“There are many enemies” applies when you are fighting one against many. Draw both sword and companion sword and assume a wide-stretch left and right attitude. The spirit is to chase the enemies around from side to side, even as they come from all four directions.
MIYAMOTO MUSASHI
A Book of Five Rings
Standard year circa 1634
PLANET ALGERON
The squad had been on the go for more than two hours, and another period of daylight was about to end. McKee figured it was a good time to pause, give the bio bods a break, and make contact with Major Hasbro. So she was looking for a good place to hunker down when they came across the ruins of a barn. The roof had fallen in, but the walls were made of stacked stone. A good fort in a pinch.
“This is Eight,” McKee said. “We’re going to take a fifteen-minute break. There won’t be another squat for quite a while, so eat, pee, or whatever. But keep your heads on a swivel. The digs would like nothing better than to catch you with your pants down. Over.”
It was dark by then, and the night-vision technology built into McKee’s helmet gave the other members of the squad a ghostly appearance as she sought a moment of privacy behind some bushes. Then it was time to switch to the emergency freq and contact Hasbro. McKee knew the Naa might be able to detect activity on that channel but wouldn’t be able to understand what she said since the transmission would be scrambled both ways. “Bravo-Eight to Echo-One-Two . . . Do you read me? Over.”
Silence.
“Do you copy One-Two?”
Nothing.
McKee removed a trail bar from one of her cargo pockets, stripped the wrapper off, and took a bite. The lack of a response from Hasbro could be attributed to all sorts of things. The officer could be on the move, too close to the enemy to talk, or sound asleep. Or, and she hated to think about it, he might be dead. Still, the emergency locator beacon was on. But what if the Naa had the legionnaire’s handset—and were using it to suck her in? There were a lot of possibilities and no way to know which one she should pay attention to.
They were back on the trail ten minutes later. The darkness could be dangerous, but so could daylight, given the increased likelihood that they would be spotted. That’s why McKee preferred to travel at night. Yes, an ambush was always a possibility, but an unlikely one so long as the Naa remained unaware of them.
That’s why McKee’s greatest fear was that the patrol would blunder into the enemy. A firefight would follow, and even if the legionnaires won, the Naa would know where they were. That would reduce the chances of a rescue to near zero.
But the next three hours passed without incident, and when they stopped for a break, it was just past dawn. The sun was a seldom-seen bruise in a lead gray sky, and the clouds were so low they seemed to touch the hilltops. McKee took the opportunity to try to reach Hasbro. “Bravo-Eight to Echo-One-Two. Do you copy? Over.”
This time the answer was immediate. “This is One-Two. Over.”
McKee felt a surge of excitement as she eyed the map projected onto her HUD. Hasbro was alive! “We’re about two miles from your location and on the way.”
“Negative, Eight. We’re surrounded. Break it off. I repeat, break it off. That’s an order. Over.”
Surrounded. The word echoed through McKee’s mind as she formulated a response. “You’re breaking up, One-Two . . . Stay where you are. Over.”
McKee broke the connection and pushed her visor up out of the way. The entire squad was looking at her. They had been privy to the conversation. “I’m going in,” McKee said flatly. “But I won’t order you to do so.”
Ree-Ree shuffled his enormous feet. “You’ll need a ride,” he said gruffly.
“I’m in,” Larkin said cheerfully.
“Me too,” Jaggi rumbled.
“And me,” Chang said.
“Which means I have to go because she’s helpless without me,” Tanner put in.
“I came here to kill some Naa,” Voby said.
“I’m with you,” Olsen added.
“And so am I,” Sykes said. “Let’s go.”
McKee felt a lump form in the back of her throat and forced it down. “All right . . . There’s no way we’re going to sneak in . . . Not through a hundred Naa. Besides, we’re cavalry! So here’s the plan. Look at the map on your HUDs. See the beacon? That’s where we’re going. Voby, I want you to walk your rockets up the ravine that runs between hill 1040 and 1041. That will open the hole we need. Comments? No? Okay, let’s get ready.”
Voby could assign individual targets to each fire-and-forget rocket. Once that process was complete, all he had to do was fire. There was a loud whoosh as twelve of the weapons left the so-called cans mounted on his shoulders. A series of explosions was heard moments later.
But McKee was barely aware of the noise as she helped Larkin reload Voby’s tubes. Next it was time to jump down, dash over to where Ree-Ree was waiting, and mount up.
