Andromeda’s Choice (21 page)

There were spies in Naa Town. Everyone knew that. And the Naa had stolen radios as well. So there was a very good chance that the squad's departure would be monitored and reported to the hostiles who were closing in on the major's position. So what to do?

The answer, or what McKee hoped would be the answer, was a trail called 76.00.41 on her map. A twisting, turning, snakelike affair that mostly ran across the top of ridges rather than through the interconnecting valleys below them. But in order to pursue that strategy, a price would have to be paid in the form of the very thing she needed most, and that was time.

It was a gamble but one McKee felt she had to take. So she led the squad down the road and, once Naa Town was out of sight, turned off onto a lightly used footpath. That led her to trail 76.00.41, which climbed steeply upwards. “This is it,” she said over the squad frequency. “Remember to maintain the proper intervals, keep your sensors on max, and be ready for anything. Over.”

McKee heard a series of double clicks by way of a reply. The mission was under way.

 • • • 

It was cold, foggy, and miserable. So, what else was new? That's what Sykes was thinking as he climbed upwards. McKee had assigned him to the five slot, which was also the drag position. Because Olsen and he were the newbies? And she figured that was the safest place to stash them . . . Or, because she saw it as an important responsibility, and his efforts to impress her had been successful? There was no way to know.

One thing was for sure, however. He had succeeded in getting close to the Steel Bitch. But now he was sorry that he had. Because not only was the company commander out to get McKee, but she was a crap magnet as well. Take the present picnic, for example. He was humping a bio bod uphill, jogging through a forest of stunted trees, and jumping over streams all so he could get his head blown off by the furries. Which was worse? Sykes wondered. To be crosswise with the man named Max—or take part in a suicide mission with Sergeant Andromeda McKee? It was the classic no-win situation.

Sykes had to duck under a branch, heard Olsen swear, and smiled. Or would have smiled had his face been capable of doing so. The Hag was okay, but Corporal Larkin was the best bio bod in the squad, “best” being the most manageable. Larkin and McKee had been together in boot camp—something the former was clearly proud of. They weren't bunk buddies, everyone agreed on that, but the relationship was a way in. So Sykes had been plying Larkin with beer, peppering him with questions, and listening to the answers. The result was a steadily growing body of knowledge, much of which stood in stark contrast to the heroic image McKee projected on Earth.

Once the trail reached the end of the ridge, it switchbacked down past a crude altar to a saddle of land that led upwards again. The mist was so thick that the T-I in front of him looked like a ghost. Stones rattled as they rolled out from under his foot pods, and Sykes struggled to keep his balance. Then he was off again and climbing a thirty-degree slope.

Yeah, according to Larkin, McKee had deserted at one point, been brought up on charges, and punished. But who hadn't? She was in the fraxing Legion, for God's sake.

There was more, though. Larkin wasn't positive but believed that McKee might have something going with an officer on Orlo II. That would be a big deal by normal standards, but was it relevant? Max was after general information, yes, but had expressed a specific interest in the Mason assassination. And if McKee had been involved in that, Larkin was unaware of it.

So, like it or not, he would have to remain on the job and try to keep his butt intact. Something which, ironically enough, might very well depend on the abilities of the woman he'd been sent to spy on.

“The
re are many enemies” applies when you are fighting one against many. Draw both sword and companion sword and assume a wide-stretch left and right attitude. The spirit is to chase the enemies around from side to side, even as they come from all four directions.

MIYAMOTO MUSASHI
A Book of Five Rings
Standard year circa 1634

PLANET ALGERON

The squad had been on the go for more than two hours, and another period of daylight was about to end. McKee figured it was a good time to pause, give the bio bods a break, and make contact with Major Hasbro. So she was looking for a good place to hunker down when they came across the ruins of a barn. The roof had fallen in, but the walls were made of stacked stone. A good fort in a pinch.

