The Towers of Algeron are like teeth, each peak a fang, all waiting to close on he who would pass between them.
GOODWORDS TRUESPEAK
My Journeys
Standard year 803
PLANET ALGERON
Forward Operating Base Oscar had nearly doubled in size during the brief time that McKee had been away. There were more habs, more landing pads, and more people. All connected in one way or another with the tunnel project. And, according to the scan, the main column had already passed ten miles west of the FOB and was grinding its way south.
After being flown out of Doothdown, or what was left of it, McKee and her squad had been allowed to grab a full sleep cycle. Now, as McKee crossed the slushy compound, she was on her way to see Lieutenant Dero.
McKee saluted a captain she’d never seen before, entered the headquarters hab, and realized that it was larger than it had been. There was a lobby, complete with a reception desk. A bored-looking corporal was seated behind it. He sent her down a long hallway to office 111. The door was open, and when McKee knocked, she heard Dero say, “Enter.”
McKee took three paces forward, and was about to come to attention, when Dero said, “At ease. Grab a chair, Sergeant . . . Welcome back.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I’m sorry about Quinn and Tanner.”
“Me too,” McKee said soberly. “I’d like to put Quinn in for a commendation. She died trying to protect a Naa cub.”
“Write it up. I’ll sign and send it on to Captain Heacox.”
“Heacox? I thought he was dead.”
Dero made a face but was far too professional to say anything critical about their commanding officer. “So did we at first. But he was found half a mile downstream from the battle lying half-in and half-out of the water. There was a bump the size of an orange on the side of his head. A wound which he suffered while fighting three warriors. It seems they thought he was dead when they threw him into the river.”
McKee could see the contempt in Dero’s eyes and could tell that the officer didn’t believe Heacox’s story. “How many people survived?”
“Heacox, three legionnaires, and two Naa.”
“My God.”
“Yes.”
Both were silent for a moment. Dero heaved a sigh. “Well, speaking of commendations, I put you in for another one. What you managed to accomplish at Doothdown was nothing short of amazing.”
“I don’t want a commendation.”
Dero grinned. “It doesn’t matter what you want, Sergeant. You’re not in charge here.”
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now, there’s no rest for the weary, so you know what that means. Major Hasbro wants you back.”
“Where is he?”
“Out in front of the main column and closing in on the existing tunnel. By the way . . . Only a dozen raiders made it back to that point. And when they did, Chief Lifetaker and some of his warriors were there to greet them. None of the people who attacked Doothdown survived.”
McKee waited for the feeling of satisfaction to surface. It didn’t. All she could think of was the pathetic column of survivors she had watched leave Doothdown. Widows leading dooth-drawn carts while elders shuffled through the driving snow and youngsters clung to their coats. If that was victory, what did defeat look like? Still, it was good to know that those who had killed so many of her comrades were dead. “Roger that, ma’am. I’ll pass the word.”
“You do that,” Dero said. “I’ll give you one standard day to go over the T-1s and gear up. Be on the road south by 0600 one cycle from now. Sorry about the slog—but fly-forms are in short supply.”
The emphasis on 0600 seemed to suggest that Dero had something specific on her mind. So McKee raised an eyebrow. “At 0600?”
“Captain Heacox is at Fort Camerone receiving medical treatment. He’s scheduled to arrive here at 0800.”
Their eyes met. There was no need to say anything more. Heacox was alive. And so long as that was the case, McKee had an enemy. The sooner she left, and the sooner she placed herself under Hasbro’s protection, the safer she would be. McKee stood. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“One more thing,” Dero said. “A couple of replacements will report to you later today. They’re green as grass. Don’t scare the crap out of them.”
It seemed like only yesterday when McKee had been green as grass herself. Now she was known as the Steel Bitch. A sobriquet likely to scare any newbie. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be on my best behavior.”
Then McKee came to attention, delivered a crisp salute, and did a smart about-face. There was a whole lot of work to do and one twenty-four-hour cycle to do it in. Larkin would be pissed.
• • •
After days of snow, the sky had finally cleared, the sun was arcing across the sky, and McKee was as happy as she could be given the fact that she was going to war. Larkin and Jaggi were on point, followed by the newcomers Kyle and Shinn. She and Sykes were next, with Hagen and Clay in the four slot.
