Andromeda’s Choice

by William C. Dietz

  “So what’s the brass up to?”

  “Nobody knows for sure,” Larkin replied. “But I’ve heard all sorts of theories. The most popular one is that we’re going to launch a major offensive against the tribes. A take-and-hold operation.”

  McKee shrugged. “We get paid the same no matter what we do.” That was true, but she’d been hoping for some downtime. There was the matter of Travers to deal with.

  McKee went to bed early, slept fairly well, and was in a good mood when she and the rest of the company fell in for morning muster. A gathering that usually consisted of a roll call, announcements, and fifteen minutes’ worth of calisthenics. And as Lieutenant Dero and the other platoon leaders took their places, McKee assumed everything would follow the usual script. But then something awful happened. Their company commander, a woman named Sabatha, arrived with Lieutenant—no Captain Wesley Heacox in tow. The bastard had been promoted!

  McKee felt a sudden emptiness in the pit of her stomach as the officers stopped and turned to face the company. The company sergeant yelled, “Ten-hut!” And, with the exception of the quads, they all came to attention.

  “At ease,” Sabatha said, as her eyes swept the first rank. She had a buzz cut, a chiseled countenance, and a lean body. “I have an announcement to make. Captain Heacox will take command of Bravo Company as of 0900 this morning. He’s an experienced officer, and we’re lucky to have him.”

  Sabatha smiled. “And I have some bad news for those of you who are happy to see me go. I got a bump to major and will have the honor to serve as the battalion’s XO.”

  That generated laughter and applause from everyone except McKee. She remembered Heacox’s parting words: “I won’t forget.” Now, and for the foreseeable future, he could work full-time on making her life miserable.

  It was Heacox’s turn to speak. He blinked three times. “I would like to congratulate Major Sabatha on her promotion—and assure you that I will do my best to live up to the standard she has set. Platoon leaders will report to my office at 0930. Sergeant Major? You can exercise the troops.”

  Rather than stay and perform calisthenics with the troops, Heacox followed Sabatha out of the area. McKee felt a sense of hopelessness as the jumping jacks began. Bad things were going to happen—and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.

  • • •

  Private Roy Sykes felt a sense of hope as he spidered into the office. He had been schmoozing one of the clerks for weeks in hopes of getting assigned to the 1st Battalion, 2nd Foreign Engineer Regiment, so he could get close to Sergeant Andromeda McKee. And maybe, just maybe, the stylus pusher would have some good news for him. “Hey, Amboy . . . How’s it going?”

  “There’s something big in the wind, Sykes. So we’re busy as hell.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s up?”

  “Can’t say . . . The loot would have me for lunch if I did. So what can I do for you?”

  “Same as always. Any openings in the 2nd?”

  “And same answer, which is ‘no.’ Hold one.” Amboy touched an icon, waited for a page to load, and stared at it. “You’re close though . . . There’s only one person ahead of you in line.”

  “Who’s the lucky borg?”

  “His name is Tanaka. Do you know him?”

  “Nope,” Sykes answered. “Thanks.”

  “No prob,” Amboy replied. “I’ll see you around.”

  Sykes spidered out into the hall. He’d been assigned to work in the motor pool while waiting for a permanent slot. And his boss, a corporal named Biggs, would get his shorts in a knot if Sykes showed up late. The work, which entailed washing muddy crawlers, was not only boring but beneath him. Hell, a class two bot could do that.

  So Sykes went to work and did what Biggs told him to do. But he was thinking, problem solving might be a better way to describe it, and by the time the shift was over, he had both a plan and the tools required to execute it.

  The first step was to locate Tanaka, and that was easy. A quick check of the base directory revealed that the lucky SOB had been assigned to assist the fort’s sky pilots. So chances were that Tanaka spent his days dusting altars or something. A cushy job if there ever was one.

