Andromeda's Fall

by William C. Dietz

  “Yes, sir. How about our ’borgs? Are they coming with us?”

  “That’s affirmative. You’ll need them.”

  “And Eason, sir? How’s he doing?”

  “Raring to go,” Kinzo said with a grin. “We gave him a reconditioned war form, and he claims that you would be helpless without him.”

  McKee felt a tremendous sense of relief. “Thank you, sir.”

  Kinzo nodded and led them into a conference room already full of legionnaires. The same aerial photo she’d seen before was up on a screen. The mission had begun.

  * * *

  Shortly after overwhelming the city, the Legion had taken over the rebel air base that was located deep inside the hill that Riversplit was built on. Now, after weeks of fighting, there was only one airworthy ship left—and that was a fly-form named Kris Kelly.

  The cyborg’s combat-scarred body was crouched under a battery of bright lights as McKee, Insa, Larkin, and the rest of the team made their way up a steep ramp and into Kelly’s cargo compartment. Eason and the other T-1s were present, as were the demolition experts Rylund had selected for the mission. They included Staff Sergeant Randy Petit, Corporal Mary Muncy, and Private Christian Yamada. All were traveling with crates full of explosives. But if they were nervous about riding a target loaded with HE, they showed no signs of it.

  And that, McKee knew, was the way she should appear. Calm, cool, and collected. The problem was that she was scared—and for good reason. The Hudathans owned the air over and around Riversplit. So once the bombproof door opened, and Kelly shot out over the plain, all sorts of hell was going to break loose. And every shovel head who could would open fire.

  Rylund and his people knew that, of course. So they were going to launch drones that were rigged to broadcast electronic signatures identical to Kelly’s. The hope was that the decoys would draw most of the fire.

  That was good. But would it be enough? Noll, dour as usual, had referred to the escape plan as “a glorified crapshoot.” And for once he was right. No matter how many decoys they launched, and no matter how skilled Kelly was, survival would be a matter of luck.

  And pointless though it might seem, she didn’t want to embarrass herself moments before she died. So she took refuge inside her noncom persona and pretended to fall asleep. Sergeant Petit was seated directly across from her. If she looked at him, McKee was afraid that he would see the fear in her eyes. Plus, if she survived somehow, people would think she was cool under fire. A definite advantage for a sergeant known as the Steel Bitch.

  Servos whined as the hatch closed, and Kelly’s voice came over the intercom. It was surprisingly cheerful. “Strap in, and if you know some good prayers, this would be the time to say them.”

  Then, without further ado, the cyborg fired her repellers. McKee felt the fly-form lift off, turn toward the door that was already sliding open, and start to accelerate. What followed was like a very violent amusement-park ride. There were no viewports, so she wouldn’t have been able to see had her eyes been open. But she could feel. And that was bad enough.

  G-forces threw her sideways as Kelly shot out of the hill and into the darkness beyond. That was followed by a momentary drop as the cyborg entered a steep dive. Then, just when it seemed as if they would crash, the pilot pulled up. She was flying fifty feet above the ground at that point, an altitude so low that it would prevent the Hudathans from launching SAMs or employing their AA batteries. But there was nothing to stop the enemy from firing small arms. And as the fly-form passed over them, they opened up with rocket launchers, RPGs, and automatic weapons.

  McKee could hear clanging sounds as projectiles hit the hull, and felt the ship slew from side to side as Kelly pursued a zigzag course toward the south, strafing the Hudathans as she went. “Take that!” the pilot shouted over the intercom, and McKee felt the airframe shudder as a flight of six rockets sped toward whatever target Kelly had chosen.

  Then the ship flipped sideways, and Kelly produced a whoop of joy as she sped past the same hill that McKee and Larkin had climbed two nights earlier. A few moments later the fly-form leveled out and rose slightly as a two-thousand-pound bomb fell away and tumbled toward the ground.