The squad was moving along at a good clip, and it wasn’t long before they caught up with the tail end of the four-mile-long main column. The rear guard consisted of a platoon of very frustrated cavalry who couldn’t travel any faster than the slowest unit in front of them. And that meant ten miles an hour. Larkin waved as he passed them—and received a dozen one-fingered salutes in return.
As they moved up the column, McKee saw heavily loaded crawlers, two of which were nearly invisible under the enormous tunneling machines they carried. They were preceded by a long line of trucks, hundreds of construction droids marching in step, and a battalion of infantry complete with support vehicles. All following the markers that Major Hasbro and his team of engineers had laid down.
It took more than half an hour to pass the column, the cavalry unit on point, and the RAVs out in front of them. Then the squad was on its own. That gave McKee a chance to put her people through a number of evolutions, all intended to keep them sharp and train the newcomers.
Ron Kyle had come to Algeron straight from advanced training on Adobe. He had short sandy hair, ears that stuck straight out from the sides of his head, and a lingering tendency to call noncoms “sir” or “ma’am.”
It was too early to know how Kyle would handle himself in a fight. But having watched him perform a maintenance check on Shinn the night before, McKee got the impression that his tech skills were way above average, and that could be a significant advantage. Because even though the techs assigned to each platoon were supposed to carry out all of the major repairs, McKee hadn’t seen one in weeks.
Shinn was something else, however. According to her P-1, she had graduated from the cybernetic equivalent of advanced training nine months earlier, refused a direct order, and been “racked” for sixty days. That was all McKee was allowed to see, so she didn’t know how Shinn’s bio body had been destroyed, or why she was in the Legion. Nor did she care so long as the cyborg did her job.
Day turned to night and day again. And as the sun rose, McKee found that she had to tilt her head way back in order to see the tops of the mountains in front of her. Soon, in a matter of hours, she would be directly below them.
Finally, when the squad caught up with Hasbro, it was to find that his engineers and the platoon of infantry assigned to protect them had set up camp just outside the narrow passageway that led into the existing tunnel. Lieutenant Royce came out to greet the newcomers.
“Welcome to the party, McKee . . . It’s good to see you. The major is somewhere under Mount Skybreaker at the moment but I’ll show you around.”
Having freed her people to take a break and have lunch, McKee followed Royce over to a six-man tent, where she met Lieutenant Hiram Baraki. He had black hair, a handsome face, and was in the process of shaving. Baraki wiped some gel onto a hand towel before offering his hand to her.
McKee had been in the Legion long enough to know that most officers fell into one of two groups: assholes like Heacox or straight shooters like Hasbro. But judging from the way Baraki continued to hold her hand, he fell into a third category. Officers who saw every female as an opportunity. “Welcome to our little base camp,” Baraki said. “We haven’t had any trouble yet, but who knows? The southerners could cross one of the mountain passes and attack from the east or west. It pays to be vigilant.”
McKee tugged her hand free. “Yes, sir. Of course, the main column will be here soon, along with a battalion of infantry.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Baraki said as he wiped shaving gel off his face. “It will be nice to eat something other than MREs for a change.”
“So what did you think?” Royce inquired, as they walked away.
“I thought he was going to keep my hand.”
Royce laughed. “I know what you mean. I got the treatment, too—but he stopped when I told him I was married.”
“Are you?”
“Hell, no.” Both women laughed and continued the tour. Once it was over, McKee was free to heat an MRE and give Sykes a once-over. A bearing in his right hip had been giving him trouble and would require replacement pretty soon. The cyborg seemed to be more inquisitive than usual. He peppered her with questions, many of which were about her family, and by the time they parted company, McKee was happy to escape.
It was dark when a private entered the squad tent and called McKee’s name. “Yeah?”
“The major wants to see you, Sarge. He’s in his tent.”
McKee acknowledged the request, put her AXE back together, and slid the sling over a shoulder. Baraki and his people had responsibility for security—but she insisted that her people carry weapons at all times. Not because she didn’t trust the ground pounders but because she had a healthy respect for the Naa.
Light spilled out of the tent, and as McKee stepped into the doorway, she saw that Hasbro was seated on a folding chair with his boots up on a box of surveying gear. He looked tired, and his uniform was filthy. “There you are!” he said cheerfully. “Come in and grab a seat. Pardon my appearance, but it’s hard to stay neat and tidy in the tunnel.”
McKee sat on an ammo crate. “Have you been all the way through yet?”
