Andromeda’s Choice (17 page)

“And if she isn't?”

Travers wiped some foam off his lips with the back of a hand. “Then give me some proof, the kind of proof that will hold up under scrutiny, and make sure that she dies a heroic death. The press will like that.”

“Why not arrest her?”

Travers frowned. “You must be joking. After all the hero hype on Earth? The empress gave her a medal, for God's sake! If we sent her back for trial, it would imply that Ophelia is fallible.”

“And she isn't?”

“Of course not.”

Sykes was silent for a moment. “The proof you mentioned. What would that be?”

Travers grinned. His teeth looked like tombstones. “Beats the shit out of me. Good luck.”

 • • • 

For the first time since arriving on Algeron, McKee had a few hours of free time to fritter away. There were all sorts of things she could have done with it, but before getting a haircut, or going to the gym to work out, there was something she needed to do. Something important.

After arming herself with directions, McKee made her way through a labyrinth of hallways to the fort's media center. Doors swished out of her way as she entered. The lighting was dim, and the room was quiet. In most cases, McKee preferred to watch vids, play games, or read books on her data pad. But what she was about to do required some privacy. The kind she couldn't get in the squad bay.

Most of the booths were available so McKee chose one at random. After the door slid closed behind her, she pulled the chair out of the way and dropped to her hands and knees. Odds were that the computer consoles were safe so long as the wireless connection was turned off. But what if they
weren't
? What if the Legion was monitoring what the legionnaires watched, read, or sent to their families? It was better to be safe rather than sorry, so McKee aimed a penlight up into the wiring. And sure enough, even though the terminal had a wireless connection, it was hardwired to the fort's communications network as well. To monitor what the legionnaires did? Or to provide a backup system? There was no way to know.

McKee stuck the flashlight between her teeth to free up her hands, pulled two cables free, and let them dangle. The terminal was offline. Would that show up on a trouble report? Probably. But when a tech came by to check on it, they would discover that the station was up and running properly. Then, pleased to discover that the problem wasn't a problem, they would tackle the next item on their list of things to do.

McKee sat down in front of the console, clicked the wireless connection off, and removed the chain from around her neck. Data-storage devices came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. So public terminals were equipped with universal readers, and the terminal in front of her was no exception. When McKee touched a button, the pod-shaped player opened like a flower.

Having removed the silver cat from its chain, she placed it within, touched the button again, and watched the petals close. Data flooded the screen. The information consisted of two lists. The first included the names of the people that the Imperial Bureau of Missing Persons planned to murder, and the second was a planet-by-planet roster of the Bureau's agents, all downloaded from a synth on Orlo II. And that was the list McKee wanted to check. Did the BMP have a presence on Algeron? If so, she needed to know as soon as possible. She realized that the list was already months old and would become less useful as time went on.

Algeron was near the top of the second page. McKee clicked on the name and watched one entry appear. “Lee Travers.” No rank; just the name. A civilian then.

McKee felt a slight queasiness in the pit of her stomach as she closed the document, reconnected the computer, and opened the fort's personnel directory. A search brought up, “Lee Travers, Director of Personnel Management Systems,” plus a photo and some contact information. McKee took a moment to memorize the man's face.

Having recovered the silver cat, McKee left. It was time to go away and give the situation some thought. Which would make more sense? To keep well away from Travers and maintain a low profile? Or to kill him?

There had been a time when the second option would never have occurred to her. McKee smiled grimly. That was then. This was now.

Every warrior must confront himself, the elements, and the enemy before a victory can be won.

AUTHOR UNKNOWN
A Naa folk saying
Standard year unknown

PLANET ALGERON

The second platoon of Bravo Company was going to escort some engineers out into the boondocks. That was the scan, so none of the legionnaires were surprised when the orders came down. They were assembled in a ready room with the T-1s in back and the bio bods lined up in front as Lieutenant Dero delivered the news. “All right, listen up. As you may or may not know, the fur balls overran Forward Operating Base Victor a few weeks ago. There were no survivors, and the indigs made off with a shitload of weapons. We're going to escort a company of dirt pushers back to FOB Victor, where they will turn the place into a shit hole fit to die in.”

