Andromeda’s Choice (29 page)

And there was Lifetaker to worry about as well. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the chief of the northern chiefs would be furious about the slaughter at Bloodriver
and
the attack on Doothdown. So their only hope was to reach the tunnel that led under the Towers of Algeron and do so quickly.

By some horrible twist of fate, Oneeye had survived even as 90 percent of his war party had been killed. The shame of that weighed on his shoulders as he kicked the weary dooth up a hill and over the top. The fact that the animal was burdened with
two
Naa made its task that much more difficult. Shithead had been hit by a piece of flying shrapnel as one of the damnable mines went off—and his inert form was draped across the dooth's muscular neck. And as they started down the south side of the rise, Oneeye felt something warm his right leg. A single glance was sufficient to reveal the cause. Shithead was bleeding again.

Oneeye felt for a pulse, could tell that it was weak, and eyed the area ahead. A copse of spiky evergreens looked as though it would serve as a windbreak if nothing else, and he kneed the dooth in that direction. The rest of the band followed.

Once they were in among the trees, Oneeye lifted a leg up over his mount's neck and slid to the ground. Then he pulled Shithead off, took the youth's weight, and carried him over to the spot where a travel rug had been placed on the snow. Having laid the youngster out, Oneeye went about the business of strapping a fresh dressing over the bloody one. Shithead opened his eyes. “Where are we?”

“Headed home,” Oneeye said gruffly. “So you can tell your family war stories.”

Shithead coughed, and blood ran down his cheek. “I'm dying, aren't I?”

Oneeye paused for a moment, then he nodded. “Yes, son. You are. The good news is that you earned your name.”

“I did? What is it?”

“Longride Strongheart.”

“Longride Strongheart,” the youth said experimentally. “I like it.” Then he coughed. More blood flowed, and seconds later he was dead.

A single tear trickled down Oneeye's cheek and was immediately lost in his fur. He stood. “Dig a grave,” he ordered. “And make note of this spot. We will place a marker here when we return.”

They were brave words but meant little as Oneeye and a dozen riders continued their flight south. There were close calls during the next few days. On one occasion they were attacked by a flying machine. The only thing that saved them was the fact that they were in the foothills just north of the mountains by that time. An area they knew well, which enabled them to hide under a rocky ledge until the fly-form disappeared.

Then, only a mile from the entrance to the tunnel, a bolt of energy fell from the sky, killing Thunderhand and his dooth. The explosion vaporized both. Fortunately, the next bolt struck well ahead of the group. It sent a column of soil fifty feet into the air, and dirt was still raining down as they thundered through the shallow crater left by the explosion.

The Naa rode for their lives as a barrage of energy bolts landed all around them. Oneeye was in front and was entering the rocky passageway that led to the tunnel when a bullet hit his war dooth, and the animal went down. Oneeye was thrown head over heels. He landed hard and got up just as the rest of his warriors arrived. The barrage ended abruptly as they skidded to a stop.

As the smoke blew away, Oneeye saw that a group of warriors were blocking the way. The long, hard ride had been for nothing. With help from slick skins, the northerners had been able to block his path. Oneeye's rifle had been lost in the fall—but he drew his knife as the enemy formed a line abreast. It was pointless. He knew that. But holding the weapon made him feel better. “And who,” he said, “are
you
?”

“My name is Spearthrow Lifetaker,” the chief-of-chiefs said. “And you are?”

“Fastblade Oneeye.”

“I have heard of you.”

“And I of you.”

“You will feast with the gods tonight.”

Oneeye took a long, slow look around. Everything was so clear. The smell of the mountain air. The sound of the blood pounding in his ears. The weight of the weapon in his hand. He nodded. “I hope they have plenty of beer.”

What happened next took place quickly. A southerner fired, a northerner fell, and Lifetaker's spear was in the air. Oneeye heard the rattle of gunfire and ordered his body to move. But it was too late. The spear hit his chest dead center, and Oneeye felt it go deep. He staggered, looked up at the Towers of Algeron, and fell onto his back. The long ride was over.

