Andromeda’s Choice

by William C. Dietz

  Shortly after an incomprehensible announcement, the train jerked into motion, and the journey began. The scenery went by slowly at first as the Emerald Express negotiated the tunnels that led out onto the main line. Then the train began to pick up speed. And thanks to the fact that it was hovering over a guideway rather than riding old-fashioned tracks, the maglev was able to achieve cruising speed in a couple of minutes. Now the city was blipping by, so quickly that everything became a blur, and McKee closed her eyes.

  The trip was silly in a way. She knew that. Her parents were dead, and going home wouldn’t change that. All it would do was amplify the pain she felt. So why go there? For a sense of closure. To grieve. To ask for their forgiveness. Because, by all rights, she should be dead, and they should be alive.

  Stops came and went as McKee dozed or listened to music via a pair of earbuds. Eventually, McKee awoke from one of her naps to discover that the maglev had begun to slow. Like LA, Seattle had grown over the last few hundred years. Now it stretched from what had been the border with Canada all the way down to the suburb of Centralia.

  One thing hadn’t changed, however, and that was the weather. It was raining, and as the train slowed to a mere 60 mph, streaks of water appeared on the window in front of her. That was when McKee realized that sandals and shorts had been a poor choice and smiled at her own stupidity.

  The Emerald Express pulled into the station shortly thereafter, and McKee followed other passengers off. Now she was faced with a new challenge. Never, not once during her years in Seattle, had Cat Carletto been required to use the public-transit system. Yet that was what she needed to do in order to reach the upper-class enclave of Bellevue.

  So McKee made her way over to an information kiosk, performed the necessary research, and set out on the next leg of her journey—a trip that involved a subway ride under the lake, a short bus ride, and a hike. It was dark by then and still raining. Her cotton clothes were damp, and her feet were wet, but the discomfort was nothing compared to what she had experienced on Orlo II. That’s what she told herself anyway as she slogged along rain-slicked streets. She paused every now and then to make sure that she was headed the right way and to check what she had come to think of as her six.

  Five minutes later, she arrived at the street that turned into the gated community where she had been raised. It was surrounded by a high-tech perimeter. Even so, the local teens, Cat Carletto included, delighted in sneaking in and out of the community much to the consternation of their parents.

  So McKee followed the community’s nine-foot-tall privacy wall east to the point where a brook flowed out of the eighteen-hole golf course around which many of the homes were sited. McKee threw her pack over the wall before stepping into the cold water and lying on her back. Then, by pushing with her feet, she was able to slide under the wall. It was necessary to hold her breath for about fifteen seconds, but she made it and surfaced moments later. The problem was that McKee’s teeth were chattering by the time she stood and climbed up onto a low bank.

  Quick blips from a penlight were sufficient to locate the knapsack. Then, after a quick look around, it was time to strip and change into mostly dry clothing. The shorts were still wet, as were her feet, but her upper body was warm.

  The safest and most direct route to the Carletto compound was to cut across the pitch-black golf course to the line of lights that glowed beyond. So that was the way she headed. But McKee was painfully aware of how exposed she would be—and the fact that a security drone could happen along at any moment. The key was to cross the open area quickly. Because once she arrived in front of the structures on the far side, the warmth emanating from them would hide her individual heat signature.

  With that goal in mind, McKee began to run. That was dangerous since it would be easy to trip and fall. But the prospect of being intercepted by a drone was a much bigger threat. The robot could stun her and summon help. Once that occurred, it wouldn’t be long before her true identity was revealed. And McKee knew she would wind up dead shortly thereafter.

  So McKee ran. The knapsack slapped against her back, and the sandals weren’t meant for that sort of travel, but she was making good time until a blob of light appeared off to the right. A drone! As she watched, a spotlight came on and probed the ground in front of it. Looking for her? Or as part of its regular routine?

  McKee placed her hopes on the second possibility as she sprinted toward the kidney-shaped lake located in the middle of the golf course. Black water splashed away from McKee’s feet as she waded in and performed a belly flop. Then, having grabbed onto some reeds, she pulled herself down. The strategy would have worked if it hadn’t been for the air trapped in her knapsack. But it was too late to do anything about the problem as the spotlight hit the surface of the shallow lake and slid across the bottom.

  Fortunately, the shaft of light missed McKee—and the cold water was sufficient to conceal her heat signature. The drone was gone moments later. That allowed her to surface and gulp air. No dry clothes left, McKee thought to herself. Gotta move to stay warm.

  Mud sucked one of McKee’s sandals off as she stepped up onto the bank. She was tempted to leave it behind but knew that when it came to her feet, something was better than nothing. So she paused, felt for the missing slip-on, and pulled it up out of the muck. Then, with sandals on both feet, McKee resumed her journey. As luck would have it, she left the golf course right next to the Ridley Mansion. And it was only a block from the Carletto compound.

  The streets were lit, but McKee knew how to use cover and slipped from shadow to shadow. Her teeth were chattering again, but there was nothing she could do about it. A dog sensed her presence—but it was locked inside a garage. So all it could do was bark impotently as she cut across the yard outside. A ground car passed at one point, but she heard it coming and had time to duck behind a hedge.

