Andromeda’s Choice (19 page)

Bodry looked at Sergeant Kumar. She was small, wiry, and quick as a snake. And when she smiled, there was nothing friendly about it. “We're ready, sir. Please stay aboard until we give the all clear.”

Bodry nodded. “Don't shoot the Naa I'm supposed to meet with. That could be awkward.”

Kumar chuckled. “Roger that, sir. We'll be on our best behavior.”

As the fly-form emerged from the river canyon, a lushly green valley opened up on both sides of the aircraft. The cyborg banked, circled the stone altar that stood at the center of the meadow, and came in for a landing. The skids were still a foot off the ground when Kumar and her commandos jumped out.

Bodry stood in the open door and watched them cast about for improvised explosive devices or signs of a trap. But where was Lifetaker? Was he running late? Or had something gone terribly wrong?

Kumar hadn't given the all clear, but Bodry jumped to the ground anyway. And that was when Lifetaker stood. The Naa rose like a spirit from the grave—and was so close to Kumar that the noncom jumped backwards. She swore, and Bodry chuckled. “Good morning, Chief . . . How many warriors are concealed in the grass around us?”

“Fifteen,” Lifetaker replied. It was the first number that came to mind.

“That's amazing,” Bodry replied. “Especially if it's true. Come . . . Let's take a walk. Here's hoping we don't trip over any of your warriors.”

“So,” Bodry said, as they strolled through the grass. “Are you ready to make a deal?”

“Maybe,” Lifetaker answered. “Are you ready to drill a hole through the mountains?” He had an accent but spoke standard a lot better than Bodry spoke Naa.

“No,” Bodry replied. “But I expect to receive good news any day now.”

“And if the good news is bad news?”

“Then our arrangement is off. But I feel sure that the officials on Earth will understand the benefits to be derived from north–south trade.”

Lifetaker had no interest in free trade. But he did want to conquer the south, bring all of the tribes under a single command, and use the resulting power to force the Legion back into space. An accomplishment that would cement his place in history. But he couldn't say that. “Yes, free trade would be a boon for everyone.”

“Then let's take the first steps now,” Bodry said, as they arrived in front of the stone altar. “Winter is on the way, and timing will be critical.”

Nobody had to tell a Naa about the importance of winter. Lifetaker looked at the concave stone where offerings had once been placed. How would Ofar look on what he intended? One could only guess. The gods were notoriously fickle. He looked up again. “What would you have me do?”

“Prepare your people for the effort ahead,” Bodry said.

“There is risk,” Lifetaker put in. “What if I do as you request, and your chiefs say ‘no'?”

Bodry smiled. “Then both of us lose. But I brought you a gift. Something that will be useful if things go as planned—and will serve to ease the pain if they don't.”

Lifetaker's interest was piqued. “And the gift is?”

“A field gun. It's light enough to be towed by a dooth and is capable of firing eight rounds a minute.”

Lifetaker felt a surge of avarice. He was familiar with the light guns since they had been used against him. But the trick was to keep the extent of his excitement under wraps. He frowned. “When would I receive this gift? And what about ammunition for it?”

“I have the cannon and fifty rounds of ammunition on the fly-form,” Bodry answered.

“Excellent,” Lifetaker said, as they walked back toward the aircraft. “May our friendship continue to prosper.”

Yes,
Bodry thought to himself.
And if it doesn't, I can blow the cannon up with the touch of a button. And you with it should you be standing close enough.
The sun had begun to set—and night was on the way.

You will kill te
n of our men, and we will kill one of yours, and in the end it will be you who tires of it.

HO CHI MINH
Standard year 1969

PLANET ALGERON

Having discovered that FOB Victor occupied sacred ground, Major Hasbro conferred with General Vale. A lengthy discussion ensued. It wasn't easy to convince Vale that the existing base should be abandoned, but Hasbro succeeded. Once the conversation was over, Hasbro directed his battalion to begin work on a
new
Forward Operating Base to be located west of Victor, thereby restoring the sacred ground under FOB Victor to the Naa.

