Andromeda's Fall

by William C. Dietz

  That was when McKee’s AXE ran dry. She hit the release, and was in the process of seating a new magazine, when a reb took aim at her. McKee saw him grin and knew she was going to die when Nayer backed in between them. He’d been firing at one of the guards and momentarily lost his situational awareness.

  As half a dozen rounds hit Nayer, he staggered, turned a full circle, and collapsed. McKee’s AXE was in position by then and the reb’s smile turned to a look of surprise as she fired a burst into his chest. He crumpled as she ran forward to kneel next to Nayer. A flare went off high above and the light was reflected in his eyes. “Shit,” he said. “I took a hit. For you.”

  McKee eyed his torso. His body armor had protected him from some of the enemy projectiles but not all. One of them had ripped through his throat and he was bleeding profusely. She slapped a self-adhesive battle dressing onto the wound but knew it wasn’t going to make much difference. “Yes,” she said. “You did.”

  Nayer frowned. The blood in his throat made it sound as if he was gargling when he spoke. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re not good enough to be a squad leader.”

  McKee nodded soberly. “I agree.”

  A look of satisfaction appeared on Nayer’s face. “Good. That’s settled then.”

  Suddenly, as the light faded from Nayer’s eyes, McKee heard an explosion, and Camacho yelled at her. “Is he alive?”

  “No.”

  “Then let’s go. Our bird is inbound, and we have work to do.”

  McKee removed the dead man’s tag plus two magazines before following Camacho through the shattered gate and past a sprawl of bodies. All victims of Chiba’s marksmanship. The cannon sat unused, with a dead reb slumped in the gunner’s seat. The rest of the squad was waiting on the porch.

  Snarr nodded, put four rounds into the door lock, and there was a spill of light as he kicked it open. A burst of automatic fire passed over the robot’s head and stopped as the android fired both pistols. Camacho led the way, and McKee had to step over a dead officer in order to follow her platoon leader up a spiral staircase. She got the impression of a glittering chandelier, dark wood, and beautifully framed landscapes. It was a look very similar to what she’d grown up with.

  Fire lashed down from above, Camacho paused to return fire, and a body fell past her to land somewhere below. “According to Balbo, Representative Frood is being held on the top floor,” the officer said grimly as they arrived on a landing. “One more to go.”

  Boots thundered on the stairs as the legionnaires continued to climb. But as they rounded a curve, glass shattered, and an attack drone nosed into the stairwell with its gun firing. McKee turned to look as the railing exploded into splinters. The robot was vaguely cylindrical in shape and equipped with bladelike vanes that protruded from its sides.

  There was no need to yell “Contact!” but McKee did, as she fired from fifteen feet away. The machine was well armored, however, and it took a combined effort by the entire team to damage the drone. The robot seemed to stagger in midair, slammed into a wall, and blew up.

  McKee felt what must have been a sizable piece of shrapnel strike her body armor. The impact knocked her off her feet and saved her life, as a second machine entered through the broken window. It fired on the spot where she had been and was destroyed by Camacho, Snarr, and Chiba.

  At that point, she half expected to see a third drone appear and was relieved when it didn’t. “Okay,” Camacho said. “Rebel troops will arrive soon. Let’s get this thing done.”

  Once the team arrived on the third floor, it was only a matter of seconds before they located the table and chair where a guard had been stationed. He or she was absent now, and McKee was reminded of the body that had fallen past her earlier.

  Snarr tried the door, but it was secured, and McKee could see that a heavy-duty lock had been installed. Camacho turned to Singh. “Open it.”

  Singh grinned through his black beard. He was well over six feet tall and very muscular. So when his boot hit the door, wood splintered. A second kick finished the job.

  Then, as the door swung open, McKee saw a sparsely furnished bedroom with a woman standing in a corner. She had gray hair and was clearly terrified. “Representative Frood?” Camacho inquired. “We won’t hurt you. We’re here to get you out.”

  Frood looked hopeful. “Really? Thank God!”

  And that was when Snarr raised a pistol and shot her between the eyes. Frood’s head jerked as the bullet hit, her face lost all expression, and she slid to the floor.

