Caitlin Smith looked to be about sixteen or seventeen. She had lime-green hair, and was sporting a pair of sunglasses so large that they hid half her face. A skimpy blouse and some short-shorts completed the ensemble. Caitlin paused as two contract workers arrived, each lugging two shiny suitcases. “Be careful,” Caitlin chided. “Each one of those bags costs more than you make in a week.”
Murphy reckoned that was probably true, since contract workers weren’t paid very well. A reality that was everything to do with the partial work-stoppage currently underway. Two-thousand miners had walked off their jobs three months earlier, shutting down three of Saa-Na’s five mines. And that mattered because gadolinite, a mineral composed of cerium and yttrium, was critical to certain high-tech products the Confederacy’s military-industrial complex produced. One of which was Murphy’s war form.
That’s why a detachment of legionnaires had been sent to Saa-Na. Their job was to protect the company’s personnel and property from the rebellious workers who wanted more pay and better healthcare. Murphy “felt” the sudden downdraft via his sensors as the fly form’s engines fired up and the VTOL’s rotors began to turn.
Like the Trooper 5 the boxy aircraft was controlled by a human brain which served as the aircraft’s sole pilot. The ramp was down and Caitlin’s platform shoes made a clomping noise as she walked up into the yawning cargo bay. The workers, suitcases in hand, followed along behind. “At ease,” Omar said over the tactical frequency. “You know the drill… Follow me, sit aft, and keep your yaps shut.”
The last part of the order was unusual, and Murphy figured that Omar was concerned that his legionnaires might swear in front of the girl. Or, worse yet, tell each other about sexual exploits both real and imagined.
Murphy followed the bio bods up the ramp to the point where the Titan’s crew chief stood waiting. He nodded. “Good morning, Corporal… Did you safe your weapons? Good. Please step over to the port side.”
Murphy had been through the process countless times before. The fly form had seats for the bio bods but not for seven-and-a-half-foot tall Trooper 5s. Murphy stopped in front of slot number seven, performed a perfect about face, and backed into the waiting recess. Connections were made as two arm-like clamps emerged from the bulkhead to hug Murphy’s chest. Others captured his legs.
The contract workers were gone by then. The ramp produced a whining noise as it came up and was locked into place. Still no governor, Murphy thought. Not that I give a shit.
The outer world faded to black as Murphy shut his video pickups down. He “heard” the fly form’s pilot make the usual announcements, and “felt” the VTOL lift off before he drifted off to sleep. There were dreams. Dreams of Ellie’s smiling face. The two of them were standing on a beach, and about to share a kiss, when the bomb exploded. The fly form jerked violently and began to shake.
Murphy’s video inputs snapped on in time for him to watch the crew chief get sucked out through a hole in the fuselage. The VTOL shuddered and began to lose altitude. “This is the pilot,” the fly form said, “we have an onboard emergency and…”
That was the moment when a second explosion blew the Titan in half. The aft section of the aircraft performed a series of cartwheels as it fell. Murphy felt the impact as the wreckage hit the top layer of the triple canopy jungle. The trees gave, and by doing so, they served as shock absorbers. Then the aft section of the VTOL fell to the point where a second layer of foliage waited to slow the wreck even more before it hit the ground. Murphy felt the violent impact as a host of alarms sounded.
The Titan had multiple backup systems. One of them did its job by releasing the cyborg from slot seven. As that occurred Murphy’s onboard computer was burping status reports. One of his watertight seals had been damaged… And a message was scrolling across the bottom of his vision. “Your war form has been involved in a traumatic incident. Notify a tech at the earliest opportunity.” No shit, Murphy thought. I’ll get right on that. What about the others? The normally voluble Sergeant Omar was silent.
The wreckage was tilted at an angle. A shipping module had broken free and was sitting in front of the cyborg. Murphy circled the obstruction to discover that the other legionnaires were dead. Judging from the blood and gore splattered on the walls the bio bods had been killed by shrapnel encased in the second bomb. Murphy felt a surge of sorrow. Six lives all snuffed out. Six friends gone. He would grieve when he could.