Then they were off. There was danger, yes, and fear that went with it. But McKee felt a sense of exultation as well. The same wild all-or-nothing craziness she had experienced once before. Ree-Ree was running full out, she was in the moment, and the others were streaming along behind. It was stupid. Oh, so stupid. But she gloried in it and was ready to kill.
As Ree-Ree entered the ravine, McKee saw a blackened crater, a dead dooth, and a sprawl of bodies. At least one of the missiles had done its work.
But there was no time to give the scene more than a cursory glance as Ree-Ree leaped over a zigzagging stream, and the Naa opened fire from both sides. An arrow bounced off Ree-Ree’s armor, a spear fell short, and dozens of bullets kicked up geysers of water and soil as warriors painted themselves onto McKee’s HUD. Ree-Ree could “see” them as well and fired his fifty. The heavy slugs found two Naa, plucked them off their feet, and threw them backwards.
Meanwhile, four slots to the rear, Voby was firing his rockets one by one, accompanied by short bursts from his machine gun. His job was to neutralize any heavy weapons the enemy might have. And that effort was largely successful. But luck plays an important part in war, and Voby’s ran out. Ironically, it was a missile that killed him. It was fired from a launcher stolen from the Legion, and the heat seeker went for the hot “can” on his right shoulder. The blast blew the cyborg’s head off and McKee heard a tone as Voby’s icon vanished from her HUD.
It was a terrible loss, but there was nothing any of them could do other than keep going. The ravine had started to narrow by that time, and the sides of it were increasingly steeper. McKee felt something nip at her left arm as she lifted the AXE. She could see at least a dozen Naa up ahead and knew there were more as an arrow whipped past her visor and bullets pinged Ree-Ree’s armor.
But bad though the situation was, the legionnaires had one thing going for them, and that was the fact that the enemy warriors were deployed along both sides of the rocky passageway. That meant they had to be careful lest they fire on each other. A tactical mistake that cut the volume of incoming fire by half and gave the humans a chance.
McKee fired her weapons and saw her bullets produce puffs of dust to the left of a leather-clad warrior before drifting onto his torso. The Naa shook as if palsied, went limp, and fell. The body was still on its way down when Ree-Ree flashed past and fired his grenade launcher. The resulting explosion killed the Naa who were gathered around a tripod-mounted machine gun and wounded a dooth. The animal screeched piteously, broke its tether, and charged upstream. As it did so, the dooth trampled a warrior who was trying to intercept it.
Then, as the ravine took a jog to the right, Hasbro’s voice filled McKee’s helmet. “I can see you . . . We’re in a played-out mine directly ahead. I’ll mark my position. You can charge straight up the slope below—but watch out. The tailings are loose.”
McKee saw red smoke appear up ahead and chinned her mike. “You heard the major! Head for the smoke. We’re almost there.”
And that was true. But before the squad could join Hasbro in the relative safety of the mine, there was one last gauntlet to run. The Naa closest to the officer’s hiding place knew the humans were coming and opened fire. Ree-Ree stumbled, that’s what it felt like, but McKee knew that the T-1 had been hit. There was no time in which to free herself from the harness. All she could do was ride the cyborg down.
They hit hard, causing McKee’s helmet to strike the back of Ree-Ree’s head. Though stunned, she still managed to hit the harness release and roll free. Her first thought was for Ree-Ree. She was going to pull his brain box when she saw the hole. It was large enough to have been caused by a .50-caliber round. She thumbed a cover out of the way. A glance at the cyborg’s readouts confirmed her worst fears. The legionnaire was dead.
“McKee! Let’s go.” McKee looked up to see Larkin and Jaggi towering above. Bullets were pinging all around, and as McKee looked up the slope, she saw that the rest of the squad was battling its way to the mine.
She grabbed her AXE, cut a grenade bag free from its place on Ree-Ree’s back, and was about to start up the incline when Jaggi grabbed her body armor from behind. Then, with McKee dangling from one hand, the T-1 fought for traction. The loose rocks made a clattering sound as they slid downhill, and Jaggi was hard-pressed to find firm footing. Thankfully, the others had arrived at the top by then and turned to provide covering fire.
