Andromeda's Fall

by William C. Dietz

  “No problem. I understand.”

  “Take this,” Corly said, and gave McKee the can of spray-on anesthetic. “Plus these. Take the antibiotic twice a day—and no more than one pain pill every four hours. They’re pretty potent.”

  McKee accepted the medications and put them in various pockets. “Thanks. A question before I go. Why is the battalion sitting here?”

  Corly looked surprised. “You don’t know? I guess you wouldn’t. The Droi attacked two days ago.”

  McKee remembered the battlefield and what she’d seen there. “Yes, I know that much.”

  “Well, Monitor Jivv was using some very special ammo. Bullets that can be tracked electronically. So any indig who caught one of Jivv’s slugs, and was carried away, could be followed. And that’s where Jivv is now. Out tracking them down. Once he gets back, we’ll pull out.”

  McKee felt sick to her stomach. The synth was alive! That was bad news. As was the fact that it was searching for the Droi. The indigs were sure to outnumber Jivv’s party. So what would the machine do if it found them? Call in another air strike? She remembered the smoking bodies and felt a sense of foreboding.

  The guards stepped into the spill of light from the tent as Corly led McKee out into the cool night air. “Don’t touch her back, make sure she has plenty of water, and bring her back at 0900. Copy?”

  One of the guards made a face. “Sure. Whatever.”

  “Be careful,” Corly cautioned. “If something happened to your shot record, you’d have to get all of them again.”

  The second man laughed. “She’s got you there, Pauley. Come on. Let’s put the bitch in her box.”

  Five minutes later, McKee was back in the bunker. New amenities had been added to the makeshift cell, including a blanket. She lay facedown on it. Her back hurt, she was under arrest, and Jivv would return soon. If McKee had ever been more miserable, she couldn’t remember when.

  Thanks to the pain pills, McKee was able not only to fall asleep but to stay that way, until another MRE was thrown into the bunker. It was 0813 and raining outside, a fact made obvious by the water that had begun to drip from above.

  Her back was sore, but not as bad as it had been the day before, and for that McKee was grateful as she opened the MRE. After sorting through the items within, she chose a small can of mixed fruit, crackers with jam, and a nut bar for her breakfast. It would have been nice to have a cup of tea, but she lacked a container to boil water in. She was still chewing the nut bar when she heard voices, and a Gray ducked into the bunker. “Get up and come with me. The colonel wants to see you.”

  McKee felt a stab of fear but was determined to hide it as she stood. “Good. He owes me an apology.”

  If the Gray thought the comment was funny, there was no sign of it on his face as he stepped to one side. McKee blinked and felt blood-warm raindrops hit her face as she emerged from the bunker. Troops were busy loading their gear onto trucks. It looked as though the battalion was preparing to pull out.

  The Gray placed a hand on her back and gave her a shove. It sent her stumbling forward. The pain was so intense that she wanted to cry out. It required an act of will to resist the impulse to and keep going. Most of the shelters had been taken down, or were in the process of coming down, but the command tent remained in place. And as McKee crossed the compound, she heard someone yell, “Camerone,” and knew that at least one of her fellow legionnaires was watching.

  A private held the tent flap to one side so that McKee could enter. There wasn’t much light, and most of the furniture had been removed, but the enclosure was far from empty. Spurlock was present, as were Jivv, Jones, Cia, and Marcy. It appeared as though Jivv’s efforts to track the Droi down had been successful.

  McKee could see that all three of the prisoners had been beaten. They were seated in a row, heads down, tied to folding chairs. “Ah,” Spurlock said as she entered. “The last piece of the puzzle has arrived. Bring the bitch forward so that Governor Jones can see her.”

  Another shove propelled McKee forward. The pain made her feel dizzy. Jivv was positioned behind Jones. He took control of the human’s head and tilted it upwards. “Look at her! She set you free. Why?”

  McKee was shocked by what she saw. There was an empty socket where one eye had been, the governor’s nose was split open, and dried blood covered his chin. As she looked at him, McKee saw something flicker in his eyes. Determination? Yes, she thought so. His voice was hoarse, as if from endless talking and a lack of water. “Who is she? I’ve never seen her before.”

