Andromeda’s Choice

by William C. Dietz

  Larkin frowned. “Why Kyle? You’re the best tech we have. Shouldn’t the new guy be with you?”

  “I am the best tech we have,” McKee replied. “But from what I’ve seen, Kyle is second best. New or not.”

  Larkin stared at her. “And I am?”

  “You’re third best where tech stuff is concerned. But you rank number one when it comes to walking down a street firing two assault rifles at once. Which was stupid, by the way.”

  The compliment was intended as a salve for Larkin’s ego, and it worked. The response sounded harsh, but he was smiling. “You’re the squad’s number one asshole. You know that?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Just checking. Your number three cyber monkey will be ready when you are.”

  From that point forward everything seemed to move in agonizing slow motion. It took more than an hour for the droids to bring the tools forward. But there was nothing McKee could do but accept the delay and use it to eat her lunch. Then, when the robots arrived, she dropped the meal and called for the rest of the squad.

  Fortunately, her father’s engineers had designed the war forms so that they could be shipped disassembled and put back together under combat conditions. But even though such a thing was theoretically possible, it was rarely if ever done. Typically, T-1s were assembled on a ship in space, or in a secure location on a planet’s surface, using a prefab facility designed for that purpose.

  Nevertheless, they could be broken down into six “modules” including a head, torso, arms, and legs with feet attached. The necessary tech manual was available from McKee’s personal computer and the step-by-step process could be accessed via her HUD. The other bio bods had the same capability.

  So with the rest of the squad looking on, and helping where they could, McKee went to work on a reluctant Sykes. None of the T-1s welcomed the exercise and for obvious reasons. Mistakes could be made, and while they were lying around in pieces, the cyborgs would be extremely vulnerable.

  But an order is an order, and Sykes had no choice but to lie down and let McKee go to work on him. It was slow going at first since she had never done anything like that before. There was one advantage, though, and that was the fact that the other bio bods could watch McKee and learn from her mistakes.

  Just as McKee predicted, Kyle had a natural talent for things technical, and it wasn’t long before he was crouched across from her lending a hand as he released a coupler in Sykes’s left hip, disconnected the servo that powered that leg, and capped the cooling capillaries designed to carry heat away from it. The leg came loose shortly thereafter.

  With that accomplished, McKee ordered Kyle to apply his newly learned skills to the other hip and leg while she went to work on an arm. And so it went as Sykes was systematically dismembered. Finally, with six body parts laid out on a couple of shelter halves, it was time to send Larkin and Kyle through the hole, along with the tools they would need on the other side. Sykes, who still occupied his head, gave instructions. “Be careful, you miserable bastards. If you screw up, I’ll kill you!”

  “If we screw up, you’ll wind up in a spare parts bin,” Larkin said heartlessly. “Now, shut up while we send what passes for your brain through.”

  It took less than ten minutes to move all the body parts to the other side of the wall. Once that was accomplished, McKee returned to work. Four hours had elapsed by then, but she figured the rest of the T-1s would go quicker. So there she was, removing Shinn’s left leg, when a muffled explosion was heard. Larkin’s voice was calm but urgent. “This is Eight-One . . . Someone fired a rocket-propelled grenade at the RAV and put it out of commission. We could use some reinforcements. Over.”

  That was followed by the sound of automatic-weapons fire. McKee’s team was split. One of her T-1s was a pile of parts, a second was disabled, and the others couldn’t engage the enemy. They were in trouble.

  CHAPTER: 16

  Ground on which we can only be saved from destruction by fighting without delay: this is desperate ground.

  On dispersive ground, therefore, fight not. On facile ground, halt not. On contentious ground, attack not.

  On open ground, do not try to block the enemy’s way. On ground of intersecting highways, join hands with your allies.

  On serious ground, gather in plunder. On difficult ground, keep steadily on the march.

  On hemmed-in ground, resort to stratagem. On desperate ground, fight.

  SUN TZU

  The Art of War

  Standard year circa 500 B.C.