“This is Eight,” McKee said. “We're going to take a fifteen-minute break. There won't be another squat for quite a while, so eat, pee, or whatever. But keep your heads on a swivel. The digs would like nothing better than to catch you with your pants down. Over.”

It was dark by then, and the night-vision technology built into McKee's helmet gave the other members of the squad a ghostly appearance as she sought a moment of privacy behind some bushes. Then it was time to switch to the emergency freq and contact Hasbro. McKee knew the Naa might be able to detect activity on that channel but wouldn't be able to understand what she said since the transmission would be scrambled both ways. “Bravo-Eight to Echo-One-Two . . . Do you read me? Over.”

Silence.

“Do you copy One-Two?”

Nothing.

McKee removed a trail bar from one of her cargo pockets, stripped the wrapper off, and took a bite. The lack of a response from Hasbro could be attributed to all sorts of things. The officer could be on the move, too close to the enemy to talk, or sound asleep. Or, and she hated to think about it, he might be dead. Still, the emergency locator beacon was on. But what if the Naa had the legionnaire's handset—and were using it to suck her in? There were a lot of possibilities and no way to know which one she should pay attention to.

They were back on the trail ten minutes later. The darkness could be dangerous, but so could daylight, given the increased likelihood that they would be spotted. That's why McKee preferred to travel at night. Yes, an ambush was always a possibility, but an unlikely one so long as the Naa remained unaware of them.

That's why McKee's greatest fear was that the patrol would blunder into the enemy. A firefight would follow, and even if the legionnaires won, the Naa would know where they were. That would reduce the chances of a rescue to near zero.

But the next three hours passed without incident, and when they stopped for a break, it was just past dawn. The sun was a seldom-seen bruise in a lead gray sky, and the clouds were so low they seemed to touch the hilltops. McKee took the opportunity to try to reach Hasbro. “Bravo-Eight to Echo-One-Two. Do you copy? Over.”

This time the answer was immediate. “This is One-Two. Over.”

McKee felt a surge of excitement as she eyed the map projected onto her HUD. Hasbro was alive! “We're about two miles from your location and on the way.”

“Negative, Eight. We're surrounded. Break it off. I repeat, break it off. That's an order. Over.”

Surrounded. The word echoed through McKee's mind as she formulated a response. “You're breaking up, One-Two . . . Stay where you are. Over.”

McKee broke the connection and pushed her visor up out of the way. The entire squad was looking at her. They had been privy to the conversation. “I'm going in,” McKee said flatly. “But I won't order you to do so.”

Ree-Ree shuffled his enormous feet. “You'll need a ride,” he said gruffly.

“I'm in,” Larkin said cheerfully.

“Me too,” Jaggi rumbled.

“And me,” Chang said.

“Which means I have to go because she's helpless without me,” Tanner put in.

“I came here to kill some Naa,” Voby said.

“I'm with you,” Olsen added.

“And so am I,” Sykes said. “Let's go.”

McKee felt a lump form in the back of her throat and forced it down. “All right . . . There's no way we're going to sneak in . . . Not through a hundred Naa. Besides, we're cavalry! So here's the plan. Look at the map on your HUDs. See the beacon? That's where we're going. Voby, I want you to walk your rockets up the ravine that runs between hill 1040 and 1041. That will open the hole we need. Comments? No? Okay, let's get ready.”

Voby could assign individual targets to each fire-and-forget rocket. Once that process was complete, all he had to do was fire. There was a loud whoosh as twelve of the weapons left the so-called cans mounted on his shoulders. A series of explosions was heard moments later.

But McKee was barely aware of the noise as she helped Larkin reload Voby's tubes. Next it was time to jump down, dash over to where Ree-Ree was waiting, and mount up.

Then they were off. There was danger, yes, and fear that went with it. But McKee felt a sense of exultation as well. The same wild all-or-nothing craziness she had experienced once before. Ree-Ree was running full out, she was in the moment, and the others were streaming along behind. It was stupid. Oh, so stupid. But she gloried in it and was ready to kill.