It was still going to be necessary to dispatch troops to Doothdown to recover stolen weapons and send the villagers a message. But, by freeing Springsong instead of destroying the community, Hasbro hoped to demonstrate that the Legion could be merciful. Would the strategy work? It was common knowledge that Colonel Bodry didn't think so, but time would tell.

So as the crawlers cut a road into the flanks of hill two, and the construction droids prepared the top for the prepackaged fort that would be dropped onto the new FOB, Dero's legionnaires were sent out to patrol the three-mile-deep defensive zone that surrounded the site. That meant long, frequently tedious patrols, and a cat-and-mouse game with the Naa scouts sent to watch them.

What remained of McKee's squad had been folded into Grisso's, resulting in a temporary demotion to assistant team leader. And that was fine with McKee, who had a lot of respect for the other noncom and welcomed what amounted to a vacation from her normal responsibilities.

In the meantime, the work on what had been designated as FOB Kilo continued. The spiral road up to the top of hill two was completed, soil was fused to create two landing pads, and “the package” containing all of the construction materials required for the structure was brought in by heavy lifter.

Then, once the necessary materials were on-site, the sappers and their robots went to work putting everything together. Their tools rattled, roared, and banged until McKee returned from patrol one day to discover that the low, mostly subsurface bunker was nearly complete.

To celebrate, Major Hasbro had eight cases of beer flown in along with a mostly hot meal from Fort Camerone's mess hall. The latter was a real treat after days of field rations.

McKee slept well that night. She dreamed that she was with Avery, and that they were climbing a mist-shrouded mountain. They didn't know how high it was—only that they needed to reach the top. And they were near the summit when her alarm sounded.

Dero delivered the news at morning muster. Because the FOB was nearly complete, and there were plenty of infantry on hand, the platoon had been recalled and was departing that morning. That was good news because spartan though Fort Camerone was, it beat living in the field.

Without crawlers, trucks, and foot soldiers to slow them down, the platoon was able to make excellent time and arrived in Naa Town only six hours after leaving FOB Kilo. Fifteen minutes later, they were inside the fort. It took more than an hour to perform routine maintenance on the borgs, clean their gear, and put it away. Then they were free to shower and head to chow. McKee spent a good fifteen minutes standing under the hot water—so Larkin was already in the mess hall when she arrived. “So,” he said, as she put her tray on the table. “Have you heard the scan?”

“Nope. Fill me in.”

“Well,” Larkin said through a mouthful of food, “something big is in the works. And the rumors must be true because all sorts of units are on active standby. That includes ours.”

“So what's the brass up to?”

“Nobody knows for sure,” Larkin replied. “But I've heard all sorts of theories. The most popular one is that we're going to launch a major offensive against the tribes. A take-and-hold operation.”

McKee shrugged. “We get paid the same no matter what we do.” That was true, but she'd been hoping for some downtime. There was the matter of Travers to deal with.

McKee went to bed early, slept fairly well, and was in a good mood when she and the rest of the company fell in for morning muster. A gathering that usually consisted of a roll call, announcements, and fifteen minutes' worth of calisthenics. And as Lieutenant Dero and the other platoon leaders took their places, McKee assumed everything would follow the usual script. But then something awful happened. Their company commander, a woman named Sabatha, arrived with Lieutenant—no
Captain
Wesley Heacox in tow. The bastard had been promoted!

McKee felt a sudden emptiness in the pit of her stomach as the officers stopped and turned to face the company. The company sergeant yelled, “Ten-hut!” And, with the exception of the quads, they all came to attention.

“At ease,” Sabatha said, as her eyes swept the first rank. She had a buzz cut, a chiseled countenance, and a lean body. “I have an announcement to make. Captain Heacox will take command of Bravo Company as of 0900 this morning. He's an experienced officer, and we're lucky to have him.”