  McKee knew the purpose of the ensuing explosion was to trick the Hudathans into believing that the ship had been destroyed. An impression Kelly would reinforce by engaging a pair of jury-rigged suppressors, which, if they worked, would conceal the heat produced by her engines.

  But because the suppressors were designed for use by a smaller aircraft, they were sure to blow before very long—making it imperative to land as quickly as possible. Fortunately, the Droi encampment was only minutes from Riversplit by air. And as Sergeant McKee peered out through slitted eyes, she could feel the fly-form sinking as Kelly prepared to land. That was when she realized she was not only alive but likely to stay that way for a while.

  Confident that she wasn’t about to reveal how frightened she had been, she opened her eyes, produced an elaborate yawn, and stretched her arms. Petit nodded. “Have a nice nap?”

  McKee offered what she hoped was a nonchalant grin. “Hell, no. I dreamed I was on an assault boat piloted by a maniac.”

  Those close enough to hear laughed as Kelly’s voice came over the intercom. “I heard that . . . Ten to dirt.”

  The skids hit with a thud. The engines had begun to spool down as the hatch whirred open, allowing humid air to flood the cargo compartment. McKee released her harness and stood. The lights were dim, but there was no mistaking Avery’s countenance as he arrived at the top of the ramp and looked from face to face. She knew he was looking for her. A theory that was confirmed when he spotted her, and she saw the look of relief in his eyes.

  But only for a moment. Then Avery was all business as McKee introduced the demolitions experts. Once that was accomplished, Avery thanked Insa and each member of the team before leading them off the fly-form.

  Larkin and the T-1s were released at that point, but Avery asked Insa, McKee, and the demolition experts to join him around a small fire. The next couple of hours were spent bringing the officer up to speed and discussing the mission.

  Finally, once the meeting was over, and the others were gone, McKee and Avery were alone. The sun was rising by then, and eyes were everywhere, so they couldn’t touch. But they could talk, and did. “What you did was crazy,” Avery began disapprovingly.

  “I couldn’t figure out any other way to get the job done,” McKee replied simply.

  “And now you’re a sergeant.”

  “A very inexperienced one, but a sergeant, yes.”

  “Well, Sergeant, I have news for you. Good news.”

  “Which is?”

  “Follow me. I’ll show you.”

  The Droi had been working to camouflage Kelly’s fly-form for hours by then, and it was half-covered by a blanket of freshly cut vegetation. The greenery would turn brown within two rotations, however, which meant that it would have to be renewed, or the Droi would have to abandon their encampment. Having agreed to the second option, hundreds of indigs were already streaming into the forest as Avery led her into a small clearing. Two mounds of recently dug earth could be seen lying side by side. Only one of them was distinguished by a wooden marker. “There they are,” Avery said. “Spurlock and Jivv.”

  It took McKee a moment to absorb the news. Spurlock and Jivv really were dead—just as she had hoped. “How did you find them?”

  “I didn’t,” Avery replied. “A Droi hunting party brought them in. Spurlock was dead, having refused an opportunity to surrender, and Jivv was alive.”

  She looked from Avery to the graves and back again. “Was?”

  “I shot it,” Avery said simply. “Twice.”

  McKee looked at him. What he felt was clear to see. He had a motive to kill Jivv just as she did. But he’d been trying to protect her as well. And that brought all sorts of emotions into play. Suddenly, she was in his arms, knowing that they shouldn’t kiss, and knowing that they wou
ld. As their bodies came together, and their lips met, a bird chattered somewhere up above. And for that brief moment in time, McKee was happy.

  CHAPTER: 18

  * * *

  In battle, however, there are not more than two methods of attack—the direct and the indirect; yet these two in combination give rise to an endless series of maneuvers.

  SUN TZU

  The Art of War

  Standard year circa 500 B.C.

  PLANET ORLO II

  Most Droi lived to be about seventy years of age unless disease or some other misfortune took them earlier. And Aba was sixty-five. An age when it was increasingly difficult to run, climb, or hunt. Because of that, Aba and the other elders were always the last to leave the current encampment and arrive at the next one. And old age had taught Aba to accept many things, including the role of guardian for its progeny’s progeny, a child named Ola. An energetic youngster who was hard to keep track of.

