Andromeda’s Choice (3 page)

Fox was silent for a moment, then he spoke. “Those are good points, Sergeant. But what if we use rockets to blow two of those supports away? That would dump the platform and the Hudathans onto the ground.”

McKee was not only pleasantly surprised but a bit embarrassed. She should have thought of using rockets and hadn't. “That's a good idea, sir.”

Fox looked surprised. “It is? Yes, well, of course it is.”

It took the better part of fifteen minutes to prepare. Then, with everyone in position, Fox gave the order. “Fire!”

The team only had one launcher, but Corporal Yada had the moniker “Rocket Man” for a reason, and the first missile was dead-on. There was a flash of light followed by a resonant BOOM, and a series of sharp, cracking sounds. As the smoke cleared, McKee saw that the platform's remaining legs were keeping it aloft. The Hudathans were firing by then, but wildly, since they weren't sure which direction the rocket had come from.

But Yada wasn't done. He loosed another missile, it struck its mark, and the explosion threw splinters of wood in every direction. One of them whirred past McKee's head. Then came a series of creaking-cracking sounds as the west end of the platform collapsed, hit the ground hard, and sent all manner of things spilling out into the clearing. Some of them were Hudathans, and McKee knew that the time had come.

The rifle was ready, and as soon as McKee had one of the troopers in her crosshairs, she fired. The dart hit just below the Hudathan's massive neck but missed bare flesh, and there was no way to know if the knockout juice was entering his circulatory system. So McKee fired again, saw the alien slap his neck, and knew the needle had gone deep.

But what if the Hudathan had been injected with
two
doses? Would it kill him? The question remained unanswered as the soldier staggered, took two uncertain steps, and collapsed.

Meanwhile, a very lively firefight was under way. So McKee pulled her Axer Arms L-40 assault rifle around, brought the weapon up, and added her fire to all the rest.

Explosions marched through the brush as one of the aliens opened fire with an automatic grenade launcher. Someone screamed, and someone else yelled, “Kill that bastard!” as dozens of rounds peppered the Hudathan's body. He flinched but refused to fall.

That was when Yada settled the matter with a rocket. It hit the trooper dead center, blew him in half, and sent chunks of bloody meat flying through the air.

McKee heard Fox yell, “Charge!” realized that the crazy jarhead was on his feet, and had no choice but to join him. Together with half a dozen marines they marched into the smoke, firing as they went. A Hudathan appeared in front of McKee, took a burst of 4.7mm rounds in the face, and fell over backwards. She had to step on the monster's chest in order to advance.

Meanwhile, having been flanked by the rest of the patrol, the Hudathans were taking heavy casualties. They rallied, or tried to, but it wasn't enough. Blonski killed the last Hudathan with three blasts from his shotgun.

As the last of the smoke drifted away, an eerie silence settled over the clearing. Fox scanned the area as if seeing it for the first time. His voice was little more than a croak. “Casualties?”

“Two dead, three wounded,” a sergeant answered.

“And the enemy?”

“Seven dead and one alive,” McKee replied, as she knelt next to the unconscious Hudathan. “Let's get some restraints on him. He'll be pissed when he wakes up.”

“You heard the sergeant,” Fox said. “And secure the perimeter. Who knows? Half of the bastards could be out on patrol. What if they return?”

McKee grinned. An officer had been born.

Life is like a river that carries us where it will.

AUTHOR UNKNOWN
A Droi folk saying
Standard year unknown

PLANET ORLO II

Darkness had started to fall by the time the area was secured. So Fox ordered the platoon to set up a defensive barricade using materials salvaged from the Hudathan platform. The night passed uneventfully, and the next day dawned bright and clear.

Rather than force the marines to march the prisoner back through the Big Green, the brass dispatched one of the Legion's fly-forms to pick them up. Such aircraft came in all sorts of shapes and sizes depending on the mission they were intended to carry out. But all had one thing in common, and that was the fact that they were piloted by cyborgs rather than bio bods.

Much had been written about the relative merits of all three forms of control. And all three had their advantages. But since cyborgs were literally wired into their aircraft and capable of thinking in ways that computers couldn't, McKee thought they were superior.

In any case, she was glad to see the twin-engine Atlas thunder in over the clearing, circle the area, and prepare to land. Flying beat the hell out of walking, and McKee was looking forward to enjoying some downtime in the city of Riversplit. Would John be there? She hoped so, but knew she couldn't count on it. Captain John Avery, now
Major
John Avery, had been appointed to Colonel Rylund's staff. So if their relationship had been difficult before, it would be even more so now.

McKee's thoughts were interrupted as the VTOL landed and blew dust in every direction. Then, once the ramp was down, a detachment of marines began the process of poking, prodding, and pushing the recalcitrant Hudathan up a ramp and into the fly-form's cargo compartment. After the POW had been brought aboard and strapped down, Fox ordered the perimeter guards onto the aircraft, took one last look around, and gestured toward the ramp. “You first, Sergeant.”

