by M. R. Forbes
John sighed and rose from his chair, coming back towards him. Steven watched him approach, trying to determine if he had lost a little weight. He had never been a small man, not in any of the ten years they had been serving together. He wasn't handsome, either, but who cared about that? John already had a husband back on Earth. He was whip smart, his battle reflexes were off the charts, and he was one of the most kind, genuine people he had ever met. It was the reason he had negotiated to have his best friend brought along when he was reassigned.
"I'm starving," John said.
"It's been, what? Four hours?"
"Shut up. More like twelve."
"That's no way to speak to your commanding officer."
"The mission is over. You're just Steven now."
"I'm never just Steven."
They shared a laugh and headed towards the hatch off the bridge. "Lewis, you have the bridge," Steven said as they reached it.
"Yes, Admiral," the Lieutenant said.
They moved towards the mess together. Whenever Steven passed any of his crew, they stopped and lowered their heads slightly in respect.
Ten years and he had never gotten used to that.
He had never really gotten used to being an Admiral. Or even the fact that he had accomplished a dream he hadn't even known he had until the day he'd won a stupid bet he made with his brother. Mitchell was the smart one, the one who aced all of the exams and made it look so damn easy.
He had worked hard. He had clawed and scraped for everything he had gained, and yet he still felt like an imposter so much of the time. The bowing only ever served to reinforce the doubt.
His brother. A hero. Then a traitor. Found dead in a barn on Liberty.
"What's the thought?" John asked.
"Mitchell," Steven said.
"I knew it. It's only been a week since you heard the news. It's okay to mourn."
He didn't say anything. He wasn't mourning. He hadn't mourned. He had been close to Mitchell once when they were younger. He wanted to say it wasn't jealousy that had driven the wedge between them. He wanted to say it was because Mitch got a big head over his success and his relatively quick assignment to the Greylock.
He knew that was bullshit.
It was jealousy.
But now? Now his younger brother was gone. Not only that, he had lied to millions about his role in the Battle for Liberty. Steven didn't want to believe it was true. Who would?
Except he did believe it. Mitchell had always been a show-off. He had lost the bike race because he was popping wheelies. Maybe he had subconsciously wanted to join the military. Maybe it was just destiny.
"Mourn? No. I sent the communique on to Laura a month ago. It should be reaching her and my folks any day now. When I say I'm thinking about Mitch, I mean I'm thinking about how they're going to take it."
"Your brother is dead. You aren't even a little upset about it?"
He looked at John, reading his face. Whether he was or not, it was obvious to him that he was.
"Maybe a little. You?"
"It sounds stupid, but I believed in him. In all the stuff he was saying. And you already know I thought he was the better-looking brother."
"He was."
John looked away. "It's hard to be disappointed by someone you feel like you know. It's hard to know they're dead, too. I mean, he'll never have a chance to redeem himself."
Steven rubbed his beard. "Maybe he'll get his chance in the next life."
6
Mitchell left the showers and headed for Medical, unsure of what he would find when he arrived there. According to Singh, they had set up the infirmary right below berthing, a quick ride in the lift or down a single flight of stairs in one of the emergency access corridors.
He was surprised when he reached the area and found it was more advanced than he had suspected. It wasn't to the level of a fully autonomous Medical module, complete with medi-bots and all sorts of sensors that would diagnose issues immediately upon entry, but it was fairly well organized considering the meager collection of tools and supplies they had on board.
The area had been emptied and re-outfitted as a hub and spoke system, where the sick would circle the main working area in the familiar honeycomb bed pattern, allowing even a single doctor or nurse to keep watch on them. The central area had been filled in with a few pieces of equipment that looked somewhat like tools he had seen in infirmaries before, as well as an examination table and a few low counters where they were storing whatever pills and patches they had access to.
Sergeant Grimes was standing at a counter with her back to him when he entered while Kathy and Jacob were resting in bunks on the farther side of the room. They were sitting up and talking to one another.
The ship's doctor sensed his presence and turned as he approached. She was holding a pair of mugs in her hands.
"Medicine?" he asked.
She smiled. "Chocolate."
"We have chocolate?" He caught a whiff of it now, his mouth watering in response.
"I brought it with me. I've been saving it for a special occasion."
"The occasion isn't special."
"No. But those two need it more than I do."
"How are they?"
"Physically, they're both fine. A few surface scrapes, cuts, bruises. Jacob is showing some early signs of trauma, and I don't think the gravity has sunk in yet. I'm a little worried about how he'll cope with everything a few days out."
"What about Kathy?"
Grimes laughed softly. "A spitfire to be sure. She'll be fine." Her eyes shifted downward. "I hope you came to see me about that."
Mitchell looked at his stomach. The patch had torn in his tussle with Cormac, and blood was seeping through. "Yeah, but you need to make it quick. I've got some other business I need to get to."
"I can swap the patch. You'll need to take it easy and let it bond the skin, or you're going to have a nasty scar."
"If it scars it scars."