  The warriors and the humans had left the day before, leaving the very old and the very young to follow along behind. Except that Aba couldn’t follow without Ola—and the little rascal was missing. That left Aba with no choice but to shoulder the animal-hide pack, sling its ancient rifle, and wander through the mostly deserted encampment calling the little one’s name. “Ola? Can you hear me? It’s time to leave.”

  Finally, after ten minutes of searching, Aba heard a high-pitched voice. “I’m over here, Aba . . . Eating telsa berries.”

  Telsa berries were sweet when ripe and a favorite among juveniles. Aba followed the voice into a clearing where it looked around. Ola was nowhere to be seen. “I’m up here!” Ola shouted. And sure enough, there it was, up in a Telsa tree.

  “Come down,” Aba ordered sternly, “and I mean now.”

  Ola knew that tone of voice and quickly slid to the ground. Then, with berry juice still smeared all over its face, the child apologized. “Sorry, Aba. Can I carry something for you?”

  Aba had just opened its mouth to reply when a hand shot up out of the ground and took hold of Ola’s ankle. A head, torso, and arms appeared as the youngster screamed and tried to pull away. The thing looked human; but Aba knew it wasn’t human because the Droi had seen the creature before. Right after the hunters brought it in and immediately before the human shot it in the head. The bullet holes were still visible. But now, by some means Aba couldn’t understand, the machine had come back to life.

  Aba pointed the rifle and jerked the trigger. The firing pin fell on an empty chamber. For reasons of safety, all weapons not carried by guards were kept unloaded while the Droi were staying in an encampment. Aba was reaching for a magazine when the monster spoke. “Don’t move. I’ll kill the child if you do.”

  Aba watched in horror as it rose from the grave. Dirt cascaded off the creature as it stood. “But you dead,” Aba objected. “I see human kill.”

  “It took a while for my systems to repair themselves,” Jivv replied as the robot looked around. “Where did all of your people go? I see very few heat signatures.”

  “They go to dam,” Ola said brightly.

  Aba cursed silently. The Droi had planned to give the machine directions to an imaginary encampment and send it off into the forest. That was impossible now. And while a Droi or a human might have asked, “What dam?” the machine seemed to know.

  “What about the humans?” it demanded. “Did they go to the dam as well?”

  Aba had no choice and nodded mutely.

  The machine gestured for the Droi to come closer. “Give me the rifle and ammunition.”

  Aba remained where it was. “And then?”

  “Then I will free the child, and we go our separate ways.”

  Aba didn’t like it. Not one little bit. But what choice did it have? Slowly, step by step, the oldster moved forward. The machine let go of Ola in order to accept the rifle and ammunition. The child scampered away. “What do?” Aba inquired.

  “I’m going to find fugitive 2999 and kill her,” Jivv replied. And with that, the Synth started to run.

  * * *

  The sun was past its zenith, and rays of dusty sunshine slanted down through the trees as about fifteen hundred Droi and forty-two legionnaires made their way through the forest. It was relatively slow going because of Avery’s decision to avoid the jungle trails. McKee understood his logic. As she knew from personal experience, the Hudathans routinely sent drones along any path they could identify, and based on reports from Droi scouts, the ridge heads were placing tiny sensor packages along the most-traveled thoroughfares. A strategy that was bound to produce thousands of high-def wildlife photos. Of course, computers could and would be employed to sort through the incoming images for those that had intelligence value.

  So even though each individual was forced to pursue a zigzag course through the trees, and to consume more energy while doing so, McKee knew that the combined force was less likely to be spotted thanks to Avery’s approach. And the element of surprise would be critical to success.

  Such were her thoughts as she and her squad followed a contingent of Droi warriors in a northwesterly direction. The trees limited what she could see, so most of the battalion was invisible to her and, if the strategy was working, to the enemy as well.