As Ree-Ree entered the ravine, McKee saw a blackened crater, a dead dooth, and a sprawl of bodies. At least one of the missiles had done its work.

But there was no time to give the scene more than a cursory glance as Ree-Ree leaped over a zigzagging stream, and the Naa opened fire from both sides. An arrow bounced off Ree-Ree's armor, a spear fell short, and dozens of bullets kicked up geysers of water and soil as warriors painted themselves onto McKee's HUD. Ree-Ree could “see” them as well and fired his fifty. The heavy slugs found two Naa, plucked them off their feet, and threw them backwards.

Meanwhile, four slots to the rear, Voby was firing his rockets one by one, accompanied by short bursts from his machine gun. His job was to neutralize any heavy weapons the enemy might have. And that effort was largely successful. But luck plays an important part in war, and Voby's ran out. Ironically, it was a missile that killed him. It was fired from a launcher stolen from the Legion, and the heat seeker went for the hot “can” on his right shoulder. The blast blew the cyborg's head off and McKee heard a tone as Voby's icon vanished from her HUD.

It was a terrible loss, but there was nothing any of them could do other than keep going. The ravine had started to narrow by that time, and the sides of it were increasingly steeper. McKee felt something nip at her left arm as she lifted the AXE. She could see at least a dozen Naa up ahead and knew there were more as an arrow whipped past her visor and bullets pinged Ree-Ree's armor.

But bad though the situation was, the legionnaires had one thing going for them, and that was the fact that the enemy warriors were deployed along
both
sides of the rocky passageway. That meant they had to be careful lest they fire on each other. A tactical mistake that cut the volume of incoming fire by half and gave the humans a chance.

McKee fired her weapons and saw her bullets produce puffs of dust to the left of a leather-clad warrior before drifting onto his torso. The Naa shook as if palsied, went limp, and fell. The body was still on its way down when Ree-Ree flashed past and fired his grenade launcher. The resulting explosion killed the Naa who were gathered around a tripod-mounted machine gun and wounded a dooth. The animal screeched piteously, broke its tether, and charged upstream. As it did so, the dooth trampled a warrior who was trying to intercept it.

Then, as the ravine took a jog to the right, Hasbro's voice filled McKee's helmet. “I can see you . . . We're in a played-out mine directly ahead. I'll mark my position. You can charge straight up the slope below—but watch out. The tailings are loose.”

McKee saw red smoke appear up ahead and chinned her mike. “You heard the major! Head for the smoke. We're almost there.”

And that was true. But before the squad could join Hasbro in the relative safety of the mine, there was one last gauntlet to run. The Naa closest to the officer's hiding place knew the humans were coming and opened fire. Ree-Ree stumbled, that's what it felt like, but McKee knew that the T-1 had been hit. There was no time in which to free herself from the harness. All she could do was ride the cyborg down.

They hit hard, causing McKee's helmet to strike the back of Ree-Ree's head. Though stunned, she still managed to hit the harness release and roll free. Her first thought was for Ree-Ree. She was going to pull his brain box when she saw the hole. It was large enough to have been caused by a .50-caliber round. She thumbed a cover out of the way. A glance at the cyborg's readouts confirmed her worst fears. The legionnaire was dead.

“McKee! Let's go.” McKee looked up to see Larkin and Jaggi towering above. Bullets were pinging all around, and as McKee looked up the slope, she saw that the rest of the squad was battling its way to the mine.

She grabbed her AXE, cut a grenade bag free from its place on Ree-Ree's back, and was about to start up the incline when Jaggi grabbed her body armor from behind. Then, with McKee dangling from one hand, the T-1 fought for traction. The loose rocks made a clattering sound as they slid downhill, and Jaggi was hard-pressed to find firm footing. Thankfully, the others had arrived at the top by then and turned to provide covering fire.

