McKee heard Rylund say, “Enter,” and followed Kinzo into an office which, judging from the way it was decorated, had been intended for use by Governor Jones. Rylund wasn’t smoking, but the aroma of cherry-flavored pipe tobacco permeated the room. She was shocked to see how much Rylund had aged during the last month or so. “Corporal McKee,” he said as he circled the ornate desk. “You’ve been busy since the last time I saw you.”
Did Rylund really remember her? Or had he been briefed by Kinzo? McKee decided that it didn’t matter as the officer shook her hand and went on to welcome Larkin and Insa. Somehow, Rylund knew that a bow was called for where the Droi was concerned and was familiar with the greeting ritual as well. “I see you, Insa.”
“And I, you,” Insa replied solemnly.
“You are welcome here,” Rylund said formally. “Please have a seat. I am anxious to speak with you. But I’d like to ask McKee for a report first. Would that be agreeable?”
“Insa wait,” the Droi said, and sat on one of the well-padded chairs. Rylund rested his weight on the corner of the desk while McKee stood at something approximating parade rest. Larkin was behind her, and she hoped he was behaving himself.
“I know Captain Avery sent you here for a reason,” Rylund said. “But, before we get into that, I’d like to know how the mission to find Governor Jones went. And get a readout on the battalion. We could use some more troops.”
McKee felt a profound sense of relief. Spurlock was still MIA—and very likely dead. And so, for that matter, was Jivv. Were it otherwise, Rylund would know, or at least think that he knew, what had occurred. So she could describe the situation in whatever way she chose. But how? Should she tell Rylund everything? Her real identity, what Jivv had done, and Spurlock’s complicity in three homicides? Or should she lie by providing a narrative that omitted any mention of her role in the governor’s escape, the fact that she had witnessed his death, and subsequently been charged with a long list of crimes? Remembering that whatever she did would affect Avery as well.
Rylund was staring at her, and McKee realized that at least five seconds had passed. She cleared her throat, and said, “Sir, yes sir.” What followed was a report that was accurate in every respect except where her activities were concerned. The way she told the story, the governor and his party managed to escape on their own, were recaptured, and disappeared shortly thereafter. She wasn’t sure, but rumor had it that they had been killed by Jivv and the bodies disposed of.
Rylund winced when he heard that but didn’t seem terribly surprised, and said, “Go on.”
McKee was committed to her lie by that time and knew that both Larkin and Insa could contradict her account if they chose to. It was tempting to look at them, but she managed to resist. She said, “Yes, sir,” and resumed the narrative. The balance of the report was much easier to give. McKee told Rylund about how the battalion had been ambushed on the bridge, the EMP bomb, and how Avery had assumed command.
“What happened to Lieutenant Colonel Spurlock?” Rylund demanded.
“He disappeared during the fighting, sir,” McKee replied. “Along with Monitor Jivv.”
Rylund looked at Kinzo. “You’re recording this?”
Kinzo pointed at one of the cameras located in a corner of the room. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Rylund said as he turned back to McKee. “Please continue.”
McKee’s throat felt dry. Her lies were being recorded. And if either Spurlock or Jivv came back from the dead, the report would be used against her. “Yes, sir. That’s where Representative Insa comes in. It was his forces who, with the help of a rebel agent named Trask, set the ambush. They captured us. That was when Captain Avery and Representative Insa began to discuss the possibility of an alliance.”
Rylund turned to Insa. His voice was stern. “I find myself in a difficult position. You and your people killed some of my legionnaires. Yet Corporal McKee says that you are interested in forming an alliance. What should I believe?”
“Hate Hudathans,” Insa said. “Kill.”
Rylund smiled grimly. “You are the first diplomat in my experience to word a response so clearly and succinctly. And I agree with your sentiment.”
Kinzo cleared his throat at that point. “Excuse me, sir, but judging from the expression on Private Larkin’s face, he wants to say something.”
