Andromeda's Fall (Legion of the Damned) (26 page)

And there, standing in front of the formation was a contraption made out of logs. It consisted of two uprights, each having one end buried in the ground, so as to from a large X. McKee didn’t understand the purpose of the construct at first. Then she saw the noncom with the coiled whip, plus the smirk on Spurlock’s face, and knew the truth: She was about to be flogged.

A voice shouted “Atten-HUT!” as the guards brought her to a halt. McKee saw that Avery was present as well. His wrists were cuffed in front of him, and he was under guard. His face remained expressionless, but it looked as though Spurlock was enjoying himself as he read from a piece of paper. “Military discipline is critical to unit cohesion—and unit cohesion is critical to operational success. For that reason, our superiors have seen fit to lay down a system of military law known as the Military Code of Conduct.

“And that system spells out the penalties associated with each possible offense. Some of these penalties are discretionary, meaning they can be imposed by a unit commander such as myself, while others fare judicial and require a formal court-martial. Owing to the nature of her crimes, Corporal McKee is subject to both.”

Spurlock paused at that point as if to let his words sink in prior to continuing his speech. “Once the battalion returns to Riversplit, McKee will be tried for desertion and treason. But in the meantime, it is my responsibility to punish her for abandoning her post, striking a fellow soldier, and stealing government property. With those charges in mind, I hereby sentence her to ten lashes.”

“I object,” Avery said, in a loud clear voice. “McKee is a legionnaire—and the Legion doesn’t permit flogging.”

“Well the militia
does
,” Spurlock responded sternly. “And I would like to remind those present that Captain Avery stands accused of assaulting a superior officer. If he speaks again, the master-at-arms will tape his mouth closed. Prepare the corporal for punishment.”

McKee felt a combination of fear and embarrassment as a Gray stepped forward to rip her shirt open—and another proceeded to cut the fabric away. That left her topless with the exception of a bra. And once that was removed, her breasts were exposed.

The world seemed to close in on her at that moment as the men dragged her over to the X-shaped framework, where her arms and legs were bound to the uprights. McKee couldn’t hear anything other than the twitter of birds and her own harsh breathing as the Grays completed their work.

“In accordance with UCMJ regulation 147.326, the subject is to receive ten lashes, each of equal force, all administered to her back,” Spurlock proclaimed loudly. “You may proceed.”

McKee didn’t want to scream. Not in front of the Grays, much less her fellow legionnaires. But as she waited for the first blow to land she knew that she would. If not in response to the first strike then to the second or third.

Then there was a dull cracking sound as braided leather made contact with pale flesh. Her skin parted as if cut with a knife, and the force of the blow drove all of the air out of her lungs. The pain was excruciating, and the only reason she didn’t scream was the fact that she lacked the air necessary to do so.

But even as all of that registered on her senses, she knew that the whip was being readied, and would soon strike again. She had no idea where the impulse came from, but welcomed it, and was ready when the leather smacked against her flesh. “CAMERONE!”

Her intent was to avoid a scream. But the word had an unexpected effect. Because her fellow legionnaires echoed the cry. “CAMERONE!”

“There will be silence!” Spurlock shouted. “The next person to speak will be whipped.”

A sound similar to a pistol shot was heard as the snakelike whip sliced through the air, cut deep, and drew blood. McKee arched her back in pain. Her “Camerone” was weaker this time, but still audible, as was the thunderous response.
“CAMERONE!”

Suddenly, Spurlock found himself in a trap of his own making. He couldn’t flog
all
of the legionnaires, and they knew it. More than that, with Captain Avery in cuffs, and one of their own being subjected to a punishment not permitted by the Legion, they were feeling rebellious. Something that could be dangerous since they not only outnumbered the Grays but included dozens of T-1s whose well-amplified voices could be heard over all the rest.

So even after the eighth blow landed, when McKee lost consciousness, the chant continued. And there was nothing Spurlock could do but fume. The first battle of Camerone had been lost. But, on a planet many light-years from Earth, the second had been won.

* * *

McKee awoke facedown on a cot. It wasn’t the first time, but she couldn’t remember the others all that well. By looking sideways, she could see the walls of a tent and some medical gear. Her back felt as if it were on fire, and she made a feeble effort to get up. Maybe she could find some water to pour on the pain. Maybe . . .