  Then McKee was home—or where her home had once been. Now there was nothing to mark the Carletto residence but a chain-link fence that stretched off into the darkness. Signs were posted every twelve feet or so—and McKee paused to read one of them. The light was iffy, but the words were clear. GOVERNMENT PROPERTY. KEEP OUT.

  Government property? So Ophelia had not only taken her parents’ lives but their property as well. And not just figuratively, but literally, because as McKee stared through the fence, she could see that every stick and stone of what had been her family residence had been trucked way, leaving nothing more than bare foundations. She’d been happy as a child, but too stupid to know it, and now she felt a great emptiness inside. A hole nothing could fill.

  Metal rattled as she climbed up and over. The sandals made the process more difficult than it should have been. But Andromeda McKee had developed a lot of upper-body strength during her time in the Legion, and that made the difference.

  Once McKee was on the other side of the fence, she was free to walk what had been the grounds. It was impossible to tell what had occurred there—but it was safe to assume that the neighbors knew. If she could ask, would they tell? No, of course not. Not unless they wanted the same thing to happen to them.

  McKee followed what had been a path to the only thing that the government couldn’t haul away, and that was the family’s swimming pool. At that point she saw a firefly-like glow coming her way, knew it was a drone, and ran down a short flight of stairs into the rectangular basin. Half a foot of rainwater had accumulated in the bottom of the pool, and McKee planned to go facedown in it.

  But as she waded toward the deep end, she had an even better idea. There had been an artificial waterfall at one end of the pool, with a cave directly behind it. A bit of whimsy on her grandfather’s part—and a treasured hideout for generations of children. McKee had to jump up and push with her feet to enter. The chamber was dark, protected from above, and completely secure so long as the drone didn’t peer inside. A shaft of light stabbed the pool, slid to the other side, and disappeared.
/>
  McKee allowed herself to breathe again. She hugged her knees to her chest in an attempt to retain as much body heat as possible. She knew that escaping from the gated community would be as difficult as entering it had been. So she was preparing herself to make the effort when she remembered the loose stone. It wasn’t supposed to be loose, but it was, which made for a nook where children could hide trinkets or leave messages for each other.

  McKee felt for the penlight and was delighted to discover that it still worked. Then she directed the blob of white light to the smooth river rocks that lined the grotto’s curved walls. She recognized the stone she wanted right away and scooted over to pull it loose. Was the little treasure box still there? No, it wasn’t. Something else had been left in its place. A plastic bag with a disposable comset inside. And a piece of paper with a single word printed on it: CAT.

  CHAPTER: 5

  Some things can never be left behind.

  AUTHOR UNKNOWN

  A Naa folk saying

  Standard year unknown

  PLANET EARTH

  McKee’s heart was racing. Suddenly, the trip to what had been her home was more than an emotional pilgrimage. A comset had been left for her. But by whom? The most likely possibility was her uncle Rex Carletto. He was someone McKee felt a strong affinity for despite his addiction to gambling, womanizing, and lack of interest in the family business. Because Uncle Rex had also been a soldier and the one person in the family who always had time for her. And, had it not been for a timely message from him, she would have been killed on Esparto. So if the comset had been left there by Uncle Rex, that was wonderful news.

  But what if the device was some sort of government trap? No, McKee told herself. How would the government know about the loose stone? Only a member of the family would know about something like that. Such questions would have to wait, however. The first task was to escape the gated community and to do so soon. Her body was shaking, and the cold was beginning to affect her thinking processes.

  So McKee tucked the plastic bag away, forced herself into motion, and slipped down into the water below. It splashed away from her feet as she made for the shallow end of the pool. It was a short sprint from there to the fence. And McKee had dealt with worse obstructions on Drang. That’s what she told herself as she struggled up and over.

  Then she was off and running. The brook was one of the few ways to sneak into the community. But there were a variety of ways to get out. One of which had to do with a tree located in old lady Miller’s yard. It was at least a hundred years old and had a couple of limbs that extended out over the wall. So by hanging from a branch and working one’s way out, it was possible to drop to the ground. Was she strong enough? Cat Carletto hadn’t been. Only the boys could do it. Still, the tree was only half a block away, and McKee didn’t want to cross the golf course again.

  Running through the community at night reminded her of playing hide-and-seek on summer evenings. Of course it wasn’t raining then—and nobody was trying to kill her. The Miller house was ablaze with lights, which made it easier to see as McKee padded up the driveway, opened a gate, and entered the side yard. Then it was a simple matter to make her way past the greenhouse to the point where the big oak was waiting. Except that it wasn’t waiting. All that remained of the enormous tree was a stump. Had a storm brought the oak down? It didn’t matter. What did matter was finding some other way to escape the community.

  McKee stood there, teeth chattering, looking around. Her thoughts weren’t as clear as they should have been. She’d seen a ladder lying next to the greenhouse but couldn’t use it. Not without raising the sort of questions that would lead to an investigation.