That produced a chorus of groans and a smile from Dero. “What? You thought we were going to sit around the fort and play patty-cakes?”

Most of the legionnaires laughed, and McKee took it in. She was impressed by the way Dero could bring the troops around—but knew she couldn't deliver the same lines. Her style was different. “But, before you pee your pants,” Dero continued, “I have some good news for you. The captain is going to loan us a quad. So if the fur balls come a-knocking, we'll let Private Murphy answer the door.”

McKee's family had been in the business of manufacturing quads so she knew that the twenty-five-foot-tall war forms weighed fifty tons and could slug it out with a main battle tank. Plus, they could carry a large payload, which meant both bio bods and T-1s would have plenty of food and ammo.

That was a morale builder and helped keep the soldiers positive as they got ready for the mission, a process that involved assembling their combat gear and performing maintenance on the cyborgs before catching six hours of sleep. Five and a half for McKee, who got up early to check the weather and visit her cyborgs. Because if even one of them had a last-minute equipment malfunction, that would cut the squad's strength by 25 percent.

That's what she was doing when Lieutenant Dero strolled through the bay. The officer said, “Good morning,” before continuing on her way. And that was when McKee realized that Dero had been up longer than she had. The loot had a lot of sharp edges but always set a good example.

The Special Works Battalion was a temporary organization created to deal with the task at hand. It consisted of an engineering company led by Major George Hasbro, a platoon of infantry under the command of Lieutenant Maggie Cardei, and Lieutenant Dero's cavalry.

The plan was to leave the fort immediately after sunset in order to travel as far as possible during the two-hour-plus-long night. The idea was to delay detection for as long as possible. But that was wishful thinking because the residents of Naa Town frequently knew what any particular command was going to do before they did. And if
they
knew, so did the so-called wild Naa. Still, an early start would make it more difficult for the local snipers to do their work, so that was reason enough to depart during the hours of darkness.

The first units to leave the fort were two Robotic All-Terrain Vehicles, or RAVs. RAVs could carry up to four thousand pounds' worth of food, ammo, and other gear, so they often accompanied long-range patrols. Each unit consisted of two eight-foot-long sections linked together by an accordion-style joint. Four articulated legs allowed them to negotiate difficult terrain. And though not intended for offensive uses, each machine was equipped with two forward-facing machine guns and a grenade launcher.

However,
these
RAVs were equipped to detect and neutralize the mines the Naa had stolen from the Legion and liked to hide under the surface of the roads. Which was why they were on point. The quad walked crablike behind them, its servos whining rhythmically as it took huge, ten-foot-long steps and swept the area with powerful sensors. The cyborg was followed by a squad of T-1s, two tracked vehicles, a platoon of construction droids, thirty armed sappers, a detachment of infantry, two trucks, and McKee's squad.

Having been assigned to the drag position before, McKee knew it could be viewed as a shit detail since the last unit in the column often had to march through mud or eat dust. But it was a critical assignment because the people at the end of the column would take the brunt of an attack from the rear and could wind up fending for themselves if the column was cut in two.

The plan was to repair the bridges along the way since it might be necessary to reinforce FOB Victor using surface transport during the winter. That would force the column to stop repeatedly. And each time it did so, the Naa would have an opportunity to gather their forces and attack. Not a pleasant prospect. Of course, the legionnaires would have the advantage of satellite imagery, remotely controlled satellite drones that would scout the ground ahead, and fly-forms that could provide air support, weather permitting. But would that be sufficient to counterbalance the Naa's intimate knowledge of the terrain? McKee wasn't sure but knew she was going to find out.

