Thanks to the fact that the brass were busy with the governor, McKee was spared the sort of hot wash she had endured after the effort to rescue Frood. That meant she was free to eat, spend five minutes in a jury-rigged shower, and hit the sack. She awoke feeling rested, went about the process of getting ready for the day, and was eating her breakfast next to the first platoon’s all-purpose fire when Kaylor appeared. McKee started to rise. But Kaylor said, “As you were,” and took a seat on a crate of MREs. The officer had a mug with her and took a sip from it. “How are you feeling?”
“A little sore,” McKee admitted. “Jungle busting is a bitch. But otherwise fine.”
“Good,” Kaylor replied. “I’m sorry to do this to you—but we have some female prisoners including the governor’s wife and niece. And since there are three men for every woman in Echo Company, we’re short of female guards. So I was forced to put you into the rotation.”
It wasn’t good news, but it was typical of the way things worked, and there was no point in complaining. Especially to Kaylor, who had seen and done it all. “Yes, ma’am. What time?”
“Twenty-four hundred to oh-three-hundred hours.”
“I’ll be there. Can I ask a question?”
“Shoot.”
“How did we catch the governor?”
“An armed drone spotted his convoy as it left the forest and began to cross a large open space. Two vehicles were destroyed, and a third was damaged. The rebs were trying to repair it when the third platoon caught up with them.”
McKee had been hoping that the governor would escape, but she forced a smile and nodded. “Sounds like good teamwork. Was Monitor Jivv with the third?”
“No,” Kaylor responded as she emptied her mug. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious, that’s all,” she replied. “When are we going to pull out?”
Kaylor stood. “I thought the swabbies would swoop in and take custody of the governor this morning. But I hear Monitor Jivv is opposed to that. I’ll let you know when things come together.”
Kaylor walked away, and as McKee ate the last of her breakfast, she was thinking. Why would Jivv stall? Because he had orders to kill Governor Jones, but wasn’t supposed to do so in front of witnesses? That seemed like a pretty good guess. Not that she could do anything about it. Taking care of herself was difficult enough.
After a day spent cleaning her gear, performing maintenance on Weber, and looking after the squad, McKee reported to the tent set up for the female prisoners. It was large enough to house twelve Grays—and had, prior to being appropriated. There was one entrance guarded by two legionnaires, one of whom was a sergeant. He gave her the job of patrolling the back side of the tent.
McKee was happy with the assignment since it meant she would be by herself and wouldn’t have to take responsibility for whatever comings and goings took place. The tent was lit from within, and McKee could see shadows moving about as she patrolled back and forth. It was a very boring activity, so the minutes seemed to crawl by, and it was difficult to stay alert.
Then, with roughly an hour to go, there was an altercation out front. McKee could hear voices as a loud argument began. She was tempted to go check it out. But that would mean leaving her post. So she stayed, and that was when she noticed a dark shadow, and realized that one of the prisoners was right up against the back wall of the tent. Moments later something sharp penetrated the fabric and McKee heard a ripping sound.
There were a number of things McKee could have done, including let the escape play itself out, or call for backup and put a stop to it. But she did neither. Instead, she took up a position directly in front of the newly created aperture, aimed her flashlight, and turned it on. There was a gasp of surprise followed by a look of fear on the part of the face she could see.
Then it was her turn to feel a sense of shock as she realized she was looking at Marcy Tanaka. One of her best friends in college. “Marcy? It’s me, Cat.” McKee hadn’t used her real name in months and immediately wished she hadn’t.
The eye McKee could see registered surprise. “Cat? I heard you were killed in a bombing. And your face . . .”
“Think of it as a beauty mark,” McKee said dryly. “What are you doing here?”
“Governor Jones is my uncle . . . You remember that.”
McKee didn’t remember that. All of Cat’s friends had important relatives. And she had made very little effort to keep track of them. “We’ve got to escape,” Marcy continued. “There’s a synth. A robot named Jivv. He’s going to kill us.”
