Caitlin looked alarmed. “Bombs? In my luggage?”

  “Yes,” Murphy responded. “Two of them. I figure they were trying to assassinate your father. Someone had access to your luggage. Servants perhaps.”

  Caitlin was holding a fresh bandage against the wound. Her face was pale. “He wanted to come . . . But he didn’t show up.”

  Murphy nodded. “I get that. But, until we have more information, I don’t think it’s a good idea to let people know where we are. It’s safe to assume that the Titan’s emergency beacon is on—and broadcasting its location. But where is it? At the front of the aircraft? Which could have crashed miles away . . . Or is it here with us? If that’s the case, we could be in deep doo-doo.”

  “But why?” Caitlin wanted to know. “If you’re correct it’s my father they want.”

  “And you would make an excellent hostage,” Murphy countered. “A way to bait him. So, what’s it going to be? Butterfly closures? Or stiches?”

  Caitlin frowned. “Sutures I guess. Will it hurt?”

  “Yes. Like getting your ears pierced.”

  It took Murphy half an hour to coach Caitlin through the process of stitching herself up. Murphy had never performed the procedure himself. But all sorts of information was stored in his on-board computer—including a video that showed how to do it. And to Caitlin’s credit she managed to put four sutures in while tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Once the process was over, the bleeding stopped. A fresh dressing went on over the cut.

  “Good work,” Murphy said. “Now gather up all of the trash and bury it over there . . . Like I said earlier, we don’t know who may show up here. Meet me at the wreck. You’re going to need supplies, and that’s where they are.”

  ª ª ª

  THE LUCKY STRIKE MINE

  The Lucky Strike Mine had been discovered by a sixty-nine-year-old prospector named Three-Fingered Jack when a mechanical problem forced him to land his ship right on top of a huge deposit of yttrium. A once in a lifetime discovery that he immediately filed a claim on and subsequently sold to Madsen Mining. Except that Madsen’s workers had taken possession of the mine, and had no intention of giving it back until their demands were met. Their so-called “command center” consisted of a cavern located more than two hundred feet under the planet’s surface where it was safe from bombs. Cables snaked across the uncomfortably low ceiling, water was seeping through the walls, and gear was piled all around.

  George Reeger felt a growing sense of anger as he listened to the report. Rather than abort the assassination attempt the moment it became clear that Governor Smith wasn’t going to accompany his daughter onto the fly form, the idiot in charge of the Tara cell had allowed his people to move forward, with disastrous results. Both he and his co-conspirators had been arrested. But Marci, the woman he was talking to via a locked beam wasn’t to blame, which meant Reeger couldn’t express his frustration. “I see,” he said. “That’s very unfortunate. Thank you for letting me know. So the governor’s daughter was killed?”

  “Quite possibly,” Marci allowed. “But we can’t be sure until they find the wreckage. There could be survivors.”

  Reeger’s mind was churning. It was a long shot . . . But what if the little bitch was alive? And what if the Worker’s Army could find her? The governor would be forced to accept the workers’ demands or watch a video of his daughter being executed! Yes, Reeger decided, it’s worth a try.

  ª ª ª

  CRASH SITE TWO

  In order to gather the items that Caitlin might need, they had to return to the wreck and enter the area where the Legionnaires’ badly mangled bodies were. Caitlin took one look, gagged, and turned away. “I’m sorry,” Murphy said. “But it has to be done. I would do it for you if I could. But that isn’t possible. Not without hands.”

  Caitlin bent over and threw up. Then, after wiping her chin, she turned back. Her eyes were focused on him instead of the gore. “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, and quickly too . . . We need to put some distance in between ourselves and the crash site. Then I’ll try to contact the Legion.”

  Caitlin was careful to avert her eyes as she took a carbine from one legionnaire, a pistol from another, and ammo from both. Private Corci’s boots were the most difficult part of the process. They looked like they would fit, and Caitlin was going to need them.

  But that meant stripping them off Corsi’s mangled body . . . Something Caitlin hesitated to do. But Murphy refused to let up.

