Andromeda’s Choice

by William C. Dietz

  Then the drone entered the blood-splattered fortification that topped the hill. Darkness was falling, but the drone was equipped with a light, and as it played across a badly-shot-up wall, McKee saw that blue spray paint had been used to scrawl a name there. “Camerone.”

  That was the name of the battle in which Legion Captain Jean Danjou and a company of sixty-four men were surrounded and attacked by a force of more than two thousand Mexican soldiers in the village of Camerone. The lopsided fight had come to symbolize bravery and a willingness to fight to the death if need be. McKee felt a lump form in the back of her throat as the light panned away.

  Once the drones had completed their inspections, it was time to send the RAVs up to find whatever mines the Naa had left behind. And, as it turned out, there were plenty to find. So the legionnaires had no choice but to establish a fortified encampment at the bottom of the hill. Thanks to the crawlers, their dozer blades, and the construction droids, a task that might have consumed a day was completed in a matter of hours. All of the troops were exhausted by then, and that included McKee, who was looking forward to some serious shut-eye, when Larkin came looking for her. “Hey, McKee . . . Don’t crawl into the sack yet. The loot has a shit detail with our names on it.”

  McKee was in the process of removing her boots. She swore and began to lace them. “What kind of shit detail?”

  “Remember the prisoner? The one I captured? They want to talk to her . . . And we’re supposed to take her over to the command tent.”

  McKee was on her feet by then. The ambush felt like ancient history. “Why us?”

  Larkin made a face. “I was standing a few feet away when Dero got the request from Hasbro. “

  It never paid to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Which was to say anywhere near an officer when some sort of crap slid downhill.

  McKee put her jacket on and grabbed the AXE as she left the four-man tent. The sun was rising again, and she had to squint as Larkin led her to the spot where the Naa was being held. Her wrists and ankles were secured with plastic ties, and she was seated on an ammo box. Two members of the 1st REI were acting as jailers. “Hey, Sarge,” one of them said. “What’s up?”

  “We’re here to get the prisoner,” McKee replied.

  “Works for me,” the legionnaire replied. “I could use some chow.”

  “Cut her loose,” McKee instructed. “When’s the last time she got to pee?”

  The soldier looked surprised. “Pee?”

  McKee shook her head in disgust and pulled her knife. “Go to chow. We’ll take care of it.”

  As the legionnaires left, McKee knelt next to the prisoner. The blade sliced through the plastic ties with ease. “Come on,” McKee said as she stood. “I’ll take you to the latrine.” She knew the words wouldn’t mean anything but couldn’t figure out how to signal her intention.

  Then, much to McKee’s surprise, the Naa said, “Thank you.”

  McKee stared at her. “You understand standard.”

  “Some . . . Yes.”

  “How did you learn?”

  “A human lives in our village.”

  That was a surprise, and McKee wanted to ask more questions but knew it wasn’t her place to do so. That’s what interrogators were for. But she couldn’t resist following up on the obvious. “So you listened to the soldiers talk, and now you know a great deal about this mission.”

  The smile seemed very human. “Yes.”

  McKee laughed. “Come on . . . You met Larkin earlier today, and you know what he’ll do if you try to run.”

  “Yes,” the Naa said flatly. “He will blow my fucking brains out.”

  Larkin snickered. “You got that right.”

  The Naa was at least partially responsible for the deaths of two legionnaires, which meant McKee should hate her. But there was something about the female that made that hard to do. “What’s your name?”

  “Springsong Riverrun.”

  McKee thought it was a pretty name for someone who had been sent to kill her. “Okay, Springsong, let’s go.”

  After taking the Naa to the female latrine, the legionnaires escorted her to the command tent, where the major, a couple of officers, and three enlisted people were waiting. Two folding chairs had been placed under an overhead light, and Hasbro pointed to one of them. “Put her there.”

  Larkin guided the Naa over to the seat and stood to one side as Hasbro took the other seat. “Okay,” he said, as a translator stepped forward. “Ask her to identify herself.”