  “You’re lying,” Jivv said as he released the politician’s head. “And that is very, very stupid.”

  McKee felt a rising sense of dread as the robot took up a position immediately behind Marcy. He grabbed a fistful of the woman’s badly tangled hair to use as a handle. Marcy’s eyes popped open as Jivv jerked her head back. Her face was black-and-blue from repeated beatings. But, judging from the question Jivv had put to Jones, none of the prisoners had revealed McKee’s actual identity. That was truly amazing, and she felt a deep sense of admiration for all three of them.

  The knife seemed to appear out of nowhere and Marcy whimpered as the razor-sharp blade drew blood. “Now,” Jivv said as he made eye contact with Jones, “I will ask again. Why did Corporal McKee help you to escape?”

  As Jones opened his mouth, McKee had no way to know what he would say. She spoke before he could. “Leave her alone. I’ll tell you.”

  “Good,” Jivv said expressionlessly. “Please do.”

  “My real name is Catherine Carletto.”

  “Ah,” Jivv said. “Fugitive 2999.”

  Spurlock looked confused. “Fugitive 2999? What are you talking about?”

  “That’s classified,” Jivv said as he drew the blade across Marcy’s throat.

  Marcy made a horrible choking sound as blood flooded her chest. McKee charged the robot, or tried to, but the guards had hold of her arms. “Our work is done here,” Jivv said as he produced a pistol. “Once I tidy up, the battalion can get under way.”

  The weapon made a popping sound as Jivv shot Cia in the back of the head. Then, having turned to Jones, he fired again. The governor’s head jerked and flopped sideways.

  By that time the pistol was swinging around, coming to bear on McKee, as Spurlock raised a hand in protest. “No! Stop! That’s an order.”

  McKee knew Spurlock wasn’t trying to protect her. He was shocked, confused, and trying to reassert his authority. There was a long moment of silence as Jivv continued to point the pistol at McKee. But three Grays were present in addition to those who were restraining McKee. And all of their weapons were aimed at Jivv. There was no way to know what the robot was thinking—although McKee could guess. Having killed three out of four targets, Jivv was willing to wait. The synth would get another chance during the journey to Riversplit. And that was when McKee would die.

  “Yes,” Jivv said as he lowered the weapon. “It shall be as you say. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will prepare for the trip.” Servos whined as the robot left the tent. Fugitives 1018, 1019, and 1022 had been terminated. It was, all things considered, a good day.

  CHAPTER: 14

  * * *

  The Legion is a lot of things . . . But it’s never easy.

  COMMAND SERGEANT MAJOR MARY MURDO

  Twenty Years of War

  Standard year 2617

  PLANET ORLO II

  The sky was gray and thunder muttered in the distance as McKee was escorted out into the compound. Dead. All of them were dead. Tears ran down her cheeks but were indistinguishable from the rain that soaked her hair and ran in rivulets down her face.

  It was obvious that the battalion was preparing to leave as McKee was led to one of the huge 8 X 8 trucks and ordered to climb in. She winced as she pulled herself up into the transport and her shirt made contact with raw flesh. Rain pattered on the canopy over her head as a stone-faced Gray pointed toward the front of the vehicle.

  In order t
o get there, McKee had to climb over cases of ammo and MREs. Rather than follow her forward, the guards sat opposite each other next to the fold-down tailgate. The perfect spot from which to look outside while they told each other largely fanciful war stories.

  Because of the weather and the truck’s canopy, the light was so dim that McKee didn’t realize another person was present until she sat down. Avery smiled grimly. “Hello, Corporal. Fancy meeting you here. How’s your back?”

  “Better, sir,” McKee said. “Thank you.”

  Avery frowned. “You were in the command tent. I saw the Grays take you there. What happened?”