McKee swore. It was just as she feared. The knife seemed to leave its sheath of its own accord. The tent fabric parted, and as McKee waved Marcy out, a middle-aged woman appeared. “This is my aunt Cia,” Marcy whispered, and McKee knew that she was looking at the governor’s wife.
“You’ve got to save my husband,” Cia Jones said desperately. “He’s in a tent over there.” And that was when McKee realized how stupid she’d been. With one careless stroke of her knife she had compromised her identity, betrayed her comrades, and committed herself to a hopeless cause. The world she had built for herself was about to collapse.
CHAPTER: 12
* * *
I have learned to hate all traitors, and there is no disease that I spit on more than treachery.
GREEK POET AESCHYLUS
Standard year circa 451 B.C.
PLANET ORLO II
In a matter of seconds, McKee had been transformed from a noncommissioned officer into a deserter and, in the eyes of many, a traitor. But to allow herself to consider the ramifications of that would be to plunge into despair. And there were others to worry about. Marcy and Cia were waiting for her to take action. Meanwhile, the argument heard earlier was still under way out front. A female with a shrill voice was clearly unhappy about something. “The woman,” McKee said. “Who is she? And how long do we have?”
“She’s my maid,” Cia replied. “She’s too old to run. This was her idea.”
McKee was about to say, “They’ll kill her,” but it was clear from the look on Cia’s face that she knew that. “Follow me,” McKee said. “And move quietly.”
All of the shelters faced the center of the compound. The entire battalion was asleep except for the guards. And as McKee came closer, she could see that a sentry had been posted at the rear of the governor’s tent as well. He was a Gray, which was just as well, since she didn’t want to blindside a legionnaire. “Wait here,” McKee whispered, and pointed to a dark shadow.
Then, with the nonchalant manner of an NCO making her rounds, McKee approached the guard. Her AXE was in her right hand rather than on its sling. The Gray nodded politely and was opening his mouth to speak when the rifle butt struck the side of his head. There was a solid thunk followed by a thump as the soldier hit the ground. McKee took all of the soldier’s ammo before turning her attention to the tent.
McKee figured the same technique she had used before would work now. The knife penetrated the fabric with ease, and the sharp blade made a ripping sound as it sliced to the ground. She half expected the governor to appear at that point, but he didn’t. And when she looked in through the slit, McKee saw why.
A single glow strip dangled from one of the tent poles. Two folding chairs occupied the center of the space and were positioned to face each other. A human was bound to one—and a Droi to the other. That squared with what McKee had heard. An indig leader had been captured with Jones.
As McKee entered, she could see that both prisoners had been beaten. Jivv’s work? Most likely. The air reeked of sweat and urine. The Droi was awake, head up, watching her. But the governor appeared to be unconscious and was slumped against the ropes that held him in place.
McKee held her left index finger to her lips in what she hoped was the universal sign for “keep quiet.” The Droi nodded as she went to work with t
he knife. Her plan was to free the indig first in hopes that it would help with Jones.
She felt a stab of fear as male voices were heard. Had Marcy and Cia been missed? And what time was it anyway? The guards were due to be relieved at 0300. A quick glance as her chrono revealed that it was 0246.
The conversation faded as the participants walked away—and McKee allowed herself a sigh of relief. As she made a final cut, she spoke to the Droi. “I’ll need your help to get the governor out of here. Understood?”
The Droi nodded as the ropes fell away. “Understood.”
“Good. We have five minutes. Then we’ll have to run.”
The Droi spoke to Jones in low tones as McKee cut him free. The governor’s head came up, and his eyes blinked. “Water.”
But there wasn’t enough time to give Jones water as McKee and the indig hoisted him off the chair and guided him toward the back of the tent. Seconds later, they were outside the fetid enclosure and stumbling away. The Droi took over as Marcy and Cia appeared out of the shadows. “I lead,” it said decisively, and McKee allowed it to do so.
