Was Once a Hero by Edward McKeown

anything you’re likely to find.”   Gandhi turned and waved at the group.   A small woman, bundled in an ankle-length,
blue Marscoat, led five other people up to them.  
    “This
is Dr. Shizuyo Mourner,” Gandhi said.   “She has a Ph.D. in Enshari biology.   Dr. N’deba, also an MD and familiar with Enshari biology, Dr. Fierman,
Dr. Hecht, their assistants Yamata and Vashti.”
    “Pleased
to meet you,” said Mourner, a woman with an intense, almost predatory
look.   “In case you’re wondering, I agree
with Mr. Duna’s speeches.   No Enshar
homeworld, no Enshari.   I’d hate to see
my specialty become a study of corpses.”
    “You
come on this voyage,” Fenaday replied, “you’re apt to end up a corpse
yourself.”
    Ignoring
her shocked look, Fenaday turned to Shasti.   “Call Quartermaster Dobera to the dock.”
    “Dobera
will see to getting you settled on board, Doctor,” Fenaday said.   “Afterwards, he’ll show you the Sickbay.”
    Shasti
popped out a pocket com and relayed the order.   The medical party walked to the place Fenaday indicated.
    A
group of five advanced on Fenaday and Shasti.   They were enough to startle even a seasoned traveler.   The man was about Fenaday’s age, though
taller and gaunt.   Half his face was
covered with a ceramic and metal skullcap that included a prosthetic eye.   Most such surgeries were far less obvious and
Fenaday wondered why the man wore the disfiguring headpiece.   Then Fenaday looked more closely at the man’s
companions.   They were HCRs—Humanform
Combat Robots—inventions of the closing days of the war.   The filament hair they used for transmission,
ECM and cooling was long and gave them a feminine look.  
    Actually, he thought after a few
seconds, they don’t look all that
female.   It’s a first impression.   The machines stared back at him with doll’s
eyes.   They wore black jumpsuits,
identical, save for a color strip running sash-like across the chest.
    Their
human controller strolled up.   “Kyle
Mmok,” he introduced himself, ignoring Gandhi, who returned the favor.   He introduced his team, “Cobalt, Verdigris, Magenta and Vermilion.”
    Rather
horribly, the robots bowed as he called their name-colors.   Worse, Magenta curtseyed.   A sardonic smile passed over Mmok’s pale
face.   Belatedly, Fenaday realized Mmok
was communicating subvocally.   He
probably had almost as much machinery in him as the HCRs.
    “I
have thirty crab-style assault robots and a half dozen general purpose models
in a warehouse nearby,” Mmok continued.   “We all come combat tested on Conchir itself.   Isn’t that right, girls?”
    They
nodded in unison.
    Fenaday
kept his face a mask, though the HCRs raised the hair on the back of his
head.   “Wonderful act.   I didn’t realize there’d be a floor
show.”   Fenaday gestured to the spot
where Dobera and Mourner stood.   “Over
there.”
    Mmok
nodded without looking at him and moved on.
    Dobera,
a Frokossi of about middle height for his reptilian people, stood by the first
group, scratching a clawed hand over his head.   He held a portable computer.   Mourner pointed to something on it, doubtless looking at details of the Sickbay.   Two of Dobera’s assistants showed up.   One went over to Mmok, looking somewhat
nervously at the HCRs.
    Gandhi
introduced an array of shipwrights and engineers whose names Fenaday didn’t
bother about.   He’d get the list later
from Dobera.   Before Gandhi finished
another group showed up.   Twenty-two
ground troops, in black and green Air Space Assault Team uniforms, followed a
tall, lanky human and an ape-like Morok.
    “First
Sergeant Daniel Rigg,” said the big, gray-eyed human, “reporting aboard the
Sidhe—”
    “It’s
pronounced Sheeee, ” Fenaday
interrupted, “the d is silent.”
    “Then
why put it in?” asked the blue-skinned Morok, giving Fenaday a fang-filled
grimace.
    “So
we can tell who isn’t Irish,”