Andromeda's Fall

by William C. Dietz

  CHAPTER: 12

  * * *

  I have learned to hate all traitors, and there is no disease that I spit on more than treachery.

  GREEK POET AESCHYLUS

  Standard year circa 451 B.C.

  PLANET ORLO II

  In a matter of seconds, McKee had been transformed from a noncommissioned officer into a deserter and, in the eyes of many, a traitor. But to allow herself to consider the ramifications of that would be to plunge into despair. And there were others to worry about. Marcy and Cia were waiting for her to take action. Meanwhile, the argument heard earlier was still under way out front. A female with a shrill voice was clearly unhappy about something. “The woman,” McKee said. “Who is she? And how long do we have?”

  “She’s my maid,” Cia replied. “She’s too old to run. This was her idea.”

  McKee was about to say, “They’ll kill her,” but it was clear from the look on Cia’s face that she knew that. “Follow me,” McKee said. “And move quietly.”

  All of the shelters faced the center of the compound. The entire battalion was asleep except for the guards. And as McKee came closer, she could see that a sentry had been posted at the rear of the governor’s tent as well. He was a Gray, which was just as well, since she didn’t want to blindside a legionnaire. “Wait here,” McKee whispered, and pointed to a dark shadow.

  Then, with the nonchalant manner of an NCO making her rounds, McKee approached the guard. Her AXE was in her right hand rather than on its sling. The Gray nodded politely and was opening his mouth to speak when the rifle butt struck the side of his head. There was a solid thunk followed by a thump as the soldier hit the ground. McKee took all of the soldier’s ammo before turning her attention to the tent.

  McKee figured the same technique she had used before would work now. The knife penetrated the fabric with ease, and the sharp blade made a ripping sound as it sliced to the ground. She half expected the governor to appear at that point, but he didn’t. And when she looked in through the slit, McKee saw why.

  A single glow strip dangled from one of the tent poles. Two folding chairs occupied the center of the space and were positioned to face each other. A human was bound to one—and a Droi to the other. That squared with what McKee had heard. An indig leader had been captured with Jones.

  As McKee entered, she could see that both prisoners had been beaten. Jivv’s work? Most likely. The air reeked of sweat and urine. The Droi was awake, head up, watching her. But the governor appeared to be unconscious and was slumped against the ropes that held him in place.

  McKee held her left index finger to her lips in what she hoped was the universal sign for “keep quiet.” The Droi nodded as she went to work with the knife. Her plan was to free the indig first in hopes that it would help with Jones.

  She felt a stab of fear as male voices were heard. Had Marcy and Cia been missed? And what time was it anyway? The guards were due to be relieved at 0300. A quick glance as her chrono revealed that it was 0246.

  The conversation faded as the participants walked away—and McKee allowed herself a sigh of relief. As she made a final cut, she spoke to the Droi. “I’ll need your help to get the governor out of here. Understood?”

  The Droi nodded as the ropes fell away. “Understood.”

  “Good. We have five minutes. Then we’ll have to run.”

  The Droi spoke to Jones in low tones as McKee cut him free. The governor’s head came up, and his eyes blinked. “Water.”

  But there wasn’t enough time to give Jones water as McKee and the indig hoisted him off the chair and guided him toward the back of the tent. Seconds later, they were outside the fetid enclosure and stumbling away. The Droi took over as Marcy and Cia appeared out of the shadows. “I lead,” it said decisively, and McKee allowed it to do so.

  Because most of the battalion was sleeping, and no alarm had been given, the five of them were able to slip from shadow to shadow. Jones had difficulty walking at first, but the farther they went, the more his mobility improved, and that was good because the defensive perimeter lay directly ahead.

  McKee’s already-pounding heart felt as if it was going to beat its way out of her chest as the sound of shouting was heard—and a flare went off high above. “Get down!” she said. “And don’t run until I tell you to.”

  A ditch fronted by stacked logs lay directly in front of them, and she ran straight at it. “The prisoners are escaping!” she shouted. “Over there! Get them!”

