Andromeda’s Choice

by William C. Dietz

  • • •

  It was early “afternoon,” and Mary Quinn had the spartan eight-person hab to herself. Hopefully, it would remain that way until the mission that Roy Sykes had given her was completed. Bio bods had a tendency to hang with bio bods, and borgs with borgs, but bio/borg friendships weren’t unknown. Of course the word “friendship” wasn’t entirely accurate since Sykes was going to pay her for searching McKee’s belongings. Why? That was a mystery. Not that Quinn cared. She had gambling debts to pay off, and the money would help her do so.

  It had been easy to go through the gear McKee had left next to her cot. Easy but not especially revealing. There was a mesh bag that contained some Band-Aids, pain tabs, a small flashlight, a music player, earbuds, a pair of sunglasses, half a roll of TP, some stray pistol rounds, a flick knife, a bottle of nail polish, and a pair of panties. All of which was very similar to what she carried around.

  But where were the photos of McKee’s family? Or the good-luck charms that legionnaires typically carried? It was as if McKee had been issued rather than born. But maybe the personal stuff was in the noncom’s comp. That would make sense. The problem was that McKee had the device with her.

  And that was why Quinn was still there, sitting on her cot and cleaning her AXE. McKee would return once she finished her errands. And then the noncom would take a shower. The perfect opportunity to access McKee’s comp. That was the plan—but would it work?

  Quinn had been working on the assault rifle for half an hour by the time McKee entered the hab, said “Hi,” and put her comp on the cot. Then she turned her back and started to strip. That was when Quinn saw the crisscrossed scars. The Steel Bitch had been flogged! Now, that was interesting. Maybe Miss High-and-Mighty wasn’t so high-and-mighty after all.

  When McKee left for the walled-off shower space at the east end of the hab, Quinn was ready. The walls were thin. So when the shower started, Quinn could hear it. That was her cue to pick up her own comp and cross the room to McKee’s rack. The next part was easy. Legion-issue computers were designed to communicate with each other using a variety of technologies, including infrared links. So all Quinn had to do was activate both machines and synch them up. She wouldn’t be able to open encrypted files, but who knew? Maybe Sykes would be interested in the straight-ahead stuff.

  Having completed the transfer, Quinn put McKee’s comp back to sleep and heard the water stop. That meant she had only a few seconds left to work with. On an impulse, she lifted the cot’s flat, blow-up pillow, and bingo! There it was. A chain with a cat figurine on it. Finally, something personal.

  Having taken the piece of jewelry, Quinn held it up for a closer inspection. The cat didn’t look expensive. Far from it. And she was just about to return the object to its hiding place when she noticed the metal contact on the back side of it. A storage device!

  Quinn’s heart was racing as she inserted the cat into the input port on her comp and ordered it to “Download.” An icon appeared, the pendant went back under the pillow, and Quinn was busy reassembling her AXE when McKee reappeared. “So,” Quinn said. “Do you feel better?”

  “Much better,” McKee replied, as she toweled her hair.

  Quinn nodded. “Yeah, me, too.”

  • • •

  Heacox was lying in bed staring up at the ceiling. Engines roared, and the hab shook as a fly-form crossed over it. He was thinking about his career, and how to further it, when there was a knock on the door. “Enter.”

  There was a squeal as the door opened. The narrow four-by-eight room was dark and the voice was hesitant. “Captain Heacox?”

  “Yes?”

  “They want you at headquarters, sir. Right away.”

  Heacox’s feet were on the deck by then. “Who wants me?”

  “Colonel Bodry, sir.”

  Heacox swore. “Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll tell him,” the private promised, and closed the door.

  Heacox didn’t like Bodry or his plan to burrow through the Towers of Algeron. Why bother? Things were fine the way they were. But like most senior officers, Bodry was hell-bent on being promoted to general and figured that his scheme would get him there. Not Heacox, though. He had his sights set on lieutenant colonel. A respectable rank, which, when combined with the money that he had embezzled, misappropriated, and just plain stolen, would provide him with a comfortable retirement. Unless an idiot like Bodry got him killed first.

