Marine Cadet (The Human Legion Book 1) (34 page)

As the crush began to deny him the oxygen his brain craved, and the edges of the world grew fuzzier, Arun held on to the hope that the transmitter meant Gamma would take the blame for what was to follow.

On the limits of consciousness, Arun was yanked out of the clothing pile and thrown onto his knees at Cliffie’s feet.

“You have at least learned respect and politeness,” said Cliffie. “I appreciate that. To show my appreciation I gift you your life. This generosity will not be repeated. If you enter this room again, my people will kill you on sight.”

Arun didn’t get off his knees, but did raise his gaze to look upon his master. “I understand, sir.”

Cliffie raised an expectant eyebrow.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you for your mercy and generosity.”

“There, that wasn’t so difficult.”

Arun had to keep from smiling. Cliffie was right. Playing the part of a groveling fool
wasn’t so difficult.
Especially since all the while, Arun knew who the real dunkchunk was.

Natural Law finds in our favor this time
, he thought.
Let’s see how you enjoy it, you dirty skangat.

“Did you do it?” asked Adrienne.

In reply, Arun could only nod. His lungs still burned. Every gasp of air was too valuable to be expended on speech.

Springer put her arm around him. “You’ve been a total shunter recently, but you did well today, Arun.”

She gave a quick squeeze, and then the moment was gone, though the memory lingered for Arun.

Madge spoke into one of the radios the Trogs had smuggled their way. “You there, Hort?”

“Acknowledged.” Now that Gamma’s transmitter had boosted the signal strength, Hortez’s voice came through the radio as cleanly as if he were there. He wasn’t. Operation Clubhouse required someone to stay behind. Someone to take the blame too, most likely. What Pedro called the audience chamber – where he and Arun had their chats – had been transformed into a communications hub, with Hortez at the controls.

“We’re ready to roll, sir,” said Madge crisply.

“
Sir?”
Hortez laughed. “You’re a crazy one, Majanita. I declare Operation Clubhouse is a go. Good luck, everyone. And if you do make it topside, I expect you to enjoy yourselves. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.” It wasn’t just Madge who’d replied. Over the encrypted channel other voices respectfully acknowledged Hortez’s instruction.

Before the arrival of Arun and the disgraced Blue Squad cadets, the morale of the Aux teams had been so pitifully low that none of them had tried fooling the Hardits with such tricks as swapping scent-marked overalls. Now that Arun had shown the way and Adrienne had cajoled and bullied her fellow Aux, Team Beta and their allies in other Aux teams were roaming through Detroit almost at will.

Over a hundred Detroit Aux were involved in today’s operation. But the plan extended even beyond Detroit. From his Trog sanctuary, Hortez gave the signal to the Alabama Agri-Aux to initiate their diversion.

As far as Sushantat Feriek-Khull was concerned, the human animals of Aux Team Beta were lined up as normal in their two cowering rows, waiting obediently for her to complete the morning roll call and issue the day’s work assignments.

Which only made her appear an utter dumbchuck to her supposed human inferiors, who couldn’t help but set a charge of excitement buzzing throughout the room. Any human would instantly spot that something big was going on.

Not for the first time, the Hardit completed the roll call, satisfied that she had accounted for every human worker. The correct scent-marked clothing might be present, but not the bodies inside. Hortez’s overalls were currently swamping a petite girl from Team Alpha called Kalynda. As far as the Hardits were concerned, Kalynda was supposed to be bringing food back from the kitchens for Team Alpha’s breakfast, a task actually being carried out by an ally from Team Delta. The Aux had jumped into the game of swapping clothing so enthusiastically that Madge had tried and failed to rein it in. What was supposed to be their secret advantage had transformed into a game played for the simple pleasure of flipping a finger up in the Hardits’ snouts.

Sushantat started issuing the assignments, giving no sign that she knew any of this.

A call came over the overseer’s wrist comm, instantly clamping the room into silence. The humans had been waiting for this.

The Hardit’s natural attitude was one of listlessness, as if encountering the humans was an arduous imposition that deserved a long lie down afterwards. Sushantat was the most active of the lot, officially number two, but effectively running the day-to-day Aux operations in Beta’s area. That impression of laziness evaporated when the call came through. Her ears flattened against her head; her lips pulled back to reveal a jaw filled with sharp teeth through which she sucked air into suddenly purposeful muscles.