  The legionnaires assigned to defensive position were already looking her way because of the noise and the flare. So when they saw the familiar silhouette of a helmet and gear, they took off in the direction she was pointing. She waved the others forward. “Now! Run.”

  The edge of the forest was only a hundred feet away, but it seemed like miles as McKee supported one of the governor’s arms and the Droi took the other. Marcy and Cia were up ahead and glanced back occasionally to make sure the others were there.

  Then all hell broke loose as somebody spotted the fugitives and opened fire. Bullets threw geysers of dirt into the air as McKee let go of Jones and skidded to a halt. A projectile whined past her head as she turned and brought the AXE up at the same time. The burst was high and had the desired effect. A legionnaire dived for cover—and that bought time for the fugitives to reach the tree line.

  As McKee entered the protection of the trees, she discovered that the indig was waiting for her. More flares had been fired by then, and some of the harsh light made it through the foliage. The Droi looked a lot like Insa, but had wrinkly skin, which she assumed to be a sign of age. “My name is Anslo. You?”

  “McKee.” She gave the same name that she had given Insa.

  “McKee follow.” And with that, Anslo took the governor’s left arm and turned east.

  McKee gave herself the task of walking drag, and hadn’t gone more than a hundred feet when more Droi materialized around her. At that point she realized that the indigs had been present all along, watching the battalion and waiting for a chance. Now they were filling in behind the fugitives and . . . McKee had a horrible thought and hurried to catch up with Anslo. Once she was alongside the Droi, it was difficult to jog and speak at the same time. “T-1s . . . The Legion will send T-1s . . . And we can’t outrun them.”

  “No worry,” Anslo replied. “The P-Yani block.”

  Block? How the hell could the Droi block a T-1? The answer arrived moments later and was headed in the opposite direction. The P-Yani were about the size of a small horse, with warthoglike tusks and big, three-toed feet. And there were hundreds of them, all thundering west. Normally the P-Yani were a source of nutrient-rich blood, meat, and leather for the Droi. Now they were an army.

  The governor’s party was forced to take shelter behind one of the forest giants as the P-Yani flowed around them. Gunfire could be heard in the distance as the animals came into contact with the Legion. McKee could imagine the T-1s trying to move forward but being pushed back by a tidal wave of flesh and bone. Some would open fire on the animals. Others would wait them out. They were blocked either way.

  “Come!” Anslo said, and waved the party forward. Most of the herd had already streamed past, but it was necessary to dodge stragglers as the group headed east. Rather than beat obstacles down the way the T-1s had on the trip to the wreck, the Droi seemed to slip between them, like water through a streambed.

  Because McKee was still wearing her helmet, she could “see” the distance traveled on her HUD and knew they were making good time. So by the time the sun rose in the east, and sunlight pooled on the forest floor, the fugitives were deep inside the Big Green.

  Drones passed over on two different occasions, prompting McKee to turn her helmet off lest the navy home in on the tracking signal it produced. That meant she was cutting herself off from her new family—and it was as difficult as giving up her former identity had been. But all she could do was grit her teeth and keep going.

  McKee had seen the remains of a
Droi village on the way to the wreck—so as they entered the forest encampment she recognized it as a temporary affair. At least two hundred Droi were present, and they were armed with a hodgepodge of weapons. There were no fires other than those used to make tea, and they produced very little smoke. Shelters consisted of leather tarps strung up between smaller trees—or draped over vines that stretched from trunk to trunk.

  Anslo was welcomed in a fashion that suggested considerable respect, as was Governor Jones, and to a lesser degree the rest of his party, including McKee. Not long thereafter, Anslo and Jones were asked to participate in a meeting. That left McKee sitting at the foot of a tree and feeling lost until Marcy brought her a pot of tea. The next hour was spent catching up.

  McKee told Marcy about her adventures since that fateful day on Esparto. And Marcy gave an account of what had occurred since the initial purge. Like McKee’s parents, thousands of other people had been systematically executed by Tarch Hanno and the newly created Bureau of Missing Persons. And that was why Marcy had been sent to Orlo II—in the hope that she would be safe there.

