Armor World Read online

  “McGill?” Graves asked me in a tired voice. “Why have I been pulled down here only to find you standing over a superior officer’s corpse—again?”

  “He’s a scoundrel, Primus! He killed Turov, and he tried to off me again the moment I caught a revive.”

  That was enough for Graves to launch an investigation. He liked the rule book, and he always followed it—always.

  Naturally, I wasn’t given my freedom during this time. For hours on end, I was left in one of those smocks that leave your ass hanging in the breeze.

  When Graves finally returned to the Blue Deck holding cell for mental cases, he eyed me like he still thought I belonged in that particular cage.

  “Primus? I was right, wasn’t I?”

  “You were… it seems that the moment Aeternum was destroyed, Armel decided to mutiny. I’m not sure why, he’s been a talented officer for decades.”

  “Maybe we should revive him and beat the truth out of him.”

  “I suggest the same plan for you,” Graves said coldly, “but I know it wouldn’t work. Come on!”

  I walked after him out the door, and he did a double-take.

  “Put some clothes on first, Centurion,” he ordered.

  Happy to get out of my medical prison, I kitted myself out in dress blues, complete with a beret—but no sidearm. Graves wasn’t sure what was what yet, and he didn’t trust me for some reason.

  That was the problem with developing a certain reputation over time. A man might be mistaken for a criminal just because he had had questionable associations in his past. It was purely unfair.

  Following Graves, I couldn’t help but notice the four noncoms that fell into step behind me.

  “A lack of trust in your top supporting officers is a terrible thing, sir,” I complained.

  “You’re alive, aren’t you? Stop bitching.”

  Graves wasn’t a warm man. He was fair—usually—but never warm. I guess I had to take the good with the bad.

  We went to Gold Deck, and I had the rare treat of attending a trial where I wasn’t the defendant. Instead, Armel sat in chains.

  They’d done everything but nail him down to a steel chair. There were even a few lumps on his face. I know it’s not polite to gloat, but I couldn’t help giving him a smile, a nod, and touch of the cap as I took my seat among the other officers present.

  I noticed Galina wasn’t there. Neither was Deech or Drusus.

  Hmm… Armel outranked Graves. The old primus must be in a pretty paranoid state to run a trial solo.

  “McGill, let’s hear your testimony,” Graves said.

  “This is a charade,” Armel said before I could do more than open my big mouth. “You bring in a star witness that hates me? What will this prove?”

  I started talking anyway, and I blathered on for a time, I detailed what I’d seen, and when I’d seen it. Fortunately, there were body cams and the like to back me up. Graves had been thorough in gathering evidence.

  “I never thought you would go down this path, Graves,” Armel said when I’d finished. “At least have the decency to admit you’re trying to rebel against Earth.”

  “Look Tribune, let’s cut the bullshit,” Graves said. “We’ve got the evidence. You went off the rails, and when I get Drusus to look at the data, he’ll agree with me.”

  “But by that time, I’ll already be permed, is that it?” Armel laughed. A few flecks of blood flew from his lips.

  “That depends entirely on your—”

  “A confession? Is that what you expect? Very well, yes, I did move against the leadership of this doomed expedition. I can say this without fear of repercussions, because all of you are as good as dead.”

  Graves watched him with a hooded gaze. “And why’s that?”

  “Because that ship out there isn’t going to let any of us go. None of us. Don’t you realize what it is? What power it possesses?”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Very well. It is a Galactic ship. A vessel from another species from the Core Worlds. It was not built by Mogwa, but rather by their greatest enemies. It will take over this Province in time. Already, it has defeated the paltry Mogwa ships they threw against its impenetrable hull. I suggest we all take our own measure, and we each adjust our minds. We are still part of the Empire. We still serve the Galactics—but we serve a different faction from the center of the galaxy from this day forward.”

  After this speech, my mouth hung open so low I could scarcely credit it.

  “Is that true?” I asked, turning toward Graves. “Are we being annexed?”

