Andromeda's Fall

by William C. Dietz

  The thought of shitting her pants, and doing so in a place where it would be almost impossible to get them clean, drove her to clamp down long enough to get her pants down. Having no toilet paper, she had to use handfuls of moss instead.

  Then came the need to put some distance between the scat and herself lest the odor attract animal attention. Thus began a painful trek as McKee forced herself to keep walking. Eventually, the beam from her flashlight swept across a jumble of rocks. As she came closer, she saw a hole between two of them.

  With one hand clutched to her stomach, she fell to her knees in front of the opening and began to crawl inside. That was stupid, of course, since there was a very real possibility that the cavelike space was occupied. If so, an animal might come charging toward her at any moment. And as McKee entered, there was evidence of habitation including tufts of fur, a scattering of well-gnawed bones, and a desiccated corpse about the size of a raccoon. The previous owner? Yes, she thought so, but felt so sick that she didn’t care who or what shared the cave with her.

  McKee turned the flashlight off in order to conserve power, curled up into the fetal position, and allowed herself to cry. The pain began to abate after a while, and nothingness took her in. Later, when she awoke, it was to see rays of sunshine streaming down through small holes above. She was thirsty. Very thirsty. So get some water, she told herself. But when she attempted to do so, the effort was too much, and she collapsed. The cave began to spin, she felt dizzy, and a whirlpool pulled her down.

  It seemed like years later when thunder rolled and a drop of water hit her right eyelid. McKee blinked and blinked again as another droplet splashed against her face. Only a small effort was required to reposition herself so that the liquid landed in her mouth. The rainwater tasted sweet as it hit her tongue. But there wasn’t enough of it. She forced herself to flip over and crawl outside. The downpour soaked her back within a matter of seconds. But then, as she rolled over, the full force of the rain hit her face. She drank it in coughing, swallowing, and opening her mouth for more.

  Bit by bit, McKee felt strength return to her body. It wasn’t long before she was up collecting large leaves to use as bowls. And as water collected in them, she went from leaf to leaf, drinking her fill.

  Then, unable to consume another drop, McKee retreated to the cave. There were leaks, but she could dodge the worst of them by leaning against the back wall. That was when she noticed the dry twigs that had been part of the previous occupant’s nest. After scooping the detritus into a pile, and throwing the body of the dead animal on top, she lit a fire with her lighter.

  The twigs caught, crackled, and sent flames up under the desiccated corpse. Soon it was burning, too, and McKee had a fire. Smoke billowed, found its way up through cracks, and disappeared. She held her hands out, took in the warmth, and wished she had something to eat. Even an MRE would have been welcome.

  Then she remembered the battalion, the mission she had set for herself, and the importance of time. A quick look at the chrono confirmed her worst fears. More than a day had passed since she’d left the encampment. When were the Droi going to attack? She didn’t know. All she could do was dry out, wait for the rain to ease, and start walking.

  The rain stopped half an hour later, the sun appeared, and McKee left the cave. The combination of heat and moisture turned the forest into a steam bath. And that made the hike uncomfortable. There were other things to worry about, however, including the need to stay on course and the persistent feeling that someone or something was following her. But was that really the case? Or was the crawling sensation between her shoulder blades the product of an overactive imagination?

  McKee paused frequently to look around yet saw nothing. So she climbed a tree in order to spot her pursuer and returned to the ground with no more than some additional scrapes and scratches as a reward for her effort. And as she resumed her march, the crawling sensation went away.

  But not for long. Fifteen minutes later, it returned and McKee was beginning to wonder. Was a lack of food affecting her mind? In an effort to solve the mystery once and for all, she doubled back, searched for the trail she had left, and followed it. Her spoor consisted of broken twigs, a bare spot where a patch of moss had been dislodged from a log, and a boot print next to a stream. And there, partially obscuring the impression she had left, was a second print.