The girl… Had Caitlin survived? Murphy turned to the left. A section of the Titan’s alloy skin had collapsed down during the crash. The metal groaned as Murphy placed a massive shoulder against the obstruction and pushed. There was a screeching sound as the barrier gave way, and that was when Murphy saw Caitlin. She was alive, but clutching a bloodied arm, and rocking back and forth. When she turned to look at him Murphy could see the tears running down her cheeks. “I’m hurt,” she said. “Don’t just stand there… Help me!”
Murphy extended both of his arms for her to see. One was an air cooled .50 caliber machine gun, and the other was a fast recovery laser cannon. “I don’t have hands,” Murphy told her. “So you’ll have to perform first aid on yourself. But I’ll tell you what to do. Release your harness and maintain pressure on the wound as you do so.”
“No!” Caitlin said emphatically. “I want a real person… Not a machine.”
“I’m all you have,” Murphy told her. “The real people are dead. So, would you like my help? Or would you prefer to fend for yourself?”
Murphy watched Caitlin take it in. “All of them are dead? You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” Murphy replied. “Like I said… Release your harness and keep the pressure on. Then you need to stand. See the first-aid kit clamped to the bulkhead? You need it. Reaching for it will force you to take the pressure off the wound. But, if you elevate your left arm, that will slow the bleeding while you release the clamps. Then we’ll go outside and patch you up.”
Caitlin stared at him. Her eyes were huge. “I can’t do it.”
Murphy shrugged. “Roger that… Good luck.” And with that he turned to go.
“Wait!” Caitlin said. “Don’t go… I’m getting up.”
Murphy turned back. “Good. Grab that first-aid kit and let’s get out of here. I haven’t seen any smoke, but you never know. This thing could blow.”
That seemed to get through to Caitlin who stood, made her way over to the first-aid kit, and fumbled with the latches. The plastic case came free.
“Well done,” Murphy said. “Tuck it under your left arm, put the pressure on again, and look to your right.”
Caitlin obeyed, and was about to ask why, when Murphy fired the cannon. More than a dozen energy bolts were required to outline a new door. But a powerful kick was sufficient to open it up. Murphy stepped out onto solid ground and turned to face the ship. “Now it’s your turn.”
“I feel dizzy,” Caitlin said.
“Step through the opening and grab my arm.”
Caitlin obeyed. Murphy could barely feel the pressure she put on the machine gun. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go over there… We’ll sit under that tree.”
Very little sunlight was able to penetrate the layers of foliage above. So there was hardly any undergrowth. That made it easy for Caitlin to cross a small clearing to the point where she could sit on a fallen tree. Murphy paused to check his readouts for indications of electro-mechanical activity, incoming heat signatures, or radio chatter. There were none. And that wasn’t surprising. No more than fifteen minutes had passed since the crash.
But it pays to be careful so Murphy activated his personal drone. It was about the size of a hummingbird, equally agile, and generated a soft buzzing sound as it emerged from a recess near Murphy’s left shoulder. The device hovered in front of Murphy as the cyborg eyed a menu of standard commands and chose three of them. Then the tiny device took off. That meant Murphy could “see” what the drone saw, and react accordingly.
Caitlin had opened the first-ai
d kit by then and was staring at the tightly packed contents. “First you need to clean and disinfect the wound,” Murphy told her. “I don’t know if Saa-Na is home to microbes that can hurt us. But if it is, you can bet that the right bug killers are in that kit. Once the cut is clean we’ll decide what to do next.”
“It hurts,” Caitlin complained.
“Roger that,” Murphy replied. “So let’s get this over with.”
Caitlin managed to open a packet, remove a moistened towelette, and wipe most of the blood away. Murphy swore silently. The cut on Caitlin’s left forearm was about three inches long and oozing blood. Not gushing, thank God… But oozing.
“Okay,” Murphy said. “You could pull the margins together with butterfly closures, or you could close it with sutures. That’s what I would do. Sutures will hold up better while you’re running through the jungle.”
