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.
Then, seven standard months later, Ponco had been killed all over again when a shoulder-launched missile hit the middle of her chest and exploded. Fortunately, a bio bod had had the presence of mind to find her severed head, pull her protective brain box, and hand it over to a medic. It was during the subsequent recovery process that Ponco had been invited to join military intelligence. And now, after months of additional training, she was risking her life again. How many lives do I have left? she wondered. There was no way to know. But she liked Santana. And was happy to serve under him.
Having checked the area, Ponco ghosted forward. Her sensors were on high gain and sensitive to even the slightest bit of heat, movement, or electronic activity. The problem was that, because they were set on max, her detection systems were producing a great deal of clutter. And all of it had to be evaluated. Most of the heat signatures belonged to local life-forms and could be ignored.
But when Ponco saw what looked like a string of lights hanging between two giant trees, she knew she was looking at a chain of proximity detectors that could pick up on the metal in her body, thereby distinguishing her from the local wildlife. That brought her to a full stop. Her voice was internalized and made no sound whatsoever. “Zulu Seven to Zulu Nine. I can’t advance without triggering a chain of proximity detectors. Over.”
There was a momentary pause followed by the sound of Santana’s voice. “This is Nine… Roger that. We’re almost in position. Give us three minutes and go in hard. Take out any bio bods you see. Especially those on the elevated weapons platforms that Lieutenant Yorty warned us about. Over.”
As part of Santana’s effort to make peace between the two factions, members of both the O-Chi Rifles and Scouts had been intentionally barred from participating in the mission. And that was fine except for the fact that it left the Legion to carry the load and absorb all of the casualties. “Roger,” Ponco replied. “Three and counting. Over.”
Time seemed to slow as the recon ball allowed herself to drift in among some branches. Ponco knew that the ground-assault team had to slip past the huge X-shaped animal barriers that ringed the lodge before it could proceed. Then, as the final seconds ticked away, Ponco went on the attack.
Consistent with her orders, the Intel officer sped past the chain of proximity detectors, followed a leafy passageway into the clearing beyond, and “saw” a huge blob of heat. The elaborate tree house was located about fifty feet off the forest floor, where it was safe from even the largest predators and well positioned to repel a human ground attack. No wonder Temo had taken refuge there.
But lofty though the lodge might be, it was still vulnerable from the air. And, as a Klaxon began to bleat, Temo’s soldiers were already dying. Wooden platforms had been established high in the branches of the surrounding trees. Each supported an automatic weapon and a two-person crew. All of whom were positioned to fire on the assault team below.
Ponco’s initial shots were fired from long range as she swept into the clearing that fronted the lodge. A gunner was snatched off his platform and thrown into the darkness, quickly followed by his loader, who crashed through a succession of branches before thumping into the ground.
Then the attack became increasingly personal as Ponco passed within feet of a second crew-served weapon. The gunner shouted something incoherent as Ponco dropped a grenade at his feet and accelerated away. There was a flash of light as the resulting explosion lit up the forest, and the assault team entered the clearing. The chatter of machine guns blended with the staccato bark of assault rifles to create a hellish symphony.
Ponco couldn’t deal with all of the aerial gun platforms, however. Not and take care of her primary mission, which was to prevent Temo from escaping in the family’s private air car. The orange-red blob was sitting on a circular landing pad, adjacent to the lodge, ready for takeoff.
The defenders had Ponco in their sights by then, and two streams of tracers rose to greet the recon ball as she prepared to release a thermite bomb from her small drop bay. She only had one of the weapons, so accuracy was important. A bullet slammed into Ponco’s casing, glanced off, and whined away. But the impact was sufficient to knock the recon ball off course and send her spinning.
The tracers sought to follow her as Ponco fired her steering jets. Then, once the cyborg had regained control, she went in for the kill. The bomb fell, landed right in the middle of the open air car, and detonated. The result was a column of fire that shot straight upwards as a mixture of powdered red iron and aluminum was ignited. The air car was destroyed in a matter of seconds as Ponco entered a spiraling climb, paused a hundred feet off the ground, and looked back. “Zulu Seven to Zulu Nine. Objective destroyed. Over.”
Santana experienced a momentary sense of satisfaction as Ponco’s report came in. But the emotion was short-lived as someone fired from above. Geysers of loam shot up all around Santana, Dietrich, and their T-2s. Thanks to his onboard computer, Joshi could pinpoint the exact spot the fire was coming from. His arm-mounted energy cannon came up and sent blips of coherent energy into the treetops. Dietrich’s T-2 joined the effort, and Santana watched as the blue blobs converged on each other.
He heard a scream, followed by a sequence of crashing noises as a severed branch fell. The limb was at least twenty-five feet long and two feet thick at the butt end. That made it large enough to crush Private Morton and his T-2. Both of whom vanished from the Integrated Tactical Command (ITC) system on Santana’s HUD.
That was bad, but things were about to become worse, as the surviving cyborgs charged across the clearing and grenades fell around them. Though random, the bombardment was effective. A headless bio bod continued to ride the T-2 off to Santana’s left as an explosion blew a cyborg’s foot off. He fell, taking his rider down with him, while geysers of dirt rose all around.
Then, as Joshi began to close with the enormous tree trunk, the number of explosions started to dwindle. Santana thought he knew why. Ponco was still at work high above, as were his Naa snipers, both of whom had orders to stay back and fire on targets of opportunity.
The tree trunk that supported the lodge was at least fifty feet in diameter, and the lowest branches were twenty feet overhead. “Okay,” Santana said, as Joshi came to a halt. “This is where I get off. Watch your six.”
“Roger that,” Joshi replied. “Give me a holler when you’re ready to leave.”
Dietrich was next to him as Santana followed the trunk around to the right with his CA-10 carbine at the ready. There were two ways to reach the lodge according to Yorty. An elevator, which was sure to be off-line, and a spiral staircase that circled the tree. It would have been nice to send a T-2 up to clear the way. But the cyborgs were too big and heavy.
A few moments later, Santana and Dietrich arrived at the foot of the stairs, where a squad of bio bods was gathered. “What’s this?” Dietrich demanded harshly. “A circle jerk? The enemy is up there-not down here. Follow me and keep your heads on a swivel.”