  The creature that was following her had widely splayed toes, and judging from the depth of the print, it was big. The realization sent a chill down her spine as she straightened up and took a long, slow look around. But there was nothing to see other than the rays of sunlight that were slanting down from above, the insects that darted from one place to another, and the lush greenery all around.

  McKee continued to walk until the sun was only a dimly seen presence and the evening gloom started to close in on her. She knew it was important to find a place to spend the night and to do so while there was light to see by. At least half a dozen potential hidey-holes were considered and rejected during the next half hour, and she was more than a little worried by the time she spotted the trees.

  There were three of them all clustered together so that their branches intersected. And at one point, which she estimated to be about twelve feet off the ground, there was a spot where she could create a serviceable sleeping platform by laying saplings across some intersecting limbs.

  Conscious of the fading light and the fact that she was unlikely to find anything better, McKee went out to harvest what she needed. She came across a cluster of what looked like melons, except they had woody shells that reminded her of coconuts, and grew on the ground instead of up in trees.

  The mere thought of food set her stomach to rumbling—and she dropped the armful of freshly cut sticks to inspect her find. She had to stab one of the globes in order to penetrate the outer surface. Then it was possible to make a continuous cut and divide the object in half. Five rather large seeds were clustered at the center of each hemisphere and surrounded by relatively soft, apricot-colored flesh. It smelled familiar, and a taste confirmed her suspicion. Here was some of the same fruit that had been served in the Droi encampment! Did that mean it was safe to eat? Or was it the cause of her stomach cramps? Consuming it would constitute a roll of the dice. But McKee knew she was going to chance it. Had to chance it or grow increasingly weak.

  The platform had to come first, however. Then, if she became sick, she would be up off the ground and well out of reach. As darkness fell, McKee was up on the platform trying to make herself comfortable, an activity that turned out to be a waste of time.

  So she turned her attention to the melons. After opening one of them she tried a seed. It was too bitter to eat, so she spit it out. That left the fruit. Her plan was to eat a small portion and wait for an hour. Then, if she hadn’t suffered any adverse effects, she would consume the rest of it.

  So McKee forced herself to chew slowly as she ate six chunks of fruit. There was lots of sweet juice, which she allowed to trickle down the back of her throat. Having consumed the allotment, she checked her chrono and allowed her back to rest on the centermost tree trunk. A howl came from very nearby and caught her by surprise. As McKee pulled the pistol out of its shoulder holster, the first cry was echoed by a second. There were at least two of them!

  A metallic click was heard as the flashlight mated with fittings on top of the pistol. Then, having turned the light on, McKee directed the beam down. What happened next came as a complete shock as a large animal jumped upwards, crashed through a couple of branches, and looked at her. It had big yellow eyes, and for one brief moment, they locked with hers before falling out of sight.

  The whole thing was so unexpected that McKee failed to get a shot off. She realized that the sleeping platform was too low. It should have been twenty feet off the ground. But it was too late to correct that, so all she could do was hold the handgun in the approved two-handed grip and wait for the next attack. It came seconds later as a big head struck the bottom of the plat
form and nearly knocked her off.

  As the animal dropped to the ground, McKee fired down through the floor and had the satisfaction of hearing a roar of outrage from below. That was her signal to holster the weapon and start climbing. There were plenty of branches, and in a matter of seconds she was able to put an additional six feet between herself and the platform.

  Having found a new perch, McKee directed the flashlight downwards, quartered the area below, and spotted two yellow eyes looking up at her. She knew that there were twenty-five shots left in the magazine. She managed to get ten of them off before the predator jumped sideways and out of the light. Most if not all of her bullets had hit the monster. But the puny 4.7mm ammo lacked enough punch to kill the beast. Not unless she could score some good head shots.

  That was what McKee was thinking when the predator hit one of the trees. All three of them shook, but she held on and was ready when the monster jumped up at her. This time she fired before the carnivore could reach apogee. And because the light was on it, she could see the hits as at least five of six rounds punched their way down through the top of the animal’s triangular skull and into its brain.