“Heavens no!” Hasbro replied. “The tunnel would be thirty-plus miles long if it ran straight as an arrow. But it doesn’t. Based on interviews with Naa warriors who have been through it, we know it twists and turns. So let’s call it something like thirty-two miles long. And the farthest I’ve been is about three miles.”
At that point, Hasbro was interrupted by a corporal carrying a hot MRE and a mug of caf. Hasbro took his feet off the gear box so the soldier could place the food on it. “Thanks, Orley. That looks like a fine feast indeed.”
Orley looked at McKee and rolled his eyes before retreating to the corner where the detachment’s com gear was set up. “Orley has no taste,” Hasbro explained as he began to eat. “MREs not only taste good, they’re good for you! That’s because they’re loaded with vitamins.”
“No offense, sir,” McKee said. “But that’s crazy.”
“No offense taken,” Hasbro said between bites. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. The tunnel. Our job is to enter, take all sorts of geological samples, and deliver them to Colonel Bodry before he blows a gasket. Once the main column arrives, he’ll want to crank up the tunneling machines ten minutes later.”
“Roger that,” McKee said cautiously. “And what role will my squad play?”
“Why, you’re my bodyguards,” Hasbro replied, as if that were self-evident. “Yes, I could call on Lieutenant Baraki, but he doesn’t have any cyborgs, and we might need a lot of firepower. The southerners know what we’re up to by now. How couldn’t they? The main column has been dragging its ass south for weeks! So they’ll try to stop it. Make no mistake about that.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” McKee said respectfully. “But will my T-1s fit in the tunnel?”
“I thought about that,” Hasbro said, as he took a sip of caf. “There are some tight spots, no doubt about it, but I believe they can go as far as I have. Can they go all the way? Time will tell.”
The discussion turned technical at that point as they began to discuss the need to go in, and stay in, so that they wouldn’t waste time coming and going. “There’s a cavern about 2.5 miles in,” Hasbro said. “And a pool of clean water. We can establish a FOB there. Then, once we find another cave, we’ll move it forward, and so forth. Until we reach the other end.”
The concept made sense but would require all sorts of specialized equipment, including portable fuel cells, lots of lights, and tons of supplies. McKee’s thoughts were whirling as she left. There was a tremendous amount to do—and less than two standard days in which to do it. Hasbro wanted to be deep inside Mount Skybreaker when the main column arrived. It would, he claimed, be more peaceful then.
• • •
After a great deal of work and very little sleep, the team was ready to go. Royce and two of her engineers led the way, followed by eight heavily loaded construction droids and four RAVs, all of which were loaded with supplies. Major Hasbro came next, with McKee, her squad, and two additional RAVs bringing up the rear.
The passageway led to a rocky fissure, which, judging from the piles of unweathered material to either side of it, had been enlarged recently. McKee activated her helmet light as she followed the others inside. Hasbro was right. There was enough room for a T-1 and rider but just barely. She had to duck from time to time, and Sykes had to bend forward occasionally in order to negotiate the tight spots.
As lights played across rock walls, McKee saw what might have been ancient tool marks and was reminded of how old the tunnel was. The air was cool without being cold, and there were no sounds to be heard other than the rhythmic whine of servos and the occasional scrape of metal on rock.
It wasn’t long before the path began to slant downwards, and a pool of crystal-clear water appeared on the left. Huge stalactites hung down from the ceiling, and McKee caught occasional glimpses of brown flowstone in the background. She’d been required to take a basic geology course in college and knew that the calcite deposits she was looking at had been laid down over hundreds if not thousands of years.
Unfortunately, everything she was looking at was going to be destroyed by a huge tunneling machine in a few days. That made her feel sad. In fact, the whole enterprise bothered her. Because now, having spent some time on Algeron, she could see what the brass were up to. Connect north with south, encourage ancient enemies to duke it out, and dominate whichever side won. And she was a party to it.
Hasbro said, “Watch your head,” and she ducked just in time. But the Legion was her country. And that, right or wrong, was what she would fight for in the short run. Longer term, well, there was the empress to think about. A mistake had been made and would have to be corrected.
The light from McKee’s helmet panned over a large calcite formation as Sykes climbed a steep slope. It consisted of knobby lumps that looked something like popcorn. Just part of the fantastic scenery all around her. But the novelty of the underground passageway began to wear off after a while. And the journey took on a monotonous quality as the trail dipped, turned, rose, and split over and over again.