  Camacho was the first to react. His weapon was coming to bear on Snarr when the android shot him as well. Twice.

  McKee watched in disbelief as her platoon leader went down with two bullets in his brain. After months of training, her reaction was as natural as breathing. The AXE seemed to fire itself. Snarr took dozens of hits but was seemingly impervious to bullets as he continued to turn in her direction. But finally the 4.7mm rounds ate through his armor, found something vital, and destroyed it. The android jerked spastically, lost motor control, and crashed to the floor. That was when Chiba put a final bullet into the robot’s head. “And stay down, you piece of shit.”

  A heavy silence followed. Singh was the first to break it. “Damn,” he said wonderingly. “What happened?”

  “It looks like Snarr had orders to kill Frood,” McKee said darkly. “And used us to get at her.”

  “But why?” Chiba wanted to know.

  McKee knew the answer. Or thought she did. Chances were that Frood had been sent to Orlo II by Ophelia’s brother. And having any sort of relationship with the dead emperor was a crime against the state. So Snarr had been ordered to kill Frood by someone who was willing to sacrifice the android if necessary. But she couldn’t say that. Not without revealing information about herself. “Who knows?” McKee said. “But one thing’s for sure . . . If we’re smart, we’ll stay well clear of whatever it is.”

  Singh looked worried. “How can we do that?”

  “We’ll tell the same story when they run us through the after-action hot wash. The drone killed Camacho and Snarr as we fought our way up the stairs. The door to Frood’s room was open and she was dead when we found her. Stick to those points. Don’t add details and don’t drop anything. Keep it simple.”

  “This is Lifter-Five to Echo-One,” a female voice said over the platoon push. “I’m thirty out. Drop some flares.”

  McKee chinned her mike. “This is Echo-Four. I read you. We’re headed for the roof. Over.”

  She looked from face to face. “So how ’bout it? Are we on the same page?”

  Singh answered for both of them. “What you say makes sense. I never liked that frigging machine—and I don’t think the loot did either. And there’s more of the bastards. All linked in with the government somehow. So we need to stay clear of it. Right, Chiba?”

  Chiba nodded. “That’s, right. Plus McKee’s our squad leader . . . So what she says goes.”

  That was acceptance of a sort, and McKee felt a momentary flush of pleasure as she ordered the other two to find a way up to the roof. Then she bent over to collect Camacho’s ID tag and wished there was time to perform a cybernetic autopsy on Snarr. But there wasn’t. So all she could do was pull the pin on a thermite grenade, drop it next to Snarr’s body, and leave. Hopefully, the heat would destroy the android and burn the house down, making a forensic investigation impossible. Because a battle was coming, and if the loyalists won, the people who sent Snarr might go looking for its remains.

  The next few minutes were taken up by the mad scramble to reach the roof, lay out the necessary flares, and wait out the final seconds as the fly-form swooped in for a landing. Then, once all three of them were aboard, the cyborg took off. It wasn’t until they were speeding away that McKee had an opportunity to react. Snarr was dead, but so was Camacho, and the horrible reality of that continued to sink in. She could run—it was impossible to hide.

  * * *<
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  McKee awoke with a start as a bright light probed her eyes. “Rise and shine, Corporal,” a male voice said. “They’re waiting for you.”

  The choice to turn off the glow strip and lie down on the concrete floor had been hers, and now McKee was paying for it as she sat up. She felt cold, stiff, and sore. A questionable trade-off for an hour’s worth of sleep. “I need to pee,” she said thickly as she stood.

  “Okay,” the other legionnaire said, standing to one side. “But make it quick. The little girl’s room is on the right—two doors down.”

  McKee nodded as she stepped out into the school’s main hallway. It was a lot busier than it had been the previous day. People in all sorts of uniforms were coming, going, or standing around. Was the all-out assault coming up soon? Judging from all the activity, it seemed likely. Her thoughts went to Weber and the other cyborgs. They had returned safely according to what she’d been told, and for that she was thankful.

  Having pushed her way in through a swinging door, McKee discovered that it really was a little girl’s room—complete with small commodes and low sinks. Filtered daylight came in via three frosted windows, and a sign instructed her to WASH YOUR HANDS.