  The predator fell, hit hard, and lay sprawled below. As McKee’s light passed over the creature, she saw that it was larger than she had first imagined. It had shimmery skin, powerful hindquarters, and a hooked claw at the end of each forearm.

  Suddenly, the second predator appeared at the very edge of the flashlight’s reach and snarled menacingly. McKee had to tip the light up and away in order to reload. This time she would aim for the head first. But there was no need as the newcomer uttered a grunt of what might have been satisfaction and began to rip bloody chunks of meat off the still-warm body.

  McKee felt a tremendous sense of relief as she removed the flashlight from the pistol and restored the weapon to its holster. She wanted to return to the sleeping platform, or what was left of it, in order to get the melons, but thought it prudent to let a full ten minutes pass before doing so. Then, careful to make as little noise as possible, she descended branch by branch while pausing occasionally to make sure that the predator wasn’t paying attention to her.

  Once on the platform, she played the light across the floor until she spotted a melon. The rest had fallen through the hole the first monster made and were somewhere below. But this one remained. And as McKee edged her way over to it, she remembered how good the sample had been—and realized that her stomach felt fine! Perhaps the meat had been to blame for the cramps. Or the sauerkraut-like stuff. It didn’t matter. She had food!

  Five minutes later, McKee had climbed higher in the tree, settled into the crotch between two large branches, and opened the surviving melon. And as she gorged herself on fruit, the beast below continued to growl and gobble gobbets of raw meat. It was the most memorable meal of her life.

  After consuming the entire melon, and with her stomach full for the first time in two days, McKee slept sitting up. She woke frequently, once to hear the crunching of bones, before drifting off again. It made for a long night. But eventually she opened her eyes to discover that the sun was up, though just barely, as filtered light found the forest floor.

  McKee felt stiff as she knelt on the platform and peeked over the side. The second predator had departed. In its place were at least a dozen scaly meat eaters who were busy stripping the carcass. The scavengers scattered as McKee threw pieces of melon husk at them, but they didn’t go far. Dozens of beady eyes were on her as she lowered herself to within four feet of the ground and dropped the rest of the way.

  The smell associated with the carcass was horrible. So McKee did the best she could to breathe through her mouth as she recovered a melon and drew her pistol. Then, weapon at the ready, she began to move toward two of the weasel-like animals. They scurried out of the way. Once she was at what they considered to be a safe distance, the animals returned to their feast.

  Having checked the compass function on her chrono, McKee began to walk west. With light to see by and perfect weather, she made good time. And after an hour or so, she decided that the melon was something of an encumbrance and paused long enough to eat most of it. Then she was off again.

  Half an hour later, McKee entered a section of the forest that had been blackened by fire. Her first thought was that the Big Green was subject to the occasional burn-off just as any forest would be. But this fire was recent. So much so that the charred remains of spiky trees were still smoking. And a strange smell hung in the air. A distinctive odor that she knew to be fuel.

  Then McKee saw the first charred body, realized that she was looking at a dead Droi, and began to run. Each time one of her boots landed, it sent a cloud of gray ash into the air. Bodies lay everywhere, some whole, some in pieces—all blackened by the blanket of aerosolized fuel that had been sprayed over the forest and ignited.

  McKee tripped, fell, and struggled to her feet. Now she understood. She was late. Way too late. The attack had taken place. And in order to defend the battalion from what must have been thousands of Droi, Spurlock had called for an air strike and been granted one.

  Tears were streaming down McKee’s cheeks as she ran. And there, at the center of an area untouched by the fuel-fed fire, was the skeleton of a burned-out truck. Farther on, the wreckage of a Scorpion could be seen. Judging from the look of it, the armored car had taken a direct hit from a shoulder-launched missile. But that wasn’t the worst of it. There were metal grave markers. Rows of them. And beyond the makeshift graveyard the remains of a T-1 were visible.