“Or,” Caitlin said pointedly, “I can wait for the medics to get here. How soon will they arrive?”
“I don’t know,” Murphy replied. “It could be minutes or days.”
Caitlin frowned. “But you have a radio, and you called for help, right?”
“No, I didn’t call for help,” Murphy replied. “Because I don’t know who might respond. Would it be your father? And the people who work for him? Or the folks who placed the bombs in your luggage?”
Caitlin looked alarmed. “Bombs? In my luggage?”
“Yes,” Murphy responded. “Two of them. I figure they were trying to assassinate your father. Someone had access to your luggage. Servants perhaps.”
Caitlin was holding a fresh bandage against the wound. Her face was pale. “He wanted to come… But he didn’t show up.”
Murphy nodded. “I get that. But, until we have more information, I don’t think it’s a good idea to let people know where we are. It’s safe to assume that the Titan’s emergency beacon is on—and broadcasting its location. But where is it? At the front of the aircraft ? Which could have crashed miles away… Or is it here with us? If that’s the case, we could be in deep doo-doo.”
“But why?” Caitlin wanted to know. “If you’re correct it’s my father they want.”
“And you would make an excellent hostage,” Murphy countered. “A way to bait him. So, what’s it going to be? Butterfly closures? Or stiches?”
Caitlin frowned. “Sutures I guess. Will it hurt?”
“Yes. Like getting your ears pierced.”
It took Murphy half an hour to coach Caitlin through the process of stitching herself up. Murphy had never performed the procedure himself. But all sorts of information was stored in his on-board computer—including a video that showed how to do it. And to Caitlin’s credit she managed to put four sutures in while tears streamed down her cheeks.
Once the process was over, the bleeding stopped. A fresh dressing went on over the cut.
“Good work,” Murphy said. “Now gather up all of the trash and bury it over there… Like I said earlier, we don’t know who may show up here. Meet me at the wreck. You’re going to need supplies, and that’s where they are.”
* * *
THE LUCKY STRIKE MINE
The Lucky Strike Mine had been discovered by a sixty-nine-year-old prospector named Three-Fingered Jack when a mechanical problem forced him to land his ship right on top of a huge deposit of yttrium. A once in a lifetime discovery that he immediately filed a claim on and subsequently sold to Madsen Mining. Except that Madsen’s workers had taken possession of the mine, and had no intention of giving it back until their demands were met. Their so-called “command center” consisted of a cavern located more than two hundred feet under the planet’s surface where it was safe from bombs. Cables snaked across the uncomfortably low ceiling, water was seeping through the walls, and gear was piled all around.
George Reeger felt a growing sense of anger as he listened to the report. Rather than abort the assassination attempt the moment it became clear that Governor Smith wasn’t going to accompany his daughter onto the fly form, the idiot in charge of the Tara cell had allowed his people to move forward, with disastrous results. Both he and his co-conspirators had been arrested. But Marci, the woman he was talking to via a locked beam wasn’t to blame, which meant Reeger couldn’t express his frustration. “I see,” he said. “That’s very unfortunate. Thank you for letting me know. So the governor’s daughter was killed?”
“Quite possibly,” Marci allowed. “But we can’t be sure until they find the wreckage. There could be survivors.”
Reeger’s mind was churning. It was a long shot… But what if the little bitch was alive? And what if the Worker’s Army could find her? The governor would be forced to accept the workers’ demands or watch a video of his daughter being executed! Yes, Reeger decided, it’s worth a try.
* * *
CRASH SITE TWO
In order to gather the items that Caitlin might need, they had to return to the wreck and enter the area where the Legionnaires’ badly mangled bodies were. Caitlin took one look, gagged, and turned away. “I’m sorry,” Murphy said. “But it has to be done. I would do it for you if I could. But that isn’t possible. Not without hands.”
Caitlin bent over and threw up. Then, after wiping her chin, she turned back. Her eyes were focused on him instead of the gore. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, and quickly too… We need to put some distance in between ourselves and the crash site. Then I’ll try to contact the Legion.”
