Bartov and Riley had paused to watch the debate, and McKee put them back to work. “You heard him . . . Keep digging.” So dirt, gravel, and rocks continued to fly. Bit by bit the hole grew wider as well as deeper. Eventually, the borgs had to kneel in order to work. Then it became necessary to stand in the hole.
Six feet deep. That was as far as McKee was willing to go. That’s what she was thinking when Bartov spoke. “We’re in sand now . . . And it’s damp.”
“I told you so!” Kambi said triumphantly. “Keep going.”
The cyborgs obeyed, and gray water rose to fill the bottom of the hole thirty seconds later. “Well done,” McKee said. “Let’s make it bigger so the company won’t have to.”
That produced some grumbling, but the cyborgs continued to dig, and it wasn’t long before they had a small pond. McKee ordered C-3 to take pictures of the water hole and send it, plus the coordinates, to Remy via an encrypted “squirt” transmission. A signal so brief the Hudathans weren’t likely to notice it—and wouldn’t be able to trace it if they did.
Then McKee removed an eight-foot-by-eight-foot tarp from the gear that Popov was carrying. The plan had been to use it to provide shade once the sun came up, but it would have to serve a different purpose now. Kambi helped her spread the sheet of plastic over the well and anchor the corners with rocks. Thanks to the desert camo pattern printed on the tarp it would be very difficult to see—and McKee sprinkled sand over the cover in hopes of disguising it further.
The process of digging the hole had consumed more than an hour. But McKee thought they could still reach the Oboli Oasis before dawn and was determined to try. So with C-3 in the lead, they set off in a northwesterly direction. Broken ground gradually gave way to hardpan and desert. That meant the legionnaires could travel faster, but it also meant that they were exposed.
Finally, as the sky began to lighten in the east, McKee called a halt near an outcropping of rock. They’d been lucky so far. But wells were like magnets. And the very fact that the Oboli Oasis had a name was a good indicator of how important it was.
Assuming Kambi’s estimate was correct, their destination was about a mile away, and if a large group of Paguumis was present, McKee figured they would post pickets halfway out. That opened the possibility that they could blunder into a sentry and trigger a firefight. In order to avoid that, McKee ordered C-3 to stay high, very high, and check the place out.
As the drone departed, McKee opened her visor in order to take a bite of a dust-dry energy bar. Then she had to close it again to see the HUD and monitor C-3’s progress. The drone was in the thermal-imaging mode and cruising along at two hundred feet. That was lower than she would have liked but close to the machine’s maximum ceiling.
There wasn’t much to see at first. Just patches of cooler ground and rocks that still retained some warmth. Then, as McKee swallowed a bite, she saw what looked like a thick carpet of undulating heat. What the hell was it?
“Switch to image enhancement,” she ordered, and C-3 obeyed. Suddenly, McKee found herself looking down on a large herd of animals. Were these the kudu she’d heard about? That seemed likely. And the guess was confirmed when she saw a warrior mounted on a huge quadruped. “Pull back,” McKee said urgently, “and stay high.”
Then it was time to hold her breath until the drone appeared out of the night. The T-1s had been monitoring the whole thing. “Now what?” Bartov wanted to know.
“Now we ask the major for orders,” McKee replied.
The squirt transmission went out and the reply came back five minutes later. “Meet the team at water hole one.” McKee wasn’t surprised. Remy hoped to avoid a fight.
Riley was unhappy. “Damn. We just got here.”
“Yeah, the Legion sucks,” Bartov said heartlessly. “But you can always quit and hitchhike home.”
Unfortunately, the trip back to the water hole in the gully was just as tiring as the trip out had been. But it was blessedly uneventful, and with a mile left to go, McKee knew they would appear on the team’s sensors soon. It was hard to imagine how T-1s could be perceived as anything other than what they were—but when people are keyed up, accidents can happen. So rather than take chances, McKee chinned her mike. “This is one. We are a mile out and closing. Over.” She heard two clicks as someone keyed a mike.
