Death World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 5) (15 page)

“I have no idea.”

“I thought not. It’s the same as the delivery of any product. Claver was already transporting the product to multiple customer worlds. Why wouldn’t he make his delivery rounds in a single ship—collecting a transportation fee from everyone along the way, of course.”

“Of course,” I said, finally catching on.

Claver was a slippery business man. If there was a profit to be made, a deal to be cut, he’d get it done. I could see how he’d used his position to lever delivery contracts with Earth in addition to other worlds. The metal was “free” technically, but it still had to be transported. It only made sense to have one transportation network from a supplier world. Why duplicate the effort?

“So,” I said. “You’re saying Claver was aboard the freighter according to the manifest, and he died when the ship slammed into Earth.”

“He was probably long dead by that time. But your statement is accurate enough in the essentials.”

“Well sir…” I said, “then I suggest we revive him.”

“What a surprise. Let’s hear your reasons, just for the record.”

“Because, if there’s one man in the cosmos who knows what the hell is going on out here, it’s Claver. He may not want to tell us—but he knows the score.”

Winslade chewed on his upper lip for a time. I tried not to watch.

“Agreed,” he said at last. “He’s the only one we can ask. After Turov and Tribune Drusus have been revived and given their blessings, we’ll—”

“Whoa, hold on there,” I said. “Let’s back that up, Primus. I strongly recommend that we get Claver out right now, before anyone else.”

Winslade frowned at me. “Whatever for? Are you trying to get me into difficulties with my superiors? I know you excel at that sort of thing.”

“I do, sir, I do. But I want you to think about something: if Turov could have revived Claver at any point along this search into space—why didn’t she do it?”

Winslade’s eyes narrowed until they resembled those of a ferret. “You’re right. Such primitive cunning—but it’s undeniable. If she’d wanted to do it, she would have done it during the voyage out here.”

“Exactly sir. And might I add that if she didn’t want to do it before, she’s not going to allow it once she’s back in charge of this mission.”

Winslade looked stressed. He began to pace. I could see the warring thoughts within his mind. He wasn’t sure what he should do.

If he crossed Turov, it would cost him. But then again, he wanted to know what Claver might say. His own survival might hang in the balance.

“There is something wrong, here,” he said. “I’ll admit that. And another point has occurred to me: Did you know Turov wasn’t too keen on this mission to begin with? She wanted to turn around and abandon the search after the first target world was missed.”

“I heard something to that effect, sir.”

Winslade eyed me with calculated respect. “You’ve got my mind churning, veteran.”

“Yes Primus. I excel at that.”

Winslade flicked his eyes down to his desk. He tapped on virtual keypad that appeared before him, and soon the revival queue as it stood now was displayed. He studied it, and made tsking sounds.

“This won’t do at all,” he said. “I’m going to go further than you suggested…I’m going to fully streamline the revival queue. I’ll make sure the best possible use of our limited resources is achieved.”

For a second, I blinked at him. Then I got it. He was going to reorder the queue, micromanaging the process. He would decide who lived again—and who stayed dead.

“I understand perfectly, sir.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said in a condescending tone. “But you understand enough to do my bidding. That will suffice.”

-18-

We moved ourselves down to the revival chambers. After waiting around for a few minutes, we saw the bio specialist in charge leave the room. She gave us an up-down look, but didn’t say anything as we both out-ranked her. When she hurried away down the passage, we quickly ducked inside.

Editing a revival queue isn’t all that hard to do—especially not when the acting C. O. has given you the go-ahead.

I hacked my way past the login screen easily enough. Our first snag came when the system required me to enter a comment in a memo box justifying the change. Winslade and I looked at one another in concern.

“This input field is a new one,” I said.

“Indeed. Someone has altered the data entry screens to add this requirement.”

“Do you think it was the bio people? Or maybe a new firmware release from Central?”

Winslade shrugged. “It hardly matters. The pertinent detail is that the system is logging our changes, including who made them, when, and why. What’s your answer, McGill?”

“Me?” I asked, aghast. “I’m supposed to put in the answer?”

“You’re making the alterations. I’m a bystander. Technically, I’m not even here.” So saying, he stepped away and looked into the distance. Maybe he thought his face might get into a vid recording, somehow.

My lips twisted up into an expression of disgust. Winslade was as quick and slippery as a snake in a grease-fire—and he was just about as ornery, too.

