“Moving away from us, toward the storage areas?”

Torrance shakes his head. “No, sir. Stationary. Vitals indicate nonhuman.”

“Look before you kill, men, but we’re going in san-bot, got me?” March glances at all our faces, making sure we understand.

Though the slang is foreign to me, I get the gist. He means we’re cleaning this place out; no Morgut gets away, no quarter granted. I have no problem with that. It’s not like they’ve ever shown our people mercy. Hatred is new to me, but a surge of it spikes through me, considering the monsters who don’t even respect us enough to consider us a worthy foe. We’re not an enemy to them; we’re food.

“They’re clustered fairly close,” Torrance says. “I think I can get near enough to soften them up with a grenade if you lot can cover my return.”

We don’t know much about the exact speed of incapacitation. They’ll most likely be weakened, but they’ll give chase. It’s a risk.

March considers the question for a moment. “Are you fast?”

“I can go a kilometer in two minutes, forty seconds.”

Damn. His record speed aside, one man can move quicker through these halls than the whole team. It’s a baiting maneuver, drawing the enemy into your terrain to close the trap. That sounds like a good idea to me because once the laser fire commences, there will be no hiding our location from the rest of the monsters.

Apparently March has the same thought because he says, “Then we need to pick our spot, somewhere we can readily defend.”

That’s when I realize this won’t be hide-and-seek like Emry. It’s going to be a great big bloody free-for-all, and most likely we won’t all walk away.

Another soldier says, “There’s a dead end around the corner. Looks like it leads to a small storage area, no life signs.”

“Then that’s where we’re headed.” March leads the way while Torrance heads off to bring us some Morgut to play with.

On their own, the men draw their weapons. The quiet click announces they’re powering up. I fall in and do the same. Since I’m small, I assume a position near the front. Others will be able to shoot over me. On either side of me stand burly clansmen, shorter than the rest. They’ll go hand-to-hand to protect me, if necessary.

The boom tells us that Torrance has delivered his invitation. Impossibly quick footfalls pound down the hall toward us. The scout shouts, “Two died instantly, three on me, and I’m coming in hot!”

As he bursts around the corner, I raise my weapon. Red targeting dots skim along the dark wall, making patterns that almost form into lines. Around me, nobody speaks. Total focus now, total concentration. This is a different kind of combat, something I’ve never experienced before—skilled, planned, professional.

Today, I learn what it means to be a soldier.

CHAPTER 39

The clatter of spiky, jointed limbs gives me the creeps. They’re clicking toward us fast. I tense, fingers sweaty on the pistol. Logically, I know we’ll be fine this time. We outnumber them. We chose our ground carefully, so we have a long corridor between them and us, lots of firing room.

By the stench of the ichor, some of them are wounded. I confirm that with a glance as the Morgut round the corner; one is missing a forelimb. Saliva runs in yellow rivulets from their fangs. They have our scent now, and they want more. As we open fire, Torrance dives between Drake’s legs and rolls to his feet, weapon in hand.

The corridor becomes a wilderness of laser fire, and the monsters keen at the searing of their flesh. It bubbles and blackens, adding to the stink. I lose track of whose shots hit where. The lead beast falters, its chest laid open. Blood spatters the walls and slicks the floor beneath our feet.

At last it falls, but the other two skitter over the top of the body, urged on by fury and hunger. Despite my hatred, such butchery bothers me, but I tell myself they started it. They’re inside one of our settlements, and they didn’t come to talk.

My pistol reaches the hot point, so I have to fall back. Another soldier takes my place on the front line, his weapon sparking in the dark. The Morgut bodies jerk with each hit, more burning flesh, and another one drops.

There’s only one left, and it’s nearly on us, but it’s outnumbered and wounded. It has assimilated the threat we pose, so it turns, far too late, and attempts to flee. No quarter. Our squad continues to fire, burning a hole its back. Its entrails spill out, dangling as it tries to run. From us, as though we’re the monsters. The thing emits a high-frequency whine as it dies, and the noise reminds me of a crying child.

“Rest up,” March says. “We’ll have more incoming soon.”

I daresay he’s right. While my pistol cools down, I focus on breathing through my mouth. It cuts down on the smell while I rummage in my pack for the dry-acid chem-burner Vel used on Ithiss-Tor. Our packs are outfitted with it; makes for efficient cleanup.

There, got it.

“Stay back,” I warn.

The powder looks so harmless, but when I sprinkle it on the corpses, they immediately begin to smoke, drying inward into a fine gray ash. Instant decomposition. It’ll make it easier for the san-bots, less trauma for the humans we save. On a more practical note, it helps with the slickness of the spilled blood. If we’re fighting in here again, we need better traction.

“Let me scout ahead, sir.” Torrance is already chafing.

March considers for a moment, then nods. “Be careful.”