  Caitlin sobbed as she pulled the boots free. “Get her pack too,” Murphy instructed. “There will be some rations inside, plus a set of camos. Maybe they’ll fit. Come on, bring the boots, and let’s get out of here.”

  Once outside Murphy told Caitlin to climb up on his back. “Hang the pack on the hooks and attach the boots,” he said. “We’ll sort things out later.”

  Murphy turned and Caitlin saw that steps were built into the back of his legs. With a pistol belt cinched around her waist and the carbine dangling from a shoulder, Caitlin climbed up to the point where the hooks were waiting. The pack fit perfectly. And after tying the boot laces together Caitlin secured them as well. A headset was waiting in a recess and she put it on. “Can you hear me?”

  “Five by five,” Murphy replied. “Bend your knees, and grab onto the bar in front of you.”

  Murphy took off at a ground-eating jog. Thanks to the video feed provided by the drone circling above Murphy could see where he was going. They needed a place to hole up. A spot near water, but one that they could defend, and that suggested a hill. There were plenty to choose from. A dozen vegetation-clad mini-volcanoes dotted the otherwise flat jungle. Had they served as vents at some point in the distant past? Murphy thought so.

  It took an hour and a half of relentless running to close with the nearest hill. And that was a long time for an inexperienced rider to spend on a T-5. Caitlin made no secret of her discomfort. “My knees hurt!” she complained. “A branch hit my face!” “I need to pee!”

  But Murphy refused to stop until they reached the hill. Then he let Caitlin climb down and take a bio break. After she returned Murphy led her to the top of the hill where a deep depression kept them off the skyline.

  The drone needed charging so Murphy brought it in. Then he cranked his vision up to 10X and peered out over the verdant jungle. A pair of contrails clawed the lavender sky, a flock of white birds skimmed the treetops, and a ribbon of water sparkled in the distance. It was getting late and Pylo II had sunk low in the sky. So far, so good, Murphy thought. It’s time to call for the cavalry. Murphy selected a high-priority emergency channel and announced himself. “Bravo-Five-Four to Overwatch-Six . . . Do you read me? Over.”

  There was a long pause followed by a female voice. “This is Overwatch-Six . . . What’s your mother’s maiden name? Over.”

  “Owens.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “The city of Los Angeles on Earth.”

  “What’s the legion’s motto?”

  “Legio Patria Nostra. (The Legion is our Country.) Over.”

  “Roger that, Four. We’re very happy to hear from you. What’s the status on the rest of your squad? Over.”

  “They’re dead,” Murphy replied flatly. “But I have the package we were supposed to deliver and it’s intact. Over.”

  Murphy knew his transmissions were encrypted. But if the WA could place bombs in Caitlin’s luggage, what else were they capable of? It was better to be safe than sorry.

  There was another long pause, as if the woman was discussing the situation with someone else. Then she was back. “Good work, Four . . . What happened to the Titan?”

  Murphy told Overwatch about the bombs, the way the fly form broke in two, and the subsequent crash. “Got it,” Overwatch said. “The beacon was in the front half of the Titan so we found that right away. We’re searching for the rest of it. Are you at the crash site? Over.”

  “No,” Murphy replied. “We didn’t know who would come looking first, so it seemed appropriate to clear the area. Over.”

  “And you were correct.” Overwatch assured him. “All right, here’s the situation. We’re stretched thin. WA terrorists attacked most of Saa-Na’s major cities during the last six hours. So most of our resources are committed. Your orders are to travel cross-country to the town of Keebler’s Gap. Check your nav system. The community is small, but you’ll see it. We should be able to dispatch a Search and Rescuenit by the time you arrive. We’ll pull you out earlier if we can. Report every six hours. Do you have any questions? Over.”

  “No. Over.”

  “Watch your six,” the woman cautioned. “Overwatch out.”

  ª ª ª

  THE LUCKY STRIKE MINE

  Reeger was monitoring the steady flow of reports from WA cells in cities all around the world as he spooned lukewarm nutra-blend into his mouth. Things were going well, very well indeed. The company’s drop cities had been paralyzed by a series of perfectly coordinated suicide bombings. And the Legion didn’t have a tenth of the troops required to lock everything down. “Hey, boss,” a voice said. “We have a fix on them.”