Cracking my knuckles, I typed in a spray of text and hit enter. Winslade turned around on his heel and came back to stand at my side.

“What did you enter?” he asked.

“Nothing special. Just some vague double-talk. I’ve heard it all my life, and it comes out naturally when convenient.”

Winslade snorted. “Indeed. Well enough, then.”

“Who shall we revive first?” I asked.

“Claver,” Winslade said. “As you suggested earlier. Push him to the top of the queue.”

I did so and locked it in.

“And what’s next?”

“Take these names of the list,” Winslade said, sliding a computer scroll in front of me. The list contained the names of everyone in the legion who outranked him, either by virtue of position or seniority. In particular he’d taken pains to remove senior brass from the list entirely, putting them on hold.

“Are you sure about this, sir?”

“Just do it, McGill.”

I didn’t like it, but I did it. I adjusted the queue and saved it. A few short minutes later a tapping sound began at the chamber door. Anne’s face appeared in the foggy porthole. Maybe she’d been alerted somehow. Then I saw that the bio we’d chased off earlier was with her. Doubtlessly, the woman had gone to get Anne.

Anne was frowning at us like we were two urchins in her kitchen, sneaking cookie dough. I knew the look well. Two non-bio people were fooling with her most holy of holy machines. That wouldn’t do at all for any self-respecting bio.

“They’re getting restless,” I said.

“Too bad. Do you have any other suggested edits, while we’re at it? Who should come out after Claver? It can’t be the brass—not yet. We have to have time to interrogate Claver thoroughly before anyone can take command and remove me from my position.”

After thinking about it for a moment or two, I came up with an idea.

“How about prioritizing combat troops?” I asked. “We’ll load up everyone who’s died in this cohort first. That way, we’ll have hours to talk to him while the rest of the cohort people are spit out.”

“Excellent. There are operational precedents for that sort of thing. When under fire from local resistance, unit cohesion comes first. Front-line troops are often revived before top-level brass. We’ll claim the situation was an emergency, and that the reordering of the revival process was necessary.”

“As good a dodge as any.”

“Do it. Make the rest of the edits and reactivate the machine.”

“Uh…but sir, if I do that, it will abort the current grow. Can’t we just let this one finish and then bring Claver out next?”

Even as I said these words, Anne’s fist began hammering on the door. Her face was in the porthole again, one eye roving angrily.

“As you can see,” Winslade said, “we already have our first objector. I want this over with. We must be ruthless and quick. Perform all your questionable deeds at midnight, McGill. Do them all at once, as fast as you can. Those are words to live by.”

“If you say so, sir,” I said. Gritting my teeth, I typed in the changes and engaged the confirmation code.

The machine began to burble and made sloshing sounds. The noises reminded me of a dishwasher switching into the rinse cycle. I hated to hear that sound.

After less than a minute, the maw yawned open and disgorged a half-baked person. The living corpse was gray and malformed. I’d expected it might be small, like a baby, but it wasn’t. The machine apparently grew people differently than a normal gestation of an infant. It formed the cellular structure of an adult and kept refining the shape until it got it right. The thing looked like a slug with fat, curled-up arms and legs. The gray skin was covered in slime.

“That’s got to be the foulest thing…” Winslade said.

Anne must have caught sight of our latest action, and she didn’t approve. She burst into the chamber puffing with anger.

“What is the meaning of this act?” she demanded. “Who’s responsible for aborting this grow?”

“Remain calm, Specialist,” Winslade said. “You do it all the time when something goes wrong.”

“But this was a perfectly good grow. You killed it!”

Truer words were never spoken. Partially formed lungs heaved and sighed. They rattled their last and the proto-person shivered in death.

“Recycle this mess,” Winslade ordered. “Do not alter the queue as it now stands. Alert me when the next grow is complete.”

He left then, with an imperious air. I had to admit, he knew how to give orders like a pro.

“I’m sorry, Anne,” I said when he left.

“This has got to be your idea,” she said.

“Not at all. Check the memo in the work order.”

She did, and she frowned: “‘Authorized by Primus Leonard Winslade, acting commander. Alteration request approved. Reasons: Classified.’ What the hell is this?”

“That’s what he had me type in,” I said. “He was in charge. I just knew how to do what he wanted. Maybe he thought a real bio would give him grief.”