  There weren’t enough T-1s to go around, so the bio bods had been ordered to rotate. The idea was to keep the bio bods, especially the demolition experts, rested. And at the moment, she was walking while Petit rode Eason.

  Of course, not all of her thoughts were strictly professional. Avery was on her mind as well. It felt good to have somebody in her life. But the pleasure came at a price. Because if Avery made her feel good, his existence represented a threat to her happiness as well. What if he were killed? As hundreds if not thousands would be.

  To have established another emotional connection only to have it severed would be extremely hard to take. That’s why it was better to keep her distance from everyone. That and the fact that officers weren’t allowed to have romantic relationships with enlisted people. Especially subordinates.

  But like a leaf that falls into a stream, McKee was powerless to control where she went or what happened next. All she could do was help blow the dam. Everything else was beyond her reach.

  The afternoon wore on, and as the sun dropped lower in the sky, Avery ordered a halt. Although the Hudathans were still jamming, the squad-level push was working okay except for momentary bursts of static. So Avery was able to communicate his wishes to the legionnaires electronically, while Insa passed orders to his people via runners and shrill whistles. A system which, thanks to codes worked out over hundreds of years, was quite effective.

  The battalion was about five miles short of the dam at that point. That meant they would have to march for a couple of hours early the next morning. But to camp any closer would be to risk detection from the drones that patrolled the area.

  In keeping with orders given prior to departure, humans and Droi alike made hundreds of tiny one-, two-, and three-person camps. And other than well-contained tea fires, none of them were allowed to cook. All in an effort to conceal the battalion from the eyes in the sky.

  But before McKee or her bio bods could eat, they had to perform maintenance on the T-1s. So it was an hour and a half later before they could break out their MREs, light a fuel tab, and heat their dinners. She didn’t know where Avery was—but thought he might drop by. He didn’t.

  McKee felt a sense of disappointment, scolded herself for being so self-centered, and set out to make the rounds. Her squad included bio bods Larkin, Caskin, and a private named Donobi. The cyborgs who had accompanied her to Riversplit were still with her—and a T-1 named Farber had been added to the roster. That meant she had seven people to worry about plus Sergeant Petit, Corporal Muncy, and Private Yamada, who were not only attached to the squad but under her orders until they arrived at the dam. During the tour she stopped to talk with each individual and was pleased to find that morale was pretty good, all things considered.
/>   The only thing that worried her was the fact that with more than fifteen hundred people spread out over what must have been a square mile of jungle, there was no defensive perimeter. But that couldn’t be helped because if the battalion were to create a marching camp, it would attract attention. All they could do was maintain a low profile and hope for the best.

  Night always fell earlier in the forest, so it was nearly dark by the time McKee returned to the clearing where she had started. Her heart jumped when she saw that Avery was sitting with his back to a tree eating his dinner. He looked up and smiled as she approached. The words were formal, and had to be with members of her squad all about. But there was no denying the warmth in his eyes. “Welcome back, Sergeant . . . How are the troops?”

  “Hower’s knee coupler is about ready for replacement,” McKee replied. “But it should hold up long enough to complete the mission. Other than that, all of our people are in good shape.”

  Avery grinned. “Even Noll?”

  “Private Noll is of the opinion that we could use a thousand additional troops.”

  Avery nodded soberly. “And Private Noll is correct. But we’ll have to get along without them.”

  McKee lowered herself to the ground and sat cross-legged. “Yes, sir. How are the Droi holding up?”

  Avery made a face. “Insa’s people are doing well. But communication with the northern tribe is spotty—and the two groups have a long history of mutual animosity to overcome. So things are a bit dicey at times.”

  McKee knew that could be a significant problem because the northerners were slated to attack first—and draw the Hudathans off the top of the dam and into the forest. An environment where the Droi warriors would have a much better chance to whittle the off-worlders down. Meanwhile, Avery’s battalion would attack from the south, sweep out onto the dam, and hold it long enough for the demolition team to do its work. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”