There were a few memorable moments, however, like when the construction droid stepped onto what looked like a shadow but was actually a hole. No screams issued from the bottom of the pit. Just a monotonous distress call that would continue until the machine’s power gave out. Because valuable or not, they couldn’t spare the time required to recover the machine.
Finally, after more than an hour of travel, the party arrived in the cavern Hasbro had spoken of. As Royce triggered a remote, the lights came on and splashed the walls all around. And that was when McKee saw the murals left by the ancient Naa. Minimalistic pictures of dooths, hoppers, and other creatures. The fire pits used to light the place were still there and, judging from the look of them, had been used rather recently. Something to keep in mind.
“We’ll make camp,” Hasbro announced. “And push on at 1400 hours.”
It didn’t work out that way, however. It was 1536 by the time Royce, two of her droids, and Hasbro left the cavern. McKee, Sykes, Kyle, and Shinn were right behind them. The logic being that there wasn’t enough room to use more than two cyborgs at a time—and the others could take advantage of the opportunity to rest. A necessity since they would have to stand guard later on.
The first half mile had already been explored. But everything after that was new territory. And it wasn’t long before McKee began to appreciate the role the droids played. Both were equipped with impact hammers that they employed to make narrow spots wider—and to take the samples that would be sent back to the main column. Without them, forward progress would have been extremely slow.
They walked up slopes, down steep inclines, and around obstacles for the better part of two hours before Hasbro called a halt. Then, to mark the spot, they spray-painted the time and date onto a wall. With that accomplished, they turned around and made the trip back—pausing every now and then to collect the samples taken earlier. The droids carried them in packs—but McKee had what she thought was a better idea. Something they could try the following day. In any case, it took another two hours to reach the cavern. Proof positive that there was a need to establish camps along the way.
With half her squad on duty in the tunnel, McKee was able to eat an MRE, take a sponge bath behind a shelter half, and enjoy six hours of uninterrupted sleep. Then it was time to get up, have breakfast, and listen to Larkin’s report. It seemed that the “night” had been largely uneventful. But at 0222 the legionnaires had heard faint noises. “I don’t know what they were doing,” Larkin finished, “but I’m sure some fur balls were up tunnel.”
It wasn’t much to go on, and to be expected in a way, but McKee wasn’t about to ignore that sort of enemy activity. So she went to Hasbro, told him what she wanted to do, and got a grudging agreement. “I’m afraid your plan will slow us down,” the engineer said. “But we’ll give it a try.”
So as the party left the cavern, a RAV took the lead. The plan was to use the robot’s mine-detecting abilities and load its empty cargo compartment with rock samples. And the precaution paid off. The RAV hadn’t gone more than two hundred feet when it detected a carefully hidden mine under a narrow spot in the path. Had a human or a cyborg stepped on the device, it could and probably would have killed them.
Hasbro and McKee watched as the robot disarmed the mine. “You were right,” the officer said soberly. “We’ll have to be very careful from now on.”
“Yes, sir,” McKee agreed. “But the problem is even bigger than that. The Naa could blow the tunnel. Come to think of it, why haven’t they done so?”
“I think they will attempt to close it off once they come to the conclusion that they can’t stop us. That wouldn’t stop Colonel Bodry, of course. He can drill through the blockage.”
McKee thought about that. “So we just keep going? Knowing they could blow us up anytime they choose to?”
Hasbro looked her in the eye and shrugged. “Simple answer, yes.”
“I want a transfer.”
Hasbro laughed. “Too late, Sergeant. I’ve got you where I want you.”
So they pushed deeper into the mountain. Now the tunnel felt oppressive to McKee. Like a long throat that led into the belly of a beast. And she felt especially vulnerable whenever the passageway widened out into a gallery of stalagmites, flowstone deposits, and helictites, which looked like tangles of white worms. All of which could serve as cover for a group of Naa warriors. But if she was worried, Hasbro wasn’t, or didn’t seem to be, which made her feel like a coward.
They were just about to quit for the day and turn back when the group entered another cavern. It wasn’t as large as the first nor as convenient since there weren’t very many flat spots, but it would enable them to move the base camp forward. So Hasbro spray-painted the time and date on a wall—and ordered the team to turn around. McKee had dismounted by then and was standing a few feet away.
“We’re going to stay, sir,” McKee said. “We have a couple of emergency MREs, and there’s a pool of water over here, so we’ll be fine. And, if it’s all the same to you, we’ll keep the RAV.”