  Graves was squinting at Armel. He always did that when he looked at something he disliked.

  “It might be…” he said at last.

  Winslade spoke up then. He’d been sitting in the back and up until now he’d kept quiet.

  “Sirs…” he said. “I think Armel is probably correct. We’ve gone back over the battle, the cryptic statements made by Sateekas and everything else we’ve got… That was no normal ship. We also know that at least two of the species who are among the upper crust of the Core Worlds are dominated by machine intelligences.”

  “But if it’s so powerful,” I demanded, “how did we drive that monster ship from Earth in the first place?”

  “We did manage to surprise it,” Armel said. “A natural response might have been to destroy our planet, but our new masters demonstrated restraint. They recognized we’re a warrior species that might serve them well after annexation. Accordingly, they withdrew to make repairs and to try again. This particular species of robot is very methodical and patient, you see. They will own us eventually, if it takes them a century to complete the process.”

  “Won’t the Mogwa fight?” I demanded.

  Armel made a dismissive gesture. His chains rattled on his wrists.

  “Of course they will. But you’ve already witnessed the likely result: total catastrophe. They threw everything they had in the province against this monstrous vessel, and they died like pigs. They will be unwilling to discard more ships to keep possession of such a distant, low-value region such as ours.”

  I thought all of that over, and I have to admit, I was horrified.

  Graves spoke next. “I’m bringing in a greater authority,” he said. “One I’m certain will be able to shed light on this situation.”

  Armel laughed again. “Drusus? He’s a brilliant strategist, but he’s weak. He’ll never—”

  “I didn’t say it was Drusus,” Graves said. “Now, Armel, tell me why you did it? Why you broke the chain of command?”

  Drusus thrust his hands toward me accusingly. “You dare accuse me of this while a serial mutineer sits at your side?”

  “McGill is disobedient, but he never tries to overthrow a legitimate authority. He put you down because you were breaking ranks, not him.”

  Armel shook his head patiently, like teacher talking to a dull student.

  “You aren’t getting it,” he said. “The Mogwa conquered us a century ago. Today, we stand at the brink of being conquered again by their enemies. I’m not a mutineer, I’m merely foreseeing the future.”

  Graves snorted. “Here’s what I think: you’re bitter. You used to run Germanica, but they took that top legion away and saddled you with a pack of Blood Worlders. Then, they ditched you on Storm World after that campaign. You were left to rot as a garrison commander, and I think that stung your pride.”

  “And why shouldn’t I be bitter?” Armel demanded. “Hegemony’s decision was insanity—but that doesn’t change the realities we’re faced with today. You saw those Mogwa ships explode one after another, Graves. Open your eyes, man! We have been conquered—again.”

  Graves looked troubled, but then his tapper beeped. He looked up at us after reading a message.

  “He’s here. Open the chamber doors.”

  The doors swung wide, and a very odd individual entered.

  To me, he looked like Chief Inspector Xlur. He was a youngish Mogwa in the prime of his
life. But then, I caught sight of the insignia.

  I knew Mogwa ranks, and I could usually recognize their symbols.

  “Grand Admiral Sateekas?” I asked in an incredulous tone. “But… you look so young, sir!”

  It was true. The Mogwa who strode among us with six limbs churning with a characteristically odd gait was no oldster. Gone were all the discolored wattles and drooping limbs. His body was sleek and so black it shined.

  Sateekas had been revived at last, and he’d chosen to make himself young again.

  -44-

  “Ah, if it isn’t my favorite slave,” Sateekas said warmly. “It’s good to see you clearly again, McGill-creature. One such as myself can look past the natural bestial appearance of your species, and today I feel no urge to wretch while in your presence.”

  I knew I’d just been complimented in the backhanded manner of the Mogwa.

  “That’s a mighty fine thing to say, sir!”

  Armel rolled his eyes and blew out a puff of air as if disgusted. “So pathetic. Why don’t you just lick his genitals and get it over with, McGill?”

