Infinity Squad 2

By Shuvom Ghose

It's a rough universe out there.

To escape a murderous alien planet and even more murderous chain of command, Second Lieutenant Jonah Forrest had to fake his own death, by actually killing himself and his men. With grenades. (It wasn't his best plan ever.) But now a cloned, resurrected, and promoted First Lieutenant Forrest must deal with an even tougher challenge: peacekeeping.

Because the aliens in charge of the gates between stars, the Benefactors, don't want their wormholes used to commit interstellar genocide. Well, not the bad kind of genocide. But the only weapon the Benefactors want their peacekeepers toting is the occasional authority to use harsh words.

Will Lieutenant Forrest be able to keep his finger off the trigger long enough to learn that true strength comes from the size of his character, not his caliber? Will this team of rebels be forced to finally respect the rules of intergalactic society instead of breaking them? And will Infinity Squad be able to keep the body count low enough to keep their jobs, stop totalitarian societies and pacifist alien mobsters from starting an interplanetary war, and prevent the universe's ultimate weapon from falling into the wrong alien paws?

No. No they will not.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shuvom Ghose
• Release date: Aug 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311665669

Shuvom Ghose

Shuvom Ghose is a Libertarian who escaped to New Hampshire as part of the Free State Project and could not be happier. He loves writing science fiction along with his wife Llalania, and can be contacted through [e-mail] or his Goodreads.com profile!

Book preview

Chapter One

Changing jobs is tough.

This is what I realized, chasing down the clone who had just run our space-station's checkpoint on his way to Earth and infecting every human being alive, while the voice of my second in command barked at me from my radio's speakers.

Forrest! You can't let him board that shuttle! Stop him!

Yeah, I got that, Zaz! Thanks! I snapped back into my own radio, then pushed my robotic body even harder.

In our old job, when someone blasted through a military checkpoint, we could just shoot him. But in our new job, oh no, now we had to capture him. Which meant doing things a little more civilly.

STOP OR WE WILL OPEN FIRE! I screamed, turning my robotic avatar's speakers up to max volume. GET ON THE FLOOR OR DIE NOW!

The people we had previously cleared through the checkpoint, the military clerks, cooks, and other support staff from our former base on Angie's Star II, plastered themselves to the sides of the space station's hallway, each having a different interpretation of 'the floor' in zero-g. On max volume, my robot's speakers were almost as good as a weapon- I saw some of the cleared passengers clutching their ears in pain. But the runner didn't flinch, pulling himself even further down the tunnel ahead of me, towards his freedom and Earth's doom.

"You can't just talk him down! Zazlu barked. You have to catch him!"

I growled and flicked my robot's radio switch to blue instead of red. Red connected my mike to external speakers, blue was for bot-to-bot comms.

Juan! I yelled as the runner pulled almost out of sight. He's coming to you! Stop him!

On foot, I could have caught the criminal easily. The cloned bodies he and I both currently wore were a mix of African, Latin and Asian genes, designed by the Army to be the perfect all-around athletes. They were taller than average, faster than average, and had been made to run, as all male members of Infinity Squad had found out, back on Angie's Star II. After my stellar leadership had gotten them killed and resurrected into these clones once during battle, and then killed and resurrected again, as we faked our own deaths to escape. (It hadn't been my greatest plan ever.)

But we weren't humans policing humans anymore. We were acting on behalf of the most powerful race in the universe, the Benefactors, and that meant we couldn't show our faces. Even after they had mysteriously appeared and opened the wormgates to us, no living human had seen the Benefactors in the flesh. Except for our former and current commanding officer, Captain Ridley, and he wasn't talking.

So instead of an honest footrace which I could have won, I was chasing a super-athletic clone possibly carrying a mind-controlling parasite in his brain, while driving a slow diplomatic robot with caterpillar treads, thin metal arms and a camera for a head. Even the Benefactors who had shown me to this sub-compact-car-sized avatar control pod had been driving similar bots controlled from somewhere else, and we had been living on their ship for three weeks now.

I double checked that my radio switch was set to blue.

Juan, do you have him? This is our last chance before the shuttle!

Yeah, I've got him, our squad's heavy gunner drawled. Two turns ahead of me, I saw Juan's avatar roll around the corner, his bot magnetically tracking along the floor just as mine was. But Juan's diplomatic robot had three matte-black gun barrels extending from each spindly metal arm, and as he tracked the six huge cylinders onto the runner's center of mass, I flipped my radio back to red.

Stop or you will be disintegrated! This is your LAST WARNING!

In zero gravity, the runner sprang off the wall, off the ceiling and past Juan's bot as it tried to swipe at him with one set of barrels. The fake, plastic barrels we had painted black and super-glued onto Juan's unarmed robot late last night.

Fuck fuck fuck! I cried, turning my radio blue. I turned my bot's magnetic clamps off and vaulted over Juan's bot, just like the runner had done. Butcher! I cried, now pulling myself along the ceiling instead of the floor, Lock down the shuttle! Don't let it leave!

Roger, Ann-Marie replied, my intelligence officer's voice calm as always. Telling the pilot now.

At least that worked, I muttered to myself, straining to go faster down the hallway. My robotic arms couldn't get tired but my real ones could, pulling at the alien controls. The obvious video-game controls were good enough for rolling around flat conference rooms or nodding to dignitaries, but there were about two hundred other buttons inside my pod and I only knew what three of them did. And most of the buttons were too far away for me to comfortably reach, and the joystick was almost, but not quite, designed for a human hand.

Which told us a little more about the mysterious Benefactors' biology, but nothing I could use right now, to ensure that every human on Earth didn't get mind-controlling brain parasites. And without an inner ear sensor, my robot was getting turned around in the zero-G hallway, confused around corners, and bumping into the walls.

Red radio: Stop or I will fire!

The runner disappeared around the next corner, the last one before the shuttle.

Damn it! I yelled, switching to blue radio as I righted the bot to the real floor. That was our last chance! Doc! You're sure he's got a brain slug in him?

He only stood in the scanner for a second! she cried back. I would always think of Doctor Shannon Murphy as a willowy redhead with glasses, no matter what her cloned body looked like now. That the female clones made by private industry had been designed for a very different job than the military males was both a blessing and a curse.