McKee was forced to squint as Hasbro’s light came around to splash her face. He was silent for a moment, then he nodded. “I get it. You regard everything we’ve been through as cleared. So by staying here, you can keep it that way.”
“Sir, yes, sir. But I have something more in mind as well. If the Naa come this way, which I believe they will, I plan to teach them a lesson.”
“You never cease to amaze me,” Hasbro said. “Okay, we’ll be back in about ten hours. And we’ll bring all of the gear and supplies forward.”
“Roger that, sir. Bring some breakfast, too.”
Hasbro grinned. “Absolutely . . . You can have one of my favorites. A breakfast burrito.”
McKee made choking sounds, and Hasbro laughed. The engineers and their robots left a few seconds later. McKee turned to find Kyle looking at her and realized her mistake. She’d been so busy thinking about strategy, she had forgotten who was with her. Ideally, she would have chosen Larkin and his cyborg for the overnighter. The decision to bring the newbies had been based on the need to train them up. Now, having committed herself to an overnight stay, she would have to work with what she had.
“Okay,” McKee said. “We’re going to eat our MREs and split up into two teams. Shinn with me and Kyle with Sykes. The plan is simple. We’ll turn off the lights and wait to see if the enemy shows up. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” Sykes replied. “Where does the RAV fit in?”
“Before we turn the lights off, we’ll head up tunnel and hide the RAV. I will take control of it, which will allow me to fire on the Naa from the rear—or open up on them if they try to retreat. If we can kill or capture all of them, that will have a psychological impact on their command structure. Any other questions? No? All right. The RAV will act as a sentry while we take a break.”
An hour later, they were done eating and had selected positions from which they would be able to fight if the Naa entered the cavern. With that accomplished, they pushed farther up the tunnel until they found a spot where they could hide the RAV behind some large stalagmites. Then, having delegated control of the robot’s machine gun to herself and checked to make sure that she could “see” what it saw via her helmet’s HUD, McKee led the others back to the cavern.
Once the legionnaires were settled, McKee gave some final orders. “Remember, no unnecessary conversation. And if you speak, use the squad push. Shinn and I will take the first two-hour watch, then Kyle and Sykes will take over. Okay, lights out.”
The cavern was plunged into darkness as the lights went out in quick succession. The cyborgs could “see” heat. But without any ambient light to intensify, the night-vision technology built into McKee’s helmet didn’t work. And the complete darkness bothered her more than she’d thought it would.
But she could tap into the RAV’s systems—and that included the machine’s infrared sensors. The problem was that with the exception of some green dots, the screen was empty. Were the dots tiny cave-dwelling life-forms? Or the equivalent of static? There was no way to tell. All she could do was wait.
• • •
Sykes had permission to sleep but wasn’t sleepy. So, with nothing else to do, he went back to work trying to hack what he thought of as McKee’s “cat” drive. How much time had he spent on that so far? Hundreds of hours probably. With no end in sight.
That was frustrating, and Sykes had given up for a while. And why not? He’d been busy, and Travers was dead. But, after the battle at Doothdown, Sykes had returned to FOB Oscar to find that an electronic message was waiting for him. The seemingly innocuous communication consisted of eight words. “Please visit Carly Vickers at Fort Camerone. Max.”
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Vickers had been sent to replace Travers. Unfortunately, Sykes couldn’t travel to Fort Camerone. Not at the moment. But that would change. And when it did, he would have to deliver something. Proof that McKee was what she seemed to be or proof that she wasn’t, and had been neutralized. Anything less could be fatal. For him.
Sykes heaved the equivalent of a sigh. His onboard computer was already running possible combinations. He would go to work as well. Then, if all else failed, he would kill McKee and make up some sort of story. Better safe than sorry.
• • •
Having completed her watch, McKee was fast asleep when they came. And would have remained that way had it not been for the link with the RAV. It delivered a buzzing sound that caused her to wake with a jerk. That was followed by a moment of disorientation. Where was she? Why was it so dark? Then, as a column of spindly heat blobs began to parade across her HUD, it came back to her. She wasn’t on Orlo II with John Avery. She was on Algeron deep inside a mountain called Skybreaker.
“This is Eight,” she said. “Get ready . . . We have company. It looks like five, six, seven hostiles. They just passed the RAV. Once they are in the chamber, I will order lights on—and Sykes will call on the Naa to surrender. If they do, that would be ideal. If not, kill them. Over.” McKee received a series of double clicks by way of a reply.