  Having taken care of the most pressing need, she went over to a washbasin. The face in the mirror looked tired and worried. And the scar was still a shock. Had Singh and Chiba been through the hot wash? And if so, what had they said? There was no way to know, so all she could do was stick to the story and hope for the best. Because the truth wouldn’t set her free. Far from it. Though officers like Rylund wouldn’t like what Snarr had done, they weren’t going to take on Empress Ophelia, not for a lieutenant, never mind a corporal.

  The same legionnaire was waiting for McKee when she emerged from the restroom. He wasn’t a guard in the normal sense but had clearly been assigned to make sure that she didn’t discuss the mission with her squad. That was SOP, and nothing to be concerned about under normal circumstances, but the situation wasn’t normal. Far from it.

  McKee steeled herself for what was to come as the legionnaire led her into what had been the teacher’s lounge. And there, seated around a table were Captain Avery, Lieutenant Oxby, and Monitor Snarr. The very sight of the robot was enough to open an empty place at the pit of her stomach. The machine was dead . . . It had to be.

  Then, as Avery stood to greet her, McKee realized that the android in front of her wasn’t Snarr. Even though its appearance was identical to that of the “dead” robot. “You met the lieutenant earlier,” Avery said. “And this is monitor Jivv. We know this is a difficult time for you—but it’s important to get everything down while the details are fresh in your mind. Please . . . Have a seat.”

  McKee took some comfort from the concern in Avery’s eyes—but it felt as if Jivv’s sensors were looking right through her. One thing was for sure . . . It might be hard to replace Sergeant Hux, or Lieutenant Camacho, but there were plenty of synths to go around.

  The first part of the debriefing was easy. All she had to do was tell the truth. But then, as she described the attack on the house, it was necessary for her to be extremely careful. Details could be her undoing if they varied from what the others said. But Jivv called her on it right away. The timbre of its voice was slightly different from Snarr’s. As if some irregularity in the production process had caused it to be lower. “Please be more precise, Corporal. We are interested in the details of what occurred.”

  “Yes, sir,” McKee replied. “Sorry, sir, but there was a lot going on. Like I said, a drone smashed through a window in the stairway and fired on us. We returned fire and destroyed it. I wasn’t aware that the lieutenant had been hit until I turned back toward the stairs. Both he and Monitor Snarr were down. Both of them were dead. So I took Lieutenant Camacho’s tag and put it in my pocket.”

  “Which placed you in command,” Avery said.

  “Yes, sir. I knew Representative Frood was supposed to be on the third floor. So we went looking for her. The room where they were keeping her was unlocked, and she was dead. It looked as though she had been executed.”

  None of the interrogators looked surprised. And that meant they had heard the story before. “The rebs shot her,” Oxby said evenly.

  “Yes, sir,” McKee said. “That was the way it appeared.”

  “So you left,” Avery said.

  “Yes, sir,” McKee responded, hoping to bring the session to a speedy conclusion. “Lieutenant Camacho had requested that a fly-form pick us up on the roof.”

  “And that’s all?” Jivv demanded. “You have nothing to add?”

  The android was after something. But what? McKee was so tired it was difficult to think. Then it came to her. “There was one other thing, sir . . . I smelled smoke as we left. There could have been a fire. I’m not sure.”

  Jivv nodded as if satisfied. “Aerial photographs became available early this morning. The rebels had a lot of fires to fight last night. The house where Frood was being held, plus three neighboring dwellings, burned to the ground.”

  Avery’s eyes met hers. McKee got the feeling that the officer was trying to ignore Jivv. “It’s no secret that we will attack Riversplit sometime soon,” Avery said. “The odds of getting a replacement for Camacho before then are slim to none. So I’m going to take command of your platoon. I know last night was difficult. Can I count on you to lead the second squad?”

  There it was. A chance to say no. But judging from the way her story had been accepted, it was clear that she had support from Chiba and Singh. And if they believed in her, then maybe she should, too. “Sir, yes sir.”

  Avery nodded. “Good. Get some sleep.”