“He was right about that. You wait until I make my full report. Winslade will wish he’d never been revived this time around. Turov will tear him apart.”

Inwardly, I grinned. My ad-lib memo field was already coming in handy. I was fairly certain it would reap even bigger rewards later on.

“Aren’t you interested to know why he really did it?” I asked.

“Yes, I suppose. Tell me.”

I pointed to the queue. “Did you happen to notice the next name on that list—the next grow, who even now is gestating inside the guts of the machine?”

Anne looked, and she gasped. “Claver? Tell me this is some kind of mistake!”

Shrugging and shaking my head, I endeavored to look innocent. “I’m following orders,” I said. “I didn’t even know he was aboard
Minotaur
.”

“Don’t be a…never mind. Yes, James, he was on the manifest. We’ve had his data since we left Earth. He died on the freighter when it crashed into Earth. At least, that’s when his death became officially recognized. We’ve had the authorization to revive him since that time.”

“Why didn’t Turov do it?”

“I don’t know. It does seem odd. The machine sat idle for nearly a month. Why let him linger in death for so long? And why is Winslade bringing him back now, when we need this single machine to revive an entire legion?”

“Different commanders, different priorities.”

Anne narrowed her eyes. “You know more than you’re letting on, right? Never mind. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to get into politics. The only thing slimier than the guts of this machine is the twisted double-dealings of people like Winslade and Turov. I want no part of it.”

I nodded and shut up. It was easy to keep quiet. After all, I barely knew what was going on myself.

But I intended to find out.

-19-

By the time Claver was coming out of the oven, things were heating up outside the lifter as well. We were back in Winslade’s office where he was looking over incoming reports.

“My helmet’s buzzing nonstop,” Winslade complained. He glowered as he worked his tapper. “Those…
things
you discovered out there in the forest, how many do you think you saw?”

I shrugged. “Thirteen was the count. But that’s only counting the production of a single tree. There might be more.”

Winslade’s expression changed to one of worry. “No weaponry, right? Just a pack of big, walking bipeds?”

Thinking about the monster I’d witnessed, its power and sudden fury, I didn’t want to downplay how dangerous an army of them might be.

“We only fought one, but it had just crawled out of its cocoon. Even so, the damned thing killed one of my people before we brought it down… By the way, sir, did we bring any heavy weaponry down from
Minotaur
on this lifter?”

Winslade eyed me for a second. “There have been over a hundred sightings now. The confirmed reports number half that many—but the aliens haven’t moved against us yet. They’re maneuvering out there in the forest, just beyond our reach.”

“I don’t like the sound of that, sir. If they come at us, all at once and organized…well sir, in my opinion superior firepower may not be enough.”

“I’ll recall all our patrols,” Winslade said after a moment’s thought. “No one is to go more than a kilometer from the lifter. We’ll force the aliens to march into a killing zone.”

I watched in concern as he relayed these orders to Graves and the other Centurions. We had six full units of troops now, six hundred heavy infantry.

He hadn’t answered my question about artillery. Maybe there wasn’t any. Maybe Turov had wanted to make sure we survived the descent before she committed expensive equipment. If that was the case, we were more screwed than I’d thought.

My next move should have been to leave the revival room and rejoin my squad. They were outside preparing fortifications now, and if an army of those things was approaching, I needed to be with them.

But before I could excuse myself, Anne contacted us. “Claver is coming out now. James, would you come help me? I’m in the middle of a shift-change on orderlies.”

Never having been a fan of this process, I marched down there to help. It was the least I could do. My teeth were gritted for the next few minutes while we delivered a naked, slimy Claver onto a steel palette. He shivered and mewed. It was almost enough to make me feel sorry for the bastard—almost.

“He’s a good grow—if that can be said about Claver,” Anne said, letting go of his eyelid. The eyeball underneath rolled away from us and he snapped that eyelid shut when he was able.

“I don’t feel like a good grow,” he said in a croaking voice. He kept his eyes screwed shut. “Can you turn off those lights?”

“No,” Anne told him flatly.

Claver chuckled and coughed. “You get an ‘F’ in bedside manners, my dear.”

Anne hauled him up into a sitting position. Claver hissed. I took his arm and looked meaningfully at Anne. “I’ll take it from here.”