The sun was up by then, and it wasn’t long before McKee spotted a legionnaire standing in the shade cast by an outcropping of rock with a T-1 beside him. She recognized the bio bod as Bill Dixon and the borg as Eno Ellis. Both were members of the first squad. They waved as Bartov trudged past.
The company was camped inside an earthen berm that had been thrown up by the cyborgs. Large sections of camouflage netting had been erected to hide the legionnaires from eyes in the sky and to provide a modicum of shade. It was hot, though, and bound to get worse as the sun arced higher. That would make sleep difficult if not impossible. And sleep was what McKee wanted most.
Various people waved, and Sergeant Major Hadley was there to meet them as they entered the compound. Twin puffs of dust exploded away from McKee’s boots as she dropped to the ground. “Welcome back. The old man’s over there,” Hadley said as he pointed at the largest tent.
McKee said, “Thanks,” before turning to face the cyborgs. “You did a good job . . . Take a break. And have somebody run a full set of diagnostics on your systems. If there are any problems, let’s find them now.”
McKee could feel the sun beating down on her shoulders as she made her way over to the camo netting and ducked under it. It was cooler underneath in the shade but not by much. She was walking toward the tent when she heard the high piping sound of a child’s voice. “Sergeant McKee! It’s Nicolai . . . Do you remember me?”
McKee felt a chill run down her spine as she turned to confront Prince Nicolai. It had been many months since she’d met him at his mother’s estate near LA on Earth. Was he a bit taller? Maybe. One thing was for sure. The tousled hair was nearly blond, and he had a tan. And there was something else too . . . A sense of confidence that hadn’t been there before.
All of that crossed her mind but was quickly subsumed by the sudden realization that Ophelia was not only alive but had been rescued. McKee’s mouth felt dry and it was difficult to speak. “Of course I remember. You were wearing grav skates.”
“They’re at home,” Nicolai said. “But I have something new. Do you want to see it?”
“Yes,” McKee said, “I do.”
“Here it is,” Nicolai said, as he pulled a small folding knife out of his pocket. “Major John gave it to me.”
McKee was processing that when a male voice said, “That’s right . . . He’s a bit young, but every boy should have a knife. Especially here.”
McKee knew that voice and whirled around to find that both John Avery and Major Remy were standing a few feet away. “Major Avery tells me that you two served together on Orlo II,” Remy said. “It’s a small Legion, isn’t it?”
McKee felt her face flush as her heart sought to beat its way out of her chest. Avery was tanned. Very tanned. And somewhat gaunt. But she could see the warmth in his eyes and some caution as well. Both of them knew that their relationship had to remain a secret. So she did what any junior officer would do and came to attention. Both men returned the salute. “Come on,” Remy said. “It’s at least one degree cooler inside the tent.”
McKee’s head was spinning. Avery! There on Savas! There was so much she wanted to say. And so much she wanted to know. All of which would have to wait until they could be alone.
Remy led the way into the tent, and that was when McKee saw Empress Ophelia. No matter how much she hated the bitch it was necessary to bow. “Highness.”
“That’s Daska,” Avery said. “Ophelia’s body double—and Nicolai’s security detail. It’s a synth.”
What felt like ice water trickled into McKee’s veins. Avery’
s tone was light—but the warning was obvious. “I see,” McKee said, as she eyed the robot. “It’s a very good likeness. So, the empress is here as well?”
“No,” Remy put in. “I wish she were. The Victorious crashed, and the Paguumis attacked. But the major, Daska, and Prince Nicolai were able to get away by entering one of the ship’s escape pods and launching it. The pod landed a good distance away from the wreck, and it’s my guess that the Hudathans found the unit and used it to bait the trap that killed Olson. They had to fend for themselves after that. Then, after spotting us, Major Avery chose an unusual way to announce their presence.”
McKee looked at Avery, who grinned. “We were a long way off, and I was afraid the company would pass us by without noticing us. So I took a shot at a T-1.”