Caitlin was careful to avert her eyes as she took a carbine from one legionnaire, a pistol from another, and ammo from both. Private Corci’s boots were the most difficult part of the process. They looked like they would fit, and Caitlin was going to need them.
But that meant stripping them off Corsi’s mangled body… Something Caitlin hesitated to do. But Murphy refused to let up.
Caitlin sobbed as she pulled the boots free. “Get her pack too,” Murphy instructed. “There will be some rations inside, plus a set of camos. Maybe they’ll fit. Come on, bring the boots, and let’s get out of here.”
Once outside Murphy told Caitlin to climb up on his back. “Hang the pack on the hooks and attach the boots,” he said. “We’ll sort things out later.”
Murphy turned and Caitlin saw that steps were built into the back of his legs. With a pistol belt cinched around her waist and the carbine dangling from a shoulder, Caitlin climbed up to the point where the hooks were waiting. The pack fit perfectly. And after tying the boot laces together Caitlin secured them as well. A headset was waiting in a recess and she put it on. “Can you hear me?”
“Five by five,” Murphy replied. “Bend your knees, and grab onto the bar in front of you.”
Murphy took off at a ground-eating jog. Thanks to the video feed provided by the drone circling above Murphy could see where he was going. They needed a place to hole up. A spot near water, but one that they could defend, and that suggested a hill. There were plenty to choose from. A dozen vegetation-clad mini-volcanoes dotted the otherwise flat jungle. Had they served as vents at some point in the distant past? Murphy thought so.
It took an hour and a half of relentless running to close with the nearest hill. And that was a long time for an inexperienced rider to spend on a T-5. Caitlin made no secret of her discomfort. “My knees hurt!” she complained. “A branch hit my face!” “I need to pee!”
But Murphy refused to stop until they reached the hill. Then he let Caitlin climb down and take a bio break. After she returned Murphy led her to the top of the hill where a deep depression kept them off the skyline.
The drone needed charging so Murphy brought it in. Then he cranked his vision up to 10X and peered out over the verdant jungle. A pair of contrails clawed the lavender sky, a flock of white birds skimmed the treetops, and a ribbon of water sparkled in the distance. It was getting late and Pylo II had sunk low in the sky. So far, so good, Murphy thought. It’s time to call for the cavalry. Murphy selected a high-priority emergency channel and announced himself. “Bravo-Five-Fo
ur to Overwatch-Six… Do you read me? Over.”
There was a long pause followed by a female voice. “This is Overwatch-Six… What’s your mother’s maiden name? Over.”
“Owens.”
“Where were you born?”
“The city of Los Angeles on Earth.”
“What’s the legion’s motto?”
“Legio Patria Nostra. (The Legion is our Country.) Over.”
“Roger that, Four. We’re very happy to hear from you. What’s the status on the rest of your squad? Over.”
“They’re dead,” Murphy replied flatly. “But I have the package we were supposed to deliver and it’s intact. Over.”
Murphy knew his transmissions were encrypted. But if the WA could place bombs in Caitlin’s luggage, what else were they capable of? It was better to be safe than sorry.
There was another long pause, as if the woman was discussing the situation with someone else. Then she was back. “Good work, Four… What happened to the Titan?”
Murphy told Overwatch about the bombs, the way the fly form broke in two, and the subsequent crash. “Got it,” Overwatch said. “The beacon was in the front half of the Titan so we found that right away. We’re searching for the rest of it. Are you at the crash site? Over.”
“No,” Murphy replied. “We didn’t know who would come looking first, so it seemed appropriate to clear the area. Over.”
“And you were correct.” Overwatch assured him. “All right, here’s the situation. We’re stretched thin. WA terrorists attacked most of Saa-Na’s major cities during the last six hours. So most of our resources are committed. Your orders are to travel cross-country to the town of Keebler’s Gap. Check your nav system. The community is small, but you’ll see it. We should be able to dispatch a Search and Rescuenit by the time you arrive. We’ll pull you out earlier if we can. Report every six hours. Do you have any questions? Over.”
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