"Let me just bring this over and I'll be right with you. If you don't mind getting yourself out of that suit. There's a pair of fresh grays in there." She pointed to one of the low cabinets before heading across the room.
Kathy and Jacob looked up when she arrived. Mitchell set about removing his clothes, balling up the flight suit and slipping into the bottom half of the grays as quickly as possible while facing away from them. When he turned around, he saw Kathy was watching him. She caught his eyes with hers and waved. He waved back, feeling his face flushing and wondering how long she had been watching him. The most she would have seen was his ass, but still, she was just a kid. He should have been more careful.
He shook his head at the thought. She had helped kill naked civilians under the Tetron's control on Liberty. She had watched her home planet explode. His rear was nothing in comparison.
She took the offered chocolate, smelling it and beaming. Mitchell turned away, going over to the examination table and sitting down. He reached down and began pulling off the patch.
"Are ye daft?" Grimes said, rushing back over to him and swatting his hands away. "I'll take care of that. You're filthy, and libel to infect yourself." She rolled her eyes. "You pilots are all the same. Think you're immune to bacteria, you do."
Her hands were swift and precise as she removed the patch, checked the wound, cleaned the area, and put a new one on. Mitchell watched her red hair bob while she worked, quickly growing impatient despite her speed.
"There now," she said, backing away and examining her work. "The wound is still young enough you haven't made a total mess of it yet. The patch is sealed, but you should go hit the shower before you do anything else to make sure it stays clean."
"Thank you, Sergeant," Mitchell said, hopping down off the table and taking an offered shirt. "I've got one more stop I need to make first."
He headed for the door, glancing back at Kathy and Jacob one more time on the way. "And something else I need to go hit," he muttered.
7
Without his p-rat, it took Mitchell almost an hour to track down Watson's whereabouts. The engineer had been busy in the time Mitchell had been on Liberty, helping set up Medical, helping repair some minor systems, and trying to keep himself as useful as possible. As it was, Mitchell located him deep in the bowels of Goliath, not far from the engine compartment that Origin had taken as his core. Watson had created another workshop there, filled with bits and pieces of salvaged electronics, half-built systems, and a small area where he could sleep. There was a pisspot on the floor next to his gel mattress, suggesting he didn't spend much time among the others.
"Watson," Mitchell said, walking in on him as he was hunched over a small circuit, soldering a wire to it.
Watson straightened up immediately, his red face paling. "Colonel," he replied. "I heard you were back. I heard what happened."
That was all he said.
"The package didn't work." Mitchell held back his anger. If it had worked, maybe Liberty would still be in one piece.
He lowered the circuit and wrung his hands together nervously. "Yes, well, I told you before you left that it was all theoretical."
"You did. It didn't work." Mitchell took a step closer. They had been in the communications control room surrounded by Tetron spiders. They had barely gotten out alive.
"I'm sorry, Colonel. I really am. I don't know what-"
"I want to know why," Mitchell shouted, slamming his hands down on the desk. "I want to know what you did wrong."
He was losing his cool, but it wasn't just about what had happened on Liberty. Everything about Watson made him angry, and Mitchell had defended him and his continued existence to Millie. The fact that they needed the pedophile for anything was infuriating. The fact that he had been given a task and failed, regardless of how difficult that task was, left him questioning why he was talking instead of hauling the engineer directly to an airlock.
Watson began to shake in response to the anger. "Wrong? I... uh... I don't know. How could I know? I did the best I could, I swear."
"Are you sure about that? Are you sure you weren't distracted?"
"Wha-?" Watson shook his head. "Oh. You mean that. I did what you asked."
That was all he said about that, too.
"You deleted everything?"
"I did what you asked," he repeated.
"That's not what I just asked you."
"Mitch-"
Mitchell leaned over the desk and grabbed Watson by his shirt. The man was heavy, but he was angry enough to lift him out of his chair.
"Tell me you deleted everything and make it the truth, or I'm going to kill you."
"I..." He paused.
"Liberty is gone," Mitchell said. "The package might have prevented that if it had worked the way it was supposed to. Did it fail because your head was somewhere else?"
"I told you it helps me relax."
"So you're saying the package failed because you deleted your porn, and you couldn't think straight without it?" Mitchell tightened his grip, holding the shirt tight enough to choke the engineer. "I know you're a sick frigger, but I swear if millions died because of your twisted sense of sexuality I'm going to make your death as long and painful as I can."
"Yes. No. I mean. Wait." He put his hands on Mitchell's wrists. "I saved all the data on the package. I can rebuild it, and try to figure out what went wrong. Maybe we can at least learn something from it." He dropped his hands, running them along the desk until they landed on a small box off to the side. He picked it up. "Here."
Mitchell let Watson go, taking the box from him and opening it. There was a tiny chip inside.
"I didn't delete it. I removed it, but I kept it. I was waiting to see if you came back from Liberty."
Mitchell couldn't help but laugh at that. Of course he was. "How do I know you didn't do your best to keep me from coming back?"
Watson looked like he was going to cry. "What? Colonel, whatever you think of me, I wouldn't do anything like that. If you die, we all die."