  McKee knew she wasn’t supposed to take part in the interrogation but thought Hasbro needed to know that Springsong could understand most if not all of what was said. She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, sir . . . But Springsong speaks standard.”

  Hasbro’s eyebrows were white, and they shot upwards. “Standard? Who said so?”

  “I did,” Springsong replied.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Hasbro responded. And the interrogation began. Having learned the prisoner’s name, Hasbro demanded to know which village she was from.

  “I won’t tell you that,” Springsong said simply. “You would kill them all.”

  McKee couldn’t help but admire the Naa’s courage—and wondered how Hasbro would respond. But, rather than become angry, the way McKee expected him to, he nodded. “So tell me about this human . . . The one who taught you to speak standard. Or are you going to protect him as well?”

  “He calls himself Father Ramirez,” Springsong replied. “But we call him Crazyman Longstick.”

  “Oh, him,” Hasbro said dismissively. “He was seen in the village of Crooked Tree three days ago.”

  “That isn’t true,” Springsong said, then caught herself. Because if she helped the human figure out where Longstick wasn’t, that information could be used to help determine where he was. “You’re trying to trick me.”

  “I was,” Hasbro admitted, “but you’re too smart for me. The truth is that thanks to this, I already know what village you’re from.”

  Hasbro extended a hand, and a sergeant placed a beautifully carved staff in it. McKee recognized it as having been recovered from a spot adjacent to one of the wrecked catapults.

  “I study such things,” Hasbro said. “And because of that, I know that the dooth carving mounted on top of this totem, combined with the vine motif on the shaft, are emblematic of a village called Doothdown. A community located southeast of here.”

  In spite of the Naa’s effort to remain expressionless, McKee saw Springsong jerk as if slapped across the face. Suddenly, her respect for Hasbro went up a notch. The man was more than he seemed. “Never fear,” Hasbro said kindly. “We aren’t going to kill all of the people in your village. But we will send a team to search for stolen weapons and have a chat with your chief. Why did you attack us?”

  “Because you built your fort on sacred ground!” Springsong said accusingly.

  Hasbro frowned. “Sacred ground? What sacred ground?”

  “The hill,” Springsong said, as she pointed in the direction of FOB Victor. “That’s where the god Ofar appeared to Spiritsee Praylong.”

  There was a moment of silence while everyone took that in. “You know what?” Hasbro said as he eyed the faces around him. “I think we screwed up.”

  • • •

  The meeting place had been chosen with great care, and that made sense since both parties had a great deal to lose, including their lives. So as Spearthrow Lifetaker and his son Longsee Sureshot approached the edge of a low bluff, they slid off their dooths and tethered them in a copse of trees. “Remember,” Lifetaker said, “the slick skins can see many things from the air. You must always take precautions.”

  “Then they can see us now,” the youth responded.

  “That’s true,” Lifetaker agreed patiently. “Because their sky machines look down on the surface of
the planet all the time. But the slick skins can’t see everything. Especially on a cloudy day like this one.”

  “Yes, Father,” Sureshot replied dutifully. His father was chief of chiefs, a renowned warrior, and a politician. And if Sureshot hoped to succeed him, there was a great deal to learn.

  Together, they followed a game trail to a point near the edge of the bluff, where they lowered themselves to the ground and low crawled the rest of the way. To do otherwise was to risk being seen against the skyline.

  But once they arrived, it was clear that they had nothing to fear. As they looked down on the valley, a cold wind swept in from the north and ruffled the knee-high dooth grass. The area had been overrun by southern marauders two season cycles earlier. All that remained of what had been a thriving community was a collection of slowly dissolving earthen domes, a skeletonized watchtower, and an overgrown graveyard.

  “Okay, son,” Lifetaker said. “So far so good. I will make my way out to the meeting place. You will remain here. Should you need to fire, what will be your greatest challenge?”

  “The crosswind,” Sureshot answered as he slid the long-barreled rifle forward. “And the downward angle.”