Because most of the battalion was sleeping, and no alarm had been given, the five of them were able to slip from shadow to shadow. Jones had difficulty walking at first, but the farther they went, the more his mobility improved, and that was good because the defensive perimeter lay directly ahead.
McKee’s already-pounding heart felt as if it was going to beat its way out of her chest as the sound of shouting was heard—and a flare went off high above. “Get down!” she said. “And don’t run until I tell you to.”
A ditch fronted by stacked logs lay directly in front of them, and she ran straight at it. “The prisoners are escaping!” she shouted. “Over there! Get them!”
The legionnaires assigned to defensive position were already looking her way because of the noise and the flare. So when they saw the familiar silhouette of a helmet and gear, they took off in the direction she was pointing. She waved the others forward. “Now! Run.”
The edge of the forest was only a hundred feet away, but it seemed like miles as McKee supported one of the governor’s arms and the Droi took the other. Marcy and Cia were up ahead and glanced back occasionally to make sure the others were there.
Then all hell broke loose as somebody spotted the fugitives and opened fire. Bullets threw geysers of dirt into the air as McKee let go of Jones and skidded to a halt. A projectile whined past her head as she turned and brought the AXE up at the same time. The burst was high and had the desired effect. A legionnaire dived for cover—and that bought time for the fugitives to reach the tree line.
As McKee entered the protection of the trees, she discovered that the indig was waiting for her. More flares had been fired by then, and some of the harsh light made it through the foliage. The Droi looked a lot like Insa, but had wrinkly skin, which she assumed to be a sign of age. “My name is Anslo. You?”
“McKee.” She gave the same name that she had given Insa.
“McKee follow.” And with that, Anslo took the governor’s left arm and turned east.
McKee gave herself the task of walking drag, and hadn’t gone more than a hundred feet when more Droi materialized around her. At that point she realized that the indigs had been present all along, watching the battalion and waiting for a chance. Now they were filling in behind the fugitives and . . . McKee had a horrible thought and hurried to catch up with Anslo. Once she was alongside the Droi, it was difficult to jog and speak at the same time. “T-1s . . . The Legion will send T-1s . . . And we can’t outrun them.”
“No worry,” Anslo replied. “The P-Yani block.”
Block? How the hell could the Droi block a T-1? The answer arrived moments later and was headed in the opposite direction. The P-Yani were about the size of a small horse, with warthoglike tusks and big, three-toed feet. And there were hundreds of them, all thundering west. Normally the P-Yani were a source of nutrient-rich blood, meat, and leather for the Droi. Now they were an army.
The governor’s party was forced to take shelter behind one of the forest giants as the P-Yani flowed around them. Gunfire could be heard in the distance as the animals came into contact with the Legion. McKee could imagine the T-1s trying to move forward but being pushed back by a tidal wave of flesh and bone. Some would open fire on the animals. Others would wait them out. They were blocked either way.
“Come!” Anslo said, and waved the party forward. Most of the herd had already streamed past, but it was necessary to dodge stragglers as the group headed east. Rather than beat obstacles down the way the T-1s had on the trip to the wreck, the Droi seemed to slip between them, like water through a streambed.
Because McKee was still wearing her helmet, she could “see” the distance traveled on her HUD and knew they were making good time. So by the time the sun rose in the east, and sunlight pooled on the forest floor, the fugitives were deep inside the Big Green.
Drones passed over on two different occasions, prompting McKee to turn her helmet off lest the navy home in on the tracking signal it produced. That meant she was cutting herself off from her new family—and it was as difficult as giving up her former identity had been. But all she could do was grit her teeth and keep going.
McKee had seen the remains of a Droi village on the way to the wreck—so as they entered the forest encampment she recognized it as a temporary affair. At least two hundred Droi were present, and they were armed with a hodgepodge of weapons. There were no fires other than those used to make tea, and they produced very little smoke. Shelters consisted of leather tarps strung up between smaller trees—or draped over vines that stretched from trunk to trunk.