  Such were Heacox’s thoughts as he dressed and did what he could to make himself look presentable prior to opening the door. Hopefully, if all went well, he would be able to take the colonel’s request and pass it along to one of his lieutenants. Then he could return to his room and get some sleep.

  It was dark outside, and to the extent it could be, FOB Oscar was blacked out. But Heacox could see the occasional glow of a cigarette, the blip of a flashlight, and the sudden spill of light as the door to the headquarters hab swung open. He waited for a corporal to leave and stepped inside. A sergeant led him past some cubicles to the space reserved for Colonel Bodry. He and a couple of staff officers were facing a large wall map. A Naa warrior was present as well. All of them turned as Heacox was shown into the room. Bodry smiled. “There you are . . . Sorry to roust you out of bed—but I have a job for you.”

  Heacox felt a sudden emptiness at the pit of his stomach. Bodry’s comment suggested something other than a routine administrative task. Heacox felt himself start to blink and battled to control it. “No problem, sir. What’s up?”

  “Here’s the situation,” Bodry said, and turned back to the map. “A raiding party crossed over one of the low passes about a week ago—and have been traveling north ever since. At this moment, they’re right about here.”

  A stiff finger stabbed the map, and it morphed into an aerial view of tiny dots that were snaking their way between a cluster of snowcapped hills. “Their goal, or what we assume to be their goal, is to attack the village of Doothdown. Here.”

  The map changed again. This time Heacox found himself looking down through a haze of smoke on a group of overlapping palisades, what might have been fifty domes, and a patchwork quilt of gardens and corrals. “So,” Bodry continued, “in keeping with the agreement we have with Chief Lifetaker and the northern tribes, it’s our duty to protect the citizens of Doothdown.”

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “Therefore I want you to interdict the raiders twenty miles south of the village. You’ll have a platoon of legionnaires plus a force of fifty Naa warriors led by Quickstep here.”

  That meant Heacox would have fourteen T-1s, an equal number of bio bods, and a quad. The warriors were a threat to security and would be worthless in any sort of serious fight, but he couldn’t say that. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “Do you have any questions?”

  “Yes, sir,” Heacox replied. “How many raiders are there?”

  “The weather has been bad south of here,” Bodry replied. “So satellite surveillance has been spotty. But according to the Intel people, you can expect to deal with a force of 100 to 150 warriors. Is there anything else?”

  Heacox thought about that. His platoon would be able to defeat 150 savages without any difficulty whatsoever. And that would serve to bolster his nearly nonexistent combat record. Another step toward the rank of major. “No, sir. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good. You have two hours in which to prepare your people.”

  Having received his orders, Heacox delivered a crisp salute, got a wave in return, and did a neat about-face. As Heacox left the hab, all sorts of thoughts were swirling through his mind. Which platoon should he take? Not Dero’s. The woman was frequently insubordinate, which was why he had taken her platoon apart and allowed other officers to “borrow” most of her people. The squad led by Sergeant McKee was an excellent example of that.

  No, Lieutenant Simms was much
more biddable. Plus, the first platoon was not only available, but at something approaching full strength, which made it the logical choice. So the first step was to turn the rascals out and get them ready. It would be daylight when they left, and Heacox was determined to provide Bodry with a good show as the platoon left.

  Two hours was a very short time in which to get ready—and there was a good deal of grumbling from the troops. But Simms wasn’t one to countenance any sort of slackness. He seemed to be everywhere as he directed, threatened, and in one case administered a shock to a laggardly T-1. Just the thing to show the borgs who was in charge.

  Then, as the sun rose, came the moment Heacox had been waiting for. A drone and a pair of RAVS left the FOB first. They were followed by Heacox, Simms, their cyborgs, and eight additional T-1s. The quad came next, with the rest of the borgs following along behind. All of them were marching in perfect step separated by forty-inch intervals. It made for a stirring sight, or so Heacox assumed, as the platoon plodded south.