The Towers of Algeron are like teeth, each peak a fang, all waiting to close on he who would pass between them.

GOODWORDS TRUESPEAK
My Journeys
Standard year 803

PLANET ALGERON

Forward Operating Base Oscar had nearly doubled in size during the brief time that McKee had been away. There were more habs, more landing pads, and more people. All connected in one way or another with the tunnel project. And, according to the scan, the main column had already passed ten miles west of the FOB and was grinding its way south.

After being flown out of Doothdown, or what was left of it, McKee and her squad had been allowed to grab a full sleep cycle. Now, as McKee crossed the slushy compound, she was on her way to see Lieutenant Dero.

McKee saluted a captain she'd never seen before, entered the headquarters hab, and realized that it was larger than it had been. There was a lobby, complete with a reception desk. A bored-looking corporal was seated behind it. He sent her down a long hallway to office 111. The door was open, and when McKee knocked, she heard Dero say, “Enter.”

McKee took three paces forward, and was about to come to attention, when Dero said, “At ease. Grab a chair, Sergeant . . . Welcome back.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

“I'm sorry about Quinn and Tanner.”

“Me too,” McKee said soberly. “I'd like to put Quinn in for a commendation. She died trying to protect a Naa cub.”

“Write it up. I'll sign and send it on to Captain Heacox.”

“Heacox? I thought he was dead.”

Dero made a face but was far too professional to say anything critical about their commanding officer. “So did we at first. But he was found half a mile downstream from the battle lying half-in and half-out of the water. There was a bump the size of an orange on the side of his head. A wound which he suffered while fighting three warriors. It seems they thought he was dead when they threw him into the river.”

McKee could see the contempt in Dero's eyes and could tell that the officer didn't believe Heacox's story. “How many people survived?”

“Heacox, three legionnaires, and two Naa.”

“My God.”

“Yes.”

Both were silent for a moment. Dero heaved a sigh. “Well, speaking of commendations, I put you in for another one. What you managed to accomplish at Doothdown was nothing short of amazing.”

“I don't want a commendation.”

Dero grinned. “It doesn't matter what you want, Sergeant. You're not in charge here.”

“Ma'am, yes, ma'am.”

“Good. Now, there's no rest for the weary, so you know what that means. Major Hasbro wants you back.”

“Where is he?”

“Out in front of the main column and closing in on the existing tunnel. By the way . . . Only a dozen raiders made it back to that point. And when they did, Chief Lifetaker and some of his warriors were there to greet them. None of the people who attacked Doothdown survived.”

McKee waited for the feeling of satisfaction to surface. It didn't. All she could think of was the pathetic column of survivors she had watched leave Doothdown. Widows leading dooth-drawn carts while elders shuffled through the driving snow and youngsters clung to their coats. If that was victory, what did defeat look like? Still, it was good to know that those who had killed so many of her comrades were dead. “Roger that, ma'am. I'll pass the word.”

“You do that,” Dero said. “I'll give you one standard day to go over the T-1s and gear up. Be on the road south by 0600 one cycle from now. Sorry about the slog—but fly-forms are in short supply.”

The emphasis on 0600 seemed to suggest that Dero had something specific on her mind. So McKee raised an eyebrow. “At 0600?”

“Captain Heacox is at Fort Camerone receiving medical treatment. He's scheduled to arrive here at 0800.”

Their eyes met. There was no need to say anything more. Heacox was alive. And so long as that was the case, McKee had an enemy. The sooner she left, and the sooner she placed herself under Hasbro's protection, the safer she would be. McKee stood. “Thank you, ma'am.”

“One more thing,” Dero said. “A couple of replacements will report to you later today. They're green as grass. Don't scare the crap out of them.”

It seemed like only yesterday when McKee had been green as grass herself. Now she was known as the Steel Bitch. A sobriquet likely to scare any newbie. “Yes, ma'am. I'll be on my best behavior.”

Then McKee came to attention, delivered a crisp salute, and did a smart about-face. There was a whole lot of work to do and one twenty-four-hour cycle to do it in. Larkin would be pissed.

