Andromeda’s Choice by William C. Dietz Page A

again. “Go back to work,” McKee replied, “and return with a meal cart at 1545 hours. Be sure to bring a bucket of ice and two wineglasses. If you receive conflicting instructions, ignore them. And don’t mention me or this conversation to anyone else. Understood?”
    â€œYes, Miss.”
    McKee stood and backed away. That allowed George to get up off the floor. “Straighten your uniform,” McKee ordered. “You look as if someone sat on you.”
    â€œYes, Miss.” The bell rang for the third time.
    â€œIf the person at the door asks what you were doing here, tell them you made the bed.”
    â€œYes, Miss.”
    â€œYou can leave.”
    George opened the door, and there was Larkin. “Jeez, McKee,” the legionnaire said, as the robot departed. “What took you so long?”
    The cabin had been trashed, so McKee positioned herself to block the view and keep the other legionnaire out. She figured the best way to handle his question was to ignore it. “What’s up? Are you in trouble again?”
    â€œHell, no,” Larkin replied with a grin. “I met someone. A cocktail waitress. And I want to buy her dinner. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky! Can you loan me fifty credits?”
    For a brief moment, McKee considered asking Larkin for help. He’d give it. She knew that. But then she’d have to tell him the truth about who she was, and she’d be forever indebted to him. That had very little appeal. Besides, if she was going to survive, she’d have to do it on her own. “Wait here,” McKee said, and closed the door. Moments later, she was back. “Here you go.”
    â€œThanks, McKee . . . Have a nice evening.” And with that, he was gone.
    McKee thought about what lay ahead. It would involve all sorts of things. Nice wasn’t one of them.
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    McKee ran some errands but was ready a full hour before George was scheduled to arrive. That gave her lots of time in which to worry and feel sick to her stomach. She had killed before, many times, but never in cold blood. It would constitute self-defense since Royer planned to rape her—and would probably turn her in as well. A surefire death sentence. But it still felt wrong.
    That was part of what was bothering her. The rest had to do with self-doubt. Could she pull it off? Would the plan work? Conflicting emotions caused her to sit on the edge of the bed hugging herself and rocking back and forth as the minutes ticked away.
    Finally, right on time, the doorbell rang. McKee felt a sense of relief as she went to let the robot in. Now she could stop worrying. Now she could take action.
    Having opened the door, McKee stood to one side. There was barely enough room to close the door behind the cart and the android. A bucket of ice was sitting on top of the cart, along with a couple of linen towels and two wineglasses. McKee put a bottle of wine into the bucket and added two more to the cart. All purchased with cash on deck three. The idea was to make the cart look natural without placing an order through room service. “All right,” she said. “I’m going to ride on the bottom shelf. Deliver me to Mr. Royer’s suite on deck one. When he comes to the door, tell him that the wine is a gift from me. Once inside Mr. Royer’s quarters you will await further instructions. Understood?”
    â€œYes, Miss.”
    â€œOkay, stand by.”
    Small though she was, McKee discovered that climbing onto the cart’s bottom shelf was more difficult than she had imagined. Eventually, after trying various positions, she lay on her back with her knees drawn up to her chest. “Drop the cover,” she ordered, and was pleased when white linen dropped all around. “Good . . . Let’s go.”
    Seconds later, they were outside on their way to the service elevator that would take them to deck one. The