Like me, enlisted.
The enlisted are different. We are here from choice.
We’ll be here from choice next life. Hell, we were probably here from choice the life before. No one but the U/Free remembers their past lives. So I can’t tell you if that’s true.
Me, I’m here now. Ready to look death in the face with open eyes. And if this ends in someone reciting the soldier’s prayer over my body, then so be it. I’ll settle for a long sleep and a better life next time.
Of course, I’ll fight like fuck to stop that happening. But if it does, then it does . . .
‘You’re released,’ I tell the Vals, keeping my voice low. ‘If I kill you, then I’ll get your implants home if I can. If you kill me, then I want it quick and clean.’
They grin.
‘And I want you to kill that general for me.’
I don’t need them to nod to know that’s already in their plan.
As one Val plants her feet firmly on the deck, the other begins to edge around me and our audience start banging on the tables with their fists. They’re taking bets on who lands the first blow.
‘Five on Sven,’ shouts Neen.
He’s swamped with takers. Since he doesn’t have five gold coins, it is a brave bet.
Wiping sweat from my eyes, I flick my gaze from one Val to the other. Both have oiled their skin; should have thought of that myself. Only I didn’t know this was going to happen and they obviously did.
‘Ten on the Vals,’ says the brigadier.
No one takes his bet.
As Val 7 moves, she rolls her dagger across the back of her hand. A neat trick, made neater by the fact she is moving crab-wise as she does it, with her eyes locked on mine.
Watch the eyes is a good maxim.
Only this time it is almost a mistake. I duck just in time, as the other Val slicks her blade through the space where my throat should be.
Someone claps.
And I’m two paces back and finding my balance. Twisting fast, I flick out my wrist and watch Val 7 dodge.
They’re fast, I’m faster. My next strike rakes Val 5’s chest. For a second the wound reveals muscle, ribs and the fat inside one breast, and then blood wells. The cut needs stitching but it’s not fatal. All the same, she’s shocked.
‘Pay up,’ someone shouts. It is Neen.
A movement catches my eye and I turn to find myself facing Val 7 again. She has stopped rolling the blade across the back of her fingers. Now it juts from the side of her fist, edge forwards. She’s here to stop me finishing her sister.
‘I’m going to kill you.’
‘Yeah,’ I tell her. ‘That’s what they all say.’
A feint from Val 7 has me twisting sideways. It’s only experience that warns me the real move is yet to come. As she goes for my throat I step back, and she switches hands so fast her blade blurs. Her next stab targets my groin.
I block with my arm. The one with bone in, the one that bleeds.
Her next attack is harder, and she makes a mistake. Coming in close, she jerks back as my fingers reach for her throat, and slips on her sister’s blood. This gives me time to finish her sister.
Val 7 is still trying to find her balance as I open Val 5’s throat with my forearm and reverse my swing, jabbing my elbow hard into her head. As it hits, the spike goes right through her skull, and someone gags.
Ten to one it’s the general’s little ADC.
A twist frees the spike and carries me away from Val 7, who stands torn between rushing to her sister’s side and killing me. In the second we eye each other, her sister begins to buckle, then drops to her knees and tips sideways.
‘Fucker,’ says Val 7.
The next attack is brutal.
She comes in stabbing, hard and fast. As I block the blows, I reach for her shoulder, but my fingers find oil and slip. She grins. And I have seen that grin before, because it’s mine.
Usually, I see it reflected in the eyes of those I kill.
When she steps forward, I step back and let myself skid slightly on the blood-slick deck. The Val thinks she has me. So she rushes forward. And, as her blade jabs towards my throat, my toes regain their grip and my metal arm comes up to block her blade.
My other arm slams into her throat. The weight of the blow crushes cartilage. Seven minutes, that’s how long she has before her ruptured throat tightens enough to suffocate her. Unless I finish it here.
Scooping up the Val’s knife, I hammer its hilt into her skull, knocking her unconscious. Breath still rasps in her throat and her ribs shudder as her lungs fight for every breath. God, you have to love the Vals.
Or maybe that’s just me.
Hooking two fingers into her nose lifts her onto her knees. And then I cut her throat from behind so blood sprays across the deck. The crowd roar, but I barely notice because I’m already sawing the head from its body.
The knife is sharp, but she has wiring in her flesh. So metal scrapes metal, before bone cracks and her skull comes free. It takes less time to behead the other. She’s already dead, half her blood is on the deck, and I have worked out where to cut.
Quick learner, that’s me. It’s an adaptive mechanism.
God knows what that means, but it’s what a Death’s Head technician told me about five minutes before she decided to cancel my psych test halfway through and erase the results.
Chapter 45
‘Well,’ says the general. ‘That was impressive.’
I look for a subtext but he seems to mean what he says. So I thank him, dump the heads on the table and reach for my glass. It’s full again. You can say what you like about General Tournier, but he runs a tight ship.
‘To a good death,’ I say.
It’s a well-known Legion toast and he looks at me strangely.
Although that might be because my two trophies are making a mess of his spotless linen tablecloth. Also, everyone else at the table has stopped eating. So I lean over and take the rest of a chicken for myself, chewing chunks of meat from its carcass.
Fighting makes me hungry. Actually, everything makes me hungry.
One of the reasons having a kyp in my throat pisses me off so badly is I like food; what I don’t like is everything I eat exiting the arse of some parasite before it reaches my stomach.
‘You might want to clean up,’ the general says. Sounds like an order to me.
‘Of course, sir.’
He nods. ‘Oh, Sven . . .’
I pause, about to zip up my trousers.
‘Welcome aboard.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Slinging my holster over my shoulder, I grab my shirt and jacket, toss them over my new arm and look around me. Time to get my other arm sewn. Vijay is looking at me strangely.
It makes me remember to ask, ‘What about my ADC?’
The general raises his eyebrows. ‘What about him?’
‘Your men can look after him?’
‘Oh yes,’ says General Tournier. ‘I’m sure they’ll manage.’
Someone laughs. I am not sure why, but I glare anyway.
A major looks away. He has tiny braids growing from the rear of his skull, three of them. Gratefully, he fixes his attention on an approaching woman. Anything to avoid having to look back at me. ‘Yes?’ he demands.
Dipping her head, Shil says, ‘I’ve been sent to clear, sir.’
Her voice is tight, but her face is neutral. So I doubt anyone else at the table catches her simmering anger. Perhaps I am wrong.
‘Name?’ demands the five-braid.
‘Shil, sir,’ she says.
‘You’re from Hekati?’
‘Yes, sir . . .’
‘Shil,’ says the five-braid. ‘Why won’t you look at me?’
As I watch, her fingers tighten on the tray. She’s wondering if she can use it as a weapon. The answer is yes. Also that cup, that knife, that glass. Anything is a weapon if you approach it with the right attitude.
‘Well?’ the five-braid demands.
She looks up and looks away. Shrugs.
‘Tell him,’ Colonel Vijay says. ‘He’s not going to hurt you.’