Ponco was scouting ahead. And when Santana brought his HUD (heads-up display) up, he could see a delta marked A-2 superimposed over a map of north bay. It was about half a mile ahead. “This is Nine. Go. Over.”
“A platoon of O-Chi Scouts is blocking the road. Their PL, a lieutenant named Milly Yorty, wants to speak with you. Over.”
“She’s a good officer,” Kimbo put in from his position to Santana’s right. “But not one of Temo’s favorites. Which is a good thing in my opinion.”
Santana opened his mike. “Tell Lieutenant Yorty that I’d be happy to speak with her. We’ll be there shortly. Over.”
As the distance between the houses began to close, Santana saw gaps where dwellings had been destroyed. One of them was at least three homes wide. What had been a fortified gun battery was positioned at the center of the still-steaming rubble. It appeared to have taken a direct hit, and the crew was almost certainly dead. Probably as a result of the manner in which Santana had manipulated the situation.
He felt a sudden surge of guilt, wondered if he’d been wrong to engineer the bombardment of north bay, and what Christine would think of the strategy. She was a diplomat, but a tough one, so it was impossible to know.
Then the column began to slow and came to a complete halt as Captain Zarrella’s voice came over the platoon push. “Alpha Six to Alpha One-Six. We’re going to pause here. Have the first squad take up defensive positions. Over.”
Zarrella clearly had a good grasp of the situation, and Santana felt pleased, as Lieutenant Betz acknowledged the order. Then, as Joshi came to a stop, Kimbo’s T-2 sidled up next to him. “Would you like me to go forward, sir?” Kimbo inquired.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Santana responded. “If you were to serve as a go-between, the Scouts might conclude that the Legion is taking sides. I’d like to avoid that if possible.”
Kimbo nodded. If he felt disappointed, there was no sign of it on his face as Ponco arrived. Her rain-streaked body coasted to a stop a few feet away. “The lieutenant is waiting, sir.”
“Okay,” Santana said as he hit the harness release. “I’ll go forward on foot. Sergeant Joshi can be somewhat intimidating.”
“Who, me?” the T-2 growled innocently.
Santana grinned, jumped to the ground, and made his way past Zarrella and her T-2 to the point where a couple of olive drab ATVs blocked the road. The heavily armed vehicles looked imposing. But any one of the T-2s could have cleared them away in seconds. The lieutenant was a small rain-soaked figure who came forward to meet him as her troops looked on. She was wearing a black beret with a crossed-machete insignia on it, a glistening poncho, and jungle boots. Water splashed away from them as she stomped both feet and came to attention. The salute was crisp and perfectly executed. “Lieutenant Milly Yorty, sir!”
Santana returned the salute. “At ease, Lieutenant. I’m Major Santana. Thanks for coming out to meet us. Especially in this downpour.”
Yorty had brown hair, a round face, and wide-set eyes. Santana thought he saw relief in them. Maybe she had been expecting a fire-breathing fanatic or something. Yorty nodded hesitantly. “You’re welcome, sir. Normally, Major Temo would be here. Or Captain Omo. But they aren’t available right now.”
Santana could tell there was more. And Yorty wanted to tell him. All he had to do was ask. “I see. If you don’t mind my asking, where are your senior officers?”
Yorty’s eyes flicked away and came back again. “There was a disagreement, sir. When it became clear that the Legion had landed, some of us felt that we should report to you for orders. Others, the major included, believe the Scouts should operate independently until certain matters have been resolved.”
“Meaning Major Temo’s claim on the governorship?”
Yorty nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“I see. Well, Lieutenant, here’s the situation as I see it. Governors are named by the president of the Confederacy-and must be confirmed by the Senate. That means the lieutenant governor is in charge of civilian affairs for the moment. And it’s my understanding that she resides in the city of Tal, about a thousand miles west of here. True?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. That’s settled then. As for the Scouts, this is a time of war, which means they fall under the senior officer on O-Chi 4. And, like it or not, that’s Colonel Antov. But, as his executive officer, I can assure you that you and your troops will be treated fairly.”
“Sir, yes sir. And the others? Those who followed the major into the bush?”
“I want them to return to duty,” Santana answered. “We were sent here to tackle an important mission, and we’re going to need all the support we can get. But if Major Temo’s troops fail to report within two local rotations I will list them as deserters. And, if they attack anyone other than the Ramanthians, I’ll charge them with treason. So you might want to pass the word.”
Yorty swallowed. “Yes, sir. And Major Temo?”
“The same applies to Major Temo. Although she’s likely to face charges no matter what happens. But that won’t be up to me. Where is she anyway?”
Yorty looked at her boots and back up again. She was clearly conflicted. “May I ask what will happen if I tell you?”
“No,” Santana replied levelly. “You can’t. Please answer the question.”
There was a long moment of silence as Yorty studied her boots again. Finally, her eyes came up to meet Santana’s, and she began to talk.
It was nighttime. But, thanks to the three moons that were slowly arcing across the sky, a silvery glow pervaded the upper reaches of the forest. However, lower down, within the inky blackness that lay between the trees, nocturnal animals were locked in life-and-death battles as Ponco hovered some fifty feet above. The surface of O-Chi 4 was a dangerous place regardless, but the darkness made the cacophony of screeches, howls, and gibbering noises even more unnerving.
More than two days had passed since the landing. Roughly half of the O-Chi Scouts had reported for duty, choosing Colonel Antov and the Confederacy over the rebellious Major Temo. That was progress of a sort. But, with a group of well-armed renegades out in the bush ready to attack Baynor’s Bay at the first opportunity, Santana couldn’t go after the Ramanthians.
So with time ticking away, the decision was made to track Temo down and capture or kill her. However, first they had to close with her. And the Temo clan’s hunting lodge was up ahead. But before charging into the area with guns blazing, Ponco took a moment to look around. She had been killed twice before and had no desire to go through the process again.
Her first death had taken place when the assault boat that she and her platoon were riding in was shot down during the attempt to retake Savas Prime. Fortunately for her and a couple of other legionnaires, the navy pilot had been able to crash-land within a quarter mile of a Confed field hospital. That was when Ponco’s brain had been surgically removed from her shattered body and shipped to Adobe, along with more than twenty others.
A few days later, Ponco woke up to discover that most of her body had been left back on Savas Prime, and she was wired to a life-support system. It was a terrible shock. She wanted to cry, to sob herself to sleep, but lacked the means. A computer took note of her brain waves, administered a sedative, and put her under.
Three days later, a cheerful noncom stopped by. He offered her a job as a T-2. The other choices were to buy a civilian-style body she couldn’t afford or remain bodiless and wait. Maybe, if she and others like her were lucky, the government would grant them utilitarian spider forms as part of the much-debated veterans bill presently stalled in the Senate. Or maybe she would eventually die of old age. The choice was no choice at all.