12.
Every mile is two in the winter.
Jacula Prudentum
PLANET GAMMA-014, THE CLONE HEGEMONY
The snow had stopped, the clouds had blown away, and the sun was out. So as the fl?y-form circled Marine Firebase (MF-356), Captain Antonio Santana and Lieutenant Mitch Millar had an excellent view of the hilltop fortifi? cation below. However, because Millar was a cyborg, and therefore capable of plugging in to the fl?y-form’s circuitry, the recon ball could enjoy what amounted to a 360-degree sensaround, while the bio bod was left to peer out the window next to him.
Still, Santana could see that MF-356 was well positioned to put fi?re on the highway, and serve as a staging point for local area patrols. And, should the bugs attempt to take it, the hill would be a tough nut to crack. Although the fi?rebase’s considerable weaponry had been useless in the face of Colonel Jonathan Alan Seebo-62,666’s act of cold-blooded treachery. An armed invasion that cost the lives of twentythree marines and resulted in the loss of two ton’s worth of supplies. And now, having narrowly escaped arrest some fi?fty hours earlier, the renegade would be even more wary than before. And that would make him diffi?cult to catch. Especially since the clone was an expert at cold-weather survival techniques and familiar with the local terrain. But, as the fl?y-form came in to hover above the hilltop landing platform, Santana thought he had a fi?x on the renegade’s critical weakness. Or strength, depending on how one chose to look at it. And that was Colonel Six’s determination to close with the enemy and kill as many of them as he could. That desire, that determination, would make the fugitive somewhat predictable. Or so Santana hoped. There was a palpable thud as the fl?y-form put down. Servos whined softly as Millar extruded two skeletal tool aims, which the cyborg used to release the tie-downs that secured his sphere-shaped body to the seat. The cyborg’s war form incorporated four high-res vid cams, a variety of weaponry, and the capacity to fl?y long distances at low altitudes—which was one of the primary reasons why Santana had requested one of the much- sought-after scouts. While no one could beat Fareye on the ground, and recon drones had their uses, nothing could surpass a fl?ying brain when it came to collecting and distributing real-time battlefi?eld intelligence. Having freed himself from the tie-downs, Millar hovered in midair, as Santana got up and made his way forward. In spite of whatever special capabilities the cyborg might have, he was a lieutenant and the bio bod was a captain.
Even though the sun was out, it lacked any real punch, and the air outside the aircraft’s cabin was bitterly cold. So cold that the legionnaire could feel the moisture freeze inside his nose as he descended the fold-down stairs and snapped to attention. He held the salute until a short, stern-looking lieutenant colonel saw fi?t to return it. “I’m Captain Antonio Santana, sir . . . And this is Lieutenant Mitch Millar. We’re both with the 2nd Battalion, 1st REC.” The cyborg had exited the fl?y-form by that time—and was hovering four feet above the landing platform.
“Welcome to Firebase 356,” the marine offi?cer said gruffl?y.
“My name’s Suki, Lieutenant Colonel Suki, and we were told to expect you. Tell me something, Captain. . . . Why would a Legion offi?cer show up wearing navy cold-weather gear?”
“Because we had the foresight to steal all the cold-weather gear we could lay our hands on, sir,” Santana answered truthfully. “And it belonged to the navy.”
When Suki laughed, the sound came out as a loud guffaw.
“You report to General Kobbi. . . . Is that right?”
Santana nodded. “Through Colonel Quinlan . . . Yes, sir.”
“Kobbi’s a good man,” Suki said. “So good he could have been a marine! So you’re the offi?cer they selected to go after Colonel Six.”
“Sir, yes sir,” Santana said evenly.
“Well, do me a favor,” Suki growled. “Once you fi?nd the bastard, shoot him! Because if you bring him back, there will be a court-martial, and who knows what would come out of that. Especially once the politicians get wind of it.”
“You’re not the fi?rst person to make that suggestion,”
Santana answered noncommittally.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Suki replied. “Come on. . . . Let’s get in out of the cold.”
Five minutes later, the legionnaires were in the fi?rebase’s heavily sandbagged command bunker, which though warmer than the air outside, was still too cold for comfort, despite the combined efforts of chemical stoves that sat crouched in opposite corners. One plastic-draped wall was taken up with com equipment, while a second was obscured by a bank of video screens, on which helmet-cam video from foot patrol
“Joker-Four” was currently displayed. There was also a rack of assault weapons, a two-burner fi?eld stove with two pots sitting on top of it, and a long, narrow worktable, which consisted of two cargo mods, topped by a sheet of locally manufactured plywood. Positioned on that were four milspec computers—two of which were currently being used by marine noncoms. “Okay,” Suki said, as the two bio bods took their places on upended ammo crates. “I’m going to assume you did your homework—and read the reports we sent in. So, since you know what we know, why the visit?”
It was a somewhat contentious question. But because the legionnaire knew how frustrating it was to play patty-cake with fact fi?nders, touring politicians, and other forms of lowlife REMF scum, he wasn’t offended. “Don’t worry, sir. . . . The lieutenant and I didn’t come all this way to participate in a cold-weather circle jerk. We need information that wasn’t available at the regimental level.”
That was news to Millar, who knew that junior offi?cers were meant to be seen and not heard. That was why the cyborg continued to hover off to one side, half-hidden in the shadows. “Okay,” Suki responded. “What are you after?
We’ll do whatever we can to help.”