  While I gaped at Armel’s rudeness, the Mogwa ambled closer to him.

  “Ah… the traitor, correct?”

  “Yes,” Graves said. “We were interrogating him, but without much success.”

  “No? Perhaps I can be of some aid in this matter…”

  Sateekas circled Armel, looking at him sternly.

  Armel, for the perhaps the first time since we’d caught him, looked concerned.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know anything other than the items I’ve already put forth,” he said. “I think your portion of the Empire is crumbling, Sateekas. Only a fool wouldn’t see it—but that’s only an idle opinion on my part.”

  “This beast needs to be tamed,” Sateekas said, and he circled Armel one more time.

  The tribune frowned in concern.

  Right then, watching his behavior, I thought I might be witnessing a darker side to old Sateekas. He had a predatory cast to his features. He wasn’t just an old, washed-up admiral anymore. Today he was a younger version of himself, sharp, cool and determined. He was no longer fussy and prone to pointless rages.

  Finally, while he walked behind the prisoner, a quick foot-hand lashed out to slap him on the back of the knees. Armel’s legs wobbled, but he didn’t fall.

  “I’m intrigued,” Sateekas announced. “We accept this challenge. We will find out all he knows.”

  “We?” Graves asked.

  “Yes. I ordered all your revival machines to switch over to Mogwa reproduction. My retinue is being revived now. We will require a small space, no more than a hundred meters to enjoy ourselves within. Can this be provided?”

  “Um…” Graves said. “I think so.”

  “Graves!” Armel said. “What are you saying, man? Execute me cleanly, and I’ll be on my way. I have an appointment prearranged.”

  Graves appeared to consider his options. “I don’t have the authority to allow you to torture one of our top officers aboard an Earth ship, Sateekas, as much as he deserves it. There is no legal precedent, and it would be bad for morale.”

  Sateekas eyed Graves for a moment. “Uncreative, but dedicated. I shall take no offense at this rebuke. I will instead offer a compromise: Place us in one of your modules, outside your ship. No one need witness the proceedings.”

  Graves chewed that over, tapping on his chin with one finger.

  “Graves!” Armel shouted, becoming alarmed.

  “I agree,” he said at last, “but under protest. I wouldn’t allow such a thing if the stakes weren’t so high.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Take him away.”

  “Graves! You are a Judas! A traitor to your species! A creature of low—”

  The guards hustled him out, and the door slammed. Sateekas followed into the passages.

  I stepped up to the door and put my hand on the touch-lock.

  “Where are you going, McGill?” Graves asked sharply.

  “Oh, I thought maybe I’d listen in some…”

  Graves stared at me for a moment. He knew me pretty well, and I figured he probably knew what was in my head right then.

  At last, he sighed and nodded. “All right. But don’t make any moves unless they get too messy with Armel, all right?”

  “I promise,” I said, and I went after Armel and his entourage.

  When I caught up, I found Armel walking sullenly. His eyes were downcast, but they were also darting around, searching for some means of escape. By escape, I mean any handy way to inflict a quick death.

  Being a resourceful man, he soon found what he was looking for.

  Armel made his move when we got to the torture chamber—or “private module” as Graves had described it.

  There were more Mogwa waiting there. This was the critical moment, because the human guards turned to go back to Gold Deck. They were assuming that six Mogwa crewmen plus Sateekas himself could handle one man with his wrists grav-clamped together.

  I could have told them it was a mistake—but no one was asking me anything.

  “The genitals are key,” Sateekas was saying to Armel in a conversational tone, “it’s my experience that reproductive organs are unusually sensitive in most species across the cosmos. Why? I can only conjecture, being neither a xenologist nor a student of evolutionary causation.”

  The item Armel had fixated upon was a simple one: a wrench attached to the bulkhead near the entrance to the module. It wasn’t a huge thing, being no longer than a man’s forearm and perhaps as thick as two fingers—but it was enough.