McKee knew the marines had a saying, “Officers eat last,” which extended to lots of other things as well. Fox was determined to be the last person to board the VTOL. She gave him her best salute, waited for the acknowledgment, and made her way up into the cargo compartment. The loadmaster smiled. “Morning, Sarge . . . Welcome aboard.”

The cheerful greeting was a reminder of how far she had come in a short period of time. Less than a year had elapsed since Empress Ophelia had murdered her parents and sent synths to find Cat Carletto. But she had escaped and joined the Legion under the nom de guerre Andromeda McKee.

And thanks to the Legion's history as a refuge for criminals and misfits, as well as its refusal to share personnel records with the Imperial government, the only person who knew her true identify was John Avery. Would he be waiting for her? She hoped so.

Having taken her place on a fold-down seat and strapped in, McKee closed her eyes and soon fell asleep. It was the thump of the landing gear touching down that woke her. Then it was time to leave the VTOL as a team of specially trained Hudathan wranglers came aboard. She didn't envy them their task.

The city of Riversplit had been built on a hill. Not as a defensive measure, but to protect it from the seasonal floods that plagued the area back before the dam was built, and to afford residents a view of the lush countryside. The result was thousands of homes and businesses that sat on terraces carved out of the hillsides, lots of twisting streets, and citizens with strong thighs.

That was
before
the civil war that the Legion had been sent to put down. Now, after months of fighting, Riversplit was a maze of shot-up buildings, cratered streets, and fire-ravaged neighborhoods. Many of the street signs had been destroyed, but McKee was familiar with the city and knew where she was going. Her company, which was part of the second squadron of the famed
1st Regiment Etranger de Cavalerie
, or 1
st
REC, was headquartered in what had been a church. It was located about halfway up the hill, so she was in for a slog.

It took fifteen minutes to reach the building, most of which had survived a direct hit from an artillery shell and the subsequent fire. McKee said hello to the lone sentry, made her way in through a pair of double doors, and came to a halt in front of an ornate desk. Had it been “borrowed” from the rectory? Probably. A burly sergeant major was ensconced behind it now—and McKee had never seen him before. That wasn't too surprising since Echo Company had suffered heavy casualties, and replacements were coming in every day. According to the nameplate sitting in front of him, his name was Owens. He looked up, saw her tag, and stood to shake hands. “Good morning, Sergeant McKee . . . I'm the new company sergeant major. The name's Owens. How was your stroll in the bush?”

McKee shrugged. “Mission accomplished. We captured a ridgehead.”

Owens nodded. “Well done. You'll be pleased to know that someone up the chain of command feels that you deserve a two-day pass. So get out of here while the getting's good. When you return, we'll talk about which platoon to put you in. The whole company is being reorganized, so everything is up for grabs.”

McKee nodded. “Thanks, Sergeant Major . . . I'll track you down.”

McKee was looking forward to a shower and some additional sack time as she made her way down into the basement and surrendered the air rifle to the corporal in charge of the company's weapons. Then, after returning upstairs, she noticed the bulletin board. It was covered with slips of paper. Most were addressed to individuals and arranged in alpha order. Two were addressed to her. The first was from a fellow legionnaire who was both a friend and a pain in the ass. It read, “Hey, McKee . . . Where the hell are you? I'm in the slammer. Come get me out. Larkin.”

The second said, “McKee, how 'bout a beer when you get back? Meet me at the usual place.” And it was signed, “J,” as in “John.”

McKee felt her heart start to beat a little faster. There was no “usual place.” Not really. But there was an apartment where their one and only night together had been spent.

McKee stuffed both notes into a pocket, walked out into harsh sunlight, and began the hike that would take her around to the north side of the hill and what she hoped would be a very special reunion.

Efforts to clear tons of debris out of the streets had begun, but it was going to take years to rebuild the city, and the citizens were understandably resentful. Most were rebels who had been locked in battle with the loyalist militia when the Legion arrived. Then the Hudathans landed.

It wasn't clear how much the aliens knew about human politics, but Avery believed the ridgeheads had been intent on exploiting the situation on Orlo II, and McKee figured he was right. In any case, the locals had been invaded
twice
. Once by the Hudathans and once by the Legion. That meant they had suffered a great deal and felt a sense of resentment toward all off-worlders. So McKee understood the dirty looks, the muttered insults, and the obvious anger in the eyes of those she passed on the street. None of which boded well for the days, weeks, and months ahead. If fighting the rebs had been hard, then occupying the planet was likely to be even worse. So McKee felt a sense of relief as she stopped in front of a lightly damaged building, took a quick look around, and went inside. It felt good to get in off the street.

A narrow flight of stairs carried her up to the second floor, where a hallway led her to the extremely expensive apartment John had rented once before. There was a note on the door. “C. Please come in.”

Avery liked to call her by her real name when they were alone even though McKee felt mixed emotions when he did. Cat was a creature of the past, but to deny her was to deny her family and the way in which they had been murdered. So McKee put all of that aside as she knocked on the door, turned the knob, and pushed it open.

Soft music was playing, and like most homes on the hill, the apartment was equipped with blackout curtains. They were pulled so that the only light in the simply furnished main room came from more than a dozen candles. They flickered as the breeze from the hallway hit them. McKee paused to look around. “John?”