Mitchell shook the chip. "And you get to keep this until you do."
"I know I'm sick. I'm not that sick. The package was supposed to work. I did everything I could, I swear. Yes, if you died I didn't want to lose those files. Everyone on board hates me."
"And rightly so," Mitchell said.
Watson was crying now, tears running over pudgy cheeks. "It's pathetic. I know it is. That's all I have. That and this ship, and this war. I don't want to die as nothing more than a frigged up pedo. I'm doing the best I can, Colonel."
Mitchell closed his hand over the box. He felt dirty just holding it. "Your best isn't cutting it, Watson. You have two days to reassemble the package and make a guess as to what went wrong. We may need something like it again and it damn well better work the next time."
"Yes, sir," Watson said, rubbing his neck and backing away. "I'll send a requisition up to Singh for the parts I need, and then I'll get started right away."
"See that you do. Your life depends on it."
8
Mitchell left Watson's dungeon, carrying the small box with the neural chip in it in his left hand so tightly he kept hoping it would become pulverized there into no more than silicone and dust.
He was tired. Very tired. There had been no rest. No escape. His emotions had been everywhere, and his body was running on pure adrenaline. They were the only thing still keeping him going.
He had done what he needed to do. The things that couldn't wait. They were in hyperspace, on their way back out to the Rim. He had a week to recover and reorganize, and Grimes was right. He needed a shower and his bunk. If Millie happened by, he didn't think he would mind having a warm, soft body to settle in with for a few hours.
He stopped at his bunk to throw his illicit cargo into his locker until he had time to dispose of it properly and then headed back to the showers. They were empty when he arrived, and he sat under the warm stream of water for a long time, his head bowed, his eyes closed, doing his best not to think about anything.
The stillness of the moment brought out the echoes in his mind. Subconscious echoes of a past long forgotten and barely remembered. Of who he was before. Millions of years? Trillions? More? There was no way to place a human concept to it. It was an eternity. He didn't see anything behind his eyes. He didn't hear solid, structured words. It came across more as emotion, as feeling. Familiarity and fear.
He sensed Katherine. His skin tingled with tiny electric shocks when he did. He felt her in the rapidly increasing pace of his heart, and the resolve in his chest. She had given her life for this. For him. He conjured her face. It was Christine's face, too. He knew they were connected, Katherine to Christine, Christine to him to Katherine. He was part of the equation, but he still wasn't sure how or why. Aptitude tests be damned, he was nothing special. Not like that.
Was it fate?
Was fate a real thing?
He hadn't felt like he was in control of his life since the Prime Minister's wife had accused him of rape. He was going through the motions, waiting to see where each new moment led. He didn't like it, but he wasn't sure what else to do. Not yet, anyway.
He reached forward and turned off the spray. He ran his hands through his short hair, pulling the moisture out. He huffed and spun around, heading for his towel.
Origin was standing there. The configuration held it out to him.
"How long have you been there?" Mitchell asked.
"Long enough to count the bruises. You did not have Sergeant Grimes treat them?"
"They don't hurt." Mitchell took the towel and wrapped it around his waist. "I assume you were looking for me?"
"Yes. I had to come directly, as your receiver is offline."
"The Tetron on Liberty EMPed it out. I feel disadvantaged without it." He realized he should have asked Watson about getting it fixed. He had forgotten in his anger.
"A disadvantage you may need to learn to live with," Origin said. "There is a high probability the Tetron will use the tactic
again in the future, especially if they are not able to gain control through the implants."
"Don't you know the answer to that already?"
Origin chuckled. "Not in this future."
Mitchell knew they had altered this timeline enough that any prior futures had been rendered irrelevant. "Right. What do you suggest?"
"Standard issue communicators. I can recreate the model that was used by the original crew of the Goliath."
"Four hundred-year-old technology?"
"Yes. There is beauty in the simplicity, Colonel. Security as well."
"You're saying the Tetron won't be able to crack it?"
"They will. Not as easily."
"What about the other functions? The combat routines and augmentation?"
"You will have to train without them. I recommend having all of the crew train without it."
"There's a reason only those with high scores pilot mechs and fighters."
"There is also a reason mechs and fighters have manual overrides."
Mitchell stared at Origin. The configuration stared back, unblinking, with no understanding of what it was suggesting. The last thing they needed was something else to put them at a disadvantage in a fight.
"It is your choice, Mitchell. Would you prefer to be prepared, or would you prefer to hope for the best?"
"You're right. We'll have to start training with our p-rats off. Now, why did you really come down here?"
"Christine Arapo."
"Origin," Mitchell said. "The true Origin."
Origin looked as though Mitchell had punched him in the gut. "Yes."
"Did you know?"
"Not before she signaled me to return to Liberty. Commanded, more like. I had no choice in it, even had I wanted to resist."
"So your story about arriving on Earth, splitting yourself and placing your data stack into a clone of Katherine-"
"All true. Except it was not my doing. It was hers. She was hiding until we could all be reunited."