  The Mogwa crewmen surrounded Armel, pushing him into the module with an air of excitement. No doubt they had serious plans for the human who’d mouthed off to them so openly.

  Sateekas, for his part, was still speeching about the coming torments. He was oblivious to the danger he was placing himself in.

  “Flaying away the skin and musculature while being careful to clamp off blood vessels—that’s essential to keeping the subject alive—allows the exposure of white filaments you call nerves. At that point, the application of trauma becomes unnecessary. The slightest contact with these fibers is overwhelming.”

  I made a mistake as the group reached the door and passed through: I underestimated Armel.

  With a causal move, he reached up and plucked the repair wrench from the wall. The Mogwa hustled him inside, and they slammed the door.

  Running up to it, I hammered on the portal, but no one opened it.

  “Graves!” I shouted into my tapper. “Open the module door!”

  “Now McGill, I know why you followed them. You can’t let your emotions get the better of you so quickly. Has Armel even screamed yet?”

  “No, no, sir! You don’t understand—Armel will kill them all!”

  Graves hesitated. I liked to think I’m one of the few people in the galaxy who could manage to get such a response out of such a driven man, and under different circumstances, I might even have grinned.

  “All right, McGill,” he said. “But you better not be full of shit this time. If you are, I’ll have your rank—no scratch that, I’ll make you serve under Winslade. As his personal valet.”

  The chance of such a horrific fate almost made me change my mind about saving the Mogwa—but I just couldn’t let Armel have a free hand.

  The tribune had already proven he was a traitor. I’d be damned if he was going to get to enjoy himself on his way out of the legions.

  “Primus! Sir! The override, please!”

  The door hissed and popped open. I stepped inside.

  There was a heinous scene in the main chamber. Four of the seven Mogwa were stone dead, their thin skulls crushed in by the dripping tool in Armel’s hand. Two other Mogwa had fled, probably hiding in one of the bunkrooms.

  But poor Sateekas was still alive and still in the room. He hadn’t fared well. Armel had cracked three of his six kneecaps. Crawling around in a circle, the Mogwa stared up at Armel bale
fully.

  “You’re weak,” Armel told him. “Full of yourselves until you have no technology to rely upon.”

  Armel flipped the wrench in the air and caught it without looking. He was a master swordsman and highly dexterous.

  “The torment will be indescribable…” Sateekas wheezed.

  “It already is, from the look of it!” Armel laughed.

  Flicking out with his wrench, he snapped a shin-bone. Sateekas hissed.

  That was enough for me, I marched toward him, drawing my pistol. Armel put up a hand and cautioned me to halt. I did so, but took careful aim at him.

  “Now…” Armel said to the Mogwa, walking around the crippled alien in a threatening manner. “Ask me whatever questions you wish answered. I’m in a much better mood now. McGill is here, and he will no doubt enjoy hearing my answers as well.”

  My instinct was to shoot Armel—but then I would never hear what he had to say. If he killed Sateekas, well, we’d just print out a fresh one. This model was pretty banged up in any case.

  “I want to know what your price was,” Sateekas said.

  “Really? You don’t want to know who these beings are? Who you faced and failed to defeat in battle?”

  “I know they are the Skay,” Sateekas said. “They’re Galactics that are part machine and part biotic—a hybrid species. But that is unimportant. What matters is the nature of the deal they made when coming here.”

  “Hmm…” Armel said, frowning. He tapped his cheek with the gory head of the wrench, which was crusty and dark indigo in color. “I will answer you: our price was the end of the Mogwa regime.”

  Even Sateekas blinked at this unexpected response. “Impossible. You’ve been sold a fantasy.”

  “Not at all. It is said that there exists an antidote for every poison. We have that antidote. You, creature, are the poison.”

  “Even if true, you are only trading one master for another. Do you think us heartless? Think again—nothing is more heartless than the mind of a machine.”

  Armel furrowed his brow. He seemed to doubt himself for a moment.