But I think I saw something, right before he took off! Shannon finished. So yes, I think he's infected!

Come on! Juan said into our radios. Are you sure we can't just plug this guy?

"Plug him with what exactly?" Zazlu shot back, as I continued to give chase.

When the Benefactors had opened the wormgates so that the younger races could jump between the stars, they had only two rules:

1. Don't kill any other sentient life forms you meet.

2. Don't bring anything through a wormgate designed to break Rule 1 a million times.

And Infinity Squad could totally get behind that. Which is why, when Captain Ridley had put in a good word with the Benefactors after being abducted by them, we had gotten hired, on a trial basis, to provide the wormgate security the Benefactors were just realizing they needed.

Because the Benefactor solution to the brain slugs would have been to simply deactivate this wormgate until the humans self-policed the problem away, which was about as heavy-handed as bombing all of a city's bridges to keep a single murderer from escaping. Hundreds would starve on Angie's Star II if the traffic didn't flow. This is why the Benefactors had hired us, to do the delicate jobs they couldn't. But they hadn't given us any of the indelicate tools we needed.

I'm at the shuttle bay, I said, re-engaging my mag clamps to settle my unarmed robot onto the floor, then rolling up the ramp to the waiting shuttle. I'm going in.

Remember to not make any recognizable movements, Zazlu said. They can't realize who we are- just keep acting like a robot.

"I am acting like a robot! I shot back. That's the only choice these controls give you!"

Stiffly panning my camera head side to side, I saw the nearly hundred people we had previously cleared sitting in two rows split by one center aisle, buckled in and ready for takeoff. Three-fourths of them were male clones, and half of those wore standard issue fatigues exactly like our runner had. Zaz, keep anyone else from boarding the shuttle. I'm going to try something.

Try what exactly?

Instead of answering him, I switched my radio to red and rolled forward into the cabin.

Who was the last hu-man to enter this shuttle? The back five rows were empty, but the rearmost occupied rows turned around in shock, clutching their ears. I remembered to turn my robot's volume down, to only a little above normal. I repeat, who was the last hu-man to enter this shuttle? I said, trying for a passably alien inflection, but it came out more 1950's android than Benefactor.

The passengers looked at me, still confused.

Military shuttles are self-serve; there are no flight attendants to tell you to buckle up or spit out your gum. And these passengers were tired, still recovering from a sudden, devastating terrorist attack to their base three weeks earlier (ours). They were dispirited, heading home after a failed war and it was entirely possible no one had been looking at the rear door a minute ago. And if the runner was sweating after his sprint down the corridor, he was doing a good job of hiding it.

If we cannot identify the hu-man who just breached our checkpoint, I said, rolling forward, "all males in this group will have to be scanned again."

The crowd groaned. One woman stood up, gesturing with her hands.

That will take an hour! We'll miss the transport!

She's right, Ann-Marie said into my radio. The shuttle has to leave to dock with the interstellar transport in ten minutes.

I flipped the radio to blue. "Butcher, we're in charge here. There's nothing preventing the shuttle leaving until we're good and ready."

Nothing, she agreed. Except, you know, orbital mechanics. Sir.

Damn it.

And the Benefactors won't open this gate again for another three weeks, Zazlu agreed. This shuttle is it if folks want to get home.

Double damn it.

The crowd was murmuring to themselves. Just let us go! one non-clone finally said. They can scan us on the other end anyway!

One person won't matter! the angry woman added.

Who do you Benefactors think you are? another man demanded. Lording over us like we were sheep! Just let us go!

LET US GO! passengers started chanting, more joining each round. LET US GO!

A month ago, no human would have dared talk back to the mysterious, hyper-advanced race who held all of interstellar travel in the palm of their hand. I guess I wasn't acting alien enough.

I flipped the radio to red and slammed my speaker volume to max.

NO INFECTED WILL PASS THROUGH THIS GATE. IF YOU DO NOT COOPERATE, WE WILL DISABLE ALL HUMAN GATE TRAFFIC FOR ONE HUMAN YEAR.

That shut them up.

That burnt-out base planetside doesn't have enough food to survive another month, Zazlu said, my radio flashing blue. Forget twelve.

Well maybe the Benefactors were on to something with their threats of bombing bridges.

What?

I flipped my radio back to red and turned the volume down to merely annoying. Now, which hu-man has been sitting in an aisle seat for at least two minutes?

The crowd looked at each other, and then a few men next to the aisle raised their hands. I rolled to the one nearest the back, about ten rows from the door, and pointed my camera at him.

You. Hu-man. You have been sitting for at least two minutes?

He was a clone, a Private first class, young and nervous, but not wearing fatigues. Yes?

No one has crossed your face to sit at those window seats?

He gulped. They were there before I got here?

And he's making every answer into a question? Juan said, the radio light going blue for a second. And that's really annoying?

Blue radio: Shut up, Juan! Red radio to the private: No one walked past you to sit in the last minute? You are sure?

I think so?

Oh god, that was annoying. I pointed my camera at the people around him. Another human can verify these statements?

A couple of the people around him nodded, including one woman. Good.

Sir? Zaz asked. What the hell are you doing?

Blue: Detective work.

Detect fast, Butcher added. Nine minutes to shuttle departure.

And I've got twenty people left to scan, Zazlu said.

Scan them. But have Juan keep them back there, I ordered. Standing next to the cloned private, I spun the robot torso a full 180 since I couldn't turn the tank treads around in the narrow aisle. I also think it made me look more robotic, judging by the expressions I saw. I flipped the radio to red.

Then the hu-man criminal must be behind you. I started focusing the camera on each male face from there to the back of the shuttle. Scanning... Scanning... Scanning...

Zazlu: These bots don't have brain-slug detecting scanners.

Blue: Shut up. They don't know that. Red: Scanning... Scanning...

I was lingering on each face long enough to make them nervous. There were fifteen males between me and the back entrance. Three weren't in standard issue fatigues, so that left twelve possibles. The runner had to have taken an aisle seat; sprinting in and diving over a seated person would have been too obvious. That narrowed it down to five.