The rest of us remain battle-ready in case he brings more back to us. Squadron one has tight discipline. Nobody chatters or fidgets. They’re all hard-eyed and ready for round two.

I’ve had some time to think about the problems facing us, but this is the first opportunity I’ve had to talk to March, as I’ve been avoiding him. I may never have a better chance, so I make my way to his side, and he glances down at me, eyes shadowed in the uncertain light. Might as well make some use of the downtime.

“Did you need something, LC?”

I don’t let the formal address discourage me. “I was just thinking about why we’re at a disadvantage in our patrols.”

“Oh?” His voice gains interest when he realizes I don’t intend to get personal.

“Farwan policed the galaxy using their reputation. We don’t have a reputation yet to act as a deterrent.”

“What are you getting at?” March asks.

“Well, fear of reprisal kept most of the worst elements at bay because if they harmed another ship, the gray men would chase them to the ends of the universe.”

Gray men had worked security for Farwan once upon a time, and nobody knew much about them, except they weren’t human. They lived for the thrill of the hunt, and they made excellent enforcers. I remembered reading they had come from a dead world. Their sun had gone nova at some point after they went interstellar; it was nothing but dust now, but they’d carried their love of stalking prey out to the stars. I have no idea what they’ve been doing since Farwan’s fall; in fact, I shudder to think.

March says, “They didn’t worry about prevention of crime, or safeguarding human life, that’s for sure.”

“They depended on people’s fear of punishment whereas we’re coming at it from the other side,” I conclude.

“There’s no fear in our regime,” he agrees.

Which is exactly my point. Without a deterrent like the gray men, how are we to get the raiders and pirates to take us seriously? We can’t blow them all up; we can’t be everywhere at once. We either need a stick or a carrot.

“Not yet. But is it possible to govern wholly without it?”

“She’s right,” Drake says then. I hadn’t realized anyone else was listening to the conversation. “If you don’t smack a kid’s hand the first time he steals a biscuit, he thinks he can get away with more.”

Dina nods. “Always more.”

I forget, she had little sisters once.

“So what are you suggesting?” March asks.

“That we find out what happened to the gray men. They lived to punish the guilty, right? Well, what are they doing now? They should be willing to work for the Conglomerate, accepting their determinations of guilt. The gray men were never judges. They didn’t give the orders. They’re a race of hunters, pure and simple.”

“In addition to the Armada,” Dina says thoughtfully, “we could use a police force to punish the guilty for those crimes we’re unable to prevent. The Conglomerate doesn’t want to rule by fear, as Farwan did, or we’ve only traded one tyrant for another; but neither can it be seen as weak.”

“I’ll see if Tarn can find out what happened to the gray men,” March says, as if he’s come to a decision. “The Conglomerate seized ships from Farwan that won’t operate for a human crew, so if the gray men come to work for us, those resources can be restored.”

He bounces a message to Rose on the ship right then. She’ll forward it to Tarn.

“They weren’t imprisoned?” I ask.

March shakes his head. “Only the top-level executives were held accountable and are now standing trial for their crimes on New Terra. The rest of Farwan simply found itself unemployed as the company collapsed.”

Ah. Well, if the gray men have been at loose ends, they may look kindly on another offer. Hunting is in their blood. They look human, apart from their coloration, but their hearts and minds are dark to us.

Another boom warns us that we’re about to greet the second wave. I wonder how many Torrance blew up, then I hear footfalls signaling his return. He’s out of breath this time, bracing his hands on his knees for a few seconds before he can speak.

“Found another group at rest,” he pants out. “Bigger. Killed five. Eight incoming this time. I—”

But whatever he might’ve said, there’s no time, because I hear the clatter of their limbs against the floor. They’re rounding the corner, a vast wave of monsters with spears for arms and the bodies of fat, bloated spiders. They don’t pause at our numbers; they’re used to devouring humans en masse.

But they’ve never faced our like before. Calmness descends upon me. Long hallway—they’re almost in range.

“Grenades, this time,” March calls out. “Don’t spare them.”

I draw one from a pouch on my belt, arm it, and let fly. The men to either side of me do the same. Training tells us not to aim for a moving target because by the time it lands, they’ll be somewhere else. Instead, you throw toward where they’re about to be, and as they pass by—

Red light flares in the darkness, and the gas hisses out. I’d wondered about the noise. What a fantastic idea—the scientists have disguised the real product beneath a harmless flash-bang charge. The Morgut don’t realize until it’s too late. Our aim is good, and the grenades hit in a near-perfect spread to encompass them all.

Almost immediately, a bloody foam gushes from their mouths, and their flesh roils.

March takes aim and shoots one between the eyes. You could call what comes next mercy killing, but it’s not, really. There’s no mercy in any of us. I just want them to stop twitching. There’s nothing heroic about what we’re doing.