  “That’s correct,” Lifetaker said approvingly. “Should something go wrong, don’t waste your life trying to save me. That will be impossible. Your task will be to send at least one slick skin to hell. Understood?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Good. I will need some time. Use it to conceal yourself.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Lifetaker gave the boy an affectionate pat, elbowed his way forward, and slithered down a steep slope into the tall grass. It took him in.

  • • •

  The ground whipped past as the fly-form’s shadow led the cyborg east. Some of the slipstream found its way in through the open hatch to buffet Colonel Bodry and his bodyguards. All of them had been drawn from the elite 2nd REP and wore berets in place of helmets. They were dressed in body armor and armed with a variety of weapons, including AXE assault rifles, a sniper’s rifle, and one rocket launcher. A more-than-sufficient force so long as Lifetaker kept his word, and Bodry thought he would.

  A message torp would arrive any day now and, assuming the answer to his request was, “Yes,” then there would be only a limited amount of time in which to bore through the mountains before winter set in.

  So it was imperative to cut some sort of deal with the northern tribes. Otherwise, they would cause so much trouble that the whole effort would grind to a halt. The fly-form’s voice was flat and unemotional. “We’re one minute out . . . Prepare for landing.”

  Bodry looked at Sergeant Kumar. She was small, wiry, and quick as a snake. And when she smiled, there was nothing friendly about it. “We’re ready, sir. Please stay aboard until we give the all clear.”

  Bodry nodded. “Don’t shoot the Naa I’m supposed to meet with. That could be awkward.”

  Kumar chuckled. “Roger that, sir. We’ll be on our best behavior.”

  As the fly-form emerged from the river canyon, a lushly green valley opened up on both sides of the aircraft. The cyborg banked, circled the stone altar that stood at the center of the meadow, and came in for a landing. The skids were still a foot off the ground when Kumar and her commandos jumped out.

  Bodry stood in the open door and watched them cast about for improvised explosive devices or signs of a trap. But where was Lifetaker? Was he running late? Or had something gone terribly wrong?

  Kumar hadn’t given the all clear, but Bodry jumped to the ground anyway. And that was when Lifetaker stood. The Naa rose like a spirit from the grave—and was so close to Kumar that the noncom jumped backwards. She swore, and Bodry chuckled. “Good morning, Chief . . . How many warriors are concealed in the grass around us?”

  “Fifteen,” Lifetaker replied. It was the first number that came to mind.

  “That’s amazing,” Bodry replied. “Especially if it’s true. Come . . . Let’s take a walk. Here’s hoping we don’t trip over any of your warriors.”

  “So,” Bodry said, as they strolled through the grass. “Are you ready to make a deal?”

  “Maybe,” Lifetaker answered. “Are you ready to drill a hole through the mountains?” He had an accent but spoke standard a lot better than Bodry spoke Naa.

  “No,” Bodry replied. “But I expect to receive good news any day now.”

  “And if the good news is bad news?”

  “Then our arrangement is off. But I feel sure that the officials on Earth will understand the benefits to be derived from north–south trade.”

  Lifetaker had no interest in free trade. But he did want to conquer the south, bring all of the tribes under a single command, and use the resulting power to force the Legion back into space. An accomplishment that would cement his place in history. But he couldn’t say that. “Yes, free trade would be a boon for everyone.”

  “Then let’s take the first steps now,” Bodry said, as they arrived in front of the stone altar. “Winter is on the way, and timing will be critical.”

  Nobody had to tell a Naa about the importance of winter. Lifetaker looked at the concave stone where offerings had once been placed. How would Ofar look on what he intended? One could only guess. The gods were notoriously fickle. He looked up again. “What would you have me do?”

  “Prepare your people for the effort ahead,” Bodry said.

  “There is risk,” Lifetaker put in. “What if I do as you request, and your chiefs say ‘no’?”

  Bodry smiled. “Then both of us lose. But I brought you a gift. Something that will be useful if things go as planned—and will serve to ease the pain if they don’t.”