McKee turned to look and saw that Kinzo was correct. She’d seen that expression before. The frown, the squinty eyes, and the downturned mouth were all signs of an impending eruption. And there was no way to know what the volatile legionnaire would say. “Is that correct?” Rylund inquired politely. “If so, get whatever it is off your chest.”
McKee’s heart fell as Larkin spoke. “The corporal left some stuff out, sir. Important stuff.”
“Oh, really,” Rylund responded with a raised eyebrow. “Please enlighten us.”
“Well,” Larkin began, “McKee mentioned the EMP blast, and what it did to the cyborgs, but she didn’t tell you who got them up and running again.”
Rylund smiled. “Corporal McKee?”
“Damned straight, sir, begging your pardon. She’s better than all of our techs, and she never went to school!”
McKee groaned internally. In his effort to make sure she received credit for repairing the T-1s, Larkin had opened a door that she wanted to keep closed. “That’s very impressive,” Rylund said. “Thank you, Private. It seems that the corporal is far too modest. So, McKee, how do you account for your skills?”
McKee’s eyes were fixed on a point directly over the officer’s head. She decided that the best course was to tell the same lie she had used before. “I worked in the factory that makes T-1s prior to joining the Legion, sir.”
“And we failed to offer you a tech slot?”
“No, sir. I want to fight. Sir.”
Rylund chuckled. “Most techs would take exception to that comment, but I understand. It seems that Captain Avery made a good decision when he recommended you for corporal. And I was smart enough to approve his recommendation.”
That was news to McKee, who didn’t know that Rylund was even aware of such trivial matters. “So an alliance was formed,” Rylund said. “What then?”
Rylund listened to the rest of it without interrupting her. That included McKee’s account of the trip through the forest, her observations from the hilltop, and the decision to charge straight in. Once the narrative was over, Rylund shook his head in amazement. “That took imagination and guts,” he said. “I’m glad you made it. I’m going to instruct Captain Kinzo to put all five of you in for decorations. And, as of today, you can add another chevron to your arm. We can’t have corporals leading cavalry charges. It makes the rest of us look bad.”
The promotion to sergeant came as a shock. And McKee knew she didn’t deserve it. “Thank you, sir. But I don’t think . . .”
“Sergeants do think,” Rylund said. “Well, they’re supposed to anyway. Now let’s bring Representative Insa back into this conversation. I’d like to know how many warriors he can bring to bear on the situation, how they’re armed, and where they are.”
The officers spent the next thirty minutes quizzing Insa about the Droi and their capacity to fight. According to Insa, there were at least ten thousand warriors within a three-hundred-mile radius of Riversplit. Of course, that number was a bit deceiving because while all of the Droi were considered to be warriors, they were also hermaphrodites, and that meant some of them had parental responsibilities. Plus, some of the population was too old or too ill to fight. Those factors brought the number of effectives down to something like five thousand Droi. Not as many as Rylund would have liked but a respectable force nevertheless.
But because the Droi were lightly armed, and lacked the supplies required for a protracted conflict, it was clear that they wouldn’t be able to do much more than harass the Hudathans. Still, anything that took pressure off Riversplit would be welcome.
But as the Q & A session came to an end, it was
clear that Rylund planned to do something more than prolong the existing standoff. “Thank you, Representative Insa. Your forces would be no match in a head-to-head battle with the Hudathans. But there’s more than one way to win a war. And the Droi could be a critical element in winning this one.
“Take a look at this,” Rylund said as he pointed a remote at a large wall screen. Video blossomed and resolved itself into an aerial map. “Once the fleet withdrew, the Hudathans destroyed our surveillance satellites,” Rylund said, “so this image is a few weeks old. But the basics are there.”
“Excuse me, sir,” McKee said. “I’m not sure that Representative Insa is familiar with satellite maps.”
“Thank you, Sergeant . . . Good point.” Rylund provided Insa with a short tutorial and, as with so many things, the Droi demonstrated a remarkable capacity to make complex things seem simple. “Like looking from treetop,” it said. “Only higher.”