Jaggi took advantage of the respite to zigzag cross the face of the hill while steadily working his way upwards. Finally, as the cyborg neared the mine, he let go. McKee landed on her feet. From there it was a short scramble to the top. Once there, it was possible to move away from the edge and most of the incoming fire. And, since the squad had silenced the snipers on the opposite slope, the flat area was safe for the moment.
Hasbro came forward to greet her. His face was dirty, and his long white hair was a bit tangled, but he was uninjured. “Sergeant McKee . . . We meet again. I told you to break it off.”
“Really?” McKee inquired. “I missed that. Your transmission broke up.”
“You’re a liar,” Hasbro said, “but thank you.”
“Hey, Sarge,” Olsen said as he arrived on the scene. “Chang took a round during the climb.”
McKee swore, told Larkin to take over, and followed the legionnaire into the mine. It was a primitive affair that consisted of a hole in the rock face and a ceiling supported by ancient timbers. Chang was laid out just inside the entrance. Her body armor had been removed, and a woman McKee hadn’t seen before was crouched next to her. A red bag was open at her side and McKee knew it was a first-aid kit. Off the fly-form? Yes. That made sense.
The woman looked up as McKee knelt across from her. “She’s unconscious, but I have a pressure dressing on the entry wound, and the bleeding stopped.”
“Thanks,” McKee said.
“My pleasure. The name’s Farley. I’m one of the major’s engineers.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“Don’t be. My rank isn’t important here.”
“If you say so, ma’am.”
“I do. And, Sergeant . . .”
“Ma’am?”
“Thank you for ignoring Major Hasbro’s order.”
McKee stood. “All of them volunteered, ma’am. That includes Chang here. Please take good care of her.”
McKee turned to find that Hasbro was waiting for her. His expression was grim. “I’m sorry to say that we have another patient to look after as well.”
“Sir?”
“The fly-form crashed about two miles east of here. The Naa must have seen it go down because they came after us right away. We couldn’t stay where we were, so I jerked Peeby’s brain box, and we brought it along. But that was nearly three days ago.”
McKee knew what that meant. The fly-form pilot’s emergency life-support system was good for about seventy-two hours, and that interval was nearly over. “Roger that, sir. I would like to check on our defensive situation. The Naa will probably take a crack at us when the sun goes down. Perhaps you’d be willing to provide the fort with a sitrep. And we could use a weather report. Then we’ll see what, if anything, we can do for Peeby.”
Though framed as suggestions, McKee was giving orders to a major. But if Hasbro was offended, there was no sign of it on his weathered face. “Will do,” he said cheerfully. “Let’s hope the clouds are about to lift.”
McKee left the mine for the fading light beyond. A sniper fired from a long way off, and the sound echoed between the hills. There were people all around, but McKee felt lonely.
• • •
FORT CAMERONE
Lee Travers was entirely unaware of the cold rain that was falling aboveground. He spent most of his time in a nicely furnished office performing the work that the Human Matrix corporation had hired him to do—and that was to bring everyone up to speed on the Legion’s new personnel-management system. And that effort was going well. In three standard months, four at most, he would be able to leave Algeron and return to Earth.
But Travers had a second job to do as well, and that was to identify potential traitors and carry out specific assignments. One of which was to vet Sergeant Andromeda McKee. Who was she anyway? A bona fide hero? Or a member of the Freedom Front?
Some progress had been made. After considerable effort, Roy Sykes had been able to join the same company McKee was part of and get himself assigned to her squad. His reports were a big help.
But what about McKee’s P-1 file? Because of the unwritten contract that the Legion had with the misfits, freaks, and criminals who belonged to it, only uniformed legionnaires could view personnel records. Except that Travers, who was helping the Legion to implement the new personnel system, had been given temporary access to all of the P files on Algeron. And before he left the planet, the contractor planned to create a number of backdoors that would allow the government to monitor the system for years to come. An accomplishment that would be worthy of an enormous bonus.
Such were Travers’s thoughts as he typed “Andromeda McKee” into the system’s search engine. That produced a request for a user name and password. The contractor entered both, and voila, he was looking at McKee’s P-1 file. The face that looked back at him had been disfigured by a scar. It gave McKee a piratical appearance and made her look older than she probably was. She was still attractive, however, or so it seemed to Travers, remembering that he’d been on Algeron for a couple of months.