  Lifetaker’s interest was piqued. “And the gift is?”

  “A field gun. It’s light enough to be towed by a dooth and is capable of firing eight rounds a minute.”

  Lifetaker felt a surge of avarice. He was familiar with the light guns since they had been used against him. But the trick was to keep the extent of his excitement under wraps. He frowned. “When would I receive this gift? And what about ammunition for it?”

  “I have the cannon and fifty rounds of ammunition on the fly-form,” Bodry answered.

  “Excellent,” Lifetaker said, as they walked back toward the aircraft. “May our friendship continue to prosper.”

  Yes, Bodry thought to himself. And if it doesn’t, I can blow the cannon up with the touch of a button. And you with it should you be standing close enough. The sun had begun to set—and night was on the way.

  CHAPTER: 10

  You will kill ten of our men, and we will kill one of yours, and in the end it will be you who tires of it.

  HO CHI MINH

  Standard year 1969

  PLANET ALGERON

  Having discovered that FOB Victor occupied sacred ground, Major Hasbro conferred with General Vale. A lengthy discussion ensued. It wasn’t easy to convince Vale that the existing base should be abandoned, but Hasbro succeeded. Once the conversation was over, Hasbro directed his battalion to begin work on a new Forward Operating Base to be located west of Victor, thereby restoring the sacred ground under FOB Victor to the Naa.

  It was still going to be necessary to dispatch troops to Doothdown to recover stolen weapons and send the villagers a message. But, by freeing Springsong instead of destroying the community, Hasbro hoped to demonstrate that the Legion could be merciful. Would the strategy work? It was common knowledge that Colonel Bodry didn’t think so, but time would tell.

  So as the crawlers cut a road into the flanks of hill two, and the construction droids prepared the top for the prepackaged fort that would be dropped onto the new FOB, Dero’s legionnaires were sent out to patrol the three-mile-deep defensive zone that surrounded the site. That meant long, frequently tedious patrols, and a cat-and-mouse game with the Naa scouts sent to watch them.

  Wha
t remained of McKee’s squad had been folded into Grisso’s, resulting in a temporary demotion to assistant team leader. And that was fine with McKee, who had a lot of respect for the other noncom and welcomed what amounted to a vacation from her normal responsibilities.

  In the meantime, the work on what had been designated as FOB Kilo continued. The spiral road up to the top of hill two was completed, soil was fused to create two landing pads, and “the package” containing all of the construction materials required for the structure was brought in by heavy lifter.

  Then, once the necessary materials were on-site, the sappers and their robots went to work putting everything together. Their tools rattled, roared, and banged until McKee returned from patrol one day to discover that the low, mostly subsurface bunker was nearly complete.

  To celebrate, Major Hasbro had eight cases of beer flown in along with a mostly hot meal from Fort Camerone’s mess hall. The latter was a real treat after days of field rations.

  McKee slept well that night. She dreamed that she was with Avery, and that they were climbing a mist-shrouded mountain. They didn’t know how high it was—only that they needed to reach the top. And they were near the summit when her alarm sounded.

  Dero delivered the news at morning muster. Because the FOB was nearly complete, and there were plenty of infantry on hand, the platoon had been recalled and was departing that morning. That was good news because spartan though Fort Camerone was, it beat living in the field.

  Without crawlers, trucks, and foot soldiers to slow them down, the platoon was able to make excellent time and arrived in Naa Town only six hours after leaving FOB Kilo. Fifteen minutes later, they were inside the fort. It took more than an hour to perform routine maintenance on the borgs, clean their gear, and put it away. Then they were free to shower and head to chow. McKee spent a good fifteen minutes standing under the hot water—so Larkin was already in the mess hall when she arrived. “So,” he said, as she put her tray on the table. “Have you heard the scan?”

  “Nope. Fill me in.”

  “Well,” Larkin said through a mouthful of food, “something big is in the works. And the rumors must be true because all sorts of units are on active standby. That includes ours.”