 • • • 

After days of snow, the sky had finally cleared, the sun was arcing across the sky, and McKee was as happy as she could be given the fact that she was going to war. Larkin and Jaggi were on point, followed by the newcomers Kyle and Shinn. She and Sykes were next, with Hagen and Clay in the four slot.

The squad was moving along at a good clip, and it wasn't long before they caught up with the tail end of the four-mile-long main column. The rear guard consisted of a platoon of very frustrated cavalry who couldn't travel any faster than the slowest unit in front of them. And that meant ten miles an hour. Larkin waved as he passed them—and received a dozen one-fingered salutes in return.

As they moved up the column, McKee saw heavily loaded crawlers, two of which were nearly invisible under the enormous tunneling machines they carried. They were preceded by a long line of trucks, hundreds of construction droids marching in step, and a battalion of infantry complete with support vehicles. All following the markers that Major Hasbro and his team of engineers had laid down.

It took more than half an hour to pass the column, the cavalry unit on point, and the RAVs out in front of them. Then the squad was on its own. That gave McKee a chance to put her people through a number of evolutions, all intended to keep them sharp and train the newcomers.

Ron Kyle had come to Algeron straight from advanced training on Adobe. He had short sandy hair, ears that stuck straight out from the sides of his head, and a lingering tendency to call noncoms “sir” or “ma'am.”

It was too early to know how Kyle would handle himself in a fight. But having watched him perform a maintenance check on Shinn the night before, McKee got the impression that his tech skills were way above average, and that could be a significant advantage. Because even though the techs assigned to each platoon were supposed to carry out all of the major repairs, McKee hadn't seen one in weeks.

Shinn was something else, however. According to her P-1, she had graduated from the cybernetic equivalent of advanced training nine months earlier, refused a direct order, and been “racked” for sixty days. That was all McKee was allowed to see, so she didn't know how Shinn's bio body had been destroyed, or why she was in the Legion. Nor did she care so long as the cyborg did her job.

Day turned to night and day again. And as the sun rose, McKee found that she had to tilt her head way back in order to see the tops of the mountains in front of her. Soon, in a matter of hours, she would be directly below them.

Finally, when the squad caught up with Hasbro, it was to find that his engineers and the platoon of infantry assigned to protect them had set up camp just outside the narrow passageway that led into the existing tunnel. Lieutenant Royce came out to greet the newcomers.

“Welcome to the party, McKee . . . It's good to see you. The major is somewhere under Mount Skybreaker at the moment but I'll show you around.”

Having freed her people to take a break and have lunch, McKee followed Royce over to a six-man tent, where she met Lieutenant Hiram Baraki. He had black hair, a handsome face, and was in the process of shaving. Baraki wiped some gel onto a hand towel before offering his hand to her.

McKee had been in the Legion long enough to know that most officers fell into one of two groups: assholes like Heacox or straight shooters like Hasbro. But judging from the way Baraki continued to hold her hand, he fell into a third category. Officers who saw every female as an opportunity. “Welcome to our little base camp,” Baraki said. “We haven't had any trouble yet, but who knows? The southerners could cross one of the mountain passes and attack from the east or west. It pays to be vigilant.”

McKee tugged her hand free. “Yes, sir. Of course, the main column will be here soon, along with a battalion of infantry.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Baraki said as he wiped shaving gel off his face. “It will be nice to eat something other than MREs for a change.”

“So what did you think?” Royce inquired, as they walked away.

“I thought he was going to keep my hand.”

Royce laughed. “I know what you mean. I got the treatment, too—but he stopped when I told him I was married.”

“Are you?”

“Hell, no.” Both women laughed and continued the tour. Once it was over, McKee was free to heat an MRE and give Sykes a once-over. A bearing in his right hip had been giving him trouble and would require replacement pretty soon. The cyborg seemed to be more inquisitive than usual. He peppered her with questions, many of which were about her family, and by the time they parted company, McKee was happy to escape.

It was dark when a private entered the squad tent and called McKee's name. “Yeah?”

“The major wants to see you, Sarge. He's in his tent.”

