Blood World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 8) Page 2

  Listening to the forested swamp outside my shack, I drifted off to sleep at last.

  -2-

  First thing in the morning a fist began thumping on my door.

  For me, this was an occurrence that was both familiar and alarming. I’d been dragged out of bed to be arrested on any number of occasions, both falsely and with good reason. In either case, I didn’t care for the experience.

  Springing off my couch, I reached for a weapon. Like most legionnaires, I had one within arm’s reach pretty much every moment of the day and night. After any man has died his first dozen times or so, most find it hard to sleep without a deadly implement near at hand.

  My fingers closed in a jerk around the butt of a laser pistol. It was a sleek, wicked thing. The gun had no dangling cord that connected to a power cell. It was a low-yield internally powered unit, which meant it was only good for three or four burns before it went dry.

  But that should be enough.

  The hammering subsided, but it began again a few seconds later. Whoever it was, they weren’t patient by nature.

  I didn’t call out. I didn’t suggest my rude visitor should settle the hell down. To do so would only serve to put them on their guard.

  Instead, I popped the door open and pushed the slim barrel of my pistol into the craggy face that waited outside.

  “Primus Graves?” I asked a second later, dumbfounded.

  Even after twenty years in the service of Legion Varus, this man had never come down to Georgia to see me. He’d never shown the slightest inclination.

  “You really live here in this shack, McGill?” he asked, looking past the muzzle of my gun into the dark interior of my humble home.

  “Yes sir. I like it.”

  He glanced at the laser pistol, as if noticing it for the first time.

  “Well? Are you going to assassinate me or ask me to come inside?”

  “Uh… come on in, sir.”

  I lowered my pistol, but I didn’t put it away. I stepped back, and he pushed past me.

  He sniffed a few times speculatively, but he didn’t say anything. I left the door open to let things air out.

  “What brings you down here to my neck of the woods?” I asked him, indicating the couch, because that was the only seating I had.

  “I’ll remain standing, if you don’t mind.”

  “Suit yourself, Primus. You want a beer, or something? I’ve got—”

  “McGill, I’m here to apologize.”

  My mouth fell open. That was a stunner. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard those words come out of you before, sir. What’s up?”

  “You’ve been volunteered.”

  For several long seconds, he stared at me, and I stared back. I blinked a few times as his words sank in.

  In Legion Varus, being “volunteered” was a never a good thing. After any soldier had died a time or two, he soon got over the idea of volunteering at all, so when decorum required an officer to come up with a victim for a hazardous assignment, he generally chose that person himself. Calling this process “volunteering” was a joke so old amongst legionnaires it had become part of our lexicon.

  As I tended to be an outspoken man, I’d been “volunteered” for special duties more than most. That part didn’t surprise me. What did give me pause, however, was the fact that I’d apparently been volunteered for something so heinous in nature that Graves seemed to think it was worth traveling all the way down here to Georgia Sector to tell me about it.

  “Uh…” I said, “I’ve been volunteered for what, exactly, sir?”

  “I can’t tell you that. But you’ll find out soon enough. I just wanted to come here, man-to-man, and let you know it wasn’t me. Not only that, I don’t think it’s right. There, I’ve said my piece, and I’ll be going now.”

  “Huh…” I said. I was feeling a bit concerned now. It took a lot to worry a man like me, but Graves was pulling it off. “If this is some kind of joke, sir, I—”

  “Have you ever heard me tell a joke, Centurion? Much less travel a thousand miles down from Central to deliver it?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Right. I’ll see you Monday at dawn. We’ll start at Central for the briefing. Don’t be late.”

  He was already heading for the door. I followed in a confused fog of thoughts and questions.

  “I take it I’ve been reactivated, sir?”

  “If it makes you feel any better, the whole legion is involved. The general mobilization message will be going out tonight.”

  “That makes me feel tons better, Primus.”

  “Good. See you Monday, McGill. Don’t be late.”