  The cyborg was sitting with its back against a rock and its head slumped forward. One of its arms was missing, its body was riddled with shell holes, but it was too big to bury. McKee knelt in front of it, ran a wet thumb over the block printing on the T-1s chest, and read its name: Weber. Deep sobs racked her body as McKee said, “I’m sorry . . . So sorry. I should have died with you.” Contrails clawed the sky, a series of sonic booms chased each other across the land, and a blanket of silence settled over the battlefield.

  CHAPTER: 13

  * * *

  To continue on when there is no reason to hope . . . That is heroism.

  HIVE MOTHER TRAL HEBA

  Ramanthian Book of Guidance

  Standard year 1721

  PLANET ORLO II

  Having cried all the tears there were to cry, McKee stood. Then, after one last look at the desolation that surrounded her, she began to walk north toward Riversplit. She couldn’t survive in the Big Green, not for long, so there was nowhere else to go.

  What then? she wondered. I’ll be on an Imperial planet, in a loyalist city, with no money or connections. And both the synths and the Legion will be looking for me. Maybe I should save everyone the trouble and shoot myself.

  But McKee didn’t shoot herself. She remembered what her uncle Rex had said. “When the going gets tough—the tough get going.” The saying was trite, but true all the same. Plus, she had a purpose, and that was to bring Ophelia down.

  So she put one boot in front of the other and kept walking. And thinking. The trail was easy to follow. The battalion had left tire tracks, pod prints, and occasional pieces of litter in its wake. Where were they going? Riversplit most likely. Just like she was. But when had they left? A day ago? Or earlier that morning? It would pay to be careful lest she round a curve and run into the rear guard.

  But the danger, if any, wouldn’t last for long. Assuming the battalion was traveling at a steady 20–30 mph, it would soon leave her in the dust. Could she hitch a ride somehow? No, that wouldn’t be wise so long as she was in uniform. The Legion would put the word out, and people would be looking for a female deserter.

  Such were McKee’s thoughts as she followed the dirt track through the overarching jungle, between a couple of rocky hills, and up a rise. She paused at the top to survey the land ahead. But without binoculars, the chances of spotting the battalion were slim to none. So she made her way down the other side of the rise to a spot where a small stream cut
across the road. Rays of bright sunshine poured through a large opening in the jungle canopy to flood the area with light.

  With no canteen, it was important to drink when she could. McKee knelt next to the brook, cupped her hands, and drank her fill. She was splashing water onto her face when a shadow slipped over her head and fled north. She looked up, expecting to see a bird. But the drone wasn’t a bird. Not in the conventional sense anyway. There was a hollow sensation in the pit of her stomach as the machine banked and began to turn back. The aircraft had a smooth, nearly featureless fuselage and the long wings that enabled it to fly low and slow.

  All McKee could do was stand, turn, and run. The drone passed over her seconds later. It fired a machine gun, and bullets kicked up puffs of dust ahead of her. And she knew it could launch missiles, too. The message was clear: Stop running or die.

  McKee considered pulling the pistol and firing at the aircraft but knew the 4.7mm rounds wouldn’t bring it down. So she came to a reluctant stop and was forced to stand in the middle of the road as the vulturelike drone circled above. She knew it was sending real-time video of her to someone. But to whom? A navy ship in orbit? And then to the battalion? Yes. That made sense, and the hypothesis was confirmed when a cloud of dust appeared to the north, and a Scorpion armored car arrived minutes later.

  As the vehicle skidded to a stop, McKee placed the handgun on the ground, took three steps back, and locked her hands behind her neck. Doors opened, and three marines got out. Two of them pointed weapons at her while a sergeant bent to retrieve the pistol. The noncom knew his stuff as evidenced by the way he stayed out of the line of fire. “Corporal McKee?”

  “Yes.”