‘You believe in Earth Perfect?’
I shrug. Politics is dangerous enough without adding religion. Our enemies, the Uplifted, believe Earth never existed. It’s a myth, used by fools to explain why so many people in the galaxy look the same.
We believe it exists, however.
Well, most of us do. It’s still out there, perfect and waiting.
A few people, the doubters, believe it was destroyed. Earth existed, right enough. Just doesn’t any longer. It’s Earth’s memory we should keep perfect.
Debro’s one. Doubters live simpler lives than most. In Farlight there’s a community that still uses donkey carts rather than trucks or hovers. Not because they’re poor, but from choice. Sounds weird to me.
‘Never gave it much thought, sir.’
‘Maybe you should.’
I don’t like it when other people make Debro unhappy. And Debro’s sitting there, with a tight smile on her face and her fingers gripping her fork so tightly her knuckles must hurt. She doesn’t like it when people talk about Earth.
Aptitude’s noticed it too.
‘Snails,’ I say. ‘Did you develop your taste for them on Rogate, sir?’
Anton chokes on his wine.
The story’s famous. As a captain, trapped on a planet where winter lasts eighteen months, Shadow Luc and his troop survive without rations when their supply line is broken. A surprising number survive. The same isn’t true of civilians in the area. His report mentions a diet of roots dug from the frozen earth.
No one believes it.
Eating human flesh is one thing. Being reminded of it is another. At least where the high clans are concerned. And the Wolf heads one of the richest in the empire, shippers of spices and weapons to the planets along this edge of the spiral.
Also, suppliers of leaders to the imperial senate. And commanders to the Wolf Brigade. Only death can wipe my rudeness clean.
He glares. I smile. Earth is forgotten.
Leaning forward, Aptitude asks about his trip over.
She listens carefully as he replies, and spends the next five minutes asking questions that need answers. It’s like watching a child calm a dangerous animal.
The snails are replaced by rabbit. When that’s gone, Katie brings goat’s cheese and hard biscuits, which General Luc offers Aptitude, before loading five onto his own plate. Another high plains delicacy, obviously.
I’m not the only one noticing how much attention he pays her.
Anton and Debro keep glancing at each other. It’s not a cheerful glance. Since I can’t ask Debro what is wrong while he’s there, I wait until she begins to clear the table and then offer to help. An event so unlikely Aptitude pauses to watch me go.
‘Why’s he here?’ I ask, the moment we’re on the stairs.
‘Why do you think?’ Her voice is flat.
‘Aptitude?’
‘It’s complicated,’ she says. ‘I knew Shadow when I was a child.’ Hesitating on the edge of saying more, she decides to say it anyway. ‘My mother adored him. He and my father hunted together. We were engaged for a while.’
‘What happened?’
‘I broke it off.’
‘Why?’
Debro blushes. ‘His tastes are interesting. Unfortunately, we own adjoining estates, and he’s lieutenant governor of this province, so our meeting occasionally is inevitable.’ She hesitates. ‘Sven, he’s dangerous.’
‘I’m not afraid.’
‘But I am. And you’re making matters worse.’
Catching herself, Debro sighs. ‘Look at those eyes,’ she says. ‘It’s like being watched by a rabid dog. He’s a killer.’
‘Debro-’
‘No,’ she says. ‘You’re not the same.’
I wonder which one of us she’s trying to reassure. She’s sweet, Debro. But she’s also wrong. The Sven she sees isn’t the one I take into battle.
Chapter 5
‘So,’ says Debro. ‘What do you think?’ She means what do I think of her roof terrace, with its red tiles and low white wall and its view of a road that twists through the village towards the gates to her compound.
‘Good place for a belt-fed.’
Anton laughs. ‘She’s talking about the view.’
‘So am I.’
It would take two belt-feds. With a mortar behind them.
That would be enough to hold Wildeside for a while. In the long run, you want a place badly enough you can take it. Might be nothing left to take. That’s not the point. The owners don’t have it either.
‘Sven,’ Anton says. ‘Your lips are moving.’
‘He’s thinking,’ my gun says.
Maybe a couple of belt-feds. A mortar. A sniper behind the wall, firing through one of the squat drains that jut beyond the roof. Although God knows when it last rained around here. Some ground-to-airs to take out enemy batwings.
I know the sniper I’d choose. She’s three days from here. With the rest of my troop. There isn’t a single one of the Death’s Head auxiliaries who wouldn’t die at my order.
Give me the right battle and I’ll sacrifice the lot. Only, my quarrel with General Jaxx isn’t the right battle. So they’re in Farlight, keeping their heads down. And I’m out here on the high plains.
My attempt to keep them alive.
For later.
General Luc sits with Aptitude, under the shade of a striped awning, on one of those double seats that swings backwards and forwards from chains hooked to a bar overhead. He’s keeping the seat swinging with the lazy kick of one boot.
One arm is draped over the back of the seat.
The fact he’s watching to see if I’ve noticed doesn’t help. Although it’s the fact his other hand rests lightly on Aptitude’s wrist, and she’s sitting very still indeed, and pretending not to mind, that makes me want to wring his neck.
Only he is Debro’s guest. She’d object. People like Debro always do.
‘Going for a walk,’ I tell them. ‘See you in a minute.’
Pushing back a rattan chair, I check my pockets for cigars and sling my holster over my shoulder rather than belt it round my waist. The SIG stays silent. But you can bet it’s got an opinion on everything that’s happened so far.
‘I’ll join you,’ the Wolf says.
Anton and Debro look at each other.
‘It’s a free world. Sir.’
Actually, it isn’t. But to point that out is treason. So I smile, while he pretends to take my comment at face value. And I stand back; to show the steps down to the gardens are his. A quick push and we’d have the problem solved.
‘Sven . . .’ says Debro.
Yes, I know.
Behave.
*
Luc takes a cigar and my offer of flame without comment. Leaning against the back of a bench, in the shadow of a twisted cork tree, he manages to look both relaxed and dangerous. He has the confidence of someone who’s never lost a fight.
I have.
I’d like to say I learn from mistakes. It’s probably bullshit. The only thing I learn is to repeat them more inventively next time. Turns out the Wolf wants to talk about my losing my arm.
At least, that’s how he starts our conversation.
‘What happened?’
‘A ferox, sir.’
General Luc checks I’m not mocking him. ‘You escaped from the clutches of a ferox?’
‘Killed it.’
Now he’s really looking.
‘It was old,’ I say. ‘Almost dead. It took my arm and I took its head. Carried the damn thing back with me through the desert. Needed proof I hadn’t injured myself intentionally.’ Self-inflicted injuries are a capital offence in the Legion.
‘You were a sergeant?’
That tells me he knew who I was before Anton introduced us.
‘Ex-sergeant, sir. I got busted for punching an officer.’
Another capital offence. So now he knows there’s more to the story than I’m saying. Otherwise I wouldn’t still be alive. ‘Out there,’ the Wolf says, ‘is a crashed cargo carrier.’
‘So you said.’
‘Unlicensed. You know the penalty?’
‘Death, I imagine. That’s the penalty for everything round here.’