  Just like that, the door closed, and he was gone. A rented floater was waiting out on the main road. He climbed in and let it whisk him away. Presumably, he was going back to the sky-train station and flying back to Central.

  What could be so grim, so unpleasant, that Graves would feel the urge to do such a thing? To come all the way down here to apologize in person?

  He could have sent a text—but of course, there was no such thing as a private message sent tapper-to-tapper. Graves had to know that, because even I did.

  Instead, he’d come to talk to me in person. That just didn’t sound good at all. It didn’t sound right.

  Any further notions of sleep were out of the question after Graves left. I went inside the main house, ate breakfast with my family, and pretended all the while I felt good inside. I did such a good job of faking it that, for a while, I actually did feel better.

  But then that night, the message went out. Legion Varus was being activated again at last. My momma heard about it almost before I did. News on the grid traveled from one tapper to the next very quickly these days.

  “James?” she asked. “Is this true?”

  I looked at her, and our eyes met. I didn’t bother to lie. She could see the truth in my eyes.

  “Oh…” she said. “It’s been so long. I’d almost forgot how it feels each time they order you to fly away to the stars again.”

  “I’m sorry, Momma.”

  “Don’t be. I understand. Your sacrifices have held this family together. The last thing I want is for you to feel bad about leaving us to do your job. Don’t worry about us at all. We’ll take care of Etta, and we’ll be fine.”

  I smiled a real smile. “That’s good to know.”

  “Have you told Etta yet?”

  “Told her what?” asked a third voice from behind her.

  Etta stood in the doorway, outlined by the bright light of day through the auto-screen door.

  “I’m going away again, Pumpkin,” I said.

  “Don’t call me that. You never call me that.”

  Stepping forward, I reached for her, and she rushed to me and clasped me around the waist. That was a special feeling. She really cared now. She really understood the loss of a relative to the stars.

  Before, when we’d first started raising her, she’d been distant and cold at emotional moments. But today, she seemed like a very normal young girl.

  -3-

  Monday morning came in a blur. The packing, the good-byes, the sky-train ride—they didn’t seem real.

  To me, it was like one day I’d been enjoying my free time in Georgia and the next I was gliding down over Central.

  I didn’t have a window seat, as they never fit my frame. I was crammed into an aisle seat, with the bulkhead in my face dead ahead. The sky-train shivered as it reentered the thicker atmosphere, plunged through the clouds, and sailed toward the spaceport.

  Craning my long neck, I could see the Earth below. Central was down there, a squat ziggurat of black stone. The windows were all black glass, and they reflected gleams of pink morning sunlight up to dazzle my eyes.

  Leaning back into my seat again, I relaxed—but I couldn’t sleep. That was unusual for me. I’d long been known as a man who’d someday sleep through his own funeral after my righteously delivered, long overdue perma-death.

  But… not this time
. I was cursing Graves. His act of honor had thrown me off my game. I’d already spent more time worrying about this mission than I had any other in my long and storied history of assignments.

  Giving myself a shake and sucking in a deep breath, I told myself to forget about it.

  That almost worked. I felt better by sheer force of will, and the tingling in my gut went away for a while.

  Landing at the spaceport, I headed for public transport. It was early on Monday morning, so rush-hour was in full force. I began to worry I’d be late.

  “Worry” was perhaps the wrong word. The truth was I was vaguely concerned. But part of me figured that if they really had volunteered me for the worst duty I’d ever served, well, the brass could damned-sure wait for me show up. It might even make some of them feel better about their decision to have me play the victim.

  “McGill!” a familiar voice shouted. I winced at the recognition.

  Instead of answering, I hit the automated baggage claim touch-plate and picked up the lone bag it spit out.

  Turning with my ruck slung, I spotted Winslade. He was a thin man with the eyes of a rodent.

  “What is it, Primus?” I asked.

  “What do you think? I’m here to pick you up,” he said, spitting out each word.