  The raiders were going to emerge from the hills twenty miles south of the village called Doothdown. But the legionnaires would have to travel more than sixty miles to reach that point and the rendezvous with Quickstep’s warriors. The Naa had offered to take the point, but Heacox wasn’t about to allow that. Maybe Bodry’s pet savage was loyal, and maybe he wasn’t. If not, the bastard could lead the platoon into a trap. So rather than riding out front, Quickstep had been relegated to the drag position.

  An hour later, once they were clear of the FOB and its outermost defenses, Heacox called for a brief bio break and took advantage of the interlude to enter the quad. Most of the cyborg’s hold was filled with supplies but there was still enough room for an improvised resting place. Ten minutes later, the column was under way again. And it wasn’t long before the quad’s monotonous back-and-forth motion, combined with the whine of servos, put Heacox to sleep.

  It was dark again by the time Heacox climbed up onto a T-1 named Provak and secured his harness. He felt better thanks to the nap and was pleased to see that the platoon had covered twenty-three miles of rolling hill country while he’d been asleep. Another couple of hours, and they would arrive at the interdiction point. The thought made him feel nervous and caused him to shift his weight from one foot to the other. Why was that the case? Officers like Dero appeared to be fearless. Surely, that was a front. They managed to maintain the appearance of bravery while being shot at, however, and it was all he could do to avoid soiling himself.

  So the key was to avoid combat to the extent possible but, when forced to fight, to do so with every possible advantage. And that was the case now. His cyborgs would slaughter the Naa, and who knows? Perhaps Bodry would put him in for a commendation of some sort. Nothing fancy. Just another rung in the ladder to a majority.

  Such thoughts went a long way toward making Heacox feel better—and he was still in a good mood when a beautiful pink light appeared beyond the hills to the east, and the mighty Towers of Algeron loomed ahead. A lenticular cloud was hovering over the peak directly in front of him, but the rest of the sky was clear. Good weather for fighting.

  But how long would the advantage last? The raiders could have been delayed for all sorts of reasons. And that, Heacox decided, would serve his purposes well. Because if given enough time, he could choose the battleground. Could he lay a trap for the savages? Yes, why not? The thought brought a smile to his lips, but it wasn’t there for very long as Simms spoke over the platoon push. “This is Alpha-One. The drone reports a large number of Naa coming our way. Over.”

  Heacox felt a stab of fear. Here they were. There wouldn’t be time to lay a trap. All he could do was . . . “This is Quickstep,” another voice said. “Don’t fire. The warriors are mine.”

  Heacox sought to steady himself. He had momentarily forgotten the rendezvous with the Naa. “This is Alpha-Nine. Do not fire. I repeat, do not fire. And I would appreciate it if our civilian advisor would use proper radio procedure. Over.”

  The two groups made contact five minutes later as about fifty riders appeared over the rise ahead and charged the legionnaires. They were waving all manner of weapons over their heads, and shouting what sounded like war cries, as they thundered past the RAVs. In fact, the demonstration was so threatening that Heacox was beginning to wonder if the platoon was under attack, when the war party split into two groups, and swept the length of the column. Then, having skidded to a halt, they swirled around Quickstep.

  That struck Heacox as disrespectful since he was in charge, but all he could do was wait until the greeting process was over, and Quickstep came forward to report. The Naa was mounted on a dooth, so both were at the same level. “My warriors bring news,” Quickstep said.

  “Well, spit it out,” Heacox demanded irritably.

  “The raiders will arrive in twelve hours.”

  Heacox felt a surge of excitement. Twelve hours! Assuming the Intel was correct, that was plenty of time to set a trap. He took a moment to check the latest satellite imagery and the two-line summary that went with it. The battalion S-2 was predicting contact in ten hours, but the two estimates were close enough. “Good. What are we? Five miles from the point where the raiders will be forced to leave the hills?”

  “There are many paths they could follow,” Quickstep said cautiously. “But yes, so long as they continue to follow Turntwist Trail, they will exit the hills just south of the Fastwater River. And that is five miles southeast of here.”