  The next step was to tap into the grapevine in order to get the scan on the T-man, as he was known to his buddies. It didn’t take long to discover that Tanaka liked to frequent the same bar where Sykes and Travers had met. Not to drink but to hook up to the joint’s Dream Master 2000, a machine that could stimulate his brain in a way that would provide him with virtual sex. The only kind a borg could have. And that, Sykes decided, would provide the chance he needed.

  The opportunity to act on his plan came the following “day,” meaning the twenty-four-hour cycle the Legion used to mark time rather than the short rotations natural to Algeron. His shift was over and, since he’d been granted a pass, it was easy to follow Tanaka into Naa Town. The sun was up, and a steady stream of legionnaires were leaving the fort. So even if Tanaka looked back, there wouldn’t be any reason to take notice of another spider form.

  The sky was gray, the air was cold, and the mud was frozen solid under Sykes’s “feet.” The fact that it was daytime meant it would probably be dark when Tanaka left the bar. But if not, Sykes would try again later.

  An ice ball exploded as it hit Sykes’s torso, and a group of teenage cubs shouted insults while they waited to see what the off-worlder would do. But Sykes knew better than to chase them into the maze of Naa dwellings. Because once he was cut off from the other legionnaires, he could be subjected to a hail of ice balls, rocks, or worse. No, it made sense to ignore the provocation and stay on the main path.

  True to form, Tanaka went straight to The Bunker and disappeared. Sykes followed the other cyborg inside and took a look around. Sure enough, there was Tanaka, over in the corner where cyborgs could hook up to the Dream Master 2000.

  So Sykes chose a table where he could keep a vid pickup on the other legionnaire and ordered a beer. Or the essence of a beer, which came in a syringe and was injected into his life-support system via the same port medics could use to administer medications. The result was an instant buzz.

  Another cyborg joined him, and the next hour passed pleasantly enough, as Sykes listened to war stories, and waited for the T-man to leave. Fortunately, the latest tale had just come to a conclusion when Tanaka unhooked himself from the machine and went over to pay the tab. That was Sykes’s signal to excuse himself and leave the bar.

  It was dark and even colder than before as Sykes made his way up the path. There were no streetlights so Sykes activated his night vision as he paused to take a look around. The ghostly green glow made everything look different. He was pleased to see that the cold had driven everything indoors except for a couple of foraging pooks. The stage was set. Now all he had to do was kill Tanaka, return to the fort, and wait. By this time the next day, he would be a proud member of the 2nd. That would put him within reach of McKee and keep Travers off his back. Sykes slipped into an alley and began what should be a short wait.

  Tanaka’s “feet” made scritching sounds as he approached. Sykes waited until his victim was in sight before stepping out of the alley. Tanaka said, “Wha?” and was starting to turn when Sykes triggered the shock mod and sent six thousand kilovolts into the other cyborg’s body. The goal was to fry Tanaka’s com gear, dump his processor, and stun his nervous system all at once. And it worked.

  Having grabbed the helpless borg with two of his four tool arms, Sykes jerked Tanaka into the shadows. The high-speed drill had been “borrowed” from the motor pool and made a high-pitched whine as he squeezed the handle.

  Tanaka began to struggle as his nervous system recovered, and his onboard computer came back online. Sykes swore as a tool hand went for his sensor package and applied the titanium-nitride-coated bit to the other borg’s alloy housing. It sped through alloy, then slowed as it hi
t steel.

  Tanaka understood what was happening by then. So he fought desperately as the drill began to penetrate his armored brain box. But Sykes still had the advantage and was careful to maintain it as the titanium bit tunneled through steel, a bioliner, and sank into the soft tissue beyond. The T-man jerked convulsively as the tool pulped a section of his brain. Then the spider form went limp. The one-sided battle was over.

  Sykes no longer had a need to breathe but felt as if he’d been holding his breath as he withdrew the drill and paused to listen. A door slammed somewhere, there was a burst of laughter as some drunk bio bods staggered past, and repellers roared as a fly-form passed directly overhead. But there were no cries of alarm.