I pointed my camera eye hard at each of the five suspects in turn, rolling closer to them. Scanning... Scanning... Scanning...

Ann-Marie: Sir, I don't think this is going to work. And eight minutes until the orbital window closes for three weeks.

Blue radio: Then send in my psychic back-up, I said

Zaz: If we send in a Hell-Spider with one metal razor claw, our cover is blown The story of Himenez cutting an arm off Infinity Squad's pet spider is all over the base.

Then you to better let me work! I shot back. But have Three-Spot ready outside the door just in case.

Red radio: Scanning... Scanning...

Ann-Marie: Three-Spot's on his way. Thirty seconds.

The five aisle sitters could tell I was focusing on them. Three of them were squirming, the other two were getting madder.

My radio was still on red. Detection threshold approaching.... Calibrating... Generating final answer... I said, in my best robot voice.

Hello, Lieutenant Group of Trees, a gravelly voice said in my head. Not through the radio, but directly into my brain.

Forrest, I corrected, just thinking back my response to the telepathic Hell-Spider. Lieutenant Jonah Forrest.

Apologies, Lieutenant Forrest, Three-Spot said. The translation from my mind-pictures to your mind-words is sometimes muddy. Especially when you are agitated.

Help me find this infected quickly and I'll be less agitated!

I am looking. There is definitely a slug-controlled human there with you. It is hard to relate his position without seeing the room.

Ann-Marie: Seven minutes.

Blue: Not helping, Butcher! Three-Spot, am I looking at him right now? I asked, since talking was easier than thinking.

I cannot tell. You are looking through a machine, and thoughts do not transmit through such.

I switched to red radio. It was time to throw the dice or get off the pot.

Even when the infected party is found, I said, all males in this proximity will still need to be scanned again-

There were three people sitting together in one of the last rows, man-woman-man. The man nearest the aisle was one of my possibles and getting angrier. As soon as I said everyone would have to be scanned, the man on the other side of the woman, one who was not one of my possibles since he was in the window seat, jumped up and pointed at the clone nearest the aisle.

Him! I remember now! He's the one that came in last!

In response, the aisle clone leapt up, grabbed the woman, and put her in a choke hold. Launch this shuttle now or I'll break her neck! She's not wearing a buffering band; she won't resurrect!

He was right. The woman was not wearing the electronic headband we used in the field, ready to transmit their consciousness to a stock clone in a tank the instant a soldier's heart stopped. No one on base wore buffering bands anymore, not after what we had done to escape three weeks ago.

And the runner was holding the woman too tightly. In this slow robot body I wouldn't be able to free her before he broke her neck. So I used my metal arms to grab the tattle-tale and hold him in a choke hold too.

"No! You let her go or I'll break his neck!"

The hostage-taker, Zazlu, and Ann-Marie all spoke simultaneously. "What?"

It is illogical, I replied, my bot's metal arms still squeezing the life out of the tattle-tale, that a passenger would suddenly point out the culprit after three minutes of my asking. Therefore, while you may have been the one who ran the checkpoint, I said, nodding at the hostage-taker, "this one is the package you are trying to pass through the gate, I finished, squeezing my hostage. You two are working together."

The hostage-taker's eyes got big. No! We are not! I'm working alone!

Three-Spot?

He is lying, the gravelly voice said in my mind.

I love being right. Damn, that had been red radio. Fuck it.

I started rolling back towards the ramp, squeezing tighter on the man thrashing in my metal arms. He was kicking my torso with all his strength, but the camera barely even wobbled. That's the upside of having a slow metal body, I guess.

This man passed through our scanners, I said to the runner as my hostage continued to kick at my unfeeling body. So he does not have the infection in his brain. So how have the slugs touched him? Are they dormant in him? Does he carry your queen?

The runner's eyes got even bigger, and he pulled the crying, squirming woman into the aisle even as I rolled farther away. You've got it wrong! I'm the one you want!

Very well, I said. We will find out by dissecting this one. Slowly.

The runner squeezed his hostage's neck harder. NO! I'll kill her!

You may try, I said, rolling backwards down the aisle with my hostage while facing the runner and his. But there are seventy other military personnel on this shuttle. And if they do not kill or subdue you in the next three minutes, they will spend the next three weeks trapped in this star system, starving.

And with that, I rolled backwards down the ramp and off the shuttle.

***

Captain Preston Ridley was pinching his nose, looking at us through a television screen, through a live data feed across two open wormgates, from a Benefactor ship star systems away.

Let me get this straight, he said. "After identifying the infected person who ran your checkpoint, your response to him taking a hostage, was to take a hostage of your own, and then roll away, leaving the infected person on board the shuttle?"

He wasn't the bigger threat, I said from my chair at the Benefactor conference table. Like the robot control pods and everything else on this ship, the chairs looked like they had been organically grown right out of the metal hull, but designed for bipeds just a little bit bigger than humans. His accomplice was. Which we later verified- the one I captured was carrying some sort of egg sac inside his stomach, right Doc?

Stop calling me that, Shannon said, pulling at her too-tight jumpsuit again. I makes you sound like Bugs Bunny.

The junior resurrection doctor on Angie's Star II had once been a slim, elegant redhead whose glasses and sense of humor had hit my heart and my sexy librarian fetish in a way no other woman ever had. Unfortunately, to escape our base during the brain slug infestation, I had been forced to kill her, and myself, and half my squad. With grenades.

Like I said, it hadn't been my most elegant plan ever.

But we had all resurrected safely on the orbiting Benefactor ship, unbeknownst to the military authorities on the ground, who assumed that all our buffering bands had failed during the grenade blast. Now we were free, presumed dead and off the grid, the men in the same cloned military bodies we had used for weeks before our escape, while Shannon and Ann-Marie had a little more adjusting to do...

But Lieutenant Forrest is mainly correct, Doc huffed, brushing her new waist-length platinum blond curls out of her eyes in frustration, to try and see her datapad again. "While we don't know all the details about a brain slug's life cycle, we did find a membrane containing what seemed to be hundreds of larvae growing between the prisoner's stomach and liver. And I found multiple slug entry marks along his ribs, here, here, and here."

