Read Online Machine World (Undying Mercenaries Book 4) by B. V. Larson - Free Book Online
Authors: B. V. Larson
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That’s how long ago I signed up with this crazy outfit. We just don’t do organ removal. Not from a living person, that is.”
“Sounds like it would be boring, just running the revival machine all day.”
She gave me a reproachful look. “And you, you’re hurting aren’t you? Is this better than a fresh revive?”
I didn’t know why she was giving me a hard time, but I was getting tired of it. After all, I was the one in agony. She’d only suffered inconvenience. Then again, maybe I was just feeling sorry for myself.
“Actually,” I said, “I’m feeling pretty good. I figured I might go for a jog around the top of those modules later today. I’ve got a few kinks in my legs I need to work out.”
She shook her head and huffed. “Those aren’t kinks, they’re staples. I nu-skinned the hell out of them, but they’ll still sting for a week. They’re sunk in all the way to the bone.”
Groaning, I levered myself into a half-sitting position. Her small hands pushed on my chest.
“Lie back down, please. You’ll pass out if you get out of bed now. Graves wants to talk to you. I think that’s why you’re still alive.”
I let her push me back down. In truth, it felt a lot better that way. I was a mess. As a person who’s been killed and injured countless times, I could tell this was a bad one.
Graves showed up about ten minutes later. His face blocked out the medical lights that were glaring into my eyes, and he examined me with all the tenderness of a rancher poking at his prize bull.
“McGill? Are you lucid yet?”
“Right as rain, sir.”
“Good. I wanted to talk to you. With all the revives going on today I knew it would be a while if I let you stack up in the queue with the rest. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind that you stopped me from being recycled? No sir, I don’t mind.”
He slapped my thigh, and I winced. He didn’t seem to notice.
“That’s the spirit! I want to thank you, McGill. That was a fine bit of improvising you did out there on the field today. We didn’t expect that play. Sure, Winslade and the rest of his auxiliary people are screaming about the damage you did to their machines—but do you know what I said to that?”
“Uh…what sir?”
“That they could go screw themselves, that’s what. It was Winslade’s idea to prove how powerful his machines were by abusing all the new troops who arrived to train on them. I’m sure he didn’t expect much in the way of damage, but that’s just too damned bad.”
I was fuzzy, but I was pretty sure he’d mentioned a name that I didn’t think should be mentioned when talking about combat units.
“Sir?” I asked. “Did you say Winslade? As in, Adjunct Winslade?”
“The one and only. Turov’s sidekick has finally cashed in his marker. He’s a primus now—hadn’t you heard?”
A primus was in charge of a cohort in a regular legion or in some cases an independent auxiliary cohort. Commanding an auxiliary cohort gave a primus more prestige and independence than a regular commander who was permanently the subordinate of a legion’s tribune. Usually, such special cohort assignments went to people who’d held the rank of primus for several years and who had done well in that capacity. Winslade was none of these things.
“I’m not surprised he managed to swing a command rank,” I said, “but isn’t this a stretch? A primus is two jumps above an Adjunct. Last I’d heard, he still didn’t have much in the way of combat experience to begin with.”
“I know,” Graves said, “I know. I’ve been with this legion for decades, and they’ve always promoted one snot-nose or another over me. That’s the way of things sometimes. When forming up a new auxiliary cohort, you would think they’d look for officers from the existing fighting forces, but no.”
“They took and promoted a Hog right over you? It’s just not right.”
“Well, let’s forget about that,” Graves said. “Let’s talk about
“Sounds like it would be boring, just running the revival machine all day.”
She gave me a reproachful look. “And you, you’re hurting aren’t you? Is this better than a fresh revive?”
I didn’t know why she was giving me a hard time, but I was getting tired of it. After all, I was the one in agony. She’d only suffered inconvenience. Then again, maybe I was just feeling sorry for myself.
“Actually,” I said, “I’m feeling pretty good. I figured I might go for a jog around the top of those modules later today. I’ve got a few kinks in my legs I need to work out.”
She shook her head and huffed. “Those aren’t kinks, they’re staples. I nu-skinned the hell out of them, but they’ll still sting for a week. They’re sunk in all the way to the bone.”
Groaning, I levered myself into a half-sitting position. Her small hands pushed on my chest.
“Lie back down, please. You’ll pass out if you get out of bed now. Graves wants to talk to you. I think that’s why you’re still alive.”
I let her push me back down. In truth, it felt a lot better that way. I was a mess. As a person who’s been killed and injured countless times, I could tell this was a bad one.
Graves showed up about ten minutes later. His face blocked out the medical lights that were glaring into my eyes, and he examined me with all the tenderness of a rancher poking at his prize bull.
“McGill? Are you lucid yet?”
“Right as rain, sir.”
“Good. I wanted to talk to you. With all the revives going on today I knew it would be a while if I let you stack up in the queue with the rest. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind that you stopped me from being recycled? No sir, I don’t mind.”
He slapped my thigh, and I winced. He didn’t seem to notice.
“That’s the spirit! I want to thank you, McGill. That was a fine bit of improvising you did out there on the field today. We didn’t expect that play. Sure, Winslade and the rest of his auxiliary people are screaming about the damage you did to their machines—but do you know what I said to that?”
“Uh…what sir?”
“That they could go screw themselves, that’s what. It was Winslade’s idea to prove how powerful his machines were by abusing all the new troops who arrived to train on them. I’m sure he didn’t expect much in the way of damage, but that’s just too damned bad.”
I was fuzzy, but I was pretty sure he’d mentioned a name that I didn’t think should be mentioned when talking about combat units.
“Sir?” I asked. “Did you say Winslade? As in, Adjunct Winslade?”
“The one and only. Turov’s sidekick has finally cashed in his marker. He’s a primus now—hadn’t you heard?”
A primus was in charge of a cohort in a regular legion or in some cases an independent auxiliary cohort. Commanding an auxiliary cohort gave a primus more prestige and independence than a regular commander who was permanently the subordinate of a legion’s tribune. Usually, such special cohort assignments went to people who’d held the rank of primus for several years and who had done well in that capacity. Winslade was none of these things.
“I’m not surprised he managed to swing a command rank,” I said, “but isn’t this a stretch? A primus is two jumps above an Adjunct. Last I’d heard, he still didn’t have much in the way of combat experience to begin with.”
“I know,” Graves said, “I know. I’ve been with this legion for decades, and they’ve always promoted one snot-nose or another over me. That’s the way of things sometimes. When forming up a new auxiliary cohort, you would think they’d look for officers from the existing fighting forces, but no.”
“They took and promoted a Hog right over you? It’s just not right.”
“Well, let’s forget about that,” Graves said. “Let’s talk about
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