Andromeda’s Choice by William C. Dietz Page B

plan was to enter Royer’s suite without being seen, kill him, and escape the same way. Maybe security would find out about the brief conversation in the restaurant. If questioned, McKee would claim that Royer had hit on her and been refused. And, with nothing else to go on, the investigators would have to accept her account.
    McKee felt a gentle bump as George led the cart into the elevator and it began to rise. After a brief stop on an intermediate floor, the lift came to a stop and McKee heard the doors hiss open. Wheels rattled as the cart followed George out into slightly scented air. Then they were in the main corridor, where the robot had to stop to answer a passenger’s question. McKee could see the woman’s shoes but nothing more.
    Having answered the question, George led the cart around a corner and down a secondary passageway. Then it came to a stop as the android rang a doorbell. McKee’s heart was beating like a trip-hammer as she waited for the door to open. When it did, she heard George say, “The wine is a gift from Miss McKee.”
    Royer said something unintelligible; the robot preceded the cart into the living area, and the door closed with a loud click. That was McKee’s cue to roll out onto the floor. Adrenaline was pumping through her circulatory system as she hit the carpet and bounced to her feet.
    But rather than confronting Royer, as McKee had imagined, she found herself facing
three
men. Royer smiled lazily. “Well, look what we have here . . . Cat Carletto. You’ve seen her on the news, boys . . . But never like this. Ready to do whatever it takes to stay hidden. So Troy, what do you think of the scar?”
    The man named Troy had shoulder-length hair, a fake tan, and looked like a lounge lizard. One of the social wannabes who were attracted to Royer in much the same way that flies are attracted to shit. “I think it’s a turn-on,” Troy replied.
    â€œThis is Carl,” Royer said, indicating the second man. Carl was in need of a shave, had a paunch, and was holding a cocktail. “And he’s been looking forward to seeing your tits. Take your clothes off.”
    The knife had been there all along—stuck down the back of McKee’s pants. It came out of the sheath smoothly as she took a long step forward. Royer was just starting to frown when the blade sliced through his jugular and partially severed his windpipe. Blood flew sideways; Royer produced a horrible gurgling sound and tried to stop the flow with his hands. Then he swayed and fell over backwards.
    â€œGrab Carl,” McKee ordered grimly. “And don’t let go.”
    It would have been nice to order George to kill Carl, but it wasn’t programmed for that and wouldn’t comply. So McKee figured that if the android could keep Carl busy, that would give her a better chance of successfully dealing with Troy.
    And that, as it turned out, was going to be difficult. Because in spite of all appearances to the contrary, Troy was no pushover. In fact, it quickly became apparent that Troy knew how to fight. “I’m going to kill you,” he said matter-of-factly. “And they’ll give me a medal for it.”
    He took a stance and flicked a fist toward her face. McKee’s eyes followed it, felt a foot hit her ribs, and went down hard. Now she knew. Troy was a kickboxer.
    Troy was dancing by then. He gestured for her to get up. “Come on, killer . . . get up. You look like a man. Fight like one.”
    Meanwhile, Carl was struggling with George. “Hey Troy! he said. “Get this thing off me!”
    Troy’s eyes never left McKee. “Man up, Carl . . . It’s a robot, for God’s sake. Kick its ass.”
    McKee’s side hurt, but she made it to her feet, and staggered forward. Troy smiled and launched a kick. McKee was waiting. The blow hit her in the same spot and nearly drove all the air out of