She looked doubtfully from Claver to me then to Winslade, who was just arriving. Winslade had a grim expression on his face.

She put her hands on her hips and sighed. “If you’re just going to recycle him again, why did you bother going through all this trouble to mess up my schedule?”

“Because,” Claver answered, his eyes still squinched tightly, “they’ll doctor the records afterward. A few bad grows, no ID assigned. Nothing to show I was ever here.”

The funny thing was that Claver might be right. I’d suffered just such a fate a year or so back when people had wanted to question me. It gave me pause and made me doubt my actions. Was this revenge-related? Claver may have had something to do with the perming of my family, but I couldn’t be rock-solid certain of that.

Sternly, I told myself we had to do what we had to do. Claver had caused a lot of deaths back on Tau Ceti before this—hell he’d even gotten a load of squids, Nairbs and saurians killed on Machine World.

Half-lifting him off the table, I helped him to the lockers where a smart cloth jumper was applied. It wrapped itself over his body, and Winslade made a flicking gesture toward the hatch.

“My office,” Winslade said.

Claver perked up when he heard Winslade’s voice. “Is that the venerable Primus?” he asked. “Or perhaps you’ve been elevated to the rank of Tribune by now?”

“To you, I’m God,” Winslade said.

We left the revival chamber, abandoning Anne to her grim work. She looked after us fretfully. I knew she didn’t like any kind of mistreatment. She especially felt protective of those she’d returned to life personally. Some part of her brain believed she’d mothered us all, I think.

We reached Winslade’s office a minute later. Claver was still limping, and he’d only forced his eyes once or twice.

“Snap out of it, Claver,” Winslade said. “We know you’re a good grow.”

“My eyes—they burn this time. You ever get that? Sometimes you can’t take light at all. Can you dim the interior?”

Winslade and I exchanged glances. It
could
be true. Fresh-grown eyes were often sensitive, like nerves severed and later reknit. They sent odd signals to the mind until they settled in.

“It could be true, sir,” I said to Winslade. “I’ve had trouble with my eyes at times.”

Winslade gave Claver an appraising glance. I noticed Winslade had his sidearm in his hand.

After a moment of hesitation, Winslade reached for the light panel. But before he touched the pad and lowered the lights, he reversed himself and jabbed the muzzle of his sidearm into Claver’s gut.

The prisoner made a woofing sound and coughed. His eyes opened wide, and he made choking sounds.

“Changed your mind, sir?” I asked the Primus.

Winslade pointed with one thin-boned finger at Claver’s hand. I looked down and watched as Claver’s hand retreated from my belt.

“He went for your weapon when I reached for the lights. You’re overconfident with those big muscles of yours, Veteran. They won’t do you any good at all with your brains splattered on the ceiling.”

I nodded tightly. “Thank you, sir.”

Winslade prodded Claver methodically with the barrel of his gun.

“Let’s have a little talk, shall we?” he asked.

“What for? You’ve already made up your minds. Just record my confession or whatever you want and blow my brains out. My eyes really do burn. I’m ready to recycle right now.”

“What happened aboard the freighter?” Winslade asked.

“We were attacked and robbed. It was piracy, plain and simple.”

Winslade sighed. “Let’s be more specific. Start with your personal story.”

“He’s just going to make something up,” I commented.

“We’ll get to the truth in time,” Winslade said dispassionately, “but we might as well start with his fabricated version first. I find it’s cathartic for some criminals.”

Claver looked from one of us to the next. There was no pity in our eyes now. He’d lost all of mine when he’d tried to grab my gun.

“All right,” he said, judging it was time to say his piece. “It was weird, actually. Pod-like things attached themselves to the ship as we left warp. They burned through the hull very quickly. The ship was a freighter—we didn’t have much in the way of weapons or troops, just a few onboard marines. My entire crew was overwhelmed and killed. I died on the bridge giving orders.”

Winslade nodded thoughtfully. “What killed you, specifically?”

“Some kind of gas got into the vents. We didn’t have our vac suits on—stupid, I know. I think the fumes were created by an acidic fluid the creatures emitted.”

“That’s it?” Winslade asked his eyebrows lifting high.

“Yeah, that’s it. To repeat, we came out of warp near Earth, and these pod creatures jumped us—then I died. I don’t know what happened after that.”

“You lost the shipment,” I said. “The freighter crashed into the spaceport and killed about thirty thousand people.”