  But, according to Marcy, it wasn’t safe anywhere. And the only reason she hadn’t been killed was the heavy security that surrounded her uncle and the manner in which the rebellion acted to screen her from synths like Jivv. But now that the uprising had been crushed, her only hope was to escape from Orlo II. “There are smugglers,” she explained. “People who live out on the rim, where Ophelia is nothing more than a dirty word. They trade with the Droi and Uncle Naoto says we might be able to book passage with one of them. If we do, I’ll make sure he takes you along. He owes you . . . We all do.”

  The conversation ended shortly thereafter as Marcy left to return the teapot and cups to their owner. And for the first time since deserting, McKee had a moment to think about her future. The plan to get off Orlo II and travel to a safe place made sense except for one thing. McKee wanted to bring Ophelia down. And more than that, to kill her. However unrealistic such an ambition might be. Could she accomplish that out on the rim? It was something to think about.

  McKee found a mossy nook to lie down in and fell asleep with the AXE clutched in her arms. Dreams came and went. None were good. So when Marcy woke her, McKee was happy to escape wherever she’d been.

  The sun had arced across the treetops by then and was settling into the west. McKee sat up and wished that she could brush her teeth. “Sorry to bother you,” Marcy said. “But a rebel leader named Howard Trask arrived an hour ago. He’s going to meet with Anslo and my uncle. You’re invited.”

  McKee said, “Thanks,” and scrambled to her feet. Her uniform was a mess, but she did the best she could to brush it off. How was she going to get civilian clothes? Or anything else, for that matter. What little bit of money she had was back with the battalion.

  Such problems would have to wait, however, as she followed Marcy to a grove of trees where Anslo, Jones, and a man she’d never seen before were seated on the ground. Food, all heaped on large leaves, sat in front of them. McKee’s stomach growled at the sight of it.

  “There you are!” Jones said cheerfully as he came to his feet. The governor had a black eye as well as various cuts and bruises on his face. An indication of the treatment McKee could expect if she was captured. “Please have a seat,” he said. “You’re the guest of honor.”

  McKee didn’t feel like the guest of honor as Anslo welcomed her to the circle, and she was introduced to Howard Trask. He was a short man, with a barrel-shaped chest, and thick arms. He had white hair cut short, twinkling blue eyes, and a two-day growth of beard. A huge paw swallowed McKee’s hand. “It’s a pleasure, little lady! Thank God you were there. Odds are the governor and his family would be dead otherwise. You were very brave.”

  McKee couldn’t accept such praise. Especially since part of her regretted taking the action she had. So she mumbled something by way of a reply, accepted the invitation to eat, and loaded a leaf with strips of spicy meat, sliced fruit, and a tangy concoction that reminded her of sauerkraut. Meanwhile, the strategy session got under way.

  McKee was only half listening at first since the others were discussing people and events that she knew little to nothing about. But then, as talk turned to the battalion, she began to pay more attention. “This is a wonderful opportunity,” Trask was saying. “Spurlock is an idiot. His so-called battalion is so far from Riversplit that Rylund can’t reinforce him, and for reasons we’re not sure of, the navy isn’t as active as it was earlier, so he won’t get much help from above. Spurlock put his neck on the chopping block. The least we can do is chop it off for him.”

  “I agree,” Jones added grimly. “Let’s teach the loyalists a lesson. Once the battalion has been destroyed, they’ll think twice before they send more troops into the Big Green.”

  Not too surprisingly, Anslo had a similar view. As McKee listened to the Droi, she could imagine a scene in which thousands of warriors attacked the battalion at once. Echo Company would give a good account of itself, but even they could be overrun. That was a horrible thought. So she listened carefully, hoping to hear a date and time. But no mention of that was made, leaving her to wonder as the light continued to fade, and the meeting came to a conclusion.