“I'm in the bathroom.”

McKee closed the door, put her assault weapon on a table, and made her way back to the bathroom. The door was open, and more candles were burning. And there, sitting in the tub, was Major John Avery. He smiled as he raised a glass of wine. “Hi, Cat. Come on in. The water's fine.”

“You arranged for the pass.”

“Yes, I did.”

“What if I missed the note on the bulletin board?”

“Then you would have found the one in your hooch. Now stop talking and take your clothes off. That's an order.”

McKee's eyes locked with his, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “And if I refuse?”

“That would mean extra duty—in bed.”

McKee laughed. There was a chair. She sat down in order to remove her boots. They were followed by the pistol belt and her uniform. Then, clad only in Legion-issue bra and panties, she approached the tub. “Oh, no you don't,” Avery said sternly. “You were ordered to remove
everything
.”

McKee made a face as she reached back to undo the bra. The panties were next. Avery nodded approvingly. “That's better.
Much
better. Come here.”

McKee put a foot in the water, found it to be to her liking, and stepped into the tub. Avery's arms were waiting for her. Slippery skin met slippery skin as they came together, lips met, and water sloshed onto the floor.

One thing led to another, and, before long, McKee found herself making love with an altogether enjoyable urgency. The climax came quickly and left both of them momentarily sated. “That was good,” Avery said, as they lay side by side. “
Very
good. Have I mentioned that I love you?”

“Once or twice.”

“Only once or twice? I'll try to do better.”

“See that you do.”

His voice was muffled. “I like your breasts.”

“So it would seem. Be careful . . . You might drown.”

Avery laughed as he came up for air. “Yes, but what a wonderful way to die.”

That led to another kiss, and, a minute or two later, McKee found herself sitting astride Avery. His hands roamed her back as their foreheads touched. McKee shuddered. “Don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Don't touch them.”

Avery had been there on the morning when McKee had been tied to an X-shaped rack and publicly whipped. The result of that whipping was the raised scars that crisscrossed her back. So Avery removed his hands from her back and cupped her breasts instead. “You're beautiful Cat . . . And that includes your back.”

McKee didn't want to cry, but the tears came anyway. She had once been known for her beauty. Now her face was marred by a terrible scar—and she would never be able to wear a backless dress again. It shouldn't matter, that's what she told herself, but it did. So McKee cried, and Avery held her. Eventually, as the water began to cool, the sobs died away. She wiped the last of the tears away. “Sorry.”

“Don't be. I understand. What you need is some lunch.”

Avery got up, helped McKee out of the tub, and gave her a scratchy towel. Once she was dry, McKee slipped into a robe that was at least two sizes too big for her. Then she made her way out into the living room, where a glass of wine was waiting. “Have a seat,” Avery said, “and I'll bring you something to eat.”

Lunch consisted of fresh food that had been flown in from the countryside now that the Hudathan siege had been lifted. It wasn't fancy. Just some bread, cheese, and fruit. But it tasted wonderful to McKee, who was used to a diet of MREs.

So they ate and did the best they could to avoid the subject on both of their minds, which was the future. But by that time, McKee had learned to read most, if not all of Avery's moods, and knew he was holding something back. “Okay, John . . . It's time to get whatever it is off your chest.”

Avery produced a crooked smile. “It shows?”

“Yes, it shows.”

Avery sighed. “I have some news for you. It's
good
news. Most people would think so anyway.”

“But I won't?”

“No, you won't.”

“Okay, give it to me straight.”

Avery took a sip of caf. “Rylund put you in for the Imperial Order of Merit, and it was approved.”

McKee made a face. “You're right. I don't like it. I don't deserve it for one thing. But, even if I did, the last thing I want is a medal from the people who murdered my family.”

Avery nodded. “I knew you'd say that. Or something similar to it. But it gets worse.”

“Worse? How could it?”

“They plan to give you the IOM on Earth. As part of a televised ceremony.”

McKee's unhappiness morphed into fear. “That would be terrible! Think about it . . . Someone might recognize me.”

“I
have
thought about it,” Avery assured her. “But there's no way out. Earth's governor is slated to present the award, and that's that. This is an opportunity for Ophelia's government to take credit for the victory over the Hudathans, and they aren't about to pass it up.”

“So, what can I do?”

“Follow orders,” Avery replied. “I know there's a risk, but you look very different now. Even Ophelia's synths don't recognize you.”

That was true. Thanks to the scar, the Legion-style buzz cut, and a leaner look, Andromeda McKee bore only a slight resemblance to Cat Carletto. “So I accept the medal . . . Then what?”

“Then you're headed for Algeron,” Avery said heavily.

“And you?”

“I'm staying here—with Colonel Rylund.”

A long silence followed. Both of them had known that some sort of separation was coming. That was inevitable, and good in a strange sort of way because officers weren't supposed to fraternize with enlisted people. Much less have sex with them. And if they continued to see each other, it would only be a matter of time before someone noticed and ratted them out. Avery spoke first. “It's going to difficult,” he said. “But all we need to do is stick to our plan. Assuming you want to, that is.”