The contractor smiled, took a sip of freshly brewed caf, and began to scroll. McKee, if that was her actual name, had joined the Legion on the planet Esparto. Subsequent to that she had gone through basic training on Drang and been sent to Adobe, where she was assigned to the 1st REC. After that, it was off to Orlo II, where she served with distinction and was put in for an IOM by a colonel named Rylund. That seemed straightforward enough.
But in keeping with the Legion’s traditions, McKee had not been required to provide her real name, a certified birth date, educational background, or information pertaining to a criminal record if any. A seeming dead end.
However, based on the latest report from Sykes, Travers knew that the CO who had signed McKee’s glowing fitness report was quite possibly her lover as well. A captain, no major, named John Avery. And according to Sykes, McKee had been guilty of desertion! A crime for which she had received corporal punishment, but it wasn’t mentioned in her file, presumably because of her relationship with Avery. Not the sort of stuff generally associated with heroes.
Yet for all of that, Travers was unable to find anything that suggested a political bent on McKee’s part or a connection to the Mason assassination. So it was too early to send his findings to Max. Hopefully, if things went well, Sykes would uncover even more information about the scar-faced sergeant.
Travers clicked the file closed and left the office. As a contractor, he was allowed to eat in the officers’ mess. And Tuesday was steak night. The blastproof door locked itself behind him.
• • •
THE DEEPDIG MINE
Once the sun went down, and a blanket of darkness settled over the land, the Naa attacked. It began with harassing fire from the opposite slope. The locals couldn’t see. Not the way the legionnaires could. But they didn’t have to. The idea was to distract the off-worlders and force them to take cover while the real attacks got under way.
As expected, the first assault came from below. But was it for real? Or just a feint? There was only one way to find out and that was to look. A muzzle-loading weapon fired, and a ball whispered past McKee’s head as she elbowed her way out to the edge of the slope and scanned the hillside below. She could see some widely spaced green blobs, about ten of them, slowly working their way up through the rocks. The group was moving too slowly to constitute the main attack. “This is Eight,” she said. “We have ten, repeat ten hostiles on the front slope, and that isn’t enough. Odds are that the rest will drop from above. Over.”
Having alerted the team, McKee assigned Sykes to deal with the warriors climbing up from the bottom of the ravine and ordered the others to take up positions that would allow them to fire up toward the top of the hill. That left Larkin, a private named Hagen, and her to serve as a quick-reaction force. Having been issued Chang’s AXE, Hasbro was stationed at the entrance to the mine. His job was to protect Farley, Chang, and Peeby should one or more warriors manage to get close.
Had she thought of everything? McKee hoped so as the volume of incoming fire increased, and Sykes fired his grenade launcher downslope. McKee heard a series of explosions followed by the clatter of a rockslide and knew she wouldn’t have to worry about that front unless the enemy threw more warriors at it.
Jaggi gave the alarm. “This is Eight-Five . . . The Naa dropped ropes from above . . . Here they come! Over.”
McKee had taken cover behind an old mining cart. She turned to look upward. Naa warriors were descending the ropes like beads on a string. “Roger that, Eight-Five. Waste ’em.”
Jaggi opened fire, quickly followed by Tanner, and she could see the muzzle flashes as they fired their fifties. Dead bodies thumped as they hit the ground, but the Naa kept coming. McKee couldn’t help but admire their courage. “Keep moving,” she instructed. “The snipers can see your muzzle flashes.”
But that wasn’t the worst of it. Suddenly, firebrands began to rain down from above. Yes, there was the chance they would land on someone, but the real danger was the illumination the torches provided. Suddenly, the snipers on the opposite hillside could see their targets, and the volume of incoming fire began to increase. “Larkin, Hagen, put those things out!” she ordered, and joined the effort herself.
They were short on water. So the only way to deal with the tar-soaked sticks was to stomp on them. As McKee did so, she felt a bullet slam into her armor. It almost knocked her down. She staggered, managed to recover, and knew she was going to have one helluva bruise.
About half the fires had been extinguished when Farley’s voice came over the radio. “They’re in the mine! I shot one of them with my pistol.”
McKee swore. There was another entrance up top somewhere. And that possibility had never occurred to her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “Larkin! Hagen! Follow me.”
Hasbro had his back to the entrance by that time and was firing over Chang into the darkness beyond. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, and couldn’t see in the dark, but the auto fire had the effect of keeping the Naa back.