  A Droi led her to a lean-to, where a neatly folded trade blanket and a gourd full of water were waiting. After brushing her teeth with a finger, she lay down and wrapped the blanket around her body. But try as she might, sleep wouldn’t come. Not while her friends were at risk. Yet what could she do? Leave the Droi encampment and warn them? That would amount to a double betrayal. First the Legion, then those who opposed Ophelia’s corrupt government.

  And what if she was able to alert the battalion? What then? Jivv would kill her. But maybe that was okay if it would save her unit. More than that, maybe she deserved to die given what she’d done.

  At some point the roiling thoughts gave way to an uneasy sleep. But not for long. When McKee awoke, it was still dark, and much to her surprise, she knew what to do. It wasn’t right, not by a long shot, but a decision had been made.

  McKee unwound the blanket, sat up, and began to consider her options. Ideally, she would take the blanket, the AXE, and the helmet with her. It was going to be a difficult trip through the forest, and all three items would come in handy.

  But if she took them Anslo, Jones, and Trask would know what she was up to and attempt to track her down. Whereas if she left such important items behind, it would appear that she had gotten up in the middle of the night, wandered off to take a pee, and gotten lost in the darkness. Yes, they would still search for her, but not in the same way. And if they did manage to find her, she could use the story, and they would believe her. That made sense, so the decision was made.

  But while McKee planned to leave the blanket, AXE, and helmet behind, she still had her body armor, knife, pistol, and lots of ammo. Because the assault rifle and the handgun were chambered for the same 4.7mm rounds. That, plus the compass function built into her chrono, would see her through.

  McKee used quick blips from her flashlight to scan the ground for any other items, spotted the water gourd, and wished she could take it. But that wouldn’t make sense. Not for someone who had gotten up to go relieve herself. She could take a drink from it, however, and did.

  She feared that leaving the encampment would be difficult but quickly discovered that the Droi were a good deal more lax than the Legion was, having placed their sentries hundreds of feet apart. That allowed her to slip between two of them and follow a gully downhill. Two of Orlo II’s moons were up. The trees blocked most of the silvery light—but some of it found its way to the forest floor. And luminescent insects darted here and there. Each was like a flying jewel—and they were comforting somehow.

  McKee paused every now and then to listen. But all she heard were the usual night sounds and the gentle rasp of her own breathing. Eventually, the gully opened into a small stream that led west. The Droi were good trackers, but even they couldn’t fol
low her through running water.

  Roughly half a mile later, McKee was forced to leave the stream when it turned north. At that point she figured it was safe to probe the area ahead using occasional blips from her flashlight. Doing so not only kept her from colliding with obstacles but provided a measure of psychological comfort as well.

  And there were things to be afraid of in the darkness. Every ecosystem has predators. She knew next to nothing about the creatures that lived in the Big Green except for the fact that some of them were noisy. She was reminded of boot camp on Drang as something screeched—and was answered from a long way off.

  Such sounds were frightening, and caused her to put a hand on her pistol more than once. However, if the days spent on Drang had taught her anything, it was that the most dangerous animals were frequently silent. Especially when stalking their prey.

  But there was nothing she could do except stay alert and keep going. The idea was to get well outside the area the Droi would search by the time the sun came up. Such were McKee’s thoughts as she felt the first stomach cramp.

  It came out of nowhere, caused her to double up in pain, and was followed by a bout of nausea. Then, after a minute or so, she felt fine. McKee remembered the food heaped on leaves—and the water in the gourd. It seemed that one or more of the dishes she had consumed didn’t agree with her or was spoiled. Great, McKee thought to herself as she climbed over a half-rotten log. That’s just what I need.

  The nausea returned two minutes later. Then the food came up. She heaved, and continued to do so even after there was nothing left to throw up. It felt as if she would be turned inside out. But maybe that was good. Maybe she would feel better once the bad stuff had been purged from her body. That was her hope. But it wasn’t the case. The dry heaves were followed by more stomach cramps. And they were so painful that she could barely walk as she sought a place to curl up and die.

  McKee turned the flashlight on and kept it on long enough to spot an overgrown stump and what looked like a hole between two enormous roots. It would have to do. She was staggering forward when she felt a pressing need to defecate.