  Before she could answer, there was a muted explosion, and both of them turned to look out through the back of the truck. All that remained of the command tent were pieces of flaming fabric that drifted down through the air and were quickly extinguished by the rain. Larger bits and pieces fell into puddles or landed in the mud. Engines started, orders were given, and the truck jerked ahead. The journey to Riversplit had begun.

  Avery swayed slightly as the truck lurched through a pothole. His voice was gentle but insistent. “What happened in the command tent, McKee? I need to know.”

  McKee remembered the look on Marcy’s face as Jivv cut her throat. The tears began to flow again. “Jivv killed the governor, his wife and niece. He was going to kill me, but Colonel Spurlock stopped him.”

  “Why?” Avery demanded. “Why did you desert? And why would Jivv want to kill you?”

  McKee looked at the guards and concluded that they were too far away to hear so long as she kept her voice down. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about her situation before and for good reason. Doing so could get both people killed. But Avery knew more than most. His brother was under suspicion. And he was under arrest. So maybe she could trust him. And there wasn’t any downside. Jivv knew her identity and was planning to kill her.

  Avery listened as McKee told her story from beginning to end. There were moments when he looked surprised, like when she told him her real name, and others when he was clearly impressed. The fight in the hotel on Esparto being one example. And the true account of Comacho’s death being another. But, with the exception of a prompt here and there, Avery remained silent until she was finished. Then, in what might have been an attempt to lighten the mood, he smiled. “So I have a celebrity in Echo Company.”

  “More like a troublemaker,” McKee replied. “I’m sorry, sir. You wouldn’t be under arrest if it wasn’t for me. It took guts to do what you did, and I appreciate it.”

  Avery shrugged. “I was doing my duty. But you’re welcome. I thought there was something different about Corporal McKee, and I was right.”

  “So what now?”

  “All we can do is wait,” Avery replied. “And hope for the best.”

  “I’m going down no matter what,” McKee put in. “But once we reach Riversplit, and Colonel Rylund gets involved, you might catch a break. I find it hard to believe that he would support charges against an officer who intervened to protect a legionnaire.”

  “Maybe,” Avery said grimly. “But there’s something you don’t know. Or I assume you don’t know.”

  McKee frowned. “What’s that?”

  “Remember the Hudathan wreck? And the pilot that the Droi captured? Well, the ridge heads attacked Poe’s fleet two days ago and broke through. And they have already started to land here and there. That’s why the battalion hasn’t been reinforced. So given everything that’s going on, Rylund won’t have time to worry about Captain Avery or Corporal McKee. Once the outfit arrives in Riversplit, we’ll be thrown into cells—and our cases will be handed off to Lord knows who. We might even find ourselves in front of a court dominated by Grays.”

  McKee thought about that. What Avery said was true but likely to apply to his situation rather than hers since she would be dead by then. But there was no point in saying that so she didn’t. The Hudathan landings were a surprise though—and they spent the next fifteen minutes speculating about how things would go.

  Then the point came when neither one of them had anything to add, so they lapsed into silence for a while. Eventually, they spoke about other things, including their childhoods. Avery’s had been similar to McKee’s but different as well. She was an only child, but he had two brothers. There was Frank, who was in charge of the family’s pharmaceutical company, and George. Avery described George as a lost soul, but he sounded like a slacker, who had been openly critical of Empress Ophelia, thereby placing the entire family in jeopardy. “You chose the Legion,” McKee said once Avery had finished. “Why?”

  Avery smiled. “There wasn’t any place for me in the family business—and I was looking for adventure. That sounds silly now—but I was seventeen when I applied to the academy.”

  “I was kicked out of school when I was seventeen,” McKee observed. “For the third time. They wanted me to go to classes.”

  Avery laughed. “And Corporal McKee is such a hard worker.”

  “Are you referring to the Steel Bitch?”

  “Yes, I am. The Steel Bitch is a good noncom. She gets things done.”