  Still, Sykes didn’t want to spend any more time at the crime scene than he had to, so he put the drill away and hurried to remove a power saw from the same storage compartment. It screamed briefly, and sparks flew, as the blade sliced through one of Tanaka’s tool arms. A total of eight quick cuts were required to reduce the cyborg to a pile of parts.

  Would the scrappers discover the dismembered cyborg? And run off with his components? Hell yes, they would. And nobody would be allowed to visit Naa Town for the next week while the MPs scoured the place looking for the perpetrators. Maybe they would find some of Tanaka or maybe they wouldn’t. Sykes didn’t care as he spidered out onto the main path and followed it up to the fort. The sally port opened, and the Legion of the Damned took him in.

  • • •

  Two days had passed since Heacox had assumed command of Bravo Company, and none of McKee’s fears had come true. So she was beginning to hope that the officer hadn’t noticed her, or that if he had, was willing to let bygones be bygones. That fantasy came to an abrupt end the morning of the third day, when Dero sent for her.

  The platoon leader’s office was about the size of a large closet. But it was equipped with a door, and it was open when McKee arrived. She knocked three times, waited for the lieutenant to say “Enter,” and took three paces forward. Then, with her eyes focused on a point directly above Dero’s head, she announced herself. “Sergeant Andromeda McKee reporting as ordered, ma’am.”

  Dero was seated behind a beat-up desk. She said, “At ease,” and pointed to the door. “Close that. Choose any chair you want.” There was only one, and McKee grinned as she sat on it.

  “Okay,” Dero said, “we’re fairly well acquainted at this point . . . And your style is similar to my own—which is to say direct. So I’ll get right to the point. What’s the nature of the beef between Captain Heacox and you?”

  This was delicate territory. Making critical statements about a superior officer could be interpreted as insubordination. And McKee could be brought up on charges.

  On the other hand, she sensed that Dero wanted to help her—and it would be stupid to clam up completely. “We came out on the same ship,” McKee said. “The lieutenant, I mean captain and I had a disagreement about some personnel matters, and words were exchanged.”

  Dero’s eyes narrowed. “I heard a story a few weeks ago. Something about bucket fights—and you kicking some sergeant’s ass. He reported to Heacox if I’m not mistaken.”

  Dero was very well informed. But that shouldn’t come as a surprise since the Legion was like a small town. There were damned few secrets. McKee kept her face blank. “You know how stories are, ma’am. They’re rarely reliable.”

  Dero grinned. “Okay, enough said. Here’s the situation. Heacox had a little tête-à-tête with me late yesterday. To say that he doesn’t like you would be an understatement. More than that, he wants to break you down to private. So I have orders to give you every shit detail I can think of, work you till you drop, and document every mistake you make.”

  There was nothing McKee could say but, “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

  “I will take the matter up with Major Sabatha if Heacox exceeds his authority, or tells me to do something illegal,” Dero added. “But he hasn’t so far. Do you read me?”

  “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. We understand each other then. Do the best you can.”

  McKee knew the officer had gone way out on a limb to warn her and felt a sense of gratitude. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

  Dero glanced at her terminal and back. “You and your squad will have two hours of guard duty every day until further notice.”

  Two hours was the amount of free time that most legionnaires could expect while not in the field. “The squad, too?” McKee inquired. “Why?”

  Dero shrugged and seemed to choose her words with care. “I don’t know. But, after a while, your subordinates may come to blame you for their predicament. That would be something to guard against.”

  Guard against? How would she do that? But McKee knew Dero had gone as far as she could. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am. Will that be all?”

  “Yes. Dismissed.”

  McKee stood, opened the door, and left the tiny office.

  The extra guard duty began that evening, as did the bitching. “Why us?” Larkin wanted to know. McKee could have explained, wanted to explain, but didn’t. Because to do so would be to criticize a superior officer. And that, she suspected, was what Heacox was hoping for. So all she could do was lead her squad out to Observation Post Charlie and put in the necessary time.