“And hit him!” Remy exclaimed. “With a Paguumi muzzle loader at that . . . The slug hit Private Varco, and he was about to return fire when Major Avery raised a white flag.”
“Nicolai had been wearing the shirt for days, so it wasn’t very white,” Avery said. “But it got the job done.”
“I couldn’t take a bath!” Nicolai said proudly. “We only had water to drink.”
“That’s right,” Avery said as he tousled the boy’s hair. “There’s no way that Nicolai and I could pass inspection.” As McKee watched them, she realized something important about the man she was in love with. Something that came as a surprise. Avery would make a good father.
Remy chuckled. “Well, it worked. Now it’s time to do some planning. Daska? I know it’s hot . . . But Prince Nicolai should get some rest. We’ll be up all night.”
It was nicely put. They couldn’t discuss the effort to find Ophelia in front of Nicolai . . . And there was Daska to consider. Would the machine record everything it heard? Probably. And Remy knew that. Just as he knew it was important to control the narrative of whatever took place. His report, assuming he lived long enough to submit one, would be subjected to a great deal of scrutiny.
There was no way to know if Daska understood such subtleties. But even if it did, the robot was a robot and had to do what it was told so long as such actions were consistent with its basic programming. Daska extended a hand. “Come on, Nicolai . . . It’s time for a nap.”
For his part, Nicolai was used to being hustled out of rooms and offered no protest. “Good-bye, Major John. Good-bye, Sergeant McKee.”
“It looks like she’s a lieutenant now,” Avery said.
Nicolai’s eyes grew larger. “Do I outrank her?”
“Yes, you do.”
“Good. I like to outrank people.” And with that, he was led away.
“So,” Remy began. “Let’s talk about how to proceed. Based on the video that C-3 took, there’s no way that we can use the Oboli Oasis or even go near it. That means we’ll have to circle around. But which way? West or east?”
A map of the area was projected on a roll-up screen. Avery went over to point at it. “I think we should go east. That would take us up to the crash site.”
Remy frowned. “Why would we want to go there?”
“According to your Jithi guides, hundreds of southerners are likely to be on the site collecting scrap metal.”
Remy looked skeptical. “So?”
McKee found herself watching with interest as Avery sought to shape the situation without getting crosswise with Remy. Both men were majors, but Remy was in command, and the final decision would be his. “So,” Avery said, “we’re closing in on Ophelia’s locator beacon, and judging from the signal strength, she’s somewhere up north. That’s where the northern Paguumis rule, and according to what Kambi tells me, the Hudathans have a base there. Ophelia could be in hiding. Or, one of the groups I mentioned could be holding her prisoner. If so, we could use some allies—and the southern Paguumis are available.”
“Even though they killed a lot of our people?” Remy demanded.
“Yes,” Avery answered. “It isn’t pretty, but I think we need them.”
McKee waited to see how Remy would respond. Avery had been invited to offer an opinion—so Remy couldn’t complain about that. But it seemed safe to assume that Avery’s suggestion had gone well beyond the level of advice Remy had been expecting. He would have to be careful. What was the nature of Avery’s relationship with Nicolai? Had they been close prior to the crash? If so, that suggested a personal connection with Ophelia. Something Remy would be wise to consider.
After a short pause, Remy nodded. “There’s a lot of risk associated with your proposal. If the southerners refuse to talk, and attack instead, we could take a lot of casualties. Even so, I think we should try it.”
McKee knew that while it might have been Avery’s idea, Remy was the one who would bear the responsibility for the decision. And her respect for the man went up a notch as a result.
The ensuing conversation focused on the next steps, and once it was over, Remy told McKee she could go but asked Avery to stay. That meant McKee wouldn’t be able to speak with him, not right away, so it was time to get some sleep.
Thanks to Sergeant Jolo, a two-person shelter had been prepared for her in the shade of a tarp—and a bucket of water had been placed next to her sleeping pad. “Take the body armor off and pour water on your clothes,” the noncom advised. “The evaporation will cool you down.”