  There were sporadic bouts of conversation after that, but even though McKee enjoyed talking to Avery, the reality of what lay ahead made it difficult to think about anything else. Meanwhile, the convoy continued to plow forward but slowly given the weather. The road hadn’t been much to begin with, and the torrential rain quickly turned it to a soupy mess. As the T-1s moved forward, big clods of mud clung to their foot pods, and even the 8 X 8 trucks had a tendency to bog down in the muck, which brought the entire battalion to a stop until they were freed. The result was slow progress at best.

  Except for short breaks to relieve themselves, the prisoners were kept on the truck. Eventually, tedium took over, and they managed to doze for periods of time in spite of the jolting ride. As the light began to fade, the column came to a stop and formed a laager. McKee wondered if she and Avery were going to spend the night in a tent—but it soon became obvious that the prisoners and their guards were to remain on the truck.

  Four outposts were established a hundred yards out to warn the unit if it was about to be attacked—but that was the extent of the defenses that Spurlock put in place. “The man’s an idiot,” Avery said bitterly, and McKee knew he was thinking about Echo Company’s safety. And the fact that he was willing to say as much to an enlisted person was a measure of something. But what? Trust? She hoped so.

  In any case, Avery was correct. Spurlock’s failure to put more defensive measures in place was unforgivable, because if the enemy was shadowing the battalion, the results could be catastrophic. But maybe, just maybe, McKee could take advantage of the situation.

  The opportunity to do so had to do with the bulkhead that separated the driver’s compartment from the cargo area where she was sitting. It was solid. But at the center of the divider, about a foot off the floor, a metal plate was visible. And it looked as though the panel could be removed so that personnel could move back and forth between the cab and the back of the truck should that be necessary.

  Had the hatch been taken into consideration when the prisoners were ordered onto the truck? Or had the presence of the plate been overlooked? Because if it had, and McKee could access the cab, it would be relatively easy to slip out of the vehicle and vanish. The plan was chancy, to say the least, but she had nothing to lose.

  But what about Avery? The charge against him was serious, and he could be court-martialed, but there was also the possibility that Rylund would refuse to prosecute one of his officers for defending a legionnaire. In that case, Avery might be better off staying behind. Or the officer could wind up in front of a hostile court. McKee figured it could break either way.

  That was what she was thinking about when a couple of MREs were tossed toward the front of the cargo area. Avery was in the process of opening his when McKee spoke. “Sir, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  What light there was emanated from a dangling glow str
ip. Avery looked up. “Shoot.”

  McKee pointed to the panel. “I plan to remove that, enter the cab, and bail out.”

  Avery frowned. “What if the driver is sleeping in the cab?”

  “Then I’ll be SOL.”

  Avery opened a container of mixed fruit and ate a spoonful. “Okay, count me in.”

  McKee looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “I thought you were smarter than that. Sir.”

  Avery chucked. “So much for that theory.”

  There was a companionable silence while they ate. Then, once they were finished, McKee explained her plan. Her voice was pitched low. “The guards will expect us to lie down. Once we do so, it will difficult for them to see what we’re doing. That’s when we’ll open the panel. It shouldn’t be difficult. Six toggle-style latches are holding it in place.”

  “Roger that,” Avery said. “But let’s wait until most of the battalion is asleep.”

  “Absolutely . . . I agree.”

  “Then what?” Avery wanted to know. “Let’s say we make it into the forest. How will we survive?”

  “I don’t know,” McKee admitted. “But at least we’ll be free.”

  “All right. Let’s get some sleep. We’re going to need it.”

  She tried to sleep but couldn’t. Fears about what would happen if the escape attempt failed kept her awake—as did the possibility that it would succeed. Because, in Avery’s words, “Then what?”

  Time seemed to crawl by, and she was grateful when 0100, a time when all but those who had guard duty would be asleep, finally arrived. Apparently Avery had been awake, too, because as she stirred, so did he. It was difficult to see what the guards were doing. But that cut both ways, or McKee hoped that was the case as she went to work on the latches. The first four turned easily. But the fifth refused to budge. Perhaps it had always been tighter than the rest—or maybe it was rusted in place. In either case, the latch refused to give.

  Avery whispered, “Let me give it a try.”