As she pointed to the side of the bodies she and Butcher now wore, it was hard not to look.

Functioning human clones cost billions of dollars to reverse engineer. To save costs, the military had only helped design the gender that made up 95% of their combat casualties and let

private industry pick up the other half of the equation. But apparently, the only type of female clone profitable enough for private industry to consider creating was one that made their jumpsuits very tight in very interesting places and made working in close proximity to them a minefield for the rest of us. Pleasure models.

Shannon caught me looking at her perfect supermodel body and snapped her datapad shut with too much force.

"So it seems that Lieutenant Forrest has stumbled blindly into a lucky find. As he always does."

Hey-

I have relayed these findings to the human end of the quarantine, through our Benefactor emissaries, she continued, nodding politely at the two encounter bots standing behind Ridley, who nodded back. And all passengers will be scanned for similar conditions before being allowed to leave the transport on their end as well, as a double check.

The gravelly voice invaded my mind again.

And I did not sense any other slug-related deceptions.

The horse-sized alien was seated at the back of the room, his black shiny exoskeleton reflecting the overhead lights and his six ground legs curled under him in the yoga pose that seemed to be resting for Hell-Spiders. Watching him idly scratch an itch under his shell, I noticed there was now no difference in how he used his original razor claw versus the metal prosthetic the Benefactors had grown for him after Inspector General Himenez had amputated the original in a misunderstanding we rarely discussed anymore.

Although my time to check was limited, he finished.

Three-Spot agrees with me, I said for the benefit of the encounter bots behind Ridley. And maybe Ridley. Did telepathy travel through a wormgate like radio waves did?

You literally left a hostage in the hands of an infected terrorist and walked away, Ridley countered. Not exactly the hallmark of honorable security force we're trying to create, Lieutenant.

The other passengers dealt with him quite effectively in the next two minutes, sir, Zazlu Mohammed chuckled, from across the table. My second-in-command wore the same cloned body as I did, but with the shaved head his Iranian sensibilities seemed to prefer, and his old weight-lifter's bulk already starting to return from trips to the weight room. Looking at him, I discreetly squeezed my smaller biceps and felt lazy by comparison. The checkpoint runner won't walk again, but the hostage only suffered minor bruises to her neck and head after Forrest left. She'll be fine.

Ridley's image on the screen turned to him. "Fine is not the standard here, Lieutenant Mohammed. The Benefactors expect-"

So what do you want us to enforce their laws with? I demanded. "Time outs? Harsh words? We asked for heavy weapons on the encounter bots, and were given none. We asked for more encounter bots and were given none. We even asked for simple sidearms and were given none!"

A Benefactor behind Ridley pointed mechanically at Three-Spot.

Your spider ally has natural weapons that do not cause collateral damage, it said in the Benefactor's usual, perfectly unaccented English, then fell silent. I could imagine the blue radio conversations taking place right now between its operator and all the other Benefactors. That explained the lag when talking to those damned aliens- how many conversations had they had behind our backs right in front of our faces with those blue lights on? Perhaps he should lead our efforts next time.

Maybe he should, I countered. But if a one-armed spider showed up now to represent the Benefactors, even a blind soldier from Angie's Star would recognize that he came from Infinity Squad, I said, jerking my thumb across the table. Thanks to this guy.

Next to Zazlu, my reality check and the squad's rock, and behind Ann-Marie Butcher, the best damn Intelligence Officer the army ever had, was sitting Anthony Himenez, the former Inspector General formerly tasked to uncover Infinity Squad's formerly rampant grafts and schemes.

After cutting off Three-Spot's arm to make us talk, he had been caught in the same grenade blast that had freed us, and now sat at our table, more or less willingly. I didn't know exactly what to do with my new, cloned, and unemployed Inspector General yet, but somehow, on this alien ship lacking almost every human necessity, he had found a way to trim his hair and iron his jumpsuit so that he looked ready for a black-tie dinner, while I looked like I had just spent two days camping in a field.

Do not blame your lack of investigative skills on me, Himenez said. I was not consulted on how to set up that checkpoint. He picked an imaginary spot of dust off his jumpsuit, then smoothed the crease. You have never heard of 'defense in depth', I assume.

"I have heard of it, but that would have required more robots and more- I shook my head, then looked around the room. I don't know why I'm defending this. Hey, I got the guy, didn't I? What more do you want?"

Zazlu looked back at me. "We got him."

Yeah of course. All of us.

I looked at them. Zazlu and Butcher, the best lieutenants in the army. Our heavy gunner Juan, who was falling asleep next to our world-class tech Rex Grimstone. Doc Murphy, Three-Spot, our medic Steve, and four other young Privates in the back, green but each with promise. Even if Ridley had recruited them, this was my squad now. I was responsible for keeping them safe. And for making sure their missions ended in success, not failure, so they would not regret the price they had paid to complete them.

I stood up. Unlike human ones, Benefactor spaceships had gravity.

Captain Ridley, I said, staring the screen in the eyes, I understand the Benefactor's dislike of violence, but the universe is a rough place. Other races, especially criminals, aren't going to follow the laws, and when they don't, there have to be rough men ready to dole out the consequences. You hired us to do a job, and if you want it done right, we need weapons!

Lieutenant, we've been over this-

I slapped the table. By putting us in the field without weapons, you're literally leaving us naked in the face of danger, sir! I unzipped my jumpsuit to my waist, showing my bare cloned chest. Naked, sir!

Instantly, Zazlu jumped up and did the same. Naked, sir!

Ridley laughed and put his hands up. Okay, okay, come on now-

Ann-Marie stood up, unzipping her jumpsuit as well. Even with her holding the suit's sides together and covering her pleasure model's amazing tracts of land, it was still a sight to see. "We're naked out there, sir!"

Ridley frowned. Infinity Squad has-

Juan unzipped as he stood up, pulling his suit to his ankles in a flash and answering the age old question of if he wore anything underneath it. Negatory.

Totally naked, sir!

