Steel World (39 page)

He gestured with a thumb jabbing upward. I knew what that meant. I was my turn to do a twenty-minute shift on the surface, watching for the enemy.

Like a gopher poking his head out of a hole, I warily crept up to the top of the rubble-heap we inhabited and looked around my position in a slow circle. Seeing nothing other than a few other gophers posted here and there around the compound, I got out my snap-rifle and gazed through the scope, increasing my range of vision.

The scope automatically adjusted for the glaring light of the suns overhead. But still, it wasn’t enough to make the light pouring through into my eye socket completely comfortable. Squinting, I did my best to scan the area farther out, looking through the gaps in our walls and the mounds of metal shavings piled up around the entry holes their drillers had used the last time.

Some of the guys in my unit were grumbling that only the recruits had to play gopher and do surface duty. I didn’t feel that way. Sure, we were at greater risk and felt more discomfort, but the others—the weaponeers, officers and our last few techs and bios—they needed to be protected. They were not as expendable as we were. In a siege, everyone was decidedly unequal.

I didn’t like guard duty, especially around the fifteen minute mark when my air conditioner began to hiccup and the air in my helmet turned warm. But I understood that I wasn’t here to have a good time. If the enemy decided to hit us with their heavy troops again, only the weaponeers with their thick black tubes could kill them. Only the bios could repair the wounded, perhaps keeping our body count low. And the techs—well, they kept our suits, communications systems and other critical equipment functioning. Even now, they were underneath my position in the tunnels connecting our bunkers underground, so we could move between them without exposing ourselves. If the walls were penetrated by the enemy again, we now had vital cool spots for soldiers to rest and recuperate.

What was I? Only a guy with a rifle. A lightly-trained, lightly-armed recruit who was on his first campaign. I could hardly demand nor expect special treatment.

So I sat sweating and trying to adjust the cooling tubes in the fabric of my suit every minute or two. It was an impossible task, of course. Spots on the upper surfaces of my arms and helmet grew burning hot frequently. I tried to crouch in the shade of an overhang, but there was only partial cover. Overly-exposed to the radiation of Cancri, it was all I could do to sweat, mutter curses, and constantly check my tapper to see if my stint was up yet.

When the finally hit us, I didn’t believe it at first, thinking that the shadows I saw moving through holes punched in the walls of the compound must be something else—anything other than what I knew they had to be.

Then, the first jugger dipped its massive head into the hole and dripped saliva on the rubble. I froze for a fraction of a second. This was
real
, I told myself. I was facing a monster, and its spittle was steaming to vapor the instant it touched the hot stones.

They’d told us the monsters wouldn’t come until evening. It was too hot out—even for them. They were native to this world, but in the warm season, even native animals kept to the cool green forests and the shade of their stark buildings. Most of the planet’s wildlife was nocturnal for very good reasons.

But none of those assurances applied today. I was so hot, I wasn’t even sure I wasn’t hallucinating, but I wasn’t going to sit on my can, anyway. I swung my snap-rifle up, sighted on the left eye, and hammered out a burst of ten pellets.

With one eye destroyed, the jugger reared up, roaring. Its great head struck the top of the hole it had leaned through, but a moment later it managed to pull back and disappeared.

I opened a com-channel and tried to report the sighting, but it was unnecessary and nearly impossible. Everyone was chattering, giving orders, asking for confirmation—they’d all heard the firing and the roar. They knew it was time to scramble into our defensive positions.

Harris came up behind me, looming close. His body blocked out the yellow sun. The red one was behind a building, and for that I was grateful. I stayed with my rifle sighted on the hole, but so far the jugger hadn’t reappeared.

“Was that you firing, McGill?”

“Yes, Veteran.”

“Did you hit it?”

“Took out an eye.”

“Well done—did you know your AC is dead, kid?”

I looked up at him for a moment. I had to admit, I did feel even hotter than I had a minute ago.

“I thought I was just getting overexcited,” I said.

He huffed at me. “Get below before you fry, you moron. I need every troop I have, even you. Take it to the techs, and have a bio check you for heatstroke.”

“But, they’re about to hit us.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I know. Hurry.”

I slithered from my position downward. Harris assumed my spot and I could hear him muttering curses about exposure and heat. That brought half a smile to my face. I rather liked hearing him suffer up there on the hot seat.

I was staggering when I reached the central tunnels. A tech grabbed my arm and began working my tapper before I could speak.

“Exhausted fuel cell,” she said. “Your generator isn’t recharging your cells.”

“Can I get a new generator, please?”

“No,” she said. “They’re on reserve for emergencies.”

I nodded, but I was thinking that, as far as I was concerned, AC failure in a hundred fifty degrees
was
an emergency. But what did I know? I wasn’t a tech.

Before I could say much else, she opened my back panel and rammed two new cells into place.

“Without a generator you’ll have to switch these out every two hours—less, if you go out onto the surface.”

I mumbled a thank you and went in search of water. Harris had said something about bios, but right now, I needed a drink.

The bios might be territorial about their equipment and a little nuts when it came to protecting secrets—but when they saw me weaving and wandering down the tunnel toward their station, they rushed out to help.

Matis reached me first. He was tall and thin, with dark, serious eyes surrounded by deep worry-lines. He looked me over quickly and professionally.

I’d first met Specialist Matis when the raptors had stolen the revival machine—he’d been one of the lucky people who’d escaped slaughter in that underground vault.

“Where are you hit, Recruit?” he asked.

“What?”

“I don’t see any punctures,” said an orderly, talking over my head as if I wasn’t there. “But he seems disoriented.”

