens. Don’t freak out about it. This is Varus, not Victrix.”

  Erin nodded and took a deep breath. She found her cup and waggled it at me. I poured her one more, and we kissed for a while.

  “I really should go now,” she said. “I can’t spend the night or anything—the troops will know by morning.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her they were most likely playing buzzer vids of the action right now in the recruits’ bunkroom. Varus officers weren’t the only ones who broke the rules a lot in this legion.

  “All right,” I said, giving her one more kiss. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  She took a step toward the door, but she paused. Those eyes of hers were downcast again. Calm and demure all of a sudden—damn, this girl could switch moods like a rainstorm.

  “You want to know why I got kicked out of Victrix?”

  “Uh… sure, if you want to tell me.”

  “I slept with a primus. The tribune found out—and that was it. I was demoted and out on my ass.”

  I laughed. “Don’t worry about that happening again. Not here. Hell,
if they kicked you out of Varus, where would they send you? Even hog-heaven back at Central would be a promotion. There’s nowhere to go from here but up, girl.”

  Erin smiled, and she left.

  After that, I stretched out on my bunk until my feet hung over the sides, and I slept like a baby.

  -27-

  The next evening I attended the banquet on Gold Deck. The room was crowded with officers, but I didn’t care. The food was top-notch.

  Two plates sat in front of me. One was for the light stuff: potato salad, chicken, black olives and peeled shrimp. The second was stacked with three steaks, each as thick as my thumb.

  My mouth was watering, and I could barely listen to the speeches. Damnation, why did people always like to talk so much before they ate? That was bass-ackwards in my book. I couldn’t even think with all that food staring up at me.

  “51 Pegasi is home to a strange, friendly species that is famous for their AI creations,” Drusus said calmly. “I’m here today to tell you about it, as we’ll soon reach that famous star system.”

  Galina walked by and eyed me from across the table. Her gaze was frosty, to say the least.

  “Don’t hunch, McGill,” she said. “Show these people you are an officer and a gentleman—not a professional ape-impersonator.”

  Nodding, I tried to look at Drusus, and I pasted on a smile for everyone to see. Galina walked away to join the top table, which was occupied by Tribunes Armel, Deech and Francisco, who commanded Legion Solstice. Drusus was standing over them all, making his endless speech.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched more people up at the buffet, filling plates and yakking. Soon, they would all filter down to the tables, shut up, and the signal would be given for us to dig in.

  That was Deech’s rule, mostly, but I thought Drusus and Turov liked it too. We didn’t say grace in Legion Varus, but we waited until everyone got their food so we could all eat at once.

  It was senseless decorum to me. The kind of thing that damned-near drove me crazy at times.