Rylund grinned. “Exactly. So here’s where we are.” As he pointed the remote at the map, a red dot appeared and described circles around Riversplit. “And here,” he continued, “is the river from which the city takes its name. You’ll notice that as we follow it westward, we come to this structure, which is the Howari Dam. It supplies power to the area—or did until the shovel heads cut the transmission lines. And here, backed up behind it, are some 3 million cubic yards of water. I’ll bet Sergeant McKee can tell us why that’s important.”
McKee had already noticed the topography and come to the conclusion that the dam had been constructed to provide something more than power. “It looks like the Hudathans are sitting on a floodplain, sir. It’s my guess that the dam is used to keep the area dry. So if we could blow it, a wall of water would surge down the valley and sweep the enemy away. Everything but the city of Riversplit.”
“Exactly,” Rylund said as his eyes darted from face to face. “And the Hudathans aren’t stupid. They know that. And they know that the dam could be quite useful to them after they win the war. That’s why they spared it.”
“We tried to blow the dam right after the navy withdrew,” Kinzo interjected. “A full platoon of commandos from the 2nd REP went in. Only one of them made it back.”
McKee looked at Insa, but the Droi appeared to be unfazed. And when it held out a hand, Rylund surrendered the remote. “Look,” Insa said. “Here and here. Forest all around. We come. We kill.”
Rylund smiled grimly as he lit his pipe. His words emerged with puffs of smoke. “That’s what I hoped you would say. And I believe such an attack will work providing that you have the right kind of support. That would be Captain Avery, Sergeant McKee, and what remains of Echo Company.”
Insa nodded. “That good. Like Avery. Like McKee.”
“Excellent. The trick will be to get all of you out of Riversplit without another cavalry charge. It worked once, but it won’t work twice. Captain Kinzo will find a place where you can grab some shut-eye. We’ll get to work on the necessary logistics.”
The meeting came to an end at that point, which was a considerable relief to McKee since she’d been terrified throughout. She had lied not once, but numerous times, and emerged unscathed. That was a miracle, or so it seemed to her.
A private gave each of them an MRE and led them out of the command center. A narrow staircase took them up to a warren of small offices that had been assigned to the governor’s staff. They had been repurposed in the wake of the Hudathan attack and now served as what the private referred to as “rack rooms.”
McKee was given a space of her own, but Larkin and Insa were assigned to the same space. Bunk beds had been installed, and Larkin wasted no time in claiming the lower slot for himself. McKee was too tired to intervene and left Insa to fend for himself as she entered the room assigned to her and locked the door. After stashing her helmet and AXE in a corner, she was thrilled to discover that the former office had a tiny bathroom, complete with a shower.
Having stripped off her body armor and filthy clothes, she stepped into the shower only to discover that the water was cold, and the previous occupant had left little more than a wafer of soap behind. But even that was heavenly.
Ten minutes later, having dried herself off with a scratchy towel, McKee did something she hadn’t done before. There was a mirror, a small one to be sure, but a mirror nonetheless. By turning her back to it and looking over her shoulder, she could see the damage inflicted there. The raised ridges made a crisscross pattern on her previously unblemished flesh. They were ugly, like snakes crawling under her skin, and she burst into tears. Unable to bear the sight anymore, she turned out the light, fell onto the bed, and hugged a pillow to her chest. Tears flowed, and sobs racked her body, until sleep bore her away.
* * *
The sun was up, and the sky was blue, but War Commander Ona-Ka didn’t care. He took no pleasure from sunny days—and never felt depressed when it rained. For him, weather was a variable and nothing more. And as the half-track bore him along the main highway that led to Riversplit, he was glad that his tanks wouldn’t have mud to cope with. For the most part he liked what he saw. The regiment’s vehicle parks were safely beyond the range of the Legion’s largest guns, its supplies were stored in well-constructed bunkers, and the troops marching along the side of the road were in good condition.