Ridley covered his eyes. Okay! Okay! You've made your point! I'll authorize personal sidearms and rifles, but only when on duty! You know where to get them. He put his hand down. But you better keep those fingers off the triggers, Lieutenant. If I hear of any unnecessary violence-

You won't, sir. Infinity Squad is a professional fighting and policing force, sir, I said, then turned towards the snickering behind me. Juan, cover your dong, please.

Ridley shook his head and turned off the view screen.

And that's how we got the authority to go gun shopping.

***

Chapter Two

We looked at our old home first, obviously. But the only military base on Angie's Star II was a no-go, since Infinity Squad had, with the Hell-Spiders' help, killed patrol after patrol of infected human soldiers, shot down all their attack helicopters, blown up our Armory, and left half of our base and its resurrection tanks in flaming ruins to escape both General Oakley and the brain slugs infecting his command structure. You could consider it our version of a two-week's notice.

But we still had to look, and I ordered our auto-piloted Benefactor shuttle to do a low, slow pass over our old base as we watched the view screens, since Benefactor ships didn't have windows. The sight was spooky: men in total-body Hazmat suits with rifles ready were watching other suited scientists push gurneys with restrained, struggling, screaming, male clones into a warehouse. The clones were screaming because they still felt pain, even as their slug infected brains ordered them to break their arms, legs and collarbones trying to escape their restraints, which the hive mind ordered the bodies to do just as casually as we would cut our hair, if it furthered the hive-mind's goals. The gurneys went into the warehouse full and came out the other side empty.

Yeah, we weren't stepping into the middle of that again.

That only left one place to try, Three-Spot's village.

The shuttle touched down in the same clearing our assault helicopters had used what seemed like a lifetime ago, and Zaz and I quickly took off running. We made sure to stay to the shade to avoid lightning snakes, and always watched the trees above to avoid scorpion monkeys, just like the Hell-Spiders had taught us.

Nothing like a quick stroll on Angie's Star II to redraw the line between predator and prey, is there Zaz? I laughed, leaping over a cold-blooded lightning snake which was slowly coming to life as the sun rose. Ten minutes later and it would have been awake enough to catch me in the calf, and then a hundred of his friends would have eaten the flesh from my still-struggling body when the venom in my calf made me too slow to outrun them.

The line's always there, Zazlu grunted, leaping the sleeping snake too. Seeing the dangers up close just reminds us to be cautious.

"No, they remind us to be fast, I replied, sprinting under a particularly large tree. Scorpion monkeys traveled in packs of fifty or more, and you didn't want to be under their branches if they noticed you. Dithering equals death here. Just like every combat mission."

Ahead was a sun-warmed rock sure to be hiding a nest of lightning snakes, and we both reached for the same low branch at the same time to swing over it, almost knocking each other onto the rock. Zazlu gave me an annoyed look.

"Not like every combat mission. Sometimes you have to stop and weigh the odds instead of just plunging ahead. It's the prudent thing to do."

I sighed and stepped back to let him swung over the rock first, and then followed, before taking off running again. Just say what you're trying to say Zaz. We could be eaten by three different species of alien before you get it out at this rate.

He frowned as he kept pace with me. You could have delayed the shuttle to catch the runner, sir. Missing a launch window seemed urgent at the time, but it's nothing like missing a brain slug at a checkpoint. We should have scanned everyone again and made the Benefactors open the gate later.

Now you sound like Ridley! We got the guys, didn't we?

You took a risk and it paid off. This time. But you should have asked my advice before you rolled the dice. I'm better at weighing the odds than you are.

That was true. I had stopped playing poker with him for just that reason. I frowned as we sprinted through the last dangerous section before the Hell-Spiders' walled fort.

Fine. I'm sorry, I finally said. I should have consulted with you about my plan, Zaz. No one's better under fire than you; it's like you were made for the military life.

I saw him frown but he didn't reply, and after a minute of sprinting in silence we reached the rock-lined slopes of the spider village. They already had the gate opening as we got there, as I expected telepathic spiders to do. The villagers had done a good job repairing the walls after three full human squads had spent the better part of a half an hour trying to shoot or explode their way in to capture us during our last day on the planet.

Like I said, that hadn't been my most thought-out plan ever. Maybe Zazlu was right.

Some of the youngest spiders in the clan ran up to us, pony-sized aliens with green, still-hardening shells who loved to play ambush games, preparing for a lifetime of killing. We stalked and counter-stalked with them inside the village for a few minutes, usually losing because of their psychic advantage, but after Zaz and I pulled a pretty decent coordinated triple-fake out and jumped on the shells of two youngsters from behind, we sent them running and got down to work.

A couple of the villagers helped us gather what was left of the cache we had left before the battle: three usable battle rifles and about 200 rounds for them, two .50 cal sniper rifles and 50 rounds for those, and then about four snowsuits, an invisible yeti-skin, two med-kits, and MRE's for about 10 people for a week.

Not exactly enough to start an interstellar army.

We checked the mound of the dead the spiders had made from the infected human soldiers we had killed, but their heads had been chopped off and burned to kill the brain slugs inside, and then their bodies had been left in the rain, sun and mud for three weeks straight while being picked apart by the predatory animals of this jungle, which was every animal. Holding my nose shut, I found two more possibly working rifles among them, then started sorting through the pile of bones and cloth with more urgency.

It's not going to be there, Zazlu said.

It's got to be.

We'll find you another one.

Where? I demanded. In the intergalactic historical gun depot?

I had not thought we would meet again, a voice like sliding knives said into my head. But I am glad I saved this, nonetheless.

I turned to see a large spider behind us, a mammoth black shape with shoulders as wide as two oxen. His shell shone like wet pavement at night and there was a massive red birthmark running in a streak across his skull. And he was holding my leg holster, with my sidearm still in it.

Red-Stripe, I said, grinning as I stood up from the pile. Don't you have more important clan business to kill?

I do, the leader of the Three-Spot's village said. The northern clan you liberated is breaking into smaller, independent groups or integrating slowly into ours. They have much to learn about living as free spiders, and I was about to leave again to advise them. But I could not ignore your desire to retrieve this item. Your mind wails for it like a baby in the night, interrupting the thoughts of old and young alike.

I smiled and took the holster he was offering with relief, then pulled my Colt .45 revolver from it. I thought Hell-Spiders didn't get sentimental about the dead or their effects.