Like all T-1s, Sykes’s computer could speak Naa even if he couldn’t. So it would say the necessary words over the cyborg’s external speakers, and the rest would be up to the enemy.
Each second seemed like a minute. Had the warriors stopped to pee? Were they turning back? If so, McKee would have to open fire on them with the RAV and lead the squad up tunnel to attack the Naa from behind.
All such thoughts disappeared as a flickering light appeared and threw a long, spindly shadow out onto the floor of the cave. “This is Eight. Let ’em come,” McKee said softly. “Let’s get the whole group into the cavern if we can. Over.”
McKee got her wish. A tall Naa carrying a torch in one hand and an elaborately decorated staff in the other entered the room. A mystic! Such individuals could sense the presences of enemies, or so the Naa claimed. But that was a load of bullshit since . . .
Suddenly, there was a noise akin to a crack of thunder and so loud that loose pieces of rock fell from the ceiling. One of them clattered off McKee’s helmet and another thumped her back. Then the mystic shouted something, the warriors began to fire, and all hell broke loose.
The Naa hadn’t identified targets and were firing wildly in hopes of hitting whatever the hidden threat was. And, because only three of them were armed with semiauto rifles, the volume of fire they put out was relatively low. Bullets chipped divots out of the walls, a stalactite crashed to the floor, and some of the slugs bounced off harder pieces of rock to buzz like bees as they flew back and forth.
But when the T-1s opened up with their fifties, and the bio bods fired their assault weapons, the warriors were seriously outgunned. So the Naa were forced to retreat. Sykes gave chase, closely followed by Kyle and Shinn.
McKee eyed the feed from the hidden RAV, waited for the first heat signature to appear, and fired a long burst. The blobs fell in quick succession.
With no targets to shoot at, McKee left cover and made her way over to the tunnel. She had to step over a body to enter the passageway. A trail of bloody corpses led to the dead mystic. Kyle had the Naa’s staff and was turning it over in his hands. There was a look of pleasure on his face. “That was awesome!”
McKee felt a sudden surge of anger. “This isn’t awesome. It’s sad. We slaughtered the poor bastards. They never had a chance. Go through their belongings and take anything that might have intelligence value. Then dig some graves. I’m going up tunnel for a look-see.” And with that, she left.
Kyle watched her go. “What was that about?”
“McKee doesn’t like to kill people,” Sykes answered. “Even furry people. And she’s right. What took place here doesn’t qualify as a battle. Now, unless you want the Steel Bitch to kick your ass, I suggest you get to work.”
• • •
All of the bodies had been checked and buried by the time Hasbro and the rest of them arrived. And when McKee gave her report, he said, “Well done.”
But McKee could tell that his mind was focused on the need to set up the new camp and push ahead. Word had arrived that the drilling machines were not only in place to the north of them but already up and running.
So once the camp had been reestablished in the new cavern, the march continued. As before, a RAV took the lead. There weren’t any mines this time, but the party passed an alcove that had been used as a camping spot, and recently, too. From there, the trail climbed a cavern wall, passed under a graceful arch, and ran along the left bank of a nearly dry river. Then the path veered off to wind its way through a long gallery that was supported by dozens of sturdy columns.
After an hour of relatively easy travel, they literally hit a wall as the trail ended in front of a relatively small hole. There was enough room for a bio bod to pass through, and a RAV might make it, but that was all. So what to do? Continue without the cyborgs? Or try to make the opening larger? All McKee could do was wait while Hasbro and Royce held a council of war.
Finally, Hasbro turned her way. “Well, Sergeant, like it or not, it looks like this is where we part company. Lieutenant Royce feels, and I agree, that the use of explosives to enlarge the passageway could bring the roof down. And chipping away at the rock with impact hammers would take too long. So I’m going to send you and your squad back to the north end of the tunnel.”
McKee didn’t like that for two reasons. First, she was genuinely fond of the engineers and afraid of what might happen to them if they were left without sufficient protection. Second, she didn’t want to report to Captain Heacox any sooner than absolutely necessary. “I understand your reasoning, sir. But I have an idea. A way to take the T-1s through.”
“How long would it take?”
McKee thought for a moment. The truth was she didn’t know. “Sixteen hours.”
“Eight.”