  “Then let’s get moving,” Heacox said. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we can lay a trap for them.”

  That seemed to go over well because Quickstep gave a nod and pulled his dooth’s head around. Things went smoothly as the combined force passed between two hills and followed a path to the spot where they could look down on a fast-flowing river. It was about a hundred feet wide and dotted with large boulders. The water foamed where it was forced to go around them. At that point, Heacox called Quickstep forward for a council of war. “So,” the legionnaire began, “where’s the best crossing?”

  Quickstep’s eyes narrowed. “Why cross when we can make them attack through the rushing water?”

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Heacox said crossly. “I asked where the best crossing was. But here’s my reasoning. The idea is to cross over and position the quad closer to the hills. It is armed with rockets that can strike the enemy even if they retreat. But, like an arrow, such weapons have a limited range. That’s why we’re going to cross the river.”

  “What you say makes sense,” Quickstep allowed. “But why send all of your machines? Surely five or six of them would be enough to protect the quad.”

  “You’re afraid . . . That’s it, isn’t it?” Heacox demanded. “Well, I won’t stand for cowardice! We are going to cross, and that includes you. Now, for the last time, where is the best crossing?”

  Quickstep pointed off to the right. And when Heacox looked in that direction he could see that the river was slightly wider there, nearly free of boulders, and, judging from the ripples, shallow as well. “That’s better. Send some of your people across and tell them to establish observation posts up in the hills. If you need radios, see Lieutenant Simms. When the raiders arrive, I want as much warning as possible.”

  Quickstep grunted something in his own language before turning away. Heacox didn’t know what the word meant and didn’t care. It appeared the savage was a coward, and that meant he wasn’t. The realization filled Heacox with a sense of pride as four Naa galloped down to the river and splashed through it, throwing spray into the air. Drops of water sparkled in the sunlight as they exploded upwards.

  Simms and his T-1 were only a few feet away. “You saw where they crossed,” Heacox said. “Take the platoon across.”

  Simms had a narrow face, a thin-lipped mouth, and a nearly nonexistent chin. He said, “Yes, sir,” and began to issue orders. The column started to wind its way
down toward the river a few minutes later. Once across, Heacox found himself at the foot of a long, sloping hillside. It was covered with knee-high scrub and loose rocks shed by the hillsides above. That observation produced a moment of doubt. The enemy would have the advantage of height.

  But Heacox told himself that’s all they would have. The vegetation plus the scree would inhibit movement by members of both sides. And, given its superior weaponry, the Legion would have the upper hand.

  Thus reassured, Heacox set about the all-important process of placing the troops. His first decision was to divide the Naa into two groups and send them out to guard both flanks. That would get them out of the way.

  Quickstep opposed that, pointing out that the rocks and ground cover would force his warriors to fight dismounted. But Heacox waved the objections off. It was his opinion that the Naa might bolt if allowed to retain their dooths, and he was determined to make the buggers fight.

  The second and even more critical decision had to do with placement of the quad. Heacox chose the spot himself. It was located about halfway up the slope, where the borg could hunker down behind a screen of rocks and fire his missiles into the hills above. And, in the case of a massed infantry charge, the quad could bring his Gatling gun into play. That plus the presence of four T-1s and their bio bods meant that the huge walker would be secure.

  This left twelve T-1s, counting the ones that he and Simms were riding, to form a skirmish line across the slope. A line that was anchored at both ends by Naa warriors. Maybe they would fight, and maybe they wouldn’t. But if they did, it would make the arrangement even stronger. As the light started to fade, Heacox was pleased with himself and confident of victory. War, as it turned out, was a simple task indeed.

  • • •

  What little light there was came from a well-shielded dooth dung fire. Fastblade Oneeye was peeing on a rock when the scout’s dooth skidded to a halt and sent rock chips flying through the cold air. The youth’s feet hit the ground with a thump, and the dooth made a grunting sound.