  PLANET ALGERON

  McKee heard a second explosion, hoped that one of her men had thrown a grenade, and made a grab for her AXE. As she stood, she saw Shinn’s fifty lying on the ground a couple of feet away. A large-caliber weapon could make a big difference. So she dropped the AXE and took the Storm. It was heavy and awkward to carry. “Come on!” McKee shouted. “Let’s kick some ass.”

  Hagen was right behind McKee as she lumbered toward the hole, and a couple of Royce’s engineers brought up the rear. Every legionnaire could fight, and they were armed with semiauto shotguns. Perfect for the sort of close-in work taking place on the other side of the wall.

  McKee pushed the big machine gun through the hole and followed on hands and knees. Then she was through but unable to stand as bullets smacked into the wall above her. Sykes’s head was sitting next to his right leg. “Put me back together, Sarge!”

  McKee looked left, saw that Larkin and Kyle had taken cover behind a ledge, and felt a sense of relief. They were alive! Now to keep them that way. She placed the fifty across the inside surface of her arms and attempted to elbow her way forward. But the weapon weighed more than eighty pounds, and she hadn’t made much progress when Larkin spotted her. He crawled over. “A present! And just what I wanted. Let’s trade.”

  So Larkin gave McKee his AXE and took the fifty. “There are at least ten of them,” he said, “maybe more. They tried to rush us, but we beat ’em back. Kyle’s okay for a newbie.”

  That was high praise from Larkin, and as the engineers arrived, McKee gave orders. “You, take the left flank and keep the bastards away from the machine gun.” Then, having turned to the second soldier, “You take the right side. Same job. Okay?”

  Both engineers nodded and low crawled away. Meanwhile, Larkin had taken the Storm fifty over to the ledge. Having placed the barrel on a rest comprised of his own chest protector, he could traverse back and forth. And just in time.

  McKee heard a chorus of bloodcurdling war cries as half a dozen warriors charged what they believed to be two slick skins. Then Larkin began to fire three-round bursts. The big slugs tore two of the Naa apart, but the rest were fast, and halfway to their goal, when Kyle and McKee opened up. More attackers fell, as one of the engineers yelled, “Grenade!” There was barely enough time to go facedown before it went off. The explosion threw shrapnel in every direction. A chunk of the ceiling fell, shattered as it hit the floor, and sent rocks flying.

  McKee looked up to discover that another wave of attackers had crossed the open area and were only ten feet away. A shotgun went off as she stood and was immediately bowled over by a ferocious-looking Naa. The warrior growled something in his own language, and strong fingers sought her throat. His expression turned to one of surprise as McKee’s combat knife went hilt deep into his side. She felt something warm dribble on her as the blade scraped along a rib. McKee knew she’d been lucky to avoid bone as she pushed her attacker off and rolled to her feet. The AXE lay two feet away. As the Naa made a futile attempt to pull the knife out, she put two bullets into his head.

  It took an act of will to put what she’d been through aside and look around. There wasn’t much to see other than a haze of gun smoke, a scattering of dead bodies, and the burned-out wreckage of the RAV in the distance. She tried to speak, made a croaking sound, and tried again. “Larkin, move the fifty up to the RAV and use i
t for cover. Kyle, get to work on Sykes. And my thanks to our intrepid engineers! If you gentlemen would join Corporal Larkin at the barricade, I would be grateful.”

  By the time all of the cyborgs had been taken apart, passed through the wall, and put back together again, a good deal more than the allotted time had passed. But no mention was made of it as the group spent what they considered to be a “night” in the cavern where the battle had taken place. The construction droids had buried all the bodies by then, and as McKee ate her dinner, she did the best she could to ignore the graves.

  Having eaten, McKee was so tired that not even the presence of dead bodies could keep her awake once she put her head down. Sleep took her within a matter of seconds and kept her for nine hours. So when she awoke, it was to discover that everyone except for Hagen, Clay, and Sykes had left. And they were under orders to let her sleep.

  McKee didn’t like receiving special treatment, so that made her grumpy. But as the four of them got under way, she had to admit that it felt good to be fully rested for once.

