Free Andromeda’s Choice by William C. Dietz Page B

both on and off the battlefield. But she had to face it, had to deal with it, especially if she wanted to bring Ophelia down.
    McKee’s fingers strayed to the tiny lump hidden beneath her uniform. The memory matrix looked like a silver cat but it was more than a bauble. Much more. Because stored inside the matrix were the names of all the people Ophelia wanted to kill, including one Cat Carletto, who was listed as number 2999. And the names of Ophelia’s secret agents were contained in the matrix as well. All downloaded from a synth on Orlo II. A synth that had tried to kill her.
    It was valuable information. Or would be in the right hands. But was there a resistance movement of some sort? An organization that could use the lists to protect some individuals and target others? And if there was, how could she make contact with them? Or know whom to trust?
    Those questions and more nagged at McKee as the shuttle bumped down through the atmosphere, circled the planet once, and came in for a landing. Los Angeles sprawled below. Over hundreds of years, the city had grown into an enormous metroplex that covered more than one thousand square miles. It wasn’t the planet’s official capital, but it was one of the most important cities on Earth and the one where Ophelia spent most of her time.
    And McKee knew it well. Because while Cat Carletto wasn’t from LA, she’d gone to college there and been a very visible part of the city’s nightlife. Something that had pained her parents—and worried them no end. She felt guilty about that and wished there was some way to go back and change things. Unfortunately, the past was immutable. But the future? That could be shaped.
    LA had more than a dozen spaceports, and the shuttle landed at number seven. Larkin said that was his lucky number, and McKee wondered if she had one, as they followed a group of passengers through a tubeway and into a terminal building. Baggage claim was on the ground floor. The crowd swirled as families were reunited—and what seemed like an endless sequence of announcements came over the PA system. The legionnaires jockeyed for position around the baggage carousel as luggage began to appear. McKee could see her B-1 bag in the distance. It looked strange in among the flashy Asani, Borti, and Zagger suitcases around it, Asani being her personal favorite. Would she own one again? It didn’t seem likely. Not at five thousand credits for a basic three-piece set.
    McKee’s thoughts were jerked back into the present by the sound of her name. “Sergeant McKee? Corporal Larkin? I’m Lieutenant Wilkins. Welcome to LA.”
    McKee turned to find that a slightly chubby officer dressed in a Class B uniform had approached her from behind. So she came to attention and delivered a crisp salute. What she received in return resembled a friendly wave. Wilkins had a round face, serious eyes, and two chins. And when he said, “As you were,” it had an awkward sound. As if he rarely had occasion to use the phrase. That was when McKee remembered her bag—and turned to discover that Larkin had pulled both B-1s off the carousel. “Is that everything?” Wilkins inquired.
    â€œYes, sir,” McKee replied. “We’re ready to go.”
    â€œExcellent. I’ll take you to the hotel. We have a busy schedule set up for tomorrow, so get some sleep.”
    â€œMay I ask what we’ll be doing?” McKee said, as they left the baggage area.
    â€œOf course,” Wilkins replied. “I have you lined up for the
Good Morning LA
show at eight, I mean 0800, followed by the
World Span
feed at 1300. After that, you’ll be on
The
Marv Torley Show
at 1600. He’s a hoot. You’ll like him.”
    McKee had known it was coming—but the reality of it caused her stomach to churn. “Should we rehearse or something?”
    â€œNo need,” Wilkins replied airily. “Just be