  He reached out to examine my arm. I flinched away at first, but then I reluctantly let him see my tapper.

  “Messages silenced, as usual,” he complained. “Why am I not surprised? If you’d read your messages, you’d know I was going to be waiting here for you.”

  “Oh yeah… I did silence all that. I was just trying to get a little shut-eye on the sky-train, sir.”

  “Sleep is for the dead, McGill. You should know all about that. If you wanted to sleep in this morning, you should have flown here last night.”

  “Excuse me, Primus,” I said, “but why have you been sent to pick me up? I mean, doesn’t Turov have adjuncts for errands like this?”

  I knew Winslade was Turov’s lapdog. He liked the job, but he didn’t like having his servant’s status pointed out. Doing so brought him pain and me a commensurate surge of pleasure.

  With a grin, I offered to let him carry my bag. He shoved it away angrily.

  “Follow me, Centurion,” he growled and stalked off.

  I was expecting him to lead me to a private air car, but instead we boarded a skimmer. The vehicle was capable of flight, but it was more like an armored flying bus than a cushy ride.

  “A skimmer? Seriously?” I complained.

  Winslade gave me a sour glance. “Disgusting, isn’t it? I’ve been sent out to collect a half-dozen Varus lowlifes just like you. Not only is the task demeaning, the skimmer smells like a primate exhibit.”

  My jaw sagged open. I’d been joking about the skimmer. To me, any flying contrivance was just fine. Taking the public transport tunnels would have worked out, too.

  But what had really surprised me was the fact the skimmer was already loaded. Carlos was aboard, Kivi, Sargon…

  “It’s old home week!” I said, grinning and waving as I climbed aboard.

  My friends greeted me with enthusiasm.

  Carlos was sporting a scraggly beard and a beer gut, but otherwise he was the same as he’d always been. “McGill?! Good God, now we know we’re all dead!”

  “That’s right,” I told him. “There’s no point in fighting it.”

  “We’ll fight it, sir,” Sargon said confidently. “We always do.”

  “Good to see you again, Centurion,” said another familiar voice from behind me.

  I whirled around in shock. “Adjunct Harris? They got you roped into this too, did they?”

  “Volunteered,” he said grimly. “No choice. No options. No escape.”

  There was something in his voice and his stare that caught my attention. For a moment, I didn’t hear the rest of them. They were all catcalling and laughing like we were going to a high school reunion luau.

  After Harris and I locked eyes for a moment, I got it. He’d been visited by Graves, too. He’d been given that special, private apology. The very thing neither of us had ever gotten from Graves. Not once in twenty long years.

  Kivi was tugging at my shirt, and I turned to her and forced a smile.

  “Kivi! You’re looking hot this morning.”

  “Always,” she said. “I’m only twenty-four again.”

  “Uh… What?”

  “I had an accident about a month ago. You know how it is…”

  It took me a second, but I got it. She did look younger, not a day older than the afternoon we’d last met.

  “Oh now,” I said, “you offed yourself? That wasn’t necessary.”

  “Wasn’t it? You noticed the difference right away. I wasn’t sure we’d ever be called up again, so I decided to get one last… um… freshening.”

  My mind worked on that for a half-second. If a girl was so vain about her looks that she’d arrange her own death just to look a few years younger, well, it would be best to tell her it had worked.

  “By damn,” I said, “every second I look at you, I can see another missing wrinkle. You always look good to me, but I guess it was worth it.”

  “It was stupid,” Carlos butted in. “She didn’t need to do it. I mean, hell, we’ll probably all die over the next month, anyway. Zap! New body for free. And you know what else? If Central ever finds out, they’ll charge you for the procedure. With interest.”

  “Hmm,” I said, wanting to tell Carlos to cool it.

  Kivi and he had been an ongoing thing when we’d last met. A glance at Kivi’s reaction to Carlos’ comments told me there was trouble in paradise. Her lip curled up to reveal her teeth, and her eyes narrowed like those of a hungry fox.