A gentle hand pushed her back down. The voice was female. “Where do you think you’re going? Stay right there. I’ve got some stuff that will make you feel better.”

McKee heard some rustling sounds followed by the hiss of a spray can. Then, as the analgesic mist made contact with her back, the pain started to abate. “Thank you,” McKee said. “Can I get up?”

“You can try,” the other woman said. “But take it slowly.”

It was good advice. Even the slightest movement hurt, and it took twenty or thirty seconds for the pain to fade. So the process of getting up took the better part of ten minutes. During the interim, McKee had an opportunity to get acquainted with the medic. Her name was Corly, and even though she was a Gray, Corly disapproved of the punishment meted out to McKee. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I really am. Colonel Spurlock didn’t have to flog you. He
wanted
to.”

“Yeah,” McKee agreed, as she made it to her feet. “He sure as hell did. Have you got a mirror? I’d like to see my back.”

Corly had light brown hair, which she wore in a knot at the back of her head. She had a high forehead, intelligent eyes, and a lower lip that stuck out in what looked like a perpetual pout. “No, we don’t haul mirrors out into the field. But I could show you a picture . . . If you really want to see it.”

McKee made a face. “It’s that bad?”

Corly shrugged. “Some of the cuts are superficial. Others required some stitches. But you’re young and healthy, so the prognosis is good.”

McKee got the feeling that the medic was trying to put a positive spin on the situation. “Please take a picture. I’d like to see it.”

McKee was already half-naked. So all Corly had to do was aim the camera, record a few seconds of video, and play it back. What McKee saw was worse than she had imagined. Red welts crisscrossed her back, and in places where the leather had gone deep, sutures could be seen. First her face—now this. The self-pity was there, ready to surface, but McKee pushed it down. “How will the cuts look later?”

“Some will heal well,” Corly said. “You’ll barely notice them. As for the deeper lacerations, I’m not sure. You could have some keloid scarring.”

“Meaning?”

Corly shrugged. “Meaning some raised scar tissue. A doctor could give you a better idea. And who knows? A biosculptor might be able to get rid of them.”

McKee forced a smile. “So no backless cocktail dresses?”

Corly looked relieved. As if she’d been worried about the way her patient would take the news. “No, I guess not.”

“Okay,” McKee said. “Could I have something to wear please? No bra . . . Not yet.”

Corly gave McKee one of her own shirts. McKee winced as the fabric came into contact with her lacerated back. “So what’s the situation? Are guards waiting outside?”

Corly nodded. “Two of them.”

“So it’s back to the bunker?”

“I’m afraid so. I’d like to keep you here—but I haven’t got enough room.”

“No problem. I understand.”

“Take this,” Corly said, and gave McKee the can of spray-on anesthetic. “Plus these. Take the antibiotic twice a day—and no more than one pain pill every four hours. They’re pretty potent.”

McKee accepted the medications and put them in various pockets. “Thanks. A question before I go. Why is the battalion sitting here?”

Corly looked surprised. “You don’t know? I guess you wouldn’t. The Droi attacked two days ago.”

McKee remembered the battlefield and what she’d seen there. “Yes, I know that much.”

“Well, Monitor Jivv was using some very special ammo. Bullets that can be tracked electronically. So any indig who caught one of Jivv’s slugs, and was carried away, could be followed. And that’s where Jivv is now. Out tracking them down. Once he gets back, we’ll pull out.”

McKee felt sick to her stomach. The synth was alive! That was bad news. As was the fact that it was searching for the Droi. The indigs were sure to outnumber Jivv’s party. So what would the machine do if it found them? Call in another air strike? She remembered the smoking bodies and felt a sense of foreboding.

The guards stepped into the spill of light from the tent as Corly led McKee out into the cool night air. “Don’t touch her back, make sure she has plenty of water, and bring her back at 0900. Copy?”

One of the guards made a face. “Sure. Whatever.”

“Be careful,” Corly cautioned. “If something happened to your shot record, you’d have to get all of them again.”

The second man laughed. “She’s got you there, Pauley. Come on. Let’s put the bitch in her box.”