It took less than fifteen minutes to pass through Naa Town. But progress was frustratingly slow after that. The column couldn't travel any faster than the RAVs leading the way. And each time the robots stopped to neutralize a mine, all of the units were forced to halt. That meant McKee and Ree-Ree had to reverse direction in order to serve as pickets while other members of her squad were dispatched left and right to play a similar role. But if the Naa were nearby, they chose to let the legionnaires proceed unmolested.

The column was about ten miles from Fort Camerone when it arrived at the first blown bridge. That was no surprise, of course, since Major Hasbro had sent drones along the road prior to departure and knew what to expect. So once the remains of the bridge had been inspected for possible booby traps, the rest of it went fairly quickly. Cavalry units were dispatched to serve as pickets, the infantry took up defensive positions all around, and the engineers went to work.

The RAVs and the T-1s were the only units capable of crossing the river and climbing the steep bank beyond. So McKee's squad was sent across to clear out any Naa that might be concealed there and to establish a bridgehead. The RAVs weren't able to find any mines, and in the absence of any resistance, McKee was able to pause and look back on the construction effort.

Darkness had fallen once again, so they had to use portable lights in spite of the danger posed by snipers. One of the tracked vehicles morphed into a crane and plucked a section of prefab bridge off a truck while construction droids worked to clear the wreckage. Meanwhile, McKee waited for the shot that never came. It was nerve-racking to say the least.

The new span was in place thirty minutes later, secured in forty-five, and ready to be destroyed all over again fifteen minutes after that. The whole thing seemed like a futile exercise, but McKee hoped she was wrong.

Once the bridge was ready for use, the RAVs were sent down the road, and McKee's squad was ordered to take the point position. The sun had risen by then, and McKee welcomed the additional warmth as Ree-Ree carried her forward, with the rest of them following behind.

The road was winding its way between a cluster of hills by then, which meant the Naa could command the high ground if they chose to, although the drones were likely to spot them if they tried. McKee watched the RAVs top the rise ahead and disappear from sight. Then, as Ree-Ree carried her to the top of the slope, she saw something strange. The road was cradled between two low-lying hills, and there to either side of it, were patches of scorched ground. Some overlapped, and some were independent of the rest. What would cause something like that?

The RAVs, which weren't programmed to worry about such things, continued to move forward, but McKee held up her hand. The squad saw the signal and came to a halt as McKee chinned her mike button. “Bravo-Eight to Bravo-Two . . . We've got what looks like patches of scorched earth. I suggest a halt while we . . .”

McKee never got to finish her sentence as a legionnaire named Chang yelled, “Incoming!” and a loud explosion was heard. McKee felt the shock wave hit her from behind and turned to see that whatever it was had scored a direct hit on Axler and Kosygin. The bio bod had been torn to pieces, and the cyborg was little more than a flaming stick figure. He turned a complete circle and collapsed. “A fireball came in from the west!” Chang shouted.

McKee was about to answer when another missile landed north of her position and went off with a loud boom. Standing around talking about the situation was clearly a bad idea. She waved what remained of her squad forward. “Come on! Let's find those bastards!”

More missiles fell as the cyborgs began to run, and McKee chinned the mike switch. “This is Eight . . . We're taking fire from the west. It could be artillery . . . We're going to circle around the north end of the hill and take a run at them. Over.”

Dero's voice was clear. “Roger that, Eight . . . We've got a visual. The Naa have three catapults in the gulch west of you. They spotted our drone—and are pulling out.”

Catapults! Though no expert on military history, McKee knew they were relatively low-tech devices that could hurl large objects through the air without using a propellant. And, if she remembered correctly, the Greeks and Romans had used catapults with considerable success. Now, as the squad rounded the north side of the hill, the scorch marks made sense. Each patch of fire-blackened earth marked a ranging shot fired well before the battalion arrived. Larkin shouted, “Dooth riders!” as Jaggi opened fire.