McKee’s first thought was to lob a couple of grenades into the tunnel, but she remembered how old the supports were and thought better of the idea. Any kind of explosion could bring tons of rock crashing down on them. “No grenades,” she said, “and pick your shots.”
The firefight was consuming a lot of ammo, and McKee was increasingly concerned. The latest weather report was for clearing by “midday,” meaning that they would have to hold out for another four hours or so.
A green blob appeared, all of them fired at it, and the warrior fell. “Goddamn it,” Larkin said as he advanced, “you people are starting to piss me off!” There was a muzzle flash, followed by a three-shot burst from Larkin, and silence.
“That’s far enough,” McKee cautioned. “Toss a glow stick back there and take up a defensive position. Hagen will provide you with backup.”
Confident that the tunnel was reasonably secure, McKee went back outside. She looked around. The firing had stopped. “What’s up, Eight-Five?”
The ghostly looking T-1 was close enough to answer directly. “They broke it off, Sarge. For the moment, anyway.”
“Good . . . But stay sharp. Odds are they’ll try again.”
“Roger that.”
She’d checked on the cyborgs, so it was time to tackle the next problem. And that was pilot Marvin Peeby. Could he make it to the point when the weather cleared? Or would his emergency life-support system (LSS) crash before then?
Having activated her helmet light, McKee knelt next to Peeby’s brain box and flipped a cover out of the way. The good news was that Peeby was alive. The bad news was that his indicators were in the red.
Gravel crunched as Hasbro arrived. “So? What do you think?”
“I think Peeby’s going to die,” McKee answered, as she stood. “Unless . . .”
Hasbro looked hopeful. “Unless what?”
“Unless we use one of the T-1s to keep him going.”
“Brilliant!” Hasbro said. “We can remove one of their brain boxes knowing it will be able to sustain them for three days and load Peeby’s. Let’s get to work.”
“Not so fast,” McKee countered. “First, we need a volunteer. We can’t force a cyborg to give up his war form. Second, there’s the welfare of the entire unit to consider. Unless Peeby is qualified to run a T-1, which I doubt, he won’t be able to do much more than talk to us. That means we’ll lose a great deal of firepower.”
Hasbro looked crestfallen. “I never thought of that. What are you going to do?”
McKee’s first thought was to push the responsibility back onto him. He was the officer after all. But that would be a cop-out. Finally, it came down to which option felt better. “I’ll talk to the T-1s,” McKee said. “That’s the first step.”
As McKee went outside, she saw that the sky had begun to lighten. All of the legionnaires were close enough to hear her voice. “Larkin, watch the front slope. Hagen, keep an eye on the top of the hill. I’d like to have a word with Sykes, Jaggi, and Tanner.”
Once the T-1s were gathered around her, McKee explained the situation and what was going to happen to Peeby. “So,” she finished, “I won’t order one of you to help him . . . But I hope you will.”
“I’ll do it,” Jaggi volunteered. “I could use a nap.”
“Bullshit,” Tanner put in. “If the flyboy wakes up in your form, he’ll wish he was dead. When was the last time you had an overhaul anyway?”
“The new guy is the logical choice,” Sykes countered, “and that’s me.”
Sykes had done a good job so far, but McKee agreed with him. If the Naa attacked again, and she fell, the survivors would need every bit of expertise they could muster.
McKee took care of the swap herself. Sykes came out, and Peeby went in, and both survived. As Peeby came to, he was understandably disoriented. But Farley was there to talk him through it while McKee went out to check on the tactical situation. The sun had risen by then, the thick layer of clouds was starting to burn off, and the situation had evolved into a standoff. The legionnaires were trapped, but the Naa lacked the means to overwhelm them, so all the two sides could do was snipe at each other. And that was how the situation remained for the next couple of hours.
Finally, just as the sun began to set in the west, and the last of the clouds melted away, McKee heard the crackle of static followed by a cheerful voice. “Bravo-Eight, this is Fox-Four-Five, along with two of my best friends. We are three out. Take cover. Over.”
“Roger that,” McKee said. “Welcome to the party. Over.”