  It was cold, and a steady sleet was blowing in from the south. Thanks to the heat that Ree-Ree put out, the front of McKee’s body was warm, but her butt was cold and going to remain that way until they were back inside the fort.

  Jaggi had returned to duty by that time, and two replacements had joined the squad. A bio bod named Olsen and a T-1 named Sykes. Olsen didn’t have much to say, but the cyborg was an extrovert and clearly determined to fit in. The new people were a plus since they didn’t realize that the squad was being mistreated. But McKee knew the honeymoon would soon be over.

  There was hope, however. Everybody knew that shuttles had been bringing hundreds of mysterious crates down from orbit, all of the 2nd’s various battalions were prepping for something, and whatever that was might keep Heacox off her back. McKee hoped so as she stared out into the night, watching for any signs of movement. Because, despite Heacox’s motives, the task was real enough. It was important to keep the “wild Naa” away from the fort lest they learn too much about its defenses or launch a hit-and-run mortar attack.

  But two hours of guard duty produced nothing more than a false alarm when something triggered a motion detector five hundred yards in front of them, and McKee sent half her squad out to take a look. They found animal tracks in the slush, then made their way back to the OP, and spent the next twenty minutes bitching about how cold it was.

  The sun had just begun to rise when a squad from the first platoon came out to relieve them. The next couple of hours were spent on maintenance, gearing up for the training exercise scheduled for the next morning, and grabbing a bite to eat. Then it was time to hit the sack.

  “Morning” came all too quickly. As was her practice, McKee rose before her squad, worked her way through some routine reports, and managed to snatch a quick bite to eat before muster. The training exercise had been dubbed “Operation Push” by some staff officer and involved escorting a group of engineers to a river, where they were supposed to build an imaginary bridge, while the Naa tried to attack them. Except that the Naa were being played by members of the 2nd REI.

  And, in keeping with Heacox’s effort to pressure McKee in every possible way, she and her squad started the day on point and remained there hour after grueling hour. A practice that put both the company and the engineers they were supposed to protect at risk because there were real Naa to worry about, and if McKee and her people failed to do their job effectively, lives could be lost.

  Not Heacox’s, however, since he had elected to travel aboard a fly-form, so as “to scout ahead.” The problem being that after a single pass, the a
ircraft hadn’t been seen again. It was impossible to know what the company’s XO thought about that, but McKee gave him credit for coming forward and taking up a station only a few feet to her right. A position that would put him in harm’s way if the shit hit the fan. His name was Ashari, and he appeared to be reasonably competent. Something that soon became apparent when the road topped a rise and disappeared into a boulder-framed canyon. The perfect spot for an ambush.

  Heacox and his fly-form could have been useful at that point but hadn’t been heard from for more than an hour. So rather than enter the canyon blind, Ashari ordered the third squad of the third platoon to fire the shoulder-mounted missile launchers that they were carrying in place of bio bods. Not real missiles but the flash-bangs used for training purposes.

  There was a momentary roar of sound as the weapons took off, arched upwards, and fell into the canyon. McKee knew the technique was called a reconnaissance by fire, the idea being to provoke a response, thereby revealing where the enemy was. And it did. Not from the Naa, but from members of the 2nd REI, who had been lying in wait along the west side of the narrow passageway. They came out firing, and it was up to those on point to hold them off while Ashari ordered the company to take cover and return fire.

  McKee knew the clash was being monitored by a satellite and refereed by a computer back at the fort. But it felt real enough as the “enemy” fired their weapons at her squad, and Chang was “killed.” Her T-1 could fight on, however, and did until the AI at Fort Camerone listed him as KIA.

  McKee saw what she judged to be an opportunity as the enemy sought cover around the mouth of the canyon. If she and what remained of her squad could circle around the enemy’s right flank, they could not only divide their fire but get a shot at the mortars that were responsible for “killing” Chang and her T-1. “Bravo-Eight to Bravo-Two. Request permission to attack the enemy’s right flank.”