“Thirty thousand?” Claver asked, impressed.

“At least. Many of them were permed. Two legions were in attendance to ceremonially welcome your death ship.”

“What do plants want with metal in any case?” Winslade asked.

We both looked at him.

“That ship they used to follow my freighter and attack,” Claver said, “it was metal, or at least it had some metal parts.”

Winslade nodded. “I suppose some parts of a starship have to be metal.”

“There you have it,” Claver said with a helpless shrug. “It was a tragedy all the way around. You gentlemen have my utmost sympathy. If this briefing is over, I’d like to recover in my stateroom—”

Winslade’s gun jabbed him again. This time, it was a hard poke in the ribs. Claver grunted and clutched a spot there. As I watched, it began to ooze blood and turn purple.

“As I said,” Winslade commented in a languid voice, “it will take time to get to the truth. Fortunately, I have time.”

Claver’s eyes were wide open now. He looked like a caged animal. I did my best to look unsympathetic, but I was starting to feel he’d told his story. It sounded real enough.

“Varus bastards,” Claver said. “What do you want me to say? If the truth isn’t good enough for you, maybe you should just write it down for me so I can sign it. That would save us all a lot of time and trouble.”

Winslade lowered his gun. Instead of aiming it at Claver’s gut, he aimed it at his foot. “You have far too many toes, in my opinion. We’ll begin removing the excess shortly. Every thirty seconds, I’ll remove another, until we run out. Then, we’ll stop for some blood-staunching and get to work on these fingers—I might have to reload as well.”

There was steel in Winslade’s eye, I could see it. He might be an arrogant prick, but he had a spine when it came to dealing out pain.

Claver saw it too. He believed, and he buckled.

“You prick,” he said. “I was on the ship. I died there—just like I said. What else do you want from me?”

“I want to hear what you know about these creatures. Why might they be following you? Why did they attack you, and how did they come to be here on this world that was supposedly uninhabited?”

“I never said I was out here at all—wherever here is. I told you, I was on my way to Earth—”

Winslade nuzzled Claver’s toes with the barrel of his pistol. Claver twitched while Winslade remained strangely expressionless.

“I’m getting bored,” Winslade said, selecting a toe. It was the middle one on Claver’s left foot. “Hold him, Veteran.”

“They’re called the Wur,” Claver said suddenly. “It’s a squid word, I believe. Basically, they’re pod people. They come from beyond our frontier.”

“All right then,” Winslade said. “We’re getting somewhere. Where are these creatures from?”

“I don’t know.”

Winslade walked angrily to his desk and brought up a star map.

“This is where we are now, Claver,” he said, tapping the K-Class star labeled L-374. What do you know about it?”

Claver eyed the map. “Out there, huh? That planet is uninhabited.”

“Wrong,” Winslade said. “The planet was marked as uninhabited because that was true when it was last surveyed by the empire. But that was probably three hundred years ago, before the Industrial Revolution back on Earth. Can you explain the discrepancy?”

“Maybe. Three hundred years…that’s plenty of time for the Wur to seed a planet.”

A whisper of a smile played on Winslade’s mouth. “I’m a little surprised,” he said. “I honestly thought I’d have to remove appendages before you’d confess to treason.”

“First off,” Claver retorted, “I only talked because I know you’re a cold snake that would actually follow through.”

“And you were correct.”

“But secondly, I have to ask, Primus, by what stretch of the imagination does my helpful information amount to treason?”

Winslade sucked in a breath through his narrow nostrils. He raised a skinny index finger to his nose and tapped it there. “You could not have this information without having dealt with this enemy. Clandestine interactions with a renegade alien species amount to treason—not just on Earth but by the laws of the Galactic Empire itself. Further, you withheld information concerning this enemy when first questioned. Let us call that a second count of treason.”

“Let’s not,” Claver said. “Okay, you have me—or at least this version of me. Let’s talk business. I want a signed immunity agreement. Then I’ll tell you what else I know.”

“I have another proposal,” Winslade said, his eyes flashing dangerously.

At that moment, Winslade’s tapper began beeping. I knew that sound. There was an emergency call coming in.

Winslade stepped away and consulted his arm. Mine began flashing and beeping as well.

We both looked up at one another at the same moment after reading the incoming priority message.

The giants from the forest—they were on the march.