McKee could see them now, half a dozen warriors all mounted on six-legged dooths, charging straight at her. Ree-Ree had opened up with his fifty by then, and McKee fired her AXE. Two of the dooths fell as their legs were cut out from under them, and a rider threw up his hands as he was snatched out of the saddle.

But the fight was far from one-sided as an oncoming Naa fired a Legion-issue grenade launcher, and the resulting explosion blew Jaggi's right leg off. The cyborg fell, taking Larkin with him, as the combatants passed each other headed in opposite directions.

That was when McKee saw more dooths, realized that they were pulling wheeled catapults, and urged Ree-Ree forward. “They're trying to get away! Stop them!”

Both of the remaining T-1s opened fire. A dooth reared up, only to take a burst in the belly, another went down in a welter of blood, and a third veered to one side as a drone attacked it. Catapults rolled, tumbled, and broke into pieces as drivers lost control. One Naa was crushed, but as McKee turned, she saw that two of them had been thrown clear of the wreckage and were trying to escape. “Take them alive!” she ordered, as Chang and Tanner took up the chase.

That proved to be impossible, when one of the warriors turned to fire on his pursuers and died in a hail of bullets. But the other tripped, fell, and was trying to get up when Larkin arrived on the scene. His helmet was missing, and he had a slight limp, but was otherwise intact. “Hold it right there,” the legionnaire growled. “Or I'll blow your fucking brains out.”

There was very little chance that the indig could understand standard, but Larkin's meaning was clear, and the Naa raised her hands. She was slender, and those parts of her body not concealed by clothing were covered by a coat of sleek gray fur. She was pretty in an exotic way, or McKee thought so anyway, as Dero and members of the second squad appeared on the scene. “It looks like you've been busy,” the officer observed as she eyed the destruction.

“Sorry, ma'am,” McKee said. “I lost Axler and Kosygin. They were killed during the initial attack. Plus Jaggi is down. I need to check on him.”

Dero pushed her visor up out of the way. “Two techs are on their way to help Jaggi.”

McKee nodded. She left her visor down. Dero couldn't see the tears that way. “Yes, ma'am. Thank you.”

“I'll want a full report. And Sergeant . . .”

“Ma'am?”

“You arrived with quite a rep, but you lived up to it today. Well done.” And with that, the officer rode away. It was a nice compliment, but McKee took no pleasure in it. Had she recognized the scorch marks for what they were and taken immediate action, Axler and Kosygin would be alive. The reality of that ate at McKee as Ree-Ree carried her back to the column.

A fly-form was called in to take Jaggi and the two sets of remains back to Fort Camerone. Larkin was ordered to ride in the quad, where, knowing him, the legionnaire could be counted on to get plenty of sleep.

McKee, Ree-Ree, Chang, and Tanner were following the second squad up the road when Dero and her borg appeared. The officer's visor was up, and she made eye contact with McKee. “I've got an assignment for you, Sergeant . . . The major insisted that I let him ride a T-1, so he's running all over the place, pretending to be a cavalry officer.”

There was just the hint of a smile on her lips—suggesting that in spite of the critical tone, she liked Major Hasbro. Or found him to be amusing. McKee nodded. “Yes, ma'am. Where do we come in?”

“He's riding with the people on point. If they run into something, they'll have their hands full. So go up there and keep him alive.”

“Yes, ma'am.” It wasn't the first time McKee had been assigned to protect a senior officer, and she knew the drill: Pay attention, stay ready, and make yourself invisible. The last being the most difficult.

The cyborgs carried McKee and Chang past the trucks, infantry, sappers, crawlers, and the quad to the head of the column, where Sergeant Grisso and the first squad were on point. And, sure enough, Major George Hasbro was there with them.

McKee had seen Hasbro before but only from a distance. He was old for his rank. So old that his shoulder-length hair was white. He hadn't entered the Legion until he was well into his forties, or so the story went, having been a successful engineer in civilian life.
Why
he had done so was a mystery. But such mysteries were common in the Legion, McKee's situation being a good example of that.