Read Online Opening Moves by James Traynor - Free Book Online Page A

vending machines.
    “ Centauran Macadamia or walnut-vanilla?” she mused. “Centauran Macadamia or walnut-vanilla?”
    Samantha Lee had managed to narrow the options from the nearly infinite number of sweets programmed into the vending machine down to two possible choices. Though 'vending machine' was a term selling the blocky piece of technology short. Its intestines consisted of a set of very versatile 3-D printers and vats of base organic matter. Sammy really didn't linger too long on that part of the information, though. These thoughts only led one into the kind of territory where you asked what kind of meat they put into hotdogs...
    Tall, athletic and pragmatic, she was used to making important decisions, for example about how to assault an enemy bunker, when to airdrop out of a dropship flying at Mach 10, or where to go on her tenth wedding anniversary with her partner Natasha. But trying to decide between the two treats? Rome had been built in less time than it was taking her to make up her mind.
    “ Centauran Macadamia,” she said resolutely, then placed her ID card against the machine's scanner, selecting the macadamia treat with the special flavor found only in Alpha Centauri variants. A softly modulated voice asked her to 'Please Wait' before, with a whirring clank, the mechanism produced a brightly wrapped bar from the machine's innards. She shuffled on her feet as it took the mechanism a small eternity. It wasn't for the first time that she wondered whether someone deliberately built these things to be slower than a 24 th century VI system. With a sigh Sammy decided to pass the time by staring out of a nearby window.
    Outside, a platoon of soldiers jogged by in digital camouflage fatigues, their sergeant encouraging them on in the inimitable style appertained to drill sergeants across times and national boundaries, pounding across the concrete parade ground and marking their pace with a centuries old song. Beyond them were the plain faced, low slung buildings common to all North American Union Armed Forces garrisons across half a dozen solar systems, their simple and spartan interiors a testament to the fact that Congress had chosen to have them designed by the lowest bidder. The dome covering the base was said to be amazingly strong, able to survive a shuttle crashing into it at supersonic speeds. Lee doubted anyone had ever tested that boast, but it gave the inhabitants a little extra confidence living daily within feet of the danger of suffocating.
    The whirring of the vending machine stopped, prompting Lee to turn around. To her annoyance the bar – wrapped in bio-degradable compounds – remained wedged in the release mechanism, dangling down but not actually willing to plunge down into the collection tray.
    Sammy spat a silent curse. The bar had cost her the extortionate amount of one credit and she sure as hell wasn't going to let anything cheat her out of that – especially not a goo-printing machine! She leaned back and checked out her surroundings. The large mess hall was completely clear, the rows of plain steel tables cleaned and left neatly arranged for the next set of meals in about two hours. She could hear the regimental cooks at the far end of the hall behind their doors slaving away in the kitchen. Sammy weighed her options and shrugged. It was safe to figure they were too busy to pay attention to a few sharp crashes and loud noises, which was exactly what Lee was about to create.
    She was tall and athletic, especially for the offspring of a Korean father and a purebred, Midwestern American mother. In fact, at six foot three she actually towered over a good part of her platoon. Her toned physique, buzz cut and angular facial features just served to underline her presence as a soldier and member of the chosen ranks of the Airborne Assault Force, the power armor wearing special infantry regiments of the NAU's army. They weren't quite on the level of actual Special Forces, but they weren't