Your body was stripped and used as bait to catch scorpion monkeys, he replied. But I could sense your attachment to this item, and so I retained it from the pile.

I spun the still loaded, six-chambered cylinder and snapped it back into place with a loud, satisfying click. Well, thank you. In our current position, I'm not sure I could have found another like it. And not having it would have caused me great loss.

It seems smaller than your other metal spitters, and you used it barely at all against the enemy. What is its importance?

Zazlu spoke first. They call that 'The Gun That Won the West'. Having a revolver on his hip makes our Lieutenant feel like a real cowboy, ready to shoot first and think later.

I gave Zazlu a look while strapping the holster to my leg. They also called it 'The Peacemaker'. Revolvers never let you down when you need them, and this caliber does pack a punch, but the reason for the name was that the sight of the gun itself was a deterrent. I slid the Colt into the holster; the weight against my leg was solid and reassuring. It was a big gun with a big reputation, and if you wore it openly enough, you shouldn't have to actually use it. Hence the name.

And that is how you see yourself, Red-Stripe said, reading my thoughts. As someone trained in force so he can bring about peace.

I rested my palm on the Colt's smooth handle. You should be glad. If I hadn't been that type, when we met I might have shot you instead of talked to you. And then where would we be?

You would have been dead, and I would have been annoyed. The spider turned away, and Zazlu and I followed him back towards the gate in the village wall.

So, I said, have you looked up that human I recommended yet? Tornier, the colonist farmer?

I have.

And? Have you two agreed to help each other? With your clan's knowledge of this planet's dangers and his clan's technology-

This Tornier of yours was proud and haughty. As stubborn in his ways as a bucking boazelle.

I sighed. Oh.

But I saw his mind had honorable intentions, seeking only to protect his clan. We have planned another meeting after my return from the north. Trust will take time to build.

I shook my head. The spiders were the best ally the remaining farmers could have, especially now with most of the military leaving. Red-Stripe's clan could be the shield that protected the humans' fragile toehold on this planet from its aggressive ecosystem. And Tornier's farmers could solve the hunting-gathering Spiders' most pressing problem with just a simple meat freezer.

But Tornier had never met the spiders like we had, and going back now to introduce them personally would let him know that we had survived. I looked over at Zazlu and could tell he was thinking the same thing. Tornier was trustworthy. But was every farmer, in his entire colony? To keep our secret forever?

We had done all we could.

Red-Stripe regarded me as we walked. This new hunt you and Three-Spot are going on; it is similar to your Peacemaker? Using force to bring peace to faraway places?

I looked at Zaz. Hopefully not using a lot of force.

Are the clans there are as dangerous as those here?

We don't know. It is far away. Farther than I can even describe to you.

The large black spider stopped at the entrance to his village. Five male spiders, strong, young hunters we had eaten around the fire with, formed up in a circle around him, all standing in the shade.

The 'Peacemaker', Red-Stripe repeated, then fixed his four black eyes on me. In our history, there only has been peace when both sides were equally strong, and prey was plentiful. In all other times, force was the only language spoken. I hope you find these faraway places different.

I hope so too, I said, then patted his segmented shoulder. We'll be back to see you when we can.

Please do. And if this faraway place does not have enough prey to hunt, you are welcome to make your home with us here. You have earned it.

I appreciate that, but-

I went for my Colt as a lightning snake leapt out of a sunny spot, the points of its shiny fangs aiming towards the meat of my thigh. But one of Red-Stripe's hunters was quicker, his razor claw cutting the snake's head from its body in mid-air before my gun had even left the holster.

Zazlu had scavenged a combat knife from the pile, but just like me, hadn't gotten it out in time either. The adrenaline dump from my Flight-or-Flight was just hitting my system, but the spider who had protected me stood rock calm as he cleaned his razor claw and tucked it away again; his natural telepathy had sensed the developing attack while Zazlu and I had stood just feet away, completely blind.

Like I was saying, I gulped, my hand slightly shaking as I slid the Colt back home, Angie's Star has a lot of friend's I'd like to visit, but we haven't exactly evolved to, um, thrive here. I don't think it could ever be my home.

Very well, Red-Stripe said, then started to turn away.

Hey! Aren't you going to tell me to bring Three-Spot back safe and sound?

The spider looked back at me. "That is what I told him to do with you."

And then Red-Stripe and his hunters were galloping away to the north.

The clan leader's words affected Zaz and I. Which is why we spent the next two hours having ten Hell-Spider hunters help us dig two other very special things out of the wet, soggy jungle and haul their back-breaking weight back to the Benefactor shuttle.

***

Heeeeeyyyy Grimstone! I sang as I entered our barracks, a small room on the Benefactor ship that looked like a converted kitchen. I've got a present for you!

Our tech sat up in his bunk, his shirt off while he had been doing sit-ups. Grimmy had been born a scrawny kid with glasses and asthma, but had resurrected into the same super athlete body the rest of us did after his death. And had walked around like a football stud trying to impress the girls ever since. On a ship containing ten human males, ten robots controlled by aliens, one male Hell-Spider, and two human females. One of which was his squad sister and the other of which his commanding officer had been pursuing since she had been a sexy redheaded doctor.

But I still liked the kid. He was an unbelievable tech, followed orders well, and had a plucky, can do attit-

Jesus Grimstone, put a shirt on! I cried, covering my eyes. "Your abs make me want to jump you. I can't imagine what they're doing to Steve."

Sorry sir! he blushed, rooting around for the white undershirts Ridley had the Benefactor maker machines printing for us every few days.

Fiddling with an improvised medic's kit at the room's only cramped table, Steve called over his shoulder. I didn't mind. But Butcher squealed like a girl and ran from the room, though.

No she didn't, I sighed. And what was she doing in here anyway? Her and Doc's bunks are the next hall over.

Grim was pulling a clean shirt down over his incredibly defined stomach. He must have been doing 500 sit-ups a day. I called her over to help me do some crunches but-

I know why you called her over, Private, I said, giving him my Lieutenant Look, and making him squirm. "Call one of the males the next time you need a workout buddy."