“Twelve. Sir.”
Hasbro grinned. “You’re a pain in the ass. Has anyone ever told you that? Okay, twelve. But not a second longer. So, what are you going to do?”
“Take the T-1s apart,” McKee replied. “Then we’ll pass the pieces through the hole and reassemble them on the other side.”
Hasbro’s jaw dropped. “You can do that?”
“Yes,” McKee answered, hoping it was true. “Can I borrow a couple of construction droids to bring our stuff forward from the base camp? That would help. And I’d like to send a RAV through to provide force protection up tunnel from the hole.”
Royce nodded. “Do it.”
“Thanks. We’ll get to work.”
The droids set off for the camp just as the rest of the squad arrived. The plan was crazy. That’s what Larkin said, and he was right. McKee didn’t tell him that, though. She called him a lazy, good-for-nothing waste of a Legion uniform, and told him how they were going to make the scheme work. “I sent the droids back to get our tools. Once they return, Hagen and I will take Sykes apart and pass him through the hole. Then you and Kyle will put him back together.”
Larkin frowned. “Why Kyle? You’re the best tech we have. Shouldn’t the new guy be with you?”
“I am the best tech we have,” McKee replied. “But from what I’ve seen, Kyle is second best. New or not.”
Larkin stared at her. “And I am?”
“You’re third best where tech stuff is concerned. But you rank number one when it comes to walking down a street firing two assault rifles at once. Which was stupid, by the way.”
The compliment was intended as a salve for Larkin’s ego, and it worked. The response sounded harsh, but he was smiling. “You’re the squad’s number one asshole. You know that?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Just checking. Your number three cyber monkey will be ready when you are.”
From that point forward everything seemed to move in agonizing slow motion. It took more than an hour for the droids to bring the tools forward. But there was nothing McKee could do but accept the delay and use it to eat her lunch. Then, when the robots arrived, she dropped the meal and called for the rest of the squad.
Fortunately, her father’s engineers had designed the war forms so that they could be shipped disassembled and put back together under combat conditions. But even though such a thing was theoretically possible, it was rarely if ever done. Typically, T-1s were assembled on a ship in space, or in a secure location on a planet’s surface, using a prefab facility designed for that purpose.
Nevertheless, they could be broken down into six “modules” including a head, torso, arms, and legs with feet attached. The necessary tech manual was available from McKee’s personal computer and the step-by-step process could be accessed via her HUD. The other bio bods had the same capability.
So with the rest of the squad looking on, and helping where they could, McKee went to work on a reluctant Sykes. None of the T-1s welcomed the exercise and for obvious reasons. Mistakes could be made, and while they were lying around in pieces, the cyborgs would be extremely vulnerable.
But an order is an order, and Sykes had no choice but to lie down and let McKee go to work on him. It was slow going at first since she had never done anything like that before. There was one advantage, though, and that was the fact that the other bio bods could watch McKee and learn from her mistakes.
Just as McKee predicted, Kyle had a natural talent for things technical, and it wasn’t long before he was crouched across from her lending a hand as he released a coupler in Sykes’s left hip, disconnected the servo that powered that leg, and capped the cooling capillaries designed to carry heat away from it. The leg came loose shortly thereafter.
With that accomplished, McKee ordered Kyle to apply his newly learned skills to the other hip and leg while she went to work on an arm. And so it went as Sykes was systematically dismembered. Finally, with six body parts laid out on a couple of shelter halves, it was time to send Larkin and Kyle through the hole, along with the tools they would need on the other side. Sykes, who still occupied his head, gave instructions. “Be careful, you miserable bastards. If you screw up, I’ll kill you!”
“If we screw up, you’ll wind up in a spare parts bin,” Larkin said heartlessly. “Now, shut up while we send what passes for your brain through.”
It took less than ten minutes to move all the body parts to the other side of the wall. Once that was accomplished, McKee returned to work. Four hours had elapsed by then, but she figured the rest of the T-1s would go quicker. So there she was, removing Shinn’s left leg, when a muffled explosion was heard. Larkin’s voice was calm but urgent. “This is Eight-One . . . Someone fired a rocket-propelled grenade at the RAV and put it out of commission. We could use some reinforcements. Over.”
That was followed by the sound of automatic-weapons fire. McKee’s team was split. One of her T-1s was a pile of parts, a second was disabled, and the others couldn’t engage the enemy. They were in trouble.