  “Uh…” I said, as silence suddenly reigned. “Well, I think youth looks good on you Kivi. I’m sure Carlos just meant—”

  “He meant nothing,” Kivi snapped. “He’s just bitter after our break-up. It’s been a year, Carlos. Grow up.”

  The skimmer lurched into the air, and I found a seat in a hurry. Kivi flounced her butt down right next to me.

  “Uh…” I said. “You sure you want to sit right there? I’m a man who takes up a whole row.”

  “I’ll sit in your lap if we’ll fit better.”

  It was a mean thing to say to a man like me. I felt a hot surge at the thought of her bouncing on my lap, but I had to shake my head.

  “What about Carlos? He’s right there.”

  “I’m not into beards.”

  “Yeah, but… he’s a friend.”

  “He cheated on me.”

  “Really? Carlos?”

  “Well… not in action, but he flirted all the time.”

  I laughed. “I always do the same and so do you.”

  “I know,” she said. “But it’s different with you. Any girl who gets near James McGill knows what’s she’s in for. It’s expected, not a surprise. You take that or you leave it up front. I miss that simple honesty.”

  “Hmm…” I said, disturbed on several levels by her comments.

  But that was Kivi. She was a troublemaker of the first order.

  Most Legion Varus people were like that. We were all unstable, energetic and sometimes downright irritating. That’s why we’d been accepted into the worst legion in human history after being rejected by all of Earth’s respectable outfits.

  Kivi kept talking and flirting with me while Carlos kept hunching his shoulders and pouting a few rows away. I stopped listening to her, as it was easier that way, just saying “uh-huh” now and then to keep her happy.

  While Winslade did a poor job of flying us all to Central, bumping us around in the air like we were on a carnival ride, Kivi entertained herself by rubbing her body up against my side. That was nice, but it was also upsetting at the same time.

  Glancing at Kivi then the brooding faces of Carlos and Harris, it occurred to me that the psych tests we’d all taken back in the day at the Mustering Hall really had worked. We were still a le
gion of misfit toys.

  Despite all the pouting, I felt at home being in their midst again. We were like a big, dysfunctional family full of assholes and loudmouths. We belonged together somehow.

  After a short flight, Central loomed ahead. The unmistakable manmade mountain grew steadily until it blotted out the sky, and then we flew into the vast pool of shade cast by its massive shadow. The warm, late spring sun that had been shining in the windows died, and the skimmer’s cabin cooled by at least ten degrees.

  The pyramid-shaped building continued to swell until it seemed impossibly big. Constructed entirely with flat black polymers and shiny metals, it was the largest single structure Earth had yet to produce.

  The mere sight of it brought back a flood of memories, both good and bad.

  But it was the moment when we landed that changed everything. The group quieted, grabbed their stuff, and filed out.

  We all felt it. Vacation had officially ended the moment the skimmer’s skids touched the landing pad.

  Legion Varus was back in the game, a lean pack of killers that no one else had ever wanted.

  That meant anything might happen next.

  -4-

  “I see on my tapper that Group Nine has landed,” the familiar, gravelly voice of Primus Graves said in our headsets. “Legionnaires, please proceed to the express elevators and select the option that takes you down to the vaults. They’ve been conducting experiments down there, and they’re in need of fresh volunteers.”

  A collective groan went up from the group. All six of us felt a rock of disappointment grow in our guts. At least Harris and I had been forewarned, but for the others this shocker was something new.

  “This is bullshit,” Carlos began. “I can identify every flavor of shit ever made, and this is a bad one. Mark my words, people.”

  For once, Harris didn’t tell him to shut up. Carlos noted the adjunct’s lack of a response, and he eyed Harris’ glum expression suspiciously.

  “You knew about this, didn’t you, Adjunct?” he demanded. “You know what’s coming!”

  “No I don’t, Specialist,” Harris said. “I just know it’s going to be something bad. Isn’t it always?”