Five minutes later, McKee was back in the bunker. New amenities had been added to the makeshift cell, including a blanket. She lay facedown on it. Her back hurt, she was under arrest, and Jivv would return soon. If McKee had ever been more miserable, she couldn’t remember when.

Thanks to the pain pills, McKee was able not only to fall asleep but to stay that way, until another MRE was thrown into the bunker. It was 0813 and raining outside, a fact made obvious by the water that had begun to drip from above.

Her back was sore, but not as bad as it had been the day before, and for that McKee was grateful as she opened the MRE. After sorting through the items within, she chose a small can of mixed fruit, crackers with jam, and a nut bar for her breakfast. It would have been nice to have a cup of tea, but she lacked a container to boil water in. She was still chewing the nut bar when she heard voices, and a Gray ducked into the bunker. “Get up and come with me. The colonel wants to see you.”

McKee felt a stab of fear but was determined to hide it as she stood. “Good. He owes me an apology.”

If the Gray thought the comment was funny, there was no sign of it on his face as he stepped to one side. McKee blinked and felt blood-warm raindrops hit her face as she emerged from the bunker. Troops were busy loading their gear onto trucks. It looked as though the battalion was preparing to pull out.

The Gray placed a hand on her back and gave her a shove. It sent her stumbling forward. The pain was so intense that she wanted to cry out. It required an act of will to resist the impulse to and keep going. Most of the shelters had been taken down, or were in the process of coming down, but the command tent remained in place. And as McKee crossed the compound, she heard someone yell, “Camerone,” and knew that at least one of her fellow legionnaires was watching.

A private held the tent flap to one side so that McKee could enter. There wasn’t much light, and most of the furniture had been removed, but the enclosure was far from empty. Spurlock was present, as were Jivv, Jones, Cia, and Marcy. It appeared as though Jivv’s efforts to track the Droi down had been successful.

McKee could see that all three of the prisoners had been beaten. They were seated in a row, heads down, tied to folding chairs. “Ah,” Spurlock said as she entered. “The last piece of the puzzle has arrived. Bring the bitch forward so that Governor Jones can see her.”

Another shove propelled McKee forward. The pain made her feel dizzy. Jivv was positioned behind Jones. He took control of the human’s head and tilted it upwards. “Look at her! She set you free.
Why?
”

McKee was shocked by what she saw. There was an empty socket where one eye had been, the governor’s nose was split open, and dried blood covered his chin. As she looked at him, McKee saw something flicker in his eyes. Determination? Yes, she thought so. His voice was hoarse, as if from endless talking and a lack of water. “Who is she? I’ve never seen her before.”

“You’re lying,” Jivv said as he released the politician’s head. “And that is very, very stupid.”

McKee felt a rising sense of dread as the robot took up a position immediately behind Marcy. He grabbed a fistful of the woman’s badly tangled hair to use as a handle. Marcy’s eyes popped open as Jivv jerked her head back. Her face was black-and-blue from repeated beatings. But, judging from the question Jivv had put to Jones, none of the prisoners had revealed McKee’s actual identity. That was truly amazing, and she felt a deep sense of admiration for all three of them.

The knife seemed to appear out of nowhere and Marcy whimpered as the razor-sharp blade drew blood. “Now,” Jivv said as he made eye contact with Jones, “I will ask again. Why did Corporal McKee help you to escape?”

As Jones opened his mouth, McKee had no way to know what he would say. She spoke before he could. “Leave her alone. I’ll tell you.”

“Good,” Jivv said expressionlessly. “Please do.”

“My real name is Catherine Carletto.”

“Ah,” Jivv said. “Fugitive 2999.”

Spurlock looked confused. “Fugitive 2999? What are you talking about?”

“That’s classified,” Jivv said as he drew the blade across Marcy’s throat.

Marcy made a horrible choking sound as blood flooded her chest. McKee charged the robot, or tried to, but the guards had hold of her arms. “Our work is done here,” Jivv said as he produced a pistol. “Once I tidy up, the battalion can get under way.”

The weapon made a popping sound as Jivv shot Cia in the back of the head. Then, having turned to Jones, he fired again. The governor’s head jerked and flopped sideways.

By that time the pistol was swinging around, coming to bear on McKee, as Spurlock raised a hand in protest. “No! Stop! That’s an order.”