  Reeger turned to find a com tech named Foley standing behind him. “You have a fix on who?” he demanded.

  Judging from the expression on Foley’s face he thought his task should be top of mind for everyone—Reeger included. “On the legion guys . . . The ones who were on the VTOL. We got a cross fix on them when they called in.”

  Reeger was surprised. Even though Foley and his techs had been ordered to try, Reeger hadn’t expected them to succeed. “You’re sure it’s them?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m sure,” Foley replied. “The transmission originated from a hill about three miles from the crash site.”

  “Well done,” Reeger said. “Was the transmission in the clear?”

  “No, it was encrypted.”

  Reeger shrugged. “That figures, but I had to ask. Send for Gilman . . . I’ve got a job for him.”

  ª ª ª

  NORTH OF KEEBLER’S GAP

  Murphy’s conversation with Overwatch had been somewhat depressing. The fact that the legion couldn’t spare a SAR team to rescue the governor’s daughter spoke volumes. It didn’t take a general to realize that the brigade was up to its ass in trouble. But Murphy didn’t want to worry Caitlin any more than necessary, so he gave her the facts minus any editorial comments. “So,” he concluded. “We’ll have to hoof it. And, according to the map stored in my nav system, Keebler’s Gap is forty-six miles away.”

  Caitlin looked at him. There was something different about it. Like most teenagers, Caitlin had a disturbing way of switching back and forth between child and adult. Now Murph found himself face to face with a young woman. A woman who reminded him of Ellie. Steady. Intelligent. Serious. “It says ‘Murphy’ on your chest,” Caitlin said. “Is that it? No first name?”

  “It’s Mike. But my friends call me Murph.”

  “Okay, Murph . . . I’m not a friend, but I hope to become one. Tell me the truth, Murph . . . It’s bad isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Murphy answered reluctantly. “It’s bad. We have roughly 3,000 legionnaires on Saa-Na and we’re struggling to cope. But we’ll win. We always do.”

  Caitlin’s eyes narrowed. “Was there any mention of my father?”

  “No,” Murphy replied. “There wasn’t.” And that seemed strange. If Caitlin was his daughter, and he was governor, Murphy would be throwing his weight around. But Murphy couldn’t say that, and didn’t. A change of subject was in order.

  “Open the pack,” Murphy suggested. “Let’s see what you have while we still have some daylight.” The answer was a set of camos which, as it turned out, were one size too large. But anything was better than the absurd outfit Caitlin was wearing. There were two MREs as well, plus some candy bars, and a water bottle that was half full.

  Then Caitlin came across the zipped bag that contained some earrings, some clear nail polish, and a photo of a young man. She burst into tears.

  Murphy wanted to comfort her, to place an arm around her shoulders, but was painfully aware of what that arm would be: Either a machine gun or an energy cannon. “Don’t cry,” he said awkwardly. “Corci was a legionnaire. She chose to be a soldier.”

  “What about you?” Caitlin demanded, as she wiped her nose with a sleeve. “Did you choose to be a legionnaire?”

  That was a painful subject. One that Murphy didn’t like to discuss. But, if it would take Caitlin’s mind off Corci, then he would. “I was a bio bod before I became a cyborg,” he told her. “And I was married to a girl named Ellie. She was better than I was in every way. But somehow, for reasons I never understood, she loved me. And I loved her.

  “I was working the nightshift at a factory. So she was alone the night a man named Orson Warky broke into our apartment. He raped Ellie. Then he killed her. And left his wallet behind.”

  It was dark by then. But both moons were rising, and Murphy could see the way Caitlin was staring at him. He looked away. “They tried Warky,” Murphy said. “And I thought the jury would find the bastard guilty. But his attorney pointed out that Warky had been in our home the day before the murder to repair the toilet. That, he said, was when Warky lost his wallet. And, with no DNA or other physical evidence connecting Warky to the crime, he got off.”

  Caitlin frowned. “So you joined the legion?”

