Read By Blood Alone for Free Online

circumspect.

    “So,” Harco began, “how’s it going?”
    Ex-Staff Sergeant Cory Jenkins grinned. He had extremely white teeth, and they gleamed in the dark. “We’re green to go,” he replied, almost adding “sir,” but catching himself in time. “Everyone we approached signed aboard and will be ready when the time comes.”
    “Not quite everyone , ” the other man said darkly. “Three opted out.”
    Harco eyed the man. They had never served in the same unit but knew each other by reputation. That’s how it was in the Legion—everyone knew everyone else, or thought they did. His name was Lopa, Sergeant Major Lopa , since the face went with the rank. A hard man by all accounts—which was just as well. “And?”
    Lopa shrugged noncommittally. “And they turned up missing. I sure hope everything’s all right.”
    Harco looked into the shiny black eyes and knew all three of the people in question were dead. Another tragedy heaped on all the rest. Lopa was correct, however. There is no place for fence-sitters when it comes to war. Legio patria nostra. The Legion is our country. Never had the words rung more true. The officer spoke for the benefit of whatever microphones might be collecting his words. “I hope so, too.... What about tools? Have we got what we need?”
    Lopa thought about the warehouses full of stolen arms, some secured with the connivance of Matthew Pardo, and the rest gathered by hundreds of sympathizers.
    There were assault rifles, machine guns, missile launchers, and more. Not to mention all the stuff that the serving units would bring with them. “Yes, sir. Enough to get the job done.”
    Harco decided to ignore the slip. “Excellent. Be sure to stress the importance of discipline. We wish to change the existing structure—not rip it apart.”
    Lopa nodded agreeably but knew the officer was full of shit. Collateral damage is a fact of life. Harco knew that, or should have known, and been willing to face the reality of it.
    Jenkins sipped his beer. It had a flat, coppery taste. “So, when will the project start?”
    “Soon,” Harco answered. “Very soon.”
     
    The Ramanthian ship dropped hyper, broadcast a high-priority diplomatic code, and was slotted into a choice equatorial orbit. One hundred sixty-two freighter captains, some of whom had been waiting for more than a week, jumped on their com sets. The moon-based Orbital Control Authority took most of the heat. What the hell were they thinking, slotting a bug before humans? Had they lost their frigging minds?
    But the complaints fell on deaf ears. In spite of the fact that Senator Alway Orno was visiting Earth in connection with a routine trade fair, he was entitled to certain diplomatic prerogatives, and had chosen to exercise them. End of story.
    The Ramanthian shuttle fell free of the ship, dove through the atmosphere, and skimmed the North American continent. Orno used his tool legs to preen his parrotlike beak. His eyes contained thousands of facets and would have been useless beyond five feet if it hadn’t been for his computer-assisted contact lenses.
    However, thanks to the benefits of Ramanthian science, the senator, not to mention the War Orno who rode behind him, could see the terrain below. It was less than inviting. Hard, serrated ridges connected one mountain to the next, valleys tumbled one over the other, and a thick layer of snow frosted higher elevations. Not the sort of environment for which Ramanthians had evolved.
    Yes, there were tracts of lush jungle in the southern hemisphere, but not enough to warrant any sort of real interest in the planet. Not even with the tricentennial birthing up ahead. No, the extra fifty billion Ramanthian souls about to enter the universe would demand better quarters than these. The good news was that the worlds his species needed were readily available. The bad news was that they belonged to someone else.
    Who wasn’t exactly clear. Especially in the aftermath of the last war.