Sabatha smiled. “And I have some bad news for those of you who are happy to see me go. I got a bump to major and will have the honor to serve as the battalion's XO.”

That generated laughter and applause from everyone except McKee. She remembered Heacox's parting words: “I won't forget.” Now, and for the foreseeable future, he could work full-time on making her life miserable.

It was Heacox's turn to speak. He blinked three times. “I would like to congratulate Major Sabatha on her promotion—and assure you that I will do my best to live up to the standard she has set. Platoon leaders will report to my office at 0930. Sergeant Major? You can exercise the troops.”

Rather than stay and perform calisthenics with the troops, Heacox followed Sabatha out of the area. McKee felt a sense of hopelessness as the jumping jacks began. Bad things were going to happen—and there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it.

 • • • 

Private Roy Sykes felt a sense of hope as he spidered into the office. He had been schmoozing one of the clerks for weeks in hopes of getting assigned to the 1
st
Battalion, 2
nd
Foreign Engineer Regiment, so he could get close to Sergeant Andromeda McKee. And maybe, just maybe, the stylus pusher would have some good news for him. “Hey, Amboy . . . How's it going?”

“There's something big in the wind, Sykes. So we're busy as hell.”

“Oh, yeah? What's up?”

“Can't say . . . The loot would have me for lunch if I did. So what can I do for you?”

“Same as always. Any openings in the 2
nd
?”

“And same answer, which is ‘no.' Hold one.” Amboy touched an icon, waited for a page to load, and stared at it. “You're close though . . . There's only one person ahead of you in line.”

“Who's the lucky borg?”

“His name is Tanaka. Do you know him?”

“Nope,” Sykes answered. “Thanks.”

“No prob,” Amboy replied. “I'll see you around.”

Sykes spidered out into the hall. He'd been assigned to work in the motor pool while waiting for a permanent slot. And his boss, a corporal named Biggs, would get his shorts in a knot if Sykes showed up late. The work, which entailed washing muddy crawlers, was not only boring but beneath him. Hell, a class two bot could do that.

So Sykes went to work and did what Biggs told him to do. But he was thinking, problem solving might be a better way to describe it, and by the time the shift was over, he had both a plan and the tools required to execute it.

The first step was to locate Tanaka, and that was easy. A quick check of the base directory revealed that the lucky SOB had been assigned to assist the fort's sky pilots. So chances were that Tanaka spent his days dusting altars or something. A cushy job if there ever was one.

The next step was to tap into the grapevine in order to get the scan on the T-man, as he was known to his buddies. It didn't take long to discover that Tanaka liked to frequent the same bar where Sykes and Travers had met. Not to drink but to hook up to the joint's Dream Master 2000, a machine that could stimulate his brain in a way that would provide him with virtual sex. The only kind a borg could have. And that, Sykes decided, would provide the chance he needed.

The opportunity to act on his plan came the following “day,” meaning the twenty-four-hour cycle the Legion used to mark time rather than the short rotations natural to Algeron. His shift was over and, since he'd been granted a pass, it was easy to follow Tanaka into Naa Town. The sun was up, and a steady stream of legionnaires were leaving the fort. So even if Tanaka looked back, there wouldn't be any reason to take notice of another spider form.

The sky was gray, the air was cold, and the mud was frozen solid under Sykes's “feet.” The fact that it was daytime meant it would probably be dark when Tanaka left the bar. But if not, Sykes would try again later.

An ice ball exploded as it hit Sykes's torso, and a group of teenage cubs shouted insults while they waited to see what the off-worlder would do. But Sykes knew better than to chase them into the maze of Naa dwellings. Because once he was cut off from the other legionnaires, he could be subjected to a hail of ice balls, rocks, or worse. No, it made sense to ignore the provocation and stay on the main path.