But for some unfathomable reason three of the Legion’s cyborgs had been allowed to run unopposed down the highway the night before. That was why he was on the ground a few miles south of Riversplit. He wanted to see the damage the humans had inflicted firsthand—and make sure such a travesty never happened again. Though not a crippling blow, the loss of personnel and materials was painful because of the long supply line he had to deal with. So as the half-track came to a stop near the remains of three burned-out transports, he was in a bad mood.
Commander Urlo-Ba was among those who were waiting for him along with Lance Commander Horba-Sa, who had responsibility for that sector. All of the officers came to attention and remained that way until Ona-Ka said, “At ease.”
“So,” Ona-Ka said without any preliminaries, “they broke through the roadblock south of here, ran up the highway, and destroyed all three of these vehicles. How is such a thing possible?”
“It was my understanding that the area to the rear had been secured,” Horba-Sa replied.
“Do you read the intelligence reports that come your way twice a day?”
The truth was that Horba-Sa was extremely busy, and one of his subordinates did that for him. But he couldn’t say so. “Yes, I do.”
“Then you noticed that during the day prior to the attack a drone spotted three cyborgs traveling north—and a gunship was sent to intercept them.”
It was a trap, but Horba-Sa had read the Intel summary prepared by his subordinate. “That’s true,” he replied, “and the gunship reported that the targets were destroyed.”
“The gunship’s crew was wrong,” Ona-Ka replied coldly. “Of course, you had no way to know that. But surely you wondered where the cyborgs had come from—and why they were headed north. So you sent a team to recover the bodies on the chance that we could learn something from them. Correct?”
That wasn’t correct. Horba-Sa had assumed the cyborgs were stragglers who hoped to rejoin Legion forces. The possibility that they might be on a mission of some sort had never occurred to him. So there had been no reason to retrieve the bodies. He forced himself to meet Ona-Ka’s implacable gaze. “No, I didn’t.”
Ona-Ka nodded. “That’s what I thought. I’m relieving you of command. Which would you prefer? A court-martial or a voluntary reduction in rank to file leader?”
Horba-Sa knew that a court-martial might clear him, but the chances were slim. And if the decision went against him, the outcome could be far worse than a loss of rank. He swallowed. “I request a reduction in rank to file leader.”
Ona-Ka held out a hand. Horba-Sa removed the glowing command stone from the center of his combat harness and gave it over. The jewel felt cold in O
na-Ka’s hand. Ona-Ka took no pleasure in bringing the other officer down. What he wanted was information. Why would three cyborgs and their riders risk their lives to enter Riversplit? The answer could mean something or nothing at all.
* * *
After six hours of sleep, McKee was woken by someone pounding on the door and the news that she was scheduled to attend a briefing in half an hour. She took another cold shower, put on the same filthy uniform, and collected her gear. Larkin was waiting in the hall. Even though his face was bruised, he was trying to look nonchalant. A square-jawed MP was standing next to him. “Sergeant McKee?”
“Yes?”
“Private Larkin found his way into a private club a mile from here, had too much to drink, and started a fight.”
“I won,” Larkin said proudly.
“Under normal conditions, we would lock his ass up,” the MP said. “But we were told to hand him over to you.”
McKee nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
Larkin made a face and grinned.
The MP scowled and left. McKee turned to Larkin. “Where’s your gear?”
“In my room.”
“Get it. We’re supposed to be in a briefing right now.”
“What? No lecture?”
“Would it do any good?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought. Move.”
Ten minutes later, they arrived in the command center, where Insa and Kinzo were waiting for them. McKee apologized for being late but got the impression that the officer knew all about Larkin’s late-night adventures and was content to leave the matter in her hands. “We recruited some specialists for you,” Kinzo said. “People who are good at blowing things up. This will be an opportunity to meet them, study the dam, and lay some initial plans. Then we’ll load your team onto the last assault boat we have and fly you back to Avery. He’ll be in command of the mission, but you’ll provide advice where the bridge is concerned. So pay attention. Any questions?”
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