“The situation changes,” she said. “All of you wait here.”

Sushantat left. Striding as far as the doorway, she then dropped to all fours and cantered away, her motion making a loud skittering noise surprisingly similar to the Trogs.

“Is that it?” shouted Number 72 in disdain. There were murmurs of anger from the other Aux. She was a gaunt woman who wouldn’t share her human name. “We risked our lives for what? To stay here?” She spat at Arun. “Look at him, the magnificent General 106. His plan has won us a day cooped up in this hellhole.”

Adrienne confronted 72, toe-to-toe. “Shut up!” she barked.

But 72 was right, thought Arun. What had Hortez told him? To give hope to the hopeless, only to snatch it away… that was the greatest cruelty of all. And for all his big dreams, the only thing Arun had actually achieved so far was to store up a great expectation of hope.

He ran, dashing past Beta’s supply store, machine room, parts room, and out in the main corridor where the smell was neutral and the floor regularly cleaned.

Sushantat was still out of sight, but Arun’s hearing had been gene-optimized and augmented by amplifiers and wetware filters. Following the skittering sound of the speeding Hardit echoing off the hard corridor surfaces was simple. But the Hardit’s sense of smell was acute. Could she smell him following? If she could and stopped him, then he was dead.

Too late to worry about that now, he decided.

He was committed.

He followed her in an arc around the edges of the novice area and out again to a passageway off the main corridor where the ceiling had been lowered. Nice and snug for Hardits; just the way they liked it.

As he passed more junctions, he trusted more to his instinctive sense of direction.

Finally he came to a closed door. It had been two minutes since he’d last heard Sushantat. Either she was behind that door or he’d lost her.

Nothing to lose!

He pushed the door access stud. As soon as the door slid into its housing, he was assailed by a wave of Hardit-stink.

The room had been lowered even more than the passageway outside. It was extensive, though, with banks of computer equipment winking status lights in the shadowy depths. He didn’t get much of a look because rubbing together in a tail-swishing huddle were four Hardits.

“See, I told you,” said Sushantat through her voice synthesizer when Arun burst into the room. “This animal has followed me all the way back from its hovel.”

There were three other Hardits here: Hen Beddes-Stolarz, Tawfiq Woomer-Calix, and the boss that the humans rarely saw: Biljah Hilleskill-Khull.

They looked uninterested in Arun’s arrival, as if there were more important matters. But what did he really know about Hardits and their politics? He’d have to start laying his bets or his plan would fall at the first hurdle.

“Mistress,” he cried, “I beg you. Let me convey valuable information. In Ala… arghh!”

Arun’s breath was squeezed from his body as he crashed to the ground, rolled up into a ball of agony. As he fell, his eyes caught sight of Tawfiq holding out the grubby little box that sent waves of intolerable pain through his overalls.

He tried to wrench his jaw open to explain, to beg… to breathe. But the pain gripped him so tightly that all he could move were his eyeballs.

He pleaded with all he had left, forcing his eyes to look up at Tawfiq. She seemed to understand, was showing him mercy, because she switched off the pain device.

Arun’s muscles spasmed back into some semblance of working order. He drew in one breath. Then another. Just as he was about to tell them his lie, Tawfiq turned the pain device back on.

She hadn’t shown mercy at all! She was taking care that he didn’t asphyxiate too quickly. If she wanted to prolong his pain, she had to let him breathe occasionally.

Tawfiq alternated bouts of agony with the briefest of respites until Arun was too dazed and his brain too oxygen starved to feel the pain.

Amazingly, he discovered he was breathing again.

Did that mean he had died?

“… waste our time. This one is diseased. It is better to kill him quickly.”

As his brain reconnected with his hearing, Arun noticed artificial human words drifting into his ears. The Hardits were speaking in their own language simultaneously with the computer translation. Each synthetic voice sounded identical, but the angry alien voices did not. Arun recognized the speaker as Sushantat, the one he had followed… the Hardit he could see bringing out her own pain controller and adjusting its setting…

Arun was engulfed in a new level of agony. Instead of his muscles locking up and feeling as if they were being skewered by a thousand viciously barbed needles, this new torture was like drowning in an ocean of hellfire. His muscles were free for him to spasm, to writhe and groan. This setting was not designed to inflict pain.

