Andromeda's Fall (Legion of the Damned) by William C. Dietz Page B

around the room, or something similar, Larkin told her to strip. And when Reese refused to comply, he ordered his toadies to grab her. They obeyed, and Larkin had just ripped Reese’s shirt open when McKee hit him in the back of the head with a metal lunch tray.
    Larkin staggered, swore, and turned. He was angry. Very angry. Partly due to the pain. But mostly because of the way the incident might impact his social standing. Larkin’s power, such as it was, lay in his ability to control other people through the use of his fists. So an attack, especially by a female, couldn’t be tolerated.
    For her part, McKee knew she was in real trouble. Not only did Larkin outweigh her by at least sixty pounds, he was in excellent shape, and proud of a criminal background that involved breaking bones for a loan shark. She wanted to run, but there was no place to run to, so she stood her ground.
    Larkin took a roundhouse swing at McKee, and she ducked. And as his fist passed over her head, a whistle was heard. That was the signal for all of the PRs to line up in alpha order. And people who failed to obey such a summons had a tendency to disappear within a matter of hours.
    So rather than continue the fight, Larkin grabbed a fistful of McKee’s shirt and jerked her in close. His face was only inches from hers. “This isn’t over, Scarface. I’ll be watching you, and when you least expect it, pow ! It will be payback time.”
    Larkin let go of her as the PRs hurried to line up. Once they were in formation, the NCOIC (noncommissioned officer in charge) made some routine announcements. There was no mention of Larkin’s assault on Reese or McKee’s attack on him. Had the assembly been called in order to prevent further violence? Or was it a coincidence? Either was possible. But one thing was for sure. McKee had an additional enemy now—and would have to be careful.
    As the day wore on, McKee made an interesting discovery. She had never been popular thanks to her foreboding appearance and standoffish ways. But no one liked her now. Not even Melissa Reese. Partly because Larkin and his buddies were busy dissing her—but also because those who weren’t members of the bully’s group feared retribution.
    In a strange sort of way, the social isolation was useful, however, because it gave McKee an opportunity to think about her previous life. A strange existence that had been lonely in spite of all the advantages. Or was it because of them? It had always been difficult to sort out those who wanted her body, wealth, or influence from those who actually cared about her. Assuming there had been any. So things were largely unchanged. She’d been alone before and still was.
    Viewed from that perspective, she had lost less than she first thought. And when she went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, she no longer felt the desire to flinch. True to the real McKee’s prediction, the sutures had disappeared, leaving a pink line that would probably turn white with time. And just as her beauty had been an advantage in her previous existence, the scar was an asset now. It was both a disguise and an emblem.
    So what did she want? Friends? That would be nice, she reflected. But would such a relationship be fair to them? What if Ophelia’s assassins found her? Would they be satisfied with killing her? Or would the synths eliminate everyone she was close to? Those were difficult questions and remained unanswered as she went to bed.
    The most obvious time for Larkin to attack her was during the night when she was asleep. So she arranged to trade her lower bunk for a rack located directly below one of the cameras. The idea was that if Larkin tried to reach her, he would have to climb up the framework, thereby shaking the stack and providing a few seconds of warning. Then, whatever took place would be visible to the people monitoring the cameras. Assuming they cared.
    In spite of those precautions, McKee woke up frequently during the night and got