He blushed. Yes sir.

Don't worry, Grimstone, we'll find someone to help oil your stomach eventually. There's got to be some green-skinned women somewhere in this galaxy.

He was blushing even harder now. Sir, yes sir.

"Now, come on. I've got something else for you to play with."

***

Grimmy looked skeptically at the two muddy, dripping, leaf-covered piles of metal on the shuttle's floor. They were humanoid, twelve-feet tall, and if you squinted you could kind of make out a boxy exoskeleton with powerful legs and weapon-packed arms. They were Heavies, walking suits of death that any soldier could wear to shred through a dug-in infantry squad almost before they could blink. Or they had been, until two well-placed .50 cal sniper shots from Ann-Marie and I had turned their drivers into pulp. And then they had sat in the jungle for three weeks.

We brought these back just for you, Grimstone.

He still hadn't touched one. And what would you like me to do with them? Sir.

The encounter bots aren't cutting it. We may need something heavier to man our checkpoints someday. And I figured, there's nothing heavier than Heavies.

He looked like a lost boy. With incredible abs. Sir... technology like this... it needs a whole... -he waved his hands- support structure around it. One that's equally sophisticated. I don't even have the tools to make the tools I'd need to start repairing this Heavy.

Grimstone. You're on a spaceship. Of an advanced alien race. That control wormgates which let us jump across fifty light years like it was nothing. Figure something out.

Sir, my datapad, my equipment, we lost them all back at the base...

Have the maker machines make new ones, I said. Just like our clothes. The same way the Benefactors make spare parts for their ship.

He shook his head. The makers can only build what you can give them plans for. I don't have any of the blueprints I'd need. Not unless you want me to hook into the human network again.

I frowned. That's the last thing we needed- for one of us to check our e-mail and tell the human universe we were still alive. We were technically war criminals. Posthumously, but still.

Alright, I said. I'll have our logistics officer start working on the issue. In the meantime, at least get the Heavies cleaned up, have the maker machines build you some wrenches or something to get a look at the guts and make a list of what you need.

He nodded. Yes sir.

I thought you'd be happy, Grimmy. This should be a nerd's wet dream.

It's like I'm a caveman staring at a jet engine. He wiped some mud off an optical sensor with his thumb. I can't hit something so pretty with a club. I'll ruin it.

We'll get you the tools. Do what you can in the meantime. I turned to leave. Oh, and FYI, watch out for the smell- no one's cleaned the drivers out of the Heavies yet, unless lightning snakes got in there and picked them clean. Which reminds me, also watch out for lightning snakes.

And I left him to his work. That's the benefit of being an officer.

***

Zaz, take a note, Grimmy needs tools good enough to maintain Heavies.

He just looked at me. We've got no assets, no supply contact with the human race, no budget, and you want me to set up a class 5 tech shop? With what?

You're the Logistics Lieutenant. Figure it out.

Zazlu grumbled and crossed his arms. That's the downside of being an officer.

While we're on the subject, Ann-Marie said from across the table, we're going to need more than what you scavenged from the planet to complete the ops Ridley's planning. We need comm systems. Non-lethal restraints. Hell, we'll even need uniforms. All-weather, urban, body armor-

I sighed and leaned on the table in the ship's kitchen. It was a cold, big open space that looked like a converted barracks room. Add rations and toiletries to that. I want to be able to brush my teeth again. Make a list and give it to Zaz.

Thanks, he muttered.

Hey, do you want to be the Intelligence Lieutenant instead? Butcher said. "Forget building profiles of the alien races we're supposed to police- I'm still trying to give them all names."

I need supplies as well, Doc Murphy said, standing at the kitchen door.

Aren't the Benefactors creating supplies to maintain the resurrection tanks?

She frowned. They've got some. But not what I'm used to.

I met eyes with Zaz, to confirm before I spoke. Machine tools are pretty common, Doc. And they aren't tracked. Neither are surplus uniforms. But I'm sure someone on Earth will notice if an unnamed source starts buying up large amounts of res tank supplies.

Clones aren't something you want me to get a wrong dosage on, Lieutenant. Not if you want them to work properly.

Zaz was just barely shaking his head at me, so I shook mine at Shannon. Sorry Doc. Too risky. Make do with what the Benefactors use.

Her eyes narrowed in anger and for a second, I could imagine them flashing green again. Mr. Mohammed, she said, crossing her arms and looking past me to Zaz, "consider it an order to procure the supplies I am requesting."

Zazlu looked up at me with a knowing glance, as did Butcher. I had worried that this day would come. Might as well pull the band-aid off quick.

Doc, you can't give him orders. Not real ones, anyway.

I'm a certified Field Surgeon! Before you snatched me away from everything, my pay grade was the same as your Captain!

I tried to say this gently. You're a Captain, but you're a Staff Officer. Support staff. You'd be outranked by any Line Officer, any fighting officer, of any rank, until there aren't any of us left. Especially now, in the...extended circumstances we find ourselves in.

I watched her balloon deflate. Maybe they hadn't explained that to her in Basic, or maybe scientist types never even went through Basic. I would believe Shannon Murphy could stare down a charging rhino if the cause was just, but I couldn't believe military planners would make one of the few PhD's in resurrection technology crawl through the mud before a deployment to a Staff Officer position.

I hadn't wanted to dress her down in public, but at least the privates weren't around, and I had to make it clear-

"And what rank would I be, Lieutenant? Anthony Himenez said, gliding into the room and pouring himself coffee in an unhurried fashion. Civilian, extra-numerary, chartered directly by the U.N. High Council. On a human colony, I'd outrank you all," he said, calmly mixing cream into his cup.

On a human colony, I agreed. But I consider us an expeditionary force. Going into hostile territory. I met his eyes. I don't feel right applying military law to you, since you never chose to enlist with us. So, outside of combat, I'd have to... ask you for your cooperation. As a colleague.

He took a calm, measured sip. "And during combat?"

I knew what I wanted to say, what every fiber of my military being told me was the right answer. Himenez caught it in my body language too, an unconscious shift to the reassuring weight strapped to my right leg.

I see, he said. The law of the gun. He who has the biggest, makes the rules.