This was killing him.

He could feel his insides fry, his spirit consumed in the flames that he could feel but not see, the fire that burned inside him.

He tried again to plead but he still could not speak. His jaw muscles refused to obey because any movement was even more agony.

With a supreme effort of will, he opened a tiny gap in his mouth and tried to speak. All that emerged was a primal grunt and an acrid smell of smoldering.

He tried telling himself that this grunt had been only a start, something he could build upon. But he had expended all his reserves of courage and strength to utter it. He was spent.

The pain lessened.

He managed to glance up at Sushantat.

She was talking with the others, her hand still activating the pain device, but ignoring him now.

Sushantat hadn’t reduced his punishment, Arun realized, this was his body shorting out, shutting down in readiness for oblivion. His brain numbed too. Thoughts were difficult to form. Blurring. A last thought came clearly: he was dying. This was where he ended.

No! He would not allow it!

Others had thought he had a destiny. The Aux had placed a great expectation upon him. He. Must. Not. Fail. Them.

“Al-a-bam-a,” he cried. His voice heaved like a child talking through uncontrollable sobbing. “Not a… fire! Slave… revolt.”

Biljah stopped speaking and looked at this writhing human.

“Guns,” Arun cried.

The pain switched off.

Waves of sensation replaced the numbness.

He preferred the numbness because the alternative was worse. He screamed with the pain.

Arun sat there moaning for a long time. How long, he had no idea – his timer implants weren’t functioning. Then he noticed two things. He was lying in a pool of his own vomit and Biljah was yelling at him to explain himself.

He gave himself another handful of breaths and then answered. “Mistress Sushantat said there was a fire at Alabama.”

“I don’t remember saying that,” said Sushantat.

“You must have,” said Biljah. “How else could the human have known?”

Arun tensed, praying that the Hardits wouldn’t answer their own question. The humans knew about the fire because they had organized it, but the idea that humans could do such a thing was still inconceivable to the arrogant monkeys. Sushantat appeared to have conceded.

Arun continued. “I connected the news of the fire with rumors I’ve heard about Alabama. There are secret caches of guns and explosives. Could this be the start of a slave revolt?”

“Preposterous,” said Sushantat. “He lies to save his life.”

“But can we be sure what he says is not true?” asked Hen.

“If you give credence to this one’s words,” said Sushantat, “then we should send the Jotuns and their primitive soldiers in their shiny armor to investigate. That is their role, isn’t it? To die in battle?”

Biljah considered. “I do not wish to smell their contempt if we cry panic over an incident that turns out to be innocent.”

“Well, if you are so worried about them, organize the agricultural humans based at the depot to report on the situation,” said Sushantat.

“I cannot,” replied Biljah. “There is a crop fire fifteen miles northwest of the depot. I have already sent the local humans to extinguish it.”

“What!” Sushantat looked agitated. “Why did you not inform me? I begin to believe this human’s words. One or both events could be diversions. Send in the soldiers.”

“No,” said Biljah. “Not yet. Not until I’m sure.”

“What alternative do you have?” insisted Sushantat. “Do you expect me to fight? I refuse!”

Arun looked from one Hardit to the other, trying to understand the balance of the argument. All along he’d gambled that the Hardits would be unable to ignore a major fire in the food depot, but would be so scared of accidentally revealing their gun-smuggling operation that they would be desperate to avoid bringing in outsiders, such as the Marines.

Arun hadn’t considered that some Hardits were unaware of the gun smuggling, but that was the only way to explain Shushantat’s attitude. She might have just tried to murder him, but she appeared to be the most honest person in the room.

Then he realized that he was best out of the argument, and cast his eyes to the ground.

“There
is
a way,” said Tawfiq. “Team Beta suffers from a chronic oversupply of workers. If the situation were dangerous, then a few casualties from Beta would be to everyone’s advantage, even any surviving humans.”