  It took three hours to catch up with the main party. By that time the expedition had covered twenty-three of the thirty-plus-mile length of the tunnel and sent hundreds of geological samples back to Colonel Bodry.

  Meanwhile, by all accounts, the tunneling machines were making excellent progress and had already drilled a hole six miles into the mountain’s belly. So there was every reason to feel optimistic as the behemoths continued on their way. Thankfully there were no further contacts with the Naa, the tunnel was no worse than it had been, and they were able to reach the passageway’s southern terminus just one standard day after the battle by the wall.

  That was the good news. The bad news was that the moment they left the tunnel, the party would be in enemy territory. But, according to Hasbro, there was nothing to worry about. “Colonel Bodry is going to drop a force-protection unit in to secure the south end of the tunnel,” the engineer said when McKee raised the issue. “That means you and your people will be able to take a break.”

  So as McKee, Sykes, Larkin, and Jaggi followed a zigzag path past an ancient totem and toward a splash of bright sunlight, they were expecting to run into some fellow legionnaires. But as they left the tunnel, it was to find something horrible waiting for them. Three soldiers had been impaled on six-foot-long stakes—the ends of which protruded from their chests. Thirteen additional bodies lay fanned out in front of them. They were almost entirely hidden by a mass of squirming birds, all battling for choice bits of human flesh.

  McKee fired a shot. It echoed between stony walls and sent the vulturelike scavengers lumbering into the air. Some of them were so full they could barely fly. McKee’s stomach heaved at the sight of what they left behind. “This is Eight . . . As far as I can tell, all the members of the force-protection team are KIA. I suggest that the rest of my squad come forward while the others remain in the tunnel. We will take a look around and report. Over.”

  Hasbro was incredulous. “Wiped out? All of them?”

  “That’s affirmative. Sixteen in all. Over.”

  “Damn it.”

  “Roger that. I suggest that you send a RAV out to look for mines. Over.”

  Once Larkin and the rest of them exited the tunnel, McKee gave her orders. “Our job is to check the immediate area and secure it. If the brass sends more reinforcements, they’ll need a place to put down. So let’s make sure we can establish and defend a safe landing zone. Larkin, Kyle, Jaggi, and Shinn will go right. Everyone else will go left. We will remain in visual contact at all times. And you heard what I said about mines. Be very careful where you step.”

  The entrance to the tunnel was at the end of a V-shaped ravine. So McKee’s first instinct was to watch the slope above and to the left of her for any signs of an ambush. There were none.

  There were signs of a hellish battle, however, including a pile of rocks where, judging from the debris that lay all about, the legionnaires had taken cover in a futile attempt to hold the attackers off. There were other defensive works as well, including a badly-shot-up truck and a crude OP. McKee figured that some of the legionnaires had been killed while falling back in between attacks. Then, once all of them were down, the bodies had been dragged to the tunnel mouth and put on display. Others, those who had been impaled, had probably been taken alive and soon come to regret it.

  Hundreds of overlapping hoofprints suggested a large force of Naa who had been able to overwhelm the ground pounders in spite of their more advanced weaponry. But why? McKee wondered. Why had the force-protection team been left to die? Surely reinforcements could have been sent. If not from Fort Camerone, then from space. One thing was for sure, however. No officer or noncom in his or her right mind would have chosen to fight in a ravine with high ground on three sides. How many legionnaires had been killed by snipers? A third? Quite possibly.

  But the person in charge of the detachment wasn’t free to choose, or so McKee theorized. He or she had orders to defend the tunnel and the team inside it. So they stayed, fought, and died. A lump formed in the back of McKee’s throat and refused her attempts to swallow it. Legio Patria Nostra.

  Both her team and the one led by Larkin were at the entrance to the ravine by then. McKee ordered the squad to pull up, fumbled for a pair of binos, and brought them up to her eyes. A flat plain stretched out in front of her with nothing to draw the eye except for the low mesa about a mile away. It sat like an island in an ocean of scattered boulders, low-lying scrub, and wind-scoured sand. Patches of snow were visible where the sun’s rays couldn’t reach them, and there, way off to the southwest, a glint of light winked at her. It was gone seconds later. A scout then . . . Eyeing her through a telescope or a pair of Legion-issue glasses and waiting to see what the slick skins would do.