I caught Doc's shock and immediately regretted wearing my newly recovered sidearm all the time. No! Look-

At least as a private in your army, I'd have written rules dictating when you could shoot me, Himenez said, walking towards the door in his smooth glide. As a civilian, I have none.

Of course you do! I said. We follow Rules of Engagement around here.

Rules of Engagement for an army? Or for a police force? He raised an eyebrow. Or for pirates?

Zazlu balled his fists. "You know, we can just leave you on the next floating rock we come across. That's how pirates used to deal useless stowaways. Unless you have something to make it worth keeping you fed?"

Himenez calmly sipped his coffee again. In transit between here and Earth, there are two wormgates which open to star systems with no habitable planets, he said. Transports pass through without stopping; it is flyover country.

I was waiting. With Himenez, you always had to wait.

There are rumors of groups of ships, he continued after a sip, who linger hidden near the gas giants of these systems, trading the sorts of goods that are usually traded in the shadows. He took another sip, then looked at me. I had hoped to deal with these pirates, sometime before the end of my UN career.

I weighed the information, then looked at Zazlu.

Zaz was still frowning, but nodded. Sounds like a good place to go shopping for tools. And maybe uniforms.

I looked at him. Will you kill our Inspector General here if I put the two of you on it?

Not as long as he keeps giving me useful information.

Himenez just smirked into his coffee.

Go, I said. Try to play nice.

Zaz and Himenez left, just before I felt every cell in my body simultaneously get lighter. Ann-Marie looked at me with wide eyes as we all started to float off the floor.

They've turned off the gravity to break orbit! she said. Ridley told me that wouldn't happen until we got our next mission.

Go, I ordered. Find out what it is.

She left too, leaving me alone in the kitchen with Doc. Who was still sulking. Which is tough to do in zero g, which shows how hard she was trying.

I let her try to give me the weightless cold shoulder for five more long seconds, then spoke.

Doc... Shannon. Look, I'm sorry about that. But those are the rules in any human military. Line over staff. No reaction. Things are weird enough as it is. I wouldn't be able to run this unit if I started making up the chain of command on the fly.

That got her to turn around.

"And what sort of unit are you running, Lieutenant? You seem quite happy to make everything else up as you go, to defy whatever law suits you."

Now Doc- she gave me an icy stare- ...ter Murphy, that's not fair.

You just sent Lieutenant Mohammed off to trade with pirates.

"Alleged pirates. Zaz will keep his eyes open for really shady doings, and he'll get more info out of them than any Inspector General ever could. And once we know what they're really like, then we'll see what our conscience demands we do. But right now, we urgently need supplies and secrecy, in equal parts."

Her formerly green eyes were flashing. So you'll break some laws. Just not for me.

I tried to get closer, but she just drifted away. Literally.

Doc, I can't give you special treatment just because you're my...

Your what?

Well...my mate.

She threw up her hands. I wished I had never had stupid thought that around that stupid telepathic Hell-Spider! she said, kicking away to the door. From my perspective, she looked like she had suddenly jumped up to hang through a hole in the ceiling. And when she turned back at me, sunshine blond curls waving around her head, her jumpsuit tight in all the right places, she was an angel, hanging over me like a sword. One stupid stray thought and now everyone thinks we're getting married and having babies!

I gulped and found a voice to talk to my angry Angel of Damocles. So what did that mean? After we res'd in the Benefactor tanks you held my hand and everything-

One moment of weakness! After the worst day of my life! And all I did was hold your hand- it's not like we had some great romance for the ages or something!

Doc, please- what's this all about? You can't be getting this angry over nothing. You weren't like this before. Finally. That registered. I saw her exhale, look away. I waited a second, then spoke gently. I can't fix everything. But if there's something I can do, tell me. Another exhale. I'm serious. Let me help. What's really going-

Everything, she finally said.

What?

You took everything away from me. My things. My contact with the universe. My job. My clothes. My body!

I pushed up, to stick to the ceiling near her, but not too near, and spoke softly. The slugs were taking over the base. I didn't have any other options. I didn't know what would happen to you if I left you there and-

I know, she sighed. But... I liked my original body!

I grinned. I liked it too.

"Careful."

But sometimes I think some wise doctor once told me. How, when you resurrect, everything about you that matters is preserved. Your thoughts, your memories, your hopes and dreams. Just the outside is different.

That finally got her to smirk. Alright, maybe I could get used to this. All of you soldiers did after your first death. Hanging from the door, she looked down at her long, lean, supermodel perfect body and sighed. It might even be a small upgrade from how I used to look, if I'm being honest.

My years of combat self-preservation instincts told me to say nothing.

And I really don't mind being a Doctor Without Borders and getting a chance to see the universe, she continued. It should be the adventure of a lifetime, actually. But sometimes I want to be able to just brush my damned teeth again!

You don't like the green mouthwash Ridley programmed into the maker machines? I laughed. The mint and wood bark flavored one?

Now her smirk turned to an actual smile. And I don't know what your Captain's experience with women's underthings are, but, Jonah, the way he's programmed our bras to be made-

Noted, I said. Give your measurements to Zaz and I'll have him procure unmentionables for you and Ann-Marie. Reasonable ones.

Thanks.

And some clothes that aren't flight suits, I added. Comfy ones for off-duty as well as work clothes.

That would be nice.

And a little black evening dress.

"Lieutenant."

I floated away, my hands held in front of me. "What? You would look incredible in a little black dress. Every woman needs one. Especially if she's going to cocktail dinners with alien ambassadors."

Shannon tossed her hair and said, I hardly think that we're going to be-

Butcher burst back into the room, her top half hanging through the zero G door like she was looking down on us from a treehouse. The wormgate's open and Ridley's communicating through it! she said, slightly out of breath. Our next mission is security for the first meeting of two new alien races- ambassadors at a dinner party! We're jumping through the gate in two hours!'

I gave Doc a look and she just shook her head, like when we had been flirting back on the planet. Back before I had killed her and took her away from everything she had known. I hadn't seen that smirk directed at me in three weeks, and I had missed it like a cold drink after walking through the desert.

Speaking of dessert-

"Hey Doc.