  “No,” Murphy replied. “I killed Warky, and they gave me a choice. The state of California was going to execute me no matter what. But, if I chose to, I could live on as a cyborg. A brain in a box. I said ‘yes.’ So they killed me the way I killed Warky. With three blows from an axe. Then they brought me back. And here I am.”

  Caitlin stood and came over to sit next to him. Murphy was too big to hug, so all she could do was pat his energy cannon. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Murph . . . But I’m glad too. Glad that you’re alive.”

  They sat that way, side by side, as the moons arced across the sky—and the night creatures came out to eat and be eaten. Caitlin fell asleep after a while. But Murphy was awake. I should have chosen death, he thought. Next time I will.

  ª ª ª

  Murphy awoke to a persistent beeping sound. The drone! After launching it around 0300 Murphy had allowed himself a nap. And now, as the machine circled above, it was trying to warn him. Murphy switched from his sensors to the drone feed. And sure enough, there they were, three incoming heat signatures. All hot enough to suggest electro-mechanical activity. The green blobs were a mile out and traveling single file.

  Murphy stood. “Caitlin . . . Wake up. Company is on the way.”

  Caitlin was curled up in the fetal position. She stirred. “Company? What kind of company?”

  “The bad kind,” Murphy replied. “The legion would have notified me if it was sending a team in. Put your pack on, eat a candy bar, and drink some water.”

  “Why? What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to do the thing they least expect us to do,” Murphy answered. “We’re going to attack.”

  Caitlin was on her feet by then. She grabbed the carbine. “Will I have to shoot people?”

  “No,” Murphy replied. “Not until you have some training. Mount up . . . We’re leaving.”

  Once Caitlin was on his back Murphy scrambled up over the rim and began the trip down. By putting the hill between him and the enemy Murphy hoped to conceal his movements. Did the enemy have a drone of their own? No, not according to his drone, which was equipped to detect such devices. That meant he could circle around and surprise the bastards.

  What are they? Murphy wondered, as he skidded down the slope. Had the WA dispatched a team of robots to do their dirty work? That would account for the heat and the speed with which they were approaching the hill.

  The moons had set by then. But thanks to Murphy’s night vision and thermal imaging capability he could “see” quite well. Small blobs of heat fled in every direction as Murphy forced his way through the jungle. And the normally raucous creatures that lived up in the trees fell momentarily silent as the man-machine closed in on his prey.

  The would-be attackers were following a meandering game trail. So thanks to guidance from above Murphy was able to establish an ambush at the point where the path crossed a clearing. And just in time too because the first enemy unit arrived moments later.

  Rather than a robot Murphy found himself looking at a twelve-foot-tall industrial exoskeleton—which was equipped with two light machine guns, one mounted on each side of the operator’s protective cage. Had the machines been “liberated” from Madsen Mining? Of course they had.

  Wait for it, Murphy told himself. Wait for the third mech to enter the clearing. Murphy fired the fifty as the last exo appeared. Tracers drew a straight line between him and the machine. The operator turned the exo, or tried to, but was killed in a matter of seconds. And when his hands left the controls the mech collapsed.

  So far so good. But the clock was running. Could Murphy nail the number two machine? And do it before the third exo could take a crack at him? He had to try.

  Murphy fired the fifty and the energy cannon. They were a deadly combination. The outgoing fire converged on the mech, found an ammo bin, and triggered an explosion. A bright flash strobed the jungle and thunder rolled across the land.

  But there was no time in which to celebrate as the third operator opened fire with a cage-mounted rotary grenade launcher. The first bomblet struck the ground fifteen feet in front of Murphy, exploded, and peppered him with shrapnel.

  Murphy staggered, caught his balance, and fired both weapons. His antagonist turned, ducked, and fired again.

  The second grenade was closer and Murphy realized that he’d been wrong. Attacking the mechs was a stupid idea. But what was, was. So Murphy did the only thing he could do, and that was to charge the miner, hoping to get so close that his opponent’s grenade launcher would be useless.

  Murphy uttered an incoherent roar as he collided with the exo, knocked the machine off its feet, and stomped it. He was still dancing on the twisted wreckage when Caitlin spoke to him over the intercom. “He’s dead, Murph . . . You can stop.”