Jaggi took advantage of the respite to zigzag cross the face of the hill while steadily working his way upwards. Finally, as the cyborg neared the mine, he let go. McKee landed on her feet. From there it was a short scramble to the top. Once there, it was possible to move away from the edge and most of the incoming fire. And, since the squad had silenced the snipers on the opposite slope, the flat area was safe for the moment.

Hasbro came forward to greet her. His face was dirty, and his long white hair was a bit tangled, but he was uninjured. “Sergeant McKee . . . We meet again. I told you to break it off.”

“Really?” McKee inquired. “I missed that. Your transmission broke up.”

“You're a liar,” Hasbro said, “but thank you.”

“Hey, Sarge,” Olsen said as he arrived on the scene. “Chang took a round during the climb.”

McKee swore, told Larkin to take over, and followed the legionnaire into the mine. It was a primitive affair that consisted of a hole in the rock face and a ceiling supported by ancient timbers. Chang was laid out just inside the entrance. Her body armor had been removed, and a woman McKee hadn't seen before was crouched next to her. A red bag was open at her side and McKee knew it was a first-aid kit. Off the fly-form? Yes. That made sense.

The woman looked up as McKee knelt across from her. “She's unconscious, but I have a pressure dressing on the entry wound, and the bleeding stopped.”

“Thanks,” McKee said.

“My pleasure. The name's Farley. I'm one of the major's engineers.”

“Sorry, ma'am.”

“Don't be. My rank isn't important here.”

“If you say so, ma'am.”

“I do. And, Sergeant . . .”

“Ma'am?”

“Thank you for ignoring Major Hasbro's order.”

McKee stood. “All of them volunteered, ma'am. That includes Chang here. Please take good care of her.”

McKee turned to find that Hasbro was waiting for her. His expression was grim. “I'm sorry to say that we have another patient to look after as well.”

“Sir?”

“The fly-form crashed about two miles east of here. The Naa must have seen it go down because they came after us right away. We couldn't stay where we were, so I jerked Peeby's brain box, and we brought it along. But that was nearly three days ago.”

McKee knew what that meant. The fly-form pilot's emergency life-support system was good for about seventy-two hours, and that interval was nearly over. “Roger that, sir. I would like to check on our defensive situation. The Naa will probably take a crack at us when the sun goes down. Perhaps you'd be willing to provide the fort with a sitrep. And we could use a weather report. Then we'll see what, if anything, we can do for Peeby.”

Though framed as suggestions, McKee was giving orders to a major. But if Hasbro was offended, there was no sign of it on his weathered face. “Will do,” he said cheerfully. “Let's hope the clouds are about to lift.”

McKee left the mine for the fading light beyond. A sniper fired from a long way off, and the sound echoed between the hills. There were people all around, but McKee felt lonely.

 • • • 

FORT CAMERONE

Lee Travers was entirely unaware of the cold rain that was falling aboveground. He spent most of his time in a nicely furnished office performing the work that the Human Matrix corporation had hired him to do—and that was to bring everyone up to speed on the Legion's new personnel-management system. And that effort was going well. In three standard months, four at most, he would be able to leave Algeron and return to Earth.

But Travers had a
second
job to do as well, and that was to identify potential traitors and carry out specific assignments. One of which was to vet Sergeant Andromeda McKee. Who was she anyway? A bona fide hero? Or a member of the Freedom Front?

Some progress had been made. After considerable effort, Roy Sykes had been able to join the same company McKee was part of and get himself assigned to her squad. His reports were a big help.

But what about McKee's P-1 file? Because of the unwritten contract that the Legion had with the misfits, freaks, and criminals who belonged to it, only uniformed legionnaires could view personnel records. Except that Travers, who was helping the Legion to implement the new personnel system, had been given temporary access to all of the P files on Algeron. And before he left the planet, the contractor planned to create a number of backdoors that would allow the government to monitor the system for years to come. An accomplishment that would be worthy of an enormous bonus.