Anslo was welcomed in a fashion that suggested considerable respect, as was Governor Jones, and to a lesser degree the rest of his party, including McKee. Not long thereafter, Anslo and Jones were asked to participate in a meeting. That left McKee sitting at the foot of a tree and feeling lost until Marcy brought her a pot of tea. The next hour was spent catching up.
McKee told Marcy about her adventures since that fateful day on Esparto. And Marcy gave an account of what had occurred since the initial purge. Like McKee’s parents, thousands of other people had been systematically executed by Tarch Hanno and the newly created Bureau of Missing Persons. And that was why Marcy had been sent to Orlo II—in the hope that she would be safe there.
But, according to Marcy, it wasn’t safe anywhere. And the only reason she hadn’t been killed was the heavy security that surrounded her uncle and the manner in which the rebellion acted to screen her from synths like Jivv. But now that the uprising had been crushed, her only hope was to escape from Orlo II. “There are smugglers,” she explained. “People who live out on the rim, where Ophelia is nothing more than a dirty word. They trade with the Droi and Uncle Naoto says we might be able to book passage with one of them. If we do, I’ll make sure he takes you along. He owes you . . . We all do.”
The conversation ended shortly thereafter as Marcy left to return the teapot and cups to their owner. And for the first time since deserting, McKee had a moment to think about her future. The plan to get off Orlo II and travel to a safe place made sense except for one thing. McKee wanted to bring Ophelia down. And more than that, to kill her. However unrealistic such an ambition might be. Could she accomplish that out on the rim? It was something to think about.
McKee found a mossy nook to lie down in and fell asleep with the AXE clutched in her arms. Dreams came and went. None were good. So when Marcy woke her, McKee was happy to escape wherever she’d been.
The sun had arced across the treetops by then and was settling into the west. McKee sat up and wished that she could brush her teeth. “Sorry to bother you,” Marcy said. “But a rebel leader named Howard Trask arrived an hour ago. He’s going to meet with Anslo and my uncle. You’re invited.”
McKee said, “Thanks,” and scram
bled to her feet. Her uniform was a mess, but she did the best she could to brush it off. How was she going to get civilian clothes? Or anything else, for that matter. What little bit of money she had was back with the battalion.
Such problems would have to wait, however, as she followed Marcy to a grove of trees where Anslo, Jones, and a man she’d never seen before were seated on the ground. Food, all heaped on large leaves, sat in front of them. McKee’s stomach growled at the sight of it.
“There you are!” Jones said cheerfully as he came to his feet. The governor had a black eye as well as various cuts and bruises on his face. An indication of the treatment McKee could expect if she was captured. “Please have a seat,” he said. “You’re the guest of honor.”
McKee didn’t feel like the guest of honor as Anslo welcomed her to the circle, and she was introduced to Howard Trask. He was a short man, with a barrel-shaped chest, and thick arms. He had white hair cut short, twinkling blue eyes, and a two-day growth of beard. A huge paw swallowed McKee’s hand. “It’s a pleasure, little lady! Thank God you were there. Odds are the governor and his family would be dead otherwise. You were very brave.”
McKee couldn’t accept such praise. Especially since part of her regretted taking the action she had. So she mumbled something by way of a reply, accepted the invitation to eat, and loaded a leaf with strips of spicy meat, sliced fruit, and a tangy concoction that reminded her of sauerkraut. Meanwhile, the strategy session got under way.
McKee was only half listening at first since the others were discussing people and events that she knew little to nothing about. But then, as talk turned to the battalion, she began to pay more attention. “This is a wonderful opportunity,” Trask was saying. “Spurlock is an idiot. His so-called battalion is so far from Riversplit that Rylund can’t reinforce him, and for reasons we’re not sure of, the navy isn’t as active as it was earlier, so he won’t get much help from above. Spurlock put his neck on the chopping block. The least we can do is chop it off for him.”
Andromeda's Fall (Legion of the Damned) Page 21