  Satisfied that she’d seen all she could see without leading a patrol out into the wasteland, McKee sent for all the surviving RAVs. Once they arrived, she placed the robots in what she hoped would be defensible positions—although there was no way to protect them from the snipers who might take the high ground. But at least the machines would warn of any attack and act to slow the Naa down.

  The construction droids were busy digging a mass grave by the time she returned to the tunnel. Hasbro and Royce were standing upwind of the burial party and the nose-clogging stench associated with the rotting bodies. McKee’s boots produced two puffs of dust as they hit the ground. “I got through to Fort Camerone,” Hasbro said bleakly. “They promised to send a company-sized team to secure the area. I suggested a battalion, and they told me to forget it. While we were in the tunnel, a force of ten thousand Naa warriors crossed Lowback Pass in a snowstorm and pushed into Chief Lifetaker’s territory. Colonel Bodry went in with a brigade of troops. They’re battling it out now.”

  That explained a lot. With a major battle being fought to the northeast, there had been a shortage of everything, including reinforcements for the legionnaires stationed at the south end of the tunnel. Was that the result of poor leadership? Bad luck? Or both? Not that it made any difference. Dead was dead. There was one bright spot, however, or the possibility of one, and McKee gave voice to it. “A big battle could explain why there weren’t any Naa here to attack us.”

  Hasbro nodded. “Good point. So we can hole up and wait.”

  “Sir, yes, sir. However, if they’re going to pull us out, that’s one thing. But if they want to secure the area, this is the wrong place to put troops. They could suffer the same fate the force-protection team did.”

  Hasbro heaved a sigh. “I shouldn’t ask, because if I do, you’ll propose some crazy scheme like taking your T-1s apart and passing the pieces through a hole.”

  McKee grinned. “We’re here, aren’t we?”

  “Okay, what’s on your mind?”

  “There’s a small mesa about one mile south of the entrance to this ravine. It has sheer cliffs on this side. If the others are equ
ally high, the top would make a good spot for an FOB. Mine the approaches if any, put some artillery on top, and you could protect the tunnel from anything less than a major assault.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Hasbro said, “let me guess. You want to go out and circle the mesa.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hasbro was silent for a moment. “Okay, but on one condition. Leave half of your squad here in case the Naa return. And record what you see. If it looks promising, we’ll send the video to HQ.”

  “Roger that, sir. In the meantime, if the Naa show up, I suggest that you withdraw to the tunnel. We should be able to hold that indefinitely.”

  Hasbro grinned. “Yes, General . . . Right away, ma’am.”

  McKee made a face. “Sorry, sir. I’ll shut up.”

  “I’ve heard that promise before, but it never comes true,” Hasbro observed tartly. “Be careful out there. We want you back.”

  It was dark by then, and given the nature of the photo recon, McKee had to wait for dawn. That gave her plenty of time to get ready. She even managed to take a nap. Then the brief night was over, and it was time to go.

  Given the nature of the mission, McKee wanted to take Larkin with her. If the shit hit the fan, he’d know what to do without being told. And he was eager to go. “It’ll be like old times,” he said. “Where you screw up, and I save your ass.”

  “You say the sweetest things,” McKee replied. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Anytime,” Larkin said, as he climbed up onto Jaggi’s back. “Let’s do this thing.”

  McKee knew the scouting mission would be risky. Once they left the ravine, they would be on their own. The simple truth was that Hasbro lacked the resources required to rescue them if they got into trouble.

  But she put that concern aside to focus on the pure joy of the moment. With not an officer in sight, and only three other beings to worry about, it was time to enjoy a special treat. And that was to let the cyborgs run full speed across the mostly open plain. The sky was clear, the sun was rising, and the mesa was bathed in pink light. McKee gloried in the press of wind against her face, the feeling of power that went with riding a war machine, and the kinesthetic feedback involved. She was alive and wonderfully so.