“I really need a drink,” I said.

“Get that helmet off him,” Matis ordered.

Both the techs and the bios, I’d found, were extremely effective when it came to spotting trouble that they could fix. I didn’t struggle. I let them do their work.

I sank down on the floor of the tunnel. Hands gripped my helmet and opened it. Cool air washed in a moment later. I sighed in relief. I hadn’t realized that it was cooler in the tunnel than it was inside my suit.

“That’s better,” I said.

Bio Specialist Matis was crouching over me, looking into my eyes, tapping on my tapper. He looked concerned. I marveled at how specialists thought nothing of taking over when they had you in their grasp.

“Your blood levels are off,” he said. “I’m seeing toxins that shouldn’t be here. Have you been poisoned?”

“I don’t think so. My suit AC shut down and I had my cells replaced.”

“Is there a leak? Turn him over.”

I felt hands grab me and flip me over. I felt like a kid, and I resisted slightly, then let them do it. I wasn’t too trusting of bios lately, but these people seemed to be trying to help.

“No rupture in the cells,” Matis said.

I finally opened my eyes and stared into his. He was frowning suspiciously.

“You’re not telling me something, Recruit,” he said.

At first, I was baffled. But then I thought I understood what he must be reading in my blood tests, which my suit monitored constantly.

“I had a bad grow a while back,” I said.

“A bad grow?” he asked, looking surprised. “Are you saying they didn’t recycle? Why not?”

I shrugged. “I’m not a bio.”

Feigning ignorance as a recruit was usually effective, but not this time. He stared at me, his expression changing into a frown. He pulled back, taking his hands off me, as if I was some kind of plague victim—or maybe a rabid dog.

“Orderly, get this man some water.”

“I already did. It’s in his hand, and he’s drinking it.”

Matis gave him an acid glance. The orderly wasn’t dumb, because he nodded and stood up.

“I’ll go look for some in the back of the station,” he said.

The orderly vanished. Specialist Matis watched him leave, then turned back to me. He leaned close—then froze.

We both heard a metallic click. It was the sound of my snap-rifle. I’d pulled the bolt back and planted the muzzle against his chest.

The bio glanced down at it, then met my eye.

“So it’s you,” he said. “Recruit McGill is the fugitive. They didn’t give us a name. They say you’re crazy, soldier. Did you know that?”

“Why, exactly?”

He looked a little confused by that one.

“Because you murdered Centurion Thompson, and you’re holding onto a bad grow.”

“Murdered?” I asked, smiling faintly. “How can you murder someone if they’re already back to life? Isn’t she up on
Corvus
, complaining about me?”

“No. She doesn’t remember what happened, but she may in time. There were two orderlies who reported you. They found her body. They said you were crazy and a bad grow. That you had to be recycled.”

Recycled.
Every time I heard that word, I found I liked it even less.

“Recycling me
would
be murder,” I said. “That’s just the kind of excuse they need to have me ‘accidentally’ permed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve pissed off my primus and Centurion Thompson.”

“I think you need to let us do what we must. Don’t you want a new body that operates properly?”

“This one has done pretty well,” I said.

But in truth, I
was
feeling sick. I wasn’t sure if that was due to heat stroke or a bad grow, but I knew it was true.

I decided it didn’t matter. I couldn’t take the risk of being permed by some overzealous bio on
Corvus
who had an accident with my data.

“Are you going to shoot me or let me work on you?” the bio asked. He stared at me as if he didn’t care which it was.

Maybe he really didn’t care. If I shot him, at least he’d be out of this hellhole. I knew that a few of the guys had quietly offed themselves already. They figured a regrow back on
Corvus
was better than waiting here to be eaten by angry lizards. The officers would lean on them for that, of course. It was bad for morale.

I lowered my rifle. I took a deep breath and another swallow of water. The bio, for all his bravado, looked relieved. He sat down next to me.

“You said you don’t think they’ll revive you on
Corvus
if you die down here? What’s so bad they’d perm you?”

I looked at him, wondering which crime I should confess. Shooting Galactics, messing with revival units—which was worse? After a moment of thinking, I decided to confess to more recent crimes. They made more sense, and I knew that not every bio agreed that secrets were worth the violation of their oath to heal the injured.

“I was ordered to retrieve the data storage of a stolen revival unit. I did so. Without it, many troops would have been permed. That list could have included you, I might add, if you’d stayed in that chamber and been slaughtered with the others.”

Matis frowned. I could tell he didn’t like what I was telling him. After a moment, he motioned for me to keep talking.

“I did as I was ordered,” I said, leaving out the part about volunteering for the job. “When I got back and delivered the unit, Thompson was upset. I’d partially dismantled the unit, and she thought I’d seen too much of her specialized tech, I guess. She tried to take me out. I resisted—successfully.”

He nodded slowly.

“Thompson has always been a little on the overzealous side,” he said. “All of the people who operate the revival units are like that. Those machines—they’re more valuable than everything else this legion has combined. Did you know that?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m sure that we’re all expendable in comparison. We should all be permed as far as Thompson is concerned.”

“It’s not that. I’m sure she was upset that the unit was lost and not retrieved intact. You were involved as a guard, right? That would make you partially at fault.”

I nodded, seeing the logic in that. Thompson
had
wanted to kill me. Maybe she’d been blaming me for the loss of our greatest piece of tech.

Matis worked his tapper thoughtfully. “I think I can help. She doesn’t remember anything about what happened. Maybe the next time you meet, you can make a better impression on her.”