said Augustus. “Now here I am ordered to serve a U.S. commander. Not just a U.S. commander, but John Alexander Farragut.” The words said John Alexander Farragut , but the tone clearly said John the flaming idiot Farragut .
John Farragut had dealt Rome one of its few defeats in a battle for ownership of a planet.
“You’re ready to fall on your sword?” Farragut asked lightly. “Take cyanide?”
“That’s a big joke to you, isn’t it?” Augustus pulled the cap off a back tooth, produced a tiny vial. “There’s your joke.” He replaced the vial and the cap.
Farragut’s brows twisted, one perplexedly higher than the other. “Ever hear the line, ‘No son of a bitch ever won a war by dying for his country?’ ”
Augustus replied in irony, “Of course. That’s why there are monuments to the dead at Thermopylae, Masada, the Alamo, and Corindahlor.”
“You don’t suppose the Romans at Corindahlor Bridge would rather have lived?”
Augustus bridled in personal ownership. “Don’t ever presume you know what was in the minds of the Romans at Corindahlor.”
Corindahlor was before Farragut’s time. “And you do?”
“No. Honestly, I don’t.” Augustus sat back, murmured to himself, “What could they have been thinking?”
“You would rather commit suicide than take orders from me? I’d have thought orders to live and serve rather than die and serve would be a relief.”
“Shows your own self-serving priorities. I was assigned to you because John Farragut is where the Hive is. In wide-open space, it’s John Farragut who gets into the furballs. How do you do that?”
Farragut laughed. “I have no idea!”
“I believe that,” Augustus said dryly. The man was clueless. “They gave me to you the sooner to eliminate the Hive. Doesn’t make us lovers.”
“Doesn’t it even make us friends? Civil acquaintances?”
“Earth is next in line if the Hive eats its way past Palatine, so I don’t overestimate Earth’s compassion. And you would be well advised not to overestimate Rome’s gratitude.”
3
M ARINES SNAPPED TO ATTENTION at Colonel Steele’s barking entrance into the fighter craft maintenance bay, which doubled as the Marines’ parade deck. “Hallahan!”
“Sir!”
“Jaxon!”
“Sir!”
“Li!”
“Yo! Sir!”
“Blue!”
Kerry Blue straightened, tried to look keen, shocked to be called. “Sir!”
Steele’s pale blue eyes narrowed at her. “You all here, Blue?”
“Yes, sir!” Kerry shouted, spirits rising. She was done crying over that lying, cheating, gorgeous bastard Cowboy. A tear stole down Kerry’s face. She dashed it away. Well, almost done.
The colonel ignored it. Turned away, barking more names.
Nothing like a mission—a big one—to drag you out of yourself. Colonel Steele was taking Kerry Blue down with the captain to meet the aliens. Kerry refrained from gushing thanks.
The names ended. Kerry was peripherally aware of Reg standing at attention next to her, shoulders slightly slumping, not called. Steele was giving orders for the chosen ones to collect weapons from the armory and to kit up in dress whites and dog collars. Steele exited as briskly as he’d come.
He had not ordered exo equipment—Arra had a nitrox atmosphere, hot, heavy, but breathable at sea level—not even sunglasses. It would not be hideously bright down there, even in the starry cluster; it would be nighttime where the Archon’s palace stood when the ship’s party went down. They were calling the leader of the three-world nation an “Archon.”
This was not just a prime mission, a first contact, but Kerry was getting out of the can and breathing real air. And she was not one of those poor sods who were sent on recon to the other two inhabited systems. She could not believe her luck.
At Kerry’s side, Reg hissed, “Hell, Blue! Who’d you go to bed with to pull this duty?”
Kerry could more easily name soldiers she hadn’t slept with, but fraternization with
John Farragut had dealt Rome one of its few defeats in a battle for ownership of a planet.
“You’re ready to fall on your sword?” Farragut asked lightly. “Take cyanide?”
“That’s a big joke to you, isn’t it?” Augustus pulled the cap off a back tooth, produced a tiny vial. “There’s your joke.” He replaced the vial and the cap.
Farragut’s brows twisted, one perplexedly higher than the other. “Ever hear the line, ‘No son of a bitch ever won a war by dying for his country?’ ”
Augustus replied in irony, “Of course. That’s why there are monuments to the dead at Thermopylae, Masada, the Alamo, and Corindahlor.”
“You don’t suppose the Romans at Corindahlor Bridge would rather have lived?”
Augustus bridled in personal ownership. “Don’t ever presume you know what was in the minds of the Romans at Corindahlor.”
Corindahlor was before Farragut’s time. “And you do?”
“No. Honestly, I don’t.” Augustus sat back, murmured to himself, “What could they have been thinking?”
“You would rather commit suicide than take orders from me? I’d have thought orders to live and serve rather than die and serve would be a relief.”
“Shows your own self-serving priorities. I was assigned to you because John Farragut is where the Hive is. In wide-open space, it’s John Farragut who gets into the furballs. How do you do that?”
Farragut laughed. “I have no idea!”
“I believe that,” Augustus said dryly. The man was clueless. “They gave me to you the sooner to eliminate the Hive. Doesn’t make us lovers.”
“Doesn’t it even make us friends? Civil acquaintances?”
“Earth is next in line if the Hive eats its way past Palatine, so I don’t overestimate Earth’s compassion. And you would be well advised not to overestimate Rome’s gratitude.”
3
M ARINES SNAPPED TO ATTENTION at Colonel Steele’s barking entrance into the fighter craft maintenance bay, which doubled as the Marines’ parade deck. “Hallahan!”
“Sir!”
“Jaxon!”
“Sir!”
“Li!”
“Yo! Sir!”
“Blue!”
Kerry Blue straightened, tried to look keen, shocked to be called. “Sir!”
Steele’s pale blue eyes narrowed at her. “You all here, Blue?”
“Yes, sir!” Kerry shouted, spirits rising. She was done crying over that lying, cheating, gorgeous bastard Cowboy. A tear stole down Kerry’s face. She dashed it away. Well, almost done.
The colonel ignored it. Turned away, barking more names.
Nothing like a mission—a big one—to drag you out of yourself. Colonel Steele was taking Kerry Blue down with the captain to meet the aliens. Kerry refrained from gushing thanks.
The names ended. Kerry was peripherally aware of Reg standing at attention next to her, shoulders slightly slumping, not called. Steele was giving orders for the chosen ones to collect weapons from the armory and to kit up in dress whites and dog collars. Steele exited as briskly as he’d come.
He had not ordered exo equipment—Arra had a nitrox atmosphere, hot, heavy, but breathable at sea level—not even sunglasses. It would not be hideously bright down there, even in the starry cluster; it would be nighttime where the Archon’s palace stood when the ship’s party went down. They were calling the leader of the three-world nation an “Archon.”
This was not just a prime mission, a first contact, but Kerry was getting out of the can and breathing real air. And she was not one of those poor sods who were sent on recon to the other two inhabited systems. She could not believe her luck.
At Kerry’s side, Reg hissed, “Hell, Blue! Who’d you go to bed with to pull this duty?”
Kerry could more easily name soldiers she hadn’t slept with, but fraternization with
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