And it did. After the wet down, McKee fell asleep quickly and remained that way through the worst heat of the day. She woke shortly after 1400 hours feeling groggy. The bucket still had some water in it, so she took a sponge bath in the privacy of her shelter.
Then, for the first time since arriving on Savas, she eyed herself in the mirror that was part of her emergency kit. She was in dire need of a haircut. The scar was still there. And because of her visor, the skin on her face was shockingly white compared to her neck, arms, and hands. None of which was ideal. But what was, was.
It took five minutes to comb her hair, apply some lip gloss, and scrape the dirt out from under her fingernails. That was the best she could do.
As McKee left the shelter in search of an MRE, she was acutely conscious of the fact that she could run into Avery at any moment. But that didn’t occur until evening as the camp was being torn down, and the sun was about to set.
With the exception of those assigned to guard the perimeter, the rest of the company was busy packing their gear and preparing to move out. After fixing a leak in Private Cole’s cooling system, McKee was headed across the compound to get her pack. That was when she ran into Avery.
Both stopped, and their eyes met. People were all around, but none were close enough to hear. “When I heard you were here, it was like a dream come true,” Avery said. “You look beautiful.”
McKee smiled. “Yeah, there’s nothing like a few weeks on Savas to make a girl look good. Any girl.”
Avery laughed. “It isn’t like that, and you know it. I want to talk to you.”
“I’d like that,” McKee said softly. “But we’ll have to wait for the right opportunity. I hear you’re going to travel on foot.”
“I’ve got to stay with Nicolai,” Avery replied. “It isn’t his fault that his mother is a mass murderer.”
“So you like him.”
“Yes, for the moment anyway. But I’m worried about the future. Ophelia downloaded a group of so-called advisors into his head, and they bicker all the time. Who knows what effect that will have.”
“Yes,” McKee said. “Who knows. We’d better get going.”
“I like your six, so take good care of it.”
McKee laughed, and they parted company.
—
Daska, who was watching from about a hundred feet away, made a mental note. The Humans appeared to know each other. That meant nothing in and of itself. But she would watch. Her job was to protect Nicolai and, according to her programming, everyone was a potential threat. That included Avery and
McKee.
—
The company pulled out shortly after 1800 hours and set off in a northeasterly direction. Two of the drones led the way, with C-3 bringing up the rear. The cavalry platoon’s second squad was on point, with the first guarding the company’s left flank and the third on the right.
It would have been nice to place some T-1s in the drag position, but there weren’t enough of them. That meant a squad of Remy’s hats had been assigned to the six slot under Sergeant Major Hadley’s command. Avery, Daska, and Nicolai were at the center of the column, with a squad of special-ops troops to protect them.
As usual, McKee was with her people on point. The moon was partially hidden behind a thin veil of clouds, but some of the light still found the ground. The result was a ghostly glow that frosted the top of the nearest rock formation and turned parts of the desert white. McKee knew it would be easy to get lost in the surreal landscape and ordered her troops to use their night-vision capabilities if they weren’t already doing so.
Fortunately, the next four hours passed without running into any indigs. So by the time Remy called a halt, they had covered a very respectable ten miles. Half the legionnaires were allowed to take a break in place while the rest stood watch. They would switch twenty minutes later.
McKee checked to make sure that her squad leaders understood the drill before going off to find some privacy. Then, with an MRE in hand, she found a place to sit. She had just started to open the box when Avery materialized out of the gloom. He was carrying an AXE, and his helmet was tucked under one arm. “May I join you?”
“Of course,” McKee replied as she eyed their surroundings. There was no one in sight; not that it mattered since it was common knowledge that they had served together on Orlo II. And what would be more natural than for the two of them to chat?
Avery sat on an adjacent rock. His voice was pitched low. “I missed you, Cat . . . I, well, I think of you all the time. But maybe I shouldn’t. Things can change.”
Avery’s face was tanned but still looked pale in the moonlight. “They have changed,” McKee said. “But not in the way you mean. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you. About us.”
Andromeda's War (Legion of the Damned Book 3) Page 24