True to form, Tanaka went straight to The Bunker and disappeared. Sykes followed the other cyborg inside and took a look around. Sure enough, there was Tanaka, over in the corner where cyborgs could hook up to the Dream Master 2000.

So Sykes chose a table where he could keep a vid pickup on the other legionnaire and ordered a beer. Or the essence of a beer, which came in a syringe and was injected into his life-support system via the same port medics could use to administer medications. The result was an instant buzz.

Another cyborg joined him, and the next hour passed pleasantly enough, as Sykes listened to war stories, and waited for the T-man to leave. Fortunately, the latest tale had just come to a conclusion when Tanaka unhooked himself from the machine and went over to pay the tab. That was Sykes's signal to excuse himself and leave the bar.

It was dark and even colder than before as Sykes made his way up the path. There were no streetlights so Sykes activated his night vision as he paused to take a look around. The ghostly green glow made everything look different. He was pleased to see that the cold had driven everything indoors except for a couple of foraging pooks. The stage was set. Now all he had to do was kill Tanaka, return to the fort, and wait. By this time the next day, he would be a proud member of the 2
nd
. That would put him within reach of McKee and keep Travers off his back. Sykes slipped into an alley and began what should be a short wait.

Tanaka's “feet” made scritching sounds as he approached. Sykes waited until his victim was in sight before stepping out of the alley. Tanaka said, “Wha?” and was starting to turn when Sykes triggered the shock mod and sent six thousand kilovolts into the other cyborg's body. The goal was to fry Tanaka's com gear, dump his processor, and stun his nervous system all at once. And it worked.

Having grabbed the helpless borg with two of his four tool arms, Sykes jerked Tanaka into the shadows. The high-speed drill had been “borrowed” from the motor pool and made a high-pitched whine as he squeezed the handle.

Tanaka began to struggle as his nervous system recovered, and his onboard computer came back online. Sykes swore as a tool hand went for his sensor package and applied the titanium-nitride-coated bit to the other borg's alloy housing. It sped through alloy, then slowed as it hit steel.

Tanaka understood what was happening by then. So he fought desperately as the drill began to penetrate his armored brain box. But Sykes still had the advantage and was careful to maintain it as the titanium bit tunneled through steel, a bioliner, and sank into the soft tissue beyond. The T-man jerked convulsively as the tool pulped a section of his brain. Then the spider form went limp. The one-sided battle was over.

Sykes no longer had a need to breathe but felt as if he'd been holding his breath as he withdrew the drill and paused to listen. A door slammed somewhere, there was a burst of laughter as some drunk bio bods staggered past, and repellers roared as a fly-form passed directly overhead. But there were no cries of alarm.

Still, Sykes didn't want to spend any more time at the crime scene than he had to, so he put the drill away and hurried to remove a power saw from the same storage compartment. It screamed briefly, and sparks flew, as the blade sliced through one of Tanaka's tool arms. A total of eight quick cuts were required to reduce the cyborg to a pile of parts.

Would the scrappers discover the dismembered cyborg? And run off with his components? Hell yes, they would. And nobody would be allowed to visit Naa Town for the next week while the MPs scoured the place looking for the perpetrators. Maybe they would find some of Tanaka or maybe they wouldn't. Sykes didn't care as he spidered out onto the main path and followed it up to the fort. The sally port opened, and the Legion of the Damned took him in.

 • • • 

Two days had passed since Heacox had assumed command of Bravo Company, and none of McKee's fears had come true. So she was beginning to hope that the officer hadn't noticed her, or that if he had, was willing to let bygones be bygones. That fantasy came to an abrupt end the morning of the third day, when Dero sent for her.

The platoon leader's office was about the size of a large closet. But it was equipped with a door, and it was open when McKee arrived. She knocked three times, waited for the lieutenant to say “Enter,” and took three paces forward. Then, with her eyes focused on a point directly above Dero's head, she announced herself. “Sergeant Andromeda McKee reporting as ordered, ma'am.”