McKee followed the rest of them into the mine, chose the most commonly used ground-support freq, and clicked it on. Suddenly, she could “see” through the lead ship’s nose cam, as the fly-form began its run. There was no sound, so the scene had an eerie, otherworldly quality as Fox-Four-Five triggered the rotary cannon in the bow of his fly-form. A steady stream of shells turned the river into sheets of spray, carved lines into a hillside as the VTOL banked to the right, and tore any Naa foolish enough to expose himself into bloody rags. She could hear the aircraft engines by then and caught a brief glimpse of the avenging fly-forms as they flashed by. Then a new voice flooded her helmet. “Juno-Six-Four to Bravo-Eight . . . I’m ten out. Prepare for dustoff. Over.”
McKee broke the video link to Fox-Four-Five, and said, “Roger that. Over.”
By the time the tubby medevac ship put down on the flat area in front of the mine, Jaggi and Tanner were ready to load Peeby, who was resident in Sykes’s war form. It was laid out on a makeshift stretcher, which only they were strong enough to lift.
Chang was conscious by then, but in considerable pain, and McKee felt grateful when a pair of medics rushed in to help. They performed a quick assessment, loaded the bio bod onto a stretcher, and carried her onto the waiting VTOL.
The bio bods went next, with McKee boarding last, as two of the attack ships hovered nearby. Then the ramp came up, engines roared, and the VTOL rose. That was the moment McKee had been waiting for. The mission was over, other people were in charge, and she could relax. The crew chief came by with a thermos of caf, but she was asleep by then. An olive green brain box was sitting on the deck between her boots—and the name ROY SYKES was stenciled across both sides of it. They were going home.
• • •
Near one standard day had elapsed since the medevac ship had landed at Fort Camerone. Peeby, Sykes, and Chang had been rushed off to receive medical treatment, and the rest of them had been debriefed. Then, and only then, were they allowed to get some rest.
McKee slept poorly because variations of the same dream plagued her all night. She was back in the mine, and the Naa were pouring in through an air shaft that ran up to the top of the hill. She fired her AXE at them, but they were bulletproof, and kept on coming. And it happened over and over again.
So it was something of a relief to get up, have breakfast, and go to muster. The meeting lasted fifteen minutes and, as it came to a close, Dero caught her eye. “My office—0830.”
Dero met with individual squad leaders on a frequent basis, so such get-togethers weren’t unusual. Still, having just returned from a rather unusual mission, McKee felt a bit of apprehension as she approached the tiny office and rapped on the door. The lieutenant was at her desk and waved McKee in before she could announce herself. “I know who you are . . . Take a load off.”
McKee felt a little better as she sat down. It seemed as though Dero was in a good mood. “So,” the officer said, “you’ll be happy to hear that Chang is doing well—and Sykes will return to duty later today.”
McKee was about to reply when the comset buzzed. Dero squinted at the readout and made a face. “Sorry, it’s the captain.”
Then, as she brought the handset up to her ear, “Good morning, sir.”
There was a moment of silence as Dero listened to whatever was being said at the other end. That was followed by a crisp, “Yes, sir. I’ll be there shortly.”
“This shouldn’t take long,” Dero said, as she put the receiver down. “I’ll be right back.”
Once Dero was gone, there was nothing to do but sit and look around. But, with the exception of a neatly framed recruiting poster, the walls were bare. So McKee’s eyes were drawn to Dero’s terminal. She could see that it was on. It was wrong, she knew that, but curiosity got the best of her.
McKee stood, glanced at the door, and stepped behind the desk. That was when she found herself looking at a file with the heading CHANG, EMILY, PRIVATE. MEDICAL EVALUATION.
McKee felt her heart beat a little bit faster. If Dero was looking at Chang’s P-1, then she was logged onto the system! That meant that if McKee dared to do so, and carried out the task quickly enough, she could get a sneak peek at her own file. Something she had always been curious about. Was it clean? Or was she under suspicion in the wake of the Mason assassination?
McKee knew she was risking everything as she sat down in Dero’s chair and scooted forward. If the lieutenant or one of her subordinates entered the office while she was using the terminal, she’d be in big trouble. But the opportunity was too good to pass up.
Audio commands wouldn’t work if the terminal was locked to the sound of Dero’s voice. But a holoboard was available, and McKee’s fingers danced in the air as she typed her name into the search engine. The response was instantaneous. And as the first page came up, so did a list of the people who had accessed the P-1 during the last thirty days. McKee saw that Dero had opened the file eight times, Heacox had looked at it once, and so had a person named Lee Travers. McKee felt something akin to ice water trickle into her veins. Because here, right in front of her, was evidence that the agent was interested in her.