McKee acknowledged the request, put her AXE back together, and slid the sling over a shoulder. Baraki and his people had responsibility for security—but she insisted that her people carry weapons at all times. Not because she didn't trust the ground pounders but because she had a healthy respect for the Naa.

Light spilled out of the tent, and as McKee stepped into the doorway, she saw that Hasbro was seated on a folding chair with his boots up on a box of surveying gear. He looked tired, and his uniform was filthy. “There you are!” he said cheerfully. “Come in and grab a seat. Pardon my appearance, but it's hard to stay neat and tidy in the tunnel.”

McKee sat on an ammo crate. “Have you been all the way through yet?”

“Heavens no!” Hasbro replied. “The tunnel would be thirty-plus miles long if it ran straight as an arrow. But it doesn't. Based on interviews with Naa warriors who have been through it, we know it twists and turns. So let's call it something like thirty-two miles long. And the farthest I've been is about three miles.”

At that point, Hasbro was interrupted by a corporal carrying a hot MRE and a mug of caf. Hasbro took his feet off the gear box so the soldier could place the food on it. “Thanks, Orley. That looks like a fine feast indeed.”

Orley looked at McKee and rolled his eyes before retreating to the corner where the detachment's com gear was set up. “Orley has no taste,” Hasbro explained as he began to eat. “MREs not only taste good, they're good for you! That's because they're loaded with vitamins.”

“No offense, sir,” McKee said. “But that's crazy.”

“No offense taken,” Hasbro said between bites. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. The tunnel. Our job is to enter, take all sorts of geological samples, and deliver them to Colonel Bodry before he blows a gasket. Once the main column arrives, he'll want to crank up the tunneling machines ten minutes later.”

“Roger that,” McKee said cautiously. “And what role will my squad play?”

“Why, you're my bodyguards,” Hasbro replied, as if that were self-evident. “Yes, I could call on Lieutenant Baraki, but he doesn't have any cyborgs, and we might need a lot of firepower. The southerners know what we're up to by now. How couldn't they? The main column has been dragging its ass south for weeks! So they'll try to stop it. Make no mistake about that.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” McKee said respectfully. “But will my T-1s fit in the tunnel?”

“I thought about that,” Hasbro said, as he took a sip of caf. “There are some tight spots, no doubt about it, but I believe they can go as far as I have. Can they go all the way? Time will tell.”

The discussion turned technical at that point as they began to discuss the need to go in, and stay in, so that they wouldn't waste time coming and going. “There's a cavern about 2.5 miles in,” Hasbro said. “And a pool of clean water. We can establish a FOB there. Then, once we find another cave, we'll move it forward, and so forth. Until we reach the other end.”

The concept made sense but would require all sorts of specialized equipment, including portable fuel cells, lots of lights, and tons of supplies. McKee's thoughts were whirling as she left. There was a tremendous amount to do—and less than two standard days in which to do it. Hasbro wanted to be deep inside Mount Skybreaker when the main column arrived. It would, he claimed, be more peaceful then.

 • • • 

After a great deal of work and very little sleep, the team was ready to go. Royce and two of her engineers led the way, followed by eight heavily loaded construction droids and four RAVs, all of which were loaded with supplies. Major Hasbro came next, with McKee, her squad, and two additional RAVs bringing up the rear.

The passageway led to a rocky fissure, which, judging from the piles of unweathered material to either side of it, had been enlarged recently. McKee activated her helmet light as she followed the others inside. Hasbro was right. There was enough room for a T-1 and rider but just barely. She had to duck from time to time, and Sykes had to bend forward occasionally in order to negotiate the tight spots.

As lights played across rock walls, McKee saw what might have been ancient tool marks and was reminded of how old the tunnel was. The air was cool without being cold, and there were no sounds to be heard other than the rhythmic whine of servos and the occasional scrape of metal on rock.

It wasn't long before the path began to slant downwards, and a pool of crystal-clear water appeared on the left. Huge stalactites hung down from the ceiling, and McKee caught occasional glimpses of brown flowstone in the background. She'd been required to take a basic geology course in college and knew that the calcite deposits she was looking at had been laid down over hundreds if not thousands of years.