  McKee swore and chose to follow the wall to the right in hopes of finding another way to escape. There weren’t any fences to contend with. They weren’t allowed. But there were lots of hedges, and she had to find a break in one in order to enter the next yard. At first glance McKee thought she’d have to push on. Then she noticed the elaborate playhouse that was partially lit by the spill from a streetlight. It was two stories tall and topped with an open platform. Could she make the jump from that to the top of the wall? And do so without injuring herself? It was increasingly difficult to focus.

  McKee hurried over to the playhouse, climbed a child-sized ladder, and stood on rain-slicked wood. If a drone arrived, there would be no place to hide. No, she told herself, think. You can do this. Run and jump. But not too fast, or you’ll fall off the top of the wall.

  Cat Carletto had been a gymnast in high school, and she could do what was required. That was McKee’s hope anyway as she took three quick steps and made the leap. The sandals hit and held. But her forward momentum threatened to send her headfirst toward the ground below. Arms windmilled in an attempt to forestall disaster, and it worked.

  So that’s where McKee was. Teetering on top of the security wall when the patrol car appeared. Did it belong to the police? Or to the rent-a-cops who were paid to provide the community with additional security? McKee wasn’t sure as a wave of dizziness swept over her. She swayed and nearly lost her balance.

  Then her worst fears came true as the vehicle slowed and pulled over. But why had he chosen to park thirty feet beyond the point where she was? McKee tried to think as a man got out of the car and took a look around. Then he turned his back on the street. And because McKee was a legionnaire, and had been living with male soldiers for many months, she knew what that meant. The officer was about to take a pee.

  A radio squawked as the man zipped his pants and entered the car. Then the light bar on the roof came to life, tires screeched, and the vehicle pulled away. McKee knelt, slipped over the side, and dropped to the ground. Something went wrong, and she fell.

  And that’s where she was, lying on a planting strip and staring up into the night sky, when the air car passed over her. And not just any air car but a brightly lit taxi. That’s what I need, she thought dully. A taxi. Then she remembered the comset in her pocket. A part of her mind said she shouldn’t use the device. Not until she knew more about it. But another part was too exhausted to care. And it won out.

  McKee fumbled the comset out into the open, thumbed the power button, and gave thanks when the screen lit up. “I need a taxi,” she told it. “Send one to this location.”

  A computer took note of the comset’s coordinates and handed the request off to a cab company, which sent an air car to pick her up. By the time it arrived, McKee was on her feet and standing next to the curb. The taxi’s AI didn’t care how its passengers looked so long as they were carrying valid debit cards.

  McKee couldn’t really afford a ground cab, never mind an air taxi—but there wasn’t any choice given the way she felt. “Crank up the heat,” she said, as she entered the passenger compartment. “And take me to the nearest hotel that has a vacancy.”

  Fortunately for McKee, the cab ride was short, and the nearest hotel was a midlevel establishment frequented by businesspeople, and tourists on a budget. The receptionist was clearly taken aback by the young woman’s disheveled appearance—but was willing to accept McKee’s account of a broken-down ground car, a walk in the rain, and an unfortunate fall.

  Once in her room, McKee stripped, entered the bathroom, and took a hot shower. That went a long way toward restoring her physical well-being—and a meal from room service completed the process. It was about 0100 by that time, but McKee couldn’t resist examining the comset.

  There was nothing special about the way it looked. Thousands, maybe millions of such devices were purchased every day, usually by low-income people who couldn’t afford a com contract. And when McKee selected CONTACTS, she was thrilled to discover a single listing. It consisted of the name Joe. His number was highlighted. All she had to do was touch it to place a call. But what about the possibility of a government trap? Ophelia’s people could have captured her uncle and forced him to divulge even the most trivial details of family
life, including the existence of the wall niche.

  You used the phone to call a taxi, McKee reminded herself. So if the government planted the phone, the synths would be breaking the door down right now.

  The argument made sense. So McKee took a deep breath and placed her right index finger on the number. The results were anticlimactic to say the least. The device she was calling rang three times before voice mail cut in. “Joe isn’t available right now,” a female voice said pleasantly. “But he’ll return your call as soon as he can.” That was followed by a click.

  McKee was disappointed, but she was also tired. So she got into bed, told the lights to turn themselves off, and was asleep minutes later. She was swimming in the family pool, splashing water on her mother, when the comset began to chirp. A quick glance at the clock next to the bed revealed that it was 0323. McKee thumbed the words ACCEPT CALL and held the device to her ear. “Yes?”

  There was a moment of silence followed by the sound of a familiar voice. It was filled with emotion. “My God, is it really you?”

  McKee began to cry. “Yes,” she said, “it’s me.”

  The previously friendly voice was stern. “This is dangerous. Where are you? I need an address.”

  It was printed on the message pad next to the hotel’s comset. McKee read the information off.

  “Got it,” came the response. “Be on the hotel’s pad at exactly 7:00 A.M. A friend of mine will pick you up.”

  “That’s 0700,” McKee said. “Roger that.”