  McKee said, “Thank you, sir,” stood, and turned to go. She was halfway to the door when Jivv spoke. “Corporal . . .”

  McKee stopped and turned. “Yes?”

  “According to the squad-level load-out checklist for last night’s mission, you were carrying a thermite grenade. But you made no mention of using it—and there was no mention of the grenade on the list of ordnance that was turned in. What happened to it?”

  McKee felt something cold trickle into her bloodstream. Jivv was on a fishing expedition. Or did he suspect foul play? She made an effort to keep what she was feeling off her face. “I lost it.”

  Avery frowned and looked at the robot for the first time since McKee had entered the room. “If you believe that Corporal McKee violated regulations, or was remiss in the performance of her duties, then say so. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut.”

  Oxby looked uncomfortable and clearly wanted to be somewhere else. Jivv opened its mouth as if to reply, apparently thought better of it, and remained silent.

  Avery returned his gaze to McKee. He was furious, judging from the expression on his face. “Dismissed.”

  McKee said, “Yes, sir,” and left the room. Then it was time to grab a sandwich in the makeshift chow hall that occupied the gymnasium, return to the company area, and collapse on her cot. Sleep came quickly—and Nayer was there to greet her.

  * * *

  Twelve hours had passed since McKee had been debriefed. Six had been spent sleeping, five had been spent getting her squad ready for combat, and one had been spent waiting for the briefing to begin. That pissed her off because there were so many other things that she could have been doing. Although the Legion’s official motto was Legio Patria Nostra (The Legion Is Our Country), it might as well have been “Hurry Up and Wait.”

  But, finally, Captain Avery and Lieutenant Oxby entered the classroom where Echo Company’s officers and noncoms were assembled. “Sorry about the delay,” Avery began. “But the battalion briefer ran over. The good news is that we finally have a time. The assault on Riversplit will begin at 0500 hours in the morning. The 6th REI will go in first, with support from the Grays.

  “We will be in the second wave. Our task is to seek out the enemy’s cavalry and neutralize it. Thanks to some HUMINT, we have images to share with you. Lieutenant Oxby—if you would be so kind.”r />
  McKee was surprised to hear that the rebs had cavalry, as were the men and women around her, since T-1s, quads, and fly-forms were unique to the Legion insofar as she knew. But the picture that appeared on the wall screen was something very different from the sort of cavalry she was used to. So much so that the image provoked laughter and comments like “You’ve got to be kidding,” “We’ll cream them,” and “Get serious.”

  McKee remained silent, but she could see why the others were so contemptuous. The video had been shot from a distance. It jiggled from time to time and showed a human encased in a nine-foot-tall exoskeleton. The same sort of machine used to load and unload cargo vessels. The reb was running an obstacle course or trying to. But his machine hadn’t been designed to high-step through rows of tires, and she wasn’t surprised when he tripped and fell. That triggered gales of laughter, which Avery cut short. “Atten-HUT.”

  The talking stopped, those who had been seated stood, and everyone came to attention. “So you think the guy in the exoskeleton is funny?” Avery demanded as he glared at them. “Well laugh at this . . . The rebs call them Rippers. And for good reason. They’re slower than a T-1, and less agile, but a good deal more powerful. And that could be very important in an urban setting, where combat can get up close and personal.

  “Plus, the rebs have armed their machines with heat-seeking fire-and-forget missiles (SLMs). Two tubes per Ripper. And that’s in addition to the .50-caliber machine guns mounted on both sides of the operators’ cages. All of which is to say that you’d better take these things seriously. Do you read me?”

  The answer was in unison. “Yes, sir!”

  “Good. As you were. Lieutenant Oxby—you may proceed.”

  McKee listened carefully and took notes, knowing it was her responsibility to pass the information on to her squad. Oxby’s briefing came to a conclusion ten minutes later. Avery offered a closing comment. “Remember . . . The infantry is counting on us. Two Rippers could decimate a company of ground pounders. And the enemy may have as many as fifty of them. Be ready at 0400, have your people in the assembly area by 0430, and keep radio traffic to a minimum. The sergeant major will be kicking ass and taking names. I’ll see you there. Dismissed.”