McKee heard voices, recognized one of them as belonging to the lieutenant, and barely had time to retrieve Chang’s medical evaluation before Dero and Heacox arrived. McKee stood and hoped the platoon leader wouldn’t notice the fact that her chair was in a slightly different position. But it was quickly apparent it wouldn’t be a problem as Heacox plopped down on it. There was a frown on his face, and McKee could tell that the officer was about to unload on her. He blinked three times.
“When Lieutenant Dero told me that you were in her office, I decided to come down and provide you with some feedback. Your performance on the rescue mission was absolutely appalling. The first thing you did was to disobey a direct order from Major Hasbro, thereby putting your squad at risk, which ultimately resulted in a number casualties. And don’t give me any nonsense about radio interference—that’s the oldest trick in the book.
“And, if that wasn’t bad enough, you then took it upon yourself to play God by switching one cyborg for another. The net effect was to reduce the amount of firepower available and endanger everyone concerned.”
Heacox paused at that point—as if to control his temper. “If it were up to me, you would be brought up on charges. But Major Hasbro insists on referring to your actions as ‘remarkable,’ ‘gallant,’ and ‘outstanding.’ Even going so far as to put his nonsense in writing. So it looks like your much-deserved comeuppance will have to wait. But that day will come, and when it does, I’ll see you in chains. Dismissed.”
As McKee left the office and made her way down the hallway, she was still coming to terms with the fact that Travers had taken an interest in her. Comfort, if any, stemmed from the fact that the Imperial agent had accessed her P-1 file only once and quite recently, too. So maybe she could put a stop to whatever the bastard was up to.
But how? The obvious answer was to kill Travers before he could kill her. That was easier said than done, however. First, she would have to find out more about his habits and do so quickly. That was the survivor talking, the woman who had been hunted for months and wouldn’t go down without a fight.
But there was another voice inside her head as well. Cat’s voice. And she was incredulous. That’s it? she wanted to know. Someone takes a peek at your P-1, and you decide to kill them?
Travers is on the list, McKee replied firmly. And he took an unauthorized look at my P-1 file. What do you want me to do? Wait until he’s pointing a gun at me?
Cat had no response for that and remained silent as McKee began to stalk her prey. And it wasn’t easy because the announcement everyone was waiting for had finally been made. The 13th Demi-Brigade, under the command of Colonel Richard Bodry, was going to bore a tunnel through the Towers of Algeron. So McKee’s days were filled to overflowing as the squadron prepared to escort the engineers into what was likely to be a very hostile environment.
McKee couldn’t spy on Travers directly because there were hundreds of security cameras inside Fort Camerone. And once the civilian turned up dead, the MPs would be eyeballing video of everyone and everything that had been in contact with Travers during the days prior to the murder.
So McKee hacked into the system that controlled the fort’s utility bots. A virtual army of robots that cleaned the hallways, carried out routine maintenance activities, and were so ubiquitous that nobody noticed them. The first step was to identify the machines assigned to clean the areas adjacent to the contractor’s room and office. Then, by tapping into their vid feeds, McKee could see what they saw. And that was a boring routine that consisted of work, sleep, and meals that were taken in the officers’ mess.
McKee watched carefully to see if Travers sat with Heacox, or interacted with the officer, but never saw them together. That, at least, was good. So finally, after two days of surveillance she declared herself ready. Are you sure this is the right thing to do? Cat inquired.
Yes, McKee answered. I’m sure. And she was.
• • •
Travers was working late as usual and why not? There was nothing else to do in Fort Camerone other than to watch porn, play sports, or take up a hobby. And Travers had no desire to play an instrument, paint landscapes, or write haiku. No, the more he got done, the sooner he could go home. Simple as that.
So Travers was seated at his desk trying to diagnose systems glitches when he heard a knock. The door was open. And as Travers said, “Come in,” he turned to look. A legionnaire stepped into the room. He or she was dressed in a helmet, body armor, and boots. That wasn’t unusual—but the closed visor was. “I have a present for you,” the solider said, as he or she placed an object on his desk.
Travers realized what it was, and yelled, “No!” But the legionnaire had left by then. The civilian was reaching for the grenade when it exploded. Pieces of flying shrapnel pulped his face, ripped his throat out, and splashed blood onto the wall behind him. The nearly headless body teetered and fell. The remains would be sent home.